There is only one you.  
Only one love at a time.  
Only one heart that beats.  
Only one life.  
Make the most of it.  
Try not to waste moments.  
Live.

Your word is the sword
That pierced through me
Cutting me in two
The million parts of myself pieced together
Through the years
Once more torn apart

A day is but  a total of random moments
Life then could be just a summation
Of seemingly random moments

words come
in torrents, one over the other
voiceless, toneless
but strong
persistent 
words

What it is

There is no rhyme nor reason 

It springs from somewhere I can't quite define

There is only this, there is only now

Because any strong feeling is impatient

It longs to feel free, to shout, to dance, to sing

That inevitable unstoppable feeling

Go on, just let it 

Being

How does one become?  How can one just be?  Whenever I say I am being myself, what exactly do I mean?  How can one verify that I am indeed being my true self when no other person can know precisely how or who I am really?  Can I even claim to knowing my real self?

There are a few things that I can be certain about.  Thinking about them now makes me realize they are fewer than I first thought.

Open letter to a good friend who is gone.

Hi!  It’s one of those days again.  You know what I mean.  And I’m very sure of your would-be response to my ranting – “if you can’t take the heat, get out of the kitchen” or your “you should see the doughnut and not the hole” or better yet your own version of Murphy’s Law. 

I guess some people are indeed irreplaceable.  I have tried saying the same things (you know how endless these things I complain about can be) to other people and I get an almost similar or entirely different reaction/advice.  God knew what He was doing in making each person unique.  Otherwise, I wouldn’t have been compelled to write this open letter.

You’ve come and gone and I’m still here, with almost the same whining, almost the same sentiments during such episodes.  You have come to a point when your only retort to my whining is ‘you chose to be here’.  What do I say to that?  Looking back, I pose the same question to myself.

I wonder what you would have to say this time.  I wonder what other words of wisdom I will elicit from you.  It’s one thing knowing I can still say all these over and over again and quite another knowing there’s no you who would react to them.  It would be an understatement to say I miss these conversations with you.  I cannot imagine how much pain your very dear one feels missing endless conversations with you.

This is not to say that I remember you only during times when I feel this way – out of sorts. 

Life went on for those left behind.  It does for your very dear ones (V and A).  It does for those countless people you’ve touched with your generous spirit, your zest for life, your optimism, your own brand of making light whatever situation one finds himself in.

Thank you for still being able to lift my spirits even now that you’re gone.  With this open letter I am able to do just that.  The only question is would I have the chance to post this.