The Ilusyunada and The Night Time Jewel Box
This piece was written in a moment of weakness, when, after setting my alarm at
five a.m.
, my body clock went berserk and took me out of sleep half an hour earlier. It was also during the time when my head and heart went in total sync with each other’s weirdness and got me all mushy and contemplative of my incredibly ludicrous notions of love (thank you Moulin Rouge). So, if you find this piece totally confusing, don’t think about going to a shrink and ‘fessing about your addiction to chocolate coated peanuts and declaring the possibility of schizophrenia; it’s me and my ever changing and totally paradoxical views on life and love and all the things that normal people view in consistency. Heck, I’m not making any excuses, I’m just telling you about me.
02.12.2007
05:15 pm
Walking in the moonlight while on the way home can really get me thinking romantic thoughts. Like what if that stranger ahead of me is the one I’ve been praying for, or the guy riding with devil-may-care speed on his motorcycle is actually gearing to make an impression on me, however lame (ilusyonada on the go). It’s weird how simple moonlight can raise up the level of my enthusiasm on the aspect of love. Silly, I know, but that’s just exactly who I am: a silly, hopeless romantic goose.
Tilting my head up and gazing at the clear
midnight
sky, I spot two of my favorite constellations: Cassiopeia and Orion. Favorite because the two are the only two constellations that I can ever identify on the spot. Orion’s introduction to me was not so romantic as Cassiopeia’s was. Blame it to my addiction to really sappy movies, but after watching Serendipity I went out of my house and, despite the cloudy nighttime sky that time, I located her after much difficulty.
But that wasn’t my first love affair with the nighttime jewel box. When I was a high school freshman, one of my classmates taught me a way on how to find my soulmate (I still believe that they exist, thank you very much). It was some sort of witchy ritual where you find a special spot, anywhere you like, sprinkle glitters on that spot, stand on it, dip the point of a pencil in the box of glitters (prepared specifically for that purpose), point to a star of your choice (this means you have to do this on night time, Einstein), supposedly the first one that catches your fancy and say some kind of chant (I forgot the chant, by the way, sorry ladies). Your soulmate was supposed to come through your front door after some time, there’s no specific time frame, so I’m not losing hope on the ritual I did religiously for one week (call me a freak, but I was that bent on finding my soulmate harharhar).
Anyway, my soulmate’s not coming anywhere near my front door, but that was when I began looking forward to clear skies at night and the monthly appearance of full moons and the waning and the waxing crescent, it’s kinda geeky, I understand, but I really, really have this partiality towards the night time sky. It does not have anything to do with my being a romantic (warning: word repeated for the nth time), maybe the only time that I really like looking at the sky during the A.M. is during daybreak, sunrise and, well, sunset.
There was a time, during the delusive, punch-drunk, maudlin moments of my life when I would just lie on the hood of my father’s jeep, stare at the sky and shed my little tears of rage and pain. Sometimes, it would be during an extremely rainy weather, looking out of my window or sitting on the wooden bench in our porch and just staring at the drops of rain falling, again, from the sky. But most of the time, it would be at night, and the sky was the witness to all my frustrations and my heartaches; to all the tears that I’ve cried; the tears that never came, even when they ought to have made their ephemeral introduction to the world; and, the wishes that I wished constantly.
I remember the very first time that I saw a falling star. It was December and I was just twelve years old. I was standing on the sidewalk with my cousin and my father when this quick thin and almost unnoticeable light sliced through the black velvety sky. I gave out a shriek and said I’d make a wish, but for some reason, perhaps excitement, I never got around to making one. Maybe, if I wasn’t too excited that night, maybe if I had wished for something, maybe something will be different between you and me? Lame, but I can’t help hoping that I would catch a glimpse of another one, a falling star that is, and send out my wish to it. That wish is to have you.
Walking under the moonlight, on another night where strangers are walking past me and motorcycles and noisy cars are speeding past me, I can only hope for something more than my love affair with the sky. That someday I won’t be looking up to her with tears on my eyes, frustrations in my head and hopeless wishes that I’ll whisper quietly to her; that someday I will be looking up at her with the someone that the star I pointed my pencil at sent to me; that finally, one fine day, I’ll find my twin star, my soulmate.
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