the year is almost over, and i am still alone

november opened with a door of hope, closing abruptly. now i am again in limbo, unsure of what will happen, what will be. i write this today for my future-self, a written reminder of the patience, faith, and resilience you have learned and gathered for the past few months.

allow me to forget proper capitalisations and grammatical rules. there is no room for proofreading in this writing where i just want to pour my heart out. a ramble, some of you may say, an effort to spill the mess i feel, i may say.

since february, i have been alone, on my own, in a foreign country where tongues speak languages, to me, remain unknown. i last held my husband’s hands almost nine months ago. i last kissed the cheeks of my baby sister more than nine months ago. i have been sleeping on a queen-sized bed, half-filled, for over 200 days now.

to say that it was painful would be an understatement. there are moments when i look out, see cars moving as usual, a scene i may have memorised already. i know that the road outside is busiest around 6pm to 8pm. emptiest around 3am. i wonder where they are heading. home? office? to escape? or to come back to their comforting nests?

i may be alone in my cream-colored room, but i know this chasm is not something unique to me. i am fully aware that there are hundred thousands of families with now empty dining chairs, never will be filled. there are husbands and wives apart, managing their kids on their own. there are parents aching to hold their children again. there are some who are turning and tossing every night, wondering when they can get a job. wondering if there are some tucked penny on their holed pockets for tomorrow’s breakfast.

this year is heavy with grief, those i own and those everyone carry, and sometimes i do not know how to not mourn anymore.

positivity can be toxic when it has no empathy. but allow me to share with you how i find some light in this tunnel, no matter how faint.

this year, i learned that i can cook. i can fix some household issues, like a clogged drain, ant infestation, and more. i can build and screw a bookshelf. i can workout regularly, and i am strong enough to do burpees. i can get off of the bed and grasp the floating hope even if my pillows are wet with last night’s break down. i can allow myself to crumble, i can bend my knees and surrender, i can find comfort in reading Psalms. i can be alone and be with God, and feel enough.

while there is so much uncertainty, i hold and stand still with my request to God for the ending of this aloneness before this year ends. i do not know how and if covid cases are the evidences, i would say the odds are not in my favor. but like my life verse says, “Fear not, for I am with you; Be not dismayed, for I am your God…”

i will be still. i will surrender my fears. to Him who knows my name even before i was born.

with certainty, i know, years after, i will look back and would thank my present-self for choosing faith in the middle of this storm. for clinging to that one truth He has proven time and time again, that with Him, i am never alone.

11.09.2020
©2020 Rosemawrites@A Reading Writer. All Rights Reserved.
Photo via Unsplash

wishes in the wind

i wish i’ve puppy-paws
to dig through the muck
of this year.

i wish i’ve puppy-eyes
to bend my
Master’s will.

i wish i’ve a puppy-nose
to smell happiness
from a mile.

i wish i need not
to wish for a real,
real smile.

11.03.2020
©2020 Rosemawrites@A Reading Writer. All Rights Reserved.
Photo via Unsplash
This work is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivatives 4.0 International License.
For dVerse In need of a happiness project?

on decaying days and pumpkin soup

Monsoon rain
welcomes you,
on my side of
the world.

I hope your
crimson hair
isn’t damp.
You can leave
your slippers out.

I made some
pumpkin soup,
well, this lockdown
taught me how
to cook. Perhaps,
aloneness teaches
humans better
than any book.

I saw some photos
of orange lanes,
your touch is
turning leaves
as gold as wild
wheat’s grain.

Look outside,
nothing much
changed in my
tropical space,
yet, I do feel
the slow decay
of days.

No, don’t ask
me how am I.
It’s a question
dreaded even
by birds flying by.
Just tell me if
2020 will be kinder,
before next year’s
crossover.

Just wash our
fears, October,
let this year’s
extended Halloween
be over.

10.01.2020
©2020 Rosemawrites@A Reading Writer. All Rights Reserved.
Photo via Unsplash
This work is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivatives 4.0 International License.
For dVerse OpenLinkNight #276

honest august

deak-adorjan-b14MM60oKZM-unsplash

Come in, don’t
be afraid, August,
our blunt fists won’t
bite your innocence,

we just want you
to please be honest,
when can we
taste the harvest
of our last months’
chaos and mess?

See, our nails
are filled with dirt
digging some
seeds of winter hope
to plant some
spring fruit of faith,

our tongues are
white with prayer,
our eyes salted as
blue sea in summer,

our feet chained
as a bruised flyer,
so can you whisper
to September and
her gangs of -ber’s
to make up for
the first half’s blur?

We promise to take
the lessons of this
cruel semester,
perhaps as much
as our mortal minds
can remember.

08.01.2020
©2020 Rosemawrites@A Reading Writer. All Rights Reserved.
Photo via Unsplash
Creative Commons License
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For dVerse Just Sayin’ . . .

come in, June

brian-patrick-tagalog-Zcl9rMwflmw-unsplash

Come in.
I am sorry for the
lack of energy,
would you like
some lukewarm
tea? Well, we
are tired zombies,
avoiding (or wait-
ing) for the wind
of death, we are
suffocated not by
the unseen killer
but the cruel knee
on our throat for
centuries, (we
chose to close
our eyes on) well,
probably you know
what May did, and
all the months before,
yes, there were
some cherry blossoms
blooming, some
midnights with
crickets singing, but,
our muscle wings
are quite rusting, our
tiled feet itching, this
year is a candle
dying, fading like a
half evening
moon, so June, can you
please bring healing

soon?

06.01.2020
©2020 Rosemawrites@A Reading Writer. All Rights Reserved.
Photo via Unsplash
Creative Commons License
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hopping inside a wonderland

Processed with VSCOcam with a6 preset

if i should have a chosen pet
perhaps it will be a little bunny,

(i once had one, but she died
just after day one choked on a
loaf bread my dumb 18-year-old
mind foolishly fed it; rest in
peace, mogu, i still feel sorry
for what i did to you)

running around my
beige-tiled floor leaving
chocolate-poop drops
as it jumps across,

i’ll probably read it
some of my unfinished lines,
wait for its ears to
stand tall as if it
can hear the yearning
song inside my rhymes.

if i should have a chosen pet
perhaps it will be a little bunny,
but it is too late now to have one
so i’ll cocoon myself with
my trusted company—

scented words and poetry.

04.22.2020
©2020 Rosemawrites@A Reading Writer. All Rights Reserved.
Photo via Unsplash
Creative Commons License
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For dVerse Poetics: Companions