may kanya kanyang hinahanap

ang bawat isa sa ating mga nilalang

na malayang gumagala

sa mundong ito

mayroong naghahanap ng kayamanan

na magbibigay kaligayahan

sa pamamagitan ng pagkalap

ng mga kaariang

magsisilbing amo

dahil sa pangangalaga

na kakamtin ng mga bagay na ito

mayroong naghahanap ng pag-ibig

na syang magpupuno

sa puwang na nararamdaman

sa kakulangang nadarama ng bawat isa

ngunit kadalasan, sa ganitong sitwasyon

ang pumupuno ay ang sya ring

nagpapalawak at nagpapalalim

ng puwang na nararamdaman

mayroon ring naghahanap ng saysay

sa mundong pawang puno ng

talinghaga at kaguluhan

ngunit sa kakahanap sa mailap na

kabuluhan sa buhay na ito

kadalasa'y nalalampasan rin lang

ang mga simpleng bagay

na nagbibigay saysay

sa karamihan

ano nga ba ang dapat na hanapin?

bakit iba iba tayo ng hinahanap?

may saysay pa nga ba ang paghahanap na ito?

o nagsisilbi lamang itong pampalipas ng oras

habang nabubuhay sa kapanahunang ito?

Supplication - Persecutor, Suppliant, a Power in Authority

Amber sat pensively in the wooden chair. Outside, she could hear the sudden rush of air as cars drove by in the street below. Although no concrete thoughts took hold of her consciousness, she was vaguely aware of a strange feeling spreading slowly within her. Somehow, she seemed to dread something, a something that she also apparently feared. She lifted her hands in front of her face and saw them tremble ever so slightly. It was, to say the least, quite unsettling.

Her eyes looked around to take in her surroundings. A couple picture frames, a musical instrument here and there, clothes randomly discarded on the floor, and on the bed, the sleeping figure of her lover.

She shouldn’t have said it. At least not yet. The silence that had ensued after those bittersweet three words had been enough to indicate that she was in over her head. Although truth be told, she had gone into this relationship intending to keep things light. She had, after all, chosen to take on a lover on a whim. It had seemed like a good idea in the beginning, something to distract her from taking her life seriously or even just a means to attaining physical pleasure at best. She had chosen it, therefore she called the shots and that made her feel good.

Theirs had been an easy, instantaneous relationship. Often talking for hours about topics that ranged from the most inane to intellectually challenging discussions, they never seemed to tire of each other’s company. Of course, the sex was great too. But then, that part she had expected since the primary premise for the relationship had been that to begin with.

Yet she found that the more she got to know him, the more she liked what she knew about him and his company. Slowly, she began giving up her sense of control, granting tiny concessions here and there.

There would be times when they couldn’t seem to get enough of each other and other times when the idea of each other did not seem to exist. The former she thoroughly enjoyed and often came home sufficiently satiated, but the latter often left her in the most miserable of spells, pining away in her self-doubt—at least, that is, until they got in touch with each other again and the cycle would repeat itself. That was how she came to realize that she, the master of her destiny, had finally given in to the force that had been gnawing at the protective barrier that had once been carefully crafted around her heart.

Should someone who was walking by in the street below happen to look up and see her now, they would think her merely contemplating the surrounding neighborhood. What they didn’t know was that underneath, thoughts, fears and emotions, churned chaotically as she struggled to regain some sense of something out of everything. The tables, it seemed, had turned against her favor.

She had not felt this vulnerable in a very long time.

As things go, the best option now would be to walk away, to simply leave things as they were. Whoever came up with the idea of “Fight or flight”, the age old way of handling situations like this, probably had been through one too many situations similar to the one she was in now. She knew she ought to pack up and leave, break things off before they got any more serious. But she knew that if she did that now, she would always end up wondering what would have happened if she had waited.

Sighing deeply, she stood to collect her things by the bed. If she left now, there would be less complications, less resistance. She gazed longingly at the slow rise and fall of her lover’s chest as he slept, willing him to wake so he could tell her to stay.

Revenge - Avenger, Criminal

The growl startled him, as he had thought he was alone. Apparently, he had locked himself in the room with an animal of some sort. A feral one, judging from the sounds that swelled and vibrated against the four walls.

Harold lifted an arm to his face, instinct telling him to protect his head. His other arm hung at his side, useless. A lucky shot from one of the boss' henchmen had shattered the long bone above his elbow. He was detached from the pain. Aside from wrapping it tightly with his ruined jacket, he had paid the wound no heed. After all, it was the head that needed protection.

When he had found this room at the end of the alley, he thought he was finally safe. His ear pressed against the solid metal door heard the footsteps of the boss' goons rise and fall into the distance. He also heard shouts and curses, but those slid right off. He had long ago cursed himself to a fate worse than this. A ruined arm and a torn jacket almost felt like a reprieve.

A growl louder than anything he'd ever heard reminded him of his present predicament. He spun around, waving the gun he held in an arc. His left hand. The one he couldn't really aim with. If it weren't his only hope, he would have giggled at the irony of it. Everything.

He heard the scuffling sound of an animal drawing in its haunches. There must only be one shot. He was sure he wasn't strong enough for more than one.

The pounce was silent. Harold saw a shadow accelerate towards his direction. He aimed as well as he could, opened his eyes as wide as he could, and fired.

*****

The flash must have blinded him. For a minute, Harold wondered if his gun was one of those gag ones that shot blanks. He blinked and blinked again. He could see nothing but white. If it weren't for the gnawing pain in his right arm, he would have surmised that he was dead.

"Not blind, just dark."

Those words, spoken from somewhere to his right, startled him enough to make him drop the gun.

"God damn."

His first words bled into the light. He searched for the origin of the voice.

A determined blink coaxed his vision back. Black edged in from the corners. Another blink and the dark swallowed the light, save for a series of pin lights right at the center of his corneas. He felt along the floor with his foot. The gun mustn't have fallen far.

"Always dark, here."

The owner of the voice was also the owner of the growl. Harold was sure. Or as sure as he could be bleeding and nearly-blinded, with one foot extended and tiptoe-ing in an ever-growing circle around him. Where was the goddamn gun?

TBC :D


Copyright 2011 Cristina Cheng

2. Deliverance - Unfortunates, Threatener, Rescuer

I hadn't wanted any lunch.

She tempted me with lumpia and fried tokwa.

So we sat across from each other, wonderingly staring at the two plastic cups of soda. One for her, one for me.

"So."

I sliced into the lumpia crosswise, severing the large lettuce leaf base and spilling the togue innards.

"Hm."

I speared a block of tokwa and drowned it in soy sauce.

"Well."

I bit down into the food with relish, savoring each crunch of breaking down.

She was silent. She hadn't even touched her bowl of lomi.

Instead she traced with a fingernail a bead of sweat tracking down her Coke.

She was silent, waiting.

I demolished my meal and washed down the evidence in an eddy of Mountain Dew.

"I'm sorry," her words held the finality I had been trying for with my own disjointed ones.

She must have seen the sign she was waiting for. Or she must simply have decided to go with her gut. She held out a cellophane-wrapped brownie. I smiled and nodded.

I exhaled without a sound, disarmed.


Copyright 2011 Cristina Cheng

American Honey

They say, all things are better in America.

The food is better, the water cleaner,

and opportunities abound with no end.

It's the land of milk and honey,

but things aren't really what they seem.

Those Hollywood shows and movies

weren't kidding when they painted

what living in America is truly like.

The water isn't really any cleaner,

and the food is only made better

by shenanigans popularized by people

who know nothing better than

to fill your mind with absolute nonsense.

Opportunities abound,

but only to a select few.

All others are either unemployed

or a humble employee

who must juggle two, three jobs

if only to make ends meet

and to have some semblance of a life

that they can proudly stake a claim to.

Honey, after all, can only be made sweeter

not by infusing it with any number of

complex carbon-based saccharides,

but by the decision that it is indeed

as good as it can get.

I've always wondered how life worked

for its twists and turns

are often, if not always,

unwelcome and unexpected.

Some fortunate, givng cause to rejoice.

and then also, unfortunate

causing the most banal grief.

Yet we, us all, survive in all of this,

making the best out of whatever circumstances

we find ourselves in,

unearthing the best

and even the worst in all of us.

NOTE: I'm typing this on a qwerty phone keyboard on a tiny phone screen. if the formatting is off, I apologize. :)

"Not blind, just dark."

Those words, spoken from somewhere to his right, startled him enough to make him drop the gun.

**author's note: this is, I dare say, an experimental poem. I was struggling to write what I wanted to write and had to revert from one language to another to come out with what I wanted to put into writing. Let's just say that some lines sound better in the language they had been set. But then, it did come out pretty decently, I think. thoughts anyone? please? :P

Iba- iba ang kwento ng pag-ibig.

Merong masaya at nakakatuwa,

meron ring malungkot at nakakaulila.

It enables you in ways you can never imagine.

With it, one leaps over tall mountains in a single bound,

or swims through oceans in a single breath

yet it leaves you breathless in the moments you least expect.

May taglay na kalabuan rin kasi

itong palaisipang pag-ibig na ito.

Walang natatanging formula na maaaring sundin

upang makamit ang inaasam ng nakararami

No idea is more romanticized than love itself.

None more unfathomable, incomprehensible

or even seemingly unattainable

Ngunit sa dami ng nagnanais

na itong mapagbirung tadhana’y makamit

tunay na katakataka

na walang alituntuning nailapat o

naibahagi man lang ang kahit sinong ninuno

na nagbigay malay sa kaganapang ito.

The steps have yet to be set in stone

There is no wrong or right way

to get to where you want to go.

It’s just a matter of knowing

if it’s the right thing

at the right time

with the right person

Sapagkat kadalasan, hindi man sadya

nasa tamang timing lang ng pagkakataon.

Finding the right person under the right circumstances

and that is all that matters.

Each day my heart grows fonder

of you, of love, of this.

There used to be a void

where this feeling now exists;

filling up the emptiness,

seeping through the miniscule fissures

that pepper the otherwise unknown

confines of this hardy chamber.

It has survived catastrophes, you see.

Each more catastrophic than the last.

Yet here I am again

at the cusp of what is and what can be--

a possibility I yearn to explore

yet cringe in fear for at the same time.

I know not whether to retreat

to the confines of what is now familiar

and unbearably anesthetizing

or to proceed toward the unknown

and contemplate on things now forgotten

by the vacant chamber

that once resembled my heart.