Indigo

For the poetry challenge I joined, the word of the day was Indigo. Here’s what I wrote:

  

Gratitude list:

  • International express shipping: I had to send some documents over and it was difficult to find an international shipping company near my residence or even workplace. Nevertheless, I’m still grateful for these because otherwise I would have used snail mail to send it.
  • Instructions: I went to get my student driver’s permit yesterday, and the people at tbe office were very accommodating and clear with their instructions on what to do and where to go next. 
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Para kanino tumitibok ang puso mo?

Translation: For whom does your heart beat?

———————

Art by JJ Agcaoili

Art by JJ Agcaoili

Who was I kidding? Other people may have believed me, but the armor wasn’t there to protect my heart. It was there to keep people out. Who wants to let in the evil of the world? Who wants to let in scumbags and scoundrels? I had no time for those. My vision for myself was clear. IS clear. SAVE THE WORLD, ONE SHITTY BRAIN AT A TIME.

Oh, I know you want to protect me. But I can’t breathe in here, cried my heart.

Shut up.

You ruin everything, you know. You make me cry when I should have a brave face on. When I should have a stern and scary face on. You make me weep.

Weeping makes me tired. If I’m tired, I can’t work.

But the tears cleanse you. They get rid of the bad stuff.

I.

AM.

EXHAUSTED.

FROM.

CRYING.

They don’t take me seriously. Not my bosses. Not my students. Not my friends. Why? I cry easily. When I’m mad, I cry. When I’m sad, I cry. When I’m happy, I cry.

ENOUGH ALREADY.

But look, you’re hurting now the more you keep me here.

I NEED TO WORK. STOP BUGGING ME. STOP IT.

I love you.

ST-

*sigh*

Who am I kidding?

Slowly, I unlock my heart, remove the armor, zip it wide open.

I love you.

I love you.

———————

Written as a response to a writing prompt posted by the artist mentioned above.

the original writing prompt

the original writing prompt

I don’t think the title and the piece have any obvious connections. I’m not quite sure I know, either, but it was the first thing that popped into my head when I read the prompt and saw the art. What came next was… a surprise to me. I haven’t written creatively in YEARS, and I’m not sure this qualifies as a poem or a short story, but it’s mine, and I’m iffy about this but… That’s all I can say.

Also, JJ said I can only use this in class if I post my own response to the prompt haha. 🙂 Thanks for the challenge, JJ. 🙂

The Avengers: Age of Ultron

April 22 saw me trooping to the mall initially to see the Manny Pacquiao biopic Kid Kulafu. Instead, we found that the movie was no longer showing and in its place was the newest Avengers movie.

I honestly had no plans of watching the movie on the big screen because I knew (and I was right) that it would be nothing but explosions and smashing and city property getting damaged and heroes getting bruised and alien tech being used. Nevertheless, I was still excited to see the next installment since I had seen the previous movies in the same universe (Guardians of the Galaxy included).

This latest movie, despite having a stand-alone story, exists as part of a series, and by that I don’t just mean The Avengers series. I know you know what I mean, so I won’t delve deeper into that. What I do want to talk about is how Ultron was completely unexpected for me.

I am what you’d call a casual Marvel fan. I just watch the movies for the pure entertainment of watching them. I don’t go around in costume, nor do I join fan-targetted or organized events. I do not write fanfiction. I just like the movies and gush over… well, none of them, to be honest. Therefore, allow me to say that I did not expect much from the movie.

However, Ultron was still a bit underwhelming for me. Coming from the big bad alien war of the first movie, I thought there’d be something similar in this one, and I thought Ultron (the character) was that big bad alien.

(minor spoilers under the cut)

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Trifles

Back in freshman year in college for lit class we were asked to do a shrinklit poem where we shrink an entire story (play, novel, short story) into a poem. We were given Trifles by Susan Glaspell, and here is my shrinklit poem (edited already). I’m sharing it because I got a 3.8/4 for this assignment (essentially an A–my first one in that class). Considering I disliked writing poetry this was a huge achievement for me.

PLAYING AROUND WITH ‘TRIFLES’

Mrs. Wright was jailed for murdering her spouse
Right in the bedroom of their dreary house.
He lay in bed with a rope ‘round his neck
So the sheriff and attorney went to check
To see if there were clues left behind
To tell why murder crossed her mind.
The ladies, Mrs. Peters and Mrs. Hale,
(who went along with the lawful males)
found little trifles in the gloomy kitchen:
cloth for a quilt and jars that were broken.
A bird cage, too, with a broken door.
The bird that the cage was originally for
Was found all dead and oh, what gore!
Its neck was wrung.  ‘Twas a sight so sore!

The bird was Mrs. Wright’s only pet
And the ladies were all too willing to bet
That Mr. Wright killed the poor li’l bird
So the wife, her mind with pent-up anger blurred,
Killed the husband to avenge the bird.
Finally knowing what she went through,
The ladies felt pity (and compassion too).
So they decided to hide the dead bird
From the questioning eyes of the law and its board.
They walked away, the bird in a pocket
Scared but determined. On that you can bet.

Soulmate

When I was in college, my favorite English teacher talked to us about the idea of the soulmate. At one point she got personal and said that her soulmate was her best friend. It awakened me to the idea that soulmates don’t have to be your spouse. They could be your best friend or your sibling or some other random person you met on the street but whom you shared a deep and profound connection with.

I don’t know.

On my first year of teaching, I was assigned to co-moderate the grade school publication. I was a fish out of water; school publications were NOT my territory even though I considered myself a pretty decent writer. In any case, students in that club looked up to me as an “expert” and showed me their works for review and approval.

One of them, upon hearing that I used to read fanfiction, asked me to beta his work. I was shocked. He was a sixth grader who showed me–his teacher–a lemon. Truth be told I couldn’t comment on the greener aspects of his literature, but he had the makings of a potentially great writer. I told him so, and he kept writing. Now he has two? three? works legitimately published online (NOT Wattpad). And by legitimately I mean that he gets paid for every copy he sells.

That same student has, since that moment in his sixth grade life when I didn’t shoot him down for writing a lemon, called me his soulmate. I’ve since taken to calling him the same. We call each other sulmeyt, basically a bastardized spelling of the word.

While we were sulmeyts because we connected through literature, I think it’s safe to say that we neither considered each other our soulmate. That distinction has yet to be made, but right now I’m beginning to think I may have found mine.

But what exactly is a soulmate? Aristophanes, in Plato’s Symposium (read or download from here), tells the famous story of how humans initially had four arms and four legs and two sets of genitalia, but after the gods split them up humans got busy with looking for their “other half” because this other half will complete them. However, people nowadays say that soulmates don’t necessarily complete you; instead, soulmates make you better. They complement you instead of completing you because you yourself already are a complete being.

Until now the concept of a soulmate is hazy for me, so why do I say I may have found mine?

I don’t know.

It’s just a thought that won’t go away right now.

Queen Fab

My boss wrote a poem for me for my 10th year of service.

Screen Shot 2015-04-20 at 11.23.10 PM

Queen Fab
(F. S. Perez)

O, no Mercutio, she is real.
O, then, I see Queen Fab had been with you.
She is the fairest, and we are blest.
Her ways, her words put her on her royal highness.
Her style, her grace, her red tunic amaze us to blindness.

O, no, Mercutio, she is not a fairy, she is not a ghost, she is real.

Queen Fab, rock us, astound us… You are simply priceless.

Queen Fab, we love you, your Highness.

——

The story behind this:

I had been discussing Romeo and Juliet in class, hence the references to Mercutio and Queen Mab. Sir changed it to Queen Fab because I always dressed up on what I called Fab Fridays (when we don’t have to wear the uniform).

This poem caught me off guard. Sir recited this during a poetry reading session we had in school, and I totally did not know that what he was going to recite was for me until he mentioned me by name. Needless to say, I cried buckets.

E.M. Tippets

I am reading her (his?) book Someone Else’s Fairytale as a break from all the fantastic creatures of Pratchett’s world, and I have mixed feelings about this book. I’m not yet done–I’ve been reading  for three hours now, but I skipped whole chapters because… I can’t tell if I just can’t wait for the ending because I’m excited or it got too boring and I just want it over with.

Maybe it’s both.

And now on Google I find out that there are two more stories after this one.

WHY? I’m close to the end of this first book, and it seems like a pretty open-and-shut case/story/whatever to me.

Okay. Now I’m just disgruntled. I think I’ll go back to Pratchett again now.