On the Edges of Reason

Posted: March 6, 2006 in Uncategorized

Serendipity is probably playing a big joke on me when I happened to chance upon a three year old journal tucked in one of the large travelling bags I hid somewhere in my room. I was cringing while reading some of the corny passages until I stumbled upon this entry. This is for you. You, whom I haven’t found yet. (But eventually I will find you. Soon. Soon.)

You who sits in the corners of my heart, just on the edges of reason.

Story 1st Draft (June 2003)

My first memory of you comes with the sea breeze one night in Hayahay Café in Dumaguete, a haven where the lonely can find space in bottled epiphanies and laughter mixed with strains of bossa nova and reggae. You are dancing with the beat of the bongos played by a small group of local musicians wearing dread locks; in your hand is a bottle of red horse almost empty. You looked quite the local if not for your face that often gives you away. Despite your continued attempts to tan yourself golden, your sandy blond hair would stand out in the midst tonight as it glisten in yellow twilight under the disco lights. When one gets the courage to look closer, one can see your eyes—blue as the ocean in summer. They talk, your eyes. They tell stories, secrets untold from the West. Forbidden. You don’t belong among us, my musician friend said, half-jokingly. You’re just one of them kanos who’s here to have a good time, someone retorted with emphasis on the “good time.” You’re just one of them, Western men, Amboys, who aren’t scared to make a fool of themselves and get drunk with the night’s breeze.
Intoxication isn’t your best hobby, you said. Having fun is. But for tonight you’d rather not think about politeness especially when you have to dance with me.
I told you it isn’t right for me to be seen with you. I hope you’d understand. You said you don’t understand why I couldn’t spare one dance and stared me in the eye as though you wanted to find out if I was telling the truth. You don’t understand and you never will, I suppose. The night is young and there’s so much to say without these people around us. They stare at us like we are dolls in a case—judging our every move, making notes here and there.
You shake your head, wrapped your arms around me and just drew me close to you without saying a word. I almost fainted.

It is often difficult for a writer like me to be reading entries or first drafts written a few years back and still be able find something worthy about them. Oftentimes, I feel like what I have written in the past are samples of my immaturity as a writer (not that I now consider myself as having grown). But this entry holds a different meaning now considering the present circumstance that I am in. I find that I have started to create a world outside myself. A world that I am now beginnning to enjoy visiting from time to time.

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