You told me once that I am your favorite writer.
I was hesitant and unsure. Your innocence might jinx me this time. Then you laughed, as you always do, like a child giggling while waiting the rain from the summer sky. Everything becomes clear. After all, whatever comes from you is never you.
Of course, you are as always an empty being.
Your emptiness tells many stories. Your emptiness fools me. Your emptiness is the real vessel of soul. Your emptiness is a parchment for budding thoughts. Your emptiness is a magic.
No wonder, I fell in love with that emptiness. I just do not know if emptiness loves me back.
Or, was it me who stares at the abyss long enough that a centenary gone by.
1900: The Boxer rebellion begun. Freud published his Interpretation of Dreams.
1903: The Wright brothers marked their first flight. In turn, Curtiss decided to invade the sky.
1912: Titanic anchored to Atlantis, to its final resting place.
Two years after, the first World War broke out. Horses galloped to the killing fields.
1925: The first among many trials of the century began. That day, Darwin risen for the second time.
1934: ****** became Fuhrer. The world becomes a theater. “Absurd,” says Beckett. “Cruelty” for Artaud.
1939; 1941: Second World War broke out; Pear Harbor bombed. Asia Pacific meets its infernal fate.
1945: Three mushroom clouds seen: New Mexico, Hiroshima, and Nagazaki.
1960’s: Humanity becomes obsessed with multiple wars: cold, space, nuclear, music, universities; not counting the mutants who played major roles in between.
1986: Itay wrote a letter to Inay. The letter reached Manila after a few days from Jeddah.
1989: Capitalism won. Berlin wall fell like a paper plane after its victorious flight. My parents met for the first time. Months later, they decided to cut the cake and get married.
1993: The World Wide Web saw its day. I was born.
Twenty two years later, I met her. A year after, Phil Collins sang once again Separate lives.
That time, I know, I will never be your favorite writer.
