You Alone

Gutom Lang

The poem above—assuming it is indeed a poem—is admittedly chaka and is also alternatively titled “Pizza”:

For I desire and I suffer —
                  and pizza and pizza alone
               could satisfy my hunger.

True ‘no?

But shitty poetry aside, I just got back from Panago after picking up a late-night order. It’s almost midnight and I should be sleeping but I once again skipped supper and boy am I hungry.

I have been eating only once a day. Stupid, I know. I am now 15 pounds underweight and my physique is slowly transitioning from pre boob job Kim Chiu to post heroin Kate Moss. Give me a few more days and I might just turn into the kalansay replica sulking in the corner of your science classroom.

I sure miss the karindirya. Fast food here isn’t cheap so preparing my own food is more budget-friendly. But budget isn’t even the issue; I’m just too lazy to cook. A semi-digression: my first brush with culture shock was discovering that KFC does not serve rice. Eating just two pieces of fried chicken felt like hearing half a joke, no punchline. Or reading a fragment.

Another digression (this time completely off-track): I vehemently disagree with the CA’s decision to reject Judy Taguiwalo as DSWD secretary. To borrow Sen. Ralph Recto’s words: “it is her work during the ‘unsalaried phase’ of her checkered career which is her biggest qualification in holding the DSWD portfolio.” Hay. Mabuhay ka, Ma’am Judy!

Anyways pardon the (bad) poetry, the first world problems, and the abominable attempt at coherence. Gutom na gutom na gutom lang talaga ako.

I missed supper

Tonight, I forgot to feed
myself. I blame Barthes
and his Mythologies,
also Rachel
and our Friends.
Skyflakes truly
is a godsend
heeding prayers of achy tummies
since the 1960’s. Viva
Monde MY San!
Should I make coffee too?
But it’s 10 and my
tomorrow starts at 7.
I will skip breakfast,
meal for the wuss not the tardy
Hunger is for the weak—
oh shit,
I’m hungry.
Now why in the world
am I writing in verses?
Is it the hunger that pushes me
to pull—rather desperately—
a Ginsberg or a Bukowski?
Or even an O’Hara
‘cos I’d really like to have a Coke with
or without fries.
I suck at this, I know,
but even Leav’s bangs has fans
so who knows.
Reminds me of a windy Friday noon
September of last year
when I cut my hair short
really short the strands dangle
like hushed wind chimes
a nervous inch atop my shoulder.
Straight too
no layers
expecting to be the cherubic
yet sultry Lauren Tsai
only to find in the mirror a child
a 10-minute shower later
and she said hola soy Dora
the Explorer.