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#PostcardsToSelf: Ho Chi Minh City, Viet Nam

In Ho Chi Minh City, Vietnam, chaos and beauty interchanges.  There is always confusion about how to properly treat things, the food you eat, the streets you cross, and that the places you visit highlighting the past, usually a heartbreaking one, collides with the present. 

Then there are strangers often in scooters who would gladly take you as passenger. One summer night, you become a passenger where a stranger speeds fast the chaotic streets during the rush hours. They take you to the grittiest parts of the city--in narrow streets where people sit in corners to eat, to have fun, to grieve, to get over a heartache, to survive, to share stories. You are afraid, always. 

On the scooter, the warm wind brushes through you--you are in this moment, you are a part of this moment, you are this moment. And there and then, you realize what it feels like to be alive in the present.  

The last thing you will know is that you are drawn in this city, in this chaotic but beautiful city. You will never forget Ho Chi Minh City.

Postcards sent to self on May 11, 2018, Saigon Central Post Office

Stories originally posted at instagram.com/dumbbeingdumb.

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Photoset: Going solo in Indochina

Hi friend, uhm. I recently came from an eight-day solo-backpacking trip to Southeast Asia following the Indochina trail, “Ahh, that infamous trail,” said the French-Vietnamese I met in Hoh Chi Minh City. Now I am back home and I have been getting a lot of questions like “how did you do it? Like, travel alone?” My honest response always whenever this kind of question is asked is: “I don’t know, I just feel like I needed to do it.”

Traveling is often looked as a luxury that maybe only the rich could afford but once you realize how it could enrich the soul, there’s no way back.  It reveals a new layer of you every time you come back to the familiar. It reshapes, releases fear, it makes you understand people and the beauty of connectivity. Traveling always makes you appreciate home and provides the reason why sometimes you choose to stay or to leave. So no matter how hard life become, I always make time for traveling.

This Indochina trip was unlikely, one that was always planned but never prepared for. I mean, it was anticipated but I left it hanging on my calendar without trying to fix the details of my itinerary. However, that made things more exciting because I really tried to immerse myself in every place I visited and walked like a true local. The journey was liberating in a sense that the unfamiliarity brought comfort to my soul. Healing, somehow. Maybe my soul needed that feeling of being lost. 

Today, as always, I think about all the places and people I’ll never see again.

Day 1: Hoh Chi Minh City, Viet Nam

In this museum, I tried to remember mostly from staring at the horrifying images of the war. I tried to close my eyes so as not to contain but they lured me in. From the writings on the walls, I tried to ask why, I kept reading but there were no answers. The war ruined a lot of things, took innocent lives. The people in the museum walked and stared in silence.

I spent more than two hours in the museum trying to connect every thing and what struck me the most was the horrifying artifacts and images of people wrought by the toxic chemical aka Agent Orange used as war weapon by the Americans. I was left wondering how humans are capable of such evil designs.

Inside the museum is a peculiar statue called “Mother” (Tuong Ba Me) made out of bomb remains mesmerized me.

Hoh Chi Minh City is easy to navigate. Most of the places I wanted to visit were located in the same district. But once you thought you’d be safe on the sidewalks, scooters, as much as they fascinated me, leave you aghast and fear for your lives.

And man, don’t even get me started on the number of coffeeshops like every corner there is at least one.

I randomly booked through Airbnb a Night Tour around the city of Viet Nam with uni-students serving as guides. The students took me to unfamiliar places which allowed me to see Viet Nam not only as bustling haven for tourists but also as a country ingrained with socialism.

One of the places we went to was Nguyen Thien Thuat Apartment, a housing program of the government for the people bearing a complicated history. While we were there, I tried to press one of the guides about the role of the government in the country but he refused to speak. A young French-Vietnamese tourist who was also in the Night Tour explained to me that people of Viet Nam choose not to talk about their government and what they see. Both of us wanted to believe that their refusal stemmed not from fear but from people’s firsthand experience of the injuries of war.

Days 2-4: Siem Reap, Cambodia

From Hoh Chi Minh City, Viet Nam, I took a 14-hour bus trip to reach Siem Reap, Cambodia. I took advantage of the land trip to observe the countryside and its people.

Siem Reap means “Defeat of Siam”, and is one of the cities in Cambodia situated in the Angkor Region and sits the oldest powers in Southeast Asia, the Khmer Empire.

Mostly in Siem Reap, I went Temple Hopping. Tuk-tuk makes going around the entire temple complex easier which cost me $21for 5-6 hours. For $37, I followed the Temple Tour 2 aka Big Tour and just asked my driver to include Angkor Wat Temple. Mind you, Siem Reap transacts in US dollars so it might surprise you that things are likely expensive. In the three countries, I spent the most amount of money in Siem Reap.

Angkor Wat was enormous. In the heat of midday, I walked around the sprawling complex and tried to grasp its artistic distinctiveness and impressive architecture. It overwhelmed me when it suddenly hit me while I was in the middle that I was standing on the ground where the earliest of mankind’s beauty, faith, and grandeur coexist.

Maybe it is basic Filipino trait to compare your home country whilst abroad. So I continuously just thought about “why can’t we have things like this in the Philippines”, placing great emphasis on pushing culture and tradition forward to boost the tourism sector. In Siem Reap, once you see deeper, there, you learn that the people value what they have and they know how to work around in sharing their culture and tradition to others.

Days 5-8: Bangkok, Thailand

It was raining when I arrived in Bangkok, a welcome repose from the dry and humid weather of Hoh Chi Minh City and Siem Reap. It was the middle of the week and most people were already worn-out from school or work. I, myself, was already tired. I started missing the familiar.

The seven-hour trip from Siem Reap to Bangkok drained every bit of me I got sick one night. The next day, I woke up thirty minutes past one in the afternoon at my room in a Hostel full of Europeans in complete shock since my body went on a sleeping spree and just decided out of my will to sleep and naturally rest. It was the best thing that my body did for me I felt rejuvenated afterwards.

Bangkok Arts and Culture Center surprised me. During the visit, there was an on-going exhibition entitled I Am You by a local artist Vasan Sitthiket. The artworks allowed me to take a glimpse of the political and economic setting of Thailand in the past years.

On my last day in Bangkok, I hopped from one temple to another—from Wat Arun and Wat Po (where the reclining Buddha is housed) to the Grand Palace Complex. The latter is where the Temple of the Emerald Buddha is placed. However, I did not get the chance to bask in the full glory of the Grand Palace as it was high noon when I arrived and the site was packed with too many Chinese tourists it confused me.

Indochina is a progression of culture and tradition—from Hoh Chi Minh City, Viet Nam to Siem Reap, Cambodia, to Bangkok, Thailand. I was truly moved, in ways that words get tangled whenever I try to describe how the experience was, and eye-opening, making me realize how countries in Southeast Asia are truly rooted and connected amidst diversity.

But what I just really want to say is that going on a solo tour for the first time truly changed my perspectives for the better. It felt like things started to align even though I am not sure what those “things” are. Ahh, the spell of getting lost.

When people press me, I somehow refuse to tell more stories from this trip, instead, I encourage them to consider in this lifetime to try it--to go on a solo trip in unchartered waters. Promise, it will change your life.

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Climbing to Mt. Pulag actually felt like dying. Serious talk, no hanash. We started trekking at one in the morning, an ungodly hour where usually I am in my deepest sleep. Temperature at the top of the mountains dipped to as low as 5-degree celsius, I became a walking popsicle. During the climb, the skies was bereft of stars. Darkness totally enveloped us with only our head lamps to light our way of narrow trails, steep inclines, and beside dangerous cliffs.

"Kuya, malayo pa ba?" was the common question asked by most of the climbers. There was no nudge of assurance by our guide.

Thirty minutes of walking, we stopped. I looked back and someone was vomiting. I looked back and someone was begging the guides to take them back to the base. I never been really scared for my life not until that moment.

Four o' clock, we reached the second camp, just few kilometers away from the summit. It continued to drizzle and all hopes of a beholding sunrise or the proverbial sea of clouds were all gone. What's the point of continuing then? I wanted to go back or just wait for the others to return to the camp. I felt really weak, fatigue overcame me. From behind, someone was already thinking of a caption for her profile picture. "Maybe a bible qoute would be good," she said. Inhale. Exhale. I needed to finish this.

My trail food felt like air being ingested. My patience and strength, my ability to rule over my mind was being tested. "I have to continue, I have to reach the summit," I whispered to myself.

The dawn started to break in and the skies seemed like falling onto us. The coldness started to seep through my bones. This is getting worse. The path became muddier and one lose of balance could lead to the end of one's life. My heart was beating fast and my head was throbbing in pain from the cold winds.

"Malapit na tayo sa summit," shouted our guide. I slumped to the muddy terrain and gathered my strength. Just when I was about to lose all hope, light rays bursted from the sky. The rain dissipated and from the darkness, we were welcomed by a wide expanse of greenery. Speechless. It felt like I was in another dimension. That qoute about overcoming hardship before reaching the best of life came to mind. It is true.

Just few more steps, Mikyong. Just few more steps. There and then, we reached the summit. The air was chill, one can almost reach the sky. The horizon was limitless.

What was supposed to be a four-hour climb became seven hours for us. We were stopped by fear, pain, overthinking, and many other things along the way. I never thought I could survive it. It felt surreal, out of this world. "You can never know what your body can do until you test it," I overheard from one of the climbers. Another truth.

I stressed out for this climb for a week: first, I am not really a mountain person, I am more of a beach person, and the prospect of going up the highest peak in Luzon (third in the entire country) scared the shit out of me, and second, I have priorities. Adulting priorities.

But my friend Athena was so insistent I had to come up with too many alibis every damn time she asked me not to ditch her. Until it occured to me that I am in that stage of my life where I need to make things happen and say yes to everything that scares me. So yes, I did it.

It was not a goddamn walk in the park. The descent from the top was even harder. It was an entirely new experience as usually I’ll be by the beach just chilling.

But you know what I appreciate most from this climb is that you have to really trust and commit to the process. No skips if you truly want to have the best in life. Best things, well the best view and experience in the case of climbing Mount Pulag, await those who are brave amidst challenges and darkness. Also, humor could save us all.

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#PostcardsToSelf: Cebu City

In a blistering heat and sea of strangers, I roamed around Cebu City with a hope of finding decent postcards to send to a friend who messaged me that she wanted one. This brought to mind the idea of #PostcardsToSelf--of sending one postcard bearing a note of my hopes for the future, my present struggles and my *basura* feels of how being in an unfamiliar place full of strangers can assure me that everything will be better. This postcard will be sent to my address from wherever I shall be on this planet. And the goal is to know my self better and how traveling can truly change and heal someone.

I sent my very first #PostcardsToSelf in Cebu City. To be honest, finding a decent establishment in Cebu that sells postcards was a struggle. One employee of Island Souvenirs told me that they had to phase-out the items because "nobody buys them anyway." The irony of it all was that I was able to find ones in a local bookstore, gathering dusts in one corner, waiting to be submitted as school project of elementary kids.

I was not entirely sure what to make of Cebu City. I wanted to remember the city as the cradle of civilization, to see it as how the place was described from our elementary textbooks. But somehow, my expectations fell short because I never thought a city with its inherent charm can be truly damaged by unmanaged modernization and uncontrolled rise in population. But nonetheless, I enjoyed my walking tour of the Old Cebu--where the sacred and profane meets.

For more photos from my Cebu-Bohol trip, visit my instagram account.

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Short but meaningful weekend trip with my closest friends at Anawangin, Zambales. As young, broke millenials, we pushed through with the trip despite PAGASA declaring that rainy season has already commenced across the country. Because you know we are risk takers like that. Haha The best part of the trip was rekindling friendship with my highschool beshiecakes (looking at you MeloDee, who is now an architect, and Louise, who came home from Dubai for a month-long vacay). Here I realized that distance can't really trump real friendship. And, uhm, you know, dahil ma-drama ako isisingit ko na lang din ang realization na what I lack in romance, I gain in friendships. Truly, maybe, Anawangin knows what love is. 🌸 There was one part in the trip where some of us were really drunk, we lied down on the sand by the shore, and just looked at the distant moon and and a single star beside it while we sang along to our favorite songs from our highschool lyf. I don't know about you but it was one of the moments that made me appreciate life even more. Music-Empty Threat (Big Wild Remix)-Chvrches

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Dumalneg, Ilocos Norte

Photo by Reu Dawner Flores.

May 10, 2017, 12:56 PM

Pagudpud, Ilocos Norte

I am 23 years old today. God, that sounds exhausting. But in all honesty, I am exhausted and that has been the general state of my life since 2017 began. My wired, obsessive self tries to convince me that I got it all good and now is the time to get my life in order. But my young and reckless self says to just fuck it all up and just go with the flow. Here is how year 22 went by:

At 22, my soul is tired, restless, and broken.

At 22, I lost the love of my life, Janlee. The stories that surround our break up do not really matter anymore as being loved and loving him at one point in time outweighs everything.  I still see him at every moment I close my eyes but by now I have come to terms that there is nothing I could really do than to be hopeful for the future and be warm about the past.

At 22 (well, at the latter parts of the year), I am relearning the value of being alone—of depending not to anyone but only to myself. Just yesterday I passed a beautiful but morbid quote over pinterest that says, “Everyone you love is going to die.” Go figure.

At 22, just like when I turned a year older last year, I still do not know where the fuck I am—but there is this nudge of reassurance that I think I am slowly getting there. I recently passed the Philippine Law School Admission Test, you know that examination everyone needs to take up now if you want to study law. On the day when the results came out, I felt so motivated and overwhelmed—a feeling that I have never had for such a long, long time. It was as if the universe unfolded and gave me something that I could finally like doing.  Go make this happen and don’t fuck it up, self.

At 22, I finally know who my truest friends are. You know, the kind where I can say to myself that “fuck, these are the people I will grow up with for the rest of my life.” While there is always something to learn about meeting others, I just think that at this age you can’t just easily trust people, and it’s exhausting going around, right? I think it is one of the most beautiful thing in this world when you have this set of people who know the rawest of your soul and still loves and accepts you nonetheless.

And at 22, I finally learned that family is everything. Need I say more?

Maybe here’s to growing up: learning to acknowledge the truth that things just keep on changing, that what you actually have now will soon disappear. Or maybe, growing up means constantly seeking for things that will last—something that will make us hold on longer to whatever we consider important—,and maybe ensuring that the one you love will be there by your side the next time you celebrate your birthday. But I don’t really know. Maybe it’s good, maybe it’s bad. How would I know?

I have learned so much about acceptance and letting go this year. I have lost so much that I am still putting things back together and trying to make sense of everything that has happened, but I’d like to believe that I have also gained things I never thought I needed.

So persist, self. Persist.

With all the love and gayness in this world,

Michael

PS. Thanks for all the lovely, lovely greetings. I’ll have them all read one by one tonight. Keep ‘em coming. xx

[This entry was originally posted at facebook on the day of my 23rd birthday on May 10, 2017. I reposted it here as I try to get myself into writing which I have done for so loooooong.]

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My friends and I had a fun, crazy, spontaneous vacay at San Juan, La Union where we were mostly drunk during the entire stay. It was so good. I did not write and read as I promised to do but we met crazy people who also believe that alcohol can do good things to us like staying true and being in love with one another; there was a pretty girl who believed that the future lies on push-up bras; a real life Anne-Curtis-type-I-can-buy-you-and-your-friends as she was the actual owner of one of the bars where my friend and I got drunk the shit out of us; and I met zen people who made me realized that I should just let it all go and be happy and sad and there is nothing wrong about feeling things. I have been wanting to escape home, a place that is filled with overwhelming memories and ghosts of the past. I was dying to get out of this city for a while but I realized that I cannot really escape. Everything followed me and what I can only do is to embrace all of it and appreciate all that has happened. No regrets. Now, I am home, uhm, sober and filled with optimism and also back in social media (yes, I cannot also escape this place). Xx Music: What You Know-Two Door Cinema Club

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He knows places

Between us, you have always been the one good with directions. With your forgetfulness of things from banal to grand, you make it up by your precise remembrance of locations.

You know where the roads will lead us—if from here will converge a new one or turn out to be a highway full of cars, confused glances and people filled with fear and reluctance. Or possibly a road in the middle of nowhere? Us surrounded by arid lands with few people walking on the roadside peacefully disconnected from the rest of us.

While I continue to struggle in distinguishing my right hand from the left one and that the north, east, west and south remains a concept I may never understand, here you are, remembering locations and drawing markers. And in a province that is deemed to be small, too small, for people like us who cannot contain our dreams and hopes, you

find

places.

You do. Be that in a secluded town where a mountain rests and unfolds a glorious sight; in a grimy town where out of nowhere a cliff stands overlooking the sea that meets the sky; or in a riverbank where we could witness the majesty of how the night takes over the day in an instant. These—you always find us an escape from the mundane or even an escape to our own lives. That there are still places where we stayed our entire lives that could surprise us and I am glad that you have the directions.

Between us, you will always have this unusual fascination of forgetting things and finding, remembering places that nobody would care about. The fascination to look for beauty in a small province that is almost dreary for the young, wild ones. But here what I would really like to say: I am always glad, that no matter where this unusual fascination of yours takes the both of us, I am glad, that I was the one who found you, and yes, I will always remember you.

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The ‘sorry’ state of my life at 22

I turned 22 years old a day after the national elections--a day when the country was in a panic, hurried state. With social media basically turning as a war zone of people standing as self-proclaimed soldiers for their own political bets, my birthday was marred with word wars through mini-essay writing competitions, and reputations, if not scarred, were thoroughly lost. This was it. My birthday lost in the middle of the grand illusion that our motherland still carries the chance to be saved from eternal damnation.

Much as I wanted my patriotism to be ignited and fully support my presidential bet by throwing shade and sharing insightful memes (basically considered as historical materials in modern society) in social media, I decided to stay away from all of it. Yes, because I was more worried with the state of my life as I turned 22. Uhm, or, I needed to feel sorry for myself more than I was sorry for the state of our own beloved country. Also, I no longer needed that much of digital toxicity as my life was already falling into pieces.

You know, birthdays are always hard because there is this unexplained feeling--akin to ushering in a new year with the hope of a clean slate--that you have to acknowledge the current situation of your life. And I was afraid that I did not have the slightest idea of what was actually happening.

I wanted to write a birthday letter addressed to my 21-year old self; something to enlighten and remind me of my youth and how it is basically all I have right now to conquer the world and become that someone I always thought to be.

I have never fully given up on myself as everyday I breathe-in-and-breathe-out, count one-to-ten, and affirm to the universe that “today, self, you will make things happen.” That even without a concrete plan, amidst all the vagueness of it all, I still try to grasp whatever is left of my life. But I did not write that letter because priorities at work started to pile up and I became engrossed on reassessing my career growth, which will make up for another story.

At 20, I had it all easy. Get a good-paying job. Do not doubt yourself. Do not be afraid of other people. Prioritize your personal and professional development. Live a healthy life and stay away from negativity. Simple. Formulaic.

But at 21, things slowly changed; I became that pathetic, entitled millennial who was so afraid of a lot of things but still wanting to strive for greatness, fulfilment, to find that something. I started to be afraid of my job, of my own life falling right in front of me. I did not know why but I was constantly afraid. Without realizing it, I stopped achieving the goals I set.

A week before my birthday, I almost ended a relationship that I thought was going well but in all honesty was sinking. My work-life, as much as it brings challenging pursuits, does not make me feel good about myself anymore. I feel stuck in an endless cycle.

I was (am) in an unexplained situation; an unknown life crisis, where do I go from here. Say, go with the flow. But how the fuck am I going to do that when I am not even sure if there is even a flow I could sail to. It is undeniably hard, and I could no longer pretend that my life is in order.

Miserable, it might be, but I needed to come to terms with myself, with the situation.

At 22, I have come to terms that I do not need a lot of people in my life. See, there are even less than 30 people who remembered and greeted me on my birthday without them being reminded by facebook, and I am glad they did. I find solace that there are those who stay and they will always be the one that matter.

I have come to terms that I needed not to hold on too much in a relationship with someone but in a relationship with myself. That it took a sinking relationship for me to remind myself of the kind of love that I know I deserve.

I have come to terms that I can always walk away from situations, from people when I should. That enough is enough. When I am deemed rather as an accessory and not a human being anymore. Walk away from people who no longer respect you, from situations that are not making you any better anymore. You can always be better, you can always improve at what you do, and you can always learn lessons. You can always do all of these with people still respecting and not demeaning you.

With all the hardships and sadness, there is the underlying relief in the thought that all of us are actually confused with what we are actually doing. We are all just clueless about life and that we all fight our own battles. So as much as possible, I need to be humble and respectful of other people.

I wanted to write how wonderful and fulfilling my life is, but it would be purely illusion, you might not believe me. And I knew that I needed this acknowledgment at this point--it is already cliched but one thing is certain, it will get harder from here. I need to acknowledge how sorry I am for myself so I know where and how to begin, again. Through this, I know that I am still capable of giving myself a chance.

I am thankful, always, but you know, it gets way real and by that I mean way more depressing, sad and fucked-up when you are here, when you are actually 22.

---

All photos by Raine Mateo-Calucag, May 2016

Special thanks to Janlee Sardeng

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‘April is the cruelest month’

Photo by Janlee J. Sardeng, Pagudpud, Ilocos Norte, April 2016

April, as one poet said, is the cruelest month. I have never believed this until I joined a writing contest back in college and had to share a personal narrative on how and why April is truly a month brimming with pain, cruelty.

I wrote a story for my entry that I was always afraid to acknowledge-the encompassing fear I always had for my father. After that, I started to dread the coming of April as most of the harrowing, depressing episodes of my life always involved the month with my drunk and ballistic father in the middle of it all. 

With summer in full bloom and bright and beautiful days ahead, bitter and dark memories of April-past are reawakened and dread engulfs me all throughout the course of the month. As if my brain has been wired anticipating for something miserable, in one way or another, is bound to happen.

APRIL is the cruellest month, breeding Lilacs out of the dead land, mixing Memory and desire, stirring Dull roots with spring rain. Winter kept us warm, covering Earth in forgetful snow, feeding A little life with dried tubers.

--The Waste Land, T.S Elliot

In the April of this year, I knew I could no longer do it. I needed to recognize and face the fear I always had for this month and finally move on with the grim happenings that I always linked with it. I have felt them, all the feelings and emotions. I have felt them. I have had enough.It was just all in my head.

I needed to believe that my father was a good person sans the influence of alcohol, that he is a sacrificing, brave man that I always looked up to when I was a kid. Forgetting, in this situation, was all I could do, and losing grasp of the image that made me afraid of him would only make me forgive myself for not moving on for a long time.

I needed to stop allowing myself to trigger dreadful memories and live a month in fear of what might happen. I needed to bury the unwanted memories I always had for this month.

April of this year has come and gone, somehow, I waited for what the month had in store for me. But you know what, the choice was mine, I had been shaped and all throughout the past Aprils of my lives, I made it mine this time and created positive and enlivening memories.

Before the month of May comes and the first rain of summer falls, there was April, a bright, golden month. I have never looked at April the same way again and maybe the month makes me want to remember, but this time, I want to remember April in a fresh, wonderful outlook; like an fifteen-year-old excited to end a year in school and go on adventures,  discover the universe, full of freedom and sunshine; April, as a month filled with hope, wonders and a chance to create heartwarming memories.

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War in paradise

Sunset at El Nido, Palawan, April 15, 2016

In a paradise 488 miles away from home, you finally decided to do what I always dreaded to happen. You, at that very moment, were finally laying down your arms.

A war was declared but we both knew that none of us would emerge as victors, both of us were in the losing end. In an attempt to save our relationship we made our points in calm voices, trying not to inflict fear. But unlike in most wars, we seemed afraid to conquer the other. This was the kind of war where we wanted to save both parties from wreckage, where we hoped that love would prevail at the end.

But with this hope, I saw your eyes devoid of emotion as at the very beginning you were already waving your flag, the white one, truce, you said. You no longer wanted to spill blood, refused to pull the trigger and release the bullets. You were tired, I understood, as this was not the first time we attempted to end it, meaning us.

I tried, despite my words being crashed away by the waves of the sea as in this all-out war, I knew that it was my last chance to save us of what remains. With the dark sky bereft of stars, I yielded that it was a war I needed to win for us.

Perhaps, we needed to engage in this war even when we were in a paradise, even when I knew from the start that I was the only one left fighting. Because in wars, people fight until their last breaths over things that they believe matter. Thus I fought and became a soldier because I believe in us, I believe that you are the only one that matters. 

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Puerto Princesa x El Nido x Underground River, Palawan

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Traces

I started to think about all the times when out of nowhere the things that you own strangely appear under my bed; tucked on my pillows, hidden on the sheets. And these times, despite now breeding familiarity, remain to surprise me.

In more specific circumstances, your eyeglasses would show itself alongside the two broad windows of my room. Sometimes, indistinctive, your eyeglasses appear on the most mundane areas of our home; in the deepest corners of the furniture in the sala or even atop of the refrigerator. Sometimes, it surprises me how you actually leave you purse, watch or your phone beside the kitchen sink or on my study table. Sometimes, if I fail looking, or if I stopped at all, your things are left for days, or if it happens for months, now peppered with dusts. As terrible as it may seem, you would leave behind what you own, entirely forget where you leave the things, not considering how valuable they might be, not until I find them.

This might have never been an option for you, or it has become forced out of habit. I never asked questions, as I always find pleasure in magically uncovering what you own. I have never known the reasons why you always mindfully, I’d like to believe the opposite, abandon your things in places where you are certain that I’d find them; perhaps, you’d sense that I will always start looking for you, for things that would somehow piece us together, connect me to you in your extensive or abrupt absence.

After all, I started believing that this ostensibly obvious ignorance, your forgetfulness, is a playful assurance for the heart that doubts. I have found the traces you leave, but I have found you mostly. And if you might be ever lost again, remember, that I have never ceased, and no plans to retire from searching, for all of the dull things that have gone astray; but primarily, for you, no matter how lost you might be. Trust me too well that I will always look for you.

Photo above by: Grant Matias, February 2016

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I’d like to write about us

I have always wished to write more about us; from all our wonderful and crazy adventures to the mundane and sacred things that we both have come to like doing together.

I have always dreamt of writing about us and our Sunday rituals together. Despite it breeding familiarity, planned, as it feels like we have been doing the same things every Sunday all our lives, I like the certainty; the idea of an entire day to be spent with you. And somehow, the repetition becomes a tradition, and Sunday, from thereon, has become even more special.

I have always wanted to write about the things you do that hurt me, the arguments that seemed endless, those nights that almost made us gave up on us. About your silence, albeit destroying me sometimes, has saved us, countless. About how you bury my fears and sorrows, how you make me feel safe, secured.

Most importantly, I would like to know how it feels like to write about falling asleep on your arms after a tiring day and waking up beside you with the morning sun on your face. About the simple things together; us eating McDonald’s two-piece pancakes and warm coffee on a Sunday morning, driving to the beach to catch the glorious sunset, as we wait for darkness to engulf the sky. Or just the feel of your hand as I hold it inside the movie theater. I would like to write about the beauty of falling in love with you every single day.

But writing about us has been harder than I imagined. And in my previous attempts, I failed. Maybe, I like to keep it all to myself, to us. A private, shared connection in a universe that we have created solely for ourselves. As if to make everything between us stronger and real.

All photos by: Raine Mateo-Calucag, December 2015

[dumbbeingdumb]

Sunset warrior

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[dumbbeingdumb]

Janlee,

Today is your 21st birthday. I am not sure where you are right now, whatever you are doing to celebrate your day but one thing is certain, you stopped talking to me.

I imagined in my head that we will be celebrating it together. You never told me how you wanted to celebrate, you never told me that this was what you wanted for your 21st birthday.

But I don’t know, I could have done something to surprise you.

I could have played you a birthday song on the piano, finally doing it after how you have relentlessly asked me to play you a piece, but I never did because I thought I could never do it for you. I remember you asking me one day, "Why can’t you play me a single song on the piano but you can do it for other reasons except for me?" I could have played you a piece today but it’s all in my head now. I could have gotten you a birthday cake, just like last year and make you wish all your worries away before blowing your birthday candles. We could have gone to the beach, just like always, and witness the glorious sunset, wind upon our face, waiting to witness the iridescent twilight that comes after. Bliss. Or perhaps, I could have gone to McDonald’s this morning and get us pancakes and coffee for breakfast, just like you always do.

Just like you always do. You are always the kind who never talked, do anything if something was wrong with our relationship. I always hated how you kept your mouth shut and how you disappeared whenever I needed you to argue with me. Just like you always do.

Right now, more than ever, I need you to argue with me if what we have is worth saving, if we are prepared to throw away a year’s worth of memories, if you are still there to save me from this misery and despair. I am always willing to go back and let whatever going on with us right now pass but just please let me know not with your deafening silence, not with your disappearance and not with unanswered phone calls and text messages. 

On your day, you remained silent. But I don’t need your silence anymore. I need your words, I need you to let me know with your words. Even if it’s going to break me apart, I need your words because your silence, the loud and deafening silence, destroys me more than words can and will do.

[dumbbeingdumb]

when it's friday