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.