Work of Art

Realizations come and go, but one realization I had when I was a sophomore in college was that life is an art work.

Unfinished

That first streak of blue and yellow oil
on a sheet of canvas, a
depiction of happiness, of sadness,
of memory, of life.

And in a matter of hours, days, months and years,
a streak of gold and yellow,
turns into a burst of bright
shades of unheard-of colors,
and a blank unfilled
corner of the canvas,
that is meant for what is
unfinished.

This came from one of my greatest memories in college, and one of my realizations of talent. I had affirmation from Ms. Sunday Santos, my NSTP formator when she said that I was gifted in speech.

However, the greatest realization came when I was thinking of what to say.

I had asked everyone, "Who here enjoys viewing art?" And looking to the left, I saw the pastor raise his right hand shyly just above his shoulder. At that moment, I became less nervous. I took a deep breath and continued what I had to say. As I was speaking, I was also learning. I was speaking to the crowd that life was an art work. I was speaking that NSTP, as it was culminating at the time, made me realize that we were about to paint another chapter on the canvas we call life.

I have another opportunity to paint another part of the canvas in this life. I had recently finished my undergraduate studies and have officially become an alumni of Ateneo de Manila University. And while a good portion of the work is complete, there is still so much more left to paint, and I am still planning out what to put on the palette. However, I think I have an idea what to paint in a section I am looking at. It starts with an introduction. It starts with a girl. It starts with a question. It's about to start the life I want to have.

Work of Art

Because an art work is never meant to be complete

When it is in another’s eyes. When all the lines I’ve

Ever written were never finished, all the poems

I’ve brought to life were always left incomplete.

So, now I write to you, when you deserve more

Than an unfinished work, of words that could

Bring you in circles, deciphering what I really mean to say.

All that you would think that all I have to give

Is nothing truly complete, that all the works never

Ended with a concluding punctuation.

It may strike you as I could never finish what I started,

When all I ever really meant was that our lives aren’t over

When we are left unchanged, all that is needed is a little spark,

To finish what is left to what we call a work of art.

**This was dedicated to an old friend.