there are days when
life moves sluggishly, leaving trails of what ifs. and it starts from the moment you can feel the sun burn through your window and jar your eyes open. it starts from the second you drag yourself out of bed and throw yourself into the shower. you watch the water prune your hands and you think
what am i living for today?
life's heavy hands pick you up
and throw you out on the unforgiving streets. people pass by, with bored look on their faces. and these people talk and these people drive by and these people run past and these people scream jeepney destinations and these people live. but you can see in their eyes. they're all asking you the same thing
what am i living for today?
the morning wears on
and you go to school. and there are more people. their faces are kinder, their eyes connecting with your own. you all study you all complain about the teachers you all laugh at the corny jokes you all talk about the coming midterms you all cheat on the test you forgot about you all eat at McDonald's and you all live. you are a mass of thought, brought together by education, knowing you should be here, but not particularly enjoying any of it. and even in this place, that question still whispers nastily against your neck
what am i living for today?
and the poisoned air drowned
in pollution wakes you up from a daydream you were having. something that was slightly more interesting than the overly-familiar passing scenery. you feel your body go through the the steps, no longer thinking about going home consciously. you take the jeep. you take the trike. you reach home. you turn on your computer. and there are more people, writing out their lives on your monitor. and they bitch about their family and they love the one who holds them tonight and they hurt from the disappointment and they cry for their broken dreams and they scream in frustration and they live. the echoes of this breaking through your screen, hurling out the dreaded question of
what am i living for today?
and for the first time, you try to answer. so you spend hours quietly pounding at your keyboard, waiting for the right words to come out. but they never do. and you end up never end up telling them anything, do you?
and your mother's voice breaks the pain
and orders you to wash the dishes. you stand up, hating the routine, hating the everyday in this day. the dirty plates mock you silently, while foggy glasses glare up at your blearily. the liquid soap seeps into your skin, dark pink and sticky. the sponge squelches in pain, bright yellow blood spilling. and you pick up the dishes rinse the dishes soak the dishes soap the dishes rinse the dishes and dry the dishes. the routine grips at your bones and breaks them, making you want to pick up a plate and fling it at the window as you scream
WHAT AM I LIVING FOR TODAY?
and it's not long before you
notice that the dishes are done, and soap has disappeared down the drain. tired, you fold your elbows, leaning heavily against the sink. breathing. just concentrating on. your breathing. you open your eyes slowly, not realizing you had closed them. and the light above you plays funny tricks on your vision, as you stare at the drain. and your eyes slowly widen. slowly as you see
stars falling across your kitchen sink
small, tiny things
that hurl themselves so quickly, barely leaving a trace. except for the thin scorching lines of silver and white, burning gray paths on the metal. you can't blink, not knowing when they'll stop falling. and a part of you knows it's just a small bit of water, barely anything, skimming across the curve of the metal. and it's just the light, shining on the moving water. there are no stars, in your kitchen sink tonight. you know better. you know.
but the stars continue to fall, undaunted and uncaring of your logical mind.
they are
whispering and letting silent giggles burst out, teasing you mercilessly. and without thinking, you place a trembling finger on the sink, a strange curiosity born from your intense fascination. and the stars still burn, simply dancing gracefully around your finger tip, drawing out new paths. and you can hear them. you can hear them sing out
you're living. you're living. you're living for this moment. and just because there are so many of these, tumbling screaming mashing connecting, that doesn't make any moment less important. you're living. you're living.
and you finally stand
up and you bestfriend calls, and you try to tell him about the stars in your kitchen sink. but it's hard to speak of it, and he barely understands. you go back to your computer, and try to tell the world about the stars. but you can't type more a sentence about it. at last, you go to bed, staring at the dark ceiling. you feel the dreams coming, feel sleep kiss you possessively. and when you close your eyes you can see
the stars falling falling falling falling falling falling falling into your sink. you know that if you go downstairs into the kitchen, they'd still be there...falling.
falling.