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TO BEGIN WITH
I’m part of every ocean because the sea is part of me. One day I’ll fall down singing in the sand and not rise again, blissful to be covered by waves, held in the perpetual grip of my ocean lover. Till the tide comes in and takes me for its own, I’ll be content to wade in the water a little deeper every time.
WHAT I DO WHEN I MISS YOU
I go on
still I go on
and I go on
can you see me go on…
January Fifteenth, 2009
1:02 A.M.
I feel lonely. This is a fact when I’m in Cebu. Especially now that the ocean is near me. Fifty steps away to be exact. It’s the Aboitiz Foundation Corporate Social Responsibility annual planning, and it has to be held here in Danao City. By the beach, near the sea. And I’m alone.
I’ve finished writing several poems, enough to become a book titled “The Big Blue and Me”. I assume you know “The Big Blue” because I assume you know “Me”. As big and blue the ocean is, I know your affection for me is, too.
Maybe I feel lonely because I feel alone. Yes, I have rain as company. Yes, I have friends with me, colleagues in other rooms. They make me laugh and smile, quite easy yes they do. But outer heart is different from inner heart, and in my life now, “alone” had become synonymous with “without you”.
I hear ocean waves newly flapping. I see white caps reflecting moonlight, oblivious of this thin rainshower. Night swimming? No, the rain and wind blows chilling. Besides night swimming always deserves a quiet night and some intimacy.
I wish we’re side by side right now, you’re the only one who can pull me from moments like this, not bed or beer, or any boat and sail. Only you and your love can lift me, bring me back my ability of flight. That is one knowledge I learned and learn the hard way.
There are half a hundred sentences unfinished, unstarted on these pages. I can’t even begin to say how much I miss you. But as this big blue ocean rolls before me and away, I wait. The mystery of the sea is no clearer than it was for me before. Worse, the mystery of myself grows harder to discern.
I wonder how long I can wait, how long I can move, go through the motions, knowing what I know. Minutes felt like days and days felt like years. Why go through the motions anyway? I don’t know.
Raymund's Random Insights
“Quiet resting place” sums up the definition of what love is.
Even when my memory has a rest day, some prisoners refuse escape.
Solitude is a gift that most of us are too dumb to appreciate.
Poems of the Week
Two poems from “The Big Blue and Me”:
EARLY MORNING
I feel lonely. This is a fact when I’m in Cebu. Especially now that the ocean is near me. Fifty steps away to be exact. It’s the Aboitiz Foundation Corporate Social Responsibility annual planning, and it has to be held here in Danao City. By the beach, near the sea. And I’m alone.
I’ve finished writing several poems, enough to become a book titled “The Big Blue and Me”. I assume you know “The Big Blue” because I assume you know “Me”. As big and blue the ocean is, I know your affection for me is, too.
Maybe I feel lonely because I feel alone. Yes, I have rain as company. Yes, I have friends with me, colleagues in other rooms. They make me laugh and smile, quite easy yes they do. But outer heart is different from inner heart, and in my life now, “alone” had become synonymous with “without you”.
I hear ocean waves newly flapping. I see white caps reflecting moonlight, oblivious of this thin rainshower. Night swimming? No, the rain and wind blows chilling. Besides night swimming always deserves a quiet night and some intimacy.
I wish we’re side by side right now, you’re the only one who can pull me from moments like this, not bed or beer, or any boat and sail. Only you and your love can lift me, bring me back my ability of flight. That is one knowledge I learned and learn the hard way.
There are half a hundred sentences unfinished, unstarted on these pages. I can’t even begin to say how much I miss you. But as this big blue ocean rolls before me and away, I wait. The mystery of the sea is no clearer than it was for me before. Worse, the mystery of myself grows harder to discern.
I wonder how long I can wait, how long I can move, go through the motions, knowing what I know. Minutes felt like days and days felt like years. Why go through the motions anyway? I don’t know.
Raymund's Random Insights
“Quiet resting place” sums up the definition of what love is.
Even when my memory has a rest day, some prisoners refuse escape.
Solitude is a gift that most of us are too dumb to appreciate.
Poems of the Week
Two poems from “The Big Blue and Me”:
EARLY MORNING
by Emon
The fog
in Cebu this morning
is beautiful.
You should be here.
I should kiss you from sleep
and walk with you
along the beach.
We can wade in the cool water
your shorts high above your knees
listen as your laugh is lost
in the sounding of the waves.
We can watch the coming
of the morning tide and sun,
never mind the rain,
they will be our friends today.
Coffee and kisses
they are our friends too.
Let me taste the sweetness
of your lips even if only now.
How else could I
attempt to move
through these last days
far from you?
(January 2009)
OLD HOUSES
The fog
in Cebu this morning
is beautiful.
You should be here.
I should kiss you from sleep
and walk with you
along the beach.
We can wade in the cool water
your shorts high above your knees
listen as your laugh is lost
in the sounding of the waves.
We can watch the coming
of the morning tide and sun,
never mind the rain,
they will be our friends today.
Coffee and kisses
they are our friends too.
Let me taste the sweetness
of your lips even if only now.
How else could I
attempt to move
through these last days
far from you?
(January 2009)
OLD HOUSES
by Emon
I love these old houses
lined up at the beach.
I love them for their smells,
misty, almost salty, watery,
dust and mildew
accumulated through the passing
of years.
I love them for what they’ve been
to people I’ll never know.
The character
of aquatic cracks
means more to me
than concrete walls, prettily painted,
walls that play the neighbor’s music
when the music I love
has gone to sleep.
The faces of these old houses
are like those of old souls,
every flaw is a highway
from the past.
And so I love these old houses
lined up at the beach
whether here in Cebu or not.
(January 2009)
I love these old houses
lined up at the beach.
I love them for their smells,
misty, almost salty, watery,
dust and mildew
accumulated through the passing
of years.
I love them for what they’ve been
to people I’ll never know.
The character
of aquatic cracks
means more to me
than concrete walls, prettily painted,
walls that play the neighbor’s music
when the music I love
has gone to sleep.
The faces of these old houses
are like those of old souls,
every flaw is a highway
from the past.
And so I love these old houses
lined up at the beach
whether here in Cebu or not.
(January 2009)
Thanks for stopping by - see you next week.
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