Prayer for the Dying

My God. Where has my youth gone? In the passage of the years, what have I to show for? I miss the heady revolutions I plotted in my head back when life was free of dead ends and only full of possibilities. Why have my feet taken me to this place of nothing? Of no color or light or energy? Now there are only walls to be breached, and threats to keep at bay. Paranoia is mine own and I am the enemy. My God. Where has the fervor gone? That boundless thirst for knowledge and quests for truth and resolution and victory. Now there is only the shell of my old self existing. I sit here, weeping for my death, the death of my youth I long to resurrect. My God, lift me from this place of breath drawn in or out and give me life.

Hangganan ng mga Hagkan (Tula para sa Yosi)

Upang ika' y tuluyan nang malimot, dapat na siilin ang panaghoy ng nakaraan. Mga alaala ng sandaling pagniniig, ng iyong yakap at ng aking pangangailangan. Silab ng marubdob mong hagkan ay pilit na'ng dapat ibaon. Mainam na ako'y umalpas sa mapanirang uri ng 'yong paghilom.

At mapanghilom nga, at tila mainam ang 'yong dulot na lunas. Sa lahat ng sakit na dati'y mariing dinanas. Sa mga pagkakataong walang kaibigang makausap at makapiling , tahimik mong kinanlong ako at ang bigat ng aking damdamin.

Ngunit panahon na upang ako'y mamaalam. Sa bilangguan ng iyong lingap ay dapat lang na lisanin. Tapos na ang mga araw na sa'yo lang nananahan ang sagot sa lahat ng bawat sakit at inakalang kakulangan.

Ito na ang hangganan ng ating munting sayaw. Ikaw na nagsilbing tukod sa pilay ko'ng mga binti. Sa susunod na tayo'y magkita muli, sana nga'y maluwag ang aking pagtanggi.

It's aliiiiiiive!

How'd you guys like (or dislike) my new layout? :)

Wow. My blog is 2 years old today. HAPPY BIRTHDAY BLOG!

My first-ever blog entry (back when i, along with many other newbies, thought it was cool not to use capitals):

Wednesday, February 19, 2003

well, this is my first blog...so, i suppose that means i should make it somewhat...meaningful? interesting? something to..keep the reader reading? kind of difficult to post anything that would interest...some random person sitting in front of her computer, from some random part of the world. well, what to share? what to...reveal of myself to a host of strangers? what to talk about....

difficult to think when your back is hurting. mine is. apparently, i have some form of mild scoliosis. which might be causing the sharp pain in my upper back. i've been to the doctor, and he said its just muscle strain and i shouldnt worry about my spine...but, it appears my spine is still causing me pain, even after 2 weeks (or more i believe).

aside from something to whine about, what else is there to say? well, im breaking my heart all over again. but, ill talk about that in the morning.

This blog also initially started as my rant machine:

Friday, August 15, 2003

dead inside you say. heartless you say. incapable of feeling you say. low emotional quotient you say. a classic emotionally retarded male.

a divorce occured in your psyche, in which the part of you that feels is switched off. whether voluntarily or not is debatable. the causes of such divorce might take some time to correctly identify and disentangle. and i am not in the position or frame of mind to do so for you. i have no rights. i have no obligations.

do you suffer the ill-effects of an unhappy childhood? have you learned to turn off that part of you that gets hurt each time you are rejected? is that it? or is it just because you're afraid? of what? of being hurt? we all get hurt. we all have our crosses to bear. we all bleed red.

don't you crave the feeling of closeness sometimes? don't you miss the feeling of belonging to something other than that world inhabited by one? is it worth it? are you happy living in your head? won't you venture out once in a while. being happy means taking risks. it means going out on a limb. it means reaching out and being reached in return. it means turning on those switches you've turned off.

why should you feel the highest of highs if you can't feel the lowest of lows? do you want a flatline? in the middle, seeing nothing. feeling nothing. open your mouth. say something.

...and a diary of my endless introspection:

Monday, March 17, 2003

sitting at starbucks as usual. sitting here, alone with my thoughts which insist on wandering off instead of concentrating on what's in front of me, i find much dissatisfaction. with myself, as always. why can't i be happy? why do i always find something lacking, not quite right in my life? there are many things to be thankful for. but deep within, my thoughts ping-ponging in my head, there is much to be desired, much to be achieved, much left undone and i sit here, wishing i were more.

where shall i find self-satisfaction? if i keep seeking it within and yet always afraid to put thoughts into action, where shall i seek satisfaction? if i were to think less, let my other body parts work more, will i be more content? will i stop expecting so much from myself? will i stop being too self-critical? will i stop seeing myself as a failure so young? the luxury of a simpler mind. i feel almost trapped.

the luxury of wanting simpler things. the luxury of being 'shallow.' i do not like the road in which i travel. the path where i'm headed. someone, something, show me the way.

...It's also been a mute witness to severe pms-ing:

Monday, June 16, 2003

this blog is a cry for help. its the last resort before i drive myself insane. from everything, from feelings, from my personal dramas and turmoil. this blog is a release.

im afraid im an addict for emotional pain. why do i keep seeking it? why do i keep seeking out no-future relationships? is it because subconsciously i know it wont work out anyway, so in the end, im still safe? regardless of me beating myself up, regardless of the wasted time, regardless of the drama...is it worth it?

they say loving someone is the ultimate expression of loving yourself. its loving yourself through someone else's eyes. have i truly ever loved? have i loved unselfishly? because i feel im a selfish person. if i havent truly loved someone else...then i must've never truly loved me. why am i so unforgiving? do i feel i dont deserve to be happy? im sick of being alone. and im sick of running around afraid to have my heart broken. im sick of me breaking my heart first before someobody else does.

....to religious crises:

Tuesday, August 19, 2003

god has a bone to pick with me. this year has been a lesson in humbling. and without question, i have been humbled. i think s/he's teaching me valuable lessons in giving and in patience. in forgiving also. question is, have i learned anything? wish the learning process weren't so painful.

my damned pride won't let me realize how puny i am as a human. how inconsequential, how irrelevant. my world of course, always revolves around me. but i like it that way. reaching out to other people only seems to cause pain. and an added distraction i can't really afford. but trying to unravel other people is addicting isn't it? and once the mystery is solved? it all seems to go downhill from there.

sometimes i wonder if my brain is even capable of attaining even the slightest bit of immateriality. but i am material, made of flesh and bones. the spiritual seems farfetched, and not quite of this world.

....and heartbreak:

Wednesday, December 10, 2003

maligayang pasko

"mababaon din sa limot," o di kaya "maghihilom rin sa katagalan." sa pandinig parang kay hirap gawin. parang kay hirap limutin ang sakit na idinulot ng kay tagal. ngunit ang hindi alam ng kung sino man ang nagbibigay ng ganitong payo, at nang kung sino man ang makarinig, napakadali. napakadaling ipa-isantabi ang mga hinanakit upang ipagpaliban ang kagalingan.

halos dalawang taon ang lumipas na hindi ko halos s'ya nakita o nakausap. simple lang, umalis ako sa bahay ng walang paalam. ang iniisip ko ng mga panahong iyon? ayaw ko nang umabot sa pagkakataong masagot ko s'ya nang pabalang. tama na ang isang beses na akala ko'y pagbubuhatan n'ya ako ng kamay. umalis na ako sa bahay na 'di na magpang-abot ang aming galit.

halos dalawang taon. noong una'y hindi n'ya alam kung saan man kami ng aking kapatid. sa katagalan malamang ay tinanong n'ya rin kay mama. ngunit di s'ya tumawag. di n'ya ako inusisa kung bakit. marahil, nainintindihan n'ya ang mga dahilan. marahil, ayaw n'ya nang marinig.

malinaw sa aking alaala ang huling pagkakataong s'ya'y aking nakita. nakaupo ako sa harap ng computer. madaliang tinatapos ang report ko para sa klase kinabukasan. di ko namalayang pumasok s'ya sa pinto ng sala. bago pa noon, marahil ilang buwan na rin ang nagdaan na di kami nagkita. nagulat ako. napatda. ganoon din s'ya. tila umagos ang panahon ngunit sa katunaya'y ilang segundo lamang ang lumaro sa pagitan namin. ilang segundo ng katahimikan. napansin kong para s'yang tumanda ng ilang taon. at bakas sa kanyang mukha ang bawat isa sa mga ito. malumanay ang kanyang mata, na para bang may takot. bakit s'ya natakot sa akin? gayong ako ang may pakiramdam ng takot at hiya sa kanya.

napatigilan s'ya sa may pinto. para bang ayaw nang tumuloy nang makitang ako ay nasa sala. nakawala ako sa aking pagkagulat at naibulalas ang mahinang "hi pa." di ko nakayanang ngumiti man lang. tila nanigas ang bawat laman ng aking mukha. tahimik s'yang lumapit sa akin at tiningnan ang monitor. "tinatapos ko lang report ko para bukas." lumingon ako. nakatingin sya sa aking ginagawa. may kung anong dahilan at inihain ko ang aking mukha sa kanya, at may kung anong dahilan na naintindihan n'ya na nais kong humalik. tumungo ang aking tatay at dumampi ang labi ko sa kanyang pisngi. na hindi ko ginawa ng halos dalawang taon. nanikip ang aking didbib ngunit di ako naluha. madaliang tumalikod ako at nagkunwa'y may tiningnan sa monitor. lumayo s'ya at binuksan ang ref, kumuha ng tubig. "susunduin ko lang ang mama mo." ilang sandali pa ay dumating ang aking nanay, at saka sila na'y umalis. iyon na ang huling sandaling nakapiling ko ang aking tatay.

tatlong linggo ang lumipas mula ng gabing 'yon nang dahilan sa init ng ulo, at marahas na pagmamaneho ay sumalpok ang kanyang sasakyan sa may edsa-balintawak. halos dalawang taon. napakadaling makalimot ngunit paano kaya maghihilom?

sa ika-24 ay birthday n'ya sana. unang paskong wala s'ya. ilang buwan pa....mga una na wala na ang aking tatay. sa ngayon, maligayang kaarawan at maligayang pasko.

So it has been two years of laughter, sorrow, triumphs and tragedies. What a journey. Looking forward to years more of the same, all documented on the fluid ether of this limitless cyberuniverse.

I still write pretty much about the same old themes as before, but hopefully the quality of writing has improved. Hehe. :) Here's to two years more. Cheers!!!!

Omnipotent, Omniscient, Omnivoyeur Fucker

Life sure is funny. Is it me or does the cosmos actually intervene in my life when I'm just full of complete and total crap?

See, I've been "depressed" for the last few days. I know people use this word lightly, and at the slightest hint of sadness use the term to describe their present condition to portray an overly dramatic state (cue tissue box and stress tabs). Well, that is how I'm using the word in this case. So anyway, back to my "depression."

I've been dealt with all sorts of blows lately. Financial, career-wise and family-related stuff. The year of the wooden cock has not been serving me well so far, and so I started the new year with this mind-set that things will get worse. And they have. Really. What could be worse than the absolute chaos on the outside (traffic, inflation, shitty people in the shitty city in the shitty country) complementing the chaos on the inside?

And so when you think that you're "depressed" and think you're entitled to wallow in your self-pity, here come the cosmos to slap you in the face.

See, I've a student who attempted to kill herself. Last Thursday she finally showed up in class after a month-long absence. "Hey, what happened to you? I thought you'd dropped my class." She handed me two folded sheets of paper. "Sorry Ma'am I was hospitalized." Valid excuse no? I usually take my students' word and so I made no attempt to read what I correctly assumed were the requisite medical certificate and excuse letter or whatnot. "So were you sick?" I handed her back the papers. "No Ma'am I overdosed on drugs." Oh. This should prove interesting, I thought. And so just before she could close her fingers on her letters I pulled them back. In big block letters:
NON-ACCIDENTAL OVERDOSE OF MEDICOL.

"I'm seeing a psychiatrist." Oh. Good for you. I would have quizzed her more, but the rest of the eager-beavers were eavesdropping. She fits the profile really. Goth-girl, keeps to herself, dark clothes and dark make-up. Anti-social and listens to grungy, depressing music. I know because when I asked her to sing a little something to audition for a choral competition last year she sang this Tori Amos-ey number. "Weird" would be the mainstream description. But I like weird. I like weirdos. Maybe because I fancy myself to be one. Although I'm really not.

Because I couldn't properly talk to her in class, I e-mailed her yesterday:

It's probably not my place to say this, but I'll say it anyway. We all have our burdens to carry. Some are better able to cope than others but we all need the occasional helping hand. You are young, and as you get older the load will get heavier as more pressures, disappointments and responsibilities come. It doesn't sound too promising but you learn to roll with the punches. And somewhere down the line, you'll have learned what it means to be alive. Just give it time. Ok?

And right after I hit the send button the cosmos bitch-slapping kicked in. I could have been giving advice to myself. And I sort of was, because I and my student share the same name.

History for smokers

Here is a great book review on a potentially orgasmic read that I am too broke to buy.

SMOKE: A global history of smoking
Sander L. Gilman and Zhou Xun, editors

Read the highlights:

In his excellent Cigarettes Are Sublime (1993), Richard Klein cites a motto that decorated a Parisian gentlemen smokers’ magazine in 1856, a gentleman and a smoker being at that time more or less the same thing: “fumer est prier”, smoking is prayer. The metaphor is as rich as it is ambiguous. It promotes the curious thought that clutching a cigarette makes the hand more and not less eloquent. Then there is that hint of divine inspiration (the word itself speaking of breath), of faith as narcotic. Each exhalation of the praying smoker rises up to tease the nostrils of the gods. The huddle of smokers outside the tall tower has the rattish look of a persecuted cult. Whatever can be said against smoking, you can’t argue that it isn’t meaningful: it “signifies signification”, as Derrida pungently put it.

More so than even more destructive pastimes, smoking is pre-eminently an adult vice. Imagine troops passing mince pies across no man’s land one nervous Christmas, or a brace of sated lovers nibbling on opposite corners of an After Eight mint. A defining characteristic of adulthood is the ability to consent to things happening to you. The efforts of concerned parties to protect the innocent from the clearly substantial dangers posed by passive smoking are as rational as they are laudable. But adults, innocent or not, are surely themselves entitled to be protected from infantilization, something present debates about smoking and public space often fail to take into account.

On Beauty: A History of a Western Idea

One among my very few favorite fiction authors has a new book out. Author of The Name of the Rose and Foucault's Pendulum among others, Umberto Eco is an Italian professor of semiotics.

Here is an excerpt of the Guardian article on the history of beauty.

On Beauty is an encyclopedia of images and ideas about beauty ranging from ancient Greece to the present day. It begins with 20 pages of reproductions of paintings and photographs, representing an enormous range of cultural icons, from Bronzini's Allegory of Venus to characteristic snapshots of David Beckham and George Clooney. More paintings decorate the next 400 pages of quotations from philosophers and writers - Plato, Boccaccio, San Bernardo. Kant, Heine, et al. The book is arranged according to various themes rather than chronologically, although, given the fact that it begins with the aesthetic ideals of ancient Greece and ends with pop art and the mass media, the chronology seems self-evident. On the other hand, as Eco points out in his introduction, "this is a history of Beauty and not a history of art (or of literature or music)". He goes on to ask the obvious question - "why is this history of Beauty documented solely through works of art?" - and he replies by claiming that "over the centuries it was artists, poets, and novelists who told us about the things they considered beautiful and they were the ones who left us examples. Peasants, masons, bakers or tailors also made things that they probably saw as beautiful, but only a very few of these artefacts remain."

Mga Puta

Naglalandi ang mga makikinang at bago at mahal at uso. Pilit na binibihag ang kung sino mang magbuklat, magsuri, pumansin. Nilalaro ang imahinasyon, "Ganito ka kung kasama mo ako."

Mga daliring di mapakali sa pagsalat. Kay kintab ng mga pahina, at kay gara ng mga bagay. Kaakit-akit sa ganito't ganoong porma, handang pabili sa kung sino mang mahumaling.

At marami. Maraming nahuhumaling sa mga bagay na makapanawag-pansin. Sa bawa't kanto'y naroon sila, puno ng alindog, pangako ang agad na ligaya. "Ganito ka kung tangan mo ako."

Kapalit ng salapi, agarang lunas sa kung anu-anong sakit. Sakit ng kalooban, mga hinanakit, pagkabalisa o simpleng pagkabato. Mga bagay ang sagot dito. "Ganito ka kung suot mo ako."

Magara. Pogi. Maganda. Sexy. Magaling. Samu't saring pangakong lantad ang paghain. Kailangan lang ay bilhin, at tumpak na mapupunan lahat ng 'yong mithiin. "Ganito ka kung bibilhin mo ako."

At sa ngayon nga ay nangungusap ang mga bagay upang sila'y mapasaatin. Sapagkat tayo'y 'di kumpleto kung wala ang mga ito.