SORRY I SAY THINGS @donepanganiban - Tumblr Blog

One beautiful April morning, on a narrow side street in Tokyo’s fashionable Harujuku neighborhood, I walked past the 100% perfect girl.

Tell you the truth, she’s not that good-looking. She doesn’t stand out in any way. Her clothes are nothing special. The back of her hair is still bent out of...

In the end this is all I’ve got: a four-page apology letter which began and ended with the words ‘I love you’ and contained more than 62 I’m sorrys. My hands, tired and trembling, have lost count of how many times I paused to smoke a cigarette before mustering the courage to begin writing again. Or of how tormenting was it to put a period in every sentence when I had realized that it could be a metaphor—of what’s going on with us and where it is eventually going, and ending. After all, this letter isn’t meant to repair anything for, in my experience, I only end up breaking things worse than before. This letter is meant to speak every word I cannot say in front of you. I was never good in confrontations, but you should know that by now. My voice falters, my knees fail, and I tend to break down and beg. You see, I’m letting you go and all the paragraphs I’ve written for you, but that does not mean I won’t think about you anymore. For you are still my every comma, every colon, and every dot. But my words, no, they are for someone else now.

It seems like everything is moving too fast while I am stuck here somewhere, in a slump. Slow down. Stop moving. Wait for me.

lazerprincess

If you are reading this, it means that I have committed suicide and obviously failed to delete this post from my queue.

Please don’t be sad, it’s for the better. The life I would’ve lived isn’t worth living in… because I’m transgender. I could go into detail explaining why I feel that way, but...

donepanganiban

TANGINA

Too Big for the Rabbit Hole

"The day I saw you, it was like Alice following the white hare. You are my white hare. I followed you and look at where it brought me. This is my Wonderland. I think. I cannot say I’m happy. Mostly I’m just scared. But I know that years from now I will be looking back at these moments and think that this was the greatest adventure of my life. Seriously though, I’m sure you feel that this is going to end too, right? I do. I mean, you are my ‘white hare’. You did not drag me here, but it was you who brought me here all the same. You brought me here but, at the same time, I cannot find a way to keep up with you."

I did not know what to say so I just stared at him. He looked at me, brushed his fingers through my hair and smiled. There was something in that smile that made me want to cry. It almost felt like an apology. The light from the lamppost still spotted us in the dark but the play was over and there was no applause. He stood up and succumbed to the darkness of the room. When I closed my eyes, I heard the door creak open. That sound had never been that scary.

No. This is not love.

But I would always secretly save you the last slice of pizza, or the last piece of brownie, and ask for a bite while you’re eating it, when you’ve finally arrived. I’d procrastinate and make myself another cup of coffee only to still be awake by the time you’re finally free for a chat. I’d put a bag, a drink, or anything I could find, on the chair beside me only to have a seat to casually offer you should you surprise me with your presence.

No. This is not love. This is sharing the little things. This is giving you the time of day. This is allowing you space and saving you a place. And nothing in this place is quite ripe for the harvest, but you come with a gentle rain so who am I to say what can and cannot grow?

'Kafka on the Shore' is my favorite Murakami novel. As a matter of fact, this is my first read in Japanese literature and I must say, I’m not at all disappointed! In a way this book is bizarre, eccentric and even obscure. Many of the readers might toss it away after reading the first few pages, thinking it to be making absolutely no sense. But but, trust me when I say this, This Bizarreness is Addictive. This Eccentricity is Hypnotic. This Obscurity is Spellbinding. The book has two apparently unrelated stories running parallel to each other. One of the stories is about Kafka Tamura who aims to be the toughest 15 year old boy. He is a runaway from home and after a series of adventure, finds refuge in a private library at Takamatsu. Kafka is not only running away from his house and his father, but also from his past, where his mother and sister abandoned him when he was just four; and from his father’s prophecy, a curse which has been haunting Kafka ever since he understood it. His head is full of conflicting thoughts, several theories, unanswered questions, and blurred memories. He falls hopelessly in love with the spirit of a memory, with a hope of reliving it again and again, until forever. The other story is about Mister Nakata, a victim to some strange unknown event which resulted in a loss of his memories and his ability to read and write. Instead he can talk to cats, all shapes and kinds! Inspite of all his disabilities, Nakata is the one chosen by fate to set few things straight. Inspite of his warm and child-like simplicity, his ability to have a comfortable conversation with cats, make fishes and leeches rain from the sky, let the path choose him rather than he choosing the path, knowledge of the secret behind the Entrance Stone, adds up and provides a subtle mystery to his character. Even the other characters have been sketched spectacularly. Oshima, an extremely well-read gay trapped in a woman’s body, understands Kafka’s journey and is always ready to help and guide him in every possible way. His likeability increases with each turning page. "Whatever it is you’re seeking won’t come in the form you’re expecting." "It's like Tolstoy said. Happiness is an allegory, unhappiness a story." Miss Saeki, the library manager, has a past which somehow intertwines with Kafka’s. She is almost dead inside and is now just waiting mechanically for things to take their course. "Memories warm you up from the inside. But they also tear you apart." Hoshino, the truck-driver who helps Mister Nakata a lot through his journey, is as ignorant about Nakata’s mission as the readers. He is more like a reader representative in the story. He asks Nakata the questions that you would want to ask. He hangs by Nakata’s each and every word and never once loses his trust in the weird, old man. "My grandpa always said asking a question is embarrassing for a moment, but not asking is embarrassing for a lifetime." Little words of wisdom and philosophical learnings are powdered throughout the book, making it all the more delicious. "With each new dawn it’s not the same world as the day before. And you’re not the same person you were, either." "There are all sorts of cats – just as there’re all sorts of people." "In dreams begin responsibility." Kafka and Nakata have the paths of their lives converging on a metaphysical level, creating an aura of endless metaphors, kept open for all kinds of interpretations. Just as the book begins, it kisses farewell to the so-called reality; and the surrealism that then follows, makes the story as alluring as possible. Even Mister Nakata starting a casual conversation with some stray cat and talking about the local weather seems to be the most usual of all things, such is the effect of the spell. The symbolism- sandstorms, labyrinth, cats, crow and the choice of contrast between the ‘concepts’ of the evil Johnny Walker (yes, the scotch guy) and the good Colonel Sanders (KFC!), was absolutely magical. The book is not about giving up to your fate, but is about courage. Courage to face. Courage to cherish memories, both, wanted and unwanted. Courage to know yourself. Courage to accept yourself. What I have understood of ‘Kafka on the Shore’, in the first read, might be just a small fraction of the treasure this book holds. The Japanese traditions mentioned, the scholars quoted, the philosophical remarks, the artists mentioned, the historical relevance, will definitely offer more once they have been well researched. The book has so many riddles to be solved, so many metaphors to be deciphered. Re-reading this book in light of research will perhaps be the only key to unearth this treasure chest completely! Concluding it in the words of Mr. Murakami, himself - "Every one of us is losing something precious to us. Lost opportunities, lost possibilities, feelings we can never get back again. That’s part of what it means to be alive. But inside our heads – at least that’s where I imagine it – there’s a little room where we store those memories. A room like the stacks in this library. And to understand the workings of our heart we have to keep on making new reference cards. We have to dust things off every once in a while, let in fresh air, change the water in the flower vases. In other words, you’ll live for ever in your own private library."

Your Airplanes by Rachel McKibbens

I. over breakfast, my father asks what you see in me. I bite the inside of my cheek, shove a forkful of pancakes into my mouth, notice the salt shaker eyeing my wounds. II. you launch “I love yous” from a Brooklyn fire escape. they travel 3,000 postcard miles and collapse into my ear, exhausted. I pinch their noses, breathe new life into their lungs, fold them into airplanes, send them back to you and wait. III. there isn’t a building taller than two stories here in Orange County. not a single fire escape. no point in jumping. the worst that could happen is a broken leg or heart. this is why the sad kids get so goddamn creative around here. the mayor’s son rigged his noose to raise with the garage door when the Mercedes came home. a nine-year old leapt into the lion’s cage at Prentice Park Zoo after her dog was hit by a car. IV. on our wedding day, when I tell you “I do,” it’s because I do. it’s because you understand how ten-thousand dollar apologies still keep fathers worthless, it’s because my ribcage expands every time I think of you, it’s for all the things you see in me and pretend not to notice.

Naniniwala Ako

Naniniwala ako sa aswang. Lumaki ako na kinukuwentuhan ng mga tiyuhin ko tungkol sa kanila kaya, oo, naniniwala ako sa aswang. Naniniwala ako na kaya nilang magpalit ng anyo. Na dapat akong maging mas mapayapa na marinig ang pagpalatak ng bibig ng tiktik dahil kung malapit daw ang tiktik ibig sabihin ay malayo ang aswang. At siguro, iisipin mo na nababaliw na ako o napakadali ko namang mauto pero, oo, hindi ako nagsisinungaling, naniniwala ako sa aswang.

At naniniwala rin ako sa nuno. Naniniwala ako sa nuno - iyong maliliit na nilalang na nakatira umano sa mga punso. Na posibleng nandiyan lang daw na nagtatago sa likod ng puno. Kaya kinakagat ko ang daliri ko tuwing nalilimutan kong baka andiyan sila at ayaw nila nang tinuturo, dahil baka kunin nila ako sa gabi at dalhin sa kaharian nila para gawing kalaro. At alam ko, wala pa akong kilala na dinukot nila pero mahirap nang sumugal, kaya kapag nagturo ako sa masukal na gubat kinakagat ko ang aking hintuturo dahil, madali akong maniwala at naniniwala ako sa mga nuno.

At tutal rin lang ay sinasabi ko na ang mga kalokohan na 'to, siguro dapat na ring malaman mo: ang dami pang mga bagay na walang basehan ang pinaniniwalaan ko. Katulad ng tuwing umaalis ka ng maaga habang kumakain tayo ng magkasama ay iniikot ko ang mga plato para hindi ka mapahamak sa kalsada. O sa tuwing mahuhulog ang tinidor ko kapag kumakain ng mag-isa ay iniisip kong sosorpresahin mo ako sa iyong pagbisita. Nakagat ko ang dila ko kanina at binigyan ako ng numero na sakto sa unang letra ng pangalan mo at hiniling ko na sana ay nasa isip mo nga ako. At oo, kung nakagat mo ang dila mo kanina, malamang kasalanan ko 'yon dahil nasa isip kita.

Nasa isip kita. Sa umaga, kapag nakita ko kung anong oras na, iniisip ko kung nasa ospital ka na ba. Nasa isip kita. Sa tanghali, alam kong nagtitipid ka pero kumain ka naman nang sapat para hindi ka gutumin sa trabaho, 'di ba? Nasa isip kita. Sa hapon, malamang pagod na pagod ka na naman sa dami ng pinapagawa nila sa'yo na hindi mo kayang tapusin bago magdilim. At nasa isip kita. Sa gabi, saan ka pa pupunta pagkatapos ng trabaho, magbabaka-sakali na puwede tayong magkita. At patawad, wag ka sanang mairita pero gusto kitang makita, maniwala ka, dahil minsan nakakasawa na nasa isip lang kita.

At oo, malamang hindi nga ito ang pinakamagandang panahon para sabihin sa'yo ito bilang puro maligno at lamang-lupa ang kaninang mga binabanggit ko pero intindihin mo: kung kaya kong maniwala sa mga bagay na wala akong basehan o katibayan tulad ng mga ito, bakit ako hindi maniniwala sa'yo? Sa atin? Sa tayo?

Kapag nginingitian mo ako, naniniwala ako. Kapag hinahawakan mo ang kamay ko, naniniwala ako. Kapag inaakbayan mo ako, naniniwala ako. Kapag hinahalikan mo ako, naniniwala ako. Naniniwala ako dito. Hindi ito laro. Hindi ito "hanggang dito na lamang at maraming salamat." Naniniwala ako na kaya natin ito. At naniniwala ako na kung maging masakit man, kung pagdating sa dulo ay patayin man ako sa sakit ng saya na ibinibigay mo, magiging sulit ang lahat dahil naniwala ako sa'yo.

Oo. Ikaw ang tinuturo ko at hindi ko kakagatin ang daliri ko, dahil gusto kong tangayin mo ako patungo sa kung saan mang kaharian o kagubatan mo gusto. Oo. Ikaw ang sinisigaw nitong dibdib ko at hindi ako matatakot kung lalapitan mo ako. Dahil naniniwala ako. Naniniwala ako na kaya natin 'to.

At naniniwala ako sa karma. Na kung ano ang ibigay mo sa kalawakan ay siyang ibabalik nito sa'yo nang may interes pang kasama. Ilang beses ko nang isinilid sa garapon ang puso ko at itinapon ito sa dagat sa pag-asa na may makakahanap sa kanya at magbabalik sa akin nito ng buo pa. Pero ang tagal na at wala pa akong nakukuha. Kaya kung sakali lang na makita mo ang puso ko na inanod sa aplaya; iniisip kung anong gagawin sa kanya - itatabi, itatapon o ipagsasawalang-bahala, maghihintay ako sa desisyon mo. Maniwala ka sa'kin. Maghihintay ako. Ibalik mo sana.

Forgetfulness

I’ve always been forgetful. Names, places, telephone numbers, what I want from the drugstore - I forget everything. As a child I would forget where I had put my stuff or to whom had I lent them, and, often, I never get them back.

Say, an eraser – a small multi-colored pencil eraser my mother had bought for me for the start of the school year. I loved that eraser. How many times had I put it in my pencil case among the pencils and the sharpener, took it out, and rearranged them back in again, just as any other second-grader excited for her first day of school would? How my nose had feasted on its fruity smell! How had I treated it as one of my most precious possesions, together with the new things I had had in my new bag. But come the second month of school and I had already lost it. Perhaps - I would think - I’d left it somewhere. Or, maybe, I had lent it to someone who had forgotten it was mine and I had forgotten to take it back. Another possibility is that I had it kept in my pocket (the things we love and often need tend to stay kept within our reach) but it had somehow fallen out without me noticing, forgetting I had it in there.

It is a curious thing, forgetfulness. I lose a lot of things because I forget, but I somehow cannot forget the things I’ve lost. Like that eraser. I still smell it. I still see it. The pink, green and sky-blue stripes that ran across its white space. The choo-choo train printed on the cardboard that wrapped it – revealing only the eraser’s ends. Or the contours of your body, lit softly by a lamppost in the night. Your shampoo’s smell imprinted on my pillowcases. The suppressed laugh you’d let out for the jokes only us could find funny. The depression on that side of the bed you’ve had stamped and claimed yours with your departure.

I have always been forgetful. But why does the mind always fail to remember which memories to forget?

You knew I couldn’t stay With you though I wanted to. There was just no way for me to do it Anymore. We both know I had to go. I will always remember How we pretended to be married then. It was a dream I hoped you’d make real But you, you were just too numb to feel. Oh how I waited for you to grow up. Oh how I wished for you to grow up. I wanted to stay with you suspended in the skies of your fantasy world. And I wanted you to know me more than you ever knew me. More than the one who’d tell you stories At night. And I had thought you might Save my heart a flight. Didn’t you say you’ll remember? Didn’t you promise every Spring for me? Then everyday of every year was a blow. But you, were much too dumb know Oh how I waited for you to grow up. Oh how I wished for you to grow up. I wanted to stay with you suspended in the skies of your fantasy world. And I wanted you to know me more than you ever knew me. More than the one who’d tell you stories At night. And I had thought you might Save my heart a flight. But you didn’t want to stay here when I asked you to. You never want to leave your ever childish world Where everyone would one day leave you. See, I took the flight but you didn’t even see that I was falling. Yes you saved my life from ending but not my heart from breaking. I wanted to stay with you suspended in the skies of your fantasy world. And I wanted you to know me more than you ever knew me. More than the one who’d tell you stories At night. And I had thought you might Save my heart a flight. Now the years had passed, You return into my room. The adventures returned as I saw you. But Peter, I’m no longer the child who’s heartbroken because of you

Me: Kuya, pahiram ng Wacom tablet pagdating ko sa weekend.

Kuya's text: Hindi ka naman magaling mag-drawing. Kaya ka nga nagsusulat.

Baddduuummmtttsss :")

EBOLA HITS

Me: *reads* "...transmitted via infectious aerosol particles both near and at a distance from infected patients..." luuuuh

Him: Looking at PGH, you just know we wont be able to handle any kind of outbreak

Trending Blogs

Recently Viewed Blogs

SORRY I SAY THINGS