I paint rain; she rose oak trees

           Class was cut short, so we packed our bags and strode down the building. It’s the latter part of August, depicting the arrival of –ber months, which I guess explains the cold touch of the season’s weather onto my skin. It was already dark around the campus, the kind of dark that makes you feel gloomy but serene at the same time, with only dim warm yellow lamps lighting the way out. Trees silently swayed along with the wind. Parking spaces were unoccupied. A few people tried to hang out for a while—relaxing, waiting, and yawning. I kept walking.

             On a Monday night, the northbound lane was cramped with vehicles. The moment I stepped out of the university gate, first thing that entered my mind was how long it’s going to take me to get home. I have some friends walking alongside, conversing and laughing. The pavement seemed dry but when I looked up, I found no traces of tiny beams of light. The rain must be about to pour soon. Sidewalk vendors started packing up. I saw somebody riding a bike from the distance so I stepped aside for a while. But he wasn’t looking straight ahead that’s why he stopped right inches close to where I was standing. I let out a squeal then a chorus of laughter followed. I kept walking.

             There were fourteen seconds left to cross the road but we didn’t hurry. Vehicles continued lining up, securing the intersection for the pedestrians’ safety. The number of passengers waiting around seemed inversely proportional to the PUVs driving along the boulevard. Alas, the right jeepney came along. We embarked for a ride home at around 9 in the evening. My friends and I sat across from each other, letting out a sigh of relief and silent laughter afterwards. I looked out the window, noticed how all structures along the boulevard are designed like blocks—rectangular and edgy. As if Manila is a Christmas tree and España has the Christmas boxes of varying sizes. One block after another, each made for a different purpose. Dark, silent, hollow to light, vibrant, crowded. Some stores were closed while some played loud music. I was blown away by the air pumped out from old vehicles, past my face to everyone else’s. A gentle reminder of needing a little bit of warmth during a cold night. The lamp posts standing in the middle of the island were dimly lit to allow everyone to see a dramatic view of a stranger’s face. Although some already gave up their lights, yet waiting for somebody to come fix and replace the hearts of them.

             Nothing was in sync. Everyone was doing their own thing. But there I was, looking at a beautiful scene created by moving elements and the fixed establishments in the background, all anticipating for a brand new day. The jeepney did a curvy turn around the rotunda, giving me an opportunity to gaze at a monument erected in the middle for some reason I would be eager to learn. I watched as the street signs changed from the color green to blue. That’s when I knew I was almost close to home. There were lesser vehicles in that avenue as I stare into the quiet. The familiar diversion of land zoning—from residences, institutions, commercial spaces to slums even. Then the sky began crying as I got nearer to the place where you live. We drove past the church, turned left, and then right. Passing by the hospital across your place. Even with the rain shield of the jeepney obscuring my view, with just a glimpse I was sure there was nothing new. The only difference now is that I was no longer standing there with you.

             There goes the usual environment I grew up in, the closer I was to my safety zone. The rain got a little bit gentle as I alight the jeepney, bade goodnight to the friends who accompanied me home. The neighborhood seemed to be already asleep. I kept walking. Until I got home.

[ Pilotis – The replacement of supporting walls by a grid of reinforced concrete columns that bears the load of the structure is the basis of the new aesthetic. ]

You weren't that handsome.

But when you walked through the door, I saw my walls crack a little. You were awkward and the hesitation that reverberated through you drew me in. That night I was witness to how the fortification I built for so long fall away to a heap of dust on the marble floor.

Days passed and I started to build a whole new world around you: the walls weren't around me anymore, but around you. I wanted to keep you to myself.

[ Roof gardens – The flat roof can be utilized for a domestic purpose while also providing essential protection to the concrete roof. ]

I decorated myself with your promises, lived under the shelter of your ‘I love you's’ and believed nothing else mattered. In your arms I found a refuge; you were my safe haven.

[ Open floor plan – The absence of supporting walls means that the house is unrestrained in its internal usage. ]

We came and conquered, but I never saw anything else aside from you. The world was obscured from my view.

[ Free façade – By separating the exterior of the building from its structural function the façade becomes free. ]

You let me go. I thought I was holding you down and quickly said that I was ready to fly with you. You shook your head and your precious tears fell when you said: I'm the anchor that keeps you at bay that's why you never left the shore.

[ Ribbon window – The façade can be cut along its entire length to allow rooms to be lit equally. ]

I saw you again. Your daughter looks just like you. Her smile resembles the sunshine I woke up to, much like the one I dreamed of waking up next to. The walls have not fallen but tiny cavities have emerged, letting in the light I needed to see the world beyond you.

Aside from you.

S

/ a short story I wrote for our finals back then in literature class inspired by Le Corbusier’s five points of architecture / 

 Then it ended halfway through –

A stranger's introductory statement

    In the crack of dawn, I awake with the twinge of optimism that, possibly, today you will finally spin your head to my direction and notice me. Getting up to prepare myself for looking good—putting my curly locks onto place, working on my smile, spraying a saccharine scent of fragrance with the hopes of having your nose snuffle the air when I pass by—just for you, only for you. All of my friends keep on reminding me that you are a terrible fruit—rotten, noxious, and bad for my wellbeing. I refuse to believe them, for they have not a single idea about who you are within. Externally, I couldn’t perceive the guy of my dreams, yet deep down, inside of you; I could glimpse into that beautiful core the lad who I wanted to wake up with every morning.

In the middle of the sunlight hours you’d walk past me, your voice calling my name in a singsong manner only you could master. That distinct combined scent of cigarette smoke and fabric conditioner used on your shirt; those familiar eyes looking at me intently with one eye suddenly winking. You are clueless as to how that smirk of yours made me melt into hot pink lava, making me lunge in a bubblegum sea, covered in sweetness only you have caused. You have no idea how much a second of seeing you from afar caused you to complete my entire day. All of your friends know; all of my friends do, too. I refuse to inform you about what I earnestly feel, for out of all the risks I’m willing to take, this is what I am most terrified of. See, you aren’t just any boy. You are the boy whom every girl spends their daydreams with. When some schoolgirl runs over your track then asks for a snapshot with you, I’d be a few steps away teasing you. When a girl comrade of yours asks you to have a quick smoke session with her, I’d be next to you while you puff off your smoke to the direction opposite me. When your best friend hugs you and you embrace her back, I’d be behind you hauling the thought of having my world wrapped in somebody else’s arms. When the woman you most desire passes by in front of you, I’d be hiding at the rear of that large tree, keeping those tears from drowning me. You could by no means gaze at me that way.

Then the sun comes to rest and the stars begin to emerge, dragging my wishes with them as they attempt to illuminate the murky sky: as cerulean as my emotions, as blank as my spirit. Your name was my beloved melody, my solitary measure of bliss. However, my name was just a mismatched guitar chord and I will not at all fit into your song. This is all we’ll ever be.