Brothers Bonifacio: The Problem with Breasts

When we were very young, Joshua, the youngest if three boys, who was probably not more than 8 years old at the time, asked my mom, “Mom, right, when you’re pregnant your breasts get bigger?” My mother, who was always very patient with us, explained, “Um… Yes, Josh. You see when a woman gets pregnant her breasts produce milk so that adds to the size. Why’d you ask?” Joshua answered, “Is Pamela Anderson always pregnant?”

Goodbye Cable TV.

Stations and Trains

Sometimes, no, many times, I like to escape into my own mind, into the magic of my imagination. Here I dream of stories, some of people around me, some of me, some of characters completely made up. Many things trigger it, nothing in particular, but many things can take me from the traffic of Manila to Pencey Prep. I try to write them sometimes. Most of the time they file themselves in my hippocampus. I think that's where it is.

Here's one inspired by all the trains I've been taking.

Stations and Trains

Amsterdam, Holland

I thought she was his daughter. She was just short. Really short. But when he leaned over to kiss her, she on her tiptoes, there was no mistaking they were lovers. I looked around me, and it seemed my eyes only saw the goodbyes. Fathers waving away, flying kisses from a wife, handshakes with partners, tight embraces, and the audible I love yous and thank yous, we’re all saying goodbye in our own way. Maybe because, in our own way, we’re all leaving. Leaving yesterday, leaving our youth, leaving people, leaving anything – leaving everything. We’re leaving pieces of ourselves behind, little pieces, until ultimately, we leave it all.

Soon, just like me, after all the goodbyes, they will board trains to who knows where. They will sit in chairs, first class, second class, it doesn’t really matter. It’s not so much the seat that matters. It’s the train that counts. For those who’ve left someone behind, they will stare out the window, at the fields and trees, at the sky, and on night trains, the stars. In everything they will see the faces, the faces of those already missed. I look out the window, and see fields, trees, and sky.

The man sitting across the aisle is looking out on his side. The side of his forehead is leaning on the glass and his chin rests on his fingers. I wonder what he sees. I wonder who she is. I look out my window again. I see graffiti. It’s mostly either one of the following: someone’s angry, someone’s insecure, someone’s irresponsible, someone needs to shout something he can’t tell people, and also very common, another someone’s ill-fated attempt at romance. One of them keeps spraying “PUBIS”. I doubt he or she knows what it means. If I were him, I’d pick another name. Something not so nether regionish.

Through the cracks of the seats in front of me is an old couple. They’re sitting on chairs facing the other way. I know they’re old because they look old. White hair, wrinkles in the right places, and an aura of contentment only people with pure hearts have. Logically I’d say their best years have passed them. Seems someone forgot to tell them. They’re both pointing at things outside the window, pointing to things they want the other to see. Very sweet. I try to look behind me, to where they seem to be pointing. I don’t see anything, nothing other than fields, trees, and sky. Maybe they’re imagining things. Maybe their senile. Maybe I missed it. Maybe I’m blind.

I close my eyes, to begin what was my childhood’s favourite pastime. I close my eyes to dream. In my dream I’m in a train, first class, headed towards the sun. In my dream I look out the window, and I see it. In the light of the sun I see it. With my nose and finger tips greasing the glass, I stare. I do not even blink.

March 2008 - Frankfurt, Train Station

Where are you going?
Are you running away too?
We could run away together
But we’re running from me and you

With the millions in this station
We find one another
Let’s read into things
On second thought, don’t bother

Name it what you want
Destiny or fate
I’ll call it what it is
It’s too little and too late

Hero’s Goodbye

So you tell me,

"You think, you’re the hero

Couldn’t you have saved us?

Saved us from ourselves

Take your cape off, big joke

I’m finding someone else,

Without his head caught in the clouds

And with two feet on the ground"

I couldn’t get a word in

It seems, you’d thought this through

And you’re so good with words

I don’t stand a fighting chance

But you’re the one crying

I’m stunned, just wondering

When my baby leaves for good

Who’ll heat dinner in advance?

You said something,

About my absence

When you needed me most

Hero to the world, and to you a ghost

That hit me like a truck,

A big truck with giant wheels

With a building on top,

And a bomb rigged for impact

I wish I had a comeback

But you’re so perfect, you are

I’m left smirking, and knowing

It’s time for our goodbyes

So I say,

I wish you’d stay

But since you have to go

Look for someplace nice.