OBSIDIAN ISSUE #2 : WOUNDED

SIX

Wake me when November stops to mourn for the lifeless. It means I'm alive. I have survived. I can still open my eyes with a heartbeat. But my face will only feed you lies: To hide its true identity, sadness wields the aid of a smile...

Matagal ang paninirahan ng mga mata ko sa sketch ni Angelov. I'm not sure how long the minutes passed, but certainty it is that I have been staring at this art for so long that words grow unconsciously inside my head. It looks unfinished to me. Kaya siguro binigay na lang niya sa akin nang basta basta. Tila rin kasi ginawa ito para lang palipas oras at hindi talaga sineryoso.

A raw naked woman is turning her back against the viewer's eyes, only that her face was slightly tilted to the side enough for me to see her side profile. Umuusli ang tulis ng ilong sa ibabaw ng mapintog na labi. The very defined curl of lashes were pointing up which could have turned into a high definition image if finished. Ang katawan naman ay hindi gawa sa balat kundi mga buto. From the blades in her shoulder, the well-crafted spine runs down to the tailbone. I caught some cracks in her rib cages which were ornated with shriveled petals, terribly failing to redeem the broken parts. Galing sa balakang, puro nalalantang bulaklak na ang bumubuo hanggang nagtapos ito sa dulo ng papel.

The vulnerable image made me breathe deeply, saka binalikan ang mga katagang naisip. I also couldn't believe that he is that guy on the dark wall. What could have prompted him to start this? What could have sparked off him to stop? Katulad ko rin ba, nawalan din siya ng interes at gana? If passion was a fruit, then he probably has lost his appetite. And the seed was inexistent for him to start over again.

A tragedy it is to lose the flame that used to reside in our chest. Lose the extinct warmth in our blood and to feel the beat no more in our hearts.

Dahil ako, alam mismo ang nagpapatigil sa akin. Regardless of my will to carry on, bawat angat ng kamay ko at diin sa teklado, wala na akong maramdaman na lakas. Empty, in any aspect. All the given up possibilities, it felt like they've been feeding on all the lacks I had in me.

And what I lack in confidence, makes up for the doubts that I shouldn't have to myself.

"Am I pretty?" hilaw kong tanong sa sarili, mocking the innocence in my voice. Nagpapa-cute sa harap ng salamin tapos ay biglang sumimangot. "No, Samara. You are not! Ilusyonada!"

And the series of uninvited thoughts followed suit. Inalala kung may minsan ba sa buhay ko na sinabihan akong maganda. If people have ever asked their friends, "Have you met Deirdre?". "Oo," sagot ng isa. "Ang ganda niya. Sobra," dagdag pa niya. Pero wala akong maalala. Dahil siguro, hindi talaga ako maganda. I started to believe it more now when no one has ever noticed my hair. The color, the length, how I cut it short... because I am just a nobody. I ain't worth the hype, maybe. Surely. Definitely.

And I hate myself for making a big deal out of this. That if a number of us could only read minds, they'd start comparing my grouches to the ones they thought who had it worst.

And this is why I never say anything. This is why I'd rather just write it instead of to verbalize. Dahil sa huli, mababalewala lahat ng mga nararamdaman ko sa oras na ibaling nila ang atensyon sa mga sarili nila. We are self-centered like that. Unlike when I create conversations in my head, I can imagine everyone listening. Unlike this reality. I hate it here. I hate everyone in this side of reality here.

I punched the mirror and I walked out of the room.

Tumama agad ang panunuri ni Ate Merewald sa akin pagkababa ko sa kusina. She was already sipping her coffee while I sensed her miserable anticipation for this talk. When she arrived from work days ago, I was in my room making a prisoner out of my own. Sabi niya noong isang araw, mag-uusap kami. But what I did instead was dodge that opportunity. Kaya maiintindihan ko kung ano man ang saloobin niya ngayon.