Ben The Metaphor

wrote a letter in the quiet hours of 2 a.m.

[benthemetaphor]

Cubao is considered to be the center point of Metro Manila, bridging the gap between its North and South parts. Geographically, it isn’t the middle ground, but due to the area’s access to transportation and various terminals, many of us tag it as the “halfway”. An argument always arises, especially from the standpoint of San Juan residents. Nestled in the core of NCR, San Juan’s heart is pounding silently unlike the other nearby cities. It is different, as the silence at night is deafening. In a city that “now sleeps”, I could not help but wonder, does the heart stop beating when you are at peace? It’s been seven months since I recently moved to San Juan, and a lot of things have changed. Indeed, the city was my witness to countless breakdowns and limited breakthroughs. Most of the recent setbacks made me relearn the fact that a person must take things one day at a time – from leaving the job that gave me purpose, to a series of heartbreaks and even to my mother who is continuously fighting cancer. Perhaps the universe reminded me to always keep my feet on the ground, after noticing that I was rushing life. Indeed, life humbles us when we are at the rock bottom. Along the way, I almost quit. Apart from the family and friends that I will leave behind, it’s the mundane things that kept me going. Imagine a life without watching the second part of Wicked, seeing your friends getting married, or the coffee and cocktails to drink while watching the sunset at La Union. At some point, all these little things shed light on the road. If conquering the storm would be the only way to see bright skies, I would dance in the rain. If it takes countless revision to finish one song, I will never stop writing or rewriting until the lyrics and melodies are in harmony. If it takes to cry a river to find the ideal person, I will keep failing and falling in love, over and over again. And I will be my own clown, even if I continue to look foolish while debating the Metro Manila’s halfway. Tomorrow isn’t too far, ‘cause I’m certain on where the halfway is. In the middle of starting over, my heart keeps beating. And just like that, I found my way home.

[isl-equ-ay]

[voguely]

[squidorama]

What do you mean the iconic witch hat was born from Glinda's spite and cruelty but became a symbol of her willingness to stand by Elphaba even if it ostracized her from her friends and peers? What do you mean the witch's broom is an item enchanted in a moment of panic and innovation as Elphaba refuses to be cowed and grounded? WHAT DO YOU MEAN the spooky black cloak is a representation of Glinda's selflessness as she wraps it lovingly around Elphaba's shoulders, a threadbare cloak that will maybe, hopefully, keep her best friend (lover) warm? WHAT DO YOU MEAN all these symbols of evil actually represent a deep bond of friendship and love? What do you mean????

[benthemetaphor]

Be strong. That's not even comforting words, I know. That's lifeless. I know how big the burden is whenever people try to tell you to be strong. I'm even weak, myself. But being strong is what we need to conquer our weaknesses. It's not about faking yourself to be okay. You can cry, and be sad and be not okay and be strong at the same time. Be strong for yourself and start anew.

who are you and where are you now?

[to-breathe-underwater]

[block]

[mournfulroses]

Jeanette Winterson, from "Why Be Happy When You Could Be Normal," publ. in 2011

[mandable-draws]

Landscape study compilation

[to-breathe-underwater]

[weltenwellen]

Stephanie Foo, What My Bones Know: A Memoir of Healing from Complex Trauma

[remanence-of-love]

[benthemetaphor]

Maybe in another universe.

The first time I attempted doing it was when in high school—when my sister and I had a heated argument. I traveled back to Batangas with PHP 550 in my pocket, good enough to spend the night in a cheap motel room, which was almost five kilometers away from home.

They say that Baguio is not for the eyes but for the soul. I was supposed to do it all over again after six years, but the odd place redirected my pain into purpose. Indeed, life has an unexpected tendency to turn things around.

Purpose often emerges from the most challenging experiences, and in that moment, I realized I had the power to reshape my narrative. Instead of dwelling on the past, I decided to embrace the journey ahead, armed with newfound determination and a heart ready to heal.

A year later, in the most isolated part of our region, where the sea meets the shore, I looked for my purpose once more. “There might be more stories to write, songs to sing, or perhaps dance to,” I was told when I heard a knock on my cabin made out of wood, in the middle of the night. From strangers to friends, we have shared tears and laughter in front of the bonfire that kept us warm and hopeful to see sunrise once more.

After the trip, I went back home, jobless and broke. It’s really hard to be a member of the rainbow community if you have nothing to prove. And if you’ve “made it” somehow, people will keep on stealing those bright and loud colors, turning your life into black and white. I remember how I slept on the couch of my aunt, right in front of our house, because I was literally banned to enter our own home. Then I understood that home is made of hearts beating all at once, but at that moment, only mine was pounding.

It was months before the pandemic when it almost happened. It was all a blur, but I can still hear my mother screaming for help. I woke up after 12 hours, lying in a hospital bed, while I could still taste the combined vodka and pills, even if I was just drinking water.

While I am recovering from what happened, the gaslighting never stopped. I remember that I used to hide a knife under my bed, but it didn’t work out because it wasn’t sharp enough to cut skin. 

When life starts to lose its meaning, love comes around. For the first time, I was needed, missed, endured, appreciated, and most importantly, I was loved. But nothing lasts forever; we both had to move on. Left with no choice but to leave the restaurant and find another one.

This time, I think, would be the hardest. After all, it was years in the making. In hindsight, what matters are the laughter shared, the coffees and drinks sipped, the plates cleaned at the sink, the places visited, and where we could have been. Maybe in another lifetime, we are all at ease. Maybe in another realm, love would swing by and keep the door open—for more chances to take and choices to make. Maybe next time I will learn how to dance in the rain and not wait until the thunderstorms hits the ground. Maybe in another universe, I will keep on fighting to be better and stronger. 

[makrustic]

Moments in time, preserved through sentiments Twitter | Ko-Fi | Patreon

[sustancy]

[melisica]

[benthemetaphor]

Happy Birthday, Vince!

Our narrative consumed all our mental energy until there were no crumbs left. The worst part was that all moments turned into memories were destroyed, dissipating into nothingness like space dust. Perhaps the moon's inhabitability serves as a metaphor – a place where we can surrender our regrets, unsung ideas, and unforgivable faults made in Earth.

In the end, I do my best to bring back the good times we had together. I wouldn't miss a beat to try your homemade or “all from scratch” pancakes while listening to your well picked Billie Eilish playlist or watching an interminable Vox channel year-end recap. Even if I felt excluded, I will continue to watch volleyball replays rather than reviewing the best Filipino or A24 indie-films for Letterboxd. As you gather the used vodka bottles and turn them into dried flower vases, I deeply thought there was still a lot to bloom in life. Not to mention your patriotic approach on fighting for the oppressed, underprivileged and the silenced. Our downtime together is the sweetest part of the day, especially when I can hear your pounding heart and when my head is in your chest.

Our connection was enchanting, marvelous, and picturesque. However, ours was never flawless because we also experienced numerous reconciliations and sacrifices. The twilight is our eyewitness to all the falsehoods, painful wounds, and mayhem that became echoes. Even so, as we tug on the elusive threads that has the power to either bind us together or tear us apart, our doors will remain open and welcoming. Finally, writing this essay took me months, as I try to forgive myself every single then. Even after everything we went through, I continue to have faith in the possibility of rediscovering our purpose, separately. The suffering wouldn't last forever, but love would always find its way to its sacred home.

Regards,

Ben

-an email sent to my ex, dated 12 Sept 2022