Tag Archives: Romance

The Pluviophile

“Rain, tears, rain, tears, 
Melding in torrential fears: 
Chill of cloud; saddened eye-
In either way, a latent cry.

Rain, tears, rain, tears, 
Married under sceptic jeers: 
‘They’ll never last.’ Methinks not true, for
Either way, forever blue….”

Just awoke in the couch after almost ending a book (which was in its last page) the night that was. While it still rests down on my chest, I was supposed to leaf through that single folio of few phrases when our roof sounded like deafening drumbeats. Ambivalent, I suddenly thought of a) the Bad News, that this might be what our newly-equipped forecasters have divined yesterday and cautioned us to heed or b) the Good News, that classes will be (un)fortunately suspended for a day or two again.

Aroused to senses, it occurred to me that I can indulge myself to several things I dearly wanted which then resulted to me disremembering one of the might-be-climactic-moments of my reading.

And so, there I was, interrupted.

Like any other cold mornings in the little attic where I’m roomed in, I rose up and subsequently rushed by my time-turning window, fetal-positioned. Yes, it seemed to be the zoopraxiscope (the first movie projector) of my own film reels that takes me to different scenes of my existence.

rainy-day-windowThe gloomy clouds freed thumb-sized droplets of rain accompanied by fulminating roars of ferocious thunder. For most people I know bad weather turn their days as blunt and gloomy as experiencing the rotating blackouts here in our metro. Admittedly, I belonged to that number then. Heaven’s downpour unconsciously detaches me from what the world has to offer. It’s like I am widowed from being united with myself, my thoughts, feelings and whatsoever. I usually feel secluded and enjoined with the sorrowful mysteries of the rosary, especially when I’m close to drowning in the River of Styx five years ago (read my ‘Metanoia’ post). Both literally and figuratively, I fear of being drowned by it in my own emotions and certainly, it always leaves me diving into a puddle of tears. Feeling detached, it seems to immerse me in oblivion, pushing all the negativities I could relate with, the reason why I came to despise everything about it. I was a pessimist not until it unraveled a new fancy and changed many of my perspectives.

“Hey Sir, cheesecake later?” she invited as I’ve seen my phone blink with such message pinned on.

Without any doubt of accepting her call or even grabbin’ a bite that time, I sent my approval in no less than a sec. It was a definitive “Yes” on a lazy Sunday afternoon. In spite of having talked for only a few times since we’ve known each a week back, there was no way of faltering around.

Oh my God, is this the thing they called fate? Well, the next best thing to heaven for me is this rich dessert having a firm custard-like texture, made with cream cheese and topped with a jam-like blueberry mixture. I love to crave for cheesecakes since the day I first knew how to make one and now she’s also into this hunger? Such thoughts gradually circumventing at the back of my mind.

 ***

Prepped in a fancy dress outfit, she went inside the car after I offered her a hand. My insides were actually throbbing to the fact that I don’t actually know how to get there; I was just confident in pretending that I can get us through it. After a series of intellectually-guessed turns, Voila, hello cheesecake cafe!

stock-footage-two-lovers-holding-hands-and-kissing-under-umbrella-in-the-rainIt started to drizzle when we decided to get out and run inside. Before, it used to ruin my moments, but then again, without realizing what the reasons were, it’s as if the universe conspired to bring me to that fleeting moment. I could easily believe that it was the forever of the while. As the spoonful of sweets reached her mouth, I was painting a beautiful picture inside my head.  People say when you’re in a date (which we never realized we were on), it’s certain that one is into you if he or she cannot consume what has been prepared. And it did happen for BOTH of us. Well, you’re thinking what I’m thinking then.

Inching down the stairs outside, with the drizzling earlier becoming stronger, I paused for a moment, staring at her. “‘twas a hell uva crave. You know… this cheesecake thing,” I said finally.

“…which we both love,” and immediately whispered to myself. “Thanks!” I added.

She hugged me, but the umbrella I’m trying to open made it hard to hug her back. I could feel her on her tiptoes. Her arm leaned on my shoulder and then her mouth was right up against my ear and said, very clearly, “I. Will. Love.

Craving. Out. With. You.”

The rain started to pour a little more. That feeling where you want to paint a smile as much as you could, plus the rain which made you wanna snuggle the cool side of your pillow. That feeling where everything’s like a sequence of a movie, where you two did some takes and when it’s on its final, you see everything in slow-mo. The rain. The leaves dancing. The imaginary senti background music playing. Just Perfect.

 ***

From Rick Riordans’ series that were made to life in silver screens down to unleashing the childhood in us through Disney’s music, we both encountered the magical moments set up by the lambent rain.

“Well, it is better read than watched onscreen,” she concluded after seeing the demigods for real far from the imagination and the things we read (another commonality to note there).

We were striding one of the metro’s central business districts under the night rains on our way home. The rushing breeze scared her and while squeezing ourselves under the shade of a single umbrella and wrestling against the wind currents, she slid her right foot on a greasy path which consequentially made her bent on her back. I caught her with my left arm, and me losing my equilibrium as well, swiveled towards her facing the ground with our noses an inch apart from each other. For seconds I robbed a stare at her half-closed 20/70-visoned eyes, sparkling, as it reflected me who was caught ‘daydreaming’ in broad night light. And again, we were as though on cue on-cam, shooting the romantic scene of our forever amidst the pouring rain.

18rainroom1-articleLarge

***

Indeed, to borrow what the alchemist had said to the boy, “Everything that happens once can never happen again. But everything that happens twice will surely happen a third time.”

“Crap that two-hour traffic! It’s past eight o’clock and we’re really late this time!” I yelled in rage after we went out of the car and scuttled hurriedly to the theatre complex.  Nikki, the one hosting the show, journeyed back the crowd to some special Disney memoirs, a sort of opening intro I guess, when we arrived in the scene. Thankfully, we made it just a little less in time.

ABS-CBN-Philharmonic_HiRes_01_FINAL-853x480

Left LSS (last song syndrome[d]), we left the hall filled with childlike bliss in our hearts as we strolled outside and looked for a place to dine in.

8394522635_fa859d835f_z1“The. Best. Night. Ever,” she clearly proclaimed in glee under the moonlit tree. Until, the same thing happened (like two meetings ago) from above. You know what I mean. Wink*

 Running soaked with hands held tight together, it’s as if it’s a can-you-feel-the-love-tonight-in-a-magic-carpet-ride heck of a feeling that very moment…worth cherishing, something I hoped would never last.

***

Sometimes, what we thought of a nightmare before will bring us an opposing blissful feeling today. This is how life plays its role on every phenomenon. A thing never holds and stays only as to what people destined it to be. It constantly changes, so as our feelings towards the simplest occurrences here on earth.

Just like the rain. It enthralls me now; it soothes the very roots of my being providing a kind of fantasy I’ve never imagined. The drops that hold the fondest of all memories. The pitter-patters that sound like music reverberate the voices of people oh so dear. One that could take you back to your yesteryears and unleash the child in you as you take a plunge under the heavy rain together with your co-cutie comrades. One that could bring you to your memorable dinner with the entire family sipping some creamy hot “champorado” (sort of a Filipino-style chocolate rice porridge). One that could relive your sweetest romance while taken aback, frozen nose-to-nose with the one you love.

I want to listen to the rain and take out a fragment from my memory lane. Whatever it brings, I just want to hear the same music and play the same zoopraxiscopic scene again and experience forever like how  it should supposed to be.

Now, I am back to the couch and flipping the last page I left unread:

“Rain, tears, rain, tears, 
Simple love with lacy cares, 
Their intercourse will ne’er refrain
From rain and tears and tears to rain.”

So was the Pluviophile – a lover of rain – which I have become.

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Dancing in Synchrony

      
 It happened on a usual day of summer, well everyday for me’s just like the ordinary maybe. But it is during these customs where I dunno but some things come and change the ‘typical’ in it.
 
        It was the 17th. Going through the dark, I found myself inside my favorite white-collared polo embraced by a silky black suit perfect to be called agent K of my own. I braced myself after I brought it in the middle of a midnight ball. The whole scenery was majestic. Everything seems to be in perfect reception. What welcomed me initially was the castled façade which seemed to be the one like in fairy tales. The hall was fully robed with elegantly dazzling red curtains. Flashing lights of various colors made it kaleidoscopic as the gleaming party ball revolves atop. The ambiance was soothed by cool renditions of classic music seeping through the abyss of every guest’s heart. There was harmony and soon a right track in the air.
 
         But I do not dance.
 
         To count, I have never asked anybody yet to pair up my lumbering feet the whole time being. Solitude was my company all my life and during those times where sweet music envelopes the atmosphere. I lived with it for years and together I grew up accepting it as a never-rebuffing truth that I can’t dance, though I also hoped to learn it someday, at the right time, as fate may set it for me.
 
         Learning to dance is never easy. It comes with great confidence and a valiant heart to achieve the right step at a right beat of the tune.
 
         This is what I think is true, and to this I held on for ages. Sometimes, I wonder, maybe the heavens above deprived me of that skill or it could be that I wasn’t there when it showered that knack to dance. I envy those who could perfectly do the moves, those who could execute steps so well, those who could instantaneously perform the routines flawlessly without ever doubting a move or something, especially those who could be in synchrony with someone else’s feet. How could they do that?
 
         Puzzled, these thoughts pooled down again on my neural network while I was already there on a table grabbing some tempting fondant cake matched with a glass of aged red wine to partner with. I am busy munching on some sweets and having a drink just to divert myself from being solitary that moment. When the romantic music commenced on playing, the lads came to fetch their princesses for a unified sway, signaling that the ball indeed was on its highlight. Tables from tables went empty as everybody left two by two’s. That very moment then gave me the feeling of isolation, of rejection, of being out of the crowd, different from everyone else.
 
         While those two feet became four in the midst, there were mine staying two on the ground.
 
         It has never been easy. All the time I let this fear of standing up and sharing myself with somebody else devour my youth making me stuck and shabby to where I was. It was as though I am engulfed by the world. Those lovely duos in front of me teased my insecurities. Their every sway and turn and step was like pounding earthquakes trying to collapse my feeble soul, my weary heart. I wasn’t depressed; I was screwed up.
 
         With me despising the thought that I could almost be left alone, I detached myself from seat and explored the venue. Inching halfway next to the main foyer, I saw dainty strides from afar. My stream of thoughts halted, my chambers pounded inside my chest and it was like everything came to freeze in front of me. The dull, young night was turned brighter. The leaves on the trees rustled into a music, playing the ‘Destiny’ theme.
 
        I lived a dream.
 
        Finally, I have learned to stand up and offer my hand which she selflessly lent me as well. The whole night was magical. My two feet became four as well. Just like in fairy tales, I made myself a prince charming to that beautiful sweet princess I met. She’s very cerebral, perfect to a Neutron like me. Commonalities made true that this might be done by fate indeed.
 
        When you dance, don’t step on your own. Learn to be in synchrony with the feet you’re dancing with.
 
          For almost three years, my foot steps towards her foot’s direction. When I thought that I could never do a dance, now I guess I may be wrong. I learned ballet’s adagio, supporting her in turns and balances of our act. I perfectly made the theatrical’s drop, where even her body comes in contact to the floor, there am I partially or completely doing the support to her weight. We ‘SWINGed’, ‘SALSAd’, ‘RUMBAd’, and ‘TANGOed’ all those happy times we’ve been together. Sometimes there are a few slips along the routine. There may be flatfoot occurrences within the dances, but still we tend to catch up with the beat and revive the rhythm of our music in the end. From jiving into a disco, a boogie woogie even risking into cakewalks and showing a “swag” to swaying in the midst of romantic dances, name it, we’re all in those together.
 
       
        I savored every moment we learned each step, each dance. However, just like in fairy tales as well, the midnight clock struck at 12 early this year and put everything to a halt. We got tired of doing it together as of the moment, I believe. But deep with our every memory, there still lingers a thought that we both swayed to help each one become the dancer of our own music, of our own lives.
      That ball has already ended. I danced, I shared, I learned and went in love…to the sweetest music life has to offer. We may not dance the way we did before now, but at least we still can. And by the way, it’s my first, but that would always be a special routine I would never ever forget.
         ‘Til the next beat of music!