Hansel & Gretel.

Exercise in pound poetry number one.
Because not all poems have to be about romantic love or angst or powerful emotions.
So few people realize that friendship is a poetic thing, too.
||

& in a city that's full of fast-paced cars and hurried partygoers, we're pop-up figures of ourselves, our figures silhouetted by the glare of streetlights, and our muted conversation lost in the unpredictable buzz of the cars at our side and the stereos in restaurants somewhere beyond us. You turn to me, and you're all crinkly smiles that reach your eyes, despite my constant teasing about the nonexistence of them, and your voice is all warm and reassuring in the midst of the impatient honks and sudden screeches heard on the roadside as you query,"Shouldn't you be going now?" I smile, and I'm all endless conversations and sudden bursts of laughter, and I say, "I can walk my way home." We cross the street-me bounding ahead, like a little girl, as usual and you tagging along like the brother figure you are. I look to the left--but in my constant prattling on about you and mangoes, I don't look to the right--"Dude, wait, a car," you say. "Watch out." I step back, smile and then, keep talking. When we finally cross the road--unscathed, surprisingly, I can almost hear our guardian angels sigh with relief. I give you a high-five, and it's not necessary for me to say, "Thanks, bro."

Rhythm.

--Slow dances.

I prefer slow dances to fast ones because all you really need is someone's arms to be enclosed in, and for your steps to match those of that someone you're with.

I prefer slow dances to fast ones because you don't need any music to get the rhythm right.

I prefer slow dances to fast ones because you can lean in closer to hear the steady heartbeat of your partner. 

I prefer slow dances to fast ones because it's the person you dance with that's all that really matters.

My first slow dance wasn't in a fancy party, a dinner, or even a ball. It was on a hot noontime lunch break in front of the secluded locker area. I was just hugging a friend of mine--I, was a sophomore then, he, a junior--and then, he suddenly grabbed my hands and put them around his neck, and led me in this swaying sort of rhythm. He was humming, and I was asking him what he was doing, and he finally let go when his little humming-song was over. It was spontaneous; it was sweet, but it wasn't my favorite slow dance.

My second slow dance was in a fancy party, I guess. Sophomore night. I was in the dance floor with a couple of female friends of mine, then, a friend of mine approached me, and asked me to dance. I swayed in all the wrong places, and laughed awkwardly in the beginning, but we shrugged it off. It was short; it was funny; it was friendly, but it wasn't my favorite slow dance.

My third slow dance was during prom night, and that dance was shared with my best friend. He doesn't like to dance; and I was scared I wouldn't be good enough to lead him--but my fears outweighed the desire to give my best friend a good night. I honestly can't say I remember what song we first danced to, or where we were on the dance floor, or for how long we ended up dancing--but I do remember how I liked to encircle my arms around his neck, and how I liked the feel of his arms around my waist and how comfortable I was in that position. And of how much I hoped he was comfortable, too.

He was probably my fourth slow dance, and my fifth slow dance, and probably most of my slow dances for the rest of the night--he was also my last. I still can't remember much of the songs we danced to, or in what sequence of things we did that night, but I do remember how things felt right, somehow, no matter that we weren't burning fire on the dance floor.

And this is why I like--

In which direction is she spinning?

And she has always been cursed with an excess of emotion-- inflicted with an inquietude she can't quite understand. Always, she has been called either vibrant and bubbly or angsty and dramatic--but never actually anything in between. Never has she been commended for acting with a sense of poise and rationality, though Heaven knows, she tries, she tries. Not a day goes by without her boundless enthusiasm getting her at odds with the constraints of day-to-day living, and every moment is otherwise interspersed with fluctuations to the depths of despair.

Despite this--despite this innate capability to drown in emotion--there are three things she does not (want to) allow herself to feel: 

[a] jealousy- an emotion she feels binds herself to a person more than is comfortable--perhaps stronger than ties bound even by kinship and affection. For within jealousy lies obsession-an obsession to surpass the receiver of said emotion and a strange fascination for whatever the object does. It is the stripping down of oneself to accommodate that person--(and in our own perception) better oneself, solely in comparison to them. 

[b] desire- For this involves being human, and no matter how volatile she is, she never wishes to admit that deep inside, she is just like every other person in the world-- that she is weak, she can admit--but that her weaknesses mirror others', she steadfastly denies. 

[c] love-  She does not like being bared to her truest of selves and mired down by a solid connection to someone else. In love, she knows, she gives only what she treasures of herself--and exposes parts of her she shows nobody else. Being in love, she believes, is akin to admitting a multitude of vulnerabilities to one person---just one person, and not knowing what happens next. And she doesn't like living on uncertainties.

She has always been cursed by an excess of emotion. But, every night she wonders...

Is she brave enough to forego a life of constant inconstancy?

Someday, she hopes, she will say what she means to say.

That warm,fuzzy feeling in your chest, as you find joy in untainted things.

Is it just me, or is it inherent in women to coo over babies?

I was stuck in my mother's office for one afternoon this week, and, she was interviewing this acquaintance of hers for a job position. Then all of a sudden, the acquaintance mentioned that she was pregnant, and my mother started cooing, and they had this uber-girly bonding session.

Girl: It was so unexpected, really. I mean, my boyfriend and I dated for ten years, right from college, and then we just got married last November--and, now I'm pregnant.

Mom: Oh, really? You should enjoy that. Babies are such lovely things. And it's the first, so it'll be extra special. They'll spoil you, and pamper you, and give you everything you want.

Tita: And, people are nicer to you, too. They were kind to me for my oral defense.

Me: ........*goes back to sleep on couch*

I don't know. Something about babies and the warm feeling in your chest as you watch them smile at you..can charm just about anyone. And, it's in the little things--those moments when their whole hand clings to your pinky, and when they kick with their itsy-bitsy feet, laughing in that innocent, unspoiled way of theirs. And---how they're so fragile, and they depend on you for care and guidance. They're so..untainted. And...

Just. so. cute. 

I don't know; I've always found babies so delicate, though. I'm afraid to carry them. Plus, childbirth and pregnancy sound..painful. Either way, I have claimed numerous godmother privileges from a lot of friends, so.....

Rawr.