#danipaniniwrites

[danipaniniwrites]

It comes in flashes every time—

It comes in flashes every time—bursts of colors, images of memories, bouts of emotions. They come and they go, sometimes in the blink of an eye and others in an episode of full volume.

Just now, there was a burst of color: mint teal was the first thing that came in my mind, but it was more turquoise or aqua. It was the color of my hoodie you borrowed when you were cold. It contrasted your formal white shirt and dark slacks so much that I laughed when you were begging me to let you borrow it. You were off to meet a former colleague for a drink and I wanted to tag along, but for reasons you know I had to go home. So we went for a quick drink before your meeting to a restaurant with stark white walls that contrasted the dark inner bar as we went deeper inside. We shared pink kisses in between sips of golden beer. I remember walking vast distances in the greens and greys of the concrete jungle just to reach you, and by then I already should've known.

One time, it was an image of the memory: I walked for a few minutes from a meeting of my own. I thought that it didn't matter the distance I was treading as long as it lead to you. We met at the coffee shop where we first held each others hearts in our own, the sickly sweet smell of donuts permeating the small rooms air. You had your arms tight around your chest because you were so cold in your thin shirt and slacks. I laughed and took off my own hoodie for you to wear, even though it severely ruined your serious corporate look. We walked hand in hand to that small restaurant we never visited because it was way out of our budgets. but you said this was an exception because you were meeting a colleague. I didn't have long to spend with you, so we ordered two beers and you stole me kisses in between sips of ice cold light beer. And as quick as I downed that single bottle, I gave you a final kiss and once again treaded the distance from one side of the overpass to the other side of the underpass. As beads of sweat dripped from my temples and my heart quickened its beating and my breath became shallow with effort, by then I already should've known.

Years ago, it was the bouts of emotions: my phone vibrated and chimed with your ringtone. I answered and heard your sweet voice telling me that you were in our coffee shop and asked if maybe I could drop by. Hearing you say our coffee shop made me feel all sorts of tingly feelings all over my body. I smiled involuntarily and asked if maybe he'd come to the park where I just finished my meeting. His tone suddenly changed, I could hear it through the phone. It was subtle, something I wouldn't have noticed if I'd only known him for a few weeks. He told me he had a meeting in that area and he couldn't leave easily. I told him I was at the other side of the business district and that, besides, if he walked the shorter distance from where he was to a halfway point, then we could meet even for just a while. He was quiet for a moment then said that he had a meeting with a colleague in a while. I was confused how he didn't see my logic to be reasonable, but I didn't want to keep explaining and asked him what time the meeting was instead. He said it wasn't in an hour or two. It only took 10 minutes to walk the distance between us, I knew that because I've done so countless of times in the five days I spent in this city. I took a deep breath and told him that I was on the way. I bid my colleagues goodbye and walked as fast as I could to where he waited on the other side. I was nearby when I peeped at my watch and I saw that I had made it to him in only eight minutes. A new personal record, I thought. It was a hot day then and my 8-minute record rendered me a bit breathless, but when I saw him, it didn't matter if my baby hair stuck on my face and I was tired from walking. I went in for a hug and his cold skin met my warmth. It was like he'd been there for a while. He kissed my forehead and took my things. I sat down and caught my breath. I saw his small cup of iced coffee on the table, then to him hunched over and bundled as tight as possible. I asked him if he was cold, even though it was painfully obvious, something he pointed out. I just laughed and gave him my aqua hoodie. Shrugging it on, I thought it would be a bit small for him, but it turned out just right. Still I laughed at how he looked, my bright hoodie making his corporate look softer and cuter in a way. He laughed along and shook his head. Then he asked if I wanted to go, of course I asked where. He said that he'd like to go to the restaurant already for the meeting. I asked if his colleagues were there already and he said no, he just wanted to make sure they had seats already. I looked at my watch and said the meeting won't be in 30 minutes, but he said he wanted to be early just in case they didn't get seats. It was a Tuesday, a dead day, and I really couldn't understand why he insisted on it so much. I asked where it was and he said it was that restaurant we always wanted to try but couldn't afford. But, I said, that would be even farther from here and he knew I couldn't stay out late tonight but he said that it's okay, he'd buy me a beer if I wanted to because he knew how much I badly needed to destress with a bottle of beer. So even if I was confused and unsure, I said yes. We walked there hand in hand, passing by the buildings and people in the rush to go back home and hopefully beat the traffic. We arrived at the restaurant and, true to my inner predictions, it was barely full. We went in and found a table for six. He waved over a waiter and asked for two bottle of beer. Quickly, I added two glasses of water to the waiter's list. We were side by side and he placed his arm around my shoulders. Involuntarily, I leaned on his shoulder in comfort. When the beer arrived, we clinked our bottles and sipped the ice cold beer, feeling it cool my body down after all the walking I'd been doing on this hot day. I closed my eyes in contentment and when I opened them, he was looking at me with a smile in his eyes and on his lips. In minuscule movements, he moved fast and slow at the same time, leaning in toward me suddenly. Involuntarily, my body responded and reacted as it would and our lips met. He tasted of the bittersweet beer I both loved and hated at the same time. When he drew away, I lightly smacked his arm and asked him what that was. He just laughed and kissed my forehead again. And because I was stressed and confused and tired, I let this single bottle of light beer linger in my senses and go up to my head so I could laugh a bit louder at his seeming jokes and middling stories. All too quick, I absentmindedly brought my bottle to my lips and was surprised to see that it was all empty. With that, I told him that I had to go now and it's getting late. He gave me his sweet eyes and pleaded me to stay for a while longer, offering to pay for my dinner even just so I could stay. I had to say no. He said okay and well, he had to stay there and wait for his colleagues. I knew I could say nothing else but an okay. He asked me if I would be okay and I said yes, don't worry about me because I'll be fine. He gave me a final kiss before I stood up and gathered my things. Before exiting the restaurant, I gave one last look at him sitting at the far end of the room. He already had a second bottle of beer on his lips, just setting it down with an expressionless look on his face. As I was walking to the bus terminal, I slowed my steps down and recounted everything that happened that afternoon. I tried sorting out the thoughts and emotions going through my head, ignoring the vibrations of my phone that signaled messages from you. I stepped foot in the terminal and checked the time, surprised to find that my 20-minute walk turned into a 30-minute one. I sat down in the bus and found that the initial elation I felt when I first picked up his call that afternoon slowly deteriorated into something I couldn't figure out then as I was on the ride home. By then, I feel like I should've known something I didn't know at the time.

Maybe because it's always been there all along.

— — — — —

((i’m terribly sorry for the wall of text but here’s to me hoping you guys understand the creative decision behind it hahahehe))

[danipaniniwrites]

Ignorance is Not Bliss, Innocence Is

How wonderful a feeling is it to reminisce? To have those moments in your life that you can easily go back to? Maybe a simpler time, a happier time, a calmer and more peaceful time; there is always this indescribable feeling that overcomes you as you ride out the process of reminiscing.

It's difficult not to resort to this act in recent times. Understandably, the onslaught of current affairs through the rich media of this digital age is enough for one to simply take a pause and, well, reminisce about a simpler, happier, calmer, and more peaceful time.

Today’s never-ending stream of information may come as a barrage of noise that leaves you to filter out what you deem worthy of your attention. Personally, this quality seems to have seeped into my own process of reminiscing. During the most mundane moments of my everyday life, memories of a seemingly former life come crashing into my head in a scene all too familiar of a flashback-spaced-out montage in a movie.

In the midst of the river of memories, a voice in my head always seems to make itself prominent against the noise. It calls itself the voice of privilege.

See, every undertone of reminiscing has in it the inherent desire to wish things could be simpler, happier, calmer, and more peaceful like the way it was before. We wish that our lives weren't as complicated as they are now. But that's not how life works, doesn't it?

Right now, we should be aware that not everyone has lived the same lives some of us have had the privilege to experience. By choosing not to believe this, we turn a blind eye to the harsh realities of the oppressed, the marginalized, and the minority. For them, their reality is the only reality they know.

Years have passed and times have changed. Though they may now have the novel technology that allows them to amplify their voices, their cries echo the same one that their ancestors have been crying out for hundreds of years.

The time lapsed between then and now proves that these supposedly dated ideologies still exist on both the individual and systemic level. We have failed them, and wishing for their lives to be the way it was before will change nothing at all.

It is the year 2020. I'm beginning to think it was no coincidence this year turned out the way it has.

Maybe this is the year when we're meant to see the world in all its pain and glory in the perfect clarity of 20/20 vision. It's disappointing to think that it took a pandemic, a dysfunctional government, a global superpower failing, a torrent of extrajudicial killings, a resurgence of systemic racism, and a threat to our inalienable right to freedom of expression to realize it. You may think that it's “better late than never.” but for some it's just too late.

At this point, reminiscing should not just be about living out better times in our head anymore.

Reminiscing should be remembering the lives of those who lived before us and the lives they’ve lived, remembering their triumphs and failures, their voices of success and defeat, and remembering the moments that got us to the state of our world now.

If we reminisce of a better life in the past, then we should also remember that our actions in the present can help us achieve that better life for everyone's future.

Let us not make our reminiscing a form of ignorance; a way to escape the realities of now in favor of a blissful has-been. It is with this blind eye we chose to perpetuate that made the world into what it is today.

If we open our eyes now, maybe then can we begin to see the possibility of the innocent and blissful future.

Once we open our eyes, you can never shut them again.

Now, we act.

[danipaniniwrites]

Black rectangles

It's been a while since I started feeling this—this void that lets me spiral into its never ending cycle of instant gratification and constant validation. Believe it or not, social media used to be a safe space for me; it was a place where I could freely express myself when real life just couldn't cope with the entropic mess of a person I could be.

It was a more blissful time when liking something meant you genuinely liked something, comments were not harvest fields of trolls and influencers, and sharing was done with real thoughts and people in mind. Stories were told face to face in more animated ways than stickers and gifs, and my days intertwined with others' days because more time was spent interacting with what you have and where you are rather than longing over everyone else's what's and where's and who's that you can now seemingly grasp in the palm of your hand.

Years ago, I remember when my dad asked me what kind of phone I wanted for what I think was my 13th birthday. I asked for a phone with those QWERTY keypads. Remember those? My dad asked me why when touchscreen phones were looking to be "the next big thing."

I used to think smartphones were just solid black rectangles and squares—mirrors that endlessly reflected what you wanted to see right back into your own face. 

To finish my short story, I said—and I quote, "I don't want to be one of those people with black rectangles," unquote.

But here we are. Funny and exponentially enough, these black rectangles were suddenly in everyone's hands.

Suddenly and exponentially, everyone could see what I could only see before. Not only see, but also feel, hear, taste, smell, sense. Freedom of speech boomed, freedom of choice minimized, and freedom in its entirety was both emancipated and incarcerated.

I could sense it in myself. I could literally feel the pull into the void of selfies and colored circles and fake news. I could see myself from the third person point of view, as if standing from a pedestal of my own doing, with everyone in my line of sight doing the exact same thing: thumbs endlessly tapping on a screen and thumbs moving down to up and down to up and tap and up then up and down in a thoughtless act of violating non-violence.

The worst part I feel toward this is the fact that in this case, I play every single role. Suspect, witness, accomplice, adjudicator, and the overall judge hammering down the gavel on my own grave because at the end of the day, we're all victims of the black rectangles.

And the cycle continues. I finish whatever I'm typing on my very own black rectangle, share it on whatever platform I can, and sit impatiently for it to rack up likes and comments and shares that, quite frankly, never really arrive.

I admit I'm also guilty of this—again, I play all the roles in this spiraling case. Yet still, I cannot fathom how to pass the final judgment and close it for people to squeeze into a digest. You may even call me naïve for wishing back a simpler time, I know. And I know, deep in my gut where I know a lot of things to be true, that I'm not alone in these thoughts.

Man, honestly it's 7.21-am-too-early-in-the-morning for this. But my mind's alive making me alive and that's what matters the most.

Indeed, and I quote one of my favorite composers and lyricists, look around at how lucky we are to be alive right now. Personally, I'd take that quote in this context with a deserving grain of salt.

[danipaniniwrites]

When life is forced to happen

There are moments, such as this, when we force ourselves to do something because we know that it will lead us to something good. Moments where your gut feel just takes over and brings your hands to movement as they start typing on their own volition despite every other fiber of your being screaming in laziness protest.

Look to the sun, child. You’ll find the light to guide you to the bright side.

I’ve been aching to write something new for the past few weeks of my mini hiatus, but I seemingly can’t find the will or time in me to do it. I know, inaction will be rendered especially useless but it just comes naturally. As I write this at 9.31 pm, eight hours until I have to wake up tomorrow morning to get to the office for an internship I’m finding tiring but highly enjoyable and novel, it took me all my willpower to even open this laptop. I don’t even know if I’m going to post this at this time.

Life always finds a way to turn things around, whether for the better or for the worst. It’s life’s funny way of telling you that things really don’t go the way you want it to go. This piece I’m writing right now? I don’t even know where this is headed. All I know is that I just need to voice these thoughts out.

((Man, I swear it’s taking me a lot to not close this laptop and go to sleep))

So many words can be used to describe life. In my case, it’s a mix of frustration and wonder and relief. In that order. Every single day, we are faced with frustrations and mishaps. These may come from years before or the moment you wake up; they’re always there, lurking around the corner to screw you up. These are the moments when you force yourself a bit more to do even the simplest of tasks. Sometimes these forces are the most important ones in your life and they can be found everywhere too, just as much as those frustrations and mishaps around you.

It’s a lot of work―I know, believe me―but it’s something. These forces, these gut feels, these inner and outer voices telling you to keep going, never lose them as much as possible. Eventually, they’ll help you find the sense of wonder, filled with achievement, and the ultimate sense of relief.  You’ll feel that warmth of joy and security, the weight slowly lifted from your shoulders, the air you’re breathing suddenly becoming clearer, the tears in your eyes having fallen down and wiped away. It takes a lot of belief and faith, especially in the unknown, especially in something that you know for yourself that you have the power to create. It may take a minute or it may take 40 years, but it’ll come. You’ll get there, eventually.

Bottomline, always make sure that the thought of giving up is infinitely scarier than the thought of going on. We find the moments when we realize that giving up is the best choice, the easy way out. But what of it? And what do you get out of it? Failure, the instant feeling, of course. That’s the frustration. But the sense of wonder kicks in when you start picking yourself up again. You find yourself moving, creating, doing. Whatever it is, it’s working. Finally, the moment of wonder comes when you realize that hey, I made it through what I thought was the roughest patch I would be in. I made it. I did it. Remember your first star stamp on your hand as a preschooler? Your first crush? Your first dance? Your first perfect score on that quiz? Your first kiss? Your first paycheck? Your first business deal? These are the moments you keep going for, the firsts, infinitely the first of so much more.

A life mantra I now live by comes from the OG force against frustration John Lennon: “Everything will be okay in the end. If it’s not okay, then it’s not the end.”

It will be okay. I promise. You’ll make it to tomorrow.

// 8/7/2018; 10.08 pm

Stay awesome, nerds. ✨

[danipaniniwrites]

[[CONFIDENTIAL INFORMATION]] - Declassified as of 3112xxxx

To: rmz[redacted]@bmail.com

From: [redacted][email protected]

Date: 18 October [redacted], 17:43

Subject: Hello, [redacted]!

Hello, dear! It's been a while. I'm sorry for that. It must've seemed like I went MIA on you. Don't worry, I didn't, but life just seems to have its way of catching up with us eventually.

Where was I...I was telling you a story, right? Heavens, it's still mind boggling how easy it is to communicate with you now. And to think that the first PCs only came out, what, in the 1970s? That's amazing.

Oh, I remember now! Yeah it was that story about the two kids I saw playing at the fountain in the park, the cute little boy and the brave little girl. She was reaching out to the boat that had drifted in the fountain's center just out of her reach. He then held her free hand while she continued reaching out for the boat. Just as she held onto the boat's tip, she fell into the fountain! The little boy panicked, distressed over the little girl and her unfortunate situation. However, when the little girl's smiling face appeared, his distorted face relaxed and let a twinkling laugh escape his lips.

Or, wait. Maybe it was that boy and girl walking hand in hand in front of me on the sidewalk. I decided to stop and sit on a bench I passed. As I sat, I saw that the boy and girl also stopped at a flower stall. The boy plucked a single stalk of a sunflower and gave it to the girl. I could never forget that because the head of the sunflower was as big and as bright as a red stop sign, or so I recall.

Oh, no, I'm sure I got it now It was that boy and girl sitting at the bar across from my table. It was a packed Friday evening at my favorite late night haunt and voices were overlapping each other. So obviously, in an effort to hear each other, their faces were drawn close, their foreheads almost touching. The live singer was crooning a tune from decades past, but I recognized it instantly. The boy and girl seemed to have done so as well, as she led him to the open dance floor as the singer aired Al Green's timeless lyrics "let's stay together, loving you whether times are good or bad, happy or sad."

Or, no, this is it. This is the right story because it's about that boy and girl I saw at the port in a tight embrace, never letting each other go in the midst of the hustle and bustle of passing bodies and the whistles of the boats and ships. As the world changed around them, they stood there unwavering and unaware of their surroundings. Men in naval finery and army fatigues ran around me as I just looked at them with intrigue.

Oh dear, I never got any of those right did I? Forgive an old soul like me. I must've mixed up all the memories in my head by now.

Forgive me, I need to go. I can hear my name being called out by the kindly patrons downstairs. They've been doing so much for us. They're the absolute sweetest for cooking our favorite food and assisting us with even the smallest tasks, even this thing you call an "e-mail." I feel like such a child again.

Please write soon, dearie. We miss you terribly. We love you! ❤

Sincerely,

Amelie [redacted]

——————

Part of “Dani & Chloe’s Writing Challenge,” Chloe’s prompt for Dani # 1: Nostalgia

[danipaniniwrites]

A(live)

I figure things out slowly, one by one, as the pieces fall and inevitably come together. Words and pictures and descriptive illustrations jumble together in a mindless tangle of incomprehensible gibberish.

In the consequent mess that we make within ourselves, we tend to forget the simplest and most basic principles to go about this world. Life tends to get in the way of living and tries to overlap with the lives of others just to see who comes out on top. But regardless of who proves they're the king of everything, they still fail to see this singular truth.

Sometimes the point isn't to make a point, but to show it to someone else who needs it.

Sometimes what the half-closed eyes and the lethargic posture are saying is not what the racing heart wants to say.

And though everyone and everything dulls you down and tries to turn you into a lifeless husk, you find everyone and everything in yourself to be in the pursuit of what makes you feel most alive.

This is what it means to be alive. This is the most ordinary and extraordinary experience of being. It is the days that you feel your absolute best and absolute worst. This contradiction, this paradox, this unlikely juxtaposition is what it means to feel most alive.

Still, the most beautiful part of all this is experiencing life in its whole breadth and depth so you can triumph over your failures again, and again, and again. Isn't that the most human thing one can do?

My pieces have finally come together to help me unravel its tangles to comprehension. But there are more pieces and tangles and gibberish out there.

It's time to be alive.

[danipaniniwrites]

Sunsets

3/3/2018; 7.12 pm

As I am bathed in the pink glow of this sunset, I remember you.

I allow myself to be vulnerable just this once and envelop myself in the memory of what has passed. A memory I know is a most vivid one shared between you and I.

I remember how we both loved sunsets like this. Pink skies that glow endlessly, with the sun slowly sinking down the horizon. I remember the reason why we loved them so much, that this much beauty could be seen in a single moment far too grand to be captured by two eyes. Despite the distance between us, we took comfort in the fact that we could see this beauty with two pairs of eyes instead, both of us underneath the same blazing sky and making us feel connected in the way that only nature's beauty can.

We catch this short glimpse of raw talent as nature paints the most beautiful painting in the sky, mixing shades of red and streaks of gold, lighting up the glow of the warmest pink before the moment passes into the dark of the dusk.

Twilight.

I remember how that one movie cherished twilight as the bewitching hour where two souls can communicate across the borders of space and time and converse even for the briefest moment. In that moment of magic, everything happens in the blink of an eye. We became two souls with hands clasped together tightly as we faced the endless possibilities to come.

And now that magic moment passes as I am left with the dusk, the dark of the night slowly taking over the skies as one by one the stars find their places in the heavens and I lose the last remnants of light to write these words on the page. I strain my eyes and look at my messed up handwriting that I never really cared for, remembering how much you hated your own for some unknown reason but I always found fascinating the every lilt and bend of your pen on the paper and how each scratch on the surface was a spoken word that allowed our souls to communicate what unspoken words remain.

I allow the day to die, its dazzling sunset and its bewitching twilight, along with the final memories of you and I.

We were like that sunset, the ones we always loved. Brief, beautiful, fierce, magical, bewitching, enchanting in its fleeting ephemerality. A spark of fire in a stark contrast against the sky.

That's what we will always be, a sunset.

(Last edit: 5/22/2018; 9.48 pm)

//

Hey there! This is the first in my series “Why I do what I do.” It will be composed of random pieces of prose and poetry that I’ve written or will write. I first posted this on twitter and I thought to carry it over here. It’s about time that these pieces of mine saw the light of computer screens day. My ask box is open to any comments and suggestions!

Stay awesome, nerds. ✨