Alone and wide awake he sits, with nothing but the ticking of his watch to accompany him. He keeps time, bides time, watches time go by, waiting in the shadow of the tree, on the front steps of the apartment building.


It's 11 PM. She should have been home by now.


But he saw neither hide nor hair, nor shadow of his quarry.

Armed with his weapon of choice, tightly gripped in his right hand, he waits.


Has she abandoned me?


A cab rounds the corner, stops at her block. Butterflies beat its heavy wings in his stomach, and settle at the sight of a woman too elderly to be her. He watches as she ambles in through the front door, which she closes gingerly behind her. Again, he is alone.


No lights in the window yet. She couldn't have slipped past me, could she?


Tonight, failure is not an option he dares to explore. It has to be done tonight, or there will be no tomorrow.

Walking on the far end of the street, he spots her. Taking long steps with her equally long legs, with purse hung at her side, she walks with her head held down, lost in thought. She takes no notice of him.

He stands up, keeps still in the shadows until the last possible moment.

She looks up, realizing too late that her arrival was too long anticipated.

He lunges at her and locks her in such an embrace that she loses her breath.

And they kiss.

In one deft motion, he releases her, takes her hand, goes down on one knee, slips on the ring, and asks her to be his and only his, in the shadow of the tree, by the front steps of the apartment building...

The Wooden Cabinet

The wooden cabinet looked strange in her sparsely furnished bedroom. It was too big, for one thing, and it was yet another addition to the motley bunch of mismatched furnishings that could be found in it.

The room was a shade of pink with hints of white and rose. The frames and doors had been painted white by the original builders. The bed was also primarily white, with smatterings of subtle color here and there. She had found a small bedside table at a local garage sale when she first moved in and it had been just the right size for her bed. It was cherry brown, with cast iron details. She had made it a point to bring into her room a spare lamp she had found around the house. The lamp and bedside table completed the look of her bed, even if there weren’t any other furnishings to speak of.

When she had started studying at the university a few months back, she had thought it prudent to invest in a desk. It was as she had hoped meant to help make her work and studies more efficient. But in recent months, it had functioned more as a place for her trinkets and books whenever she came in or left the room. She hadn’t cared that her desk was a dark brown hue, either. After all, it looked black in the dark so it could still go with the cast iron detail of the bedside table.

This piece of work, on the other hand, was in so many ways an antique. It was beautifully crafted hardwood with matching bronze fittings and a rich brown varnished finish. It had been pretty to look at when she first set eyes on it at an acquaintance’s house. Since that person was moving away and getting rid of excess furnishings, she had jumped at the opportunity of finally having a dresser.

But that had been when it was elsewhere. That was probably because her room was much smaller than the room it had been in. She had failed to consider the hulking size of the thing. Now that it sat ominously against the once bare wall of her room, it looked strange. It had sat there, wrapped in protective plastic coverings, for several days after the movers had brought it in. She had merely stared at it, regarding it a strange intrusion into her now familiar space. After a few days of staring at it, she took out a pair of scissors and cut through the plastic wrap. She tried to ball it up into a huge wad as she regarded the dresser for scratches or any kind of damage that the movers may have made in bringing it up to her room.

The next day, she opened the cabinet doors and was pleasantly surprised to find drawers inside. But its insides smelled of smoke and a hint of mothballs—not exactly the kind of smell one normally expected of a wooden cabinet. But then again, this cabinet had probably lived through as much cigarette smoke as she had so that gave them something in common to start with. She had to leave it open for a few hours to air out the smell, aside from spraying the drawers with a Lysol Odor-neutralizing spray .

When the smell of smoke had faded away, she took a cleaning cloth and some lightly scented all-purpose cleaner to task. Spraying all the surfaces and wiping it clean, purposefully discarding whatever remnants of the past the cabinet may have held. In the nooks and corners, some sentimental dust had accumulated. Underneath the drawers, she found a faint cobweb and an old prayer card—some offering of grace signed by a presumably old priest. A randomly misplaced nut and bolt, probably set aside by the previous owner for a purpose too soon forgotten and discarded.

Just when she was almost done, she noticed a tiny inscription on the bottom of the cabinet door’s inner side.

Love is never enough

It had been written in an unassuming manner. Whoever wrote it probably didn’t intend for it to be found by a stranger’s eyes. Pity. Such a beautiful piece of work ruined by some presumably pained individual who needed a testament to what it was that he had gone through.

She stood to put away her cleaning things and when she set them on her desk, a Sharpie pen caught her eye. Today was, after all, a day of cleansing. She picked up the Sharpie and twirled it thoughtfully in her hand. She uncapped it and bent towards the inscription.

Love is never enough 6.8.10

It was the beginning of an end.

she updates her status quite sparingly. and though i know i shouldn't care, i still can't avoid being updated.

it was decided that, in an effort not to weird the world out and to make things low key, that no unfriending would occur.

the change of status, however, affected more of my friends than it did myself.

"... is single" generated more comments than any of the ridiculous posts that either of us used to make (with the exception of the scandalous ones of friends i'm sure). i would've spent an entire afternoon replying to "what?"s and "what happened"s and "oh no! are you ok"s had i not the presence of mind to just ignore it all.



when you ignore it, it doesn't happen. close your eyes. the world stops turning. if you manage to forget it at all, you get to start anew.

but the quiet throb of the battered and broken heart, yet unstilled, continues on.



each new lone entry, each update, spoke to me: titles of songs (silent digs at my failings), words of exasperation (surely aimed at me). and then ...

"... is in a relationship."

and then nothing. a long string of nothing. not even a mafia wars update.




unfriended.



close your eyes. parang kagat lang ng langgam yan.

The two men were speaking in a language no one else in the room could understand. Otherwise, it was a silent room. Laughter in an indecipherable language competed with the hum of the airconditioner. From the computer, she spoke to me. In txtspk. From her new Sony Ericsson Satio. And I wish I were on the other side of the world.

*****

The pop-up seemed completely random - a virus-generated anomaly at the lower right hand corner of my screen. Bold black letters (font size 10, Arial Narrow) on white background (#FFFFFF). I wondered if the text was part of a conversation between two chatting people that got misfired to me. But there was no username. No profile picture. Nothing. Just a 5-line grouping of words that somehow made better sense from a stranger than from a buddy.

I minimized my open windows and double-clicked my antivirus icon. No sense risking any more malware attacks.

*****

She got a part on a series for a cable channel. They're going to be shooting in Romania. I'll miss her.

*****

The pop-up disappeared but was quickly replaced by another one. This message seemed to be a continuation of the previous one. I debated whether I should click it. Was it a missent message? Or was it a virus that would hijack my computer and make it a drone? My hand on the mouse wavered. The hand icon on screen hovered over the text box.

*****

I told myself, you know you want to. Why not just pack everything up and follow her? Why not just throw some clothes in a suitcase and follow her? Well, I follow her, but not in real life.

*****

The third message appeared with an alacrity that stilled my hand. I paused to read it, then frowned.

*****

I know she doesn't really speak to me. Not to me, directly. At least not so that I could answer her, directly.

*****

The fourth message had me scowling in confusion. It wasn't exactly "All your base belong to us!" but it was inscrutable just the same. The antivirus scan pinged and announced that my system was clear. Hm. Really.

*****

Well, it was nice chatting with you. Talk to you again soon.

*****

I shut down and got up. I'll never spend my break in the computer rental place again. Too many freaks and weirdos.

Failing this, she rallied
and imagined rows of children
beating sticks against earth.

the black robed man sat in silence, as the desert wind whipped around him. he watched as the young girl, first still and silent, surveyed her surroundings. then, startled, she struggled in the prison of her own making, unaware of this other, and that this shell of hers might very well keep her alive if she let it. 


a storm was coming, and the wall of sand and wind would be upon them by sunset. but he was unafraid. after all, he knew how to turn himself into the wind.


but on she scrambled, cursed the skies, pounded her fists and let her frozen feelings, thaw, and finally flow. slowly, she broke through the barrier around her simultaneously breaking down that which surrounded her very heart. 


the stranger watched, impassively. she had not noticed him. and he made no effort to be noticed either. but he nodded to acknowledge the presence of the man in white. he too watched intently, but with an invested interest the other cared nothing for, and the girl had all but forgotten. 


the man in white stood up as the girl broke through her shell, now sobbing, failing to satiate the always thirsty sand. she was weak when he reached her, and she seemed to know him not. but that mattered little to the man as he bent low, picked her up, and whispered in her ear.


"the ice was in your eyes and around your heart. but all the sharp edges were pointing inwards."


but she was already asleep. 


the black robed man, witness to this spectacle, looked on. she would be safe now, and he would not be needed. he watched as the two walked into the red setting sun, slowly drowning in the darkening sky, as the wall of sand and wind quickly descended upon them. the man in white would turn them both into the wind, the other knew for certain, for he had taught him well. 


then, he stood, faced into the storm, and vanished.

I stood on the precipice of what appeared to be a sand dune. Everywhere I looked, there was nothing but sand and the red setting sun. The wind was blowing, surrounding me with its turbulent presence. Oddly enough, the bright orange sand would blow all around but not against me. It was as though I were in a transparent bubble that prevented me from feeling what was happening all around me. I wanted out. I wanted it so badly that I started beating at the walls of my invisible chamber.

But every time I struck it, it is as though my fists were made of putty and managed to create the most insignificant of vibrations around my transparent dome. I’m not certain if it was the fear or panic that had started bubbling up inside of me or the sheer desperation of my situation that drove me to scream at the roaring wind and the barren landscape that was all around me.

“Damn you! Damn you for causing all of this! Damn you for everything!” I screamed as hot, angry tears drizzled towards my chin. “Why did things have to happen this way? Why couldn’t you just have let things be? I hate you! Why didn’t you just kill me?” I sobbed as I beat helplessly at the air. “Why doesn’t it make sense? Why? I don’t understand. Why me? Why now? I don’t want to understand anymore.”

A few moments passed before I noticed an alien sensation on my skin. Tiny pockets of air seemed to brush against the little hairs on my arm. I sniffled and wiped away my tears with one hand as I grimaced at that particular area of my arm. Just as I was reaching with my other hand to touch it, I notice a similar sensation on my now damp fingers and on my face. Only then did I realize that my invisible chamber had vanished. I collapse with the slightest relief on my knees but still continued to weep bitterly.

When dusk had almost come upon me, a stranger, clad in a white robe of course linen approached. He had materialized out of nowhere but I was too tired and preoccupied with my grief to bother with him. It was then that I felt his arms enveloping me in an embrace that was both comforting and terrifying. I could not help but continue to sob quietly in the little cocoon that I was ensconced in. He stroked my hair and rocked me silently, to comfort me perhaps or to will me to sleep. No words were exchanged, just one wandering soul giving comfort to another. And just like that, my grief abated. Slowly, steadily retreating away into the darkness and nothingness that pervaded the area. I look up to notice the moon is full tonight as he half-carried, half led me towards the darkness, each step seeming to find a stronger foothold than the last.