5

I am the girl who keeps falling asleep.

You’ve probably seen me but didn’t wake me.

4

I am the girl who keeps falling asleep.

You’ve probably seen me, at the buffet line. Yes the girl with the distant look on her eyes while her right hand holds an empty plate and her left strokes her growling stomach to shut it up. Because she keeps hearing her mother’s voice in her head saying ‘You’re too fat dear’, ‘Lose some weight dear’, ‘Look at how you’re sister looks dear’,’ How will you get a husband if you’re bigger than him dear’. So she can’t do anything else but dream of taking a bite of that crispy lechon skin and how good all those calories will feel, those three servings of rice that will go straight to her thighs and accentuate her child bearing hips, and that slice of triple chocolate cake with caramel drizzle for that extra shot of serotonin to her brain, because god knows she needs to be happy with who she is and what she eats.

3

I am the girl who keeps falling asleep.

You’ve probably seen me, snoring softly through a movie. Yes the one with a date all frustrated because he picked this movie especially to at least get to second base with me. A B-movie, campy, slasher flick with laser shooting vaginas and talking dicks, nobody wants to see but him and apparently me. But I wouldn’t know see. The lights were low and my eyes grew heavy like the weight of your arms around me. But as I jumped from one cloud to another, you jumped from one woman to another, from one bed to another, from one affair to another, until there is no more one way or another but to leave you for another, cloud who will share my dreams in broad daylight motherfucker.

2

I am the girl who keeps falling asleep.

You’ve probably seen me, head banging on other people’s shoulders on trains. Yes the one you interrupt your camwhoring for to secretly take a photo of with your shiny 8MP phone camera that your daddy paid for. Which, you’ll then show your friend sitting next to you who also lives off her daddy’s bank account. Which she’ll then MMS to her boyfriend, her other boyfriend, her boytoy, her fuck buddy and her fuck buddy’s friend, who, at one point she did screw. Who will then add a witty caption like ‘Daydreamer on Board’ or ‘Shit! I missed by stop!’ or ‘What’s the difference between a politician and a whore?’ or ‘Oh! I know! This is what a politician does and gets paid for.’

1

I am the girl who keeps falling asleep.

You’ve probably seen me, at Math class, the last girl in fourth row a little to your right, head down on her desk all the time. Yes the one who doesn’t know until now how to multiply.  And it’s not because I’m dumb or anything like any of the names you call me with like stupid, retard, and bitch. But because I’d rather shut my eyes and dream and dream and dream some more than find the value of X, whom I’ve concluded is the stupid, retard, bitch you must be referring to, if she can’t find herself her true value.

Talecraft cards via komikasi

I’m so excited to finally use my Talecraft cards for Promdifiction.

After introducing Che to Talecraft and seeing how excited she was by it, I’ve decided to make April Talecraft Month for Promdifiction. We’ve already had our cards and we’re going to post our stories each week of April.

If you want to join Promdifiction’s Talecraft Month, leave me a message here.

Don’t forget to rememblur!

~Annabs

VII. The Jack of Clubs Speaks to His Queen

I am leaving now.

I am coming back to the city to find you.

VIII. A Queen No Longer

I have lost my gift. The future is now madness.

I have lost you. You did not even deem it fit to secure a proper parting.

I wrote you my confession, but I thought I need not give it, since the cards told me you would decide to stay.

The cards have learned to deceive me now, the way I deceived them.

To the men who found my gift alluring, I’ve become as dull and shapeless as their lives. They have nothing to do with me now. Since the day I learned to cheat you, I have become the master of deception. I wander this town aimlessly now, shuffling my now useless pack of cards, challenging children with a few coins to a gambling game. I play cards with them, and then I take their money.

I am writing you this letter by an abandoned dirt path that leads to a forgotten stream. It is quiet here, where I am, the early morning sounds and the quiet of late evening mark my days. I wake up as usual, take long walks to the town market, and walk quietly among people whose language I cannot speak. But I ply my trade here, I have nowhere to go. They refuse to speak to me. Signs and guttural sounds and pantomimes sustain me - a few vigorous gesticulations and I can pick out the fish I want to take home.

If I let my mind drift long enough, I can pretend I don’t need you.

At night, I lie awake in the improvised hammock I made, watching the stars. The comforting sound of rustling leaves and crickets and the swishing sounds of the breeze allow me some measure of peace.

• Everybody Loves Irene (Indonesia)
• Q (Japan)
• Velvette Vendetta (Hong Kong)
• Chochukmo (Hong Kong)
• Sleepwalk Circus (Philippines)

Good stories + Good music = Love.

~Annabs

In this place, I like to think that I don’t need you. One day flows into the next, and I hardly give you a second thought.

I come here because it consoles me. Breathing the city means breathing you. The day-to-day bewilderment, the randomness of the billboards along the highways that rise to meet the stars, the daily struggle for a seat in the train, a window of five minutes to avoid a deduction for tardiness, the glamorous Dionysian parties on weekend that I read about in magazines - I cannot abide by such cosmopolitan madness.
I wish you were here with me. It takes five hours to get here by bus, and what a luxurious sleep with you resting against my shoulder. I would win you over with my stories, with my knowledge of this faraway place, and tell you everything I’ve read in the travel books. You would listen to me, you would find my talk a little interesting, and maybe, finally, we could talk about our childhoods. We would imagine we spent the first afternoons of our lives together climbing trees and chasing after spiders and butterflies. The present would be an extension of our idyllic past.

And when we’re both tired and flushed from the excitement of our shared memories, we would slowly nod off - but you would fall asleep before I do. I would time my breathing with the rise and fall of your chest.

You would not need to love another.

VI. Queen of Hearts in Disguise

I have a confession to make.

I want to tell you why I cannot look you in the eye. I studiously fasten my gaze on inanimate objects in front of me, trying not to arouse your suspicion when I glance at your profile. Memory is elusive, you see, and while I want to remember the shirt that you’re wearing or how your eyes light up when you tell me about something that means to you, I cannot form a clear enough image in my mind.

I wish I could trace the contours of your face with my fingers. I would start from your forehead to the tip of your nose, down to your lips. Then I would tilt your chin upwards and make you face me. Do you understand? Your face will leave imprints on my hands so that I can recall your face one day when my memory fails me. When I think of you, I only see shadows and shapes, mediated by how I want to remember you. Sometimes I imagine that your gaze is fixed upon me, and that you have better eyes. You will remember me that way, just by looking at me. But I can only remember you in Braille.

I wish I could explain to you that when my smile is too bright while my gaze drifts away, I am upset with you. I have no reason, really, to demand your undivided attention. But imagine this, imagine you are a child again and it is your first time to deliver a speech before a crowd that might as well number a hundred strong, and your chest is puffed up, your hands are shaking and when you open your mouth to speak, your voice squeaks. The audience looks at you politely, they try to listen to you at first, but after the first few sentences they have already judged you and lost interest. That is how I feel when I talk to you. You have the ability to respond to my tentative words and questions without needing to think, you needn’t listen to my futile attempts at meaningful conversation. My voice disappears into the general din, and you have lost interest.

Your only interest is in the cards. In your Queen of Sorrows.

Today I’ve decided to greet Monday with a smile. After being able to do things that I love last weekend (jogging, Death in the Land of Encantos screening at UP, Organik Musik at 70s Bistro, late night drinking sessions, Wii cafe escapade with friends, etc.) I think it’s only proper to continue my weekend happiness.

So in the spirit of all things happy I give you another double feature of Enuh’s Untitled Short Story Circa 2007.

Start your week right. Try to rememblur.

~Annabs