Sunday, May 25, 2008


I took the train one Monday night never minding the flood of people joining in the rush. It was drizzling outside as crisp charges of light illuminate the dark sky. It was no cold to be out there that night. The city remained as it was . . . hot weather, bawling cars, infinite chatter. James Blunt's concert was at 8 pm at the Coliseum. I left home temporarily for this one. Left my books half-open, room's partially lit, the scent of sadness enveloping the room locked behind closed doors.

I was happy for a moment to hear hymns for lost souls played live. James Blunt made me feel better for a while. As I sat there at a dark spot where darkness seethed, the music entered my nerves and broke me into pieces. The atomized pieces of me were like the scene from the street few minutes before the rain: garland of yellow scallops falling gently into the air as small birds swoop into the descending petals; the birds trying to catch and save it from gravity.

James Blunt sang as if he was once in the hollows of the earth and that he knew everything. . .his music conveyed and crossed, probably, all human emotions. He wailed, laughed, made eccentric things like banging his head while playing the piano and erratic waltzing while strumming the guitar. He sang my favorite “I’ll take everything” like there’s no tomorrow. . .extending his left arm pointing to the vacuum in everyone’s spirit as he mellowed through the line in the chorus.

James Blunt made my night. It was a once in a lifetime experience to see him sing live at the Coliseum and to see myself mirrored before his songs. . .before everyone in the nameless crowd trying to digest a sad truth before us: that music is passion. . .and that passion couldn’t always come as easy with one’s life like in music and in any other art.

Saturday, May 17, 2008

Losing strangeness, taking pains

The storm yesterday left as quickly as a transient tourist. The strong winds blew off roofs, branches and leaves of trees, and more leaves for minutes then the wind dissipated. Fresh leaves blanketed roads and pathways as if it was deliberately done, unfortuitously, created by some art maniac installing a 3d art. Left the house at about 3 o'clock to buy lunch and upon seeing the swarm of wet litter a passing thought kicked up a rumpus in my mind.

Summer has ended once more and it's the start of the rainy season. The transition's really too fast leaving no traces to remember that yesterday's only summer. It's been a month since I arrived here in my new home as a stranger. The place has been very hospitable to me that a month's adjustment didn't even get a bruise out of the cynic in me. There's this new friend a 5-year-old. His name is James, the grandson of my landlord who frequently visits my flat in 'unusual' moments. He would barge in my room without me knowing it. He would come as if he knew me a long time ago and happy to know that finally he'd met me again. The boy would climb up to me, never taking any apprehension of disturbing my reading sessions, he would try to sit on my lap. The last time he visited he was so enthusiastic about another horror story from me. He would listen with so much intent but would always be terrified in the end asking me to cut the story short. And that would always make me laugh.

He would ease moments of pain which I've been frequently succumbing into.

Many successful Bar passers are telling that you should leave all your baggages whatever they may be when you jump into your review, for you not to lose focus. I have tried to leave all those baggages behind. Sadly, they've been here with me all along. . .haunting me like ghosts in the night. It's been a struggle for me the past few weeks to take control and to force my nose in a book. It's been an overwhelming emotional battle which left me thinking very deep into the pitch-black well of my past. And that the logical becomes rather an elusive and restraining issue for me now is inexplainable. At some moments I take a pause in studying and look far beyond my vision's reach and ask myself who I am, where I am.

Am I losing this battle? Will I be able to halt and reverse this downward spiral?

There are times when I want to take on a job for some kind of diversion, but that too would necessarily divert me from my review. It's my dilemma lately. . .losing at both ends.. .

Yes, my friend, I've been struggling. I'll try my best not be knocked off by these emotions. I'll try my best to survive even if it means more wounds, more scars to bear. . . This is torment in its purest form. The defining element and storyline of this boy's life.

Friday, May 9, 2008

Remains of the Day

For you, moonlight

May 9th, 6:15 am

the remains of the day gently flowed within my longing heart
assuaging the loneliness caused by your absence
your beauty mirrored upon my mind
every minute, every second that passes
you will always be here locked in the warmth of my spirit, the essence my being
the sweetness of your voice, the scent of your body will be carried by the wind that will always reach me here on my bed as i wake up like before
longing to feel you next to me
our body and soul intertwined in a beautiful morning
the wind will reach me here on my bed
as i wake up hoping to hear it whisper that you will be there waiting for me even if it means forever

Monday, May 5, 2008

The Perfume

It's not that easy living alone. I've been trying to live by myself for more than a decade now but the sad fact is that I still find even the narrowest of spaces oblique and cold. I will always be a warrior, a wounded one.

A warrior of light
is capable of understanding the miracle of life,
fighting to the end for something
in which he believes and, then,
listening to the bells that the sea sets
ringing on the seabed.
(Manual of the Warrior of Light)


I always find reading a refuge. This is one of those pieces I will never forget and will forever relate with.

Forwarded mail. June, 2001


As she stood in front of her 5th grade class on the very first day of
she told the children an untruth. Like most teachers, she looked at her
students and said that she loved them all the same. However, that was
impossible, because there in the front row, slumped in his seat, was a
boy named Teddy Stoddard.

Mrs. Thompson had watched Teddy the year before and noticed that he
did not play well with the other children, that his clothes were messy
that he constantly needed a bath. In addition, Teddy could be

It got to the point where Mrs. Thompson would actually take delight in
marking his papers with a broad red pen, making bold X's and then
a big "F" at the top of his papers. At the school where Mrs. Thompson
taught, she was required to review each child's past records and she put
Teddy's off until last. However, when she reviewed his file, she was in
a surprise.

Teddy's first grade teacher wrote, "Teddy is a bright child with a ready
laugh. He does his work neatly and has good manners. He is a joy to be

His second grade teacher wrote, "Teddy is an excellent student, well
liked by his classmates, but he is troubled because his mother has a
terminal illness and life at home must be a struggle!"

His third grade teacher wrote, "His mother's death has been hard on
him. He tries to do his best, but his father doesn't show much interest
and his home life will soon affect him if some steps aren't taken."

Teddy's fourth grade teacher wrote, "Teddy is withdrawn and doesn't
show much interest in school. He doesn't have many friends and he
sometimes sleeps in class."

By now, Mrs. Thompson realized the problem and she was ashamed
of herself. She felt even worse when her students brought her Christmas
presents, wrapped in beautiful ribbons and bright paper, except for
Teddy's. His present was clumsily wrapped in the heavy, brown paper
that he got from a grocery bag. Mrs. Thompson took pains to open it
in the middle of the other presents. Some of the children started to
laugh when she found a rhinestone bracelet with some of the stones
missing, and a bottle that was one-quarter full of perfume. But she
stifled the children's laughter when she exclaimed how pretty the
bracelet was, putting it on, and dabbing some of the perfume on her
wrist. Teddy Stoddard stayed after school that day just long to say,
"Mrs. Thompson, today you smelled just like my Mom used to."
After the children left, she cried for at least an hour.

On that very day, she quit teaching reading, writing and arithmetic.
Instead, she began to teach children. Mrs. Thompson paid particular
attention to Teddy. As she worked with him, his mind seemed to come
alive. The more she encouraged him, the faster he responded. By the
end of the year, Teddy had become one of the smartest children in the
class and, despite her lie that she would love all the children the
Teddy became one of her "teacher's pets."

A year later, she found a note under her door, from Teddy, telling her
that she was still the best teacher he ever had in his whole life.

Six years went by before she got another note from Teddy. He then
wrote that he had finished high school, third in his class, and she was
still the best teacher he ever had in his whole life.

Four years after that, she got another letter, saying that while things
had been tough at times, he'd stayed in school, had stuck with it, and
would soon graduate from college with the highest of honors. He
assured Mrs. Thompson that she was still the best and favorite teacher
he had ever had in his whole life.

Then four more years passed and yet another letter came. This time
he explained that after he got his bachelor's degree, he decided to go
a little further. The letter explained that she was still the best and
favorite teacher he ever had. But now his name was a little longer,
the letter was signed, Theodore F. Stoddard, MD.

The story does not end there. You see, there was yet another letter
that spring. Teddy said he had met this girl and was going to be
married. He explained that his father had died a couple of years ago
and he was wondering if Mrs. Thompson might agree to sit at the
wedding in the place that was usually reserved for the mother of the

Of course, Mrs. Thompson did. And guess what? She wore that
bracelet, the one with several rhinestones missing. Moreover, she
made sure she was wearing the perfume that Teddy remembered!
his mother wearing on their last Christmas together.

They hugged each other, and Dr. Stoddard whispered in Mrs.
Thompson's ear, "Thank you Mrs. Thompson for believing in me.
Thank you so much for making me feel important and showing me
that I could make a difference."

Mrs. Thompson, with tears in her eyes, whispered back. She said,
"Teddy, you have it all wrong. You were the one who taught me that
I could make a difference. I didn't know how to teach until I met you."