Malapit Ka Nang Maging Tula

4TDHSPIMJ6 (1)

Malapit ka nang maging tula
Depende sa ‘yo kung ituturing mo itong pangako o babala
Sinasabi ko lang na parating na tayo sa simula

Sinasaulo ko na ang bawat pagkalikot mo sa iyong relo
Pinapanalangin na hindi mo binibilang ang bawat minuto
At inaabangan kung oras na ba para tumayo ka’t lumayo

Nakikita na kita nang malinaw sa panaginip ko
Tuwing lumilingon ka, nginingitian mo na ako
Paggising ko tuloy, nakangiti na rin agad ako

Sa tuwing magkausap tayo, naririnig ko ang boses mo
Kahit puro letra lang ang nababasa ko
Kahit na nasa magkaibang siyudad tayo

Naiipon ko na nang hindi sadya ang mga alaala
Yung mga iilang segundong napapatingin ka
Yung tumatagos sa mga taong nasa pagitan nating dalawa

Pero hindi ko pa rin yata kayang aminin na para ‘to sa ‘yo
Na nakakalungkot dahil puro magagandang bagay ang dulot mo
At palagi na lang tayong maraming paligoy-ligoy sa mundo

Kaya ito na lang muna ang iiwan ko habang di ko pa kaya
Ayokong mangako, pero mas lalong hindi ito babala
Pero malapit ka nang maging tula

Morning-After Walk


I wonder if people know I’m having a morning-after walk and why it has such a bad reputation in the first place. But they must know. It must be the hair, I think to myself. No one walks along the streets of Ayala at six in the morning with a bad state of hair, all greasy and messy. I suspect my eyes are also still puffy from having gotten up too quickly and leaving that place in a rush. But I couldn’t stay there any minute longer.

So I soldier on despite my sorry state. Anyway, I haven’t experienced the city this way in a long time, and if there’s one thing that could change my mind about hating early mornings, it’s that I could have my coffee outdoors in peace, watching people panic that they’re going to be late while I just sit and relax.

I put my earphones on, play a happy song, and head for the nearest coffee shop. It rained last night, I realize when I notice the small puddles of water scattered like jigsaw puzzles along the sidewalk. Down the street, a steady stream of water is still coming from one building for some reason. I guess it didn’t get the memo that it stopped raining five hours ago.

I sit in one of the tables outside a quiet café, with my black coffee and my last-night face, and I reflect on what I’d done. It really wasn’t that bad, I bargain. People had done it before and lived through it. With all the evils in the world, surely it’s not the worst thing a person could do.

And yet.

I know people still judge morning-after walks of shame. The funny thing is that I didn’t even have sex last night. It’s what got me in this trouble in the first place. But I had to do it, I repeat to myself. I take a gulp of hot coffee and decide on the spot that it was the right thing to do.

Out of nowhere, there’s a little voice inside me that whispers, I would’ve named her Lulu, after her grandma. But I take another sip and shush the voice.

It was the right thing to do.