Saturday, January 2, 2010


For the year that is coming, and for the year that will pass away; a turning point becomes a milestone. The milestone then becomes a monument, especially for its sculptors and his benefactors. And the sculptor wants their patrons recognized.

For the hearing out of those pleas with which only the most sensitive ear can listen to. The deepest secrets which were born out of both desperation and insecurity, the tales of which the living tragedy unfolds. A dark truth that pierces the hearer and binds the teller to secrecy, with which only courage and sincerity could undo. For knowing, and genuinely being there.

For the amusement despite everything, for the joy amidst the pain. For the smiles, the giggles, and the concerned look. For the effort to bring comfort, of which even for the perpetrator is not given back. Sincerity. And for the dignity that is restored.

For the chance to be the listener of woes. The sharing of suffering, the stories of personal failures, the empathy. For the innocence, even if  it is a mere illusion, and the feeling of having a companion in the sea of troubles. For the play.

For the ironic friendship which have lasted despite constraints. The humor, the laughter, the things one cannot even talk about with other people. The physical bullying that normal people would render brutal, that which even strengthened both parties. Most especially for the subconscious understanding, with which the other has extended so much support as to even help out for mere survival of the other. One cannot live without.

For the darkest endeavours into the vast depths of emotions. The similar journey into a winding path of pain, agony, and what is all called reality. For the guidance, and the disillusionment from the ivory tower of ignorance to the painful truth of experience. For the unwavering, silent faith in What Is. The paradox of the light shining on the way and the darkness that creeps into the innermost vacuum of the soul.

For the mere presence of perfection. Splendor, grandeur, everything. For a chance at love.

Things change. Life remains the same. The wanderer has accepted his fate. The storyteller bows down with gladness. The poet puts down his pen. The scientist studies the world. The philosopher gazes at the sky once more. The realist steers the boat.

The writer hopes that his audience will understand what was written, as the sculptor murmurs a hearty “Thank you. Very much”.


giz elle said...

this and your other works are publishable

kevin kent vincent canlas said...

waa mam.haha. :D