Sukli

"Magkano?" ang tanong ko sa kaniya.

"Ser, kayo na ang bahala."

At eto na naman tayo. Kaya nga ayokong namimili sa palengke. Iwas akong makipagtawaran. Bakit kasi hindi na lang ipaskil ang presyo ng lahat ng paninda. Lantaran na. Para kung swak sa budget mo, sige. Kung hindi, eh di walk away ka na lang. Wala nang paligoy-ligoy. Isa na lang siyang simpleng transaksiyon.

"O heto," sabay abot ng pera. "Sa iyo na ang sukli."

Ngumiti ang loko, iniabot ang natirang panindang bulaklak, sabay karipas ng takbo palayo. Isinara ko ang pinto ng kotse, at chineck kung naka-lock na nga ito. Nilampasan ko ang mga guwapong nakatambay sa labas at ang kanilang mga motorsiklo, bago pumasok sa medyo tagong lagusan.

"Magkano?" ang tanong ko sa counter.

May isinagot siya. "Sa masahe yun. Sa ibang usapan sir, bahala na kayong dumiskarte."

At eto na naman tayo...

photo from here

Unexpected Text

I received a text message early this morning. A good friend just lost his battle with cancer. I couldn't go back to sleep, as all these questions ran through my head. On life. One's purpose. Our mortality.

Derek was a happy man, brimming with positivity, a joy to work with. He never changed after the diagnosis. I mean physically he did, as both sickness and treatment wasted his frail body away, but the easy smile never faded. Not even with the thought of leaving a young family behind.

At this age, a number of us begin to look at our lives and ask, Where am I headed. Am I on track. What have I accomplished. What will be my legacy. We often measure success along the lines of career and wealth. And since I quit working, I have neither.

As I began contemplating my supposed failure, I received another text from the same sender. She was grateful that I was her first boss. For inspiring her in her career and personal life. And for being a friend. She added that I look much happier in my recent FB pics, and she hopes that I stay that way.

So am I on track? What have I accomplished? What will be my legacy? The unexpected text made me revisit all these questions. Perhaps success cannot be determined by traditional measures alone.

photo from here

The Death of a Blog

It was born from hope, a longing that everything would be alright. That if life, past and present, could be captured in an entry, then the good and bad that came with it would be suspended within the four corners of an archive.

He trapped happy entries, like fireflies in a jar, kept within easy reach for the occassional dark days. And he tagged each unpleasant one by its toe, before laying it to rest within its virtual casket.

It turned out to be a social being, drawn to its own kind. But in a place of john and jane does, friendships are fleeting. He said, "It's ok. You were made to listen to me." And it clung to its host more tightly.

It fed off thoughts and words for sustenance but then wanted more. It asked for legs, a soul, and to live like its master. It delved into him to satiate its hunger, and would not let go.

It seduced its keeper to stay longer as it fed. It mimicked the brightness of the sun outside, projected from its screen, and engaged him with stories borrowed from its neighbors.

It flourished and bloomed, it felt alive. But then it saw its host's reflection on the screen. Pale, not having been outside, and tethered, for its borrowed life. It softly spoke to him, "I have served my purpose. Now you have to let me go."

"I can't. You have kept me company all this time. Besides, I am not ready," he replied.

"But until you do, you won't move on. You have to live. Can't you see that if you don't, I will eventually die too?" it begged him. "Please. It's ok."

He looked at his creation, which now bears his reflection. How does one kill oneself?

Settings. Delete. Confirm.

And then he was free.

photo credit : filmschoolrejects.com