Corridors that smell like tea, rural estates of green and history, and the fine art of vertical sleep; these will forever remind me of today, the first day I spent among the cities of Japan on trains that take these vast sceneries for granted.
Along with the 3 preceding weeks whose expense upon body and soul brought about and set to proper contrast the peace that could only come from a job well done--everyone's jobs well done, I'll remember these things and never forget the uncontrollable feelings of gratitude.
And haunting me too are the unexpected pangs of doubt and fear, on that very eve of embarkation. I thought tomorrow I'll finally meet this dream of mine that I've chased for too long. Too soon, I thought; too perfect, I feared.
But here I am and all I feel is this feeling of resolution. I guess I got used to dreams that live only in the few hours before daybreak, living the dream is too good to be true.
I guess life has no room for cynics, but maybe just a little bit for the magic and wonder that only fairy tales could muster--a happy ending among sleeping commuters, rice fields and the smell of green.
There are times, fortunate moments, auspicious incidents, that gleefully remind us of where we are and what the heck we're doing there. Today was mine.
The gym foray this Sunday morning could have shot me some happiness juice, care of endorphins, then reminded me the joys and benefits of having a body. Which, so I hear, is the most important instrument you will ever hold in the whole length and breadth of your mortal life.
Or perhaps the satisfying Japanese banquet (plus a moan-inducing butterscotch fudge bar!!!) we festively (and health-consciously) gorged on afterwards filled not only our tummies, but also our spirit with resounding peace and encompassing satisfaction. This freed in my mind the bubble of other forgotten festivities conducted around sushi and mounds of wasabi.
Maybe it could have been because of the post-shopping smile I had as we strolled out Festival mall, bags laden with treats and trinkets. The thump of purchases and the hefty weight in hand brought with them the appreciation for the act of purchasing: finding something you like and being so lucky, so blessed, to have the opportunity to take it home and call it your own.
It could have been the thought of watching a Japanese movie on the silverscreen, realizing all along why I've come to love the Japanese and their strange probably-misunderstood wisdom.
Then again, it might have been the long-delayed bright-red radio/clock/cd-player/mp3-player/sub-woofer/speaker acquisition. You telling me to finally shut the susurrus of sighs and start the ceremony of swiping--of my credit card, that is.
And then, there's the wonderful coolness and prevailing calmness of shambling clouds and captured sunlight that imbued this Sunday afternoon its grayness, lending all these events the opportunity to color this one special day with their very own rambunctious tones and heady contrasts.
All these things, could have, may have, perhaps have, peradventure have, come together to conspire and to build out of random occurrence this quiet joy and tepid mirth.
And then came along a memory of you and the 3 months we've been together. And so I wondered as we drove home after a long, fruitful day.
You asked me, with a sideward glance and potent discernment, what I was wondering about--in 5 or less words, which is impossible--really.
I said I was composing, something sweet to mark this day of days. And if it all came to one thing, one statement to concisely capture the full spectrum of emotions I feel, it was this I said:
If today is because of you, then hereon afterward is another day to look forward to.
You squeezed my hand and reminded me how lucky I was.
Love is too grand an emotion, and for weeks I struggled with it. Attempting to fathom what starry-eyed scholars, philosophers and --most successfully-- poets have wondered about for ages, I took those 70 days (I counted) and took part in the communal inner struggle of romantics the world over, for the pursuit of happiness and the wages of the heart.
My very first --and albeit, unoriginal-- thought was that amour is a roaring flame: something so potent in its aspect and forceful in its motions. It grows quickly and consumes you in its fiery throes and flickers of passion. The phrase that this drama "conquers all" led me here, thinking that it was something so invincible, so unquestionable as the turning of heavenly spheres and the perseverance of the stars.
An emotion so terribly absolute, I thought that all I had to do was patiently wait as it incubates within my chest. Restraining it as much as I could while it slowly, but surely, builds up inside and finally, at the most romantic of moments, explodes in a dazzling array of heat and giddiness and the echoes of its piercing crescendo shakes the vaults of the heavens, perhaps make the very angels look down and smile their secret smiles.
I thought that that was love: something intangible that pushes you around. I wanted to utter those three words at the last possible second, at the most final of hours, for the sole reason, the only reason, that the butterflies in my tummy left me no other choice.
But, of course, it turned out differently. It was so much simpler.
I like you because I don't have to do pretend-nice with you.
I adore you because the bullshit doesn't work, doesn't have to work.
I cherish you because you never let go.
You are the exception to the rule and so much more. I gladly fall apart at your slightest touch and yet I could weather the darkest storms by your side. You make me do the craziest things--only to find out I've been wanting it all along. You are irony, and through the conflict you invoke in my being, I have found my peace.
I've whispered my prayers and submitted my acquiescence. And here at the conclusion of all the tumult and turbulence of finding out what it means to really love someone, I've finally found my answer in you.
So I said I love you, and you said you loved me too.
... is pretty much nil if you think really, really hard about it. It's like being left the last skewed slice of pizza, a possible victim of an ingredient blind spot, and then finding out someone else has already --unabashed-- bitten into it. Almost negligible, you'd be hard-pressed to come-up with spare change of this denomination. Heck, cashiers don't even bother. But after this year's merit rating, a sordid process of self-reflection and evaluation, that special number took on a whole new meaning.
In our company, 7% meant VG-mid, which actually sounds pretty flattering. I performed well, not too shabby, but still have much to learn. If this was school, that'd mean I don't have to worry about exam results, unsubmitted assignments or those passionate peremptory recitations.
But, as the old adage says, the real world is a far stranger place than what they teach you in school. Apparently, all that hard-work, diligent effort, and relentless spirit I brandished these past 12 months were mediocre, commonplace and unexceptional. But I do understand though that I was young and that this is something that I should simply charge to experience.
I actually didn't mind that everyone else I knew where getting bonuses, 2-digit increases and hefty allowances , not to mention incentives, left and right. But the thing that piqued me most was that this was an opportunity lost. It dawned on me that, in terms of compounded interest, this was a failure--and sensei would be terribly disappointed.
If I had performed better, acted a little faster, smiled a little more, spoke a little more Japanese, I might have, however little, scored some more. If this was a video game, the walkthroughs would have told me to restart because, as another adage says, every bit counts.
So, to say the least, I was demoralized. I continued work dejected and disappointed. It didn't help things at all that some people were leaving the company too, getting salaries credit-card companies would rejoice for. At the risk of sounding conceited, I felt like I deserved more.
And then tonight, over our beloved Ate Frances' impromptu surprise despidida (that had a few crazy stories of its own including a 30-minute bathroom stake-out), I met a white-haired fellow of learned manner and gentle composition. He was Ate Frances' dad, Rudy-san, who apparently grew up in Japan and was more than happy to share with me some tales from the land of the rising sun (and yen).
And talk, he did and, like most wizened people we know, threaded his stories with tenets of encouragement and advice. He said that loyalty and patience is it's own reward, especially in a Japanese company; that the Japanese way was good and I was very fortunate to have found it. He went on that discovering their culture was a satisfying journey, their ideals and values are respected the whole world over for very good reason.
But above all, that I was young, and that my aspirations, despite minor setbacks, are still just as attainable as ever. In kind words and in the purest spirit of goodwill, he explained to me that the world is still offering me the riches of my dreams, and youth is my currency.
And in a few more hours, I'll be going back to work, earning yesteryear's salary at 7% more, but 100% the wiser.
Tonight, not unlike every other night before and most certainly after, I mumbled yes, took your outstretched hand and permitted myself to chase you, underneath the shifting skies and the arrival of rain-season.
I guess I've gotten used to treading those arid streets of mine that run themselves straight, true and uncontroversial. Each step, each day, earning by modest labor, the dream that beckons us, one and all.
Then you changed that, the scorching pettiness of everyday. You took my hand, pulled me out and lead me through the puddled alleys and corridors of your life. You showed me a splashing good time, and I wondered when it'll end, like most good things do.
So I skipped along and lived and laughed as much as I still could, drinking the unbridled mirth and enjoying each drop of joy like it'll be the last.
But afterward, once all the pattering chatter, the gushing exuberance of each meeting had faded like the storm's morning after, it was still you at the end of the day. Still your hands in mine. It didn't seem like you'll be letting go.
And by some unexpected magic, by some happy twist of fate, like unexpected rainfall and the comforting murmur of water through eaves, I kept in-step through the shimmering avenues of you.
The best thing one can do when it's raining is to let it rain, so they say. So I'll acquiesce and later be better for it.
I love you as if I'm praying. I wrap all my feelings, all my hopes, all my dreams, in a little package, send it adrift and wish to the stars that it finds its little way. I hope against hope that this is it, the tale the stories of old speak of in their coloured tone and feisty paces. I, like so many others before me, whisper to the wind this yearning.
But I don't know what to whisper, what to desire and what to despair. I've never known love besides the frivolous kind that runs the uninitiated heart over and over. What can you call this love that slowly sets its roots over the barren soil of my life and then begins to grow, ever so carefully, to finally open its blossoms for me, of all people, me.
I admit I truly am naive, to compare what I have now to what I've imagined then. I thought that love is a jittery-feeling a few moments before triumphant jump or perilous fall. I've come to think of love as something to turn the gut and silence the tongue. And yet, what I've found in you is something else entirely. The fire, the burning desire I've romanticized for many a night is, instead, this steadfast flame that warms me with its somber tenacity and comforting glow.
You comfort me. Your sincerest smile, your lightest laugh: I see in them who you are and what you intended, and there I see this overwhelming kindness and an unconscious gentleness a guy like myself could only hope to find.
Stay by my side and I could take the world. Wrap your arms around me, and I'll let it all go--your hands are worth so much more.
So I'll continue praying, and I'll probably never stop.
So I met this guy. The disclaimer my friend sent me the day before said he's the type to hate go to gyms and read Asimov. He reports that he's really smart--in a grungy kind of way. Grungy, huh? I had no idea what that meant and forgot about it on the way to work, just coming back from a friend's party instead of a good night's rest.
So there I was, Friday night, 48 hours of no sleep, engines running on sheer force of will and a bit of optimism.
See, I've decided that my kinda guy would be someone who's been through his fair share of paperbacks and novels, been to PowerBooks for reasons other than meeting someone in air-conditioned luxury. Or, at the very least, could never say he doesn't read unless he has to--with a proud smirk on his face that says: "it's not my fault, I'm normal this way--you're the weird one".
Based on a simple enough criteria(your favorite book), I thought I had it sold with a guy into Sci-fi classics like "I Robot" and "2001: A Space Odyssey". And so I met him, Mr. Smarty Pants, among the pretty pointlessness that adorn Timezone, Gateway.
We played a few rounds. He's into Soul Caliber; I'm into Panda's, who's home is on the other machine across the room that say's Tekken. So we didn't exactly hit it off; couldn't hit it off. I was micro-sleeping every few steps: look-step-snore-look-step-snore.
My good friend and matchmaker Daryl was there, too, telling me about the sexually vague and promiscuous air Gateway mall's been nurturing over the years. And it was true. As proof, a trip to Gateway mall's male bathroom, aside from being one of the first to sport a full-length mirror, is like entering a pre-prom high school bathroom: guys with their hair product and designer scents and fashionably adventurous attire plus the stray guy at the corner who's really just there to take a piss.
But going back, yeah, we didn't exactly hit it off. So we moseyed on to chatting over some grub at the food court, having some coffee + orange juice at the local Coffee Bean, hanging around the shadier(read: infamous) streets of Cubao, then finally catching a Midnight snack at the 24-hour McDo.
He IS smart, but not your usual case of smart. Let's play a game shall we: imagine a really smart guy--the glasses, the smart casual attire on a slight frame, the book/gadget in hand, slick hair. Well, folks, the reality can't be any father from the truth. Mr. Blind-date was actually buff, bronzed and bald--semi-skin head, to be exact.
But the truth about this guy wasn't that he's smart. The intelligence is actually a product of who he really is: a really hyper guy who's lucky enough to have a grandma with a fucking huge library. He's a bibliomaniac who could handle it, and the conversation, though fascinating in its blinding novelty, started to feel like a long-narrative of facts.
He was a human wikipedia. And the wiki-reference is intentional. An encyclopedia doesn't have hyperlinks like he does, we jumped from topic to topic, obscurity to obscurity, and it was a hell of a fun ride. But at some point, even with caffeine, I had to admit I couldn't keep up.
And then he said it, probably while he monologued the details of "Basilisk". An unused word that started with 'C' that fit the sentence so elegantly. Cornice? Colloquial? Cogitate? Whatever it was, though I can never remember the word, I'll never forget how it sliced through me and then subtly, gently pricked my heart.
I fell in love, I think, somewhere in between sleep-deprivation, coffee in my veins, a hangover from last night's drinking and 15 past 2 in the morning. He had this smile that said I knew everything, and it's true. And though he's a little crazy, I see no fault there since I think everyone's a little crazy anyway. He's just a lot more unapologetic about it. Crazy could be just another word for having a personality, actually.
Then I panicked--sheer panic. Everyone's been through it and I'm sure you could sympathize. The rules change when you like someone. You start to really think about what to say, start to really care about what the other guy thinks, start to really embarrass yourself, which I did, repeatedly.
I guess he shook the very foundation on which the little bits and pieces of who i am stand. He's the kinda guy I've always wanted to be, up-front, no bull and smart as hell. He freaked me out, in every sense of the word. The taxi ride after the whole fiasco wasn't as much the trip home as it was just me running as far away as I possibly, affordably can.
He disarmed me. And the morning after, accompanying my parents to Fort Bonifacio on an obligatory trip to the new condo sans another good night's rest, the only word I found that described what I felt was this: unravelled.
I was falling apart. If he was all I ever wanted to be, I started to wonder if I've been going about my life all wrong. I should read more, be more spontaneous, go to gym more often, lay-off the rice. I stood beside the pool in front of the towering condominium that contained our new manse, staring at the bright yellow building across the block, reminding myself of the accomplishments of the past and the assumptions of the future. Bonifacio Technology Center, the place I toiled and celebrated, stood there mocking me.
So I trudged on through the day, checking out the refreshing view from the new apartment; on the way back home, got a haircut and had a few laughs with the barber; picked up my saxophone and practiced "An Affair to Remember" for the wedding next week; got whisked away on Ralph's exotic car to ATC seeking an interesting-enough mother's day present that agreed with a post-Hongkong trip budget; accompanied a friend commission a framing for a Batik tapestry his mom brought from Indonesia; sang at the weekly anticipated mass, practiced on the sax some more, then rounded-off the night with more liturgical and matrimonial chorale singing with smiles and laughs all around.
And then it hit me. A man is the sum of what he does. His actions, being the only explicitly observable characteristic he bears, is the perfect measure of what he is and what he could be. I have accomplished so much in such a short span of time, but the best part was I did it because I wanted to, because I enjoyed it. I am happy where I am, and though I may not seem it, or talk about it as much, I know in my heart that I do what I do with enough soul and passion that I could honestly say I've spent each second of my life like the best of 'em. I live and, in the truest sense of making the most of my humanity, I have lived humanely.
I managed to pry off my friend what the other guy thought of me. He said i was mousy.
But I knew better. I was boring because I could afford to be. If he didn't care to pry, to inspect and wonder at why I've been, seen and done so much and still be so nonchalant about it, he's not worth the effort.
So I met this guy. He was nice, but I knew I could do better.
I'm seeing someone again. This time, the brightly feathered details I've been pruning for so long have done the trick. Over a bottle of water, I told him that I just came from the gym across the street, I'm not exactly free on Saturday nights 'coz of choir and that I graduated from UP Manila already, which is how this PSP ended up in hands: reading JAVA PDFs for a presentation at work the next day.
And it went well for an unexpected first date. The hickeys from the second are proof enough, though my mom would definitely not agree. She hasn't said anything about them yet though.
So he keeps texting, day-in, day-out. Stuff that's too sweet, in English I'd be more than happy to correct. He's also kinda rotund around the waist, which is an issue for me actually.
But, he's got a damn hot bedroom voice, and he could dance too. The slight 4 o'clock shadow sealed the deal for me.
So what's wrong?
I don't know. I really don't. I met the guy a few days after deciding on my criteria for the right kind of man. For me, it all came down to a single question: What's you're favorite book? Do you like it exciting like Robert Ludlum or Sydney Sheldon? Whimsical fantasy from Terry Pratchett? Technical to a fault like Micheal Crichton? Fascinatingly factual like Dan Brown? Drunk on old time classics like J.D. Salinger or George Orwell? Seductively strange like Neil Gaiman or Edgar Allan Poe or even Stephen King? Takeshi Matsu even?
And he doesn't even have a favorite book, not even a movie. Though he reads a lot of self-help books.
I'm just worried. He makes up for it with plenty of enthusiasm but I'm not sure that's gonna cut it for me. I want someone to send me through mental cartwheels, stimulate the grey matter, if you will. I tried using the word 'gesticulate' in actual conversation and he didn't react. Which could be good, he might have understood and doesn't care. Or maybe not, came in one ear, out the other.
But, as always, I'm optimistic. I did go to the second date, right? Once bitten, twice shy.
And yeah, it's a guy. Let it go already, geez. @_@
Welcome to spring everyone! [Minna-san! Haru no toki he youkoso!]
Like the sweetest, most fragile of blossoms, the first quarter of this year concluded quickly and fruitfully. To say the least, I got most of my "to do list" done... and then some. F*cking plenty of some actually, which kinda sucks. What the heck am I going to do the rest of the year?
Firstly, the Singapore trip was a whopping success! Thanks to our gracious Singapore hostess Ate Dai, last year's 13 month pay, and my fellow excursionist's contagious gung-ho spirit, we took off mid-February to spend the 5-day weekend (made up of a 2-day weekend, and 3 unpaid leaves T_T) to enjoy the sounds, sights and savory samplings of Singapore culture -- in ascending order of appreciation. There weren't any interesting gigs, there really wasn't a lot to see here in "urban-everywhere", but I enjoyed walking into every resto and playing a round of "gustatory gambling" with the menu.
Secondly, my confidence as a skilled software engineer has been finally validated! We all came together at PhilNITS' induction/soiree/ball/seminar/smorgasbord/photoshoot to celebrate the 6 long months we've been sloughing through technical terms, redundant questions and engRish. They fed us at the Mandarin Oriental and there were much said along the way, mostly painting the broader picture of how far the local IT community still has to go. At least the extra 1k per month I'll be getting from now on will ease that so-called going.
Thirdly, an unexpected, yet gladly recieved, surprise arrived this week: and old friend with minus zounds of pounds! Good ol' mike returned this week and seeing as he IS the center of the universe, old college buddies came together over at Shangrila, Shaw Blvd. to eat, reminisce and secretly compile the "Who got hot after college" list. Bribes are welcome. We also accept dollars ~wink wink~.
Fourth, I've finally decided to end one of my more meaningful long-term relationships. We've been together for a while now: him staying at my place and I going to work. He feels I haven't been giving him much attention, which I truly am guilty of, and I feel he's been quite a drag. Suffice to say, the pressure of graduation season was the final straw and I finally got the nerve to cut the deal short. I started working on ye' ol' unfinished thesis documentation just this monday and I handed the revised copy the next day. I'm sure he'll spare no time at all replacing me with his new, sexy, faux-leatherbound bookshelf neighbors. He's kinda kinky that way.
Fifth, our team ventured to the far off lands of the Cebuanos to proudly wave our project banner -- in the silliest ways possible. Our company, NEC, holds a software quality convention every year. There, the company hopes to raise the standards of quality and customer satisfaction; us normal people, to eat great food and get to travel around for free -- all in the spirit of company success and innovation, of course. With Paz-san at the helm, we presented our project "Mastering the Art of Excely Kung-fu", with healthy helpings of judo-chops in between. We're going back this week for round 2 and, if our kung-fu's better than everyone else's, we'll get to do our jabs in no place other than the 2nd home of all martial arts: Japan!
Sixth, since we were there anyway, us buddies ventured around Cebu and Bohol, seeing and, almost just as much, eating everything in sight. Cebu's feels a lot like Manila, 'cept a lot safer but less intelligeble. Nothing is as disconcerting as hearing someone speak a language you almost understand. Being someone's who's been through his fair share of multinational media (read: anime), droning out other languages is as easy as focusing on sub-titles. But when they spoke Bisaya, my brain kept getting caught in the familiar strangeness of the language. But when we reached the falls of Kawasan, the cross of Magellan, the Chocolate Hills, the tarsier and the beaches of Bohol, all it took was a look between us Manilenos and our kind guide, Kuya Noel. In spite of language barriers, beauty is something everyone agrees on, apparently.
Seventh, I'm all giddy like a virgin promdate, what with discovering the joys of online ordering. With plenty of thanks to Jen-sama, I got to contribute my share to the global economic community by purchasing my first set of Manga online at www.hmv.co.jp. It'll take them a week to find their way through the sea and arive in the welcoming embrace of my outspread fanboy arms. So, until then, I'm trying to distract myself as much as possible. Bring out the beer and brevity!
Eight, as anxious as a constipated man on an 8-hr bus ride, I've been stalking the online forums in search of the news --any news-- of the much acclaimed ASUS eee. Since December last year, when the word got out about the growing demand (and supply) of ultramobile and ultracheap laptops, I've been diving into cyberspace checking, comparing, and finally deciding on acquiring a triple-E. Why spend money on an laptop that can't play Crysis? Because I'm getting this laptop to whole-heartedly commit myself to writing. Though it hasn't much muscle, it completely redeems itself in its absolute mobility thanks to its diminutive size and sturdy SSD(solid state disk that isn't as prone to errors as a HD with movable parts) which'll allow me to write any thought, anywhere. Plus, it comes in 5 colors! Yey, consumerism!
... so much accomplished in so short a time. Finishing this list actually took me longer than I first expected. Between being too busy to finish this post and completing some new milestone worth posting, finishing this article almost felt unattainable. Especially with a big wedding, Bohol escapade part 2, SWQC final confrontation, 23rd birthday bash and a new project coming up, all I feel now is pressure.
So many people, so many tasks, so many opportunities: a lot is riding on what I need and intend to accomplish in the next few weeks. The very thought makes me stop, stare blankly into space and then slap myself back into waking life. The gym-borne endorphins, supportive friends and felicitous tunes egging me on have done a great job. But, ultimately, the simple act of typing all this down, here in this obscure corner of the internet, is all it'll take.
When the stress, the joys, the worries and the triumphs of the day have all been eaten up by this blog, there in my heart is left the boundless space to accommodate the ills and thrills of the world. And if no one ever notices, no one ever takes the time to read, I'd just be as happy. All this I do for an audience of none, one and all. As long as the opportunity to write is here, to be able to humbly articulate what I think and feel in such ways as to enflame the heart and touch the soul, contentment is surely mine. And when someone hapahazardly finds a tidbit of inspiration, even a tiny spark of cognition, only then does joy follow.
