One spontaneous thought of you gives me the goosebumps, covers both sides of my arms, craters them with hundreds of pimple-like puckers, racing up to my shoulders, turning the skin scaly but not the scary kind you feel at three hours past midnight, when you spend the night at a huge Victorian house in Capiz, then quite suddenly the misty air of the guest room, which is located in an abandoned wing at the back of the mansion, resonates with the maniacally laughing sound of flapping wings from the hallway no, no: not that type; rather, what I feel are the beautiful ones. The ones you get: when the second and higher set of F and G-sharp is hit and the bright tone of the piano echoes throughout the night (into your dreams) your first attempt of “Clair de Lune” at one in the mornight; when you stay up till 5 a.m. from jet lag and ecstatic family chats and noisy opening of balikbayan boxes, and sink your teeth into the sweetly soft and softly sweet pandesal (dipped in coffee, of course), which you haven't tasted for six months, hurriedly, but at once slowly, drooling for your tongue's satisfaction; when the first raindrop of a thunderstorm's third round reaches, touches, caresses the tip of your nose, a shady noon in June, the moment just before water heavily pours once more and you get drenched, reviving the child from San Andres Bukid in the early 80s; when neon tangerine stretches across the skies, with swirls of twirly pink and purple, as you ride home in a passenger jeep after your afternoon class, and you look through the three-railed, landscape window up to the heavens, releasing your tight grip on your handkerchief, gasping; when the scent of old paint and books (Rossetti, Flavel, Luther), piled up in a nook above the attic stairs, leather covers and bible paper pages cracked and withered, stops you, freezes you because you get it, you feel it on your arms creeping, crawling, cresting sometimes even toward your chest and back. That's what I get: “beautiful goosebumps” all the time at the slightest thought of you. Must be something, then, huh.
This piece has been published in Teen Ink’s monthly print magazine.
This piece won the October 2014 Teen Ink Poetry Contest.