Tag Archives: throwback

Here’s to the Invisibles…

It’s cold outside…..

Everyone can see it’s been raining….

Everyone has something to say about the weather…..

Something good, something bad, a complaint, an appreciation…..


The windows still have dripping rivulets…..


On the window box in one of the ordinary houses along the streets

Sits a lone soul, a solitary soul

That has been watching the rain fall, drop by drop

As it formed little streams along the street…..

Drawing parallels to the many other little drops it hides

This here lonely soul, craving affection

Comparing the flowing streams in the streets

With those flowing down its face…….


The ordinary people living in the street come out, finally

And the little lonely soul watches,

Watches as the children play in the puddles……

As the boys whip out their boards……..

As the girls sit in groups and gossip…….

As the adults sit in the porches and relax……..

Another tear, this time big and heavy, rolls out…..

And splashes on the attic’s worn wooden rocker

Paving way for more….

And more……..


And more……..


This little lonely soul,

Clinging to what once was…..

When it was visible, alive…..

Hoping to be seen…..


Maybe loved……

To mingle……

To feel the rain, the sun, the snow…..

To smell the rain, taste it

In the company of another…..

To join the rest…..


To stop being lonely….




Yes little soul…..

That’s the attic door…..

Another child walks in, a little boy….

The soul leaps……





……*harder wave*……..

……*frantic wave*……..

……*sad sigh*……..

…….*resignation to fate*……


“I’m always gonna be invisible….

Nobody sees me…..

Nobody understands me…….”


What the whole world doesn’t see and understand

Is that this very invisibility

This loneliness…..


was the reason this little soul

stopped being a little boy…..


Life was taking too much

So he took his…..


……and now, it was exacting its revenge.

CTS 2010


I Need To Go

“Please explain it to me. I don’t understand.”
“I… I…. It’s rather hard to …. To….. I dunno…”
“C’mon! There’s gotta be something… an explanation…. A reason why you just woke up someday and decided to end this…”
“I told you I can’t tell, really – it just – just doesn’t…”
“Doesn’t what? Doesn’t feel right?”
“Ummm… not exactly…”
“Come on! What’s with the unsure act? You told me it’s something you do, but I’m starting to think you’re using it as a shield… to – to hide…. Look at me! Look me in the eye!” As he said this, she turned her head away to hide her tearing. “LOOK AT ME!” he yelled, jerking her head so she was facing him directly. “Tearing now, are we? Aren’t you a special one…” he mocked, in part to hide his surprise at her state.
“Nick… I – I need to go. Let go.”
“leaving already?”
“Like hell you’re leaving. You’ve still got a lot to answer, THEN you can leave.”
“Nick please…”
“Answer me Toni! Doesn’t what?!”
“Nick, it’s complicated. I already told you. Just… just…” Her voice faded as she felt a huge tear roll down her left cheek. “Please,” she whispered.
Nick let go of her and looked on in disbelief. She was looking at the ground, arms clasped together, biting her lower lip towards the left side. He’d been with her long enough to recognize that look, although recognition and acceptance were two different things altogether.
“Okay Toni, talk to me. Please. Help me understand why.”
Silence, another tear.
“What did I do wrong?”
“Is there someone else?”
Nick was getting desperate. She knew this but… At this question, she actually semi-rolled her eyes through the tears. This was getting hopeless… She couldn’t speak, what could she say anyway? That she didn’t have a solid, speakable reason as to why she was leaving a perfect guy? He would deny that, say he is flawed, but he was perfect for her. Perfect. What would she say? That it was right, it felt – even looked right, but something in her gut told her to walk out? He was desperate, she was frustrated, so she raised her face and looked him in the eye. Directly. The gaze lasted long, then she raised her palm to his cheek oh-so-gently and held his face, using her fingertips to explore it one last time and to commit him to memory. Then she turned and ran, hailing the first taxi she met.
She had told him, in her own way she had.

So I found this when going through my old pieces… I really wish I had finished it. It should have made for an interesting read, but unfortunately, it is all we have for now.

Peace and love

Twin Crushes??

I am willing to bet that everyone who will read this post has had a crush at one point or another. Several, actually. And we can all relate with the feeling, how those butterflies come unbidden when you see the object of your affections, how you swoon, how you build an entire kingdom of castles in the air thinking about being together and how much fun that will be… Yah? Crushes are awesome, very good, wonderful, even. And then they die a natural death, or he gets a girl and your heart breaks into a million pieces for all of 3 days before you get a rebound crush, or something. Note, I’m talking about crushes today, not relationships. Crushes. Infatuations.
What happens when you develop a crush on identical twins? You don’t really know them yet, so you cannot exactly tell the difference between them, but you like one of them. Am I the only one who has gone through this? Something happened within the past week that reminded me of an incident like this that took place a while back. I was 13, and thoroughly in like with a guy who had an identical twin. Then, it was easy for me to tell them apart because they had only their looks in common, everything else was very different. One of them was the cool guy, he hung out with cool guys, he had cool clothes, girls liked him a lot. The one I liked was more reserved, chill, quiet-ish, simple – just how I like my guys. His acne had also checked in earlier than his brother’s (I’m not even sure if he developed it eventually, will explain why), but that didn’t matter to me, he was very kind and nice – you know? Personality. Inner beauty. That stuff.
I never really spoke to any of them, at least not at length… But my mother knew their father. Not that it changed anything anyway… and the only close interaction (and by close I mean in terms of proximity) I ever had with any of them was one day when we had a class retreat with our parents and teachers and got divided into teams, and I was in the same team with one of them, I think. The details of that day are a bit fuzzy. So yes, I had this debilitating crush on Adam for that entire year, and it died because we finished primary school and I went to a boarding high school and they disappeared off the face of the earth entirely – which is why I cannot say for certain whether John’s acne ever came knocking. I never saw any of them for the four years I was in high school.
Fast forward four years, and I bumped into one of them. We were 18 then, and the moment I saw those big eyes I was transported back in time to the days I couldn’t say a single word around any of them. We participated in a volunteering program together, and even then I couldn’t speak more than muttered hellos, because I was crushing again. However, this time, I wasn’t sure who was who… There was no acne, no brother to contrast with, and he was cool, calm, collected. Because I wanted to, I guess, my mind decided that this was the guy, after four years, ergo second chance. Rekindled crush. For another while, I revisited those early days every now and then (I know, right?????), until I had to move on. Because it was pretty silly, I said.
Again, fast forward another four years, to last week. I was doing my rounds on facebook, and I find a post by him with a few people tagged in it. I recognized the name of his twin and decided to check out how he was doing, and you can imagine my surprise when I discovered that the revisited crush in the previous paragraph was directed at the wrong twin!!!! Mortification!!!!! I didn’t even know where to start, I still don’t… but at least now I can see some humor in it. Which brings me to the question that had me writing this post in the first place… What happens when you develop a crush on identical twins you cannot as yet tell apart?
P.S. Adam is not his real name 😛

Red Letter Day 2

Heys! (is that even correct?)

As I promised, here’s the second part of Red Letter Day, hope you enjoyed part 1! 🙂 Feedback is always appreciated :).

Scarlet balled her fists in frustration. For years now, all she had been getting from Christopher were vague descriptions in his emails, and he no longer sent photos. He had this uncanny way of going around her questions when they talked on the phone, and had even stopped switching on the webcam when he called. She wondered why she had been holding on to a failing long-distance romance, and gave up on it finally, for good. That day, after a particularly nasty phone call, she decided that she’d had it. She went all out and crazy, getting a total makeover. The mouse went dark – she dyed her hair scarlet, like her name, had her ears pierced, and got a bull ring. And, of course, make up to complete the dark look.
The Pablos had been at a friend’s house, having a blast. Little Pablo was now seven and looked more like his father each passing day. As he bade his friends goodbye, he got into their car and waited for his papa to finish talking with his friends. Pablo Sr. came to the car still smiling at the invitation by his friend Jotham to his nephews’ birthday party – the twenty first, coming-of-age kinda party. Little Pablo soon got caught up in the excitement too, and he watched this particular pot for the entire week until it finally bubbled over. Sunday night came and the two gentlemen, or man and boy, if you please, got out their party gear and hopped onto papa’s black Harley, zooming all the way to the party venue. They paused at the gate to admire the humongous Goliath of a mansion located in the suburbs, only moving when the vehicle behind them hooted impatiently.
The house was already packed, and Little Pablo was sent to the ‘underage’ section, where he found most of his friends already there, playing. The adults partied and danced to the music blaring from the speakers, but none could beat the twins, John and Mark. They danced the hardest, ate the fastest, drank the most and seemed to be having the greatest time. It was their party, after all. Scarlet, now known as just Scarla, sat in a corner, pumping dreary music on her Walkman and wallowing in misery from a broken heart.
Pablo Sr. went to where Jotham was and was soon introduced to JohnMark. Jokes were passed around and they were all having a great time when the pair simultaneously suggested that Pablo try and liven up their sister. Not one to pass up a challenge, Pablo went up and introduced himself to her. No response. Again, his darned personality wouldn’t let him give up, and he continued speaking really nothing in particular, until she muttered something. “What was that?” he asked, and then almost choked when she said it louder. She had just called him a blithering idiot. Blithering! He stood up to leave, when the twins came over and told their sister something in a language he didn’t quite get, but that turned her into a rather good sport. She introduced herself as Scarla, and he was rather amused. He answered her unvoiced question, explaining that his son’s name was Scar.
“Really?” she asked, “And you? I didn’t quite catch yours the first time around…”
“Oh, that’s alright, I’m Pablo. Pleased to meet you.”
They decided to move it outside where they could hear each other better, and got ran into by a riotous crowd of young ones playing some chasing game. Pablo pointed at his son and got her up to speed about the boy, while she just smiled. He understood, everyone always had that smile whenever they saw his boy – the resemblance was unbelievable. As soon as the children ran off to terrorize another section of the grounds, their conversation turned to other matters, and was again soon interrupted by a call. He had to take it, and she didn’t mind it in the least. Whoever was on the other end of the line seemed to be having a hard time believing that he had the right person, and she giggled a little at how he had to repeat severally that yes, it is he. He started making faces at her while he identified himself, and then she froze. He raised a brow in question, which she totally ignored, caught up in something he couldn’t make head or tail of. She then turned, and ran off into the house. Irritated by his caller, he quickly ended the call and went back into the house, looking for her.
The twins told him she had gone off with Jotham and pointed in the direction they had taken, and he went after them. He got to the doorway and heard them speaking in hushed tones. She was upset, and Jotham wasn’t doing a very good job at calming her. He couldn’t hear much of what was said, but he picked up a few words. Ex. It’s him. Calm down… the more he made out, the more he was confused. He leaned back against the wall while he tried to figure out how to enter the room, and then he noticed the family portraits hanging on the opposite wall. The Johannesens were a nice family, photogenic. He moved closer to the photos, focusing on Scarla. Her hair had changed, it seemed to change in the photos as he moved from recent to older ones. At first it became longer… then blonde. Then – holy shit – her eyes changed. She wore contacts? And then – he knew her! He freaking knew her… He knew her!
Scarla stormed away from her uncle – her very young uncle – in a flurry of tears and bumped into Pablo’s back, whose amazement at the photos had led him to stand right in front of the door. He turned and steadied her, and they made eye contact. Hers were full of tears, his were looking for answers. Jotham couldn’t understand what was going on, so he stood in his place and watched. He watched, too stunned, as his friend ordered his niece to take out her contacts, and as the very defiant Scarla obeyed a man she had only just met. And then, even more surprised, if that were possible, as Pablo shed a silent tear. Oblivious to Jotham’s presence, the two stood there still in that awkward steadying position, both transported back to the time when Scarlet had handed Pablo a little boy as she wept, sobs wracking her delicate frame.
“Christopher…” Only one person called Pablo by that name, and when Jotham finally put two and two together, he fainted.

Red Letter Day

Hey guys!

I hope the holidays have been kind to you and yours as they have been to me and mine… This post and the next couple will be throwbacks, I wrote them between 2010 and 2011… This particular one is part 1 of 2, penned in 2010 as a creative writing CAT… 🙂 Hope you enjoy, and feel free to comment!

Mark sat down on his bed, heart still pounding, and let out a sigh of relief. His twin, John, fastened the brass door lock and joined his brother, giggling like an excited schoolgirl. Truth is, they were both very excited. They had just sneaked into Scarlet’s bedroom and stolen her most precious belonging – her diary.
You see, Mark and John were alike as two peas in a pod, and they acted that way. They were forever together, locked up in their bedroom doing everything else except studying. Unruly brown hair topped their heads, falling into their laughing brown eyes full of mischief. So inseparable were they, in fact, that their parents had taken to calling them ‘JohnMark’ whenever they needed either or both of them. A rather interesting pair, they had a knack for finding all sorts of mischief and trouble wherever they went. Like now. Scarlet, on the other hand, was blonde and fair and could very easily have passed for an airhead if not for her horn-rimmed glasses. Quiet as a mouse, she stuck to her books and forever maintained an impeccable order in everything she did or handled.
At sixteen, the pair JohnMark had no business reading a twenty-one year old’s diary, but their classmates had always complained over their alarmingly low levels of maturity. Page after page they flipped, and grew increasingly disappointed that it was written in some kind of code they could not even understand. As they slammed it shut, it somehow managed to slip through their fingers and fell onto their carpet, and all they could do was watch in wide-mouthed horror as the neat binding broke and fell apart. Frantic and panicky, they picked it up and took it to their shared study table, looking for glue to patch it up. It was then that Mark chanced upon a well-worn paper on their messy carpet.
He picked it up and unfolded it oh so carefully, with trembling fingers and bated breath. Surprised by his brother’s silence, John turned around and then walked up to Mark, anxious. He too got enveloped in the air of mystery and sat down slowly next to Mark. They read the letter, word for word, then turned to look at each other, stupefied. Who could have known that the dear egghead they had for a sister would have this big a secret to keep? Pieces started falling into place – things about her general demeanor that had never made sense now seemed clearer. So that’s what had happened during her one and a half year overseas trip? “We have to return this,” John whispered.
Scarlet walked into her room and flopped onto her four poster bed, exhausted. She was too tired to notice that the lamp she always kept to the left of her table was on the right, or to even see the twins clinging to each other in one corner, petrified. She fell into a deep sleep almost immediately, giving them the opportunity to flee unnoticed.
In another seaside village thousands of miles away, little Pablo played with his Abuelo, oblivious to the fast approaching storm. When his papa called him in, he ran to his knee and demanded for a story that would engage his soon-to-be-three-year-old mind while the storm raged. His papa, a fine young man, was glad to oblige, and soon the two of them were lost fighting dragons and rescuing princesses. Abuelo watched silently and gave a wan smile in appreciation of his son’s and grandson’s resemblance. Little Pablo took after his papa in all senses, from the name to the thick, black hair, dark bouncing eyes, elegant nails better suited to nobility than their lowly fisherman status, and that million dollar, breathtaking smile.
After Papa Pablo had tucked his boy in, he came back to the porch and watched his father watch the rain as it fell over the ocean. He then spoke up and told his father of his plans to leave the village and go work elsewhere, taking his son with him to go see the world. He got into a detailed explanation designed to counter his father’s arguments even before he raised them, and was surprised when his father agreed with him, saying that that boy deserved far much more than their village ever could give him. So without further ado, plans were made for the two to leave their sleepy village.

The Refusal

Give up.

That’s what everybody seems to tell me these days… To give up. On all this… And you would think that after three years, time really is nigh to do so. But I refuse to give up, because I do not want to. I’ll stick to my guns, stubborn as I can, because that is still a much better option than letting go.

I do not want to let go, how could I? I was young, I was foolish, I think I still am both, but less young, and hopefully less foolish as well… Although if refusing to let go were the epitome of foolishness, then I would gladly be more foolish than I was then, even and up to the most foolish person in the world.

I remember, the analogy of falling as diving into a pool filled with molten chocolate, and you daring me to jump in. I did, and it was as glorious as the literal implication of the analogy, swimming in chocolate. As I would imagine all those yummy strawberry desserts feel. And we had fun, we played in the rain, stared into each other’s eyes in the mirrors lining the walls of that dingy joint we had our coffee at…. I remember everything, just as Bryan Adams sings, and I would and could match him up, up to the guttural way he belts out those lyrics. Because that’s how it all is to me, hoe it still feels, it goes all the way down to my gut, and works it up good.

I refuse to let go, because what will I do with the photos I have of you? I cannot stand and testify that I got all of them honestly, but you must know that I meant no harm, I never will. Not to you, how could I even bring myself to do it? You are the gentlest, most interesting soul I had the pleasure of knowing, with your way of words. Your stories, if I started, I would never stop, you told them in such a way that your town monkeys, zebras and other adventures came alive in my head… And I could see them all, and trust you when you said to stay away from them baboons because they never really were nice to begin with.

I refuse to give up, despite you telling me to do so, even if this is all my fault. I cannot bring myself to do it, and pastime after pastime has failed to fill that void, to quench this thirst that my heart feels. How could I dishonour such strong emotions, and simply give up?

No dear, I refuse to do so. Please forgive me, but I refuse.