Fields of Poetry

I don't know how to love him
What to do, how to move him
I've been changed. Yes, really changed
In these past few days when I've seen myself
I seem like someone else . . .

Friday, March 18, 2011


My dad really loves to eat. He eats more than he's required to eat despite my mom's, my sister's and my own constant reminder for him to control his daily consumption. Sometimes he would search for morsels for the sake of masticating; stop by an unfamiliar restaurant to try their menu; challenge himself with a new taste at home, etc. There's really nothing with that, in fact it's because of his love for food that I learned to appreciate different dishes from various cultures and social class.

All four of us were invited to this exclusive restaurant by my parent's wealthy acquaintance. My sister was so delighted that she begged to bring her best friend with us. Her name is Irene. Irene is of a Singaporean background: tall and lanky Chino-Vietnamese with an accent that frustrates my ears. You would think that I'd have gotten used to her voice since she has been my sister's best friend from kindergarten, but no. Each word she utter commands thrice the effort for my brain to process and the dumbstruck expression I reflect becomes an objective ground for belligerence. No. When Irene is present, I zip my lips. 

The restaurant was underground an old and run-down building located at the city port, just above the docks now empty and dark. It was a cold winter night with stealthy sea breeze that sends chilling breathes down your spine. 

Stupid perverted wind! I muttered as we descended down a dark and narrow stairway lit by dim lights. I'm wearing a damn turtle neck. Get the idea!!! I clenched my teeth. 

I tried to block out the fear lurking at the back of my head as I watched the shadows dance on the walls of the long corridor that led to the restaurant. The extreme visuals fabricated by my imaginations can be horridly graphic that there had been times when I almost lost my senses. The wind moaned louder underground and the chills stung my exposed cheeks. 

You are warm and protected in a cocoon of white light! I inhaled and exhaled trying to warm my cold body, my arms crossed and my gloved hands gripping tightly onto them. Two grim men in black suits guarded the entrance. My dad gave one of them a red envelop sealed with a maroon wax. 

They let us in.

Inside the restaurant was like the interior of a Chinese palace only, it was packed with customers in beautiful Western attire. I could barely remember the details so spare me this description. Let's skip right down to the dishes.

The soup of the evening was the first and last I ever spooned from that exclusive restaurant. It was a large bulge of grind meat right smack in a center of a large bowl decorated with carrots, cabbage, pepper, and onion. The meat was attached to a large fat at the bottom and since I hate fat, I tried to flip the meat around to remove it. At that moment Irene warned, "Don't flip it!"

"Why not?"
"The other side of this meat will not look appetizing to you and you won't want to eat it, ever. Just eat that side and leave the fat at the bottom." She suggested. 

My dad, mom and sister kept eating. I tried to follow Irene's advice and ate what looked like white balls of meat but the taste and texture was so peculiar and her words so mysterious that curiosity got the better of me and I flipped the meat to see the fat end of it.

I was horrified to see eye sockets, a cartilage where a nose must have been; lips, cheeks and a chin. The fat end of the meat was a face. The large mass of red meat was a brain. When I thought of the white balls of meat that I ate earlier as pair of eyes, I grew nauseated and ran away from the table, past other customers and out the restaurant. 

My hands pressing against the dim walls of the hallway I gagged and repelled the ingested meat, forcing them to the floor like a sludge of mud down a violent waterfall. My dad came outside to ask me if I was alright before expressing his embarrassment concerning my behavior. He repeatedly scolded me after mom joined us, who equally expressed her disappointment as I tried to clean my stomach of the human essence. I couldn't believe my ears. What am I hearing? I looked up and glared at my dad. Then I realized that everything around me including his face were too dark to be real. I was dreaming. 

Wake up! Wake up! This is horrible! WAKE UP! I screamed. I did wake up, but having realized it was  all a dream I went back to sleep. This time it was completely dark and peaceful.

Now that I've thought about it, it really didn't make sense that the brain is attached to the face. Where are the bones? I don't have a clue. All I knew then was that I was eating a human head or parts of it. That was enough detail for me. I hope this dream doesn't mean anything. It was just too graphic.

Thursday, March 17, 2011

Neptune in the Orient

This is a poem I wrote inspired by the Tsunami and Earthquake in Japan. Let us pray for Japan!
Neptune in the Orient
To the shores of the land
where the red sun rise
Oh the god of the sea did ride
the god of the sea did ride
With his hand he disband
and the tremors it blighted
the lives of the squinted eyed
the lives of the squinted eyed
And with his trident he formed
the white sea horses
charging forth in massive foams
and black they turned
as they dragged with force
the cities that they crushed and piled.
the cities that they crushed and piled.
On the shores of the land
where the red sun rise
blue flowers now amplify
blue flowers now amplify
And the people they bow to the
silent roses
Singing an ancient rhyme
Singing an ancient rhyme.

Wednesday, March 16, 2011

Dog protects fellow canine until rescue arrived.

A disoriented dog in Arahama, Japan loyally stood by his friend amidst the destruction left by the earthquake and tsunami. This footage pricked my heart and I cried at the bravery of the Spaniel. If you look closely, the Spaniel (the white and brown spotted dog) was desperately seeking the attention of the male reporter to help his friend lying injured behind a metal barrel. Unfortunately, the reporter lack physical communication with the dog and thought he should stay away.

I was deeply touched as I watched the brown dog try to tell his friend to lay low by placing a paw on her face because it is seriously wounded. Not to worry folks, it was all thanks to this footage that these admirable dogs were taken shelter and the white one is currently treated at a clinic.

This captivating footage of our four-legged friend is a great portrayal of sincerity. Let us all be reminded that even animals, especially domesticated ones suffer from the same catastrophe that people endure. They also seek help. I pray that more animals such as these two will be found and saved. I pray, too that the domestic animals will find their owners soon.

Here is an English translation of the voiceover exchange between the two reporters in the clip (translation courtesy of Toshiyuki Kitamura):
We are in Arahama area. Looks like there is a dog. There is a dog. He looks tired and dirty. He must have been caught in the tsunami. He looks very dirty.
He has a collar. He must be someone's pet. He has a silver collar. He is shaking. He seems very afraid.
Oh, there is another dog. I wonder if he is dead.
Right there. There is another dog right next to the one sitting down. He is not moving. I wonder. I wonder if he is alright.
The dog is protecting him.
Yes. He is protecting the dog. That is why he did not want us to approach them. He was trying to keep us at bay.
I can't watch this. This is a very difficult to watch.
Oh. Look. He is moving. He is alive. I am so happy to see that he is alive.
Yes! Yes! He is alive.
He looks to be weakened. We need for them to be rescued soon. We really want them rescued soon.
Oh good. He's getting up.
It is amazing how they survived the tremendous earthquake and tsunami. It's just amazing that they survived through this all.

Friday, March 11, 2011

Salty Kiss

Before I indulge myself with the distribution of a dream that most people would render odd and meaningless, I would like to share a few moment of prayers for the people of Japan. Yesterday afternoon the country suffered from an 8.9 magnitude of earthquake, triggering a sudden wall of Tsunami that rose up as high as 10~20 ft above sea level. It is estimated that 8,000 people are missing and the death toll of 4500, rising.

Let us bow our heads in silent prayers for the people of Japan.
Let us pray that the identities of the victims of the Tsunami in Sendai are found.
Let us pray for the survivors of the disasters that followed
Let us pray for a smooth recovery for the nation.
Lord, we are grateful that our family, relatives and friends in the affected country are safe. May you comfort them for they have developed a great fear for nature's sudden and creeping activities. May you keep our loved ones safe for always, amen.

And now for the dream. It's quite short, really.

I was in a living room with four guys watching television. I was really close to one of them, sitting by the sofa. I got sleepy so I decided to hug him and fell asleep. Then in my sleep, I felt him move around, wrapping his arms around me and kissed me. His tongue entered my mouth and because I was tired, I did not resist. Then I tasted something like chips and it was really salty. I grimaced and moaned. I mumbled, "It's salty. Stop that."

And so he stopped kissing me. He still hugged me, though and I fell in a deeper sleep. Next thing I know, I was still in bed at 10 am this morning. I wonder what the dream meant, though . . .

Strange . . .

Wednesday, March 9, 2011

Different Skin Color, Same Race

A white, healthy baby was reported to have been born to a black Nigerian couple in London last year. With DNA samplings, Nmachi (as she was named) was proved to be the daughter of the couple, Ben and Angelica Ihegboro and the possibility of albinism had been ruled out. Thank goodness for that!

Doctors were baffled by the given fact that neither of the parents have had any white relatives in their family roots, suggesting that the baby may have a unique genetic mutation.

With this story in mind, let me introduce you to the dry hills of Central Asia where a beautiful mummy with strikingly Caucasian features, a.k.a."The Loulan Beauty" was unearthed. This hilly terrain is called the Xinjiang Province, inhabited by various race of people who traded, cross-bred and lived together way before the Chinese claimed it as part of their land.

We know that Xinjiang was an unmarked land because 4000 or more years back, the first peoples to inhabit those hills were these Nomadic Aryans. And guess what? That "Loulan Beauty"is one of them. More shocking thing is, these white Caucasians thousands of years ago were not alone. They were with what the Chinese called the Wusun people.

An ancient Chinese Book of Divination described the Wusuns as "dark, ugly people with deep eye sockets," which is a stunning characterization of African peoples. Not that they are all ugly, but that's what the book said.

According to a famous Chinese author and linguist of the Tang Dynasty, these black people belong to the same race as the green eyed and red haired barbarians. This bit of information comes from a 7th century text!

And now back to modern times, you got a black couple with a white kid! Not just one, but there were at least 3 or more reports of white kids born to black couples.

I think it is safe to say that I agree with the 7th Century Chinese linguist. Black and White people are of the same race. Nmachi does not have a genetic mutation. Period.

Sunday, March 6, 2011


The lines on the surface marks the growth of my soul upon which I would often bury my shame. The  darkness that envelops beckons the eager tears to flow, only they are held back by the stubborn lids that shuts out the world.

I part the shield from my face reluctant to open those that witnesses while the vehement appendages they oblige, coaxing my timid self to let loose. They comfort me and yet I continue to slight them afraid of what I already knew.

I have no right to contravene the life that is slowly fading away from me. It is but my own doing.

These pair of hands, my palms should not absorb the salt of frustration.