An author's dilemma

Dear Character,

I don't know why I let you go, you loved me for all I care about. I moved on to what I perceived was better, when in fact, I only moved closer to realizing the thing I feared and dreaded the most. How disappointing. How terrible, how heartless, what regret. But wait, I wouldn't call it regret. I foretold a sad ending and since it was a fairytale the good had to happen somewhere. I wonder what it would be if that thing I feared and dreaded the most did not happen and I had not let you go? Indeed the story would be so different, but we were also too young to be certain of things not even adults are certain about. How can we know better. We needed to learn and needed that time apart for growth. Even if you were my world once upon a time, that seemed the more appropriate thing. I'm sorry I made you go through hard times. If only you could walk out of these pages. I kind of wish you were here.  I kind of wish I could laugh about these things with you, because... you would know.

Sincerely,

Writer

Hello, Sun

Why you say those things, I don't know.
Why I cried, I also don't know.
It’s funny. I don’t remember anymore.
But, I loved waking up to you,
And I still do.


--K.K

The Greatest Joke in the World

Trust. Tainted. Irreparable.

Effort. Deaf ears. Nothing.

Tainted. Irreparable.

Effort. Deaf Ears.

Irreparable.

Nothing.

Pointless. Circle. Cycle.

Hollow. Rotation. Vanity.

Hopeless. Hope. Hopeless. Hope.

Progress. Regress. Progress. Regress.

Stagnation. Fruitless. Fool.

Nothing.

I am a Photographer by K.K.

I'm a photographer. I see, sometimes, some of the most beautiful yet transitory moments - things that transpire only but for a glimpse and never to be seen and felt again.

So there has always been this innate desire to express, be heard and call upon others to share and behold such moments with me.

But there are certain things in life that I just cannot capture or convey.

One of sadness, for instance, is apparent with a frown or a tear, but behind it could be tumultuous, raging storms -- due to loss, betrayal, desperation -- which can neither be revealed, understood, nor determined if glossed by a mere photograph. Pictures present the verisimilitude of a moment, but understate the meaning and distort the genuine root of the undertaking -- for feelings cannot be seen, and therefore can only be captured in ways other than photography.

They say pictures are worth a thousand words. It's reverse is true, so I write on.

Whatever I can't capture with a machine, I attempt to capture in pen and paper.

--K.K.

A favorite poem by Victor Hernandez Cruz

Read this in English class, thought it very funny. Problems with Hurricanes
by Victor Hernández Cruz
A campesino looked at the air And told me: With hurricanes it's not the wind or the noise or the water. I'll tell you he said: it's the mangoes, avocados Green plantains and bananas flying into town like projectiles. How would your family feel if they had to tell The generations that you got killed by a flying Banana. Death by drowning has honor If the wind picked you up and slammed you Against a mountain boulder This would not carry shame But to suffer a mango smashing Your skull or a plantain hitting your Temple at 70 miles per hour is the ultimate disgrace. The campesino takes off his hat— As a sign of respect toward the fury of the wind And says: Don't worry about the noise Don't worry about the water Don't worry about the wind— If you are going out beware of mangoes And all such beautiful sweet things.

Haiku to Yes on labeling GM foods

No to G M O
Organic's the way to go
Let the whole world know.




Truths in GM foods - some effects on animals/ humans discussed

GMO Effects/ study

Music lessons from poetry

There's something about constricted little commentboxes and little romantic moments that spark my mind. So far "My Harmony" is the fastest poem I've written, not including haikus. I composed it on Facebook's comment box without any intention. Just thinking, zoning out, for no particular reason, maybe I was thinking about that Inscape submission, I think I was looking at pictures and was about to comment on one of them when I came across this music that carried me out of that hemisphere.

"Prince of Mist" is composed by one of my favorite authors, Carlos Ruiz Zafon.  He's from Spain and he makes music for his novels, which I think is a very nice touch. As I listened, I noticed how each simple note, when combined altogether in progression, can make something so beautiful. I also gladly realized that, yes, I can play this on the piano. BUT I can only play with my right hand, what I will later on learn, the part that's called melody. It struck me that I didn't know what the other half that makes a song so wholesome is called. So what is this other half? 

After researching (with facebook as the search engine) a friend replied "Basically speaking, melody is the right hand (when playing the piano) and is a group of notes that sound nice when played one after the other. Harmony is what the left hand is for. It accompanies the melody adding background sounds to make the piece even more dramatic and plainly awesome :)" Now this is the part when I experience my epiphany. 

Melody is the most noticeable part of the song, the lyrics, the part that we can hum or sing along with, the part that I can play on the piano. And harmony is so crucial not only to revive my vapid piano skills, but also to anything and anyone. Harmony completes melody. Music wouldn't be what it is without melody and harmony together. Like how Mr. Zafon composes music to accompany his novels, how sunlight is food to the plants, how cheese is to macaroni, how host cell is to virus, how our incomes are to the economy's Gross Domestic Product -- all those cheesy stuff you can think of. It's a complement. 

It seems there's no standing alone, we're all connected, we need partners and that other half to push things from better to awesome. Imagine brushing your teeth without toothpaste -- but my Environmental Science teacher said toothpaste is toxic so I guess I'll have to part ways with it and find safer alternatives. It doesn't have to be the romantic kind of love with (or betrayal of) someone special, as what my poem is about. It can as well be the value of teamwork, and cooperation; and if you enjoy being with your coffee, the stars, a book, pet or friend, don't they just make the moment more awesome and harmonious? 

This is the part where I get kilig.  Because I can only play right, I need my left, my complement, my other half and my harmony. Now, since you've learned what melody is to harmony and what they are to music, I urge you to listen to one of my favorite pieces (Unchained Melody) by one of my favorite composers and you'll hear what I mean (cool huh?). 

That's Zona Rosa

Tucked in the busy streets is this tiny jewel

A gem of a place, like a second home

7101 miles away from home.

Its old sofas are an extension

Of grandma’s cozy living room.

Its picture windows frame mountains and skies

Its high ceiling welcomes the warm Pasadena sun,

All while untangling everyday troubles.

It’s the place to be

With solitude

With book

Without technological distractions

With music sheets

With ideas

With inspirations, intensely magnified

If with tears, quickly wiped away.

It’s the place to be

With family

With dear friends

With special someone

With future other half

With classmates

With colleagues

With strangers, who are not really strangers.

Because you and your newfound hermano

Are linked to that cup of Mexican Hot Chocolate

And that reaction, so unique,

Shared after the first sip.

Ahh, that Zona Rosan smile.

It’s a bond, an understanding –

Formed within the white and purple walls

Where everything is made possible –

It’s an experience and a culture experienced.

Figment

Maybe it was the black shoes

Yes, that could be it.

I'm quite fond of formality

And the black shoes matched his actions

He looked like the way he talked

And it seems he could carry the world

It's definitely the years,

And the way he smiled

Stretched the clearest blue skies

Then there were his eyes

Quietly, they told the sincerest things

Yes, that could be it.

Unusual, beautiful, fine.

When the sun hits its color

I want to behold it forever.