Stories&Photographs

Tuesday, March 31, 2009

Pulling the Plug

I was lying unconsciously in a vacuum—no, that could not be plain vacuity. I must be lying on something. I found it difficult to describe the place; opening my eyes was an impossible task. I could not even describe the scent of the place or explain how it feels like to exist in such a place. I tried to lift my hand and brush it on the surface I am lying on but I failed. I tried to move my head sideways but I was not successful. I discovered that I could not move. I could not even lift my finger!

I fell asleep and was woken by warmth. The air that blew on my face was the warmest I have ever felt. I did not know why but it was a moment of bliss. Soon I felt warm air in my ears. It went out fast. It lasted for only seconds. I presumed that someone was trying to whisper to me—trying to tell me something. But I could not make out the words. Then there was warmth on my forehead, 1…2…and it was gone. It burnt my forehead but I loved it. I tried to hold on but almost immediately, the warmth completely vanished. The air was cool again. The few seconds of warmth was a moment of bliss. I could have believed that the warmth was from my angel.

I felt disturbed. I could feel a presence of a crowd. There were voices—a variety of voices. Everyone was talking. They sound like arguing. I wanted to speak—shout and ask these people what was going on. Maybe I could help.

The voices continued. But this time, there were fewer voices. I assumed that the argument had faltered. I could make out little of what the remaining voices were saying. Pull. Plug.

Wait, what plug?

Soon I felt my body start to weaken. I felt like collapsing. I wanted to reach out and hold on to something before this vacuum engulfs me. But I could not gather enough strength to do so. I felt like drowning. I thought of calling for help but no words came out. I felt like…dying.

My body—it was dying. It was as if my heart and my lungs stopped working. Why? Work, I need blood and oxygen. But they remained frozen. I realized that they had been frozen since…I did not know how long. And ever so slowly, I descended into emptiness.

Thursday, March 26, 2009

Puh-lease...

Before I get ready for the grad ball tonight, I wish to blog first. I can't lose the moment to write about this. Also, I can't seem to make up a story parallel to this post so I will have to tell this straightforward. I am so sorry; it's hard for me to think of a story right now and finish it in 15 minutes.

I just came home from our graduation rites and it feels so...so...nah. It feels the same. Only that I have this diploma which certifies that I have satisfactorily completed the secondary curriculum the Department of Education (DepEd) has prescribed. Attached to it is a large photo of a long-haired me wearing a toga. Five more photos of me are stapled to an envelope.

I do not want to comment much on how the program flowed because I received what I needed anyway, my diploma. So...let's skip the boring bits. Finally, we have come to sing our grad song, Natalie Cole's "One Last Time". And I was hugging my classmates and taking lots and lots of pictures. This is mean but, I laughed at the people who cried. Haha. It's not that I think that they're ridiculous...but, you know me. It's sort of hard to make me cry, which reminds me, I didn't cry during our graduation from elementary. I did not cry in any of my graduations! Yay! Way back in elementary, I was so sure that I will be seeing my friends again in the same school. That school was Muntinlupa Science High School. And I was right, why cry? But today was so much different, I don't even know which college to go to yet. And all of us will be distributed to different colleges. Still, not a single tear was shed. Don't get me wrong; I love you, people :)

After a lot, lot more photos and a school hymn, my mom was nagging me to go home. I wanted to stay a little longer because I have around 78 friends I want to take pictures with but I know very well not to argue. But, we headed to the restroom first. After my mom had done her thing there, she went by the sink to do what girls do in a sink and a large mirror. And she began to talk, "Ba't napag-iwanan ka ng mga classmates mo sa Montessori?" At that moment, I was like, whoa. Could somebody slit my wrists to wake me and tell me that I'm having my worst nightmare ever? Or...is my life slowly turning into a soapopera where I'm the stupid and weak protagonist? I didn't do that because the answer is obviously NO. Not because I know that my mom can actually do that, but because...well, because...err...just because. Going back, she continued, "Ba't sila Joyce ang daming awards? Pati si Eunice--" Wait, Eunice wasn't from SMS. And she continued blabbing about things a girl like me would not want to hear.

***censored***

Of course, I could not answer back. I would not answer back. Because it wouldn't change anything, right? I did not even reply, "Because I'm plain stupid" because I certainly know I'm not. You know what happened when we left the restroom? We met our research adviser which coincidentally is her friend. And my mom said, "Pumasa siya sa scholarship niya!"

P.S.

Ate ange, shh.
Eunice and Joyce! No hard feelings. You know what I'm like. I love you and you know that :)

Sunday, March 08, 2009

The Persimmons of Summer

There was once a persimmon tree which stood atop a low hill. At the foot of the hill rests a small village resided by simple villagers who led a simple life. The persimmon tree, however, was guarded by a dryad. Dryads stay away from the presence of mere mortals but the dryad here chose to live somewhere a little near mere mortals. She reasoned that these villagers seldom climb uphill. The only time they come near the persimmon tree was during autumn, when persimmons turn deep orange.

The villagers lived a happy life and so did the dryad. She did not get frequently disturbed by villagers rummaging her home for persimmons. She enjoyed watching the villagers wake up early in the morning and busy themselves with the usual village work and sleep early in the evening to prepare for another tiring day tomorrow. All was well until one hot summer day.

The dryad was sleeping soundly when she heard loud noises from outside. The dryad peeped from the trunk and saw this man, a greedy-looking man, rummaging her home. He made a lot of hrmph noises before he gave the tree a strong kick and left. The dryad came out from behind the branches and was shocked to see that the greedy-looking man had broken some twigs. A pile of leaves and some flowers were also scattered on the ground. Though outraged, the dryad held her temper and began tending her home.

The next day, the dryad was woken again by loud rummaging noises. This time it was a woman, a hoggish woman. Again, the dryad tended her home after the woman had left.

This scenario lasted for weeks until the whole village came uphill to demand for persimmons. The villagers began shouting and complaining.

Sujeonggwa. How can I make my spicy sujeonggwa?”

“The nearby villages want more of my persimmon vinegar. This means more gold. But where are the persimmons?”

“How come we only get to taste persimmon puddings in autumn?”

“I want crisp persimmons during the summer, too.”

“If I can’t get my dried persimmons right now, I’m going to cut this good-for-nothing tree!”

And the villagers all demanded the tree be cut.

Dryads die when their homes die. Will all her might, the dryad summoned persimmons from the tree. One by one, little green persimmons magically appeared from the branches of the tree.

Just as one villager swung his axe, a little boy yelled and pointed to the tree.

“Look,” he said, “Persimmons!”

With that, the villagers picked as many persimmons as their hands could carry. The harvesting took several hours for the villagers could never get enough. They stopped only when they noticed that there was nothing left on the tree but leaves.

The next morning, there was neither loud rummaging noises nor cutting down of the dryad’s persimmon tree. The dryad was happy about this so she came of out her home to see if the villagers were happy and contented with their basketfuls of persimmons. But the village streets were empty. There was no soul in sight, not even a stray cat. The dryad concluded that the villagers might be busy inside their kitchens, making spicy sujeonggwa, persimmon vinegar, persimmon puddings, crisp persimmons, and dried persimmons.

The dryad saw no mere mortal for days until one hot summer afternoon. There was a man, a young man that the dryad had never seen before. The young man looked quenched and exhausted. He seemed to have not slept for nights. He climbed uphill and stopped in front of the persimmon tree. The dryad was a little scared about this; she did not want any more rummaging and cutting of her home. But what happened next surprised the dryad, the young traveler sat under the shade of the persimmon tree, closed his eyes, and drifted off to sleep. The dryad could not understand how her persimmon tree, she, and a mere mortal could spend a moment so serene.

The dryad watched the traveler sleep for hours. She would hide behind the leaves whenever the traveler moved. Finally, the young man opened his eyes. The dryad moved farther behind the leaves. The young man spoke, “The tree might not have fruits to satisfy my hunger or quench my thirst but it does have a large shade to restore my health. I will not ask anything else from you. I am grateful of your existence.” He gathered his things and continued his travel.

The dryad smiled and whispered, “Blessed are those who recognize the little things I can offer. They shall not taste bitterness from the gifts I have been forced to give.”