Karol Wojtyla: Love is Faceless

Karol Wojtyla: Love is Faceless


“Love is faceless,” this teaching makes me remember Karol Wojtyla. Karol Wojtyla is Pope John Paul II.

During his visit to the Philippines, I was one to witness the power of the Pope gathering people peacefully. I was the enthusiastic PR writer trying to get an experience of an event, something to gossip about celebrations. But this idea didn’t make sense. What I saw was a huge crowd without any panic and “no pushing.” The crowd was totally calm and disciplined. I supposed it was really “Tell the world of His love, of God’s love.”

That was 1995, during the World Youth Day in the Philippines. Then in the year 2000, at the Manila Cathedral was the “Blessing of the Door” and some relics of St. Therese; the Pope came back.

What was it with Pope John Paul II? Of course, like the other Popes: they are the messengers of God to the world, like angels. This will be easy for everybody to understand as everybody embeds an innocent heart when in front of faith. The Holy Spirit shows the way of light to all the questions that can be raised.

At the bookstore, in another encounter, I got one of the Pope’s book “Easter Vigil and Other Poems.” This book gave another sort of power to me: that thing we can call comfort when in trouble; and in my case, someone was dying.

Recently, I thought I couldn’t understand any book watching someone go. In the hospital, on a Friday night I wrote:

Sacred Heart Day:

I am consoled by this book

of Pope John Paul II

This is my companion for today

Seeing someone waiting for

death is a challenge of

this evening


Time passes, and every

minute and hour of grace

is a gift from God

for purification

and prayer

of the living

of the dead,

Jesus, we trust in You. /Rose5.14.10


Also, on CTV by Vatican Radio, that time there was a TV Mass in Portugal (in Fatima) celebrated by Pope Benedict XVI. I was so happy and I told my mother “We are lucky, to hear a holy mass now. Don’t be afraid, it is Pope Benedict XVI giving the blessings.”

Pope Benedict XVI said, “ Thank you for your sharing and the witness of your faith.” This gave peace on a deathbed.

Truly, miracles happen everyday. Love travels fast, cares for everyone alive and dead. As love is a manifestation of God’s presence, we shall not be afraid.

Rosalinda Flores Martinez
June 3, 2010
iwrotefiction

Confessions: Writing a Love Letter

Confession: Writing a Love Letter


You need to rake your heart and see the beauty of how honest a love can be. You cannot lie when you write a love letter because it is about love. Love can’t cheat. Love is something beautiful and pure for everyone. It is prudent. Love is a gift from God that ought to be given away and takes nothing else.

Love letters share a bond of happiness for the sender and the receiver. If so, the writing task becomes meaningful and complete.

I. Let me share my writing confessions to God during my younger years.

Sample 1.

February 18, 1983

Dear God,

I just “wanna” let you know that I love you above anyone else.

I will live my life through your commandments and plans for me.

My Father, it’s enough to have you always with me…

I love you.

Your daughter,
Rosalinda (Rose)

Sample 2.

Jesus, I love you above all!

Help me to want your every will

So that You’ll not be sad.

II. Style and Structure

The structure of a love letter is the same as an ordinary or special letter. It has a date, a salutation, a body, a closing and a signature. The style varies. Often, the style is free and can sound poetic. Sometimes the words are rhythmic like a beating heart that talks.

After writing the love letter, you will feel happy and contented. But before the write process, a feeling of restlessness and zealous ambition wait to be fulfilled.

A love letter is a thorough confession. It may sound like fiction because it is an ideal honest to goodness documented conversation. How can one lie with the feeling of love, inspiration, and goodwill?

The love letter is a separate entity from the person if it involves poetry, but specifically it is the being; the “guru” of pen and blank sheet.

III.Falling in Love

Visit the (my) E-book at Lulu.com titled, “Falling In Love on the Net,” by Rosalinda Flores Martinez (http://iwrotefiction.blogspot.com).

The book is a fiction story made up of letters.

Writing a story by means of letters (Epistolary) is as old as the novel itself (check out Samuel Richardson, “Pamela and Clarissa”). This style usually requires a certain amount of time for the reader to settle to the story; nevertheless, stories in this form have been successful.

“Falling in Love” is a story of email exchanges between an Englishman (Kieth) and a Filipina (Ashra) in a love that came intense like “Romeo and Juliet,” but not tragic in the end. The e-book uses a simple language suited for everyone, especially for non-native speakers.

The internet as milieu of the story fits the global community in today’s culture of emails like Google mails, Yahoo mails, and MSN.

Also, check out “I shall write” and “I wrote fiction” blogs or visit http://iwrotefiction.blogspot.com.

Rose flores martinez
4.25.2010
ishallwrite
iwrotefiction

Faith, Love, Time and Dr. Lazaro

February 6, 2010

FAITH, LOVE, TIME AND DR. LAZARO

By: Greg Brillantes


From the upstairs veranda, Dr. Lazaro had a view of stars, the country darkness, the lights on the distant highway at the edge of town. The phonograph in the sala played Chopin – like a vast sorrow controlled, made familiar, he had wont to think. But as he sat there, his lean frame in the habitual slack repose took after supper, and stared at the plains of night that had evoked gentle images and even a kind of peace (in the end, sweet and invincible oblivion), Dr. Lazaro remembered nothing, his mind lay untouched by any conscious thought, he was scarcely aware of the April heat; the pattern of music fell around him and dissolved swiftly, uncomprehended. It was as though indifference were an infection that had entered his blood it was everywhere in his body. In the scattered light from the sala his angular face had a dusty, wasted quality, only his eyes contained life. He could have remained there all evening, unmoving, and buried, it is were, in a strange half-sleep, had his wife not come to tell him he was wanted on the phone.

Gradually his mind stirred, focused; as he rose from the chair he recognized the somber passage in the sonata that, curiosly, made him think of ancient monuments, faded stone walls, a greyness. The brain filed away an image; and arrangement of sounds released it… He switched off the phonograph, suppressed and impatient quiver in his throat as he reached for the phone: everyone had a claim on his time. He thought: Why not the younger ones for a change? He had spent a long day at the provincial hospital.

The man was calling from a service station outside the town – the station after the agricultural high school, and before the San Miguel bridge, the man added rather needlessly, in a voice that was frantic yet oddly subdued and courteous. Dr. Lazaro thad heard it countless times, in the corridors of the hospitals, in waiting rooms: the perpetual awkward misery. He was Pedro Esteban, the brother of the doctor’s tenant in Nambalan, said the voice, trying to make itself less sudden remote.

But the connection was faulty, there was a humming in the wires, as though darkness had added to the distance between the house in the town and the gas station beyond the summer fields. Dr. Lazaro could barely catch the severed phrases. The man’s week-old child had a high fever, a bluish skin; its mouth would not open to suckle. They could not take the baby to the poblacion, they would not dare move it; its body turned rigid at the slightest touch. If the doctor would consent to come at so late an hour, Esteban would wait for him at the station. If the doctor would be so kind…


Tetanus of the newborn: that was elementary, and most likely it was so hopeless, a waste of time. Dr. Lazaro said yes, he would be there; he had committed himself to that answer, long ago; duty had taken the place of an exhausted compassion. The carelessness of the poor, the infected blankets, the toxin moving toward the heart: they were casual scribbled items in a clinical report. But outside the grilled windows, the night suddenly seemed alive and waiting. He had no choice left now but action: it was the only certitude – he sometimes reminded himself – even if it would prove futile, before, the descent into nothingness.

His wife looked up from her needles and twine, under the shaded lamp of the bedroom; she had finished the pullover for the grandchild in Bagiuo and had begun work, he noted, on another of those altar vestments for the parish church. Religion and her grandchild certainly kept her busy … She looked at him, into so much to inquire as to be spoken to: a large and placid woman.

“Shouldn’t have let the drive go home so early,” Dr. Lazaro said. “They had to wait till now to call … Child’s probably dead…”

“Ben can drive for you.”

“I hardly see that boy around the house. He seems to be on vacation both from home and in school.”

“He’s downstairs,” his wife said.

Dr. Lazaro put on fresh shirt, buttoned it with tense, abrupt motions, “I thought he’d gone out again… Who’s that girl he’s been seeing?...It’s not just warm, it’s hot. You should’ve stayed on in Baguio… There’s disease, suffering, death, because Adam ate the apple. They must have an answer to everything… “He paused at the door, as though for the echo of his words.

Mrs. Lazaro had resumed the knitting; in the circle of yellow light, her head bowed, she seemed absorbed in some contemplative prayer. But her silences had ceased t disturb him, like the plaster saints she kept in the room, in their cases of glass, or that air she wore of conspiracy, when she left with Ben for Mass in the mornings. Dr. Lazaro would ramble about miracle drugs, politics, music, the common sense of his unbelief; unrelated things strung together in a monologue; he posed questions, supplied with his own answers; and she would merely nod, with an occasional “Yes?” and “Is that so?” and something like a shadow of anxiety in her gaze.


He hurried down the curving stairs, under the votive lamps of the Sacred Heart. Ben lay sprawled on the sofa, in the front parlor; engrossed in a book, one leg propped against the back cushions. “Come along, we’re going somewhere,” Dr. Lazaro said, and went into the clinic for his medical bag. He added a vial of penstrep, an ampule of caffeine to the satchel’s content’s; rechecked the bag before closing it; the cutgut would last just one more patient. One can only cure, and know nothing beyond one’s work… There had been the man, today, in the hospital: the cancer pain no longer helped by the doses of morphine; the patients’s eyes flickering their despair in the eroded face. Dr. Lazaro brushed aside the stray vision as he strode out of the whitewashed room; he was back in his element, among syringes, steel instruments, quick decisions made without emotion, and it gave him a kind of blunt energy.


I’ll drive, Pa?” Ben followed him through the kitchen, where the maids were ironing the week’s wash, gossiping, and out to the yard shrouded in the dimness of the single bulb under the eaves. The boy push back the folding doors of the garage and slid behind the wheel.

“Somebody’s waiting at the gas station near San Miguel. You know the place?”

“Sure,” Ben said.

The engine sputtered briefly and stopped. “Battery’s weak,” Dr. Lazaro said. “Try it without the lights,” and smelled the gasoline overflow as the old Pontiac finally lurched around the house and through the trellised gate, its front sweeping over the dry dusty street.

But he’s all right, Dr. Lazaro thought as they swung smoothly into the main avenue of the town, past the church and the plaza, the kiosko bare for once in a season of fiestas, the lam-posts shining on the quiet square. They did not speak; he could sense his son’s concentration on the road, and he noted, with a tentative amusement, the intense way the boy sat behind the wheel, his eagerness to be of help. They passed the drab frame houses behind the marketplace, and the capitol building on its landscaped hill, the gears shifting easily as they went over the railroad tracks that crossed the asphalted street.


Then the road was pebbled and uneven, the car bucking slightly; and they were speeding between open fields, a succession of narrow wooden bridges breaking the crunching drive of the wheels. Dr. Lazaro gazed at the wide darkness around them, the shapes of trees and bushes hurling toward them and sliding away and he saw the stars, hard glinting points of light yards, black space, infinite distances; in the unmeasured universe, man’s life flared briefly and was gone, traceless in the void. He turned away from the emptiness. He said: “You seem to have had a lot of practice, Ben.”

“A lot of what, Pa?”

“The ways you drive. Very professional.”

In the glow of the dashboard lights, the boy’s face relaxed, smiled. “Tio Cesar let me use his car, in Manila. On special occasions.”

“No reckless driving now,” Dr. Lazaro said. “Some fellows think it’s smart. Gives them a thrill. Don’t be like that.”

“No, I won’t, Pa. I just like to drive and – and go place, that’s all.”

Dr. Lazaro watched the young face intent on the road, a cowlick over the forehead, the mall curve of the nose, his own face before he left to study in another country, a young student of full illusions, a lifetime ago; long before the loss of faith, God turning abstract, unknowable, and everywhere, it seemed to him, those senseless accidents of pain. He felt a need to define unspoken things, to come closer somehow to the last of his sons; one of these days, before the boy’s vacation was over, they might to on a picnic together, a trip to the farm; a special day for the two of them – father and son, as well as friends. In the two years Ben had been away in college, they had written a few brief, almost formal letters to each other: your money is on the way, these are the best years, make the most of them…

Time was moving toward them, was swirling around and rushing away and it seemed Dr. Lazaro could almost hear its hallow receding roar; and discovering his son’s profile against the flowing darkness, he had a thirst to speak. He could not find what it was he had meant to say.

The agricultural school buildings came up in the headlights and glided back into blurred shapes behind a fence.

“What was that book you were reading, Ben?”

“A biography,” the boy said.


“Statesman? Scientist maybe?”

It’s about a guy who became a monk.”

“That’s your summer reading?” Dr. Lazaro asked with a small laugh, half mockery, half affection. “You’re getting to be a regular saint, like your mother.”

“It’s an interesting book,” Ben said.

“I can imagine…” He dropped the bantering tone. “I suppose you’ll go on to medicine after your AB?”

“I don’t know yet, Pa.”

Tiny moth like blown bits of paper flew toward the windshield and funneled away above them. “You don’t have to be a country doctor like me, Ben. You could build up a good practice in the city. Specialized in cancer, maybe or neuro-surgery, and join a good hospital.” It was like trying to recall some rare happiness, in the car, in the shifting darkness.

“I’ve been thinking about it,” Ben said. It’s a vocation, a great one. Being able to really help people, I mean.”

“You’ve done well in math, haven’t you?”

“Well enough, I guess,” Ben said.

Engineering is a fine course too, “ Dr. Lazaro said. “There’ll be lots of room for engineers. Planners and builders, they are what this country needs. Far too many lawyers and salesmen these days. Now if your brother –“ He closed his eyes, erasing the slashed wrists, part of the future dead in a boarding-house room, the landlady whimpering, “He was such a nice boy, doctor, your son…” Sorrow lay in ambush among the years.

“I have all summer to think about, “ Ben said.

“There’s no hurry,” Dr. Lazaro said. What was it he had wanted to say? Something about knowing each other, about sharing; no, it was not that at all…

The stations appeared as they coasted down the incline of a low hill, its fluorescent lights the only brightness on the plain before them, on the road that led farther into deeper darkness. A freight truck was taking on a load of gasoline as they drove up the concrete apron and came to a stop beside the station shed.


A short barefoot man in a patchwork shirt shuffled forward to meet them.
I am Esteban, doctor,” the man said, his voice faint and hoarse, almost inaudible, and he bowed slightly with a careful politeness. He stood blinking, looking up at the doctor, who had taken his bag and flashlight form the car.

In the windless space, Dr. Lazaro could hear Esteban’s labored breathing, the clank of the metal nozzle as the attendant replaced it in the pump. The men in the truck stared at them curiously.

Esteban said, pointing at the darkness beyond the road: “We will have to go through those fields, doctor, then cross the river,” The apology for yet one more imposition was a wounded look in his eyes. He added, in his subdued voice: “It’s not very far…” Ben had spoken to the attendants and was locking the car.

The truck rumbled and moved ponderously onto the road, its throb strong and then fading in the warm night stillness.

“Lead the way, “ Dr. Lazaro said, handing Esteban the flashlight.

They crossed the road, to a cleft in the embankment that bordered the fields, Dr. Lazaro was sweating now in the dry heat; following the swinging ball of the flashlight beam, sorrow wounded by the stifling night, he felt he was being dragged, helplessly, toward some huge and complicated error, a meaningless ceremony. Somewhere to his left rose a flapping of wings, a bird cried among unseen leaves: they walked swiftly, and there was only the sound of the silence, the constant whirl of crickets and the whisper of their feet on the path between the stubble fields.

With the boy close behind him, Dr. Lazaro followed Esteban down a clay slope to the slope and ripple of water in the darkness. The flashlight showed a banca drawn up at the river’s edge. Esteban wade waist-deep into the water, holding the boat steady as Dr. Lazaro and Ben stepped on the board. In the darkness, with the opposite bank like the far rise of an island, Dr. Lazaro had a moment’s tremor of fear as the boar slide out over the black water; below prowled the deadly currents; to drown her in the dephts of the night… But it took only a minute to cross the river. “We’re here doctor,” Esteban said, and they padded p a stretch of sand to a clump of trees; a dog started to bark, the shadows of a kerosene lamp wavered at a window.

Unsteady on a steep ladder, Dr. Lazaro entered the cave of Esteban’s hut. The single room contained the odors he often encountered but had remained alien to, stirring an impersonal disgust: the sourish decay, the smells of the unaired sick. An old man greeted him, lisping incoherently; a woman, the grandmother, sat crouched in a corner, beneath a famed print of the Mother of Perpetual Help; a boy, about ten, slept on, sprawled on a mat. Esteban’s wife, pale and thin, lay on the floor with the sick child beside her.


Motionless, its tiny blue-tinged face drawn way from its chest in a fixed wrinkled grimace, the infant seemed to be straining to express some terrible ancient wisdom.

Dr. Lazaro made a cursory check – skin dry, turning cold; breathing shallow; heartbeat
fast and irregular. And I that moment, only the child existed before him; only the child and his own mind probing now like a hard gleaming instrument. How strange that it should still live, his mind said as it considered the spark that persisted within the rigid and tortured body. He was alone with the child, his whole being focused on it, in those intense minutes shaped into a habit now by so many similar instances: his physician’s knowledge trying to keep the heart beating, to revive an ebbing life and somehow make it rise again.

Dr. Lazaro removed the blankets that bundled the child and injected a whole ampule to check the tonic spasms, the needle piercing neatly into the sparse flesh; he broke another ampule, with deft precise movements , and emptied the syringe, while the infant lay stiff as wood beneath his hands. He wiped off the sweat running into his eyes, then holding the rigid body with one hand, he tried to draw air into the faltering lungs, pressing and releasing the chest; but even as he worked to rescue the child, the bluish color of its face began to turn gray.


Dr. Lazaro rose from his crouch on the floor, a cramped ache in his shoulders, his mouth dry. The lamplight glistened on his pale hollow face as he confronted the room again, the stale heat, the poverty. Esteban met his gaze; all their eyes were upon him, Ben at the door, the old man, the woman in the corner, and Esteban’s wife, in the trembling shadows.

Esteban said: “Doctor..”

He shook his head, and replaced the syringe case in his bag, slowly and deliberately, and fastened the clasp. T Here was murmuring him, a rustle across the bamboo floor, and when he turned, Ben was kneeling beside the child. And he watched, with a tired detached surprise, as the boy poured water from a coconut shell on the infant’s brow. He caught the words half-whispered in the quietness: “.. in the name of the Father.. the Son… the Holy Ghost…”

The shadows flapped on the walls, the heart of the lamp quivering before it settled into a slender flame. By the river dogs were barking. Dr. Lazaro glanced at his watch; it was close to midnight. Ben stood over the child, the coconut shell in his hands, as though wandering what next to do with it, until he saw his father nod for them to go.

Doctor, tell us – “Esteban took a step forward.

“I did everything: Dr. Lazaro said. “It’s too late –“


He gestured vaguely, with a dull resentment; by some implicit relationship, he was also responsible, for the misery in the room, the hopelessness. “There’s nothing more I can do, Esteban, “ he said. He thought with a flick of anger: Soon the child will be out of it, you ought to be grateful. Esteban’s wife began to cry, a weak smothered gasping, and the old woman was comforting her, it is the will of God, my daughter…”

In the yard, Esteban pressed carefully folded bills into the doctor’s hand; the limp, tattered feel of the money was sort of the futile journey, “I know this is not enough, doctor,” Esteban said. “as you can see we are very poor… I shall bring you fruit, chickens, someday…”

A late moon had risen, edging over the tops of the trees, and in the faint wash of its light, Esteban guided them back to the boat. A glimmering rippled on the surface of the water as they paddled across,; the white moonlight spread in the sky, and a sudden wind sprang rain-like and was lost in the tress massed on the riverbank.

“I cannot thank you enough, doctor,” Esteban said. “You have been very kind to come this far, at this hour.” He trail is just over there, isn’t it?” He wanted to be rid of the man, to be away from the shy humble voice, the prolonged wretchedness.

I shall be grateful always, doctor,” Esteban said. “And to you son, too. God go with you.” He was a faceless voice withdrawing in the shadows, a cipher in the shabby crowds that came to town on market days.

“Let’s go, Ben” Dr. Lazaro said.

They took the path across the field; around them the moonlight had transformed the landscape, revealing a gentle, more familiar dimension, a luminous haze upon the trees stirring with a growing wind; and the heat of the night had passed, a coolness was falling from the deep sky. Unhurried, his pace no more than a casual stroll, Dr. Lazaro felt the oppression of the night begin to life from him, an emotionless calm returned to his mind. The sparrow does not fall without the Father’s leave he mused at the sky, but it falls just the same. But to what end are the sufferings of a child? The crickets chirped peacefully in the moon-pale darkness beneath the trees.

“You baptized the child, didn’t you, Ben?”

“Yes, Pa.” The boy kept in the step beside him.


He used to believe in it, too. The power of the Holy Spirit washing away original sin, the purified soul made heir of heaven. He could still remember fragments of his boy hood faith, as one might remember an improbable and long-discarded dream.

“Lay baptism, isn’t that the name for it?”

“Yes,” Ben said. I asked the father. The baby hadn’t been baptized.” He added as they came to the embankment that separated the field from the road: “They were waiting for it to get well.”

The station had closed, with only the canopy light and the blobed neon sign left burning. A steady wind was blowing now across the filed, the moonlit plains.

He saw Ben stifle a yawn. I’ll drive,” Dr. Lazaro said.

His eyes were not what they used to be, and he drove leaning forward, his hands tight on the wheel. He began to sweat again, and the empty road and the lateness and the memory of Esteban and of the child dying before morning in the impoverished, lamplit room fused into tired melancholy. He started to think of his other son, one he had lost.

He said, seeking conversation, If other people carried on like you, Ben, the priests would be run out of business.”

The boy sat beside him, his face averted, not answering.

“Now, you’ll have an angel praying for you in heaven,” Dr. Lazaro said, teasing, trying to create an easy mood between the. “What if you hadn’t baptized the baby and it died? What would happen to it then?”

It won’t see God,” Ben said.

“But isn’t that unfair?” It was like riddle, trivial, but diverting. “Just because..”

“Maybe God has another remedy,” Ben said. “I don’t know. But the church says.”


He could sense the boy groping for the tremendous answers. “The Church teaches, the church says…. “ God: Christ: the communications of saints: Dr. Lazaro found himself wondering about the world of novenas and candles, where bread and wine became the flesh and blood of the Lord, and a woman bathed in light appeared before children, and mortal men spoke of eternal life; the visions of God, the body’s resurrection at the tend of time. It was a country from which he was barred; no matter – the customs, the geography didn’t appeal to him. But in the care suddenly, driving through the night, he was aware of an obscure disappointment, a subtle pressure around his heart, as though he had been deprived of a certain joy…

A bus roared around a hill toward, its lights blinding him, and he pulled to the side of the road, braking involuntarily as a billow of dust swept over the car. He had not closed the window on his side, and the flung dust poured in, the thick brittle powder almost choking him, making him cough, his eyes smarting, before he could shield his face with his hands. In the headlights, the dust sifted down and when the air was clear again, Dr. Lazaro, swallowing a taste of earth, of darkness, maneuvered the car back onto the road, his arms exhausted and numb. He drove the last half-mile to town in silence, his mind registering nothing but the frit of dust in his mouth and the empty road unwinding swiftly before him.


They reached the sleeping town, the desolate streets, the plaza empty in the moonlight, and the dhuddled shapes of houses, the old houses that Dr. Lazaro had always know. How many nights had he driven home like this through the quiet town, with a man’s life ended behind him, or a child crying newly risen from the womb; and a sense of constant motions, of change, of the days moving swiftly toward and immense reverlation touched him onced more, briefly, and still he could not find the words.. He turned the last corner, then steered the car down the graveled driveway to the garage, while Ben closed the gate. Dr. Lazaro sat there a momen, in the stillness, resting his eyes, conscious of the measured beating of his heart, and breathing a scent of dust that lingered on his clothes, his skin..SLowely he merged from the car, locking it, and went around the towere of the water-tank to the frotnyard where Ben Stood waiting.

With unaccustomed tenderness he placed a hand on Ben’s shoulder was they turned toward the ement –walled house. They had gone on a trip; they had come home safely together. He felt closer to the boy than he hade ever been in years.

“Sorry for ekeeping you up this late,” Dr. Lazaro said.

“It’s all right, Pa.”

Some night, huh, Ben? What you did back in that barrio” – ther was just the slightest patronage in this one –“ your momother will love to hear about it.”

He shook the boy beside him gently. “Reverend Father Ben Lazaro.”

The impulse of certain humor – it was part of the comradeship. He chuckled drowsily: father Lazaro, what must I do to gain eternal life?”

As he slid the door open on the vault of darkness, the familiar depth of the house, it came to Dr. Lazaro faitly in the late night that for certain things, like love there was only so much time. But the glimmer was lost instantly, buried in the mist of indifference and sleep rising now in his brain.


Posted by Rose Flores Martinez,iwrotefiction
4.27.2010

this will be translated in Filipino by rosalinda flores martinez
project for a translation class, Dr. Zeus Salazar

With Saint Hannibal

Today is Tuesday, April 13, 2010


After the lull days of my blogs, my mind still flies

No, I have not been somewhere, but thought I could just do other things; in the meantime

Times were happy and fleeting with family and friends, on vacation and praying during the holy week, and also ponderings ---

And that horrible day when I ate a lot of fruits, and the shortening, I thought was butter; it gave me stomach whirpool as good as penance

I left my blogs with small words of prayer

Well, I’m almost a statue with no words. Some people would say, “The glory of a woman is silence.” This is difficult to achieve because generally, women are noisy beings who are fond of talking

April vacation, made me realize that I missed most my books and my PC

I know I could stop using them, but never away from them. The sight of these inanimate helpful man-made creations reminds human beings how happy work can be, in many ways

No, I couldn’t be Thoreau who is a naturalist, because I live in the city. Besides, I have never dreamt keeping close with the insects

Neither could I be St. Therese in her cloistered life, because I can go too difficult

Sorry for me, I wasn’t able to finish that 100-article marathon on Ezine.com

I wanted to submit 100 articles in that given time span; however, I wasn’t able to do so. I didn’t. I could not compromise quality for quantity: I was aware I didn’t have enough time. I know it is just like beating magazine and newspaper deadlines (feature articles), but of course, I have to give enough quality information, and I wasn’t able to do that time

Instead, what I submitted mostly for articles were ESL lessons and my own definition of words (others, I have borrowed) because I love words – this will be my other books soon, GOD help!

This April, I saw how I have written ideas by necessity, and what it meant to live and love the teachings of life. Rilke’s letters to a writer remind me that when those who are near you are far away, and you write, this shows that the space around you is beginning to grow vast. And if what is near you is far away, then your vastness is already among the stars and is very great; be happy about your growth, in which you can’t take anyone with you.

“Be gentle with those who stay behind; be gentle and calm in front of them and don’t torment them with your doubts and don’t frighten them with your faith of joy, which they wouldn’t be able to comprehend … seek out simple and true feeling of what you have in common with them…”

Truly, works of art are of infinite solitude. Only love can touch and hold them (Letters to a Young Poet by Rainer Maria Rilke, translated by Stephen Mitchell)

And so I understood, a writer’s life; there’s always something new to discover everyday

During the halt, I read Ambit’s Gambit, LOL Literatures in Other Languages, I Wrote This For You blogs, Eric Gamalinda, and Marjorie Evasco – Pernia, among others

Of course, the columns of Conrado de Quiros and Butch Dalisay

I’ve attended Juvy’s ESL seminar, watched the presentations of teacher wannabes, went with Jonathan’s Duty Free splurge and watered the carabao grass that are wilting and turning brown, the grasses look like dead monsters flattened on the ground

Nothing new. After December breeze is April heat. January to March is erratic climate in the Philippines. Come May 2010 will be a new Filipino President, who is expected to alleviate the country from poverty; help the poor and the working class, and give them a decent living

I wasn’t able to go on a retreat

Nothing new, but the beauty of the Resurrected Christ. Literally Jesus, the Lord of the Resurrection in the house

Let me share this prayer from Ven. Fr. Joseph Frassinneti:

Alliance of Peace

“Forgive, Lord, all my sins and blot out all my iniquities.

Teach me to do your will.

Give me a good spirit.

Bring me near to you.

Do not let me be separated from you.

Look after me like the pupil of your eyes.

Without you dust and ashes that I am, I can do nothing.

In your name, trusting in your grace, I resolve to keep nothing for myself,

But only the perfect fulfillment of your law, by embracing your holy cross.

Neither for possessions, nor for life, nor for death,

I ask for nothing.

In this way let there be harmony between your will and mine.

May your mercy be in me and in everybody now and forever.

Amen.

Truly, the wonders of April in my journey with Saint Hannibal.

Nice to be back.


Rose Flores – Martinez
Ishallwrite, 2010
iwrotefiction

Fiction Characters: Victor and Vixen

Fiction Characters: Victor and Vixen

When talking about characters, everybody gets excited. The characters in the movies, on television, and read in books become part of the audience’ consciousness as heroes, antagonists, and inspirations. Hence, they form significance in the study of arts, literature, and culture.

The books give readers Lord of the Rings (Tolkien), Harry Potter (J.K. Rowling), and the classic Huck Finn in Mark Twains novel (Huckleberry Finn).

In the cinema, actors and actresses are mostly remembered by the roles they play. Tom Cruise in “Last Samurai,” Jean Claude Vandamme in “Universal Soldier,” Kate Winslet (as Rose) in “Titanic,” and Al Pacino in “The Godfather.”

On television, Japanese animation created “ Doraemon,” Filipino wonder woman is “Darna,” and now, a blast in Korean drama “Queen Seon Duk,” with the antagonists and protagonists like “Mishil, Bidam, and Yushin,” etc.

Indeed, fiction characters had woven culture for all time.

In any form, writers give life to new beings in the stories they create.

Writing masters say that when one makes a character, it should be flesh and blood like people. In a real sense, the character must be with a resume, though in fiction. This will authenticate his/her existence (how they live): physically and emotionally.

Fiction has standards of creating good characters like plausibility, vitality, and motivation. Truly, the writer goes under the character’s skin, responds to his emotions, sleeps and eats with the character. One can hate and sympathize with the fiction characters. Most of the time, they even become heroes of culture’s thought patterns. That is how important characters make in every story, especially those that people can model In the end, the character may show some imperfections, as humans do, and valor as heroes do.

People would want characters who survive hard times, those who would educate them, and those who eke out courage from nothing, as in war and love stories. Or they would want someone they can never become in real life, or someone to model their wishes. Except in fairy tales and myths, fiction characters must be real people doing everyday chores.

Study for example Korea’s legendary stories on TV (real and unreal). The characters portray direct and indirect movements that let the audience sympathize with their actions. It is not “deus ex machina” or god in the machine that must prod the story but real creatures in fiction that moves. In today’s popular culture and high technology, “The characters should rock!”

In one of my stories (I have a few fiction stories), I have experienced the fright of one character, in which that character aroused the same deep feelings in me. It was indeed, very difficult, you even have to sleep in fiction. Rose Flores - Martinez 3.1.2010

iwrotefiction
ishallwrite

Myth Gods

Kids are fond of myths and fairy tales. Every time I ate ham with my father, I was very happy.

Father told me “Ham comes from the dragon. It is a dragon.” And so I was filled with awe. I thought I could be stronger and have powers because I ate ham and a dragon that blows fire. “Could I blow fire?”

Cartoons on television like “Mighty Thor (god of thunder and rain), and some flying horses and genies (spirits believed by Muslims) inspired me and made me curious to see what’s in the other world. Growing up with old people and their stories made me see the world as magical, beautiful and full of challenges. The heroes in fiction and myths help people understand that the good always triumphed, and that without courage, man could not get to his dreams and goals in life.

Imagining what’s inside Pandora’s Box and glass castles, and zooming in carpets that fly make life bigger for kids. In the progress of culture, those stories come even bigger for games, and cinema’s adult audience like “XMen, Superman, Avatar (2010), Ragnarok, and Gotterdammerung (Twilight of the Gods), among others.

Check this out. Myth Gods

1. hydra-headed means hard to eliminate or destroyed; the lesson is applied to a condition or an evil which apparently put down in one place and springs up in another; many branches, multifarious

One of the twelve labors of Hercules, was the killing of the Hydra – a water monster with nine heads

2. Janus-faced, Januslike (Roman god of beginnings and also of portals and doors, represented with 2 faces looking in opposite directions

“Respice, Adspice, Prospice,” means “Look upon the past, look at the present, look to the future.”

Janus-faced can also mean looking in two directions, meaning versatile or two-faced meaning deceitful

3. Pandora’s Box According to Greek Mythology, Pandora was the first woman. In Paradise Lost, Milton tells how she received her name.

Pan means all and dora means gifts.

A Pandora’s box must not be opened. Every god has contributed a gift to make Pandora a perfect being, but there was one box which she was warned not to open (a source of all evil), but unable to curb her curiosity, she did open it.

Avatar is a film by James Cameron that showed a Planet Pandora in a fiction story. A blockbuster film in 2010, surpassing Titanic.

4. Stygian netherworld, implies gloom and darkness

5. Titan (ic) children of heaven and earth, were deities of tremendous strength who fought with Zeus but were vanquished

A Titan is any giant in any field of endeavor (used to call someone with outstanding ability)

6. Adonis A young shepherd, beloved by Aphrodite (Venus); extremely handsome

7. Amazon a strong woman; female warriors

8. ambrosia Ambrosia meaning “deathless”; was the food of the gods. It is usually coupled with nectar (divine drink); thus, an expression: “ambrosia and nectar” (a dish fit for the gods)

9.argus-eyed vigilant, all observant; Argus was a monster with many eyes; some of which never close

10. protean changing, varying, versatile

Rosalinda Flores - Martinez, 2010
ishallwrite
iwrotefiction
http://iwrotefiction.blogspot.com
http://rosevoc2.wordpress.com

Satur Ocampo?

I share a plight with Satur Ocampo, he has worked and lived with the poor!

May God bless the poor, and those who serve the poor.

Good evening and greetings of peace.

http://rfvietnamrose09.blogspot.com
http://iwrotefiction.blogspot.com

Death Row

February 23, 2010


Death Row


Wall of Egypt in Haiti

Crumbles

From one space in the corner


Time and tide wait

For healing of sores

And fresh wounds


Dripping blood arouse

Gleaming sirens

That fright even weeds

To hide


Scream the corpses,

Prepare the Heaven,

Open!


Sooner or later,

Death will come

The ghost of Scrooge wilts

In pain.


Rose flores martinez, 2010
2.24.2010


rose flores martinez
2.23.2010
http://iwrotefiction.blogspot.com
for PoemHunter.com

One Last Cry

ONE LAST CRY

It was the moment I was so afraid to come. It was the moment of truth.
You, whom I loved so much will go away and never come back. But I trust GOD would hold you. That is how I accept things. It’s the dead end, when its time letting go, we hold nothing but the light and love of GOD.
The sickness that wearied your body made you leave me and separate, in some way to find some time for yourself and your remorse. Maybe, like St Peter. I realize in your actions the love you had for me and your gaze so far and deep could not explain in words all that you wanted to tell me in the words: because I love you. I knew it. It knew it.
Our wills never met, except in the love of GOD. Our bodies never entwined because your body wanted someone else.
I heard you cried softly in your agonies. You always came to me and told me about the love you had for Zita. Zita who wouldn’t love you because she thought you stole her virginity where she was blooming a dainty pink rose. She thought you even raped her because you can be as old as her father. Yes, you were old as her father. She was your nurse and every time she went to your house to check on your health, I knew you lusted for her.
Remember you once told me you wanted virgins? And you were dreaming of Zita to be your next prey. You were a rich man and you could pay the price of your desired commodity. I thought Zita was one of them. And so it happened when you always gave her presents like the signature watches, bracelets, expensive clothing and dined her to the finest restaurants. I may say she had some amazement in those things you offered her and she thought she was smart enough trading her virginity. She got you under her wicked spell.
You knew her mom was a single parent and raised Zita just by selling gambling tickets. I gave you a warning how her family could be indecent.
Zita. I envied her because you told me you wanted her so much. I wished I were her and I wasn’t your bestfriend who was like a mother or a sister. I wished you saw that I loved my body, too, and wanted sex. We didn’t keep secrets.
You were blushing as you spanked my butt every time I said,“Yes, I wanted sex.” But the time I wanted to do it with an attempting lover, I couldn’t. Maybe I only ached for a moaning hug and a whining stretch of muscles.
“Here, hug me,” you would always say.
And we laughed together.
You told me I might be sick of frigidity. Though how much I tried to want sex, deep in my thoughts, it was sort of a lie. My curiosity zoomed in. I wondered what a kiss meant with someone you adored, when Zita and you smacked in front of me. I wondered how it felt to kiss someone you love so much. My few kissing experiences with my ex–boyfriends couldn’t satisfy my desires. I just couldn’t move my mouth and stick my tongue. I felt nothing turned me on. I just had the knowledge about it in books. Yes, you knew I was a virgin and my hymen was not broken. Several times I told you that. Yes, how I dreamed someone would break it…
“Someday, I want to break my hymen and bleed for love.”
“Really…?” Your eyes were twinkling and asking. You held my hands and I could feel the blood gushed in your manly veins. Your anatomy and discipline, the stability of your age and stature were more than big muscles to me, more than the careless vibrant youth who knew nothing , but just sweat it out in a burst of animal instincts.
When we’re both submerged in this kind of talk, we stopped.
That was nothing to you, you who had countable love affairs. Many times you came to me and whined your emotional discontent. My nights turned miserable while we drank beer and I got hangovers due to those sleepless nights just talking and talking about your sissy girlfriends and how gullible you could be. Well, I remember how you filled my house like a refrigerator with all my favorite goodies! Zita couldn’t do that. She was the woman who hated house chores and cooking. And though she might have loved you now, she had been blinded by your material wealth. She loved your estates, the diamonds she could buy, and how she could look more attractive each day. But it was funny because people saw her like a satirical sketch. Mask and make-up and anime. Your marriage had failed. That was your deadly punch. It had weakened you and brought you low. And I didn’t want that for you.
Oh how I hated Zita! Yet, I always hoped she’d take care of you and try to string back your affections together.
My desire to feel like a woman was never completed. I never knew how it could be completed. If being in love made life colorful, then maybe I had it, or I had not. The fairy tales I read was real perfect and bigger than my life. “Maybe there is no such thing as real bliss, except in ones faith. And a kiss makes a difference books tell. Because Snow White wakes up in a kiss. When you love someone, - it means the whole world, today and tomorrow, yesterday and forever – The sky is the roof, you can run in the forests – naked , and the stars watch over.” You understood my fantasies would never be real.
“Your fantasies are impossible! Only if there’s magic, and there’s a fairy godmother or an angel who goes down from heaven. Or a real prince charming. Mwhahahahah,” your laughter would fill all the space around us.
“Zita is so different from you. She’s wild and lives in reality.”
”Please don’t compare me. I am only your bestfriend, I’m not your wife.”
Yes, Zita was naughty. Men thought naughty girls were attractive. She even showed me the sex gadgets, the rings and helmets you were using, one afternoon while I waited for you. She was too forward to tell me things I didn’t want to know. My flesh shivered, and deep inside I was so afraid. In her actions and insincere smile, I saw she was jealous of our very old friendship. I wanted to scream at her and tell her to stop, but I was being civil because I esteemed your household. She told me how you did things and how she enjoyed your every thrust until your release.
The last time you came to me you were so sick. You gave me white roses and boxes of assorted flavored cakes for my birthday. I said you were so sick because you didn’t talk about Zita but just held my hand and told me ”You aren’t ZIta because you are way above my wife. You are the fairy tale that reminds me the sun will shine, and there’s Atlantis. You’re the strong tower I look up to, bigger than my buildings. You remind me of kindness and just by holding hands, you give me security. Zita can never be like you.”
Your words satisfied my day. I thought you were acting out a drama to please me.
From hereon, I never saw you and Zita. The next day you buzzed me you would be going to America for a heart operation. It was too soon.
For months, we haven’t got any communication, except when I visited your parents in the province where we grew up. Your parents liked me a lot. Mama thought we could be nice as couples but you didn’t like that idea. We grew up like siblings.
“Yuck. Maristela cannot be my wife. Look at her!”
I didn’t know what’s your yuck for because I also got what other females could show. I’ve got contoured measurements and breasts that are so full. Only I acted roughly, and never feminine like other women.
“What do you want of me to be your wife?” Thoughts kept playing up on me.
I missed you then. I worried. I wished I were there with you. Not Zita. I dreamed I was your wife…
One day the news hit the loop. It stunned me. It says your ZIta left you in America for a richer merchant, once your friend. It made me flare up in rage, but I couldn’t do anything. I cursed Zita for her sin. I wanted her nailed inside a coffin. I hurried to the province to check for your condition.
Mama confirmed the news to me. She cried on my shoulders. I became restless.
The next morning you had to go back to Manila. They said that you were okay after the operation but still recuperating.
Before I could meet you at the airport you were buzzing my doorbell, loudly.
“That is Howard!”
I ran to the door and you hugged me tight.
“How are you?”
“You don’t look like you’ve undergone an operation.”
“I’m fine.”
I hugged you and kissed your cheeks. I adored you so much.
You swooned me to the kitchen and you let out your tongue in my mouth. I was gasping for my breath. I forgot my sanity. There I knew the meaning of a kiss. There I knew a kiss is GODs precious gift to people who love each other. There I knew a kiss could be for everyone. There I knew a kiss could be sacred where a man and a woman becomes one.
You knew I heard about the news. I didn’t ask. We just ate. You had chocolates for me. I could see you cut out on your food intake. You were not so strong, and your were hiding it from me.
“Can I sleep here tonight?”
“Yes.”
You slept in the sofa while I watched my favorite cartoon films.
You looked so tired but peaceful. You were forcing to close your eyes for some reason. I could see the innocence of your soul in the situation your were hiding from me. You were avoiding a conversation - that Zita left you for another man.
Good night my Maristela. I pray your fantasies would come true.
Pray?
Ok. That word seemed strange for you. Maybe you learned your lessons. But I was too busy on my cartoons though I felt happy with your utterance.
Finally, I got tired and was getting up to my bedroom.
“Howard we would sleep. Would you like to use my bed? I could use the other room. Howard…”
I was shouting.
Your hands were cold. You wouldn’t open your eyes. You appeared so tired. Instead, I tried to pull you down the sofa so you would hit the mat floor hard and feel your body ache and you would wake up… you were into deep sleep.
I curled my body next to your body, my fingers felt your senses. I was shivering. I rested my head on your chest, unbuttoned your shirt, and unzipped your pants. And then kissed you from your head, your ribs, down to your feet. And then kissed you all over. My body pressed against your body. It felt nice and warm. My breasts were full adoring you, my beloved.
The kiss of a goddess. I kissed your lips again and let my tongue get into your mouth. I thought of your last breath. But your eyes wouldn’t open. I wanted to wail like a child because I demanded the fairytales, and Snow White or the Frog Prince, and the happy endings would come true. It didn’t. But it was Pieta, or the Lady of Sorrows…
Here it worked. And so I raised your head, covered you neatly with a white cloth, and let you hold rosary beads of your first communion, in which you traded your rosary for my high school antique pen.
“You are more than my wife…”
”I am more than your wife…”
Thinking about this conversation, I got back my roughness and gait. I would call your Father Confessor. I would call Mama in the province. I would call the funeral service for a white coffin.
My tears rolled down softly. The sky was dark, it was raining outside.

Rose Flores – Martinez, Oct.8, 2008
Revised, Sept. 17, 2009
Posted http://iwrotefiction.blogspot.com, 2010

A Writing Experience: The Moment of Truth

Thursday, February 11, 2010

I can’t stop writing.

I can’t stop writing.

I thank GOD for this gift of words.

Writing is pleasant but is it never easy; nothing though is easy. When I couldn’t write I feel very messy and angry. I feel incomplete and crushed.

Truly, I write anything: letters, quotes, easy poems, ordinary stories – real and unreal. I tell you a lot in words. Those that mute me and those I find divulging. But then, the spaces between what I tell you are the more important deals.

A writer knows what ideas to pick and what not. If you are the responsible type, of course, you will know the consequences it will bring everyone. And you dare or you dare not … Inside your stomach the energy fills in like whirling water that want to gush forth. You want to come and reach the climax of the creative genius. This is the writer’s moment of truth. Thinking how to express and convert in words line you with steaming energy the gods emit. It is like you’ve eaten ambrosia and forever eternal. And it makes you crave for all the words to spit slowly or vomit or tongue gently.

Writers, generally, have big hearts; but they are often mad. I am often mad, that is why I am able to write. Well, it doesn’t matter if readers would like my stuff; what matters is I will share something, and in one million readers, at least – a soul would find me. And another, and another – until I spread the light of the creative work.

Right now, I just felt I have to write. I don’t know what to write. My fiction is at halt, my essays are so ordinary, my letters are the language lessons and family/friend updates, my blogs are waiting for an input about popular culture. I’m typing old manuscripts slowly. I’m researching for literary texts (to borrow) and share about special topics. I’m on with monk duties retyping prayers (which I impose on myself). This is my writing life; and still -I have got nothing to write. I do monologues. I talk to the Saints and to GOD, and ask them, “What is Your verdict?”

Chores and in between I long to grab a book, a pen, a paper, and crave the keypads on the PC; in between a litany of Hail Mary’s – I wait that GOD would somehow throw me a kiss, and I would feel the strength and joy of the work I love to do that moment of truth: write!

I read from Hemingway (A Moveable Feast), that after writing his story, he felt always empty and both sad and happy, as though he made love.

Well, I could not be Hemingway, I am just like anyone, You, sometimes existing, sometimes missing: “The Moments of Being of Virginia Woolf.” During the write process, I can also see, no barriers stepping into the mine fields, as if, I will let it explode and get the experience of a war. The war in me. The war inside me.

And then, I will end my stories. And I will be ready for the next one of the nothingness or the moment of truth or what Kierkegaard calls a "leap of faith." (an interview of the writing master Edith Tiempo by famous poet Marjorie Evasco)

And so I try to write, and keep remembering the letters of Rilke in his “Letters to a Young Poet” (Translated by Stephen Mitchell) saying, “A piece of art is good if it has arisen out of necessity.”

Here I thought I am doomed; but no, I am not: black and white, irony, paradox, advocate, “que sera sera.” Thank God and thank God, I am given in this way. Hence, we all experience moments of grace where God tells us to find meaning.

We would share these special moments.

Rosalinda Flores Martinez, 2010
11:30am

A Fiction Story Online

Falling in Love on the Net

By: Rosalinda Flores - Martinez

Also online on LULU EBOOKS.COM

Happy reading!

==============================
To All My Beloved
==============================

This is falling in love.
===================================

Dear Kieth,

I am missing you, please write.

Love,

Ashra



September 4, 2003

My Darling,

I have told you that I miss you

My heart breaks a little more each day

we

miss

each other.

All I have is yours, my heart and my love

I can have no secrets from the woman

I adore.




All my love,

Kieth




September 4, 2003


Dear Kieth,

You make me feel important, though I could not give you anything

Your tenderness melts me

Your words suffice me

Thank you for giving your heart to someone you do not even see

I can feel your kindness

My tears are flowing

Thank you

for being nice

to me.

Love,

Ashra



My Dearest Ashra,

We keep missing each other.. .

My heart breaks when I can’t find you.

My earnest dream would be to hold you in my arms when I sleep

And to wake with you.

The way I feel would make it impossible to hold you through the night

without wanting to love and adore you forever.

My heart and soul, as always, are yours to command.

I love you,

Kieth



My Dearest Kieth,


For bearing with me and my crazy scribbles – my gratitude

Writing you set my words free

I wish I could mean more than my words.

Yes I do,

I treasure that love

I keep it with me to my grave.

Always,

Ashra


September 7, 2003


My Dearest Ashra,

My love, heart and soul are yours to do with what you will

We are not old enough to need love nor too young to waste it

I need to express how I feel for you because

I would surely regret

Never having told you

I am yours to love or discard, but my love

Is my gift to you for an eternity.



My Dearest Kieth,

Forever is a word seldom used, I could not imagine the great

love in

your heart.

Yes, when you are sad – think that sometime I came into your life and

GAVE

YOU ALL THE LOVE TO CHERISH FOREVER… I

Held you close with an embrace

And

Kissed you until dawn… never to let you go

I could die in your arms

Because

I love you.

Ashra


My Dearest Ashra,

Although forever is a word seldom used,

It would be fleeting compared

To how

Long I will cherish you

The love in my heart is for you and you alone

My only wish is to see your beautiful face

Before when I close my

Eyes to

Sleep and wake with you still next to me

To explore our love and passions would be

A dream

All my love,

Kieth





September 8, 2003


Kieth,

How can dreams come true?

How can it become real?

Then I give you my all, my heart and myself

Do as you wish in your dreams

I am yours

In the pigments of your imagination

I submit to you

With love in my heart

I will cross space and time with you.

Ashra
From Salem

Why did you dry up writing emails?

I am missing the affection you

Promised me.


Hi Kieth,

My love will break bounds

In the hope that sometime you and I will be together

Ashra


My Darling,

I am sad

That I could not hold you

I am sad

That I couldn’t give you the

Warm touch of my affection,
Kieth


To Salem,

YOU come and you go

Leaving me memories

Unexplained

Yet I cherish

Every moment

When you remember me

If I could only make you mine

I long for you as sunlight is to a rose

And if I could I only take you

I would not hesitate to do it

Passionately,

Ashra


Kieth,

You make my dreams come true

Because

I could rest in your love.


September 8, 2003

Forgive me for intruding

Into your peaceful life

For taking your love

You realize my wishes

Catch my falling tears

I could cry in your arms

I wish that you will never let me go

In this illusion

Because I’d rather be lost

In a dream

With you.

Real love betrays

But dreams pursue the stars

You are my dream.

Love,

Ashra



September 8, 2003


My darling Ashra,


I could not leave you if I tried

You have my heart in an embrace

That I cherish

If I am your dream then you are

The fulfillment of my every wish and hope

I wish, I could give you more

Than just words

Anything at all that you want from me

Is yours, just ask my love

I am yours until the sun fades

From the sky for the very

Last time.

My love always,
Ashra





2.

My dearest Ashra,

I accept anything of yourself you can give

Your words keep me sane throughout the day

For without your love I would lose

The will to live

I gave you my heart it is yours to play

Just please, please tell me you love

Me if only once in a day

I am yours to do with what you will

My love and heart always,

Kieth


September 9 2003

To Kieth,

NO I would not play with your heart

For if you lose the will

Then I had lost mine

Please stay. Please take care

I love you.

Ashra




Kieth, tell me please

How do I go on with my review

I find it difficult for there are many chores and I still need to do a lot of readings..

If I don’t make good in this

Sort of me being hopeless

Also, I don’t chat anymore

Though it’s fun. Tired of the 2 month exploration.

But it’s good then. I

got friends.

I enjoyed it and I have learned a lot…

I live a simple life now but with a broken heart

I would welcome your suggestions

Thanks.


I fear tomorrow

Of sometime losing you

Or of sometime going away

Of sometime without you

How could I live then?

And if so

When I’m gone

My ashes

Scattered

In the wind -

will still embrace you.


Loneliness creeps

Like shadows in the night

When I think

Of

Our love

That would not be realized

I love you,
Ashra


To Ashra,


I miss your long emails. I miss our chat

Have you forgotten me now?

Salem

Hi Salem,

I could not find you

Yes, my heart breaks a little more each day

I chat a little with someone

But I could not

It was you that I always thought of.





September 10, 2003

Dear Ashra,

You are in my thoughts everyday

No one can replace you

I am dying without you


Dear Kieth,

Please stay

I am missing you so much

Someone told me that you could be my fantasy

I said NO, I don’t fantasize

I have a dream

I don’t want anyone stealing my dreams.

You are my dream

Until the sun fades from the sky for the very last time

I would keep your heart

And give you my love – my all

Please take care darling

My love forever,

Ashra



Hi Ashra,

As for me – I want

to keep something

That I could not hold and own

Something that only the heart knows

And can understand

That which stays in life

But does not end in death

Someone I could keep

As a friend forever

This is sacred.

Passionately,
Salem



TO Salem,

I could not count

The times I think of you

Asking

Why you came into my life

Searching for the answers

To my questions

The whys of you

The whys

I could not ask you

Not even beg

Only remain

To be what you like

So I could stay

With you

And be your friend

In the withering corners

Of

My heart.

Ashra


September 10, 2003

My Dearest Ashra

You are the one reason of my existence

I was put on this earth for just one reason, to love you


My love now and forever,

Kieth

2.Dearest Ashra,

I am currently working nights so it

Is difficult to get on line for

Any length of time.

3. My dearest Ashra,

My love is yours, my soul is yours

You cannot lose someone who is your soulmate

I am yours forever

My love always,

Kieth



My Darling Ashra,

My love knows no bounds

Even if we do not talk, my heart is in your hands

My thoughts are full of you

My dreams are of you alone

My love is for you only

Kieth


Dearest Ashra,

I am yours and you are mine I think

Of you constantly

I yearn for your touch every waking moment

I need your love for without it there

Would be no point in my existance

My heart is yours,

Kieth


Dearest Darling Ashra,

YOU are my dream, my fantasy and my life

If only we could have met at an earlier time, I would have gladly

Devoted my

Mind body and soul just to

please you

I am here for you whenever

You need me

My heart as always is yours

Together with my love

Kieth


Dear Kieth,


I feel your warm embrace

I feel your gentleness

I feel your heart missing me

I feel you holding me

I feel your love till the sun fades

But I wont take your soul because it belongs to GOD alone

I’ ll take your love and your heart


Please stay

Ashra


My Dearest Ashra

I love you more than I could ever

Put in words

You must trust that my

Love is solely for you

I pray that you can feel my love

Everyday

Please love me for I could not exist without you

GOD, although all seeing and loving

Could not deny that my soul is yours He

Knows that you are the keeper of my hopes and dreams.

My heart belongs to you alone.

Kieth


TO Kieth

Our love conquers distance

The souls

Are entwined in the wind

Blown from heaven

Now I’m full of you

I exist

My heart throbs for you each day

Whispering your name, in

The depth of silence

I keep every moment

Thinking of you and pray

Holding your heart

Never to part

Until I die

unto eternity

I shout your love

In the roaring thunder

I cry in the gentleness of your

Embrace

I bleed in the sweetness of it

Until I sleep in peace

And rest with you,

With you.


EXCELLENT!

More laters after Saturday

Email me more

I would not let you go

After you made me crazy

‘Miss you sweetie.

Salem

September 12, 2003


My Darling Ashra

I felt tears as I read your work

Your words touch me as no

Others ever have

I ache for you everyday, my body yearns for you

I exist only for you, if you

Discarded me, I would have

No reason for my being here

My love always and forever

Kieth

My Dear Kieth,

I’m glad you liked my scribble and that you felt tears because as I was writing, it was

really painful for me to grapple for the right words. You are my inspiration. I could not

have thought of the crying, the embrace, and my bleeding had I not thought of your

gentleness with me. The soul can never lie. I could not lie in what I said

Please write and tell me again

You love me

Thank you for yourself

Now I believe in soulmates

I love you,

Ashra

ALL THE WAY, my poems are for you:

In the darkness of the night I feel you

Illuminating my heart

Your hands gently wipe away

The tears on my face

Like soft clouds touching

Icebergs

I feel you holding me

Keeping a rose on the altar offering a prayer

I feel you

Kissing me, my soul

Weaving remnants

Ripped

My last breath is sealed with your gentle kiss.


Time and time

I look for a friend

Breaking in the warm

Joy gushing

Skipping waves

To the silent shores

I drown in the tranquility of your heart

In the silent throbs of your breath

Ashra


Dearest Ashra,

My love is yours until time ends the sun rises no more and man has vanished from the earth.

I will always love you,
Kieth


Dearest Kieth,

I could not attain peace

If I could not write you

Everyday I am missing you

And would like to embrace you

Rest in your arms.

I would like to kiss you

Feel your breath

In mine

My every heartbeat

Would not let you go

Death is the only reason

That would stop me from writing you

But my love stays with you until eternity

I could be anything for you

Because I love you so much

Please don’t stop loving me

Keep me until time ends

The sun rises no more

And man has vanished from the earth.

Ashra



The friend I’ve always wanted?

No one equals the great you

I would not lose you

I’m ready to stand by you

And pick the stars for you.

Happy birthday Salem!

==============================================================

September 15, 2003

I have been wondering why you don’t write me

Are you sick?

Are you busy?

Is there something wrong?

Did you receive my emails?

I am so lonely thinking you might have forgotten me

Ashra

September 17, 2003

My Dear Ashra,

I could never forget you

You keep my heart beating, my very existence depends on you

You are the air I breathe

My love cannot fade

I love and adore you

My heart is always yours.

My Darling Ashra,

I miss you more than I could ever express in words

My love is yours.

I could never be angry with you

I write trying to answer each mailing I get from you

You are not disturbing me,

How could the woman I adore be troublesome

I too would like to meet again on line

To talk, exchange our deepest thoughts

Desires

The picture I sent was the only one I have in my PC… my webcam is playing up.

I will

have to get another or borrow one for now.

I would love to see your pretty face because it breaks my heart – when

We keep missing

Each

Other

You are my reason for living,
Kieth



Take care and kisses for you

Love,

Salem

Be safe.

Love,

Ashra


My Dearest Ashra,

I received your picture this morning

I thought I had seen an angel

You are beautiful than I could ever hope to deserve

My heart, soul, and body are yours

My love always

Kieth


My Dear Ashra,

I do not know what you like me for so much.

You have humbled me.

All my life no one has expressed to me the way you have.

You are a very nice person, a very nice looking gal.

Reading your messages and watching you look two different things, you look so

quiet and there is so much inside you to be explored.

I don’t know where to begin from.

I am glad to have you a s great friend.

It was pleasant reading all about yourself.

Trust me what you disclose to me is not going to go

anywhere and its going to remain just with me.

I have never eloped with any girl outside of my

married life and now I am here with you

talking everything. Lol. This is crazy but at the same time

I have a feeling of teen...

I shall never call on your landline phone but

I shall try to call you on your mobile.

I am not sure but I shall call you, that’s a promise.

I am at work now and I will be here

even tomorrow. If I am online I shall leave a message for you.

Take care, luv yah,

Salem


You paint my fairest imagination

Of love in autumn


September 22, 2003

For Salem,

You are in my thoughts everyday

I could not deny the feeling

Of missing you always

Thinking about our exchange of ideas

Is far beyond any other conversation

And though we are oceans apart

The separation from one another further extends the

Possession of life,

The distance of place renders the conjunction

Of our wills

Life is a process of continuous desires

The agony of struggles break the heart

Yet each and everyday that we triumph

Is an increase in virtue

And love

I could not question my existence for you

About yesterday, nor about tomorrow

I love you so much today and promise

To keep it until the end of time.


Yes, I thought about most of the things we talked about and how much I love and yearn

for you of making you happy

But I’m sorry

I think I could not be like the others

Because love is being content of the things that are not only seen

But unseen

I think that I am not that sexy, otherwise I might have no reservations

Also, respect for myself is all I got

Perhaps if you are here maybe, or perhaps only in words

because words seep in the

thoughts…

If you still like me as I am, continue to write me

If you don’t, I shall presume you discarded me

I thank you for all your goodness

And the moments of inspiration

I am keeping you in my heart

If you stay, then I got a man

If you don’t, I’ve lost a friend that I’ve loved so much

Yours,

Ashra


To Kieth,

The best and the worst come to people

The fear of losing is a nightmare

Questions replies to quest for truth and lies

Breaking walls of sanity

I could not understand life sometimes

I could not unearth what it means

What remains vivid to me now is you

To cast away dark memories

And unkind shadows of life

Please tell me how do I get to know my cause

I am so troubled

I hope you are not playing games

Because it is in you that I find my peace

Yes I give you my heart, my life, and my soul

Cover me with your warmth

Kiss me with your breath

Embrace me in your arms

And let me sleep

Keep me

In your most gentle embrace

And kiss me like no other

Had kissed me

Melt my heart in your passion

And make me cry to flood the earth

Let me bleed in your tenderness

The hymn of the gentle breeze

I gasp for your every breath

So I could live

I am the other half of you

We breathe life together

All of me is yours

All of you is mine

We breathe life together

The throbbing heart its every breath

The flooding blood its every drop

We breathe life together

In GODs sanctuary of love.

All my love,
Ashra


September 22, 2003

Dearest Ashra

I could never chain you to my heart

That would mean that you would

Forever

Be a prisoner to my love

I want willingly, you give your love to me

Your embrace is my wish

Your touch is my dream

Your love my salvation

All my love,

Kieth

Dear Kieth

Just to let you know that I miss you so much

How could I ever forget the other half of my soul

I send you messages every now and then

Try to keep it in my memory

I love you more than I could love

The thought of you makes me feel so special

My Ashra,

I would willingly take you as my wife

You are my dream, my life

My heart is yours to have forever

My very existence is solely to serve you

And give you love

Always,
Kieth



My Darling

You are constantly in my thoughts and dreams

If you want me to want you then want you I do

If you are mine then that is enough for me

Yes, I love you. Yes, you are my life

Yes I would have you forever in my arms

I could not break your marriage vows

They are sacred

I love you

You are in my heart always

Love,

Kieth


Dear Kieth

I could not hide my awe in your poetry

I adore you

I seldom meet the words adore, devotion, salvation,

only, all, you alone, very last time,

among others.

The breathing pattern of your rhythm

Is so sweet and in synchronicity with the beating of every heartbeat

It is so real


May I know your birthday?

Love,

Ashra


My Darling Ashra,

My thoughts hold nothing but you

My heart is filled with nothing but you

If we can be wed even if only in our

Thoughts then my darling we can be

More

Than lovers

My heart and my soul are yours,

Kieth


My Kieth,

Wowwww….your scribble is great!

Yes, I love and adore you too

Tell me I’m the other half of your soul

Please

If I’m not, I would have not known my purpose for living

If I’m not, I’d rather wither and die

If I’m not, my soul would be incomplete

I love and adore you,

Ashra


Ashra

My scribble is just drivel compared to your words

I both love and

Adore

You

You are my soulmate, my half without

Which I could not exist

I love you,

Kieth


September 23, 2003

Kieth,

I have never been loved as much as you love me,

Never been loved

I have never been adored as much as you adore me,

Never been adored

I have never got a love so devoted

No love for me ;

You are my dream

You are my life

It is you that I live for.

Ashra


My Gorgeous Ashra,

If we are to be wed, even in our thoughts,

We must decide where to live

My wish is only to be with you.

My love,

Kieth


My sweetest of all loves

Your words are so sweet

You move me to the very depths of my soul

I do not deserve such love

Yet I gladly accept you as my wife,

If only in my dreams, for had

We

Met at

An earlier time I would surely have found

You and made you my own

I long for your touch

I yearn for you kisses

I ache for you each and everyday

You are my life and love


My bday is on the 30th of April

I am a hospital staff in UK


Kieth,

I love you so much

In life and death

Promise me your love is only for me

I would do anything as you please to make you happy

You take care and stay handsome for me darling

I love you alone

Ashra


My Wonderful Ashra

We must live somewhere that means

An equidistant place between our

Present lands

Where we can live in the shelter of our love

Where we can make love as the sun

Slides slowly out of the sky

Sleep while the stars watch over us

And wake to make love with the

Rising sun

(my dream and my fantasy)


Kieth,

Get a house now where we could live

Please?

So we could be together even in thoughts

Your decision is my decision

I am excited where you will take me

I am not afraid

Because you are one with me

I give you my heart, my life, my all.


Can we have a house in America?

So it could be more realistic for you and me – where

Perhaps sometime we could really be together

Where we can never part

And together often, we’ll always be.

Where I could not function without you

And you without me

The two of us bonded together

Me only for you

And you only for me.

Ashra


September 26, 2003

1. Now I have to think

2. My Husband

Description
Interests
Fill in please

3.what would be my name



Dear Kieth

It makes me so sad, that you

Who are far away

Can make me happy even in thoughts

Yes, GOD has his reasons

Ways

To balance life with joy and sorrow

You who are the keeper of my soul

Make

Me understand about life

You make my dreams come true

This is a miracle of love.



My Ashra

My writing talents pale beside your words

I have no great talent, but you are a wordsmith

Forging your thoughts into words, hammering

The words with your feelings

Like a blacksmith would produce

A sword or plough

A work of art which is produced only

By those with a gift

My words are yours, my heart is yours and

My thoughts are only of you

Maybe we are a little Romeo and Juliet,

I hope without the tragedy

If in any way I inspire you

Then my heart is gladdened

You my loved one are my reason for being

I am and always will be yours, if

You would have me.

Kieth


I dream about the galaxy

And about the mountains

I dream of all the things that could be

As long as I am with you

I dream of not leaving your side

Not a blink of my eye will lose sight of you

I would not want anything more

but you

We would live in a shelter of our love

And make love

As the sun slides slowly out of the sky

In your cherished embrace

While the stars watch over us

Then, we would make love again

With the rising sun

Your embrace is my wish

Your embrace is my peace

In your arms I could die

I love you forever,

Ashra


September 25, 2003


My writing talents pale beside your words

I have no great talent, but you are a wordsmith

Forging your thoughts into words, hammering

The words with your feelings

Like a blacksmith would produce

A sword or plough

A work of art which is produced only

By those with a gift

My words are yours, my heart is yours and

My thoughts are only of you

Maybe we are a little Romeo and Juliet,

I hope without the tragedy

If in any way I inspire you

Then my heart is gladdened

You my loved one are my reason for being

I am and always will be yours, if

You would have me.

Kieth


I dream about the galaxy

And about the mountains

I dream of all the things that could be

As long as I am with you

I dream of not leaving your side

Not a blink of my eye

I would not want anything more

Nothing but you

We would live in a shelter of our love

And make love

As the sun slides slowly out of the sky

In your cherished embrace

While the stars watch over us

Then, peacefully we would make love again

With the rising sun

Your embrace is my wish

Your embrace is my peace

In your arms I could die

I love you forever,
Ashra


September 25, 2003

My Beautiful Ashra,

I want you so much, may I ask to address you as my wife

You are everything to me, my love is for you and you alone

I wish that someday I would be allowed

To touch your flawless skin

And hold you in my arms

All my love always


My whole life would be devoted to your pleasure

I would never make you cry

You will only ever see and hear smiles and laughter

And only ever experience joy

These are my wishes for you my love

I love you and you alone,

Kieth


My Husband Kieth,

Yes, you could touch me now

Touch my skin and feel every breath of my pore

See the marks of time

The beauty of my youth

The creases of my wisdom

Feel the fragrance and sweat of who I am

Kiss me with your breath

I want your every breath

Every beating of your heart

The gentleness of your love

Which had been a dream to me

A gift of your love

Touch me, yes touch me now

I am adored by your touch

Like a goddess

Who becomes a mortal in the name of love

To kneel to you

And become your slave

I kiss your feet.

My love forever,
Ashra

September 26, 2003

Wished you were here

In the lament of my writing process

Together we could

Make up a fantasy

You who are my inspiration

Offer me every word to write

A bliss in my life

To cover my strife

I am nothing without you

My wish other than our writing

Would be to see each other sometime

As husband and wife

And while we go on

Our souls could never be parted

By distance. Together we are

Keeping promises

Keeping thoughts

Keeping each others breath

2. I am your wife

My thoughts are only of you

Naïve, fresh from the falls of Eden, this is my resurrection

I pray that you would love only me

Because you are mine now

If by chance there is another love

Then I would go, or perhaps stay again if you asked

To keep our covenant

If I get jealous my heart would sink

Into the deep

Form a boulder

Standing on seas

I could never be moved then

My grief would turn the sea red.

I am your wife

Love me as no one had ever loved me

Wind my heart

It is beating your name

Thanking GOD time you came

I am tired

Let me lie beside you now, my husband

Press your lips unto mine

Let me sleep in your most cherished embrace

Let me touch you

I desire you.


There is only one Salem,

I love you


September 23 2003

My Darling Wife

I am currently working three night shifts

So we might miss each other

For a

Short while

I will try and get on line to answer

Your mails but if I don’t please

Do not

Get angry or sad

I both love and adore you


My Darling Wife,

My love one, I adore you and hope that

Any union between us can be a

Partnership

My love heart and soul are yours to do with

As you please

I ache for you each day

I am your devoted husband


Your words move me as no others have

I want to desire you even from afar

My love does not diminish

Even though it is just in dreams

I need you more each day

My love as always is yours

My wife whom I adore

My wish is to be one with you

Your are to me is one of the most beautiful woman on earth

I ask nothing more than to be loved by you

I am your servant and your lover to do with as you will

My love grows stronger everyday


September 27, 2003

My work as hospital officer is always hectic… always needed by people

People never

Stop being sick or injured

I have a Bachelor of Science degree which I obtained whilst working

I have never been polygamous, I am yours as long as you want me

Kieth


My Dearest Ashra,

What wonderful words, they seem to fall

From your pen

You have a talent which I could never equal

I carry your words in my heart


DH LAURENCE

ONE MUST LEARN TO LOVE,
AND GO THROUGH A GOOD DEAL OF SUFFERING TO GET TO IT
AND THE JOURNEY IS ALWAYS TOWARDS THE OTHER SOUL


September 29, 2003

I tried to check my emails tonight. I was so surprised that I got mails from you so soon. I was trying to catch you if you were online. But maybe you just did the mails. I am missing you my darling. Il will be waiting and sending you mail while you're away.

I know you are not polygamous…LOL. You make me believe that. LOL. Just be safe .

Thank you for your care. I could go nutsss, feeling you really are my husband. Maybe I’m crazy --- to die for you.

Love,
Ashra


I am happy that you worked your way towards your dreams and goals in life
And study whilst you work….wow that’s great of you. You must be a real genius!




My Ashra

I have one wife …. You

My love always,
Kieth




My Darling Ashra

I both want and need you

I ache for you touch, your words

And your love

I am yours forever

My love as always,

Kieth


Dear Kieth

My body yearns for you

I am missing you so much

I love you

Kisses,
Ashra


My Wife,

Please, please do not cry

I could not bear it if I was the cause of

Your tears

My heart and soul belongs to you

September 29, 2003

Salem,

You could never be forgotten

You were always there for me


Your Bestfriend,
Ashra




September 29 Monday

My Dear Wife

When I heard your voice it was as if angels were talking to me

I thought nothing could compare to your picture, your beauty is breathtaking

But your voice so pure and full of life moved me

I love you so much.

My Husband

I got so excited to hear your voice

I missed you, too

Yes you are my life and my reason for living

My heart is yours

My thoughts are yours

My soul is for you to keep

I could cry in happiness

I yearn for your embrace

I love you, my husband.



My Darling Ashra,

When I heard your voice I was lost for words

I have never been so happy

Please be mine and think my name

Let your love be for me


You are my sole thought through night and day

I would love to see you, I know in real life it would be impossible

But…

I love you so much and I need you

More than ever.

My Love,

If I could turn back time to a day before

I would take you to be mine alone


My Darling Kieth,

May I ask for your address/location in UK if possible?

I am trying to review my geography. Wished it were me, so I could see the castles and get to go where you are –

Sometime maybe if there will be a miracle

I am praying sometime we could be in one place and be together for real

I am serious

Take care,
Ashra

My Darling,

I live near to a place called Middlesbrough.

Or should I say halfway between Middlesbrough and Whitby

Whitby is the initial setting for the story by Bram Stoker, “Dracula.”

We have castles, ancient priories and scenery to die for…

the weather on the

North Yorkshire Moors this time of year

Has the most wonderful shade

Of

Purple

If we could be in the same place for real at some point, I am sure

That I would get us arrested

I would not be able to keep myself in control, I

Would be unable to stop myself making love to you where we were.

I love you my darling.

My Husband,

Please think of me when you are in bed and asleep

Please think of me when you are awake

I want you and need you so badly

My heart aches

My love one, please take care.

Thank you for making me your own

Find union with your thoughts

I want to grow old with you

Take care of you

Age gracefully in your love

You are the other half of my soul.
==============================================================
On November 26, that same year Kieth and Ashra got wed in Sacred Heart Parish, Scotland. The honeymoon was spent in the Philippines. And then, they traveled to different parts of the world. Ashra died of heart failure and left Kieth with no son or daughter. After Ashra’s death, Kieth had his acres of farm planted with beautiful flowers and named the farm Lady Ashra Fields.

The End


Also published online by: LULU EBOOKS.com/ Falling In Love
Author: Rosalinda Flores – Martinez
Philippines

http://Lulu Publishing, Ebooks.com
http://iwrotefiction.blogspot.com
01.27.2010