BURDEN OF PROOF

"And Mom, Jamie's a girl." Again. That's always where our conversations boil down to --- me having to clarify to her that the person I have been chatting with, talking to on the phone for hours, and planning to meet up that weekend is actually a girl. I don't really like having to explain myself and what I do to other people, including my Mom. But what choice do I have? If I don't, next thing I know's that she'd be cross examining my younger sister asking if I've been sharing secret crushes with her during our midnight gossips, working so hard to probe evidence to pin me on the cherry of the dartboard. Especially if the names she's been hearing from me lately sounds suspicious enough to be a guy. Like Kris or Andy. Or Jamie. Seriously, she really should have finished law school and not settled to be a plain housewife after marrying dad and having us. She would have made a great lawyer. I bet she can win a hundred percent of all annulment cases, including her own.

"I'm not even asking." That would always be her defense. I can sense she was trying to keep her eyes off mine as she looked straight down the table, perfectly julienning those poor little baby carrots. I actually have no idea how it became a full-blown discussion since I just popped out in front of her in the kitchen to ask if I could borrow her Mondeo to meet Jamie in Ortigas that afternoon. Since I got back from this children's storybook writing competition in Vegas the other week I haven't had time to have my Cortina overhauled after floodwater seeped in during a huge storm while I was away. Still annoys me to think how apathetic my elder brother could be. I called him from overseas several times that day to make sure he'll move my car to the elevated part of the garage. He said he will, but after a few hours I got a text message --- "Sorry sis, bed weather." Wow. At least he was considerate enough to update me that my car's totally useless now. On a lighter note though, had it not been for him, I would not have been inspired to write about the struggle of a little boy growing up with Asperger's syndrome in a rather dysfunctional family as my final story line. It won first prize. The judges said it was a "rare, representational piece".

"When are you going to start dating, honey?" She started doing her direct examination. She'd be telling me I'd be turning 30 next year, that she understands if I am now in a mindset of not getting married because of her feminist influences raising the three of us alone, but that she and dad have a different story and perhaps I can still consider starting a family of my own someday. I don't really mind answering the same questions over and over. In fact I love it when these discussions come up, because I can finally take part in her forensic games. Best part would be when I get her to suddenly be the defendant and narrate to me to the last detail, sometimes excruciatingly, how she met dad in law school, how they fell in love, got married, and how she eventually found out about his other family. It makes me guilty sometimes, but I feel relieved whenever she would end up with just conceding to my decision to not date guys just yet.

"Say hi to your friend for me," Mom yelled as I started the car. I saw her waving goodbye from the rear-view mirror and felt another tinge of guilt for a second. Though single-handed, Mom did a pretty good job at raising us, no doubt about it. But for some reason, even if we constantly have those conversations in the kitchen, I never really told her about me or what I do, or why I do what I do. Could it be the reason why she keeps on playing her forensic games on me? I have no idea. As I stepped on the accelerator, I thought to myself how different this morning's conversation could have been had I played my role as the daughter, and not the defendant. Mom, Jamie's a girl. Yes, she's also a freelance writer. Well it's legal all over the US now. Do you think Vegas would be a nice place for us to start together? #

PACES (A Short Short Story)

It was a lazy Tuesday afternoon. At least for me, it felt like a Tuesday. One of those Tuesdays. The sun was struggling to stay up, but dusk was already pushing its way over the orange horizon. I could see its majestic red rays peep from the gray clouds above the city skyline. I look back inside the room where I was sitting on my working desk, anxiously waiting for 5 o'clock. There you are, seated across where I am, busily writing something with your fountain pen on sheets of loose white paper. Your forehead almost kissing the ink, I could see from behind your rimless glasses that your eyes were glinting with whatever you were writing. Or were you sketching? I didn't really bother. I wanted to offer to turn the room lights on for you since you looked really pathetic while forcing each blot on the now messy canvas. But I didn't. I just wanted the darkness to force you in turn to finally stand up and tell me you've had enough. For the day, at least. I don't even know why I'm waiting for you, aside from the fact that it's only the two of us left in that cramped office, aside from the decade-old tables and dust-covered swivel chairs. Always been the case --- we go home later than the others do. But for some reason, I've always looked forward to get off at 5 o'clock with you.

It was still sunnier from outside the building than I thought. In the city where we live and work, there aren't really much residents, and walking to and from our apartments was more of a given rather than a choice. That afternoon was perfect for a slow walk. As we started heading right along the pavement, I could see a lot of people were still strolling around. The minute we crossed the street, you stepped forward to get ahead from where I was standing. You looked back at me with an almost inconspicuous smile and asked, "Tara?" I just hate it when you do that. Not your smile of course, but the fact that I know that it simply means you're inviting me to hurry up and jog our way to the streets before the gray skies totally consume the red lights of the skyline. I didn’t tell you of course, but you just spoiled my walk-in-the-park dream that afternoon. But I am powerless. All I know is that your energy's inevitably viral that when you start running, I end up just running too --- even though I always fear my heartbeat's going to suffer at some point. I let our distance widen by a few meters. It is just then that I noticed you actually looked prettier than usual that day --- your short hair let down, resting on the plain white sleeveless knee-length dress, in full contrast against your favorite dirty black Chucks. I have always envied your sense of style. How can you wear something like that with such effortless confidence? "Artist ka nga," I smilingly thought to myself. To put a halt to my envious admiration I just tried to run faster to close our gap.

As soon as I caught up with your pace, tremendously catching my breath by the way, you abruptly stopped and picked up your phone from the right pocket of your white dress. I never got used to listening to people's conversations over the phone so I brought my eyes to linger on top of the buildings, watching the city birds do their last V-shaped formation above us before calling it a day. Slipping back your phone inside your pocket, you just said "Si Sharon. I have to go." Oh, Sharon. I thought to myself. Sharon also worked in the same company where we used to. I met her two years before we actually met, remember? Without even looking at me, you started heading forward. Actually, you started running. Again. But I didn’t ask why --- and you didn’t stop me from following you either. We ran at a pace that has always been familiar to us, racing against the last drops of red shimmers across the gray skies. I don't even know where we're running to, but all I know is that we're not going back. At the sound of every hurried step that we took against the concrete pavement, we just know. #

ARRHYTHMIA II

Isang daan lang daw kada minuto.

Isang daang tibok. Pintig. Sikdo.

Sinubukan kong damhin sa aking mga daliri.

Bakit ang sa aki'y tila higit na mas marami?

Pakiusap, huminahon ka na.

Wala namang sayong nakikipagkarera.

Kahit ga'no kabilis ang iyong kumpas

Di ka makalalabas sa munti mong rehas.

Matagal-tagal ka ring hindi nagpadama.

Buwan o taon - ang huli'y kailan nga ba?

Para bumangon ang isang masidhing agam-agam,

Isang gabi lang ang aking kinailangan.

Isang gabing inilarawan ng kanyang tinig.

Kalmado, malamlam, nababalot ng lamig.

Kung paano nahulog ang buwan mula sa langit,

At nag-iwan kinabukasan ng isang mahabang guhit.

Sana ba'y 'di ko na lamang inusisa?

Ngunit ako rin para sa kanya'y balisa.

Sana ba'y hindi ko na lamang nabatid?

Kamangmangan ko'y walang buting maihahatid. 

Lunes -

Para sa kanya,

Marahil isa na naman lamang

Pangkaraniwan at nakaririmarim na Lunes.

Subalit,

Ang hilahil na ito'y

Habambuhay kong papasanin

Sa hudyat ng pagsisimula ng kanyang Lunes.

Isang pangakong pilit kong ipinabitiw.

Mga himig at salitang pilit pinagsasaliw.

Sakaling makatanggap ng di inaasahang tawag

Ako ba'y matutuwa o higit na mababagabag?

Hihinto nang tuluyan ang iyong pagpintig

Dahil sa kabilang linya'y di marinig ang kanyang tinig.

Subalit ang tawag niya'y hudyat sa akin ng kamalayan, ng kalayaan.

At ikaw, puso ko, ay titibok, at titigil na sa isang daan, #