Days of Remembrance 2021

9/21/2021 01:02:00 PM Media Center 0 Comments

 

found poem,

For #MC2021: Where I Belong

6/11/2021 07:32:00 PM Media Center 0 Comments

I really like my home. It has everything I need
I wonder how long it would take me
to find my way home again
This pain that I feel, it’s temporary. Leaving is permanent,‘Til death do us part, my mind echoed
This pain that I feel, it’s temporary. Leaving is permanent
A reminder that existence is like a swan singing and ticking time bombs
Is this where life takes me?

Carefully, I picked out the words I wished to say
Then knocked when I couldn’t wait anymore
You are not defined by your mistakes
The duality of it all, will either lift you high or drag you down

And maybe the universe is unfair that way.
The knocking will never stop

You are led back to where you belong

Quickly and soon enough
I have found my fireflies and they have brought me home.
Everyone who saw me greeted me with a happy smile.
For the first time in many years, I felt tranquility
For as long as I do not fail to forget,
this abandoned house will always be my home.

━MC2022

found poem,

Para sa #MC2021: Uuwi Pa Rin

6/11/2021 07:29:00 PM Media Center 0 Comments

Bakit lahat ng bagay ay may katapusan?
Napapaisip ako kung bakit ko ba ito kailangang maranasan.
Tapos na ang ating kwento,
Tapos na ang ating dula.

Inaalala ang mga bawat sandali.
Tatlong bahay ang nilipatan sa loob ng labintatlong taon.
Maraming alaala ang nailagay sa dating walang lamang kahon
Para sa akin napakahalaga ng lugar na ito
Magkakasama sa lungkot at ligaya, ehemplo ang bawat isa.
Paikot-ikot, para tayong mga gulong
...may tulala, tahimik, umiiyak, nakangiti, nagtatawanan, nagdadalamhati, at galit.

Humakbang palabas ng silid
Ginabayan ng nakabibighani mong ngiti
Habang tumatagal,
Lumalayo ako sa realidad
Natatakot sa paraisong balang-araw makasanayan
At sa gitna ng dilim at lungkot ng gabi, naroon siyang nakaupo
Natatakot sa paraisong balang-araw makasanayan
At aking nadatnan ang katahimikan sa siyudad
At sa gitna ng dilim at lungkot ng gabi, naroon siyang nakaupo.
At kapag wala ka nang maramdaman kundi galit, nagsisilbi itong gasolina
Katatagpuin natin ang mga bituin

Habambuhay, ating pagkahabi ang pipiliin
Yakap ng bahay ay hindi mapapantayan.
Sa pagbuhos ng mga bagyo’t ulan,
Nanatiling matatag mula sa kinatatayuan.
...dito ako dinala
Ng aking sariling mga paa
“Kahit saan tumungo, ako’y uuwi pa rin.”

━MC2022

english,

Literary: Darating din

6/11/2021 07:16:00 PM Media Center 0 Comments

Darating pa ba ang araw na babalik sa dati ang buhay?
Darating pa ba ang araw na makikita na ulit natin ang isa’t isa?
Darating pa ba ang araw na makakalabas muli tayo nang walang takot?

Ang hirap maging masaya sa ganitong panahon,
kung kailan libo-libo ang may sakit, at ‘di mabilang ang nagugutom,
habang nanonood lamang ang dapat na tumutulong.

Parang gusto mo na lang makalimot at pumikit.
Pero ito’y mumunting paalala para sa akin at sa’yo,
na huwag mong tatalikuran ang mundo.

Kabi-kabila man ang problema sa paligid,
at tila ang pag-unlad ay puno ng balakid,
huwag mong tatalikuran ang mundo.

Hangga’t may natitirang lumalaban
para sa lipunang walang kagutuman at kahirapan,
pag-asa ay mananatiling nandyan.

Bawat araw man ay tila laging makulimlim,
laging alalahaning matapos ang bawat gabing kay dilim,
Darating ang umagang puno ng pagkakataon.

Mga pagkakataong hindi dapat sayangin,
angkinin natin ang kapangyarihang nakapaloob sa bawat isa sa atin.
Gamitin mo ang iyong lakas para sa mas magandang bukas.

Mayroong pag-asa hangga’t nabubuhay tayo.
Kaya ito ay mumunting paalala para sa akin at sa iyo,
na huwag mong tatalikuran ang mundo.

Marahil ‘di na muling manunumbalik ang dating buhay natin
dahil mas magandang hinaharap na ang naghihintay sa atin.
Darating din.

english,

Literary: The Right Choice

6/11/2021 07:08:00 PM Media Center 0 Comments

It took me two and a half years
Trying to hold back drops of my tears
Hurting in ways I don’t deserve
Pushing to finally choose myself

I am sure I did the right thing
We were victims of our own doing
And I know I made the right choice
For this will silence the harsh chaos

But the rain turned into a storm
Here I am, feeling alone and cold.
Why, though, does it not quite feel right?
Nobody has remained by my side

Despite my strive to move forward
I always end up back to the start
Who can pick me up off the floor
Is also the cause of my downfall

But I know a morning will come
Where this pain I’m feeling will be gone
Everything will feel so unreal
Because there are no wounds that don’t heal

When I am finally okay
I will surely look back on today
And thank myself for enduring
The pain I thought was never ending

For the glow and strength I will bare
will be the product of my despair

english,

Literary: To the Girl I Once Loved

6/11/2021 07:03:00 PM Media Center 0 Comments

To the girl I once loved,

            You’re finally getting married tomorrow. How are you feeling?

            I know it’s a bit sudden for me to be like this, writing to you at an ungodly hour. I’ve been thinking more and more these days about you. About us. To tell you the truth, they haven’t exactly been the most coherent of thoughts—well, I guess, except for one. I’ve been thinking that it’s time I let you in on a secret: I’ve always been writing to you unsent. Somehow, it’s one of the many things that calm down my easily-shaken-up heart, especially when I’m in dire need of comfort and some sort of outlet. I know, I know—you always tell me that I can share anything with you, because we’re best friends, and that I can trust you with anything. Don’t worry, I do.

            Knowing you, you’re probably wondering by now how long I’ve been doing this for. Would you believe me if I told you that I’ve been doing this since we were kids? Still brace-faced, our cheeks flushed red from the glaring heat of the sun or from puberty that brought acne along with it; our minds still so youthful and our hearts filled with so much innocence and hope. It makes me chuckle now, remembering the goals and dreams we set for ourselves at such a young age.

            As I look back on the day we earnestly talked about the paths we wanted to take for the first time, two high school students fill my vision. They’re in a home that speaks much of its history; its interior a warm color palette, filled with photos of family outings and friends, with paintings hung up almost everywhere, each one evidently done by a different person. It’s us in the comfort of your own home.

            Born into a family of artists, it was no surprise that you wanted to follow in their tracks of craft as well. I wondered then if it was just the pressure that had driven you to pursue that path, but luckily, I caught the ghost of a smile lingering on your lips as you spoke, ridding me of those qualms. Then, you asked me something about art. I remember saying that I only knew a few famous artists, and when I got to mentioning Monet, you interrupted me with a light chuckle and said that you saw yourself in his work. You reasoned that it was because his pieces, or any impressionist painting for that matter, despite looking good from afar, once you get up close and personal—they only turn out to be this big, incomprehensible mess. Honestly, I wish I told you then that a mess isn’t such a bad thing to be.

            There was stillness for a second, before a question broke the silence. You carried on, and asked if I thought you could amount to your brothers, your parents, your ancestors; if I thought you were even remotely on par with them. I didn’t miss the way your voice faltered at that, but I also didn’t miss a beat in saying yes to you. Just that question made me hark back to a short memory lane. Your illustrations, your artistry, and the way you used various, beautiful techniques were already top-notch, but how your face would light up every time you’d ramble on about art was nearly unparalleled; talking about its history, the theories encompassed in it and nearly everything relating to the matter… it’s as if you wanted the entire world to know just how in love you were with it. The more you talked and poured your heart out, the more intoxicated I’d become as well, happily drinking up each and every thought, never missing a single drop.

            One day, I woke up, and realized that the thoughts that had spilled out brought something together with them. Though I was no longer intoxicated, the rush I felt had remained. It wasn’t long before they brought colors into my world, colors I had never seen before. I didn’t want to fade them out just yet. I assumed that it was only out of curiosity that I had allowed them to prolong their stay, wanting to know what would happen next. As they lingered for a while, they soon grew into a cozy color palette. I didn’t mind it at first, until I recognized the familiarity of the warm splash of colors. Only then did it proceed to develop—from a color palette I never wanted to leave my line of vision, to a song I never wanted to stop playing in my mind.

            In a moment of striking clarity, I finally understood that it was you. It always has been.

            Yet, I never did tell you that, did I? I wonder if this might be the letter that would finally be able to get to you, its recipient. I’m only picturing how you’d react and my heart lurches at the thought. Frankly, I can never get enough of your reactions and the faces you pull. I really can never get enough of you.

            Delving into college together, people were naturally drawn to you. Being the one by your side almost 24/7, I could see why. You’re easily lovable, you know? You’re someone whose happiness has been of utmost importance to me ever since I’ve met you. Don’t get me wrong, though—it’s not because of you that I’ve developed such a practice. Growing up, I’ve always been taught by my parents of this policy in being selfless and to think of others first, which shaped my mind and dictated my actions. I carried that policy with me as I matured and grew older. But then, when I’d look at your laughing figure from afar—just a few moments before you’d usually join me after classes—I realized that some part of me wanted to defy everything I’ve been taught from the very beginning. Sometimes, I wanted to be greedy, too. It was an unfamiliar feeling that settled in every once in a while. I wondered how long it had been there, but looking back on it, perhaps it’s from the time you had gotten induced with your first alcohol that knocked your lightweight self out. A flushed face trying to stay awake had looked at me then, and before I knew it, my own hand suddenly had a mind of its own, reaching for your own skinny one—but only barely. Luckily, I had halted, but still granted myself the privilege of staring at your then-sleeping figure to wait for you to sober up, all the while thinking, I wonder what it would be like to have my hand in yours. Perhaps, one day, I would gain the proper, non-alcoholic courage to find out the answer for myself.

            Soon enough, I finally became determined and started actively planning how I’d tell you. The first time around, I carefully orchestrated everything out; it almost felt like we were back in high school and I was planning a promposal to you because of how cautious I had become. Just when I thought I had everything perfectly laid out, someone had asked you out instead. I spent all that time planning when I probably could have said it then, no? When you told me all about it the next day, though, your face was fuming with anger every time you’d mention the guy who was apparently living too comfortably in his own bubble. Although I felt sorry for you who had to spend the evening with him, I still couldn’t help but laugh at how you would narrate and spout off the rest of the tale. I think it wasn’t very long after that when courage came knocking at my door once more, making me plan over and over again to make sure it wouldn’t be interrupted, to make sure that it would finally be the right timing. There were far too many moments, though, when my eyes would gaze over you as you’d paint, focused on the canvas—and the words would almost spill out my lips. It was really difficult to seal them when you looked like a masterpiece yourself, you know.

            As much as I hated it, the cycle of courage and hesitation, as well as having the right timing continued to meddle with me. Acting on it meant getting the wrong timing, yet leaving it up to fate was no good either. But… there were moments where I felt like you somehow already knew. When the words were threatening to spill out, I felt like you already sensed their presence. But me being me, I just didn’t want to assume anything, and so, that resulted in a love from a distance.

            Loving you from afar was enough. It was more than enough. I thought to myself then that, I may never know what it would be like to hold your hand, but perhaps it’s better this way. Masterpieces, after all, shouldn’t have to be at risk of getting ruined. Even in the slightest. I suppose that’s why I didn’t think of telling you then. Not only were you a masterpiece, but the bond we’ve created together was also a masterpiece of its own. It might be why I never sent you these letters in the first place, fearing that something we’ve both crafted in the past years together would just get destroyed too easily. It was something I never quite prepared myself for; something I didn’t want to ever prepare for, either.

            And yet, as I look at your sleeping figure beside me tonight, all I can think of is that I don’t think anything would have ever prepared me for this at all.

            I’ve realized I was wrong about one thing, though. Tonight, I feel more delighted than ever that a bold stroke was marked on our canvas. Making a mess on a masterpiece doesn’t make it any less of a masterpiece. I learned that from being with you. It’s the happy little accidents that make it a masterpiece, you’d say. Truthfully, I still can’t believe that I get to share the rest of my life with you, and it’s making me think that maybe in my previous life, I might have done something really good for the gods to bless me with the chance of finally, finally knowing of what it’s like to have my hand in yours.

            To the girl I’ll love for the rest of my life, thank you for choosing to be with me. I can’t wait to see you walk down the aisle.

            See you tomorrow, mahal. :)

english,

Literary: At The Other End

6/11/2021 06:58:00 PM Media Center 0 Comments

To the person who’ll stand at the other end of the aisle, this one’s for you.

            I’m sorry I stopped writing to you. To be honest, I started to doubt that I would ever get a chance to meet you. My faith was tarnished because of some unfortunate events. I even punished myself for believing in someone I’ve never even met before. I thought maybe I was only fooling myself. I felt so lonely and hopeless. I didn’t have anything or anyone to hold on to. It turns out, I was just holding on to the wrong people, but now I have one—I always have.

            These letters give me hope, not just in love, but also in life. Even if you’re not literally by my side, you’re always there for me. Whenever I’m hopeful about something, I write to you. Whenever I feel like crying, I write to you. And even at times when emptiness hits me, I write to you. I want to share with you every smile I wear and every teardrop that falls. Through this journal, I’m letting you witness every chapter of my life, even the ones I have hidden from the world.

            Sometimes, I can’t help but wonder what kind of person you are. Are you the serious type who’s reserved and always plans everything, or are you a goofy person with a great sense of humor and who’d act on a spur of the moment? Are you into music and arts or are you more into athletics? Are you someone who’d dance with me in the rain, or are you someone who’d hold an umbrella over my head? Do you sleep when the moon is up or do you wait ‘til the sun rises? Do you like your coffee sweet or strong? I'm curious because I want to make you one.

            I want to know what you like and what you don’t. I want to unravel your fears and support you in achieving your dreams. I want to be your shoulder to cry on when you hit rock bottom, and be your number one fan when you’re on the top of the world. I want to keep you in between my arms and hold you so tight that my heart would start to beat in sync with yours. I want to be your favorite person, your partner-in-crime, your adventure buddy—your best friend.

            I can’t wait to do the simplest things in life with you. We’d turn up the music when we’d go on a trip. We’d walk down the street to enjoy the beautiful sunset. We’d go to the rooftop to gaze upon the stars. Or we could just sit on the sofa and cuddle in silence. You are the first person I want to see when I wake up in the morning, and the last voice I want to hear before I fall asleep.

            However, despite all of these things, I know that there would be days when we’d let our pride prevail rather than respect the other. There would come a day when we’d choose to stay silent to avoid having another argument. And there might be a time when we’d choose self-preservation rather than saving this marriage. But that’s alright, because all of this is part of the plan.

            We’d search for tranquility in the middle of every storm that would come our way. I am not someone who has a lot of patience but, you are the person I’m willing to forgive a thousand times. I am someone who builds walls of pride around my heart but, I promise to take responsibility for every trouble I cause. Forgiveness and acceptance are the strongest foundations of any relationship. But friendship is the secret in fulfilling a lifelong commitment.

            I always pray for your safety. I pray for your personal growth. I hope that you’d have a kind heart that would be filled with passion, a pure mind, and a healthy soul. I want you to live your life the best way possible because you deserve it. You have no idea how much I talk about you in my prayers. That’s how much I love you. I don’t even know you yet but, I already want what’s best for you.

            Among all the pages of this book, this is the most important one. This would be the last letter without your name in it. By the time you read this, there is a possibility that the person who arranged all of these words isn’t the same anymore. All of these pages are the pieces you will need to understand the kind of person I was, but these won’t be enough for you to know what kind of person I am. Some chapters cannot be written on paper. Some could only be discovered by you.

            When the wooden doors of this place open, I want you to remember all the things you didn’t like about me and ask yourself if the person at the other end is the one you’d like to spend the rest of your life with. Whatever your decision may be, the doors would be wide open. But if your heart chooses to accept all of that mess, I want you to forget everything and only set your eyes on me. Every step would feel like defying time and the aisle would be our time machine. The first few steps would be a walk down memory lane. You would remember every growth and every struggle we went through. The following steps would be a chance to take a peek into our future. Your imagination would take you anywhere but, we’ll try to make it all come to life. And lastly, the final steps would take you back into reality. That wouldn’t be the moment when the time would stop—that would be the moment when the time would actually begin. When you hold my arm in front of the altar, I want you to know that I’m not going anywhere. I’m here to stay ‘til the end.


            “I, take thee, to be my wedded spouse, to have and to hold from this day forward, for better, for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health, ‘til death do us part.”


            I still have no idea who I’m talking to but, whoever you may be, I look forward to the day I’d wear the ring with your promise and my first name along with your last.

english,

Literary: Forward

6/11/2021 06:55:00 PM Media Center 0 Comments

I’m tired of dwelling on the past
Dwelling on whats, hows, whys,
Dwelling on regrets
I’m tired of always looking back

Looking at people long gone
Wondering what I could have done
Tired of thinking my best days have passed
Thinking I’m worthless

Useless
I’m sick of it
It’s time to change that thinking
It’s time to change where I’m looking

I’ll transform my mind, call me Optimus
Avoiding bad thoughts like an optimist
Fix my eyes, I’m my ophthalmologist
So I that can see where the future is

Head back to the future in my DeLorean
I’ll stop being such a sour historian
Still have friends to see, places to explore and
My dreams which don’t end at graduation

Can’t wait to see this cursed pandemic end
Can’t wait to go out with my friends again
Can’t wait to jam like we are Ben&Ben
Can’t wait for this to be real, not pretend

Gonna study quite well in my dream course
Will I make new friends here? Uh, yeah, of course
Still keep the ones I have, they’re my life force
Losing them would leave me with such remorse

After school, work to put cash in my purse
Find someone to love? Sure, but dreams come first
Nice house, gadgets, food, and water for thirst
Among other things I love to have on Earth

Buy a car, for my outings on Sundays
Write some songs though I can’t sing like Grande
As I think of these goals, along the way
I will mind to be grateful every day

I gotta admit, I still look backward
But I don’t wish to go back, rather, onward
Starting to change where I’m looking toward
As Disney said: “We keep moving forward”

filipino,

Literary: Malaya

6/11/2021 06:52:00 PM Media Center 0 Comments

Kung mga plano para sa kinabukasan ko na ang usapan,
Wala ka na sa kuwentong iyon.
Iniwan na kita sa aking nakaraan
At pinilit kalimutan.

Ngunit hindi lahat ay nagtatapos sa isang paalam
Maaring dito magsimula ang bagong yugto
Isang hudyat upang bitawan ang kahapon
At magsimula ng bagong kwento

Ito ang naging desisyon ko noong araw na iyon
Nang bitiwan ko ang mga katagang tatapos ng lahat
“Paalam, hanggang dito na lang”
Ang pusong napagod, nalantang pagmamahal

Natapos ang isang kabanata ng libro
Kung saan mahal kita at mahal mo ako
Ngunit nagsimula naman ang bagong pahina
Kung saan, sa wakas, mahal ko naman ang sarili ko.

Nakakapanibago mang harapin ang bagong umaga
Nang wala ka sa aking tabi
Nagpapasalamat naman ako
Natuto akong tumayo sa sariling mga paa

Ang hinaharap ay walang kasiguraduhan
Ngunit hindi ako natatakot harapin ito’t labanan
Mag-isa at malaya ang puso
At sarili lamang ang inaasahan

english,

Literary: Dear Tanya,

6/11/2021 06:49:00 PM Media Center 0 Comments

A year ago, I was struggling.
Struggling to find an answer.
My head was filled with questions for you,
please tell me why?

A quarter ago, I was waving.
Waving in front of you.
But you turned a blind eye, so
What went wrong?

A month ago, I was waiting.
Waiting for you to come home.
I wished several times, but
you chose to ruin me more.

A week ago, I was apologizing.
Apologizing for the pain I’ve caused.
I shouldn’t have done that.
Please come back to me.

A day ago, I was wishing.
Wishing for a better story with you.
Losing you was the most painful thing,
Can we still go back?

A second ago, I was praying.
Praying for a future with you.
I’m still hoping to see,
That you will be back... someday.

filipino,

Literary: Selda

6/11/2021 06:46:00 PM Media Center 0 Comments

Paubos na ang papel sa ilalim ng aking unan
Pagod na rin ako sa pagpapanggap
Alam kong nababasa mo ang paghingi ko ng kapatawaran
Nagkukunwari ka lang na hindi mo natatanggap

Atlass,

Literary: Jinxed

6/11/2021 06:41:00 PM Media Center 0 Comments

Dearest Ladybug,

It’s been a few weeks since the last time Hawk Moth evilized someone. Maybe he’s taking a break or scheming something big. Nevertheless, I’m starting to miss you.

Not having bad guys around means that Paris doesn’t need us to protect it. We don’t need to transform into our hero costumes. I should be happy about that, but it also means we won’t be able to see each other. Bummer.

I know you won’t be able to read this. I won’t send this to you anyway. This is just me, talking to myself because I know sending this letter would mean nothing.

Why would it?

You’re already in love with someone else, like you’ve said. So what’s the point of hearing my heartbroken banter?

You’ve rejected me multiple times but I still choose to keep bugging you about my feelings. Get it? “Bugging” ‘cause you’re Ladybug.

Anyway, a close friend thinks that’s just my way of recovering from all the rejection. Thank you for not pushing me away all this time. I must’ve been annoying.

I’m glad to be friends with you. I value our friendship more than anything else, bugaboo.

But I can’t deny it—it still really hurts.

You have set your pretty bluebell eyes on a completely different guy, and I could tell you’re head over heels in love with him. No matter how many flowers I give you, it’s as if you’ll never notice me. No matter how many pick-up lines I throw at you, you’ll never hear me out.

You’re so close yet so far away.

However, I didn’t lie when I told you before that my favorite moments are when I’m with you. I didn’t lie when I said I’d drop everything else just to spend time with you. Despite all your rejections, your company is worthwhile.

You’re more than the love of my life—you’re my partner in crime. Even if the only ones left are us two, we’d overcome it. No amount of feelings could compare to our bond as a team. Like I said back then, it’s always been just the two of us. You and me against the world, M’lady!

I miss fighting evil with you. I can’t wait for the next. Our battle isn’t over yet.

See you soon, Ladybug.

Sincerely,

Cat Noir

P.S.: I still wonder, though—who could this boy, who’s more worthy of your love, be?

The wrinkles on the paper grew as the man held the letter tighter, laughing. Boxes of old magazines, pictures, and gadgets lay like leaves on the wood floor, scattered. Somewhere within the mess was a young man—blond, blue eyes, and full of life. His chuckling bounced on the wall.

The cause of all the mess was one thing and one thing only—his modeling portfolio. An old acquaintance asked him to model their 2024 fall clothing line. It had been a while since he left the glamorous world of fashion—the last time was in high school. Blond hair fell to his face as he smiled.

During his high school days, the young man was a black spandex clad, cat-themed hero named Cat Noir. He watched the streets of Paris from the roofs of its citizens, keeping it safe with his other half, Ladybug. Despite not knowing their true identities, they trusted each other with their lives. Together, they searched for unfortunate Parisians who were cursed to be evil by their archnemesis, Hawk Moth. Those years of his life were the busiest, and the most fun. Even though he had his plate full—at that point he needed a tray with how many responsibilities he had—he wouldn’t mind coming back to those days.

He remembered feeling like he constantly needed a blood transfer, but he would live through it all again just to see the sun bouncing off the dark locks of the person who stole his heart. “What a simp,” he reminisced.

Two hands tapped his head. Time to focus. His attention returned to the packed box of clear, unlabeled folders. The carton was in pain, bulging due to how many shoots he did in the past. But the young man thought that adding one more photo compilation wouldn’t hurt.

In his search, he didn’t expect to find a red, heart-shaped piece of paper he wrote back then. Upon picking it up, he was transported back into his childhood bedroom. It was in disarray, similar to the one he was in currently. He remembered the feeling of the cold, marble floor against his back, a stiff science book under his head.

He had two science assignments due that night, but he could only think of one thing.

Ladybug.

It wasn’t the first time she rejected him. But it felt like it. He tried to breathe, but he could only try. He was a man sinking underwater.

And so he commenced pouring out his soul onto a red, heart-shaped piece of paper. Each stroke of ink contained unbelievable amounts of teenage angst. He shuddered, rereading what he penned that night. It wasn’t a scarlet letter, filled with hateful teenage angst, oh no. It was much worse.

That red, heart-shaped letter was a rose-colored one, filled with the messages of a teenage boy’s heart. They were messages the young man wanted to send, but he knew that no one would receive them.

He gagged, in disgust of what he wrote.

“Buddha, God, Fate, bless you!” he said, thanking every single metaphysical being he knew. If they had granted his past wish—for her to read his letter—he would have died of humiliation.

While he was connecting with the gods, the door opened. Behind it was a face he adored—a girl fresh out of college, with fresh bread, and who’s messages he’s missed for the past hour. Though she looked as strong as a baguette, her presence was enough to knock him out of his date with the gods.

Oh no. Did he forget a date?

The Frenchman held his breath. Fortunately, she seemed more curious about the sea of papers than angry about his memory. Unfortunately, he couldn’t convince himself of that.

“I didn’t know today was special!”

Some strands of her hair fell onto her face as she giggled. “Today’s not special, you doofus.” The young woman approached him like a queen on a chessboard, stepping through squares not occupied by paper. “I just brought you some brioche.”

His eyes glittered like the lips of girls from the early 2000s. “Passion fruit?” The young man bolted upwards, stealing a bite of the soft snack begging to be eaten.

“This wouldn’t be the first time you were clueless about something,” she said teasingly.

The man cried out as if he was stabbed in the chest. Slowly, he staggered onto the floor, pretending to be hurt. Breadflakes fell on the floor like snowflakes. “You pain me, but I had a hunch that it was you in that costume, y’know!”

“Woe me, for I am unable to believe your words, Sir Adrien!” She crumbles to the floor like bread in soup.

“Oh milady, the whitest of whites are not enough to describe how pure my intentions are. My words are as false as the sun being a star, as the world being round in shape!” He paddles through the solid floor, inching his way closer to her with his elbows.

“My dear ladybug, please bee-lieve me!”

He buzzed, like an old Nokia phone upon reaching her. The two burst into laughter having finished their skit.

He turned to his side, admiring her face as she chuckled. Their shenanigans had certainly caused her hair to be in disarray. He couldn’t care less, though. He still viewed her through the same rose-colored lenses as he did years ago.

They lay on the cold floor as their laughter subsided. The young woman turned to her side, noticing a red, heart-shaped paper her companion was reading earlier. “What’s this?”

“Dear lord!” he exclaimed, burying himself in photos and stinky magazines as she read through it. In his burrow, he cursed the gods he thanked earlier for allowing her to read that stupid, cursed letter. Now, he could only hope that she didn’t find it too ridiculous.

Please, I hope she doesn’t laugh, please.

She laughed.

Dear Adrien,

It’s been a while since someone caused trouble around Paris. I’m starting to think the villain went on a vacation, honestly. Not that I’m complaining. It’s been quite peaceful nowadays, and I’m even more punctual at school—though I can’t help but miss you.

We’ve been seeing each other more often at school since it really has been quiet around town, but we haven’t really spent more time together. As much as I’d want to, I couldn’t take you away from her. You’re family friends, after all. You have a lot of plans together. We have… none.

Like all my other letters, I know you won’t be able to read this one. This will just go into my secret pile of love letters I’ll never be brave enough to send.

Why would I?

You already have someone else who loves you, so what’s the point of hearing that I do, too?

I’ve tried telling you how I feel multiple times, but I failed each one. Every time I gather enough courage to let my feelings flow out like a waterfall, something happens and it’s as if someone’s intentionally blocking the waterway. After that, it’s back to step 1.

It’s been that way ever since I started liking you. Now, I do nothing but stumble over my words and do something silly whenever I try talking to you. Thank you for still being friends with me even though I must seem like this clumsy, dumb girl.

Ah… friends. I’m glad to be friends with you, at the very least.

But I can’t deny it—I want us to be more than that.

You have enveloped yourself in the presence of a completely different girl, and I could tell you’re happier with her, especially recently. No matter how many pastries I give you, it’s as if you’ll never notice my feelings. No matter how many times you show me that you care, I know you’ll always just think of me as a friend.

You’re so close yet so far away.

However, the moments I spend with you aren’t all in vain. With these, I get to know you better and support you in the things you do. I’m still really glad that I’m able to spend time with you, even if it’s for a short while. I’m happy that I could show you my support even if it’s just as a friend.

You’re the love of my life, but you’re also my friend. Even if my feelings are one-sided, being able to stand by you soothes the pain a little. I’ll always have your back, because that’s what friends are for, right?

I miss spending time with you and the others. I hope we all get ice cream together again.

See you soon, Adrien.

Sincerely,

Marinette

P.S.: I still wonder, though—how come you haven’t noticed my feelings yet?

Inspired by Miraculous Ladybug (Thomas Astruc, 2015)

Danisy,

Literary: McFly

6/11/2021 06:36:00 PM Media Center 0 Comments

            I just woke up from a nap at 8 p.m. I feel fatigued and thirsty, as if I’m a fish out of water—so bear with the words I’m about to use while writing in this journal. I’m just jotting down anything that comes to mind.

            By the way, I didn’t notice that I had fallen asleep with my turntable still running. What can I say? I’d rather listen to jazz and blues than my stupid parents screaming at each other. Anyway, I know I seem a bit too edgy—I wonder who made me like this? Weren’t they aware that there are specific instructions to make the plot more positive and hopeful?

            Okay, that didn’t make sense, but whatever. I’m sure I’m not entirely dark and twisted. Maybe I just need someone in my life, or a little bit of something bright and shiny.

Wait… “bright and shiny”?

That rings a bell.

It’s making me have this weird sensation in my chest.

Is this—love? Butterflies? I hate butterflies. Maybe bees?

english,

Literary: Heartstrings.

6/11/2021 06:28:00 PM Media Center 0 Comments

My heart is tied to yours
and all the strings are taut.
Because today,
with every step I take,
I am closer to you than I thought.

I have waited for you forever.
My love, are you aware?
Could you pull once if you know
and twice just so
I am sure that you are there.

And when you have trouble sleeping tonight,
just pull the string three times.
So I can play you melodies,
and symphonies,
and a heartstring lullaby.

But before you dream: I love you.
Even if I don't know you yet.
And when I walk through your door
I know I will love you more
than I did before we met.

And I want to forget the world with you;
It's had a hold of us for too long.
So, world be damned
I will hold your hand
as we dance to our song.

Get some rest tonight, my love,
and rest assured I'll see you soon.
Because I've asked the moon where you are
and he's asked the stars—
And now, I'm coming home to you.

english,

Literary: Blue.

6/11/2021 06:23:00 PM Media Center 0 Comments

I do not know what colors are.

I've had them described to me multiple times; I've been told that there are thousands of them and that they vary from the brightest hues to the softest shades and that they surround us everywhere we go—that every thing has a certain color. I've asked what my color is, and I've been told that my skin is brown, and that my hair is black; that my cheeks are pink and that my eyes are a “unique” color: grey.

I am not dense; I know what unique means and I know that its meaning changes when it is used to describe me. Unique means different, one of a kind, special—but once it is used in a sentence pertaining to me, it means abnormal, queer, peculiar—and “unique” becomes more of a buffer than it is an adjective. For example: when someone calls my eyes “unique”, it only means that they are unable to do the one thing they are supposed to do: see.

That being said, I do not know what colors are, but I’ll tell you one thing about me: I always make it a point to ask my parents what color I'm wearing every time I put on a new set of clothes. I don't know when I started doing it, all I know is that I always have, even though I am fully aware that there is no point in doing so. That is why on June 8, 2015, I knew I was wearing a white shirt, black shorts, and white shoes when I met Blue.

I was in seventh grade when the teacher introduced our class to the newest student. I joined every one as we greeted her in unison: "Nice to see you, Blue."—which was ultimately followed by giggles and snickers, and even though I was not able to see anything, it did not take a genius to figure out they were doing so in my direction. I heard our teacher apologize to me, flustered, when she realized what she had asked the class to say as she guided Blue to a vacant seat, which—from what I could tell—was right next to mine.

We were told to be kind to Blue, and I remember thinking that there was a very unnecessary amount of emphasis on the word “kind” as our teacher said this; as if it wasn’t common sense to be kind to a stranger. What reason would anyone have to not be kind to her? I thought.

The day went on as it usually did, not a single word was spoken between Blue and I as I sat in my seat quietly reading a copy of a book my parents gave me which was printed in Braille. Now, before you say anything: yes, I read. I very much love reading. It is very important to me and it makes me feel like I belong with the rest of you, even in the smallest way possible. It has been my way of reassuring myself that I am not that unique after all. And so, I read every chance I get.

The class went on around me, but I hardly even knew what subject was being taught because I could not focus on anything—not even my book. I don't know if this is something a seeing person is able to do, but I have always had a certain talent: I know when people are staring at me—and when they do, it is very distracting. Maybe being able to feel people's eyes on me is God's way of making up for the fact my eyes can not feel anything at all, but my point is: I can always tell. And so, I looked straight at Blue (or maybe a few inches to her right—I do not know, unfortunately, there is literally no way I can tell), and asked her: "What are you looking at?"

"Why are you touching your book that way?"

I furrowed my eyebrows. "I am reading."

"With your hands?"

"Yes." I paused, has this girl not seen Braille before? "With my hands."

"Why not use your eyes?" I felt my face deadpan as I blinked at her twice in disbelief. I shook my head, took a deep, audible breath in—remembering what our teacher said about being kind to Blue—before I replied:

"They are out-of-order."

I smiled at her in a way which meant this conversation is over, and went back to reading my book. For a solid minute, I thought my silent message got through, and I went back to peacefully reading my book until she started speaking to me again.

"I have read that book before."

I froze. The book in my hands was one titled All The Light We Cannot See by Anthony Doerr—she must have been able to read the translation on the Braille cover—and as much as I hated to admit it at the time, I was surprised. It was one of my favorite books, and never in my life had I encountered someone who has read it as well. I was especially surprised since I assumed she was my age—and girls of my age liked to read about romance and fiction, not about World War II. And so I feigned nonchalance as I told her: "So have I." Which was followed by five seconds of silence before she replied:

"I understand why you read it. The girl in the story also reads with her hands because she cannot see. Because she is blind. Just like you—"

"Can I talk to you for a moment?" I was startled as I felt hands on my shoulders. I recognized the voice as my teacher's and I simply nodded as I took her hand, still taken aback by the blunt remark by the new student who I had barely known for five minutes just made, and in that moment, I felt whatever the feeling in between confused and hurt was called. I was hurt, because I did not really like to hear the “b-word”; I am well-aware that I am blind. I do not have to be told twice—but at the same time, I was confused. Because I did not understand the way she said it and the reason as to why she said it that way in the first place.

Our teacher pulled me outside of our classroom, apologizing again, because she failed to properly introduce me to Blue. She told me she overheard our conversation and explained to me that Blue was different, just like me. She says that Blue lacks a filter; that she says anything that comes to mind without a second thought. She says that Blue does not know what a "joke" is and that I should avoid making them around her because she knows I have a very dry sense of humor that Blue would not be able to understand. "Her mind is... special." She said; I did not like the way she said it. It sounded very much like Blue's special was my unique.

And so I was guided back into the classroom with a new understanding of the character seated next to me. I did not make any attempt to talk to her, fearing what she might say next, and I silently continued to read. But it did not take very long until I heard the sound of a chair squeaking against the floor—and the next thing I knew, Blue's shoulder was pressed against mine.

I froze for the second time that day. I did not know how to react. As far as I could tell, she wasn’t looking at me, but we sat like that for a solid minute before she spoke.

"I am sorry."

"What?"

"I am apologizing. For earlier. I do not know what for, but I am. I am sorry because you looked hurt. I do not want to hurt you. I am sorry you are blind."

I had to suppress a laugh after the last, unnecessary statement—which I found odd because I expected to feel offended after hearing the “b-word” for the second time that day—but I awkwardly accepted her apology. After that, I expected her to move away from me, or to avoid me for the rest of the school year in the fear she would unintentionally offend me again—but she never did. And for that entire day we talked about All The Light We Cannot See by Anthony Doerr.

She told me her favorite character was Frederick, and I told her that mine was (very predictably) Marie-Laure. She told me she absolutely despised Werner for failing to protect his best friend that he knew for two years, but was prepared to die to save a girl that he met two days ago—she very darkly followed this up by stating that "Werner deserved to step on that land mine".

I listened to her talk, agreeing and disagreeing with her opinions and very hesitantly sharing mine (because I was afraid of her disapproval—I learned very quickly that she is terrifyingly passionate) and before I even realized it, the final school bell rang. Never in my life has a day gone by so fast.

To my surprise, Blue asked our teacher if she could be the one to guide me to the school gates at the end of class that day. She agreed with this, but she told Blue that she would have to hold my hand or else I would trip and fall—and Blue strongly refused to hold my hand. I will be honest: I was offended by this at first, but then I remembered what our teacher said earlier that day about Blue being different, just like me, and I realized I probably still had much to learn about her, so I kept quiet.

Blue suggested that I hold onto her belt loops instead, and our teacher put some thought into this. Then a few moments later, she asked me if I was comfortable with Blue's offer, and I agreed—but I would be lying if I said I did so without any hesitance (I recall there was a very generous amount of hesitance, actually).

And so, that was the first day of many days that I held onto Blue's belt loop with my left index finger and my walking stick in my right hand as she guided me to the school gates, and once we got there, our discourse about All The Light We Cannot See continued until our parents arrived. And once hers did, she said something that I will never forget:

"I will see you again, soon!"

"I'll see you soon!" I smiled, as I unknowingly replied without thinking about it twice, and if it weren't for a trail of giggles walking across me, I don’t think I would have realized there was anything wrong with that statement. To this day, I wonder if Blue ever realized the same thing, because to this day she still says the same six words to me before she leaves, not that it really matters, because I have still been saying the same four words in reply.

For the following years, this was how my days went. I bring a book, and more often than not, she has already read it, then we exchange our opinions. It didn't take me very long to realize that Blue was in fact special, but hers was a very different kind. I realized I was wrong; a thousand of my uniques combined would not even come close to what her special meant. Unique, when used to describe my eyesight, pertains to the lack thereof—but special, when used to describe her mind, means beautiful. Because Blue's special means her mind is a library with shelves upon shelves of books of different genres. Blue's special means she knows every capital of every country, and every prime number from 2 up to 7,057. Blue’s special means she feels the constant need to reassure me that “being blind is okay” ever since she thought she offended me on the day I met her by quoting The Little Prince by Antoine de Saint-Exupéry and telling me: “It is only with the heart that one can see rightly; what is essential is invisible to the eye.” Blue's special means she sits too close, and she says too much, and she laughs too little because she doesn't get what a joke is. Blue is a book, and she is the only one I have not been able to fully understand—but something tells me I have all the time in the world to figure her out. Because our paths have crossed now, our lives are entangled with each other, and in a way, a part of me knows I was meant to find her, and that we would be stuck with each other for a very long time.

Now, it is June 8th 2019. We are in 10th grade and Blue still waits for me at the school gates before the bell rings to guide me to class with my finger around her belt loop, and she is still the one to take me back to the same gates once the day ends. We've talked about almost every book in existence, discussed a third of them twice, and right now, I am listening to her as she tells me how the most terrible possible dystopian future is the one found in Fahrenheit-451 by Ray Bradbury for she cannot imagine a world where reading is illegal. And as Blue rattles on for what I know could very possibly be forever if we were not required to go home after class or if the world were never to end, I realize I know what my favorite color is.

I nod along to every thing she is saying (she doesn't mind if I don't listen, I have discovered long ago that she simply adores talking) and soon enough she tells me her parents have arrived to pick her up. She pats my head—because Blue does not like hugging, but she says that this gesture means that I have been "very nice" to her—then she tells me what book to bring tomorrow, and I smile, leaning my head against the familiar palm of her hand. She lets go of my hair and leaves as I wave in her direction (I can only hope that I am waving at the right person). I wait for her to say goodbye, then she says it; and it is the same goodbye I have longed to hear at the end of every day for the past four years.

"I will see you again, soon!"

I do not know what colors are, but now I'm sure I know one.

Blue. Blue is the color of the sky, of the cover on All The Light We Cannot See, and of the shirt and shoes I am currently wearing. Blue is warm, and bright, and sits too close, and says too much, and laughs too little. Blue is special in the most unique way possible. And now, I feel inexplicably thrilled knowing that when the next person asks me what my favorite color is for a laugh, all I will have to say is her name.

Without a second thought and with a single smile, knowing that this goodbye is far from the last, I replied, "I'll see you soon."