Rusty air

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He sleeps, unaware of the metallic odor that has permeated the air.

She lies in soiled sheets, breathing in the rusty air — unmistakable proof of her bloody sacrifice.

Rust forebodes corrosion, mother once said.

Wrong, she realizes. It is the delicious scent of liberty, a prologue to great days ahead.



Yellow roses

She loved yellow roses. They know that.

There are yellow roses in her vase. There are yellow roses everywhere, from people who say they love her.

But she can’t see them now for the girl has put herself to sleep.

Yellow roses keep coming still, in case she wakes up.


Tipsy beauty

I caught her before she crumpled to the floor.

She is so beautiful, even in this drunken state.

I hold her in my arms, gazing upon her perfect doll-like features. She sleeps so peacefully.

It is sad that she might never know that I was the one who cradled her.

His time to get drunk

She’s had sixteen shots, he’s been counting.

Even when tipsy she’s so beautiful. Even when she’s bundled in somebody else’s arms. He wonders how she would look nestled in his instead. But she sleeps so peacefully now.

Clearly, she doesn’t need him. It’s time for him to get drunk himself.

Bionight: I gave in

Yeahp, I finally went to the party I had been evading in the last three years and it wasn’t a disappointment. Here are the top three reactions:

  1. Oh, they take the theme seriously.

The theme was Olympia so we were supposed to dress up as Greek gods and goddesses. I absolutely love Greek mythology but I was feeling a little rebellious so instead, I showed up in a classic gray and black empire-cut dress.

Well, actually, it was only partly because I was feeling rebellious. It was mostly because I hate white dresses. Being a five-feet tall lady with a baby face, wearing a white frock makes me look like a thirteen-year-old on her Confirmation day.

In my obnoxious dark dress and plum and pink makeup, I certainly looked awkward in a sea of white and gold. Well, at least my shoes were gold (they are flats, by the way). Ha!

  1. Uh, they call that dancing?

Ahh, drunk dancing — that’s what it’s called. It was really amusing to watch your friends in their wildest on the dance floor.

Who’s that already sprawled on the floor? The party’s barely started!

Look at that. I don’t think he can feel his limbs anymore. Haha.

Wait… OH MY G — is that lap dancing? *covers eyes*

It was fun, really, until they drag you in. I wasn’t prepared for that. I know basic chachacha and samba but they wouldn’t work with EDM. Really, I tried. So I just clapped me hands and joined the train (which seems to be a party staple anywhere). After a being a killjoy in the past three years, that’s the least I can do for my friends.

  1. These cocktails are nice.

Especially the mango-flavored one. I would have had more if only my legs did not start feeling like jelly. But I still prefer Shirley Temple though. I miss fishing the cherry at the bottom of the glass — just the best reward for enduring alcohol.

But nobody seemed to mind what they were being served. They just drank and drank until they’re tipsy enough to do drunk dancing (see #2 above). They seemed to have so much fun. I am happy for them.

To be honest, it was not really one of the greatest times in my life. But it was fun, in a way, and my friends loved that I gave in this time. It was just that I am still not ready to let myself loose. I guess I am really not made to be wild. It’s fine, isn’t it? 🙂

Original Sin

I. The Serpent
I watch her eye it hungrily
and I know I have succeeded.
Soon shall come man’s downfall —
but the battle’s not yet won.
This is only the beginning.

II. Eve
“No,” I pleaded, “We must not.”
But he fixed me with this stare —
knowing, laughing, and mocking.
“You shall know,” he said.
“You shall not die.”

III. Adam
I know we must not.
But she handed me the fruit
and I just cannot refuse.
For she is mine.
Everything that’s hers is mine.

IV. The Tree of Knowledge
The fruit I bear is both gift and curse
for I am good and I am evil.
With that first bite, he gained both.
Hence, man sealed his fate —

Cupid’s luck

The little boy found them sharing a bus seat, unaware of each other — the perfect target.

He poised his arrow straight to the man’s heart. Then, to the woman’s.

They flinched. Then they both went back to their phones.

Cupid sighed. Love has not had much luck these days.


Bionight: To go or not?

I know I have more important things to worry about — final exams, a possible removal exam in swimming class (yes, in my world it is possible to have a conditional grade in P.E. class), how to get rid of the mice in my dorm room (or at least, lure them away from my food basket because come on, what do they need coffee for?), and of course, facing the question, What’s next after college? (that’s assuming I will be graduating this academic year) — but right now there is this one petty dilemma that has been bothering me for some days now:

BIONIGHT: to go or not to go?

Bionight is a year-ender party organized by Bio majors that … well actually, I do not know what it really is supposed to be. But here is what I know: it is a college party which practically equates to booze and staying up all night, having fun (Read: Getting wild).

For seniors, this Bionight is the last one —  a marker that we are almost through our last year as undergraduates. Thus, for many, it is imperative that I at least make an appearance that might as well be a sort of confirmation that I have been here the whole time. But should I?

For the past three years, I have not gathered enough bravado to go to Bionight. Or to any college party, actually. The thing is, I have always hated parties, formal or casual.

First, I hate dressing up. Getting my face and hair done is such a bother and my feet and legs are no longer used to my former best friends — that is, my high-heeled shoes. No one can drag me into any party wearing my lowly flats. What would my mother say?

My ex-best friends.
My ex-best friends.

Second, it is always physically exhausting. Party music is also unhealthy for my delicate ears. It is difficult to pretend you are having fun when there is that painful pounding in your ears that you cannot simply ignore. Plus, with my resting bitch face, parties mean putting on my “friendly face” which requires too much work for my poor facial muscles. Anyone who tells me that aching ears and facial muscles are worth it must be absolutely crazy.

Me in parties. Facial muscles get tired, too.
Me in parties. Facial muscles get tired, too.

Third, the dancing. I love dancing but definitely not the kind that they do in parties (disclaimer: I am judging from what I see in their photos). Instead, I prefer slow dancing. Cheesy, I know. But slow dancing gives one a chance to actually talk with his or her partner. Slow dancing, thus, can help build friendships, solidify existing ones, and provide opportunities for future conversations. On the other hand, shameless grinding and shaking leads to awkward encounters days, weeks, months, or even years later. Trust me on this — some things I did in my high school prom still haunt me to this day.

Sorry but I do not need any more of these.

Lastly, the drinking. I will be a liar if I say I have never touched alcohol. But I have never been too wasted and I have no plans of trying to be, even for just once. You see, the morning after, people regret the number of shots they had. For the past three years, I have had no regrets.

Okay, I guess I'd rather not drink.
Okay, I guess I’d rather not drink.

People tend to quote Einstein every time they convince me into doing something I have never tried before (really, so many different people has already told me this quote that it’s getting creepy):

“A person who has never made a mistake has never tried anything new.”

Of course, he is right. But I do not think I am ready to make this mistake yet.

So should I or should I not? Enlighten me, please.

A doll, please

“Mommy, look at this. It’s so pretty!”

It’s a pretty doll indeed, the mother thought. “But darling, your sister’s too young for her.”

“But it’s for me, Mommy. Can we buy it, please?”

She pursed her lips. “NO,” she said as she dragged her screaming son out the toy store.

Tasting apples

Her skin was cool but soft against my skin. I hugged her and she giggled. I inhaled her delicious scent. She smelled like apples.

“What are you thinking?”

She awoke from her stream of thoughts. “Nothing.”

He smiled. She kissed him.

I wonder if her mouth tastes like apples, too.