To My Friend In Solitude

Dear R,

Love! Love! Love!

That's a new Kris Aquino shoutout in a distinctive pitchy voice, so much so you could stamp it with �.

I couldn't really think of anything else to start this post-Valentine letter with, ergo "Love! Love! Love!".

Or not.

Your SMS from Singapore made me laugh.

"Best option for today: sit alone in a corner, spare room and come to grips with the fact that society has spoken and it has said: Sorry, there are currently no openings that meet your qualifications. We don't anticipate any in the foreseeable future, but we will keep your resume on file. Happy Freakin Valentines to the Singletons! Loneliness Rocks!!!"

My dearest R, even in solitude we are together. I wish to death I had sent you flowers. I could have, I just never thought of it. Instead I lay in bed agonizing over my bitter heart. I wish then some other friend gave you flowers. Or chocolates. Even a balloon delicately shaped as a heart is a sweet gesture, don't you think?

Two people gave me flowers, by the way. One gave me a long-stemmed yellow rose while the other gave an exquisitely made paper flower. You wouldn't believe the smile both brought to my face.

The same smile turned into a grin (after a hearty laugh, of course) when I got your SMS on the day of Valentine.

The same grin froze when another SMS came after yours. It was, without really needing to say it, from the one who just recently broke my heart.

"Happy hearts day :)"

Obviously this guy has not heard of or read Emily Post.

I hope we will see each other soon. But if soon doesn't come any sooner (logically it cannot), think of me when you're on a train Sunday morning. Do you still remember? Out of all the times you have proven to be a great friend, and you did every time, it was that ride on the train one Sunday morning that made me love you dearly.

So R, we may not have had our guys on the day the whole world celebrated Love but we had each other.

To you I give my-- Love! Love! Love! �

I Dream of Zephyr

There are moments that a thought, a word, a phrase, or a sentence would suddenly flicker in the darkness, too faint that you strain your eyes to take a closer look, turn an ear to catch a sound perhaps, or stretch the expanse of your imagination to grasp what it could be all about.

Then there are a few blessed instances after these moments when inspiration graces you with favor and that thought, that word, that phrase, or even that sentence becomes a poem, a song, a story. They are usually split second bursts of creativity, forming ripples such as those we see in the pond-- they soon lose definition.

Yet there are many moments when you get stuck. You're stuck with this thought, this word, this phrase, or that sentence. You have everything and nothing to say or write about it. You are rendered lost for words but your pen is ready. You're stuck, paralyzed, isolated in that world inside your head with your thoughts, your words, and your phrases!

So. I. Dream.