I wrote this way back in 2005. This is one of those poems that only I could fully understand. It holds a strong personal touch so it has little or no value at all when it comes to the communication part.

Kuya Neil views poetry as a form of communication with the same elements as normal verbal discourse. Do I even remember his views right? Up to this day, I still stray from his views. I'm still so young after all, rebellious. Maybe one day I'll come to appreciate them. For now, I'll settle with free free verse.

~~

Untitled
by RCA

He waited for such
a long time under
the heavy clouds, only
to be caught in floods
that made impassable folds
of tears and frustration.
Smiles seldom bloomed
when the rain fell down.
But his did, without preamble,
for he waited. And it shall
quench his thirst,
drown him even, in the
company of sky water.

#

On personal journals

This was written for my speech class last year.

**

On personal journals
by RCA

It all started one balmy sophomore day when I got envious at a classmate who insisted on christening his journal, his notebook to be exact, the most feminine of names a boy could choose - Coraline. I fumed every single moment he blurted out “Dear Coraline” here and “Dear Coraline” there not just because he looked like a total idiot while doing it but because he teased me with it. I couldn’t do a thing but to puff my cheeks scarlet out of annoyance. Then one fateful day a brilliant idea popped into my head telling me, “Why shouldn’t I make a journal for myself?” Keeping a personal journal has been my passion since then and I have reaped myriad a benefit as far as keeping it alive is concerned.

The first noticeable change that I observed was the slow but sure maturation of my penmanship. My ugly and almost unreadable scrawl was transformed into more dignified cursive strokes. It also had a direct effect on my attitude in note taking. My hand endured more during long hours of taking down notes from the blackboard that looked down ominously upon me. It had been an arduous task but with my journal by my side, I said goodbye to note taking depression.

Then, the issues of my tear-streaked early teenage life came in. The wars I waged against my parents for rebelling against them, the grades that I had flunked and secretly kept away from my parents' noses, the cold shoulder from my siblings and my small – or big – squabbles with them were all inked into my trusty journal. To put things short, neither morsel of emotion nor a thread of fact of my florid teenage life escaped the venomous honesty I upheld for my journal. Writing down fervently on it gave me a sense of security that had never been false for all I care. I cannot say that it was an outlet where I vented all my anger at when other ones had been always available. It had been more of a Canopic jar that kept my sanity closely under control.

Finally, keeping that journal made me realize that there was more to life than what it ultimately offers us – money, power, material wealth. We can satisfy our hearts' desires but we can never be wholly complete without satisfying the underlying equation of life that is happiness. I learned, through the crude observational skills that I had along with journal writing, that putting up a positive outlook in life is never enough. You have to live that optimism in your life – in your actions, the way you speak, deep down to the very core of your being – in order to find that shard of happiness that you so long for.

As for you, my dear audience, it's up to you to decide if you should keep a personal journal for yourself. You can try it out for fun or take it up to the next level. As for that journal, it eventually got filled with my constant scribbling and for once I never got tired of doing the same thing over and over again. Up to now, I still have that hardbound book safely cradled somewhere in my closet, albeit old and dusty, carrying with it the melancholic and the joyous songs of my youth.

spread out before us
are layers of text in neat piles.
we are hopeful that
before sunrise, they are digested
then spread out again
on our breakfast tables, refined,
tolerable;
a fine sheet of it adorning
the immaculate toast,
a replacement of our favorite
pineapple marmalade.

-RCA