Sunday, July 27, 2008



There are circumstances, nights, when we are reminded of pain. Even in the simplest, most undramatic of times, for no clear reason… except that something lingers. A thought, a memory, or even an absent presence. When it becomes almost fresh again. And when pain is fresh, it’s excruciating. We can feel each streak of tear, each lash of cold even when there is no cold. There is nothing else to do but assume the fetal position in a feeble, vulnerable effort for warmth and surviving the night.

While I’ve gotten used to times like these, each time it happens there is nothing that redeems it, or makes it less painful. There is only hope that when the morning comes, it is gone, or at the very least, that the tearducts have been finally exhausted for yet another time. The cliché is a cliché yet true. Wounds may be gone but scars remain. And the scars, once in a blue moon, become fresh wounds all over again. Perhaps, closures are overrated.

Such is how life can be. Long live life.

Vida La Vida

I used to rule the world
Seas would rise when I gave the word
Now in the morning I sweep alone
Sweep the streets I used to own

I used to roll the dice
Feel the fear in my enemy's eyes
Listen as the crowd would sing:
"Now the old king is dead! Long live the king!"

One minute I held the key
Next the walls were closed on me
And I discovered that my castles stand
Upon pillars of salt and pillars of sand

I hear Jerusalem bells a ringing
Roman Cavalry choirs are singing
Be my mirror my sword and shield
My missionaries in a foreign field

For some reason I can't explain
Once you go there was never, never an honest word
But that was when I ruled the world.

It was the wicked and wild wind
Blew down the doors to let me in.
Shattered windows and the sound of drums
People couldn't believe what I'd become

Revolutionaries wait
For my head on a silver plate
Just a puppet on a lonely string
Oh who would ever want to be king?

I hear Jerusalem bells a ringing
Roman Cavalry choirs are singing
Be my mirror my sword and shield
My missionaries in a foreign field
For some reason I can't explain
I know Saint Peter won't call my name
Never an honest word
But that was when I ruled the world.

Saturday, May 10, 2008

Words, Actions, and the Absence Thereof

I have always convinced myself not to assume anything – even in friendships. I always strive to be upfront with what or how I feel, and I expect the other person to do the same. I don’t usually rely on gestures (nor silences) to tell me what another means. The last thing I want to do is assume, presume, or guess. Non-verbal behavior can signify a lot of things, yes I agree (psychology taught us this). But with people who are close to us, we become less reliant on non-verbal cues to communicate or get indications. The closer you become, the more you expect the person to SAY what they mean. Intimate acts like hugging already start to lose their “mystery” or depth, because they can be acted out despite varying levels of emotions—just because they have become habits. You can fall into a trap of the same actions (routine). Yes, you can argue that we can also be trapped in saying the same words (like I love you), but in the bigger scheme of things, verbal/written communication has much more window for variation, meaning, and depth than actions. This could be the reason why poetry, prose, and music are ultimately boundless, while the number of kissing techniques can all be covered in a book (ok fine, volumes).

I don’t believe that actions speak louder than words. Quite the opposite. Actions only speak louder for those who are not brave to speak (or the mute, of course!). This is my opinion. If words or the absence of words can mean a lot of things and so confuse a lot, how much more could actions? Words by nature are stronger, more reliable, and clearer. Which is why on serious issues, words are necessary (e.g., if we need to admit our innermost feelings). The only exception is tears. Crying is singularly more powerful than words. This is why it has become a weapon, tool, or just the best form of emotional release for some of us.

I digress. Back on to the topic of words being the expected mode of communication for serious issues. In relationships (read: close relations), how are we supposed to know if it is troubled (or on the opposite, blossoming), if the other does not dare to speak in time for anything to be acted upon afterwards? Is it fair to get shocked by revelations that are so sudden and abrupt, that gave you no chance to redeem or prove yourself? How are we supposed to know better in relationships? Are we supposed to be able to sense 100% how another reacts to our each and every action? Must we “master” the decodification of our partner’s every act? In a long-term relationship where you expect that the other speaks up when something is amiss and someone is at fault, is the blame still just on the one at fault if the victim doesn’t say it upfront or right away? All the more, if one decides there is no more room for change, is it still fair to have waited for so long before speaking out and just expecting their actions to project how they feel, expecting the other person to understand? Which is the bigger evil?

Gosh, with that last paragraph, it felt like lines that would come from Grey's Anatomy or Sex and the City. Nyehehe. Feeling ako.

Ice Cream Please!!!

Pity how a happy memory can suddenly become sad just by a twist of ensuing events.

Anyway, I can’t help writing with ice cream in mind, in this über hot weather. Besides, I need my dose of happy thoughts.


I’m a chocolate cake kind of girl. But when it comes to sheer amount, range and frequency of consumption, ice cream would be it. It would still be the chocolate-flavored ones that top my list though J

Particularly Germanchokolatekake flavor of ColdStone (too bad wala na yung nasa Powerplant). It’s composed of chocolate ice cream, pecans, coconut, brownie, and caramel (for extra I have almonds added in). It’s the best I’ve encountered so far.
I’ve tasted Haagen Daz, Dryers, Baskin Robbins, and recently, ColdRock’s version of chocolate, but none has quite captured the taste of Coldstone, especially Germanchokolatekake.

I think the ice cream flavor I like is similar to how I am. Dark and mysterious (hehehe, joke). At the sound (and spelling!) of it, it looks complicated, proud, foreign, aloof, intimidating even. Unafraid of saying what it thinks it is. Self-and-others-indulgent. Particular, meticulous. But once you’ve encountered it, all the things that made it what it is, turns out to be an excitingly comforting, familiar bunch of traits. You will find out you’re drawn, because you can just be yourself with it. At the end of the day, it’s still just one of those stuff out there that you can love or hate but by its sheer strength and special stamp, it will never fade away.

Lesson of the day: Our favorite things reflect how we are, that’s why they become our favorites. Or the other way around: When something becomes very interesting and likeable, we tend to find ways to make ourselves become like it. J

An Attempt At The Gist Of Love

I’ve been listening to a song entitled “Falling For You”, by Jem. It got me thinking how many love songs say the line “falling/ fall for you”.

Indeed, “falling” is an apt word. Loving is not a “leap” of faith, as others put it. It is a “fall”. A fall into blindness and consequential misery, to w/c we willingly subject ourselves after a sudden feeling of “seeming flight”. Misery is concurrent to it, in whatever form, whether we admit or not. Faith is just a euphemistic way of putting it. I have to say, we humans are really brave. Imagine how much psychological trauma and torture we put ourselves under for a chance at a few great moments and bliss? It all goes together. No wonder neurosis exists. Hehe. (And I am not alone in this view. Neil Gaiman also said something about hating romantic love.)

Me, a cynic? Maybe, maybe not. I do fall in love easily, I just don’t act on it as quickly as I experience it. Which I think is a good thing (but that’s another story). The friggin’ thing is, we don’t choose who we love. We just end up loving them.

But there is a possible upside. We may choose not to act on love once it occurs. Do some risk-reward analysis if you believe in that sort of thing. Don’t act on love if it’s not worth the misery that comes with it (more often than not you'd think the misery is worthwhile). I’m not saying that we should be “calculating” when it comes to that thing called relationship. Just cushion the fall a little bit. And a little bit goes a long way. It’s not nice having a lot of bruises and scars, right? After all, we can only take so much emotional hurricanes at a time.

Me, a cynic? ;-)

Tuesday, April 29, 2008

Unbearable Angel

As of this posting, this poem is now dedicated to myself. So much for self-absorption. I'd rather dedicate to myself than to ehem. And so the title of my blogsite. I actually like Unbearable Angel. It conjures just the right amount of misery and beauty --the same stuff that fills this very blog. Happy blogging, Nica.


Unbearable Angel
By: Hanica Pacis

Your soft eyes pierce,
betraying a wealth of secret promises.
Your easy smile clutches on to me,
like an invisible kiss that affirms
it is us both in this desire.

Your calculated warmth envelopes me.
The heat stings,
yet I tremble like the flicker
of a candlewick’s fire
under a teasing wind.
A slow burn in your presence.

I collapse under your gaze.
I have no choice but to cave in to your words,
to drink up your beauty,
to bathe in your fiery glow.

Wrapped around your finger,
I don’t want to untangle from here.
Wrap me up, unbearable angel,
let your devilish charm
torture this poor heart.

In this miserable ebb,
I wait on forever
to feel your breath
to touch your smile
to swim in the pools
of your eyes.

I’m unable to depart
this unescapable love
for an unclaimable soul,
an unbearable angel.