Bits of me are falling through the cracks, and though I have the power to bring what was lost back, I hardly have the will. It's turned into a habit, this sickness of mine, to forget myself.
It's been a very productive few weeks, every hour spent doing something or other justifiable goal diligently and with much gusto. The taste of success is neither sweet nor bitter though, but a strange gray smear of bland on my weary tongue. It's like I've walked for miles only to find I'm back where I started.
Nothing has changed...
... except I've lost along that circuitous way some of the things I've held dear: my friends, my identity, my life.
But this is what I wanted. These are my dreams I'm chasing. This is my conscious choice. This is my heart breaking, with compromise nowhere in sight.
I feel like the butt of college's most prejudiced and hurtfully-accurate remarks: "Antaas ng grades nya, siguro loner yan."
And the worst of it is there's no spinning this into some insightfully positive advise. I guess optimism fell through the cracks, too.
If I was a god -- or, since I'm catholic, a saint -- of something, I'd always hoped to be the one to represent the oh-so-common tune-humming pedestrian. There's a certain inexplicable charm in their carefree grin and beat-driven footwork that snags at my normally-apathetic heart.
And so she, a strange headphone-toting muse, represents this awkward joy of mine, in a makeshift altar to all things brazen and free.
And oh yeah, 1000 main-page hits. Booyah!
If I was a god -- or, since I'm catholic, a saint -- of something, I'd always hoped to be the one to represent the oh-so-common tune-humming pedestrian. There's a certain inexplicable charm in their carefree grin and beat-driven footwork that snags at my normally-apathetic heart.
And so she, a strange headphone-toting muse, represents this awkward joy of mine, in a makeshift altar to all things brazen and free.
And oh yeah, 1000 main-page hits. Booyah!
It's a common enough illness of mine to dream in my sleep what I dream about awake; taunting myself. On a nightly basis, my pillows unwittingly get acquainted with my darkest, most desparate desires. I'm actually quite glad my bedding isn't the type to gossip.
And it's only fair, merciful even, that with every dream comes a swift forgetting. Only small snippets manage to escape my un-consciousness to join me in the waking world. However, these small wounds are painful and remind me of my loss, however imaginary, constantly.
So it's quite unnerving to be confronted by my dreams outside the 4 corners of my bed. Whenever I get close to my desires, I lose all sense and the customary disbelief kicks in automatically. It sickens the hell out of me that whenever this happens, I always start yapping about all-sorta-stuff that sound a lot like false-modesty.
It all started one not-so-special afternoon, just about before the time I wait beside the time-puncher-thingie until 5pm. My boss approached us, in his slow, deliberate shamble and confronted us with his usual thoughtful expression. Not the type to beat around the bush, he off-handedly started asking the 4 of us which have passports.
My heartbeat quickened, and, with every negative answer from my fellows, it shot up a little more. In the end, 2 of us have passports, but since my friend wasn't officialy part of the team yet, our boss told me that it might be me who was up for a business trip to Japan sometime soon.
There it is. The primary reason for all the hours I've toiled, underneath their cheerless flourescent lights and inside their cold cubicle walls, was here.
And somewhere between the sound of my boss' footsteps walking away, the congratulatory remarks and the quaking of my heart, all I could say was: "Whoa. Malabo pa naman yun e."
Deny. Deny. Deny. I guess I was ashamed and quite shocked at how much I wanted it. When my passport-bearing friend asked me if wanted to go, I answered with a resounding "Hell, yeah!" Then, upon realizing my brazen mistake, I quickly placated the situation by telling him he's got as much a chance at it as I do.
All I'm trying to say is: I don't want to count on it. Until I set foot on Japanese soil, I'll be defeatist, waiting for the sound of the alarm clock to take me back to the real world. That same treacherous clock that usualy goes off the moment I stumble and begin to believe.
... "and in with the new" ika nga nila. Kung sinuman yung pasimuno nito, dapat sapakin sa mukha.
Andali lang kasi sabihing oras na para sa pagbabago, itapon ang luma at mag-SM ng brand new. Andali mag-'simplify' at maging 'objective', magbabato ng quote sa mga taong problemado.
Hay, kung ganun nga lang sana kasimple. Kaso nga lang, kampyon ang buhay sa pag-papakulo ng kung anu-anung kababalaghan.
Kapag kasi nagka-tinginan kayo ng pagbabago, hindi lang naman kahapon ang binabasura mo. Pati na rin yung mga ala-ala pinaghirapan mo ipunin, nabubura na lang din.
At yun yung masakit. Kaya siguro nung una kong nakita yung salitang 'nostalgia', parang malungkot na sakit na walang ginhawa kelanman. Haha, siguro ganun nga talaga yun.
Kaya hayun, paalam ate lita at sa beinte-dos na taong naging parte ka ng buhay namin. Ituturo ko din sa iba yung tinuro mo sa akin, yung magsakripisyo lang basta ba ikaliligaya ng lahat.
Hay, dapat kasi siguro: "Out with the old, in with the new... and hope to God you're heart doesn't get in the way."
Kung hinde lang kasi sana tayo mga puno ng saging, aanhin pa ang puso kung kirot lang naman ang naidulot nito. Pero syempre, ibang topic na yan. Yung tipong pinaguusapan kapag 'inebriated' at malapit na sa Valentine's day.
She ambushed me. With her innocent eyes, she halted any thought of walking away from the ATM I just withdrew from. Feet placed squarely on the ground, her arm shot forward accusingly and fragile blossoms bobbed in the wind. She murmured something, but all I heard was the guilty thump of my heart and the incriminating rasp of the transaction slip I held in my hand.
The ATM laconically indicated in my receipt that I was a few hundred pesos away from flat-broke. When I read it, brief thoughts of shirts and shoes and pandas and paperbacks came to mind, along with that warm, giddy post-purchase feeling. An all-too-addictive feeling, I guiltily associate it with the reassuring weight of a hefty paper bag in hand and capitalism (partially) conquered.
It felt like I was making some headway in life, slowly purchasing the bits and pieces of my dreams. I was my own man, a functional member of society, a positive statistic foreign investors would read and smile about. Just a little more time, a bit more effort and a hefty ounce of optimism and I could be anyone I want to be.
It shocks me how truly potent our youth is. At odd moments, this insight burgeons in my head, waking me up and overwhelming me. We've got so much potential, so much time to do anything with, and it's scary and thrilling to have this knowledge.
Right here. Right now. The world is yours and mine to take.
I stood there, giddy with the surging power of my dreams, and pulled out some cash. Hoping to make a dent in the debt of happiness I owed the world, I told the girl to take the bill and keep the flowers.
She smiled, shrugged and proceeded with our transaction all the same. Having given back some of the happiness I owed the world, I walked away with a receipt of sampaguitas.
I'd like to take this moment to notify everyone of my old, black, 17-inch monitor's sudden retirement. He's been acting up these last few days and I was hoping he'd at least make it 'til the newer breed of LCDs got here. He had other ideas though so yesterday, his eyes rolled up at me and inadvertently corrupted the lower half of the monitor screen.
I then spent that supposedly relaxing afternoon wrestling with the video card settings. After a few clicks in the little unadulterated visible space left and a couple of reboots, I closed up shop and left for choir exasperated. I pulled out his power cord this morning and officially gave up.
His much older white (now off-yellow), 15-inch, not-flat-screen cousin took up his stead here in front of me and, although slightly blurry, is holding up pretty well.
With this, I'd like to apologize. To all of you readers (which is an over-dramatization since there's probably just a couple of you), I apologize for the insufferably tiny font.
That being said, let this be a hint for change. Larger monitors and higher resolutions are an experience in themselves, especially if you're the type to regret watching a movie on tv instead of in theaters.
Then again, this tiny, albino monitor of mine, sitting beside the gleaming, black CPU and peripherals, has a strange charm about him. Subtly steampunk, I think I'll replace my infra-red mouse with an Atari joystick next. Rapidfire, woot!
One weekday evening, definitely not unlike any other weekday evening you've ever had, it was decreed that the life of an unassuming kid be sliced cleanly in two. No warning. No apologies. A computer in the night hummed and burped an irritated beep. The LAN card shortly followed.
This kid, he wasn't much of a complainer though, and for two weeks he shuffled along in his worn-out knickers living out a sort-of half-life. Temporary atoms and energy, emotions and memory, strewn together by a seemingly aleatory plea to carry... on. He had no days, only cycles of comedies he was compelled to (and could only) watch: his office monitor one moment, the empty bed on the next. Who knew being so efficient meant being so lonely too?
Respite. The keys feel good beneath my fingers. She, May, my reinstated, rehabilitated CPU, hums an agreeable tune to the click-clack of thoughts on the keyboard. She sends out this message of mine to my other half.
You, the piece that completes me, where have you been? I have missed you. Terribly so.
Tradition (supposedly) sez' to buy something special with your first paycheck: some lasting reminder of that transition from penniless to professional. Fearing for my juju, I went out of my way to visit Hobbes in GB3 hoping to score me some odd memento of my first paycheck.
A few steps past the strange pet-stuff Hobbes seems to have started selling, on the second shelf with his date ball cousins, there he rested: an old box faded by the countless hands of the curious. He was the last of his ebony brothers here, seemingly awaiting my purchase all along. I took that as a sign and promptly got my receipt.
Mr. 8-ball is open for business, 24-hours a day, 7 days a week (and yeah, we don't have locks installed). He's very much able to predict possibilities and very much willing to make ya' flinch at the future.
The little bastard doesn't seem to like me much though. Once while discussing better code implementation with a colleague, I sought Mr. High-and-Mighty-8-Ball for affirmation: "Ganun nga yun! Tara, let's ask the magic 8 ball."
He bit the hands that fed (read: bought) him and swirled up his answer: "Outlook not so good."
Waw. Attitude problem and awkward phrasing. If he doesn't turn a new leaf soon, I predict myself writing about Mr. Tragic-8-Ball. All signs point to yes!
Siguro, kung si God ay frugal, natuwa na yun sakin. Sulit-na-sulit yung buhay ko nitong nakaraang linggo, kada-minutong lumipas ay mas matimbang pa sa mga taon pang nakaraan.
Simulan natin sa sabado, nagpaka-egoy sa company outing sa Batangas. Sa iisang araw na yun, nakatakas ang inner-taong-gubat sa pag-snorkeling at jungle hopping. Sabay balik sa civilization at humabol pa sa choir nung gabi, sunburn and all.
Sarap pa nang tulog pagkatapos. Tipong tulog ng pagod at yung mga ala-ala ng mga kaibigan at saya yung naghahatid sa panaginip.
Nung linggo naman, nag-outoftheblue-lakwatsa with tito Cesar sa Sucat (at naka-buena mano siya ng 5k, haha) at nagpakabait akong anak at nanlibre ng magulang sa Mother's day (pero gabi na talaga). Kumain kami sa Conti's in spite of the post-mass horde. Minsan lang daw kasi ako manlibre kaya kahit umagahin kami, ayos lang daw, haha. Nahiya pa nga parents ko... ayaw mag-dessert!
Natapos yung linggong yun sa bahay ni Ralph, nanonood ng 'The Virgin Suicides'. Waw.... emotional rollercoaster! WOOT!
Come monday, went with Ralph para mag-pagupit (coz it's safer in groups) at tumambay at nagkuwentuhan maghapon sa kanila (yung aircon nila yung deciding factor). Nanood naman ng 'The Family Stone' (dahil nde na namin alam ang bibilhin sa ruins) at kaya pala ganun yung title kasi pangalan ng pamilya 'Stone', nde dahil meron silang tinatagong bato. Haha. Parang ako lang ata nde nakaintindi.
Tuesday ayos lang talaga na normal na araw, kaso yung pekeng normal pala yun. Trabaho sa umaga, glorietta sa gabi. Nadurog sa tekken uli (pero ayos lang dahil defeat is a learning process, pero I hate you pa rin, Lily). Nung gabi na, nalaman ko na lang na nasa ospital si mom. Rush ako to Makati Med to discover na na-high-blood pala si mom (dapat siguro nde tsokolate yung mother's day gift) at nag-bantay ako for that night.
Next day, (dot dot dot) dash-dash-dash (dot dot dot) to work galing ospital kahit mapungay pa ang mga mata at nag-prepare ng report on Linux Bash na tipong "Waw! Hindi ko na maalala to a!" at "Lagot ako!" Pero nung gabi nainis ako (pero ngayon natatawa) dahil sa sooper suwabe moves ni itay. Nung gabing yun sa ospital: "Anak, anung dadalhin kong damit sayo bukas. Text mo na lang."
Implied na daw e: mas kasya siguro ako sa bench sa tabi ng bed ng mom ko.
Okay lang naman sakin magbantay. Pero yung dad ko parang nde naman laging may ginagawa kapag hapon, ako naman may work (at report) kaya sobrang nabanat yung oras ko. Haha, siguro kung nag-alok lang yung dad ko magbantay. Kahit pabulong lang. Hindi ko lang talaga trip yung napapagawa ako ng bagay dahil wala akong choice (at mas lalo pa kung meron naman talagang better options).
Hangang Friday yun. Work. Hospital. Repeat. Pero ayos lang, basta ba para kay inay.
Nung friday, nakipag-gimikan with office buddies sa g4 at nasubukan ang aking drum maniax skillz (or lack thereof). Umuwi na may 50% off Jipan bread sa tiyan, ayosh.
Yung saturday, nakapagmeet-up kay kumparing iwi before she did a John Denver. May konting brush with the authorities pero lahat ng kasalanan napapatawad sa saturday.
At finally, tinapos ang linggo with the highschool barkada:
Habang naglalakad sa daanang batong tinahak sa madilim na hardin ng 19East, nagkuwentuhan kaming dalawa at nakinig ang aming medyo tipsy-ng kaibigan:
"Ganyan pala malasing."
"Hinde ko rin talaga alam e, pero kung ako nalasing, natutulog na lang ako. At kung medyo matindi, nang-yayakap na."
"Haha! Ba't ka naman nang-yayakap?"
"Para maramdaman ng mga kaibigan ko na mahal ko sila."
... sige, tulog na to, mukhang kelangan na. Salamat sa saya at at tuwa! Later dayz!
