Two Years

Traveling along the same route I have grown familiar with two years ago, I asked myself -- while the van trudged on the asphalt road -- if two years had really been that long. 2008 was like another lifetime altogether -- a lifetime built on escaping from a heartbreak that threatened to lead me to the brink of utter self-destruction. Two years ago was founded on vignettes of airports,  hallways, jeepney rides, trolleys, nights inside a room alone, reading by myself, silence at six AM waiting for no one, tricycle rides at nine AM, provincial lights, laughing as an ache rent one's heart, uncertainties, facades, waiting for messages that never came, longing for greetings that never arrived, failures, frustrations, a sad return, and more goodbyes.

Two years ago I promised myself it will be you, always, forever. Two years ago in the darkness of the night I told myself that this was what I wanted. That was two years ago -- two years ago when I foolishly believed that faith indeed moved mountains, that someone heard my pleas. I say foolish now because I know that there is no one out there dispensing favors for miserable mortals. There is no salvation apart from the one that we ourselves craft for ourselves. And I had to learn that lesson the hard way. 

From one heartache to another I hopped. And along the way I discovered that somewhere along the way I lost heart. Or maybe, just maybe, I grew up. Maybe disillusionment is truly an unavoidable circumstance. You earn your pragmatism with every experience you gain. 

Only the sheltered will live in their candy clouds and rainbow castles -- never harboring shattered dreams in their heart. But I refused to be sheltered. I still refuse to be. Two years ago I might have believed that there is happiness awaiting in the end of it all, you waiting at the corner of this madness, ready to take my offer, willing to hold my outstretched hand. I was a fool. But you see, I've learned. Pain somehow does that -- force you to learn the lessons of self-preservation. I snapped along the way. I got fed up. I snapped. All the drama -- enough. Yes, I think that was what I said: ENOUGH. I didn't deserve this. I was my own hero, I was my own messiah, I am my own martyr. I am the dashing prince out to rescue myself from my dragons, I do not need to save anyone but myself. In the end, I had the power.

Who would have imagined that who I am now is starkly different from who I was two years ago? Maybe not on the outside, but I know that deep inside me, there are avenues and paths in my heart that have become cul-de-sacs. 

And who would have imagined that, two years after all the hurt, all the dreams I've now given up will come back to me?

Musings of an Island Boy

Set my foot on Boracay soil the first time today, as part of the media immersion for one of our company's clients. Not that I was totally excited: while I've heard much about the famous island destination, the reality that this visit is part of work doesn't it make as grand as it sounds. 

While most people think the PR life is a charmed life, it isn't. It's taxing, it's tiring, and while there are a lot of perks to be thankful for (which I am, of course - it's work plus a bit of pleasure I guess, hands down) -- like what my boss said -- the fun is stripped away mostly by the fact that you're doing it for work.

Anyway, I digress from my main point. I was making a lot of observations while on the way here. Probably that's the creative side of me kicking in. I'm absorbing more of my environment since I'm trying to derive inspiration for my next story. I guess I'm amateurish that way, if one is to believe the quote from this book I'm currently reading, Philip Roth's "Everyman" (thanks Gretch!), which goes, "Amateurs look for inspiration; the rest of us just get up and go to work." And so far, there are a lot of interesting sights and sounds along the way, such as:

1.) The Jungle Boys. They were the tribal band that performed during our dinner. My friend Charl noted that it wasn't enough that you had to have musical talent to be part of the group -- you also had to have the body to show off, at the very least, since the guys performed half-naked. (Therefore, fat people = The City Boys)

2.) This ad about A-TVs for rent. Someone wrote, "Wow! You can go anywhere in Boracay!"

3.) The artificiality of the experience. The Jungle Boys playing with microphones and spotlights. 

4.)  How there's nothing majestic about hilly landscapes that give you a panoramic view of the islands when you're drunk and you have to climb uphill (a little inside joke, forgive me)

5.) Drunk muscular men bopping and bobbing their heads at the beach like they worked out all their lives to show off bulging muscles

6.) The DJ screaming "Put your hands up in the air" -- when everybody's too drunk to care

7.) French-kissing teeners in the beach. I really must be old; my sensibilities are offended

8.) How anticlimactic a tsunami would've been tonight

So far, I anticipate other things tomorrow. I am nearing inebriation -- forgive me if I fail to make this entry as ironic as I hoped it would've been. Bah. 

P.S. Thanks for calling me, buster loser. :-)