roaming,

roaming away from the wastelands

where our love used to reside

up-down,

my feet move upwards-downwards;

at a quick pace

a life on the run

revitalizes a life without you,

it acts as a distraction.

the memories of your soul defuse my ability to stand still.

At night, glimpses of our ancient connection remain in my dreams

Quicksand

the urging intensifies at night; forcefully pulling me back in; like quicksand

"pull me in, breathe me in, consume my heart" - i hear the haunting whispers..

Made a decision to test my limits

iʼm feelin fearless

i live for danger i live for the thrill

Suited up and booted, prepared for anything

iʼm feelin fearless

Thereʼs a light shining bright,

the beams of that light speak majestic volumes

“You'll only survive if you fight it”

i didnʼt fight it.

What I missed most?

Not your touch,

Nor the sparks of our lips pressed close.

But the sound of your laughter, 

Mixed with my own.

The sound of home.

I've thought long on my legacy of who I want to turn out to be having my name spoken in circles where I myself could be a token of their ambition and this has led to a condition of the aforementioned ambition which is at times suffocating and perhaps debilitating as the anxiety sets in and I wonder who is thinking and what they are thinking and when they are thinking and when I think about their thinking I deflect my anxiety with a stupid joke but in reality I feel like I might choke as I continue to laugh at everything else which is not a reflection but more of a deflection of the deepening suspension of my mind as the thoughts set in of how I carry myself and though maybe branded an idiot I always remain complicit as someone who likes to think my work can speak for itself beyond the imaginings of myself in someone else but there I go again thinking about legacy I see the tentacles of worry pulling me deep into the identical stream of my conscience that tells me people do in fact hate me or at the very least neglect me and that I am more of a burden to many and my humour and work can only go so far before they are kicked to the gutter by others even the ones closest to me so I tell myself I need more faith in humanity and that people cannot be so petty so as to disregard me entirely based on my personality or something I said but still these thoughts infiltrate my head again and again and again no matter how good the day has been and the only thing that seems to work before I sleep or wake up is the consistent reminder to step back and, breathe. To breathe. 

Go again. From the top. 

Five years had passed, after the known to be -the deadliest typhoon that hits Philippines in the last three years, left Iligan City and Cagayan de Oro City, wounds that are not yet healed, and if ever healed but with scars of anger, pain and struggles.

Days just unfold so quickly, gone is horrible night full of screams and frights.Gone are echoes calling for help, gone are the echoes of cries, gone are big splash of water.The water which turned houses into pieces, the water that ate lives, the water that brings doom to the villages, to the people who were in a moment of peace and tranquility sleeping in each happy abode.

Such happy abode turned into ashes, as they were uprooted violently of the water's wrath. Such decayed human bodies and animal bodies turned into ashes, as they were buried into a mass grave for the city run out of caskets and the city was filled with stench, that may risk the people's health.

How is Iligan City after that doom's day ?

Life must go on,the people of Iligan City especially the victims, must put this into their minds. But this is just easy to say for those who are not affected of it. For those who are affected, the struggles and the pain brought by the tragedy is not easy to forget and they could not just simply move on. Until now there are families who are in the evacuation centers and in the so-called " tent city ". Can you imagine how hard it is to be in the tent city ? It is very difficult especially to the families whose chance to have their own tent is quite impossible.Don't you know that there are two families sharing in one tent ?

Two families sharing in one tent is unbelievable, but this is the reality.How about the need of privacy ? No matter how close you are to the other family you live with in the tent, you still need to have privacy.Just like when you want to change clothes, want to relax, want to touch and have an intimate time with your partner, husband or wife.They can't do anything about this, since they have no choice. The tents provided by the government and the NGO's ( Non-Government Organization) are not enough. If you look at these tents, they are very close to each other and it seemed so crowded.Most of the Sendong victims, are couples with 3 or more children. So, you can see children loitering around. It seems an area of poor sanitation.Once cleanliness is not maintained, illness due to lack of sanitary measures is likely to appear.

Some other victims of this tragedy have decided to return to their places regardless of being homeless.They start anew.Shanties begin to sprout in the river banks which is solely affected by the flood,which is a flood-prone area. They put themselves to danger again.Victims from the Orchids Home,the village which was directly affected by flood, whose houses are washed out, discern to stay back for may reasons.The main reason you could possibly think of, is that they have no choice.Another reason is they purchase their houses through a housing loan / salary loan, and they have to continue to pay it regardless of the disaster.Though it is unreasonable to think but it is the policy of the firm who grants housing loans.

Whether building a home again or reconstruct what is left by Sendong, still it cost not only time , money and effort but feelings. The feelings of being hurt, reminiscing someone in the family is lost, died, missing , and unknown.When you are back into the place where you put up your dreams with your love ones, the memory of it suddenly flashes back and here you are again, in the same place, starts again without the person/s you love .The pain is unbearable. Purchasing things again to use in the household is what the victims are gradually doing, because they could not purchase it all at once.

How about the poorest of all the poorest ? How could they start all over again? That even to the next meal they have to worry about.....what if donations run out ? Relief goods and food are even insufficient to all the victims.Until when will people donations last? Until when will the people and charity institutions help the poor victims? How about the victims, until when will they stop relying for all this stuff of relief? The government had promised them a relocation site,but where is it now ? Where are the funds given by the World Bank ? Where are the funds given by other sponsors?

These questions remain unanswered, a lot of concerned- people are puzzled .Nowadays, if you try to interview the victims of their horrible experience they will vividly relate or narrate everything with teary eyes because until now, the pain, the struggles and the scars left by Sendong 's wrath remained.

before i shot up like a weed

still smaller than my grandmother

i sat at her feet 

she opens her mouth and mothballs fall out

                               she teaches

old leather hands clutch a rosary

calling me "tootsie"

like her favorite candies on her old coffee table

a wink and a laugh

                              she teaches

through her thick south jersey accent she knows everything

grandma teaches what herbs heal 

grandma teachese what stones hurt

hands me my first lucky coin between chocolate chip cookies

                            she teaches

love yourself tootsie, no one else will

a good woman kisses and leaves

don't let any man tell you you're nothing

every experience is a lesson, learn from it

                            she teaches

                            and i learn

The air whooshes past the ears, like the roar of a blacksmiths billow.

It is the first flight for this man of agonizing mundane living.

Not the first of many, nor the beginning of misplaced longing for adrenaline.

Stale air, dark so black your breath seems to have new vitality.

Heart beating like the ringing of a blacksmith's heavy hammer,

the first the last the only flight this man will ever take.

Space and time, engulfing his souls last few beatings.

Life no longer teeters atop the cliff, the scales have fully tilted this day.

Escaping the mundane trap of the ordinary, he traveled to the cliffs of Moher.

A stroll at the midnight stroke struck the life from his soul.

One quick slip from the un-mundane cliffs of Moher.....

brought the flight that brought the first the last the end of the man Mundane.

I long to gaze upon thy quite quaint visage.

Mine days hath been spent dreaming of thy presence,

thither art many days of travel that separate us now.

I oft spendeth time pondering the day we hath met.

Like an angel thee descended upon mine world;

crossing the field of daisies, thy form silhouetted by the sun.

I know that I wilt see thee again soon,

and mine every breath hangs on that one desire.

Though soon it maybe, it doth feel like a life time hence.

until that day our lips meeteth again,

alloweth thy dreams beest filled with mine love.

From the depths of mine heart I writeth.

Words almost fail me today. I live in a country filled with fear and ignorance, that has just had a referendum vote by a population containing many that never leave their country and the majority of 'leave' voters that will be dead within 16 years. We should be unifying. We should be working together. Instead, I am watching sneering fools celebrate their victory whilst all of the ignored credible types, those that warned against it lick their wounds. Oh, this green and sceptred isle, what on earth have you done?