The Salud to '09 (A story)

Some days it’s easy to forget what you tried to build.

‘What are you trying to build?’

‘I’m not sure anymore. I’ve stopped working on it for so long that I forget.’

‘It sounds like some Utopian dream.’

‘Maybe.’

‘Coffee?’

‘No, thanks.’

The park is filled with people sprawled on the grass. The field is endless and you can barely see the roads and smog from over the coconut trees lining the edges. The two people were standing on the hill that sloped down onto the field where Christmas lanterns still clung to the branches like the hands of children trying to grope the stars.

‘I forgot about you.’ He said.

‘That I’m more than an idea?’ She chuckled. ‘That I brought on the crazy?’

‘Yeah.’ He answered, sighing as he drank in the sights, laughing.

‘Well, there’s plenty more where that came from.’ She said.

‘Is there?’ He turned to glance at her.

A slight pause.

‘No.’ She finally answered. Then she sighed. ‘No. I think I’m just lonely tonight.’

‘Do you like telling the truth?’

‘Can’t remember the last time I’d done so.’

She seemed nonchalant when she answered so he bit his tongue. No use pressuring her. She’d

talk when she was ready. After all, their meeting tonight was her idea.

He was sitting on the edge of his bed and about to go downstairs to use the computer. He had just come home from spending the day with the rest of his friends, and he was a just a little bit tipsy. It was 2:10 AM and he was in the lull between kinetic and inertia. Just about the time of day he didn’t know the first thing to do with himself. Then she called.

They met here.

‘I didn’t know that this place existed. Well,’ He muttered. ‘I knew it was here. But I didn’t know that...there was all this.’ His arm swept in the field.

‘Yeah.’ She agreed. ‘I didn’t know about it either. My grandmother told me about it just last night. Apparently when my mom and my aunts and uncle were small my grandparents took them here on New Year’s Eve to spend the night. This place used to be filled with people who were setting off fireworks and they’d bring blankets and tents here and the children would just run around and they’d all watch the sky.’

‘I’m amazed that it’s still allowed.’

‘It’s not.’ She smiled.

He looked at her. But she just continued to smile. She shrugged and the December breeze brushed by the both of them, ruffling their hair, which were both unruly. They looked like a pair of kids just after a game of tag. Or a couple of pelicans ruffled by the spray of crashing waves.

He nearly grinned at the thought. He liked flight. He thought that she did too until, well, she seemed to have lost her nerve a while back and was now just getting back her footing. He honestly did not know what to feel about that. Or what to make of it, for that matter. Not that he really cared.

He said her name out loud. How to phrase this.... ‘Is this illegal?’

‘Don’t worry about it.’ She sighed.

‘What if we get caught?’

‘We won’t.’ She answered, and then finally turned to look up at him. The December night was cold so she stuffed her hands into her pockets. She smiled softly. ‘It’s my dream. Nothing bad will happen to you here.’

Suddenly the pieces fell together.

‘Thank you.’ He told her and smiled.

‘Welcome.’ She smiled then turned to gaze up at the sky.

He studied the midnight as well. ‘There are no stars tonight.’ He observed.

‘Oh, I’m sure they’re out there.’ She waved her hand, smiling up at the ocean of midnight hue. ‘You just need a little light to see them, that’s all.’

He waited, his pulse rising slowly but surely to his throat.

And then...

...she laughed...

FIREWORKS.

Fragmented light exploded across the sky. Everything is illuminated.

People clapped and applauded.

Children jumped, pointed at the sky, shouted.

Everyone was happy and neither of the two observers was aware of the wide smile on his or her face.

‘It’s so real!’ He said laughing, wanting to cover his ears from the noise.

‘It is,’ She breathed softly, agreeing with him. Still watching the lights.

‘Everything is so loud!’

‘No,’ She then turned to face him. ‘The noise you hear is coming from outside your window.’ She was smiling. ‘It must be the New Year already.’ She breathed out his name, her eyes bright.

‘What?’ He studied her eyes, her expression made him smile.

‘It’s time to wake up.’

- 12/31/2008

With time is Rememberance

What’s amazing to me is that 21 always seemed… you know:

“God, Sasha, you’re OLD.”

And there it is.

21 is staring at me. Eyeing me as if looking for the slightest movement. A flicker of eyelash. A cease in breathing. The hesitant looking thrown over the shoulder.


21: It’s nice to meet you, Sasha.
Me: Uh. Hi. Isn’t your arrival a tad bit… too soon?
21: This is merely an informal introduction. We shall save the grand ceremony for the 10th of December, shall we?
Me: Oh. Ok. (muttering) You just seem a litte too anxious to me.
21: (smiling) And should I not be?
Me: No. I don’t know. No. Not really.
21: And why’s that?
Me: Because I always thought that when I’d meet you I would be in a different place.
21: Is that so? Which place would this be.
Me: A place other than here.

And so I’m turning the big 2-1 on Wednesday.

Let me see.

It would be my first birthday without Uncle Bong greeting me. Without him there to tell me how much of a lovable fool I am. How I should never ignore inspiration. How I should not war against my imagination. How I am on the verge of that freefall which is success. How I should give it my all. How I should never stop running. How I will win the race just by being true to myself. How I am going to make it. How I am going to survive the inflaming passion of my dreams. How he much he loves me and how the world will come to love me too, once I take that crucial step to fulfill my dreams.

“Happy birthday, Sash. I love you. Take care, dude. You are one cool dude.”

“writing that million dollar bestseller is your best chance. keep the dream alive and reach for it. i love you.” - Uncle Bong Japan 8/12/2007 3.09 PM

Just examples of random SMS messages from him that I will no longer receive it seems.

Don’t worry, Dude. I still have your messages and your smile alive and burning clearly in the reddest part of my soul.

I just miss you, that’s all.

And I think about you. Forgive me that.

I love you, you see.

And I’ll go on like this for oh… the rest of my life, most likely. Til I see you again. I expect that great big hug and the giddy rush of heat to my cheeks from your proud pat on my back.


21: You still have that promise to fulfill.
Me: I know. I know. I know I promised him. I’ll do it. Ok?
21: (laughing)
Me: (annoyed) What?
21: Sasha.
It is not your promise to your Uncle.
It is the promise you made to yourself.
The day you were born, when the first breath of air rushed in to fill your lungs, a promise flowed from the earth’s lips and met the one which manifested deep within you on the upon the nanosecond of your creation:
And that promise is what you should keep.
It has been a promise you made to God Himself the moment that he configured your existence.
Me: …Yes.


So now I’m turning 21 in two days. And during the years and mad moments that I’ve encountered and that have encountered me as I write this, somewhere down the road, Life had managed to give me the ride of my life. Upside down and inside out is fun and apparently the ride isn’t over.

There have been more things I haven’t expected to happen that did than those I had foreseen.

I am not the College Graduate I always thought I was going to be at the age of 21.

My family , whom I had lived and grown up with in the same big house the first 14 years of my life is now scattered across the globe.

Two of them, Uncle Bong and Lolo Dad, are now…elsewhere. But hopefully (and I keep my fingers and heartstrings crossed on this one) still watching over us.

I have a thousand manic and mercurial poetry in my books – none of which have yet been properly compiled and sent to a publisher.

I have yet to begin to search for a decent publisher to which I could submit my works to.

I have yet to even begin to burn down my quiet fear and try.

I have not begun to edit and in some cases complete the stories which I have written. (This is bad. And for those who are lucky enough to know their true passion, Having No Time is not a valid excuse.)

I have now come to love World Music more than the popular kind, the ones people had me listening to growing up. Meaning, I love music whose lyrics and beats are set in languages that I don’t verbally understand but which resonates and reverberates within the white of my bones. And shakes my soul to stillness: Italian, French, Cuban, South African, North African, Celtic, Mediterranean, Balinese, every color in the world’s palette have now been painting my soul and writings because of it. (This is one unexpected situation I don’t find myself complaining about so much, if at ALL.)

Maybe this is my way of preparing myself for fulfilling my dream of travelling and discovering the world.

Speaking of which, I am now saving up for that.

I still despise being subjected to other people’s rules.

I have become a cliché. More often now I love to put on the candles, turn off the lights, pour myself a glass of white wine, melt dark chocolate into a cofee mug half filled with almonds, turn on the laptop and turn up the Opera.

God I love opera.


Oh, 21! I am ready for all the mad endeavors and fruitful blessings you will bring.
I’m aware that I have to put out my share on the table.
I will fulfill my promise.
I will take out the old guns, the ones that I thought I have left behind me in a past life.
I will take out the old guns and take a deep dive into the world.
I will not go down.
But I will go enveloped in my own fire and with guns blazing:
Take on the world.

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Llamame Azul.

To hide a passion totally (or even to hide, more simply, its excess) is inconceivable: not because the human subject is too weak. But because passion is, in essence, made to be seen: I want you to know that I am hiding something from you, that is the active paradox I must resolve: at one and the same time it must be known and not known: I want you to know that I don't want to show my feelings: that is the message I address to the other.

- Unknown

Everybody has a Theory.

People think a soul mate is your perfect fit, and that’s what everyone wants. But a true soul mate is a mirror, the person who shows you everything that’s holding you back, the person who brings you to your own attention so you can change your life. A true soul mate is probably the most important person you’ll ever meet, because they tear down your walls and smack you awake. But to live with a soul mate forever? Nah. Too painful. Soul mates, they come into your life just to reveal another layer of yourself to you, and then they leave. And thank God for it.

- from Eat, Pray, Love by Elizabeth Gilbert