Missing Chelz

Chelzedeck was my best friend, actually one of my many "best friends". There's a best friend whom i call big-sister best friend, one is a group of "soul sisters" best friend, another a group of college friends turned mommy-buddies best friends, and so on....but Chelz was my only male-slash-sister-best friend who believed that he is a woman trapped inside a (handsome) man's body.

Recently he wrote me something that stirred up those memories with him and words we have exchanged, shared, and experienced together. This was actually a comment on my friendster blog:

I can relate to this poem/prose…i don’t know how am i going to give my reply,or am i required…anyway, i will let just myself be,
i can relate to the rummaging of the past,
memories of friends, girlfriends and ex’s…
somehow the things you’ve thought were useless,
and has been trashed, finds beautiful meaning…
you find yourself becoming a history teacher,
perhaps and archaelogist, digging remains of a lost culture…telling them to students/readers,
that it is important to relieve one’s past,
for one’s past affects the future,
that without it, we would never be here…
somehow it is important, that is why we need historians, artist and painters ,
to re-express the things we so long have trashed,

and i’m glad that “You” still write, and recyle,like archaelogist , putting muffled pieces of yesterday, telling them as if the just happened an hour ago…


that was Chelz, talking...voice transformed into image. i can imagine him so animated, creative and seemingly unwanted by the elite, snobbish, pseudo-intellectuals.