Pangarap pa rin

Joy joy joy joy! Parang ang dali lang maging masaya noon. Ang yabang yabang ko pa, meron pa akong nalalaman na "Happines is a choice." Pero ngayong nagta-trabaho na ako ng 3 taon, nakalimutan ko na kung panong maging maligaya ng basta-basta. Hindi na kagaya noon na gigising lang ako sa umaga at ang maiisip ko ay "Ang sarap-sarap mabuhay." Ngayon, sa pag-gising ko, bubuka ang aking mga mata, titingnan ang dilim ng aking kwarto, papakiramdaman ang init ng mundong ibabaw, at pipikit muli.

Ganun ba talaga yun kapag tumamatanda? Siguro. Naisip ko din dahil meron na akong trabaho at salapi, mas matindi na ako mag-ambisyon ngayon. Umaasa na akong magka-kotse na pula, magtayo ng bahay sa may SLEX, makabili ng condominium sa Makati. Noon, mabili ko lang yung napaka-gandang pantalon, makakain lang ako ng sapat, makanood ng magandang sine, sulit na ang buhay ko. Pero dahil 25 na ako, kelangan nang maglevel-up ang naipupundar. Sa edad kong ito, dapat yung mga pangarap ko nang pagkabata tinutupad ko na.

At ano nga ba yung mga pangarap ko ng pagkabata? Madami. Ang dali talaga mangarap, at ang dali maging masaya dahil alam mo lang na yung mga pangarap mo matutupad din balang araw. Puwes, dumating na ang araw na iyon. At sa pag-sikat niya, ang mga pangarap ay pangarap pa rin.

Hindi naman ito kasalanan. Mahaba pa ang buhay, bata pa naman ako, sariwa pa naman siguro. Pero nakaka-pressure na. Kelangan na ng direksyon, ng patutunguhan. Hindi na pwede yung basta-bastang pag-gawa ng mga araw-araw na responsibilidad. Kelangan nang mag-isip ng "long-term", mag-isip ng seryoso.

Nakakatawa, pero yung mga laos na tanong noong highschool guidance class, yung mga "Where do you see yourself 5, 10, 20 years from now?", tinatanong ko na uli sa sarili ko. At mas lalo pa, inaalala ko kung ano yung mga sagot ko noon. Sabi ko, kapag 25 na ako, dapat lawyer na akong pasado sa bar, kumikita ng 50k at ang kalahati nun ay iniipon para makapag-milyon pagdating ng 30. At dapat nabili ko na yung buong Harry Potter na series, dapat hard-bound.

Yung Harry Potter ayos na, pero yung lawyer ay matagal ko nang ipinagpaliban. Sa suweldo, malapit na din; pero ang ipon, huwag na natin itanong. So medyo ok pa ako, medyo "on-track" kung ganun ang usapan. Pero kahit dito pa lang, kahit wala pa sa totoong ginugusto ko, ang hirap na pala makarating dito. Masaklap pa, kahit nakarating nga ako, parang kulang na kulang pa din.

Ramdam ko na ang ikli ng buhay at ang pagod na kasabay ng pagtahak ng mga landas nito. Ang dali noon ituro at pagnasahan ang mga destinasyong nakakalat at nangaakit. Sa aking pagtanda, hindi na lamang ang malayong kislap ng patutunguhan ang nakikita ko, kita ko na din ang mabato at masukal na daan patungo. Kung iisa lang ang pwede kung marating, kung isa lang ang maaari kong makamit sa buhay ko, ano yun? Nasaan yun? May panahon pa ba?

*photo credit from Palipasan which, in a sudden spate of irony, is a post about never giving up on hope.

Japanese Separation Anxiety

I haven't done anything Japanese in 3 months. A long time for someone who's worked at a Japanese company for 3 years, geeked-out on Japanese anime in school, and dreamed of living in Japan one day. The new job doesn't have Japanese bosses, Japanese classes, Japanese documents, Japanese emails, nor Japanese firewall warnings(they block a lot of sites there) and the culture is radically different. The freedom is shocking. I kinda knew all this beforehand, and 3 months in, I all but confirmed my predictions. But I never would have predicted I'd change along the way, too.

I thought it was a caffeine thing, so I drank more coffee. Then I thought it was an exercise thing, so I gym-ed a little more. Then I thought it was a work thing, so I put more heart and time into my job.

But whatever I did, I just felt sadder. I still accomplished things, but it all felt like goals outside of myself. I spent a lot of effort, and still I felt I wasn't getting anywhere. I got even more dejected, and then just focused on work instead. Started to feel numb and thought this is what working in Makati is like. The hurrying pedestrians, the constant roar of traffic, the cold, sterile offices. This is business, after all.

But this weekend, I got a Sunday all to myself, and decided to clean out my pc clutter. Sifting through old pictures, installers, and porn, I found I had a copy of Nodame Cantabile. I indulged and watched it.

And BAM! It was a one-two punch: it was Japanese AND it was about music. I remembered how I love watching an anime begin. The anticipation and the excitement is overwhelming as the intro music roars the typical happy Japanese gibberish. As a kid, I jump around, ecstatic. I remembered how wonderful it felt to play in an ensemble. The music envelops you and somehow, among all those instruments playing their own tunes, you find your spot in the melody and play your own, leave an impression, and complement the whole, become a part of a living thing that resides in everyone who listens.

I'm back again, I'd say. 3 months into the new job, I've come full-circle back to the awkwardness of growing, the innocence of budding dreams, and the rush of finding my own way in the world. I said once the new job feels a lot like high school, I didn't know my metaphor was so truly spot-on.

I Live in a House with No Vases

I brought my mom flowers one day, a stalk of linen-white oriental lilies. They have yet to to bloom though, still encased in their green sheaths. The florist assured me though that they'd bloom in time for Valentines.

So I headed home quickly and thought to present these blossoms well. I sought for a vase, something slender to compliment the stalk. Something plain and without hue, so the white of the lilies could stand out.

After a long search, I salvaged a vase shaped like a woman and her hair, also green, bending over. It was very art deco and it had a hole which made it a vase somehow. I placed my one stalk inside and it looked a bit awkward, the lilies jutting out at a sharp angle to accommodate the curved posture of the green artsy lady.

In the afternoon light, I stared at my attempt at being emotional and thought this is how it is in this house.

In the earlier days, my mom and dad have made it a point to always stick to essentials, and have cultivated a culture of scarcity. My parents reinforced this by placating my childish wants for shiny new things with tenets like, "Not for now dear, we're a little short," "We don't need that right now," and the ever popular, "When it's your birthday or Christmas, I promise we''ll get it for you."

In time, I've learned to rely on myself for my own needs and wants. My parents provided everything I needed in school like books and pens and notebooks, new ones every school year. And I enjoyed these times because I could pick and because I didn't have to feel guilty since there was a set budget. But for impromptu necessary expenditures like field trips and projects, I drew from my own purse. In my youth, I dealt with absolutes and only now have I realized I could have still asked these things of them, that they could afford it and would probably condone--and eventually did in later years.

But it stuck, and I always made it a point to be independent of my parents, especially financially, in all things. For frivolous things, like designer perfume or sweet flowers, I've only lately learned to indulge in those and I have my friends to thank for that.

But in this moment, I've come full circle. I have fresh flowers in a house that have never known any. The only fresh blossoms to ever step inside are the sampaguitas my parents buy off the street kids. Here, today, I am confronted by the humility my parents brought me up with and the resulting growth in my character.

The improvised vase was leaky. The green lady was old and it was never meant to hold water--we've had her since we moved in 15 years ago--so we placed the lilies in a large clear water-glass. My mom found them in the morning and--though they were unnecessary, do not contribute to paying any bills, nor fulfilling any pending needs--they bloomed, and they bloomed beautifully.

My mom was happy that Valentines.

Hovering

Welcome back to Manila. Back to the frowning masses, back to streets awash with cars. Back to each disappointing sunrise and the endless wait for sunsets. Welcome, friend welcome. Lay your head here awhile, to the side, rest its weight upon your own shoulders and worry about stiffness later. You've left too late and come back to soon to your own life, the one you've been working on for so long. And though it's the only thing you've ever known, the only thing you're good at, you wonder if, out there, there's still some other life you could live.

I've been tempted lately by thoughts of disappearing, but not in the kidnap-gone-awry-then-suddenly-cadavers kind of sense. Instead, wandering off unexpectedly and getting lost to the world seems like a lovely plan. I'm starting to feel like most of the things in my life are things I agree to do but don't feel entirely compelled to pursue. It's like playing the music of my instrument on someone else's beat and cadence.

Mind you, I'm not resentful or frustrated. Things are actually good. Not great. But relative to genocide, sudden unemployment and elections, preferably a-ok. The recurring thought that pokes some mischief into me though is that I feel that if you left me to my own devices, somewhere far away where no one knows me and no one cares, I'd be making completely different decisions. Somewhere out there is a life I could have if I just decide, wholeheartedly and completely to abandon this one.

This has nothing to do with the friends I've known, the family I've grown with and the people I've discovered. There is no individual repellent. It's just that I like playing with odds and, lately, I've been playing it safe too long. It's time to walk out that door, commute towards the opposite direction, and make things interesting.

That's the last thing Jesus did if you remember, the great (though inconsistent) disappearing act that culminated with a certain heaven-bound hovering. I guess for Him, gravity was just a suggestion and, just like me, it may seem absolute now, but hey! He did it anyway, doves and dramatic lighting included. It can be done! We have the technology! I just need some guts.

He kind of died first though. Let's just mark that milestone as "pending".

Like a Lover's Voice Fires the Mountainside

It was dark, of course, as I wearily crept up the stairs and found my seat overlooking the stage. I watched tonight's band setting up gingerly in the dim gloom on that Thursday evening. The place was still empty but I knew the crowds would come. The long-weekend starts tomorrow after all and the week's passing deserves some music, some drinks, and some unsuppressed revelry. God knows I needed some of it, too, but the reason for tonight's romp was mostly foreign. My overseas sister flew in earlier this week and she's been craving for some live music, live 80's music.

Which was a happy coincidence considering we originally intended--and I originally hoped--to watch the wonderful local group SPIT for tonight. They canceled tonight's show though. So to save the evening's festivities and with the weight of 2 laptop bags slung over my shoulder, I stepped out of the office and slowly trudged towards those neon-light infused streets just a city block away. A few minutes later, I called the family up and told them, "Yes, they're playing 80's tonight." In the background, I heard my sister's squeal in delight rise above the cellphone static. I was glad for her, it was her night after all.

I also had an hour to burn before the show started, before the family could make it through the clogged Makati streets, and before I had to meet up my friend all the way back in Glorietta. So, I started walking towards the commercial district, started to join the faceless crowds marching home, and caught up with myself and how the week has been.

The week has been tiring. But this was welcome fatigue, a sort of cherished exhaustion that came for spending every second of your life doing something you knew would propel you forward. Something you knew would define your life in hindsight, something chapter-worthy, if you'd write an autobiography. This new chapter was about the new job.

The new job deserves some talk. It was exciting work since we were, even as developers, working so close to the front-lines(the marketing people talked to US). Our work had such a direct impact on the project, and the project itself is a behemoth of technologies, constantly growing in size and capabilities. We weren't attaching little diodes or fancy fenders to this thing either. We were building it from the ground-up, attaching the arms, legs and head to what will soon be an industry changer--at least that's what marketing says. I agree, but we still have a long way to go.

"We'll get there," I thought to myself as I tried to ignore the band starting to play downstairs and my sister gyrating inconspicuously in her seat next to me. I didn't know how I'll get there, what I'd be doing in the critical weeks thereafter, but I knew I just had to trust in my own strength, in the teams strength, and in fate who hasn't let me down yet.

And then they started playing my music, my music of all things. Of all places here, in the darkness, on a random Thursday night, beneath the swirl of the disco ball and glint of neon lights, among foreign foreigners and familiar family, in this nondescript bar in the middle of Makati, my song found me.

Life taught me something that night. We live like the nightclub anonymous, distant from the throb and hubbub on-stage as we drink our lonely drinks and forcefully drown the responsibilities, problems, issues we've left outside in the night. We may have friends with us on the table, people who relate, people who sympathize, who share our drink and our fears. We stare beyond the brim of icy glasses, at life in all it's whirling colors, in its upbeat rhythm, in its perpetual dancing, and think, "Why bother."

And then they play your song, and you can't help but stand, can't help but surrender to serendipity. You start to move with the beat, simply trust that it all leads somewhere worthwhile. The music consumes you, and you celebrate, even for a short while. You spin and spin on the temporary momentum of joy. We raise our glasses in the air, in defiance against transition, in challenge against change, and shout, "Why not?"

Life's a playlist. It may be long, and it may seem like it's set at random most of the time. But our song is there somewhere, and it'll play eventually, and it'll eventually all be alright. And definitely, it'll be fun.

a short intro

On my first day at work, the new boss asked me to write something up about myself. Sitting to my left, his eyes never leaving the flickering monitor, he said, "Be creative. Use pictures if you like. Just say what you want. Who is Dean?" Another developer, 2 seats to my right joined in, "Ayos lang yan, pinagawa rin niya yan sa akin (It's no big deal, he made me do it, too)." So I did, verbosely:

I guess the best way to start job introductions would be to say a little something about why I ended up here in the first place. So, I was exposed to computing at an early age. To put things in the proper perspective, this was a time when internet connections involved noisy modem beeps, Yahoo and Geocities ruled the scene, and floppies were a respectable means for data migration. I enjoyed it and so actively joined those random Computer clubs at school that really don't offer much education besides launching Carmen Sandiego and, if you're lucky, disassemble a pc.

My sister took up an IT course in college and I--getting my hands dirty in HTML, PC setup, and Diablo 2-- followed suit, taking up Computer Science in UP Manila. And I had a great time of it, working on little MP's that showed me how much is possible with the right algorithm. By then, I've also discovered how much I love to write, probably because I love to read as well. I think the programming knack is related to writing, since both attempt to communicate intangible concepts through words, though to entirely different audiences.

So there. I spend most of my time reading(current book is H.G. Wells' "Food of the Gods") and keeping tabs on multiple rss feeds clueing me in on emerging technologies. Currently, I think Android is a great bet since it's a lot more liberal in terms of what you can do with a mobile device. I feel that when I get better at it, I'll be able to create amazing things that are a lot more practical and wide-reaching. Instead of building applications that run in some random server in some dark corner of the world, I'll be building something that can improve, or even radically transform, the way people live.

And all this from finding the right words to tell the PC. That's why I'm a Software Engineer.

I thought it was a little too intense for introductions, a little too dramatic for your first hello. But I knew this was how I honestly felt. Just be honest; I remember how simple life could have been if I stayed true to myself in younger days. I'm going to follow my own advice this time.

I received a copy of my write-up later that day. He had sent it to the company-wide mailing list, with a brief messaging welcoming me to the fold. I feigned embarrassment. But the truth of the matter is, I was filled with pride. I hope everyone's first impression of the new kid on the block is: "The new guy's passionate, and literate, too."

trespassing

I envy some of my friends who wear camaraderie like a scarf: warmly, with a suggested fondness, and most of all, an unintended overlap of proximities. They fit the same profile: always light-hearted, in both they are unburdened, and in the attraction of other hearts lured by the light of their own. I've noticed they also style themselves in ragged shades of their own sudden vulnerabilities. And I think it is this unashamed truth of their own weaknesses, this tolerance for their all-too-real humanity, that reinforces the perceivable solace of their company, and the ease of their understanding, and ultimately, forgiveness.

Instead, I wear my friendship like a brooch: vagrant and adventurous, but always sparkling in novelty. I have no qualms trying something new or meeting someone new. There is adventure there and life should be filled with those. Except, when the occasion demands other requirements, when circumstances arrange themselves favorably towards our separation, friend and mine, I confess I grieve less than others. Worn after a fashion, seasonal, and I hold no grudges. But each one is special to me, kept in the dark, comfy, suede boxes. Hidden, but never forgotten. And at the turn of fate, sparkling in the light once more.

This is business embodied in personal relations, and I thought it was of the proper conduct. People, in their individuality, are commodities that I have no right to hoard. They have their own lives, own passions to burn out, to consume, and I should simply count myself lucky whenever their lives overlap mine. And in those temporary segments, when our lifelines converge, cross and intertwine for a time, I offer myself in whole and hope that when they propel themselves onward, in tangent, their momentum was partly mine.

Friendship, in a way, is shared movement. It's like a journey through the perambulating landscape of someone else's continuing story. I find it such an easy task, this befriending, because every meeting for me is like finding a new land to discover, to stumble around in, to learn from. But for true friendship to run its course, it would be better if I became less of the tourist passing through the rolling vistas of my friends' lives, and be more of the interim settler that trespasses, and lives there for a while, experiences the warmth and the seasons, then leaves a part of himself, like a seed of a tree, to add to the perpetually shifting horizon. To leave a lasting memento behind to be remembered by, something lovingly kept, aside from worn scarves and aged brooches.

an Exposition on Exasperation

A friend of mine has started talking to me again. He probably looked for me simply because the usual ears to his stories weren't around that day. Plus, I was leaving the company soon, so these remaining friendships should be rekindled somehow if they were to last the time and distance.

For a background, he's a really nice guy, a strange mix of panache and frankness that allows him to be forthcoming always and offending, never. A genuine altruist. Not simply because he is the friend of everyone, but because he subscribes to that word's truest(dictionary) meaning: a person unselfishly concerned for or devoted to the welfare of others. He never says no to any requests and he goes out of his way to cheer you up. The world would be better if there more guys like him, or at least there would be more smiles in the world.

The obvious drawback would be that there will always be those who take advantage of this, and that's how his sob story went. The details are irrelevant--and private, too--but what struck me was how matter-of-fact his anger was. He vented his frustration vocally and in a passive-aggressive manner of the worst kind. Though the guy deserved it, I couldn't help but cringe as he narrated every snide remark and banter.

I've encountered emotions like this before, and the pacifist--wuss?--in me would, time and time again, come up with some superfluous counter-argument: maybe he was naive or socially inept? maybe the guy had family issues? maybe he had diarrhea? And facing those stunned, hurt eyes after each admonishment put my constant positivity in its place: a quiet and accommodating place.

But the rankling confused me. Though I've seen people mad so many times, I still have yet to understand why. Of course, they tell me the reasons behind their acrimony, but what confounds me is: Why do they bother?

Nursing a hot temper is a purely destructive and inward effort--lonely, too. Still, I understand that emotions can't be controlled and, in those times, I wholly agree to heartfelt outrage. I just thought that, with age, people would be calmer about these things. I mean, aren't our grandparents such wonderful examples of calmness and genteel repose? What's so different from the vantage point of 60 years ahead of us?

I submit my humble theory: In life, there are only two things that people should exert effort for, and that is the pursuit of each of their individual happiness-es, and cleaning up the mess afterwards. Imagine what could happen if you channel all your passion, all your energy, and funnel it into your heart's desire. Where would you be now? How little does all else look when compared to that vision of how happy you could be?

Maybe that's what lola and lolo had in their heads. When death is imminent and time is a dwindling commodity, they let go of all else that could bring them down too. Free themselves from those baggages--rude jeeps, insolent kids, crazy governance--and just hold on fervently to those things that are so much more meaningful: grandkids, pancakes, and another morning.

I told my friend to just chill. He asked me if he overdid it, and I said he didn't, but he shouldn't try a stunt like that again. Cheer-up instead! Smiling is such a powerful--and mostly unexpected--act in any altercation. And most of the time, the one with the grin is the one that comes out ahead.

consummate

I just found(and shortly bought) the last hardbound box set of Harry Potter at the relatively new National Bookstore at Glorietta 5. Wow, finally, I did it, commissioned by me 8 years ago!

Back in 4th year high school, our Guidance class--a class in which we talked about our feelings and self-discovery voodoo without any social backlash since the teacher was so frightfully lovable and who's very smile encouraged nice-ness and other Carebear emotions--had a special final project for us seniors to tackle: a scrapbook.

Yep, the typical "look back on ye' trodden path and remember lest ye' stumble" kind of scrapbook that was meant to manifest in photos and paraphernalia what the last 4 years meant to us. And true enough, come submission day, our teacher was treated to the milieu of mixed media memories.

Some of the kids didn't really take it seriously. When a project that involved "using your imagination" gets pitched, they tend to interpret it as "wing it". This produced a lovely collection of crap-books: clear-books stuffed with random, haphazard doohickeys that looked like Exhibits A thru Z of some crazed pickpocketing spree at the local thrift store. Not even an explanation to be found as you browse page by page, junk by junk. They pretty much just bought the clear-book, stuffed each leaf with whatever was within arms reach, and slapped a name on the front cover. Done in less than 5 minutes--including buying the actual book.

There were also those who took it to heart. They went elaborate, eked out their history through amateur typography and brightly colored Elmer's glue--t'was the rage--and brought out the last of the stash of glitter to be enjoyed by any brave enough to peruse and be a little glittery too afterwards.

Mine was done in one sleepless night. I bought a scrapbook and some paper to stick stuff to and some tape to stick stuff with and was deciding where I stand between the two extremes: make it pretty but get it over with so I can play Final Fantasy Tactics on the Playstation already.

I, as you may have inferred, did not play Final Fantasy Tactics on the Playstation that night. It could have been the overly bright blue construction paper, or the exposure to too many dust-bunnies while hunting for the right snapshot, or the effluvium of the then seemingly witty humor(mostly puns). Whatever it was, I started having fun.

It surprised me how fulfilling it felt to piece together those 4 years and make a story out of it. And best of all, someone would actually care to read it. It was vanity that fueled me that night. And I discovered scrapbook making for the selfish hobby it really is, when so much effort is placed to preserve memories only you can truly appreciate.

I worked relentlessly on it, and when it was done, I knew I've made something I'd cherish for a long time. Out of my own hands, a wonderful gem of self-expression.

I added a final note to the scrapbook, a sort of anticipative footnote that was to remind of the things I held most dear then: Harry Potter(Sorcerer's Stone just came out) and my mp3's(meticulously siphoned from a younger internet, scourging Napster, Anipike, AudioGalaxy, Kazaa, and ultimately Limewire). Mp3's were meant to be kept while the Harry Potter series was meant to be bought once I've found the means, once I've found a job that afforded me the currency for my every wish, once I had that magical credit card to swipe with.

Today is the day I fulfilled that aging dream--and at 3 months 0% interest, t'was a bargain!

At The Cusp of It

Macky and I caught up with each other finally, rekindling the wonderful hour we shared in that dark shuttle that connected where we worked and where we lived. On any other given night, I would have spent my free hours whiling away at the gym, and heading home terribly late on those notorious buses that seemed driven by the very Wind. But tonight, thanks to a disagreeable ham and peperoni sandwich, I resigned my uneasy self home.

And we talked and talked, as old friends are wont to do when separated for too long, and one of the things I told Macky--or confessed, since conversations with those bestest closest friends are always about the mundane yet somehow always turn brutally honest and introspective--was how I wasn't really feeling this new PC game.

It was an OK game. Cutesy graphics, a bit of the RPG theme in there, and most of all, lots of extravagant magic effects--which I am such a sucker for. "But," I told Macky. "I couldn't bear playing it. There was so much effort to remain interested." He said it was all to do with maturing, and I nodded. True that, but I confessed further how it didn't play out exactly that way--so to speak.

"I thought maturing, the growing out of games, was because of the growth in standards. Perhaps my more aged, experienced tastes demanded a compelling plot, elaborate visuals, something with a richer, deeper, more resounding experience. But, no. In this case, what killed my interest was entirely different. Instead, I felt that I was wasting my time on this. I wondered whether I'm going to earn money out of this? Will this help my career? I felt really guilty having fun and I think I lost my innocence a little bit."

We laughed about it at the time. Serious topics demanded a rueful chuckle as is customary between us.

We met a week later. On the same darkened ride, on the same intermediary route, we caught up again with each other. And there was much to catch up to. We had been quite busy.

He had just come back from Japan, a trip that started inconspicuously enough from one of Cebu Pacific's budget promos. He's always wanted to see Japan, and 5 months later he did, more of it than even I have. And he had such stories, about how great it was and how great everything is coming along and how great everything was once he got back. I had stories too. I was getting a new job. I told him how things were changing right now and how much change waits ahead and how much better it was all going to be.

There was so much in store for us two. For the moment, we were but humble commuters riding on the back of public transportation, squished into badly-lit compartments with fellow squishy commuters, faceless. But tomorrow, who knows? We might be the next modern moguls, fated magnates or even the tycoons of tomorrow. We will be known by our surnames, emblazoned on street corners, and mentioned when someone asks "Who owns that building?" Our children will be spoiled, but smart and wholly intact thanks to the best education money can buy. We will be the fodder of tabloids, the target of tax-hounds, and we'll be quiet in our mansions, far-above the reach of sensationalism and controversy.

We just had to stay on track. 2010's just started, and yet so much needs to be done. No wonder I felt guilty idling the time, I was riding a surging wave. So much momentum has been invested, and I've found myself at the cusp of it. It'd only take a little to fall off the brink, and yet there's so much promise waiting beyond the pregnant horizon.

So much to lose and so much to gain, life's so much more exciting than a video game--the effects really suck though.