Day 42: burn up the new year part two

January 1, 2010

Moscow, Russia

In the event of being alone on a New Year’s eve, Dess Verzosa took the streets of Moscow and watched the people around her.  She invariably recalled the last new year when she was with her brothers Mark and Jon and with her beloved Alexandre at the Irish Village, with its barbeque and beer fest and its multitude of necrological partitions of everyone’s bad side grilled to perfection. When the clock stroke 12, she kissed Alexandre with passion and wished for another good year.  She hugged her brothers and the three of them thought about the Zambales house during New Year’s day when the entire house would be open for everyone and all their cousins and friends would come by to spend the whole day eating irresponsibly and laughing their mightiest.

Tonight, she handed her camera to strangers to take pictures of her playing in the snow, posing on a giant Christmas tree, by an isolated cathedral and talking in throwaway Russian, not to converse really but to impart her best wishes.

She saw an old woman pushing her makeshift home, a shopping cart, and followed her.  It did not occur to her that this was a street person, greased and all, as she wedged her way throught the slippery sidewalk, half hoping the old lady would look back and give her something worth educating and radiating for.  The old woman never did look back, oblivious of the fact that a young woman was following her for no reason at all.  Dess continued her babysteps towards her and then she stopped.  She then found herself in front of a cathedral.  It was closed.  Before she knew it, the woman was out of sight.  She must have stared at the closed portal for a very long time that she did not notice the cart lady trailing away.  She walked passed the church’s facade and peeped through the small window by the door.  She saw a tiny yellow light, a candle flicking perhaps, and suddenly wished the tabernacle was at least available for adoration.  She touched the icy window,broke through the frost and doodled:  Dess Hearts Alex.

She walked back to the hotel, drank some more wine and thought about the Little Match Girl.  Lying down in bed, she put her hands up and implicitly took out a stick of match from the air and lighted it.  She held the ghostly match in between her forefinger and thumb until it flamed out.  She smiled and slept still hearing the crunch of snow upon her boots two hours ago when she bravely captured the new year on her own.

A day later, back in Dubai, Dess felt like a lost letter.  A returned to sender as she recelebrated the New Year’s with her family and of course, with Alex.  She whistled a tune and remembered Moscow.  She fancied the bag lady to be her angel that brought her to herself and then back to where she belonged:  in the arms of love.

January 1, 2002

Riyadh, Saudi Arabia

Dear Jess,

I see myself last year and I think it’s a blast! I got promoted. I fell in love. Fell out of love. I went on a vacation after three backbreaking years working in his desert land. My vacation was awesome by mere fact that I met my nephew Joaquin and my niece Apple for the first time. I switched from Lights to Reds and have smoked more than I did the year before that. I slept with an average of not more than 5 hours a day. Sex was ever splashing. I wrote less but read more. I was surrounded by fervent people I genuinely admire and respect, moreover calling them my friends. I woke up dreaming God and have believed that He is still the brim of all passions and still worth the discourse. Suicide was ever lingering but I never got close to the edge when I thought I was. I stole somebody’s consort but did not bat an eyelash until later. I survived a fire while on duty. I survived humiliation. I lied. I drugged. I played around. I denounced the idea of fear by fearing nothing, even death and I guess the cold zones melted briefly during moments of winterscares by mere fact that my sun rays were powerful. I don’t know magic but I think the year 2001 made me believe that impossibilities deem the witches of mistrust when you cripple the old consternation, thus giving your graveyard’s free keys and remembering that there is a hidden dildo underneath your mattress.

What do you want to resolve this year, Jess?

If you want to know what I think, BURN UP!

I think what I can bestow, black as I am, is for you to know what you need. I’m no expert here. I’m just a wicked poet trapped in his narcissistic estimations but if you want anything, that head of yours is big enough for that (or your genitals if I may) because you know, wanting something is like making a grocery list. All there is in wanting is a pen and paper. Take time out to fuck the industry and start needing. See what you need.

The catacomb mystery is still the bridge in meeting the soulmate of your dreams. It may be the road less travelled but think about the fellows who stuck with you. The lovers who will be there for you either to warm your bed or spoil the sheets with their throbbing (headaches and all) afterplays. The earth needs tending and so are you. Be gentle with the winds of your life. What you will eventually reap is the mind of Gautama, the strength of Muhammad and the love of Jesus. Fine. Call me your sick enthusiast but I am gonna stick to LOVE.  Coulda woulda shoulda.  But I am  Gonna . . .

Most of all, need the time to be lonely because you will understand the meaning of deliverance. That life is masochistic bastard who is susceptible to change but will also be the jester who will wear a condom. Oh shit, why am I pontificating?  I mean, hello, look who is talking?

HAPPY NEW YEAR.   Thank you for sharing with me a take out order last night.  It was a nothing New Year to us and yet it felt like it was the most important new year at the same time.  I love you.

May your fireworks be plenty,


January 1, 2010

Dubai, The United Arab Emirates

Happy New Year !!!

It started to rain outside after midnight.  Temperature dropped to 5 degrees.  Inside, with the thumps of music and borrowed euphoria, our world was sweltering.

The Jules Bar crowd, where Norman, Alex and I found ourselves dillydallying with, intoxicated and shining with sweat as we, ferociously conveyed a very drunken and a very tormenting splash of movable entries of the mind.

I was, in fact, happily gyrating my best and enjoying my perspiration, and at the same time, tussled with the fact that yellow was my color of the year.  Underneath my jacket, I was wearing my old and battered H & M yellow shirt and yellow socks.  From that thought and the nameless faceless people who hugged me afterward, I knew deep inside my schizophrenic heart, that 2010 will be a great year for me.

We left the bar so late and so pissed that we inadvertently found ourselves in a Chinese restaurant having wonderful crap and mumbling profanities to the bone that squeaked the humorous monster in the three of us.

Nobody drove that night.  And there were no taxis everywhere.  It was almost 4 in the morning.  And then a car sped by us and stopped.  A lift!  We said hello, got in and I saw in my peripheral view, a man in his 20s, could be Iranian, could be whatever, speaking in a rabid tone I immediately found potent as he swerved us around, taking control of the steering wheel.  I looked at him and he immediately got the message of . . . hope.  He smirked.  I was torn between drunken fantasy and reality.

I dropped Alex who was practically dead and then to my house to drop Norman.  A few minutes later, I found myself in a deserted parking lot with my new year’s eve cuisine . . . burning up.  Floating at the same time realizing how I badly needed detoxication.

The next day, I woke up at 10 AM and saw myself all clad in yellow.  I laughed hard that my entire building collapsed, thinking that, by far, the color yellow has done its job pretty well.

The day after, I opened my company email and received a memo that they are promoting me as Director of Operations effective this  month.

I laughed even harder.


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