A small window plant lit up by a passing light.
A lot of things and ideas come out at night.
People hardly look up anymore
Eyes closed, I hear your voice from the kitchen. Faint but still sweet. Always melodious. I feel your whispers. I hear the trees and the stars sing with you. This world was meant to be seen with your eyes. And it has not been as beautiful without you.
People hardly look up anymore.
through the window
it was a cold morning when you left. i remember because it was raining really hard the night before. there were no goodbyes but just a gentle brush of your hand against mine. the last touch. that was ages ago. the room had become darker as the days passed but each day i still wait for you to come back. sometimes i would sit by the window and look for your face among the multitudes that pass by and i would just close the panes after the sun has set.
but now i grow tired of sitting and looking out the window. the faces have become blurs in time. the room has gone much darker and i tire.
i feel myself starting to leave.
This photo was taken in the late 90s, the words were written sometime in early August 2015, and I put them together and posted it on Instagram in the latter part of August of the same year.
portraits
This photo was the one that got me started with portrait photography.
This was taken when Cherry and I were just starting to go out. It feels like it happened just a year ago. Time is biased. It goes so quickly during the happy times and walks all too slowly during the not so good times. As of late, time seems to just linger about as if waiting for something to happen.
The photo was taken with a borrowed Pentax film camera loaded with a Kodak black and white film. ISO 400, if I remember correctly.
dyaryo
This is one of the first few photos that I took that I liked.
This was taken early morning, the first of January, New Year’s day, some decades ago. The mist is actually the smoke left over from the previous night’s New Year fireworks and revelry. The guy on the bicycle is what one can call a newspaper delivery boy on the way towards the Malacañang area. One can still see the barbed-wire barricades further down the street guarding the entrance to the Palace gates.
This was photo taken on film — the dark patches on the left is from its deterioration because I’m bad at keeping this thing.