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.

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.

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)

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.

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!)

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.