Archive for February, 2010

John and Yoko In Another Time

February 23, 2010

We found ourselves standing in front of the shelf, with smiles smeared on our faces as we read through the words they wrote. Amazing how two people fell in love with themselves the way they did with the world, the way they did with each other. How selfish, how uniting. Very much like us. And it was not long when she blurted, “He’s such a genius.” And it made me think of her realigning her thoughts for the first time to those of mine. Silently, I answered, “Someday I want to be like him. Perhaps not for the world, but for you.” She took out a pen and wrote the lines he once wrote. It was like seeing a miracle. A real miracle. Right there, the most obstinate girl I have known was mooning over the very same words I wished I could have written. “He’s such a genius,” I whispered. She continued writing. After she finished taking down the words, I asked her to go. It was already getting late. (I love her so much that I cannot afford her to miss the train.) We held hands and separately wished—in silence, in secret—to be the happy balloons he wrote about. “He’s such a genius, and we’ll soon be flying, love.”

(Entry originally written December 9, 2006)


Paper Plane

February 22, 2010

A crumpled, crayon-doodled paper plane as post-Valentine’s gift from a thoughtful 5-year-old cousin tells how innocent and imaginative a kid could be. And we learn from it not just love, which is basically what the act is all about, but appreciation for the simple things we overlook in pursuing big-air flights.

Asshole Annoyance

February 16, 2010

You can buy jokes but not sense of humor. You can buy clothes but not class. You can fucking buy a guitar but not talent.

I’d rather recognize someone who carries his pretensions with humility than someone who parades his gibber—flowing from a loud mouth, no less—as if it were gospel.

An Urge

February 9, 2010

Sometimes you just feel the urge to announce things without abandon, without any particular reason at all. Not to be pretentious or pompous. Not to display a play or ascertain things that really need no ascertainment. The moment reveals itself to you like a neon rose blooming in the dark recesses of your brain, and you can’t help but wonder. Today, I pick that rose and blow its petals to your direction. I love you. Thanks for still being here.