I listen to the Smiths song
The one where Morrissey laments
About drowning in misery
When everything in the world seems fine
And I feel exactly that
When morning thoughts become death wishes
And looking at loved ones just breaks my heart
Because I won’t apologize for what I am
March 25, 2015
“We are all our own devil and we make this world a hell.”
But it’s a hell I’d gladly suffer.
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Essay III
March 25, 2015Essay III
by Flori Maximo
I love music. I love listening to it, swaying to it, getting depressed then drunk to it, and if the song is right – even making love to it.
Sometimes I ask myself where the fondness comes from.
I did not come from a very musical family although I guess my parents loved listening to songs like any other people. My dad could play the harmonica and the guitar a bit but that was all. I myself do play mediocre guitar and bass guitar, the only time I had formal instructions were a month or two’s worth of piano lessons during the summer of 1996. I remember Sundays growing up with the radio speakers blaring oldies but goodies. This explains why I still prefer The Platters over Backstreet Boys anytime. But I’m grateful for this minor brainwashing as my taste in music has become eclectic. The songs to which I listen belong mostly under the genre of rock but I have a certain fondness for blues, jazz, and bossa nova as well. Pop songs are usually a hit or miss with me and I like electronic or hip hop music only when I’m dancing.
Oh yes, dancing. Now that I’ve mentioned it, I’ve always loved moving my body to any beat. Sometimes it’s just my fingers plucking an the strings of an imaginary bass guitar while I’m walking. Sometimes it’s foot tapping or head bobbing even if I’m just in transit on the train. When I watch gigs, you wouldn’t see me sitting or standing still. I’m the one who is always swaying left and right to the music. I am not a bad dancer and I’ve been complimented on my “moves.” But I’ve only just realized that I don’t listen to music because I want to move- I move because I like losing myself in the music.
I also sing, yes. My voice can be considered alto – which means my trying to reach higher pitched songs would eventually make me pop a temporal vein. Although I can carry some tunes okay enough, the highest vocal accomplishment I’ve ever had was getting 100 karaoke points by singing a Bon Jovi song as loud as I could. But there is something so cathartic about opening your vocal chords without a care in the world.
I remember when I was a kid and my Dad had this old accounting notebook. He painstakingly wrote there lyrics to songs he loved – mostly Frank Sinatra and the occasional Tagalog oldies. Sometimes, on idle Saturdays the whole family would laze around in my parents’ bedroom and he would take that notebook out and he would sing. I guess I brought it to another level when I got to school age and I was able to save some of my allowance money to buy Jingle song hits. At some point, I was able to appreciate the stories told in the songs – mostly about heartbreak or unrequited love. The copies of song lyrics were no longer for sing-along sessions as they became hard copies of poetry and short stories. As I grew into a traumatic early puberty and an awkward decade of what became my twenties, songs became more meaningful for their lyrics. The words expressed emotions and invoked imagery of experiences that I was trying to sort in my muddled brain. Until now, when I hear certain songs, there would be moments when I catch myself smiling or grimacing as they bring back memories – sometimes pleasant and sometimes unwanted.
Perhaps one of these days, I should make a list of songs that I like or to which I hold a deep meaning. I might be able to find out how I viewed my life back then.
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Posted by fuurori
Arigatou, Alona-chan!
February 13, 2015“Seryoso, wag ka titigil magsulat please. Sorry, ang kulit ko pero sayang kasi ung talent. Kung kelangan mo ng reader, dito lang ako. May nagsabi sa akin, di important kung gaano kaliit or kalaki ung audience basta sincere ka sa pagsusulat. Nakakatanggal pa ng stress.” – Imouto-chan
Because I lost something that has always been a part of me. Thank you, Alona, for reminding me.
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Essay II
July 2, 2014Essay II
by Flori Maximo
Mahirap pa lang pagkasyahin ang tatlumpu’t-dalawang taon sa apat na maleta.
Nakasasakit ng ulo ang pag-iisip kung aling parte ng buhay mo ang iyong dadalhin. Alin dito ang ilalagay ko sa check-in luggage? Alin dito ang talagang importante na ipagpipilitan kong pagkasyahin sa hand-carry? Aling mga ala-ala ang sing-bigat ng pitong kilo?
Aling mga bagay naman ang aking iiwan? Sa pag-iwan, kailangan ko pa ring mag-desisyon – alin ang itatapon… alin ang ipamimigay… alin ang hahayaan lamang na naka-imbak sa lumang bahay.
Minsan, gusto ko huwag na lamang magdala ng kahit na ano. Parang bagong panganak – birthday suit lang ang peg! Tutal, bagong buhay naman ang aking sisimulan. Lahat naman tayo ay iniluwal sa mundo na walang dalang materyal na bagay maski saplot sa katawan. Nakaka-tukso man gawin, ngunit para sa akin ay imposible. Parang sinabi ko lang rin na lahat ng ginawa ko hanggang sa puntong ito ay walang katuturan. Parang wala akong nakilalang mga taong aking dapat pasalamatan. Pero mali naman ata yun. Kaya kahit gaano kahirap, pinilit ko. Sa apat na maleta, pinagsiksikan ko ang sarili ko. Kasi, ang lahat ng mga bagay na mayroon ako, ang lahat ng mga pinangahahalagahan ko ay kung sino ako.
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Essay I
June 25, 2014Essay I
by Flori Maximo
Note: Ang sulating ito ay hindi naman paid advertisement para sa SM, Jollibee, Spiral, at kung ano pang brand na mabanggit ko.
Ngayong mga araw na ito ay napapansin kong dinadala ako ng aking mga paa at ng aking sikmura patungo sa SM Foodcourt para mananghalian. Marahil may kinalaman din dito ang aking pitakang unti-unti nang nangangayayat (habang ang mga braso at tiyan ko naman ang mga nananaba). Wala naman problema kung tutuusin at hindi naman ako maselang tao. Masasarap naman ang mga pagkain sa Foodcourt. Bukod pa sa mura ay marami ka rin namang pagpipilian. Ang manunulat (o chismosa) na si ako ay natutuwa tuwing ako ay nagmamasid sa mga taong nakatambay, kumakain, at nag-aaral sa mga kulay-asong upuan. Lumalawak ang aking imahinasyon at ginagawan ko ng iskrip ang mga nakaaaliw na nilalang sa aking paligid. Wala silang kamuwang-muwang na nagi na silang karakter sa kuwentong binubuo ko sa aking utak.
Nalayo na naman ako. Sa totoo lang, may isa pang rason kung bakit madali akong mahikayat papunta sa kainang ito. Meron kasing pakiramdam ng galimgim kapag nalalagi ako rito. Noong kabataan kasi naming mag-kapatid ay dito mismo kami madalas dalhin ng aming mga magulang. SM North Edsa pa ang pinakamalapit na mall noon (maliban sa Cubao kung saan may COD at Fiesta Carnival) sa amin. Malayu-layo ang aming biyahe at ilang sakay ng traysikel at jeep para lang kami ay makapag-window shopping. Kapag umatungal na ako o kaya ang aking kapatid na masasakit na ang aming mga paa at kami ay gutom-na-gutom na, Foodcourt ang aming punta.
Palibahasay nagpapa-aral pa ng mga kapatid si Papa kaya sa mga ganoong pagkakataon, tig-isang plato lang kaming mag-kapatid ng Jolli Spaghetti. Hindi naman lingid sa aming kamalayan na habang masaya kaming lumulunon ng matamis na pastang may hotdog, nag-sasalo naman sa iisang order ng Pancit Palabok si Mama at si Papa. Minsan pa nga ay lalabas muna si Papa kapag-naka order na para manigarilyo. Ibig sabihin noon, papatayin niya muna ang kalahati ng kanyang gutom sa pag-hitit ng isa o dalawang stick ng Hope.
Medyo naa-upgrade naman kami ng kaunti kapag Recognition Day kapag Marso. Masisipag naman kaming mag-kapatid sa pag-aaral kaya naman ay taun-taon kaming umaakyat sa entablado para kumuha ng parangal. Kaya naman siguradong hindi sa Foodcourt ang aming punta at kung hindi ay sa mismong Jollibee store kung saan may tig 2-piece Chicken Joy kaming mag-kapatid. Hindi naman kami nanatili sa ganoong sitwasyon. Nang lumaon, habang kami ay lumalaking magkapatid at gumanda-ganda na rin ang kalagayang pinansyal ng aming pamilya ay nakakakain na rin kami sa Max’ at iba pang mas “sosyal” na kainan.
Medyo nagugulat nga ako minsan kapag napapaisip ako, “Aba! Malayu-layo na rin pala ang narating ko. Mula sa fastfood sa isang foodcourt, nakakakain na rin ako sa mga mamahaling buffet ngayon. Hello, Spiral!”
Iyon nga lang, kapag ako ay nagbabalik-tanaw, hindi ko maiwasang makatikim ng kaunting kirot ng panghihinayang at pangungulila. Kung kailan naman na may kakayahan na akong ikain naman si Papa at Mama sa masasarap na restawran, ay hindi ko na ito magagawa. Kung tutuusin, kung hindi dahil sa pagsasakripisyo nilang mag-asawa, marahil ay wala ako sa mas nakaluluwag na buhay na meron ako ngayon. Kung hindi dahil sa pagmamahal nila sa amin, siguro ay nakiki-salo rin lang ako sa iisang order ng pagkain para lang may pang-spaghetti ang aking mga anak.
Noong isang araw lamang habang ako ay nasa Foodcourt, may isang maliit na pamilyang umupo sa katapat kong lamesa. Nag-order si Tatay ng isang 2-piece Chicken Joy na may kanin at isang plato ng Spaghetti sa Jollibee. Si Nanay naman ay naglabas ng isang microwavable container ng kanin. Hinati ni Nanay ang spaghetti sa pagitan ng mag-kapatid (may edad apat na taon ang babae at ang mas batang lalake ay mga dalawa o tatlong tong gulang naman), at binigyan ng tig-isang pirasong pritong manok. Nilagay ni Tatay ang kanin mula sa Chicken Joy sa isang platong baon din nila at ibinigay ito kay Nanay, samantalang inangkin naman niya ang baong kanin. Kumukurut-kurot naman sa kinakaing manok ng mga anak ang mag-asawa para sa kanilang ulam.
Marahil para sa ibang nakakita ay maaawa sila sa pamilyang ito. Samantalang ako naman ay mas nanatili sa aking isipan ang saya ng mga bata sa kanilang kinakain, ang mga palitan ng ngiti ng mag-asawa habang pinakikinggan ang magigiliw na kwentuhan ng kanilang mga anak. Walang nakaka-awa sa pagpapakita ng mga magulang ng sakripisyo at pag-mamahal para sa kanilang mga anak. Kung ako ang tatanungin, mas nainggit pa nga ako sa kanila. Sa payak nilang tanghalian ay masaya naman silang nagsasalu-salo, samantalang ako ay kumakaing mag-isa at nanonood lamang sa kanila.
Naalala ko tuloy ang aking mga magulang. Iniisip ko na lang na masaya naman siguro si Papa at si Mama. Nagbunga naman ng maganda ang kanilang pag-titiis noong kami ay mga bata pa. Iniisp ko na nga rin lang na siguro naman sa Foodcourt sa langit eh tig-isang order naman na sana sila ng pancit palabok.
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Poem 0031
July 5, 2013Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance of characters to actual persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.
Duplication & Distribution: The Author holds exclusive rights to this work. Unauthorized duplication is prohibited.
Note: This work is in raw form. This has neither been proofread nor edited. This note will be removed once the final revision is posted.
To Kaoru
by Flori Maximo
her eyes
black
as midnight
glistening
like a fountain
of tears
in moonlight
sad yet hopeful
her eyes
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Posted by fuurori
Poem 0030
July 4, 2013Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance of characters to actual persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.
Duplication & Distribution: The Author holds exclusive rights to this work. Unauthorized duplication is prohibited.
Note: This work is in raw form. This has neither been proofread nor edited. This note will be removed once the final revision is posted.
Poem 030: Wait Lang
by Flori Maximo
naghihintay nang matagal na may hinihintay
yun yung tipong nanlilimahid na ang pagkakagayak mo sa pawis
naghihintay nang saglit lamang pero hindi na-meet ang expectations
yun yung tipong okay na sana pero medyo sablay
naghihintay at nagbabakasakali
yun yung tipong optimistic ang outlook sa buhay, o kaya in denial lang
naghihintay kahit walang hinihintay
yun yung tipong “malay mo, baka may dumating…”
naghihintay pero open to other possibilities-
yun yung tipong, “hihintayin kita, pero kapag masyado ka nang matagal at may dumaan na mas okay, dun na lang ako”
naghihintay nang hindi naman pala darating
yun yung tipong injan na gusto mong tadtarin ng pana atsaka budburan ng asin
naghihintay pero na-late lang saglit
yun yung tipong humuhuling biyahe ka na lang
naghihintay nang… wala….
yun yung tipong…
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Posted by fuurori
Sketch 001
July 3, 2013Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance of characters to actual persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.
Duplication & Distribution: The Author holds exclusive rights to this work. Unauthorized duplication and distribution are prohibited.
Note: This work is in raw form. This has neither been proofread nor edited. This note will be removed once the final revision is posted.
JAKE and I
by Flori Maximo
His name was Jake. We were both freshmen in university back then and we were classmates in one of those gen-ed subjects that all newbies were required to take. On one hand, I was the nerd with the prerequisite glasses and neatly-pressed clothes, poised to happily read my way through four years of Comparative Literature. On the other hand, Jake was the Fine Arts major who would come to class with his hair dyed neon green while wearing mismatched socks. He told me once that he really didn’t think he would last a year, much more the three that was needed for his certificate program. We were the quintessential campus stereotypes – you know, the bookworm and the artist. We were of the same tribe who walked around the campus with our heads above the clouds; yet we probably would have not given each other an hour’s worth of our time had we not been lucky enough to get paired up for a class report. We ended up presenting a shadow puppet play based on Neil Gaiman’s Coraline. I wrote the narration from which he created the silhouettes. I had my dorm mate who was a telenovela dubber record the narration which we played in class as we moved the puppets on our makeshift stage. Many would have found it weird that we really didn’t converse much while working on our presentation but aside from the half an hour we spent with me pitching in the idea of using that particular children’s book for the first 20 minutes and him talking about his fascination on shadow puppets; we pretty much each did our own thing. And that was the start of a… relationship, for the lack of a better term. We were neither friends nor were we strangers. He ended up sitting beside me in class, surprising me by just lazily plopping his butt down to the seat next to mine one morning and there he stayed for the rest of the semester. Sometimes, we would cross paths as we go about our own way in the campus and he would nod at me and I would just nod back. But somehow, Coraline and shadow puppets were the start of our unusual liaison.
Leave a Comment » | Literature, Short Fiction | Tagged: literature, Short Fiction, sketch, writing | Permalink
Posted by fuurori
Flash Fiction 006
July 2, 2013Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance of characters to actual persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.
Duplication & Distribution: The Author holds exclusive rights to this work. Unauthorized duplication and distribution are prohibited.
Note: This work is in raw form. This has neither been proofread nor edited. This note will be removed once the final revision is posted.
DELIRIUM
by Flori Maximo
She closed her eyes as if she had just discovered the true function of her eyelids. She welcomed the absence of light and reveled in the feeling of suspension it gave her. There was no time, and there was no space. There was only blessed, blessed silence. Until came the pictures. Images that flashed in her mind – cars, Barbie dolls, Algebra equations, mango cream pies – their randomness amused her. It was like looking at an abstract painting that called to her – meaningless yet absolutely familiar at the same time.
She gasped and tilted her chin as different notes tried to tickle her nose one at a time- eager like school children trying to impress their teacher with their knowledge. She could smell the shapes as she drew in her breath– she didn’t know Triangles would smell like oranges that were left under the soon too long, and that Octagons despite their bulky shape actually belied a floral scent that proved to be quite addicting.
Ahh… next were the colors. They glided one-at-a-time, slipping through her lips as they danced on her tongue. Red was as bold as it looks – a mysterious tango, with deep dips of pepper and chocolate. Yellow was a waltz, a bit bland but soothing and mellow, while Pink was a definitely a boogie – bright, creamy and buttery.
It was a few more minutes before she made an effort to lift her eyelids. There was… nothing -nothing but a blankness of what to her was everything. No pictures, no colors, no shapes. The world with her eyes wide open had only indifference.
“Dream…”
Her mind registered her name as if it was buried at the back of some mental filing cabinet. It was a constant reminder of her curse. She was the woman fated to stay in a perpetual state of awakeness. Even death proved to be elusive.
So she lay there every day in her crusty old gown, her hands tied to the metals attached to her bed. The screams in her mind echoed in the sterile room as days make way for nights and nights make way for days – over and over. And all she could do was close her eyes to try and try and try to slumber.
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Posted by fuurori
Short Term Effect 