Traces (apologies to Rilke)

In lonely corners where strangers' footprints gather and vanish, I can almost see you smiling. In busy shops where people come and go with bags and empty pockets, I can almost see you; pensive and withdrawn. In bus stops lit up by weary lamps, I can almost see you; agitated, watching the minutes pass by waiting for a ride to take
you to wherever it is you call home.

When morning breaks, you are the steam that escapes the edges of my coffee mug. When I leave the house, you are the gentle breeze that greets me outside; the kiss of morning heat and the pull of afternoon lethargy. You are my excuse to make it through the day, the anchor that keeps me grounded in the present.

Amid the chaos of airport terminals, the tranquility of coffee shop tables, the imposing height of skyscrapers and the humility of concrete pavements, I can almost hear some people whisper your name.

And sometimes, in the enchanting lyrics of a ballad, I can almost hear you sing to me in a language that only I understand. In the lines of a poem, I can almost see you taking the shape of every metaphor as if it were your hands that inked each word.

In empty seats on midnight transits, on the window seat of airplanes and taxicabs, you are a stranger dreaming of platforms and stop signs. In hidden alleys and crowded movie houses, I can almost see your profile in the dark. It is as if though you didn't want anyone to recognize you.

In every mirrorball, in every hospital bed, in every elevator, I can almost see you. In hushed conversations among kindred lips, in every
feigned farewell, in every footstep along winding corridors, I look for you as a farmer dreams of rain.

I don't know your name, but you are somewhere out there. I have not seen you, but sometimes, I swear, I can almost touch you. At night I can
feel your presence beside me in bed. It is as if though you had your hand on my chest and your lips on my ears.

Every waking moment is a struggle to remember what form you took in my every dream. I open my eyes to rumpled sheets and lonely pillows and it makes me hate every sunrise.

I look for clues to who you are among speeding cars, cobblestone roads, nameless walls and rooftops. I know you've been around but all the buildings refuse to reveal your name.

If I could, I would fly over the city and enter every door left open just so I could find you. But gravity burdens my search. And my feet can only take me so far. And my memory can only know so much of the city before I find myself in terra incognita. In the vastness of the land, I find that perhaps, I am just as lost as you are.

adulthood

There must be a word for this, when time has moved on and the 25th hour is over, yet you feel at ease for the good it has done to you. When you know happiness is a choice, and it is only the path to it that you have to figure out. When you know that letting go isn't always goodbye.

There must be a word for this, when you can look yourself in the mirror and still say "you're worth it". When you realize that you are a gem, and if you are not worth the wooing then as longfellow said, then you are not worth the winning. When even 'winning' loses its contrived definition and become a process and not an end goal.

There must be a word for this, when after the long kiss goodnight you can actually look forward to tomorrow and not hate yourself for waking up alone in bed. When your bed becomes an affirmation of individuality, not a prison where you are supposed to languish in longing and wanting.

There must be a word for this, when you can live with your choices and regret fades from your dictionary like a badly conceived term. When you realize words are not all that you have, because you have your heart, and you have your mind -- and they're working in unison instead of against each other.

There must be a word for this when you can forgive without being asked for it, when you can channel your anger into something positive and be able to rise above the pettiness of self-doubt.

There must be a word for this, when your heart gets broken and you can still manage a smile. When you can pick up the pieces without resentment for playing the fool. When it doesn't even matter how many times you play the fool, because you get through it a better man, a better person reaching out again and again until you can get it right.

There must be a word for this, when you can see the light and it doesn't come after the dark but coexists as they should, in harmony, with one unable to survive without the other. When you can stand in the light with no fear to go back into the dark, if need be.

There must be a word for this, when it's in the tip of your tongue and you can't just say it out loud but still feel good inside.

There must be a word for this, when in spite of all the cow dung you're dealt with, you can dust it off and go on.

There must be a word for this. No doubt about it.

The Peregrine

Two questions I hate to be asked: “Who are you?” and “Are you happy?”. They're both nebulous and irrelevant.

People see me through different lenses, as I suit their own lives. A son, a brother, a suitor, a friend, a confidant, an antagonist, an adviser, an employee, a colleague, an acquaintance, an ex-classmate, an orgmate, a spurned lover, etc.

But stripped of all conceptions about my identity that are predicated on the relationships that I have formed, lost and found again, what becomes of this man? In all honesty, I can't tell you, and neither should I try. There's more to a person than what you can possibly box in 500 words or less. All I know is that I'm a man who is trying.

I'm a man who is trying to be a better presence in other people's lives. A man who earns a decent living in a job that tries to make life a little better for my fellow human beings. I'm a cadre, an activist, an agitator with my words and a proud moderate at heart.

I'm a man who is trying to be a more open partner. Step by step, slowly yet steady. I'm tearing down the walls in my own sweet time, under my own terms. I'm unraveling the mystery I've spent some time building up, as I fumble my way towards ecstasy. (thanks for finding the right words, Sarah)

I'm a man who is trying to put on the brakes, even though I'm fully aware that the best way to approach life is to approach it with reckless abandon, damn all consequences. I'm a trainwreck waiting to happen on the way to nowhere (thanks for the quote, Chantal)

I'm a man who is trying to keep hoping even if I have every reason not to do so. I believe in the inherent goodness of people, even though people sometimes let you down, or hurt you, or turn their back on you. People are people and I'm just going on (thank you Simone, Kim and Jonny).

I'm a man who is trying to keep the faith, even though I remember I was fifteen when I last prayed. I'm a man who believes that there's more to existence than this plane of being, but that God is not best articulated by organized religion, and that the bottom-line of our soul is the consistency of the goodness we show and express towards other people. I believe we do not get more than what we give.

I'm a man who is trying to stay grounded, yet never lose sight of stars. I’m a man who swings from one extreme to another, with a full range of emotions in between. I’m a man who is trying to tone down my intensity, but is helpless against the power of my passions.

I'm a man who fell, but got up again. A man who wants to fall, for the right reason, for the right person. A man who isn’t afraid to fail, not anymore. A man who knows his worth, even as he tries to draw the line where enough can be said to be enough.

I'm a man who just recently realized he is capable of forgiveness even if it hasn't been asked for.

I'm a man with no bitterness.