the Quiet and the Human Spirit

It is the quiet victories that add up. As if, in their loneliness, in the manner that they are apart, they resound, like a tremulous echo in the darkened amphitheater, growing, never quite the boisterous crescendo, but accurate, hitting the right notes, the exact vibrations attune with something we all recognize as the tune of naked honesty and intimate truth. Solemn victories, like unknown heroes, who are not marred by renown or prestige, but instead, in their humility, prove their genuineness are deeply personal, and infinitely appreciated.

I'm learning to live off of this tiny triumphs: wake-up on time, get the day's work done, manage to exercise daily. It makes me feel human, as if I am exercising my existence, and winning. It could be said that I am petty, easily pleased, and seemingly wanting of headier fruits. The bumpkin's limited perspective affords him an infinite vista of enjoyments. And I do suffer from excessive wonder, of an overpowering sensation of curiosity and mirth upon meeting the unfamiliar, shaking its hand, and finding out its quite friendly.

It's a simple life perhaps, to appreciate all things; straightforward, to simply live. Unremarkable, yes, but content. And in these times, contentment is worth its weight in happiness.

come as you are

Be like a proof, a testament of your ideals. Stand like a lone tree in the storm, and shed leaves, branches and bark, but stand firm. Be like a truth of who you are. Let others look at you and recognize in you what you speak and believe in. Be apparent, so much so that when you do great things, people will not think them great, but think that's just you being who you are. You are great because you did the things you believe in.

But to do so would be to know who you are. What do you believe in? When you are alone, and there is no one else to see, what do you do? Where would you go?

If you do not know, then know how to know all the things you have yet to know. Capture the unfamiliar. Label it. From there you can define the line that borders the definition of yourself. Discover the differences and similarities between you and all things. Acquaint yourself with all things. All excursions that merit knowing yourself better is worth any price; and because all unfamiliar journeys are revealing, they are always worth the trip.

And once back, and a little more wary of what makes you tick, and what passions drive the inner gears of your very heart, do not doubt. It's unlikely to understand everything about ourselves. But with time and experience, we learn to trust what we know is true, an instinct, and from their find wisdom.

That leads to courage. All the things you've learned so far will tell you one and only one thing: do it. Never tarry. And if you do, and recognize the melancholy and depression that visits as familiar, then understand that depression is anger turned inward. Sadness comes when there's no one else to blame but ourselves. So move. Correct, amend, or change your perspective. Just move.

And with enough mistakes, even without thinking too hard, you'll move in the right direction wherever that leads. Because it is only natural to be natural.

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!