The Terrible Writings of Quentin Montejo
Serial experiments on a fallen archangel who only wanted to regain just one wing back
Free of the World. Rain worshipper. Hermit. Tormented mind. Caged spirit. Defiant and eternal enemy of Destiny and Fate. Poet. Scientist. Artist. Daydreamer. He who laughs. Slacker. Sleeper. Romancer of wings and clouds. Fiercely independent. He who is ponderous. Games and anime junkie. Four eyes. Caveman. Nature-lover. He who doesn't think that hard. Non-smoker. Music-junkie. Counter of blessings. Guitar-hugger. He who simply wants what everybody else would like to be in this world and the next -- to be happy.
Monday, February 27, 2006
Sleepless in La Union
I looked at the night sky and counted five shooting stars.
With the last shooting star leaving a bright, beautiful blaze before it was swallowed by the sleeping expanse of constellations.
I said to myself, "Yeah, I can die this way".
'Sai was beside me, and claimed she heard me say that. I was more like saying that to myself. Yeah, what if I did die? I can't claim I have completed my life. It's a curse that I cannot remember much what has happened to me a year ago, or the feeling that came with it except for a few certain situations to know if I am ready to leave this world. But then again, a million lives have already been lost before they can even have a chance to live.
I'm lucky by a million miles then.
Then again, a person could be careless and just waste it all away just like that. Just like those shooting stars.
I've looked back at the night sky if I can see anymore shooting stars. I didn't made any wishes. I have one, but I didn't wish for it. And there I was given five chances.
Oh you know what it is don't you?
Before all this, I drank and sang all day. I played my guitar all day until my fingers were hurt. Oh, my eyes were spinning in their sockets still. And the hangover made my head ache like a freight train. So I sang it all away.
Singing lets me forget things. Forget that whatever awkwardness I have spawned in you would just go away. But that's never the way is it? I'm so clumsy.
I just wanted to know what makes you tic. What makes you happy, or what makes you sad. I wanted to see what makes you angry, or what pleases you. I wanted to know your why's and why-not's. I wanted to know what makes you smile and what gives you that puzzling look on your face. I wanted to know what sort of people you have always around you. I wanted to know all this and more without writing it in a piece of paper and having to review it. I wanted to know you in a way that I can just feel it without being intrusive or invasive.
But this vast expanse of night felt like nothingness and meaninglessness combined. You were ... distancing yourself were you not? It kills me you know. I'm not exactly sure why or, if it's something being done for the best of reasons, but it's killing me.
And you know what's worse than that? It's because I can't just let it die.
It blazes still. Despite everything I've known, and I mean despite everything so far, it's still there eating me up. What does that make it then, this thing?
And you know what's even worse than that? It's me saying these things only here and not when it counts the most -- to you, in front of you. And also risking saying this and making what's now is bad, will become worse. I can't bear adding melodrama in a life already full of needless sorrow and this is where I can let it all out without reverting to being obnoxious or silly and finding out it's not as serious as it all seems. Yet I can't also bear otherwise.
Or I may be mistaken about this wall I see. Maybe. But it's so much like the thing I did many times before to the people who held me precious. And that I did for the most ruthless of reasons.
Right now, I am without those nonsense personas. Right now I am just me, just one soul. That person whom if you cut, will bleed. That if you say a funny joke, will laugh. That person who found someone like you amidst this chaotic life, will fall ...
God, I am so boring. Boring and in pain. Boring and in pain and is lacking sleep.
I should've wished on that last shooting star. It was really pretty.
Site design © 2006 Quentin Montejo Productions