#raw prose

Siksikan. Mainit. Amoy pawis, pabango, at pasensiyang nauupos. May boses na galing sa likod, ang tono ay pagod pero marunong pa ring makiusap: “Siyaman yan, kaunting usog lang po sa kanan.”

Simpleng linya lang. Pero sa loob ng sasakyan, bawat pulgada may presyo. Tuhod sa tuhod, balikat sa balikat, katahimikan sa katahimikan. Walang gustong umusog. Pero lahat gumagalaw, dahil nakakahiya kung hindi.

At totoo rin siguro ito sa labas ng biyahe. Lahat tayo marunong magparaan, kahit wala na talagang espasyo. Lahat tayo marunong ngumiti habang unti-unting nauurong.

Nakakatuwa rin minsan. Ang bait mo kapag ikaw ang nag-abot ng bayad. Parang maliit na kabutihang gusto mong ipamukha sa mundo. Pero kapag ikaw na ang aabutan, biglang nagkakahiyaan. May mga kamay na nag-aalangan, mga mata na umiwas. Parang takot tayong maramdaman na pare-pareho lang pala tayong pawisan, pagod, at nangangapa.

Tapos ayun, may mga taong ang cool kapag nasa front seat. Parang sila ang may special role: taga-abot ng bayad, taga-pasabi ng “Bayad daw po.” Sila ang kalmadong hindi naiipit, nakatingin lang sa daan, parang may sariling mundo sa gitna ng trapik.

Pero hindi lahat ng front seat pare-pareho. May front seat pa sa front seat, iyong katabi ng driver. Doon nakaupo ang mga mukhang may tiwala sa sarili, ang mga kayang makipagbiruan kay manong habang nakapwesto sa pinakamainit na parte ng biyahe. Minsan sila rin ang humahawak ng pamasahe, o nagbibilang ng “Sampu, bayad daw po, isa pa sa dulo.” At kahit hindi nila aminin, alam nilang sila ang mga pinili.

Pero kahit may ganyan, may Judas not pay pa rin. Laging may isa na biglang bababa nang hindi nagbabayad, tahimik lang, parang walang kasalanan. At kahit walang CCTV, alam ng driver kung sino iyon. Hindi dahil nakita niya, kundi dahil kabisado na niya ang kilos ng mga taong sanay umiwas.

Ganito yata talaga ang kabutihan sa araw-araw. Magalang sa tono, pero may konting inis na tinatago. Laging may usog, laging may kanan, pero wala talagang sariling puwesto.

Make him cruel tonight— because kindness will break me faster than sin ever could.

Take the night from me— because in the dark, I always crawl back to him.

Kill the hunger— because if it grows, I’ll tear him open just to taste his name.

Blind me— because if I see his face again, I’ll worship him like scripture.

Or just let me be a sinner— because even hell feels cold when I’m with him.

my brother and i used to use a spoon to spread our grape jelly on our sandwiches because we couldnt figure out how to use a knife. i grew out of that, learned how to use a knife (i didn't want to dirty more dishes. that would be too many variables for things to go wrong.), but he didn't.

im leaving for college soon. i cant tell if he doesnt realize or doesnt care.

i hope he doesnt care.

i used to sit at the top of the stairs every morning.

every morning, my brother would join me moments later, and wed sit there giggling and talking with excitement about the days adventures ahead, waiting for our parents to wake up so we could get on with it.

i used to sit at the top of the stairs every afternoon.

every afternoon, just after nap time, id wait for my brother to wake up so we could go play, remnants of the peanut butter and jelly sandwiches we had for lunch still on our faces.

i used to sit at the top of the stairs every night.

every night, id sit at the top of those damn stairs and listen to my parents screaming at each other. it didnt matter how scared i was. i wanted to go listen to music or read or do something else so bad so i didnt have to hear them but as my anxiety built my mind cleared and the one cohesive thought i had was to protect my baby brother and baby sister at all fucking costs and if that meant being able to monitor the situation to get out as fast as possible if things got ugly than goddamnit i would sit at the top of those fucking stairs every night.

i don't like peanut butter and jelly sandwiches anymore. i used to love them, me and my brother had them every day. before naps, packed up in our brandy-new school lunchboxes, in plastic baggies for picnics, and we devoured those sandwiches.

The moment, ephemeral kingdom, divinity of the mechanical clock. There hasn’t been a time in the whole history of humanity as noisy as this (and as empty). Everything is demolished in the same moment it is built. Mathematically, nothing.