Whispers

I needed to get away.

Not that one-day one-weekend thing similar to what my friends and I do, like drive up the Luzon backdoor from Antipolo to Tagaytay.

I meant get away far enough that there's no Globe signal at all.

Far away where I can pretend to be someone else, like a hardcore trekker or climber off the Himalayas.

I needed to feel physical pain. And exhaustion.

I need:
To feel the cold air drowning my lungs.
To smell the tangy scent of fresh leaves and dead wood.
To be drenched with the afternoon rain that frequents the forrests up North.
To see blood flow from my own bruises as the rocks and thorns resist my every movement.
To walk with apes and crawl with snakes and fly with bats and swim with sharks.

I am tired:
Of inhaling stale air, cold and seemingly refreshing, but deadly as hell.
Of wearing perfume that mimic the season, from spring to summer to fall to winter.
Of bathing from recycled warm water.
Of exhaustion from work and disappointments.
Of seeing animals in glass and steel cages, in a zoo called the city.
Of pretending everything is perfect, when nothing is.
Of hoping for the best, when all I want to do is scream at those who use their religion to manipulate those who are poor and hopeless - I hate these emotional hypocrites who use the name of their god to zap every ounce of benefit from those who would benefit from their very death.
Of promises. And of unkept promises.

I needed to get away to find my way.
I needed the pain to feel again.
I needed to die in order to live.

I need to listen to the whispers of my soul, before they turn into silence.