My Last Bed

Everything that i did, all i got was blame
Everything that happened became all my fault, everything
They blamed it ALL to me, nobody but me
I started feeling that i was really worth nothing

They hit me, every little fragile part of my body
They hit me in the head then hit my knees so hard
I fell down and crawled for a chance to ESCAPE
But no, they held me in my arms and started pushing me forward

I stumbled upon the table as the table knife fell
I turned around and saw the bloody look of my father's face
There was nothing I could do I was weak and hurt
I just grabbed my daddy's legs and gave him a big embrace

I cried "Daddy I'm sorry but I don't deserve this"
I saw his hands angrily gripped his equipped broom
He pushed me again and waved the broom at me
I ducked, grabbing the knife and ran across the room

I pointed the knife at my father
"Daddy, you don't need to do this,.!"
He came charging into me and our body collided
Blood splattered out from his stomach to his knees

He fell down and lied cold on the floor
I killed my own father, accidentally
I couldn't accept what happened
That my father's murderer was ME

I ran to my mothers room to tell her what happened
I saw her there staring at the lamp light
She turned around grabbed my collar and shoved me to the shelf
The shelf fell down shutting the door tight

"Mom don't please I'm so sorry"
I cried it out loud
She got me up and shoved me to the cabinet
The lamp light fell down and the flames began to crowd

The flames caught my mom's blouse
She fell and screamed out her pain
I couldn't do anything but to stare
My fear held me back and trapped me in a chain

My mom cried as she was toasted alive
I couldn't do anything but to cry
My life was ruined, and also is theirs
I couldn't help myself but to ask WHY?

the flickering flames started approaching me
i'm stuck in the corner i didn't know what to do
I was trapped nothing left to do except to scream
"Mama! Mama! I'm so sorry but now i really need you"

I grabbed her hand and lied down beside her
I stroke her cheek and said
"I love you mom, and I'm so sorry"
And that spot became my very last bed

Smitten

I sit on the polished wood of my armchair,

Waiting for our professor until he came;

His light radiant skin, his silky black hair I see,

He gave me a look, sat down, every day the same;

His shirt stretches fully,

With the beautiful curve of his back;

I gave him a look, a glare,

And there, my heart attacked;

My heart beats dug dug dug,

Like beats of an upbeat music;

While there he was,

so quiet and fantastic;

Everytime I walk with him,

My tongue holds back, don't know what to say;

I just go with the flow,

Say what I say and go his way;

When we part, finally,

My lips give in, forming a smile;

For I treasured every moment,
Even if it is even just for a while.

At The Crime Scene

(from my other blog)

I placed on my socks, and placed my feet in my Airmax Nike shoes. I grabbed my olive green messenger bag, placed it across my body and placed my navy blue Polo Sports handbag over my shoulder. I grabbed my keys on a rusty chain, opened the door, went out, and made sure that the padlock was securely locked before I go to school. I was minutes behind my usual schedule. I made it to the corner of L. Gonzales and Shaw Boulevard. I crossed the busy highway with ease, and I quickly called a jeep headed to Quiapo Echague. The jeep was already full, so I bulged myself in for a seat. I got off the jeep at the corner of V. Mapa and rode the LRT heading Katipunan. I plugged my earphones in my ears and listened to Brandy's R&B music, specifically her old albums. It took about 15 minutes to get to my destination. I got off and headed out of the station.

This was were all the action started. I found myself on the sidewalk filled with people walking unusually fast. They seemed to be in a hurry, but not less than in a hurry than I am. In front of me was a college student, seemingly a nursing student, with her all white uniform and bulky magenta bag. With her was a transparent cooler with a light green lid. She was carrying it on her left hand. It looked like it was heavy, even heavy for her to carry. Two guys, both wearing plain white T-shirt and one was wearing a baby blue baseball cap, intersected my path and walked behind the lady. The other one, the one without a cap, looked at me from head to toe. I remember that his eyes were fire. Fierce enough to raise my heartbeat. My heart began pounding fast, and I knew something was wrong. Knowing I was running late, I tried to walk on the road to overtake, but suddenly I lost control of my feet. My feet walked as fast as these two guys walked behind the lady. My heart pounded louder. I couldn't ignore it so I looked at them once more. I saw the other guy, slowly unzipping the front pocket of the lady's bag. I looked at him, stared at him and let my eyes do the talking. I was afraid that if I did anything, it would only lead to harming myself. The other guy might have a knife ready to stab me if ever I made a scene. But nonetheless, I only stared at them. Our eyes met. It was long before he realized that I knew what he was doing all along. He, along with his partner, walked back to the waiting shed without anything gained. I immediately took action by approaching the lady and reported what happened. I zipped her bag knowing she couldn't do it alone. I didn't want to bother her more so I decided to part ways with her. I made it to the Katipunan - UP Campus terminal and found a police officer. Thank God that I saw one. I approached him, not minding anymore if I would be late in my first class or not, and told everything I saw. He immediately went to where I pointed the crime was done.

My heart breathed a sigh of relief, and I felt good inside even though I knew that what I had done may also bring me to danger. What matters is that I did what I know was right.

Dying Tomorrow

If I were to DIE tomorrow,
I'd spend my last day with you;
I wouldn't let that day pass,
The chance to say I LOVE YOU;

I know that day would be FUN,
Doing the things we always want;
Our faces would be filled with a smile,
After having a day that was so GRAND;

But it is really killing me, thinking,
What would happen after tomorrow;
After tomorrow when I WOULD DIE,
Would your heart be filled with sorrow?;


I'm wondering if you would laugh,
Or if you would end up crying;
I'm wondering if I would leave,
Footsteps worth remembering;

All I know is that before I die,
There is ONE thing that I would like to do;
And no doubt what that one thing is,
That is, to say I LOVE YOU;

3AM The Devil's Hour

(from my other blog)

Driving my fingers against the keys of the keyboard, I find myself quite sleepy. My eyes felt as heavy as my head. They're slowly closing. I swept my hair with my hand and looked what time is it. It was already 11pm - the streets were all swallowed by the cloak of darkness. The light from the lamppost outside beamed through the linen pieces of my blue curtains, right behind my computer. Everyone's asleep, everyone's called it a day - well except me. I turned the computer off. I went out of my room and went downstairs. The metal edges of our staircase sang below my slippers. Every step was careful, careful enough to avoid waking anyone up. I reached the bathroom and brushed my teeth. Before going out, I took a final glance at myself at the mirror. My face was pale, my lips were red, and my eyes were half-closed. I went to my room and I threw my body into my bed, reaching out for my favorite pillow. I gripped it real hard while I prayed. Then I covered myself in a blanket. I closed my eyes, and it was like minutes, or so, far less than hour, when my eyes suddenly went open. I looked at the clock and it was 3am already. I suddenly felt lonely, my parents usually slept in the bed i am on now, and i usually slept on the cotton surface of my red sofa-bed. My parents were away at time - at the province. And i was left alone with my sister and her husband. I tried to close my eyes one last time as i lied down sidewards on my bed, until something out of the ordinary occurred. A lump of wind, cold as if the air-conditioner was left open, rolled from the ball of my foot, slowly rising to my shoulders. It tickled every single hair i have on my body, leaving them standing on end. 'It was just the electric fan' i thought to myself. Suddenly, i notice a shadow, a man perhaps, walk at the foot of my bed. Then i saw someone in front of me - i could barely see him, but all i see is that he was wearing a red checkered boxer shorts that rests above his knees. 'It's just my brother-in-law, just tripping around' i thought to myself. Then i suddenly felt a weight, a lot of weight, onto my side pressing me hard against the linen sheets, and the cotton layers of my bed. I couldn't see anything except for a shadow, a man, maybe, pressing his cheek against mine. I tried to keep my eyes open but they were fighting against the force of my tissues, of my muscles. I found it hard to keep them open.

'WHO ARE YOU' a voice beside me shouted, i could even feel his breath touch the little hairs on my cheek. His voice was light, a voice of man who seemed to be in his early twenties. I tried to answer but I was paralyzed. Unable to move a limb, my lips, and my head. I wanted to reply back but forces weren't on my side. I lied there, paralyzed. My heart pounded as fast as the beat of an uptempo hip-hop song.
'WHO ARE YOU' repeated the voice. He kept on repeating the same question. This time, i knew something was wrong, i kept on trying to move my right foot.. It took me about 20 minutes until i bolted my foot at thin air, hitting nothing at all. But the weight disappeared after. I took a breath of relief. My body felt warm, as warm as though I was in a sauna. My skin spitted out gallons of sweat, that poured down to my bed.

I know there was a ghost in the house, but i never knew that there was a male one. I asked my mom about this - whether if she has an idea on who that ghost may be. But all she could guess was it was my grandfather, my grandfather who i never knew, who never knew me, whom i never met. But the question is if he is my grandfather why would he ask me my name in an angry way? I've been exposed to quite a number of supernatural phenomenon in our house, but this was the first time it got aggressive. One question still lingers in my mind 'WHOSE GHOST IS THAT?'.

Narrative

Fear of Heights

    It was ten years ago, in Al-Khobar, Saudi Arabia, when my family and I went to the famous Aramco Beach. There was white sand all over the place, and there was this large playground where I played in. I made friends with some Arab kids and played with them all afternoon until I saw this kid. We were of the same height. His skin was as brown as coffee beans, and his hair was as curly as that of a poodle. He swung across the monkey barras in less than a minute. I was impressed by his courage and speed. I tried to do the same. I stepped on the platform and looked below. It was feet above the ground. My vision started to become blurry. I was afraid. I was scared of heights, but at that time I didn’t mind. I just had to face my fear.  I needed to prove to myself that if the kid could do it, then so could I. I also wanted to prove to myself that heights aren’t really that scary. I started swinging across the monkey barras. I held one bar at a time. When I got in the middle, my pace got faster. I held one bar. Then I proceeded to the next. My hands slipped. I fell to the ground on my right arm. I quickly stood up and ran to my parents without even realizing my right arm was swaying more than 180 degrees. My right arm was broken. My parents, upon seeing my broken arm, rushed to the nearest hospital. I was then confined for weeks, had my arm casted, and had a large pin pierced through the joints of my elbow.

    That was my first and last try to cross a monkey barras, and I, as a result, was still afraid of heights.

Letter

Dear Kenneth Calangi,

      You, coming to this world, gave my parents lots of joy. Your birth meant everything to them because of the single fact that you are their first grandchild.

      You were the cuddly, cute, energetic child while I was the serious one. Our differences made us closer and they made me appreciate you more. You were the one who introduced me to our neighborhood friends. But as we separated, our gap grew a lot larger.

       When I came back from Saudi, you changed – a different Kenneth. You started failing in school, and my parents, as soon as they could, lifted you upon your fall. They gave you a chance to study again. I became happy for you but was disappointed at how you act around my parents. It’s as if they are serving you. Wake up dear!

 

      You answered back, destroyed the things they gave you, and you started destroying our trust in you. You’re older than me, though only by one year. You are the one who is supposed to be mature. Prove to me that you can act your own age and start acting for your future, because I, for one, started disliking you. Don’t wait for the world to hate you before you do something about yourself. Start now while I, amongst our family members, still have some trust in you.

Your uncle,

DJ

Descriptive: Mud Grass and Sunshine

              I sit beneath a tall sturdy tree with a rough scale-like bark. Beneath me lies a patch of damp loamy soil with sprouts of green healthy leaves. Light colored candy wrappers and cigarette butts lie on the ground in contrast with the dark soil. Leaves, both healthy and fallen, dance and sway with the cool winds that constantly visit. In front of me is the view of the famous Sunken Garden, a pool of green grass with large spots of dried soil and scattered puddles of mud. Tall sturdy trees stand along the circumference of the place, giving shade to the brick red seats installed on the sides. Along the inner circumference is the grand stand with a bricked roof. On its two corners on the back are leaves of maroon and red. In front of it stands a row of tall beige flowers. I can see the little cute maya birds along with the white butterflies flap their wings in harmony as they glide across the field. A moment after observing the place, I see a little friend drop by. A weird-looking insect crawls underneath the sprouts of grass. Its head is large compared to its elongated body, and it is wiggling with its antennae. It crawls in a circular patter as if it is lost, misguided and confused. After a few seconds, it gets back on track and walks away. A suffocating smoke then fills my spot. It is smoke that comes along with the buzzing of the running motors of jeeps going by.

                These are the only little observations I can take note of among the little things waiting to be seen or discovered. In my short stay in the Sunken Garden, I get the chance to take a break and see the other things ignored by the busy eyes of people hurriedly walking. These are the things mostly insignificant but help remind us how beautiful the world is.

Outline 2: A Hanging

A Hanging

I.    Taking the prisoner out
II.    The arrival of the dog
       A.    Leaping at the prisoner
       B.    Being caught
III.    Walking to the gallows
IV.    The gallows
       A.    The hangman
       B.    Fixing the rope
       C.    Crying for Rama
       D.    Placing of the cotton bag
       E.    Death of the prisoner
       F.    Leaving the gallows
V.    The central yard
       A.    Breakfast
       B.    The Eurasian boy
       C.    The talk between Francis and the superintendent
       D.    Drinks
VI.    Leaving Prison

Outline 1: Politics and the English Language

Politics and the English Language

I.    Causes of the decline of language
       A.    Foolish thoughts
       B.    Bad habits that spread by imitation
II.   Common faults in writing
       A.    Staleness of imagery
       B.    Lack of precision
III.   Habitual tricks in dodging prose-construction
        A.   Dying metaphors
        B.   Operators or verbal false limbs
       C.   Pretentious diction
       D.   Meaningless words
IV.   Other faults
        A.   Too many negatives
        B.   Not knowing the meaning
        C.   Not knowing what one wants to say
        D.   Parting of words and meaning
        E.   Reasons
              1.    Having a general emotional meaning
                      2.    Being not interested in the detail one is saying
V.    Six questions a scrupulous writer asks himself
VI.    The cure in the decadence of our language

Under Construction

This blog is under construction.. Entries will be posted soon :)