Mama Kryz

One of the reason why people get so sentimental it's because memories are the only things that don't change when everything else does.

There are things in life that you can't hold on forever, no matter how hard you fight for it.

Sometimes destiny isn't always good for everybody, It becomes playful.

For example, when you meet someone and you've learned to love him/her, you thought that it was destiny that made your paths cross. But what if making your paths cross is just a part of the game that the playful destiny created? making you realize that the person you've thought destined for you wasn't really meant to stay but only destined to make you feel loved and leave you when you're already fallen.

It's not easy to state a reason when you decide to leave your love.

Some might think it's just an excuse, Some may not believe you, some will blame you, some might even be mad at you.

It hurts you even more to hurt someone, you know, who didn't deserved to be hurt especially when you can't state a reason why you have to leave but it hurts to hold on to something you never had

YOU CAN NEVER OWN SOMETHING THAT NEVER BEEN YOURS

SO LET GO OF THE THINGS YOU EXPECT TO LAST FOREVER.

NOTHING LASTS FOREVER

FOREVER IS A LIE

EVERYTHING IS TRANSITORY

So when you have something in your hand, put in mind that it's just borrowed so that when the time comes that you have to let go of that "thing" it wont take an eternity for you to move on.

When your feelings for someone gets strong and you're thinking you can't control it, STOP and give your heart a time to breath and a time for you to think and balance the situation based on the reason not on emotion

Because the saddest thing that can happen is when one falls in love while the other wants nothing but friendship.

Love is magical but always remember that magic can also be an illusion

There are times when I wish that I was limited to certain emotions so that i'll never have to experience pain, never feel betrayed or even disappointed but the same thing means i wont feel loved and to be love

Just the thought of it scares the hell out of me

So I decided to live, love and take whatever pain this life brings though its hard to wait around for something that i know will never happen because it's harder to stop when i know it's everything i ever wanted.

Last Ride

She died.

She was crossing an empty street when she was hit by a speeding bus. Her body flew in such a slow motion, she seemed to fly. But then the impact with the ground was inevitable. Her body crashed. Blood spilled on the asphalt.

It was a spectacular performance, and I was her only audience. I was the omniscient god that created her world- yes, the empty street, the need to cross it to reach the emptiness on the other side, the empty bus that crashed through her body, the blood. Her world was only these things.

She was lost. She jut saw the street and the fog on the other side. I gave her will. Cross it, I whispered. She didn't know what to do but to follow the only sound she could hear. She took a ginger step forward, and seeing nothing happened, followed it with another. Then another. And soon she was on the middle of the street, eager to reach the other side.

Then the bus came. It was empty of any soul to drive it but it came so fast. There wasn't even time to react. I couldn't stop it. I created the bus so he could ride it when he crossed the street, but something went wrong. Very wrong.

She didn't even see it coming.

I tried to stop the time. I guess that’s why her body reached the ground so slowly. I was master of her world but I couldn't stop is death. Like it was inevitable no matter how much in control I was.

There was no sound when she hit the road. Her body didn't even rebound. She just lay there in the middle of a pool of red. But- wait, she wasn't dead yet. She was alive!

I descended from the clouds and flew to his frail body. I ran as fast as I could. When I reached her I put her head on my lap and caressed her face. My dress was filled with his blood. I couldn't care less.

She opened her eyes and looked at me. She had such wonderful eyes. So playful, like she had the mind to suddenly jump up and shout "Just joking!", and then she would run from me and of course I would chase her, giggling and laughing until our bliss brings us on the other side of the street. Then we would ride the bus- that’s what it was supposed to be for- to heaven while making passionate love.

But she never did jump up.

She just looked at me. And then her eyes filled with tears. But...the tears never did fall. Because she closed her eyes before they had the chance.

She died.

And I woke up.

In tears- because now I know even if I was god, she still wouldn't be mine.

Mush at the time of cholera

I am jaded.

Not long ago, I found my true north. My existence suddenly gained essence. I was finally living not just for myself but for someone elses as well. Each day was total bliss. The world surprisingly changed its hue. There was peace… even just for a moment.

I was jaded.

We were star-crossed lovers one time or the other. My life used to revolve around my paramour. Used to.

Two months and still counting…

Parting is such sweet sorrow. So true. It’s like having a major hangover after the intoxication wears off from last night’s party. You feel nauseous, dehydrated, wasted, and dry. Mush suddenly loses meaning. Sweet-nothings translate into one word—crap. And like crap, you simply flush it down the drain. You are left with nothing but disillusionment. The world ain’t that great after all. Everything becomes gray.

Fast cars and rubber duckies…

I have mastered the art of watching cars go by, without rational goal or purpose of course. I just love to let my mind wander. Every car carries my thoughts with it. All memory of my long lost paramour. Wishful thinking. No matter how much I try to wash off the pain and misery, I am faced with the fact that baths are now to be shared with rubber duckies. Lifeless rubber duckies.

Ramblings of a jilted lover.

You promised me the stars… it seems that the clouds have hidden them from sight. You said forever… all you gave is just a moment. I guess forever is too long. You said you would stay. Stay with whom? You said, “I love you.” I love you for now? Well, screw love.

Mush at its finest

I have done everything to cope with my loss—from watching cars to bathing alone, from downing alcohol to gazing at an overcast sky, from wishing to hoping, from rambling to writing… At the end of the day, all I have is mush, and no one to share it with.

A line from a popular song says, “You bleed just to know you’re alive…” I feel so alive right now. It must have been death when I was with my paramour for I didn’t know pain. To see the world through the eyes of the jaded was the biggest illusion of all. To love and to be loved for a while was the sweetest thing, even for a cynic.

One express ticket to hell

Do you have a minute or two? I know you’re probably busy with your heavenly and religious affairs, over pricing, maybe even Survivor: Palau, but I really think we should talk.

I, a dot in the cosmos, and you, the so-called creator of whatever was, is, and will be. That is, of course, assuming you exist... Nah, forget my asking for permission. I’d say what I have to say, whether you listen or not. Blame four years of high school Christian Living; it taught me that you gave every human being free will -- a gift I’d be more than happy to exercise now.

How would you like to start a religion business with me? Don’t worry, ownership is entirely yours. All I want is to be CEO.

Our company will sell products designed to meet every Catholic’s needs: The Complete Dummy’s Guides to Salvation, watches that recite one commandment every hour (which means you have to make two new commandments for 11 and 12 o’clock), God-approved contraceptives, cell phones with speed dialing features to heaven (press 1 for the Virgin Mother, press 2 for your favorite saint, press 3 for angelic assistance), Jesus-Mary-Joseph Christmas albums (first 1000 buyers get signed CDs), and a portable gadget that beeps every time a capital sin is committed by its owner’s special someone. Our product listing will have limitless possibilities; our market will include every living Catholic.

Since we can’t risk losing to piracy and we need to maximize profit, all merchandise will bear your official tamper-proof seal, a religion facts table (Recommended Daily Allowance, Moral Value per Serving) and a sticker that says “Hurry! Buy more products to accumulate more points! Every point you earn takes you one step closer to heaven!”

It is a religion company but it’s not religion per se that we’d be selling -- salvation is what your people are crazy about these days; it will thus be the focus of our marketing strategy. In the end, I’d be filthy rich, while you’d get all the good Catholic people from earth!

Now, before you send me straight to hell, relax. I was just kidding! Calm down, man. (Aww, sorry, for a second I forgot you’re a god!) Just trying to get your attention there.

Seriously though, I wouldn’t be shocked if one day I find myself walking into the religion (or should I say salvation?) section of a supermarket. I think my religion has today become too commercialized and too fanaticized to be believable.

For instance, I saw an almost full-page ad in the newspaper last month for Vatican ring tones, picture messages and logos. Since when did you endorse such pay-per-download services?

A church I pass by every weekend was demolished a couple of years ago to construct -- as the billboard says -- the “Church of the Millennium.” For some reason, the project was never finished and the church, in its present state, resembles a dilapidated marketplace. Tell me, what difference does it make if we pray to you in bahay-kubo chapels instead of in ornate basilicas?

Then there’s my high school teacher who reprimanded me for making the sign of the cross with my left hand, the same way my mother scolded me for removing the altar hanging on my bedroom wall. I cannot understand why. Perhaps they’re worried you might throw me into Satan’s den because of my heretical acts. Whoa! I’m scared.

Well, maybe I should be scared, unlike, say, the parishioners who spend thousands of pesos to dress-up their life-size Mama Mary images for the annual fiesta celebration; or the owners of the black Sto. Niño, of the doctor Sto. Niño, of the policeman Sto. Niño, of the sleeping Sto. Niño, of the beggar Sto. Niño and of the hamburger-addict Sto. Niño (Asereje Sto. Niño, anyone?); or the devout follower of the TV evangelist whose donation boxes are almost as tall as he is.

Things like these leave me with the question “What for?” Is it not enough that I believe in you? Frankly, I begin to doubt whether you really did create man or man created you so he could do whatever he wishes in life and yet be assured of a happy ending when he dies.

I realize I have no right to castigate others on how they worship you. After all, there’s no way of deciding whose right or wrong, is there? I’m just telling you these things because I want you to know that I’d like my salvation to ensue. If I would be praying, respecting my parents, abstaining from pre-marital sex, doing charity work or helping a stranger, it wouldn’t be because at the end of the day, I want my “good deeds” list to exceed my “bad deeds” list or because I want to get sure seats in heaven. It would simply be because I want to do these things.

Also, don’t be surprised if you see me skipping communion, if you find me confessing directly to you, or if you hear me omitting lines from the Apostle’s Creed. I’m getting tired of organized religion.

Your preachers taught me how to pray but you've showed me how to lie, can you blame me for not believing anymore?

If by living this way I’m buying myself an express ticket to hell, then so be it. Maybe hell isn’t such a bad place at all. Maybe they need me there.

I guess that’s all I have to say. Thanks for your time, God. You’d better get back to work.

Ah, wait a minute, there’s one last thing: on the day I die, give St. Peter and his rooster a day off. I wouldn’t want to meet him at the gates; I want to see you there. Before you send me to my final destination -- wherever that is -- I’d like to hear what you have to say. That should be interesting.

Langit, Lupa, Impyerno

Mga boses na sintinis ng sirena ng pulis ang gumising sa kanya. “Langit! Lupa! Impiyerno!” Paulit-ulit ang pagkanta. “Im-im-impiyerno! Saksak puso! Tulo ang dugo!” Palakas nang palakas. “Patay! Buhay! Aaaa-lis!” Tumagilid siya at nagtakip ng unan sa tenga para muling makatulog, pero saka napili ng mga naglalaro ang taya; lalo lamang nagsigawan ang mga bata nang magsimula na silang maghabulan.

Punyeta. Sa dami ng kalye kung saan pwedeng maglaro, sa tapat pa ng bintana ng kwarto niya. Bumalikwas siya ng higa. Itinapon ang unan sa paanan. Kumapit sa magkabilang gilid ng kutson at itinulak ang sarili para makabangon. Umupo sa kama. Nilamukos ng kanang kamay ang mga mata habang kinakapa ng mga paa ang tsinelas sa sahig. Hindi pala siya nakapagpalit ng damit; naka-itim na polo at pantalong maong pa rin siya.

Alas-otso y medya, sabi ng alarm clock sa computer table sa kabilang dulo ng kwarto. Alas-dos siya dumating, anong oras ba siya nakatulog? Hindi niya alam. Hindi nga siya makapaniwalang nakatulog siya. Ang mahalaga, nagising pa rin siya sa sariling kama.

May dilaw na post-it sa monitor ng computer. Maski nagmumuta pa siya, basang-basa niya ang kanyang pangalan (RJ, itim na pentel pen at kalahati agad ng papel). Galing iyon sa tatay niya; ugali na nitong mag-iwan ng post-it kapag may kailangang sabihin at hindi sila magkikita. “Tumawag si Lucy, tulog ka na. Magkita na lang daw kayo bukas.” " Maglinis ka ng kwarto.” “Sa labas ka na kumain mamaya, gagabihin ako ng uwi.” Ganoon ang mga mensahe. Walang I lo-I love you anak; hindi sila mahilig sa kasentihan. Na OK lang naman. Nangilabot nga siya nang minsang makakita ng “Ingat” sa text nito sa kanya.

Tinatamad pa siyang lumapit para basahin ang nakasulat sa post-it. Kaliwang gilid na lang nito ang nakalapat sa monitor, halatang nagmamadali ang nagdikit. Baka iniwan bago pumasok sa opisina kanina.

Shit. Pumasok ang tatay niya sa kwarto kanina.

Hinagilap ng mga mata niya ang susi ng kotse. Sa mesa sa gilid ng kama. Sa harap ng CPU. Sa ashtray na katabi ng radyo. Sa sabitan ng belt sa likod ng pinto. Sa takip ng basket ng labahang damit. Wala.

Bakit nga ba iniwan pa niya sa glove compartment ang trapong ipinanlinis niya ng kotse?

Katangahan. Tanga kasi siya.

Iyon lang ang naiisip niyang dahilan. Ayaw na niyang mag-isip pa ng iba; daragdag lang sa sakit ng ulo niya. Kulang siya sa tulog, nakaririndi pa ang mga bata sa labas. “Taya! Taya!” sigaw ng isang bata. “Hindi ah! Ang dugas-dugas mo kasi!” agad na sagot ng nataya. “Anong madaya? Neknek mo!”

Hindi minamartilyo sa sakit ang nararamdaman niya sa ulo. Mas malala. Parang may isang nilalang na nakakulong sa kanyang bungo, nagpupumiglas at gustong lumabas.

Isang batang babae. Lampayatot, hanggang balikat ang buhok, nakasuot ng PE t-shirt at puting shorts. Nagdadabog. Naghuhuramentada sa kanyang utak. Dumadagundong ang mga yabag. Pilit itinutulak ang kanyang mga mata paalis mula sa kanilang mga butas. Handang wasakin ang bungo niya kung kinakailangan. Gusto nitong maglaro. Sa kalye.

Tumayo siya mula sa kama. Pinulot ang rubber shoes na nakakalat sa sahig, saka naalalang itinago niya ang susi sa loob ng kahon ng sapatos sa ilalim ng kanyang higaan.

Tama, doon, kasama ng puting panyong napuno ng pinaghalong pawis at dugo.

Isa pang katangahan. Makahihinga na sana siya nang maluwag.

Sinigurado muna niyang nasa kahon pa rin ang susi at panyo (kulay lupa na ang mga mantsa ng dugo), saka siya lumapit sa bintana. Natanaw agad niya ang mga naglalaro: limang batang nakapaikot sa isang naka-ponytail. Umiiyak ang batang nasa gitna. Malamang iyon ang nataya. Wala pang isang minuto, tatahan din iyon sa tantiya niya. Magso-sorry ang nandayang taya. Pagkatapos, laro na naman.

May mga bata pa palang naglalaro sa kalye.

Akala niya, lahat ng bata ngayon, kung hindi nakababad sa TV, nasa tapat ng computer. Akala niya, extinct na ang taguan, monkey-monkey at Pepsi/7-Up. Walong taon siguro siya nang huling maglaro ng mataya-taya sa tapat ng bahay nila. Third year college na siya.

Expert siya sa dayaan noong bata. Kapag langit lupa ang laro, kaya niyang pahabain ang kanta huwag lang siya ang mapiling taya (“…Patay! Buhay! A-lis ka na di-yan sa pu-wes-to mo!”). Kahit kapirasong patpat ay nagiging langit kapag siya ang nakatuntong. At maliban sa isang nakipagsuntukan, lahat ng naging kalarong babae ay napaiyak niya. Siya ang hari ng kalye.

Pero hindi na siya bata; wala na siyang karapatang mandaya.

Matagal din siyang nakatitig sa kisame kaninang madaling-araw, nag-isip habang nakahilata sa kama. Gaya ng ginagawa niya ngayon habang pinagmamasdan ang mga batang sumira ng umaga niya.

Matanda na siya; may isip na dapat siya.

Sa ayaw niya’t sa gusto, meron pang mga batang mahilig maglaro sa kalye, maski mag-aalas-dose na ng gabi at nagkalat ang mga gagong nagmamaneho ng kotse. Sa ayaw niya’t sa gusto, lasing siya nang umuwi galing sa isang birthday party kagabi, at hindi kanya ang kalye.

“Langit! Lupa! Impiyerno…”

Napupunta kaya sa langit ang lahat ng batang namamatay? Sana. E siya? Asa pa. Alam niyang wala siyang lugar sa langit. Ang problema, ayaw niyang mabulok sa isang kulungan sa lupa.

“Im-im-impiyerno…”

May pagpipilian pa ba siya? Kung nagkataong walang nakakita sa kanya kagabi, hindi siguro siya namumroblema ngayon. Pero bangag sa alkohol ang kukote niya. Bumaba pa siya ng kotse para tingnan kung ano ang kumalabog nang bigla siyang lumiko sa isang shortcut. Kung nagdire-diretso lang siya sa pagmamaneho, siguradong walang nakatanda sa kotse niya.

“Saksak puso! Tulo ang dugo…”

Tumili ang mga kalaro ng batang babae. Tatlo o apat na matitining na boses na sinabayan ng magkakasunod na pagtatahulan ng mga aso sa kalye. Isa-isang nagbukasan ang mga ilaw at may ilang naglabasan ng kanilang mga bahay. Saka lang siya natauhan.

Kitang-kita niya ang duguang batang napailalim sa unahang gulong ng kotse niya. Kumaripas siya pabalik sa driver's seat. Muntik pa siyang masubsob sa aspalto sa pagmamadali; mabuti na lamang at nakakapit siya sa pinto bago tuluyang madapa. Pinaharurot niya ang sasakyan (kung nakaladkad ang bata, hindi na niya napansin) at dalawang oras siyang nagmaneho sa kung saan-saan para matiyak na walang sumunod sa kanya.

“Patay! Buhay! Aaaa-lis!”

Agad niyang nilinis ang bumper, headlight at gulong pagkagarahe sa bahay. Sa katarantahan, panyo pa ang una niyang ginamit na pamunas bago naisip humanap ng basahan. Ngayon, gusto niyang tawanan ang sarili. Wala naman kasing silbi ang ginawa niyang paglilinis ng kotse kaninang madaling-araw.

Iniumpog niya ang kanyang ulo sa bakal ng bintana. Paulit-ulit ("Tanga, tanga, tanga..."), saka tumalikod at naglakad patungo sa pintuan.

Hindi na kailangang idikta ng utak kung saan siya pupunta: sa CR. Nandoon ang medicine cabinet. Kay Satanas din naman ang bagsak niya, uunahan na niya si Kamatayan; kesa sa lupa pa niya unang matikman ang impiyerno. Mga imahe pa lang ng posas, rehas na bakal, barberong kalbo at tatong agila, sinusunog na ang pakiramdam niya. Maswerte na siya dahil wala pang mga pulis na kumakatok sa kanila.

Dahan-dahan siyang dinala palabas ng kanyang mga paa, habang ang muling pagsisigawan ng mga naglalaro ay nilunod ng mga hiyaw ng batang nagwawala sa kanyang ulo.

Lost Generation

Im a part of a Lost generation

and i refuse to believe

that i can save the world

I realize this may be a shock but

"happiness comes from within"

is a lie and

"money will make me happy"

so in 30 years i will tell my children

they are not the most important thing in my life

my employer will know that

I have priorities straight because

work

is more important than

family

i tell you this,

Once upon a time

families stayed together

but this is not true in my era

This is a quick fix society.

Experts tell me

30 years from now i will be celebrating the 10th anniversary of my divorce

i do not concede that

i will live in a country of my own making

in the future,

environmental destruction will be the norm

no longer can it be said

that my peers and i care about the earth

it will be evident that

my generation is apathetic and lethargic

it is foolish to presume that

there is hope.


AND IT WILL HAPPEN IF WE DIDN'T REVERSE IT.

The poet i never was

This is my way of moving on, of saying goodbye to a love that was never meant to be and was never mine to begin with.

You know, I've never really understood what happened between us...how and why we came to this - not seeing each other for months at a time, barely talking, barely even on speaking terms. But then again, was there ever an us to begin with? We were just friends who kidded about having a relationship. It made us laugh to see others' reactions every time we'd tell them we've gotten together and that we call each other Hugs and Kisses. You always referred to me as "bolt ko" but we both know there's really nothing to it, or at least that was what we owed up to the rest of the world. Even now it would make me smile to think how fast and how far things have gone from there.

Thank you for everything...for taking away my insecurities; for showing me that people do love me for who I am; for making me understand that people I love will hurt me but it doesn't necessarily mean they love me any less, and that when they do hurt me, it is possible to forgive, forget and move on with life; for making me realize it is possible to trust again after getting hurt. Thank you too for giving me the most painful lesson in my life thus far "LOVING SOMEONE WHO HAS ALREADY HAD SOMEONE"...that the moment you love someone you have given her the capacity to hurt you, that how much you hurt is equal to how much you have loved, that getting hurt is proportionate to having too many expectations. Thank you for accepting me and allowing me enough room to grow at the same time...for inspiring me and making me want to become a better person. Thank you for being there when I needed you - for the silly and the serious moments; for making me laugh, smile and cry all at the same time; for holding my hand at PULP summerslam; for giving me a hug and wiping away my tears when I'm sad or confused; for never failing to make me feel better no matter how down or how depressed I've become; for unselfishly sharing my joys and my happiness. Most of all, thank you for making me feel special, for making me feel loved, even if it was so ambiguous and so fleeting I was hardly conscious about it.

I'm sorry things had to come to this - I wasn't supposed to fall in love with you after all, and I wasn't supposed to expect anything to come out of our playing pretend either. But even if everything got so painful, I'm still glad to have known you, to have had you in my life even for just a short while. I've heard people say that while some good things never last others don't even start - I guess that fits us exactly...we could have been good together...good for each other, but then since we never really gave ourselves a chance, things had ended before they even began.
I also want to apologize to your BF, sorry that i have fallen for your girl, i didnt mean it, neither did i want to took her away from you, it just happened, in an instant; unexpected.

The moment you read this letter, im already leaving all the stupid thoughts of you and me walking in the beach looking at the sunset, you and me playing with kids, you and me together with bryce and karen giggling around. Because at the end of the day, there's no really you and me.