Reclaiming My November

Amidst the dancing biraho grasses, 

she gathered the strength to claim

that she was in fact wrong,

that her November definitely extends up to now.

The only thing that changed is that her 

November extends no longer for him.

Waiting, stopped

being a dreadful thought, yet again.

It was fitting, she added,

that these grasses flourish in the cruel winter,

for she too, celebrates the winter chill even though she wasn’t built for it,

not because these grasses love the cold,

not because she loves the cold,

but, because it was cold, 

these grasses are a sight to behold in the glistening winter sun,

but, because it was cold,

she can fully embrace the warmth.

---Petchaboon, 19 December ‘13

#For that day, I celebrated the reasons for writing <you>, and the many reasons for stopping to. ;)

The Subtle Tang of Salt I Carry With Me Anywhere---Which I Don’t Mind

This is Philippines that is not covered by any news, the Philippines that is committed to my memory, stitched in my heart.

This is home.

It is the multi-colored sago beads floating on the pinkish, melted ice shavings in a left-over halo-halo.
The buzzing of mosquitoes on your ears on a warm summer night.
Blaring soap-opera sounds out of the windows of every nearby homes.
Off-key voices, singing all time favorite videoke pieces.
Sunburns, dried sand sticking on a pair of worned-out tsinelas.
Sticky hairs from too much sun and saltwater.
Whiff of dried fish mixed with the tangy smell of vinegar and soy-sauce on a crisp morning. 

Clothes and pillowcases and blankets hanging on the clothesline. The meeting of the glittering blue of the waters, and the soft blue of the skies.
The bursting of pink and orange and yellow and peach and purple on a setting sun.
It is the tasty fish balls downed with a bottle of chilled coke.
The loud colors of hanging banderitas, body paints on tanned skins, beatings of the drum that match the beatings of your own heart, and dancing….dancing everywhere.
The first bite on a saccharine water melon, or the thirsty gulp of pure coconut juice.
The intricately painted jeepneys, jam-packed with local tourist heading for the beach.
The steady buzz of the pump boat’s engine against the crashing of the waves.
Plump shrimps and inviting crabs.
Footsteps of the Floristas on a humid May afternoon.
Familiar voices, singing Hiligaynon Flores de Mayo songs. Latin prayers.
Dried flowers dumped on the corner of the dusty barrio chapel, from yesterday’s offering.
Pinas’ summer is for family, for pictures, and umbrellas…and memories.
Pinas’ summer is for gratitude, for the happy shades of green and blue.
Pinas’ summer, is always, always for going home.

Streets, Sand, Water, and People----and How an Artistic Soul can Capture All These…

We haven’t seen each other ever since like, forever. My last memories of hanging around with her before she went to Greece *insert the soundtrack for any Greek mythology movie here! Ahahaha!* was when I was in my early high school years and imagine how long ago that was! But if there is one word that can perfectly describe her, it’s artistic.

She always had an eye for color, and symmetry, and pattern. I’ve forgotten that about her until recently, for whatever reasons, I was able to glimpse her artistic soul again through the photos which she took. Sure, my painfully  poor memory can remember how good she was in drawing and painting and sketching----she even drew some of my projects and assignments when I was a just a gusgusin elementary kid.

Call me biased because she’s my cousin but at the moment, I just love her photographic works that I am inspired to have written this post to give justice to her awesome works. I too am in love with photography that with my good’ol point and click digicam, there are moments when I could get lucky and get some wonderful shots. But next to her works, my wonderful photos become okay photos.

So before I rattle too much and sound like a dopey-eyed fan girl slash younger cousin, here are some of her works. I could put all of them there since they are all too awesome but the space allowed for a single blog post may not be enough. So here are some of my favorites instead: 

This is a reminder for me to point my old, ratty camera into something beautiful the next time I go somewhere and not just point it at my face and make some goofy expressions all the time! Oh, if only my good’ol camera can complain! Plus, it’s like an additional reminder that you don’t need to be recognized in order to fuel your passion and create something beautiful. It’s like being creative runs in the family, naks! Ahahaha!

P.S. Ne Aiza, keep on unleashing that artistic fire! And I think that one day, you need to put up your own studio because your works are just so absobloodylutely moving!

Camouflaging Love

Sometimes, love hides itself in the most seemingly common circumstances.

Home Song

          Home is the place that we wanted to leave when we were young 

                  and wanting to get back to when we are older.

Tour Me Around, Will You?

This is my most favorite photo of Lampang at the moment. Whatever is captured in here summarizes Lampang's totality. Let the picture tell you about it.

*In the photo is a horse-drawn carriage. This form of transportation still dominates the streets of the city.

Cast your Wish

If you were to see one shooting star today, what will you wish for?

Shooting Star At Dusk


"I miss you 'lil bro. I miss the fact that you can easily ride on with my crazy ideas, your matter-of-factly way of telling me in your "I'm-grown-up manner": "Daw bata kaw gamay!", the way you effortlessly laugh at my corniest jokes and the way you would suppress that laugh sometimes to tell me "That's the most senseless and corniest joke that I've ever heard. Is that the best you've got big sister?", the way you cringe when I give you a bear hug, and the way you easily agree to be my model when the frustrated photographer hits me.


But most of all, I miss the way you would confide to me and tell me stories about school and nothing in particular with such great faith that you would often forget that you're just 13 and I'm a decade older than you are.