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DoodleScribbles

Scribblings and scrawls of a hopeless romantic soul

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Attic Curse

grayscale photo of woman right hand on glass

Dusk rolled in
The rain dripping on panes
Its pitter-patter, an ether
Bringing euphoria
To the grimalkin
Who sits in the attic

In silence, she cursed
The zodiac signs
The planetary cabal—
An augur ill to misgivings
Causing her to miss
True love’s kiss
MS


In response to MindLoveMisery’s Menagerie’s Wordle #120 and  dVerse’s Quadrille: A Prelude to a Kiss hosted by De who challenges us to blow some kisses into our poems today.

Here’s a little something for a friend who is afraid of taking chances! 😉

Image: Unsplash

Head over here to join the prompt!

dverse

TRES MARIAS: Finding Beauty in the Blur

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Admit it or not, fear still creeps in your spine whenever you are faced with uncertainty. It is terrifying inasmuch as it is exciting. It takes your breath away for a second or two; it makes your heart skip a beat faster. Think of the last time you proudly called yourself brave — the day you stood up against your boss, the day you told your parents you’re gay, the day you told yourself ‘enough’ or the day you welcomed love. Whatever it is, you didn’t really know will happen next. But you did it anyway.

As for me, my recent hike with friends was nothing short of uncertainty… and yes, of fear and excitement.

Prelude

After climbing Ormoc’s Alto Peak last May, we talked, with eager and hopeful hearts, about how we’d target climbing Biliran’s Tres Marias next. The thought dragged on but there was no definite plan or word from anyone to carry it out. It was not until a month before the event that we decided to make it happen. With a short time to prepare physically, mentally and financially, the our organizer Shiela looked for heads to join the fun. Of course, the casts and crews of Alto Peak were present, with the exception of some and addition of others. By November 23, fifteen fun-loving folks headed to Pier 3, all geared for another major climb.

None of us knows what awaits in Tres Marias. We’ve read blog posts, seen pictures, and heard stories but uncertainty still sits at the back of our minds. The first jolt came when we are still in Cebu. Unfortunately, for safety purposes, Cebu Port Authority no longer allows carrying of butane canisters. So, we are faced with a dilemma on whether we can find one in the province or we’ll have to go back to the age of campfires to cook our food. The second jolt came a little later. Most hikers would opt to reach Biliran via Ormoc but we decided to take the ship that sails straight to Naval. What we thought an 11-hour travel time became 13 and a half, kissing our fixed itinerary goodbye.

However, in the midst of the uncertainty, dawn breaks with a gorgeous sunrise. With it came a promise of a beautiful day ahead. And so we forgot our little mishaps.

Sunrise ❤

Expecting the unexpected

Biliran is surrounded by mountains which explains the province’s abundant rivers and waterfalls. While I have been to two of their waterfalls during my summer trip with friends, I am certain Biliran has a lot more to offer. Some of them are found on the way to Tres Marias. Continue reading “TRES MARIAS: Finding Beauty in the Blur”

Sugod sa Sogod

Lately, memes about Titos and Titas of Facebook have been making rounds in social media. In essence, this is a millennial term used to describe “old schools” who have embraced the domestic lifestyle and content themselves with nostalgia and throwback posts. It’s funny though that most of those who claim to be “titos and titas” nowadays are millennials (born between 1980 and 2000). A generation known for its vibrancy and zeal, what happened to us?

The easiest explanation is aging in the digital age. We tend to be drained by too much loud and crowd. In the height of social media, we crave for genuine connection — with a person, with nature, with ourselves. And until we find these, we’d rather stay in the comforts of our homes.

But just because we age doesn’t mean we have to settle into the doldrums of ordinary. As what Anne of Windy Poplars once said, “There is so much in the world for us all if we only have the eyes to see it, the heart to love it, and the hand to gather it to ourselves.”

Starting off with this…

Away from the colors and grandeur of Sinulog, my friends and I (Team Buwad as we fondly call ourselves) went out of town for a weekend escape. Travelling 60 km northward from Cebu City is the municipality of Sogod. It is said that the town gained its name from the Cebuano term “sinugdanan” which means “beginning.” For its geographical and historical reasons, Sogod is where the stretch of white sand and the conversion to Christianity going north began.

As for us, it’s the beginning of a new adventure.

Bagatayam Falls
Getting to Bagatayam Falls is very easy. Just a few hundred meters from Sogod poblacion, we passed by the Bagatayam Bridge in Brgy. Bagatayam. Here’s a sneak-peak of the waterfalls from the bridge.

Continue reading “Sugod sa Sogod”

What if you didn’t cheat?

What if you didn’t cheat?

I’m sorry, but I can’t find a metaphor for you to get around this thought so I just have to ask it straight to your face.

What if you didn’t cheat?

You would be playing the guitar under the moonlit sky as I sing Daniel Caesar’s Best Part for the seventh time. Your fingers would hurt from strumming and probably your eardrums too from listening. But you would just laugh it out. You always do.

Like when I stepped on your toes while trying to reach a book from the top shelf. Crime and Punishment by Fyodor Dostoyevsky. I had no idea who the bearded guy was but I heard reading his book would make one look smarter. So I bought it. And you laughed.

But this is not a night for laughing. This is a night for asking how could a man who loves coffee forgets his mate? How could an ‘I love you’ sound like another woman’s name. How could emptiness sit between two people, with each passing second leaving a stab in the back straight to the heart.

There goes your metaphor.

It’s funny how I can liken cheating to so many things. A scenery gone wrong. Failing an open book test. Salt in a sugar jar. A crime with no punishment.

If only one of them would make the pain a little bearable.

What if you didn’t cheat? I probably wouldn’t have to worry on who I’d be: the girl who walks away or the girl who stays?

MS

Lifetimes in retrospect

The sun has sunk and risen
And past felt out of touch
Like the silence after a curtain call
Or the dying embers of a fire
I watched it for the last time
In retrospect—
Swinging from pain and joy,
Trance and frustration
Memories tumbling out in smiles
At times in tears.

A demon waltzed into my subconscious
Where the loneliest of the loneliness remains
It asked me with indifference:
Would I live it all again and again?
Lifetimes flashed before my ancient eyes
Days that lifted me up
And those that worn me down
Lulled to sleep by the thought of recurrence
I said I would—
Until I move on to another life.

MS


In response to dVerse’s Poetics: Time and What If? hosted by Merril who challenges us to look at time backward, forward, inside, and out. Ponder it into a poem. Then wonder, what if?

I was supposed to write about this before 2018 ended. But life happened. So anyway…

Last December, I dived into the philosophy of Nietzsche which eventually led me to the idea of eternal recurrence. This thought experiment asks us not to take the idea as truth but rather asks us what we would do if the idea were true. As the year was coming to a close, I took a retrospect of my short two decades. It was far from being perfect and in its most pragmatic way, life has shown me the beauty and the ugly. If given the chance to live it again exactly as it was as Nietzsche posed, I would. Until the universe agrees that I’m ready for the next.

Happy new year! 🙂

Head over here to join the prompt!

dverse

You! Yes, you.

You! Yes, you.

You who are probably wearing a little black dress or a loose shirt and skinny jeans or your grandmother’s overalls.

Yes, you.

I want you to know that you can spit them now. Your hatred, your frustration, your anger. You are not a refugee from the past. You are here, now – breathing, living.

When you happen to pass a dark alley and you hear the whistle of lust, it’s okay to fight your might. Do not allow that man to define you in fragments. Skin, neck, legs, breasts and thighs— as if you are a piece of meat that can be pulled apart. I will join you in particicution for we are more than the gates of heaven that opens in one thrust. We are capable of giving them hell.

But, remember, you are also free to take flight. It is not your fault to tremble and feel your body shake. When the outside world and your mind are in equal darkness, it’s okay to cry. This world is cruel and respect is nothing but an amputated speech. I understand your distrust.

I’ve heard it too, passed on to me in soundless words with their lips hardly moving. Yes, they do not touch us but their eyes take off our clothes faster than their hands do. They claim respect but they reduce our worth to the size of an hourglass, a number, a measurement, a color. A rape joke with a disclaimer “do not take it personal”.

You! Yes, you.

Spit it out, that acrid taste of misogyny and sexism. Be angry and be frustrated because this is not what you deserve. Nolite te bastardes carborundorum.

MS


This one’s inspired by Margaret Atwood’s The Handmaid’s Tale, a harrowing story chronicling women’s struggle and survival set in a strict patriarchal society. The book is more that just a dystopian classic, it’s a warning to a not-so-distant future.

Vignette: Lured

you make me feel
like this is where i belong:
right by your side

It was more than your charm that lured me in. It was your mystery— the way you make my mind wander and wonder. The way you make me a changed person evey single day I spend with you. The way you make me feel like this is where I belong: right by your side. 🍃

The Tragedy of a Common Daydreamer

My mind is graveyard of thoughts. Of things profound and absurd. Of words that faded in one breath. Left buried and unsaid.

Sometimes, like ghosts, they slip through my door— in the quiet of the night when I’m two seconds away from sleep. Pulling me up from the covers.

At times, in the middle of the day, they sit with me. Side by side. At work, when I’m staring too long at the screen. Or even when I’m randomly talking to my friends.

Remember day that when you told me about the tragedy of the commons? On how individuals tend to exploit / neglect the well-being of shared resources? For a second, Ayn Rand and capitalism came to mind.

But, like all worthy thoughts, I shrugged it away.

I let my mind wander with elves, pixies and silverdusts. I thought about how tragic must it be for other people not to trudge the earthy soil down to the very womb of nature. On how magical the day is with the leaves murmuring softly as the wind blows. The birds chirping from a distance completing the grand orchestra for just you and I to hear.

How tragic must it be for other people to think climbing the mountains is common.

Believe me, I almost choked on my lunch when that memory popped in my head. And I realized, I have killed another conversation with my fancies. We would have talked about Atlas Shrugged. You probably would have asked why I read this kind of crap. And though I do not agree with Rand’s philosophy, I would have told you the woman has got something right, too.

I would have love to hear what you think if I ask you whether the dream of heaven and greatness should be left waiting for us in our graves— or whether it should be ours here and now and on this earth.

But that time has long gone. This is the tragedy of being a common daydreamer. Being left with nothing but a candle for another dearly, departed conversation.

“Here lies Maria, finally one with her thoughts.”

If I were dead, my epitaph would probably read like this.

Remember, remember

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Remember, remember, the fifth of November. Leaving home by the faint light of the rising sun. Its streaks bathing the canopies with hazy gold, as your feet forged their own path. Clambering down the slope of soil, a long bed of rock awaits. Into the very womb of nature, you walked the forested trails.

Remember, remember, the fifth of November. You fancied seeing him for the first time. Curious as a cat on how he’d talk or react if you ever say poetry or love. “He won’t arrive,” you surmised. Indeed, he was nowhere to be found. And so you remember this day as a matrimony of both happy and sad.


Borrowing this phrase from the English folk verse, The Fifth of November. This one’s for the soul who let me watch V for Vendetta and introduced me to Guy Fawkes. The very same one who didn’t show up a year ago on this day. 😂😊

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