Da Capo Al Fine.

He lay in the stillness of the night, silent, his heart mightily pounding in his chest. It was the only thing he could hear, the only grip he had on his reality. Everything was silent. The stars refused to sing, the breeze ceased to sigh -- for the only sigh that could be heard was his. The solitude was overwhelming his thoughts; he was filled with the emptiness of living without her, in this silence they used to share. He remembers: there had been music in this silent void before. With her. Hand in hand. Warmth on coldness. Home in a foreign land. Music in silence. There had been the pounding of chests, that vigorous cadenza their lips waltzed to. Quicker and quicker, he recalled, their hearts played in presto, a never ending dance, of music in this silence they shared together.

He turned, shuffled in his place. Sheets ruffled. The silence was broken as he remembered the music of their bodies intertwined. Their clothes tousled, hands nervously shuffling, lips fused -- a melody of sensations never before felt. He closed his eyes. Closed them as if he were with her, in their ecstatic music. His heart pounded. The cadenza. His melody. In his solitude he was feeling her again. Their music was there, and once more he could study each contour of her lips, over every inch of her body in sweet caresses as he traced the outline of her body with his fingertips. There were the fast passages, in marcato; their hearts never lost the rhythmic cadence of their song. Piu mosso. He moved over her. Quicker. Eternally. She closed her eyes, feeling the music he wrote, playing with him each note in a graceful splendour. They played, con brio. Spirited, drunk, lost in this moment of melodic mystery. Each caress a skillful mastery of music only the two of them could share. Da capo al fine. Once more from the beginning until the end. And in the final throes, the cadenza blossomed into a symphonic ensemble, a full regression into the very fabric of their beings. She moved towards him. He felt her, gracefully: a perfect harmony of sibilant music of their heavy breathing.

And the silence was broken.

Early morning.

Early morning. Occasional cars pass by, echoing in the distance. Neighbours' clocks ring. Lights lit up. Shadows bustle on the window, hurried movements and arms flailing in frustration. People rush to get out of bed while I have no volition to get up whatsoever. I guess I didn't want to become an arm-flailer. I don't want to become a rusher-out-of-bed. I guess I didn't want to be frustrated. But I guess lying underneath the sheets won't shield me from frustration.

It's early morning. The sheets that wrap my body keep my toes warm. I hate getting my toes cold. Stepping into the washroom in the cold morning stirs my deepest confines, shaking the soul. The coldness of the tiles awaken me, reminding me that I'm still alive, still capable of frustration. Still capable of being a rusher-out-of-bed. Of being an arm-flailer.

Staying in bed, I guess I just didn't want to realise that.

At Manila Bay.

I have always loved the subtle undertones of a golden sunset in Manila. I was looking through some of our photos -- you can't see the sunset, I know -- it's been shrouded in a cloudy veil… But you can see the rays of the sun tearing through the clouds. It's as if it were a final act of defiant love; the sun reaching through out to its beloved place in the sky before drowning in the vast emptiness of the sea. And being with you, just with you, I saw beauty in the most unlikely of places. You know how many people deride Manila Bay for being dirty and overrated? But what they don't realise is that they were looking right in the mirror! People have this incredible longing to be elsewhere. In another time, in the past, in a better place. It's crazy, delusional, inconceivable that it was how I used to see things!

I've always had this pedantic air, always longing for the next better, greater thing out there. But it was magnificent how the way I saw things changed when I was with you. I guess you can say I really did fall in love -- that kind of love that only happens once in a lifetime, that kind of love poets write on. With you, perched on a cemented barricade on the rocks -- never have I felt so sure and so uncertain at the same time. Sure, in the sense that I will surely never fall in love quite the same way; uncertain, in a way that I will never know whether we will ever meet again.

The sun sets, plunging the world into darkness, but we are certain that there will be the light of dawn peering through the barren blankness of a star-lit sky.

When.

When
Skies turn grey
And our songs, they cease to play
When
Daylight fades
Under scarlet shadowy charades

You'll remember
Starlit midnights when
Silver moonlight undaunted, gleaming;
Shimm'ring raindrops fell on our skin
As I told you of a love so true
With each beat of my heart.

And when
Dreams disappear
And your soul is shrouded in fear
Don't fret my love,
Just seek my voice
And my soul will be your light,
Strength and might.

The Mist.

When the frozen mist
Blanketing the sullen earth
Brings me to her
--with reluctant steps she moves
Emptied of thought and words

When the frozen ground
Thaws underneath her feet
She moves, inches closer
And closer yet
--with eyes squinted
To see beyond the shrouded haze

When my arms touch hers
Sharing the warmth in a Winter daze
She shivers, holds tighter
--with all her might she clings
To the only warmth she ever knew.

Pourquoi j'ai choisi le français

Je me demande parfois pourquoi j'ai choisi le français comme langue étrangère. De toutes les langues dans le monde, j'ai plutôt choisi une langue qui est parlée dans la grande parte d'Europe, de nombreux pays en Afrique et des ballerines qui dansent en sautant.

Parfois j'arrive à une conclusion : c'est plutôt facile à apprendre que le chinois avec ses variétés tonales, ou bien que l'italien avec son obsession des pâtes et de faire l'amour (je blague). Mais le français, ce n'est pas facile à apprendre non plus. Il me fallait lire, écrire, courir, écouter, pleurer... En fait parfois je me trouvais dans une grande frustration, dans un bloque langagier.

Parfois même je me demande comment j'aimais apprendre le français. Ce n'est pas du tout comme une langue que j'étais forcé d'étudier (ce qu'est Tagalog), mais c'est une langue, je crois, avec laquelle je suis tombé amoureux. Il y a 2 ans que je l'ai rendu compte. C'est une pensée que les années dernières ont constatée. Dans ma tête, il faut tomber amoureux, il faut être passionné, il faut imaginer.

Je le crois bien, et ça c'est pourquoi je dirai, advienne que pourra.

À quoi ça sert la grammaire?

J'ai commencé le français à l'université il y a 2 ans. Et puis chaque semestre, j'ai pris un cours de français pour ne pas l'oublier. Pendant ce temps-là, j'ai appris chaque regle de grammaire. En fait on m'a dit que je sais beaucoup de grammaire. Mais à quoi ça sert la grammaire si je n'avais aucune expérience en utiliser la langue dans la vie quotidienne?

On peut dire que j'ai réussi à apprendre toute la grammaire française, mais quand je sortirai dans les rues, quel français dois-je utiliser? Je peux avoir beaucoup de réussites au français scolaire, mais quant au français quotidien? Cependant je crois que l'expérience fait partie d'apprentissage d'une langue -- en fait de tout ce qu'on peut apprendre. Il faut appliquer toutes les choses qu'on a appris à l'école -- c'est vrai -- pourtant il faut les pratiquer dans la vie.

Sans aucune experience par rapport un contexte culturel, la grammaire sert pour atteindre un A aux cours de français.

1 Corinthians 11-13

 I was young then, foolish, and I did not know what I was doing. I relentlessly, foolishly sought for things as a child would impetuously yearn, without realizing how it might affect me in the long term. That was when grace came to me, when God's providence gave me a reason to step away from my childish acts.

11When I was a child, I used to speak like a child, think like a child, reason like a child; when I became a man, I did away with childish things. 12For now we see in a mirror dimly, but then face to face; now I know in part, but then I will know fully just as I also have been fully known. 13But now faith, hope, love, abide these three; but the greatest of these is love. 

 And so now I am waiting, not knowing what is in store, opening my heart to whatever may come; patiently trusting the will of God. God gives me something -- someone -- so precious that it is worth every single smile, tear, and every lonely day spent waiting.

Haiku from a Starbucks Tissue.

Eternal kisses 
From the soul of music 
Reverberating. 

I found this haiku written on a tissue paper dated 21 July 2012. I was at Rockwell with Harmony, we were talking using a sheet of Starbucks tissue paper, scribbling notes. Because sometimes there are no need for spoken words.

Late Summer.

In the soft pale afterglow
Leaves rustling in the cool late summer wind
I walk -- step after step -- the darkness folds over

Nighttime.

But I do not care,
I hold your hand.

Moving Day.

It's almost the end of the month and it's time to move out -- right after my moving summer vacation in Manila. Hay, I miss the Philippines even more!

Anyway, this is just another moving day. Moving, in every sense of the word.

Teddy is so tired from packing things.

Thank you.

For what, you may ask? For changing me. For giving me new lenses to see my world with, for now I see it with you. I am changing, constantly. You make me want to be a better person for myself, for you, for God. And before Him I can confess that I adore you. You make me want to lose my apprehensions and trust completely in what life has in store for us. Controlling what the fates decide is futile: there is only acceptance for what is to come for us. You taught me how to accept, how to be content, and how to love life once more.

Your love is the lens through which I see life. Trust me when I say I love you because I cannot fall in love again in the same way. A month and a half spent with you had changed whatever I thought of before. I was reborn in your loving kindness, and I was completed, given a new life. I cannot waste this chance anymore. This is my one more chance, this is the testament of reconciliation with life, with God. With you, I know I can rest assured that everything will turn out alright. You assure me with your love. And I ask nothing more but your unfaltering, unwavering love, that magnificent precious gem that you showed me for a moment in time but whose shimmering glory left a permanent imprint in my heart for eternity.

Thank you for loving me with all I am. Thank you for accepting me and changing me. I love you and there will nobody else above you. I love you second only to God.