My ex for four years puffed Philip Morris. She inhaled the cancer smoke before I did. Having grown from a family of smokers, it was not too long for me to learn and live a smokers lifestyle.
Athan, on the other hand, is a non-smoker. He protests the fact that he's the one who lives a healthier life--no smoke, zero alcohol.
But back in College, I refused the persistent calls of the white smoke--out of modesty and sheer shame. While I failed pathetically in resisting alcohol, I stood firm that until I will be earning my own money--enough for me to afford to buy my own stick--I am not going to smoke.
And so I tried the long white stick. I loved the cool taste of the nicotine and loved it for more than a year until the menthol--perhaps the menthol (well, I am guessing)--left blisters on my lips and mouth, aside from the cough.
For awhile, I stopped smoking and it wasn't too long for me to find joy from sucking Marlboro White. Most of those in my circle also puff their vitamin from this brand that it sort of unifies us.
There are, however, a couple of them who treats the short white stick differently. And by differently, I mean just differently. Like, its weird.
The first one won't smoke her stick without dipping the filter's tip on a cold beer or water, or fruit juice or tea. I bet, in the absence of anything cold, she would settle dipping it on her own pee (god, i hope she won't read this).
The second one, I just encountered this morning. My housemate. As I opened the fridge, I found an opened pack of Marlboro inside. I didn't know that housemate smokes cold metholated zig. But perhaps he just slid the pack inside to, well, "preserve" the nicotine?
Having consumed my last stick, I grabbed the cold pack and took one. Lit it. Smoked. Went to the toilet. Puffed. Puffed. Smoked. Coughed. Puffed. My mouth tasted cold. My butt felt cold.
Everything--cold.
tamis mo ay dinaig ang asukal
ngunit pait ang sukli,
nang tamnan ang lupa
nagsaburak nang ito nabasa.
burak na lumamon sa pag-asa nila
nilang mga maliliit,
at tila walang mapagkasyahan...
kailan magagalit
ang mga diyos na nananahimik?
kailan nga ba mababasag nakalalasong pananahimik?
puta ka
puta ka talaga...
matamis ka nga
pero ang pait mo sa dila
lumalatay hanggang lalamunan
naglalakbay hanggang sikmura
nakakamatay...
pumapatay...
pinapatay ng mga diyos ang mga magsasaka
kailan magagalit
ang mga diyos na nananahimik?
kailan nga ba mababasag nakalalasong pananahimik?
silay natamisan rin
di yan maitatanggi.
tulad din sila ng iba na nalinlang
di man lamang kinutoban
at nagdalawang-isip
at nag-aksaya
at inaksaya
ang ari-arian
buhay
pag-asa nila
nilang mga maliliit
at tila walang mapagkasyahan
The fridge was empty. At least of the stuff that I wanted to eat. But I did not know what I really wanted to eat. It was past 3 eyem and all I can grab inside housemate's fridge was chocolate balls sitting cold inside this heart-shaped plastic.
The sweet-bitter taste did not help it. The alcohol is still strong in my tongue. In my lips. And the coffee too.
At least the ice-cold water helped a little. I sat facing the television set. I had the urge to watch Short Bus again but I was tired. Muscles were slowly deteriorating.
And the silence was depressing.
remember the fine sand
that burried your gorgeous feet
lest you forget
the fine sand...
that also burried mine,
only that mine were not like yours.
remember the fine sand
carried by wind
or was it by the water?
the fine white sand
and the seeds of watermelon
scattered along the shreds of red
fruit flesh, too...
remember the red light
of the city that speaks of volumes of
memories
of pain...
of joy...
of time...
of love...
of friendship...
but i remember the sand
the water...
the watermelon...
and the seeds of watermelon...
and the shreds of the fruit's flesh.
and as i remember how the sand burried
my feet
i exhume the pain...
the joy...
the time...
the love...
the friendship...
and how can't i be happy?
but i cannot not be sad...
