The last time I ventured in poetry was more than a decade ago. Prior to becoming The Petroglyphs' editor-in-chief, the first position I held in the organization was as literary editor in my freshman year. I continued venturing into that form of literature long until after graduation. I was able to write about a hundred. However, some things came thereafter that prompted me to write less frequently -- from having to go job hunting, dealing with a harsh relationship breakup, and eventually becoming busy with a full-time job with different schedules, I became occupied that I've forgotten poems altogether.
Not to mention that I had developed the morbid belief that poets tend to become suicidal later on in their lives (think Plath and Sexton among others) I realized I did not want to go through that. I completely parked my poetic pen for good.
I've never been familiar with spoken poetry (or like how a couple of office mates refer to it as oral poetry) even then either. Though my interest got piqued a little after watching Juan Miguel Severo in one of the episodes of On the Wings of Love. Soon after, I saw one Youtube video of him performing his piece Ang Huling Tula na Isusulat ko Para Sayo (which was a chest-wrenching performance I have to say). In a way, he is one young man who is still has high regard to the traditional art form, for developing a love for an old craft in this modern time.
When his book Habang Wala Pa Sila was released in bookstores about a month or so ago, I initially had hesitations to buy it. But after not so much thought, I decided to get a copy just for the sake of literary curiosity and because I was in search of something new to read and for my mind to devour on. It's a compilation of his pieces about love. I am now halfway through the book; and reading his works made me feel nostalgic in some way. It brought the feels. Of the years when I too, was doing the same.
In my current single state, his book gave me the feelings: of how to fall in love again and the pains of being heartbroken (minus the heart breaker). Reading his book allows one to feel the kilig, the joy, the pain and sometimes, just letting the tears fall reading the poem about trying to let go.
And despite reading the book, the prodding of colleagues and of my mom to go back and write again, I still don't have plans to go back but who knows, maybe, when creative juices strike enough for me to pour them all out, I would just find myself releasing and driving that pen again.
I've lost count of how long I have been away from this blog without hardly any update. My workload had been busy not to mention my March has been filled with goodbyes and so my heart and my emotions are still reeling and trying to recover.
I am still alive. Just occupied.
If not for two colleagues who were asking me if I plan to return to writing, I won't think of doing this post. In a way, I am trying to divert the sadness I've been feeling. From the abrupt departure of Jeff and on Holy Tuesday, the death of Inay Merced, my 95 year-old grandmother.
We laid her to rest a week ago and we are trying to live our lives with the changes her demise had brought -- including the fact that we will no longer have her around permanently. I tried hard not to cry on the day of her funeral but the painful realization that I won't see her anymore was that strong that hold back my tears is just impossible to do.
On our way to church for the requiem mass, this song was played in the car where her remains are. For years, I have listened to this song on sad episodes of TV series I would watch to the point that I've grown to like it. I will not deny but I really do miss Inay. These days, there is never a day that I would see a thing or two that would remind me how much he liked this particular food, place and yes even music. And always on those days I would be left with a feeling as if someone splashed freezing cold water on my face. That sends up a "wake up call" to me that at the end of the day, I'd come home and she's no longer there. I would still hear this song nowadays but in the middle of it I'd get a lump on my throat and that urge of wanting to let those chest-wrenching sobs out.
In the midst of grief, I can't help but think probably death is just somewhat similar to marriage -- in some ways, it's among life's realities. I used to view death as an "alien concept" but life had its way of explaining things to me. Blame it on the fact that my job deals with the truth that despite someone's death, life for those left behind has to go on or because I have a friend who experienced the death of a parent at the age of 15, it gave him a mature view of death and the world, which is something he is able to impart to me during these times.
Despite everything however, I just viewed it as this: I may miss the things she used to do or the things I did for her but then, reaching up to the age of 95 (yes, close to being a centenarian) in this day and age when people die earlier that expected is already a "life lived full circle". And that maybe, just maybe, during the times we were together here on earth, I may have done something that could be just small but to her, mattered a lot and was enough (or maybe more than that) to make her happy. I miss her. It's hard but moving on is necessary and some inexplicable feelings out of grief will take time to get back to normal.
I'm a 30-something Millennial Tita from the Art Capital of the Philippines and I express what's on my mind (may it be a good experience or otherwise) through writing. Feel free to explore the fragments of my mind which you can find in this blog.
Oh and forget the formalities. You can call me Glaiza!
