Is friendship really possible after the good of a romance has gone? And if so, how exactly do you begin to be friends without falling into the trap of being more than that? What would be the defining parameters? What can you, and can’t you expect from either side?
“Why don’t you call, when you say you will? Is it because I don’t belong to you anymore?” sings Rachael Yamagata. She sings my sentiments, but I also do know that I can’t oblige him to do that, or even be upset when he doesn’t.
“Why don’t you come? Don’t you miss me at all?” Rachael’s smoky voice wafts through the nebulae of my mind. He said he was due to arrive today, I look at my phone’s inbox to read his message to confirm, and there it is, a timebomb of a date. I waited for it to blow up, but the explosion, a message to ask me to see him never comes.
Has he forgotten? Was he just too busy? Or did he not want to see me again? But more importantly, why am I still waiting? Why am I worried that I won’t see him? If he is just a friend, then I would be fine even if we go without seeing each other for months. It wouldn’t matter.
But I am a liar. It does matter to me if he calls. I count the days leading to his arrival. I imagine what I will be wearing, his reaction when he sees me, the conversation we’ll have over dinner, the banter, the now chaste kiss goodnight.
Rummaging through things that are not mine, I see it. An email advising he won’t be able to make it for the appointment. His schedule is too tight. He is needed somewhere, someplace else.
Yet I need him here. And his place is as vacant as the memories that we are supposed to make. His absence is a hole, a tear in this precarious reality I conjure. His silence is loud and screaming.
“We can only be friends now,” I told him. “This is friendship or nothing,” I voiced an ultimatum. He complies, and I hate him for doing so.
I may have lied, but I lied for a good reason. I want something real with him. And what we had before, though he may argue otherwise, was far from real to me. “Just because you label this differently from me, doesn’t mean it’s nothing to me. It’s just semantics,” he told me before.
But I didn’t believe him. How could I? Intellectualizing this whole affair, he was. Semantics, my ass.
So I gave the ultimatum, in the belief that if I pushed him towards the side of friendship, then I would finally have something real, something honest. Something I can hold.
It is a lie. And sadly, it is only I who believe it.
Tuesday, November 2, 2010
Sunday, October 31, 2010
The Dark Side
"I think he's some sort of crazy,"I told S.
"I think so too," S. agrees.
"No, I mean, crazy, crazy," I said, referring to a recent phone conversation I had with him.
Of course, it's quite mean of me to think of him that way. He has a darkness to him, but doesn't everyone? And perhaps, one reason why I would choose to think of him as crazy is because until now, i couldn't quite figure him out. He is a narcissist, that much I can tell. Besides that, it's anyone's guess.
Then, eureka.
While watching en episode of Criminal Minds, one of the characters, S.A. Rossi profiles an unsub as someone with the Dark Triad. In psychology, the Dark Triad is characterized as Narcissism, Machiavellianism and Psychopathy.
Bingo.
So in the interest of knowledge, I googled the symptoms and tried to see if it would correspond to his behavior. Did it? I think i'm just gonna keep the results to myself.
But I did chance upon an online test gauging how much tendency you have of being a psycho. It tests whether the Dark Triad is present in an individual.
Of course, it is a pop quiz and totally unreliable. But who knows, it may contain a shred of truth to it. So I took it, and the results are posted below:
Not really a psycho
You scored 9 on Emotional Detachment and 7 on Chaotic Lifestyle!
Relax, you are quite healthy. You are emotionally stable and you lead a normal life, as far as conditions allow. You may have other problems (if you score too low on detachment, you may be oversensitive or lack self-esteem, if you score too low on chaotism, you may be pedantic or rigid) but psychopathy is not one of them.
If your combined score is 5 or less, you are completely average compared to general population. If your combined score is 20 or more, you have a mind of a true criminal. If your combined score is 30 or more, you have a mind of a psycho.
Your Analysis (Vertical line = Average)
*Detachment Distribution
You scored 9% on Detachment, higher than 31% of your peers.
* Chaotism Distribution
You scored 7% on Chaotism, higher than 15% of your peers.
So i guess, i am quite simply, an average person with but a few issues. Take the test, if only for fun. I dare you. http://www.okcupid.com/tests/the-psychopathy-test
"I think so too," S. agrees.
"No, I mean, crazy, crazy," I said, referring to a recent phone conversation I had with him.
Of course, it's quite mean of me to think of him that way. He has a darkness to him, but doesn't everyone? And perhaps, one reason why I would choose to think of him as crazy is because until now, i couldn't quite figure him out. He is a narcissist, that much I can tell. Besides that, it's anyone's guess.
Then, eureka.
While watching en episode of Criminal Minds, one of the characters, S.A. Rossi profiles an unsub as someone with the Dark Triad. In psychology, the Dark Triad is characterized as Narcissism, Machiavellianism and Psychopathy.
Bingo.
So in the interest of knowledge, I googled the symptoms and tried to see if it would correspond to his behavior. Did it? I think i'm just gonna keep the results to myself.
But I did chance upon an online test gauging how much tendency you have of being a psycho. It tests whether the Dark Triad is present in an individual.
Of course, it is a pop quiz and totally unreliable. But who knows, it may contain a shred of truth to it. So I took it, and the results are posted below:
Not really a psycho
You scored 9 on Emotional Detachment and 7 on Chaotic Lifestyle!
Relax, you are quite healthy. You are emotionally stable and you lead a normal life, as far as conditions allow. You may have other problems (if you score too low on detachment, you may be oversensitive or lack self-esteem, if you score too low on chaotism, you may be pedantic or rigid) but psychopathy is not one of them.
If your combined score is 5 or less, you are completely average compared to general population. If your combined score is 20 or more, you have a mind of a true criminal. If your combined score is 30 or more, you have a mind of a psycho.
Your Analysis (Vertical line = Average)
*Detachment Distribution
You scored 9% on Detachment, higher than 31% of your peers.
* Chaotism Distribution
You scored 7% on Chaotism, higher than 15% of your peers.
So i guess, i am quite simply, an average person with but a few issues. Take the test, if only for fun. I dare you. http://www.okcupid.com/tests/the-psychopathy-test
Thursday, October 7, 2010
Breaking the Silence
It’s been ages since I’ve written anything. I missed it but then again I had been too busy to miss anything except sleep, and not doing anything. Okay, that might be stretching it a bit too much, because yeah, I miss more than a just few things and a few people.
But what I am getting at is that I simply had no time, and more importantly, I had nothing new to say. Yeah, sure, I’ve flown to places, did stuff, met new people (dated may be a more appropriate term) but it seemed that I never exactly left and the more people I see, the more that I just wanted to be alone. Bottom line is, I don’t want to keep rewriting things here, rehashing old themes, old emotions. I told myself that until I have something fresh to say, I won’t say anything at all.
Then a few weeks ago, it happened. Something new happened. I started dancing. To most people, this would have earned a raised eyebrow and a “so what?” expression. Dancing? That’s it? That’s the new thing? But to me, it is something new, as I’ve never really taken to dancing, at least not counting the time I took Hawaiian dances during the fourth grade. I just never really thought myself as very coordinated, or graceful enough; and dancing remained to be one of my biggest frustrations. I always wished my mom had enrolled me in ballet rather than in music lesson, which I really didn’t get to use except during the time I was studying it.
Anyways, to make the long story short, I enrolled myself in a dance studio and decided once and for all to stop whining about wanting to dance and just get into it…finally. I wanted to learn the basics, loosen my rusty and creaking joints and muscles. I wanted a beginner course, and I took what seemed the easiest—striptease.
I took it mainly for two reasons: first, it has been built up to be as much as a fitness routine as it is dance. For someone who has an aversion to gym, it seems perfect. It is good exercise while it lends to certain degree of creativity. You don’t get that while pumping iron.
Second, I thought it was more practical. Heck, it’s not like I can jazz dance my way into anything, or suddenly prance around when I’m feeling it. That would probably buy me a ticket to the nuthouse. But striptease…well, that’s a different story. I could, ehem, dance my way to um…pleasure, so to speak. And if none of my efforts in my career pay off, well, it could offer me an alternative career. Harhar. Big laughs.
Besides, another reason (so I guess I have three) is that it fulfills a certain interest of mine: burlesque and pin-ups. For some reason, I’ve always harbored a secret desire (not so secret now) to do a pin-up pose or to dress up in classic burlesque or cabaret, and be a showgirl of some sorts. Don’t ask me why, I just do.
But little did I know, is that even though it may seem to be the easiest compared to belly dance, jazz or flamenco, it can be as demanding for someone who hasn’t had training in dance. The first time I attended the class, I almost burst into tears! I look at my instructor who seems to be double-jointed everywhere, and then I look at me, and I seem to be a plank of wood trying to dance! I felt as if all my control issues were showing through my dance. I was so self-conscious, I was embarrassed, I was terrible!
But I never felt so exhilarated. I was having fun. I was happy.
I vowed to get better at it. Three weeks into the class, my dance instructor tells me, “you’re improving!” and I felt like a puppy getting a tummy rub.
I am far from being the next finalist in “You think you can dance”, but who cares, I am having the time of my life. And heck if I’m gonna stop now.
But what I am getting at is that I simply had no time, and more importantly, I had nothing new to say. Yeah, sure, I’ve flown to places, did stuff, met new people (dated may be a more appropriate term) but it seemed that I never exactly left and the more people I see, the more that I just wanted to be alone. Bottom line is, I don’t want to keep rewriting things here, rehashing old themes, old emotions. I told myself that until I have something fresh to say, I won’t say anything at all.
Then a few weeks ago, it happened. Something new happened. I started dancing. To most people, this would have earned a raised eyebrow and a “so what?” expression. Dancing? That’s it? That’s the new thing? But to me, it is something new, as I’ve never really taken to dancing, at least not counting the time I took Hawaiian dances during the fourth grade. I just never really thought myself as very coordinated, or graceful enough; and dancing remained to be one of my biggest frustrations. I always wished my mom had enrolled me in ballet rather than in music lesson, which I really didn’t get to use except during the time I was studying it.
Anyways, to make the long story short, I enrolled myself in a dance studio and decided once and for all to stop whining about wanting to dance and just get into it…finally. I wanted to learn the basics, loosen my rusty and creaking joints and muscles. I wanted a beginner course, and I took what seemed the easiest—striptease.
I took it mainly for two reasons: first, it has been built up to be as much as a fitness routine as it is dance. For someone who has an aversion to gym, it seems perfect. It is good exercise while it lends to certain degree of creativity. You don’t get that while pumping iron.
Second, I thought it was more practical. Heck, it’s not like I can jazz dance my way into anything, or suddenly prance around when I’m feeling it. That would probably buy me a ticket to the nuthouse. But striptease…well, that’s a different story. I could, ehem, dance my way to um…pleasure, so to speak. And if none of my efforts in my career pay off, well, it could offer me an alternative career. Harhar. Big laughs.
Besides, another reason (so I guess I have three) is that it fulfills a certain interest of mine: burlesque and pin-ups. For some reason, I’ve always harbored a secret desire (not so secret now) to do a pin-up pose or to dress up in classic burlesque or cabaret, and be a showgirl of some sorts. Don’t ask me why, I just do.
But little did I know, is that even though it may seem to be the easiest compared to belly dance, jazz or flamenco, it can be as demanding for someone who hasn’t had training in dance. The first time I attended the class, I almost burst into tears! I look at my instructor who seems to be double-jointed everywhere, and then I look at me, and I seem to be a plank of wood trying to dance! I felt as if all my control issues were showing through my dance. I was so self-conscious, I was embarrassed, I was terrible!
But I never felt so exhilarated. I was having fun. I was happy.
I vowed to get better at it. Three weeks into the class, my dance instructor tells me, “you’re improving!” and I felt like a puppy getting a tummy rub.
I am far from being the next finalist in “You think you can dance”, but who cares, I am having the time of my life. And heck if I’m gonna stop now.
Thursday, July 29, 2010
Martyrdom is Not Dead
Overheard a conversation between two girls by the bathroom door in a bar in Ortigas:
Girl 1: (emphatically)"I don't know why, but despite what he's done and what we've been through, I still want him back."
Girl 2: "Really?"
I wanted to storm out of my cubicle, cut into the conversation, give Girl 1 a pat on the back and say: "I can totally relate...I don't know either."
Girl 1: (emphatically)"I don't know why, but despite what he's done and what we've been through, I still want him back."
Girl 2: "Really?"
I wanted to storm out of my cubicle, cut into the conversation, give Girl 1 a pat on the back and say: "I can totally relate...I don't know either."
Wednesday, July 14, 2010
The Final Denouement
And so it ends. Spain won over the Netherlands and my heart is broken. I’m not a big fan of the Netherlands, in fact, I had been rooting for another team—Argentina but they had been booted out of the race to the World Cup when Germany mowed them down with a 4-0 match.
But the final showdown between Spain and the Netherlands had me at the edge of my seat. More than 100 minutes had passed and still no one was winning, despite best efforts from each team. I was almost certain that a penalty shoot-out was in the offing, but that wasn’t to be as Spain hit the goal…finally. The status quo had been broken, but it also meant the clear possibility that the Dutch would lose.
The final moments were painful to watch. The Dutch knew it was a losing battle but they went on, fighting as if it was still possible to turn the tables around, as if they could sway the fates to grant them this win. After all, it had been so long since they won the Cup, and isn’t it time that they won?
But things will always be what life intends it to be, and so at the end of the day, it doesn’t matter whether you lose or win, but whether you stayed true to the game, and whether you had given it everything you had. It is about you.
The little devil on my shoulders whispers: “that’s just what losers say, isn’t it?” Maybe he’s right, or maybe he isn’t, but it definitely wouldn’t hurt to have the prize in your hands.
"Do you think you would have won?" the devil asked the dutchman. "No, I wouldn't," replied the Dutchman, "But the point is, I did fight."
Ad so it ended as soon as it begun, and my little distraction is gone. Strangers, we will be again just as we were at the start, until the time comes to meet again, somewhere in Brazil, sometime soon.
Thursday, July 1, 2010
(Not So) Simple Wisdom
Karla seems to have gotten into the habit of lifting things off my blog and putting it in hers (No, Karla, I don't mind at all). And so, to get back at her (kidding!), I've decided to publish this one taken from her blog. We are members of the Mutual Admiration Club, Karla and I. But it still doesn't diminish the beauty and wisdom of Sadhguru (whoever he may be).
Sadhguru's Simple Sensibility
Devotion: is truly for the intelligent, not for the stupid because without devotion there is no profundity to your life.
Awareness: is aliveness. How aware you are, is how alive you are.
Being you: The fundamental problem with humanity is that everyone is trying to be special. Only when you become ordinary, like a tree, can a greater dimension of life open up to you.
This wanting to become special, this disease has come to people simply because they have not recognized the value of the uniqueness of their being.
Bliss: It doesn't matter who you are right now, how miserable you are right now, how disturbed you are right now. If you pay enough attention to your interiority, being blissful is a possibility for every human being.
Enlightenment: never happens.... It is there, it is always there.
Enlightenment need not always happen with a bang, it can happen quietly, it can be like a flower blossoming.
Freedom: Unless you are free from the process of your own mind, unless you are free from the process of your own body there is really no such thing as freedom.
If your happiness and your well-being are not subject to anybody or anything, only then are you free. Otherwise whether you are in a prison or walking outside on the street, you still are a prisoner within yourself.
If you’re seeking to live well, you should not talk about God. Only when your longing has become such that you want to know not just life but the very source of life, can you talk about God.
Everyone can love God, as He does not demand anything from you, but to love the one next to you right now costs life. It is a challenge. It takes much courage to do this.
Every human activity is in pursuit of happiness.
Intensity: You must be that kind of a person that even if they put you in Sahara desert, there also you must be successful with life available there.
People who have never been on fire will not know the coolness of water. People, who have just lived their life in a half-hearted manner, sedately, can never know the other way.
Involvement: You will never know the beauty of life unless you are deeply involved. At the same time, you cannot enjoy the beauty of involvement if you get attached. If you don’t get this subtle distinction, you will suffer.
The greatest crime a person can commit is to be a joyless person.
A joyful face is always beautiful anywhere in the world, whatever the shape of the nose, whatever the shape of your eyes, when you see a joyful face it’s a beautiful face.
Karma: Is not in what you have done or not what you have done. It is your volition. The, way you live. The way you are within yourself.
When you utter the word karma, it’s always about you; never about somebody. You have no business with somebody else’s karma.
Knowing: Only when you are torn, by the pain of not knowing, will knowing happen to you.
Leadership: Leadership can only give guidance and orientation, but it’s the people who have to make the difference. Every individual in whatever sphere of life he is in, whatever responsibility that he holds, whatever influence he has, he has to stand up and make it happen in his area.
Liberation: means becoming free from the very process of life, birth and death. It means becoming free form the basic structures of body and mind. For all these, the karmic structure is the string which holds them together.
Life: Life has come from a very beautiful source. If you remain in touch with that source, everything about you will be beautiful.
How deeply you can touch another life, is how rich your life is. May you have much opportunity to profoundly impact lives around you.
People try to create an outwardly perfect life, but quality of life is based on the inward.
Being alive is not a small thing; it is the greatest phenomena on the planet - not just on the planet, in this whole cosmos.
Love: is just a vehicle for oneness. What you are longing for is that oneness.
Mind: This mind is capable of takings to the peaks of what is possible by a human being but unfortunately we are using the mind to create ulcer, diabetes, misery, anger jealousy.
Collective unconsciousness means, if you go deep enough into your mind, there will be no such thing as my mind and your mind, there is just one mind.
Peace: Peace is not the ultimate attainment of life, but the very foundation of life, the birthright of all human beings.
Peace and Happiness are rooted neither in the marketplace nor the woods, but within.
When you do not know how to keep your body peaceful, when you do not know how to keep your mind peaceful, when you do not know how to keep your energies peaceful, world peace is just a joke.
If there are no peaceful human beings, there is no peaceful world. Maybe there is no killing right now, but people are torturing and killing themselves everyday in so many different ways. That’s bad enough, that’s worse than a war.
Once we are living on a planet with limited resources, and the whole thing that is driving our lives is the engine of economics, war is inevitable, peace is impossible.
Religion: We don’t need more Hindus, more Christians, more Muslims; we need Buddha’s, Jesus, Krishna’s, real ones. We need live ones. That is when true change will happen. And that potential every human being carries within himself. Who they were is also your innermost nature.
How can you love one and hate the other when the same divine exits in all. As many colors of the rainbow are an outcome of one pure light, the many religions of the world are an expression of one divine source. Religions of the world are not about one man’s belief against another. But an opportunity and a possibility for all humans of all hues and colors, of various stages of evolution, understanding, and experience to reach to their common ultimate source.
Seeking: You must seek constantly that which you know to be the highest. It doesn’t matter whether it is going to happen or not; simply living with the vision is an elevating experience and a joyous process in itself.
Self: Everything that you do is self-based. All your work, all your life is an expression of who you are.
You don't have to do anything, you don't have to think anything, and you don't have to feel anything to be complete. You are complete by yourself.
Spirituality: means to live with an alert intelligence.
When you say spirituality you want to progress on the existential level - not socially, not psychologically, and not emotionally. You are constantly seeing how to progress existentially.
Spirituality means you have started seeing life with utmost clarity, there are no more illusions about it; you see everything just the way it is.
To be spiritual means to be an emperor within you. This is the only way to be.
Tears have got nothing to do with sadness and pain. Whenever any experience becomes very intense, tears flow.
If tears of love, joy, and ecstasy have not washed your cheeks, you are yet to taste life.
Path: The path is the destination and the destination is hidden in the path as the creator is hidden in the creation.
The highest is also the simplest.
If you carry with you, what we are calling as Isha, right things start happening.
Being together is the beginning. Working together is the middle. Dissolving together is the ultimate.
Individual salvation is the only way for universal salvation.
Fear: If a person has no hope he is truly blessed, because that person has no fear of failure. Fear of missing out on something is totally not there in a person who doesn't hope.
If you want to enjoy the boons that are outside, you must do something about the inside. Otherwise, everything bypasses you
Truth: You cannot get to truth. You can never get to truth, but you can become truth.
Truth is not a conclusion. Truth is not somewhere you go. It is not a destination - it is just a living experience.
You can’t interpret truth, you can only experience it. You cannot understand truth; you can only dissolve into it. It’s not something that you grasp; it is something that you merge with.
Love is work in motion. Work is love in motion.
Only a man who works with intensity can know what rest is.
Work is an expression of who you are, so who you are needs to be worked at.
The Bliss of work is known only to those who have no need for action.
Today, with the tools of science and technology we have brought ourselves to a self-threatening situation that everybody in the society needs to turn spiritual; otherwise there is no survival for this world. With the kind of equipment, and capabilities that we have, it just takes one fool to blow it up- and there any number of those fools standing in the queue to get to the top.
Sadhguru's Simple Sensibility
Devotion: is truly for the intelligent, not for the stupid because without devotion there is no profundity to your life.
Awareness: is aliveness. How aware you are, is how alive you are.
Being you: The fundamental problem with humanity is that everyone is trying to be special. Only when you become ordinary, like a tree, can a greater dimension of life open up to you.
This wanting to become special, this disease has come to people simply because they have not recognized the value of the uniqueness of their being.
Bliss: It doesn't matter who you are right now, how miserable you are right now, how disturbed you are right now. If you pay enough attention to your interiority, being blissful is a possibility for every human being.
Enlightenment: never happens.... It is there, it is always there.
Enlightenment need not always happen with a bang, it can happen quietly, it can be like a flower blossoming.
Freedom: Unless you are free from the process of your own mind, unless you are free from the process of your own body there is really no such thing as freedom.
If your happiness and your well-being are not subject to anybody or anything, only then are you free. Otherwise whether you are in a prison or walking outside on the street, you still are a prisoner within yourself.
If you’re seeking to live well, you should not talk about God. Only when your longing has become such that you want to know not just life but the very source of life, can you talk about God.
Everyone can love God, as He does not demand anything from you, but to love the one next to you right now costs life. It is a challenge. It takes much courage to do this.
Every human activity is in pursuit of happiness.
Intensity: You must be that kind of a person that even if they put you in Sahara desert, there also you must be successful with life available there.
People who have never been on fire will not know the coolness of water. People, who have just lived their life in a half-hearted manner, sedately, can never know the other way.
Involvement: You will never know the beauty of life unless you are deeply involved. At the same time, you cannot enjoy the beauty of involvement if you get attached. If you don’t get this subtle distinction, you will suffer.
The greatest crime a person can commit is to be a joyless person.
A joyful face is always beautiful anywhere in the world, whatever the shape of the nose, whatever the shape of your eyes, when you see a joyful face it’s a beautiful face.
Karma: Is not in what you have done or not what you have done. It is your volition. The, way you live. The way you are within yourself.
When you utter the word karma, it’s always about you; never about somebody. You have no business with somebody else’s karma.
Knowing: Only when you are torn, by the pain of not knowing, will knowing happen to you.
Leadership: Leadership can only give guidance and orientation, but it’s the people who have to make the difference. Every individual in whatever sphere of life he is in, whatever responsibility that he holds, whatever influence he has, he has to stand up and make it happen in his area.
Liberation: means becoming free from the very process of life, birth and death. It means becoming free form the basic structures of body and mind. For all these, the karmic structure is the string which holds them together.
Life: Life has come from a very beautiful source. If you remain in touch with that source, everything about you will be beautiful.
How deeply you can touch another life, is how rich your life is. May you have much opportunity to profoundly impact lives around you.
People try to create an outwardly perfect life, but quality of life is based on the inward.
Being alive is not a small thing; it is the greatest phenomena on the planet - not just on the planet, in this whole cosmos.
Love: is just a vehicle for oneness. What you are longing for is that oneness.
Mind: This mind is capable of takings to the peaks of what is possible by a human being but unfortunately we are using the mind to create ulcer, diabetes, misery, anger jealousy.
Collective unconsciousness means, if you go deep enough into your mind, there will be no such thing as my mind and your mind, there is just one mind.
Peace: Peace is not the ultimate attainment of life, but the very foundation of life, the birthright of all human beings.
Peace and Happiness are rooted neither in the marketplace nor the woods, but within.
When you do not know how to keep your body peaceful, when you do not know how to keep your mind peaceful, when you do not know how to keep your energies peaceful, world peace is just a joke.
If there are no peaceful human beings, there is no peaceful world. Maybe there is no killing right now, but people are torturing and killing themselves everyday in so many different ways. That’s bad enough, that’s worse than a war.
Once we are living on a planet with limited resources, and the whole thing that is driving our lives is the engine of economics, war is inevitable, peace is impossible.
Religion: We don’t need more Hindus, more Christians, more Muslims; we need Buddha’s, Jesus, Krishna’s, real ones. We need live ones. That is when true change will happen. And that potential every human being carries within himself. Who they were is also your innermost nature.
How can you love one and hate the other when the same divine exits in all. As many colors of the rainbow are an outcome of one pure light, the many religions of the world are an expression of one divine source. Religions of the world are not about one man’s belief against another. But an opportunity and a possibility for all humans of all hues and colors, of various stages of evolution, understanding, and experience to reach to their common ultimate source.
Seeking: You must seek constantly that which you know to be the highest. It doesn’t matter whether it is going to happen or not; simply living with the vision is an elevating experience and a joyous process in itself.
Self: Everything that you do is self-based. All your work, all your life is an expression of who you are.
You don't have to do anything, you don't have to think anything, and you don't have to feel anything to be complete. You are complete by yourself.
Spirituality: means to live with an alert intelligence.
When you say spirituality you want to progress on the existential level - not socially, not psychologically, and not emotionally. You are constantly seeing how to progress existentially.
Spirituality means you have started seeing life with utmost clarity, there are no more illusions about it; you see everything just the way it is.
To be spiritual means to be an emperor within you. This is the only way to be.
Tears have got nothing to do with sadness and pain. Whenever any experience becomes very intense, tears flow.
If tears of love, joy, and ecstasy have not washed your cheeks, you are yet to taste life.
Path: The path is the destination and the destination is hidden in the path as the creator is hidden in the creation.
The highest is also the simplest.
If you carry with you, what we are calling as Isha, right things start happening.
Being together is the beginning. Working together is the middle. Dissolving together is the ultimate.
Individual salvation is the only way for universal salvation.
Fear: If a person has no hope he is truly blessed, because that person has no fear of failure. Fear of missing out on something is totally not there in a person who doesn't hope.
If you want to enjoy the boons that are outside, you must do something about the inside. Otherwise, everything bypasses you
Truth: You cannot get to truth. You can never get to truth, but you can become truth.
Truth is not a conclusion. Truth is not somewhere you go. It is not a destination - it is just a living experience.
You can’t interpret truth, you can only experience it. You cannot understand truth; you can only dissolve into it. It’s not something that you grasp; it is something that you merge with.
Love is work in motion. Work is love in motion.
Only a man who works with intensity can know what rest is.
Work is an expression of who you are, so who you are needs to be worked at.
The Bliss of work is known only to those who have no need for action.
Today, with the tools of science and technology we have brought ourselves to a self-threatening situation that everybody in the society needs to turn spiritual; otherwise there is no survival for this world. With the kind of equipment, and capabilities that we have, it just takes one fool to blow it up- and there any number of those fools standing in the queue to get to the top.
Wednesday, June 30, 2010
No Big Surprise
I was introduced to this poem a little more than a decade ago. A friend gave me the Filipino translation by another Filipino poet/ writer Pete Lacaba, and i thought it was one of the saddest, most beautiful poems I've read. I'm still torn which is the better translation, this, or Pete Lacaba's.
This morning, I woke up with this poem in my head, reciting itself over and over.No, not a song, but a poem. I'm such a geek. But then again...
Tonight I Can Write The Saddest Lines
Pablo Neruda
Tonight I can write the saddest lines.
Write, for example, 'The night is shattered
and the blue stars shiver in the distance.'
The night wind revolves in the sky and sings.
Tonight I can write the saddest lines.
I loved her, and sometimes she loved me too.
Through nights like this one I held her in my arms
I kissed her again and again under the endless sky.
She loved me sometimes, and I loved her too.
How could one not have loved her great still eyes.
Tonight I can write the saddest lines.
To think that I do not have her. To feel that I have lost her.
To hear the immense night, still more immense without her.
And the verse falls to the soul like dew to the pasture.
What does it matter that my love could not keep her.
The night is shattered and she is not with me.
This is all. In the distance someone is singing. In the distance.
My soul is not satisfied that it has lost her.
My sight searches for her as though to go to her.
My heart looks for her, and she is not with me.
The same night whitening the same trees.
We, of that time, are no longer the same.
I no longer love her, that's certain, but how I loved her.
My voice tried to find the wind to touch her hearing.
Another's. She will be another's. Like my kisses before.
Her voice. Her bright body. Her inifinite eyes.
I no longer love her, that's certain, but maybe I love her.
Love is so short, forgetting is so long.
Because through nights like this one I held her in my arms
my soul is not satisfied that it has lost her.
Though this be the last pain that she makes me suffer
and these the last verses that I write for her
This morning, I woke up with this poem in my head, reciting itself over and over.No, not a song, but a poem. I'm such a geek. But then again...
Tonight I Can Write The Saddest Lines
Pablo Neruda
Tonight I can write the saddest lines.
Write, for example, 'The night is shattered
and the blue stars shiver in the distance.'
The night wind revolves in the sky and sings.
Tonight I can write the saddest lines.
I loved her, and sometimes she loved me too.
Through nights like this one I held her in my arms
I kissed her again and again under the endless sky.
She loved me sometimes, and I loved her too.
How could one not have loved her great still eyes.
Tonight I can write the saddest lines.
To think that I do not have her. To feel that I have lost her.
To hear the immense night, still more immense without her.
And the verse falls to the soul like dew to the pasture.
What does it matter that my love could not keep her.
The night is shattered and she is not with me.
This is all. In the distance someone is singing. In the distance.
My soul is not satisfied that it has lost her.
My sight searches for her as though to go to her.
My heart looks for her, and she is not with me.
The same night whitening the same trees.
We, of that time, are no longer the same.
I no longer love her, that's certain, but how I loved her.
My voice tried to find the wind to touch her hearing.
Another's. She will be another's. Like my kisses before.
Her voice. Her bright body. Her inifinite eyes.
I no longer love her, that's certain, but maybe I love her.
Love is so short, forgetting is so long.
Because through nights like this one I held her in my arms
my soul is not satisfied that it has lost her.
Though this be the last pain that she makes me suffer
and these the last verses that I write for her
Tuesday, June 29, 2010
Indeed...
This Filipino poet just took the words out of my mouth.
A Prayer, or Great Expectations
Fanny Haydee B. Llego
There's no doubt about it I need to get hitched:
I need someone to scratch me whenever I itch
Or give me a backrub whenever I want it
(Who'll pout only a little when someone else does it);
Someone on whom I can vent my frustrations
& who is supportive in trying situations;
Who'll extol all my virtues, forget all my faults
& would always submit to my sexual assaults;
Who'll bring up my children the way they should be
Yet still be entirely devoted to me;
Who'll always obey me, my word being law,
My logic, perfect; my thinking, without flaw;
My sexy cheerleader, housekeeper, accountant,
Secretary, nursemaid, unflagging assistant;
Brought up & moulded to think that success
Is found in the home: nothing more, nowhere else.
O, Mother Goddess, I need in my life
A man willing to be the perfect little wife!
A Prayer, or Great Expectations
Fanny Haydee B. Llego
There's no doubt about it I need to get hitched:
I need someone to scratch me whenever I itch
Or give me a backrub whenever I want it
(Who'll pout only a little when someone else does it);
Someone on whom I can vent my frustrations
& who is supportive in trying situations;
Who'll extol all my virtues, forget all my faults
& would always submit to my sexual assaults;
Who'll bring up my children the way they should be
Yet still be entirely devoted to me;
Who'll always obey me, my word being law,
My logic, perfect; my thinking, without flaw;
My sexy cheerleader, housekeeper, accountant,
Secretary, nursemaid, unflagging assistant;
Brought up & moulded to think that success
Is found in the home: nothing more, nowhere else.
O, Mother Goddess, I need in my life
A man willing to be the perfect little wife!
Tuesday, June 22, 2010
Loveology
(with thanks to Regina Spektor for the title)
They say every person that comes into your life brings you a lesson to learn. Ever since this thing with Hugh started, a question had always lingered—What lesson do I need to learn from him? What is he meant to teach me?
I knew from the beginning there would be regrets when this thing ends. And I’m not being negative when I anticipate things ending or having regrets. It’s just a fact that I was faced with at the onset. There were no illusions that this was going to last. We both knew it was a temporary arrangement. But there was the hope that it would be otherwise, and being temporary didn’t make it any less painful.
As I found myself in that dark place once again, I tried to rationalize things, if only to offer myself some kind of consolation. If I could put everything within the confines of logic, then maybe I can finally make sense of things and make it hurt less. No such luck in that department, though.
But thinking and re-thinking, picking at the details make you realize certain things. And for the past few weeks, I think I’ve finally gotten to a semblance of understanding why he had to come into my life, at this time and in this way.
He taught me about desire. And how powerful desire could be. It was exciting and intoxicating. I was drunk with him and him with me. But no real love can exist with desire alone, and that I had to learn.
Ironically, too, he taught me about commitment. I half jokingly told S., “He’s committed to being non-commital.” That cracked her up. It just made me more sad. Sad to realize that I wanted it with him, that suddenly it didn’t seem too scary a prospect.
He opened me up in ways that no one did. I dared and took risks. “I’ve never seen you give yourself like this to anyone,” my sister said. “It’s good,” she says, “you’re finally learning to open up.”
He taught me about patience. God, I’ve given him chances more than I’ve given to anyone, despite my better judgment. But even with all the chances, there was no redemption, only disappointment. I could simply chalk everything up to three things: he just wasn’t ready, or he’s unwilling, or worse, he’s just plain incapable. Whatever the reason is, it hardly matters anymore.
“Maybe you had to go through this and him because he is the preparation for something better,” says my sister. Her words of wisdom offers little comfort right now. But it is another lesson this whole experience with him is teaching me—it is a lesson of faith. Faith that the future holds something much better, the big pay-off for all the struggles I had to contend with. Maybe next time, it will be my turn to win.
But lastly and more importantly, he’s trying to teach me about forgiveness. Although, it is one, I have yet to fully learn. Forgiveness for him, and all the shit he’s pulled. Forgiveness for myself and for whatever this whole thing had been. Wasn’t it Oprah who said, “forgiveness is the letting go of the hope that things could have been better,”?
They say every person that comes into your life brings you a lesson to learn. Ever since this thing with Hugh started, a question had always lingered—What lesson do I need to learn from him? What is he meant to teach me?
I knew from the beginning there would be regrets when this thing ends. And I’m not being negative when I anticipate things ending or having regrets. It’s just a fact that I was faced with at the onset. There were no illusions that this was going to last. We both knew it was a temporary arrangement. But there was the hope that it would be otherwise, and being temporary didn’t make it any less painful.
As I found myself in that dark place once again, I tried to rationalize things, if only to offer myself some kind of consolation. If I could put everything within the confines of logic, then maybe I can finally make sense of things and make it hurt less. No such luck in that department, though.
But thinking and re-thinking, picking at the details make you realize certain things. And for the past few weeks, I think I’ve finally gotten to a semblance of understanding why he had to come into my life, at this time and in this way.
He taught me about desire. And how powerful desire could be. It was exciting and intoxicating. I was drunk with him and him with me. But no real love can exist with desire alone, and that I had to learn.
Ironically, too, he taught me about commitment. I half jokingly told S., “He’s committed to being non-commital.” That cracked her up. It just made me more sad. Sad to realize that I wanted it with him, that suddenly it didn’t seem too scary a prospect.
He opened me up in ways that no one did. I dared and took risks. “I’ve never seen you give yourself like this to anyone,” my sister said. “It’s good,” she says, “you’re finally learning to open up.”
He taught me about patience. God, I’ve given him chances more than I’ve given to anyone, despite my better judgment. But even with all the chances, there was no redemption, only disappointment. I could simply chalk everything up to three things: he just wasn’t ready, or he’s unwilling, or worse, he’s just plain incapable. Whatever the reason is, it hardly matters anymore.
“Maybe you had to go through this and him because he is the preparation for something better,” says my sister. Her words of wisdom offers little comfort right now. But it is another lesson this whole experience with him is teaching me—it is a lesson of faith. Faith that the future holds something much better, the big pay-off for all the struggles I had to contend with. Maybe next time, it will be my turn to win.
But lastly and more importantly, he’s trying to teach me about forgiveness. Although, it is one, I have yet to fully learn. Forgiveness for him, and all the shit he’s pulled. Forgiveness for myself and for whatever this whole thing had been. Wasn’t it Oprah who said, “forgiveness is the letting go of the hope that things could have been better,”?
Thursday, June 17, 2010
Say When
Pain is the payment for every thing that’s precious, said one character from CSI NY. But pain, they say, is also the mechanism that tells you if something isn’t right, physical or otherwise. What do I make of it? What if pain is just pain, neither the price you pay or the friend you would like to think of? And it’s just there to spite you?
I am tired.
I am tired.
Saturday, June 12, 2010
Jukebox!
After months of frustration, I’ve finally done it!!! I have successfully added an mp3 player to this blog! To some, this may be not much of an achievement, but for a technologically challenged person as I am, it is a feat, by no means small.
This current playlist, by the way, is as you’ve guessed the soundtrack of my life right now. But more than that, it is also one that I’ve promised to make for Karla. Hope she likes it, and so do the rest of you.
This current playlist, by the way, is as you’ve guessed the soundtrack of my life right now. But more than that, it is also one that I’ve promised to make for Karla. Hope she likes it, and so do the rest of you.
Wednesday, June 9, 2010
Need to get to the Last Stage
I walk down the street.
There is a deep hole in the sidewalk.
I fall in.
I am lost. I am hopeless.
It isn’t my fault.
It takes me forever to find my way out.
I walk down the same street.
There is a deep hole in the sidewalk.
I pretend I don’t see it.
I fall in again.
I can’t believe I’m in the same place.
But it isn’t my fault.
It still takes me a long time to get out.
I walk down the same street.
There is a deep hole in the sidewalk.
I see it is there.
I still fall in…it’s a habit.
My eyes are open. I know where I am.
It is my fault.
I get out immediately.
I walk down the same street.
There is a deep hole in the sidewalk.
I walk around it.
I walk down another street.
- Taken from the Tibetan Book of Living and Dying
There is a deep hole in the sidewalk.
I fall in.
I am lost. I am hopeless.
It isn’t my fault.
It takes me forever to find my way out.
I walk down the same street.
There is a deep hole in the sidewalk.
I pretend I don’t see it.
I fall in again.
I can’t believe I’m in the same place.
But it isn’t my fault.
It still takes me a long time to get out.
I walk down the same street.
There is a deep hole in the sidewalk.
I see it is there.
I still fall in…it’s a habit.
My eyes are open. I know where I am.
It is my fault.
I get out immediately.
I walk down the same street.
There is a deep hole in the sidewalk.
I walk around it.
I walk down another street.
- Taken from the Tibetan Book of Living and Dying
Tuesday, June 8, 2010
Philosophizing over TV
“In places parallel, I know it’s you. Feel the little pieces bleeding through…”
- Nine Inch Nails, Beside You in Time
I’ve been following Flashforward quite religiously. For those who have been living under a rock, the show started with everyone blacking out for exactly 2.17 minutes. In that brief period, everyone in the world who blacked out saw a glimpse of his or her future, six months to the date.
Sonya Walger is Olivia Benford, the wife of Special Agent Mark Benford. Her flashforward saw the dissolution of her marriage and that she was having an affair with another man, Lloyd Simcoe, played by the wonderful Jack Davenport. In the episodes that follow, it shows her trying to fight that future to save her marriage from ruin.
In this week’s episode, Sonya arranges for the transfer of Lloyd’s son to a private and secure facility following Lloyd’s public admission that the blackout had been caused by his group’s scientific experiment gone awry. They talk briefly, and find out that they had almost gone to the same university, and that Olivia had almost lived in the same apartment building where Lloyd had met his wife.
“Are you aware of the many worlds theory?” Lloyd asks Olivia. She says she is not, and Lloyd explains the concept of parallel worlds. He explains that all the choices and decisions that we could have made are being played out in these parallel worlds as if we have made them at all, and it will be forever played out simultaneously with this reality that we know and live in.
Lloyd pointed out, if only Olivia had gone to Harvard instead of marrying Mark, she would have probably lived in that apartment building, they would have met and chances are, would have actually lived their happy ever after together. But seeing that they haven’t done all that, they both have to live with the consequences of their decisions.
It amuses me a great deal to watch the scene unfold, to hear a character talk about it and seemingly echo my thoughts. Of course, my thoughts were in no way connected to what Olivia and Lloyd were going through with their lives, but more with what was going on in mine.
I had often wondered if he and I met another place, another time, would things be different. I remember us talking once and I had in passing mentioned vacationing in the city where he used to live and work. Maybe he was thinking of the same thing, what if we had bumped into each other, me as a tourist, he as, well, him.
The places I’ve gone were the places he had lived in at one point. But our paths never seemed to cross until it was time for us to do so, only fate chose for us to meet a little too late when everything was different and almost impossible.
I always wanted to ask him, had we not met the way we have, and he had just seen me walking down the street in the city where he is now, would he even try to approach me, and win me?
But sometimes I get to thinking, does it really matter that we didn’t meet during those times? Because we did meet, and isn’t that the point? It seems that we can change the details, the steps that lead to the end as much as we want, but the outcome remains the same.
How much of our lives then is shaped by our choices and decisions? How much of it is shaped by fate?
But if he and I were bound to meet, the only question that remains to be answered is, to what end? To what purpose?
- Nine Inch Nails, Beside You in Time
I’ve been following Flashforward quite religiously. For those who have been living under a rock, the show started with everyone blacking out for exactly 2.17 minutes. In that brief period, everyone in the world who blacked out saw a glimpse of his or her future, six months to the date.
Sonya Walger is Olivia Benford, the wife of Special Agent Mark Benford. Her flashforward saw the dissolution of her marriage and that she was having an affair with another man, Lloyd Simcoe, played by the wonderful Jack Davenport. In the episodes that follow, it shows her trying to fight that future to save her marriage from ruin.
In this week’s episode, Sonya arranges for the transfer of Lloyd’s son to a private and secure facility following Lloyd’s public admission that the blackout had been caused by his group’s scientific experiment gone awry. They talk briefly, and find out that they had almost gone to the same university, and that Olivia had almost lived in the same apartment building where Lloyd had met his wife.
“Are you aware of the many worlds theory?” Lloyd asks Olivia. She says she is not, and Lloyd explains the concept of parallel worlds. He explains that all the choices and decisions that we could have made are being played out in these parallel worlds as if we have made them at all, and it will be forever played out simultaneously with this reality that we know and live in.
Lloyd pointed out, if only Olivia had gone to Harvard instead of marrying Mark, she would have probably lived in that apartment building, they would have met and chances are, would have actually lived their happy ever after together. But seeing that they haven’t done all that, they both have to live with the consequences of their decisions.
It amuses me a great deal to watch the scene unfold, to hear a character talk about it and seemingly echo my thoughts. Of course, my thoughts were in no way connected to what Olivia and Lloyd were going through with their lives, but more with what was going on in mine.
I had often wondered if he and I met another place, another time, would things be different. I remember us talking once and I had in passing mentioned vacationing in the city where he used to live and work. Maybe he was thinking of the same thing, what if we had bumped into each other, me as a tourist, he as, well, him.
The places I’ve gone were the places he had lived in at one point. But our paths never seemed to cross until it was time for us to do so, only fate chose for us to meet a little too late when everything was different and almost impossible.
I always wanted to ask him, had we not met the way we have, and he had just seen me walking down the street in the city where he is now, would he even try to approach me, and win me?
But sometimes I get to thinking, does it really matter that we didn’t meet during those times? Because we did meet, and isn’t that the point? It seems that we can change the details, the steps that lead to the end as much as we want, but the outcome remains the same.
How much of our lives then is shaped by our choices and decisions? How much of it is shaped by fate?
But if he and I were bound to meet, the only question that remains to be answered is, to what end? To what purpose?
Saturday, June 5, 2010
It's A Matter of Choice...
I never quite understood how people can choose to be in a) a gray area and b) a miserable relationship, until it happened to me. Then the universe, as if to rub it in my face gave me this really beautiful song by Florence and the Machine.
I'm posting it here for Karla and all my other friends who share the same sentiments..dammit, can i actually get more cheesy than this?!
Cosmic Love
A fallen star,
Fell from your heart,
And landed in my eyes,
I screamed aloud,
As it tore through them,
And now it's left me blind,
The stars, the moon,
They have all been blown out,
You left me in the dark,
No dawn, no day,
I'm always in this twilight,
In the shadow of your heart,
And in the dark,
I can hear your heartbeat, I try to find the sound,
But then it stopped,
And I was in the darkness,
So darkness I became,
The stars, the moon,
They have all been blown out,
You left me in the dark,
No dawn, No day,
I'm always in this twlight,
In the shadow of your heart,
I took the stars from my eyes,
And then I made a map,
I knew that some how,
I could find my way back,
Then I heard your heart beating, you were darkness too,
So I stayed in the darkness with you,
The stars, the moon,
They have all been blown out,
You left me in the dark,
No dawn, no day,
I'm always in the twilight,
In the shadow of your heart,
The stars, the moon,
They have all been blown out,
You left me in the dark, (you left me in the dark)
No dawn, no day,
I'm always in this twilight,
In the shadow of your heart.
I'm posting it here for Karla and all my other friends who share the same sentiments..dammit, can i actually get more cheesy than this?!
Cosmic Love
A fallen star,
Fell from your heart,
And landed in my eyes,
I screamed aloud,
As it tore through them,
And now it's left me blind,
The stars, the moon,
They have all been blown out,
You left me in the dark,
No dawn, no day,
I'm always in this twilight,
In the shadow of your heart,
And in the dark,
I can hear your heartbeat, I try to find the sound,
But then it stopped,
And I was in the darkness,
So darkness I became,
The stars, the moon,
They have all been blown out,
You left me in the dark,
No dawn, No day,
I'm always in this twlight,
In the shadow of your heart,
I took the stars from my eyes,
And then I made a map,
I knew that some how,
I could find my way back,
Then I heard your heart beating, you were darkness too,
So I stayed in the darkness with you,
The stars, the moon,
They have all been blown out,
You left me in the dark,
No dawn, no day,
I'm always in the twilight,
In the shadow of your heart,
The stars, the moon,
They have all been blown out,
You left me in the dark, (you left me in the dark)
No dawn, no day,
I'm always in this twilight,
In the shadow of your heart.
Thursday, June 3, 2010
Questions and Quandaries
It seems that being in a gray area is a place that people at one point or another would find themselves in, whether they like it or not. And just as it is so easy to fall into that hole, getting out of it could be just as hard. If you’re lucky, you can pull yourself out in no time, but others can stay an eternity there without even knowing what they were in to begin with.
Relationships, particularly quasi-romances, are the most common of the gray areas that you can get yourself into. In my circle alone, at least three of my friends are in that place of knowing and not quite knowing the status of their relationships. And who knows, maybe there are more who just haven’t the courage to admit they’re clueless as well.
My good friend, Karla, (probably the only person in this blog who will ever be named) has even written quite a number of posts on her blog labeled appropriately as gray area. O., another friend who lives about a thousand miles from me, sends me text messages of her frustration over a current quasi-romance. S, on the other hand, has got herself a number of relationships of that nature. It’s a wonder how she can actually keep up with them and with herself. And then there’s me…well, we all know how my little romantic adventure (or mishap) ended. On second thought, things are not exactly, um, through between me and Hugh (not his real name).
The situation that my friends, and often what I also find myself in begs me to ask: Can dysfunction in relationships prove to be so attractive that we are almost compelled to prostrate ourselves to it despite the obvious pain it will cause? And why is it that despite that recognition, we accept it as a matter of fact rather than a matter we have control over, and therefore can actually change? Are we that desperate for love that we completely forget the harm we’re doing to ourselves?
Another point that I also wanted to make here is the apparent curse or gift that has befallen my friends. They share parallel lives with me. I know, I know that not everything is about me, and that it is completely narcissistic of me to think that. But hey, even my friends acknowledge the fact. O. and C. has actually told me flat out that they don’t want to be friends with me anymore for exactly this reason. Of course, they were joking. Or were they?
Maybe my friends and I are that bonded together that we’ve begun to actually share the same fate, which when you think about it makes it really romantic in a sense. But then again, it also makes for a really sad thing.
Whatever the case may be, whether it’s coincidence or providence that makes us lead parallel lives, the bottom line is we need to get out of the gray and start finding the light. I think we mighty deserve it.
Relationships, particularly quasi-romances, are the most common of the gray areas that you can get yourself into. In my circle alone, at least three of my friends are in that place of knowing and not quite knowing the status of their relationships. And who knows, maybe there are more who just haven’t the courage to admit they’re clueless as well.
My good friend, Karla, (probably the only person in this blog who will ever be named) has even written quite a number of posts on her blog labeled appropriately as gray area. O., another friend who lives about a thousand miles from me, sends me text messages of her frustration over a current quasi-romance. S, on the other hand, has got herself a number of relationships of that nature. It’s a wonder how she can actually keep up with them and with herself. And then there’s me…well, we all know how my little romantic adventure (or mishap) ended. On second thought, things are not exactly, um, through between me and Hugh (not his real name).
The situation that my friends, and often what I also find myself in begs me to ask: Can dysfunction in relationships prove to be so attractive that we are almost compelled to prostrate ourselves to it despite the obvious pain it will cause? And why is it that despite that recognition, we accept it as a matter of fact rather than a matter we have control over, and therefore can actually change? Are we that desperate for love that we completely forget the harm we’re doing to ourselves?
Another point that I also wanted to make here is the apparent curse or gift that has befallen my friends. They share parallel lives with me. I know, I know that not everything is about me, and that it is completely narcissistic of me to think that. But hey, even my friends acknowledge the fact. O. and C. has actually told me flat out that they don’t want to be friends with me anymore for exactly this reason. Of course, they were joking. Or were they?
Maybe my friends and I are that bonded together that we’ve begun to actually share the same fate, which when you think about it makes it really romantic in a sense. But then again, it also makes for a really sad thing.
Whatever the case may be, whether it’s coincidence or providence that makes us lead parallel lives, the bottom line is we need to get out of the gray and start finding the light. I think we mighty deserve it.
Saturday, May 15, 2010
The Human Condition
It is a human condition: that love, especially if true, will always involve a letting go. – Secret History of the World by Jonathan Black
Isn’t it the greatest irony that we spend our days on a romantic quest, jump from one failed attempt on love to another in search of the elusive soulmate, and as soon as we find it, we realize it’s simply not working out and we have to let them go?
We tell ourselves that if we could just find The One, we would finally be happy and complete. But the happiness we find with them is fleeting, and we have not caused them happiness but misery, and the only recourse is to part from them so they may search what will make them truly happy. And the cycle never ends.
What is the point in all this searching? What is the point in feeling a sense of certainty that everything led you to this moment if the moment only ends too soon?
Why do you have to let go of the very thing that makes you happy? Why do we always have to choose?
But the point is, I did let go. And he came back.
Isn’t it the greatest irony that we spend our days on a romantic quest, jump from one failed attempt on love to another in search of the elusive soulmate, and as soon as we find it, we realize it’s simply not working out and we have to let them go?
We tell ourselves that if we could just find The One, we would finally be happy and complete. But the happiness we find with them is fleeting, and we have not caused them happiness but misery, and the only recourse is to part from them so they may search what will make them truly happy. And the cycle never ends.
What is the point in all this searching? What is the point in feeling a sense of certainty that everything led you to this moment if the moment only ends too soon?
Why do you have to let go of the very thing that makes you happy? Why do we always have to choose?
But the point is, I did let go. And he came back.
Thursday, May 6, 2010
In Remembrance and in regret
It is only human to have regrets, never trust anyone who tells you they don’t have a single one. It is a simple reality that everyone goes through. It tells you what you could have done better and teaches you to be conscientious the next time so you don’t repeat the same mistakes you made. It is a great teacher, sadly it teaches a lesson a little too late, when there is nothing more you can do about it.
I have my share of regrets and for the last two weeks, there is one that has stayed with me and I carry with me even until now.
My grandma passed away. She was 89, a few months shy of 90. She died peacefully, in the arms of one of her daughters. My aunt barely felt the life leaving her. Even though, they had expected her passing for while now, her death was a shock and left everyone trying to hold on to anything they can grab.
She had lived a full life, seen so much and had been loved. Her children, grandchildren and great grandchildren who lived alongside her could only try to make sense of the loss and the void she was leaving behind. As her wake went on for days, the grief only intensified, culminating on the day of her funeral—the final moment, the final goodbye.
As the cries filled the air and the emotions ran heavy, I thought of the all the memories I shared with my Lola. And to my shame, there wasn’t much.
I could make all sorts of excuses for myself and my family that we lived far from them, we were too busy, life was too complicated. But it all boiled down to one thing, I just didn’t spend enough time with her, didn’t make a real effort to see her.
And as I sat there and watched the world cry over their loss, I couldn’t cry. I didn’t know how to mourn for her. But I did feel sad for the people she had left behind, how they lost a parent, a grandparent, a friend, an ally. I sympathized, for I have known loss, and the grief that comes along with it. But for all my sympathies, I knew that it didn’t amount to much of anything. My empathy could not for the whole world compensate for what I wasn’t feeling.
But regrets are regrets, and as much as I want to turn back time and undo whatever I’ve done, or do the things I haven’t, everything is just wishful thinking. I do hope for forgiveness, for absolution. And I do send her my love wherever she may be.
Lola, Godspeed.
I have my share of regrets and for the last two weeks, there is one that has stayed with me and I carry with me even until now.
My grandma passed away. She was 89, a few months shy of 90. She died peacefully, in the arms of one of her daughters. My aunt barely felt the life leaving her. Even though, they had expected her passing for while now, her death was a shock and left everyone trying to hold on to anything they can grab.
She had lived a full life, seen so much and had been loved. Her children, grandchildren and great grandchildren who lived alongside her could only try to make sense of the loss and the void she was leaving behind. As her wake went on for days, the grief only intensified, culminating on the day of her funeral—the final moment, the final goodbye.
As the cries filled the air and the emotions ran heavy, I thought of the all the memories I shared with my Lola. And to my shame, there wasn’t much.
I could make all sorts of excuses for myself and my family that we lived far from them, we were too busy, life was too complicated. But it all boiled down to one thing, I just didn’t spend enough time with her, didn’t make a real effort to see her.
And as I sat there and watched the world cry over their loss, I couldn’t cry. I didn’t know how to mourn for her. But I did feel sad for the people she had left behind, how they lost a parent, a grandparent, a friend, an ally. I sympathized, for I have known loss, and the grief that comes along with it. But for all my sympathies, I knew that it didn’t amount to much of anything. My empathy could not for the whole world compensate for what I wasn’t feeling.
But regrets are regrets, and as much as I want to turn back time and undo whatever I’ve done, or do the things I haven’t, everything is just wishful thinking. I do hope for forgiveness, for absolution. And I do send her my love wherever she may be.
Lola, Godspeed.
Tuesday, April 20, 2010
Surviving Writer's Block
I live inside my head now. Words, images and emotions swirl in one gigantic mess in my head and I can’t seem to get them out no matter what I do. My tongue trips and I am rendered inarticulate. I was talking to my sister a while ago, and I can’t seem to get the ideas straight. She looked at me confounded, and trust me, I am as confounded as much as she is. To make matters worse, I am now suffering from a terrible affliction: the dreaded writer’s block.
Okay, if the only thing affected is my writing for this blog. Unfortunately, bigger things are at stake. My work in both the academe and publishing is likewise suffering, and my deadlines are looming over me. I have exactly six days to finish an important research, and currently three magazine articles that I need to get out of the pipeline same day as my research is due. And I have no idea how I’d be able to manage everything in time. If only I could draw things out from my gray matter and into the pages of whatever I need to accomplish...
I sometimes have lucid moments where everything seemed clear, but it doesn’t last long enough for me to put it down on paper. M suggested that I I bring a recorder around so I can simply record my thoughts as soon as I have them, catch them before it evaporates again. I tell people it must be the summer heat, it fries my brain cells to oblivion.
Even as I write this entry, I forget what my point is, or even if I have one. I figured writing this entry could be some sort of exercise, but it’s turning out to be an exercise in futility. (sigh)
Maybe this is a call for help. To anyone who has ideas how to cure this writer’s block, throw them my way. I am desperate.
Okay, if the only thing affected is my writing for this blog. Unfortunately, bigger things are at stake. My work in both the academe and publishing is likewise suffering, and my deadlines are looming over me. I have exactly six days to finish an important research, and currently three magazine articles that I need to get out of the pipeline same day as my research is due. And I have no idea how I’d be able to manage everything in time. If only I could draw things out from my gray matter and into the pages of whatever I need to accomplish...
I sometimes have lucid moments where everything seemed clear, but it doesn’t last long enough for me to put it down on paper. M suggested that I I bring a recorder around so I can simply record my thoughts as soon as I have them, catch them before it evaporates again. I tell people it must be the summer heat, it fries my brain cells to oblivion.
Even as I write this entry, I forget what my point is, or even if I have one. I figured writing this entry could be some sort of exercise, but it’s turning out to be an exercise in futility. (sigh)
Maybe this is a call for help. To anyone who has ideas how to cure this writer’s block, throw them my way. I am desperate.
Saturday, April 10, 2010
The Grass is Always Greener..
I went up to the mountains in search of something. No, not my soul, but something just as rare these days: traditional Ifugao houses. One of the many indigenous communities in the North of the Philippines, the Ifugaos are a hardy bunch, living high up in the mountains and carving its sides into stepped terraces where they plant anything from rice to vegetables and root crops.
So what interest could I possibly have with their traditional dwellings? A research documenting Ifugao architecture and its many implications on their culture and gender roles is what. And so we, myself and the team, embarked on this great expedition, traveling 12 hours from Manila to Banaue, trekking for six hours just to get from one village to the next.
We walked on sides of cliffs and along the edges of the mountain terraces, going as high up as we can possibly go. One misstep and we would literally plunge to our deaths, or drown in the muck of the rice paddies, whichever the case may be. And on top of that, it was unexpectedly cold. We were freezing. Well, okay, freezing may be a bit too much but still, I suddenly felt silly for bringing summer clothes with me to the trip. No one actually thought we could actually suffer from hypothermia in the middle of summer, much less in the Philippines.
Also, I am not the most fit person. I smoke and drink and quite adept at living a sedentary lifestyle, which makes me the least candidate to be to climb a mountain. We would be passed occasionally by grandmothers during our climb, and I swear they were in better shape than I was, and they gave all of us a serious run for our money.
But I did it, even as the muscles in my thighs burned and my breath labored with every climb. And at 3200 feet above sea level, where the air was thin, my mind was clear and at times, I felt like I could see forever.
Just like everyone who’s ever been on a nature trip, I was enthralled by what I saw. It was beautiful, and just like anyone, I hungrily snapped pictures although after a while, it felt like I was taking the same pictures over and over again. I guess sometimes, beauty can be tiring.
As memorable the views were, so were the locals. I know, everyone says that whenever you find yourself as a tourist in new place that the people are friendly and nice. But the Ifugao people are more than just nice, they are resilient and happy. Banaue and the rest of the Mountain provinces are not exactly the easiest places to live in, but these people are doing more than surviving, they are thriving, “Life is hard here, but we are happy,” our guide told us. You look at his face, and you know he’s telling the truth.
With so little, people are content. I somehow felt envious of their uncomplicated lives, thinking maybe a life like that could make me happy. But you realize that no matter how much you romanticize things, no matter how much you think the grass is greener on the other side, it’s never as simple as that. Chances are, they probably think our lives are better than theirs. It’s all a matter of perspective, and it’s really about finding happiness wherever you are.
So what interest could I possibly have with their traditional dwellings? A research documenting Ifugao architecture and its many implications on their culture and gender roles is what. And so we, myself and the team, embarked on this great expedition, traveling 12 hours from Manila to Banaue, trekking for six hours just to get from one village to the next.
We walked on sides of cliffs and along the edges of the mountain terraces, going as high up as we can possibly go. One misstep and we would literally plunge to our deaths, or drown in the muck of the rice paddies, whichever the case may be. And on top of that, it was unexpectedly cold. We were freezing. Well, okay, freezing may be a bit too much but still, I suddenly felt silly for bringing summer clothes with me to the trip. No one actually thought we could actually suffer from hypothermia in the middle of summer, much less in the Philippines.
Also, I am not the most fit person. I smoke and drink and quite adept at living a sedentary lifestyle, which makes me the least candidate to be to climb a mountain. We would be passed occasionally by grandmothers during our climb, and I swear they were in better shape than I was, and they gave all of us a serious run for our money.
But I did it, even as the muscles in my thighs burned and my breath labored with every climb. And at 3200 feet above sea level, where the air was thin, my mind was clear and at times, I felt like I could see forever.
Just like everyone who’s ever been on a nature trip, I was enthralled by what I saw. It was beautiful, and just like anyone, I hungrily snapped pictures although after a while, it felt like I was taking the same pictures over and over again. I guess sometimes, beauty can be tiring.
As memorable the views were, so were the locals. I know, everyone says that whenever you find yourself as a tourist in new place that the people are friendly and nice. But the Ifugao people are more than just nice, they are resilient and happy. Banaue and the rest of the Mountain provinces are not exactly the easiest places to live in, but these people are doing more than surviving, they are thriving, “Life is hard here, but we are happy,” our guide told us. You look at his face, and you know he’s telling the truth.
With so little, people are content. I somehow felt envious of their uncomplicated lives, thinking maybe a life like that could make me happy. But you realize that no matter how much you romanticize things, no matter how much you think the grass is greener on the other side, it’s never as simple as that. Chances are, they probably think our lives are better than theirs. It’s all a matter of perspective, and it’s really about finding happiness wherever you are.
Wednesday, March 24, 2010
A Strange Calm
I feel strange. I had expected to fall into a deep blue after things ended between us, but I can’t seem to find the appropriate emotions. I wanted to wallow in the memory of us (whatever little there was), and cry in regret for what could have been. Yet, I feel light. Maybe I did make the right decision, and peace is finally washing over me.
I admit I have the tendency to be a drama queen (my friends will disagree that it is more than just a tendency), but at least I am conscious of the fact that I do love the drama, and maybe a bit too much. In the words of D, an architect friend, “You are needlessly complicated.” He doesn’t mince words, does he? Bastard, but god bless him for his honesty.
Well, anyway, what I’m driving at is this: I think I’m missing out on the drama by not even feeling sad that it’s over. Yes, I did cry for two days, and yes, I did go back and forth every small detail—what you said, what you did, and even the very first time we met—in an attempt to understand what and where it went wrong, or if it even meant anything to you. A part of me didn’t want the drama and the hurt to end too soon. But in the end, I found that I didn’t care anymore. In the end, I realized, it was about me. It will always be about me and what will really make me happy. You won’t.
I’m not even sour graping. I know that for months on end, I have written how you affected me, how you moved me, and whatever I felt at that time couldn’t be more real. If I ached for you, it wasn’t just in my head. It was almost physical. So maybe this is what makes me feel strange, the fact I was able to let go of you just like that. I am learning. I am finally learning. Isn’t that wonderful?
You may have your reasons and motivations. And for all your declarations that you are happy where you are, I somehow sensed that you were trying to convince yourself more than you were convincing me. I knew your game and I was on to everything. I had been a willing accomplice more than you think I did, and I went into this whole thing with my eyes wide open. You, my dear, were just being a coward.
I do hope you find what it is that will make you truly happy. I earnestly wish you that. Don’t get me wrong. I do have regrets being with you. I knew that even before we started. But it would have been a bigger regret not being with you, even if it were only a really short while, I knew that too.
I could not say with finality that I will never want to be with you again. If one day, fate intervenes and finds us together again, I hope you’re ready by then. And I just hope I’m still there.
I admit I have the tendency to be a drama queen (my friends will disagree that it is more than just a tendency), but at least I am conscious of the fact that I do love the drama, and maybe a bit too much. In the words of D, an architect friend, “You are needlessly complicated.” He doesn’t mince words, does he? Bastard, but god bless him for his honesty.
Well, anyway, what I’m driving at is this: I think I’m missing out on the drama by not even feeling sad that it’s over. Yes, I did cry for two days, and yes, I did go back and forth every small detail—what you said, what you did, and even the very first time we met—in an attempt to understand what and where it went wrong, or if it even meant anything to you. A part of me didn’t want the drama and the hurt to end too soon. But in the end, I found that I didn’t care anymore. In the end, I realized, it was about me. It will always be about me and what will really make me happy. You won’t.
I’m not even sour graping. I know that for months on end, I have written how you affected me, how you moved me, and whatever I felt at that time couldn’t be more real. If I ached for you, it wasn’t just in my head. It was almost physical. So maybe this is what makes me feel strange, the fact I was able to let go of you just like that. I am learning. I am finally learning. Isn’t that wonderful?
You may have your reasons and motivations. And for all your declarations that you are happy where you are, I somehow sensed that you were trying to convince yourself more than you were convincing me. I knew your game and I was on to everything. I had been a willing accomplice more than you think I did, and I went into this whole thing with my eyes wide open. You, my dear, were just being a coward.
I do hope you find what it is that will make you truly happy. I earnestly wish you that. Don’t get me wrong. I do have regrets being with you. I knew that even before we started. But it would have been a bigger regret not being with you, even if it were only a really short while, I knew that too.
I could not say with finality that I will never want to be with you again. If one day, fate intervenes and finds us together again, I hope you’re ready by then. And I just hope I’m still there.
Friday, March 19, 2010
Finding Peace
“I always have a recurring dream of you where you’re always fighting. Sometimes you win, sometimes you lose,” he said. I made a joke out of his dream. Then, I told him about mine, “we were playing tennis, and neither one was winning.” But it wasn’t the dream I wanted to tell him, I wanted to tell him about my recurring dream too, where he always seemed torn, but it was always me he chose. He chose me.
But I know that it’s really just a dream and I should have known better than to put stock in it. He said he’s happy where he is at his life now, but could not understand why he seems to do all of these things with me, yet he does them still. It’s not love, I know. Although sometimes I wish it were. Despite that knowledge, whenever he does what he does, I couldn’t help but fall for him, couldn’t help myself from falling apart.
We saw each other briefly, and not in the way I would have preferred. He seemed distant, dismissive. Maybe he, too, knew that we were reaching the end of the road, and couldn’t bring himself to face it. Even until the end, he couldn’t be man enough to own up to his part in this game we played.
“Can we be friends?” I asked. “Yes,” he chuckled. Did I sense bitterness? Maybe it’s just my imagination. It’s quite hard to tell when you’re ending things over the phone. And though I’m not sure if things will ever be entirely over between us, let me settle with the fact that for now it is. And just like I thought, it went down quietly, there were no hysterics, no crying, nothing of that sort. It was even…friendly.
He once said we had chemistry, and I believed him. It felt real, after all. It even convinced me he was the one. But chemistry can only take me so far with him, and it’s time to loosen my grip and begin to let go.
“Are you okay?” he asked. Yes, I will be, I thought.
I imagine sometimes that he reads this blog, and who knows, maybe he actually does. So let me imagine I am talking to him right now, as if he were here:
You asked me one time, if I would be willing to fight. I told you, “if he was worth it,” and last night as we talked, I wanted to tell you what I have always wanted to tell you since that conversation we had, I did fight. And I thought you were worth it.
But I know that it’s really just a dream and I should have known better than to put stock in it. He said he’s happy where he is at his life now, but could not understand why he seems to do all of these things with me, yet he does them still. It’s not love, I know. Although sometimes I wish it were. Despite that knowledge, whenever he does what he does, I couldn’t help but fall for him, couldn’t help myself from falling apart.
We saw each other briefly, and not in the way I would have preferred. He seemed distant, dismissive. Maybe he, too, knew that we were reaching the end of the road, and couldn’t bring himself to face it. Even until the end, he couldn’t be man enough to own up to his part in this game we played.
“Can we be friends?” I asked. “Yes,” he chuckled. Did I sense bitterness? Maybe it’s just my imagination. It’s quite hard to tell when you’re ending things over the phone. And though I’m not sure if things will ever be entirely over between us, let me settle with the fact that for now it is. And just like I thought, it went down quietly, there were no hysterics, no crying, nothing of that sort. It was even…friendly.
He once said we had chemistry, and I believed him. It felt real, after all. It even convinced me he was the one. But chemistry can only take me so far with him, and it’s time to loosen my grip and begin to let go.
“Are you okay?” he asked. Yes, I will be, I thought.
I imagine sometimes that he reads this blog, and who knows, maybe he actually does. So let me imagine I am talking to him right now, as if he were here:
You asked me one time, if I would be willing to fight. I told you, “if he was worth it,” and last night as we talked, I wanted to tell you what I have always wanted to tell you since that conversation we had, I did fight. And I thought you were worth it.
Monday, March 8, 2010
In a Parallel Wonderland
“Why are you always too small, or too tall?” asked the Madhatter. Alice thought intently and replied, “I guess, everything is timing. Maybe for you, we just seem to catch each other in a bad time. But we are always where we are supposed to be at any given time.”
“Maybe we were meant to meet each other—a perfect meeting in an imperfect time, because we needed to learn something,” Alice added, “the fates may have even wanted for both of us to change our courses, to jar us out of our complacency, to find union and acceptance in each other even if everyone tells us that we don’t deserve it.”
The Madhatter was silent. “You ask me why I’m too small or too tall, too little or too much of anything,” Alice said, now angry. “I ask you, why can’t I be enough? And why is it always about me? What about you, you’re half-mad all the time, but you don’t hear me complaining, do you?”
“I only ask because you have a mission, to fight the Jabawockee,” said the Madhatter, “would you be willing to fight even if all the odds are against you?” he further asked.
“Me?” asked Alice, “why me? I’m no champion. I could die trying, you know.”
“But the compendium,” the Madhatter explained, “shows you slaying the Jabawockee. You won over it. Doesn’t that mean anything to you?”
“It’s just a book,” Alice said, “it could mean anything, it could mean nothing.” Alice paused a moment, paced back and forth, thoughtful. Then she spoke: “I have risked so much to be here,” Alice said. “I’ve run through the wilderness, slept under the shadow of your hat, uncertain of what’s outside it, jumped over heads and god knows what else. If that’s not fighting, I don’t what is.”
“But if I do fight the Jabawockee, and I could, what would you do? Would you be willing to fight the Red Queen? Would you be willing to fight at all? Because I can’t be the only one fighting.”
“If you fight the Jabawockee,” the Madhatter said, smiling, “you get to stay with me.”
“But this is all a dream,” Alice replied, “I would be mad to think that this could be real.”
“If this is just your dream, then it means I’m not real,” the Madhatter said, half-asking. “Sorry,” said Alice, “you’re just a figment of my imagination.”
“But that means you also have to be half-mad to have even dreamed about me,” the Madhatter said, triumphantly.
“You’re right,” Alice conceded, “I must be mad. I must be very mad.”
Thursday, March 4, 2010
A Song in My Head
I could totally relate to this song by Fiona Apple, almost literally. And i have been listening to this over and over again, for the obvious reason...
Parting Gift
I opened my eyes
While you were kissing me once more than once
And you looked as sincere as a dog
Just as sincere as a dog does,
When it's the food on your lips with which it's in love
I bet you could never tell
That I knew you didn't know me that well
It is my fault you see
You never learned that much from me
Oh you silly stupid pastime of mine
You were always good for a rhyme
And from the first, to the last time, the signs
Said 'Stop' - but we went on whole-hearted
It ended bad, but I love what we started
It said 'Stop' - but we went on whole-hearted
It ended bad, but I love what we started
I took off my glasses
While you were yelling at me once more than once
So as not to see you see me react
Should've put 'em, should've put 'em on again
So I could see you see me sincerely yelling back
I bet your fortressed face
Belied your fort of lace
It is by the grace of me
You never learned what I could see
Oh you silly stupid pastime of mine
You were always good for a rhyme
And from the first to all the last times, all the signs
Said 'Stop' - but we went on whole-hearted
It ended bad, but I love what we started
It said 'Stop' - but we went on whole-hearted
It ended bad, but I love what we started
Parting Gift
I opened my eyes
While you were kissing me once more than once
And you looked as sincere as a dog
Just as sincere as a dog does,
When it's the food on your lips with which it's in love
I bet you could never tell
That I knew you didn't know me that well
It is my fault you see
You never learned that much from me
Oh you silly stupid pastime of mine
You were always good for a rhyme
And from the first, to the last time, the signs
Said 'Stop' - but we went on whole-hearted
It ended bad, but I love what we started
It said 'Stop' - but we went on whole-hearted
It ended bad, but I love what we started
I took off my glasses
While you were yelling at me once more than once
So as not to see you see me react
Should've put 'em, should've put 'em on again
So I could see you see me sincerely yelling back
I bet your fortressed face
Belied your fort of lace
It is by the grace of me
You never learned what I could see
Oh you silly stupid pastime of mine
You were always good for a rhyme
And from the first to all the last times, all the signs
Said 'Stop' - but we went on whole-hearted
It ended bad, but I love what we started
It said 'Stop' - but we went on whole-hearted
It ended bad, but I love what we started
Monday, March 1, 2010
Being Brave
I have decided. In a few weeks, things will go back the way they’re supposed to be. And my world will never be the same again. I would have lost him, and I would have gained my sense of self again. Something lost, something gained. But I feel like I’m losing more than I think I’m getting back.
I pray almost constantly now, “Send me a sign,” I plead, “If I should give this all up, if I should give him up.” A little guidance never hurt anyone, and I desperately need one right now. There is a voice in my head that tells me, “But you already know what to do.” And I do. Let him go.
After what seems to be an eternity battling him and myself, I received the final straw, and I have finally every reason to end it, and I’m pretty sure he will agree. Reason and logic has won, and I should be rejoicing, after all, it’s what is right. But it feels like I just died.
I can’t wait for the day to come, but I also want it to take forever to come. I imagine how it will all go down—he will calmly take my decision, tell me he understands it. He will be silent for a moment, his face grave. But he will never let me know what he feels, not for a moment will he risk putting his heart on his sleeve. And I will be firm in my decision, I will be strong, but the whole time, I will be wishing that he fight me, that he fight for me. But I know he won’t.
Doing the right thing is not always easy, and sometimes it can bring you pain. But I know, that despite that, it should bring you a sense of calm, like a heavy load has been lifted. C told me, being the good and faithful person she is, “Being at peace with yourself is a direct result of finding peace with God.”
I am not in peace. I am not in peace.
I pray almost constantly now, “Send me a sign,” I plead, “If I should give this all up, if I should give him up.” A little guidance never hurt anyone, and I desperately need one right now. There is a voice in my head that tells me, “But you already know what to do.” And I do. Let him go.
After what seems to be an eternity battling him and myself, I received the final straw, and I have finally every reason to end it, and I’m pretty sure he will agree. Reason and logic has won, and I should be rejoicing, after all, it’s what is right. But it feels like I just died.
I can’t wait for the day to come, but I also want it to take forever to come. I imagine how it will all go down—he will calmly take my decision, tell me he understands it. He will be silent for a moment, his face grave. But he will never let me know what he feels, not for a moment will he risk putting his heart on his sleeve. And I will be firm in my decision, I will be strong, but the whole time, I will be wishing that he fight me, that he fight for me. But I know he won’t.
Doing the right thing is not always easy, and sometimes it can bring you pain. But I know, that despite that, it should bring you a sense of calm, like a heavy load has been lifted. C told me, being the good and faithful person she is, “Being at peace with yourself is a direct result of finding peace with God.”
I am not in peace. I am not in peace.
Sunday, February 28, 2010
AdNonSense
A while ago, I made the decision. I was going to monetize this blog. I figured, hey, since I have been griping about my frustrations and tiny heartaches, bleeding my heart as it were, I might as well get something for my troubles. So I filled out the online registration form and submitted it. Forty-eight hours, they tell me before ads will appear on my page.
A few hours later, I received an email from Google AdSense, they’ve rejected my application on the basis of unsuitable content. I stared at those two inconspicuous, albeit, loaded words—unsuitable content. What do they mean about unsuitable? Clicking on the link, these are what Google considers unsuitable:
1. Pornography, adult or mature content
2. Violent content
3. Content related to racial intolerance or advocacy against any individual, group or organisation
4. Excessive profanity
5. Hacking/cracking content
6. Gambling or casino-related content
7. Illicit drugs and drug paraphernalia content
8. Sales of beer or hard alcohol
9. Sales of tobacco or tobacco-related products
10. Sales of prescription drugs
11. Sales of weapons or ammunition (e.g. firearms, firearm components, fighting knives, stun guns)
12. Sales of products that are replicas or imitations of designer goods
13. Sales or distribution of coursework or student essays
14. Content regarding programs which compensate users for clicking ads or offers, performing searches, surfing websites or reading emails
15. Any other content that is illegal, promotes illegal activity or infringes on the legal rights of others
I’m certain this blog does not in any way advocate or practice items number 2, 3, 5-15. As for items 1 and 4, well they are contestable. Yes, I have used an occasional cuss word here and there, in fact, I’ve used swear words for a total of three times, four times if you count that instance when I substituted an asterisk for the “U” in f*cker. But I hardly consider three times (or four) as excessive.
With regards to the first item, see, I don’t think my entries qualify as pornographic at all. An entry on kissing, does not, make a site pornographic. They are intended for a mature audience, because, obviously people of a certain maturity would only be able to appreciate and understand the things a grown up person such as I am is going through.
In fact, if I am to be allowed to blow my own horn, I think these entries make for good writing and entertainment. Not to mention a fine example of a neurotic mind. My family and friends concur.
So it bothers and annoys me that Google AdSense should reject my application, and on what basis? And with not much of an explanation that could truly suffice at that. As far as my content goes, they are assured of originality.
Sure, they talk about sensitive matters, i.e. human relationships, and can be indelicate at times, but hardly anything that warrants a thumbs down from AdSense. Are we suddenly living in the Dark Ages where a mere slip of propriety can be considered no less than scandalous? This simply begs the question: is Google AdSense the new morality police?
A few hours later, I received an email from Google AdSense, they’ve rejected my application on the basis of unsuitable content. I stared at those two inconspicuous, albeit, loaded words—unsuitable content. What do they mean about unsuitable? Clicking on the link, these are what Google considers unsuitable:
1. Pornography, adult or mature content
2. Violent content
3. Content related to racial intolerance or advocacy against any individual, group or organisation
4. Excessive profanity
5. Hacking/cracking content
6. Gambling or casino-related content
7. Illicit drugs and drug paraphernalia content
8. Sales of beer or hard alcohol
9. Sales of tobacco or tobacco-related products
10. Sales of prescription drugs
11. Sales of weapons or ammunition (e.g. firearms, firearm components, fighting knives, stun guns)
12. Sales of products that are replicas or imitations of designer goods
13. Sales or distribution of coursework or student essays
14. Content regarding programs which compensate users for clicking ads or offers, performing searches, surfing websites or reading emails
15. Any other content that is illegal, promotes illegal activity or infringes on the legal rights of others
I’m certain this blog does not in any way advocate or practice items number 2, 3, 5-15. As for items 1 and 4, well they are contestable. Yes, I have used an occasional cuss word here and there, in fact, I’ve used swear words for a total of three times, four times if you count that instance when I substituted an asterisk for the “U” in f*cker. But I hardly consider three times (or four) as excessive.
With regards to the first item, see, I don’t think my entries qualify as pornographic at all. An entry on kissing, does not, make a site pornographic. They are intended for a mature audience, because, obviously people of a certain maturity would only be able to appreciate and understand the things a grown up person such as I am is going through.
In fact, if I am to be allowed to blow my own horn, I think these entries make for good writing and entertainment. Not to mention a fine example of a neurotic mind. My family and friends concur.
So it bothers and annoys me that Google AdSense should reject my application, and on what basis? And with not much of an explanation that could truly suffice at that. As far as my content goes, they are assured of originality.
Sure, they talk about sensitive matters, i.e. human relationships, and can be indelicate at times, but hardly anything that warrants a thumbs down from AdSense. Are we suddenly living in the Dark Ages where a mere slip of propriety can be considered no less than scandalous? This simply begs the question: is Google AdSense the new morality police?
Tuesday, February 23, 2010
The truth, the whole truth and anything but the truth
I take the word, friendship, deathly serious. Even in romantic partnerships, I believe that it is quite imperative that you maintain a certain friendship with the one you’re with. Because when all else falls away, including love, you at least have that one thing you can hold on to. And though, I have never been entirely successful in being friends with the people I’ve been with, I could honestly say that I’ve made sincere efforts to do so, no matter if I failed at it.
His case was no different. In what was my previous attempt to break things off between us, he offered the proverbial olive branch, and asked if we could be at least friends. I said yes, and although, things had not turned out to be simply friendly between us, the offer was made, and I had accepted.
So it hurts to actually realize that it was an empty offer. Maybe in my naïveté, I thought things would be far simpler if we were friends. And because I had counted that maybe since he wouldn’t have to try winning me and luring me in anymore, it would be easier for him to be honest and open with me.
But I guess, honesty, like a lot of things exist in varying degrees. And yes, inasmuch as he tried to be honest about a few things in his life, he wasn’t being completely so. C asked me if I actually expected him to be honest, given the circumstances we’re in. I said no, I didn’t expect him to tell me everything. After all, everyone is entitled to a few secrets, but not that. Definitely, not that. It’s almost unforgivable. I reasoned, “it wasn’t the secret and the lie that makes me so angry, it’s the fact that he had to keep it from me that really makes it hard for me to wrap my head around it.”
I figured, if we were to be friends, don’t I deserve to know even the basic facts about him? Because if I can’t trust him to be honest with even the most basic of facts, how can I even trust him to be honest about the bigger stuff?
I wanted to confront him, and demand an explanation. I wanted to know the reason and the motivation. “But you already know why,” C said. “If he had been upfront about the whole business, would you have even given him a chance?” she asked. “I wouldn’t know,” I said, “Because I never had a chance to make that kind of choice.” All I know is that the truth would have been far better than this.
Life is not at all black and white, I know that, but it can get pretty muddy. And lines are not always drawn or etched in stone, they are sometimes drawn on the sand, and they get blurry. And these are things I constantly realize the longer I’m with him.
I’m nowhere near condoning what he has done, and as far as I am concerned, he is guilty unless proven innocent. I have yet to hear the full story, or his version at least. I just hope I get to hear it sooner than later. I don’t know for how long I can also pretend and maybe lie that I don’t know what I know.
In the far, twisted reaches of my mind, however, I try to find comfort in this thought: “Maybe I should actually feel flattered. He was willing to deny and lie what may be the most important thing in his life, just so he can be with me.” But of course, this could be just my narcissism talking. Or simply the lie I tell myself to make me feel better.
His case was no different. In what was my previous attempt to break things off between us, he offered the proverbial olive branch, and asked if we could be at least friends. I said yes, and although, things had not turned out to be simply friendly between us, the offer was made, and I had accepted.
So it hurts to actually realize that it was an empty offer. Maybe in my naïveté, I thought things would be far simpler if we were friends. And because I had counted that maybe since he wouldn’t have to try winning me and luring me in anymore, it would be easier for him to be honest and open with me.
But I guess, honesty, like a lot of things exist in varying degrees. And yes, inasmuch as he tried to be honest about a few things in his life, he wasn’t being completely so. C asked me if I actually expected him to be honest, given the circumstances we’re in. I said no, I didn’t expect him to tell me everything. After all, everyone is entitled to a few secrets, but not that. Definitely, not that. It’s almost unforgivable. I reasoned, “it wasn’t the secret and the lie that makes me so angry, it’s the fact that he had to keep it from me that really makes it hard for me to wrap my head around it.”
I figured, if we were to be friends, don’t I deserve to know even the basic facts about him? Because if I can’t trust him to be honest with even the most basic of facts, how can I even trust him to be honest about the bigger stuff?
I wanted to confront him, and demand an explanation. I wanted to know the reason and the motivation. “But you already know why,” C said. “If he had been upfront about the whole business, would you have even given him a chance?” she asked. “I wouldn’t know,” I said, “Because I never had a chance to make that kind of choice.” All I know is that the truth would have been far better than this.
Life is not at all black and white, I know that, but it can get pretty muddy. And lines are not always drawn or etched in stone, they are sometimes drawn on the sand, and they get blurry. And these are things I constantly realize the longer I’m with him.
I’m nowhere near condoning what he has done, and as far as I am concerned, he is guilty unless proven innocent. I have yet to hear the full story, or his version at least. I just hope I get to hear it sooner than later. I don’t know for how long I can also pretend and maybe lie that I don’t know what I know.
In the far, twisted reaches of my mind, however, I try to find comfort in this thought: “Maybe I should actually feel flattered. He was willing to deny and lie what may be the most important thing in his life, just so he can be with me.” But of course, this could be just my narcissism talking. Or simply the lie I tell myself to make me feel better.
A Bit of Therapy
“This is therapeutic,” he said after pulling away from a long hard kiss. “Great. You think I’m therapy,” I said calmly but not without a hint of exasperation and dejection. But in my head, I was screaming, “I’m therapy?! I’m fucking therapy?!” This is hardly the thing I want to be described as, hardly the thing I would like to describe this thing we’re doing. Couldn’t he have just gone to the spa? Or a shrink?
I don’t get him. At all. I’ve been trying to figure him out, maybe as much as he’s been trying to figure me out. But at least, I’ve proven him (and myself) I’m actually strong enough and willing enough to actually take a chance on him. He, on the other hand, is being a pussy about the whole thing. And this is what actually drives me mad. He blows hot and cold, always shifting, never staying still. And he wonders why I’m defensive around him.
I know I should blow him off already, just as I vowed to do for the last couple of times. But I am an addict, and he is my drug. He’s bad for me but I can’t seem to get enough of him. Heck, I can’t seem to stay away. Every time I see him, I try to compose myself and tell myself that this time I won’t get affected by him, that this time, I can bravely face him and feel nothing. But every time, all my resolve melts away, and I literally feel weak in the knees. He fucking makes me swoon. How Victorian is that?
The only consolation I get though is that he, too, can’t stay away. No matter how much I push him away he finds a way to come back to me, making a real effort to connect, to reach out. “You’re irresistible,” he said as he stroked me that night. But I wonder if there’s really anything between us besides heat, if he feels anything real besides what he gives me.
S. tells me I should just take things as it is, to simply enjoy the moments I’m with him. But I can’t be content with that. I need to know. I need to understand the things he do, and more importantly the things he doesn’t do. For if everything we do is an act of self-definition, how do I then define him? How do I define myself against him?
“I’ll see you,” he says as he got off the car. “Yes, in August,” I replied back. He held the door open, silent. I wanted to be off-handed about it. I wanted it to hurt him. “I’ll see you when I get back…in a few weeks,” he trails off. I smiled. It was a small victory, to know he still wanted to see me. I won, this round at least. I just wonder, in this game we’re playing, does anyone really ever win?
I don’t get him. At all. I’ve been trying to figure him out, maybe as much as he’s been trying to figure me out. But at least, I’ve proven him (and myself) I’m actually strong enough and willing enough to actually take a chance on him. He, on the other hand, is being a pussy about the whole thing. And this is what actually drives me mad. He blows hot and cold, always shifting, never staying still. And he wonders why I’m defensive around him.
I know I should blow him off already, just as I vowed to do for the last couple of times. But I am an addict, and he is my drug. He’s bad for me but I can’t seem to get enough of him. Heck, I can’t seem to stay away. Every time I see him, I try to compose myself and tell myself that this time I won’t get affected by him, that this time, I can bravely face him and feel nothing. But every time, all my resolve melts away, and I literally feel weak in the knees. He fucking makes me swoon. How Victorian is that?
The only consolation I get though is that he, too, can’t stay away. No matter how much I push him away he finds a way to come back to me, making a real effort to connect, to reach out. “You’re irresistible,” he said as he stroked me that night. But I wonder if there’s really anything between us besides heat, if he feels anything real besides what he gives me.
S. tells me I should just take things as it is, to simply enjoy the moments I’m with him. But I can’t be content with that. I need to know. I need to understand the things he do, and more importantly the things he doesn’t do. For if everything we do is an act of self-definition, how do I then define him? How do I define myself against him?
“I’ll see you,” he says as he got off the car. “Yes, in August,” I replied back. He held the door open, silent. I wanted to be off-handed about it. I wanted it to hurt him. “I’ll see you when I get back…in a few weeks,” he trails off. I smiled. It was a small victory, to know he still wanted to see me. I won, this round at least. I just wonder, in this game we’re playing, does anyone really ever win?
Friday, February 5, 2010
For M: In Requiem
It’s been two years since you have gone, no hope of return. Maybe I will see you again, but not soon, I hope. There is much that I need to do and experience. With you I have laughed the loudest, and maybe cried one of my hardest.
Soon after you left, I imagined I was talking to your ghost, and said, “I could have loved you forever.” And you replied, “You already do.”
You will never be forgotten. And wherever you are, smile for me.
Stop all the clocks, cut off the telephone
W. H. Auden
Stop all the clocks, cut off the telephone,
Prevent the dog from barking with a juicy bone,
Silence the pianos and with muffled drum
Bring out the coffin, let the mourners come.
Let aeroplanes circle moaning overhead
Scribbling on the sky the message He Is Dead,
Put crepe bows round the white necks of the public doves,
Let the traffic policemen wear black cotton gloves.
He was my North, my South, my East and West,
My working week and my Sunday rest,
My noon, my midnight, my talk, my song;
I thought that love would last for ever: I was wrong.
The stars are not wanted now: put out every one;
Pack up the moon and dismantle the sun;
Pour away the ocean and sweep up the wood.
For nothing now can ever come to any good.
Soon after you left, I imagined I was talking to your ghost, and said, “I could have loved you forever.” And you replied, “You already do.”
You will never be forgotten. And wherever you are, smile for me.
Stop all the clocks, cut off the telephone
W. H. Auden
Stop all the clocks, cut off the telephone,
Prevent the dog from barking with a juicy bone,
Silence the pianos and with muffled drum
Bring out the coffin, let the mourners come.
Let aeroplanes circle moaning overhead
Scribbling on the sky the message He Is Dead,
Put crepe bows round the white necks of the public doves,
Let the traffic policemen wear black cotton gloves.
He was my North, my South, my East and West,
My working week and my Sunday rest,
My noon, my midnight, my talk, my song;
I thought that love would last for ever: I was wrong.
The stars are not wanted now: put out every one;
Pack up the moon and dismantle the sun;
Pour away the ocean and sweep up the wood.
For nothing now can ever come to any good.
Blind as Love
I am going blind, or at least I thought I was. For months now, my eyes have been giving me problems. I had initially attributed it to my contact lenses, and the fact that I haven’t been sleeping as well I wanted, and those two together, well, they are quite a recipe for some major eyestrain. But it was turning out to be some really horrible eyestrain. Not only were my eyes almost constantly red, and tearing up, but it began to have this really grainy feel, like someone had just poured and embedded sand onto my eyes. Add to that, my vision started getting cloudy as if a heavy fog had descended all around me. And it didn’t make any difference whether I was wearing any corrective lenses or not.
It had gotten embarrassingly bad last week while I was having lunch with mystery man (see previous entries), um…let’s just call him Hugh. And he asks, “what’s with the (dark) glasses?” I told him it was all red from eyestrain, and proceeded to take my glasses off. What I didn’t know, as I was to find out later on when I visited the ladies’ room, my eyes were R-E-D, big time. I looked like 1) a woman possessed; 2) high on drugs; or 3) the devil himself. But not only were they red, my eyes actually hurt.
A good friend, who, I have a sneaking suspicion, is a hypochondriac, offers me a diagnosis: “I think you have glaucoma.” I looked up the symptoms, and I do have some (or most) of the symptoms. So…that explains it…but wait, what do you mean, it can lead to permanent loss of sight? And there is nothing I can absolutely do from going blind?!
I panicked, I couldn’t breathe. The prospect of not seeing anything at all, much less myself (yes, I am a narcissist) was something I simply could not accept. It scared me the living daylights out of me.
But there is hope, since I have only self-diagnosed, maybe the doctor would tell me otherwise. And he did. It was…keratitis. In layman’s terms, my corneas were badly inflamed, and it was causing all my symptoms, including the cloudy vision. Apparently, I was the fourth person that week to seem him for the exact same condition. It seems to be the de rigueur as far as eye infections go, and my wearing of contact lenses had only helped to worsen it.
The doctor says it takes a while for this condition to go away, six to eight weeks at the minimum. I can’t wear my contacts, meaning I get to play hot librarian everyday (I wish!). And I get to slather about a mountain-load of gels and drops on my eyes…nice. But yeah, I guess this is much better than the alternative, so I’m just gonna have to suck it up.
The most frustrating part in all of these is that my condition didn’t have to reach this state if the first doctor I had gone to when my symptoms first presented itself actually diagnosed me right. But no, there wasn’t anything wrong with my eyes, he said, short of telling me that everything was just in my head. Stupid f*cker.
And I guess, this is my point. We are what we do, and vice versa. We could be doctors, writers, waiters, or what have you, and if we couldn’t live up to that function, and be really crappy about it, then it doesn’t really tell much about us, does it?
Monday, January 25, 2010
The Beginning of the End?
Whenever I am asked what sport I engage in, my standard reply is: drinking. It is an endurance sport (at least to me), trying to see who I can outlast at a given drinking spree. I am not alcoholic, mind you. I just enjoy drinking, and I have been gifted with a really high tolerance for alcohol. For someone who is only about five feet two, I can hold my own against people who are twice as big as I am. I also enjoy the company I keep when I drink. My friends and I, we are a bunch of happy drunks. But inasmuch as I hate having to drink alone in public, I am known to enjoy a glass or two (or three) of my favorite Chardonnay, or of a really good Bordeaux (just as I am doing right now as I write this entry).
But something has changed of late. It was gradual. I developed an allergy of sorts to alcohol, not least to vodka. I break into an itch, more so when I drink cheap vodka. But whatever adverse reaction I was getting from drinking never really stopped me from doing it.
Lately however, it’s taken a turn for the worse. I actually get drunk now. The alcohol seems to go up to my head easier and faster than I would prefer, and I haven’t the slightest clue as to why. The amount remains the same, the kind of drink remains the same, but my body seems to be reacting quite differently. I seem to be a different person.
No, this is not a prelude or an excuse I am offering up front for any crazy shit I do when I drink. I do none of that. And if ever I do anything stupid or crazy, I am in possession of my mental faculties (somewhat) and they are in fact conscious and deliberate acts.
For someone who loves their alcohol, this is quite bothersome and worrisome. Should I start chalking this up to age, that my body is now slow to metabolize my intake? Is this a symptom of something more grave? Is this the beginning of the end of my alcoholic sprees?
This reminds me of one episode of LA Ink, where this guy, who loves his cheese with a passion has suddenly developed some kind of intolerance for it and can no longer eat cheese. Ever. To commemorate it, he asks for an image of a block of cheese to be tattooed on his arm as a constant reminder of his love for fermented cow’s milk.
Will I soon have an image of my beloved poison tattooed on my thigh? I tremble with trepidation.
Friday, January 22, 2010
Music is My Radar
I’m not an especially musical person. As a kid, I had spent years learning and playing the piano, unfortunately, nothing stuck and it is as if I never handled the piano all my life. I am not hopeless, though. I can carry a decent tune outside of the shower and the confines of my car, or well at least I think so. But regardless whether I can play an instrument or none, carry a tune or not, music has been and is always an important part in my life.
I’ve never limited myself to one genre and I’m always open to discovering new ones, although rock seems to be the one genre that I’ve always had an affinity towards. And modesty aside, I do have great taste in music, and not just a few would agree. I even thought at one point that I can’t date someone who has bad taste in music, or at least who didn’t share my enthusiasm for it, but as I have recently found out, I’ve broken yet another of my rules. But that’s for another story, and I digress.
My taste in music has even went as far as infecting the people around when in fact, a good friend of mine whose life was one endless series of (perceived) dramatic events have been daydreaming of adapting her life to a screenplay, and jokingly told me that I would be the one to provide the soundtrack to it. And that is precisely what music is to me, a soundtrack to my life, and sometimes to other people’s lives. As cliché as it may sounds, I have probably created countless playlists to correspond to every significant event in my life and even the most mundane of my moods.
So it doesn’t really come as any surprise that I’ve managed to create yet another to provide the soundtrack for the events that have transpired just a few days ago, and hopefully provide a catharsis I need so badly right now. Maybe if I listen these songs long enough and hard enough, I might also be able to get him out of my system for good.
These songs are nothing new, and you may or may not like it, but I’m posting it here just the same. After all, this is my blog and you're just reading it. ;)
I’ve never limited myself to one genre and I’m always open to discovering new ones, although rock seems to be the one genre that I’ve always had an affinity towards. And modesty aside, I do have great taste in music, and not just a few would agree. I even thought at one point that I can’t date someone who has bad taste in music, or at least who didn’t share my enthusiasm for it, but as I have recently found out, I’ve broken yet another of my rules. But that’s for another story, and I digress.
My taste in music has even went as far as infecting the people around when in fact, a good friend of mine whose life was one endless series of (perceived) dramatic events have been daydreaming of adapting her life to a screenplay, and jokingly told me that I would be the one to provide the soundtrack to it. And that is precisely what music is to me, a soundtrack to my life, and sometimes to other people’s lives. As cliché as it may sounds, I have probably created countless playlists to correspond to every significant event in my life and even the most mundane of my moods.
So it doesn’t really come as any surprise that I’ve managed to create yet another to provide the soundtrack for the events that have transpired just a few days ago, and hopefully provide a catharsis I need so badly right now. Maybe if I listen these songs long enough and hard enough, I might also be able to get him out of my system for good.
These songs are nothing new, and you may or may not like it, but I’m posting it here just the same. After all, this is my blog and you're just reading it. ;)
- Superhero by Ani Difranco
- Untouchable Face by Ani Drifanco
- There goes the Fear by The Doves
- Intuition by Feist
- Hero by Regina Spektor
- Work by Jimmy Eat World
- Over and Over by Chris Garneau
- The Way Things Are by Fiona Apple
- I Know by Fiona Apple
Monday, January 11, 2010
Cosmic Joke
He was what the cosmic cat had dragged in. Not that I mind one bit, after all he quite fit the bill—he was intelligent, brilliant, funny, and not to mention really cute. It was an innocuous enough meeting, and I was more than willing to dismiss him as a grandstanding academic but that meeting had led to a seemingly innocent invitation for coffee, his way, he tells me, to kill time before he flies off that evening. Now, it may be argued that an invitation such as that could never be totally innocent, but what can I say? He piqued my interest and so I accepted the invite. A few hours later, I was on my way to meet him at his hotel for drinks…yes, just drinks.
And so we met, after what was supposedly my major blooper, to which he tells me, “I would be mortified if I actually did this on the first date.” So was that meeting, in fact a date? He flatly denied it being so, despite shamelessly flirting with me for the next 45 minutes. For the record though, it was probably one of the most fun and delicious non-date I’ve had in such a long time. Perhaps more fun than the actual romantic dates I’ve gone on.
The meeting was shortly followed by numerous late-night, long distance (and sometimes inappropriate) phone calls riddled with several hundred mixed signals. I dreaded the phone calls and looked forward to them with equal intensity. In one instance, he described it as electric. We had chemistry, he said. I let the words roll off me, I didn’t want to believe it. But I knew he wasn’t lying.
But this wasn’t a simple case of boy meets girl, and all that jazz. “You make it sound so complicated,” he once said. But, of course, it was complicated and he should have known better than to tell me that. After all, these weren’t petty things to which I could easily turn a blind eye. These weren’t negligible details. They meant everything if we were to define what we were doing.
I battled with him and with myself. I hated the idea that he could affect me so much, but it seemed whatever choice I had in the matter had been thrown out of the window the moment we met. I remember thinking, “maybe this thing, whatever it is, is bigger than both of us,” and I have no choice but to succumb to it. But if I do, I can rest on the idea that I actually fought him even a little.
But just as soon as it started, it ended. The phone calls stopped, the messages and the occasional emails had all but came to a grinding halt. And the dance that was seemingly choreographed by fate herself just went out of whack, and here I am left reeling. It must have been something I said, I’m pretty sure of that, or my resistance. Or maybe the fact that I had wished him away, I make no denials. I was scared to even contemplate what he had turned me into, much less what I actually thought I would be willing to do. I want him and I don’t want him at the same time.
Funny thing is, the end came too soon just when I had somewhat decided I would take the plunge. But the bottom line is: why did he give up on me too quickly? Couldn’t he have waited a little longer, until I was ready? Doesn’t he know that these things take time? I guess the joke is on me.
And so we met, after what was supposedly my major blooper, to which he tells me, “I would be mortified if I actually did this on the first date.” So was that meeting, in fact a date? He flatly denied it being so, despite shamelessly flirting with me for the next 45 minutes. For the record though, it was probably one of the most fun and delicious non-date I’ve had in such a long time. Perhaps more fun than the actual romantic dates I’ve gone on.
The meeting was shortly followed by numerous late-night, long distance (and sometimes inappropriate) phone calls riddled with several hundred mixed signals. I dreaded the phone calls and looked forward to them with equal intensity. In one instance, he described it as electric. We had chemistry, he said. I let the words roll off me, I didn’t want to believe it. But I knew he wasn’t lying.
But this wasn’t a simple case of boy meets girl, and all that jazz. “You make it sound so complicated,” he once said. But, of course, it was complicated and he should have known better than to tell me that. After all, these weren’t petty things to which I could easily turn a blind eye. These weren’t negligible details. They meant everything if we were to define what we were doing.
I battled with him and with myself. I hated the idea that he could affect me so much, but it seemed whatever choice I had in the matter had been thrown out of the window the moment we met. I remember thinking, “maybe this thing, whatever it is, is bigger than both of us,” and I have no choice but to succumb to it. But if I do, I can rest on the idea that I actually fought him even a little.
But just as soon as it started, it ended. The phone calls stopped, the messages and the occasional emails had all but came to a grinding halt. And the dance that was seemingly choreographed by fate herself just went out of whack, and here I am left reeling. It must have been something I said, I’m pretty sure of that, or my resistance. Or maybe the fact that I had wished him away, I make no denials. I was scared to even contemplate what he had turned me into, much less what I actually thought I would be willing to do. I want him and I don’t want him at the same time.
Funny thing is, the end came too soon just when I had somewhat decided I would take the plunge. But the bottom line is: why did he give up on me too quickly? Couldn’t he have waited a little longer, until I was ready? Doesn’t he know that these things take time? I guess the joke is on me.
Wednesday, January 6, 2010
Fate
I am putting in an excerpt from Haruki Murakami's Kafka on the Shore. Somehow, I find this to be a fitting first entry for this blog. Maybe because I am right in the middle of one, and I wonder who and what I will be after all is through...
"Okay, picture a terrible sandstorm," he says. "Get everything else out of your head. Sometimes fate is like a small sandstorm that keeps changing directions," Crow says…
Sometimes, fate is like a small sandstorm that keeps changing directions. You change direction but the sandstorm chases you. You turn again, but the storm adjusts. Over and over you play this out, like some ominous dance with death just before dawn. Why? Because this storm isn't about something that blew in from far away, something that has nothing to do with you. This storm is you. Something inside of you. So all you can do is give in to it, step right inside the storm, closing your eyes and plugging up your ears so the sand doesn't get in, and walk through it, step by step. There's no sun there, no moon, no direction, no sense of time. Just fine white sand swirling up into the sky like pulverized bones. That's the kind of sandstorm you need to imagine.
And you really will have to make it through that violent, metaphysical, symbolic storm. No matter how symbolic or metaphysical it might be, make no mistake about it: it will cut through flesh like a thousand razor blades. People will bleed there and you will bleed too. Hot, red blood. You'll catch that blood in your hands, your own blood and the blood of others.
And once the storm is over, you won't remember how you made it through, how you managed to survive. You won't be even sure, in fact, whether the storm is really over. But one thing is certain. When you come out of the storm, you won't be the same person who walked in. This what this storm is all about."
"Okay, picture a terrible sandstorm," he says. "Get everything else out of your head. Sometimes fate is like a small sandstorm that keeps changing directions," Crow says…
Sometimes, fate is like a small sandstorm that keeps changing directions. You change direction but the sandstorm chases you. You turn again, but the storm adjusts. Over and over you play this out, like some ominous dance with death just before dawn. Why? Because this storm isn't about something that blew in from far away, something that has nothing to do with you. This storm is you. Something inside of you. So all you can do is give in to it, step right inside the storm, closing your eyes and plugging up your ears so the sand doesn't get in, and walk through it, step by step. There's no sun there, no moon, no direction, no sense of time. Just fine white sand swirling up into the sky like pulverized bones. That's the kind of sandstorm you need to imagine.
And you really will have to make it through that violent, metaphysical, symbolic storm. No matter how symbolic or metaphysical it might be, make no mistake about it: it will cut through flesh like a thousand razor blades. People will bleed there and you will bleed too. Hot, red blood. You'll catch that blood in your hands, your own blood and the blood of others.
And once the storm is over, you won't remember how you made it through, how you managed to survive. You won't be even sure, in fact, whether the storm is really over. But one thing is certain. When you come out of the storm, you won't be the same person who walked in. This what this storm is all about."
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