a tree falls in a forest

While studying Japanese, I came across this wonderful thing called yojijukugo(四字熟語)--Japan's version of idioms, or things so universal(at least in Japan) they coined phrases out of them.  These phrases captured my interest. For someone just starting to grasp a language, finding these expressive shortcuts sped things up. And I get to look smart about it, too, since these phrases have grown esoteric over the years.

My favorite phrase which I learned early in my Japan studies was isshokenmei(一生懸命), whose characters separately mean "in one lifetime (一生)" and "risk one's life (懸命)". Together, isshokenmei describes a method of action where you give it your all, every ounce of effort and passion, every fiber of your being, dedicated and focused into one endeavor.  This word was not only inspirational, it also fit my first attempts at Japanese language.

Now, here in Japan, I learned that the word that I carried with me all this time had relatives.  There were other idioms, and my post-arrival life deserved its own.

Kangaimuryo (感慨無量), a combination of the words for "deep emotion (感慨)" and "immeasurable (無量)", is to be caught in a feeling so arresting, so deeply moving, that words lose meaning.

Outlets of expression are scarce when you move to another country.  The language barrier hinders communication, and the dear friends--who know you so well you hardly have to say a word--are nowhere near.

All of my feelings have grown deep because of this: frustration over apathetic dorm mates, disappointment with possible friends, ennui in work, intoxication with new romance, gratitude for life here.  Such mundane things left unresolved, have taken root and burrowed deep into my conscious thought.

I am burdened, and have no way to say it, in any language.

Photo credit: Institute of Environment Policy and Public Policy, Lancaster University

listen to yourself

Joyride. started out back when I was in college. To-and-from school would, given the awful rush-hour traffic in Manila, take about 2 hours; and those lonesome journeys afforded me introspective journeys of my own.

I was young and, rather than inconveniencing my ever-busy parents, I tried to make sense of the world in those peaceful hours marooned in the middle of an urban sea of quiet strangers.

These catalog those thoughts, and the life that snuck-up in between. 8 years and counting.

inevitably

I guess it was bound to happen. Waning interest and dwindling users have finally taken its toll, and Multiply has decided to discontinue their social services this December.  Even before, friends have been chiding me about my choice of syndication; "Still on Multiply?" they would tease with snide astonishment.

Now, I earnestly sympathize with those senile crackpots they feature on TV who, despite practical or sane reason, refuse to leave their broken-down homes filled with peeling wallpaper, yellowed photographs, and the smell of bygone days. This hallowed husk of history isn't pretty, but I cherish it because it grew to be a part of who I am. I've put a lot of myself into this place and made a sanctuary of it, even if it's all rickety and dated.

Inevitably, I must move on. So I'm salvaging what I can and found a new home.

Photo credit: Kaleel Sakakeeny

migration pattern

I imagined coming home would be like visiting an old grave: the absence of life--my life--would have left a gap that I could never fill again. I thought coming home would be like digging up that grave, resting in it, and quietly waiting for all the dead memories to come crawling out of the sodden earth.

It wasn't.

Life in Manila, though wet, was mostly unchanged. Sure, new groceries popped-up, people lined-up at the MRT(who would've thought?), and there were new responses at mass. But the way I interacted with society, all the modes and mediums that allow me to eat great food, go see a movie, and find my friends and family, were still very much present.

The strangers that do me this service everyday since I was born were still just as helpful. The infrastructure that brought me from one place to another was there (even if it was sometimes in waist-deep floodwater). But most especially, loved-ones were not only accessible, they were welcoming.

Friends hugged me as if I've never left. My tita gave me a hearty kiss on the cheek, a little more moist than I remembered. My mom taught me how to cook, and it was warm, full, and good. All of them found time to spend with me, and I feel like the life I left behind was never gone, only misplaced.

"Home is the place where, when you have to go there, They have to take you in," Robert Frost once said. Then Manila is still my home, and the diaspora continues.

on Gengoroh Tagame

As the elevator doors finally drew open, I had to take a deep breath before I could step into the murky waters ahead. It was 5 minutes before 6 on the evening of Gengoroh Tagame's talk here at the community center, and I was a bundle of nerves.

I found Tagame back in highschool--through Altavista or some defunct search engine, no doubt. After the perfunctory age check, the webpage led to a sparse bundle of japanese and english text and hyperlinks listed against a black background. It was spartan, and my dial-up had no trouble serving it up. A few clicks deeper led me to the galleries which had samples of his drawn work. They were raunchy and explicit, filled with brusque men in imaginative poses and situations.

For context, my exposure to gay media prior was limited to fanfiction written by school girls (which meant a chapter dedicated to cuddling), and the few sketches of androgynous men (Hiei & Kurama was all the rage that time) holding hands or almost kissing--in pastel colors.

Compared to that, Tagame was uncharted territory; I've never imagined homosexuality could be so rough, passionate, and hairy. A part of me liked it. In a time when I haven't found my own strength yet, I found refuge in the possibility of strength. Difference did not signify weakness in this world, you simply just had to do what needed to get done.

I felt empowered, and dreamed of becoming that kind of man who was capable of anything--the world be damned. Little did I know that I've learned a valuable lesson here, a Japanese lesson: a man is measured by his capability. Society will always have its judgement, but character is proven by action. And merit through deeds is indisputable.

I opened the door to the community center, and I was surprised to find it filled with men of varying ages. And up in front, the bear of a man that is Gengoroh Tagame sat with an easy smile, a delicate paper fan in hand. He talked about his experience of being a homosexual in Japan, and his travails around the world as his work found its renown. He was all-throughout cheerful, despite the thick beard and dragon that adorned his black shirt. And he always had something funny to say which he'd end with hearty giggle and a twinkle in his eye.

After the talk, I asked him what I could do to learn more about Japanese Gay culture, and with a laugh, he simply said to buy more of his books. If the past is any indication, it was sound advice.

Photo: 田亀源五郎

the Eyes Have It

Over a bowl of steaming ramen, safe from the summer rain pelting the narrow street outside and filling pools with reflected neon lights, a rowdy band of us volunteer kids laughed up the remains of our Friday evening amidst the distant drones and rumbles of indistinct techno-pop music.

We were talking about singlehood, and of the 6 of us, two managed to rid themselves of the affliction. They were more than willing to share a photo or two, so purikura exchanged hands and were met with warm glee plus a slight tinge of jealousy.

Tomacho-kun dated a girl before, and a photo bore the proof of a handsome couple. The current flame though, was in another photo, where a group of teenagers huddled together in a school trip. One of the youths in the photo looked familiar, minus the years.

"Ryou-kun?"

Guy with photo nodded yes as I handed it back. He glanced at the shot, and beamed with a sort of proud smile, rooted from a fulfilled heart. We've been together 2 years, he said, but dated through the first year.

I smiled. "Ii ne(How nice)," I murmured, as raindrops struck the puddles outside and broke the neon constructs into jagged fragments of rainbow and moonshine.

Photo: Robert Cartwright - Neon Street

hopscotch

Let's play a little, shall we? I'll pick a spot for us, surrounded by swaying grass, hidden behind quiet trees, in a secret garden of our own. I'll walk around then stoop for a second while I carve upon the surface of the Earth the boundaries of our little game.

I'll hand you my makeshift maker, and let you throw it from spot to spot, place to place, wherever you like, and I'll gleefully chase after it. An innocent laughter tumbles out of me as I hop along; with every spot I leave a mess of giggles.

And when it's my turn, I'll play sly and make a little trick, and chuck it and not tell you where. And with your every hop, I secretly hope, by some natural instinct, by the hand of fate, in spite of myself, you'll find my little mark lodged in the sodden ground.

When at the last, I'll lose my balance. You lend me a hand, and an invitation to get-up and rejoin the world outside the confines of little games and secret hideaways. Hand in hand, as we make a path through the swaying grass and quiet trees, you toss me back in a carefree arc our worn marker: my heart.

It has grown warm.

Though I lost the game, I wonder if we even had to play at all? You give my hand a tug and stun me with a smile--a smile that says I never would have won.

Photo: Ellen Giamportone

BGM: Ang Bandang Shirley - Larong Kalye

the Few

Courage is an alienated word nowadays. Aside from storybooks, rare police dramas, and the spirited recounting of war stories, I have yet to encounter this word in everyday life. Surely people know what being "courageous" means; it has fallen into misuse simply because the brave and the few have frankly gone fewer.

But there was a time when men bore stout hearts and an iron will, a time when convictions were worth dying for. This was the age of heroes, and for a few days each year we dust off the tomes of history and remember. Great deeds, noble sacrifice, incendiary passions that would spark revolutions weren't the stuff of fiction then, and they shouldn't be now. The blood of proud men courses through our veins still; we have only to live it.

And in this issue, we can make start for it. So why not head out and climb a mountain? Feast on exotic food? Tackle your fitness woes? Why not find the passion that lays dormant inside your heart?

It is the only way to live, the only way to partake of the bounty that is the world borne from the blood and tears of countless, nameless heroes.

Do it for them, for never was so much owed by so many to so few.

my cup runneth

I got a glimpse of how people act when they are alone and at their most earnest. Living in a dorm granted me a rare peek into how most people lived their lives. And I've stayed in 2 dorms since I've gotten here in Japan, so a sample size of roughly 30 men and women of varying sizes and ages should lend me an informed generalization on the average day-to-day of the average joe.

And personally, I was shocked to find out that the average joe spends his time in an average way.

Well "duh!", but give me a chance to explain.

By "average", I meant the humane, practical method of going about ones life: sleep when you're tired, go out when you feel like it, do chores when you can. Laugh, love, and live as you like.

But by "shock", I meant I wasn't being humane, nor practical about how I go about my own life: don't sleep enough, head out whenever I could, do as many chores as possible. Laugh, love, and live in every moment of every day.

I do all this because I look up to my friends who get things done. I can't help but feel this deep respect for people who handle things briskly. You can tell, they always have this crisp, business-like tone when they mention what they're currently up to. And I never hear them say "I wish I could." Instead, it's always "Next month I will" or "When I get this done I'll go and" or some variation thereof.

They actively participate in their lives. Instead of "I am alive", they would say "I live."

In my hopes to "live" here in Japan, I brought with me a paradigm of "If I want it, I'll do it" and this has taken me pretty far: I started singing the Psalms solo at the English Sunday mass as part of a Japanese choir; volunteered for a NPO in Shinjuku every Friday distributing various materials on health; took on the new dorm by installing new bulbs, cleaning up the storage and common areas, and taking-up network admin tasks; tackled the Editor in Chief position at the inter-company quarterly magazine.

All this in addition to the two company projects I'm working on at the same time for embedded systems and mobile development, daily exercise schedule, Japanese language studies, daily reading (currently halfway through "Kafka on the Shore") and writing (once a week, sorta) quota, and, of course, a bit of Diablo 3 on the side.

I get all this done somehow day by day, and I plan on doing even more soon. But when I saw how easy life can be with less to pursue, I saw the contrast and am completely, with all heart and soul, overcome by exhaustion, like the debt of all those long hours finally caught up with me.

So, I have to ask myself, am I doing it right? Or should I ask everyone else, are you living at all?

Photo credit: Sam Shere

kung Wari

Maari ba kitang mahalin nang pakunwari? Sadyang buksan ang dibdib, sadyang abutin ang nakaratay na puso, at buo itong hugutin at ibato sayong nakatalikod na anino? Buong malay kong ihahandog ang hubog ng aking kalooban, matinik, nakatayo nang alanganin, ngunit puro. Kabisado ko na ang masaktan, at ang maiwan sa arawan pati na rin ng ulan. Hindi ako umaasa, ako lamang ay sumusubok.

Susubukan ko lang naman matuklasan ka. Bibihisan ko ng pulang esposesa't ng bagong pitas na bulaklak ang iyong bawat salita, at kakabisaduhin ang unti-unting pag-ukit ng ngiti sa iyong mga labi. Ang marahan na pag-baling ng kabilugan ng iyong mga mata sa akin ay parang pagtawid ng buwan at ng araw sa langit, at gaya rin nila'y nagdudulot ng liwanag sa aking mga araw.

Sa mga araw na mainam kong aabutin ang layo at tarik mo, mag-iiwan ako ng mga mensahe sa mailap na hininga ng hangin. Hanapin mo ang lihim at lalim ng aking damdamin sa paghulog ng mga dahon, sa prosesyon ng mga nakapintang ulap sa langit. Sa nagkataon na pagkakataon, sa daplis ng daliri, sa nagkasabay na yapak, tunay ang maari.

At kung ano man ang iyong sagot, maaaring hindi ko na ito kailangan. Pinapadaloy ko na lamang ang dugo mula sa aking naka-bukang dibdib, sa naglaglagan na mga ugat, sa puso kong bahagya pa ring tumitibok. Na ikaw ang nakakapagpatibok, ako lamang ay nadamay.

OST: Cynthia Alexander - Dumaan Ako