On Crying (or Not Being Able to)

written in Filipino, translated to English

Gusto Kong Umiyak

Gusto kong umiyak para ilabas ang kalungkutan ngunit hindi ko magawa. Tila ba sawa na ako sa kaiiyak ngunit ang kalungkutan ay magpakailanman hindi nagsawa sa akin.

Naisip ko na kapag ang luha ay tumulo; pagkatapos titila rin ang pag-iyak. At pagkatapos umiyak ay wari bang bago nanaman ang umaga na may dalang kasiyahang inaasam. Ngayong hindi na ako makaiyak, laging sariwa ang kalungkutan sa aking kalooban... at hindi ko na makita ang umaga sapagkat ang aking mga mata'y nalulom na sa kapighatiang hindi na makawala sa aking katauhan.

Gusto kong umiyak ngunit hindi na tumutulo ang mga luha.

~

I yearn to cry

I yearn to cry to expel myself of this sadness, yet I am unable to. It seems as if I have grown weary of crying, and yet sadness never tires of me.

I tell myself that if I could just let the tears fall; the weeping will soon cease. And after lamenting, it will seem as if a new day beckons heralding my hoped for happiness. Since I cannot, sorrow continuously courses through my being, and the awaited morning turns bleak. I am shrouded by grief of which there is no escape.

I yearn to cry but there are no more tears to shed.

On that Sole Reason

contributed by Reginald Tolentino


I hate nights like these,
when I have to work late,
the lamp's orange glow mingling
with the monitor's brightness on low,
dancing wisps over my cup of tea;
a droning air-conditioner debating a Colbert rerun,
that, I wish, I could look over my shoulder and see,
the person I've decided to spend my life with, sleeping,
reminding me; of why I'm awake.

On You Only Live Once

contributed by Bernica Marquez

“Hi. I’m hoping to get the lab results for my biopsy?”

The girl behind the counter politely acknowledged my request, and verified my personal details. She then sifted through her files and reached for a neatly-folded, unassuming white piece of paper. It looked like the letters of admission (or rejection) that universities gave out; only this time, it showed the surgical department letterhead and my name tagged as “Patient” on the front. She hesitated before handing it to me, opting to enclose it in an envelope so I would have a few more seconds before I found out if I had indeed tested positive for colon cancer.

There was no surreal moment when the past 25 years of my life flashbacked in slow motion. There were no regretful cascades of tears on failing to kiss my mom and dad before I drove off to work that day, on missing the last four barkada dinners, on bitterly laboring the past thirteen hours computing budget variances, on not setting foot in Harry Potter World, on missing my chance to say “I do” and raising miniature copies of the man I love. I’m quite ashamed to admit that there was not even a prayerful pause, a last bargain with the world to change what could be the mortal judgment I held in my hands.

For in that moment when you are confronted with the reality that your existence may have reached its limits, there is only swiftness. Whether it’s an unexpected attack, a drop in blood pressure, a speeding bullet, an alarming crash or a blinding light, there is often no luxury of a redefining moment that would change the course of mortal fate. There is only a seemingly deceiving, pure halt of time in the single second when the gavel pounds to conclude the verdict.

As my eyes quickly darted to the word “benign”, I thanked my God and carefully folded the letter back in the exact corners it was handed to me. I smiled over this sweet victory, as I had come back to the reality where I again had each day for a hopefully long, proper, unapologetic goodbye.

On Waiting

The wait is akin to travelling in a fast car as your surroundings whiz past in a blur. Seated anxiously, you wonder for the instance that will hold like a snapshot. You know of this moment well in your heart though it has yet to come. It is like a child you have nurtured in your womb, one whom you have showered with your hopes, believing that when you meet, all your dreams would come into fruition. But where is this moment? Where is this child? The car zooms past barren fields in an endless journey. You are kept yearning.

When being idle becomes unbearable, you play a game in your head. You picture what you are looking for around the next bend. It tingles your being with a momentary excitement. Five..four..three..two.. and the car has turned the corner. It's not there. You thank the game for the solitary respite. There's a few corners up ahead anyway. You play the game again. Five..four..three..two.. tired...

Slowly you come to accept that this life is a collection of events, people, feelings that come and go. They are scenes that play and replay. They feel external to your being. You are the observer, sitting at the backseat of car, whizzing past life in a blur.

Life, on the other hand, waits no longer for you.