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Posts Tagged ‘bread’

In the old quarter of the city,

in the nakedness of the cold walls

of this back street. I sit alone, outside.

Here. In the almost empty corner of the café.

Looking beyond many mornings

distant, from the crowd.

 

There is something.

In the stale morning air that reminds me

of one strange midnight.

 

A quiet conversation of two souls

connecting among the silver teaspoons,

teacups and porcelain.

 

Exchanged glimpses of a period

when things are new, young and free.

Reliving a story of the jaded past

within a single stretch of hours

waiting for the sunrise.

 

There is something-

which I failed to grasp

and took hold of.

 

Something in the dust-filled glass windows.

The peeled off paint from the ceiling.

The wallpaper shedding its ancient skin.

The tattered leather and cushions

of these vintage chairs.

 

There is a memory of a voice fading

like the sheen from this worn-out table.

Among the bread crumbs for the pigeons to share.

And this bronzed cup leaving off a tinge-

a certain warmth I could not forget.

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Seldom will I ever had the chance to talk to a beautiful mind.  Seldom will somebody can really connect you to something that stimulates your senses and make you stop and listen to what he or she might be saying.  These are special times and quite a rarity.

In a conversation to a new acquaintance, I am having a hard time cracking myself open and start a little chatter about something that of little importance.  I am so shy, unless there is something in this person that lightens up and usher me to strike a line, a joke, just to break the ice.

Something that tickles an interest. I must confess, making yourself interesting is hard, but it is a lot harder to be genuinely interested to somebody who is opening up to you for the very first time.

And I met this beautiful mind in a far-fetched place  somewhere in Fujairah.  He is a Syrian. His name is Wajdi. A simple man. No pretensions, contented of who he is. And though his present status would allow him to choose his friends meticulously, he would rather not. No prejudices of whatsoever. And I must say that he have this.  A beautiful mind.

When I visited Ann and there he was, interestingly fragile, is aloof at first. If not for Ann and Beth (Ann’s friend), the connection might have been lost somewhere. And how in the world that an Orthodox would comfortably mingle with a bunch of Filipinos like us.  I believe there would be some cultural clashes in between.

But wait, he doesn’t look like an intruder. He looks like a lamb who is not fond of complaining and whining about his life’s travails. When he talks about his country and his way of life, he can vividly describe it in words. It’s such a wonder  to imagine that you are seeing it first-hand in your mind like a map.  I never had imagined how he eloped some of the traps I have made during our conversations. This I intentionally do, just for the purpose of cutting short a probable senseless chatter, if the case maybe.

But amazingly, he would come up with a fresh perspective on a topic, and he can keep up with the task to make the conversation flowing and interesting. Then unknowingly, the hours would stretch longer due to the countless exchanges of  opinions and anecdotes.

Wajdi is not your ordinary guy. He is someone, who never eats red meat, shuns too much eating especially rice. He would just be contented of his Arabic bread with some unknown herbs on it. Though, in between his stories of childhood, it was quite clear to me that he is  used to this eating pattern. One time, I sarcastically told him, that he might end up as tasteless to me if I would be a lycan or a monster ready to devour him. And he would just smile innocently.

And on my last day in Fujairah, I told him that if I would be given a chance to bring him to Dubai, for being a good conversationalist with  his witty and intelligent arguments, I said, I would chop him part by part and put him on my luggage. And he just smiled there.  He nodded, and said that I can do so if I really want to. That was meant for a joke.

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The song will always be connected with my first heartbreak. I remember how significant the days were, when suddenly I was thrown into a situation that I cannot control.  There was a thrill and at the same time a confusion. The feelings must have been an infatuation. But regardless, I am still glad to know that I am still a human being, capable of loving and to be loved.

It was a journey that seems to be trodding along the unchartered.  The mysteries of love might have been so magnetic that I tend to forget the reality.  Suddenly, I am mesmerized by its magic.  Entangled beneath its charm. And I find myself lost and bewildered by the  bigness of my  heart to  take  all  in  the complexities  of my first  love.

There is a song that totally embodies my first love.  It is the Diary written by David Gates of the Bread.  It is about the innocence of love among young people.  It is how I described the friendship that has grown into a fragiled love’s intensity.  In my mind, I am seeing this event as an act of eternity being shared by two people.  Being nurtured on its first instance. 

But the hardest would be is not to be reciprocated of that love. I freely gave it.  I did not expect in return.  But inside of me, I have cried as if the lifetime is shattered.  Lost in space. The dream that keep playing in my mind will just be a beautiful memory.  Did I ever regret?  Regretting that I am the outsider to a relationship that will not belong to me, after all.

Regretting that the girl I love loves somebody else.  And when I have the chance to see him,  I am so downtrodden that even an inch I cannot fight a good fight.  I am no match.  How  I am bleeding inside.  Yes, I have felt that the lifeblood that keeps me moving along this crowd has been taken away to waste.  I have let them take that away from me.  And I am being overwhelmed.

And the simple agony that was. Pity me.  My poor heart will always be wishing that me and the girl would be joined someday.  Maybe in another lifetime.  Not on this lifetime. 

I could go on narrating down how my love then is worth trying.  But now,  it will always be like a diary that  I will keep along all the days of my life.

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