aka Please Give this Blog Entry a Chance.
I’ve had the chance to rest and think over the past week (much thanks to my flu -_-) and this is the result of my musings. Please be nice, I was never a literary writer. I just needed to pen this down.
The following events may or may have not happened in real life. Also, if you can, you might want to listen to Canon in D while reading this.
It’s a lazy Sunday afternoon. After three hours of sudoku, chatting with friends and Mafia Wars, you get bored and decide to do something with your life.
You head to the mall- because it’s the national past time and you’re but a conforming Filipino. It is more packed than usual, with the gigantic letters S-A-L-E plastered on the facade of the building.
“Fuck.” a whispered curse escapes your lips. You suddenly regret being there, being amidst a pool of enthusiastic shoppers and crying toddlers. Your feet drag you to the nearest coffee shop because that’s what you’re there for, really- to be alone in the corner, contemplating about life, whilst sipping expensive coffee. Or tea latte, as your prefer it. No 3-in-1 tea lattes are available in the market and that’s your lame excuse to be rid of the guilt of buying a beverage that costs more than a poverty-stricken man’s daily salary.
You find your spot. It’s cozy and gives you enough view to watch people and not be seen in return. One of those times when you want to be but a wallflower.
I was never a poet. I mean, one can probably argue that poetry, much like beauty is subjective and blah blah but really, I kind of have given up on writing poems. Primarily because I knew it wasn’t my forte and hence, I should but channel my energy on things I’m good at and secondarily, well, there’s no secondarily.
Just before I graduated from school, I attempted to have one of my poems published. The editor in chief of the anthology (or whatever writers call them) was a very good friend of mine, like a really really good friend but my knees shook and my hands perspired as I submitted my work.
“Read it to me.”, said my friend.
“WHAT? NOOOOO! I’m scared.”, I answered flamboyantly. I must’ve even flailed.
“Scared of what? C’mon, bitch. Do it.”
After I had read my piece, the said friend put her hand on my shoulder, sighed and explained that ‘it’s just a tad too dramatic.’
“Kring, I could pretty much imagine the persona with her long, red nails, posed as if she’s on the verge of fainting, awaiting a knight-in-shining-armor on a white horse to rescue her. Keep your poetry simple.”
And with that, she smiled, patted me on the back and showed me her freshly written Weiss Kreuz yaoi fanfics. True story.