12 Nov 2010
by angkuletin Uncategorized
In the morning, I love the feel of sunlight on my closed eyes as water flows down my head.
Sunlight warm on my closed eyes, cool water down my back.
The sound of water cascading down my body.
Of water hitting the tile floors and splashing my toes…
In the morning I love the sight of my skin,
rectangular orange patterns visible in the semi-darkness of the washroom.
Faint orange sunlight coming in through the wooden splats of the small rectangular window just above.
Semi-blinding orange light peeking through green leaves, glimmering against the grayness of the sky.
Water coming down. Cool and welcoming. Not cold but cool.
Nothing like a bath in the right time of the morning.
What a way to go about starting the day.
Not smoking black coffee.
Not scrambled eggs and fried rice.
Not bread and butter or the day’s newspapers on the table –
but a cool semi-shower from the tabo in my hand that I hold right above my head in the semi-darkness of a washroom where warm orange sunlight shines in through the wooden splats of a rectangular window set high on the east wall.
Written August 16, 2005
***
This post first appeared here.
12 Nov 2010
by angkuletin Uncategorized
In the morning, I love the feel of sunlight on my closed eyes as water flows down my head.
Sunlight warm on my closed eyes, cool water down my back.
The sound of water cascading down my body.
Of water hitting the tile floors and splashing my toes…
In the morning I love the sight of my skin,
rectangular orange patterns visible in the semi-darkness of the washroom.
Faint orange sunlight coming in through the wooden splats of the small rectangular window just above.
Semi-blinding orange light peeking through green leaves, glimmering against the grayness of the sky.
Water coming down. Cool and welcoming. Not cold but cool.
Nothing like a bath in the right time of the morning.
What a way to go about starting the day.
Not smoking black coffee.
Not scrambled eggs and fried rice.
Not bread and butter or the day’s newspapers on the table –
but a cool semi-shower from the tabo in my hand that I hold right above my head in the semi-darkness of a washroom where warm orange sunlight shines in through the wooden splats of a rectangular window set high on the east wall.
Written August 16, 2005
***
This post first appeared here.
12 Nov 2010
by angkuletin Uncategorized
It is possible to be stressed anywhere, I thought, even as I sat quietly staring into the nothingness dotted by small lights out in the distance. I have always wished I could go to the beach any time I wanted, to listen to the waves gently crash on the beach and watch them, waves upon waves, in leisurely succession rush towards the shore..
Five days we were stuck within the confines of our house as torrents of rain lashed onto our tin roofs and heavy winds whipped branches about, blowing fallen dry leaves against our faces, past our doorsteps and into the house.
This morning, I was exultant to open my eyes to better weather conditions, knowing full well that for a change I am going somewhere else aside from the four or so corners of this house – I am going to work. And work I did. Earlier this evening, I went out to sit on a tree trunk by the shore and drowned myself in the sounds of waves and motors of boats going out to sea to fish. I lifted up my face, closed my eyes when a gentle breeze blew. When I opened my eyes, I saw nothing but the grayness of the starless sky – and yet…
The pain in my right temple throbbed persistently and yet…
I have always thought I would try giving up so much, just so I can live where the sea rushes in to meet dry land, thinking it would make me happy. And now in the stillness of the night and the tremors deep within my heart, I have my little piece of happiness.
Written August 8, 2005
12 Nov 2010
by angkuletin Uncategorized
It is possible to be stressed anywhere, I thought, even as I sat quietly staring into the nothingness dotted by small lights out in the distance. I have always wished I could go to the beach any time I wanted, to listen to the waves gently crash on the beach and watch them, waves upon waves, in leisurely succession rush towards the shore..
Five days we were stuck within the confines of our house as torrents of rain lashed onto our tin roofs and heavy winds whipped branches about, blowing fallen dry leaves against our faces, past our doorsteps and into the house.
This morning, I was exultant to open my eyes to better weather conditions, knowing full well that for a change I am going somewhere else aside from the four or so corners of this house – I am going to work. And work I did. Earlier this evening, I went out to sit on a tree trunk by the shore and drowned myself in the sounds of waves and motors of boats going out to sea to fish. I lifted up my face, closed my eyes when a gentle breeze blew. When I opened my eyes, I saw nothing but the grayness of the starless sky – and yet…
The pain in my right temple throbbed persistently and yet…
I have always thought I would try giving up so much, just so I can live where the sea rushes in to meet dry land, thinking it would make me happy. And now in the stillness of the night and the tremors deep within my heart, I have my little piece of happiness.
Written August 8, 2005
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