Shorts: Nativity

So I've been filling up my blog recently with love notes. Haha. I think I should try something different. 

This is the first chapter of a piece of fiction (with facts intertwined) that I wrote for a friend. Haha. Enjoy. 

---

Clack clack clack clack.

Slosh.

The door to the master’s bedroom swung open. The room was dimly lit being that the only source of light was a tiny flame on the dresser. There was a four poster bed with white beddings. A circular velvet rug adorned the shiny oak wood floor. The doors of the wooden wardrobe creaked.

But all attention was directed towards the woman in the bed located at the right side of the room. She was sweating profusely. The mattress was wet, her nightgown soaked from the waist down. She was breathing deeply, her face was red and it contorted in pain.

The baby was coming.

The maid made a move to approach her but was stopped by a commanding baritone voice originating from the bathroom. “Start the car!” it said. The owner of the voice was a man in his late 30s. His complexion was fair in contrast to that of his wife’s which was a golden brown. His hair was greying at the sides, his countenance stern, but his eyes betray what he was currently feeling.

His wife was in pain and he needs to get her to the hospital!  

The maid nodded and rushed out of the room. He could hear his wife’s laboured breathing. He doused his face with cold water. He needed to calm his nerves. Now was not the time to panic!

His wife woke him up in the middle of the night, complaining about an ache in her belly. Thinking that it was because of the draft, he walked over to the window and sealed them shut. An hour later he woke up to someone grasping his hand. “She’s coming.” Was all she said, and alarm bells started ringing.

“Sir, the car is ready.”

He walked out of the room, grabbed the first clean shirt he could find, wore it, and strode over to his wife’s side. He didn’t worry about the clothes, they can come later. It was already two in the morning, so the trip will be quick.

“Lord, please.” He uttered as he took in his wife’s appearance. Her upper lip was trembling. Her mouth was agape, exhaling sharply. Her chest rose rapidly, and her brows knit tightly together. Without much effort, he lifted her up in his arms. She clung to him. He can feel her body shake against his.

“This is all your fault.” She whispered vehemently, cracking a smile. This was her second child, and after the first she told him never again. The pain was unbearable, even though the child was outrageously adorable. But her husband knew just what to say to make her give in. This time would be the last. She’ll make sure of it.

He smiled. “It’s not my fault you couldn’t resist me.” Leave it to her to crack a joke at this time. He gave her a quick kiss on the forehead and proceeded out the room.

“I’m already in pain and you still manage to bully me.”

He chuckled. At least some of the tension was lifted. “She’s pretty impatient isn’t she?” he asked her as they made their way down the stairs. Who placed these damned steps in the way?

“Like her father.” She was starting to calm down. Her breathing evened out.

“Stay awake.” He told her.

“No problem there.” She replied weakly, her head on his chest and her arms around his neck. She listened to the erratic beating of his heart. He was also nervous. “I’ll be fine.”

“Sir?”

He turned.

There in the maid’s arms was his daughter, Sarah. Five years of age. She was wearing her favourite yellow PJs with a floral print. Her mop of wavy chestnut brown hair resembled a bird’s nest on her head. She woke up from the ruckus and was now eyeing her mother in her father’s arms. “Daddy?”

“Mommy’s going to be all right.” His wife replied with a smile. His daughter looked up at him. He nodded. “I’ll be right back with your baby sister.”

The girl beamed. “She’s coming?” the smile immediately faded as she took in her mother’s appearance. “Why is mommy sweating so much? Does she hurt? Why is my sister hurting mommy?” she asked.

“Mommy is just feeling hot. Your sister is not hurting me.”

“But mommy looks hurt…” his wife shook her head. “Daddy, get mommy some ice cream so she won’t feel hot anymore. My sister might like it too.”

His wife smiled. “I bet she’ll like it… very much. Chocolate ice cream is your favourite, right?”

The girl nodded happily. “Yes!”

“I’ll get you some when I get back. But now, daddy has to get your mommy to the hospital. The doctor is going to help bring your baby sister out of mommy’s tummy.” If it weren’t for their present situation, she would have laughed. This was the first time she had ever heard her husband talk baby to their firstborn. He must really be worried. She grinned inwardly, stroking the back of his neck tenderly. “Don’t make fun of me. We need to get you to the hospital.” He whispered back to her.

“Oh.” Sarah replied, unknown of the brief exchange between husband and wife. “OK.”

She tried hard not to wince. The baby was coming… fast. “Now go back to sleep. Get your sister’s room ready for mommy, OK?”

Sarah nodded and watched as her father walked out of the house with her mommy. She turned her attention to the woman carrying her.

“Ate, will mommy be all right?”

The maid looked at the girl’s questioning light brown eyes. She sighed and did what she knew was best: she nodded.

***

The rest of the populace was still snug under the covers. Several delivery trucks and buses passed them by. The drivers and passengers were all bleary-eyed or fast asleep, some looking out of their windows with a blank stare. He was tempted to floor it, but he couldn’t risk being so reckless at this time of day.

“No rush.” His wife said. How can she be so collected at a time like this?

They arrived at the hospital with ease. Good thing the baby didn’t come during rush hour. He got out of the car and signalled two nurses to the car. They brought with them a wheel chair, but they were much too slow for him that he decided to carry his wife to the emergency room himself. “Is there an available room?” he asked. He towered over them, not one nurse answered. He sighed. “She’s going into labour. Is there a room available?” the nurses looked at each other, silently urging the other to answer for them. Thankfully one took initiative and replied, “There is, sir. But we must get her to the delivery room.”

***

“There’s no go with this one. We have to do caesarean.” They’ve been at it for an hour. The baby was too big.  “This would be her first, yes?” the doctor asked the man beside him.

“Her first C-section? Yes, it is.”

“With your permission, sir. We have to proceed with the C-section.”

“Whatever you think is best.”

Several minutes later, a loud wail resonated throughout the hall.

***

She opened her eyes. “Where am I?” Sunlight was dancing on the walls. This wasn’t their room. Her eyes got accustomed to the light; she got a whiff of chlorine.

“You’re up.”

She recognized that voice and directed her attention to where it came from. There, clad in the shirt he was wearing early this morning, was her husband. He was smiling grandly at her. She smiled back, only then to notice a small bundle in his arms. She stared at him. Then everything that happened several hours ago rushed back in. “I had a baby…” her voice was hushed. If it weren’t for him looking at her intently, he would have missed her utterance of disbelief.

“Yeah. You did.” He laughed lightly. The baby was fast asleep.

Still shocked, the only thing she could muster asking was, “How is she?”

Her husband let out a hoot. “She is apparently a HE.”

She blinked.

“You gave birth to a son. A handsome, cute, healthy son.” That said, he stood up from the watcher’s couch and walked up to her. “He has yet to feel his mother’s touch. You’ve been out for a while.”

By instinct, her arms rose up to receive the sleeping new born. He was wrapped in blue cloth, his skin fair just like his father, and his cheeks ablush. He was so small with a tuft of dark brown hair on his small head. He started to squirm. With a brief rub of its nose, he opened his eyes slowly. Light brown eyes, just like her husband’s, staring right at her.

“He’s adorable…”

“Of course he is. He’s my son.”

Her heart was fit to bursting. A son! His mouth quirked up a bit… then it let out a cry! “He’s hungry.” Her husband pointed out with a guffaw. He helped her untie the knot of the hospital gown behind her. She pulled down the cloth, exposing her nipple. Drops of milk appeared at the tip. With some gentle prodding, the baby took it in and sucked. She grinned.

“What do we name him?”

“Hm… a lot of people misspell my surname. Only a few can even pronounce it correctly. Perhaps we should give him an easy name.”

“Why?”

“He might be stupid.”

“Isn’t it a too early to come up with that conclusion?”

“How about ‘Jack'?”

She looked down at the baby in her arms, suckling peacefully at her breast. “Jack Vermeulen. I like the sound of that.”

Thoughts: Heart Unable

Why are you so different? 
There are no butterflies, 
no racing heartbeat, 
no cat hanging onto my uvula. 
I don't feel sick,
I don't make a mad scramble for words. 
I can tell you almost anything, 
I can talk to you about almost anything. 
How could you possibly not see it?
How can you not tell?
How could you?
All I ever see is you. 
All I ever wanted was you.
I lied.
I didn't mean it 
when I said I didn't like you.
I lied.
I didn't mean it when I said
you were not the one I adored.
I lied
to myself, 
knowing that liking you is wrong,
pointless,
and will bring me nothing
but pain.
How could you not tell?
How could you possibly not see it?
My heart cannot do anything else
but weep.

Doodles

Doodles

Drew this two years ago. It all started out as black and white circles... then it ended up like this. Haha

Let's say I was trying out the Goth/dark age feel. Didn't really work out for me. :P I loved playing with the colors though.

Thoughts: A Trickle

My tita told me about this poem writing contest and I was thinking about joining. I stopped writing poems when I was little (I don't know where my childhood creations are) and haven't gotten myself to do any more. With a stash of unfinished story drafts, ideas that run dry on pages, and plots that had an end but no beginning or the other way around... I now give the old poet in me a nudge.

Trickle

Just a glimpse.

Subtle.

Like a solitary

refreshing,

drop of morning dew

on the cold

lifeless earth.

I stir.

A beat.

Faint.

Stronger.

Bolder.

I stop.

A trickle.

That was all it took.

Fleeting.

Subtle.

Just a glimpse

from you

I have gone asunder.

Feel free to tell me what you think! Thanks! 

It's love poems for now since it's an emotion I can easily mold (inspired perhaps?).

Thoughts: Brief

Underneath the warmth of the hotel's comforter, I silently watch him pack for the airport. A few hours was all we had to spare, spending it by conversing over a hearty breakfast and poking fun at modern artwork displayed in the hotel lobby before drifting back to sleep at the hotel room. I woke up early to catch the train to go see him, he sacrificed hours of sleep just to see me. We were both tired. But all that was long forgotten once I appeared at his doorstep.

After those thirty minutes I knew that I would have to watch him leave and miss him terribly.

Thoughts: Coffee

I silently sit and take a sip from my mug, listening to you talk about your day. I notice how your eyes change as you talk. A faraway look that tells me you took the plunge. Recollecting, reminiscing... The only time the spell breaks is when you notice she isn't listening. She who has not bothered to give you a second glance for the last five minutes.

Why did you stop? I was listening. I did. I knew every single detail... how each word was strung as they fell smoothly from your mouth. Did she notice how your eyes sparkled? Did she?

But you didn't mind if she didn't.

You stopped. And I take another sip.

REMINISCING: Departure

I haven't really documented my college life. There are not enough pictures or videos to look back on on what transpired over the last four years. I think that would be my biggest regret.

---

"These are heavy..." I did a last sweep on my room. That girly pinkish room. I don't know why my parents picked that color for my room. I'm not even girly to begin with! Haha. I looks down at my bag, which weighed 17 kilos, and at two other Balikbayan boxes filled with clothes and books. Books. Why do I need to bring those books? "Ma, don't you think I would go excess?" No kidding, Yel. No kidding.

I was leaving for Manila that time. I just finished high school, without any sense of dread as to what comes after. I was ready for whatever comes. I didn't even mind where I would end up for college, so as long it wouldn't be too much trouble for my parents to support me. Then... the letter came. That acceptance letter in the white Manila envelope. I didn't know they had white Manila envelopes until I saw THAT. 

I was accepted into the Ateneo. With a Bachelor of Science in Life Sciences to boot. 

Wait a minute. I didn't even consider Life Sciences... did I?

No way. 

Yes way. And now I'm leaving to attend classes there.

I carried my bag down the flight of stairs. I told my mom I'll deal with the boxes. 

"I'm going to miss you, Yel!" my brother Gabriel bawled behind one of the living room pillows. He was crying. He did so last night as well to the point I ended up sleeping beside him with his arms wrapped around me. He could have been a wrestler with that hold.

Tossing the pillow aside, he ran up to me and put his arms around my neck. He was shorter than me, being several years younger, so I couldn't do anything but bend. "I'll never forget you!"

This separation anxiety is normal, I told myself. This is the first time I would be apart from them for so long. But I just wish he would stop crying. I've been telling myself not to cry. If I start crying, all hell would break loose and we would all be weeping wackos. "It's not like this is going to be permanent." I whispered to him. I stroked his back and neck, and hugged him just as tight. I was close to breaking point. I felt my tear ducts acting up.

"Let me record your voice! I don't want to forget your voice!" he said between hiccups. I just smiled and hugged him tighter. Planting a kiss on his tear-strained cheek, I told him that I would be back soon. 

"You won't forget me." 

My brother Gavin just watched. Actually, he was more impassive. When tita Marjorie turned up the driveway, Gabriel reluctantly released his hold (I can tell since I had to tell him thrice that tita was there) and Gavin gave me a hug. "Bye, Yel. You take care in Manila." was all I heard from him.

Mama was also in tears. Not as bad as Gabriel though, thank goodness. Haha. She accompanied me to the airport, where we had to ask someone to take some of my luggage under his name otherwise I would have to pay a fortune to get my stuff on board. Darn books. 

Mama gave me a kiss and a hug before I went in the departure area. She told me to take care and to look after myself. "You be good." she said.

"I will." 

The airplane had yet to arrive so I busied myself with a book. I then received a text from mama that Gavin cried.

Quotes

A lot of people go through the same difficulties we went through, and they react completely differently. We look for the easiest way out: A SEPARATE REALITY. - Paulo Coelho, Veronika Decides to Die 

Letters from Iwo Jima Soundtrack and a few other things

Watched this movie earlier. And, as always, the soundtrack got my attention.

It all began in the year 1944. The Japanese were at war with the Americans. General Kuribayashi was assigned to lead a group of men to defend the island Iwo Jima. The island appears to be the country's first line of defense against the Americans (more like a huge barricade that the enemy would have to break down to get inside the center). With it gone, the Amercians can use it as their base and effectively infiltrate the mainland.

Its good to get to see the other side of the coin for once. While browsing through the comments of the viewers (I was looking for a video of the soundtrack), a some people were enraged by the change in 'position'. I for one think that there is no such thing as protagonists or antagonists when it comes to war. Who is what in the first place? You call the opposing side the antagonist, but aren't you also in their eyes? I think it all boils done to survival instincts: one becomes an enemy if they are seen as a threat.

But seeing the turn of events, and comparing them with other war movies, one can't help but find similarities between the two: sons and fathers were sent out leaving their families behind, their desire to live and to return home [miraculously] unscathed or preferrably in one piece, the lack of support and other necessities (rations and ammunition). Although in said movies the opposing side will be depicted as ruthless, savage, aggressive, and any other adjective you can associate with a barbarian, I can't help but feel pity. I mean, it was the conditions that made them that way. Going back to the movie, the general was asked whether he would shoot his friend, an American, if a war would erupt between the two countries (which strangely DID happen). The general said he would for the sake of his country. If it weren't for the circumstances I doubt he would.

All in all it was beautiful. Clint Eastwood is... wow. He's now on my favorite director list. Haha.

Dialogues

I don't know why… but I always find making dialogues a lot easier than making stories. Maybe it's because when I find a scene involving two people, everything just seems to center on how those two are connected. May it just be the briefest of glances or hour-long conversations, the scenery takes a backseat in the whole thing.

I was inspired by The Matrix script and figured that I should just finish what I started. ^^

So here's something I wrote a week ago. Nothing much really. It's basically about a woman finally having the courage to confess her feelings to a guy, even though she knows that it would only be a one-sided love. Typical romantic theme (yeah… I'm a sucker for that kind of stuff). Haha.

Her

Can I talk to you for a second?

Her voice is a tad bit higher than normal, in order for him to hear her above the din. He looks at her. There’s a hint of urgency in her voice. He smiles and nods.

Him

Sure.

They come out through the fire exit. It was snowing, and the only light source was the light bulb above them. He was wearing slacks and a dark blue polo, clad in a heavy khaki brown trench coat. He manages without a scarf. She was wearing thick black leggings, black boots, a navy blue button-up coat, a gray scarf and a black beanie. Her cheeks are red from the cold.

Him

What's wrong?

She moves away from him, her face barely illuminated by the lamp light, but he can still make out her features.

Him

Are you cold?

Silence.

Him

Did something happ-?

Her

I love you.

He is taken aback by the straightforward confession. Her eyes were averted, apparently fixed on a garbage can on his right. Her actions abandoning what she was trying to display: a gutty female.

Him

Oh.

He smiles. He is aware of the gravity of the situation.   

Him

I'm flattered, but… I'm sorry. I can't feel for you the same way.

Tears stream down her face. This takes him by surprise. The last thing he wanted was to make a girl cry.

Him

Why are you crying?

She wipes away her tears.

Her

Because I'm frustrated! I know you wouldn't but I still am hoping you would!

Him

I already have someone. You do know that don’t you?

She nods.

Him

Then why-?

Her

I don't want to regret. I don't want to slap myself in the face one day, saying that I should have done something.

  

She stops crying.

Her

I'm telling you now because I’m afraid of getting hurt. I don't want to misinterpret your actions thinking that what happened tonight is the reason behind them. If you choose to ignore me or avoid me, at least I won't be here. It would be less painful for me.

Him

What makes you think I would do such a thing?

Her

It is one of your options in dealing with this.

Him

Whatever happens I would never ignore you.

Her

How can I be sure?

Him

You should know by now that I’m not that type of guy…

Her

How would I know? The mind is complex. I would expect you to do something, but you have the option to do another or something out of character.

Him

Then that just means you don’t know me all too well.

Her

I’m sure about one thing!

Him

…

Her

I know you're annoying!

Him

Hey! Wait a minute!

Her

And even though you are I STILL love you!

Him

…

She sighs, closing her eyes. One can see a cloud of smoke escape from her lips. Snowflakes get caught on her eyelashes. He doesn’t make a sound.

Her

You seldom finish the things you started, but when you want something, you do everything you can to get it. You're kind, you're smart, mysterious, confusing, and sweet. You make me smile with the least effort. You're a man of few words, but you don't always need words to get your message across. You're reserved… calm… but sometimes bursting into a dam that leaves everybody shaking.

She laughs softly, opening her eyes. She takes a step towards him. He doesn't budge an inch.

Her

You make me want to do more, be more… you make me better. There are so many things about you that I haven't quite figured out yet, and those should be enough to stop me from liking you. But… I can't…

She takes another step forward. He stands still.
 

Her

You're like a magnet… and I hate it!

She looks away.

Her

But I can't do anything to stop myself. It's annoying.

She closes her eyes. She's looking the other way. She sighs.

Her

I know you like her. And I bet she likes you too.

She reverts her attention back to him and smiles.

Her

She's lucky.

Him

I’m sorry…

She smiles and nods.

Her

Good-bye.

She goes back inside through the fire exit, leaving him standing underneath the dim light.

Okay… so I WAS able to add in some details in the end. Haha! Hope you like the short… dialogue. :D I might make more of these in the near future (when I have the time).

Quotes

"The more engaged we become, the more detached we will have to be."
- Deepak Chopra (Reader's Digest, March 2009)

Detachment is not necessarily a bad thing. It all just depends on what the outcome would be. You detach yourself from yourself. You go out of that box you keep yourself in: bursting through the folds, ripping off that duct tape that seals you within. 

To be more engaged you have to be more detached means that you should not just settle with what you have now. If you can do more, then go for it. Don't limit yourself to what you know or what other people dictate. Go beyond it, prove them otherwise. Don't tell yourself that this is the only thing you are capable of. There's so much about you that you have yet to figure out and saying that you are only capable of this and that is such a sad thing to say. 

We close tend to ourselves to other possibilities. Why? I think it's because of fear. The fear that you don't know what's going to happen. The fear that you might not like what you'll find on the other side of the wall. The fear of regretting even trying. 

But really... I think one should only be afraid of not trying. Not trying means losing an opportunity to get to know yourself. We cannot see ourselves if we prefer to 'stay put'. There's no progress. No shift. 

How can you be content with being sessile? Haha

---


I'm not much a of a writer, so I apologize if my posts are a bit sloppy. These are thoughts formed from quotes I've collected over the years.

Thoughts: Silence

This happened on our field trip to Batangas in January 2010. The day was drawing to a close, with no other mishaps we encountered along the way (our bus broke down before we even got to the site). The sun was setting over at the horizon, and night slowly crept in. 
 
It was one of those nights after a school activity that you would be expecting your parents to be waiting there at school to pick you up.


I remember when I was still in high school, there were interclass competitions that would usually stretch until 10PM, and the safest way to get home is to pick up the phone and greet your dad with a sheepish grin on your face, asking him sweetly to come pick you up.


But things were different now.
 
There was no one waiting for me at the other end. Calling won't help at all, for the one I would ask to come would have to get on a plane, instead of a car, and travel for an hour and forty-five minutes besides the usual 15-minute trip. I sighed to myself inside that bus. I listened to my seatmate tell me that her parents will be picking her up, even though they're an hour away from our destination. She was lucky. I can already hear the others calling their parents, or it was the other way around, telling the one on their other end that we're almost there (we left later that the presumed time).


The bus took a turn into that all too familiar lane and parked at the curb. Sure enough there was a small crowd outside the building, most of them I think were parents. My seatmate pointed out that her parents were there, I looked out the window and followed her gaze. Her dad gave a small wave; next to him was her mother. We descended the bus. Most of the students went home in cars; the others who were also dormers went back in a group. Ten minutes later, there were only a few of us left.


It was so quiet.


At that time I would already be greeted by the sound of wheels coming to a halt near the entrance. My ears acquired the ability to recognize the sound my dad's car would make when he approaches (weird, right?). This was then followed by the driver's door opening, and my dad coming out to help me with my stuff. A smile on his face, a grin on mine: "Hi pap!" I would run to him and give him a small peck on the cheek. When my stuff has been put away, we would get in the car, me in the passenger seat. He would then ask me about my day and what we did at the site, small talk, but something I enjoy very much. 
 
It was the drive home that I missed.


Once the last bus came and I got the stuff I was waiting for, I continued on my way home. It was 8PM, the school was deserted since it was a Friday. I can hear the crickets chirping and the rustling of the leaves, the smell of the evening flowers reaching me.


Tears started to well up.


As pathetic as it may seem to most people, I can't really help it. I got back to the dorm, no one was there on the first floor as I trudged my way in. I imagined my mom coming out to greet me, my two little brothers right behind her to get my things and asking me stuff, telling me things that happened while I was away. 


The house was quiet. 


I climbed up the stairs and was greeted by an empty room. I dropped my stuff on the floor and sat in my chair.


Staring blankly out the window… I let go.

Quotes

We can never judge the lives of others, because each person knows only their own pain and renunciation. It's one thing to feel that you are on the right path, but it's another to think that yours is the only path. - Paulo Coelho