Meteora

i hear her stomp
realizing where i don't wanna be

dead beat, i sluggishly push myself up

like a newly turned zombie

as i sit upright,

still adjusting my vision

my nose takes a knee strike

whipping me into deliberate misdirection

"No, no," i absently plead,

weakly waving my hands

her next move, so hard to read

through a curtain of unkempt red strands

she runs the ropes, and she yells

i should move, but i'm not sure how to

she jumps on me, and i forget the rest

just my smashed face, beneath pink tutu

Dying Seconds

She finally stepped out of their office building and into the breezy evening. Always working overtime, it wouldn’t be too long before the night deepened. The draping darkness almost completely dimmed her figure, but the lamp posts lining the path she walked exposed some of her physical details that could be reflected - her old, scratched eyeglasses, and the now orangey-faded color of her short hair - both glinted in the small amount of brightness in the deep night. 

As the wind blew stronger and through her hair, she swiftly ran a hand inside the pocket of her long gray cardigan, subsequently pulling it to cover her body. Her other hand held her plain black satchel bag which perhaps contained nothing more than merely essential items a working girl would have - a black wallet, a cellphone, a quirky purse for chargers and earphones, and perhaps a spacious monochrome-colored vanity pouch that only contained a lip balm for her sensitive lips. 

Those lips. The stars, the moon, and the sun had witnessed one too many memories of those lips. At one point too many, those lips were a source of some inexplicable, sheer delight.

Whether to appreciate the weather or to feel lonely about it, she didn’t know. It was the kind of weather that served bittersweet taste to her skin - while it gave her the breeze she yearned for after a long day, the coldness also sharply grazed her skin, biting at it...and somehow, it was also the kind of scrape that sliced through somewhere deeper, by some means making its way to her soul. 

That night, the weather was her bitter, wretched companion.

She picked up her pace, her black chucks evidently making noise from the scraping they made against the stoney surface of the path she was now treading. She couldn’t wait for another day to be over. Nothing new. Nothing special. 

Nothing beautiful about the cold night that was once, twice, thrice, too many times...crazy.

Crazy beautiful. 

Was crazy beautiful.

Had been crazy beautiful. 

Finally reaching the part of the path where the bridge she walked underneath of ended, she looked up at the big roof of gloom hovering over the planet she stood on. Dark skies. Shimmering stars. Pretty, sad. Pretty sad. Staring up, her eyes glistened with the same sadness that’d been consuming her for some time now, as they caught the light coming from the moon above which seemed to stare back down at her. 

Oh, how bad must she have wanted to reach for that moon, bring it down, and hold it in her hands till every single thing she didn’t want to feel was wiped off of her system.

It must’ve asked her, “How tired are you?”

For that brief moment she stopped from her tracks, she got surrounded by the needy children in an instant, asking for money. She wanted to give food, but it wasn’t what they wanted. Quickly, she walked past them.

Like she would do as she wanted at times, she jogged her way up the 5-step stone stairs that led her way to the parking lot. When she reached the top, she continued walking, but she walked in a sluggish manner. 

She looked so tired. Her face so gloomy. 

Must be from the sudden jog she did. But then again, she could be dying inside without anyone knowing the freaking sad truth. 

She finally went inside the parking lot. 

I watched her walk inside, and saw her fade away. Suddenly, the image of her crestfallen face and her broken demeanor was my last syndrome. 

“How are you still here?” I muttered to myself, wishing she could somehow hear it. 

Wishing she would somehow respond. 

“How...are you...still here,” I repeated sadly under my breath, hearing a hint of regret and despair in my tone all of a sudden.

Every ghost from the past knew I wanted to run after the broken angel that just walked by, but I couldn’t. 


And then the last thing I felt was the cold night biting at my soul, and the stitches in my heart that began to pop.

Bumps and Sexy Buttercup

I was trying so hard to hold it. I forced my mouth, stretching it into a tight-lipped smile. 

I was tired and happy and overwhelmed all at once. Thank you, Philippine Wrestling Revolution.

I just got through the PWR mentors/veterans' chest-chop initiation - which hurt like Glenn Rhee dying in The Walking Dead. It'd been an exhausting yet fulfilling training (comeback?) day in the ring. 

The bumps hurt. The rolls did make me feel dizzy. But my heart hoped that these strains did help big time to shake off the ring rust that'd been wrapped around my body for some time.

Nicole spread out her slim arms eaten by her long black sleeves, inviting me into a genuine and warm hug, despite the gross sweat-human I'd been.

“I’m so proud of you,” she said through my sweaty hair and into my ear. “You’ve said countless times that it’s never gonna happen and today you’ve taken the first step towards that dream. You’re my inspiration.” 

And that was it.

That triggered that one well-needed snap to let the tears flow. She just released a stream of all these heartfelt words and it caused me to be vulnerable to shedding tears.

I hugged back, tight, feeling the corners of my mouth tremble and the tears stream. My shoulders shaking from the ugly crying, she subsequently started rubbing my back, not doing anything to help my now-sentimental self.

Nicole Le Saux made me cry, and it was ugly. I felt ugly crying like that. At least she was holding me. 

I couldn’t believe I was ugly crying that day. I didn’t expect it to be that way.

It was true, I'd taken that first crucial, most-needed step that day. After three years of being restricted from that dream. Three years of going through frustration and pain from not being able to get a hold of that dream. Three years of being held back. Three years of painful, uncertain waiting.

Somehow, that day, it just wasn't impossible like how it'd been for three years. 

Somehow, that day, I was once again able to take a bump in that very ring...and take another chance to start working towards that wrestling dream.

How? 

It could be the never-ending wishful thinking. The constant frustration that had pinched my heart for three years when I was watching my talented friends in wrestling succeed little by little, and knowing and thinking I should be there with them, but I wasn't - hadn't been with them as they became successful. It could be the support that my brothers from another mother gave me at a time when I wasn't really sure anymore about getting back at it. Or it could be Nicole and Kuya Ouel's endless encouragement and insisting that I should come back, despite having only my solid, sorriest I can't anymore's as a response.

It could be just the power of some intergalactic shiznatch that might have been watching over my existence all these years!

Or really, it could just be God doing some mind-blowing magic again.

Life is full of twists.

Not to get ahead of myself, but this could be one of them.

And here I am, praying that I am able to fulfill it completely this time. Surpass whatever hindrance it might generate. 

Hoping this time, it's going to be for real.

I never wanted to make a scene at training, and I tried so hard to muster up all my internal strength to get myself together and shush my ugly-crying. Especially now that people seemed to be already surrounding the space occupied by my and Nicole's intertwined bodies.

"Oh ano 'yan?" Kuya Ouel walked up to us, eventually running a hand to join the back-rubbing that Nicole had been doing (which was zero help in stopping the tears). "Walang iyakan!" He playfully said.

"Hala bakit umiiyak?" K.T. was next to be inquisitive. 

I slowly pulled away from Nicole's embrace, rubbed my eyes as much as I needed in order to wipe all the tears mixed with sweat off of my face. I looked at K.T. "Sakit kasi nung chops eh!" I quipped, generating a sweet-sounding laugh from Nikki.

Later that evening I joined some of the guys at Chick n' Chops for dinner (which I learned was the guys' go-to-meal-place). After that, Nicole and I went home together.

“This is the longest we've been with each other!” Nicole exclaimed as we buckled up before leaving the parking lot. It was true. It's damn true. I was grateful for it.


We spent a chill night driving onto West Service Road, getting sorta lost in a little world of our own as we jammed to Paramore and My Chemical Romance like only krazie flawsome geeks would on a Friday night (even though it was a Sunday). 

Everytime I looked to the passenger seat by my right side, she was either giggling or banging her head to the beat of our cool playlist, enjoying her newly cut hair that made her look like a sexy Buttercup from the Powerpuff Girls, giving her entire aura such a renewed vitality.

And I couldn't help but think of

1) How even prettier she looked in her new hair

2) And how this little sunshine of a Frenchie had such power to make me ugly-cry. 

Shorties Rak West Service Road