Dazed

Dazed…

I think that’s the right word… Recently there hasn’t been an adjective more appropriate than “dazed”. It’s been a constant question mark wherever I go. My job, while extremely beneficial financially, does not quite satisfy the taste of success in my life’s dictionary. I kept asking myself what it was I long for. Somehow, I gravitate towards things I want more than those I need. I can’t distinguish them anymore.

I’m thankful that I got out of an industry (call center – no offense) where I couldn’t see a future for myself. I’m thankful that I found this job right smack in the middle of the financial world. I’m thankful that I’m being paid well enough to live alone and quite possibly support a family. But at the end of this paragraph, no matter how thankful I am, there’s an undeniable hole my current condition couldn’t possibly fill.

With certainty and vigor, I used to think that if I had money in my pocket and a good day-job I would be happy. I was wrong. I have money. I have a good day-job. I’m no where near happy, except for those times I’m heading home to see my future bride. The repetition is fine – the monotony even better. But the difference lies in where that monotony circulates.

Mid-life has not yet struck its mighty hammer upon me. And I am, pardon my French, scared shitless when it comes. The most crucial intersection of life comes to view and I could, at this point, only shudder.

Another “Corp.” filed, another “Corp.” with a lot of different issues, another “Corp.” resolved. What about “Pipo Corp.”? Who’s the analyst in charge? Who’s the reviewer?

At the end of this little doodle, there won’t be a defined conclusion. There won’t be a tangible ending. At the end of this little doodle, I don’t even think I made sense. At the end of this doodle, I find out that the talent I have been given no longer possesses its luster. There is one thing that’s remotely important and I’ll say anyway: I can’t write anymore. And it’s saddening.

Disgusted

I have taken my hate of officers of the Philippine National Police into a whole new level. I have found that my pride as a Filipino has greatly been diminished. And lastly, I have noticed an unconscious twitch at the sight of those children in the streets.

Normally, hate would be a pretty strong word for me to use. I’d much prefer saying “I dislike” – as if to say I don’t like something doesn’t mean I hate it. But the other day, I have confirmed this strong repulsive feeling of disgust, disgrace, and utter shame on those big bellied people in blue, who claim to be living examples of service, honor, and justice. 50 or so fellow Filipino stampeded on my Filipino pride. And the divine spark I had seen in a street child’s eyes had vanished. All of the above happened in a span of one Saturday evening.

Saturday, was just one of those days that had you going out of your mind because of the turtle-like pace of the traffic ahead. My Girlfriend and I were on route to a friend’s house for dinner and some bonding. Along the way, going to Roxas just beside the CCP complex, we came across two old ladies of their late 40’s in my estimation. They had caused a major bottleneck on the rode because of a stalled car. In panic, one of the old ladies jumped out to try and push the car to the side of the road. It was a sight that would have left you feeling conscientious, if you had any.

But in that jam of about 50 or more cars, being the Filipinos that we are, no one even glanced twice at the two ladies or remotely made a move to help. I guess they were too comfortable inside their SUV’s and Deluxe Sedans to even care. So, they drove passed without looking back but instead blowing their horns angrily. In that moment and in the spirit of Christmas, I decided to tell my Girlfriend that we will be a little late for the gathering and told her to take the wheel. I rushed pass the myriad of horns that blew my way as I approached the two ladies, who turned out to be Koreans and can’t understand a tad bit of Tagalog.

I helped them push their car right at the mouth of the huge entrance to the CCP complex, just a couple of steps away from the corner of Roxas. All the while, I was swearing under my breath towards the many cars that continuously blew their horns. As we reached an area where I thought was safe enough to park the car, I suddenly catch myself thinking “Bat ba ako naging Pinoy?”

The moment we had the car parked, I asked the ladies if they knew anyone they could call for help. The other responded with a nod and said “husband”. I told her to call her husband and instructed them to stay put while I try to call for help. As I took out my phone, almost immediately I saw a street kid trying to look into the open door of the parked car. Acting on instinct, I barked at the kid to go away, reverted my attention to the ladies and gave them another set of instructions – this time a little more precise. “Please stay in the car and lock your doors. Wait for me to come back” I said. I saw my Girlfriend park her car and told her the same.

I searched through my phone for a number that might be of any help and found none. I knew neither a number of a towing service or a mechanic. I realized there was police station just across Roxas, turned around to tell the ladies I was going there for help, and what do I see? There was another guy trying to take advantage. He was one of those “pulube’s” claiming to be a mechanic. And before I could even react, my Girlfriend said with force and elegance “Salamat po manong, pero tumawag na kami ng pulis.” The guy strolled away peacefully. (And I realized I have the best Girlfriend ever and I’m gonna marry her one of these days!)

I went to the station where I found, to my delight, 3 officers who looked very willing to help in their ironed blues. I told them my story and asked for their help. And what do they say? Simply: “pasensya na po sir. Wala yan sa jurisdiction namen e. Dun ka ho sa kabilang estasyon.” I glared with disgust and asked them if they could just make the call or at least give me a number for the other station or a towing service. Again, they simply said “wala ho e.”

I was furious at this point and restrained myself to yell the words “They need your help and they’re just across the friggin’ street!” I could not believe it. Was this the “service” they meant when they thought of their logo?

When all this commotion was over I found myself disgusted, frustrated, and disappointed. I smelled hypocrisy all over.

There on television you’ll see advertisements of pride of country and how “ninoy” we are or could be. There on the stalls of many many “change” are the words “Pinoy ako” or “Proud to be Pinoy.” But from the looks of things, we are a long way there and we have no right to be proud if this is how a “Pinoy” would act. We can’t even stop to help two old ladies in need. Worst of all, were still mad at them for being in that situation and causing a minor disruption in our harmonious lives!

Is this the way ninoy would have acted? No no… The proper question is “is this how Catholics or Christians would have acted?” Is this the way you church goers on that strip of the CCP complex at that time should have acted? And to think that Christmas is just around the corner, one would assume that at least the season would promote a little kindness in our hearts. But, apparently not. Were we raised in such manner as to dismiss someone genuinely in need? Shame on you! People like you are the one’s giving Filipinos a bad wrap! And here you are trying to blame everything to dirty politics and such! How dare you?!

For those who had and oath to “serve and protect”, I look to you lower than ever. I have consciously tried to see you as a point of authority in my respect that some of you do honest work. I am disgusted with your uniform and your logo and everything you claim you stand for!

In my studies of our nation’s constitution, I saw no proclamation that there was a need for jurisdiction to help out someone in need. Not only did you cite “jurisdiction” as an excuse not to move your lazy asses out of your little shit-hole called your office, you also refused to do anything! It is impossible that you DO NOT know the number of your other offices! Are you so lazy that you refuse to just look at a piece of paper and at least try to look for a number? You are a disgrace to your badge and your uniform. FUCK YOU!!!

Bliss (Forgot this too)

That night

If it could be explained

Or brought to words

Would be cryptic still

It would be an absurd scripture

That no scholar can begin to comprehend

But if words were experience

It would be cosmic

Stars and shimmering splendors

Of the night sky will fall

Only to gauge that singular moment

And one word will sum it all

BLISS

react

I was browsing my files and I saw one that I failed to post. I really need to drink enervon prime. Or something ...

Recently, there have been a lot of discussions regarding public officials endorsing products supposedly for extra income. Some say that it’s just for the publicity. Elections are consistent after all.

Now, I have a big problem about this. I’m not sure if most see it. But I will try my best to clarify.

First problem: these public officers, I think, are beginning to fancy themselves as “showbiz personalities” more so than “public servant”. I think that if there is a law in the Philippine Constitution that says “there should be a line drawn between the church and the state,” there should also be something in there stressing the separation between media and public office. This is to make sure that it is engraved in politicians’ heads that a public seat is not equal to time spent projecting and smiling on TV. As of today, the president equals the most popular old guy/girl that is or has previously been on TV plus blood line and some pictures with poor orphans, who I doubt they’d touch if a camera wasn’t there.

It is a given that a lot of these people for so long a time have given up the law-making, the service and the regard for tax payers needs for interests and profitability, for the ability to put little sirens atop their cars, and to put single numbered plates on their bumpers. It’s sad to think that the image of most uneducated youth for these positions in the government is sinking towards power and money versus public service.

Second problem: these public officers are too engrossed in self-image that they forget their purpose. The last eight years has been more struggle for the Philippines since the Marcos regime. Erap was put into power and corruption reeked in all corners of the archipelago. GMA was given the seat and every thing went up in value except Filipino pride for their country. That is just sad.

Their have been so many attempts to clear names and so many sorry’s aired on TV, that people really don’t know who to believe and what is their to hope for. Officials, nowadays, are more concerned about keeping their image and focused on retaining seats that they forget to govern.

Third problem: these public officers are wise as they are cunning. They realize that there is no hope of this to turn around during their time. And the moment they step into power, they immediately think “how can I make some money out of this?” It is such a waste – both of talent and effort.

An example of this is a young capable leader in the Camarines provinces. He had so much to offer and so many ideas to put in motion. But because of events that have transpired, conscious decisions to do something worse than dog droppings on the bottom of your shoe or be backed into a corner guns blazing with the end being death, he had to choose his side.

I dare say that there are only two sides in Philippine politics. These sides are not nationalists or imperialist or socialists or whatever complicated ‘ists’ you can think of. It is simply the BAD and the WORST. So fellas, mahal kong bayan, Take your pick.

How ironic isn’t it? The nation that prides itself of the peaceful revolution has now become an image of idiocy in the eyes of foreign states. Why? Simply because their have been too many so called “peaceful revolutions” that they ask one question: “Do you people EVER learn?”

Wisdom of Youth

I was reading children’s poetry a while back and it amazed me somehow. Maybe it was the fresh perspective that they brought to the seemingly cliché or the innocence of their lines or the magic in, how I imagined, their delivery of these gentle lines of the romantic that got me so interested. I’m really not that sure. But there was something that caught my attention. The blatant disregard for the usual and the formulation of lines that rules out complication was astonishing. How can thirteen years old and below write with such magnetism that attracts attention. If a grown man wrote those same lines, they would be treated below mediocre and yet there they are. Lines published, verses written in a permanent mark within the information library.

It reminded me of an encounter with a child of five years and getting older as each second ticks away from the clock. And that moment, in its fleeting form remained a masterpiece in my head. The scene was no more appropriate – a dilapidated building in the background and the eerie sound of trucks, jeeps, tricycles, and private cars that roamed the “smallish” city. Smoke blowing from the mouths of everyone. Some of them legal.

Pipo: Tano ta sige kang gala?

Translation:(bat ka gala ng gala?)

Christian: Mayo man kong magibo sa harong…

(wala akong magawa sa bahay)

Pipo: Tabangan mo na lang kaya magurang mo… Banggi na puro pa mga adik kaibanan mo digdi… Mawawaran ka kayan padumanan…

(tulungan mo na lang kaya magulang mo… Gabi na lahat pa ng mga kasam mo dito mga adik… mawawalan ka niyan ng patutunguhan/kinabukasan…)

Christian: Haloy naman kong mayong padumanan…

(matagal na akong walang patutunguhan/kinabukasan)

The silence after was nothing special at the moment. But perhaps my dope soaked brain was processing each word during those silent minutes. And then I asked…

Pipo: Nagtutubod ka sa Diyos?

(naniniwala ka bas a Diyos?)

Christian: Iyo!... Pag-minsan…

(Oo!... Minsan…)

Pipo: Pag-minsan?...

(Minsan?...)

Christian: Pag-may kakanun syempre… Pero pag-mayo tano man ako matubod?...

(Pag merong pagkain syempre… Pero pag-wala, bat naman ako maniniwala?...)

Again the succeeding moments pass by blissfully. The roaring engines began to sound like musical cherubs and the nauseating smells of piss began to smells like baby cologne. I went to sleep without thought of anything and I was satisfied beyond belief. I had had my fill.

What amuses me is this: to this day I remember those words. Not because I share a sentiment of disbelief but because it had so much weight in it for a five year old to utter. Perhaps this is why I like children so much. They can be so simple and complicated at the same time. Their innocence goes deeper than some of us can ever hope to grasp. And it makes you feel as though something is missing from our heads or have we just forgotten our own innocence that we dismiss childish babble without regard for what it might mean? Oh dear life… How ironic… We grow up so fast to gain so little knowledge and we let go of the vast wisdom of our youth…

Saddest story

I'm not the type to post someone else's story on my blog. I usually don't approve of putting someone else's work on your display. But this one story, made me feel like sharing it with the world.

Neruda Educates Me About Love and Goodbyes

I was never comfortable with goodbyes. If I could escape from it, I would but this wasn’t the time to run away. I had to act mature in facing the music: my friend Sum was leaving Manila for good to find his place under the sun. He just finished his two-year MBA and was heading for Singapore to hunt for his dream job. We have been friends for barely a year but the depth of our daily “sharing” made it seem like we have known each other since we were kids. I never saw it coming in our first few encounters because we were complete opposites. I was feisty while he was the epitome of calmness. Complexities attracted me whereas Sum felt that simplicity suited him just fine. I equated making a difference with conquering the world while he interpreted it as putting up a small preschool for children or a small, cozy music shop. I was Filipino, he was every inch an Indian. But we shared the same passions; we were both crazy about kids, loved watching movies, enjoyed long walks and listening to music.

If I was truly his friend, why couldn’t I be genuinely happy for him as he embarks on a new journey in his career? Deep down, I did not want Sum to leave. I got so used to spending every day of my life with him and I could not imagine what it was like not to be with him all of a sudden. He was the only man I ever imagined having a future with and now he was about to disappear from my midst.

After his departure for the Lion City , I found myself feeling emptiness settle in the core of my being. I lost interest in hanging out with my friends and taking part in their conversations which I used to find very interesting. I would listen to senti songs day-in and day-out and burn them on a CD for nobody in particular. I never left my bed on weekends. I would lose myself inside a theatre and watch a movie alone without even remembering the title afterwards. I would go to Starbucks, buy coffee but could never let the cup touch my lips. There were times my inner strength could no longer contain the loss I was feeling that I would just break into tears and repeatedly ask myself: “Why did Sum have to leave?” I could still remember the day before he left. We spent the whole evening talking about our lives, discussing our future and ended our eight-hour discussion by having breakfast at McDonald’s at 5:00 in the morning. No goodbyes were muttered that whole time. Our conversation was filled with so much optimism. But we both understood. It was going to be our last breakfast together. And I could still recall the taste of the salt from my tears when we finally parted. The world ended right there and then.

Nicnic, my roommate, understood how difficult it was to say goodbye to somebody you love but she knew better than to let depression overtake my sanity. She knew I needed a distraction to forget what my heart was aching for. She tried to restore my love for books by bringing me to a bookstore nearby. It was through this visit that I stumbled upon “The Essential Neruda Selected Poems”. Pablo Neruda was no stranger to me. I was introduced to his “Poet’s Obligation” back in college and felt an instant connection to him. I even downloaded “There’s No Forgetting (Sonata)” and “October Fullness” from the Net to inspire me whenever I felt like my Muse wasn’t whispering in my ear. I thought that reading Neruda’s fifty poems would stir me to start writing poems again. I was mistaken. There was no way of forgetting that Sum was gone and was never coming back.

Leaning into evenings I toss my sad nets

To that sea which stirs your ocean eyes

The night birds peck at the first stars

That twinkle like my soul as I love you.

“The Essential Neruda Selected Poems” seemed to have a mind of its own. Every poem I read reminded me of Sum and felt that Neruda was forcing me to walk down memory lane once more.

The first time Sum asked me out was during a Christmas party. I was surrounded by my girlfriends but he was man enough to approach me and even muster enough courage to sit beside me and talk to me for ten minutes in their presence. He did not beat around the bush. He had a purpose. He told me he was leaving for India in a few days and asked if we could go out before he left. “There should be absolutely no formalities between us. Can you tell me what I can get you from India so I am sure that you will like it?” I managed to give him a weak smile while wondering why my heart was beating faster than usual. Sure, he was goodlooking but I barely knew him. And even if I couldn’t admit it to myself, I knew right there and then that I was attracted to Sum. I agreed. I discovered on the night I went out with him that earl grey tea was the best beverage in the world. Being in his mere presence was surprisingly soothing and I wouldn’t have exchanged that evening for anything else in the world.

I like it when you’re quiet. It’s as if you’d gone away now.

And you’d become the keening, the butterfly’s insistence.

And you heard me from a distance and my voice didn’t reach you:

It’s then that what I want is to be quiet with your silence.

When he came back from his month-long vacation in his Motherland, we started to see each other more often. We had dinner at the Embassy Cuisine. I watched him devour his chicken over lunch. Coffee became a habit. We started studying together at the second floor of the library. And even if we were often together, Sum still managed to surprise me by putting a box of chocolates in my locker or buying me an aqua blue keychain (he knew I was crazy about the color). People started to talk but we didn’t care. We were living in our own little bubble having the time of our lives. I enjoyed hanging out with Sum more than any guy friend I have ever known because he was unassuming and his silent nature was an aphrodisiac. His silence always made me feel secure, protected and important. Every time I opened my mouth to speak, his eyes would look at me with such intensity making me feel like I was the only person who existed at that moment. He never laughed at my dreams and never doubted my capability to achieve them. Sum was indeed Prince Charming made flesh.

One day, Sum invited me to join him and his friends for an outreach. It was for the kids from the Virlanie orphanage. I agreed to go because I loved being with kids. I would secretly observe him from a distance and witnessed how he gave the children 100% of his unwavering attention. He played and teased them all day, oblivious to everything else around him. It was in that moment I knew that this was the man I was looking for my entire life. It went beyond his physique. I listened to my heart and it felt so right. Sum was the man I wanted to grow old with. I don’t love you as if you were a rose of salt, topaz, or arrow of carnations that propogate fire: I love you as one loves certain obscure things, secretly, between the shadow and the soul.

I never brought up what I felt about him. I was happy and content. Whenever I was with him, my cup of happiness runneth over.

One night, while he was watching me finish my cup of tea, he told me: “I like you a lot because you have so much life in you. I also like the fact that you are very close to your family. Not to mention that your spiritual consciousness is very inspiring.” In the poem “Oneness” Neruda wrote: There something dense, united, sitting in the background, repeating its number, its identical signal. How clear it is that stones have handled time, in their fine substance there’s the smell of age, and water the sea brings, salty and sleepy.” That was the perfect night in my 24 years of existence because that was the night both our hearts and minds were one.

Somebody once told me that since I was an artist, I felt and expressed emotions differently from everybody else. I can write the saddest verses tonight. To think that I don’t have her. To feel that I have lost her. To hear that the immense night, more immense without her. And the verse falls onto my soul like dew onto grass. What difference that my love could not keep her. The night is shattered, full of stars, and she is not with me. That’s all. In the distance, someone sings. In the distance. My soul is not at peace with having lost her. And going through Neruda’s fifty poems made me a witness to that. I thought of finding solace in his work hoping that somehow, the grief of losing Sum would be more bearable. But Neruda never made my sorrow dissipate. His poems made me re-live those moments I felt truly happy. He made me reminisce what it felt to lose yourself over somebody that you love. The colossal rush. The unexplainable craziness it entailed. I may not have the storybook ending that I longed for but “The Essential Neruda Selected Poems” reminded me that amidst the heartaches loving can bring, it was undeniable: I was worthy of love.

Whenever I receive an email or text message from Sum, I am no longer bitter. I feel elated whenever he tells me how much he is enjoying his new job. I have come to terms with ephemeral things in this life but often remember how love has the capacity to transcend my life into another level of happiness.

I also discovered that I shouldn’t fret too much about saying goodbye. There is always a purpose why a person brings love your way and then takes it with him when he leaves. Goodbyes should never signify an end. It is life’s way of telling you it is time to turn the page and to start a new chapter.

Now the earth goes on,

Slackening its interrogation,

The skin of its silence stretched out.

I’ve grown taciturn,

Pitched here from a distance,

Wrapped in cold rain and bells:

I owe to the earth’s pure death

My fervor to germinate.

Take a bow

The day’s nearly done. When things are wrapped up, finishing touches are run, and the curtains are hung, the crew wonders. Did the crowd applaud because they wanted or did they do so because it was proper? By the end of the presentation, the crew walked back and forth, paced uncontrollably, and bit their fingers vigorously. “Did they like it or was it just another play?” they simultaneously thought.

There it was and the curtains shall hang. And when the light strikes the stage no more, applause was heard but still they think otherwise. The fear that the applause was superficial was there. Finally, they were ready to step back out on the stage to greet their audience half expecting for the seats to be half empty. But as that bright spot light overhead shone to present the actors momentarily taking away their sight, they were greeted with a louder cheer. Blood pumping, rushing through their hearts, they raised their hands, held them together and took a bow.

Not until they saw that standing crowd in an ovation, they doubted the crowd’s applause. Because in their minds, the best could have done better.

And all they needed was to see the appreciation of the crowd. An evidence so to speak, that their, seemingly worthless play that could have gone better, was good enough to please their audience. A proof. A testimony.

And at some point, the actors and the crew long for that same crowd that once they performed for. In hopes that one day, the crowd will no longer wait for their bow but will bow with them instead.

Bad Day

I recoil at the thought. The heavy days are usually a lot more depressing when the sun is shinning and the birds are chirping and the bees kiss the flowers’ cheeks at dawn. I don’t know why but in that instance when you see them hovering over wanted nectars and scattered seeds of life, you begin to think that in the day of that particular event someone, high above the so called heavens, decided that everyone would be happy except you. Or so it seems. But who really knows. The believer says differently and the one who doubts simply disagrees. I, on the other hand, just don’t know. All I know is that luminescent feeling that in that instance, you feel like you suck. It begins to feel that everything you do is worth less and less and every valuable gold you touch turns into a monotony of shade-less colors that are more or less inappropriate for that day and simply useless to think of.

Your train of thought flows as fluently as that golden moment when, in the middle of billions of people, you trip on your own two feet (priceless). That waking thought pulls your lips into a semi-horror type of form to which no one can relate and no one dares to ask why. Then everything, on cue, crumbles into this oblivious mood. You shout at your wife or lover. You stick a finger up to a stranger. You utter words that offends even Satan – all because you walked yourself into a wall of people. Can you imagine?... Have you ever been in that moment?...

It’s a shameful moment when everything becomes immortally wrong and you repeat it in your head countless of times, blushing internally at the humiliation you have put yourself through for no reason. And then, you realize that in that day you happen to have spat on someone that means to you. And then all you can do is admit that you were a jerk and say sorry in the meekest voice you can muster. Looking down at your feet, you hope that the person would find it in their hearts to forgive you. And when they do… You half expect another “Bad Day.”

losing

It has been a long long while. Work has taken me into a new world. The world people, like me, avoid. The real one.

Roughly a week ago, I had had the worst day. The day I thought I would kill myself.

I have lost it.

I have lost the essence of my writing.

quite frankly this is not worth reading.

And thus I say to you... The lone reader that sees the agony of a desparate man that attempts poorly to write his last line...

never ever loose your grip on creativity, on love, on inspiration, on what really matters... It is freedom in this world of balls and chains...

I die once again... Tomorrow and the next... As my life becomes that...

I send out this flare... go... go and do what you love doing... don't succumb to the worthlessness of the world...

don't let go of that one who inspires you...

don't ever forget the feeling they give you...

don't ever loose that hope...

because once you do...

you hang yourself...

with a rope made out of your own hair...