What If I Were

Look at them. Standing around in their white coats, poking around where they shouldn’t, scribbling notes that they think will someday help them understand.

So serious. Always so serious.

They keep trying to study us, make us subjects of their little experiments. I know what they do to the rest of my kin when they somehow catch one of us. I heard the stories, and they didn’t sound pretty. They use the crudest methods of study, cutting us open and picking us apart like some sort of carcass, as though the secrets of our existence were written on our bones. They argue among themselves, trying to decide who is wrong and who is right when it came to our…behavior.

Highly insulting, that.

Their ancestors never tried to question us. They worshipped us. They made shrines in our honor, painted us on their walls, carved us in wood and clay and into immortality. We were…why, we were gods.

Now…we’re only lab rats. No longer gods but mere objects of speculation. They have me on their table, bound and immobilized. I was caught, and they think it is some sort of victory. They think they’re so smart now, with their fancy gadgets and “complicated” theories, theories that couldn’t be farther from the truth. I lie here, and I watch them. It’s laughable.

They are not studying me. No. I am studying them. Those long hours of lurking in shadows weren’t for leisure.

And now that they’ve caught me, I will feed them information without their knowledge, and they will think they are another step closer to understanding our nature. And when I’m done here, I’ll be gone, and I will leave no trace behind. I, unlike these barbaric humans, know how to clean up after myself. They would wonder, I know, where I have gone and how I left, but they wouldn’t mind. They’ll be so confident that they can find and capture another like me.

Oh but of course it would be an easy task, finding another one of us.

I was caught, because like everyone else of our kind who was captured, I was supposed to be caught.

It’s laughable, the way they think their intelligence is above ours. For all the intellect that they boast of, they do not know that should we decide to really, finally take this earth from their fragile little fingers, they will not survive. They, with their fancy gadgets and complicated theories, will not be saved from what we’re capable of.

I close my eyes. Let them enjoy this so-called victory. There is nothing in me that they will find that I don’t want them to find.

We were here long before them. We’ll be here long after they’ve gone.

They're watching.

—

A/N: Another exercise for the writing group. The challenge? Less than 1000 words on “What If I Were”. Anybody have an idea who or what is speaking? :p

A year ago today

(This post is for yesterday, December 13)

A year ago today, I was at the airport, sullenly dragging my luggage along as we waited for our flight to Las Vegas, and eventually, Canada. At the time, I thought it’d take years before I could visit (not come home to) the Philippines. My heart broke every time I thought of that fact.

A year ago today, my family was eager to see each other,  with optimistic hopes of possibly making up for the years that we spent apart.

A year ago today, my friends all gave me calls and messages of au revoir and prayed for my speedy return.

A year ago today, I was happily in love, my head full of idealistic notions of “love will get us through”.

December 13 of this year, I am back in the Philippines. My family is kind of in shambles. I am single (again), and my ego is still pretty bruised from being dumped by quite possibly the most disappointing person I know.

None of those matter though. Because I spent today, December 13, 2009, with two of my best friends, my soul sisters. We saw a play and had crepes and coffee and talked about career paths and family issues and moving out. We were talking, not on YM, not on Skype, but face-to-face.

All that matters is that on December 13, 2009, I am home. Happy Anniversary Canada.

Distrust

My entry for a writing exercise. 300 words on “distrust”. Characters are fictional. Names with resemblance to real persons are purely coincidental.

—

She drummed her fingers on the table, the glass cold under her touch, biding her time. A window for Yahoo! Mail was open on the screen, the cursor in the Username box blinking strangely in sync with her heartbeat, mocking her.

Do it. You know you want to. You have to. It’s the only way.

She shouldn’t. She really shouldn’t. She’s not that kind of person, the kind that pokes her nose where it doesn’t belong.

A chat window popped onscreen. “Hey honey,” it said. Her eyes burned at the term of endearment. It’s a wonder how a word that used to make her feel so special and effortlessly happy could suddenly feel so contrived. So…false.

“You’re out late again,” was her response. “Overtime at rehearsal?”

“Kind of. Hung out with the others for a bit after too,” he said.

“Oh okay. Who with?” She keyed in a smiley, glad that her webcam was broken and he couldn’t see her grit her teeth through the screen.

“Org mates. Garret. Jay. Therese. The usuals.”

Of course. Therese. She really should’ve guessed.

She’s a friend. I told you that.

“I missed you,” he said. It only made the burning worse. Hot tears leaked out as she squeezed her eyes shut.

Really, now?

She couldn’t take it anymore. She had to know.

It was almost uncanny, the speed in which her fingers hit the keys and entered his e-mail’s username and password. Within moments, the page has loaded and it showed five unread messages. Out of the five, only one stood out. There was no subject, but the header said it was from therese.sison@gmail.com.

She moved the cursor until it hovered over the link, her hand trembling on the trackpad.

A mouse click, a photo and a few seconds of reading later, she burst into tears and promptly shattered to pieces.

 

Drafting the wishlist

A friend of mine tagged me in her Birthday/Christmas Wishlist Facebook note. (Hallo Yoj!) She was…more or less specific about what she wanted. One look at that list and you’d find out exactly what she’s into.

My birthday is coming up (only five more days yay!) so I figured, hey, maybe I should write a wishlist too. Last time I made one, I got nearly everything on the list. Who knows, it could happen again this year.

So I opened a new document, flexed my fingers and…

Nothing.

I couldn’t think of anything. I sat there for a while, just staring into the blank screen, unable to think of even one thing that I wish I could have. How the hell is that possible?

I could ask for one of the new Canon digital cameras, but on second thought…nah. I’m happy with Yvaine. (Yvaine’s my trusty Powershot 1100IS, just so you know.) I’ve always wanted an iPod Touch, but I swore that until Helena (my iPod Video) becomes a hopeless case, I’m not giving her up. I haven’t gotten around to reading the all books that I bought, so I don’t need any more to add to my queue at the moment. I could think of several items of clothing and accessories that I fancied, but none that screamed ZOMGWANTGIMMENOW.

What I REALLY want right now, sadly, couldn’t be purchased in stores.

What I want…is to find out what I want. (Okay, confused yet? Good, me too.) Wait, no. I know where I want to be. My biggest dream has always been to work for a women’s magazine, and write novels on the side. I set that dream aside because Nursing promised greener pasteurs and easy money. I had two months to try and get used to life as a nurse and as much as I valued the experience…Let’s just say I don’t think I would be happy, living that kind of life.

I want to deviate and try going for ye olde dream again, but now I lack the proper background. Getting hired to work in a magazine will be a bit of a long shot for me now. I’m still going to try though, and see if it takes me down a different road, or if it will lead me back to where I started.

Hm. I have five days to think about what to wish for before I close my eyes and blow those birthday candles. I’ll see if I can come up with anything by then. Suggestions, anyone?

Scar Formation

I took a trip down memory lane last night. There were old photos and notes, little professions of the things you felt for me back then, evidence of the promises you made.

It was like taking a band-aid off a wound to see how it’s doing.

Glad to say that it didn’t bleed. There’s a little bit of an ache, but it has dulled from how bad it used to burn. It’s only a matter of time before a scar would be all that’s left, just a mark on my skin, neither painful nor pleasurable.

Something to remember you by.

—

Sorry for the emo post, I just had to. If I don’t let that out, it’d fester into something grosser. XD

Calamity

Unless you’ve been in a remote cave somewhere in the Atlantis, you’ve probably heard about the disaster that was Ondoy.

I’ve only been around in this world for nearly twenty-two years, but this has got to be one of the, if not the sole, worst situations that happened in my lifetime.

On the weekend when Ondoy struck, I was at home. I remember constantly checking the window, waiting for any signs of the rain stopping. I had to go on duty that day you see, and after that was an event that I had been looking forward to for days. When the street outside our house started to flood, I knew I wasn’t going anywhere. Our area is pretty elevated, compared to most. If it’s starting to flood here, everywhere else must be submerged in water.

So I called the hospital, told them I couldn’t make it and spent the next few hours online (as per usual lol). Time crawled past, and I got more and more annoyed. The rain wasn’t stopping, hence the cancellation of plans, my internet went dead, followed soon after by a power outage. I’d forgotten to charge my phones and iPod, and there wasn’t enough light for me to even attempt to read. I had nothing to DO. Que horror!

While I was busy complaining over my petty desires, scenes from Noah’s Ark were happening elsewhere. Only when I saw the news roughly 24 hours later, when the power went back on, did I realize just how bad things had gotten. And just like that I felt selfish and shallow, and a bit guilty that the worst I’ve been through was ankle-high flood in my living room and boredom.

I’ll been doing some volunteer work, to counteract that guilt and repent for my selfish thoughts. Join me?:)

Welcome to the Crossroads

Ever since I was a child, I knew I wanted to write.

I preferred storybooks over toys, and made up tales in my head, using dolls as the characters. I went on journeys in the playground, sometimes alone, other times with a playmate who would humor my rather silly musings.

It was in high school that I discovered I had a knack for it, when I tried out for the school org. “She’s what we’re looking for” they had said, and for a while I believed that I was actually good at it. I wrote poetry and short stories, reviews and fanfiction. I had a diary, and then a blog, and wrote about anything and everything I could think of. It didn’t matter if I wrote about inane, teenage experiences or *gag* unrequited love. All that mattered was that I wrote.

Then I stopped. For reasons that even I couldn’t tell, I stopped writing. Maybe I didn’t have enough time, maybe I was always too tired, or simply terribly uninspired. It’s been a while since I wrote something of substance, and whatever talent I had has dwindled away, atrophied from disuse.

Now, however, is a good time for me to try and start again. I’ve just experienced how it is to get in a relationship, be in one, and get out of one. I’m out of college and is currently in search of a job. What career path to follow, I do not know yet. No, that’s not a late manifestation of teenage angst. I’m a Nursing graduate (yes, I know what you’re thinking), who, like many others in my place, is contemplating on whether I made the right choice in pursuing the said course.

So here I am. This is me standing at the crossroads, trying to navigate through the many twisted paths and to avoid any more dead ends. If you’d like to join me, you are most welcome. I could use the company.