The Visit

You still get thought of somehow. Your dark brooding look sometimes pass my mind and once again I begin to imagine what you are doing at the time you decided to visit my peace. Sometimes, I caught myself thinking if I also enter your mind and if you still miss me as you always say you do. Its been almost two years now and I hardly remember what you look like or if I will see you in the crowd will I ever recognise you? Will you recognise me? And if you do, will you pass by without a glance?

I wonder if I made the right decision for not going back, but I hope you understand my reasons for not doing so. We bring the worst of each other, but then again, this burning desire keep us aflame, alive, real.

I wish you could have just loved me enough.

Istanbul

Once upon a time, I believe that somewhere in this city, we will make it. You and I, in this dog-eat-world proving the cynic and the jaded wrong and that everything is possible in the realm of the superficial. You are my poorly written history and this love affair took its toll on me. Yet, I regret the time that you are the risk I didn’t take. You are a lot of things, but I realised I never took the leap nor the plunge to be truly be with you. Maybe because I am scared and this feeling that you evoked; the need that soon I will realise and share with you. You were intense to the point of being controlling. You wrap your rage in velvet softness, yet I would find myself recoiling. I know you will break me, you did so once, and you gradually put me together, piece by piece, in your own phase and by that, you declared your sense of ownership. I, who breathe on my independence, let you take the reigns and that time, we were happy, I was happy to sit on the sidelines as I watch you make things work out, for me mostly.

Yet we were wrong, we are both volatile and untrusting. We want to be each others' adrenaline and we fall short. We would walk out on each other, slam the car doors, slam the goddamn phone and I would close my eyes and struggle not to cry. You would swear and cursed and pull me to your chest and wrap me violently I would gasped for breath. I would demand for my freedom, you will coldly turn your back, taunt me with your silence and we will both sleep with our prides and wake up making love to a wall.

By now, I realised you are my definition, and I would be that one who probably got away. Maybe we will make it someday, but not in this city, hurtful as it might sound; maybe not in this lifetime. But I will always remember you with fondness and perhaps, regret, and I would kiss the soils of Istanbul in homage to you.

We Will Always Have Paris

Tell me what you can say about perfection and finding love, beauty and grace under one sight. We never get to see Casablanca together, I was comfortably nestled in the cradle of your presence, I was overwhelmed and basking in the glory of your eyes, your attention and I crawled inside your brain and curled up.

We talked about everything and nothing, about love and our fears, the past that would somehow creep in slow crescendo, obliterating our senses. You saw my pain wrapped in the facade of non-chalance and you slowly dust away the jaded years and the childhood fears. I saw your tinge of anger and regrets and I would slowly envelop you in my arms, planting small kisses in your temples, urging, patient and no judgement. Somehow we are two damaged beings, meeting in a common ground, two cords entwined, binded. We are both broken and beautiful in our own way, but what is most exceptional is finding the pretty in our cracks and jagged pieces and fitting it snugly together. We bear our imperfection with pride and let the light shine on these wreckage.

I don't know a lot of things, but I know about love and distance like the back of my hand. We will both brave time zones and have faith in this slow burn and wanting that keep us aflame. Someday seem to be so far away but I will patiently fold my hands and wait for the tide and time to come, until I find you standing, amber eyes aglowing, waiting and your perpetual smile causing ripples in my wake.

Illusion

One year ago this day was the the last time I saw you. I can still vividly remember every nuance of every detail of that meeting. I dressed carefully and made myself up, in the aim to impress you, and I was not disappointed. I remember how you held my gaze, appraised me with your eyes, fiery with passion, your lips quivered as you touched mine. I always loved the way you smell, clean and masculine like everything that you are. You gave me a bunch of pink roses that night, together with a pink stuffed rabbit I now kept at the back of my closet. For months I held on that stuffed animal, everytime I missed you. I wore your favourite perfume that night, Incanto Shine by Ferragamo. I know for a fact that you want me, you were very eloquent with that. Your touch evoked wanton abandon in me, forcing me to cast aside my inhibitions, surrendering to the call of your desire, to your touch, to your strong willed dominance. What went wrong was my fault. I could not give what you want. Everything that you believe about me are enveloped with lies. False promises of my doing.

Yet, as much as I do not want to, I had fallen for you -- hard. You were the only one who stood by me, in every tempest, and you calmed my storms. You were the only one who understood me, our conversations bring such joy, such satisfaction, we were never out of something to talk about. That was something. Yet, I cannot bring to say that I love you. I can throw those words anytime to anyone, say it non chalantly as if it is the most normal thing to say. But with you, I held it back, afraid that I might be imagining things, afraid that I might be saying something I would regret. But not saying it gave me frustrations now. But it is all too late. I pushed you away and I guess I had ran out of chances anymore. You have been patient for a long time and I had abused that. You have been there but I took it for granted. And I cannot stand the silence anymore. I must go for the sake of my sanity, of my pride.

As the old adage goes, I love you, good bye.

Las Palmas De Majorca

I had this sick attachment to you.I was attracted because it is dangerous, wrong and would not last. A pure adrenaline rush, something that would get me high, no commitments, no expectations. It was a game, something I played before, ancient history, the marks of a poker player. We were lust and lies and it brought me to life. It was pure abandon, you love my recklessness, I was obsess with your controlling,dominant nature. I knew from the beginning that there was no love, we took the plunge eyes wide open and those are one of the reasons that made us tangible. Yet, you know for a fact that I was yours and you are mine.

Finally, I met my match but I will not be the first to give in.

Farasha Sagheira

I always dream to walk in fields of sunflowers, their heads bobbing and greeting me like royalty. I want my senses to be assaulted by the smell of orange grooves and my mouth tasting globes of grapes, its purple juices leaving its trace at the tips of my tongue. I want to smell the earth after the rain, its cultivated soil the home of truffles, wheat and herbs.

Escapism clamors in my blood, signaling that the time is ripe where I could bury my spirit in freedom. I onced asked you to come with me to Tuscany after we made love. It was dark and I could only gaze at your silhouette and feel your three day stubble grazing my back. I asked that we run away from all of these, from the tyranny of selfishness, from the world inhabited by humans obsessed of money and power. You laughed sofly, planting small kisses in my shoulders and resting your chin in my head. You laughed at my idealism and simple dreams, and with a sigh you carefully lined up your ideals, your wants, not your needs. You are the same as most of them. You want to carve your niche in a city that breaths superficiality. You patiently smiled as you listen to my dreams of utopia, of love and poetry, of having heaven in the palm of our hands, the celestial wonders of a simple life. You asked if I would be happy picking olives for a living. I asked back if you will be happy in a yacht with women full of fake breasts. You laughed heartily, pulling me to face you, devouring me with your mouth, lenght and long fingers.

I got up and buttoned my jeans, you fetching my sandals in the other side of the bed, kneeling in front of me to fit them on my feet. That moment, I loved you then. You look at me softly and we sat at the edge of the bed, saying nothing. Our hands clasped together and you bring mine to your lips, gently kissing the bones of my knuckles, one at a time

I placed a chaste kiss in your forehead and walked out.

Barcelona

You and I, we drift apart as dreams fade in our subconscious. For some uncanny reasons, we always find reasons to abhor and despise each other but like conjoined twins we never, cannot break apart. You always see me as someone uncapable of self honesty, my words and confessions laced with beautiful lies, like sonnets written by a street poet drunk by apathy and loathing.

Yet amidst the brokeness and the crooked parts that was me, you've witnessed the vulnerability and by that sheer knowledge, the crooked parts doesn't mean a thing when you've found someone to wreck and be pretty with. Whilst I speak my lies very close to your lips, fresh realisations dawned to me and acknowledge that you are the first person to sift through my wreckage and dust off the jaded years, who deciphered my battle cries which I carefully close and never to divulge. You see the intensity of my madness that lurks in the dark alleys and mazes of my mind.

For some known reasons not to ourselves, there are now miles between us, a distance that became familiar and yet--uncomfortable. I would like to remember you as words I can put into phrases, words that could cut me and made me whole, words so beautifully strung together like symphonies and echoing chimes in my darkest hour.

Bathroom Diaries

cascade of fluid
amid the fog on a white tiled wall
blowing steam
disrobing gently
seeing the reflection for the first time
imprints of non perfection
tawny skinned
smoothness and freckled
like stardust left to scatter in abandon
feather touching
on the pubescent line
a rush of velvet
not long after
the silk on skin
replaced by angry welts
bruised and rogue...

The Photographer

She was dreaming of falcons hovering in the Middle Eastern skies, of golden sunrise and clear blue skies. The smell of kebabs and the savoury sweetness of dates. She woke up with a start, wishing that dreams would last forever. A small clap of thunder can be heard in the west and she stood abruptly, excited of the prospect of rain, the satin sheets sliding on her body, exposing her naked form. Without any rancour nor decency, she stood in the french windows, clasping the brocade curtains, her face a halo of happiness and expectation. Gray skies can be seen and she hurriedly unsnapped her luggage containing her camera and stood bare naked in the windows waiting for the moment, a drizzle perhaps?

While she stood serenely in the windows, she looked like Venus rising in the seas. She is of medium height, quiet petite if barefoot, her full breasts perfectly proportioned with her rounded body, almost Rubenesque and very voluptuous. Her legs are not long but quiet shapely, her calves, a painters' dream. Her thick luxurious hair cast a shadow in her round face, hiding her almond shape eyes and the dimples on both cheeks.

She is an artist of some sort, she takes photos for and of strangers, she paints at her leisure, some of her works are commissioned by several hotels in the city. Her luck change few months back when one of her works where exposed in an exhibit in one of the posh museums and word suddenly spread about this up and coming painter. However, her great love is the written word, she writes as if breathing depends on it, her love, passion, angst and all those rampaging emotions are only cast in blank spaces. She sends her articles to different editors and agents, their rejection of her words are cruel stabs to her soul, but she kept on sending them, the mere fact that they send her rejection slips are enough for her to know that it is being read and she is part of the literary world.

The soft drizzle came; its sound a lyrical sonata on the pavements and glass windows. She snapped several shots, capturing the images she wants, taking different angles of her subjects; an Indian man running for cover, an Arab man in his kandura hurrying to his car, a group of Indian women in colorful saris with gigantic umbrellas. The click of the camera was the only sound in the studio flat she is occupying, barely furnished as money is tight and the painting materials are expensive.

She never stopped taking her pictures until she felt cold, her nipples erect from the freezing weather. She carefully placed the camera in the dresser and as if noticing for the first time herself, naked as new born child, she felt a warm sensation just looking at her reflection in the mirror. She cupped her breasts, touching her already hard nipples, pinching it gently, the sensation running like wildfire to the spot between her legs. She let her hands gently touch her chest, down to her rib cage, to her navel and to the soft triangle, the jade doorway. She touched it gently, exposing the lovely lips to her view, the hood throbbing, inching to be touch, caressed. 

Suddenly she stopped, feeling flushed and slightly guilty in a pleasurable way. With raw sensation she never felt before, she gently lift her camera and began snapping away, this time the attention is focused not to any strangers, but to herself, exposing her full glory through the lenses, never stopping until the muscles in her arms, legs and fingers grew numb from exhaustion.

The Conversation

It was a night of mismatched stars. I stayed ensconced in the warmth of his embrace. I buried my face on his chest inhaling his scent. He was whispering about leaving the restaurant, I was lost in the notion of dreaming. He gently pat my bottom for us to move, clasping my hands, half dragging me. His stride is always long and I have to keep up momentarily to catch his motions. This is always the case with him -- making the decisions and expecting me to come along. We reached the car park and he opened the passenger door for me. I slide stiffly and warily eyed him as he stared ahead on the empty space ahead of us. He took my hands and gently squeezed it, placing gentle kisses on each of my fingers and as he slowly inch towards me. He cupped my face, placing a gentle kiss on my forehead, on my cheeks, the tip of my nose, my chin and finally on my lips. I opened my mouth in protest, to stop whatever he has in mind, but he hushed me with the assault of his lips. It was gentle and rough, his tongue sliding in my mouth demanding to be reciprocated. He bit my lower lips very gently, his tongue circling my mouth with such intensity making me breathless and dizzy with emotions. I want to kiss him back, equaling his passion but I can't. So many things happened, so many that I can't move, I can't keep up.

He sensed my mood and stared at me long and hard, jaws clenched. He gripped the wheel, about to start the car. "No," I protested. "We really, really need to talk." I said quietly. He drew a very laboured breath and sighed. "Okay, we will talk."

"Why are you here, what do you want from me, why after all these months you decided to show up again?" I asked, not pausing for a break. 

He looked at me. "I never left, that is the first; second, I have been missing you, and third, I missed you," he said this very softly looking at me sideways. I was doumbfounded by his audacity, I snorted. "Okay, I expect that reaction from you, after all I never expected a warm welcome," he smiled briefly. I was caught off guard, my emotions in rampage, I was struggling to keep a non chalant demeanor. I heaved a heavy sigh and prepared what I have to say, careful on my words, thinking coherently. 

"It is different now, a lot of things happened, you left without a backward glance, it was cruel, vicious in fact. Yes, I admit, I have my share of these problems, but you refused to hear me nor even consider what I have to say. You just dropped everything and let fate take its course, expecting that I will be still here, and we can always patch up and try to make things right, pretending that it never happened. But sooner or later this issue will rise again and we will be on the same boat once more. We will hurt each other again, we will say words that we will regret later and I, I just cannot pretend that it will not matter, because it will." I was staring at my hands, at the dash board, anywhere, except meeting his stares, because if I will, I might lose all control and beg him to just hold me. But I cannot, he damaged me more than enough and when I already pick up the broken pieces, he, once again would do - intentionally or not, the inevitable. 

"Are you seeing someone now," he asked carefully. 

"Yes," I answered tightly. I cannot look at him, of fear that I will betray myself.

"I see. Are you... are you happy?" he asked again.

"Happiness is a choice, and I chose to be one," I answered in a small voice. 

"Fine. Have it your way. We will not speak of this again." his voice so final.

This is so like him. He would not let me read him. He will cast me aside and indulge his pain in silence, pretending he is not affected. But the flicker of his surprise in my pronouncement was enough that he did not expect it. Then he caught himself and masked his face with indifference. Aloofness. As if bracing himself for another blow, but I kept mum. That is all I have to say in the subject.

He started the engine and said, "I will take you home now, thank you for your time, for the effort to see me." We drove in silence and I stared at the windows, willing myself not to cry of this finality, of the pain and the emptiness lying ahead. We passed several shops and gasoline stations and I said to myself that I will not pass this road again as I will remember this night once more. 

We reached my place and I looked at him. He met my gaze with his very sad eyes. I will remember his eyes the most, flecked with thick lashes, the dimples in his left cheek, the smoothness of his shaven face. I want to bury my face in his neck like I used to but I cannot now. Not ever again. I touched his face with feathery movements, tracing his jaw line. I kissed his cheeks lightly and said my goodbye. I went out of the car and walked ahead the building, without a backward glance.I heard him roar away and I went back. For the last time, I want to watch him walk away once again in my life. This time with finality. I watched the tail lights of his car vanishing down the streets of Muraqqabat, turning left to exit Al Rigga. I stood in the pavements, with a heavy heart and a lump in my throat. Oh baby, if you could only love me better and make me a priority and not an option we will never reach this point. I was prepared to love and adore you for the rest of our lives.

Passion Paradox

I am perjuring myself big time. No matter how much I want to exorcise your phantoms, the memory lingers in the back of my mind like a movie with a bad editing. Scenes thrown in my face and I am a spectator of my own tragic life story. I cut the scenes until I have everything I wanted just to get through the day or night and anything in between. Conversations running amock in my head I have to write it down before I spill it and drown myself.

It was one of those weekends when I spent the afternoon in your place. I was curled in the sofa reading a Jeffrey Archer novel whilst you were working on something. Value Engineering you said. We are both comfortable with silence, your fingertips making subtle sounds on your notebook, Dave Matthew's Band crooning softly in the back ground. I feel you staring at me, and I look up. Tenderness written in your eyes and you asked me, "Would you like to come with me to Istanbul someday?" I pondered for a second and beamed, "I would love to,". You smiled your gentle smile and went on to what you are doing. I saw you in a different way then and I have the urged to sit in your lap and bury my face in your neck, inhaling your scent. But I did not.

I played a dangerous game of who gives more and gives in much. I cannot say the words you want to hear, I thicky veiled what I feel, what I want, what I need until I made you lose interest and when you tried to bridge the gap, I throw it aside with the grief of a child. You treated my immaturity with patience and laughter and all I did was stomped my feet in pure brattiness.

"Do you miss me?", you asked after days of silence owing to a huge and bitter fight. "I will not respond to that," I retorted. "Do you miss me?", you asked again. "Why, who wants to know?" I said this time tinged with sarcasm. For the third time you asked again, "Do you miss me?" I thrown my hand in exasperation. "No, I don't!", I snapped angrily.You heaved a loud sigh and calmly said, "You are cold, callous and indifferent. I am trying to make things better even by words and you are pushing me away!"

I said good bye and prepared myself for the inevitable. I walked out on what we have with enough dignity I can muster, overbearing enough, my ego catching up with me, this time not to walk beside me regally but to give me a hard smack in the head sending me reeling back to reality. Reality of my own self destruction. I made demands I cannot even meet half way. I decide on things I cannot even begin to comprehend. I lied and did things that cannot be redeemed. It's over. Khalas. And all is left with me are the scenes playing tricks in my head, the sound of your voice, the rumble of your laughter, your scent, Mont Blanc in a rainy afternoon.

"Don't move!", you warned as you painted red lacquer on my toenails. I was giggling of the absurdity of you doing my nails. "Stop it or I'll smear all of these on your feet. You have such small feet, ok, it's done, now let's put it up to dry." I put my legs on the centre table, admiring my newly pedicured feet. "Not bad, not bad at all," I beamed happily as I planted small kisses on your unshaven face.

I have the uncanny habit of ruining something good, something extra ordinary. I am a coward of the worst kind, insensitive bordering to egocentric. Stay away from me if you want not to lose something essential -- belief in commitment, faith & love, trust and fulfillment.

"Hi, can you come down and meet me?" I was catching the tail of my dreams when the incessant ringing of my phone brought me back to the present tide -- with the sound of your voice in the other end of the line. "Come on, it's already 11:45 and I am already in my pajamas", I complained sleepily. "It's ok, I saw you with less than that," you said, your voice laced with amusement. I sleepwalk through the dimmed parking lot looking like a roadkill and I don't care at all. Yes, you've seen the worst and best in me and accepted me and loved me all the same, in fact more than anyone can.

Maybe more than anyone could ever be.

The Meeting

He is back and he wants to see me. No, he didn't say it that eloquently, rather he stressed it more strongly than expected. He arrived unannounced, catching me off guard of this another intrusion in this mundane, laid back life I tried to live. We left what we had somewhere out of nowhere. The trail of the affair just went cold and it just grow on us we did not bother to fix it. The message in my mobile, followed by six calls which I did not bother to answer proves that he is indeed back. From where, I don't know and as much as I say to myself that I don't care, I was carefully applying my mascara and my gloss in the mirror, I want him to see how I changed the past six months he last saw me, no more the doe eyed, smirking, happy-go-lucky expatriate he came to know. I was staring at my contacts ladden eyes, green and brown specks, my shoulder lenght hair washed in his favourite scent. I chose the little black dress, a pair of red wooden slippers with intricate Japanese design I bought from Tokyo. Incanto Shine by Ferragamo. I looked preppy, yet elegant, just like someone who will just take a cappucino in Starbucks and not someone who will meet a former lover who marked her for sometime.

I hailed a cab from Muraqqabat, ignoring the stares of strangers on my legs, gave the address of this obscure Arabic restaurant down Jumeirah. I was fidgeting, uneasy. I scolded myself for not downing the last bottle of the miniature vodka I secretly stocked in the cupboard to ease my nerves. I tried to recall the first time I met him. That was almost two and a half years ago. I was a newbie in the city, trapped in this country where the scent and the sounds sent me in a limbo. I was melting under the heat of the Middle Eastern sun in Bur Dubai waiting for the company car to take me back to the office and I was standing in a little corner grocery behind Dhow Palace when a frozen mocha Dodge alighted in front of me. A man in his mid thirties rolled the passenger window asking me casually if I need a ride. Damn! What did my land lady said about car lifts? Never, ever dare. They will take you to the desert and rape you. But the stranger seems to be safe. He has this smiling, deep set, cola brown eyes, a five o'clock shadow in his face, a dimple on his left cheek. Full set of white dentures. No, he did not look like a terrorist nor a suicide bomber and the sweat rolling in my back caused me so much discomfort. I asked how much he charged to take me to Al Sufoh Road. He told me whatever I can afford. He said this with a smile and I noticed an accent. British? Maybe so. I said, 20 dirhams? He just shrugged his shoulders and he said, "Ok, let's roll away." The cool breath of the AC was heaven and I snapped my SE mobile open to call the company driver to go jump in the lake. A little bit politely, I told him I took a cab. Mr. Dodge Driver was eyeing me in the mirror as I safely buckled myself, placing my body in the farthest side of the passenger door, ready to bolt if he thinks dirty. He asked me if I really believed that he is making a living picking up strangers. I just shrugged. "So", he said, "Your name is Nikki?" I stared at him aghast. How the hell did he know? He smiled broadly, "Your name badge". I stared at my chest and pulled the badge brusquley, muttering stupidly to myself. I nodded affirmatively. (Good thing I did not use my real name). He turned on the CD and the song Tunnel of Love softly blared. "Dire Straits?", I said. He looked surprised. I told him I grew up listening to their songs, my old man's collections. He seem pleased. "You are a classic girl," he said. I beamed, nice compliment, I breathed to myself. I started the conversation, asking the usual things, the traffic in Sheikh Zayed Road allowed me to basked in the sounds of this '80's British band. He said that he is an engineer with projects around the Palm, he asked things about me, I told him with all honesty. I usually warm up to strangers, a bad habit. He laughed at my anecdotes, he quoted my favourite quotes. Basically, I knew the things he is talking about, we were laughing our ass off with the things we had experienced whilst living here. He was amused by my stories and he talked about living for a long time in the UK, though he is of Spanish - Lebanese descent. The reason for the accent. We reached the office and I thanked him. I handed him the bill and he will not accept. He never intended to take anything, he just saw me in Bur Dubai and wanted to play Good Samaritan. He wants to see me again, maybe for coffee, he likes to know me better, I seemed to be an interesting read. Out of being polite, I gave my number, never thinking that by that split decision, I have change the course of my life and his.

That was 2 and a half years ago. The cab reached my final destination in Jumeirah. I descended the few plight of stairs, checking myself in the glass mirrors. He stood up when he saw me. His 6 foot 2 frame dwarfing all that was around him. I slowly walked meeting his gaze. We stood face to face, taking me in, all that I am. I became wary of his gaze and he opened his arms. I hesitated, taking a step back, he pulled me to him, crushing me in a very tight grip, inhaling me, his hands in my back, his hardness jolted me in mock surprised, he rumbled in laughter in my ear, I trembled slightly and he felt it. He held me more tightly, I struggled a little, but he won't let go. I relaxed in his arms, inhaling him, feeling his lips in my hair, his thumb tracing my spine, causing me to shiver in a good way. My eyes became misty and I tried to control it and he knew.. he knew, and he whispered "It's ok baby, I'm home."

Lion Heart

It was 11:14 in the evening and I was all alone in the darkness of my room. My little world was about to unfold into a lazy slumber and the Dubai skyline caught my attention. There are no stars in this part of the world. Barely nothing; only a hazy smoke-like oblivion which is a reminder of a sad after thought. Few lifetimes back, the Mosque gave its slow cry of prayers. Shuffles of bearded men in their flowing garbs, clutching their beads about to surrender in their earthly immortality and to commune with their beliefs.

It is in this moment of silence and weakness that I allow myself to think of you. You are my best kept secret, something I had wrapped in my little world; someone I had kept in an ornate box in the library of my memories where I could tip toe in the middle of the night and admire the sheer perfection of what we had once. You came out of nowhere and I like to believe that you are once a dark Machiavelli noble man trapped in this era of bygones and ambiguity, just a passing memory of someone who will never stay. Like the flash of your arrival your departure was also gone in a fraction of a second, causing a slow intake of breath from my part, a sigh on my lips and a wisp of gentle wind that caressess my hair locks. I missed enhaling your scent, the sound of your accent and how you eloquently expressed your desires as you carved my body with your fingers, exploring each and every inch, circling, kneading, feathery touches. But most of all, I miss the rendezvous at midnight hour, the dark conversations coupled with wordless sonatas, of my hands locked in yours, our fingers entwined in perfection. I miss the silence of togetherness, of you kissing my forehead and me hearing your rapid heartbeat as I lay my head in your chest. What we had is so achingly beautiful I had a knot in my throat and butterflies in my stomach.

Yet; there is no lingering hope that you and I might consider of giving chance another thought, another clean slate and erase all th searing words that we once said to each other to appeased our souls. Afterall, you are just a mere afterthought and I am just a passing glance. Maybe someone you knew once. And you are just the passing memory that keeps me sometimes awake in the darkness of day break.

The Love Letter

Dear You, 

I don't know where to start on this, but I know what I am feeling now is a passionate, deeply moving experience. All I know is that you had transformed me and my ordinary feelings into something rare and brilliant. I was once someone who navigates the world with indifference. I lived my life the way I wanted it to be, without pondering the consequences of my actions nor weighing my decisions in the process. But destiny played a sweet joke on me, you came and changed everything. In your own little way, you had transformed my world view and altered the way I think and reduced my level of cynicism about what is possible in the arena of human relationships. 

You were different, like nobody I've ever seen or heard or read about in this lifetime. You somehow coupled enormous intensity with warmth and kindness and there is a vague touch of innocence around you. You had witnessed and experienced my flaws and imperfections, my shining moments and downfalls, but you had stood by me with the conviction that could humble even the fiercest of all warriors. You have the habit of turning up when all around me is crumbling apart and fixed everything without any effort and questions asked.

Right now, I cannot find the courage nor the strength to say the things that are long overdue, but I am saying it now: I love you. As profoundly, as deeply a human can possibly feel. In your subtle way, you had completed me and I will not find myself wanting.

Love, 
Me

Pappy

I remember your Chuck Taylor's the most. It was a murky shade of green, a hole on the left side, your pinkie toe visible yet you did not mind. After all you were a rock star dad, your long hair tied at your back and walking with your trademark swagger. Your likes coined the grunge era in the early 80's and you hold on to it as long as you want. We held hands as you shepherded me to my Kindergarten class, my Hello Kitty back pack and my Precious Moments lunch box in tow. Wawa made an elaborate cucumber sandwich with tuna, thrown a piece of apple and my favourite Hiro Chocolate biscuits just in case I will throw the sandwich out of disgust. I remembered how I held your hand tightly, never wanting to let go, I was scared shitless of the strange place full of kids my age, wooden blocks on the floor, plastic kitchen sets, a headless Barbie doll, a red wagon with a ruddy bear as the passenger and hundred of Legos scattered on the floor. My teacher in her stiff grey uniform and horn rimmed glasses smiled benevolently as you spoke to her, while I eyed my new surroundings. I chose a seat at the back near the books and started leafing the bright coloured pages. You came to me and rumpled my head, securing my pig tails and kissing me good bye. I beg you to stay in the cafeteria, my eyes misting with apprehension and finally you said yes. I checked you from time to time to see if you are really there and I can see you with all the nannies and the mothers in their gossip hour. You were the only father there, smoking your Marlboro Reds, killing time whilst waiting for me. This went on for several weeks and I can only imagine now the boredom yet you stayed. I was used for everyone to wait for me.

I remembered how you laboured with my schoolwork, making my projects with much gusto and every time I have the highest grade, you beamed with pleasure. You taught me to draw and to appreciate art; reviewing my reading comprehension, correcting my pronunciation. I was 10 years old when you introduced Sidney Sheldon in my vocabulary. The Sands of Time, my first novel and I read and reread the life of Megan, Gracella, Lucia and Theresa all over and over again. You instilled in my head the magic of words, the beauty of classic films. I recalled how you woke me up at 12 MN to let me watch the classic Romeo and Juliet. The Montagues in their funny tights. You introduced me to politics and the intricacies of religion, your radical self slowly rubbed on me. You hate rules and you are spoiled, you disliked to be told and to be nagged. You lived your life without sense of responsibility, only good times. 

But I won't dwell on the other hateful issues, I will save it for later. For now, I want to stay in the cocoon of the past where there are butterflies and cotton candies, ET and the Sound of Music, of bed time stories and my first bicycle ride. I want to traversed the road where in a brief moment of time I was a happy child, bursting with sunshine and radiance, not the dark and morbid adolescent I turned out to be nor the cynical and sarcastic adult I am today. I want to remember dancing in the rain, of birthday parties and me as the centre of your universe. The golden child where fairy godmothers visited her in her dreams, of ballet classes and the little girl in the pink tutu.

 I want to remember the little girl who held court, with friends in pinaflores or the little Catholic child wearing a white satin dress, white veil adoring her head during Flores de Mayo with a basket of bougainvilleas and roses smiling sweetly for photographs on her first communion. I want to see the brown skinned child with a dimple in her left cheek, a toothy smile on her round face. Such innocence such bliss, such magnificence. Where did the years go by? Daddy where did you go wrong and why did you forget to hold my hand again?

Dreams of Utopia

Satin sheets tossed aside

Our legs entwined like unfinished sentence

Your unshaven face slowly grazed my neck

Sending ripples of shivers down my spine

You bit slowly as I moaned softly

Slumber carefully envelopes me

Yet your hand trails the length of my body

Causing an assault in my senses

Your fingers tracing the pubescent line of the crevices of my soul

Promising raptures of second chances

The scent of your skin next to me

Reminds me of wood smoke and jasmine

Of journeys across the Mediterranean Sea and the Arabian Desert

Of harems, Bedouins, crusaders and kibbutzes

Your dark hazel eyes all knowing

Laced with long lashes like India fan

Hiding secret getaways, rendezvous and unbroken vows

That hold constellations of amorous oracles

And somewhere in the midst of magenta winds

Of sand storms and brown, high winged falcons

Under the canopied terrains of the sands of times
I am beggared, a slave for release

You brought me to the zenith of your celestial domain

And like Icarus, I rose to the skies and feel myself burning

Down... down...down...

Steel Magnolia

I don't want to be just the girl who would regal you with words written in grandiosity and prose; nor the girl who would stimulate your mind with witty repartee's and fuel your cynicism with my own brand of wry sense of humor and amusing banters. I don't want to be the girl who you would remember as the one you hooked up on a night you were bored, a nocturnal aficionado like yourself; interesting for a while but someone you can blatantly tossed aside as soon as your conquest is rewarded and your curiosity is satisfied.

I don't want to be the girl who you placed in a pedestal, sending her to an emotional roller coaster ride and reducing her to question herself on her incapacity to handle a relationship let alone raise a pet or stand on her own two feet. I don't want to be the girl whom you require to hang on every word you say, to walk on egg shells around you and disappoint you in the process. I will not be the girl who would wait until you come to your senses nor the girl you will dismiss like a paid servant.

For I am the girl whom if equally reciprocated will make you the centre of her adrenaline. The girl who would stay in the sidelines and adore you for all that you are and not what you can dispense materially. For I am the girl who can make a name on my own and can seat on my laurels and basked in the glory of the sun. I am the girl who made surviving a religion for I am the epitome of a steel magnolia, gentle on the exterior but tough if the situation calls for it, however, empathy, warmth, laughter, kindred spirit and generosity are the makings of my being.

I am the one who was taken from your rib and molded to His perfection, the one who was placed beside you and not behind for we are one to traverse the entity of our existence with joint dispositions. The cruelty of the world managed to distort some of my smooth edges; but nevertheless, I am the girl who would put you first more than herself.

I am the girl who is in sync with your desire, who is in tuned with your mind and has the spirit to hold your reins with hands laced in velvet and steel. I am the girl you want to go home to, the one who knows you inside out; the fears that you deny and the success you secretly admire. I am the girl who would hold your hands and wipe away your doubts and inhibitions and to bear your intricacies with divine patience and humour.

For I am the girl who would bring out the best in you, your pillar of  strengthwhen it seems that everything is falling apart and after all are said and done; I am the girl who would love you better even after death.