One Moment

One Moment on Velum 11″x17″ pen,ink & brush

 

Taking a break from my drawing and writing, and yes I have been doing something worthy of the time, and not just trolling the interwebs.

Spur of the moment.

Took a fresh sheet of Velum and just let go of the self imposed restrictions of deviating from the task at hand, which is finishing my first graphic novel, and just draw what my heart wants to. No hesitation this time, I put to paper my most selfish, self-centered, gratuitous memory, imagined or otherwise and what unravelled just made me want to finish what could have taken days to do, not stopping for fear of losing this particular secret memory, taking each small detail into mind that could have been perfectly captured with a camera, but with a more emotional attachment, something I never thought wrong,

Elsewhere, Nowhere

I have been, to put it lightly, in limbo.

Much of what happened and happening still is a series of failures and disappointments. My familiarity with losing and failure is very much like a friendship, and sometimes  friendship gets some cracks now and again.

True, I have been writing and illustrating my own graphic novels, I call them komiks novels, as homage to those little bits of literature that kept my imagination since I was a child. But the point is, personally, I am at my lowest where no one, not even my closest friends can get me to stand up.

And it seems during these times of abandonment and being discarded as used up and dried out, is where the whole creativity gets a shot of adrenalin. Something kept me down though, an ending that I saw coming but had no idea how it will unfold. Sure enough it was painful, with all the talking and communication we had, the goodbye got lost in technological snafu, and I fervently wished we could have ended it face to face and talking as friends, not some cloak and dagger, dungeons and dragons misdirection. Call it desperation-inspiration, label it defense mechanism, all I know is I can suffer as long as I can endure, I don’t really harbor grudges to weigh me down. I just feel empty sometimes when I look back about the coulda, woulda, shoulda stuff, you know how it is.

 

Now I’m doing this, on my own, living as frugal and bohemian in ways no one will understand. I have gone without food for days, a bit of alcohol with friends and that only proves I am made of sturdier stuff. I am living with less and yes, it resulted in me doing more, a paradox, but a welcome one.

Gave up the whole job hunting spree and just write and draw. This is how it’s going to be. No more spending hard-earned money just to get to an interview just to get the feeling of being an outsider. Well, I have always been an outsider. And I’ll use it to my own advantage.

Unconventional. Uncouth and unfashionable. I’d rather swim against the flow than getting lost in the waves.

Watching A Man Die

[I wrote this about 20 years ago. Felt like it was time to publish and get on with life]

I’m watching a man die

Everyday, I see this man die each time he wakes
up. Each sunrise should bring everyone of us joy
and hope. Instead, for him, it’s a struggle to
keep calm and check himself from losing grip on
reality. The thought is apalling. To think it’s
all because of this four letter word that keeps
the world going round, or so they say.

He bleeds.

He bleeds each time he sees her. It’s tearing
him apart inside. Sandpaper on his soul. It’s the
knowledge that he can never, ever hold her as
close as he wants her to be. It’s the truth that
he faces everyday that stabs him deep each time,
like a rusty blade, inching deeper, twisting as it
sinks deep. She is free, blooming and living life.
He cries. Tears rolling down, drops hot as
steaming water on burned flesh. Oh what pains must
one man endure to keep his love for this woman he
alone knows, will not be his. Not now. Not ever.

But the sadddest thing is, despite all that
hurt, all that pain. He loves her. Truly. Deeply.
He will do anything and everything in his flimsy
power to give her what she wants.Whatever makes
her happy. Even the man she chose to love, he will
love like a brother. He’s that twisted, scorched,
and stupid.

Amidst all that,he smiles. That what puzzles
me the most. He smiles, remembering all those
times he spent with her. Those memories he grabs
with whiteknuckle desperation. Those sweet
memories he intends to keep for the rest of his
life. And he knows it’s not right. It was a
mistake for others to see. It’s was not meant to
be. Even the age gap is enormous. And the set up
too complicated. He knows this love will bring
pain. And he has accepted it. And the separation
was the most painful thing he has felt so far.
Still this stupid fool smiles.

You’re a fool, I said. Poor fool.

Still, this man I have grown fond of,
smiles. Forget the pain, he said. It’s the
remembering that counts. He never forgets to
whisper “I Love You” whenever the opportunity
presents itself. Each smile she throws at him, a
miracle for his wounded pride. And it’s eating
him up. Tearing him to pieces. Crumbling his will
to live.

But he must continue living. For his children
that brings him unimaginable joy. And he must
live. For his wife.His wife who stuck through
thick and thin. She, whose bones are slowly withering and
wasting down her body.Who promised to love him and their
child. The poor soul who waits, and weeps for him.
The one who loves him like life itself.

How he managed to live two lives, is
something I will never understand.

Poor, dumb fool of a man.

He chooses to live in dilemma.

How long can you live like this? Always
yearning for that other love, the one who will
never comeback, the one who hurts you the most,
the one who hurts you still? Or will you choose to
turn around and look at the eyes of those three
souls who waits, who keeps you in their heart, no
matter what?

And he dies everytime.

I’m watching a man die.