Making live

You were visually and audibly upset. It's as if someone had punched you in the gut. We watched death unfold in front of us in the cinema, a husband's anguish as his wife passes away before his eyes. I sat there, impotent. All I could do was stroke your arm, your chest. I did the best I could to comfort you after, sitting on your couch, touching each other as we sat waiting for J to finish cooking his latest masterpiece. I stroked your face, your nape, your hair. I kissed your arm. You reached for me over and over, stealing kisses when we thought J wasn't looking, or when he went into the toilet. Much later, watching your hands roam over my breasts, I remembered I had forgotten to buy protection. I toyed with the idea, not for the first time, of having you come inside me. Death creates this instinct, I suppose, an instinct to make life. But first, I have to make you live.

The L Word

You said it glibly, spontaneously, a "spur of the moment thing." I don't know why you said it. Maybe you were genuinely happy. I felt strange about it. I told you not to say these things unless you meant them. You said yes, "but I really like you." Did I force your hand that you felt a need to say it? Was it because you were afraid I would hie up and leave?

Inevitably

So many things you said last night. This word is the one I will remember. You said you didn't mean it, or you didn't use the correct word. It was when I asked you what I could possibly do to hurt you. You asked me the same. I said if you betrayed me, if you proved me right all along, that you were not an exception. What I could do to hurt you, you said was if we broke up. That was inevitable, you said. And of course there I was, heart on my sleeve, aghast. Did that mean you meant for this to be temporary from day one? If our break-up is 'inevitable.' I have been telling you all this time, we went through this the wrong way. That it was very emotional from day one. That I went all out. Maybe even you - what you are capable of giving, at this juncture in your recovery, you also gave - without question. But then as I sat crying, you took it back. And again you said you didn't use that word. Repeatedly you denied. And then when I said I didn't hear wrong, you said you didn't mean it, if you had said it.

On the one hand you said something else the other day, in your rush to reassure me because of another unintended hurt, because I am so over-sensitive these days, you said 'I adore you' and then quickly corrected yourself and said 'I adore how you look.' Is it your unconscious, I wonder. On the one hand you say - one day at a time. On the other maybe you expect an end? Or, you are afraid to hope to see beyond what we have now because, as you said, you don't know what kind of person you will be a year or two from now?

You said your core beliefs are forever shaken, that you always thought you could care for your late wife, but in the end you could not. Who are you, after all these past eight years, but her husband? And now that she is gone - what is left of you? You said you were broken. It is the first I had ever heard you say. You're rebuilding yourself, and your life.

And then you did the unexpected. You said that I would never know what it means to you that I am part of your healing process, that I am important. You said you were not asking for pity or empathy. This was why you could never treat our relationship as a frivolity, that it is mere distraction. You were earnest then, glassy-eyed. I thought you would cry. I had never seen you like so - open and vulnerable. When we made our way to the MRT I was loathe to part and suggested you take me home with you. For the nth time we broke our so-called attempts at abstinence. It was perfect though, even the debate with J about murdering people in Pakistan. In your bathroom, you wrapped your arms around me as I brushed my teeth with your worn-out toothbrush. I was struck by how pale I looked, next to you. But we looked right together, I thought. We looked in love. The sex was not it has ever been before. For the first time, it was tender.

An impasse

You lay on the bed, last night, patiently waiting for me to settle down. I told you numerous times to leave me, to leave. You stayed. Your courage is highly commended, despite you being scared, as you said. It was an evening of tumult. From when I picked up on your frustrated Friday afternoon mood to you arriving over an hour later than expected. I was discontent. The discontent was not just from the brief meeting as such, it was from a need that as yet cannot be fulfilled. I don't know why I cried like so. I cried for the tears you cannot shed. I cried for me. And then I told you I was in love with you, you idiot. The look on your face was priceless - a mix of dread and confusion, like it took you some time to fully comprehend what was said, but you knew that whatever it was was trouble. And then you stood, your tall and lanky frame framed by the light from the bathroom. You came to me, standing against the wall. You said give me a hug. You put your arms around me, kissed my temple. Then you framed my face between your hands, kissed me softly, rubbed your nose against mine. Instantly the tumult is gone and I felt calm.

Hommage

A conversation with a friend the other day has got me thinking - there are so many things that you learn implicitly in training to be an academic. Nobody tells you what you need to learn - I wish they did so everything is spelled out clearly. You are being disciplined without you even understanding the logic behind it. One that nobody really tells you about is how 'academia' means your peers. (Now the fact that you think of yourself as a peer to people you have only read is a separate lesson, but that is to be thought about for another day). Anyway, nobody tells you that academia is a network - a network of other scholars all around the globe - at least not when you're someone coming in from the fringe like me. I suppose this is taken for granted by people in my faculty because nearly all of them are trained in the 'core' - meaning the US and Europe. They saw, touched, spoke with these people whereas I have only ever had to read them. And nobody lets you forget this geographic distribution of knowledge producers. I remember this from day 1 when someone from Princeton so proudly said he was from Princeton - the implication being that I am doing my PhD in the very ambitious semi-periphery that is NUS. Oh gosh - not to forget my roots in the periphery. (Nevermind that AusAid paid for my education in Australia. Had I known that brand matters, I would have paid the $55AUD application fee to get 'branded' by ANU). Now why is it that people are so conscious of this geographic distribution? And why is it they will consistently remind you of it? I am not the only person who is asking this question of course, as is evident here. It's nice that they are having this conversation. I don't know why I am not compelled to participate in it. Probably because despite disavowals of elitism and responding to democratic impulses, privilege by definition is at best taken for granted and is, at worst, not something anyone willingly gives up.

Professionalism

Everyone talks about how every graduate student has to behave 'professionaly.' Unfortunately professionalism is the last thing you will observe in some scholars sometimes. I try to imagine some of these behaviours in a corporate setting and undoubtedly they would have been seen as not only unprofessional but downright rude and callous. If you want a harmonious environment where people are able to work with as little stress as possible you will want to ensure that people have a modicum of social skills. Let's say social skills are the last thing you will learn in academia. My discipline, especially, is notorious for this. It's a bit like a fraternity where you're hazed into belonging and making oaths of loyalty. Your work itself is secondary.

Wishy washy

I'm not used to him being indecisive, so when he is my reaction can be whatever is the opposite of generous. Last night he had casually brought up the idea of me joining him and his friend at CQ. I suppose I reacted sanely to the spontaneous idea - it was late and I was exhausted due to a long day, lack of sleep and a run on the treadmill. In the end I went, after we had a heated discussion (as they always turn out to be). I had capitulated after complaining that he wasn't giving me clear directions, to which he replied if I wasn't sure about directions I should follow my heart. How could I have refused him then? I was at CQ at half past midnight when I supposedly, accidentally bumped into him and his friend. There was less of a story-telling than I expected because his friend seems like a nice, simple guy who has not the cunning to see beyond the surface and the music was too loud to have a normal conversation.

I wondered then as I wonder now why it was that he asked me to join them. This was not the first time he brought up the idea. Before he had wanted me to come over to his place to watch Sunday's cricket match. Originally the idea was that I was supposed to be a friend from work who wants to learn about cricket and we were not to act like we were lovers. But last night we very much acted the part - to the point where I went home with him and his friend. He denies it, or is probably acting subconsciously - but he wanted to test the waters, to see how at least one person in his life would react to him being with another woman. I don't know this guy, but anyone with an ounce of observational powers would know that D and I are not casual acquaintances who just somehow hooked up by accident. It was the way he back against me when we were outside 711, inviting me to kiss his neck. It was how he laid his head on my lap when we finally got back to his place and sat chatting with his friend in the living room before turning in. I would imagine that this is something familiar lovers do, not casual acquaintances - hook-up or not.

Little girl wants her lolly

*Phone rings. He doesn't usually call so early*

Me: Hello?
Him: Hey, what are you doing?
Me: Nothing
Him: Where are you?
Me: Home, working
Him: Ok, good
Me: Why are you calling?
Him: Nothing, I don't want you throwing another tantrum, accusing me of ignoring you
Me: *laughs* So you're punching in your time card huh? Reporting...
Him: Yeah
Me: Well I appreciate the effort
Him: Right. I will hear the same thing from you in two days.


(Context: I threw a mini tantrum last night about not having seen him for five days and accusing him of ignoring me - when he plainly has not...)

Passion, Reason

A common complaint from all the men I have loved assumes that passion cannot coexist with reason. Or where one manifests itself the other cannot. Where an issue, an argument, a point of discussion between lovers concerns affairs of the heart, I hear 'But you are so smart!' or 'Can't you be logical about this?' or 'Why are you being like this? You're doing a goddamn PhD'. As if doing a goddamn PhD automatically exempts me from exhibiting sorrow or pain, to use emotions to understand a situation, or to trust my intuition when making a decision. This irritates me to no end because these complaints I have heard create a false dichotomy, perpetuate rather ridiculous gendered stereotypes and privilege a 'thin' (rather than complex) way of being in the world.

Someone New

I've started seeing someone new. Someone who matters. I made a wish and *poof* there he came the day after. The universe will give you what you want when you need it I suppose. When it is something promising you can't help but oscillate between hope and fear. It has been nearly three weeks thus far. This oscillation has not gone away.

I watched him bathe this morning. For ten or so minutes I stood by the bathroom door and looked at him as he scrubbed and soaped himself. A tall, fine, brown specimen of a man with a fine pair of butt cheeks. Ha. He has done everything right, thus far. He has passed all my tests with flying colours. A patient man. A driven man. A man in every sense of the word. Perhaps too driven. Still in grief, I suppose. It is too soon since his wife passed away. He will see a therapist today, as ordered by his corporate overlords. He is in the clinic now as I write. I asked him last night if he would tell the doctor about me. I told him he should. He seemed ambivalent. He was distracted this morning. I asked him if he was anxious about going. He said no. I doubt it. This man who probably thinks of himself as invulnerable - a leader, a master, a knight in shining armour - will not want to reflect too deeply where he aches and pains.

He adored his wife. Eight years. Ten including when they were not yet married. That is a lifetime. His better half, torn from him so suddenly. I cannot imagine. Incredibly I do not feel jealousy. She is gone after all. And I know of course I can never replace the void she left. The overwhelming feeling I have right now is being grateful. I am grateful I met such a person. Perhaps he can restore my faith in men. Perhaps.

Hello again old friend

Hello abandoned blog. It's been a while. I feel a need to ask for forgiveness, for having forsaken you, for having forsaken my internal dialogues. I have not been writing. I am all out it seems. I refuse to think anymore, having thought and thought and thought so hard these past few months. I am all out, you see. Perhaps, if I were to continue the internal dialogue in my head, the writing will come back again. The keyboard clicks feel comforting, as I sit here in this semi-dark room. Tack, tack, tack, they go. Let me see if I can do this again.

Alat

Six weeks have come and gone and I have not produced anything. I wonder at my reticence. Did the initial push burn me out so quickly? Or maybe I have turned so cowardly? Must find fortitude. Be brave Sparky. Break new ground. Touch your fucking data. Do something with it for god's sake.

Ending

To make government transparent

Interesting set of events today, which got me to think about 'transparency.' If the problem is that there are thieves operating in shadows who betray the core tenets of our social contract, then the solution is to remove objects which cast said shadows. To make transparent means to see everything, to the extent that this is possible. To make transparent means to install mechanisms of surveillance with which to see. To render something completely visible means to install said mechanisms at all angles, from all vantage points. This means a continuous and sustained act of looking. Are we ready for that which we wish to usher?

The palace mouthpieces keep urging us to 'be vigilant', to be on constant look-out. They urge us to do our duty and work to keep them in check. Now that everyone is angry enough that they are raring to plunge into the public sphere, that space of appearances to see and be seen, the palace is pulling the reins. Is this too much vigilance?

A Friendly Reminder

The longer we hold on to the ring, the more difficult it is to let it go.

Political Obstacles to Decentralization: Evidence from Argentina and the Philippines by Kent Eaton:

Because of weak parties and individualistic behaviour by legislators, presidents of the Philippines have had a very difficult time getting their policy agendas through the legislature. Traditionally, presidents have depended on their formal authority over the release of pork barrel funds as a power resource that allows them to purchase the support of legislators for substantive policy change. As a governing tool, the effectiveness of the president's control over the release of these funds would be seriously undercut by the broad devolution of revenues and expenditures. Local governments would become much less dependent on pork barrel funds, decreasing their political leverage and utility to the president.

Given this political reality, support by President Aquino for decentralization and its passage by Congress in 1991 is politically intriguing. The key to explaining the political logic of the 1991 decentralization is the role played by different electoral incentives, beginning with the lack of electoral incentives facing President Aquino.

A non-traditional politician and political widow who was uninterested in remaining in power beyond her six-year term, Aquino was committed to the `no re-election' clause of the 1986 constitution, which was written by individuals she appointed and which included several measures that were designed to avoid repetitions of Marcos' successful attempts to perpetuate himself in power. Aquino was therefore unlike most presidents in that she was not personally threatened by the loss of power to the national government that the Code would effect. Furthermore, she considered decentralization to be the linchpin of her administration and a reform that would facilitate the transition to democracy, the main legacy of her government.