A Quantum Life

“There’s a lot of stuff you have the right to blame me for, but you can’t believe I chose any of this. We’re both cursed to see stuff that nobody should be allowed to see, but we’re still responsible for our own mistakes. I still don’t regret anything." - Charlie Jane Anders, "Six Months, Three Days"

It feels surreal when you see all these people in photos on Facebook or Multiply or whatever social networking site you own or used to own, and then you remember where they fit in the holes of your self: people you've met once, you've hung out with, you've loved, you've desired, you've slept with, you've kissed in a car outside a funeral, you've held hands under the stars, you've lived a fantasy of vagrancy with, you've cried over, you've laughed with, you've hated to the core of your entire spirit, you've stopped talking one afternoon because of a small word they said and which they didn't mean, you've talked over the phone for hours way back in high school for the most trivial things...

It feels odd, to see your history in the multitude of faces that let you know how far you've gone and how far you'd go, or how close you're capable of wanting to be to another person as if their very existence meant that you would continue to exist. You are a particle weaving in space with other particles, moving faster than the speed of light and covering all emptiness, ensuring all possibilities are exhausted.

How amusing that you've poured yourself into the funnel of the present, but in another world perhaps, in another universe, you could've ended up with that person you held hands with in a blue car one humid Friday evening, or the last face you could've seen was the wide-eyed driver of a ten-wheeler truck who almost hit you when you were a stupid Grade Six student crossing the street with nary a care in the world. You could've died that August while it was raining and you were bleeding alone under the torrential rain, or you could've become a famous writer by 20 like what you promised a college friend while waiting for the sun to rise at Manila Bay one summer night.

Yet what was and what could've been mean nothing to what is and what should be, the present that feels right, the only picture that you'd rather keep looking at: on that bed, holding hands, saying goodnight, in some two-star hotel somewhere in the city, smiling at each other while thinking this is what should last, this is the only thing that should be. This is where the story ends.

The Strangeness of Absence

It isn't that I refuse to feel. It's not that. I don't resist it. I believe I am ready to welcome it, wholeheartedly, like rain after summer. I am ready to welcome it gladly. Every day I wake up and rush to the front door wishing that it would dust its feet on the mat outside and knock, finally, after so long. I want to. I long to. I am mad for it. I am mad like the torrential fire that ravages the forest.

Or so I'd like to think. Maybe I'm not as mad as I think I am. Maybe I am only as mad as the soft dying glow of the spent bonfire. The heart, perhaps, burns only like solid ice. A chunk of cold ice---only frostbite, mistaken for flame. Perhaps, perhaps. I've forgotten already.

This is youth. I see it gallop like a wild horse, away. The rushing river has reached the lake. On the horizon I see the sun as it bids goodbye, leaving this sky for another's. There was something lost; but it came too quietly, this passing. I hardly even noticed it leave. Had everything come abruptly the pain perhaps would've been too unbearable, but the feeling wanes like the aftermath of a storm in the last few hours of its life. I only remember, and what I remember I pine for, but perhaps it's too late. 

Luminous

"I would like to sleep

with you, to enter

your sleep as its smooth dark wave

slides over my head."

- "Variations of the Word Sleep", by Margaret Atwood

I want to touch you in your hidden places. When you are sleeping, I will secretly crawl in your dream and whisper behind you. I want to walk my fingers on your skin and feel the landscapes of your iridescent body, to feel your legs and hands entwined with mine in this lazy Sunday morning. 


I want to wake up everyday and see you looking at me that way you look at me when you think I'm not looking, and then I'll stare at you, and you'll ask, "What?" and I'll say, "nothing" and then smile, the hours melting into fluid desire that fills the vessels of our souls to the brim. We are overflowing. Today is illuminated with everything that is plenty.

The Fairy Child

"Yet Babbitt was again dreaming of the fairy child, a dream more romantic than scarlet pagodas by a silver sea. For years the fairy child had come to him. Where others saw but Georgie Babbitt, she discerned gallant youth. She waited for him, in the darkness beyond mysterious groves. When at last he could slip away from the crowded house he darted to her. His wife, his clamoring friends, sought to follow, but he escaped, the girl fleet beside him, and they crouched together on a shadowy hillside. She was so slim, so white, so eager! She cried that he was gay and valiant, that she would wait for him, that they would sail--" -- from "Babbitt", by Sinclair Lewis

You always want to be the one who leaves because you think it's much better that you disappear before the other even realizes that you weren't worth it from the start. Your lovers' cabinets are never filled with your clothes; your belongings are always stashed in some luggage somewhere, under their beds perhaps, or their closets under the stairs, just in case you wake up one morning and that familiar feeling sinks in again, telling you it's time -- yes it's time to go. It's time to walk away, or maybe run, never look back, catch the next bus to the next train to the next plane to the next man whom you will say you love with all your heart, like a line from a movie you've watched too many times already.

So many beds and so many couches, so many bathtubs and towels, so many coffee pots and stoves -- you leave a trail of you, the scent and song and soul, but you, you only take yourself. Every time you walk outside a house and a life, there is only a fresh start, a clean slate, a new beginning waiting to welcome you back. No pasts, no pains, no tears, nothing but a smile, a laugh, a blind acceptance that this is your fate. You can only keep the charade for so long, and before they can see through you, you know you must go and leave, take away all the imperfect in you and carry the burden alone, to preserve that perfect picture in your lovers' heads: the you who always knew when to kiss them and embrace them, the you who always had the right things to say, the you who was forever new and interesting.

Because staying necessitates a revelation, you choose to leave instead. For even in silence, just by staying, one eventually divulges the flaws, the chips, and cracks -- all those things that weary the soul. A dream is beautiful because it is exactly ideal; reality is only a dark, depressing room. You are the dream. You are the ideal. You are the desire which haunts them, the one who got away, the one who will be remembered even when you have long gone. You will be the one who will haunt your lovers until the end, your smell and touch and kisses wafting forever in their memory, a tragedy that echoes in the cave of their lives when they sleep beside their wives.

You are only a mist that comes a little while and vanishes -- but yet you leave such a beautiful rainbow every time.

Of Letting Go and Moving On

Once again, things are changing. The wheel is moving once again and I've chosen to be in another place. 

The realization came to me while traveling to work. I suppose I've never really thought much about the choices I've made the past few days, only picking what I thought were highly interesting, like a kid inside a candy store choosing the most colorful sweets. I guess I've never really confronted the gravity of my choices, not until the recent ride struck me with an epiphany that has now left me with an unsure smile on my face.

I am happy with my decision. For the record, I do not regret having decided on being part of yet another adventure. Brave new frontiers are always exciting -- unfamiliar landscapes, foreign cultures, a different set of people to mingle and talk to: all these things make the journey worth it. Yet, going to the next chapter of my life does not diminish the value of the last. If anything, I think the past two years have strengthened me enough to face the next challenge. 

There are always regrets. Things I've done, things I should've done, things I shouldn't have, people I should've been braver to confront, people I should've been wiser to avoid -- there are always things that will make me feel bad. It's foolish to even think that there is nothing to regret about. But when I summon all the courage to say "no regrets", it is in the belief that regretting will only hamper my growth. There are lessons waiting to be learned and that's what I should focus on -- the wisdom I can take away from the craziness and impulsiveness of the past two years.

I've met people along the way and I hope I made positive contributions in their life. Some of them have already left for better opportunities; some are staying because they believe it is where their fate lies. Regardless of their motivations or reasons, I sincerely hope that I've affected them in ways that they will cherish for life. Not to be sappy about it, but then, we all hope for anchors to affirm our existence. In the end, perhaps there really is no good or bad, only nothingness and the peace of emptiness. Faced with that, I fervently wish that at least I've caused happiness in one way or another, or have atoned for my faults against them, whatever these wrongs may be. 

The struggle really is in the daily details. And struggle, I have -- the cigarettes I should've thrown away, the cruel words I never should've uttered, and many other things. But what is done is done and one cannot do more about it except go on and be the better version of one's self. And I hope that's where I'm heading -- being the better me. As corny and as "Eat, Pray, Love" as it may sound, I just hope that I'm becoming better and I'm learning my lessons well. Although I staunchly affirm my disbelief of a deity that proportions each of our lifetime's lessons, I still believe that everyday challenges allow me to understand more about this life.

Anyway, among the many things that remain to be me, I still am afraid to be shallow (whatever that is) and I'm still scared of being a nobody (again, whatever that is). I still am very, very awkward. One of the things I've become that I'm not very proud of is how I've unleashed more meanness than I ever thought I was capable of. Maybe it was the attempt of fitting in, or reinforcing my self-esteem. Whatever it is, I hope that I don't end up becoming the person I once loathed (and still do).

Enough of the drama. Just thought of getting all these out of my system. Here's to a new career, a new life, and new lessons. 

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. :-)

A Pig in the Cage with Antibiotics

In an attempt to jumpstart the mood and get myself in the writing zone, I'm back here, blogging on a lazy summer Sunday. The air is suffocating me with thoughts of beach getaways, but here I am, stuck instead at home, trying to finish a 4,000-word primer for a competition our company is joining.

Bah, adult life. But I'm not exactly complaining right now. I am too tired of whining -- note that this is merely an observation. 

I've never been the most responsible person on Earth, to be truthful, and adult life isn't exactly the best experience for a 24-year old boy who refuses to grow up. Mornings, like when I was a kid, are still the most horrible parts of the day -- waking up is still a drag. I still make a mess inside my closet every time I pull out clothes to wear. I still doodle when I'm forced to listen to long-drawn blabber -- just like in elementary, high school, and college. I am forgetful as always, yet I continue to resist making notes if only because creating reminders make me feel like I'm such an organized worrywart, which takes away the fun of spontaneity and surprises. 

Yes, I am inefficient. I am the gear that creaks and squeaks and goes all wonky. But somehow I'd like to believe that being this crazy, kooky person that I fashion myself to be makes me a whole lot interesting. I don't know when my aversion of becoming a bore began, but for as long as I can remember, I've always been that kid who tried to cross the line. Never mind if I ended up falling in a deep pit (which by the way was difficult to lie about at home, after I showed up with soiled clothes, bruises, and all),  or got punished for challenging authority (elementary days, discipline officer, nipple-pinching -- don't ask). 

The attempt to challenge the flow stems way, way back to my childhood, when I was forbidden to go outside and play. Our helper would lock the gate so my brother and I wouldn't be able to escape. But we were smarter (or stupider, take your pick): we'd scale the walls like the monster brats that we were, unafraid of jumping the height for the promise of the large playground that is the outside world. It was an ecstatic, rush-of-blood-to-the-head feeling. The defiance of imposed limits using ingenuity and lots of balls became a fruitful pursuit that led to fulfillment. It fuels my existence -- from then until now.

However, it doesn't make me a decent, respectable adult in the eyes of snooty companies and an uptight society. This is a world of rules, and I am trapped to slave away for the remainder of my days until the pension kicks in and I'm stuck in some senior citizen's home, waiting for Death to knock on my door at 2 in the morning with chloroform in my soy milk and arsenic-laced oatmeal cookies.

LOL. Happy Sunday everyone. :-)

Pushover

"I don’t intend to lose. You know, I was trained in athletics, I was being groomed to compete in the Olympics for the 100-meter dash event. I was taught that when running for a competition, never look back, even for a split second because that will cost you your victory. That metaphor has always stayed with me. If you have an objective, go for it. The science of consciousness tells you that you cannot break your focus because you will only hamper your own performance." - Nicanor Perlas, 2010 presidential candidate

I was reading an article about Nicanor Perlas the other day, and encountered this quote of his that stuck to me.

Now, before I begin, I want to clarify that I am not endorsing him. So far, I've yet to listen/read about his views on the Reproductive Health Bill (one of the factors I consider in choosing this year's president). Regardless of my support (or the lack of it) however, I have to say this very ballsy quote of his really struck a chord in me.

I admit, I rarely have a single-track mind. I always lose sight of my goal because more often than not, I end up doubting myself. There's always that part where I think that I can't do it -- that inner voice asking, "Can you really?" or "Is it the right path?" or "Will it matter?" Eventually I just lose heart and become disillusioned/apathetic about whatever it is I'm doing.

The problem about looking at the grand picture is that the grand picture gives me a perfect 360-degree view of what-the-fuck. The pessimist in me always sees everything as pointless, absurd, and utterly doomed to failure. It's always about propping the system to succeed, struggling to exist, and fighting for life. It traps me in thoughts on why the universe actually favored life to even happen at all, when all it does is punch the living in the gut with its rules.

And so I end up dismissing everything as useless -- like building sandcastles just so the next bully walking by can stomp on it and kick me in the face when he's done.

But then again, like in my previous post, maybe I just have to go on and do it.

Honestly, it's very obvious that I've been entertaining these thoughts a lot recently. Notice, I've been trying to encourage myself with canned motivational speeches. This is how desperate I am to push myself out of this rut. I'm so afraid of taking a leap and the chance to be somebody else. I fear too much that I'll fail that it becomes a self-fulfilling prophecy. But I need to stop this because it's not making me any better. Not that I know what better is, but I'm sure as hell definite that it's not this.

I loathe being too much of a worrywart and pining over things of the past. I must cease romanticizing yesterday. Like that quote from "500 Days of Summer", I should take a good second look on what I had before. It's time I learned the lessons and moved forward with my life. This is a race and I have to win it. Focus like a laser.

Plain, Without a Need to Explain

Awhile ago, I took a side trip with Avery to the clothing store at Mile Hi near the Manor in Camp John Hay, Baguio to buy clothes. Since I wasn't able to have some of my clothes laundered, I had to buy extra clothes to make it through tomorrow. After looking at a few shirts on display, I opted to get the plain t-shirts that were for sale.


Later tonight when I was wearing one of the shirts I bought (I know, I know -- unhygienic), I realized that I wish I was as low-maintenance as these tees. Simple, unencumbered, and free. No embellishments, no dramas, and no distractions.


I think it's time I embraced who I really am -- the me before I went through that phase when I realized that being me was the ultimate boredom. Maybe it's the right moment to go back and re-assess the things I truly am before I craved for affirmation from others.

Somewhere along the way I think I took a wrong turn and thought that having people tell me my worth would actually prove my worth. But I don't think it works that way. I should learn to be more assured of who I really am instead of trying to have people praise me. It's never that fulfilling anyway. The more I fill myself of these empty words, the easier I'll crumble. I don't need that.

I just need to be myself. Plain and simple. I don't need attention. I should be just happy being me.

Eagle-eye Vision is for Eagles

Sometimes, the key to happiness is delayed knowledge. At times, you only need to know enough to get you through the day, through the hour, through the minute, through the second. Just your portion to get you to survive for the moment -- nothing more.

It's the metaphor of the miracle of manna. I'm not big on the Bible and I believe that it's not holier than the next bestselling Coelho out there but it does have a number of beautiful metaphors to encourage you to go on with life. This Old Testament story of sustenance given to wandering Jews is an example. And the lesson is to take it one day at a time -- never to worry too much about what the future holds.

You only need enough to last you for the present; any more, and you sink in a downward spiral of madness. The future will come. The universe will expand at its own pace. Nothing you can do can make it can go any faster or slower. Everyone should exist to enjoy every breath, and take delight in the little servings of happiness whenever it comes. People need to be in the moment. When in grief, be sad. When angry, explode. You can always be sorry afterwards; you can make up for it later on. People will always affect people. To step out of one's emotions is to cease to be human. You shouldn't shortchange yourself of the experience by being too analytical, by being too calculating, by being too sly and paranoid about the next move.

You only need to guide yourself with love. I agree with a friend's recent post in Facebook: everything expires. You can't stop degradation or destruction. Again, the law of entropy will always lead us to disorder and disaster. But if you let love guide you, then you can make things better whatever the circumstance offers on your plate. Maybe you'll die before science even discovers human immortality, but in any case, if you did things passionately, step by step, everything will be all right when it's your turn to go.

Despite how I make broad strokes with these life statements, I think I am writing grains of truth. I won't declare it as canon law though. Things after all are different for everyone. But just for the sake of sanity, I will do this little by little. Baby steps. I'm not perfect just like everybody else. And just like everybody else I want to be alive. I don't understand what life really means and its OK. Nobody does and nobody will.

It's ok. It's just the way it is. I'm closing my eyes to the big picture. For today I only want the now.

Melancholy Vagabond

I'm currently at a hotel somewhere in Pampanga for the first stop-over of the anti-cervical cancer cycling tour I'm covering for work. Sitting by the foot of the bed, typing like crazy is my accounts officer-slash-friend. The television is on, and showing right this very moment is a Vin Diesel action flick that neither of us is watching. The window to my right frames an afternoon sky where the wind makes the trees wave slowly.

Awhile ago, while taking a bath, I thought about how hotel rooms radiate a certain sadness. I thought how, for a moment, you take temporary residence in a strange, unfamiliar place and try to feel at home inside a room where many have settled in as well. Before you came in, these strange people also found comfort within the four corners you now familiarize yourself with. And like these people, you will have to leave this room, along with traces of yourself, and after you another person will check in and leave his or her own memories inside this room as well.

Call it a metaphor for how I see relationships. Maybe that's the thing why I find hotel rooms bittersweet: it's because of the memories each of these spaces left with me -- of lovers found and lovers lost, a meeting and a parting, kisses and then goodbyes.

People are like rooms, their hearts are beds you bury yourself in -- only to wake up one day and discover that you are no longer welcome, or you were never welcome to begin with. You are only a transient in these rooms, but you hope that maybe, just maybe, one of those rooms will be home.

But they are not your home: the only home you have is your own heart.

(But it doesn't mean you can't steal the toiletries inside the hotel bathroom as souvenirs)

Jeeps Like White Elephants

I am a self-confessed public transportation junkie. Apart from the fact that my love for commuting spares pedestrians from my maniacal driving and allows me to rest during precious transit time (while saving the planet too), I am utterly convinced that riding buses, trains, commuter vans, and the like helps me stay connected with people. It gives me moments to observe the bittersweet complexity of human existence -- the many frustrations and little joys of the daily goings-on of the middle-class life.

But if there is one thing I loathe about commuting in the metropolitan jungle we call Metro Manila (aside from the slow-paced traffic and greedy bus operators who think maximum loading capacities are mere polite suggestions), it is the outdated, non-aerodynamic, clunky, noisy, and smoke-belching public utility vehicle popularly known as the jeepney.

I will not deny that I ride it almost everyday. But that won't stop me from rallying against it. This tin can of death is an invitation to disaster every time it rages like a maniacal mechanical pitbull in heat on the streets -- haphazardly weaving without care for fellow vehicles or pedestrians.

In an era of sustainability, eco-friendliness, and human advancement, nothing says "I'm a death sentence to the planet straight from the Mesozoic Transportation Era" more than the jeepney. It's funny how we even showcase it to tourists, who can only help but smile and wonder silently why this piece of junk is a source of pride to anyone (until they realize that they are, after all, in the Philippines.)

But then, before someone brings up that there are actually foreigners who find it charming, take note that it is likely the same way they find "Slumdog Millionaire"'s deplorable poverty charming too. Which makes their outbursts of awe and glee for the jeepney more of a mockery to our state of existence than a compliment to our ingenuity. (And ingenuity, please! The jeepney hasn't evolved much since the war!)

I hope they phase this out soon. To start, the government should mandate that those still in the jeepney manufacturing business should cease their productions in the next three years. Considering the jeepney's life expectancy, that would mean PUJs would be gone by 2025. And while that gradually happens, the government should already plan to intensify alternative means of transportation (thus, more trains!)

I seriously can't wait. I dream to see the day that the only jeepneys I'll see will be the ones on display inside museums. Good riddance!

This, my friends, is what Manila is to foreigners.

Secede to Succeed

"Evan is an engineer. He always got straight A's in school and excelled in subjects like math and biology. Evan is usually rejected socially because of his greasy hair and thick glasses. Do you wear glasses?!"

- from "You Can Be Anything! An Anti-Inspirational Guide to Adulthood" by Sarah Montague

In my pursuit for the maximum happiness and human experience, I am slowly accepting (slowly is the key word) that it is nearly impossible to be able to succeed in everything I aim to do.

And it's not just because of my own limitations. The world and circumstances create boundaries that hinder me from doing the best in everything I wish to be. Prejudices and skepticism are boxes that I cannot escape, and whether I convince myself that everything is all in the head, I don't think it's always valid to say that I can fit into different roles in a single lifetime. (Case in point: I don't think I've ever met, or will ever encounter, an ex-pornstar president or a cross-eyed quadriplegic catwalk model.)

Not to discriminate of course. This universe has its share of people who were able to fulfill different characters (like that racer Rael who's now the founder/leader of a UFO religion), but I really believe that those who managed to excel in their fields were the ones who remained focused in a single endeavor. As much as I think this shortchanges me of the experience that I crave for, I'm at the crossroad wherein I'm deciding whether or not I should settle for a single path and be the best in that, or remain stubborn and try to dedicate my life doing everything even if it might eventually mean I cannot gain recognition in those fields.

I think my indecisiveness about this stems from the fact that I still adhere to the concept that nothing is impossible. While the tagline works as a nice inspirational tug-at-the-heart slogan, I have to face the fact that I can't have it all and for every decision I make, I have to make sacrifices and learn to endure the consequences of these choices. It's irritating of course to hit that brick wall of mortality when I'm utterly convinced (in my megalomania) that I can do everything (as I've said, accepting this is a sloooooow process), but really by now, this should help me learn to put my best time, effort, and resources into something that will yield the most benefits.

And by benefits, I do not necessarily refer to money. While I'm no longer as cheeky as before to claim that money is not a factor when it comes to my decision-making (oh those were the young and foolish days which we're never looking back at again), I am still convinced that self-fulfillment remains to be a prime motivator in assessing things. However, I'm re-assessing my definition of self-fulfillment because for some reason I've somehow associated it with immediate gratification. This evidently makes it difficult for me to endure strenuous situations -- clouding my decision-making enough to make me hit the escape button the moment everything becomes too uncomfortable and unsure.

Going back to my previous entry, I should be able to comfortably forget about the uncertainty of the future and trust that perseverance and a burning passion to succeed will be enough to bring me whatever it is I want. I should give myself 20 years to determine if I've actually achieved whatever it is I want to be. Now if I end up being one of those sob stories I've heard too much about, there is always the option to try one more role I've always been fascinated to take: the crazy old hobo who shits on the sidewalk and argues with himself. (So far, I already dress like one and I constantly have batshit crazy debates with myself so I'm not exactly far removed from this future haha)

Tempus Agit

Now is my master. While riding the jeep on the way to work, looking at the passing people hurrying to get to their offices, I realized that I am enslaved by the idea that TODAY might be the only chance I have. I am so engrossed with the fear that constantly thinking/preparing for the future shortchanges me with my experience of now. 

That is likely the reason why I hate waiting. Waiting is always the anticipation of something that hasn't come yet. It's postponing certain decisions in lieu of something grand to come along the way. But in an age of pro-activity and self-empowerment, waiting leaves you powerless in the hands of the unforeseeable future. Of course, while we've arranged the world to comfortably be predictable most of the time, the possibility of a surprising turn of events still lies there somewhere, ready to pounce on you when you least expect it.

Everyone has heard sad stories about people who believed tomorrow offered a better promise than today: that mister who grinds himself to the ground saving up for the future until a sudden accident kills him. Or that lady who pines for her husband who went missing -- staying loyal until the end because she had faith he would show up one day. The poor people who grin and bear the sufferings they endure because they hope that the heavens see their plight and will give them their just rewards, whether in this lifetime or the next. 

While we appeal to probability and hope that there is a bright and better future reserved for us, who knows what the future really holds? All I know is that now is the only tangible thing. The future is a concept that might not even arrive for me. Yes, my senses delude me, my emotions deceive me, but rationality isn't what makes me human. Experiences shape who I am -- and these highs in life that I pursue, while fleeting and ephemeral, are what give me meaning and make my life worthwhile.

HOWEVER, while fear drives me to create the maximum human experience for today, fear also feeds me thoughts of having nothing tomorrow. Thus I am torn apart between the now and the future. I feel like I am St. Anthony in Martin Schongauer's engraving being pulled from all sides by these demons of time. I really should find balance and learn to serve two masters. 

No More Walls, Only Burning Houses

"The only thing that stops you from becoming a champion is yourself." The popular tae kwon do athlete I interviewed awhile ago stressed this message which I found inspiring.

While his statement dripped with testosterone and locker-room psychology, there is a chunk of truth in it. A large factor that stops me from becoming who I want to be is myself. Every time I hesitate, I am likely to suffer the consequences of my hesitation.

In his sport, fear can make or break the battle. The moment you doubt your capabilities, the moment the opponent cracks your confidence, is as good as accepting your defeat. The second you stop believing in yourself is the crucial second you made a choice to lose. It is not the swift blow of a rushing kick straight to your face that spelled your crushing loss but the fact that you lost faith in what YOU could do.

Call it stupid, call it anthropic arrogance. But survival IS arrogance. The law of entropy dictates that everything is doomed to destruction -- gotterdammerung is the fate of the universe. The mere act of trying to survive is a testament of my arrogance against this destruction. Like the gods of Norse myth, I fight a losing battle but I fight it all the same because I refuse to be a victim. I don't want to believe I'm a victim. Despite the randomness of circumstances that shape my decisions and my situation, I would rather fool myself believing that I have a say in all of this than give up and lose heart and wait until I am struck dead.

Yes, it is stupid to believe that the glass is only half-full, that kismet blows us kisses all the time. But we need a lie to make us live. Reality is demoralizing and disheartening; we need a nice fiction for us to march yonder to that sunny hilltop where the blue skies are never-ending. There is an Anais Nin in all of us that screams, "Reality doesn't impress me. I only believe in intoxication, in ecstasy, and when ordinary life shackles me, I escape, one way or another."

A champion goes out there without thought of loss, without provision for defeat. Plan B is for cowards. I give up intellect for something a bit stupid, and that is the stupidity that leads me to victory. I'm running inside that burning house of opportunity tomorrow. The noxious smoke will probably knock me unconscious but I'll never know what's in there unless I get in and risk it.

The Things I Notice During Workdays

There's a container van down our building that plays this kind of music during the afternoon. LOL.

I'm Gonna Be A Great Dancer

If I continue to believe we're all staying afloat in this ocean of circumstance, I have very good reasons to do so.

Right now my head hurts. It's such a quiet night apart from the random tricycle outside the village cruising at this hour. I'm thinking about how long and far I've gone, but I'm not sure if I'm gauging it properly. I guess at 24 I really should know more, but then I'm still besieged with the same nostalgia and the perpetual human discontentment with life.

To be clear, life isn't all that sad or bad. It's just that, I still don't get it. But then again I suppose nobody really gets what life means, so in a way (if being a part of the herd is any consolation at all) I guess it's ok. I shouldn't be entertaining thoughts about the meaning of life at 11:29 P.M. because the night has a way to make it more -- well -- dramatic. Which really isn't the best way to get things going.

Because -- you know -- once emotions get the best of you you get all f**ked up (pardon the word). You start wondering what the hell you're doing stuck in a job when you could be somewhere else. You begin to think if you're wasting your life waking up every morning doing the same things over and over. You get irked by the fact that life is a constant uphill climb to that cliff where the final Spartan kick from the back pushes you to your miserable death. You then suddenly fear for the future and you grow wary of your mortality.

Humanity is circumstantial. And so is everything else. Lives crisscross and intertwine and then separate. Somehow along the way there's always a fork in the road where everybody says goodbye to the people they've grown attached to. Much as I hate it, inevitably, everyone has to bid farewell and it isn't always a Mary Poppins over the rainbow magical exit. Nostalgia and separation anxiety are like fierce lions that rip you apart to shreds, gnawing at your heart.

Do you feel any better about it? No. But you have memories to hang on to, nonetheless. Eventually you'll go on, meet other friends, be happy, then yet again say goodbye. It's a cycle. And the key to self-preservation is to learn that in the end it's only you. Call it selfishness; I call it survival. That's how things are -- learn to deal. Learn to get the most out of everything. Learn to enjoy life as it comes along. The random things. The silly things. The stupid things. Every little happy moment should be seized while they last. They're only good for that particular point in time. Temporary highs have very short shelf lives that's why you should indulge in them while they last.

Life isn't always the best. And it takes a certain degree of insanity to go through it. There are no winners: just people who've learned to dance until the beat stops. So as the song goes, kudos to those who see through the sickness.

(Thank you to the people who've danced and who continue to dance with me -- a special shout-out to Master Che Caparas. You just wait, I'm gonna be a great dancer!)

What's So Wrong With Being Happy? Kudos To Those Who See Through The Sickness.

"Floating in this cosmic jacuzzi
we are like frogs oblivious to the
water starting to boil.
No one flinches, we all float face down."

- "Warning", Incubus

Sturm und Drang

Do not – I repeat, do not – tell me that it is my fault. There’s a speck of dust in my eye, I’m not crying – it’s just a speck of dust – this speck of dust called history, called memories you blew my way, I can’t seem to wipe it, I’m trying, it’s stuck, I don’t want to let go. I am ancient like that, a living fossil, stubborn and unmoving, time is the tide that washes me away fragment by fragment, soul and body, defeated but proud but defeated still, clinging to the fabric slowly unweaving, all that was is gone, and you go and I stay and I say goodbye standing atop a hill waving for you to come back but you disappear like a thread in the eye of a needle, you’ve moved on, they’ve moved on, everyone has moved on. The wind has blown, the ship has set, the ocean becomes blue beyond the curve of the horizon where a sunset turns the world aflame. The earth turns. The universe expands, and stretches into the nether-regions but I am here at the middle waiting for everything to collapse and come rushing back to where it once were, in my arms where we will all find the calm after this storm.