Wings and Swings.
I Always try to swing as far as I could reach, to reach for the skies, but I always end up in the same position where first begun. I wonder why the swing’s stuck on the ground. I wonder why I can’t have wings instead. wonder why I can’t fly. I wonder why the chains won’t stretch. I wonder why the sky makes itself perfectly visible but physically unreachable. And I often wonder why gravity always holds me back.
Can’t I be where want to be? What I want to be?
*****
Sid told me, “Rowland, you’ve been getting a lot more quiet.”
Padia adds, “and skinnier.”
Well, I am. Too bad.
rowlandanthony
Recently turned 19, I am an International Baccalaureate slave, a Roman Catholic, now of legal age to vote, to drink alcohol, to drive, to marry, to smoke, and to f*** around. I am manufactured in the Philippines but currently utilized in Singapore. I am the thick-skinned, ingrate bastard who dumped the Government in exchange for a $100,000 two-year private scholarship. Most people in the Philippines call me Row, as a result of a passed down genetic trait that triggers laziness. Actually, my nickname is Anju, which I am really really not so fond of. But I am fortunate enough not to suffer from the ubiquitous Filipino frenzy of naming nicknames with letter 'h's sandwiched between other letters, e.g. Jhong, Jhing, Bhong, or Bhing, and from the usual repetition of the same syllables - usually created by the whole extended family giggling in delight as one utters his or her baby cry while shitting unconsciously and secretively on the lampin, inside the duyan - resulting in stuttering names like Ton-ton, Ping-Ping, Bam-bam, Ging-ging and Don-don.
I am currently having the time of my life.
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