The Sound Breaking
Got seriously sick in six months. I woke up, the right side of my head felt like breaking. I thought it would just go away if I fight it, just like what I did to my other headaches. And so I got dressed, went out. I rode a bus from Buendia to Ayala, and as the bus passed by the LRT station, I felt like vomiting. I got off. Vomited.
I vomited the ache away. I could already walk and think straight, but I opted not to go to work. Six months ago, given the same situation, I would've gone to work with no question, but now, no.
Figuring my way back home, I still considered going to the office. It was so near. I felt bad for the sum of money I'd lose and the impending blemish on my attendance report. Funny, I never wanted to live for money and records, but if not for these short-term objects, what for?
I kept remembering my friend who'd not attend to work, because he had to write a poem. (Bakit kaya ang sarap-sarap ng tula? I completely admire those who trust, ang tula, hindi para sa may ibig sabihin.)
I hailed a cab, skyway. Passing by the narrow path, I saw another highway being constructed. There I began to doubt the poet's awareness of his job. Never mind nobility and uselessness. The reality is this: we are less forgiving of the mailman, pilot, carpenter, engineer, doctor, surgeon; their mistake could cost us our lives and loves. A poet is no different. Imagine how they'd havoc an eager mind with a carelessly composed verse, loosely linked words, an imprudent punctuation.
I vomited the ache away. I could already walk and think straight, but I opted not to go to work. Six months ago, given the same situation, I would've gone to work with no question, but now, no.
Figuring my way back home, I still considered going to the office. It was so near. I felt bad for the sum of money I'd lose and the impending blemish on my attendance report. Funny, I never wanted to live for money and records, but if not for these short-term objects, what for?
I kept remembering my friend who'd not attend to work, because he had to write a poem. (Bakit kaya ang sarap-sarap ng tula? I completely admire those who trust, ang tula, hindi para sa may ibig sabihin.)
I hailed a cab, skyway. Passing by the narrow path, I saw another highway being constructed. There I began to doubt the poet's awareness of his job. Never mind nobility and uselessness. The reality is this: we are less forgiving of the mailman, pilot, carpenter, engineer, doctor, surgeon; their mistake could cost us our lives and loves. A poet is no different. Imagine how they'd havoc an eager mind with a carelessly composed verse, loosely linked words, an imprudent punctuation.
