So I'm up too early on a Sunday because I was inspired to write and because I realized I finally have a plan.
Good morning, monsters! Happy Halloween!
Saturday, October 30, 2010
When Inspiration (and Evil Plans) Strike
Your weight pressed heavy on my chest. It was getting difficult to breathe. Do it. It's 6 am. Wake up. It's too early for this. Now. Okay, okay.
Which One are YOU?
- I think about you more than I would want to. You make me smile a lot. Do I make you smile too? :)
- I wanted to tell you something. I needed you. You didn't care.
- Good job, you!
- I love you. I love you. I love you.
- You are freaking ugly.
- Did you ever consider how I'd feel?
- I'm yours. :)
- I miss you terribly, terribly, terribly.
- I want to see you.
- I need you as much as you need me. Sometimes I feel I need you more.
- Hello, you!
- You cut me deep.
- I miss you too.
- You're so near yet so far.
- You scare me.
- I don't understand you.
- You and I have a long overdue date.
- Why'd you even ask me if you wanted me to say no?
- You amaze me. I don't even know you, but you amaze me.
- You deserve another line because in between #1 and #20, you entered my mind too many times. :)
because I'm such a wuss.
No More Tears
Maybe there is some truth to it.
We all go around, trying to look for people who will be there when we need them. We desperately reach out to people who don't give a damn, when in reality, we know very well who will listen and will know exactly what to say.
I don't have to run that far next time. You are just a phone call away. You're all I need. :)
Why do you know exactly how I feel? Why do know how to shut me up the right way?
We all go around, trying to look for people who will be there when we need them. We desperately reach out to people who don't give a damn, when in reality, we know very well who will listen and will know exactly what to say.
I don't have to run that far next time. You are just a phone call away. You're all I need. :)
Why do you know exactly how I feel? Why do know how to shut me up the right way?
This Morning
It's surreal to be riding bikes with you at sunrise.
So you're unofficially broken up. Now what?
You know exactly how to pick me up when I'm feeling way too low.
Tuesday, October 26, 2010
Bursts of Happiness
are we always going to be secret weekend-ers? i don't think i'd mind at all.
always.
ily.
Someday, I hope to find someone who will not only be there on weekends, but especially on weekdays when I feel like crap and I'm jaded and uninspired. How long must I wait? Why can't you be the one?
Sunday, October 24, 2010
On Coffee Cups (2005)
my first and last radio storytelling gig. :)
She has no name. Or at least, it was unknown to me. She’s one of those people whom you knew by face because she went to the places you went to and hung out with the people you knew, but never had a name to go with the familiar face.
I’ve asked her for a light a couple of times already. In fact, I’ve even had more decent conversations with her than most of the people I knew. My friends know her. I never really had the guts to ask her what her name was. Sometimes I’m just too chicken. Or maybe it was because it felt like we knew each other so well that it was quite queer for me to ask.
It’s not like I’ve never tried to get hold of her name. I’ve tried remembering who introduced us, or how we met each other, and tried to dig up anything that would sound like her name. But it feels like I’ve known her forever that I don’t even remember the day we met—not because it was unimportant to remember, but because it’s as if we’ve known each other for so long. And it just simply fascinates me how I can know someone so well, but at the same time, not know the most basic detail about her.
I had coffee with her and my friends this afternoon. Of course, there were no introductions—we were almost together as a barkada. Barkadas don’t need introductions. She sat there and laughed at my jokes and listened to my stories. I looked into her eyes and realized that she knew me by face, and she knew my name. I felt every bit guilty for not knowing enough, for knowing too little.
She wasn’t beautiful. But she was fascinating. There was always something about her I could never understand. The way she laughed, the way she spoke and the way she looked at things differently—these are just some of the things that got me lost in awe when we were together.
Today, as she drank her coffee, she made fun of her haircut, which according to her looked so Bon Jovi. Eliza breaks into laughter as she pulled her ponytail and let her insanely layered do fall into an almost retro mess.
“I’ll never let a gay hairdresser touch my hair again,” she laughed.
“Don’t worry, it’ll grow back,” the other girls told her.
Her hair did look like Bon Jovi’s hair back in the 80’s. It was crazy.
While they tried to contain their laughter, I watched her gentle bangs fall over her left eye. I watched her pull her hair back again into her disguising ponytail to show off the pair of chandelier earrings she borrowed from Eliza. After she made Eliza take her picture, she smiled at me and giggled. I stopped staring.
Then she stopped clowning around and reached out to Eliza.
“I need human contact,” she said in a small voice. She kissed Angela on the cheek and tried to cuddle up with her.
“I need a hug!”
She was a child. She wasn’t needy or clingy, like some people thought she was. Or on the other hand, maybe she was, because children are clingy and needy—and she was still a child. Can anyone else see that child in her?
“Do you think I’m weird?” She asked me with a laugh. “I need warmth.”
I smiled back and shook my head. I wondered why she’d need warmth when we were in a cozy coffee shop and it was such a warm afternoon outside. Maybe I was too shallow to understand the warmth she was looking for.
She took Margaret’s hand and snuggled closer. Then she talked about death as casually as we would talk about gossip. She made it seem as if it was as normal as breathing, or rain, or love. She was one of those people who died little deaths everyday. She dies when she wants to and at her own pace because after all, she gets born when she feels like it, anyway. She was too melodramatic, but she was optimistic. Maybe she just remembers too much. I remember how she speaks of years of memories as if they all happened yesterday.
I must have been staring at her again, because she suddenly pointed at her coffee cup for me to look at.
“Look,” she said, “all my name’s worth is a measly paper cup with cold coffee.”
She pouted then she looked at me with really sad eyes. Her stare burned my heart. It scorned me for not knowing her name.
“It’s sad,” she told me. She closed her hands around her paper cup then she pushed it towards me.
And then I realized how silly I was for not looking at the name scrawled on her paper cup. I took her cup and looked at it. I held her name in my hands. M-I-K-A. The messy letters made out her name. It was ironically shocking and expected at the same time. I looked at the glass panel beside me and her faint reflection stared back at me. My nameless fascination, whose name is worth nothing but a paper cup, looked at me with my own eyes. She has always been me. And I’ve always been her.
She has no name. Or at least, it was unknown to me. She’s one of those people whom you knew by face because she went to the places you went to and hung out with the people you knew, but never had a name to go with the familiar face.
I’ve asked her for a light a couple of times already. In fact, I’ve even had more decent conversations with her than most of the people I knew. My friends know her. I never really had the guts to ask her what her name was. Sometimes I’m just too chicken. Or maybe it was because it felt like we knew each other so well that it was quite queer for me to ask.
It’s not like I’ve never tried to get hold of her name. I’ve tried remembering who introduced us, or how we met each other, and tried to dig up anything that would sound like her name. But it feels like I’ve known her forever that I don’t even remember the day we met—not because it was unimportant to remember, but because it’s as if we’ve known each other for so long. And it just simply fascinates me how I can know someone so well, but at the same time, not know the most basic detail about her.
I had coffee with her and my friends this afternoon. Of course, there were no introductions—we were almost together as a barkada. Barkadas don’t need introductions. She sat there and laughed at my jokes and listened to my stories. I looked into her eyes and realized that she knew me by face, and she knew my name. I felt every bit guilty for not knowing enough, for knowing too little.
She wasn’t beautiful. But she was fascinating. There was always something about her I could never understand. The way she laughed, the way she spoke and the way she looked at things differently—these are just some of the things that got me lost in awe when we were together.
Today, as she drank her coffee, she made fun of her haircut, which according to her looked so Bon Jovi. Eliza breaks into laughter as she pulled her ponytail and let her insanely layered do fall into an almost retro mess.
“I’ll never let a gay hairdresser touch my hair again,” she laughed.
“Don’t worry, it’ll grow back,” the other girls told her.
Her hair did look like Bon Jovi’s hair back in the 80’s. It was crazy.
While they tried to contain their laughter, I watched her gentle bangs fall over her left eye. I watched her pull her hair back again into her disguising ponytail to show off the pair of chandelier earrings she borrowed from Eliza. After she made Eliza take her picture, she smiled at me and giggled. I stopped staring.
Then she stopped clowning around and reached out to Eliza.
“I need human contact,” she said in a small voice. She kissed Angela on the cheek and tried to cuddle up with her.
“I need a hug!”
She was a child. She wasn’t needy or clingy, like some people thought she was. Or on the other hand, maybe she was, because children are clingy and needy—and she was still a child. Can anyone else see that child in her?
“Do you think I’m weird?” She asked me with a laugh. “I need warmth.”
I smiled back and shook my head. I wondered why she’d need warmth when we were in a cozy coffee shop and it was such a warm afternoon outside. Maybe I was too shallow to understand the warmth she was looking for.
She took Margaret’s hand and snuggled closer. Then she talked about death as casually as we would talk about gossip. She made it seem as if it was as normal as breathing, or rain, or love. She was one of those people who died little deaths everyday. She dies when she wants to and at her own pace because after all, she gets born when she feels like it, anyway. She was too melodramatic, but she was optimistic. Maybe she just remembers too much. I remember how she speaks of years of memories as if they all happened yesterday.
I must have been staring at her again, because she suddenly pointed at her coffee cup for me to look at.
“Look,” she said, “all my name’s worth is a measly paper cup with cold coffee.”
She pouted then she looked at me with really sad eyes. Her stare burned my heart. It scorned me for not knowing her name.
“It’s sad,” she told me. She closed her hands around her paper cup then she pushed it towards me.
And then I realized how silly I was for not looking at the name scrawled on her paper cup. I took her cup and looked at it. I held her name in my hands. M-I-K-A. The messy letters made out her name. It was ironically shocking and expected at the same time. I looked at the glass panel beside me and her faint reflection stared back at me. My nameless fascination, whose name is worth nothing but a paper cup, looked at me with my own eyes. She has always been me. And I’ve always been her.
My Personal Rainclouds
There are people whose sole purpose in life is to rain on your parade. Whether you like it or not, they loom over you, conveniently waiting to drench you when you least expect it. They're not necessarily enemies--sometimes, they're closer than we'd like them to be.
I work with two of my personal rainclouds--as if the stresses of the daily grind ain't enough, they pounce on me like wild tigers, ready to attack at the slightest sign of happiness.
I think I deserve to be happy, even if they won't let me be. Everyone deserves to be happy, it's just plainly difficult for some people to see me happy. Ally McBeal once said that she wasn't equipped to be happy. My rainclouds aren't equipped to see me happy. I think it comforts them to see me annoyed, stressed or sad. We all need something constant in our lives. I"m that constant thing in their lives.
Well, no matter how dark my rainclouds are, I gotta live with them. Can't really do anything about it. I guess I just have to be eternally ready with an umbrella and rainboots. :) It's always fun jumping in mudpuddles, anyway.
Bring it on, my personal rainclouds, I'm ready for you this time. :)
I work with two of my personal rainclouds--as if the stresses of the daily grind ain't enough, they pounce on me like wild tigers, ready to attack at the slightest sign of happiness.
I think I deserve to be happy, even if they won't let me be. Everyone deserves to be happy, it's just plainly difficult for some people to see me happy. Ally McBeal once said that she wasn't equipped to be happy. My rainclouds aren't equipped to see me happy. I think it comforts them to see me annoyed, stressed or sad. We all need something constant in our lives. I"m that constant thing in their lives.
Well, no matter how dark my rainclouds are, I gotta live with them. Can't really do anything about it. I guess I just have to be eternally ready with an umbrella and rainboots. :) It's always fun jumping in mudpuddles, anyway.
Bring it on, my personal rainclouds, I'm ready for you this time. :)
Saturday, October 23, 2010
halfway through 25
i am almost halfway through being 25. I used to think 25 was so old. Now that I'm 25, i feel like i haven't really accomplished anything yet--so I take that back, 25 isn't that old.
today, i am promising myself to visit the following places before i turn 26.
today, i am promising myself to visit the following places before i turn 26.
- Baguio
- Manaoag
- Ilocos
then, right before i'm 30, i'd like to go to NYC, please. :)
Saturday, October 16, 2010
project 365
I've been wanting to start a project 365 for months now. To practice my photography, I wanted to start a P-a-D (picture a day) project, but i realized how overly boring my daily routine is, so I really won't get much practice in taking pictures.
A few days ago, a friend told me to start a writing project 365--write something everyday. I guess that'd work, since my creative juices have long dried out. But my monsters are so much bigger than I am (writer's block, un-inspiration, cliche, being boring) that I'm a little afraid to start.
Hmmmm....what to do now?
A few days ago, a friend told me to start a writing project 365--write something everyday. I guess that'd work, since my creative juices have long dried out. But my monsters are so much bigger than I am (writer's block, un-inspiration, cliche, being boring) that I'm a little afraid to start.
Hmmmm....what to do now?
Friday, October 15, 2010
Gravity
originally titled For Planet Moon from Island Star, January 24, 2007
I hate the way it's always you
and it's never me.
But i hate it more
when it starts to be me
and it
stops
to be you.
I hate the way you push me away
while i desperately try to pull myself towards you.
That's not how gravity works--
you're supposed to pull me closer.
I hate the way i hear you whisper
but you never hear me scream.
I hate the way you let me hear
but won't let me listen.
I hate the way i start with words,words,words
and more words
and you end everything
with a period.
I hate the way it's always you
and it's never me.
But i hate it more
when it starts to be me
and it
stops
to be you.
I hate the way you push me away
while i desperately try to pull myself towards you.
That's not how gravity works--
you're supposed to pull me closer.
I hate the way i hear you whisper
but you never hear me scream.
I hate the way you let me hear
but won't let me listen.
I hate the way i start with words,words,words
and more words
and you end everything
with a period.
No "I Love You" Back?
On my way up the third floor, a student says "Hi Teacher, Bye! I love you!"
And hastily, I answered, "Bye! Take care!" I meant every word sincerely, mind you. And my student asks me, "No I love you back?"
"I love you! But you know that already, right?" I asked.
"Yeah," she answers. "Take care, too! Bye!"
Thursday, October 14, 2010
New Love
You told me, it's time that I should be happy even without you--open myself to new love.
How do I open myself to new love, when love knows no other name but you?
ssshhhh.
Wednesday, October 13, 2010
Ho Ho Hos make me cry (sometimes)
73 days before Christmas.
Someday at Christmas men won't be boys
Playing with bombs like kids play with toys
One warm December our hearts will see
A world where men are free
Someday at Christmas there'll be no wars
When we have learned what Christmas is for
When we have found what life's really worth
There'll be peace on earth
Someday all our dreams will come to be
Someday in a world where men are free
Maybe not in time for you and me
But someday at Christmastime
Someday at Christmas we'll see a land
With no hungry children, no empty hand
One happy morning people will share
Our world where people care
Someday at Christmas there'll be no tears
All men are equal and no men have fears
One shinning moment, one prayer away
From our world today
Someday all our dreams will come to be
Someday in a world where men are free
Maybe not in time for you and me
But someday at Christmastime
Someday at Christmas man will not fail
Take hope because your love will prevail
Someday a new world that we can start
With hope in every heart
Someday all our dreams will come to be
Someday in a world where men are free
Maybe not in time for you and me
But someday at Christmastime
Someday at Christmastime
I listened to Christmas songs this morning. I just needed to have a dose of happiness--just to remind me that there's always something to look forward to. Someday, when I'm really old and gray, I'd love to have a rocking chair and I will listen to Christmas songs even if it's June (and I'll dream of finally spending Christmas with Pablo). At least I'll always have Christmas.
Speaking of Christmas, here's a shameless wishlist for any willing Santas:
- I Wanna Be Your Shoebox (it's a book, i forgot who the author is, but I do know it's published by Knopf)
- A Stargirl Journal (because I do want to write again)
- Today I Will by Jerry and Eileen Spinelli
a boyfriend- red sneakers!
- a good movie date
- Lafcadio the Lion by Shel Silverstein
- a trip to Baguio. :)
- a new lunchbox
- a nice, big, roomy bag.
Or you can give me an early Christmas gift and give me a Gin Blossoms concert ticket. :D
Please?
I'm asking for books because books are so expensive--and I've realized that even if I can spend a whole day inside a bookstore, I am just too lazy to find specific titles. I like browsing but I absolutely hate going through all the shelves just to find a book.
Methinks I have to do some work now so I can go to sleep. Good night everyone!
But before I go, this song made me really sad early today. But it's a perfect song to remind someone of keeping the faith. AND HOPE.
"Someday at Christmas"
Someday at Christmas men won't be boys
Playing with bombs like kids play with toys
One warm December our hearts will see
A world where men are free
Someday at Christmas there'll be no wars
When we have learned what Christmas is for
When we have found what life's really worth
There'll be peace on earth
Someday all our dreams will come to be
Someday in a world where men are free
Maybe not in time for you and me
But someday at Christmastime
Someday at Christmas we'll see a land
With no hungry children, no empty hand
One happy morning people will share
Our world where people care
Someday at Christmas there'll be no tears
All men are equal and no men have fears
One shinning moment, one prayer away
From our world today
Someday all our dreams will come to be
Someday in a world where men are free
Maybe not in time for you and me
But someday at Christmastime
Someday at Christmas man will not fail
Take hope because your love will prevail
Someday a new world that we can start
With hope in every heart
Someday all our dreams will come to be
Someday in a world where men are free
Maybe not in time for you and me
But someday at Christmastime
Someday at Christmastime
Tuesday, October 12, 2010
Romancing the Rain
because it rained today. and because i miss you.
Sometimes,
under the rain,
I feel as if
I'm the only one
getting soaked.
Around me, umbrellas are opened...
then shared
with love-halves.
Locked in an embrace
of jackets or coats,
They are one.
and warm.
As they walk around me,
all cozy and dry,
I keep my head down,
and slowly disapper.
I guess I just wasn't made, for this world of lovers
and romantic rain.
Sometimes,
under the rain,
I feel as if
I'm the only one
getting soaked.
Around me, umbrellas are opened...
then shared
with love-halves.
Locked in an embrace
of jackets or coats,
They are one.
and warm.
As they walk around me,
all cozy and dry,
I keep my head down,
and slowly disapper.
I guess I just wasn't made, for this world of lovers
and romantic rain.
Put a D After Love
When you say "I love you",
put a d after love.
because in that D, we might just find
perhaps the only truth
in those three little words.
It's not anymore a matter of
what I was
or what you were
or even what we weren't.
The only thing that matters, really,
is that we both get through this
as YOU
and as ME.
Stop looking for the US
that we believe (again, with a D after it) in.
Let's put this behind us
Bury it somewhere
(we pray) no one will ever find.
Perhaps this secret is the only thing
we can ever share.
Let's not refuse ourselves the D that we need.
We need to hear it, perhaps for closure,
perhaps to assure ourselves
that you and i are just part of each other's histories,
perhaps because we crave for the truth
that whatever it was,
it just really needs a d after it.
put a d after love.
because in that D, we might just find
perhaps the only truth
in those three little words.
It's not anymore a matter of
what I was
or what you were
or even what we weren't.
The only thing that matters, really,
is that we both get through this
as YOU
and as ME.
Stop looking for the US
that we believe (again, with a D after it) in.
Let's put this behind us
Bury it somewhere
(we pray) no one will ever find.
Perhaps this secret is the only thing
we can ever share.
Let's not refuse ourselves the D that we need.
We need to hear it, perhaps for closure,
perhaps to assure ourselves
that you and i are just part of each other's histories,
perhaps because we crave for the truth
that whatever it was,
it just really needs a d after it.
(Un) Love Letter
I hate you. It's 8 pm and instead of working on my 2 reports, I am writing you this letter. You are in the way of my plans of becoming a responsible adult. I hate you.
Anyway, I just wanted to tell you that my dreams have finally transitioned to realistic ones with the stresses of work haunting me even in my sleep. I guess that's better than dreaming about you (or us) in fairy tale mode. Bitter dreams are better than impossible ones.
(I miss dreaming about you though.)
But, I realized that you are the culmination of all my dreams--both the good ones and the bad. You are the dream I don't want to wake up from, the kind that keeps you in bed until you realize that you're late for work. You are also the nightmare that I can't seem to wake up from, the kind that tightens your chest and makes you jump up, grasping for air.
You are that moment between dreaming and waking up. Sadly, it's never a choice between those two. I wake up every morning and drag myself to where I should be. It's just fucking sad that while you are those two moments, you are now neither in my dream nor in my reality.
I miss you.
Anyway, I just wanted to tell you that my dreams have finally transitioned to realistic ones with the stresses of work haunting me even in my sleep. I guess that's better than dreaming about you (or us) in fairy tale mode. Bitter dreams are better than impossible ones.
(I miss dreaming about you though.)
But, I realized that you are the culmination of all my dreams--both the good ones and the bad. You are the dream I don't want to wake up from, the kind that keeps you in bed until you realize that you're late for work. You are also the nightmare that I can't seem to wake up from, the kind that tightens your chest and makes you jump up, grasping for air.
You are that moment between dreaming and waking up. Sadly, it's never a choice between those two. I wake up every morning and drag myself to where I should be. It's just fucking sad that while you are those two moments, you are now neither in my dream nor in my reality.
I miss you.
15 years from now (a letter to my princes and roses)
Because I'm missing you everyday, I am reposting my letter to you. I hope someday you will stumble upon it and remember how fun it was to be 7.
15 years from now, I hope that contrary to what you think, I will still be alive.
15 years from now, I would love to find out that one of you became a teacher. Don't forget to get in touch with me so you can tell me about your Student Stories--let's compare notes.
15 years from now, you would have forgotten all about our adventures, and you would have gone farther than I could take you. But I hope you will always remember to pack away before you leave, to stay with your buddy, and to explore, explore, explore.
15 years from now, you would have a different idea of fun, but I hope you still make an effort to make all your Fridays a Fun, Fun, Friday.
15 years from now, you will no longer be big kids, you will be adults. But I hope you will still be polite, you still listen all the time and you still think of others.
15 years from now, our Door Monitor will no longer be a door monitor, but I hope you will still open and close the door for the girls.
15 years from now, you will no longer be looking up and waiting for me, but I hope you will all find someone whom you will wait for with the same loving anticipation.
15 years from now, I hope you still know where the Art Room is.
15 years from now, you may have forgotten the Little Prince already. Pick up a copy and read it again. I hope you hear my laughter when you read it.
15 years from now, people will fall in love with your perfect smiles. I fell in love with your toothless grins.
15 years from now, you cover your mouth when you sneeze, you don't talk when your mouth is full, you don't announce to everyone that you farted and you say excuse me when you burp. I HOPE.
15 years from now, you spell your words properly and all your full stops are in place. PLEASE.
15 years from now, I hope you still remember to say "Please" and "Thank You."
15 years from now, I hope some of you end up together. Invite me to your wedding.
15 years from now, the yellow belts you earned in Taekwondo may have long been promoted to black ones--but the yellow ones will always be my favourite, because your yellow belt parade was the most beautiful I've ever seen.
15 years from now is still a pretty long time. But 15 years from now, I would love to see you again and tell you how happy you made me today. Lunch was fun because you sat around me and shared your food and stories. You made my heart smile when you were all busy making our invitations--you all worked so hard and so well on those invites! I could have stayed in that moment when you were all colouring our banner--giving each other turns and cheering each other on. You were taking care of each other and loving each other without knowing it, without making it known. I hope you still do that, 15 years from now.
15 years from now, I hope that contrary to what you think, I will still be alive.
15 years from now, I would love to find out that one of you became a teacher. Don't forget to get in touch with me so you can tell me about your Student Stories--let's compare notes.
15 years from now, you would have forgotten all about our adventures, and you would have gone farther than I could take you. But I hope you will always remember to pack away before you leave, to stay with your buddy, and to explore, explore, explore.
15 years from now, you would have a different idea of fun, but I hope you still make an effort to make all your Fridays a Fun, Fun, Friday.
15 years from now, you will no longer be big kids, you will be adults. But I hope you will still be polite, you still listen all the time and you still think of others.
15 years from now, our Door Monitor will no longer be a door monitor, but I hope you will still open and close the door for the girls.
15 years from now, you will no longer be looking up and waiting for me, but I hope you will all find someone whom you will wait for with the same loving anticipation.
15 years from now, I hope you still know where the Art Room is.
15 years from now, you may have forgotten the Little Prince already. Pick up a copy and read it again. I hope you hear my laughter when you read it.
15 years from now, people will fall in love with your perfect smiles. I fell in love with your toothless grins.
15 years from now, you cover your mouth when you sneeze, you don't talk when your mouth is full, you don't announce to everyone that you farted and you say excuse me when you burp. I HOPE.
15 years from now, you spell your words properly and all your full stops are in place. PLEASE.
15 years from now, I hope you still remember to say "Please" and "Thank You."
15 years from now, I hope some of you end up together. Invite me to your wedding.
15 years from now, the yellow belts you earned in Taekwondo may have long been promoted to black ones--but the yellow ones will always be my favourite, because your yellow belt parade was the most beautiful I've ever seen.
15 years from now is still a pretty long time. But 15 years from now, I would love to see you again and tell you how happy you made me today. Lunch was fun because you sat around me and shared your food and stories. You made my heart smile when you were all busy making our invitations--you all worked so hard and so well on those invites! I could have stayed in that moment when you were all colouring our banner--giving each other turns and cheering each other on. You were taking care of each other and loving each other without knowing it, without making it known. I hope you still do that, 15 years from now.
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