#30-minute write-up

[astringofskies]

If the heavens could wait for the dawn to set it alight, So will I. If it takes an ending for the horizon to be on fire, Then I’ll walk that mile To where the darkness and light dance along each other’s edges yet never collide: There, I’ll stand by your side.

astringofskies [20171207 Couchsurfing Writers’ Club] audacity of the skies

[astringofskies]

Halfway

It would take about 12 steps. If I take 6 steps, I’d be halfway. That’s a good place to meet me now, isn’t it?

It took a flight of 10 hours, 25 minutes, and two stops. 3 months of being strangers. 2 random hellos before friendship. Approximately 16 2-and-a-half hour football training sessions. One dinner event. A pair of heels. 2 bus rides. 5 visits to the city. One epic night. A cruel break-up. Countless silly rumors. The 2014 FIFA world cup. And goodness knows how many seconds it took to fall for you. This is easy.The chances of blowing this are too slim to worry about. Or so I thought.

And all that, put to a halt by a single, ruthless misunderstanding.

“I fell asleep.” “You could’ve called.” And so it went. A week passed. The silence became alarming.

Now: A single room. No sound to be heard apart from heavy sighs and coughs of annoyance at how silly this is. Two tired souls just wanting this torture to end. Both mulling things over. But not one willing to be the first to make a move.

It would take about 12 steps. If I take 6 steps, I’d be halfway. That’s a good place to meet me now, isn’t it?

[20171102 Couchsurfing Writers’ Club Bandung]

Love is always a risk no matter how easily we might have stumbled upon it. That’s a reality that I had to face for myself.

Life, they say, is the sum of all the risks we take. How so? I guess because no matter how confident we are, we could never really, completely, accurately predict what is going to happen or how things would end up. This was the theme for the week: risks. We were to write about things that turned out differently than expected and the lessons that came along with the twists of fate. As much as we want to know what’s up ahead, the turns in the road are there. Might as well enjoy them.

[astringofskies]

Rainy day confession

“Love is patient.”

I wait for the heavy-bottomed soot-colored clouds to be completely filled to bursting, till the drops start pelting down the roof and running down the windowpanes, bathing everything in a sort of quiet surrender.

“Love is kind.”

The potted geraniums perched on the outer windowsill look brighter already, as if the scent of a downpour is enough to make them more alive than they’ve been since the last drops fell on their saddened leaves. Imagine their thirst. Imagine their satisfaction afterwards.

“Love does not envy.”

The neighborhood kids are getting their boots ready for some serious puddle stamping, the excitement barely contained behind their contangious grins. How could you ask their source of joy to “come again another day” just because yours is on its way to leaving you behind?

“Love is not proud.”

They start to fall. Sporadically at first, more expeditiously afterwards. These much needed raindrops leave their lofty spot for the ruin that is the earth just to be cursed at by the ungrateful ones. But you don’t hear them complaining now, do you?

“Love rejoices in the truth.”

Ah. The truth.

The truth is I love the rain because it means you stay. You not leaving means my heart won’t get hurt. My heart unbroken means I don’t wish for what is someone else’s. Me being contented means there’s no need to prove my worth through the stupidest of means. My humility means I know for myself what is the truth in spite of what others might say.

And the truth is I am impatient. I am unkind. I am jealous. I am proud.

And everything that we’ve ever had is but a lie.

[20171123 Couchsurfing Writers’ Club Bandung]

So the week’s theme was centered around the word pluviophile meaning “a lover of rain”. Quite timely, as the city was experiencing some serious streak of rainy days. But of course no amount of rain could dampen another Thursday night of great writing and warm company. Always a big yay for CS Writers’ Club meet-ups!

[astringofskies]

I said I was sorry. I fell to my knees, reached for you, even. I cried my eyes out. I let my pride give in. I screamed like I were the last person on earth. I stayed silent as penitence. I banged on your door. If I could steal the key, I would. I caressed my most brilliant memories of you. If only I could keep them. I wish I could. And I let it go. “I can bear it in some way I can stand it in some way” I let it go like I have a choice but I don’t “Day by day, it fades away” I said I was sorry. I am. But you aren’t.

astringofskies [20171116] Prompt: Bigbang’s Haru Haru “day by day it fades away”

[astringofskies]

My fingers like smoke, My sincere words, heavy air: You’re unbothered—cold.

astringofskies [20171116] unbothered

[astringofskies]

Untitled, 20171026

Bios.

You know what those are. They’re found right under your name in just about every social media account these days.

Bios.

I hate bios.

Whoever made this a social media trend can choke on their halls of fame and trophy cabinets and string of initials added to their name.

Bitterness aside, someone tell me who I am because I myself am not sure. Am I my nationality, or my race, or my skin color?

Am I my age, or my college degree, or my professional license?

Am I my non-existent paycheck, or my empty bank account, or my lowly social status?

Am I my favorite kpop group, or my position in a football team, or my high score in Flappy Bird?

Am I how I cook my eggs (sunny-side-up well-done, please), or how I drink my tea (slowly yet sloppily), or how I slurp my Korean fire noodles (unflatteringly)?

Am I the time I wake up each day, or the day I go to church to worship, or the worship style my congregation has adapted?

Am I my 2 year-old sneakers, or the places it has been to, or the countless puddles left by rainy days it has braved?

Am I the words I say out loud, or the thoughts I hold back, or the lies I keep hidden?

Am I what others say I am, or am I nothing more than who I pretend to be?

Am I what I’m confident in, or what I’m absolute terrible at, or what I wish I could do and be?

What even do I wish to be?

They say you are who you are, but who is that?

Someone please introduce me to me.

[20171026 Couchsurfing Writers’ Club Bandung]

[astringofskies]

3 Months Left

“Why do we have to speak in English. This is Indonesia!”

I almost broke down.

It’s been 9 months: 9 months of solo trips to the store, of not knowing whether sellers are ripping me off or not, of not daring to go anywhere because going out means interacting with people and that’s just torture, of feeling like I should understand words but I actually don’t.

It’s been 9 months of waking up wondering whether I made the right choice or not, leaving my comfort zone and flying 2000+ kilometers away to the unknown, of second-checking my then seemingly adult choices.

“Why do we have to speak in English. This is Indonesia!”

It’s been 9 months of this very question asked over and over again.

It’s been 9 months of questioning why I had to teach kids English when they don’t even know the purpose of learning it.

It’s been 9 months of asking why I have to go through things when I could simply avoid them.

It’s been 9 months

and I have 3 left.

“What? Only 3 months?! Why, miss? Why can’t you just stay? Let’s speak English together in Indonesia.”

I broke down as I felt sparks of hope and excitement start to take flight from within me.

It’s been 9 months, but I have 3 left.

[20171019 Couchsurfing Writers’ Club Bandung]

(The usual note: So the week’s topic was about celebrating the different inexplicable thrills and excitement that life offers us once in a while. As the writer of the chosen favorite write-up of the previous week, it was I who had to come up with a topic for writing, and this is what I chose. The feeling we were trying to express was actually based on a Filipino word that has been added to the English dictionary: kilig. We all came together to tell of our own versions of said feeling, and mine wishes to tell of the exhilaration of realizing as a teacher that my efforts of 9 months weren’t as useless as I have come to think they were.)

[astringofskies]

"A Tale of Humanity and a Hundred Years"

The wind blows where once dandelions danced Where children learned their first lessons in love and pain With bruised knees and minds entranced Where fear was lost and, despite age, innocence retained

The sparrow flies over where once green ruled Where what was alive found a place to live, And what was dead became whole Where there was much to take and much to give

The music passes by where once there was merry-making And diversity but at the same time unity, With a you and a me and another mingling Where color was nothing deeper than what the eyes see

The man looks on to where there was once divine creation blest, Where there was warm earth instead of gold, No cold steel inside his chest, And we didn’t destroy all that was beautiful and different and bold.

[20171012 Couchsurfing Writers’ Club Bandung]

(Tiny note: I was never much of a sonnet person as I can’t be bothered to measure iambic pentameters and whatnot, and quatrain rhymes are always a mess for me. This piece, though, was indeed initially meant to follow the Shakespearean sonnet form but, as always, I got lost somewhere along the way and ended up with something that isn’t exactly what I planned in the first place. That said, I would also like to share a little bit about how this write-up came to be. As was already mentioned in one of my previous posts, I have started attending my local Couchsurfing Writers’ Club that meet every Thursday evening at a different coffee shop each time (yay for cafe-hopping!). This week’s theme was all about what’s the most important story you would tell if you got to live for over a hundred years. This sad excuse for a poem (personal opinion there) is my answer. I would tell of what changed and what stayed the same, and how we are, all together, responsible for it. I would point out how we destroyed what God blessed us with thinking we were building something more beautiful, both in nature and in ourselves. I would speak of how we shunned beliefs and ideas of others claiming ours are the only ones acceptable. This is a retelling of the story of humanity and a hundred years: what we’ve done and what we’ve become. I wrote this in hopes that we would become more aware of how precious the time given us here on earth is. No matter how we choose to spend it, we all leave a mark.)