the revelations of an inconspicuous mind

Christmas and Broken Marriages

2011-12-13T09:46:00.003+08:00

Twelve more days to go before Christmas. While Uyanguren Street is packed with shoppers, sidewalk vendors and jeepneys, my mind travels to a far distant thought about broken marriages.

Yesterday, I came across a real-life story from a female voice in the phone looking for her husband who happens to be my office mate. Unfortunately, she just missed him as he left ten minutes ago. I told her to try calling again later but she said it's no use to waste another long distance call.

Nothing's new, she said, because even if he was present, still she wouldn't get any chance of talking to him. The guy has left her and their two kids three years ago without any word until she finally found him in Facebook where she also got our phone number.

Then, she continued telling her story... All she wanted was financial support from her kids' father and nothing else. Her income from teaching in high school is not enough. "Kabalo ko naa na siyay laing gibalay nga pamilya diha. Paluoy-luoy lang na siya og dagway pero daghan kaayo nag babae (I know he's been living with another family there. He only appears meek but he is a womanizer.)," she told me.

And, then she said that the guy wouldn't have gotten his college degree if not with her financial assistance when they were still classmates back then.

At first, I tried to interrupt her by saying that I will tell the guy that she called. But she said, "Don't bother. He will just scold you just like he scolded me for calling the last time I was able to speak to him."

She asked if our company's big boss can be reached anytime because she decided to raise their issue to some legal matters.

So, what I did was to let her pour her heart out to a perfect stranger... There's nothing more pathetic than listening to her and knowing that I couldn't do anything to help alleviate her situation. Let alone empathy.

Until words and cry were hard to distinguish. Then, a wail followed and she ended the call by saying goodbye...

I only prayed that the call served its purpose; that it wasn't another wasted long distance call.

Meanwhile, this morning, I had a chitchat with a former workmate who was recently fired for some violations of the company's policies. We didn't talk much about it though, but about his wife and daughter leaving their house to save a bit of her dignity.

He told me that they left not only upon knowing that he is already jobless, but because they broke up. She finally found out about the other woman. Thanks or no thanks to the text message.

What she didn't know yet is that the other woman is pregnant and the guy sleeps with her during the nights he wasn't home. He told me, he's going to tell her sooner or later when he'll find a job. Not now, when it's Christmas, and he has nothing else left but the tiny life inside the other's womb waiting to see the life preset for him or her.

Sometimes, Christmas and marriages lose their meanings at the same and in the same manner. Good thing new year will come right after a couple of weeks. And, let's wait to see the difference.

Merry Christmas to all!

Impulse

2011-10-05T16:15:00.006+08:00

Impulse is defined by Merriam-Webster as "a force so communicated as to produce motion suddenly." Some say that acting by impulse or being impulsive is a weakness. Oftentimes, this is true in my case as I had a lot of "not so good" decisions made out of impulse.

(By the way, I don't want to call them "wrong" decisions because we can't categorize decisions as either right or wrong. I prefer calling those that brought out favorable consequences as "sound" decisions.)

For one, after turning down an invitation, I said YES upon learning that the person concerned was disappointed by my initial reply. But, then as circumstances gradually unfolded while the date was fast approaching, I realized it was not for me to decide. And, so I turned it down again for the last time.

This post was supposed to be about the invitation and how important the event would have been for me, if only I were to decide without considering its unfavorable consequences. Well then, that surely would not be a "sound" decision.

But, because it took me for awhile to continue writing this post, I came to reflect about something else. (I guess, something more important than saying YES to that invitation.)

It is about my impulsive decision to open up myself to somebody whom I first met online. (Not Facebook. It was from another social networking site; something uniquely designed for special purposes. But, not porn sites! My ghad!)

This time,the first statement about impulse is not quite true. I don't think it was a weakness to decide right away to befriend a guy who got me by his first "good evening" with a smiling emoticon. I didn't mind what made me felt warmth and comfort as we continued chatting. And, although a portion of my mind entertained a possibility of a hoax (which is not new to me anymore), I continued our conversation with intensifying interest as I became more curious about him.

Maybe, some may call this serendipity. I like this word. But, as of now, I'm letting things happen naturally, without schemes (as my Libra friend used to do with me, "scheming" as he'd like to be regarded as "schemer")... I don't want to play games anymore. This new virtual friend appears to be true and honest compared to Mr. Schemer.

Oh, I don't want to spoil this post with much about the schemer, or the Libra friend. Let me just leave it hanging here; My story about a man I prefer to call "Chinito"... C'est la vie!

October

2011-10-04T09:49:00.004+08:00

While on his cigarette break from a regular drinking session with his male friends last night, he told me, he hated October. He didn't tell me why. I didn't bother to ask although I probed a bit that it might be because his birthday will be three days from now. He said he's not that big birthday guy or something. He just wanted to let it pass like an ordinary day. But, I bet he will still have more drinks than during his regular tipsy nights.

This guy is a poor thing. I didn't know he's a drunkard. He drinks alcohol almost every night. I can't stand such habit, or addiction, I suppose. But, in spite of that, the song Scientist by Cold Play is still playing in my head. Someday, the playing will stop once I will decide to finally bump my head on a wall or trunk.

Anyway, whatever his reasons for telling me that he hates October so much, I told him, try not to. And, having come across a poem of Robert Frost, I dedicate this to him. I wish he would write something about why he does hate this month.

October

by Robert Frost

O hushed October morning mild,
Thy leaves have ripened to the fall;
Tomorrow's wind, if it be wild,
Should waste them all.
The crows above the forest call;
Tomorrow they may form and go.
O hushed October morning mild,
Begin the hours of this day slow.
Make the day seem to us less brief.
Hearts not averse to being beguiled,
Beguile us in the way you know.
Release one leaf at break of day;
At noon release another leaf;
One from our trees, one far away.
Retard the sun with gentle mist;
Enchant the land with amethyst.
Slow, slow!
For the grapes' sake, if they were all,
Whose leaves already are burnt with frost,
Whose clustered fruit must else be lost--
For the grapes' sake along the wall.

Apples

2011-10-03T08:57:00.005+08:00

When I said "things happen for a reason", I meant that there is really no such thing as coincidence. I'd rather believe that there is something or someone stronger and more powerful than we could imagine like a force or the universe conspiring for a condition to set before our eyes.

It was last Saturday night, or was it Sunday dawn when I encountered someone from high school. In spite of intoxication, we were able to manage a serious conversation like a brief time travel to our common past, our high school life. He was my batch mate who used to copy my notes and even answers during quizzes. He admitted that he couldn't forget about it.

I learned that he is already a policeman, trying to make ends meet after his live-in partner left him for London, with their son whom his mother is taking charge now. He said the girl hasn't spared anything not even for the kid. He barely can survive with P4,000 a month, a salary too small for an SPO1, but it's only what is left for him after all loan deductions. Yes, he had acquired loans when he was still living with the girl to capitalize a lending business only to end up bankrupt.

He was a pathetic man, I sympathized him. But, however depressingly he related his story to me, I can see hope in his eyes, in his voice. He asked me if I could still remember the bookmark I gave him during high school.

I recalled I used to make bookmarks painted with pictures using watercolor representing a saying or slogan I wrote on it. The one I gave him, he recalled, says "Don't put all your apples in one basket."

It's only that moment that I was able to recall who I was before. That I was this intelligent girl, with lots of friends, and sweet enough to give them bookmarks. And, I got these philosophies in life I shared to them written on those pretty little handcrafts.

He said, he followed what I wrote on the bookmark, to never put all his hopes in one pursuit. That's why he continues to struggle despite the trials and defeats.

Going back to the core of this, meeting him that night was not a coincidence after all. It was supposed to happen in time, that very moment. He became an instrument to remind me of who I was, and how I used to hold on to some philosophies that I should be using for myself these times.

He was a message. God knows what I've been going through. Each day is a chance for me to continue struggling or to give up the person I chose to love. Maybe, God is telling me to remind myself of the apples. Maybe, the message is that I will not spend all my present moments dedicating my thoughts to this one person, whom I don't know if he really cares for me; I don't know if he also thinks of me especially at times when we're not together, not even getting any message from him.

After that brief moment with my long lost batch mate, I figured how many apples I still have. And, I've been thinking to gather more baskets for them.

Writing workshop

2011-09-30T16:49:00.003+08:00

At last, I am one of the fellows of the Davao Writers Workshop 2011 come October! It's been last year since I aimed to be part in a writing workshop since my last which was a long time ago, in 2001.

I'm hopeful to meet the other fellows and learn not only from their style of writing but from their own stories about life, love and relationships. It will be my chance to peek into their minds and see how we maybe different or similar in so many ways we could afford to open up during the entire period of workshop.

I only have this dilemma though. It's going to eat up almost my entire working week. I only wish my application for leave will be granted, or else, something has to give.

I realized today that there's so much one can do about his or her life. If only one would seek deep into his or her soul, one can bring out and inflame a desire until it burns into a passion that will eventually define one's personality. No one can stop anyone to express what he or she is supposed to be.

I'm biting a pen while fingers are crossed.

Rewind

2011-09-29T12:38:00.003+08:00

If only life is like a movie played in front of us, we could push the rewind button to undo the things we did in the past. But, I'm too big to daydream about that. However we call it, "turn back time", "undo", "rewind", "make up", there's only one thing certain--- we want a chance.

So, this post could also be entitled as "Chance" for I will be talking about asking and getting a chance to make things right, to rewind...

Yesterday, I realized that I haven't written about him. That my blog, nor my notes have not mentioned any of him although he had been the subject of my poetry since then. Maybe, the reason why I changed the layout and design of this blog is because I want to start again. I want to write again not only when I'm depressed or heartbroken, but when I'm happy given this chance to be with him a little bit longer.

Having this chance is not only a chance for me to make it up with him, with all my shortcomings, lack of patience, and limitations such as my ability to understand. This chance is also for myself to create a clear path of who I want to be and what will I become after being honest with what I really want.

I'm glad he started his own blog Omertà , I always wanted him to write. But, honestly, his first post was quite embittering, and I was devastated... Yet, I still wish to read about his thoughts, ideas, opinions that he might not be able to share to me when we get a chance to talk.

Likewise, from now on, I'd like him to make this sanctuary of mine to be his window to my thoughts, as I always wanted him to see me more deeply, more than what his eyes can see...

Nothing to write about me

2011-09-28T08:47:00.003+08:00

This morning isn't so great. I read a note from the person I tried to keep as a friend. Yes, only as a friend as he wanted us to be. (Well, I can't push too far from that. He already rejected me to the nth time.) The note says he always wanted to write something about me, and then later realized there was nothing he could write about me after the changes.

That felt like a solid blow in my chest! My eyes labored like stopping a dam to break. But, I was able to manage my sanity by applying what Sabum Nim Jun taught us---control of breathing.

I didn't ask him to write about me anyway; I didn't ask him to be a writer or even try to become one. But, he just did. He had just written a note about me. And, it's amazing how he was able to talk about me and us in a manner that made his writing effective as it piqued me impeccably.

Whatever the reason why I met this person, loved and hated fashionably at the same time, I only wish that we had more time. Like an essay writing exam, we had just started the introductory paragraph when the bell rang. Then, the teacher said, "Pass your paper, finished or not finished."

I'm only keeping my humor to minimize the pain. In the meantime, let me stay in this sanctuary until I recuperate.

Perhaps My Last Poetry

2011-09-27T14:57:00.003+08:00

Sometimes, a river is not

enough

to water the seed we planted;

Sometimes, the sun is not

enough

to burn the fire we started;

Sometimes, the mountains are not

enough

to add weight to the "thing" we chose to carry,
which oftentimes we call relationship;

Sometimes, poetry is not

enough

to make a good love story;

Sometimes, I can never be

enough

for the one I chose to

love

and always end up

sorry;

But, I want you to know my

love

that you were always

enough

for me to live each day

happy.

Ocean and the Shore

2011-08-01T11:48:00.002+08:00

The ocean ceases to be
what it had been for
the waiting shore---
A light years gap between
her and the hazy terrain
from afar, where
an unlaunched boat lingered,
like her, waiting;
Indifferent to her longing
that one day, its waves
will not just come and go...

The ocean ceases to be
what it had been for the cynical shore;
Now, it cradles the boat
that unleashed itself from
its deep anchor.
And, the waves still
come to the shore,
but, only to bring her
when they go with the boat...
In a journey to the abyss
where everything is unknown
except love.

-- Lorie

Random poetry

2011-07-11T09:15:00.002+08:00

These are a few quotes I received recently from a Capricorn friend.

What a chase of spins this thought with two hearts holding hands through us on the moonlit evenings and the mornings when city and sea take shape from dark while the nightingale sings.
11.07.2011 2:18AM

The vain beauty cares most for the conquest which employed the whole artillery of her charms.
10.07.2011 11:06PM

Beautiful may be the lies from the deceiver's lips, but when revelation descends with full force, his grossness is undraped.
06.07.2011 1:42PM

Feeling is deep and still; and the word that floats on the surface is as the tossing buoy that betrays where the anchor is hidden.
03.07.2011 3:43AM

Fallen leaf

2011-05-04T15:05:00.004+08:00

I had just been dumped yesterday. I'm still a bit intoxicated not by inebration (or herbal high), but by compunction that has chagrined me since the day my heart was broken. I have been drifting mindlessly with the wind like a weightless leaf fallen from an old tree.

My head is a dam of thoughts waiting to be released freely through the river until they reach the ocean, where I guess my love has drowned me. Sometimes, ocean speaks of death, a silent one.

In the meantime, I'll let Pablo Neruda express my feelings with his poem, If you forget me...

I want you to know
one thing.

You know how this is:
if I look
at the crystal moon, at the red branch
of the slow autumn at my window,
if I touch
near the fire
the impalpable ash
or the wrinkled body of the log,
everything carries me to you,
as if everything that exists,
aromas, light, metals,
were little boats
that sail
toward those isles of yours that wait for me.

Well, now,
if little by little you stop loving me
I shall stop loving you little by little.

If suddenly
you forget me
do not look for me,
for I shall already have forgotten you.

If you think it long and mad,
the wind of banners
that passes through my life,
and you decide
to leave me at the shore
of the heart where I have roots,
remember
that on that day,
at that hour,
I shall lift my arms
and my roots will set off
to seek another land.

But
if each day,
each hour,
you feel that you are destined for me
with implacable sweetness,
if each day a flower
climbs up to your lips to seek me,
ah my love, ah my own,
in me all that fire is repeated,
in me nothing is extinguished or forgotten,
my love feeds on your love, beloved,
and as long as you live it will be in your arms
without leaving mine...

--Pablo Neruda

Thinking about P.N.

2011-02-15T21:56:00.004+08:00

Oh not again. I don't know why I'm thinking about Pablo Neruda again... I'd rather post his piece here.

If You Forget Me

I want you to know
one thing.

You know how this is:
if I look
at the crystal moon, at the red branch
of the slow autumn at my window,
if I touch
near the fire
the impalpable ash
or the wrinkled body of the log,
everything carries me to you,
as if everything that exists,
aromas, light, metals,
were little boats
that sail
toward those isles of yours that wait for me.

Well, now,
if little by little you stop loving me
I shall stop loving you little by little.

If suddenly
you forget me
do not look for me,
for I shall already have forgotten you.

If you think it long and mad,
the wind of banners
that passes through my life,
and you decide
to leave me at the shore
of the heart where I have roots,
remember
that on that day,
at that hour,
I shall lift my arms
and my roots will set off
to seek another land.

But
if each day,
each hour,
you feel that you are destined for me
with implacable sweetness,
if each day a flower
climbs up to your lips to seek me,
ah my love, ah my own,
in me all that fire is repeated,
in me nothing is extinguished or forgotten,
my love feeds on your love, beloved,
and as long as you live it will be in your arms
without leaving mine.

Pablo Neruda

And, I'm glad you didn't forget me...

Cat's Dream

2011-01-27T14:04:00.002+08:00

How neatly a cat sleeps,
sleeps with its paws and its posture,
sleeps with its wicked claws,
and with its unfeeling blood,
sleeps with all the rings–
a series of burnt circles–
which have formed the odd geology
of its sand-colored tail.

I should like to sleep like a cat,
with all the fur of time,
with a tongue rough as flint,
with the dry sex of fire;
and after speaking to no one,
stretch myself over the world,
over roofs and landscapes,
with a passionate desire
to hunt the rats in my dreams.

I have seen how the cat asleep
would undulate, how the night
flowed through it like dark water;
and at times, it was going to fall
or possibly plunge into
the bare deserted snowdrifts.
Sometimes it grew so much in sleep
like a tiger’s great-grandfather,
and would leap in the darkness over
rooftops, clouds and volcanoes.

Sleep, sleep cat of the night,
with episcopal ceremony
and your stone-carved moustache.
Take care of all our dreams;
control the obscurity
of our slumbering prowess
with your relentless heart
and the great ruff of your tail

by P.N.

Only when I write

2011-01-20T16:49:00.002+08:00

Like right at this moment, finally done with four stories (my quota for this week).

It's only when I write that I feel like my life has a sort of meaning. (Grin) I'm pretty much sure that I'm not really expert on this skill, but this is the only thing I know I can do right.

Like what I always say, "It's only in writing that one can be exact." In writing, I can still delete an idea, add something that just came up, control the number of words I have to say, and even forget about the entire idea that I tried to compose.

In writing, I can take all the time in the world, as long as I know I still have enough before the deadline. And, in writing, I can have a conversation with myself without opening my mouth, like a schizophrenic.

In trying to write a story, whether something that happened in my past, or somebody's that I witnessed, or something that I totally made up for the sake of immortalizing my fantasies or imaginations, I feel like a writer. And,it's where my dream of becoming an author begins, when I feel like a writer and behave like one.

And, only in a moment like this, when I'm done with my quota and submitted them to the editor, that I feel like I'm working, and deserved remuneration. Huh! Life is good!

You're still normal!

2011-01-12T18:01:00.006+08:00

One day in a breakfast meeting with my co-author, who is the owner of several business establishments here in the city, I spoke about a predicament preoccupying me lately.

Should I be thinking about how to make more money than how much I'm earning now? Am I already too old to plan about my career which is synonymous to income, considering that business plan or career path will cover 10-15 years?

Then, he told me, "You're still normal."

He said if I would receive a million right then and there, I might be ruined.

True enough, I don't know what to do with such big amount of money!

Let nature take its course. We all dream of a good life and need more money than what we have. But it doesn't mean that's what we want right at this moment. Good life is relative. What is good life for you, anyway? For money is but a by-product of our so-called success or should we call it fulfillment.

If one dares to venture overseas for a huge sum even without an inkling of his or her job and life there, he or she may not linger especially upon reaching at the (big word) CROSSROADS.

One must be prepared whatever risk he or she may take whether in search for a greener pasture or for a meaning or purpose of one's existence.

I finished my breakfast not only with a full stomach, but a full heart and clear mind. Maybe, we all need even a single breakfast with a friend or someone who's not akin to us, to destroy some cobwebs in our minds.

Only to be reminded that amid pressures and anxieties, we are still normal. Live life each day!

(reveal your thoughts to me at lorie.cascaro@gmail.com)

Moving on

2010-08-13T12:47:00.002+08:00

It's time to do the real thing now that you already know what you really really want to do for the rest of your life.

Just wake up early, read and read, write and write, laugh and laugh, run, swim, climb and bike, then get enough sleep.

Experience life today!

Fairy tale as it is

2010-04-04T00:48:00.004+08:00

They said fairy tales are for children. They believe in them but when they grow up, they started to discover reality.
I'd never believed in fairy tale even when I was a child. But, it just dawned on me that if I were to choose to believe like a child again, I would believe in fairy tale. After meeting once again someone from a long lost childhood, I decided to keep that child in me.

But then, reality never fails to slap my face! Fairy tale is just as it is... If you want to avoid nervous breakdown then keep your feet on the ground and GROW UP! So as part of being sane and appearing to be mature, I suddenly summed up everything there is in a song.

Fairy Tale

It seems what I believe is not true.
There's really no "Me and You".
It's nothing more than just a dream.
No amount of hope could make it real.

Maybe the chance came too late.
Everything's in place. We can't change fate.
Meeting you is not a chance at all.
It's just to see how high my hopes fall.

Let me swim into your thoughts.
Let me stay there for awhile.
Let me hold your hand to feel your soul in me.
Let me keep this fairy tale in my memory.

Sometimes I'd like to think
that we could make North and South meet;
we could swim through the ocean;
we could walk through the clouds.

Sometimes I'd like to believe
that you're the prince in my dreams;
that what I believe is true;
certainly, it's me and you.

Let me swim into your thoughts.
Let me stay there for awhile.
Let me hold your hand to feel your soul in me.
Let me keep this fairy tale in my memory.
Let me keep this fairy tale in my memory.
Let me keep this fairy tale in my memory...

Maggots in my mind

2010-03-07T13:08:00.003+08:00

Leave as much as you want to stay
Eat up all my preoccupation until nothing's left
As you take my brain, include my heart.
Race through my lungs until I stop breathing.
Seep through my veins until every strand is blue.
Clog my heart until it stops beating.

Leave as much as I want you to stay
Take away all of you that's left
in my heart, in my mind.

As you decide to leave, leave me a scar
like the tattoo on my calf.
Leave it black, black as my lungs.
As you leave, leave at once.
Never leave a couple of squirming worms
in my veins...

Because it doesn't matter now
If nothing's left as you leave.
A single memory that you've been here
is enough souvenir
like the tattoo on my calf
forever embedded in my skin.

Half-time

2010-02-14T22:10:00.004+08:00

It's been awhile since I haven't thought of spending some time for myself. I guess, I need to go out and bathe under the sunshine (the hell with El Niño!). All of us need a break from all the routines and hectic schedules.

I just want to swim! I want to feel the embrace of the sea once again. I want to feel the sand on my soles and the warm breeze on my skin. I miss doing these things! This is a great therapy to my soul.

Taking such time for oneself is also a chance to transcend from situations.
Some call it the "half-time" like in the basketball game. This is a wonderful time to search for meaning of one's existence. It's the moment to clarify one's goals and strengthen the commitment to pursue and actualize these goals.

I badly need my half-time! See you there!

Alon at Dalampasigan

2010-01-08T14:02:00.001+08:00

Alon kang dumampi
sa pisngi ng dalampasigan ko.
Ang dagat na naghatid sa'yo
Ay s'ya ring susundo
sa paglisan mo.

Kasing saglit nang isang nakaw na halik
ang iyong pagdating at pag-alis...

Hinding-hindi kita sisisihin
sa pagguho ng kastilyong buhangin,
sa pagbulahaw sa tahimik na sa kaibuturan
ko'y humihimbing...
nang ika'y dumating.

Huwag mo rin sana akong sisisihin
kung sa paglisan mo'y iyong tatangayin
mumunting bato, sabay sa kumpas ng hangin.
Tila mga kamay na ayaw nang bumitaw
habang ikaw nama'y sa malayo nakatanaw.

Ganunpaman,
ikaw pa rin ay lilisan.
Subalit, hindi kita sisisihin dahil ika'y alon
at ako'y dalampasigan...

Sisisihin ko ang buwan
Tanging ang buwan lamang.

Before Christmas

2009-12-09T10:51:00.005+08:00

Because of the prevalent concept of consumerism during Christmas season, people tend to forget one significant World event of the year. We are supposed to commemorate the International Human Rights Day on December 10, 2009, fifteen (15) days before Christmas day.

Honoring one's human right is greater than any Christmas gift. The basic rights for a decent shelter, clean and nutritious food, and a job to sustain a living. Even if our times do not blatantly portray the vileness of a violent regime, they are but continuation of the perennial plight of the poor people. No one of power and control of the nation's wealth dares to become Santa Claus to these unfortunates, underprivileged.

International Human Rights Day is celebrated before Christmas for us to realize that the spirit of Yuletide season is empty if we remain indifferent to the calls of our fellow men.

Join the march of about 5,000 Filipino laborers, students, professionals, women, Moro and Lumad people, church, and employers of public and private offices in Davao City on December 10, 2009.They will be chanting to call for justice of all the victims of human rights violations under the Arroyo administration.

(For details of the event, email me @ lcascaro@yahoo.com.)

Smoking is Healthy?

2009-11-24T09:50:00.009+08:00

I come across this website which, unlike other advocates against smoking, introduces an idea that smoking is "healthy." Unusual, huh? Try to look at these.

Prevents Cancer?
Several studies had proven that almost a hundred percent of the causes of lung cancer is accounted for smoking. The risk for women to suffer from this including other respiratory diseases are a dozen times more than a normal person who doesn't smoke. However, there was this study which shows that smoking can lessen upto fifty percent of women's risk to develop cancer in the breast. Some medical practitioners disclaim that smoking is really the main reason why people get cancer, first or second hand smoke.

More smoke, less cancer?
It has been mentioned that "smoking kills" is a particular proganda which just came too suddenly in the era of civilization. Going back to the ancient times when our ancestors were puffing smoke from some dried leaves rolled inside another kind of leaf, the word "cancer" was not yet formulated. Some elders would say that as the world gradually become modernized, more and more diseases emerged along with this modernization.

True enough that cancer is disease not only triggered by smoking. But, as to the question whether or not smoking is healthy, I'm not here to give a correct answer. Some smokers live longer than those who did not smoke. Some said our elders live longer than the new generation even if smoking had already been part of their lifestyle (but in a primitive way). I say, if you're concerned about living a healthy life in this too much polluted, GMO outnumbered and UV rays infiltrated planet, then you should know your own body. There's no other expert evaluator of everything you introduce into your body but yourself.

(Reveal your comments to lcascaro@yahoo.com)

Spagcrazy!

2009-11-19T16:08:00.003+08:00

I have no time to expatiate why I love spaghetti and that I started going crazy about it since my first taste of such red-sauced pasta! I just want to have a plate of spaghetti this weekend! That's all! As yummy as this!

If you know a place that has the world's most delicious pasta, kindly tell me at lcascaro@yahoo.com! Bon appétit!

Of Death and Graveyard

2009-11-01T20:25:00.017+08:00

I just came back from a cemetery in the northern part of the city. It was my first time to visit such place. It's neither a good experience nor a bad one.

A wide LCD screen welcomed the visitors by showing "Pacman's" recent fights. I wondered if I were in a feast or something.

What amused me is the carnival just beside the cemetery. I saw a ferris wheel, tents of Ukay-ukay (rummage sale) and all sorts of gimmick to allure the visiting relatives and friends. Then there's a pack of vendors of flowers, candles, peanuts, ice cream, accessories, and kakanin (native delicacies). There were bigger tents of an aspiring president and a mayor for some volunteers for rescue and whatever stuff they could provide for the public.

The air was redolent of burning incense... But, what I heard from the graves were the loud noises of people from merry rides.

It is the typical poor man's grave. There are no exclusive gates and tombs are like shanties in squatters' area. Distance between each tomb is barely a meter. There's this thing they call "appartment" which has three levels of piled up tombs if the family of the deceased could not afford a grave lot.

While looking for the tomb of my demised uncle, my mother spoke to me without any expectation for a good conversation. She asked me if she were dead and buried in some place, would any one care to visit her or be as unfortunate as those unattended tombs we passed by.

I just gave her a smirk. "What a question?!" I told myself. But, then, this thought chagrined me for awhile until we came home.

Death is inevitable and being buried in some graveyard is part of it. But, visiting a tomb of a person you're once with is a tradition. It occurred to me that this special visitation is not for the dead ones at all but for those who visit. By visiting and saying prayers for those who left them, they feel at ease. They imagine a reunion with the dead at the last spot where they know the lifeless body went. That is why even if the cemetery is as inconvenient as that one, they still spend time for awhile.

But, I really swore not to go back to such kind of place on all saints or all souls day again.

The soul of the dead could be somewhere else joining the elements in the universe. So, anywhere I may be, I can whispher a prayer for and spare a moment to think of that person. I'm not saying this as an answer to my mother's question. Graveyard is still a holy place for me. I just expected it to be solemn and serene place to meditate and reflect for your deceased love ones.

If my graveyard were as a carnival-like as that one we visited, I'd rather be cremated and blown to the sea. I'd ask my family and special someone to go the beach and experience the breeze while thinking of me.

I pray for peace of all the souls who are now free from this hellish world.

Reclusion

2009-10-21T16:03:00.002+08:00

If your shadow is not cast
on my doorstep tonight,
If your eyes do not meet
mine tonight,
if your palms do not touch
mine tonight,
if your breathing is not
near my ear tonight...

then, tonight is not ours.

as the light slowly envelops the night,
and so our mystery ends...

Harder as it gets

2009-10-20T17:15:00.004+08:00

In one of the episodes in the first season of Felicity, Felicity Porter (Keri Russell) said "Relationships are hard. They just are..."

This holds true in all relationships. Regardless of race, color, religion and whatever human aspects. There's the thing Descartes calls, Dialectics of relationship. Just when you say there is good, then there is evil. In every thesis, there's anti-thesis. That's dialectics. Two opposites clash but they need each other.

Baxter and Montgomery state that in a relationship there are dialectics that are inevitable.

1. Connectedness and Separatedness
You have this urge to be together most of your time but at the same time, you also want to have some space.

2. Certainty and Uncertainty
Being spontaneous in the relationship makes it more exciting. But, too much spontaneity could also lose the trust. You may think your relationship is getting nowhere.

3. Openness and Closedness
You want your partner to know everything about yourself because you already belong to each other. But, you are scared to tell him or her just about everything in your mind because it may be the reason of your break up because your partner didn't like what you said.

These contradictions rule every close relationship here on Earth. What can you do about it?

Balance. It's easy to spell but really hard to do. Most couples who were not able to do this thing did not actually make it. Some committed themselves through life time but are still struggling. Some divorced, others left. But there are also some who were still there until the other half's death. Who knows if they still had kept the fire burning all through their years together. but the thing is, they were able to struggle and stay.

I'm actually writing this to convince myself. I keep on telling myself the line I mentioned earlier. And, I say, "it's harder as your bond gets stronger and deeper." Sail on and prevail!

Hunches

2009-10-16T11:23:00.005+08:00

It occurred to me just yesterday that some of my hunches really were true.

Hunch no. 1:

Corina Sanchez-Mar Roxas wedding is a political tactic for Mar's candidacy for presidency.

What happened when Mar suddenly declared his giving way for Noynoy and run as Vice-President instead?

No more cheeeezzzzyyyy features in showbiz news about the engaged couple.

Hunch no. 2:

The public was just overwhelmed to cry for Noynoy's presidency in 2010 because of Cory's death.

I've been receiving anonymous text messages everyday about how much property does Noynoy's family have, jokes about job generation plans of Noynoy if he were the president --- the companies that will be present in job fairs will be of his family's businesses.

I never disliked the late Cory Aquino for being the kind of president that nobody ever mentioned in the media since her demise. Maybe it was because only few of us have really learned Philippine history. Or that the book we used in our history class was not really telling the truth or somehow was using a different perspective. It must be a perspective to promote and preserve the mask-reputation of the personalities. Well, in fact, history for most of us is just about dates and people.

Nevertheless, if it were all about people, heroes or idiots, nothing so real had been revealed. People deserve to know the real accounts of the events in the past to learn from them and use their lessons for the betterment of the future which eventually become a new history.

There are only a few things that I know about Cory and the Cojuangcos, which prove that I'm not also a diligent student in my History class.

1. The Cojuangco's owned the Hacienda Luisita. It was the sugar plantation where hundreds of tenants were killed by gunshots when they protested against the injustices they experienced at work. That place was once a blood pool of the toilers of the Cojuangco's land.

2. The Comprehensive Agragrian Reform Program (CARP) was approved during the term of Cory. Before its extension just recently approved during the 14th Congress in the HOuse of Representatives, thousands of farmers marched towards the gates of Batasan calling for a genuine land reform program, because for 20 years, CARP had been a big bogus reform which Cory made for the Filipinos to believe on. The truth is Hacienda Luisita and all other land that her clan owned had never been subjected to CARP. It must have been crafted so cunningly!

I'd like to extend this enumeration up to 5 or more. But, I guess, I'm not just "not good" in History but also in memory as well.

Going back to the hunch thing, those anonymous text messages and satirical jokes are not just black propaganda. They must have some bases aside from the two things I mentioned here.

I haven't decided who to vote in 2010 elections. I'm still thinking who is the lesser evil of all the candidates. But, even if he or she is the least evil of all, I still won't vote for anyone. Only those who could walk what they talk during the campaign period deserve my vote.

In the last three elections that I was able to exercise this "democratic" process, only one candidate had my vote. The partylist -- one that genuinely represents a marginalized sector and not like that of Palparan's.

One last hunch:
Noynoy will endorse Mar to run instead of him. Chismis!

What are birthdays for anyway?

2009-09-15T21:34:00.006+08:00

Does my title sound so bitter? Heh... I hope not. I was just caught by this moment of reflection. I guess what has really brought me in to this is the clinging sentimentalism and romanticism passed on by our parents, grandparents, great grandparents and so on. You see, my mom had always taken me to a studio for my birthday picture since I was one year old. It lasted until I was seven. I used to have a children's party with my cousins and friends in the neighborhood. My birthday would not be complete without the blowing of candles on my birthday cake and receiving gifts from relatives. Well, those were the birthdays I had until I was seven years old.

Since then, I lost most of my birthday memories. I can't remember when was the year when I had dinner with my family in a Chinese restaurant, or when I just had a lot of drinks with friends. I can't even remember how I celebrated it last year, or did I?

But, there was one birthday that I couldn't forget. It was in the year 2000 when I celebrated it away from home, not even with my closest friends, but with the people I started to live with in some remote area in the island. That was when I chose to spend a few months with the peasants. They were good people. I lived with them, ate with them and even took a bath with them beside the flowing cold spring in the village. They slaughtered their native chicken for me, offered a lot of yellow bananas from their farm, and cooked the maja blanca with the ingredients sent by my parents from the city.

I just turned 17 years old at that time. That's the only birthday that remains so vivid in my memory. A celebration which had given me so much meaning to my existence and defined me as a wonderful human being.

In the next hour, I'll be officially 26 years old. I've been thinking that birthdays are just for kids. When you're still a kid, you always look forward to your birthdays because you wanted to be a big girl or boy so soon like your older siblings. When you're still a kid, you wanted to grow old sooner than a year so you could do things on your own, without asking permission from mom or asking money from dad.

But when you started to age like 25 or 26 (like me), you started to deliberately forget about your birthday. You wanted to stop aging and be like or look like a child again. When a new acquaintance asked me about my age, I asked them back what they think. Most of them said, I look like 19, 20, someone even said 16. I know most of them have similar answers because I have this conscious effort to look younger by staying cheerful and youthful.

I'm evasive in a way to tenaciously deny my true age. Unconsciously (of which now I'm conscious about), I deny this growing old because I don't think I have grown up. By coming out young, feeling young, I create my elusive world of less responsibilities. It's not that I hate responsibilities or that I don't want to be responsible enough. I just don't think I'm able to fight procrastination to move on and face the challenges of growing up or being mature in that sense.

I think that's the story behind all this "bitterness" on birthday. That's how I started to be practical and non-sentimental about it. I don't even celebrate it anymore nor ask for something special to happen to make it memorable just like owning a balloon that my parents bought from church after lighting some candles for a prayer.

It just dawned on me that I should still give this birthday some sentimental value especially that I've already passed a quarter of a hundred lifetime (or that I have 4 or 5 years left to complete the numbers in the calendar). I feel like shaking and chiding to myself: "Hey, don't you get it? You're already 26! Grow up! Make a life! Make a person out of yourself!"

I'd like to have a toast for that tomorrow! Happy Birthday to me!

Monetize

2009-08-26T23:13:00.004+08:00

I was in the mood to customize the look of this blog when I noticed the MONETIZE tab next to layout. With a bit of compunction whether or not this will surely give me money, I tried it. Because I had seen almost everyone's blog has it, I followed the instructions and enabled third party cookies and java scripting. And, then I signed up for adsense account.

So, there I have it --- "Ads by google!" I hope I'm making sense (cents) here.

Procrastination

2009-08-24T22:54:00.004+08:00

It's been three months since I came home.

Although it brings me back to the people I love, coming home is not actually a relief. In fact, it has given me a clearer picture of a life that I should have been ready to face and struggle through five or six years ago.

Going back home is facing the things I had evaded. Top of the list is financial responsibility. Being the eldest offspring gives me an automatic conscience to be aware of the needs of my family and to assume some vital tasks when my parents could no longer provide.

Things of this sort have preoccupied my mind since I came home. I would like to take a leap and materialize my plans. I would like to see the person I should be at this age and at this level of experiences.

Unfortunately, I feel that I am stranded. I landed on a wrong ground, not my niche.

I cannot focus and do the things to be done because of tormenting preoccupations. Preoccupations that are full of "What if?", "How to?" and "How I wish!"

I had been too much preoccupied. I didn't realize that I was procrastinating.

"Stay where you are"

2009-06-08T12:04:00.003+08:00

I was reading Jostein Gaarden's "Solitaire Mystery" when I came across this line: "My advice to all those who are going to find themselves is: stay exactly where you are. Otherwise you are in great danger of losing yourself forever." It was Hans Thomas, whose mother left him when he was 4-year old.

When I was back home, what made me immediately decide to experience living away from my hometown was the common line of most undecided fellows: "Finding oneself."

Well, now that I'm here and about to go home, I've been thinking about what Hans Thomas said. And, I am now decided to go home and stay there because it's where I was.

Home

2009-05-24T23:12:00.003+08:00

Joni Mitchell is right again with her "Big Yellow Taxi" that goes "...you don't know what you got till it's gone..."

But, my case is not exactly as pathetic as how this line would like to portray. It's not really too late for me because I suddenly realized the worth of my real home before I might totally lose it.

I just had realized that I was never at home here. I just missed my real home. And, I want to be home.

But, I remain with my stand that "regret" is a bankrupt idea. I never regret leaving my homeland to try a different environment. I somehow learned a thing or two from my experiences here.

First, I learned to deal with people who grew up with a culture apart from the ones in the South. Rubbing elbows with them in jeepneys or buses and being pushed by them in a line at MRT station have somehow taught me to be polite and patient amidst heavy traffic and pollution. But, the best part was being able to accept some outright expressions from people I expected the least.

Second, I learned what I really want. Recalling the reason why I came here in the first place, I reckoned that I needed this "escape" to know what I truly want. Sometimes, we really have to get out of the house to know that it is our home. It's not just the desire to sleep in the coziest place I've known since birth, but also the idea of being with the people I feel as comfortable as being in my family's house.

To stand with my decision is the last thing that I still have to prove. And, it would be so when I will have found myself in the arms of the special persons I have loved all along.

In a short while, I will be home...

Time

2009-03-30T23:31:00.002+08:00

Look at how time flies! It seems so fast!

Things have been slowly filling in their own places as time goes by...

But, even if time has actually taken me into this new place, I still realized that a change of place can't just easily change anyone. Nothing has changed in me.

I'm still the sentimental romantic. I'm still easily obsessed with just anything or anyone and then I still easily forget about the obsession. Once the obsession was satisfied, I eventually succumb back to where I used to stand.

There's only one thing that I could not let go so easily -- the idea of obsession.

Oh my! I just need more sleep, I guess.

And so there are times like now

2009-03-14T19:27:00.003+08:00

It's totally dark outside and I still haven't taken a bath. I've been the usual me in a lazy day. No one to talk with, alone in this tall house and nowhere to go.

I was supposed to watch Watchmen with friends, but I changed my mind. Oh my, my energy must have flown somewhere away from this body. Lethargic is my favorite word at this moment.

Still, Jack Johnson is playing right now, filling this lonesome atmosphere with his cool rhythms. I'm at least a bit fortunate to have something like this to keep my sanity.

In times like this, a lot of things visit my thoughts. For one, my grandmother just passed away earlier today. My mom just told me so. My dad said last night my lola could no longer talk and only the daily antibiotics and oxygen kept her heart beating.

She was 93 years old; had gone much through life. I guess, it's enough span to let go of such opportunity. I just hope she had taken much experiences from her chance. Her parting has been accepted and prepared for by her children. They had let her go not only because they were financially incapable to maintain her medications (well, they're not really medications but apparatuses to get a grip of the little life she had been left with), but also because of the fact that she did not want to go on living anymore.

From this point, I reaffirmed the fact that everything, even life itself, is revolving around choices. Even staying alive is a choice.

I hadn't known my lola Maxing much. She spent all her time in her small lot in the countryside of North Cotabato. I got to see her only every summer vacations, and sometimes Christmas. The only thing I remember about her is her stout appearance, despite her short height, her long hair, calloused hands and muscled arms. And, when she spoke, she could utter some lines in straight English.

I don't know what she had been in her youth and what her dreams were aside from seeing her children have their own families. She had not been a popular person, or somebody who is excellent in academic field. I bet she never became a career woman. I'm even quite sure that she never even dreamed to live outside her little barrio, despite the sounds of bombs and gunshots in her sleep, or missing cows and carabaos at night.

I guess, her only goal in life was simple, as simple as she was...

Dying in the age of 93 is quite a challenge. I haven't thought of staying in this planet for that long. Not because I'm a cynic like I don't see any hope in this cruel and chaotic world that I hurry to get out from here. Notwithstanding scientific studies of why humans in modern times have short life expectancies, I wanted to die young because I don't want to be the one left whom the new generations would blame for the worst conditions in this world. I also don't want to see them suffer more than these people I see now.

I don't want to stay here for as long as 93 years. But, I don't want to die yet. I still want to see flowers blooming under a bright sunny day. I still want to climb mountains and listen to crickets at night. I still want to jump off from a waterfall and swim through the sea with lots of corals like in Pantukan.

I still want to see my own eyes or nose or smile on a special little human being. I still want to see myself, my child and the man who has my heart in a picture framed to be hung on the wall.

I still want to find happiness somewhere while I still get the chance to stay here. I just have to learn to accept that this chance to live is not quite a picnic, and so there are times like now.

I Wish I had a River

2009-03-04T23:47:00.003+08:00

It's 11:48 PM, I still haven't washed up from a tiresome day of work. After watching "Road Home" with my room mate, I didn't do anything but listened to Sarah Mclachlan's songs. It's been more than a month since I really wrote something that speaks of my personal matters. It's been more than a month that I have forgotten my introspective character.

I think I have always been introspective. I just didn't have time to talk about it here. I don't know why I've become so impersonal with my self these past weeks. A lot of contradictions that bother my preoccupation lately. This must be because of my new disposition that until now I'm still struggling my way through adjustment, adjustment and adjustment...

I thought I pretty much knew why I'm here in this place where I don't have any kin. Friends and acquaintances are everywhere and I don't have any problem with them. But, I have nothing more than casual relationships. I'm not really sure if I really need someone to be intimate with, not necessarily physically, but emotionally and intellectually.

It's still different when you have someone whom you could talk about your thoughts -- simple or weird, your fears, dreams and joys. It's still different when you have someone who could listen when you talk, not just through chat nor text.

I'm really in a deep struggle right now, I admit it. It's next to the experience I had eight years ago when I tried another kind of life with the peasants in remote areas. That was the toughest one I got ever in my entire life. But, this time has a new blend of excitement and fear.

I guess this time should be easy for me because of my age. I know that I have aged enough to see the progress of my being, but the word "regression" sticks its head like a rabid dog at me. After eight years of living like ahead of my age, I find myself making up those ages I didn't live by accordingly (according to social norms).

By being alone, without my closest friends and without somebody special, I've been able to ask myself questions that I don't bother to entertain back home. Questions like: "What do I really want?" "What makes me happy?" "Have I been a good person?" "What is contentment for me or would I ever be contented?"

Brooding is such a bad word that won't help me in this situation. I hadn't done that though, just tonight. Just now over the music of Sarah Mclachlan...

Right now, I'd like to sing this song.

Hold on (Sarah Mclachlan)

Hold on to yourself
For this is gonna hurt like hell
Hold on
Hold on to yourself
You know that only time will tell
What is it in me that refuses to believe
This isn't easier than the real thing
My love
You know that you're my best friend
You know I'd do anything for you
My love
Let nothing come between us
My love for you is strong and true

Am I in heaven here or am i...
At the crossroads I am standing
So now you're sleeping peaceful
I lie awake and pray
That you'll be strong tomorrow and we'll
See another day and we will praise it
And love the light that brings a smile
Across your face

Oh God if you're out there won't you hear me
I know that we've never talked before
Oh God the man I love is leaving
Won't you take him when he comes to your door

Am I in heaven here or am I in hell
At the crossroads I am standing
So now you're sleeping peaceful
I lie awake and pray
That you'll be strong tomorrow and we'll
See another day and we will praise it
And love the light that brings a smile
Across your face...

Hold on
Hold on to yourself
For this is gonna hurt like hell

I just remember the statement: "You can't trust me if you don't trust yourself."

Despite all the loving that they gave me, I still drove them away. Why is it so? Why do I hurt those who love me? Why can't I love them the way they deserve? Sometimes, I feel like singing Joni Mitchell's "Cactus Tree"

Cactus Tree (Joni Mitchell)

Theres a man whos been out sailing
In a decade full of dreams
And he takes her to a schooner
And he treats her like a queen
Bearing beads from california
With their amber stones and green
He has called her from the harbor
He has kissed her with his freedom
He has heard her off to starboard
In the breaking and the breathing
Of the water weeds
While she was busy being free

Theres a man whos climbed a mountain
And hes calling out her name
And he hopes her heart can hear three thousand miles
He calls again
He can think her there beside him
He can miss her just the same
He has missed her in the forest
While he showed her all the flowers
And the branches sang the chorus
As he climbed the scaley towers
Of a forest tree
While she was somewhere being free

Theres a man whos sent a letter
And hes waiting for reply
He has asked her of her travels
Since the day they said goodbye
He writes wish you were beside me
We can make it if we try
He has seen her at the office
With her name on all his papers
Thru the sharing of the profits
He will find it hard to shake her
From his memory
And shes so busy being free

Theres a lady in the city
And she thinks she loves them all
Theres the one whos thinking of her
Theres the one who sometimes calls
Theres the one who writes her letters
With his facts and figures scrawl
She has brought them to her senses
They have laughed inside her laughter
Now she rallies her defenses
For she fears that one will ask her
For eternity
And shes so busy being free

Theres a man who sends her medals
He is bleeding from the war
Theres a jouster and a jester and a man who owns a store
Theres a drummer and a dreamer
And you know there may be more
She will love them when she sees them
They will lose her if they follow
And she only means to please them
And her heart is full and hollow
Like a cactus tree
While shes so busy being free

Here I go again with my old weak self... Impulsive, immature, romantic and indecisive. I don't want to blame all my experiences that made me be enmeshed in things, real things, tough things, which I guess have made my growth so unconventional. Maybe, my compunctions are brought by the contradiction between my unconventional thoughts and those dictated by social norms.

I will remember you (Sarah Mclachlan)

I will remember you
Will you remember me?
Don't let your life pass you by
Weep not for the memories

Remember the good times that we had?
I let them slip away from us when things got bad
How clearly I first saw you smilin' in the sun
Wanna feel your warmth upon me, I wanna be the one

I will remember you
Will you remember me?
Don't let your life pass you by
Weep not for the memories

I'm so tired but I can't sleep
Standin' on the edge of something much too deep
It's funny how we feel so much but we cannot say a word
We are screaming inside, but we can't be heard

But I will remember you
Will you remember me?
Don't let your life pass you by
Weep not for the memories

I'm so afraid to love you, but more afraid to loose
Clinging to a past that doesn't let me choose
Once there was a darkness, deep and endless night
You gave me everything you had, oh you gave me light

And I will remember you
Will you remember me?
Don't let your life pass you by
Weep not for the memories

And I will remember you
Will you remember me?
Don't let your life pass you by
Weep not for the memories
Weep not for the memories

One song really strikes me hard at this moment. It's a song that Joni Mitchell (also my favorite) originally wrote.

River (lyrics)

It's coming on Christmas
They're cutting down trees
They're putting up reindeer
And singing songs of joy and peace
Oh I wish I had a river
I could skate away on
But it don't snow here
It stays pretty green
I'm going to make a lot of money
Then I'm going to quit this crazy scene
I wish I had a river
I could skate away on
I wish I had a river so long
I would teach my feet to fly
Oh I wish I had a river
I could skate away on
I made my baby cry

He tried hard to help me
You know, he put me at ease
And he loved me so naughty
Made me weak in the knees
Oh I wish I had a river
I could skate away on
I'm so hard to handle
I'm selfish and I'm sad
Now I've gone and lost the best baby
That I ever had
Oh I wish I had a river
I could skate away on
I wish I had a river so long
I would teach my feet to fly
Oh I wish I had a river
I made my baby say goodbye

It's coming on Christmas
They're cutting down trees
They're putting up reindeer
And singing songs of joy and peace
I wish I had a river
I could skate away on

Instead of answering those questions I mentioned, I just keep on singing to myself "I wish I had a river so I could skate away on..."

I have just realized that this line actually shows my escapist character. Have I always been an escapist? Is my eagerness to live here is an eagerness to escape from where I came from? Is it an escape from regression? And, am I in progress right now? Or am I just regressing deeper?

The Night when I talked

2009-02-21T20:57:00.001+08:00

Only the gasoline lamp in a used liquor bottle
Showed to the stars that we existed on that
Night, in the middle of the darkness at
the border of the hills and ocean...

Accompanied by the chanting of the waves
A few steps from our shabby kiosk
And the snoring of the damn tired fellow,
My voice of inebriation was the only evidence of life
amidst those "dead to the world"
in that small village of fisherfolk.

You listened intently
To my awkward story
of the quarrels and the beatings,
the circle around my eye turning
black from purple,
guilty and remorseful.

My jaws and your eardrums working
fighting against the cold breeze piercing
while you were meta-cognitively thinking
just to wet my lips of yearning
longing to salvage
from my cynical reasoning...

When we emptied the long bottle of rum and my smoking was done,
our bodies curled oppositely on both ends of the bench.
The warmth of your feet on mine was not enough
so inside my head I whined for you to just spare me your arms.

...and then I heard your breathing
that was the lullaby for my intermittent sleeping.

Mr. Tambourine Man (Bob Dylan)

2009-02-17T00:07:00.003+08:00

There's nothing I can think of to write tonight... I've just been playing Bob Dylan's Mr. Tambourine Man four times now. I don't exactly know what's in this song that keep me listening to it and feeling some refuge from all the daily struggles I encounter. Well, I guess, it's the poetry in his lines that I succumb to.

So, here's the lyrics of the song:

Hey! Mr. Tambourine Man, play a song for me,
I'm not sleepy and there is no place I'm going to.
Hey! Mr. Tambourine Man, play a song for me,
In the jingle jangle morning I'll come followin' you.

Though I know that evenin's empire has returned into sand,
Vanished from my hand,
Left me blindly here to stand but still not sleeping.
My weariness amazes me, I'm branded on my feet,
I have no one to meet
And the ancient empty street's too dead for dreaming.

Hey! Mr. Tambourine Man, play a song for me,
I'm not sleepy and there is no place I'm going to.
Hey! Mr. Tambourine Man, play a song for me,
In the jingle jangle morning I'll come followin' you.

Take me on a trip upon your magic swirlin' ship,
My senses have been stripped, my hands can't feel to grip,
My toes too numb to step, wait only for my boot heels
To be wanderin'.
I'm ready to go anywhere, I'm ready for to fade
Into my own parade, cast your dancing spell my way,
I promise to go under it.

Hey! Mr. Tambourine Man, play a song for me,
I'm not sleepy and there is no place I'm going to.
Hey! Mr. Tambourine Man, play a song for me,
In the jingle jangle morning I'll come followin' you.

Though you might hear laughin', spinnin', swingin' madly across the sun,
It's not aimed at anyone, it's just escapin' on the run
And but for the sky there are no fences facin'.
And if you hear vague traces of skippin' reels of rhyme
To your tambourine in time, it's just a ragged clown behind,
I wouldn't pay it any mind, it's just a shadow you're
Seein' that he's chasing.

Hey! Mr. Tambourine Man, play a song for me,
I'm not sleepy and there is no place I'm going to.
Hey! Mr. Tambourine Man, play a song for me,
In the jingle jangle morning I'll come followin' you.

Then take me disappearin' through the smoke rings of my mind,
Down the foggy ruins of time, far past the frozen leaves,
The haunted, frightened trees, out to the windy beach,
Far from the twisted reach of crazy sorrow.
Yes, to dance beneath the diamond sky with one hand waving free,
Silhouetted by the sea, circled by the circus sands,
With all memory and fate driven deep beneath the waves,
Let me forget about today until tomorrow.

Hey! Mr. Tambourine Man, play a song for me,
I'm not sleepy and there is no place I'm going to.
Hey! Mr. Tambourine Man, play a song for me,
In the jingle jangle morning I'll come followin' you.

You can listen to its music here http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=kdWUqDyTnrI&feature=related

I'll just succumb to "Mr. Tambourine man" for awhile...

From the side of the window

2009-02-08T15:54:00.000+08:00

I can see the gloomy afternoon sky.
My toenails are gray because of the coldness
Coming from somewhere
seeping through my veins telling me
something...

The air envelops me,
touching my skin like nobody
I'm nobody...
Nobody's...
Nothing but a piece of cold shit.

If this cold wind could dissolve
this melancholy
I'd like to be holy...

From this side of the window
Bring me somewhere
Not here.

"Stock Knowledge"

2009-02-04T10:27:00.012+08:00

As far as I'm concerned, I had tried not to stain this page with anything about the politics in the Philippines. Unfortunately, because this page is the only outlet for my inconspicuous thoughts, I couldn't avoid to write something about what I encounter almost everyday since I work here.

Yesterday, I attended the hearing of the committee on constitutional amendments of the house of representatives on the house resolution 737 of Congressman Nograles which was approved by the votes of 11-4.

Victor Ortega, the committee chair, himself moved to cast their votes on the approval of the resolution despite the persistent manifestations of the minority group to conduct more public hearings. Representative of Anakpawis "Ka Paeng" mentioned that during the previous meeting there had been no invitation for the basic masses, especially the farmers, fisherfolks and laborers.

What really piqued me was the statement of somebody from the majority group about "stock knowledge". He said that no consultation could ever change their minds. He said, "We instinctively know what's good for our country."

Why not vote immediately upon reading any proposed house resolution if each representative knows what's good for the country--by instinct? I find this stupid and had just shown that he is a rabid sycophant for supporting this foul-founded resolution to change the charter.

Did he ever try living with the landless peasants or lived in the shanties of the fishermen? Had he been a laborer himself before getting such position called "representative"? Who is he representing when he voted for the approval of the foreigners' hundred percent ownership of our natural resources? This question goes to the eleven of them and the Chairman who did not want to have more public hearings.

Where should such stock knowledge come from? Definitely, it's not from his mother's womb.

The voting happened like a wisp just when three other representatives timely arrived (better late than absent). They had actually increased the gap of the votes between the affirmative and negative sides.

Sigh. Another victory smile must have been cast on Mrs. Alligator's face.

Escape

2009-01-28T09:09:00.001+08:00

It's been two weeks since I arrived in the place where most Davaoenos think is the busiest, filthiest, and most controversial place in the Philippines – Metro Manila. I'm not here to challenge their descriptions though.

Why am I here by the way? My best friend said "to escape". Well, that had preoccupied me for awhile.

I left a few things in my hometown but I don't intend to get away from those. However, from a different point of view, my abrupt acceptance of the proposal to work here had something to do about escaping.

My previous job paid higher and I got to travel more than twice in a week. I could meet a lot of people, especially those we call 'basic masses' and listen to the stories of their lives. But, I might have wanted to escape from the 'uncomfortable' relationships with my co-workers. Personal relationships with them are not really a big deal for me as long as we're able to complete our tasks as a team. But, I guess, because of a certain matter that might stir my consciousness, the pressure to get out convinced me to take a risk of living by myself here.

I might be escaping from the comfort of my home and family that made me lax in my daily endeavors. Getting up so late in the morning and not doing the household chores are the things I can do best. And, because of such privileges, I had cradled procrastination.

I might be escaping from the old me – the happy-go-lucky bitch who spent a lot of money on beer, drank all night and even until five a.m, and got anxious about the future but didn't have definite goals.

I might be escaping from boredom – traveling around the same routes, and doing the same things on the same days.

I might be escaping from the feeling of "living in a small world" – afraid of meeting my ex-boyfriends somewhere for whatever reason.

And the worst of all, I might be escaping from my boyfriend. (This is actually what my best friend thought.) We just had our first monthsary before I left. He felt, at first, that I really didn't think about our relationship when I made up my mind. I didn't consult him actually. I blurted out the news right after I said yes. He might have been expecting this, I guess. But, I just realized lately that what I did might be cruel for him.

But, why would I escape from him anyway? I tried to answer these questions if in case I unconsciously really want to escape from him, from our relationship. Maybe, I thought that our relationship would not work because of our differences. Our different political beliefs, ideologies, and interests may be serious factors that will naturally tear us apart. Maybe, procrastination in both of us will eventually burn out our enthusiasm, and we'll end up achieving nothing at all. Maybe, his passiveness in some issues or that his "not caring at all" will just turn my eyes to someone who does care. Maybe, I just want to escape to see if he finds me; if he changes his mind and be with me; if he remains faithful.

Yes, it is an escape, but not from anyone or anything. It's an escape from procrastination. I wanted to try different things to see the different side of me – bring out the better of me...

My best friend said she knows me. She sees me as an escapist person. I'd like to agree with her but only in this particular moment of my life. I wanted to overcome my fear of the unknown and learn more about life.

Challenging destiny? No. It's called “living in its truest sense”.

A fragment

2009-01-07T13:26:00.000+08:00

Anxiety seems to me is due to some uncertainties in one's life.

It's a fear of the unknown.

But, whatever you did not do shall remain a mystery.

No one knows what happens next until that next happens.

Just picking up a fragment of my tormented brain.

Anatomy of Freedom

2009-01-06T03:29:00.000+08:00

"Once there was a man thought to be holy. He sat near the top of the mountain, night and day, and it seemed that he never moved. Some said that he was always praying or that he meditated or that he saw visions. Some said that this must make him holy, or at least wise.

No one could quite remember when he had first come to sit on his ledge in the mountain, but almost everyone could recall that at one time, years ago, pilgrims had made their way up to him--not without difficulty--to put before him their disputes, their spiritual questions, their despair, their own attempts at holiness. His judgments were so severe, however, and were delivered in tones so seemingly contemptuous of the pilgrims that the same visitors rarely returned, and in time, as word spread, fewer and fewer pilgrims wound their way up the mountain path. At last, only one or two a year would approach the holy man--and then largely as if he were an oddity, a curious sight to be viewed, and not a living saint to be questioned or followed or even quite trusted. Finally, almost no one came at all.

He still sat, nevertheless, on his ledge, appearing to gaze out over the near and distant peaks of other mountains, blinking now and then against the wind, his body wasting away toward dessication--a bony triangle of spine balanced on a base of crossed legs, his gaunt skull at the apex. No one could possibly estimate his age. He appeared never to speak, although his lips could be seen moving.

All this time, you understand, the woman known as the handmaiden of the holy man remained faithful..."

This is how Robin Morgan illustrates the struggle of women towards freedom in her book Anatomy of Freedom, Feminism in Four Dimensions Second Edition (1994). It's still the first chapter of such liberation movement. You'll conceive what happens to the handmaiden as her story goes along. I just knew this feminist writer because of this book. Just like anybody who loves to scavenge pretty old books in book sales, I find good readings from second-hand ones like this. I actually had it since 2007 and, mind you, because of this book, I soon realized that I have to end up my unproductive and macho relationship.

I could no longer remember when I started calling myself a feminist, but as far as my memories can keep, I always thought girls are better than boys since I was six years old. I used to eat, play and go to the same preschool with my two boy cousins (one is a year younger than me, while the other is a year older). Every single day, I did things the way boys do. I guess, I owe my masculine element from growing up with them. And, everything that we had done, I did best. Even during elementary and high school, I marked higher than any male classmates. Well, I was second best when I finished high school and our valedictorian was still a girl. See, girls are better, smarter and more intelligent.

It was only during college that I figured boys were growing whiskers and started smoking, drinking and flirting. They went on rambling, rioting and in fairness to some, they earmarked martial arts, swimming, basketball, and fraternities. They also joined debating teams, honors society, campus paper and student council. Unfortunately, soon as most women finished college, they lost the limelight. A few of them got pregnant, while others married early. Then, i heard more male politicians bickering while women talk about fashion and child-rearing.

I did not believe the world had gone crazy though. I just felt this isn't right.

To quote Robin Morgan in her book:

"Women have been offered religion in place of philosophy, morality in place of ethics, 'womanly fears' in place of existential dread, community affairs in place of politics, selflessness in place of self, volunteerism in place of paid (for which read: valid) work, appearance in place of substance, romanticism in place of sexuality, childbearing in place of art, and the home in place of the universe... We are told that we have been happy and safe with this bargain and, although we have felt neither happy and safe, we have managed to breathe on the coals of our own humanity and coax them, at moments, into a flicker of happiness, a warm mirage of safety... First, we had no choice; we were told this--and we forgot that it was a lie. Then, too, we wanted to survive, and being ourselves creatures of lack and of longing, we thought to prove our very humanness by perfecting those skills that permitted us to mourn and to yearn--but most of all to deny the reality of our not having something we never have had."

And, this something is freedom, which according to Morgan it was Kant who said that it is "that faculty which enlarges the usefulness of all other faculties." She agreed with this and elaborated that "feminism is that vision which enlarges the incipience of all other visions."

I only believe in one thing that can liberate the Filipino women from the bondage of this patriarchal society. It is when the people shall be liberated from the three basic problems of the society, which I would like to use the terms my primary and secondary school taught me, landlessness, political elitism and foreign intervention.

It is, indeed, true that if one wants to liberate the women, he or she must give solutions to the country's economic problems. The women and children are majority of the victims of starvation, illiteracy, diseases and war aggression. I never forget the four B's in Cebuano that women are associated with: balay, bata, bana, baboy (house, children, husband, pig). This is bullshit!

Anyway, what I'm trying to say here that had taken almost half of the day to end this is that every woman deserves freedom and happiness. And, I'm going to post office this afternoon to mail this book to my best friend who's right now feeding her little girl in Japan while the "bastard" (as she calls him for snoring in the middle of the night while she changes baby Lei's diaper) works for a living. Being a mother is not just the essence of a woman, but it's the capacity of her womb and her heart that keeps man insecure to subjugate her. It's actually women's impregnable power. Sulong mga kabaro!

New Year's Blessing

2009-01-05T09:35:00.000+08:00

Nothing beats this peculiar first "blessing" that I got for this year.

I thought everyone, even your worst enemy, seeks to change some of his or her attitudes for the betterment of whatever interests he or she may have for the new year. Well, I guess, some people change to get more of what they always wanted which means getting viler than they were to others.

I tried hard not to mind the wickedness of this daunting lady who manipulates our emotions through her discretion on financial matters. She is the passage of all the inflows and disbursement of the "money of the organization" (or in order to sound dramatic, let's call it the "taxes of the people"). She might have felt some power and authority over us by deciding whether or not we would get our salary or reimbursement now.

I tried harder not to think about her during the Christmas break and even on new year's eve. I didn't want to admit that she has been preying me since I came to the office. She seemed so nice to me, like offering some snack or even her sweet tone in small talks especially when the boss was around. No, I never thought she intended to give me a little misery. Maybe, I am just so subjective about her deliberate act not to give my salary today. You know, some of us got it before Christmas given that the rest of the days were considered working holidays. But, I thought, my contract created such different condition.

To tell you frankly, I did not mind. I was able to enjoy Christmas and new year's eve without the luxury of even a meager budget to buy my mother a gift or some fruitcakes for everyone. I was even excited to go to work and never be late on the first working day of the year because I will be able to pay my load credits and buy my sister a brand new phone (better late than never have a birthday cum Christmas gift for her).

And so, this morning, without breakfast nor coffee, I arrived in the office just two minutes past eight, which is already a great leap for my second new year's resolution compared to the least of 13-minute late I marked for 2008. I immediately printed out my accomplishment report and passed it to the friendly-looking woman in her soul-deluding room. This was the moment I thought she has some resolutions for this year.

Yes, she does! Better than before. More cunning. More convincing. More subtle. She did not make much of an effort but just these simple words with her sympathetic face, "The only signatory for your time card is the boss. So, you won't have your salary until next week because he's not yet here."

As if catching a wisp, I was stunned for a moment. Neglecting the crumbling of my stomach, I stirred a spoonful of coffee for myself. Every sip composed the fragments of relief, spelling out the word "blessing" in my head.

Intoxicated

2008-12-30T21:00:00.000+08:00

One more day to go and people will be tearing up their old calendars to post 2009. And, I am right now trying to smoke all in the pack of Marlboro tens that my dad just bought for me tonight...

My little conscience inside keeps on nagging at me. I can already feel the pressure that I have created myself.

But for the mean time, let me enjoy life!

Carpe diem!

Forced aguinaldo

2008-12-23T11:00:00.000+08:00

Since the jeepney fare hiked to eight pesos for the first four kilometers, I swore to myself that I would never be arguing with any driver just like the others who sought justice for their pennies' worth. So, even if I traveled for less than four kilometers and the driver did not give me the change of my ten peso coin, I never complained. I just whispered, "Two-peso change is not worth a fight and delay for the rest of the passengers."

Recently, oil price roll-back pulled the regular fare down to seven pesos. Another wave of driver-commuter disputes quakes the road. But, I don't mind if the driver still takes eight pesos from my ten-peso coin. On the contrary, my nonchalance to this issue had been tested by an unanticipated scenario.

It was not really the nagging thought of being regularly late for work in two months that chagrined me this morning. I gave the driver two five-peso coins as soon as I took my seat in the blue route 11 multi-cab. (Take note that my route is Sasa-R.Castillo and that route 11 is out of its way.) Even if I had known that he is into joyride, I still wouldn't mind boarding in. Who cares about punctuality when I get used to the sweet juices of salary deduction?

We stopped at a gasoline station and by then I thought that he needed some coins for change. After a few minutes, the man who just had boarded paid a ten-peso coin and immediately, the driver gave him the change. I just wondered, "Does he really want me to pay exactly ten pesos for my less than four-kilometer ride?" But, I also thought that he did not know how much the fare should be because it was not his original route.

Before I got out, I asked Manong Driver for my change. (I guess, three pesos is now worth a fight.) He replied with a suspicious look, "I did not receive any ten-peso except for him (referring to the guy I mentioned)..." For Santa Claus' sake, why don't you give the driver his aguinaldo?! I really don't know what had gotten me that I wanted to lather this man. I had a good argument and it's the truth so, why not try?

I told him, "I had paid upon sitting here (you idiot)! You must have forgotten, but you have to give me my change." Still, with some gibberish and crossed eyebrows, he passed on a one-peso coin. Having suddenly realized how futile such effort had been, I simply took the change and went on my way. Squeezing the peso in my hand with a smirk, I reckoned, "Fuck this tardiness!"

The man in red shirt

2008-12-22T11:00:00.000+08:00

As I passed by Agdao public market today, I noticed a commotion somewhere in the corner of the street. Before my jeepney moved away from the spot, the keenness of my eyes caught the man shivering like in a seizure with his back on the pavement.

I hadn't seen his face, only the rear view of his fetal position and his red shirt. (I am also wearing red blouse today.) But, the fact that I could still see him from a far means that there was no crowd hovering. Strangers trotted past him and just looked down, leaving a glance that revealed nothing but apathy.

I hope I don't know that person. I hope it will never happen to any of my loved ones or to my kith and kin. I hope it will never happen to me...

There are two things I asked myself today upon seeing that poor soul. First, why would someone help him anyway? This is the generation of which Charles Darwin's theory of "survival of the fittest" has remained consistent and valid. These people are victims of the perennial conquest of capitalism and bourgeois culture. These are people of different religions who worship their own gods to save themselves. These people are sometimes called Filipinos (by default) with hearts wishing to become some other race.

Second, why should I think about that man? I am not a certified pious believer of any organized religion. I am skeptical about Jesus Christ and his "father"--the god almighty, and to all proclaimed gods. I don't believe in hell, neither in heaven, but I do believe in the power of goodness to mankind. I think about the man because he's wearing red. The color of his shirt still sticks to my eyes. The redness is glaring more than the noonday sun. It is stirring my blood...

I hate the hypocrisy of the "spirit" of Christmas---the giving and sharing. In the guise of generosity is consumerism. Consumerism in spite of impoverishment. And so, I think about that man who does not happen to suffer alone. Fortunate he is that it came to him in this season.

Maybe someone out there would be conscientious enough to drop him a coin or pull his arms to drag him out of the road. Fortunate that bystanders still offered him such noncommittal glance while (who knows?) saying a short prayer to save his soul or to forgive themselves for not saving him.

I still think about that man as my questions gather... Would his friends dare to help him despite embarrassment? Or does he have any friend at all? If that would happen to me, would anyone pick me up because I had been good to my fellows during my sobriety? Or if Charles Darwin was still alive and had witnessed my shriveling life, would he just say, "Sorry dear, but you are the weakest link."?

Hershey kisses from a stranger

2008-12-04T14:56:00.003+08:00

Memorizing names is not my forte. I only remember faces and the look of the eyes of those people I encountered. But, I do talk to strangers.

The identical knitted beads on the wrists of the two women caught my attention while facilitating the registration of the Family Day of Overseas Filipinos and their families. I tried to read the inscription of white beads outstanding over the yellow translucent beads.

After filling out the form, they took their raffle tickets. And, before they went out, one of them gave me a pack of Hershey Kisses.

I already forgot her name, but she just came home from a country in Europe. (Well, I guess I also forgot where she worked.) She had worked there as a caregiver to an old woman for four years. She had a four-year old daughter in the Philippines whom she left months after she was born. She said she was just staying for Christmas. Then, off she would fly back to work.

She was smiling when she told me this story. But, I know that her happiness to be with her daughter that Christmas is more than my joy for the Hershey kisses I got for free from someone who was a stranger in the first few minutes.

Elsewhere

2008-11-26T08:43:00.000+08:00

Hard rain woke me up this morning. It seemed so kind to express what my heart feels... My feet were soaking wet on my way to work.

With the tapping of the raindrops on my umbrella, I heard myself singing Jann Arden's Elsewhere:

My heart is in my hands
My head is in the clouds
My feet have left the ground
My life is turning around and round
And every voice inside my head is telling me to run like mad
Oh bows and arrows, stars and sunset

Hey hey hey yeah
Hey hey hey yeah

Every heartbeat, every kiss just
Makes me wonder what all this is
Suits of armour
Hearts and arrows

Hey hey hey ye-eah!

And, I'm still humming it now...

Early new year's resolution

2008-11-25T10:35:00.000+08:00

Six years ago in November, I scribed on my journal that I had decided to smoke cigarette. It was not because I find it fashionable to see myself puffing while talking with drinking buddies and jamming on guitar with them.

Somehow, it came to me that a woman with a cigarette possesses authority over herself in a society that knows no woman of power. I found it liberating to implicitly slam all the male chauvinist pigs that I could destroy my respiratory system as much as they could; That I could be as daring and brave as they label themselves.

But, that's beside the point. I was actually moved by indignation to try smoking. I used to tell my parents that 'smoking kills' and that second-hand smoke affects my sister and I. I hated the futile spending for something that destroys one's system and contributes to global warming. I hated inhaling smoke of cigarette and even the smell of it. And, with all those too much hatred, I started smoking...

Then, I felt the soothing nicotine in my brain. It brought me out of depression... It sucked out the anxiety and senseless fear. I told myself that "I am the master of my body. I can quit this if I want." It was supposed to be a statement to be proven against all my friends who said that once you try it, you can never stop.

Remember, that was six years ago...

Since then, six years had passed that I never failed to list down 'quitting smoke' in my 'new year's resolutions' list. It's been six years also that I had been failing the resolution.

I never regret starting this habit or let's say addiction. But, I regret losing control of myself. I am supposed to prove that I can quit this when I want. Maybe, I did not want to stop in the past six years and was just drawn by social pressures. Or that in six years, my parents have been able to accept that I am one of them.

I had several attempts to quit. I had done it once for four months while jogging at least two kilometers a day. But, then I got tired of too much physical activities. And, my working condition did not allow me to do it regularly. My work had, instead, encouraged me to kiss butts again.

Then, my bedroom voice started bothering me. I could not sing enough to call it a performance. I could not swim enough to call it swimming. I could not run enough to convince myself that I used to run 21 kilometers before. I've been losing my endurance, my breath, my talent...

My dear friend told me last night, I would be losing more than that or almost everything I could have enjoyed if all the effects of this smoking beat me. She is right. I knew it before I started this. And, I told her to make this the first in my list for new year's resolution. She just said, "I don't believe that you believe in that."

I went home last night with the courage to sleep without my regular good night stick. Unfortunately (or fortunately in the opposite sense), I found a pack of red Marlboro above our fridge which my mom just bought from the grocery that afternoon. I knew how much they love me and they pretty much knew what I love.

I don't know. Like right now, I'm actually drinking coffee and about to smoke a stick before having lunch. But, I'm still thinking... Still trying to convince myself that I can still be who I was six years ago.

Christmas Wish

2008-11-25T10:19:00.000+08:00

I don't believe in Santa Claus even when I was a kid. It was because I haven't seen reindeers yet... I don't believe in Christmas neither because I don't believe that Jesus Christ is the real god of all. Or I simply don't believe that there's a transcendental god who looks over us, just like Santa Claus watching over kids and listing down the names of the good ones to deserve a gift on Christmas eve.

But, because celebrating Christmas day has been a part of our traditions, I have always wished for something good to happen on that holiday or during the season. Something that would make me believe that miracles or magics could sometimes be true...

I have something in my mind that I want to happen not just in December but for the rest of the days to come. And, that deserves another story.

For now, I just wish that I will have all the discographies of jann arden, tori amos, paula cole, sophie zelmani, sarah machlachlan, bic runga, fiona apple, jewel, joni mitchell, indigo girls... I just want to listen to their songs as my heart sings (instead of christmas carols).

They somehow speak of my emotions...

Self-diagnosis

2008-11-24T14:21:00.000+08:00

My gay friend told me last night that I must have not gotten over my past relationship yet. I refused to believe him, but later I was convinced that he had a point. I should not have been bothered about the goings-on in his life after we broke up.

I actually don't care but I had reacted, and this act itself was a proof that I'm still affected. Well, maybe it was just my ego being attacked. But, whatever justification I may give, it still boils down to one thing---I care.

Absolutely, this "care" is born out from the respect I can pay to all the things that happened between us for almost two years. My gay friend said, it should not be thrown out to nothingness. At least, it deserves a good friendship. Then, he gave the idea of having a formal closure with him. A simple talk that aims to vent out all the unspoken emotions for the last time.

I'm not opposed to the idea. I guess, I'm pretty much prepared to face him, listen to whatever he says and after such tell him "Are you done? Is there any else you'd like to say?"

Feelings, according to Dr. Wayne Dyer, are not just emotions that happen to you but reactions you choose to have. He said, "If you are in charge of your own emotions, you don't have to choose self-defeating reactions. Once you learn that you can feel what you choose to feel, you will be on the road to 'intelligence'---a road where there are no bypaths that lead to nervous breakdown."

The decision to end our erroneous relationship was enough for me to learn to control my emotions. I am tired of choosing feelings that had just ruined my personality and relationships with other people. Such tragic experience was a great lesson for me to take charge of myself, "both thinkingly and emotionally".

I am all set to sail through the ocean without being worried if a storm shall come my way... I'm also looking forward to sail with someone beside me.

Entries from a journal

2008-11-24T13:15:00.000+08:00

I always keep a journal since I was in high school and I'm still keeping some of my notebooks inside my closet. But, when I started doing things more than my usual routines, I have written only when my thoughts could no longer be contained. And, because I no longer intended to keep a regular journal, I just jotted down on the random pages of my notebook. They are all scattered thoughts that when collated could bring a picture of how I had been in the past few months.

---------

November 15, 2007
4:00 p.m.

I'm hungry... But, instead of thinking of food, I think of you. This hunger is more than the scorches on the walls of my stomach. This is more than my stomach, greater than my desire to have enough food.

I couldn't think of any particular taste that I would like to eat right after this class. I'm thinking of more palatable than spaghetti... I couldn't think of anything else but you.

It is because any food served in front of me tastes better than anything that I find delicious when prepared by you.

But you are not sweet.. And no food could ever suffice this hunger because of this...

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April 1, 2008
4:16 a.m. / 23-G

I guess, I've never been a good person to him... I want to continue our relationship until I learn how to love enough. I know I haven't shown enough love that he expects me to give him. But, I just would like him to know that I'm still willing to grow...

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September 16, 2008
2:00 p.m. / in my bed

It's a lousy day for a birthday... I still want to sleep and just dream.

Dreams, according to my ghost chatmate, are all impossible... You make 'goals' to make them happen. "Dreams be dreams..." Jack Johnson says.

I'm not quite sure why I have felt the urge to write today. Maybe because I just love reading my journals and assessing my way of thinking... Like what I just did before writing here.

I realized that it was not hard for me to enter into another relationship after the other... I mean, I was actually so blessed that I had not been one of those unattractive beings. And, it was not difficult for me to care for another man after getting over with someone. I'm just wondering whether or not it is a mere 'transfer of affection'. Or is there any pattern of my attitude in handling relationships?

Whatever it is, I find it so absurd to try to define or rationalize things or happenings in one's life. It's funny setting what's ought to be and what's not... Who says so?

In 25 years of experiences, whether or not I learned from those, I figured out that every single moment that you feel you're alive is life... Such is life!

There is no exact dogma, doctrine, pattern, principle, theory or whatever lexicons that one may associate with life.

Those who were done with life are not here to tell us that they had the right life or they had lived life to the fullest. Their lives are not models of how we should live ours. There is no final judgment neither...

Those who had experienced life earlier than others were able to build principles of their own for others to adhere because of what they had discovered on their journey. Each of us has his or her own journey, own life to unfold or learn.

Whatever happened to me in the past 25 years were all the makings of this life I have and will continue to live and enjoy.

It's the society which colors our minds to make us all in monochrome. It's the society that make us sad for not having the standards of life... or that we don't belong. It's the society which tells us to define life and make a good definition out of it. It's the society that keeps us weak so we can't stand alone and do what makes us happy or define our own happiness.

Fame, wealth, profession, reputation, beauty, health, yada yada yada... These are the 'Nirvana'... Most of humans believe that one of these mentioned is their end.

What if the end of life is to consume it until it ends by choice... consciously or subconsciously? Then, it might be easy! And, death would not be an object of anxiety.

My next 25 years (if I still want to stay this long) shall be another journey of unfolding the potentials of life... No standards, no expectations... Just purely living it all up to its end...

And, for this journey to be fun, I'm going to do what makes me happy...

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September 18, 2008
2:30p.m. / E1C

He was actually calling me last midnight. I turned off my phone. This morning, my mother found a box hanging at our gate. She said that it's a gift from him.

It's a big box with a bear (stuffed toy) and small pillow (with a picture of Winnie the Pooh). Those are the stuff I had been telling him that I liked but never asked him to buy me.

I'm grateful and surprised... There's nothing more to it. I will keep them because I like them, not because I still love him.

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September 24, 2008
11:00 a.m. / house

Yesterday was totally a tragic but fulfilling experience with a double jeopardy. My dad and I struggled through the hellish system of NSO for half day. And, my exams that night was another hell!

It's true enough that man doesn't live merely by eating and sleeping. He has to have something to do... I say and a philosopher named Marx said, "It's work... Man's essence is to work."

Well, 'work' can be a lot of things--profitable or not, pleasurable or not... as long as he's doing something aside from eating and sleeping. (Well, aside from sex also... Hahaha!)

Just like me who's trying to live like a human--to work--instead of just spending my day smoking and listening to Jack Johnson, I feel the need to move my ass and get to work. (My work at the moment is completing school requirements.)

They said, "Live for a day!" and I say "Carpe diem!"

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Semptember 25, 2008
5:40 p.m. / H1C

I keep on telling myself that it's the mind that controls the emotions. Feelings are just products of our own thoughts.

Well, I just don't like my thoughts today...

7:00 p.m.

Here goes my cynical mind... Like in driving, I should utilize all my mental faculties to maneuver...

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September 30, 2008
2:15 p.m. / Bed

Friends come and go... This is the stage in my life that I get hooked up in establishing new friendships. But, I don't think I will be successful in this pursuit. Time and conditions are not so favorable to me.

It must be because I am what I am and this kind of me simply doesn't allow anything that I'd like to happen. I know that it's time for me to get serious with life... Get serious with what I would like to die for.

Somehow, still within me, the core of my being is still clinging to the deep desire to spend my days with the people. I still want to serve the people in the way that my condition allows me...

When I die, I want my death to be as heavy as Mt. Apo...

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October 2, 2008
6:30 p.m. / H1C

The beach is not so calm and not so noisy...
The sand dances with the waves in
the rhythm of the leaves of coconut trees.
The feet slowly join the swaying of the
monsoon... Birds are not singing but
chanting, alarming the heaven to save
the soul once the body drowns...

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October 14, 2008

I saw the wide sky this afternoon. It was a battle of colors! It speaks of the havoc inside my heart. It's not calm but beautiful...