the Grace in Abandon

There are trees that wait in natural silence along the old-bridge that leads to the subway. With withered arms outstretched over sleepy pedestrians, they stand frozen in time. I find comfort in their shade as I walk wearily past them. There is something to be learned from the steadfast posture of these riverbank trees.

Even with mottled bark, they never tire underneath the sun's glare or the wind's heavings. Their only revolt is a stray leaf gently broken off their branches, a part of itself separated in homage and humility. Cushioned by warm gusts, with flickers of stray sunlight caught on morning dew, this offering is accepted and rejoins the earth with blessings.

There is a nobility to withering, and abandonment is a bittersweet exercise that I'd like to learn for myself, as well as the forbearance to endure those troubled times that lay ever ahead.

But what is left to be endured when everyday there is joy and laughter to be had everywhere. Nearby, the grass sways in tune with the silence left by the birds and the chilling melancholy of Autumn, but are evergreen. I suppose for those who are planted firmly in the earth, life is a gift that's never exhausted.

And I've found that land that nourishes the soul so keenly and fills my heart with aching mirth and wonder. I'll gently lay my roots down and find a sturdy foothold here. I'll surrender to the Seasons, yearn for the Spring that comes, and walk underneath vibrant foliage pregnant with new blossoms.

happy

I think there's no other way to describe life here but to simply say that I am quite terribly happy. It took a bit of time to get there. I guess since I haven't had the opportunity to sit down with my thoughts and ask them what they think about the new arrangement.

We'll, I still haven't. But there are those moments when I am alone--rare as they are since most of my time is spent at our busy office, or at our lively dorm, leaving only that odd 30 minutes between work and home to really do some serious wondering--that I have to consciously will myself to believe that I am here, that I am here to stay.

And staying means I don't have to hurry about the experience. This is no short-term business trip, not a Cebu-Pacific-borne vacation. I am in Japan now, and whatever pace I take will be the fullest experience of Japan I'll ever have--because now Japan is my life.

There are no regrets for me now. Work is tough and demanding, but in a way I feel that it's my way of paying a little back to the community. And if things don't work out, I don't have to worry either. Getting here taught me how easy it is to make things happen in life. Claiming this dream made me feel like there's only more dreams to be caught ahead. I just have to take my pick.

Everything is possible I guess for those who give chase to their heart's desire. It's like the universe acknowledges your intentions, such that natural laws of momentum and inertia propel you ever forward with the blessings of the moon and the stars.

There is a blessedness here, and I am grateful. If you look for me, I'll be the smiling commuter on the 8:17 train to happiness.

hajime

For something that I've dreamed of for far too long, I don't feel as excited about this whole migrating to Japan thing as I thought I would be.

Though admittedly, there are those stray moments that assault me with such vicious joy from such ordinary things like kids on the subway, the stray smile of the cashier at the chicken place, or even the bright neon signs that light the last street home.

Such high points are fairly common for someone who's new, I would think. Novelty is fun and all, but by definition, fleeting.

Plus, there's also the whole commotion of living on my own. Having been sent to Cebu and Japan previously, I've already become familiar with spending time far-away from everything that is familiar. This would be the first time though to be apart for such a long time. There's also this part of me that understands that this parting is final. Reading my contract would say this would be a 3 year stint--hardly short, but not indefinite--but I know I'll be staying for a while longer.

I do not know how, but I cannot deny that my very soul acknowledges the truth in this sentiment. I do not know myself well enough to define why, but I've lived long enough to trust these inner rumblings. This inner compass of mine has lead me true, so far.

So why am I here, after all? To live out the Japanese dream. So how do I know I'm living it?

Experiencing the dream in hindsight is a rare opportunity. From this vantage point, and with utmost honesty, I would say I don't know yet.

I would assume that finding out would be a happy adventure.

the Old Soul

Like finding an old book in my library, lovingly worn, sturdy from age, carefully hidden, I found you. In the way that the true classics are cherished by (and in a nondescript way manage to change) its readers I've been gathering my fill through summaries and snippets of your character from off-hand sources. Somehow, I've put off diving into your pages. I don't know what held me back, if it was disbelief in finding something so ideal, or in putting-off for the sake of convenience. But your critics were kind and favorable, expressed in the strange glow they wear from making your acquaintance. I envied them.

And it was well I did, as I realized while leafing through you, your varied opinions, your inexhaustible interest, those smart quips that filter through your easy smile. It is though with some sharp pangs of regret, regret for lost time and opportunities. Like paper-cuts over and over, as I experience more of you, I am reminded how fleeting tonight will be.

I'm leaving after all, and where I'm going you cannot follow, choosing not to leave behind the musty, familiar tomes of your own library. This is your happiness, and I am but barely a day's observer and hardly one to judge.

But there is hope yet: a gentle truth that I've at least started, been introduced, and perhaps have been permitted to be a footnote in that noble story you would call your life.

Great books are books that teach us familiar lessons, you feel like an old soul, hearty with experience. I hope to read more of you, and grow accustomed to your delicate cadence and benevolent composition. I'll gently leaf through your every chapter, join you in your hero's journey. And maybe then, instead of drawing blood, every chapter will end with the gentle kiss of your endless script against my skin.

I look forward to your every crazy tale. Call it vicarious, or an act so superfluous. But just keep writing.

Shot at the History Books

Once upon a time, when I was a kid, young, optimistic, and earnest, I decided that I would leave a dent in the world. Maybe it's because of all those thick books I poured over during those long, hot summers when nothing really happened.

I was thinking what living was all about, bored out of my mind as I was. And I said to my self, I should make a splash. We don't live that long. Whatever worth we have can only be significant if it outlasts us. I need to enter the history books, somehow, if I were to live a fulfilling life. I need to be read about, like all those people I discovered in my own private library.

According to this standard, I resolved to do two things: either bag the Nobel Prize, or do something catastrophic. In my room, I skipped among dreams of revolutionizing the gaming industry, razing densely-populated buildings, finding the solution to world hunger, blowing a hole in the earth's crust, theorizing the practical benefits of black-holes, poisoning a chocolate plant, and many others. In those days, plenty of radical, risque, and bat-shit crazy stuff came to me--real crazy stuff, grade-A tabloid material.

And whatever they were, I don't know if I'm still on track right now, or for which kind of notoriety I am heading.

I remembered all this when, as of late, people I know have been alternating between pursuing their passions and getting run-down by life in general. Compared to all the things they had to go through, it seems I haven't been doing that much living, and has made me re-evaluate what I want in life.

I still want to be awesome, like, across-all-time kind of awesome. Even if I don't know yet how I'll get there, I just have to keep at it, keep laboring earnestly for the things I am devoted to, like writing, reading, wanderlusting, and friends--everything that comes with the joie de vivre package.

Anyway, I think I'll be happy enough if people remember me as someone who would build bookshelves for the books he loved, wrote stories about the people he loved, and made a splendid history of the time he spent learning to live and learning to love.

pinhole

The good doctor labored endlessly on the dread machine. This rigid framework wrought of the world's lightest alloy and a white sail spun from spider-silk would serve as my prison for the next few years. He was far too old for this enterprise, too frail to pursue his dreams. So in his stead, I will climb into that blasted contraption myself.

They despised the machine as well, the Conclave, when he had first purported to them that the sky was a dome. There were no stars, no clouds, no moon, and no sun, he had proposed to the assembly. With worn hands, he gesticulated towards the crumbling roof, the soiled walls. It was all a glittery facade, a beautiful enclosure, much like the room they stood in.

The eldest member, donning the traditional white smock of their order, rose and remonstrated that they have built great ships, countless probes, and sent them above. All these have returned to corroborate this one truth: above our heads awaits eternity.

There was a fire in the doctor then, a passion he branded all his work. And with that same passion he had declared he would build a craft within 6 moon-cycles that would vindicate him. It has been 5 cycles and a gibbous since that day.

I was a peasant in the nearby village. And when I heard of the doctor's story--it spread like a coughing fit--I sought him out and found him at the old lighthouse on land's end. Until now, a fraction of me believes that only when he opened the door did he finally decide to make it a manned mission.

"The conclave has sent countless circuits and much gadgetry into the heavens, yet their truth is intrinsically separated by degrees. Through your eyes, I hope to prove what is empirical, as we have always done since long ago to discover what has ever been."

Tomorrow I will climb into the dread machine, be one with the lightest alloy and join with the spider-silk. I had known little of this world. But, I know enough to contemplate escaping it. Now, was egress worth placing faith in fiery old men, fused metals, and frail weaving?

If the old man's words were true, then there really is no escape. His midnight equations and craven whisperings spoke of the physical limit to dreaming, an inviolable range to all hope, and an edge to all things.

But I believe that there shall always be more. I am young. Fate has brought me here and I believe she would not lead me down a path so limited. There must be an opportunity to exceed somewhere waiting to be sought; a door for the faithful; an opening in the wall; a crack through which peeks destiny.

My name is Icarus, and tomorrow I will journey into the light.

photo credit: alemonio

Writ of What Clocks Measure

Some say there is no such thing as time. Time, the distance between moments, is a human construct. It is all we remember, all we expect, and the brief opportunity to smuggle the latter into the former.

This blog is a journal of all those attempts, as well as a physical record of all the joy, anger, mirth, and depression that went into each success and failure, as well as the simple discovery of which was which.

8 years of that journey are incompletely chronicled here. History, I think, is the human attempt to structure and encapsulate time. In recording, there is a hope to find a reason to all things. And I've gotten used to judging my life by its progress, like a movie plot.

So far, it's been a dreary screening--my writing as of late is telling--and it strikes me as wasteful. Shit happens, everyday; and miracles, too, just as plenty. For something so arbitrary, I think it's a mistake to attach value to life as a whole.

I realize that the good and the bad are separate, distinct, and equally meaningful. They are meaningful because we learn through them. Nostalgia is probably all the mixed emotions we feel when we uncover a little of our truth as we sift through the past.

So let's not spend effort on defining who we are now, but instead find pride in who we've been, and nourish anticipation for who we'll become. And what that shall entail will always be a personal decision. Somehow, life is a constant attempt at defining who we are.

So to all things I hope for and fear for, to all I cherish and regret, let this be my binding vow to bear witness to life, and to chronicle through imperfect words my imperfect perception of all its meaning, one second at a time.

Oh, and happy 2000 main-page hits! Because where there is drama, there will shortly follow an audience.

Copywriters! Look Now and Forever be Shamed!

With all the rage for discounts afforded by such upstarts as Ensogo, Pakyaw, etc., we forget that one of the first enterprises into en-masse purchasing was Groupon. So it took me by complete surprise that for a more senior company, they'd have such sordid write-ups.

So, to illustrate, let's play a short game: GUESS THAT PROMO!

1. Often used for concealing withered love letters or slices of deli meat, books also make for handy spots to place noteworthy photos while ensuring minimal mold growth. Preserve life’s captured moments in a portable and rodent-repelling format with today’s Groupon
2. Some things in life were just made for each other: Jack and Jill, gin and tonic, dentists and stress, fun and exercise. Enjoy a new set of yin and yangs with today’s Groupon
3. The pen may be mightier than the sword, but when it comes to ending wars and winning ladies’ hearts, the beer mug has proven to be mightier. Pour a glass of sweet liquid courage with today’s Groupon
4. Appreciating the grandeur of the ancient times means discovering that Jose Rizal was your mother’s sister’s neighbor’s father’s cousin-in-law, that the wagging of a tyrannosaurus’ tail triggered hurricanes, and that you were a cotton bud in your past life. Tread on to an asylum of rich history and unravel the great has-been with today’s Groupon
5. Smile and frown lines occur naturally through life’s ups and downs, while crow’s feet are caused by avian Broadway shows performed on facial stages during sleep. Pull the curtain on wrinkles with today’s Groupon
6. Finding a box of goodies on your doorstep is preferable to finding cell phone bills and pieces of trash. Clog your front door with chocolate treats to prevent bills from arriving with today's Groupon
7. Though musicians often see it as a crude xylophone twig and little trick or treaters regard it as a great way to spruce up an innovative Halloween costume, whether as bunny ears or lengthy fangs, the more practical person would simply see two wooden pencil-like objects as a pair of chopsticks. Utilize the tool to its fullest with today’s Groupon
8. In the medieval ages, citizens who did not feel well would resort to visiting castle jesters and fools to receive what they thought were the best medicine which weren’t effective at all. Celebrate the fancy medical thingamajigs of the future with today’s Groupon
9. Adding water results in less floury biscuits, larger foam dinosaurs, and a potential mermaid swimming party. Douse yourself in smooth-moving good times with today's Groupon
10. In the 17th century, weary men were always found meddling with the cuckoo clock, attempting to make its hands turn counterclockwise and drab women constantly curled up in aluminum bins, thinking those were time machines. Turn back the hands of time sans old-age, crass measures with today’s Groupon

And the answers!!!

1. Photobook
2. Dance course
3. Sports Bar voucher
4. Ilocos Tour
5. Botox
6. Box of truffles
7. Donburi rice bowl
8. Physical Exam
9. Stay at Santiago Bay Garden Resort
10. Anti-aging solution

So did you get them right? No? Are you wondering if the writers were high? If yes, that makes you and me both. I mean seriously, mentioning garbage for a truffle advert. Dude.

Then again, there are only so many ways you can describe food and derma-treatments--even less if it has to sound interesting!

Balang Araw

Ang unang-una kong bibilhin ay bookshelf sa unang-una kong suweldo, yung maganda, yung pang matagalan. At study lamp para puwede ako magbasa sa gabi, o habang malamig at umuulan sa labas. Pagkatapos noon ay puro libro na. Maraming-maraming libro ang ilalagay ko sa kuwarto ko, hangang mapuno ang una kong biniling bookshelf. Bibili ako uli ng bookshelf pagkatapos nun.

Kapag papasok ako sa trabaho, dapat may baon ako. Magbabaon ako ng chicken at gulay, yung steamed. Mag-gy-gym din ako, o swimming, o kahit tumakbo-takbo lang diyan sa may kanto. Para healthy, para guwapo pa din, dahil mataga-tagal din akong uupo sa trabaho at hindi gaanong gagalaw.

Magbibisikleta na rin siguro ako papuntang opisina. Kung pwede, naka-scooter. Parang masaya mag scooter katabi ang dagat. Malamig ang simoy ng hangin, maganda ang view, pang-pelikula.

Aakyat ako ng bundok, yung nasa postcard. Maglalaro sa hamog at niyebe. At mag-susurfing din ako, balita ko uso naman yun doon. Uupo ako sa ilalim ng namumukadkad nilang mga puno at mag-tsa-tsaa. Yung mga templo, iisa-isahin ko.

At siguro, kung may tumanggap sa akin, susubukan ko mag-aral ng archery. Bagay siguro sa akin ang archery. Sport siya na solo lang, at kailangan mo lang mag-concentrate sa iisang sandali. Kailangan mo lang ng isang perfect na second, tapos ok na, bitaw na, manonood ka na lang. Sarap.

Magpapaka-dalubhasa ako sa trabaho ko, yung tipong dapat kaya ko gawin lahat ng kaya ng kasama ko. Pero hindi dahil nag-mamagaling. Gusto ko lang matutunan, para matulungan ko rin sila. At yung language, tuloy-tuloy yung practice. Siguro, maglalaan ako ng araw na maliligaw lang ako sa siyudad. Para lang mapilitan ako magtanong, makipag-usap, makipag-sapalaran.

Tatlong taon rin ako magsa-stay dun. Buti na din yung may plano. Pero ang importante, mag-enjoy ako. Sa palagay ko, yun ang pinaka-madaling gagawin sa lahat.

the Sudden Humility

I found my way to Los Banos last Saturday to salute a good friend of mine. In that particular manner you meet people haphazardly and realize the easy kinship, this is how I felt about him. And I braved unknown roads and the rural expanse to wish him goodbye properly, this quiet, steady friend of mine.

So friends came together that night, beside the pool, booze on the table, to offer him our well-wishing before he leaves for Malaysia. It was unspoken, a hidden acknowledgement between the hearty laughs, warm smiles, and gentle pats on the back.

A friend's blog turned 5 that day, too. And this blogger friend of ours asked us each if, by coming together, our lives have shifted somehow.

When it was my turn, I told the tale of the first connection. The yellowed tale of that one guy that was friendly, accommodating; the one that extended the invitation.

Afterwards, the guys asked me how come I looked so sad. I smiled a wry smile and whispered, "nostalgia".

I realized later it was something else: a sudden humility borne from an overflowing sense of "gratitude". Gay guys need gay friends. In the same way that swans must join their fellow swans, maybe to talk about feathers, or wonder about flight formations, or the taste of fish in the lake.

Being gay is a brave thing, a tough thing. And we do it everyday. I guess there's a certain bravery that comes from the knowledge of having a safe harbor, a respite to come back to after the battles. I see these friends of mine as my safe haven, they are the font of my courage, their assurance and company is the wind that lifts and flurries about the hidden banner waving in my heart.

It's that unsung joy, the feeling of fitting-in. And it is an incomparable happiness when you head out into the wide, infinite Earth and meet strangers you get along with. Great friends, after all, are the world's most precious treasure.

Gratitude is a creation of time and self-awareness. So take a moment and look back on all the days of your life, the quiet, the turbulent. You'll realize that the most unique of these moments are products of collaboration: a hodge-podge of love, camaraderie, and luck.

So thank God for good friends, and the quiet opportunities to tell them so.

BGM: The Corrs - Intimacy

What Stands Between

The somber commuters think nothing more of the cabins of glass and steel or the hidden machinery encased within. The jarring metal. The electric momentum. The hot, steamy, hiss. All and more hardly distract the huddled many while they teeter at the edge of the worn platform, knuckles clenched, tickets within.

Their thoughts are elsewhere, further down the shadowed train tracks. It is as if the very gears of their lives take pause as they shuffle into the station, and just as abruptly resume at the next stop.

There is no life to be made in waiting, after-all.

Today marks the first month of waiting at the new job. Neophyte enthusiasm has given way to bridled anticipation, and these reigns, like my patience, grows ever thinner.

It's a force of gravity that intrudes upon me. The rest of my life, in all its weight and self-importance, reaches out from the distance, from across the fence, and takes hold of my very being, pulling it forward.

Like a mighty star, the tendrils of its influence creeps through the void, across ages, crawls into our skins, into the very marrow of our bones, pulls the willing and unwilling alike into its heart to combust, to burn, to become energy, to radiate outward and into the cosmos.

My very core is compelled, and yet my body lingers. For the paperwork must be complete, and due process accomplished. I stand stoic on the platform, glance at my watch, and wait once more.

My eyes linger on the grey coats as they step into the gaping maw of the train doors. An implicit trust is imparted by those who dare to travel beyond. My eyes begin to wander along the length of the tracks ahead, further and forward, until finally my vision is smothered by the distant impermeable darkness.

In the distance lies the destination, and who's to say what lurks, what haunts, what waits, what stands between the promise of arrival and the courage of departure.

Jamais Vu

There are still people in my life who don't know I'll be migrating soon. Such a matter that has permeated my every waking thought, one would think, would have disseminated itself in a spirited and lively manner.

Well, this self-appointed exile of mine has not caught the kind of traction I imagined it would. Contrary to the quakes and rumbles of my heart, maybe this diaspora is nothing epic.

People leave with a shrug. People disappear from our lives on a regular basis. Separation is casual.

It just so happened it's me leaving. And I've accepted that I won't be coming back. At least, not anyone recognizable. True friends would see otherwise:

They would not find me changed from him they knew--
Only more sure of all I thought was true.

And for each and every one of them, I've got plenty of goodbye's to spare--that, a quick hug, and the promise of remembering.

Pagkakataon

Walang plano, walang mangyayari. Sa katapausan, sa dulo, sa hanganan, saan hahanapin ang susunod na hakbang, ang nagtatagong kabanata, ang nagbabanta, ang posible?

Nagtatanka tahakin ang tapos na. Sinusubukan ang hindi pa nauulit. Sinisilip ang hindi pa nagaganap.

Parang mahirap tumungo sa hindi pa napupuntahan. Hindi ata posible yun. Kelangan muna magbago, tangalin ang balat-kayo ng naparirito upang suotin ang mukha ng naparoroon. Kailangan magunaw bago mabuo muli.

Sa katapusan, dahil walang destinasyon, lahat ay nagiging destinasyon. Oportunidad. Ang natitira ay ang desisyon: kaliwa, kanan, dito, doon.

Ang hirap naman pumili. Ang hirap magtapos, magtagumpay. Saan ba umuuwi ang mga bayani pagkatapos ng gera? Saan ba bumabalik ang mga kuwentong na kuwento na? Saan umuuwi ang pangarap, ang dalangin, kapag natupad na?

Anong natitira sa taong umusad, nagbago, at hindi na nakikilala?

Apat na Taon

"Today, I get my diploma," wika ko sa sarili ko pagka-gising na pagka-gising. Mahigit apat na taon nang nakalipas nung umakyat ako ng entablado, suot ang itim na kumot at matigas na sumbrero ng pagtatapos. Nag-trabaho ako, umibayong dagat, nagmahal, sumaya, naghiwalay, nalungkot, tumaba, pumayat, kumita, nagpakaluho, nangutang, nagbayad at nabuhay habang naghahanap-buhay. Ang daming rason kung bakit ko ipinagpaliban ang natatanging patunay ng aking pag-aaral, pag-sasakripisyo, at pagsisikap. Pero sa araw na ito, wala nang dahi-dahilan.

Alas-singko iyon, sa isang maulap na umaga ng Biyernes. Gumising ako nang maaga para abutan ang kanilang tanggapan sa UP Manila ng alas-otso. Apat na lagda na lamang ang nalalabi bago ko makuha ang aking diploma sa Office of the University Registrar. Ah, tapos na siguro ako nang alas-diyes ng umaga, makakapasok pa ako.

Alas-tres na ng hapon nung nahawakan ko ang aking diploma. Kinuhanan ko pa ng litrato at ipinaskil sa Facebook. "Kelan kaya ako makakakuha nyan?" huni ng isang babaeng estudyante sa likuran ko.

- - -

Upang makuha ko ang diplomang ito, ako muna ay umakyat ng tatlong palapag sa NEDA para sa lagda ng Office of Student Affairs.

Pagkatapos ay tumungo akong CAS upang hanapin ang lagda ng College Secretary. Wala pa daw sabi ng mataray na alalay, naka-blusang itim siya katerno ng kanyang kaluluwa. Umupo ako sa malapit na bangko at naghintay habang nanonood na muna ng mga estudyante. Ang ba-bata nila. Mga wala pang muwang sa kanilang katayuan, sa kanilang kakayahan. Ang su-suwerte.

Isang oras ang nakalipas at alas-diyes na, pero wala pa rin. Mukhang hindi na ako aabot sa opisina. Tumawag ako nang daglian sa amin at nagpaalam ng "half-day". Ayos. Kakain na muna ako ng tanghalian kasama si Ralph diyan sa may DFA. Malapit lang naman.

Ay anlayo, sa SM MOA kami nagawi. Kumain kami sa kainang Thai, Jatujak, at inilibre niya ako doon ng curry na manok at pansit na malapad na kung tawagin ay Pad Thai. Alas-dos na ako nakabalik, siguro naman nandyan na ang hinihintay ko.

Tumambad si maitim na alalay at inabot sa akin ang aking "clearance form" kasama ang lagda ng sekretarya ng kolehiyo. Maraming, maraming salamat. Dalawang lagda na lamang.

Takbo akong NEDA muli, pangatlong palapag, isa-(pa)ng lagda sa Office of Student Affairs at isa pa sa Learning Resource Center(LRC). Ewan ko ba kung bakit kasama pa ang LRC, hindi naman ako nakinabang doon.

May nadaanan akong pulubi. Tumigil ako, tumalikod, bumalik, at nag-iwan ng anim na piso. Sa aking sarili, nagdasal ako ng taimtim, "Ayan, Lord, mabait naman ako. Tulungan mo din ako, ah? Please."

Hayan na, ang Office of the University Registrar. Ang tagapagtago ng aking diploma. Ang guwardiya ng aking kayamanan. "Akin na yan," mahina kong ibinulong habang nakapila sa Window 1.

Inalalayan ako ng naka-berdeng jacket na babae. Pumasok siya sa likod at doon ay nagtagal. Ang tagal. Ako ay bahagyang kinabahan.

"Meron ka pang kulang, lab fees. 800 lang naman," sabi ng pahinante pagkabalik.

"Ha? Lab fees? Pwede ko na ba bayaran ngayon na?" sagot ko.

"Diyan lang sa tabi, sa may kahera."

Pila ako, at sabay silip sa kalupi. Ay nako, pitong-daan na lang ang aking salapi. Tumakbo ako sa ATM at naglabas ng pera. Buti na lang husto ang aking kinuha dahil walang sinusukli ang kahera. Nagbayad ako at kumaripas pabalik sa babaeng naka-berdeng jacket. Nakangiti at magaan ang aking puso (at ang aking pitaka), inabot ko ang aking "clearance form", kumpleto ang mga lagda, may resibo pa.

- - -

Ang haba nang nangyari. Pakiramdam ko hindi matutuwa ang estudyanteng ito kung inilahad ko lahat sa kanya.

Lumingon na lamang ako sa kanya. "Apat na taon ko itong hinintay."

Napatingin ako muli sa aking diploma, "Di bale, darating din yan."

Basta huwag ka lang susuko bulong ng puso ko.

I Always Said Red

Arrogant. It is said that the proudest are also the most ignorant. Where the human mind cannot afford fear, it tends to oversimplify and underestimate instead. It's a weighty thought that bore no meaning to me when I read it once upon a time.

And when I lived a little longer, saw a little farther, I thought this was the world and I knew exactly what I was doing. I believed I knew enough. Presumptuous.

I once said that I couldn't pick a favorite book, movie, or song. Arguing that those who have truly dived into the millennia of human creativity and inspiration could not possibly choose one gem from the whole scintillating body of work. Those who managed to pick just haven't seen enough to compare with.

In Japanese class, for practice, we declare our favorite colors. I always said red. If they had to ask why, I'd, in broken Japanese, explain I like red because it isn't blue. Everyone likes blue and I don't want to be like everyone.

I'm guilty of convincing myself I'm above the usual, that I'm better. It helps with the self-esteem and the confidence. But there are some people that exude strength with such an uninhibited manner. The self-assured. I envy them.

I envy them because they pick colors they like. Because they want to have Harry Potter's babies. Because they've memorized every line of Back to the Future. Because they can Mmmmmbop forevermore--and have tried.

They are the vibrant, the free.

And they are better than me because they are aware of what makes them tick, what gets their juices running, what makes them--them. They know and are intimate with the urges of their heart, the stirrings of their soul.

I think it's time to find out where my inner compass points. Stray from the path and see where my secret dreams could take me--if they'll lead me home.

You have to get lost to find yourself.

Framed by the unfamiliar, we are forced to discover our personal truth.

a Change in Scenery

An awesome fact about the new place is that there isn't really much to be said at all. This is entirely because I haven't spent the most of those 2 weeks at the office. This is amazing news.

But I still have to say something, before I lose that fresh perspective and novel insight afforded only to those who are in transition. Ehem, ehem.

The commute takes some getting used to. It's a far cry from the Makati shuttle I took at the last place, especially now that this new route requires a jeep, a bus, and an MRT ride to complete--plying Sucat road, SLEX and EDSA respectively. Those are 3 rides compared to the lazy 1 shuttle where I am of the habit of just dozing-off. Dozing-off on the road is not an option anymore. And it's especially difficult since I wake up at 5am now--plus I'm prone to purring noises. Mrrrrr.

Though the location bites, the place itself is a beaut-. It's a new office located at the 18th floor of the sleek, modern Hanston Square building along San Miguel Ave. This gifts wandering eyes with a commanding view of the Ortigas cityscape: Shangrila hotel and mall, Megamall, EDSA, and lately, various ants with umbrellas. Styled like traditional Japanese offices, rows of workspaces and 21inch LCD monitors run perpendicular to lofty windows facing west. And every evening, employees are bathed in orange hues as the sun slowly sets into the skyline.

The work-force has the option to revel in the aforementioned receding glow of dusk at the office or on their way home. The uber-flexitime system in place only enforces mandatory attendance from 11am-4pm, allowing the industrious to clock in as late and clock out as early as they like. And with no salary deductions at all as long as, of course, they fulfill the 80 hours before the bi-monthly payroll cut-off period. Hurrah for options, and hurray for convenience.

My only gripe then is the lack of male representation. 2/3 of the work-force are deployed in Japan and that includes most of the men from the office. Of the 20 people remaining, there are only 6 of us manly men to man the place.

Romantic pursuits may have to be postponed 'til touchdown in Japan, where I'll be sharing a flat with more men. Suffice to say, it's an arrangement that is not without promise.

XI. Acknowledgements

A finished task is common enough, the only marked difference is the effort expended. And most great tasks are defined by that effort, or the summation of efforts of all individuals involved. Recognized here:

To my parents, who paid for the tuition that would eventually fund this undertaking. That and for waking me up, feeding me, and taking me to school—as much as they possibly could, with all the patience in the world.

To my college friends, who made the length of days short and sweet.

To my high-school friends, who will always remind me of all that I can be, should be, and will be.

To Coach Gerry, whose impetus gave me strength.

To Joms, who reminded me not to tarry.

And to Myself, for following through—eventually.

Ad Interim

Tomorrow marks the 7th day, the end to the week long break from that side of me that pushed so hard to go places. That side of me that heeded to keenly the ticking clock of my transitory life. It felt good, not wearing that watch for a while.

And in that short span of time, I:

got plenty of hugs, found the courage to follow-up on those malicious 'intentions', got a picture instead, overloaded on rice, played the drums again and found my awkward beat, got drunk, sang, got drunk again;

overslept, asked someone out to a date, did something japanese, went to confirm I'm 'negative', confirmed I'm negative, got a hug, got a number, liked someone, went and watched something japanese, had a bag full of dark-chocolate covered malt-balls, went and watched something campy, stayed up late, laughed with friends, laughed with family, felt alive, read a book;

overslept, spent some quality time with the dog, got what needed doing done, gym-ed, danced 'til I was sweaty, was satisfied, went home, closed the door on someone's hand, avoided a lawsuit, read a book, wrote;

overslept, marathon-ed a tv series, felt embarrassed, felt alone, attempted to rediscover, attempted to reconnect, found some degree of quiet, found some resolution, found his friends, over-ate on dimsum, had a great time, loved his friends a little more;

slept, had a brief encounter with a needle, got checked-up by a doctor, flirted during the pre-medical exam, went all the way to Makati for really good ramen, loved it, learned the value of new friends, went home, dreamed of New York, dreamed of better things.

In 7 days, I reconnected with old friends. I did not deny the wish of my good friends. I imposed on best friends. Is this what being alive is like? Maybe all there is to live for is the company of good friends. Pursuits, dreams, goals, they're all noble and practical. But who'll be there to celebrate and applaud when you've finished the race, when you've followed through. When you're finally up on stage, will you stand before an audience of one--your own vanity--and be happy?

Life is a collaboration. People each have separate routes to plot, and I believe that the impact, the collisions of these trails produce all the beauty life has to offer. All the things I know and love have gained that place because they have touched my heart in an unexpected way. It's in the unscripted that I found sincerity; in the unpredictable, passion. I think it's time to talk to strangers, to be guided by the wind, and to consult with the stars.

Oh, and I found some great music. Little by little, it's starting to feel like it all makes sense again.

the Quiet, the Desperate

We went up a volcano the other day. Mt. Pinatubo was the site for some horrific tales and lives changed forever. And we went there for a day trip. It was an awesome way to get in touch with nature, they said. It was a bargain, too.

So we went, set aside a Saturday to get in touch with something primordial, fancy cameras and fast-food in tow. It was majestic. It was humbling. We discovered and experienced those 8 hours through the very soles of our feet as we eked our way through the meandering fissure where the volcanic ash rushed years ago.

The hike demanded much, but it also rewarded plenty. I stopped at every river, ankle-deep in the cool mountain stream, staring at the height of the ravine walls. I let my eyes trace every crack, the shaded instability, the precarious balance that held up the sides of the route. We had to. The guide warned us not to stand too near, or speak too loud. It wouldn't take much to change the landscape here.

And that's why it was quiet. It had to be. This is nature. Nature's way is to wait and bide its time. The stream that flowed around my feet was probably a stream that flowed ages ago. And it had this ravine to show for it. It had been busy, cajoling the earth every day to give up a little more of itself, to succumb, topple over, and get washed away into the ocean.

This was what we found in Mt. Pinatubo. Most of our group were from Makati, who worked in Makati. The dreary place I'll be leaving soon. We ran away from that desolate place to find this new one. There's not much difference here. Each hard working soul is represented by a crag, a shifting wall here along the trail. Worn, cracked, constantly oppressed and yet still standing resolute.

This is the quiet desperation of Makati made real. What I thought as a collective emptiness wasn't empty at all. It was instead a roiling consciousness hidden among snappy suits and proper dresses. The glazed eyes were worn not by the forsaken multitudes, it was borne wearily by the bold many who chose the ordeal, who held on. And knowing your fate, the choosing of it, changes the story. The landscape has changed, it is now a story of perseverance and fortitude.

My chapter has ended for now. I am the rock face that gave out, that toppled, and whose collective parts will be carried many a league into the distance. I am forever changed by meeting this river that has run its course for centuries. The wall, having lost its excess, its weaknesses, is stronger, stable. A little closer to its real form. A few jagged pieces shy of the truth. It will continue to bear the course of the river, and will some day once again be rent asunder, and still never relent.

This is my new chapter, of courage and a different kind of tenacity. The strength to hold on to what matters, and let the rest flow away. The river rushes through me, it cools the fire that burns and sates the thirst that grows.

The Thread that Binds All Things

We are a race of small miracles. We forget that a lot. And it's because we dream of something or we love someone. By rushing headfirst, along the way burning the energy of our youth, capitalizing on the wisdom of our maturity, we learn to define our journeys from milestone to milestone, picking up meaning and fulfillment along the way, and somehow redefining, with every step, the destination. As time inevitably slips away, that is all we live for.

But we owe ourselves those empty moments: when we walk alone in the darkness, heading somewhere familiar, wondering what it all means. When we let the overwhelming lack of meaning in the world raise it's head and hiss, "Howdy?" It's all random in the end. I learned that.

Life is arbitrary, and it's also unapologetic about it. The sooner you realize this, the sooner you'll see that anything goes, really. You could really be all you want to be. Simply because, there is no other better option, everything else is pointless. There's no room for drama, for excuses. I believe we're all roaming around in a kind of maze of our own creation. We box ourselves in with where we should go, what we should do, and who we should be. It gets tiring. What matters then is what you want--and if you got there.

Pursuits are temporary enough. We dream. We love. We decide. We change our minds. As they say, everything in life is only for now. We survive by being transitory.

But don't despair. 'Til then, you'll happen upon bits and grains of happiness. It might be as simple as an unexpected lunch on a warm Sunday afternoon, or a midnight stroll along puddles and the whisper of rain, or that warm feeling whenever you join the laugh of close friends. There is a small, inconsequential beauty that pervades across all things. And though it too is random, I choose to experience it as fate.

A gentle cue to pick something out of the multitude of possibilities in my life and go for it. A signal to dive in. To hope. Just go ahead and find your answer. And if we don't get there, we'd at least have the satisfaction of knowing we died trying.

Just keep moving. And keep your eye on those small miracles.

The Red Stain

He said to me, "When relationships end, the only thing that remains is either the love or the hate." It was spoken like a promise. As if all romantic undertakings, however unique, would converge towards this dismal eventuality. We were sitting down, for coffee, or dinner, I don't particularly remember. I just remember that I turned to him, this friend of mine who got burned pretty bad in his last relationship, my eye's brimming with contempt, and told him point blank, "Wow, that's deep".

I didn't believe it. I was naive then, a passionate innocent of the worst kind. I knew with all my heart that true love never fails. If you love someone, if you truly love them, then all else will fall into place. As long as the fire burns, the wrong can be made right. There is always the opportunity to talk, and in that simple act elicit understanding, and the final acceptance and catharsis.

I drew my courage from my current relationship. There, even after all the late arguments, the long discussions, the emotional roller coaster rides, our tenacity inspired my own wonderment. "This must be love," I said to myself, "we wouldn't have lasted as long otherwise."

It was a matter of pride as well. I will not be the hand that ends our relationship. I started it, with sound mind and in good conscience, and I mean to keep it. I did, until last week.

There is only the echoing emptiness now. The gap left behind. Wait, let me reword that, the gash left behind by an ended relationship. It felt like something essential was forcibly rended from me, grasped and torn away. And what remains now, is the simplified whole of me. The me that exists when there is nothing opposite, when there is no complement. I've forgotten who that was, and the time has come to find my way back. There was no other choice.

But it cannot be denied that things are much simpler now. When your goals are only your own, freedom is assured. But what freedom is worth the price of forgetting love? I'll find out, but never forget. The blood red stain of the love that remains splattered across my being will see to that.

steeped

Jump into the fire. Everything works out somehow, life's like that. The worst that can happen is a few burns and scrapes.

Wouldn't it be great if that left you a scar? A tangible proof of your commitment. Something so important you'd risk bodily harm, now made real between sinew and scar tissue.

The Greeks had it right: the ordeal predates the glory. Heroes are hewn from strife, and good stories are rich with these. And great stories are great because there's something to learn. Or as I heard from somewhere, great stories are those that teach you something new about something you already know. We pick in the orchard of familiar lessons, seeded by stories of strife.

But those are stories, and we have our own story to worry about, dictated by the progress of our lives.

And how is your life coming along? Is it sitting in the fire, burning bright, radiating heat from the infinitesimal friction and collision of your individual passions?

I plunged myself into the boiling water, seeking something hidden, something hard to reach, something ideal. And while I search, like tempered steel borne from fire, I'm steeping underneath the water's surface.

Coffee beans work that way. Keep them in hot water and they become richer, their true essence is revealed as they bear the heat.

But like coffee, you shouldn't leave them too long simmering. A time comes when the coffee must be drunk, the success of the venture savoured. That time is soon, or maybe even now.