Tag Archives: Longing

45 in ’12: Enchanted

And The Universe said to me…

The older the soul, PhoenixFire, the softer the glance, the quicker the smile and the sooner to say “I love you.”

Utterly fearless,
The Universe

*          *          *

When I was sixteen, I got my hands on a book written by Jude Deveraux called Remembrance. I loved it and, to this day, remains one of my favorite love stories. The heroine, Hayden Lane, said something that I always find myself coming back to. She said she wanted everything – the grand passion of a great love. Needless to say, being the hopeless romantic that I am (stir in the artist, and the dreamer, and the story-weaver into the mix), I wanted that too.

Eleven years later, I watched Enchanted and was reminded of the same things – a grand passion and a great love. Granted, that particular story involved a fake place called Andalacia and a dragon, but that’s besides the point. I remember being inside that theatre, sitting there with my then-significant-other beside me and thinking, “This can’t be it” (referring to a relationship that was beginning to plateau) and “There has to be something more”.

Without Words

Now, six years later, I found myself talking about the very same movie with someone who, until quite recently, I thought had a decent chance of being with me. We were walking in MOA and of course Enchanted came up because that was where I watched it all those years ago. After listening to me gush over the movie, he turns to me and says, “So ganun yung gusto mo? Yung lovelife na parang Enchanted?” (translation: So that’s what you want? A lovelife like the one in Enchanted?) I was looking at him and said, “Hindi naman…” Yes, really with the dot-dot-dot… because it was a complete and utter lie.

You see, I want to be able to say that I didn’t something similar to what Robert (Dempsey) and Giselle (Adams) had because, based on experience, it usually drives people to run away. Far, far away. Too much pressure, I guess. But what the hell, right? I want what I want. Of course, right after that, I went home and watched the film again. It was then that I realized that it wasn’t the fairytale that I wanted so much. I’ve been in enough relationships to know that the fairytale doesn’t last… After a couple of months (sometimes weeks, even) reality will always step in.

There was that scene, when Robert and Nancy were dancing in the King and Queen’s Ball and he looks up to see Giselle standing on top of the stairs. That look on his face – the one that told everyone who was watching he was completely and irrevocably in love with her even if he didn’t know it yet – that was what I wanted. Yes, at the end of the day, I want grand passion and a great love… But most of all, I want to be with someone who wants to be with me as much as I want to be with him.

*          *          *

Dear Universe,

My soul, then, must be at least a thousand years old. Please let my thousand-year-old soul meet another of its kind.

A Little Broken,
Me



Ciao Bella!

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34 in ’12: Weary

One of the most stringent conditions all angels must meet, Phoenixfire, other than double-advanced harp playing and skydiving abilities (not necessarily at the same time), is that they must not allow themselves to feel hurt or rejected by the choices made by others, no matter how much they’ve done for them nor how great their love.

Yeah, WOW.
The Universe

***

Dear Universe,

I hear you.

Let everything I do, I do out of love, right?

Even if they don’t love me back.

Bringing on the Heartbreak,
Phoenixfire



Blessed Be…

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25 in ’12: Sinner

I’ve been watching The Voice for most of the afternoon (which explains the twitter post about Adam Lavigne’s hotness) and heard this song. I seriously do not understand how I could not have known about this song before today.

And on that note, I really did mean what I said about Cee Lo’s creepy persian cat. “It looks at me like it knows my sins from another life.”

*          *          *

Turn down the lights;
Turn down the bed.
Turn down these voices
Inside my head.

Lay down with me;
Tell me no lies.
Just hold me close;
Don’t patronize.

Don’t patronize me.

‘Cuz I can’t make you love me
If you don’t.
You can’t make your heart feel
Something it won’t.
Here in the dark
In these final hours,
I will lay down my heart
And I’ll feel the power;
But you won’t.
No, you won’t.
‘Cuz I can’t make you love me
If you don’t.

I’ll close my eyes,
Then I won’t see
The love you don’t feel
When you’re holding me.

Morning will come,
And I’ll do what’s right;
Just give me till then
To give up this fight.

And I will give up this fight.

‘Cuz I can’t make you love me
If you don’t.
You can’t make your heart feel
Something it won’t.
Here in the dark
In these final hours,
I will lay down my heart
And I’ll feel the power;
But you won’t.
No, you won’t.
‘Cuz I can’t make you love me
If you don’t.

I Can’t Make You Love Me
Bonnie Raitt



Blessed Be…

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22 in ’12: Almost

Neither
Either
Not someday or soon
Frozen in time with the light of the moon

Neither
Either
Not now or no
Just moments of bliss and seconds of sorrow

Neither
Either
Not heaven or hell
With bonds to break and lies to tell

Neither
Either
Not nothing or all
No path to take but where you won’t fall

Neither
Either
Not truth or lie
No tales to tell but ones of goodbye

Neither
Either
Not love or hate
No hand to hold in this limboed state

Neither
Either
Not day or night
Just wisps of smoke that fade in flight

“Shades of Gray”
Phoenixfire

Audioslave To: Give Me Love, Ed Sheeran (on repeat)



Blessed Be…

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17 in ’12: Now

“I guarantee that we’ll have tough times
and I guarantee that, at some point, one or both of us will want to get out.
But I also guarantee that if I don’t ask you to be mine
I’ll regret it for the rest of my life
because I know in my heart
you’re the only one for me.”

– Ike Graham (and later on Maggie Carpenter)
Runaway Bride

Buckets.
THAT’S how much I cried while watching this movie.



Ciao Bella!

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Lovers Alone Wear Sunlight (37/365)

I began reading The Second Summer of the Sisterhood late last night and finished it about half and hour ago.  The title to this post is something I picked up from the book – it was something e.e. cummings wrote.  Although too many things happened today (most of which I will write about in another entry, probably), this was what I wanted to share, at least for tonight…  

***

“…She used to read Kostos’ letters so often she had pulled out every possible nuance, every meaning, every drop of emotion.  She had sucked them so dry she was surprised they didn’t burst into powder.  She remembered the joy when a new letter would arrive – full of potential, unread.  She remembered thinking that the multitude of fresh, unfelt feelings made the new envelope sit heavy in her hands.

She perched cross-legged, hypnotically opening them one by one.  In the beginning she had often been struck by the formality of Kostos’ writing, constantly reminding her that he wasn’t an American or a teenager.  The it had all fallen away and he was just him.

The first one was from early last September, soon after she’d left him and Santorini for home.


The memories are so close I feel your presence everywhere.  And I see forward so clearly and sadly to a time when the memories will be distant.  I won’t be able to picture your painting things scattered on the flat rock in Ammoudi or your bare feet soaking up the sunshine of Valia’s garden wall.  Now I see them.  Soon I will remember them.  Long after that I will remember remembering.  I don’t want any more hours to pass to separate me from you.  Tonight I was packing for London, hating to leave this place where we were together.


The next one, sent later that month, had a postmark from England, where Kostos had moved to study at the London School of Economics.


There are five of us in a three-bedroom flat.  Karl from Norway, Yusef from Jorad, and a couple of Brits from up north who’ve barely moved in.  London is loud and shiny and thrilling.  I’ve waited for it for a long time, and still, it’s startling to be here.  Classes begin Tuesday.  Last night I had a couple of pints (cupla is the term – no matter how many) with Yusef at a pub on our street.  I couldn’t help telling him about you.  He understood.  He has a girl back home.


The next letter was from October.  She remembered her surprise at the Greek postmark.  It had been written just after Kostos’s grandfather had his heart attack.  Kostos had dutifully gone back home to Santorini.  Instead of studying macroeconomics with world-famous professors, he was making boat fittings in the archaic family forge.  That was the kind of person Kostos was.


Lena, please don’t worry about me.  It was my choice to come back.  Really.  The LSE isn’t going anywhere.  I’ve already received a deferment.  It was no trouble finding a guy to take over the flat.  I’m not sorry about it.  My bapi is recovering quickly now.  He sat in the forge with me while I worked today.  He clams he’ll be back to full schedule by Christmas and I’ll be back in school for the new year, but I don’t need to rush.  I’ll take care of Bapi’s business first.

I went swimming in our olive grove the night I got back.  I was delirious thinking of you.


He’d originally written making love to you, then crossed it out about a thousand times.  But when Lena read the letter from the back in the perfect light, she could read the censored words.  And as many times as she read them, their impact never faded.  Each word burst like a firework in her brain.  Longing.  Agony.  Bliss.  Pain.

Had he made love to this new girlfriend?  The thought seared her breain like a hot coal, and she tossed it out as fast as she could.

The next letter she pulled from the pile was from December.  The letters from this period still evoked a throb of Shame in Lena’s chest.  She was only lad she didn’t have possession of her own letters.


Your last letter sounded so distant, Lena.  I tried to call you on Monday.  Did you get the message?  Are you feeling all right?  How are your friends? Bee?

I tell myself your spirits were down the day you wrote.  You’re fine and we’re fine.  I hope it’s true.


Then came fateful January.  Whatever courage had bloomed inside her last August had withered in the cold winter.  She’d become huddled and impermeable again.  She’s written a cowardly letter and he’s responded.


Maybe it’s just too far.  The Atlantic Ocean seemed small in September.  Now, even the Caldera looms for me like the edge of an uncrossable distance.  I have dreams where I swim and swim and I always end up on a different shore of this island.  Maybe we’ve been apart too long.


And then she’d broken it off completely, promising herself she would be whole again.  But she wasn’t whole again.  She was still missing him.


Of course I understand, Lena.  I knew this could happen.  If I were away in London, working hard in university, it would all feel different to me.  Just being here on this island, longing to be somewhere else… I will miss you.


***

Such sad letters of longing and love and loss.  The entire book made me cry – and the passages I copied were just part of it.  I wish I could write it all down here… But that would be too tedious and take too long.  It’s late and in two hours, I will begin another week, albeit a short one this time.

Time… I wonder why I always feel I am running after it, forever begging for a little more.  There never seems to be enough.


Blessed Be…

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