Life on A Tight Rope

The cigarette butt is burning and as I inhale the last of its smoke, I saw a brief picture of my life in a minute, capping it off with my present state of mind. It would be easier to just let things be and wallow in misery, because afterall I have tried hard enough and the harder I try the more illusive dreams can be. Sulking becomes a natural reflex cushioned only by the tears shed inside.

Incessantly I continue to run away unbridled by what is constant if only to keep me sane. I count countless herds of sheep before I sleep at night and yet I still cannot seem to rest my mind, and sleep becomes an enemy.

I am reminded of one of my trips to the islands in Tawi-Tawi, sailing on a small motored boat. We paddled when the tide is low, and the “bankero” would only look at the clouds and feel the wind patterns as his guide, and as always, we arrive at our destination without being eaten by sharks or being held hostage by pirates.

If only I can just pray to the sea for signs of my fate, I would journey through life with only the night stars as my guide. I would not mind. But life is not about wishful thinking and what if’s and what could’ve been. Life’s surprises don’t come in pretty wrappings with colorful ribbons they come in unanticipated fashion that can bring out the best and worse in you.

Life is about taking calculated steps on a tight rope balancing in thin air, and there is no looking back. Whether I reach the other end or not solely depend on me. Damn if I do and damn if I don’t.

My Winnie the Pooh Story

"Piglet sidled up to Pooh from behind, "Pooh!," he whispered.
"Yes, Piglet?"
"Nothing," said Piglet, taking Pooh's paw. "I just wanted to be sure of you."

This quote from the Tao Of Pooh by Benjamin Hoffman has had me all so schmaltzy over and over again. I have memorized it in my mind, and in my heart I long for it. I am incurably sentimental when it comes to friendships and what moves me. I seem to have all the answers for the seemingly endless cries of friends who come to me for an opinion, for words of wisdom, for support both moral and financial, for a companion, for a fan, for an assignment, for a song, for a poem, for a soul, for a shoulder to cry on, for a heart, for a mind.

But when it comes to my own cries, I always end up wiping my tears alone, left with my own thoughts, my anger, my frustrations, my anxiety, my pen and notebook.

I am not complaining. I am merely stating it as a matter of fact. In as much as I want to say it nonchalantly I feel a twinge somewhere deep inside. I cannot help it. I am human too.

It is not a contest. There is no competition of whose problem is bigger, or who's got the most worries. That is not what I mean. I think what I am trying to say is, when you think of me to call upon when you need a friend, think of me too calling upon a friend, whispering a cry almost silently, I am alone and I want to be sure of you.