By: Khristine Dizon
This story is about a writer and a musician who lives on the other side of the continent. In search of a lost sibling; they came across lyrics and a poem that completed each.
Image note: it’s an edited photographed of old floor tiles from my late grandparent’s house that still stands today, in the Philippines. We had to renovate a bit, due to a typhoon that flooded our area. It must be in the 30’s; I’m uncertain of the year.
–Back Cover–
All her past relationships were full of betrayals, from friends, boyfriends even relatives but still with a good heart. So for the last relationship she decided not to mingle until she found the right one for her. She does know that there’s no such thing as the perfect man out there but she still believes that there is someone meant for her.
He has been in all kind of relationships, someone you can call a womanizer until a story material landed on his lap. He didn’t understood why he felt that there was a time warp after he read it. Started to fell like he was in trance, like when he used to play the electric guitar, it felt like he was reading the story with his late father.
How can a harmonious relationship bloom from a self absorbed and an elusive writer?
Interlude
I was staring at my laptop for the longest time, submitted plots for a hundred stories that I had to read made my night dreadful. I like the idea but it did not made me fall in love with the story. I want something different, not absurd but to the extent of making me believe that there is someone out there meant for someone like me. Started to browse the internet, grabbed my drums stick while playfully spinning it in between my fingers. I started to check my Facebook page for messages. When I saw that time, it’s past four in the morning! Is this acceptable as a human? My thoughts came in when I was about to log out from Facebook, I saw my school photos from my friend’s bag. It occurred to me that I was misjudge by people because I never want them to be intrigued, some say I have this fear of commitment, but those people I grew up with since I was a child knew better, they actually know me more than myself. Especially my godmother who reminds me like my mother when I was young. The person who gave me an album that contains photos of me when I was toddler. An online tool was use to pile it up. She ordered it from a foreign country then shipped to Manila, Philippines. I stopped, disturbed by the music that was playing. I suddenly remember my first Gretsch Electronic Junior Jet Bass and Fender Stratocaster that now stands alone inside my bedroom here in New York. I checked my place from wall to wall, the artwork, play write scripts and my scroll up screen. Some one came to visit today and said there’s something missing. What’s missing? Ah, the pick box, it’s just beside my keyboard.
I am a half Korean and half Filipino who can’t find the perfect story, who was born in South Korea. Half of my like I grew in America and then another half was in Seoul. Now I am an independent individual who still believes that there is a writer the who can write like the way I used to. Since when I was still a student in Ateneo De Manila University, the in between of my teen years. I wanted to post this in my social media account but hesitated. I wanted to include that the writer I am looking for doesn’t need to be a literature graduate of any school in particular. I want someone with a passion and who experienced rejections.
As I thought about it, again and again, it is not acceptable to be posted even in job boards.
The weather was a bit cooler now than yesterday as she thought to herself while killing time in on of the newest mall in Quezon City, Philippines. It was the month of the year when she tends to remember the year when she used to shop for Christmas presents on her own. She’s a writer in practice for publishing company. She writes short love stories. As she recalls the stories she wrote it made her smile since until now, there’s no special person inherent life. Her passion for writing started with books from Clavell and Shakespeare but the pay for her work did not meet her expectations as she grows older, she decided to take additional courses of Computer Science Majoring in Web Development. She takes part time job as an article writer to support herself. At times she has this problem with her passion, each time her material receives rejection. Every time she submits new stories which are not similar to Philippines set-up. She’s obsessed in changing the story plot of Philippines’s TV series, but what can she do and say about those thing if those type of stories about mistresses and betrayals are the ones that sells. Yes, money does talk. She’s been asked by her relatives constantly when she’ll ever be married and no one believes when she tells them that she’s not in relationship with anyone. She always playfully answers them back that her boyfriend is in a foreign country. A writer which was not yet known.
It was annoying in New York City that night, I could not even sleep. I grab my coat and went out for a walk. “..All her past relationships ended because of betrayals”
He’s a graduate of architecture who did play write as one of his extracurricular activities in a well known university as expected from a family of artists but to be specific he is a par of a family of musicians. He fell in love with the melodies of the electric guitar when he’s five years old, when he first heard his father strums his Stratocaster, he taught himself how to play the drums instead. Piano was a quick medium for him to grasp but because of an accident, he forgotten everything he liked about guitar except playing the drums. He has been in and out of numerous unsuccessful relationships, and still wonders what went wrong in every mistake he thought he made.
As she started to write those sentences in her notebook to start another story, she stopped a bit and remembered someone, she needs to return a call to her editor. She sent a text message first, asking if she’s free to talk since she’s still out and just a couple of blocks away from the office where the building stands. She was about to finish her cup of hot latte when her phone rang. It’s her editor. She took a deep breath then answered her phone, with hello. It felt like a long talk-time, why can’t she just go straight to the point. She was being asked to travel to do some research. It is what she’s waiting for, again her submitted story wasn’t approve because of some scenes that mass media won’t like. She was thinking while listening to her. My story won’t make much money, as I thought it would. I sat there devastated with the news I heard. I felt my push of tears are getting fuller and fuller. I stood up and hail a cab to go home.
In New York
I toss and turn and I cant still sleep, I need an inspiration. I read some of my books, Shogun to make me sleep but still I cant. I turned to my one of a kind, musical film based from the novel by Charles Dickens, which its score always have a way to touch my heart and sob; I almost felt dopey when I remember to check my tablet I have a list of things that I need to do. Then I saw in my calendar, I have to attend this wedding of a far relative in Seoul South Korea and I have booked my flight a couple of days from now. I have to prepare my clothes or else I might forget everything,
I checked my email to confirm and print the e-ticket. I always ask my relatives why I don’t look much so like them, they say I look more Korean than anyone else, I saw my Korean dictionary and started to remember the basic words that I need to know. The polite way of saying things was a bit difficult, I have to read my dictionary then search it again online just to check if my understanding is correct. I was in a different country different time, I noticed my clothes aren’t the same, what year is this, am I in a play? I saw ladies walk past me, a wild guess, is this in Victorian time? I pass through a walk path, a coffee shop that reminds me of a painting of Vincent Van Gogh. Suddenly someone grabbed my arm and spur me around, a beautiful young maiden. She place her arms around me. Then my clock buzz off. I didn’t even notice that I fell as sleep on my couch again.
It was a very interesting dream
I look at the book I was holding, still the Korean dictionary. I walk towards my book case, have I seen that play? I haven’t been in Venice, was that the place, it has been a while since the last time I checked my art history. I check my watch it almost past six, I have to prepare for work. Then my phone rang, its my best friend. The meeting is pushed back to a later time, its going to be somewhere in Manhattan, my friend will pick me up shortly since he needs to brief me with the other details that he revised last night. I prepared my denims and plain navy blue shirt and then I’m good to go. I heard a knock, it’s my friend, i opened the door and there he was with his bag of pretzels. My coffee was still brewing, a few minutes after we were drinking coffee and he was briefing me about our project. I don’t want to spill the beans just yet. I kept remembering my dream, while waiting for the time for us to leave my apartment, I started to remember every detail of it and type it in my iPad.
The time went by so swiftly and we had this agreement with another writer that we will review her submit for a short play, she was still in university doing two jobs supporting herself and she was dreaming to become the most famous play write. I saw myself in her shoes how I was before when I was still in College; how I dreamt of meeting Starwars writer and all the other sci-fi series I was so fond of, strange how I like those when I use to write for school plays.
The plot was different and I need another story to balance my sanity and while I play with the band. A life that I can never forget, there was no responsibilities except to excel in my studies, that was the only thing that I ever thought of, unlike now that everything is on my shoulders expectations was more severe. I grew up in a family where expectations are always met, specific high mark is placed as our measurement to succeed, like the tallest pine tree with a raccoon on top of it that you have to rapidly be at par to. When the writer left, we reviewed the characters for our present play since the story was taken from a very successful book that we published a few months back. I need to make an extra mile to ensure and be up to date to the success of each published books we accepted. I am still looking for a certain topic for a very important client, he insisted for me to write again because he has a copy of my materials but I have to decline due to the massive work I have to be on top of. While I was in my memories, my colleague asks me to check a blog, he didn’t want it to be read since the person just started but the content was enough to get our attention. I read the summary and saw the location.
I read through her blog, a Filipina; in the middle I remembered the note I left on my desk it was the title of the song that was playing before I left my apartment for a walk last night, a song that I mastered the notes when I was young, played beautifully by Eric Clapton. It amazes me how she wrote it well, but I see that she needs an editor, her story will capture everyone’s heart and it is not the usual story plot that most of the films released in Manila has, it has a feel of those movies during my parent’s time; which I can relate myself to. How easy it looks to have money but how difficult it was to sustain the consistency of achievement especially in relationships. It made me think of how the writer’s life is at present, her inspirations’ while writing and emotions; does the character in the story resemble hers? It is a bit peculiar while I read the last part.
I used to live in Manhattan, but after my parents’ death I moved to Brooklyn. That day seems like a year in my calendar, I don’t know where I was heading I just have to get out of my apartment, the place where my parents fixed everything for me. The floor, the furniture, those tiny fixtures, the curtains, especially the beddings it all reminds me on how they continuously came for surprise visits. I was drenched in tears as I walk the side streets up when I landed on ferry to Manhattan. I was listening to their favorite songs in my music player, the newest JVC. I lost myself in the breeze and in the image of the water while I stood. I saw my favorite dumplings and my dad always jokes about my mom and she always smiled every time he tells the story that if they were in Manila, he cant bring her into like this type of restaurants since my mom was never fond of eating street foods and there will always be someone that will recognize my mother’s face, a person who was a famous person for a while then finally gave up her dream when she married my father.
I opened my tablet and I just don’t understand what’s with me that day, I checked the listings and saw an apartment near where I was for sale. I called the agent and asked him to meet on that same day. When I saw it’s a loft which was hard to find in Brooklyn, I didn’t think twice, I have the spare money to spend, so I bought it and asked for my apartment in Manhattan to be rented. It all happened so fast, it only took him a few days to find someone, he was tall, white but I know there was more to him, slim but has a massive appetite like me and he wears glasses. The first meeting I felt something familiar, that he was really interested to rent my place, he saw the posters inside my room and I know he knew it was all original. When he saw my study room, he glanced at me in disbelief it was an extreme but Zen type of room, it was orchestrated by yours truly. It was black carpeted, with a bookshelf that has my collection of vinyl, books, arts and my drums and guitars which was also decorated with posters from wall to wall. A week after he moved in, I got a call from him inviting me over for dinner with his friends; he knew that I just lost my parents that time. I accepted the invite and bought a wine to bring. I can’t help my tears when he showed me my forgotten materials;
When I requested for my place to be in the listings for rent, that’s where I met him. I was an IT professional, at 22 years old, a business analyst to be exact and it was during my first year in New York when it happened. I just can’t recall why my parents left my materials in a hidden in a place in my apartment that was hard for me to see which I thought was just one of those fancy looking wood furniture.
He gave me an opportunity I could not refuse, it was hard for me to sleep but no one knows about it, except my godmother who I kept on sending emails every day until she sends me a copy of her e-ticket that she will be in New York in a few days. I know how busy she is, but she still replies to my email on that same day it was sent.
The time when she left me for another man, since I wasn’t born with a pure Chinese blood. As a man, I was drenched in sadness and the only thing I can turn to was my drums, I practiced so hard until I found my rhythm. It took me a while to have to guts to play in public again, I asked a friend who is an owner of a small pub down town and my godmother was with me the whole time that was the time she gave me my album. It was unusual to see him there as well after I played. It took me a while to realize that we have a distinctive connection, I forgotten how it was when someone read a material I wrote. Which was the time that I cant say no to the opportunity he was offering, I took the job, and it was alright for me to still be employed to the company I worked for since there wont be an integrity issues as long as I don’t write anything about what’s happening at work, which I inserted in the agreement and was reviewed by my fathers’ best friend who is my godfather, a corporate attorney in Manila. My attorney was surprised with my decision even when he knew that I bought an apartment in Brooklyn, it surprising that he gave me a compliment.
In Manila
I was trying to make my blog more like from a writer, my unknown self that I want to share to anyone who wants to read it, to give me satisfaction with all my reject works. If only I can make the theme simple, plain black and white with an old typewriter font, since my budget will not suffice my goal for now, I have to use the free them for my free blog, my school fees are more important still. I know soon I will have enough money to avail it. What a pity as she thought to herself, now that she is 30 still she just cant give enough reward to herself. I should have graduated earlier, that what she was saying while her tape recorder was on; everything she do she use it to get inspiration from all her writing materials. It’s 1 o’clock in the morning and I’m almost done, I want to link some of my personal account but I would rather not, I know for every link I sync online someone somehow will be able to search for my personal blog. This blog will be seen as unusual because there might not be interactions from other people unless there will be someone from another country who will be kind enough to notice and post comments so actively. When it was time for her to paste the stories, she took a deep breath then copy from her word document to her blog. Then she thought some might think that she was not the one who wrote it since most of the people who read her stories thought at first that it was inked by a man, it’s something she got used to. Every now and then she paused and checks how her blog will look when the post is up, and thought of ways how to make it more appealing to the public. She have not explored photography, she would rather draw images from her mind to capture the scenes in her story, to incorporate it will be a bit challenging, a meticulous woman she thought of herself.
The anxiousness inside sink in, what if the lay out wont be the same as how she drew the images, what if the program wont be able to capture the color she wanted it to show, just like when you type in a Korean or other characters in blogs, it have to be specific to certain characters. She always wonders how people will react, how they will openly criticize her work it was like day dreaming of something written in the past. I heard my doorbell rang, when I opened the door it’s my meal, I have to stay awake until five in the morning because I am still waiting for someone’s reply. I have a Korean friend who owns a small restaurant at the ground floor of our building. I ordered kimbab, boneless fried chicken and dumplings. I put the kimbab and half of the dumplings inside the refrigerator for later. I’m just not in the mood to go out. That’s why I’d rather have my food to be delivered just about their closing time.
As the time runs quickly, he stood on the street where his new apartment is and as he entered the path he saw familiar faces that greeted him sweetly. It is a friendlier neighborhood than where he used to stay. He look back and saw his godmother looking at her like he was in a dream, she took his arm and let him walk inside his new bachelor’s pad. As he placed his bags on the floor, he heard the bell rang; it’s too soon for visitors. When he opened it, it’s the restaurant owner across the building, and his high school friend who just flew in from Manila. He blurted it so casually that his parents threw him out of Manila to be in America to learn how to live a life. It was a surprise when his friend gave him a check with figures that can cover a four months’ rent and other bills. I helped them prepared the meal and my friend pop open the bottle of wine, I can’t help the tears, and the restaurant owner Sam tap my shoulder and said
“it’s alright to let it out son, it won’t make you less of a man.” I hug him so tight that it felt like something my parents would say when I’m not myself and with that my friend, with his unusual comment say “I guess it is time for us to clean our eyes balls once in a while.” I replied to him with, yes situations have a way of letting us clear our own path to notice the important things to focus on.
It was the time… to prepare for the gig that Sam asked me to be in; I asked my friend to accompany me, and he needs to play the piano.
We played ‘English Man in New York’ one of those songs I can never run away from, songs I often hear when my parents and I dine out. And so it’s started, I recalled it vividly as I sat on the stool checked my set of black jazz sticks which are all given by my parents. I placed my left hand softly to tap the snare but the uncontrollable liquid that flows through my eye nerve almost… almost drop. An automatic reflex began, I played with my drums sticks through my fingers in circular motion to ease myself and look at the crows then I saw one familiar face, with that I let myself loose and so the feeling of alonesss came through, the confusing aloness when I play while my dad listens…the room where my dad sits quietly while I play any form that comes through me… I suddenly heard notes from the piano floating through my ears and I just had this push to make myself lead the rhythm. As my sticks continuously creates calming sounds it came to me again, the history of uncommon tunes, learnings through my dad that even when music notes was penned still as a musician I need to create my own for artists will always appreciate the renditions. Applausses woke me up from the dream.
I stood up from the drummer stool and felt a tear down my cheek as I turn to my stack of drums stick, “I miss my dad…” My thoughts came running inside of me; so foolish of me to think that I can easily forget them, how childlike I am still to follow his last wish to live my life without them, find my true soul, myself I forced to be forgotten and to ignore all eyes set on me by him, those watchful challenging sets of eyes. Then I stoop down to get my leather stash, as I accidentally peek through there’s a new pair that I have not seen before, it’s not brand new for sure but it do looks very familiar, like the pair I saw in a antique shop in Bronx. Had to excuse myself politely to my friend who invited me in since I need my privacy for a few. It was just a short hallway with a narrow space behind the stage that I pass through to be secluded then, Ina men’s room, I sat, took a deep breath then looked inside my leather stash of drumsticks; there it was a gold cloth that ties the two in a very noticeable manner of ribboning… tears flow through but that’s all I need to know, it’s my mom’s knot. I left the room and went to the table where my Aunt sat.
The dawn ended with a cup of coffee and a confusing mind, I stayed awake and watch as the sunrise descends by the balcony. It is my last day in this home clothed by my parents for me, it is not me letting go. I heard footsteps nearing, when I turned my back it’s my best friend thrown to me, some people might thought that he being punished but honestly, both of us knows as a man it is one of my father’s requirements to be able to stand alone. Life wasn’t easy for us in the 80’s after the death of our former president Ninoy Aquino. It was seeing the real life hidden from us as a child those times; everything can be taken away so quickly even when you are the one who worked for it. Integrity was bypassed; I had to stop myself from thinking since I couldn’t bare the memory when I saw my grandmother cried so much during those days.
As I saw him, approached the refrigerator with a slight nod to me, since every time when he awakes, it’s impossible for him to make sense since he always say that his mind is still in the dream state its just that he can easily move around. Something we both understand, we started our day with warm milk and stare at somewhere and the only thing that will trigger our mind so quick in early morning is a cup of coffee, when they asks us a question, we need to give an answer. Then he turned to me with the eggs and milk from the fridge with a grin. I pointed to him the pan where I made quick scrambled eggs for him to use. We do understand each other without uttering a word. It is a light breakfast for us but we have to wait for our Aunt. He prepared his coffee with an almond milk.
As we finish our cup of coffee which is my second, he starts his monologue about his plan, what to do and how he’ll live with me with just an amount that will fit a year. He started to check his budget while on the plane on his way to me and since he always check his expenses, always counts the coins left before going to bed the budget won’t last 12 months if he will spend it on unnecessary things as the excess will only fit a 4 months’ rent. At a young age we did learned how to make money on our own but we always do what we are pleased to, always those that intrigue us, always those that we’ve been interested in but as we entered college, the real situation of people was well seen. At some point in school some people thought that we are the type who only eats expensive food, later did they know how thrifty we are, it was fun to have flashbacks on how we were able to stretch 50 Philippine pesos for lunch and a snack even when we have packed lunch. As I check my watch it almost 7-ish in the morning then we saw our Aunt just about to get in the kitchen, dressed.
I took a shower and think of this place I’ll be leaving…
When I went back to the kitchen, she was drinking the English breakfast tea we prepared for her. The champorado, a chocolate porridge and toast was prepared for breakfast. Miguel was just behind me, also dressed. We ate silently at first. Then Miguel started again, that there’s so many things that he needs to consider, it can’t be done that he’ll immediately be hired in an enterprise and to study again is something not feasible unless he gets a job from a food chain or industrial for assembly line or a forklift driver. My Aunt suggested, why don’t you try the real estate?
I told him to think about how Pharrell Williams since his life was an inspiration. With all the stories about thugs and mafia’s we chose not to to search for those but only articles and news that that inspires us. We rather filled ourselves with the music and lyrics he penned or the launch and release dates of single and albums, the collaboration plus the difficulty from ground up, lastly charity work. Miguel responded with a yes that he’ll add it to his list of possible opportunities.
It’s 9:00 AM and I heard the door, the tenant of the apartment came. The typical moving out way on the day itself also the day when the furniture’s will be brought out but not just for me since it was a we. They helped me organized the home I now call in Brooklyn 3 days past, we just need to make sure that this apartment is pristine. We left the apartment at exactly 10:00 AM in Manhattan, the one I bought in Brooklyn is much spacious that suits me and Miguel since my Aunt is about to fly back to Manila in a few days. As I left the apartment with my electric guitar on one shoulder, I glanced back teary eyed but I need to stop myself when I noticed my best friend look at me so sudden, someone who can easily read me through. We went down, on the way to Brooklyn, in my black SUV, the scenery changes and I can’t wait for new experiences to come.
The apartment was much bigger than the space I used to live in, it is more manly without the curtains of my mom’s preference.
Still in Progress….
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