remember merthiolate?

my friends say i should quit complaining about my wound. sandra did, after all, burn her face when she was three. but i'm of the opinion that kids are better suited to deal with these physical wounds. i remember getting cut and scraped, and being swabbed with merthiolate (before it was pulled out of the market) with nary a complaint.
but as we grow older, we lose our tolerance for that kind of physical pain. in return, we are given the fortitude to weather the emotional hurts that leave no bodily scars.

mas kakayanin kong dumugo puso ko, wag lang balat ko.

i must say, that's a pretty romantic--though bullshit--excuse for regressing into a brat.

the flesh of my flesh. bring me back to bora.

i burned a hole into my leg. i rode a motorcycle and it left a moon-mark on me. a scar? well. charley, who has black safety pins as earrings, said i could incorporate it into a tat. the wound is round, so i'm thinking friendster logo. the flag people are off to bora, why go to the beach if i can't swim? i love the water so much, i'd probably be tempted to soak and play. i've discovered that nothing brings out the whiny brat in me like a piece of gauze stuck to my raw flesh. i'll go get a stool sample now, but first--

bring me back to bora
[26X06]

bring me back the sound of the waves
caught in the shell of your ear
drink saltwater through your pores
and share with me the taste of the sea

soak in the daylight
and keep pieces of the sun in your skin
capture the sky in your eyes
as you dive into an azure eternity

let the sand find shelter in your hair
until your body gives up its memories to me
grasp the moon between your thumb and forefinger
and pluck the night of its pearl

then bring me back to bora
so i can offer myself in return