Like a bead of water, child of rain,
he traces his finger down the car window
connecting the dots of light he sees on the sodden street.
He waits.
From his seat, he sees seconds passing, churchgoers bustling about.
Holiday cheer metallically ringing from red and green lights.
Carols wafting through the air and bibingkas singing freshness.
Everything seems like a cheerful sham.
Smiling, he breathes it all in anyway.
This is his time, this is his place.
This will pass and it will come.
Storms, strikes, elections will roll out in due time.
Like a bead of water, child of rain,
He waits.
—–
My teller was a stranger
She could read me from the cards.
The cards told my story.
The story had a man,
The story mentioned sacrament,
The story hinted at sacrilege.
The story said that this was not typical of me.
She read the chemistry,
She read the connection.
She sensed that I was wary,
She said I was blocking it.
She said I felt guilty.
She did not know me,
Yet, at that time, knew me so well.
Then on, I was convinced.
They were right.
They said that the cards could tell.
—–
You need silence.
Someone wished me silence. It could be that I have been talkative these past year, then again when you teach and you do teach, or as I prefer encourage, people to talk or communicate. One should be an example. I thought I did rather well. In retrospect, she did not mean that.
My head tends to be noisy. My mind is a very noisy place. I don’t recall which author said that the mind is a most dangerous place, I don’t recall if I said that after all. Haruki Murukami did say that “a theory is a battlefield in your head.” A theory is always open for questions. Otherwise, it would be a law. I do not have laws. Whoever said my opinions are always black or white, thinks too highly of me. My opinions take on dreary grays and, in my reality, grays come in shades too many. I have layers and layers of rules though. Laughingly, my friend and I claimed that I am my own value system.
Maybe it’s not a laughing matter. I recall a handful of nights in early 2006 when I would not be able to sleep because I could feel thoughts running around in my head. I would lie there trying to ignore all the things I could be doing at that time when I was already priming myself for sleep. I would then stand up, for fear of developing a headache. I cannot ignore them too long. There are traffic jams and detours and constructions going on. Stoplights are in place but are often not heeded. It’s like a noisy city, that you can love or you can hate. There are also road blocks, and they tend to be blocked long.
The first time I succeeded in deliberately trying to quell my overwhelmingly active brain, I think I reprimanded it with a sharp “Stop thinking. No.” Maybe it was surprised to be treated like a small child, to be treated simply and directly. It worked, for a while. Now, it hasn’t been that effective. But these days, my brain automatically hibernates. It’s still there, still alive, still processing…although not as much.
These days they say I process too much- that my head was a very interesting , crowded place. Sometimes, I stare off, not really thinking and they ask me what it is I am worrying about. I have been stereotyped, isn’t that funny though almost verging on sad?
I think I understand now when someone wished silence for me. I now hope I can catch it in time and enjoy it, and possibly prolong it just a wee bit- enough to make peace settle and significantly last.
