One Hundred Ninety Eight Kilometers and Back

Monsoon Midmornings
By M.A. Martin

The Matt and Ivy Show
One Hundred Ninety Eight Kilometers and Back

A shadow flickers at my partly open car door as I listened to The Low Millions. Their lead singer was calmly singing about his love being every single song on the radio and being everypretty face on video. The shadow fully opens the door, and the woman who owns it makes the song something I can relate to. Incidentally, the song was titled “Here She Comes”. It was quite apt.

My universe opens up to endless possibilities as her face enters my field of vision. She has this smile I rarely see, maybe because she has become more than a bit jaded when you compare her to the rest of the swarm we affectionately call mankind. It was good to see it pasted on her face that much I am sure of. I strive to do it consistently, but the klutz that I amusually fails in the endeavor. “Hey” she goes, her smile staying with my fluttering heartbeats. “What brings you here?” Something flashed in her eyes, like a moment of inspiration or decision, and I find her in my lap. I am stunned; somehow, after all these years, she still has the power to surprise me. I saw she got her amusement out of my reaction too, as there was a mischievous glint in her eyes which now made her smile so downright disturbing. Then assuddenly as she was there, she was gone. The passenger door opens and shuts andthere she was, beaming. My goddess. Ivy.

She repeats her question and I realize I have not answered her yet. I get so horribly mangled around her it’s a wonder I remember anything afterward. If you’d see us, you’d find it hard tobelieve the cosmically retarded fellow she was with could actually write, much less speak. So out with the truth then, “I missed you bad enough it made me drive here”. Her face softens. “You’re not even supposed to be here. Will you be staying the weekend?” I shrug. “Nah, I’ll be heading back as soon as you go upstairs.” I feel pressure on my cheek and find her hand there. For the first time, I do not pull away. I accept it. I tilt my head to sent the pressure backand reply with my acquiescence. The touch turns into a gentle caress. She knows. I look up and meet her eyes. There is joy there. Is it because someone wants and loves her that much? Maybe. There is a heartbreaking sadness as well. Because? I do not even want to commit that to active thought. Yes, as with everyone around me, it is my fault yet again. That countenance is as familiar to me as my waking moments. Will it always be this way?

I talk about a conversation I had with a faceless stranger in this dream I had. He indulged me while I ranted, then made me think. It sort of went this way:
Me:There’s this woman I am madly in love with. She said she loves me too.

Stranger: So what’s the problem? Isn’t it a good thing?

Me: I do not deserve her. I do not have anything to offer. See, she’s this intelligent, sensitive,kindhearted and opinionated woman. She takes on life on her own terms. And, she’sthe most beautiful woman to ever walk the face of the earth.

Stranger: I see. And she said she loves you?

Me: Yes.

Stranger: So you feel that you do not deserve to be loved by someone like her?

Me: Yes! Aren’t you listening? How could she even begin to love someone like me?

Stranger: She said she loves you? Do you believe her?

Me: Yes. Yes! What has that have to do with anything?

Stranger: Well you’re lucky. You’ve dreamed and the dream loves you back. How about you make sure you do not hurt her, instead of all this rot. Maybe then you’ll hear it from her, and it puts your heart at peace.

I pause, the story ended. I raise my eyes and find myself wrapped in her arms. Our lips meet and time stands still. The world is silent, except for the sound and feel of her breath. The taste of her lips. The softness of her limbs as they envelop me and I return the intimacy. The warmth of her as she is pressed against me. The beating of our hearts; in tune with the movement of our lips. It lasts an eternity of moments, and I drown in it, unwilling to let it end. Finally we part and open our eyes. Breathless, she speaks three words that I repeat with four.Our lips meet again while the moon peeks from the overcast sky, and becomes a glare on my windshield. The eighth word is spoken wordlessly. Eight to infinity? Maybe. And may God help us both.

The Curtains Rise and the Show Begins

Monsoon Midmornings
By M.A. Martin

The Matt and Ivy Show
The Curtains Rise and the Show Begins

I.

The rains had just stopped. The droplets caught in the halogen orbs make the lamp lights hazy, yet enchanting all at the same time. The rush hour is at its tail end now, with the heavytraffic almost perceptibly idling down. Smoke was rising from car hoods as the last raindrops evaporate from the collective engine heat. The evening is covered with scents, sounds and lights and the hustle and bustle of city life.

Matt stretches inside his car, stuck three wide and seven deep on a two lane city block. No wonder we’re all hung up, he muses we are so like crabs caught in a basket. In our hurry to get ahead we all stay put. He chuckles, shakes his head and turns the stereo volume up. He might as well enjoy the wait. He sits back and starts to hum, tapping his steering wheel to the beat of the song. The graphic equalizer bars sway like clockwork, in perfect cadence to him. The car is not tinted and there he was singing for all he was worth. Reflected in the soft dashboard lights; a man in his own universe drinking the moments of his life. A few drivers andpassengers noticed and some had taken to staring. Wondering maybe. Those who were women tilted their heads and smiled. He was unaware, caught up in his own mind.

Ivy was tying up her day and closing shop. Well that was figurative. Tying up almost two hundred people to their schedules and breaks, that’s what it was. All her reports were alreadydone too. Which made her a very happy camper; sort of. It was a long day and she was tired and worn out. The joy was from meeting the excellence she required from herself today. Plus she’s getting to spend time with her man, who is also about to conclude his day. She looks at him, seated with his back to her; working. She can’t help but smile at the sight of him. It’s allshe can do to not run up to him and crush him in her arms. Ivy was pretty sure he would enjoy that too. Life was good. In certain stretches. Willing herself back to work, she glances at the desktop screen to check intervals and resumes her floor walk. She moved with an easy gait, her billowing hair complementing her high cheek bones and almond eyes. Everyone taking calls breathed a little bit easier. She was wearing a smile on her face

Afternoon At Where It Leads To You

Afternoon At Where It Leads To You
by M.A. Martin

I got lost and somehow, I got found
driving in an overcast morning in the pouring rain
saw myself standing - on soaked ground
wishing I can hold this pain

Eighteen steps to the fenced off door
Twenty two acts before I'm rid of it all.
Bereft.I walk away, my back to you and forever more
the beat a fading echo. As I have left,

my heart, my soul, my dreams complete.
On the curb that leads to your street.

Overmatched

Monsoon Midmornings
By M.A. Martin

Matt and Allie’s Journey
Overmatched

Matt hazarded a hand at the elevator door before it closed. The sensors detected it and the gears retracted the doors. He stepped inside, looking so smug in the knowledge that some poor soul who was running late would probably be grinding his teeth with exasperation. He was still smiling when he looked up to survey the damage, and froze. Stunned to his proverbial boots.

Allie was there, standing in the deep left corner, looking oblivious by staring blankly ahead. Yet with an almost imperceptible twitch of her brow and flaring pupils, she betrayed her grudging acceptance of this intruder in this most confined space. He stood there dumbfounded, cursing his ill luck. “I just gave her another confirmation of her hunches.” Matt rued silently to himself. He always had this innate talent of managing to put his foot in his mouth in the most inopportune of situations, and this was no exception. Without even knowing it, he had a smile pasted on his face. She was more attractive when she was irritated, that’s for sure.

Another thing he was sure of was that if karma and rebirth were true, he was some sort of flying insect in his previous incarnation. How else can he explain his predilection for flying onblind instinct, and his obstinacy in hitting walls, backing up, and then rushing headlong in the same direction yet again? It looks like he’ll be doing it over and over again in Allie’s case. The phrase “or die trying” came to mind and he shrugged it off with mild disgust.

He glanced up at the lit number indicating the journey’s progress, and he sputtered. Three? What the? He thought he blanked out longer than that. Matt did a quick double-take; yes, shewas there alright. He was not having one of his comic strip slash dialogue episodes. Is this fate? And a second ice cold thought surfaced immediately. That he was a blithering idiot. Of the cosmic and cataclysmic variety. They were workmates. Of course they would bump into each other on occasion. Jeez! To even think that the universe would revolve around him was downright preposterous. Matt caught himself at that moment. He was ripping himself to fine shreds and he hasn’t even said “hello” yet. “Here’s to rushing blind” he muttered and sidled to where she stood.

Life rewards the courageous few, Matt reminded himself and plunged in, to waiting and foreseen disaster. “Hi. How were your calls yesterday” Was that the best he could come up with? Matt groaned inwardly, this was totally lame. Allie barely tilted her head and the smallest of curves played on her lips. It was so small and fleeting it was almost imaginary. He was there anyway, so what’s a little more humiliation? Against his better judgment, Matt pressed on, tossing pitch number two. “So how was the closure rate?” There were tempests in those set of eyes, but the voice that came out was cool, composed and collected. “Ok.” He was clearly out of it. So that constitutes a reply nowadays? Marvin Albert was droning in hishead by now, “One more pitch and it’s a ballgame ladies and gents. It’s pinch hitter Allie at bat, and let me tell you she is looking good!” What the hell, crash and burn right? Matt throws the last question. “So how about you gather the updates for your team and then forward it to me?”

The elevator chimes their arrival at the designated floor and the doors open. Allie flashes a faux smile worthy of Khrushchev and mumbles a “Yeah. Sure.” Then steps out into the hallway. Matt is left rooted to the spot, mouth agape as Allie walks away. He managed to close it when he tasted dust gathering in his tongue. Literally. A few words came into mind. Overmatched. Road kill. Routed. Annihilated. He scratches his head, glances at his feet and couldn’t help but smile. Would hitting her in the nape with a baseball bat change her views? He chuckles and follows her out of the elevator, into his early morning shift.

An Introduction to Complication

Monsoon Midmornings
By M.A. Martin

Matt and Allie’s Journey
An Introduction to Complication

She caught my eye as I stepped into the production floor after that long drawn business review. She was one of the newer reps on the floor, and one of maybe my top ten eye candies. I’ve been wondering about that since I first laid eyes on her as she came out oftraining and into production. There’s something about her I can’t place.

See I’ve always been partial to women with fairer complexion and Caucasian or East Asian features. Credit goes to my mother for that, as she had drummed in me this insane mentalconditioning. She wanted non-Pinoy looking grandchildren. Yes, from le-hippie-zee-rocker herself, who of course is married to a blond Viking. She keeps trying to hook me up with daughters of friends, and winds up more frustrated than ever if we decide to be just friends. Which reminds me of this excruciating blind date with a minor baroness from Heidelberg almost a decade ago – oh wait, I’m sidetracked. Let me get back to the matter at hand.

So back to this young woman and the tale at hand. Allie. She is about five foot four with a mass of jet black hair almost to her waist. Normally I’d kid someone about that, like ask if shekept coconut oil in a carabao’s horn at home and if she sprouted bat wings when the moon was full. In her case, she pulled it off splendidly, She had a face that was kind to angles, which made her breathtaking to look at in any profile and frankly, made the fact that she always kept her hair neatly pulled back a huge treat for the beholder. She dressed well too, and having the kind of body that she was gifted with, oh brother! Kiss your soul goodbye mate.

The clincher for me was her eyes. She had this pair of wide pools that hinted of mystery and an expanse of knowledge. They seemed confident and reticent all at the same time. Plain, yetfull of mischief in one go. An unwary person may lose himself in those eyes for the rest of his life. Smart, sharp, and calculating. It made her look so much like a resting feline. She was beautiful, majestic and extremely dangerous. This was what Tim Burton was angling for when he cast Michelle Pfeiffer as Catwoman. Selina Kyle is brown skinned; you best believe that.

The catch? I know her. Or more like I know the back of her head pretty well. Her nape is a good buddy of mine come to think of it. It also means she’s usually walking in the same direction as I am. Only she’s about ten paces ahead. I tried talking to her once or maybe a couple of times and she was polite. Which I think is because I was a ranking officer in theaccount. Otherwise, there were swirls in her eyes and she looked like she was about to lose the fight with her rising eyebrows. Like, “Oh. Yeah. Right. Now get out of my face loser”. To think I was asking her about work related matters and not attempting small talk. Oh, I’ll be honest. I was attempting. Moses on a rotting charley horse! This woman was going to fit perfectly as a New Yorker!

This is in all probability going to feel like rushing blindly and headlong into a concrete wall. Yetlike a deer caught in an oncoming headlight, I am stuck. Transfixed. I will get to know her. If it is to be under the pain of constant embarrassment, then so be it. I have a strong hunch that there is more to her than meets the eye. I just hope that I last long enough to see her turn around. So unfounded aversion is true after all. Or unbridled dislike at the outset. I just did not expect to be at the receiving end of the barrel when I found out. I take one more glance at herand go on my way.

An Evening In The Dark Room Room Everyone Refers To As "Life"

Monsoon Midmornings

By M.A. Martin

The Matt and Ivy Show

An Evening in the Dark Room Everyone refers to as “Life”

There was a small light on the nightstand that would not waver. It stood there, sure and steady against the expanse of darkness. I stretch and groan. Hurt is nothing new. This is but an extension of it. They say that a man is made or unmade by his choices. I hope there isn’t an ounce of truth to that, since I may be vying for the top seed in the bad choices and judgment department.

People oftentimes have the tendency to hold on when the carousel stops. They know it has, but acceptance is often more difficult, and denial the easier path to take. I should know, since I have been living with these kinds of pain for my whole life. Thee is a certain courage and clarity needed to go after real happiness, and a lot of us find it convenient to use pain, hurt, or instability and chaos (i.e.lack of order) as a shield. So as not to acknowledge the real challenge – fear. All encompassing fear.

So I changed courses twice today. Altered decisions I had made. The person I am waiting for is still not ready to live. Or to leave. For everything she had wrought in me, she only had lived vicariously through – as I found out with mind numbing certainty. She got left behind, and is tottering in indecision. Am I to remain in the shadows? Yes. I was to go and lay my cards so to speak. To ask point blank/ She felt it and knew. Then shut herself in. It was to be done in all of two minutes. I recoiled; not stung. Wary. Warned. Do I leave? No. Do I wait? Yes. I have been waiting for the better part of the decade anyway. Will she ever come around? I do not know. Are we soulmates? I think we are so God help me.

So back to the light on the nightstand. It seems steady and sure. Look a little closer and see that it flickers. Then it hits you, that Light is fighting with all its might, against the encroaching darkness that always threatens to engulf it. There is uncertainty in that light. There is doubt. There is fear. That the next wave or volley will be strong enough to kill the spark forever. That light hang on in desperate hope, not knowing the strength it draws from hope.

That light needs to know these truths: The strength is from hope. Buried and acknowledged. The wait has long been over. If that light but opens its eyes and looks dead center, there is another one in that dark room. One that heard its silent pleas across the darkness and fought blind to seek that one that sent it; one that understands and patiently waits; for the moment when that light finds the courage to open its eyes..

That light has not been solitary for sometime now. For where there was once one. There are now two.

An Evening In The Dark Room Room Everyone Refers To As "Life"

Monsoon Midmornings

By M.A. Martin

The Matt and Ivy Show

An Evening in the Dark Room Everyone refers to as “Life”

There was a small light on the nightstand that would not waver. It stood there, sure and steady against the expanse of darkness. I stretch and groan. Hurt is nothing new. This is but an extension of it. They say that a man is made or unmade by his choices. I hope there isn’t an ounce of truth to that, since I may be vying for the top seed in the bad choices and judgment department.

People oftentimes have the tendency to hold on when the carousel stops. They know it has, but acceptance is often more difficult, and denial the easier path to take. I should know, since I have been living with these kinds of pain for my whole life. Thee is a certain courage and clarity needed to go after real happiness, and a lot of us find it convenient to use pain, hurt, or instability and chaos (i.e.lack of order) as a shield. So as not to acknowledge the real challenge – fear. All encompassing fear.

So I changed courses twice today. Altered decisions I had made. The person I am waiting for is still not ready to live. Or to leave. For everything she had wrought in me, she only had lived vicariously through – as I found out with mind numbing certainty. She got left behind, and is tottering in indecision. Am I to remain in the shadows? Yes. I was to go and lay my cards so to speak. To ask point blank/ She felt it and knew. Then shut herself in. It was to be done in all of two minutes. I recoiled; not stung. Wary. Warned. Do I leave? No. Do I wait? Yes. I have been waiting for the better part of the decade anyway. Will she ever come around? I do not know. Are we soulmates? I think we are so God help me.

So back to the light on the nightstand. It seems steady and sure. Look a little closer and see that it flickers. Then it hits you, that Light is fighting with all its might, against the encroaching darkness that always threatens to engulf it. There is uncertainty in that light. There is doubt. There is fear. That the next wave or volley will be strong enough to kill the spark forever. That light hang on in desperate hope, not knowing the strength it draws from hope.

That light needs to know these truths: The strength is from hope. Buried and acknowledged. The wait has long been over. If that light but opens its eyes and looks dead center, there is another one in that dark room. One that heard its silent pleas across the darkness and fought blind to seek that one that sent it; one that understands and patiently waits; for the moment when that light finds the courage to open its eyes..

That light has not been solitary for sometime now. For where there was once one. There are now two.

to you and then some

thanks for dropping by and reading my stuff. there are still a couple of posts in the pipeline including the six stories i was bragging about no end. i may post and may not.

see there are some things i need to work on that have been put on the back burner and i realize they have to be taken cared of immediately.so i will not be around and i will miss the interaction very badly.

plus i guess you were correct. this is going to be a battle with fate. there are more than a couple crawling out of the woodwork. so it will boil down to trust.

ok? thanks.

and for everyone, thanks for taking the time to read. i hope i didn't bore you to sleep most of the time.

Soundtracks

Monsoon Midmornings
By Michael Martin

The Matt and Ivy Show
Soundtracks

It was thirty minutes to three in the morning. The rains had stopped hours ago, but the air was still damp with moisture and the asphalt roads were still soaked. The skies had opened up with full fury earlier in the evening causing horrible traffic jams and a couple or more accidents. I almost thought I would not be able to reach Ivy today. Time, fate and chance had granted a reprieve. I have been hugging her for the past five hours.

The evening had been fine. We are both tortured souls to begin with, and laughter is not a daily luxury. Well laughter is easy. What I am talking about here is the laughter that comes when you eyes laugh as well. We both are the toast of the common circles we have. We drive people of the wall with mock meanness, idiosyncrasies, and our penchant for doing the unexpected. Which prevents most folks around us from looking at our eyes and seeing what’s there. Come to think of it, few take the time to.

Conversation was sporadic, mainly from me needing a lot of shut-eye and feeling like whenever I am with her, I have just arrived from a very taxing journey. I was also feeling a bit awkward. Up to now, I haven’t really adjusted to having Ivy this close to me. We were sitting across each other, when I decided to break this fear. Although these would be another story, suffice to say that we ended up with her almost catatonic from a lengthy foot rub session.

We had popped our head out about five minutes ago. The coast was clear, and the hunger pangs were becoming irresistible. We took the car out for a food run and went to one of Ivy’s favorite low cost haunts.

The place was bustling considering the weather and we took our usual seats on the right side of the establishment. We were both famished and pigged out, talking animatedly while our mouths were full. We do not need the intricate social dances and masks when we’re together. Then suddenly she stops, mouth agape and eyes twinkling with mischief. My breath holds, expecting the worst. She stares at me, slowly forming a smile. I get what she’s driving at and lose my focus on her. The song! It was a sappy local song bout a granny telling her grand daughter she got screws loose because she’s in love with a guy who doesn’t look good and is poor to boot.

I look back at her with questioning eyes, and she can’t help it anymore. She breaks out in gales of laughter, “Oh my god, oh my god, oh my god! Honey she’s singing about you.” There was kindness in her eyes and mischief as well. “Honey you ought to have your hair cut. I didn’t notice it earlier, but you look like a pineapple.” I was smiling sheepishly, a bit embarrassed as we were attracting everyone’s attention. Her laughter dropped down to a wide grin as she fought to control herself, when the song got to the chorus again. She glanced at me, and couldn’t hold it, now with the “I’m so sorry honey!” mixed in between breaths.

She rarely laughed this way, with her eyes lighting up the way it did. I may have fueled it with the way I looked, because every time she’d look at me, the peals would start again. We finally stood up and walked to the car, when another song came in, this one about a guy who kept running from the woman, only to go back begging on bended knees because she was the love of his life. I could hear her braying from inside the car as I proceeded to walk to my door on the other side. Oh brother, this was so damn mortifying. But honestly, if it was just to hear her laugh? It would be ok to dangle.

Soundtracks

Monsoon Midmornings
By Michael Martin

The Matt and Ivy Show
Soundtracks

It was thirty minutes to three in the morning. The rains had stopped hours ago, but the air was still damp with moisture and the asphalt roads were still soaked. The skies had opened up with full fury earlier in the evening causing horrible traffic jams and a couple or more accidents. I almost thought I would not be able to reach Ivy today. Time, fate and chance had granted a reprieve. I have been hugging her for the past five hours.

The evening had been fine. We are both tortured souls to begin with, and laughter is not a daily luxury. Well laughter is easy. What I am talking about here is the laughter that comes when you eyes laugh as well. We both are the toast of the common circles we have. We drive people of the wall with mock meanness, idiosyncrasies, and our penchant for doing the unexpected. Which prevents most folks around us from looking at our eyes and seeing what’s there. Come to think of it, few take the time to.

Conversation was sporadic, mainly from me needing a lot of shut-eye and feeling like whenever I am with her, I have just arrived from a very taxing journey. I was also feeling a bit awkward. Up to now, I haven’t really adjusted to having Ivy this close to me. We were sitting across each other, when I decided to break this fear. Although these would be another story, suffice to say that we ended up with her almost catatonic from a lengthy foot rub session.

We had popped our head out about five minutes ago. The coast was clear, and the hunger pangs were becoming irresistible. We took the car out for a food run and went to one of Ivy’s favorite low cost haunts.

The place was bustling considering the weather and we took our usual seats on the right side of the establishment. We were both famished and pigged out, talking animatedly while our mouths were full. We do not need the intricate social dances and masks when we’re together. Then suddenly she stops, mouth agape and eyes twinkling with mischief. My breath holds, expecting the worst. She stares at me, slowly forming a smile. I get what she’s driving at and lose my focus on her. The song! It was a sappy local song bout a granny telling her grand daughter she got screws loose because she’s in love with a guy who doesn’t look good and is poor to boot.

I look back at her with questioning eyes, and she can’t help it anymore. She breaks out in gales of laughter, “Oh my god, oh my god, oh my god! Honey she’s singing about you.” There was kindness in her eyes and mischief as well. “Honey you ought to have your hair cut. I didn’t notice it earlier, but you look like a pineapple.” I was smiling sheepishly, a bit embarrassed as we were attracting everyone’s attention. Her laughter dropped down to a wide grin as she fought to control herself, when the song got to the chorus again. She glanced at me, and couldn’t hold it, now with the “I’m so sorry honey!” mixed in between breaths.

She rarely laughed this way, with her eyes lighting up the way it did. I may have fueled it with the way I looked, because every time she’d look at me, the peals would start again. We finally stood up and walked to the car, when another song came in, this one about a guy who kept running from the woman, only to go back begging on bended knees because she was the love of his life. I could hear her braying from inside the car as I proceeded to walk to my door on the other side. Oh brother, this was so damn mortifying. But honestly, if it was just to hear her laugh? It would be ok to dangle.

Dissembling

Monsoon Midmornings
By Michael Martin

The Matt and Ivy Show
Dissembling

My inbox lit up. The number 1 highlighted, bold and italicized Yes mister, you have mail. I stare, breathless in anticipation. It’s a new day, and I am trying to get used to a new concept in my life. One day at a time. The premise is simple. You take what is given and you live in the moment. None of the planning and the worrying that goes with it. None of the mapping out of courses, of plans A through G.

There was no other choice. If Ivy was to stay where she is, where we are, which is for all practical intents and purposes – in limbo. I had to learn to deal with it in this manner. We had no future. But we have the perpetuity of the present. There was nothing to be done about it anyway. We both have lives to lead, and we have built separate roads before meeting. In this lifetime. Yes. I say that with all certainty. In this lifetime.

There has been this constant nagging feeling since I met her years ago. It slowly bubbled up to the surface of my consciousness. She seemed to pop up everywhere I turn. Be there by my side during the most trying of times, although I never told her about it. It made things bearable. When we had our first real talk, it was like talking to myself in a manner. It was easy. And I consider myself a mass of contradictions in the highest order. She had a way with me, of being able to simplify the most complicated of matters, and vice versa. From the look of it as well, I had the same effect on her. Although I was not arrogant enough to accept it and verbalize it, so it remained there hidden and unacknowledged. Until the dams broke the other day and altered the realities we lived in.

I have a different Ivy with me now. She’s a freer one, unbound and unrestrained. I’ve felt a sense of calm too. All my searching is finally done. Everything else has fallen into place and the questions have been answered. So this is where it leads us, surprising as it is, she feels the same way as I do. Then we both end up with the “we can’t” which of course is the crux of it all. This is not the lifetime for it. There will be another, and I will be damned if I don’t find her. I found her now didn’t I? Despite the odds of it all. Four continents and twenty-eight years. She was right under my nose since a decade ago, and I missed her, when I had been free. Free to offer myself whole if she wanted me. I believe it was simply because we were not ready for each other then. There is a season for everything under the sun as the saying goes. It’s our time to find each other, but not the time to be with each other.

We’ve made peace with whom we are. There is a sense of quiet finality to it, to what it will be or will have to be now. We are, but for reasons of how we built our lives, we cannot. On the other hand, there is no running away from it. Our roads lead to each other. So that’s why the great love stories are all tragedies. We hope when there is none. We are unbelievably elated and irrationally scared at the same time. The sureness of it all is frightening, and for one time in your life everything stands in sharp focus. You know, as sure as you are that there is a higher being. And you know that there is no way for both of you to be together. You try to fight it and follow what you know is right. Which makes it worse. Because you cannot bottle it up. You’re screwed either way. But if you’d ask if they would rather not have it to make the roller coaster go away, I think you know what the answer will be. No way.

All this before I open my mail. I’ve been ruined by love. That’s what it is. This is the happiest I’ve ever been. The happiest I’ll ever be. Until tomorrow comes. Isn’t that right Ivy?

Dissembling

Monsoon Midmornings
By Michael Martin

The Matt and Ivy Show
Dissembling

My inbox lit up. The number 1 highlighted, bold and italicized Yes mister, you have mail. I stare, breathless in anticipation. It’s a new day, and I am trying to get used to a new concept in my life. One day at a time. The premise is simple. You take what is given and you live in the moment. None of the planning and the worrying that goes with it. None of the mapping out of courses, of plans A through G.

There was no other choice. If Ivy was to stay where she is, where we are, which is for all practical intents and purposes – in limbo. I had to learn to deal with it in this manner. We had no future. But we have the perpetuity of the present. There was nothing to be done about it anyway. We both have lives to lead, and we have built separate roads before meeting. In this lifetime. Yes. I say that with all certainty. In this lifetime.

There has been this constant nagging feeling since I met her years ago. It slowly bubbled up to the surface of my consciousness. She seemed to pop up everywhere I turn. Be there by my side during the most trying of times, although I never told her about it. It made things bearable. When we had our first real talk, it was like talking to myself in a manner. It was easy. And I consider myself a mass of contradictions in the highest order. She had a way with me, of being able to simplify the most complicated of matters, and vice versa. From the look of it as well, I had the same effect on her. Although I was not arrogant enough to accept it and verbalize it, so it remained there hidden and unacknowledged. Until the dams broke the other day and altered the realities we lived in.

I have a different Ivy with me now. She’s a freer one, unbound and unrestrained. I’ve felt a sense of calm too. All my searching is finally done. Everything else has fallen into place and the questions have been answered. So this is where it leads us, surprising as it is, she feels the same way as I do. Then we both end up with the “we can’t” which of course is the crux of it all. This is not the lifetime for it. There will be another, and I will be damned if I don’t find her. I found her now didn’t I? Despite the odds of it all. Four continents and twenty-eight years. She was right under my nose since a decade ago, and I missed her, when I had been free. Free to offer myself whole if she wanted me. I believe it was simply because we were not ready for each other then. There is a season for everything under the sun as the saying goes. It’s our time to find each other, but not the time to be with each other.

We’ve made peace with whom we are. There is a sense of quiet finality to it, to what it will be or will have to be now. We are, but for reasons of how we built our lives, we cannot. On the other hand, there is no running away from it. Our roads lead to each other. So that’s why the great love stories are all tragedies. We hope when there is none. We are unbelievably elated and irrationally scared at the same time. The sureness of it all is frightening, and for one time in your life everything stands in sharp focus. You know, as sure as you are that there is a higher being. And you know that there is no way for both of you to be together. You try to fight it and follow what you know is right. Which makes it worse. Because you cannot bottle it up. You’re screwed either way. But if you’d ask if they would rather not have it to make the roller coaster go away, I think you know what the answer will be. No way.

All this before I open my mail. I’ve been ruined by love. That’s what it is. This is the happiest I’ve ever been. The happiest I’ll ever be. Until tomorrow comes. Isn’t that right Ivy?

The Circle Closes (Ivy Speaks)

Monsoon Midmornings (Ivy Speaks)
By Michael Martin

The Matt and Ivy Show
The Circle Closes

The few times that Matt and I actually spent together outside of the circle of people we normally go with, we spend it talking in ernest. The conversations are about where we are presently in life, about the people around us, about the sh*t heads who make our lives difficult, and all the things in between.
Tonight its different. Tonight, as I sit across him on the veranda of this well hidden cafe, I found that for once, in all four years, we do not have anything at all to say to each other. Not that its uncomfortable, I think, I believe, that it will never come to that between me and Matt. But after I found him again, there seemed to be nothing more to say. It feels like everything has come into place for once. He's there in once piece and I am satisfied and that's it.
He, on the other hand looks like he's having an internal battle once more. Matt is this stubborn guy who would never let anything just pass him by and go with the flow. With him, its always, "what if?" and "then what?" and " and then?". He looks way too far in the future and cooks up a worry storm along the way with it. I often remind him of a line in one of my favorite movies "You are so hell bent on making things work that you miss out on all the fun when they don't"
I decide to take charge of the conversation because, quite frankly, we would just stare at each other if I don't. Matt seems intent on just sitting there and studying me so i guess I'd better go get into the heart of things. Hm. And I think i have just the right question to get him out of that stupor. "So you still can’t look at me huh, Matt?", I asked. Leaning forward and putting the my elbows on the table as if making a point. I guess that got my point across coz he looked at me like I doused cold water on him. "you can't huh?" I asked again and found the look on his face too funny. I just had to laugh.
He shakes his head, as if amused that I had the balls to ask that question. He took a deep breath and same time as it started to rain, he releases a torrent of emotion I never really thought was bottled inside for the longest time.
"You know why? You’re within sight and my whole universe turns upside down. You’re this close and all I can think of is shoving this table away and taking you in my arms to kiss you. I look into your eyes and I get overwhelmed by how heartbreakingly beautiful you are.It tears me apart, you know? I tried to stay away the past year! I did everything I could to forget you. I moved jobs, uprooted myself and to what merit? My world goes quiet for a second and you re the first thing that pops into my head. After all my efforts, one message from you and everything comes crumbling down. You know why I came? I came to tell myself that I am over you. That I can live my life and come back to you in the in the only way you want me. As a friend. To sit here now and accept that I couldn’t. I can’t."
I was left breathless with this revelation. I never really thought it would be like this, that I affected him this much and that I would have this much power over a person's life. For the first time in all four years, I am speechless. All I could do was stare at him, at this tormented soul in front of me. I've always loved Matt. He's the dearest friend that I could ever have. Once upon a time in our lives we were almost the best of friends, he is my knight in shining armor, the person who once stood beside me and helped me fight my battles. Although to let you know, there's always this thing at the back of my mind that knows. That says it is so. That understands and fights it like he does.
I tried not to show how shaken I was with his revelation. I know I'm good at that. I was a stage actress for god's sake. So I said the only thing that popped into my head and the very words that I said were the same words that surprised me. For until then, I was at a loss myself.
"You kept running away Matt. I was waiting for you to stop fighting it.”
After that, the rain slowed to a drizzle and eventually stopped. We were both quiet, enveloped by the cacophony of sounds around us. The hum of the disco music from the next door bar, the laughter of the group of boys practicing guitar a few tables next to us, the siren from the fire truck racing below and the murmured conversations of students with their heavy medical books behind us.
I look away, into the night, into the sea of lamp lights and the general traffic below us. I can't help but smile myself. At this revelation. At the silent assent that just happened. Yet at the same time, I know this is another cruel test of fate. Because as I much as I want to, I know I can't.

The Circle Closes (Ivy Speaks)

Monsoon Midmornings (Ivy Speaks)
By Michael Martin

The Matt and Ivy Show
The Circle Closes

The few times that Matt and I actually spent together outside of the circle of people we normally go with, we spend it talking in ernest. The conversations are about where we are presently in life, about the people around us, about the sh*t heads who make our lives difficult, and all the things in between.
Tonight its different. Tonight, as I sit across him on the veranda of this well hidden cafe, I found that for once, in all four years, we do not have anything at all to say to each other. Not that its uncomfortable, I think, I believe, that it will never come to that between me and Matt. But after I found him again, there seemed to be nothing more to say. It feels like everything has come into place for once. He's there in once piece and I am satisfied and that's it.
He, on the other hand looks like he's having an internal battle once more. Matt is this stubborn guy who would never let anything just pass him by and go with the flow. With him, its always, "what if?" and "then what?" and " and then?". He looks way too far in the future and cooks up a worry storm along the way with it. I often remind him of a line in one of my favorite movies "You are so hell bent on making things work that you miss out on all the fun when they don't"
I decide to take charge of the conversation because, quite frankly, we would just stare at each other if I don't. Matt seems intent on just sitting there and studying me so i guess I'd better go get into the heart of things. Hm. And I think i have just the right question to get him out of that stupor. "So you still can’t look at me huh, Matt?", I asked. Leaning forward and putting the my elbows on the table as if making a point. I guess that got my point across coz he looked at me like I doused cold water on him. "you can't huh?" I asked again and found the look on his face too funny. I just had to laugh.
He shakes his head, as if amused that I had the balls to ask that question. He took a deep breath and same time as it started to rain, he releases a torrent of emotion I never really thought was bottled inside for the longest time.
"You know why? You’re within sight and my whole universe turns upside down. You’re this close and all I can think of is shoving this table away and taking you in my arms to kiss you. I look into your eyes and I get overwhelmed by how heartbreakingly beautiful you are.It tears me apart, you know? I tried to stay away the past year! I did everything I could to forget you. I moved jobs, uprooted myself and to what merit? My world goes quiet for a second and you re the first thing that pops into my head. After all my efforts, one message from you and everything comes crumbling down. You know why I came? I came to tell myself that I am over you. That I can live my life and come back to you in the in the only way you want me. As a friend. To sit here now and accept that I couldn’t. I can’t."
I was left breathless with this revelation. I never really thought it would be like this, that I affected him this much and that I would have this much power over a person's life. For the first time in all four years, I am speechless. All I could do was stare at him, at this tormented soul in front of me. I've always loved Matt. He's the dearest friend that I could ever have. Once upon a time in our lives we were almost the best of friends, he is my knight in shining armor, the person who once stood beside me and helped me fight my battles. Although to let you know, there's always this thing at the back of my mind that knows. That says it is so. That understands and fights it like he does.
I tried not to show how shaken I was with his revelation. I know I'm good at that. I was a stage actress for god's sake. So I said the only thing that popped into my head and the very words that I said were the same words that surprised me. For until then, I was at a loss myself.
"You kept running away Matt. I was waiting for you to stop fighting it.”
After that, the rain slowed to a drizzle and eventually stopped. We were both quiet, enveloped by the cacophony of sounds around us. The hum of the disco music from the next door bar, the laughter of the group of boys practicing guitar a few tables next to us, the siren from the fire truck racing below and the murmured conversations of students with their heavy medical books behind us.
I look away, into the night, into the sea of lamp lights and the general traffic below us. I can't help but smile myself. At this revelation. At the silent assent that just happened. Yet at the same time, I know this is another cruel test of fate. Because as I much as I want to, I know I can't.

The Illustrado Experience

Until about two years ago, I had been just another ranting blogger in the web. I just got back from wandering the parts of the world I had access to. Well, wandering and working to be frank. I went back because I miss the motherland, and would definitely prefer it to the fatherland that is for certain. I did miss the opportunities afforded me by being abroad but we can’t have everything right?

I found my niche in the BPO industry when I got back, and my nerves sort of got soothed a bit. See I was hoping to make a difference somehow, and the small way wherein I made a change in someone’s day meant a lot in terms of personal satisfaction. I quickly rose the ranks and the dream of making the difference played into the bigger picture. I now had the chance to make a wider impact and I did not waste a moment of it. Developing people, imbibing the sense of pride not in the fatter paycheck but in the pride of a job done with passion. Somehow though, there still seemed to be gaps somewhere. See I had always written before. Nothing formal and no formal training on it. It was mainly for myself. Journals, stories, poetry and all that rot, which made me escape or helped me escape the pitfalls of daily life.

The net afforded me that. To raise my voice and talk, despite my innate shyness. There are some authors who read my stuff and that was a blast, but nothing prepared me for Mon and Lalaine. I did a review of a horrendous bar my workmates and I went to, and lo and behold I had gotten a reply telling me she enjoyed reading it. She then proceeded to hand over an invitation. Not to be an employee but to be a part of a group of friends. What was I to do? inadequate as I felt, I went forward to clasp the hand of destiny.

I’ve learned a lot being around Mon and Lalaine, and being around the Illustrados. I’ve found I could write. For real. And what I needed to do, to be able to write the way I want to – which is to make a difference. Illustrado is made up of people whom despite their aversion to credit due to them, is making a difference. Illustrado’s existence is a difference in itself. It represents our values, our ideas, our brilliance, which is often overshadowed by our own fears and insecurities as a people. The Illustrados stand in the face of that and shout; nay rage against all that. Before the team stood there though, there stood Mon and Lalaine. With the dream. And the courage to make it happen.

So yeah, I do bar reviews. Then again, these people I am around, they are brilliant. It makes me so proud to have been invited to be a part of it. To be a part of something that changes the views and challenges the perception of not just Pinoys, but everyone who would leaf through Illustrado. You learn through them and bask in their brilliance. You sit and quietly drink the conversation during the times you get one or some of them across the table and realize the process. You get strength from the passion from the resolve, from the simple and humble these individuals carry themselves.

There might have been a lot of disbelievers. I wasn’t really there, but from what I know the birthing process was a long and the labor hard. It’s all moot and academic now. There is a legacy here. Not the ones you often see about Pinoys becoming filthy rich abroad, but a bigger one. A more lasting and important one. A legacy that will remind all of us, regardless of where we are in the world. We can make a difference. We can make ourselves and others stop and think. We are. More importantly. We can. May everyone never forget that. If we only allow ourselves.

Hats off to you chief. Gratitude springs eternal.

The Illustrado Experience

Until about two years ago, I had been just another ranting blogger in the web. I just got back from wandering the parts of the world I had access to. Well, wandering and working to be frank. I went back because I miss the motherland, and would definitely prefer it to the fatherland that is for certain. I did miss the opportunities afforded me by being abroad but we can’t have everything right?

I found my niche in the BPO industry when I got back, and my nerves sort of got soothed a bit. See I was hoping to make a difference somehow, and the small way wherein I made a change in someone’s day meant a lot in terms of personal satisfaction. I quickly rose the ranks and the dream of making the difference played into the bigger picture. I now had the chance to make a wider impact and I did not waste a moment of it. Developing people, imbibing the sense of pride not in the fatter paycheck but in the pride of a job done with passion. Somehow though, there still seemed to be gaps somewhere. See I had always written before. Nothing formal and no formal training on it. It was mainly for myself. Journals, stories, poetry and all that rot, which made me escape or helped me escape the pitfalls of daily life.

The net afforded me that. To raise my voice and talk, despite my innate shyness. There are some authors who read my stuff and that was a blast, but nothing prepared me for Mon and Lalaine. I did a review of a horrendous bar my workmates and I went to, and lo and behold I had gotten a reply telling me she enjoyed reading it. She then proceeded to hand over an invitation. Not to be an employee but to be a part of a group of friends. What was I to do? inadequate as I felt, I went forward to clasp the hand of destiny.

I’ve learned a lot being around Mon and Lalaine, and being around the Illustrados. I’ve found I could write. For real. And what I needed to do, to be able to write the way I want to – which is to make a difference. Illustrado is made up of people whom despite their aversion to credit due to them, is making a difference. Illustrado’s existence is a difference in itself. It represents our values, our ideas, our brilliance, which is often overshadowed by our own fears and insecurities as a people. The Illustrados stand in the face of that and shout; nay rage against all that. Before the team stood there though, there stood Mon and Lalaine. With the dream. And the courage to make it happen.

So yeah, I do bar reviews. Then again, these people I am around, they are brilliant. It makes me so proud to have been invited to be a part of it. To be a part of something that changes the views and challenges the perception of not just Pinoys, but everyone who would leaf through Illustrado. You learn through them and bask in their brilliance. You sit and quietly drink the conversation during the times you get one or some of them across the table and realize the process. You get strength from the passion from the resolve, from the simple and humble these individuals carry themselves.

There might have been a lot of disbelievers. I wasn’t really there, but from what I know the birthing process was a long and the labor hard. It’s all moot and academic now. There is a legacy here. Not the ones you often see about Pinoys becoming filthy rich abroad, but a bigger one. A more lasting and important one. A legacy that will remind all of us, regardless of where we are in the world. We can make a difference. We can make ourselves and others stop and think. We are. More importantly. We can. May everyone never forget that. If we only allow ourselves.

Hats off to you chief. Gratitude springs eternal.

Go your own way

There’s this friend of mine see. Kind of new in the circle. Wait, that statement may be a twist of the truth. I am the one new to her circle. I was not welcome before, and it was a difficult and embarrassing road to say the least. We didn’t start off well. That’s an understatement. It could rank as part of the all time worst starts ever. Maybe even be good enough to be a loser movie plot. I leave it there as saying more might make either of us uncomfortable. That’s something I want to avoid. Plus I don’t really now how she’ll take this.

Here is the thing. For anyone bored enough to read this. People are supposed to live their lives. As they see fit. If they don’t need your hand to feed themselves or make life bearable then “shoo!” it is none of your damn business maggot. Hustle along, there’s nothing for you to see here. It’s a constant wonder how people keep needing the misery of others to convince themselves that their lives are ok. Get a f*cking grip please. And then blame others for your whore mongering. Jeez. Give us a break.

So lay off and stay off. If you want to have something to occupy your time, then go and do something crazy yourself, instead of sitting in your chair and passing judgement.

As they say “those who can, DO. Those who can’t, REVIEW”. Every other person is a frigging critic.

This is for you tigress. Keep the faith. Live your life. We do not owe anyone anything,

Ivy Speaks

Monsoon Midmornings (Ivy Speaks)

The Matt and Ivy Show
Rediscovery

I stepped out of my door that Friday night and I immediately noticed how humid it was. hm. It'll prolly rain again tonight. good. Perfect weather for coffee, smokes and good conversation. Speaking of which, there he is. Standing beside his car, looking at anywhere else but me. *sigh* When will you ever change Mattie?

I approached him and I managed to catch "Hello" just under his breath. I missed this guy a lot. It's been awhile since  last saw him and all he managed was to give me an almost inaudible hello? jeez. So I went up to him and hugged him tight. There. That's better. I like giving my friends hugs. Tight ones. Its my touchy feely side at work here and there's no escaping that this person is one of the closest people in the world to me. So a formal hello is never good enough. Not for this guy.

Like I said, I like hugging so I couldn't help but smile after I let go. Then I noticed the uncomfortable look on his face like he wants to run away or something. I looked at him, brows furrowed, wondering why he looked freaked. I guess he noticed. "Ok. So. How are you?" he asks. I tell him I'm ok. Finally got the chance to ask how he is but then there he goes spacing out on me again. Wtf? What is he on tonight?

He finally looks at me again and asks (more like chokes) if I'm ready to leave. So I get on the passenger seat still wondering why he looks so uncomfortable. This is the first time that he gets to drive me around in all 4 years of our friendship and quite frankly, I really thought he'd flake out. Mattie's been acting really weird since that last december evening we went out for coffee. Been trying to reach him, sending sms messages and calling whenever I can but I cannot seem to find him. So finally, I got through, already worried like hell that he jumped off a cliff without saying goodbye or something (yes. he does have that tendency. My friends are all crazy) and he, the social butterfly that he is, said that I got a confirmed appointment with him. Finally. Frankly? I'm just happy he's still alive and that I found him again no matter what state he's in now.

Again I play the role of the navigator. The men in my life seemed to be navigation-challenged and they all claim that they lived in the city all their lives! Passed Quezon Ave. going to Tomas Morato, we both noticed two girl-wannabes-walking on the side street. Instinctively, I look beside me just in time to catch Mattie's eyes on them creamy skin and short hem lines. Men. I smirk and then asked him to guess if those are women or not. Bewildered, he looks at me and says he doesn't know. I gave a quick analysis that if you are a woman, that tall, with figure and skin and hair like that, wearing that, you'll prolly want to ride a cab right?! He looks at me like I'm someone crazy. Noticed the sarcasm on my face and realizes that I'm playing around with his head again.

This feels familiar in a very very good way. Its been a year since I last saw him and through that span of time,  nothing seemed to change between the two of us. I was actually scared of the changes. You know the saying, change is the only permanent thing in this world. I was wondering if we're gonna babble about like complete morons, making small talk, waiting unbearably until the night ends and we decide to just go home.

He seemed happy though. Even with the seeming disorientation and the fleeting moments when he seemed to want to run away. It was a short but happy ride on the way to the coffee place. A few moments before we discuss the turmoil that our lives turned out to be. I know this is gonna be a night of revelations, resolutions and of course, good conversation.
I can almost smell the rain. Dunno if it's gonna dampen my spirit or if the breeze would refresh my already tired system. But I'm happy I found Matt again. Finally.

Ivy Speaks

Monsoon Midmornings (Ivy Speaks)

The Matt and Ivy Show
Rediscovery

I stepped out of my door that Friday night and I immediately noticed how humid it was. hm. It'll prolly rain again tonight. good. Perfect weather for coffee, smokes and good conversation. Speaking of which, there he is. Standing beside his car, looking at anywhere else but me. *sigh* When will you ever change Mattie?

I approached him and I managed to catch "Hello" just under his breath. I missed this guy a lot. It's been awhile since  last saw him and all he managed was to give me an almost inaudible hello? jeez. So I went up to him and hugged him tight. There. That's better. I like giving my friends hugs. Tight ones. Its my touchy feely side at work here and there's no escaping that this person is one of the closest people in the world to me. So a formal hello is never good enough. Not for this guy.

Like I said, I like hugging so I couldn't help but smile after I let go. Then I noticed the uncomfortable look on his face like he wants to run away or something. I looked at him, brows furrowed, wondering why he looked freaked. I guess he noticed. "Ok. So. How are you?" he asks. I tell him I'm ok. Finally got the chance to ask how he is but then there he goes spacing out on me again. Wtf? What is he on tonight?

He finally looks at me again and asks (more like chokes) if I'm ready to leave. So I get on the passenger seat still wondering why he looks so uncomfortable. This is the first time that he gets to drive me around in all 4 years of our friendship and quite frankly, I really thought he'd flake out. Mattie's been acting really weird since that last december evening we went out for coffee. Been trying to reach him, sending sms messages and calling whenever I can but I cannot seem to find him. So finally, I got through, already worried like hell that he jumped off a cliff without saying goodbye or something (yes. he does have that tendency. My friends are all crazy) and he, the social butterfly that he is, said that I got a confirmed appointment with him. Finally. Frankly? I'm just happy he's still alive and that I found him again no matter what state he's in now.

Again I play the role of the navigator. The men in my life seemed to be navigation-challenged and they all claim that they lived in the city all their lives! Passed Quezon Ave. going to Tomas Morato, we both noticed two girl-wannabes-walking on the side street. Instinctively, I look beside me just in time to catch Mattie's eyes on them creamy skin and short hem lines. Men. I smirk and then asked him to guess if those are women or not. Bewildered, he looks at me and says he doesn't know. I gave a quick analysis that if you are a woman, that tall, with figure and skin and hair like that, wearing that, you'll prolly want to ride a cab right?! He looks at me like I'm someone crazy. Noticed the sarcasm on my face and realizes that I'm playing around with his head again.

This feels familiar in a very very good way. Its been a year since I last saw him and through that span of time,  nothing seemed to change between the two of us. I was actually scared of the changes. You know the saying, change is the only permanent thing in this world. I was wondering if we're gonna babble about like complete morons, making small talk, waiting unbearably until the night ends and we decide to just go home.

He seemed happy though. Even with the seeming disorientation and the fleeting moments when he seemed to want to run away. It was a short but happy ride on the way to the coffee place. A few moments before we discuss the turmoil that our lives turned out to be. I know this is gonna be a night of revelations, resolutions and of course, good conversation.
I can almost smell the rain. Dunno if it's gonna dampen my spirit or if the breeze would refresh my already tired system. But I'm happy I found Matt again. Finally.

From Dreamland to Dreamland

Monsoon Midmornings
By Michael Martin

The Intricacies Of Matt’s Universe
From Dreamland To Dreamland

It’s getting dark out. She unceremoniously woke me up with a call. Which incidentally woke me up from a dream. Where I had been having a very pleasant conversation. With her. I suppose you are asking yourself now why I seem disappointed? Well I am frankly. In the dream, we were under the cover of blankets, and we’re facing each other while our cheeks were scrunched against our pillows. Mother earth was gently weeping outside, and the air-conditioning system, although antiquated had kept its droning to a tolerable level. The old geezer finally got its hint.

We were at home. Our home. Had neither the trappings of the rich and famous, but the gentle welcoming aura of a domicile. Where you’d know people in love with each other lived. There was a small den downstairs filled wall to wall with books. You’d find Hemingway, Dostoevsky, Maupassant, King, Rice and you’d even find Sheldon, Deveraux or Virgil and Homer if you knew where to look. It had a small coffee table in the middle stacked with magazines, Time, Newsweek, Cosmopolitan and what not. There were throw pillows strewn around. If you didn’t know the couple, you would think it was haphazard, not the controlled chaos that they loved.

One side of the living room had been converted into shelf space, holding cd’s from The Pretenders to Dawson’s Creek OST. It also housed their movie collection that of course included Shrek, much to the male’s disdain. There were frames around, from old movie posters to representations of Renoir and Van Gogh. Curiously there was a poster of a goat as well. In one countertop, there were three frames. One housed the first article the man had published and the other, a copy of the first book the woman had published. The middle one was a photograph of them. They were sitting in some harbor front, with Kirin Ichiban on the table, the man seemingly ruffling his hair and the woman on the verge of laughing. They were stylish in their low key, off hand manners.

The kitchen was stacked yet orderly. They had a full sized one complete with an oven good enough for a whole damned turkey although they rarely cooked. They enjoyed spending time with each other and had fun cooking, but it was too intense because of the wait and usually ended up making out on the counter top that they forgot about what they were cooking. Nobody likes munching on burnt meat anyway, so they had foregone it a long time ago. They still do make out in the kitchen while they boil water for the fun of it. The kettle whistled endlessly like an eternal siren while they laughed and kissed.

There were three bedrooms upstairs of which only one was in use. They had no offspring yet, as they were enjoying each other to the fullest. There was time for a family. They were both young. The time now was for each other. For kissing in the rain. For walking on beaches while the sun set. For meeting in provinces after their itineraries have been met, each of them driving like madmen to the rendezvous point or for connecting flights before they went back home together. For midnight burger or ice cream runs. For browsing for books and scented candles and other trappings they fancy.

They never spent a waking day without speaking and never ended it without. They made time, found time and/or bent time. However much they loved their work, they knew when to drop everything and run. To each other’s arms.

It was the end of a long day. The bedroom was still bathed in a dim glow from his bedside lamp. The thick curtains were absorbing much of the light, and he liked it this way. With her face turned towards him in this kind of light she was a goddess. Well she was, in any light. He smiles, knowing that wherever she is, it would be what he called home. She purrs, almost claimed entirely by sleep and snuggles closer to him, her knowing hands embracing him. His mobile phone rings suddenly, and he reaches for it, wondering what the hell could be wrong for someone to call him in this ungodly hour. He picks up the line croaks a hello and gets confused when he hears her voice on the other side of the line. He looks at her again, and she gets swallowed in a swirl of colors.

She talks again and I’m finally awake. “Matt. I’m sorry. Were you sleeping?”

From Dreamland to Dreamland

Monsoon Midmornings
By Michael Martin

The Intricacies Of Matt’s Universe
From Dreamland To Dreamland

It’s getting dark out. She unceremoniously woke me up with a call. Which incidentally woke me up from a dream. Where I had been having a very pleasant conversation. With her. I suppose you are asking yourself now why I seem disappointed? Well I am frankly. In the dream, we were under the cover of blankets, and we’re facing each other while our cheeks were scrunched against our pillows. Mother earth was gently weeping outside, and the air-conditioning system, although antiquated had kept its droning to a tolerable level. The old geezer finally got its hint.

We were at home. Our home. Had neither the trappings of the rich and famous, but the gentle welcoming aura of a domicile. Where you’d know people in love with each other lived. There was a small den downstairs filled wall to wall with books. You’d find Hemingway, Dostoevsky, Maupassant, King, Rice and you’d even find Sheldon, Deveraux or Virgil and Homer if you knew where to look. It had a small coffee table in the middle stacked with magazines, Time, Newsweek, Cosmopolitan and what not. There were throw pillows strewn around. If you didn’t know the couple, you would think it was haphazard, not the controlled chaos that they loved.

One side of the living room had been converted into shelf space, holding cd’s from The Pretenders to Dawson’s Creek OST. It also housed their movie collection that of course included Shrek, much to the male’s disdain. There were frames around, from old movie posters to representations of Renoir and Van Gogh. Curiously there was a poster of a goat as well. In one countertop, there were three frames. One housed the first article the man had published and the other, a copy of the first book the woman had published. The middle one was a photograph of them. They were sitting in some harbor front, with Kirin Ichiban on the table, the man seemingly ruffling his hair and the woman on the verge of laughing. They were stylish in their low key, off hand manners.

The kitchen was stacked yet orderly. They had a full sized one complete with an oven good enough for a whole damned turkey although they rarely cooked. They enjoyed spending time with each other and had fun cooking, but it was too intense because of the wait and usually ended up making out on the counter top that they forgot about what they were cooking. Nobody likes munching on burnt meat anyway, so they had foregone it a long time ago. They still do make out in the kitchen while they boil water for the fun of it. The kettle whistled endlessly like an eternal siren while they laughed and kissed.

There were three bedrooms upstairs of which only one was in use. They had no offspring yet, as they were enjoying each other to the fullest. There was time for a family. They were both young. The time now was for each other. For kissing in the rain. For walking on beaches while the sun set. For meeting in provinces after their itineraries have been met, each of them driving like madmen to the rendezvous point or for connecting flights before they went back home together. For midnight burger or ice cream runs. For browsing for books and scented candles and other trappings they fancy.

They never spent a waking day without speaking and never ended it without. They made time, found time and/or bent time. However much they loved their work, they knew when to drop everything and run. To each other’s arms.

It was the end of a long day. The bedroom was still bathed in a dim glow from his bedside lamp. The thick curtains were absorbing much of the light, and he liked it this way. With her face turned towards him in this kind of light she was a goddess. Well she was, in any light. He smiles, knowing that wherever she is, it would be what he called home. She purrs, almost claimed entirely by sleep and snuggles closer to him, her knowing hands embracing him. His mobile phone rings suddenly, and he reaches for it, wondering what the hell could be wrong for someone to call him in this ungodly hour. He picks up the line croaks a hello and gets confused when he hears her voice on the other side of the line. He looks at her again, and she gets swallowed in a swirl of colors.

She talks again and I’m finally awake. “Matt. I’m sorry. Were you sleeping?”

Ogre And Son

I hate hate hate green. Not really as much before as I do now. But I had been forced. By my daughter. So I had to. We all had to. Had a bunch of fun though. Went outside to smoke and Nick followed me. Had some time to nail a couple of pics. We had fun, although I was freaking grimy at that time, I could be called "His Oiliness". I miss my family. I ought to have more of this. I should should should. And I will make make make time.

Lost And Found; The Rain Dance

Monsoon Midmornings
By Michael Martin

The Intricacies Of Matt’s Universe
Lost and Found; The Rain Dance

I am in my car almost butt naked. Almost. Wanted to start before I change clothes. Maybe it’s a bad idea. I am dripping all over the notebook. See it’s a quarter to six in the morning and the day’s about to break. Not in a particular hurry, since my ride is heavily tinted.

I was supposed to be at work around eight hours ago. Ended up somewhere else where I had found good conversation, a kind heart and a warm embrace. Almost a kiss. But not quite. I went so near to losing my head tonight. Reason prevailed mercifully plus my unattractiveness helped as well.

Left at around three thirty and since the rain was pouring like wanted to drown the world, I missed the left turn leading to my street and went all the way to somewhere else. I finally lost my head. Arrived at a quarter past four to a nondescript house with a nondescript gate. Inhabited by an extra ordinary woman.

Her veranda lights went on as I parked, and there she was jumping into my arms as I got out of the car. Into the rain and into my arms. She pulled back and looked into my eyes, eyebrows questioning. She tilted her head to one side and gave me a kiss. I stepped into it. She had this tender warmth to her, yielding in a manner that told me she missed me like crazy. Or maybe relieved that I decided to pop in. I let go and stepped into it, giving myself over to the moment. Did I ever need this? Yes. God help me, I did. I do.

I pulled away and looked into her eyes. She had a soft questioning look to her, her eyes visibly moistening despite the drenching downpour. Had I broken her? I didn’t want to think about it. I hope not. I held her hand and squeezed tight. I cared, yes. But I can’t tell her I loved her. Because I did not. I turned and walked away. She was beside me in a heartbeat, her hand in mine. The streets were still deserted, general humanity was still tucked in their blankets, unwilling to give up R.E.M. from the cloak of the monsoon. We continued walking as the rain poured on, making conversation difficult, and making me comfortable. She cuts me off suddenly and I find her lips on mine. I give in for a second time. This one lasts longer. Our hands explore each other oblivious to the openness of our surroundings. It was still dark anyway.

We broke off after what seemed to be an eternity. We were both out of breath, and her voice broke as she sought to speak above the din. “Will you stay? Have breakfast at least? Please?” The touch of her hand was pleading. I almost gave in. But I didn’t have anything to offer. “I’m sorry. I can’t. I have to be somewhere else. I did miss you.”

She hung her head and would not look at me. “How about I walk you home now? You’re soaking wet.” I tug her hand and she reluctantly budged. She went for one more try. “You still have clothes with me. You ought to change too.” I chuckle despite myself. “You know there’s at least three spare sets in my trunk any given time. I promise, we’ll find time within the week. The whole freaking day, just with you.” A smile breaks in her face. “You’ll ditch work? For me?” I shrug. “It wouldn’t be the first time.” She yelps a laugh and hugs me. “I was beginning to think I didn’t matter anymore. I love you.” I smile and hug her back. I loved somebody else. Who also could not allow herself to love me back? Life is a bitch. I tussle her hair and hold her close. “I have to go.”

I caught her look back before she went in her house. Her eyes were unsure and doubting, since I didn’t give her a reply when she laid her feelings out. I could not. I would not. Lie. Anymore. To anyone. My heart belongs to someone else. Who might crash it against the rocks in the seas of time and fate? But I am hers. Hers alone. Whether she wants me or not. This makes me feel so evil, asking for a measure of intimacy from someone I could not love back. I look at my rearview and my eyes throw me a return look of loathing.

I should stop writing now and change. Light is just around the corner and the world is waking up. I’ll see you all soon.

Lost And Found; The Rain Dance

Monsoon Midmornings
By Michael Martin

The Intricacies Of Matt’s Universe
Lost and Found; The Rain Dance

I am in my car almost butt naked. Almost. Wanted to start before I change clothes. Maybe it’s a bad idea. I am dripping all over the notebook. See it’s a quarter to six in the morning and the day’s about to break. Not in a particular hurry, since my ride is heavily tinted.

I was supposed to be at work around eight hours ago. Ended up somewhere else where I had found good conversation, a kind heart and a warm embrace. Almost a kiss. But not quite. I went so near to losing my head tonight. Reason prevailed mercifully plus my unattractiveness helped as well.

Left at around three thirty and since the rain was pouring like wanted to drown the world, I missed the left turn leading to my street and went all the way to somewhere else. I finally lost my head. Arrived at a quarter past four to a nondescript house with a nondescript gate. Inhabited by an extra ordinary woman.

Her veranda lights went on as I parked, and there she was jumping into my arms as I got out of the car. Into the rain and into my arms. She pulled back and looked into my eyes, eyebrows questioning. She tilted her head to one side and gave me a kiss. I stepped into it. She had this tender warmth to her, yielding in a manner that told me she missed me like crazy. Or maybe relieved that I decided to pop in. I let go and stepped into it, giving myself over to the moment. Did I ever need this? Yes. God help me, I did. I do.

I pulled away and looked into her eyes. She had a soft questioning look to her, her eyes visibly moistening despite the drenching downpour. Had I broken her? I didn’t want to think about it. I hope not. I held her hand and squeezed tight. I cared, yes. But I can’t tell her I loved her. Because I did not. I turned and walked away. She was beside me in a heartbeat, her hand in mine. The streets were still deserted, general humanity was still tucked in their blankets, unwilling to give up R.E.M. from the cloak of the monsoon. We continued walking as the rain poured on, making conversation difficult, and making me comfortable. She cuts me off suddenly and I find her lips on mine. I give in for a second time. This one lasts longer. Our hands explore each other oblivious to the openness of our surroundings. It was still dark anyway.

We broke off after what seemed to be an eternity. We were both out of breath, and her voice broke as she sought to speak above the din. “Will you stay? Have breakfast at least? Please?” The touch of her hand was pleading. I almost gave in. But I didn’t have anything to offer. “I’m sorry. I can’t. I have to be somewhere else. I did miss you.”

She hung her head and would not look at me. “How about I walk you home now? You’re soaking wet.” I tug her hand and she reluctantly budged. She went for one more try. “You still have clothes with me. You ought to change too.” I chuckle despite myself. “You know there’s at least three spare sets in my trunk any given time. I promise, we’ll find time within the week. The whole freaking day, just with you.” A smile breaks in her face. “You’ll ditch work? For me?” I shrug. “It wouldn’t be the first time.” She yelps a laugh and hugs me. “I was beginning to think I didn’t matter anymore. I love you.” I smile and hug her back. I loved somebody else. Who also could not allow herself to love me back? Life is a bitch. I tussle her hair and hold her close. “I have to go.”

I caught her look back before she went in her house. Her eyes were unsure and doubting, since I didn’t give her a reply when she laid her feelings out. I could not. I would not. Lie. Anymore. To anyone. My heart belongs to someone else. Who might crash it against the rocks in the seas of time and fate? But I am hers. Hers alone. Whether she wants me or not. This makes me feel so evil, asking for a measure of intimacy from someone I could not love back. I look at my rearview and my eyes throw me a return look of loathing.

I should stop writing now and change. Light is just around the corner and the world is waking up. I’ll see you all soon.

Glare

Monsoon Midmornings
By Michael Martin

The Matt and Ivy Show
Glare

Rain was steadily pouring outside, the steady pitter-patter a constant humming sound. Nature’s song, and she was singing it in all her splendor. For the world. Or for this island in a backward third world tropical country. To the lovers inside the four by five walls of destiny however, the song is for them and for them alone.

“It’s raining like crazy outside.” Ivy had been spread out languorously on her stomach as she lay on her bed. Her eyelids were heavy and drooping. Her hair had an oily sheen to it, from the perspiration brought by the humidity earlier. Her fan had a slight clickety-clack to it, maybe from the lack of an oil job. The sound was a nice accompaniment for Miss Nature’s singing.

“Uh-huh.” I was lying on my side, with my head propped by my elbows. My other hand was toying with strands of her hair as she tried unsuccessfully to fend off sleep. She had been smiling from time to time as she waned in and out of consciousness, somehow sure and surprised to find me there beside her. She turned off the lights in her room, but the door was open letting in light from the living room filter in. God she looked stunning, with her hair in tendrils cascading her high face and her cheeks crushed against the pillows. She looked stunning even when she didn’t mean to be. I could stare at her now, now that she has her eye closed. I promised not to kiss her. Under these circumstances though, this is one promise I would have a hard time to keep.

She rouses again, tries to open her eyes in vain and is unsuccessful. She settles for a smile instead and wraps her arm around me, pulling me nearer. She smiles and mumbles, “I love you” in a manner only she can deliver. It sounds like how honey would taste the first time it touched your tongue. Or the way your eyes react the first time you see dawn slowly break and set the sky afire. Am I really here? Is this a dream? I bury my head in her neck and feel her warm steady breath on my cheeks. No, this is not a dream. She is there all right. I am here as well.

I look at her and find myself surprised. It’s like I’ve known for all of eternity. I know I’ve seen her like this, in some deep dark recesses of my memory, I know this look. The look of peace and serenity etched in her face. Woken up with it before, although this is the first time I saw it. She had always been a whirlwind. Passionate, driven, angsty and on perpetual overdrive. She tones down when she’s with me, like feeling comfortable in the passenger seat for once. Now she’s asleep. Here’s where we are right now. I don’t have to talk. Murmurs though are there. Some humming sounds from the deepest of slumbers. Hugs. The world is at peace. I murmur back and the rains swallow it. Does it matter? Did she hear it? I don’t know. But she smiled a bit and held me tighter. Is there anything better the world can offer? I think not.

Glare

Monsoon Midmornings
By Michael Martin

The Matt and Ivy Show
Glare

Rain was steadily pouring outside, the steady pitter-patter a constant humming sound. Nature’s song, and she was singing it in all her splendor. For the world. Or for this island in a backward third world tropical country. To the lovers inside the four by five walls of destiny however, the song is for them and for them alone.

“It’s raining like crazy outside.” Ivy had been spread out languorously on her stomach as she lay on her bed. Her eyelids were heavy and drooping. Her hair had an oily sheen to it, from the perspiration brought by the humidity earlier. Her fan had a slight clickety-clack to it, maybe from the lack of an oil job. The sound was a nice accompaniment for Miss Nature’s singing.

“Uh-huh.” I was lying on my side, with my head propped by my elbows. My other hand was toying with strands of her hair as she tried unsuccessfully to fend off sleep. She had been smiling from time to time as she waned in and out of consciousness, somehow sure and surprised to find me there beside her. She turned off the lights in her room, but the door was open letting in light from the living room filter in. God she looked stunning, with her hair in tendrils cascading her high face and her cheeks crushed against the pillows. She looked stunning even when she didn’t mean to be. I could stare at her now, now that she has her eye closed. I promised not to kiss her. Under these circumstances though, this is one promise I would have a hard time to keep.

She rouses again, tries to open her eyes in vain and is unsuccessful. She settles for a smile instead and wraps her arm around me, pulling me nearer. She smiles and mumbles, “I love you” in a manner only she can deliver. It sounds like how honey would taste the first time it touched your tongue. Or the way your eyes react the first time you see dawn slowly break and set the sky afire. Am I really here? Is this a dream? I bury my head in her neck and feel her warm steady breath on my cheeks. No, this is not a dream. She is there all right. I am here as well.

I look at her and find myself surprised. It’s like I’ve known for all of eternity. I know I’ve seen her like this, in some deep dark recesses of my memory, I know this look. The look of peace and serenity etched in her face. Woken up with it before, although this is the first time I saw it. She had always been a whirlwind. Passionate, driven, angsty and on perpetual overdrive. She tones down when she’s with me, like feeling comfortable in the passenger seat for once. Now she’s asleep. Here’s where we are right now. I don’t have to talk. Murmurs though are there. Some humming sounds from the deepest of slumbers. Hugs. The world is at peace. I murmur back and the rains swallow it. Does it matter? Did she hear it? I don’t know. But she smiled a bit and held me tighter. Is there anything better the world can offer? I think not.

The Circle Closes

Monsoon Midmornings (From Matt’s Universe)
By Michael Martin

The Matt and Ivy Show
The Circle Closes

Coffee never tasted this good. Cigarettes never felt this wonderful. Unless she was there with me, sharing time. The world felt like it was in equilibrium. Everything and everyone was a dreamy haze, except for the woman sitting opposite me. She was all that mattered. Blinding in her radiance, awesome to behold. I talk about her like she is a goddess. Maybe in that respect she is. When someone has that kind of hold over you without meaning to, when you give her the wrecking ball to do with as she wishes, while you cringe and smile, terrified of what she might do, yet thankful that she bothered to stay anyway, then she is a goddess. Yours anyway. Or mine to be specific.

Don’t get me wrong I didn’t succumb at the first instance. To be plain, I went down kicking and screaming. I had to be dragged by the roots of my hair by time, fate and chance. That led me here. Hopelessly in love with someone who will never be mine to hold.

The air is pregnant with moisture as they are in this season. It makes everything seem of the verge of change. We’re sitting at the second floor veranda of a coffee house, looking out at the hustle and bustle below us. Somehow it seems different. I’ve known her for four years. There’s a shift within her. I cannot figure out what it is though. She seems older too, wiser and more in control of herself. Makes me love her more. She’s maturing into one hell of a wonderful woman.

She makes a huge deal out of it, looking intently at me while I construct my thoughts into coherent half sentences. The strain is not yet at a point to matter but it is distracting. A knowing smile now and then and an almost imperceptible nod of the head, which is what I call her let’s see how freaking good you are under pressure mister or the I feel like screwing with your head now because I can, then she throws the “So you still can’t look at me huh, Matt? ”. Which of course sends me mentally sprawling on the sidewalk.

I shake my head and try to regain my wits. She laughs. It’s one of her short chuckles that speak volumes of amusement. I could wait a lifetime to hear that again. “You can’t, huh?”

I decide to lay it on straight. No mustard.

“You know why? You’re within sight and my whole universe turns upside down. You’re this close and all I can think of is shoving this table away and taking you in my arms to kiss you. I look into your eyes and I get overwhelmed by how heartbreakingly beautiful you are.”

She stares at me blankly. Does she always have to be this difficult? She could just say “Fuck off Matt.” Then it’ll be done. She never gives a hint if what I say even reaches her mind. It always feels like it falls on deaf or indifferent ears. Yet still she would not dismiss me. A reaction would be nice though. It isn’t a dream to talk to statues. No matter how crazy I seem.

Damn. “It tears me apart, you know? I tried to stay away the past year! I did everything I could to forget you. I moved jobs, uprooted myself and to what merit? My world goes quiet for a second and you re the first thing that pops into my head. After all my efforts, one message from you and everything comes crumbling down. You know why I came? I came to tell myself that I am over you. That I can live my life and come back to you in the in the only way you want me. As a friend. To sit here now and accept that I couldn’t. I can’t.” I choke up and look away. I can’t do this, I cannot allow myself to live like this. I was planning to get my shit together and then take her home – a head on my shoulder, and a hand on my arm. “You kept running away Matt. I was waiting for you to stop fighting it.”

The world goes quiet. Silent. Still. I feel a steady humming in my skin, and become aware that the sky had opened up. I tilt my head just a bit, tentative. My cheeks find her there. The stillness feels like it can stretch for eternity. I close my eyes and smile. So this is what writers write about. The moment. The decision. It’s breathtaking to feel this, when you are at an age to really appreciate it. The jump. Or when you open the door for the first time and walk inside. There is a timeless wonder to it.

I am not sure why, but although I can’t see her face, I can feel she’s smiling. But her eyes remain so sad. The circle has closed.