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This is the blog of Ian Rosales Casocot. Filipino writer. Sometime academic. Former backpacker. Twink bait. Hamster lover.
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Bibliography
The Great Little Hunter
Pinspired Philippines, 2022
The Boy The Girl
The Rat The Rabbit
and the Last Magic Days
Chapbook, 2018
Republic of Carnage:
Three Horror Stories
For the Way We Live Now
Chapbook, 2018
Bamboo Girls:
Stories and Poems
From a Forgotten Life
Ateneo de Naga University Press, 2018
Don't Tell Anyone:
Literary Smut
With Shakira Andrea Sison
Pride Press / Anvil Publishing, 2017
Cupful of Anger,
Bottle Full of Smoke:
The Stories of
Jose V. Montebon Jr.
Silliman Writers Series, 2017
First Sight of Snow
and Other Stories
Encounters Chapbook Series
Et Al Books, 2014
Celebration: An Anthology to Commemorate the 50th Anniversary of the Silliman University National Writers Workshop
Sands and Coral, 2011-2013
Silliman University, 2013
Handulantaw: Celebrating 50 Years of Culture and the Arts in Silliman
Tao Foundation and Silliman University Cultural Affairs Committee, 2013
Inday Goes About Her Day
Locsin Books, 2012
Beautiful Accidents: Stories
University of the Philippines Press, 2011
Heartbreak & Magic: Stories of Fantasy and Horror
Anvil, 2011
Old Movies and Other Stories
National Commission for Culture
and the Arts, 2006
FutureShock Prose: An Anthology of Young Writers and New Literatures
Sands and Coral, 2003
Nominated for Best Anthology
2004 National Book Awards
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Recent Crumbs
Blogs I Read
© 2002-2021
IAN ROSALES CASOCOT
Wednesday, October 13, 2004
2:39 AM |
Like a Burst Dam
I have been crying since late evening. I don't know exactly why, but the tears just gush out in a terrifying flow, sniffles stirring the quiet of the night. It's 2:30 in the morning now, but here I am still, crying, my eyes all red and my nose puffy. It all started with the deepest argument I had with M., which began with me silently storming out of the house to a cafe downtown. The reasons are better left unsaid. Getting home a while later with M., we had the most cutting quarrel ever on the eve of our thirteenth month, on the thirteenth day of October. It was not the most dramatic or the most physically taxing -- we've had those before, and I have the scars to prove it -- but this one, I think, cut closer to the heart. We said things we've been meaning to say but kept hidden for the past year, afraid of our vulnerabilities, content in our efforts to keep things intact. But how suddenly all recrimination spring out, how suddenly we want to sound logical and damning in our crusades, and how infinitely absurd we all sound in actuality. Nothing is as silly, and as truly heartbreaking, as two people in love trying to make sense with the mud we throw each other. Later, as we lie down to truce and sleep, M.'s back faces me as M. cries into the pillow.
I start to pray. And in the darkness, everything comes to me -- not an epiphany,
no, nor a realization that should set everything straight. It is a dam of confusing emotions breaking. And then I begin to cry. I begin crying for M. I begin crying for myself. I begin crying for all the silly things and for all the little sadnesses this past 29 years. I did get a few hours of sleep, but later, while in our sleepy state we grappled to make love (early mornings always have this effect), I came to my peak and
at that precise moment, collapsing down on M.'s chest, I burst out crying again. Bigger this time, and equally puzzling. I cry as my body settles down from its heaving. I cry as I take my shower. I cry in the dark as I get into my clothes. It seems suddenly that I am crying for all innocence lost, for the fact that in our pursuit of love and loving, the thing we do best is hurt the ones we truly love.
[When was the last time you cried?]
[0] This is Where You Bite the Sandwich
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