i've distanced myself from you lately

doubtless, you feel nothing

caught up in your present

complacent in my absence

it was so easy for you to reach for me

when you and i were so in need

and when we were so convenient

but such was not to last

the wind blows now in your favor

and i no longer hold any interest,

useless and unnecessary
cast away from the limelight of your attentions

yet now and again i wonder about you

and if this happiness becomes you

or if this you is a happiness borrowed

like the you that you were, then content, in my arms

"I'm on SMS" Three words:
a contraction, a preposition, an acronym.
A tome of how I cannot reach you.

Words to halt mine, not even your own,
conveying the promise of contact
between my hoping and your eternal
terminal distance.

I'm on SMS.
I'm here but not.
I can hear you
if only you would brave
an SMS.

It is only 10 pesos,
and my heart,
and my pride,
after all.

once long ago he had wanted to cradle her in his arms, keep her safe from harm and keep her as his for as long as they both shall live. but as always, as unrequited love goes, it was a one way street. so he resigned himself to an all encompassing and fully accepting friendship. never to judge, never to turn away, always welcoming, always warm, always open. what else was he to do?

overlooking a valley of lights, in the shadow of some god forsaken school building, quietly contemplating the night's song as the wind blows through the trees, carrying the cricket's serenade further, they sit, sharing thoughts, resting on each others shoulders.

   he'd offered to teach her to smoke then. careful to leave the decision completely up to her. because he wished to stay blameless, and because he didn't want her to learn at all.

"the pack's just there ok? if he stresses you out enough, smoke one. but it's up to you."

" thanks... i know you're right. about him. about these feelings... but you know it's so hard... seeing him everyday..."

Puff. Ponder. React.

"... hmmmm. basta, whatever you decide. you know i'm here for you right?"

"i know... i'm glad i have a friend like you."

years have gone by, and life has happened for each of them. several flirts, flings and failed relationships later, they come back to sit quietly at a favorite spot for mutually shared solitude.

a shoulder finds its familiar pair, back to back in the summer evening's air, staring into the distant lights in the valley. each now burdened with and enlightened by their individual experiences, but relaxing with the confidence and comfort in the friendship forged years ago, over a pack of cigarettes, one broken heart, and a hopeless one. 

nearly nothing's changed. but it's not the quite the same. 

"remember when we were hear together last?"

"how can i forget" she said "you were teaching me to smoke."

"excuse me. i was merely presenting the opportunity. it was entirely your choice whether or not to go through with it". 

"tomeyto, tomahto."

"... you know, way back when, i had this ginormous crush on you. did you know that?"

"i think i did... i'm not sure anymore. but... why'd you bring it up now?"

"oh i dunno. i decided back then, that i would love you anyway. you know? even if you felt so much for someone else who couldn't and didn't return those feelings."

"..."

"what? you get weirded out NOW?" 

"well, it depends how you define 'love' and where you stand with that, and with us."

Smile. 

"you know i love you right?"

"as a friend?"

"as whatever i am to you that you choose for me to be, but yes, primarily as your friend."

"haha. ok. as long as we're both cool with that."

"always! i love you dear friend."


"and i love you! hahahah!"

"great! now that we've got all that settled, how's about a smoke?"

"didn't you quit?"

The Story of Us

The band rolls silently on the ground

first weaving a heavy, straight line

then bouncing slightly upon the hard surface of the wall

causing it to backtrack,

and tilt ever so slightly to the right

it struggles to roll on

with the momentum it had built upon

struggling, teetering

as a consequence of science it falters

twisting, convoluting

contorting itself in innumerable imaginable ways

pulsing, convulsing,

until finally finding its place in a quiet, dusty corner

and the promises we had once exchanged,

wordlessly, painlessly

fade into the darkness.

The chocolate from Qatar was bitter.

The note from the man was sweet. A quote from the Gospel of Psalms, "I shall not want..."

Angie selected a gold-wrapped nugget from the box and peeled it. Bitten in half, it revealed the secret within to be an almond. It was bitter, too.

"Go to Hong Kong at the end of the week and I'll join you." The man's voice had been velvet, lightly accented with leather. Angie felt it trail up her spine, kindling goosebumps.

When the introduction from her Aunt Hilda led to frequent long-distance calls by cellphone, Angie started wondering about the man. Aunt Hilda called him Engineer Reyes. He asked Angie to call him Bong. Angie secretly called him "the man."

"Your rod and Your staff, they comfort me..."

Angie balled up the chocolate wrapper and threw it under the table. The cat jumped on it and started playing with it. From across the room, a woman watched the excitable cat and the listless human.

"Hong Kong's just an hour's plane ride away. He's going to send you the ticket. Go."

"Why would he want us to meet in Hong Kong? We've never even spoken in person."

The woman arched an eyebrow.

"I don't want to go."

"Go."

"No."

Angie threw another balled-up wrapper at the woman. It hit her cheek and bounced to the floor, where the cat jumped on it.

"Then the next time he calls, tell him."

"I can't. He'll tell Aunt Hilda. Who will tell my mother. Who will tell my father."

"You're 23 years old."

"And you're 35."

"And he thinks he's got a chance with you."

"We're just friends."

The woman shrugged and stood up. She slapped her thigh to call the cat and left the room.

Angie picked up another piece of chocolate and re-read the note. "Surely goodness and mercy shall follow me all the days of my life; and I shall dwell in the house of the Lord forever."

Angie closed her eyes and envisioned a king on his throne, with her at his side. Her body would be heavy with gold and child.

She sighed, stood up, and followed her lover out the room.


Copyright 2011 Cristina Cheng

we, us all, fall victim to habits,
such creatures are we,
to contradict the immortal eldest
is to court our own demise.

disappointments

You failed me before

When confronted about the idea of us

And lived to tell the tale

Over and over again

Mocking my history and the gravity of words

It didn’t matter, I had once said

For experience teaches us to do better

I failed you too

When I spoke of others

Paraded in your wake

Though we both knew

they but served a purpose

in that game of charades

I had to dawdle in

I failed you again

One stormy night

A subtle reminder of our carnal desires

Though it held a promise of the unknown

We navigated through the storm of our fears

With nothing but the most basal senses

But that marked but a beginning

An excavation into something deeper

A never ending search for something more,

A hunt made more exciting,

More treacherous than the last

Each time we promised it would be the last

Each time we thought we’d found what we’d been looking for

Yet here we stand

Separated by an ever growing chasm

Filled with nothing but unearthed garbage

A thrilling testimony

To the failure that is us.

Time falls
When, after saving the best for last,
the best meets ground
and splatters.
Time falls
with hair, skin,
eyelids. Bodies
will fall with rain.
Time falls with rain.
Like rain it flows into crevices
and pools and is hidden.
Looking up at the sky,
one can see sparrows.
Not time.
Look under your shoe
and see the piece of candy
someone had, once upon a time,
saved.
Dig into the ground and you'll find
time had turned to dust.
No time does not fly, nor heal.

Kwentong Farmville

"Gaano katagal ka nang nagfafarmville?"

"Nakaka-ilang buwan na rin ako dun."

"Wow, ang sipag mo naman. Kaya pala ang layo na ng narating mo.."

"Oo nga e, walang tigil sa kaka tanim at ani, sa kakabili at benta, sa kakalagay ng kung anu-anong mga che-che-bureche sa farm."

"Ang ganda nga ng farm mo eh."

"Talaga? Salamat ha. Produkto yan ng ilang buwan kong pagtitiyaga mula nang nawalan ako ng trabahong matino."

small talk

"kanina ka pa?"

"dito? medyo. naka ilang ikot na'ko e. heto. medyo napaaga ako ng dating so nakabili na'ko ng C2. anong mas gusto mo? lemon or green tea?"

"kahit na alin. ok lang"

"sige. lemon na lang. ayan. relax ka muna"

...

"so. kelan ang enrollment?"

"nag-umpisa na. hanggang end of may ata."

"so after this, retire ka na? naabot mo na ba budget mo?"

"mag-iinstallment naman ako e, pero pagnaka-enroll na, stop na."

...

"bumoto ka? sino binoto mo?"

"gordon - roxas. grabe ang tagal namin naka pila sa presinto. 2 hours."

"kuya ko nga 4 na oras. 8 AM sya pumunta dun, mga 2 na sya nakauwi."

"grabe nga. ikaw, di ka bumoto?"

"di nga e. di kasi ako registered. ngayon lang kasi ako naging involved sa drama ng election. too late na."

"sayang."

...

"shower muna?"

"ok. mauna ka."

...

"mmmmm. linipat na nila sa dulo yung jack tv"

"anong cable ba yan? sky? anong palabas ba yun?"

"di mo alam?"

"well, di ko makita. bulag ako without glasses."

"talaga?"

"yep. o sya. wala naman tayong gustong panoorin, patayin ko na to. ok ka lang?"

"ok lang."

...

"thank you."

"ako nga tong dapat magpasalamat sa'yo e."

"well true. pero iba pa rin yung experience. masaya. so salamat."

"salamat din."

"If you play the bad guy, losing doesn't matter."

I paused the game and looked up. The sounds of a full arcade swelled around me as I lost my tunnel-vision. A boy stood beside my machine, nodding. I nodded back and smiled slightly.

In the back of my mind, I wondered where the boy's guardian was. A quick memory of a news article I'd read online flashed in my mind. A boy in England had been abducted in a mall arcade and no one had even seen it. A CCTV camera was the only witness and it reported grainy pictures at best. The English boy had not been found alive.

"You want this game?"

"Nope. I like to watch."

I nodded again and returned to my game. Two stages left till level up.

"That's a new one."

I hummed noncommittally and pressed the buttons that would send my avatar rushing into a dark alley. AK-47 cocked, I ran into the dark with the intent of finishing this stage once and for all. I'd been dying in this dark alley for two days now.

"You should use a grenade there, where the barrels are."

I frowned in irritation but cycled through my ammunition. I lobbed a grenade, thinking, what the hell, nothing else has worked anyway.

The barrels exploded, sending a hidden platoon of enemy soldiers ablaze.

"Thanks!" I muttered to the boy. He had crept closer, his baby-soft hair brushing my shoulder.

"There, there. Shoot the sniper." He whispered with an intensity typical of gamers. I almost laughed as I blew the brains out of the sniper perched on a rooftop.

The boy was panting softly, exhalations breaking my sleeve. As I ran into the final door, I thought I could have kissed the top of his head. Finally! Stage 9.

I played for another hour, with my guide at my shoulder. I noticed things intermittently, between shooting enemies and dodging booby-traps. The boy settled on sliver of space I had left on the plastic chair. He whispered instructions that would annihilate the enemy. He shouted when I pressed the wrong buttons - overwhelmed by the colors and sounds exploding from the screen. He scolded me with nails biting into my thigh.

The final stage was too much for my tired fingers. My avatar died in a fountain of blood and guts.

I laughed when "GAME OVER" was announced. I couldn't help it.

The boy beside me frowned in disgust.

"You could have killed the General," he said, flatly. "You should have used the shotgun and targeted his head."

I shrugged and stretched my cramping hands. "It's a game." I said, more gently than I intended.

The boy looked up at me. I saw him for the first time, without a digital army to distract me.

He was younger than I thought. He stood and I noticed the spool of tokens spilling out of the pocket of his shorts. He was scowling. I wondered again where his guardian could be. Boys this young should not be left unsupervised in a mall arcade. Evil people, real ones, could be hiding anywhere, waiting for opportunities lying around. They take them like tokens, gathered to be redeemed later.

This boy would be a prize.

His cheeks were smooth and fair. His body was slight. A shotgun to the head was all it would take.

I stood up and ruffled his hair.

"See ya, kid."

"You could have won if you were younger."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah. Your fingers are too slow."

"Maybe."

"I could show you."

"What?"

"How to win."

"I never play the good guy, kid. It doesn't matter."

He smiled. I stifled a shudder and walked away.

Copyright 2011 Cristina Cheng

lines

she's walked that fine line ever since we met... that line between real, and unreal... that line between normal and unbelievable... between lover and friend. lately she's walked around, across, and in between that line, if that were at all possible.

these lines that have been drawn in the sand, these lines that define us have been squiggly as of late. at times impossible to follow, then straight and narrow, then again wide and all encompassing, as if allowing for any and all possibilities for a redefinition of who we are, who we've become to one another.


holding hands was never new. friends held hands, didn't they? and long, heart felt, lingering hugs; nothing out of the ordinary. there too were the stray looks: mistimed, misinterpreted, lost in the slivers and cracks between seconds that pass in the unguarded moment of now, that becomes then, that ages into another unknown missed opportunity. awkward moments of silence pepper our otherwise meaningful meetings, belying what were not saying underneath all our banter. and the longing between us grows, and tension stretches to a fullness of potential we perhaps do not understand, and definitely are not prepared for.


your hand was on my leg that night, at dinner. i didn't understand at all why, but i knew i didn't mind. such was the time we spent in relative silence basking in each other's presence: warm, welcome and wonderful. to be honest, anything you might have said that night has more than likely sipped my mind as i was listening more intently to the whispers of your wandering fingers, tracing lines on my flesh, convoluted, and confusing.

as the night grew old, with morning creeping slowly at its heels, i chose to leave (and you knew i did not want to). but then, in my leaving, you took me by surprise. forsaking present company and our usual convention, you gifted me with a kiss (well met, i thought), in the heat of the moment. a goodbye kiss we've never yet shared until then. and with nary another thought, you waved me off, leaving me with more questions than answers.


the lines between us blur every time we meet, and at random they solidify. when will we meet at a blurry intersection again, i wonder. i might never know for sure. but the longing remains, and i walk along these leading lines in hopes of finding definition, for us.

welcome to our humble blog

a dear friend and i have decided to write again. in an effort to get our creative juices mutually flowing (skip past the innuendo and move on to the meat, yeah?), we've decided to co-author a blog and fill its, er, electronic pages with our work. however, to make things interesting and challenging, we have to abide by the following rules:

the rules:

• 1 creative entry per week (7 days) minimum
• said entry must be new, and never before published
• said entry cannot be a review of any sort
• said entry may have no minimum, or maximum number of words

• old entries can be published provided that an introduction with dates is included before the main body of the work.

• failure to write a new entry as defined above will result in penalty for the offender in the form of treating the non-offending co-author to a meal, with drink of course.

creative criticism and other forms of comments are welcome.

the week starts tomorrow.

GAME ON!