The Uses of Time

The Uses of Time

We all know that

not all moments

are equal. We use

the thirty seconds

of gargling mouth

wash to do other

things, like washing

our faces or wiping

off a countertop. And

there are some moments

that are pointed,

complete,

the split second

to land a kiss

on his forehead

or the eternity

of entering

a stream,

digging your

heels in the

mud, and

letting God’s

finger touch

your

face.

August 5, 2021

Image by Karim Sakhibgareev of Unsplash

Day 4, poem no. 8 for The Writing Oasis (Summer 2021) with Beth Kempton, no particular prompt. I find that writing... just prompts more writing.

In Between

In Between

Sometimes, large

swaths of time

are lost in

queues,

listening to

the elevator

music of

call centers,

waiting for the

truck to arrive,

watching

furniture,

holding the pen,

holding the form,

holding the phone

as it burns

your ear.

Anything is

better than

this.

And then

you come

through.

And forget

this eternity

the next time

it comes

around.

Image: Martin Lostack of Unsplash

April 29, 2021

#NaPoWriMo2021 No. 29

Blue Sheep & Other Mysteries

Blue Sheep & Other Mysteries

You teach me

the basics of

pusoy dos

(as I take

notes)

and, tonight,

you ask me to

watch Dawn of

the 16th with

you.

I don’t know

I’m out of

time

until I glance

back at you

and realize

we’re almost

shoulder to

shoulder.

I tie your

hair back in

a topknot

like when

you were

one

and count

out the

years.

I’ll listen to

unlimited

Derivakat, Bub.

Just save me

a seat by your

side.

Image: Screenshot of Blue Sheep on YT

April 28, 2021

#NaPoWriMo2021 No. 28

For B

This Friday

This Friday

On our anniversary,

you cooked chicken

gyros and attempted

to bake bread

(I bought dinner

rolls at the

neighborhood

store, instead).

We forgot

to take

pictures.

I cleaned

the toilet bowl

and washed

the dishes.

You gave me

the last bowl

of ice cream

and we walked

the dog at dusk

with our daughter

when it was

nice and breezy.

We saw a

whole tree

with white birds

roosting, like

so many blossoms

from afar

and forgot to

to take pictures

again.

Afterward,

all four of us

played

a word game

while eating

leftovers and

we laughed

so hard.

There is nothing

more in this

world that

I want.

Image: Bon Vivant on Unsplash

#NaPoWriMo2021 No. 23

April 23, 2021

Laundry

 

Laundry

Is up there

with death

and taxes

and you take me

through it

patiently.

In this case,

I’m just

the brawn.

“This is how

we do it,

Mommy.”

I’m glad

for the

reversal,

glad for the

smell of

clean

clothes,

glad for time

with you

as if

this is a

leisurely

walk

at dusk.

Image: Annie Spratt of Unsplash

April 21, 2021

#NaPoWriMo2021 No. 21

One Hundred and One

 

One Hundred and One

There are

some days

that speed

past me,

I hardly

recall a

moment.

Except for

that tiny

detail.

“Will you

play with

me?”

And I said,

not now.

And out of

a hundred

things,

I know

it was the

one thing

that

counted.

Image: Volkan Olmez of Unsplash

April 20, 2021

#NaPoWriMo2021 No. 

My #SparkNA Adventure: Chasing Time

A picture I took from Cambugahay Falls, Siquijor (one of the waterfalls in my novella, Chasing Waterfalls)

First of all, what is #SparkNA? Read about it here, from Mina V. Esguerra's website. So, onto my adventure.

When I signed up for the class, I didn't realize what I had gotten myself into. You see, I signed up for an online accounting class and got a new job all around the same time. I wanted everything to work. That was how I realized that I could literally make the time if the stakes were high enough. My mini pep talk to myself: No complaints. You got yourself into this; you finish all of your commitments.

One June 6 (last day of the #SparkNA class), Mina asked us: 1) what worked, 2) what didn't, 3) what's next. For me, what worked was the outline, which was a prerequisite at the start of the class. If I did not have an outline, I would have floundered. Some writers prefer not having an outline at all. However, given the volume of work I had given myself, it was an absolute necessity for me. I have a vague memory of May 2015. It was a haze of deadlines and hard work. It reminds me of the time I was breastfeeding my first child. I was committed to it. That meant I had to pump my breast milk 2-3 times a day during work days. At the time, I was working at a telco (read: dynamic business, crazy work schedule). But somehow I managed to do it (mostly because my boss understood how much it meant to me). But how I did it? I don't remember. I just stuck to the schedule, whatever happened. I could pump my milk anywhere! So, that was what happened last May. I was mostly sleep deprived.

What didn't work was the deadly rush. I wanted my cake and I wanted to eat it, too. Hahaha! I just kept going and going. I have to say that this links back to a second element of what worked: a support group. Beta readers are blessings from heaven. My wonderful friends, Therese, Ines and Liana, all editors, were such a big help during the review phase. Ines was also working on her own #SparkNA novella, mind you. So, I was overwhelmed with gratitude when she agreed to read my work and give me very helpful feedback. I couldn't have finished my manuscript without my beta readers' invaluable support. A big, heartfelt thank you to Therese, Ines, and Liana!

What's next? Apart from waiting for word from Spark Publishing/ Anvil Publishing... I want to publish my novella, Chasing Waterfalls, online, on as many digital distribution platforms as possible. But yes, I'll wait, of course, for the print opportunity. Fingers crossed.

On May 30, 2015, I hit the "send" button and submitted my 28K-word novella to Mina with my query letter to the editors of Spark Publishing. On June 1, 2015, I started at a new job. On June 9, 2015, I received my verified certificate for my Introduction to Financial Accounting Class. It was all possible.

What did I learn from all of this? Somehow, life imitated art. Our challenge for #SparkNA was "to be brave." In particular, this was the instruction from Mina's email: "You don't have to say it in the book, but when we read it, we must be able to describe your MC to our friends as BRAVE." Well, what is bravery? What is courage? One of the dictionary definitions I came across was: the ability to do something that frightens you. Oh boy. That was what happened between April and May. The other half of the equation is: WHY? As I said earlier: it depends on the stakes. For me, the stakes were all high for the things I wanted: to write; to develop; to learn. I realized that time really is the most precious resource. It's even more valuable than money (you can always make more money...but you cannot produce more time...we are all equally given 24 hours a day and every day is a reset). At the beginning of the class I thought I would be chasing time. But it didn't turn out that way. I ended up creatively carving out niches of time. It was an art.

Thank you, Mina, for putting together the class (and for making more classes available! I absolutely love the structure of your classes!). With #SparkNA, I pushed myself like I've never pushed myself before. It was all worth it.

ModPo 2013 #52 Time Of One's Own and The Time To Live: On Mayer's "Invasion Of The Body Snatchers"

Image of Sylvia Plath as a new mother from mahmag.org.

Poem from UPenn.

----------------------------------------------------

I really liked this poem. It reminded me of the time that I was a new mother as well. I craved adult conversation so much, I actually contemplated going to the office just to talk to people! Not only that, I was suffering postpartum blues (crying every day!) and I was terrible at breastfeeding because I never really learned how (yes, it's learned, it's not natural and you don't get it by looking at a poster). I was desperate and logging every breastfeeding session in a journal including what breast and how many minutes. It was terrible. Indeed, I didn't feel like my life belonged to me. I was actually alienated by my life. Don't get me wrong: I love my kids to bits. But the thing is: new motherhood really does feel like an alien invasion. 

I totally get the time distortion that Mayer talks about in the poem. Time really does get distorted for a new mother. These things kept occurring to me: "Didn't I just feed the baby?" "When did I last take a shower?" "Why does this have to hurt so much?" "Will I ever feel normal again?" "Why is the baby crying again?"

It's true that so much literature and images of new motherhood look picture-perfect, emotionally fuzzy, and joy-ful. But it's actually not. Especially with a first child. It's a time of great confusion, dazed activity, and tears. I couldn't drive while recovering from my Caesarian section and I felt so closed in, locked out of the rest of the world. It got to a point where I begged for something to do like deposit money in a neighborhood bank just so I could get out of the house. I find Mayer's "I-do-this-I-do-that" description of time spot on in that it's confused and arbitrary and decidedly non-narrative. 

I do see the turning point of "it's time to die." It reminds the speaker to live, to read, to not suppress the fantasy of having her baby getting raised by wolves. 

I see it as a refusal of the automaton's life. At some point during my maternity leave I started to paint. In a way, I saw it as my own refusal to be so domesticated and chained, without blaming anyone, really. Feeling domesticated and chained is a choice. No one imposed it on me. My circumstances and hormonal state of mind made me feel isolated but I didn't have to give in to it. Like Berrigan's "3 Pages," choices needed to be made. One needs to open the windows to let in the good cold air, wake up, drink some champagne, and maintain that aesthetic life, time that is no one else's but one's own. Recognizing the time to die is also recognizing the time to live. 

Entering the Light

by Justine C. Tajonera

There are days when
I have time to study
the shadow of a leaf
at the edge of a wading pool
or glimpse the reddish
tint of dawn before
my alarm clock rings.

There are days when
I can watch my son sleep
and wait for him to slowly
awaken with a smile on his face
or the slightly puzzled look
of someone just emerging
from a dream.

These are the days that are
enough,
when time is not a measure
but a great expanse,
a canvas of possibilities.

I know because there are
also days, in equal or greater
number,
when there is just not
enough:
a chasing of hours
into the exhaustion of
evenings,
a blur or repetition
of motions.

In the quiet palm
of good days
I rest my questioning,
my drive to
finish what needs
to be finished

and hold the flickering
light and comfort
of solitude and
happiness where they
can shine
in their immeasurable
brightness.


October 5, 2010
Image from http://www.geograph.org.uk/photo/337143

Holding On

by Justine C. Tajonera

There is time
in abundance
when the clock ceases
to tick
and you hold each moment
in the palm
of your hand.

I heard someone say
that it all depends
on how tightly you hold on
to the moment.

Hold it loosely
and it trickles
through your fingers.

Hold it tightly
and it makes your
hands and arms
ache.

Hold it firmly
and it stays
where it is.

I hold my son's hand
the same way
when I can.

(May 5, 2010)
Image from http://www.flickr.com/photos/pinksherbet/470038257/

Freedom

by Justine C. Tajonera

What does real freedom
look like?
I peer behind the bars of
the a work day's hours
and glimpse some vague
kind of heaven
made up of
ocean vistas and wide
spaces of
time.

Or isn't it being free
to love
you?

When I open up and
sweep away
all constraints:
I will still take this pen
and write these
words,
I will still go to great
lengths
to give, to create,
to tear at the boundaries
and find new
struggles
worthy of
my life.

And I would still
love
you.

(Feb. 18, 2010)
Image from http://www.flickr.com/photos/phae/426425321/in/set-72157600002381973/

A Letter from New York

by Justine C. Tajonera

She talks about life
coming full
circle,
bringing back
memories of hillside
walks, plaid skirts
and falling leaves on
red earth.

There are children now
and husbands, jobs,
a life that has gathered
around us,
astonishing us sometimes
with how much things
can change
and stay
the same.

She tells me about
an exhilarating walk to
Central Park,
a book we both read,
and I imagine the passage
of time,
the boots and gloves
she wore,
the sound of the ducks
and the wind.

The distance between us
is bridged by a story,
one that we will tell
our children
when we are
grandmothers.

For Karina
(Feb. 17, 2010)
Image from http://www.flickr.com/photos/smoovey/3211678814/

Like There's No Tomorrow

By Justine C. Tajonera

You've heard it before:
do things like
there's no
tomorrow.

It sounds trite,
over-used.

But what if there
really isn't any
tomorrow?

As you hurtle towards
the sun,
and dance in the air,
dangling in space,
tied to the core
of rock
with the weak strings
of gravity

ask yourself
if there really
is a
tomorrow.

The revolutions
of the earth
and the constant aging
of your cells
have a claim
on your body.

But what animates
your bones,
belongs to an order
that cannot
disappear:

cannot be created,
cannot be destroyed.

And for such elements
of the eternal,
there is no such thing
as time.

(Dec. 14, 2009)

Image from nmazca.com

The Constraints Of Time

The hands of
the clock
move relentlessly
to the
right,
indifferent to
my state of
mind,
my appeals for
two more
minutes.

However,
the constraints
of time
are largely
imaginary.

Beyond
this moment
a great chasm
divides me
from the past
and the future
is veiled with
uncertainty.

It is either paralysis
or freedom
now.

So I hand my son's
toothbrush
to my husband,
mindful of my
son's teeth
tonight
and kiss them
both
good night.

(Dec. 5, 2009)

When You Woke Up Today

By Justine C. Tajonera

When you woke up today
I wasn't there.
Your eyes were heavy
with dreams,
I couldn't bear
to disturb you.

When you woke up today
you must have felt for me,
stirring slowly,
listening to the birds
outside the window,
wondering where I
was.

When you woke up today,
you must have started moving
towards the stairs,
tentatively calling out
my name.

Maybe you cried,
wondering where I was.
If you were in a good
mood,
maybe you asked yaya
for eggs
and rice.

When you woke up today,
I was thinking of you,
how you looked when
I kissed your cheek.

Take my kiss with you,
dear one,
even in your sleep.

My love is even
and uneventful,
rock-bottom in its
existence,
awake always

even as you sleep.

(Nov. 12, 2009)

Image from: http://ladyfi.files.wordpress.com/2008/12/midnight_dreams.jpg

Perfect Days

By Justine C. Tajonera

There were more of them
when I was three.
The afternoons were
never long enough.
I could run away
from the rain
as it chased me
down the street.
I was never careful
eating watermelon
or mindful of
dancing when
the music started.

I thought those days
had ended
until I had
my son.

He reminds me
every morning
of how unapologetic
a kiss
can be.
And when I want
my day
to end
he makes me
laugh over
how he wants
more of it.

(Nov.5, 2009)

Starved for Time

By Justine C. Tajonera

I eat up my day
like a hungry,
starved child,
grasping and
greedy,
out of breath
from wanting
more.

Even when
I have sliced the
pie of my
life,
I scrounge
for scraps to
fit in my rest
and solitude.

If I were kinder
to myself
I wouldn't have to
cram my day
to the second.

All I have
is now
and it is always
enough.

(Oct. 14, 2009)

Noodle Soup And Waiting

By Justine C. Tajonera

The night presses
on and all I have
in my hands is
a bowl of noodle
soup.

Accomplishment and
disappointments
blur at this time
of the evening.

All that is clear
to me
is the steaming
bowl, the state
of waiting.

I have the soup,
the noodles,
the entirety
of the moment.
I let myself wait
and feel the
passing of
time.

I help myself
to peace
of mind.

(October 9, 2009)