A poem -feb 14 of 1986

Love may mean a lot of things
to a lot of people..

Yet to me, love is just to have
-- someone to hold me and care for me,
someone to comfort me when i'm down,
one who stays a friend always.

And, to put it simply, love to me
is just merely having a man
as sweet and wonderful as you.

Felt once and still Waiting for my Own Personal Utopia

Woke up to the sound of knocking, but not on my door. It was just a noise emanating from the neighbor's , someone banging on their door - not something I care about. Groggily, slipped past the covers, checked for my cellphone's inbox. It read: 7:45AM no message. Time for my morning bath, as I hesitantly pulled clothes from my closet, undergarments and towels in hand, proceeded downstairs. Thought to myself: 'Late again for work. What a way to start Monday.. '

Briefly scanned the table, aiming for breakfast and there.. yes!!.. some semblance of the good life, saw the adobo, a left-over from dinner, with the wind barely wafting through windows, smells like rain. At that moment, it was almost magical, like the old days, days of yore when troubles are light years away.. as I pondered through my meal, a cup of piping hot coffee, sumptuous pork adobo w/ shards of liver and hmm, newly-cooked rice amidst an almost cool and wet morning. Ah! felt like utopia, albeit briefly. As I wait still, to this day, ever hoping for my own personal utopia...