Etymon and Polaroid

Time Is Up

We both chanced upon a huge clock that pounded so hard, it almost deafened the beating of our hearts.

Almost. But not quite.

Once upon a time, we lost track of the ticking of what seemed to be a deadline.

Tick tock. Tick tock, sang the clock so sweetly, like the song thrush on a beautiful summer morn. It awakens us like a morning kiss and puts us in a deep slumber like a lullaby.

Every time we ride on the bus, it was supposed to be a monotonous journey of walls and walls of architecture- cold and dry to the bone. And yet what it became was an adventure- a feat full of laughter and old museums and huge libraries and bittersweet coffee and stolen kisses on dark alleys.

And every night was supposed to be the same- the closing of the eyes, thinking of what was to come the next day or the day after that and the day after and after and after- an endless pondering of what if’s and supposed to be’s. And yet what it became was another glimpse on our childhood memories, our first scars on a tumbling bike, our childhood sweethearts, the follies of a petulant mind.

Strangers became a huge backdrop, and time? Well, time eventually caught up behind us taking us aback. It became as imposing as an Old Grandfather Clock, its pendulum swinging back and forth, back and forth, back and forth, like a storm destroying everything on its path. Once, it was a constant whisper of the sands of time- gentle, as if time was too timid to defy us. Now, it was a sonorous sound, almost deafening, almost sickening- a thump of a thousand horses’ hooves, now too strong for us to defy.

Almost. But not quite.

For even in sorrow, we smile. For even in hopelessness, we love. For even in death, we overcome.

In Memory of…



Words by Maria

Art by Audrey Aragon


Etymon and Polaroid

The Baby and the Needle

I was in the hospital when a nurse took my arm and told me to breathe deeply as she placed a needle on the inside of my elbow and took a sample of my blood.

I felt nothing.

I found myself staring nowhere, staring at nothing, pondering everything.

As I was waiting for the result of the test, a mother entered the hospital carrying her daughter. The mother sat at the same spot I took earlier and placed the little girl on her lap. And when the needle entered the little girl’s gentle flesh, the child whimpered and wailed, flailing her tiny arms and legs wildly, setting everyone in distress.

But what I noticed was the play of emotions on the mother’s face. A mixture of both hope and love as she closed her eyes as if in prayer.

And just then, I know that my thoughts and hers were one and the same.

“If I could only take your pain as my own, I will. I will.”

Words by Maria

Illustration entitled “Mother and Child Bond” by Steve Hanks (1949, American). Retrieved from Pinterest

Etymon and Polaroid

The Howl of the Wolf

My mother said a thunderclap is always preceded by lightning. It’s not necessarily true that it would rain, but then there is the possibility that it will.

And then you came along without even the dark clouds forming in the skies nor were you preceded by lightning.

You came just like that.

You cracked the skies open and filled it with a huge sonorous sound that told me you were there- caged up above, screaming for help.

And then you were gone so suddenly, it made me think whether I imagined you or made you up just to hide the fact that I was truly the one screaming.

Words by Maria

Art print entitled Dreaming about wolves by Susana Miranda retrieved from Pinterest

Etymon and Polaroid

Don’t You Ever, Maria?

“Don’t you ever fall in love, Maria?”

I snickered.

“Of course, I do! In fact, I always do! I fall in love with every single person who had made me laugh like a lunatic. I fall in love with everyone who made me dance in the rain when I do not dance in the first place. I fall in love with the few people who can look me in the eyes. I have blank eyes, you see, they are somewhat dead even when I laugh. I fall in love with strangers who sit beside me in a bus ride, who smiled at me in the hallways, or helped me open the door to the coffee shop. And I fall in love with the wrong people. I fall in love with the mad ones, the ugly ones, the broken ones, the unlovable. Actually, if you would ask me what my greatest flaw is, that would be it.”

“What? That you always fall in love with the wrong ones?”

I smiled.

“No. That I always fall in love and I did nothing about it.”

Words by Maria

Painting entitled Summer Solitude by Deborah Bays

Etymon and Polaroid

The Little Bonnie Lass

If I were given one chance- just one chance- to change anything in my life, I fear it would have been wasted. Because if I chose to do one single thing differently, we might never have met each other. I may have never loved you. Everything- the wrong choices, the pain, the hurt, the sorrow, the laughter, even the oblivion- has led me to you. Everything is worth the pain. And I would not change one small bit of these things- however painful they might be- if it meant I would lose you.

Words by Maria

Illustration retrieved from Pinterest

Etymon and Polaroid


What are you afraid of?

You’ll laugh at me when I tell you.

No, no. I won’t. Tell me.



I am afraid of beards.


It reminds me of someone.


A friend. Supposedly a friend.

What did he do?



He scared me.


He- he told me he wanted to see inside of me.

What do you want to tell him?

I wanted to tell him that I do not deserve this. I do not deserve to be reminded of him every time I glanced at bearded men. I do not deserve feeling like a caged animal every time a group of men came passing by. And I certainly do not deserve to be disgusted of myself because of his direct insult to my innocence.

I am a woman.

Created not for his pleasure but for the sake of humanity. I am not a woman of society easily derailed by foolish ways of men with their boorish norms, nor am I a woman easily conquered by ways of self-made goddesses with their conspicuous laughter.

My heart is a kingdom, my mind the universe.

I do not deserve this.

Words by Maria

Illustration retrieved from Pinterest

Etymon and Polaroid

Only a Fairytale and Nothing More

If it gives you fear,
If it makes you cry,
If you lose sleep at night,
If it brings you so low that you feel so small,
If it demands more from you than you can possibly offer,
If it changes you from a princess to a monster,
Then it is not love.

Just because it is intangible and indescribable, does not mean it is good. Know that the reason why you cannot understand something that is ought to be beautiful as the tales are told is maybe because you are not supposed to.

Because you do not need to.

Because it is not meant to be.

Because it is not Love.

Words by Maria

Photograph retrieved from: Pinterest