My Petit-Bourgeois Love

When it comes to love, I’ve never been a proletarian.

I’m not excused from our comrades’ class analysis, recognizing the fact that it takes a lifetime or two to change petit-bourgeois consciousness. And so, there shouldn’t be a big fuss if I express a bit of romanticism and delve – quite rarely though, I must admit – into the pleasures of lumpenic deeds.

Decisions are always intrinsic. Choices are always a personal command. With all honesty, I try to reshape my own reality and keep up with the progressive thoughts and principles and theories and practices of our sacred struggles. I apologize if programmed relationships do not make any sense to me at this point. I feel it violates the natural flow of things. Nobody has ever offered me with a convincing meaning of love. How could we put a framework to something undefined like love?

Is it not counter-revolutionary?

To some extent, yes. Please give me time. Put me under cultural revolution. For as long as Katy Perry sings on stage, my petit-bourgeois love remains.

What if extend your love to the highest cause? You know what I mean? Will your notion be the same?

You won’t see the depths of my heart but if you will try to hear, the beats are always there, in rhyme with the revolution.

*** *** ***

We define love.

We call each other “baby” because we don’t care if it is mushy. The hell with what they say, those people have bad breath. We deleted our own Facebook accounts and created one for the two of us. We find happiness in changing our profile pictures every other day. Sometimes, it looks like we’re flirting or dancing or making faces. Many times, we pose like rockstars and pornstars. We’re not bothered at all. They’re just jealous in their own pathetic frame of mind.

I always put you on my status so that you’ll receive a notification and like it. I don’t care if nobody likes my status for as long as I see you there. You never put me down. Baby, it makes my day.

We are inseparable like a mixture creating a new substance. A new form. A new identity. Each of us gives meaning to each of us. We love each other more than we love each other. I am you and you are we. I am electron and you are proton. We are magnet’s opposite poles. We are the duality of nature. At the same time, we are the singularity of the universe. We make the world go round. “We’re the king and queen of hearts”. It’s not on our list of favorite songs but it’s rather pleasant to the ears. Cheesy, so what the freak?

When it rains, I hold the umbrella while you carry my things. When it’s sunny, I put a towel onto your back and you wipe away the pockets of sweat running down my nose. I take care of you, you carry my weights.

We make a good couple. They say we now look the same as a sign of real love and happy ending. I love these people; they’d surely go to heaven. Our eyes twinkle with the same glow and our lips fit perfectly every time we kiss. Our noses collide, creating sweet and romantic electric impulses. Our breasts pressed together keep us warm ‘till the break of dawn.

*** *** ***

I love you in a sentence:

I love you that my loneliness would trigger the explosion of nuclear plants and put an end to this world.

I love you that the gravity would go crazy and make everything dangle in space if we fall apart.

I love you that I could knock out Manny Pacquiao in one round should you break my heart.

I love you that I can reach the highest peak of the wavelength of energy.

I love you that I won’t be afraid anymore of that lady in Starbuck’s logo.

I love you that I won’t also be afraid anymore of the Baretto sisters.

I love you that I wouldn’t think of Angel Locsin in my fantasies.

I love you that I could explain the meaning of nothingness.

I love you that I can hide in a photon of light.

I love you that it doesn’t need a metaphor.

I love you that I cannot accept mediocrity.

I love you like a Friday night.

I love you like a revolution.

I love you like stargazings.

I love you like all there is.

I love you is a sentence.

Therefore:

I love you.

—————

May 8, 2011

The Fridge Meditation, Of Love and Faith

I open the fridge door; and facing it, I sit on the floor like Buddha.

It is 1:11 in the morning.

I stare at the cartons of juices and milk and bottles of beer and rotting blueberries and persimmons and different treats from different people who traveled places around the world. The truth is, my eyes aren’t moving at all, but that does not discount the fact that I am actually seeing these goods in front of me. I should say, however, that I am really not staring at any of these goods or surveying which ones look well and which ones are taken for granted, if that is at all the intention: I am staring blankly into the layers of spaces confronting me rather peacefully – either at the foreground of my trail of sight or at the depth of the background appearances illuminated by the faint light of this cold, big metal box.

The cold air running from the inside is slowly freed and no sooner have I felt it than realizing that my mind is not functioning as how it is supposed to: like my brain sending my body some signals, telling me I’m hungry or thirsty given that I have not yet eaten anything at all. (But it is not surprising, since my daily waking life revolves around irregular eating habits. My mind, though, is always quick to respond to tell me I am fine, that this is just another ordinary day, another passing time. My tummy does not ramble; ergo, I am not hungry. And I believe in my mind, because how could your mind lie to you?) The cold air, like December breeze, soothes me with indescribable comfort, to the effect that I feel like being summoned to stay absolutely still – just with the dim light, the coldness at this past midnight, and both the real and surreal spaces that disconnect me at times – like this very moment – from the objects of my reality.

                                                                      —–

“I miss you.”

She is looking at me while hearing me saying those words and then immediately puts her attention to the old couple at the park just outside the window where we are seated. I don’t know if she is happy to hear it, or if she feels annoyed, or if she just dismisses it like there’s nothing to it. For a very long time, I haven’t told her how I miss her that is why I have no clue how she takes my words. I also don’t understand myself why I suddenly miss her, which makes me question my very expression and how it registers to her. I’m afraid I’m confusing her – and myself, but that is the truth: I miss you, —.

I’m not sure. I have to assess myself where I’m coming from, where this feeling is coming from. Am I tired or stressed out (oh boy, yes!)? And could it be the reason? Are we not having some quality time lately – just the two of us? Do I like to start to have a family with you, raise kids and all that (somehow, I have entertained this idea seeing my friends having taken this next stage already)?

She always only carries a cheerful face with smiling eyes. That is the only emotion she wants the world to see. I seldom see her sad, lonely, sick, whatever. She is beautiful in and out and it makes me happy. Whenever I see her, I feel like I’m a stronger man. But, somehow, it concerns me, too. It concerns me because I want to see her pain if she is in pain or I want to see her struggling when she is struggling. I want her to know that I am here to carry some weight of the bad things she is going through. That is a necessary condition to reinforce my feelings for her and reveal and express my very nature as a man.

“I love you.”

Then she reaches my right hand with her left, opens it a finger at a time and then zips it close with her left hand.

                                                                      —–

My faith is neither based upon the allegiance to authority nor upon conformity to established belief systems. My faith is based upon my own experiences, the knowledge and wisdom I have gained over the years of my existence. For this reason, who will question my faith that is borne out of my own free will and independent consciousness? My faith follows the realities of freedom, justice, and love. My faith is alive like the beatings of my heart. It does not ask me to believe; it leads me to know. It is discerning and intuitive and, most of all, intelligent.

July 28, 2013

Love Begins

There are times that solitude
invites you to wander around
many different places and dreams.
It could take you to a journey of awakening
and a search for boundless bliss.
Yet,
there are times that it catches you by surprise,
like the occurrence of summer rains.
You dance with it without rules or reason.
You find yourself in awe.
There is this sound of countless tiny droplets
piercing through your fragile skin,
gushing through the breathing ground,
creating a kind of scent of the earth
forgotten long ago.
With the passage of time,
oblivious and surreal,
in nakedness and innocence,
one with nature –
the afternoon sky that weeps and smiles,
you whisper,
Oh, loneliness:
This is where love begins.

April 6, 2015