Halaw sa kung saan

Paspas tayo kung umibig. Minsan nasusugatan -- pero naghihilom din. Paspas tayo kung huminga. Minsan naghahabol - pero napapawi din. Paspas tayo kung mabuhay. Minsan nadadapa -- pero bumabangon din. Tayo ay mga eksistensya ng kapaspasan -- mga alipin sa mundo ng pagmamadali, hindi pananatili.

-- Vincent Jan Cruz Rubio

ploning

panoorin mong lumalim ang dagat
magbilang ka ng mga patlang na pupuno sa paghihintay

balutin mo ng panyo ang hangin ng tanghali,
hanggang sumuko ang araw sa ulan

walang paghuhunos sa oras na lumipas,
at sa mga oras na darating o lilikhain

ngunit isipin mo ring kapag sinukob ka
ng mga alon ng sarili mong kalungkutan,
maalala niya kayang hanapin ang iyong mga labi?

Thesis

When I asked the girl her name, hoping to start a little girl-to-girl chat to dispel the boredom, she said "Jenny" without a smile then went back to her book. She must be only a little younger than I am, maybe twenty, twenty-one, very pretty, with big sad eyes that many guys might find both seductive and vulnerable. No wonder we're both in the same room, waiting for similar reasons.

"What are you reading?" I asked politely.

"Oh. Just this book." She flipped the book over and showed me the cover. She finally managed a smile and said she was only pretending to read because she doesn't know what else to do while waiting. "Actually, I don't know what I'm going to do. Period."

Then she caught my eye and I couldn't help but gather my maternal instincts. Pity welled up inside me. In plain sight of the nurses and the other patients in the clinic, I hugged her and she sobbed on my shoulder. The poor girl.

Her eyes were red and swollen when she finished crying, her face wet with childish tears. "Are you okay?" I asked her, then realized it was a polite but stupid thing to ask.

Then in one helpless breath, she told me her troubles, her affair with an older, married guy, the three positive pregnancy tests she got from self-help kits, and her resolve to go to the clinic to get a definitive result. She said she now regrets the whole thing. "My parents would kill me."

I wanted to tell her she shouldn't be surprised if that happens, but I am not her mother (thank goodness). Mothers are supposed to say they'd kill their daughters who get bumped up, but I am a stranger and strangers are supposed to be either indifferent or sympathetic.

Since I am in a good mood, and the cosmos have finally chosen to be good to me, blessing me with a baby after five long years, I decided to sympathetic. "Why don't we get a cup of coffee after I get my prenatal checkup and you get your pregnancy test results? So we could talk some more."

"She shook her head and muttered something about meeting her baby's father and settling things, but my phone rang and I had to excuse myself.

"Hello, honey." It was Richard, my husband. "I'm afraid I can't pick you up at the clinic because I have to meet with the student I was advising for her thesis. I've forgotten about until about an hour ago. The poor girl's got a bit of a trouble again."

I suddenly felt my blood go cold. I looked at Jenny, sitting beside me, with her vilnerably seductive, seductively vulnerable, big sad eyes staring into space.

"Who's this student of yours again? Maybe you could invite her to our house instead so you guys could be more comfortable." I waited tensely for Richard's answer.

"No need for that, baby. Jenny has been very difficult lately, lots of problems. I think I will have to drop out of her thesis altogether. I don't think I could be her adviser anymore, you know what I mean? I told her she might want to abort her thesis at this point ... Hello, honey, are you still there?"

Cold War

He sits across the table, the morning paper covering his face, because he doesn't want you to gawk at the kiss mark on his neck. When he puts down the paper to sip his coffee, he smiles sweetly at you, wincing a little because the coffee tastes strangely salty.

"I must have switched the labels again," he says in a matter-of-fact tone, then ladles in heaps of sugar from the salt container, and then he downs everything in one gulp. The beast.

"You look better with more hair, sweetheart," you say, stifling a mischievous smirk because it was also you who mixed hair removal cream with his shampoo.

"It's not that bad. I spend less time grooming up every morning, since I shaved my head," he says, laughing a little. You had to secretly agree yourself that he does still look dashing even without "more hair."

You try to bore holes on his face with your steady stare, this man who seems aware but impossibly impervious to all your acts of revenge, who takes everything lightly. You struggle to loosen your grip on the bread knife.

He finishes his breakfast and gets up to leave. He plants a small kiss on your cheek, tells you he will be home late because of a meeting. You don't move from your chair to see him to the door.

You wait for him to shout a barrage of curses once he gets to his car. Last night, you smeared egg yolks across his car's windshield.

A couple of minutes passed, and you still could not hear him cursing loudly through the garage. Five minutes passed. Seven minutes. Impatient now and worried that everything may not be going according to plan, you get up from your chair. You go to the window and peek from behind an opening in the curtains.

Finally, you see him hunched over his car's now freshly cleaned windshield, wiping it dry with a washcloth. You could faintly hear him whistling the catchy tune of a popular novelty song.

Fucking motherfucker of an asshole.

Pakipinid kamo

ang mga bintana.
Mapang-uyam ang lamig
ng hangin ng gabi,
may kasamang panunukso.

Nauuhaw ka kamo.
Pinanood mo akong
manood sa iyong uminom
ng isang basong tubig.

Nilalamig ka kamo.
Pero basa ng pawis
ang manipis mong kamiseta.
Kailangang mahalinhan ng bago,
mula sa aparador.

Tagos halos ang liwanag ng buwan
sa malamlam mong mukha,
sa balingkinitan mong
mga balikat,
kamay,
binti.

Kailangan mo ako kamo sa tabi mo.
Inaapoy ka ng lagnat.

One day at the hospital, when we both laughed

There is no face to look upon, only bloodied bandages wound about the head, two lidless eyes staring blankly at the ceiling. The blanket covers the rest of the body, a small act of mercy by the nurse, though strictly, aside from the dressings, the burns should be exposed to air as much as possible. He is frightened by this; pity is only for strangers.

He sits at the foot of the bed, his sight beginning to blur. The life-support machines whir and beep urgently, ticking the time left for final parting words. But tears flow easier than speech, and he finally finds himself sobbing, making apologies. If he had only reconciled with him that day, Paul would not have gone through all the drama and taken the ill-fated bus. If he had not been too busy with work, if he had spent more time with Paul, perhaps-- 

Then he hears someone walking toward them. It is a woman in her late thirties, dressed in a baggy shirt, which advertised a brand of milk, and sweatpants. Then all of a sudden, she was sobbing hysterically, hugging Paul fiercely. He tries not to be baffled by the woman’s sudden outburst. Paulhas older sisters and female cousins he has never met. 

When the woman has stopped sobbing, she asks him if he was a friend. He says yes, of course; discretion in everything had always been his and Paul’s choice. 

“I’m his wife, Jane. You’re a friend?”

He fumbles for answer, although what he really wants to do is to ask another question, to make sure he understands who the woman said she is. “Yes. No. I’m sorry, what was it?”

“I asked if you’re one of his friends.”

“No… just a friend… at the office… I didn’t know he was married.”

“For three years.” She pauses, blows her nose with her already wet handkerchief. “I know he was always so quiet, always hesitant to say things about himself.” 

He does not say anything, and a sharp silence sliced the air between them. “Have you seen the nurse? I don’t know what to do now really. I just left the baby at home with the cleaner.”

“You have a kid?”

“Kids. The other one is turning three this June.”

He is now confused, almost dizzy with a thousand questions going in his head, his thoughts toying with the possibility of betrayal. Then just as he is about to give up, leave, say good bye to Paul’s wife, at the corner of his eye, he notices a man sitting at the bed beside Paul’s. He ignores him.

Then he hears the man calling his name, the voice strangely familiar. He turns toward the voice, and he feels the blood draining from his face as he realizes who it is.  

“Hey, sissy, are you sobbing?” ▪

tea at four, for three

you and your new friend wanted tea, so i went
in the kitchen and prepared some, rock
cakes on the side.

(how english, how "healthy," how pretentious all this is.)

i made a third cup for myself, arranged
everything on a dainty tray
and when you both were not looking,

poured something inside one of the three teacups.

i returned to you
two in my living room, smiled
like a ridiculous butler.

and then you were smiling at me, too.

only your eyes were not, and your friend was
telling you something, but you can not
hear him.

i placed the tray on the table, and served you

each a cup of black tea. i took
the remaining cup, and drank the tea,
the poison laced with the scent and flavor

of bergamot and sorrow.