It was a humid afternoon, sweltering by anyone’s standards. The room was filled with people grouped in their usual places, wrapped in the world of their collective making. The whole space was filled with noise, of thoughts rummaging through everyone’s head spoken clearly aloud.
She was looking straight into his expressive eyes – a look he answered fiercely back as their whole world watched on. Locked in the moment, in their complete perfect silence, everything else was background noise. In the space between, in the silence undisturbed, in the complete absence of words – they felt, they knew. It was theirs for the taking.
Trying to hold his strong gaze, a faint smile appeared on her lips. As quick as a blink, they were snapped back to reality – in acceptance, in surrender.
the window to her soul – a peek in the blazing fire ignites a warmth within, shows wonder, laughter, sorrow, brings forth your shivers. a pale cover of sensation, the right touch turns vermilion. lacquer in ruby woo, scarlet, a real damsel’s weapon. the dark, alluring simper, her greatest poison.
Inspired by my recent MAC haul including the iconic Ruby Woo matte lipstick. Every time I wear the Ruby Woo, I feel like a totally different woman with oozing confidence. Was actually writing a blog post about the recent purchase but it seems that I’m having problems uploading pictures due to the fluctuating internet connection. Let me know your thoughts! 🙂
A faint light is trying to seep in through the curtains draped with flower patterns of blue and green. The air felt damp – it has been drizzling all night again. Her room sets a scene of a melancholic view – the way the light touches the deep blue wall, the feeling of sadness eminent in the space. Staring at the ceiling, she took a deep breath, what came out was a heavy sigh. Then another.
“Life”, she grumbled to herself. It’s a start of a new day and she knows better than to fill it with worries and the problems of yesterday. She knows better, yes. But the bed is holding on to her, cradling her in the stream of her emotions.
She took another deep breath. 1…2… inhale. 1…2… She let it all out. A series of more focused breathing that made her seem like trapped in a trance if anyone sees her. In her mind, that’s all there is to it – the flow of the air through her nose, her core, her peace. A much needed serenity. Her escape from the harsh toll of reality.
Hurried knocks on the door broke her meditation. It brought her back to the world in a snap. Like a switch that clicked, she gathered up all the courage to face the day that she could muster, all while quickly fixing her hair in a tight bun. Two more banging on the door as she grab hold of the handle.
She knows exactly who is waiting impatiently on the other side of the door – the reason for her fight, the purpose of her being. She looked down and saw the dark brown eyes that resembles hers, the soft warm cheek against the pale weather, the grin that keeps her world spinning. “Mom, I want pancakes”, the little boy demanded.
She stared at the mirror, familiarizing her every feature. Trying to hold on to her own identity, the one unstained, untouched by him. Her eyes – dark as her soul, outlined by a regal thin wall of blue as he said. Her nose – how often does he pinch it when in a playful mood. Her lips – how his brushed it softly, passionately, intensely. Her hair – he has always loved the wild, long curves of her hair. Has always admired how it falls gracefully right down her shoulders and chest. She stared at the mirror, she can only see traces of him. Traces he left behind when he shut the door. Traces of him all over her body. How badly does she want to take all of him out of her; out of her body, out of her mind, out of her life. She stared at the mirror. In her eyes, she see fire. A fire set on her soul. A fire that burns brightly, so bright he could not even touch the surface. A fire so pure, no remnants of him can be found. She stared at the mirror. Closed her eyes, took hold of her hair. Snip. Snip. Snip. The wild long curves falling recklessly on the ground. Snip. Snip. Snip.
Dripping ink on parchment, the quill – the only thing I have left; Family in brisk danger, beloved betrothed to another; A piece of paper – it all started, tempted to rip it, tattered. Though each breath numbered, Blossoming freedom is all that matters.
Lines of verticals, all I see, Each wall domineering o’er me. A loaf of bread, I had to take, In return, soul and body encaged.
Politics, greed in every turn, sins, injustice and stronghold – let’s watch it burn. Thoughts voiced and acted no longer numbered. How does one use this privilege, this fought and died for – power?
Inspired by what’s happening in the Philippines now, where our freedom seems to be at stake with the new anti-terror law that has been signed just today. Channeling my anxiety, disappointment, and fear through art.