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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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© 2002-2021
IAN ROSALES CASOCOT
Friday, June 24, 2011
5:16 AM |
Some Sadness
It is the break of another dawn in a strange week, half of which was spent in a feverish state, and I can’t sleep. Somewhere out of this tiny room I call my apartment, there will be strays of daylight beginning to show—it is, after all, five o’clock and already parts of the city stir.
In the background, Barber’s
Adagio tries to comfort me, becoming like the morning air.
It is easy to welcome such small embraces of comfort. I have not had such for what seems like days now. Last night, after writing in a café, I walked the streets of the city towards the spot where I knew I would find tricycles to take me home, and the promise of rest. Between the spaces in the stars when I walked, I wept a little, surprising myself. I suddenly felt alone, and the dark asphalt I was treading underlined only the confounding sorrow.
I felt alone. Which wasn't bad in itself—
happiness can sometimes be had even in the solitary—but it was a feeling that came with a twin, and it was abandonment.
I didn’t know why I felt that.
I still feel the same, now, even with the sudden chirping of birds outside. Between the spaces of my breathing, the purring and roaring of motor—tricycles by their sounds—signals that morning traffic has began and the streets are waking.
It has been two hours since I’ve tried to sleep, and I knew there was a fraught stretch of minutes where I must have dozed off, lightly, to be awoken by strange flickering images stuck to my shut eyelids, or by strange glimpses of fluttering things in various corners that disappear upon full focus. I found myself, too, saying tiny prayers all night long—and I don’t know why.
There is no other choice but to wake. There is music now. There is the smell of newly-brewed coffee. So I face another dawn. And I am so tired.
And yet, the constant knowledge I have yet to swallow remains this:
There are things in life that are mysteries not even the heart can begin to understand. For instance, how one can love a man with the strength and certainty of stars, but for all that to receive nothing.
What unfathomable sadness.
Labels: life, love
[1] This is Where You Bite the Sandwich
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