...views from the lighthouse!

SILENT ‘SIGHS’ FOR CABS, CREPES AND COOL CONNECTIONS

2009-04-15T02:05:00.003-07:00

(An ode to CY)

I wrote him this letter about a year ago when he left my office. I saw this write-up again just recently and i smiled. he just celebrated his birth anniversary and i know i owe him this one. Happy birthday Cy dearest...

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“ang hirap kumonek!”–we always mutter these lines to ourselves.

i remember the first time i wrote you to apologize. you were surprised, right? now here i am again and i surprised even myself, actually. why sitting here by my window and writing you should be so important; or that why, instead of dozing off during this ‘womb time’ most people call dawn, i chose to scribble something for you (and yeah, i skipped my diazepham for this one). you must think you’re very special, don’t you? well, hell, you’re right. you are special.

sigh…

today is your last ‘tropang propa’ day. it will be the last time i’d have a free blue facial film, frutos and sampaloc candies, free chocos, cookies and health tips. how sad is that?! it will also mean no more eco-meal lunch-mate for me, no one to help me cross the street (oh dear, i fel that old…ugh!); no reason for me to call Arlan or Pia for a merienda update and even no one to share cab rides to Gateway with nightly. nobody will borrow my liquid soap anymore, share the sinful mango crepes with me and no more reason why i should bring biscuits and good food just to make someone burp and smile.

i’ll surely miss everything about you and me and our daily agonies (your newspaper monitoring included!). so why this long letter? cy, you may not remember all that you did to impact my life…but i haven’t forgotten. and i just want you to know.
your friendshiop over these months has meant an awful lot to me—more than i can say (and i admit i’m not even damn good at saying things like that!). that is why despite your leaving, i have decided to treat this day as normally (or in our case, as “abnormally”) as i possibly can.

i’m not denying the fact that i’ll be sad seeing an empty chair at that corner by the window. i have long (and quite painstakingly) accepted that. but i’m just trying to ceaselessly convince myself that you’re just there—anywhere–standing by with your boyish grin, ready to meet up with me…perhaps in some coffee shop somewhere (where wi-fi is free, haha!); where we can have long sentimental conversations. so that i could once again hear you recite your ‘alms, alms, alms’ piece or where we can go for little picture-takings (cam-whores that we are!)…

every single day for the past year or so, i didn’t only watch you grow, cy. i have grown with you. the lunch conversations, yosi breaks, showbiz chats and even the secret laughs and emotional outbursts, especially my first ‘civil disobedience’ that nearly triggered ‘world war IV’…those to me were precious, precious memories. something that i will deeply remember for a long, long time.

but time has caught up with us. finally.

it’s not i don’t want you to leave (go fly, cy!). it’s just that, for a moment, i wished we had more time to do all the talking and laughing and ‘panlalait’ (and eating! and shopping!) before it’s too late.

i believe though, and as i’ve always said, true friendships will go on—no matter the distance, despite the soul space. and i also believe, and with some amount of conviction, that you and i will live by the memories we made and gladly make more in the days ahead.

cy, my friend, please believe! i want you to believe when i say that you are a good person; a beautiful one even to the core; that you are a special ‘growing boy’ who deserves to seek your kind of happiness in every aspect of life—the kind of happiness that, i know, has long been in search of you.

i also want you to believe that despite the dreary and disappointing twists in life, the best is yet to come for you. for us. cy, circumstances may be cruel. it can shake your ideals, challenge your capabilities and oftentimes take away your dreams. but continue to be yourself and just believe. when you do that, life will smile at you and will continue trusting you despite yourself.

bear in mind that i’ll always be here ready to choose you and fight for you.
i’ll also be here for your needs, namely: pasta, mongolian barbeque, tacos, brownies, butterscotch, tea, pandesal, diazepham, lesofat, shoulder to lean on (or as your ‘elbow rest’), a heart to take on your troubles and my crazy dances and jokes that never fail to make you laugh silly.

oh, and lest i forget the other essence of this letter: thank you my friend!
thank you for being more than my workmate. thank you for being my number one fan, critic, gossip-mate, groove-mate, escort, yosi buddy, colleague, hero and special friend. we had our moments but we still deeply care about and respect each other. i am so lucky!

i will sincerely miss the great times, cy. but i also live for the day when you and i will tell our grandchildren (oops, what am i talking about eh di ba menopause na ako?! eoww!) that once in our uhh…young lives, i’ve known a ‘dudette’ and you’ve known one insane ‘dude’—a.ka. “bamba” (grrr!). people will forever wonder how these names came to be. but it’s our deepest darkest secret; something only you and i know.

i believe in you, cy. honestly. i know that you’ll go leap and spin more dreams. after today, i know you’ll soar high, go crazy, live fully, but stay the way i knew you. go and go ahead…you have my blessings.

so these words here aren’t said with a heavy heart. it springs forth from the same heart that you have touched and has embraced you despite you.

i hope our thresholds will meet again. but until then, as i listen to the songs we shared and remember the wonderful moments that they have chronicled, i have all our lessons and i have learned deeply: to be imperfect yet happy; to be alone yet continue loving to the hilt; to stay insane in this unsafe, unloving world…and mostly, to “just believe!”

“ang hirap kumonek!”–yes, we always mutter these words to ourselves.

whether we mean the office internet or the wi-fi connection at our favorite “pesang dalag” hangout. but it was never that way with us…ever. we finish each other’s sentences, laugh at the world and our idiosyncracies. it’s uncanny but ours was a powerful ability to understand each other with simple sighs, whispers, whimpers and even mere silence.

cy, thank you for affording me a “beautiful connection” that will live forever in a place far beyond words. for those instances when you made me believe and for the many moments when you allowed me to shine…deep in my heart, i will forever be grateful!

be well, cy. and always—always—stay happy.

(sigh,cy...01march2008.bluejeans since mcmlxix)

FOUR-LEAF CLOVER (Happy St. Patrick’s Day!)

2009-03-19T01:08:00.000-07:00

FOUR NAMES THAT FRIENDS CALL YOU:
1. Jeans
2. Jinggai (my ‘BC’ buddies)
3. Gina/Ging (my elementary, hi-sch and college classmates)
4. Gegz/Bunsoi (the whole Cequina clan)

FOUR MOST IMPORTANT DATES IN YOUR LIFE:
1. January 27 (my bday)
2. December 23 (secret…)
3. September 15 (1GL…)
4. May 5 (papa’s bday)

FOUR THINGS YOU'VE DONE IN THE LAST 30 MINUTES:
1. “Facebooked”
2. texted Mr. Uy
3. coughed and coughed and coughed and coughed
4. “Acted” as if I was writing an article I was supposed to be done with last Monday, hahaha!

FOUR WAYS TO BE HAPPY:
1. love yourself and your own company (even when no one is looking)
2. Lifestyle change (opt for healthy eating & living)
3. Kill people with kindness (even your fellow biatches, haha!)
4. be everyone’s “shrink”—hearing their problems will somehow lessen your own

FOUR PEOPLE/ THING YOU MISS FROM YOUR PAST:
1. slow-dancing with my darling daddy (Last waltz, Hey sir that’s my baby…)
2. UP days—rallies, cheering, inom
3. my high school and college friends
4. oil painting (I just can’t seem to find the time these days, argggh)

FOUR GIFTS YOU WOULD LIKE TO RECEIVE:
1. my very own condo unit (nakakapagod kaya mag-rent?!)
2. Travel/cruise for two (to Ireland?)
3. an entirely new set of clothes! (I’m two sizes smaller now, hello!)
4. A ticket to Bacolod and a vacation for like two weeks (so I can go to a secluded beach, dance in the rain and paint)

FOUR OF YOUR FAVORITE HOBBIES:
1. Writing (hobby na rin kahit occupation; even personal experiences become opportunities to write din naman)
2. Tapdancing
3. Playing the Irish Tin Whistle
4. Zipping/Poi-twirling/fire-dancing

FOUR PLACES YOU WANT TO GO FOR VACATION:
1. Ireland (“erin gra mo chroi!”)
2. China (to visit Mumo)
3. New York (to revisit my fave city, with a stopover in CA to see Mia & Willie Wonkie)
4. Bacolod for like two weeks (again, so I can go to a secluded beach, dance in the rain and paint)

FOUR FAVORITE DRINKS:
1. water in room temperature
2. decaf-chamomile coffee
3. soya-lite (lactose-sugar free, zero cholesterol/transfat)
4. water in room temperature

FOUR THINGS ALWAYS FOUND IN YOUR BAG:
1. mobile phones—an iphone and a nokia N77
2. SpongeBob notebook
3. mini medicine box
4. kikay kit

FOUR FAVORITE COLORS:
1. carribean blue
2. camouflage green
3. black (specifically on my nails and with nail art too!)
4. Purple

TOP FOUR HANGOUTS:
1. My pad (even my sisters and friends love to hangout in my place—it’s small but has a bar, entertainment-cum-gallery area, books galore and a lot of legroom to be just who you are without being judged)
2. the diner across my tap school (whatchamacallit again, Tree?)
3. my doctor’s clinic
4. salcedo park (esp during Saturdays where they have organic food fest and art exhibits! Then I zip there with a friend)

TOP FOUR U LOVE SO MUCH:
1. Myself
2. Papa (I’ll always be a proud daddy’s girl!)
3. my lighthouse collection
4. special people in my life (hell, you know who you are!)

TOP FOUR "THINGS" SPECIAL TO YOU:
1. My gadgets – celphone, laptop, palmtop, etc
2. My blings and cocktail rings
3. My books
4. My journals

TOP FOUR WHO YOU THINK WILL ANSWER THIS SURVEY:
1. Kung sino man…
2. …ang walang magawa…
3. …tulad…
4. …ko!

TOP FOUR REASONS WHY YOU ANSWERED THIS SURVEY:
1. I am so swamped with deadlines that I don’t know which one to finish first (kaya Facebook muna!)
2. i need to do something “bobo-proof” to balance my brains
3. I’m sick with flu at home and bored to the nth power
4. I need to write, period!

It's not easy being “JEANS”

2009-02-06T20:33:00.001-08:00

This 'tag thing' started in facebook. Tata, Wowie, Jaye, Bing, Cachelle, Bevs, and some other friends tagged me. So I tagged them back plus more peeps I would love to know better. It's funny, poignant and but admittedly infectious.

so i listed down random things about me and if you choose not to participate, no problem. otherwise, you better sit down and share your "deepest, darkest secrets"...NOW!

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1. I AM DIFFERENT! My rules are not conventional. I am, by my personality and inner strength, a BORN REBEL. Telling stories about the dumbest of things was my favorite; that is why since Grade 4, I already knew I wanted to be a writer.

2. I AM MAD AT MATH. If I could write a song about it, I would. But since I’m not a composer, borrowing Oscar The Grouch’s “I Love Trash” song would be a splendid idea! (To prove this, check out Phil. Daily Inquirer’s “Youngblood 2.0”(page 23!) for my essay entitled: “My Wrath for Math”.

3. I LOVE EVERYTHING IRISH-the culture, language, people, the landscape. Chin-Chin Gutierrez used to call me a “true-blue Pinoy-Celtic Kid” and if there’s one place in the world I could be (except for where I am right now), it would be Ireland.

4. “LIGHTHOUSE” IS MY PERSONAL METAPHOR…it stands as a reminder of how I should be strong and steadfast despite my solitude. As a result, family and closest friends come to me for warmth and enlightenment. I believe I am put here in this lifetime to guide “lost souls” in the sea of life. Because of this, I have an extensive lighthouse collection. As of writing, there are exactly 223 lighthouses (frames, doormats, wallclocks, mugs, plates, coloring books, wipes and more) nestled at a corner of my pad. Two magazines and a TV show have expressed desire to feature me and my collection…will have to think about that.

5. My British mentor told me that I am the ONLY FILIPINA who plays the Irish Tin Whistle (like The Corrs!)

6. I used to love all things with the word “RED” attached to it: Redbolts, Red Bull, Red Horse beer included…But when I’m sober, BLUE has always been my favorite color.

7. While I loved brandy, cigars and Swiss Thin chocolates, I remember I would also die for Tanduay, Chocnut and a stick of Philipp Morris.

8. Although I have a fully-loaded bar at home for my friends who visit, I believe that I have reached my “drinking quota” for this lifetime thus I gave up on drinking 4 years ago…

9. Used to be a proud member of the LFS, UP-Samasa and the Sec-Gen of Samahan Ng Malalayang Kababaihang Nagkakaisa—about which my dad would call me long-distance each time he sees me on the news, headlining a rally (God bless my father’s soul!)…

10. Some career highlights include having to represent the country during the United Nations’ Int’l Decade for Women (in New York), having lunch with Hillary Clinton and being 5 meters away from Pope John Paul II (as part of the international news team who documented his visit for the World Youth Day-Philippines). Career “lowlights”—being paid to write speeches for senators I didn’t really like. Thus, I gave up my political career 8 years ago.

11. I love shopping and dining! But while I cherish the mall’s midnight madness and the most hip & happening hubs, I would rather go to quaint shops, street food festivals and open flea markets anytime!

12. The only good thing about losing my mom at 12 years old is the realization that I wouldn’t have been half as strong as I am now if that didn’t happen.

13. As a retirement job, I dream of singing in a bar where broken hearts and wounded souls go for refuge. My kindred soul, Herdy promised to frequent that bar even not for such reasons (yay, at least I have one fan!)

14. My rather out-of-the-ordinary hobbies include pennywhistling, firing, diving, tapdancing and poi/fire twirling. Hooray for planetzips!

15. I’M THE REAL BIGGEST LOSER. I’ve turned pesco-vegetarian since 4 years ago. From whence, I also stopped drinking anything (no soda, etc) except water in room temperature. Used to weigh 154lbs; the last time I weighed I dropped to 121lbs (and still counting…)

16. I JUST TURNED 40. My classmates in tapdance are 8-12 year old kids but I still feel so at home especially when I hear Missy tell me every Saturday: “Ate Jeans, you are just the cooooooolest person in this whole wide world!” Awwww….

17. In Grade 1, my art teacher (excuse me, Miss Acanto!) gave me a “zero” in art because I refused to draw an apple tree the way she wanted me to. I started oil painting when I was in Grade 3, had my first group exhibit by Grade 5. In Grade 6, I won Gold in the National painting competition and I got the “Artist of the Year” awards both in Grade 6 and 4th year graduations, given by who else, Miss Acanto! (ahhhh…justice!)

18. I love long drives, dawns and long drives at dawn!

19. Along with my Shakespeare and other literary classics (including my fave Walt Whitman books), I have a vast collection of Children’s Books. But they're not just any other children’s books…it has to be Politically Correct or satirical. Examples are “The Three Little Wolves and the Big Bad Pig”(for the classic Three Little Pigs…), “Laddle Rot Rotten Hut” (for Little Red Riding Hood)

20. My “other” collections include stamps (my stamp albums are more than 25 years old!), cocktail rings, pandas (have 700+ panda items tucked in 3 boxes at home), sea stones and colored bottles that catch the sunlight from my kitchen window…

21. In this lifetime, I would like to fly a bi-plane, be invited into Robert Fulghum's boathouse, finish my “Lighthouse Chronicles” (and submit it to BBC) and meet/jam with Enya, Loreena Mackeenitt, The Corrs, Michael McGoldrick, Maire Brennan, Clannad and other new age-Irish-celtic geniuses (not exactly in that order)

22. Even when there’s a new addition to the clan every year (nephews, nieces, apos), I will always be and be called “Bunsoi”…Ironically, being "bunsoi" means my advice, suggestions and word is valued by everyone in the family. Thus, I proudly wear a virtual pin that says: “JEANS—lola’s girl, daddy’s little girl, manong boy’s girl, Mumo’s girl, Toto Fred’s best sis, Tito Rudy’s favorite niece, Japoi’s idol, Mia’s most favorite tita, etc…” darn, I miss my family!

23. I AM SINGLE, “QUIRKYALONE” AND LOVING EVERY MINUTE OF IT! I am the head quirkie of QHQ (Quirkyalone Headquarters)-Philippines. My article entitled “A DIFFERENT SELF-PORTRAIT-Welcome to Planet Quirklyalone!” has been blogged about thrice locally, twice internationally and has been featured in 2 newspaper columns. Since it’s weeks to go before Valentine’s Day, I have received invitation for TV guestings about how single and quirkyalones celebrate the day of hearts. Again, will have to think about that...

24. I KILL PEOPLE WITH KINDESS…EVERY SINGLE DAY!

25. In UP, I took Math 55…Oh no, it wasn’t a new curriculum or subject. It was just that I took Math-11 five times! (whoa, I got my multiplication right…finally!)

26. Because of entries #1 and #2, I listed 26 things, instead of only 25…Oddly, I think the feeling is mutual…MATH IS ALSO MAD AT ME!

It took 40 years to look & feel this good...but who's counting?

2009-01-14T22:21:00.000-08:00

BIRTHDAYS are the happiest and saddest moments in life. It reminds us of transitions and changes, rites of passage we had of the past and our unrelenting journey towards the future.

When I think of all these, I CRY.

I cry for all the times that I should have cried but didn’t. I cry for lost loves and lost lives, new-found loves and friendships and all the ‘crossing overs’ which I did and was happy that I did them. I cry for happy and sad times…blissful and moving moments. And days from now–I will definitely cry again…

I AM TURNING 40 ON JANUARY 27!

Turning 40 is big! If in the past few years, I have partied big time, this year must be really bigger! But since birthdays are about changes, I have CHANGED my mind.

The original plan was to gather 40 people closest to my heart in Vieux Chalet (a Swiss French getaway in the tranquil hills of Antipolo) and do a "mini-concert". I will bring together my friends from the zipping and maybe firedance there; friends from the Irish band we’re forming this year (yes, I'm the ONLY FILIPINA who plays the Irish tin whistle!) and jam; plus a brief tapdance have my “happy feet” enchant the audience.

Then I thought of something else and told myself: THIS YEAR, IT WILL NOT BE ABOUT ME!

Thus I have made up my mind NOT TO PARTY. After all, there are other shorelines to explore and one of them is having a DIFFERENT birthday party which I am planning to celebrate with 40 STREETCHILDREN OF THE LAURA VICUNA FOUNDATION IN CUBAO, QUEZON CITY.

As a past pupil of a Salesian school, this is my way of “LOOKING FORWARD AND GIVING BACK” thus a charity birthday bash is all set for January 31, 2009 (Saturday and incidentally “Don Bosco Day”). I will bring some of my friends—and their kids—to an "immersion" there, personally headline a feeding and give out 40 schoolbags with school supplies, personal hygiene necessities and stuff to co-celebrate my joy.

As early as December, “gifts” have started to pour in. Some of my ever-supportive friends and relatives have given donations (in cash or in kind) for the children. Those who I haven’t even seen for the past five years or so, surprised me with donations. Other friends either offered to entertain the kids: a friend will bring a clown-magician, a choir group will sing, my writing colleagues offered to do my AVP and of course, I’m going to zip, tap and play with my Irish band...whew! There are those who volunteered to help out during this milestone event and I am just so overwhelmed!

I am asking for prayers for SERENITY (despite my solitude), WISDOM (for more prolific writing years), HEALTH of mind, body and spirit plus a condo unit of my own (sorry i just had to squeeze this in!hahaha!). But from my angle, everything right now is just way beyond belief!

Yes, there are other shorelines to explore. The ride may be tough but I hold a promise in my heart that it may also be sweet. And with a little help from people like you pushing me to, once again, “trailblaze” as I always do…this pleasure of stillness, this peace, will allow me to move smoothly with the ebb and flow of life.

Despite still being fun, feisty, fearless and quirky at 40, I am going to surrender peacefully to the ripples and tidal waves of life knowing that as a lighthousekeeper, I will be forever anchored to my shore—a signature of truly growing up (nope, not “growing old”) and growing wiser.

Join me then—in spirit and in prayer—as I celebrate. And laugh…AND CRY.

HEY, I’M TURNING 40! AND I WILL DEFINITELY CRY FOR THE 14,610 SUNRISES THAT I AM GIVEN!

…still I rise!jeanscequina…writer…poi pixie…peaceful warrior…lighthousekeeper!(mcmlxix)

the unbearable lightness of NOTHING between us

2008-11-18T21:35:00.000-08:00

(For CC...who never promised me forever)

it’s very hard for me to come up with this one. i have, in fact, postponed this for days not because i don’t want to but because i don’t know how to begin. but now that i am ripe enuf, i need to make some wise decisions in my life. for as little time we have together, I thought I would shift things a little bit. so, i have finally decided starting today that i am going to live my life...ALONE.

Amazing.

We were sitting there from dawn till morn. we were talking and holding and laughing. we were listening to the silence that has cut the bridge between us for so long—suddenly not talking at all. i was waiting for some sane words from you...we had none to give.

There were pairs around us yet i’m not even sure if they were lovers. They were just there—holding hands, pacing, talking and not talking as if mingling in our interlude. from afar i saw a boatman sailing close to the shore. he waved and smiled as if glad seeing us... together. again.

i see us stuck in a never-ending opening. at first, it was the real thing and sheer delight. it is the part of a relationship in which you were at your best: fun, charming, excited, exciting, interesting, interested. it was the time when you were most comfortable and most lovable because you didn’t feel the need to mobilize your defenses, so i could get to care for a warm human being instead of a cactus. it was also the time of delight for us both, and it’s no wonder you like opening so much you strive to make your life a series of them.

at first glance, everyone who saw us almost bled with envy. we were the embodiment of a perfect couple (well, almost!), except that we were no longer one. we were two beautiful souls lost in the panorama of the bluish dawn with the sun peeping over our horizon. no one can say when the night is due or when it’s almost morning. but such splendid seascape was just there with us... the calm shore, the fresh air and boats bobbling in and out of the water. it was marvelous. i can even see the moon dancing in the water, wanting to touch my feet.

well, i wished it would. then that would be the moment when i can safely say that the coldness between us has finally thawed.

but beginnings cannot be prolonged endlessly; they cannot simply state and restate and restate themselves. they must move on and develop—or die of boredom. not so, you say. we must get away, move on, have changes, other people, other places so we can come back to a relationship ‘as if’ it were new, and have constant beginnings.

the other fifty-ish couples were there, staring at each other then at us. then i begin to wonder if somehow we’d grow to be 50 and still manage to look in each other’s eyes. i don’t think so. young as our love was, were were no longer “us” anymore.

i mailed you a letter that was “so damn good”. that was the last time i had anything to do with you. i gave up on on ‘us’ just a few months ago. along with that, i gave up everything we claimed ours—our songs, our dances, starry nights, parks, anthuriums, northern trips, movies, pandas and koalas, silvers and burgundys and my dreams for permanency.

i thought ours was certainty. but after certainty comes shattering; so there we were—for as long as we stand there and hold it. but you slipped away and no matter how tightly i never wanted to let go, i realize you were no longer there.

“How’s life?” that was all you managed to ask. I watched as you took my hand. i was half-smiling, half-wincing.

“Pretty fine...” was all i can manage to answer.

Nobody can blame me. whether you’ve heard me, i have spoken to you over the years with my heart and mind. and i have shouted, whispered, bellowed, screamed and silently cried for all the words my heart wanted to hear from you but never did.

yes, we have moved on to a protracted series of reopenings. one was caused by business separation that was necessary. some were manufactured by you in order to provide still more opportunites to return to the newness you so desire. now i realize that, maybe except for blue collar, there was really nothing between us. even our friendship is completely ...motionless. so when blue collar died, we did, too. i made initial efforts but later got tired because you were...motionless. i remember we used to call each other ‘friend’. but friends do not take each other for granted. in this aspect, you stopped being my friend.

“Well?” you insist. I realized you wanted to squeeze out a little more from me. Like you always did.

“Well...” I sighed. “Life has been quite fair, giving me almost all which I so long deserved and—”

“...And taking from away all that you don’t need...is that what you’re trying to say?” you interrupted.
.
“Well, what can i say?—you can still finish my sentences...” With my remark, you slapped down my hands. “C’mon! What happened to good old sensibility?” I teased.

“It probably got lost along the way,” you were quick to reply.

“Probably...” then once again, there was silence.

we have undoubtedly gone further than you ever intended to go. and have stopped far short of what i saw as our next logical and lovely steps. i have seen developments with you constantly arrested, and have come to believe that we will never make more than sporadic attempts at all our learning potentials, our amazing similarities of interests, no matter how many years we may have—because we will never have unbroken time together.

I glanced at you. God, you look like all the years you are. now, you’re sporting a short hair compared to the long ponytails you had when i first fell in love with you. Deeply etched are the lines around your mouth—laughlines, you used to tell me. mine? they are gone now...now that you are gone.

i don’t know about you but i had a vision of something wonderful then that possibly awaits us. yet i cannot get there from here. even if i am looking at it, it’s not really there. what i’m looking for is not what you’re looking for. thus, if our dreams are out of sight for you, then i guess it doesn’t really exist.

you’ve kept some of the sturdiness of your youth, though, with your little shoulders and your rough hands. i couldn’t but wonder about the four years we’ve left somewhere, so i had to ask.

“How about you?”

“Moping...” you let out that old familiar boyish grin that has kept me company for the best years of my life. “...about my new job, domestic woes, personal chaos...everything. But i’m still here!” you convinced me as if that’s all it takes for me to say you’ve hurdled.

“well, there are some hurts you can’t completely get over,” i wanted you to know that i can empathize; that i feel the same way about losing you and that, like you, i had been moping too.

“like this one?” you whispered.

and i had to agree...”yes, especially this one.”

i am forever faced with your solid wall of defenses while you need to build more. i long for the richness and fullness of our relationship but you always search for ways to avoid it as long as we’re together. to feel your resistance to me, to the growth of this something wonderful as if it were something horrible—to experience the various resistance takes, some of them cruel—often causes me pain on one level or another. i am extremely frustrated and deeply lost. i have to break free and find me.

“Well, at least everything that’s important in my world is here and now...” you finally managed to sound so convincing i could almost believe.

“good for you,” I frowned and shook my head, thinking of what has transpired in my life. “if you want to know, everything i hold dear has gone from mine. my dad, some friendships, our love...everything. I have even learned to embraced my aloneness, you know.”

And as if i’ve spoken some magic words, you embraced me. all at once, i felt the world melt away. in your arms again, i smelled that sweet familiar scent. i used to call it “justice” because even amidst my daily hysteria, your embrace would melt my troubles. and at this threshold i knew, “justice” was once again served.

i have a record of our time together, and i have taken a long honest look at it. it has saddened me but it has been helpful in facing the truth. i look back to the early times in september of 1995. it was our truly happy period. earlier on, you left me breathless by your love yet everything changed; and all through these changes, everyday i realize i couldn’t catch my breath with you anymore. suddenly, i didn’t know where i stand.

as if we were in the throes of our new love, we wallowed. we got lost. now found each other again, recouping our common past, retrieving lost causes and lost verses. and lost love.

“C’mon, you’re not alone and will never be. I’ll be with you every step of the way...” you assured me.

“Ssshhh...” I held my fingers to your mouth. “You promised me that four years ago...”

“i did?!”

“Uh-huh...but right to this day I never really felt you were with me”

“Uh-oh...” you grimaced at the disturbing comfort but i needed to say more.

“the promise you gave my dad before he died...” i was curious, “uhh, it was the only straw that kept you holding on to me, right?” You took a deep breath. A pause lingered. I had to know. “That’s why when my dad died, you started to spend less and less moments with me.”

“yes and i’m sorry...” see, it hurt but i had to know.

“you pushed me against the wall and my only option was a silent retreat to my solitary corner...so i had to leave.” as i said that, i was overcome by a deep sense of rage. you pulled me closer as I held back the tears.

i think this is something that we both know must be. i must accept that—no matter how i tried—i have failed in my efforts to let you know the joys of caring. our relationship has run its course. it didn’t work no matter how i tried to save it. thus facing facts as honestly as i can, i know i cannot continue. i cannot bend further.

“It’s just completely absurd to face each other again and still find nothing there.” You had break the silence that engulfed us.

“So why are we here?” I wondered aloud.

“I guess I need to rediscover the things in you i fell in love with in the first place even while you keep hounding on the things that made you fell out of love.”—well, it’s so very like climbing out of the abyss. “but i always knew, wherever we’re going, there’ll always be us. i know our love can always bring us back to the same side...that’s why for some unexplained reasons, we’re here.”

you are the best thing that ever happened to me. but then, away and apart or together and apart, it is too unhappy. i am watching myself become a creature who cries a lot—or even must cry a lot—for in our relationship it seems that pity is necessary before kindness is possible. and i know that i have not come this far in life to become pitiful.

“i’d like to believe we had better times. better than anybody could ask for...or than most people ever had. do you agree?” you looked at me straight in the eye.

“Yeah, ours was not perfect but we were mostly happy.” I caught your gaze. “But just because we get a glimpse of “us” once in a while, it doesn’t guarantee that we can still stay together....” you nodded in agreement.

“can I just tell you something?” your eyes were full of pent-up feelings wanting to let go. I nodded. “For all it’s worth, i do miss you.”

I gave you that mischievous smile you so loved.

“and...and...” You took a deep breath. “I wish I haven’t been unfair to you. I wish I haven’t taken you for granted. I wished I understood you more. I wish I learned to appreciate all you’ve done—even now that i know can never give you all the love you deserve...”

as you said that, I felt the pang of silent anger confused with deep regret in my heart as the sea lashed its angry waves to the shore. “I wish, too...” I whispered as i felt the rush of tears slowly, carefully tracing my face. this is my last cry. and my last tears are for you.

but i am merely putting a period to a relationship that you, with your insensitivity, have ended. so, i hope you will not see this as a breaking of an agreement. rather, this is merely a continuation of the many, many endings you have already begun.

looking back, you were vibrant and on the young side when i met you. And I, even with my own innocence, had seen more than enough of life. But we stuck! After years of park-chatting, cruising, fighting, flowers, songs, madness...we stuck!

“I’ve been following you...you know that?” You proudly declared.

“you mean, spying on me?” I can’t believe my ears!

“Sort of but not quite...” you winced. “i still catch myself reading your articles—from page to page, followed it line to line.”

I raised my brows. “Really?!” then I stood up. “even though everything i wrote was about us: your insecurities, my wishes and the future we never had?”

“That’s the only way I can get in touch with you...remember ‘i only read you when you write...” you chattered on about what i thought i understood, even when most of them were lost with the solitary retreat i chose to do.

my love and precious friend, this is said softly, even tenderly and lovingly. the soft tones doesn’t camouflage any underlying anger—they are real! there are no accusations, no blames or faults. i am simply trying to understand and stop the pain. i am stating what you have forced me to accept: that you and i are never going to have a development, much less a relationship grown to full blossom.

i wanted to scream and cry but i searched my heart’s every nook and cranny, groping for the hurt that was once lodged there. all i saw was nothing but sunshine peeping through the slits where laughter ripped.

suddenly, the sound system crooned one of the songs from one of our favorite films. “...someday, when i’m alone, when the world is cold. i will feel a glow just thinking of you, and the way you look tonight....” but just i started humming, i saw you closing your eyes.

“Aren’t you glad that despite everything, we’re still here?” you asked.

“you can say that again!” i was more than glad! “hey, i want to tell you that if there’s somebody who will put a smile on my lips even if i’m old enough to love...” i had to say this. “...it will be you!”

“You know what? You haven’t changed a bit. you still know how to make me smile, thank you...” you said as you pulled me to sit beside you again. and i yeilded. “Listen, to the song, this time...”

the music changed to something revived about two old friends meeting again... we sang, we made faces, did a little jig, too and started to laugh. we were serious but, oh, how we laughed!

“Kiss me, silly...” you teased.

I did. i kissed you silly.

the secret of my strength is that i act and say what i feel and believe. and that is love. and if i believed that we were going to be happy, i lived it honestly. and i am comforted by this now, in this awful moment of ending. i can honestly say i do not know of any other thing i might do to get us to the future we could have had.

suddenly in my despair and anger, i laughed again. i laughed at the thought of you coming back to find me gone!

we were rebellious, unmindful of the world and all its rules. For us back then, the world owes us one more day everytime we were together. And if we were, our times were always filled with furious happiness. but i can’t help thinking, we were as good as anyone else..how then did we relegate ourselves to the limited four years of our lives?

“If we were as beautiful as we are tonight...why can’t we love without being punished?” Your words ripped through my heart.

“If we were strong enough, why didn’t we become warriors for love?” That was not deliberate as i was only fishing for answers to the many questions we both left behind.

The problem with us is we loved too much. because we were so good for each other, we gave up. Such a sad tale, according to our comrades who shook their heads when they found out we were “us”. they were the same people who shook their heads when they found out we left. like us, they didn’t know what they want.

if anything in my life now deserves departure from previously established patterns, going beyond all known limitations, our relationship did. i supposed i might be justified in feeling humiliated about the lengths to which i have made it work. instead i feel proud of myself and glad to know i recognized the rare opportunity we had while we had it; and gave it all i could, in its purest and highest sense, to preserve it.

it’s totally amazing, i thought—how some love affairs start with very simple things like a cup of coffee. ours started with that a simple line you said...
“You want coffee?” how i wish some lost loves, like ours, will start over again by lines and things which are as simple.

“what’s wrong?” you laughed.

“Huh?” i was awakened from my reverie.

“I just asked you if you want some coffee...” then you paused to wait as i was recovering from history. “so?”

“Why not?” that same line!

agreeing to have coffee with you again is just like starting all over. after summoning the waiter, we didn’t really talk. we just sat there for a while and watched each other, hoping to linger. we also sipped our coffee: strong, bitter and sweet just like the flurry of events hurled around us.

“Hmmmnnn...a cup of coffee with you and a blue dawn is always perfect,” i said as i saw you already drinking me with your eyes. indeed, it was perfect.

there are no mistakes. we were not a mistake. the events we bring upon ourselves, no matter how unpleasant, are necessary in order to learn what we have to learn. and whatever steps we take, they’re necessary to take us where we really want to go. just because our relationship didn’t last it doesn’t mean we both failed.

my knees weakened under me i almost cried. instead, i smiled and pressed you in an embrace, suddenly wanting to hold you like that forever. is this who i am with this person? is this just who i want to be?

yes!

“let’s wait..” you had to break the silence.

“for what? the sunrise?” i was lost in your puzzle.

“yes, of today and all the sunrises of forever...”

“never—” i interrupted and put down my cup. “...never ever promise me forever again.”

this is not the way i wanted it done and i know you were dismayed. you were waiting for more words toi unhurt you. instead, i turned my gaze to the sea, trying to taunt the pain with a love like ours they didn’t have.

as you combed my hair with your fingers and people were staring. suddenly, i had a sense of fleeing, of escaping from something terribly sad and maddening.

despite all the pain, i am happy to have known you in this special way and will always treasure the time we’ve had together. i have grown with you and learned so much from you as you did from me. we have been better persons for having touched each other’s lives. for that, i will never forget you. you will be securely in my heart forever.

so what shall we do now with forever? it’s something so far away we cannot even grasp!

“who knows, it still could be us?!” you insisted seeing me half-convinced.

“meanwhile, what do we do?” i am used to playing your games. “write sea poems and drink coffee and watch the sun rise on us? C’mon...”

“i’m serious. we’ll tie the knot again...” i’m sure we will tie the knot again. oh, we will!

“...only when we have untied ourselves from our selfishness and pride and insensitivity.” i winked at you, to hide my sarcasm.

when the pain is gone, i will still be your friend as i know you are mine. until then, i am sending this with a heart full of deep and tender love and high regard i have for you, as well as profound sorrow, that an opportunity so filled with promise—so rare and so beautiful—had to go...unfulfilled.

“give me time...” you were serious indeed! “two years or so...”

“then?”

“Then you’ll find me drinking coffee at our kitchen table.”

i sipped the last drop and i smiled and stood up with the realization that we could stave off past losses and past loves with light banter, a little hand-holding, some serious talks over a cup of coffee.

i look back at the moon starting to fade to the sun. the tide is high. i can feel the waters dancing with my toes. i can feel the love prancing in my soul. yet that was all there is to it. the music may play on, but the song is done. time to take our graceful bow.

“I love you...” that was the first time i heard you say that. the first time in four long years.

“but you cannot give me what you don’t have...” i reminded you.

“i know...” your eyes hid something mysterious coming out from your soul. and your heart need to speak it out. “so from now until that moment, let’s live each day as it comes.”

“that’s better than promises of forever...” i smile to the boatman who, like us, has sailed closer to the shore.

so while you’re at it, i want you to give me back what i’ve wanted for so long. something that belongs to me. something i gave you for the past four precious years of my life...my old believing heart.

I may or may not wait for forever for him but it’s good to know the sun has finally shone on us. i realized the water has finally touched my feet. the cold war has thawed.
and i am certain that the warmth will keep me company even if you cannot give me the forever you never promised.

let’s not leave each other crying or trying to appear brave. let’s leave each other in a parting that is as sweet as our love has been all these years.

you held my hand as we walked by our lovely past—the grassy spot where you gave me the book ‘if you call my name, i will go...’, the corner where we used to do our poetry readings under our starry skies, and even the park where we discussed, debated and moon-watched.

in the sunrise, i can almost see my freedom and love bouncing down the road before me. no one can say if this will be a new beginning—not even us. but, with you now, i know i am heading for home where i belong. i am on my way on a journey to hope and being happy.

happy days, cris!

finally, love is coming back to me!

break-upmontage.by jeansgcequina.mcmlxix

there will be rest (an ode to auie)

2008-10-13T20:09:00.000-07:00

("In my planet, one can see the sunset 44 times!" the Little Prince said. "But one loves the sunset when one is sad..."

"Were you sad, then, on the day of the 44 sunsets?" asked the pilot.

The Little Prince made no reply.

-- The Little Prince by Antoine de Saint-Exupery)

This then denotes the final grief
Upon this dying earth
After 44 sunsets, there rushes
Only hollow sounds of the wind
Piercing, shivering trees now bent
Drop their golden green leaves
upon the soft brown earth
where you will seek rest.

From dimming twilight
Love, too, has fled
Alone is voice for those who,
Like the leaves, have laid themselves
Again in cold and furrowed earth
Where you will rummage for rest

You shall be then part of the earth
And of the sighing breeze
Which treads on gently whispering feet
Above you
Aching
Weeping
Hoping
No balm can ease this deepest, surest pain
But as long as we have you thriving in our hearts,
There will be rest, AUIE.
There will be rest.

(Oct 16, 2008 is auie manuel's 40th day after we laid her to rest. the family will have a "letting go ceremony" which we billed as REACH THE HEAVENS, TOUCH THE SKIES. on that day, i will read this poem for her.

auie died on sept. 7...4 days short of her 44th birthday. while we continue to grieve for auie's passing, let us continue to walk the path she has trailblazed: a narrow path which only those whose hearts are kind, all-good, fun and filled with childlike wonder, will ever care to take.

on behalf of the manuel and cequina families and all those whose lives our dear auie has touched, thank you. thank you. thank you!)

ode.to.auie.jeanscequina.mcmlxix.oct142008

LITTLE DEATHS FOR A TICKET TO LIFE

2008-10-03T00:26:00.000-07:00

I am sitting at the airport, waiting for my final call for boarding. With my ticket tucked within its yellowed leaves, I close the paperback which has kept me out of touch for the longest time. I watch people in their final moments before they depart. They are pacing. Nervous. Touching and not touching. The emotion here is so intense like some scene from a movie about parting, aloneness, letting go and moving on. So very like the deep sense of loss I am feeling.

Then I think of the journey I am about to make.

I am going somewhere, I know. And as naturally as ever before, I am journeying…alone. I have been immersed in my solitude for the more than three decades. Sometimes I was satisfied. Sometimes I was happy—yet never completely both.

At a very young age, my mother left me to grow alone with papa during the most turbulent years of my teenage life. That was when I was barely halfway through my journey. Yet that confirmed the strength I have kept hidden somewhere in my innocent soul. Yes, my mom’s death left me without much memories of her to tell. Yet if she lived to see me through, I believe I wouldn’t have the strength to “arrive”.

There were several leave-takings I had to contend myself with. My brother—who loved me from my mud clay heydays—also left when the mold was almost perfect during the formation years of my young life. Lola, after battling with the rigors of old age, also embraced eternal rest. My baby sister—born in the springtime of life—died without even opening her eyes to being the eight wonder of our world. Somebody exhausted from all the tests of traveling must have warned her. So even before the first summer sun set, she went home to rest and be restored.

Through the years, characters have touched my life in many ways never planned nor imagined. There was a friendship I had kept for the last 14 years only to let it go if only to save it. There was also a love which bloomed from late-night park chatting and dawn star-watching. But after four years of hand-holding and moon-musing, I also gave it up along with my dreams of permanency. All through those times though there were countless soul-bridging, self-searching and mutual bonding which made me believe I am not, after all, just another solitary soul merely seeking refuge. I was happy…even just for those moments. Even for such short times.

And today, the wind of time is beckoning me to travel again. Alone, I am going top face a finality probably more painful than my own death and other leaving combined. I am going home to the bad news that my editor, colleague, hero and best friend…my darling daddy…is dead.

Papa.

The only man I ever truly loved left me without even saying goodbye. And I have to be home to face my terminal shot at life.

I remember sitting alone at many airports long ago. Papa used to pick me up here with such delight and send me off here with hidden tears. Between the past and those yet to come were truly good times. Life with papa meant endless waltzing and singing and laughing and crying. Thinking about the brevity of these wonderful time awakens a sense of foreboding. With papa’s death, I wanted that my own pendulum would swing to its final beat; that my own clock would soon tick off to my own doom.

I know papa’s death will bring changes in my life but I believe in my heart I am ready for anything. It has also placed some things in my life in its proper perspective. Now there’ll be reasons why I should continue struggling and winning. Why incessantly talking about him with nostalgia’s okay. In my mind, I have to go on making my father smile at me, every single day of my life.

I’d probably take a longer time to give him up…clinging to the memory and the strength of him and all that he stood for in my life just as one clings to straws amidst the strong battering winds of time and change. And I will always think of him. I will conjure him up in my mind. And I will remember only the good things I’ve learned—sweetness and light and innocence; laughter, good times and heart-filling memories.

Then these will be enough to keep me going and fill my every yearning for the times that were and surely—surely—didn’t merely exist in my child-like mind.

Papa’s death has also called me to be a more responsible partner of “life”, or what he used to call the “dance of forever” (well, what do you know, he was my dancing partner, too. So that with his death, something in me died, too. I guess it was the music…)

But my dreams will continue to spin and oh, I have spun him in all of them! I know what whether I say “yes” or “no” to life’s challenges, life will trust me despite my weakness and despair. And seeing that I live in hope despite all the hurts that need healing, my father will feel right in trusting me.

Now, as I look into the eyes of all these people around me, I am touched by their search for what will make their journeys worth “getting there” again. Life stinks, yes. Circumstances can be cruel. It has shattered my ambitions, shook my ideals and took away my loved ones. Like now, I find myself criss-crossing against these strong airport winds brushing my face. And just like a strong gust, papa’s death has taught me one more thing: “Life should be important all the time…”

That’s why sitting alone here at some lonely airport, I think about the departures and arrivals that have happened in some points of my life. Papa’s death, my new influential position, a lost love, a regained friendship, my going home, my leavings, my longings, my endless search for peace which seems so elusive to me.

Yet through all these, I have never stopped bowing to wherever the palms of time will lead me. I have continued to believe that in some airport, somewhere, I will find my father and all those I love. They will be there…smiling, waiting to meet me. And in that moment, our thresholds will cross again.

Searching my bags as I finally decide to answer my final call for boarding, I get ready to go home to the bad news. To live, I have to face my last little death.

I am still alone, true, but deep within I know that I have the ticket to go wherever my journey will lead me…Papa gave me that.

I cannot just sit here at some empty airport and wait for the peace that has long been in search of me. Papa taught me that I have to seek it out and heal. And love. And finally…live!

I stand up to face the wind.

I AM READY TO FLY AGAIN.

(ode.to.POPSIE.sept31998.jeanscequina.mcmlxix)

holding…tounging…slurring…blowing!

2008-10-03T00:23:00.000-07:00

Sorry to disappoint you guys (nya-nya-nyanya-nya! ;p) but Ii was talking about my new IRISH TIN WHISTLE!

But first things first…Thanks so much Gladz. Finally,i have it (Ipromise to post it along with the pics in my multiply just for you!)

Anyway, after the long wait at the Quezon City Central Post Office(because the lady at window #___ - sorry can’t disclose the window #- was TAKING HER OWN SWEET TIME AND GETING APEDICURE…no kidding! when i signalled it was already 1pm and that I had to rush back to the office, she simply said: "wait lang di pa tapos kaliwang paa ko!" grrr…kumusta naman yun? that’s phil gov’t service at its best!)

Anyway, the wait was all worth it. i finally got my IRISH TIN WHISTLE! yay!

It’s just the way i wanted it–green and gold, brass and nickel finish, key of D, and all the way from Feadog (the makers of the original pennywhistles in Dublin, Ireland).
aside from Enya, the d’ corrs and some celtic musicians like loreenamackenitt, you may wanna check out youtube’s RIVERDANCE and find out why my next tapdancing goal and this Tin Whistle will meld together perfectly.

Again, thanks Gladys. I’ll be whistling a happy tune now!

PS-I should’ve taken that lady’s photo and blog about it. but i was either too excited to claim my Tin Whistle or too envious about her having a pedicure during office hours…oh well! whatever.

March 19th, 2008 by lighthousekeeper.mcmlxix

“97 summers…and all that jazz!”

2008-10-03T00:20:00.000-07:00

“It was one of those summers lasting forever, making the winter wait.
A summer of music and passion.
It was sudden, yet perfect, never a day too late.
It was the season that brought me heaven.
And in winters alone, I’ll always remember…the summer of ‘97”

If there’s one hue to describe that summer…it’s GOLD. Why, it was something so precious that I didn’t want to fade with time.

I took a brief summer class in a humble jazz joint somewhere in Makati. With Marcia, Tess, Paul, Oji and Cris—five of my closest friends—I practically learned my life’s lessons in a place called “Jazz in Time”. What do you know, the name itself says everything. Sort of like suggesting something that has to happen to all of us "at the right place and at the right time".

The time was not only right, ‘though, it was...perfect! That summer taught us everything—about life, love, triumphs and secrecy. All about which we went beyond more than mere discussing. We experienced them, experimented, tasted (the sweet and the bitter) and savored them all. We ‘grew up’ and ‘grew old’ together within that dark, cramped jazz bar; the name of which I couldn’t even say right (to this day, I can still hear their protests: “It’s Jazz in Time, not All that Jazz...cupid!). whatever. Names aren’t important. The lessons and memories are.

That’s why it’s safe to admit that some of us failed at “Chemistry” and “Psychology” judging from the way things are in our lives now. Truth to tell, I even flunked “Human Relations” but after many second chances, I realized that there is so much of myself to love. But hey…we all survived “Life 101”!

If summers for other people meant basking in the sun, ours meant bathing in the moon, music and midnight miseries. It also signified our frolic, flirtations and fun. That summer, however, was brief and fleeting. This explains why it seemed like we compressed every emotion then; feeling sure that the summer’s end was going to catch up with us sooner that we could ever think and imagine.

So we didn’t care if we really loved jazz music or not. For us, the songs the jock played were ours. We didn’t give a hoot even when Barbie and the HYPs were playing downstairs. We made our own music. And that’s worth more than what we—the hungry, the young and the poets—have been once in our lives.

We didn’t care if the seats were being overturned and the busboys were already mopping the floor to signal the night’s end. Everything in our lives then was just beginning. Yes, we were simply there: laughing, dancing, holding each other’s hand, hugging, kissing (yes, that too!), slow dancing, lifting each other’s dampened spirits and mending each other’s brokenness as if there was no other place in the world we’d like to be.

On sober nights, our summer was witness to our self-claimed obsessions for world domination. We’d talk about near-dying careers and directions we would take if ever we separated. We also decided to create change in our world-gone-mad only to wake up the next morning helplessly settling for the status quo.

After one Budweiser bottle (the wrappers of which I always take home as ‘wallpaper’ to cover my closet), they got intoxicated with questions such as: “Why is happiness so elusive to me?” I’d rather find the answer to more complex queries like: “Have you ever missed someone you haven’t even met?” There were no satisfying answers. Little did we know then that the elusive ones were endlessly searching for us. We continually seek them out too. Sometimes, we still do. Until then, we are not about to give up.

Were there not only for fun and games. We were at the jazz joint went things weren’t right. Or because of life’s harsh realities. When we’re stuck in traffic, deadlines, sticky situations, poignant questionings and for every imaginable reason. Truth is, “getting stuck” there and with each other never felt so right.

That bar—for us and for a while—became more than a school of life. It was an escapists’ haven. Some place we would run to when we wanted to shut ourselves from everything we wanted to run away from. Then Bud after Bud, we would bare our souls, strip our lives of hypocrisy and for once, savor freedom and liberation in all its honesty. Then they would let me bring home all the Bud wrappers as a much coveted prize I so long deserved for my truthfulness. I was so lucky!

I recall the game we used to play there; I call it ‘consequence and consequence’. There wasn’t much bearable truth to tell, anyway. Besides truth, being so ruthless and unforgiving, we knew each and every hair of each other that another slice of truth would be much too painful. So we settled with the consequences served us. I, with my complex relationship then; theirs with their marriages. And played we did through it all.

We would put a tissue above the glass rim, wet it a bit, place a 25-centavo coin and make cigarette holes with it. The rule was to hold the coin steady even with the holes. The person who would allow the coin to fall was sanctioned with a corresponding consequence. Who would know that this would be the ideal strategy to use in our daily lives when we are compelled to play real games with real people. That no matter how numerous the holes and how intolerable the burns, we pledged to keep our worth steady. When we fall down—which we often do—we promised to welcome consequences with a grin and each other’s hand to hold.

From beginning to end, that summer was one ritual that changed me forever. It taught me almost everything I wanted to know. Mostly, to live life and dance to any tune, jazz music or otherwise. The precious messages of love, (homo)sexuality, parenthood, passions, little mischief, stolen moments of madness and memories that still haunt me to no end. But I have their lessons to comfort me and I have learned deeply.

Maybe that magic will happen again, if not for us as a whole, perhaps maybe for us in our own individual search for the elusive ones.

Clinging to that summer gone, I know most of us have already reached our autumns. Paul is in the US now, happily married to the girl of her dreams and enjoying life with their kids. Oji has been happily married but failed at it; I know now he’s happy, making his own music, despite flashes of loneliness. Tess, after bouts of boredom, has been resigned to being a full-time celibate mom. Cris, after our relationship, hasn’t had anyone (that we know of) yet and has been a full-fledged digital artist and has been acting on his own stage since. And as I’m re-writing this, Marcia has given up hope on bliss, turned away from her 23-year old marriage and is getting ready for a new life in the US. Her son, by the way, is a budding musician. Maybe then, he will continue to make our music for us and sing about our golden summer.

I, on the other hand, had moved to the corridors of power and after healing from three successive blows (including my darling daddy’s death), have finally embraced my aloneness. I cannot safely say that all of us have found contentment. Maybe we want more. Maybe our lives can still be better. But the magic of that summer has continued to inspire us. And whether or not we’d touch it again—together-or separately—we will surely have it once more as we have it all these years inside our hearts.

Yes, those moments combined were joy and pain, triumph and gain. Loves found and loves lost. Empty moments…and all that jazz.

It was ephemeral, unpredictable, so long remembered and really, really hard to forget. It was only a summer of ’97 yet it was, for us, the full four seasons of our lives.

We all play different games now. Dance to different tunes. Some of us meet in unfamiliar places and hang out for harder “bar exams” in more unusual “classrooms”. But the lessons I’ve learned from those magical nights taught me that life—despite its madness and complexities—is beautiful and promising. Yes, one brief summer in a cramped, dark jazz bar taught me that.

Oh, and happiness is not really elusive to me.

I should know. I still have the Bud wrappers somewhere in my cramped, dark closet.

“an ode to my bc buddies” 07999-jeanscequina.mcmlxix

a DIFFERENT self portrait

2008-10-03T00:16:00.000-07:00

I am the puzzle piece who seldom fit with other puzzle pieces.

But I didn’t choose to be different, as you didn’t choose to obey the rules. I was born to a new age of pois, pandas, pixie dusts, dawns, rain dancing, colored sea stones, celtic music, gaels, lighthouses and an eternal love affair with my paintbrushes, my pen and papers.

My rules are not conventional. My spirit cannot be contained in a single receptacle.
I gravitate towards the lowly, idiosyncratic, peculiar and unpopular. I refuse to get entangled in the mishmash of sales invoice, bank statements and or a dismal display of that signature coffee cup in hand. I am your cat in the rat race.

I AM DIFFERENT!

My friend is the moon. My music is the bagpipe and the pennywhistle. The only steps I take are "tapped" and in harmony with the ‘riverdance’. Sunrise is my ally but shadows always teach me things.

I am my own style but I am also beyond it. I partially reside in a closet with a mélange of moods, mystery, magic and other manifestations. I am shaped by my atypical interests and they steal pieces from each other, every single moment, making me a shape shifter and a beautiful walking mosaic.

My irreverent approach to life is driven by my endless imagination (and yes, often by hunches too!) and never a conscious pathetic attempt to look cool or conform to an existing public image.

Making magic and fairy tales come true, for me, lie in seeing the world with a heightened perception like seeing a drop of poetry in the most mundane of things.

My frame of mind is an eternal journey to more and more mystery. And my eyes, aside from being an icon of creation, is merely a peephole to the full shebang that goes inside my heart.

I am different.

I resist the tyranny of ‘couple-dom’. I have a positive space in my heart for singles like me who choose to be single rather than in a mediocre relationship. Yet make no mistake: I am no less concerned with coupling than your average serial monogamist. Secretly, I am a romantic—romantic of the highest order. But I want a miracle! Out of millions, I have to find the one who will understand.

I am different.

I inhabit “solitude” as my natural resting state. In a world where marriage, proms or tandem bikes define the social order, I am, by force of my personality and inner strength, a REBEL.

I see the world with different eyes and I am continually amazed by the beauty and madness around me. like my lighthouses, i have a wealth of lovely people beside and behind me ready to fire me up endlessly. and just like a lighthouse, i reflect myself back to them with a connection that is way beyond words.

I am different.

I am a “quirkyalone”…and loving every minute of it!

I am overwhelmed because being different gives me all the leeway to sashay my blots, blemishes, failings and flaws. No regrets. No shame.

I am different.

I don’t have to be perfect to be whole and happy.

That’s my take on the world.

jeanscequina.mcmlxix (08-08-08).