NOW LOADING: Version 2.0

I haven’t written in a long while so this might be a bit rusty. Tsk, tsk… trust me to start with a disclaimer. Some things you can’t get out of your system easily.

Speaking of disclaimers, well I have to say this: IT AIN’T LOVE. It’s not that giddy feeling of suddenly finding reciprocity and all that jazz. It’s not waking up one day to see Pleasantville colour everywhere.

It’s realizing IT’S NOT WORTH IT. Not worth the pain, the agony, the waiting, the sulking, the dragging of the hours. The vicious cycle and the downward spiral.

Maybe it’s maturity. Maybe it’s mortality. Since I’ve always been morbid, I guess it’s more of the later. You realize you only have one life to live. That time is like sand you can’t hold in the palm of your hands. You realize you don’t want to be remembered as the mysterious, sulky guy who never lived. YOU DON’T WANT TO WASTE YOUR LIFE ON THINGS THAT ARE NOT WORTH IT.

It’s like having an epiphany. You pause, take stock of things and change course. You adapt a new perspective, a new life lens.

You wake up one day and realize you don’t want your old life anymore. A life ruled by expectations and disappointments. A life defined by other people. A life anchored on a past that you can’t leave behind. A life that’s grey and bleak because you are could not deal with the black and the white.

You wake up and realize you were lying in a bed of thorns you made yourself. Emphasis on “you made yourself.” Meaning it’s something you can undo, you can change, you can control.

I started young as a writer and my ink of choice was pain and angst. My best pieces were outbursts from the most difficult parts of my life. Because pain is familiar and it convinces me I’m still human. To borrow from TFIOS, “pain demands to be felt.” I believed I can only write in pain; it was therapy for me. It’s one of the truths I used to hold that now has changed. And these words are proof enough that I can write without that tortured sadness overwhelming me.

So I let go of the pain and angst and moved on. I start to chill, to be a little more passive, a little more enduring. Maybe a lot less caring. Because my excess baggage came from caring too much and not doing anything about it.

I STOPPED PLEASING MOST PEOPLE. Because cliché as it may sound, you need not please those who like you and you won’t be good enough for those who don’t like you. So why bother? This is me now. Deal with it. Love me or hate me, I’ll live. Feel free to judge, to say or think what you want. I have the real thing, the rhyme and the reason; you just have your imagination and opinion. Only a fool will believe another fool.

I STOPPED SWEATING THE SMALL STUFF. Rule of thumb is give everything your best shot. But you cannot do everything so just focus on the things that matter. That’s the concept of essentialism. Accept that not all things are perfect and ideal so you need to weigh and work the pros and cons in your favor.

I STOPPED LOOKING ON THE OTHER SIDE. It’s always greener there and that’s an optical illusion. The grass is greener where you water it. I just take care of the grass on my side and make it greener. I appreciate what I have instead of sulking about what I don’t have.  

I BECAME ANTI-DRAMA. Some see it as being anti-social but I just don’t want to be pulled into that dark circle anymore. I don’t waste my time on people who create their own problems and expect you to pull them out of it. Instead, I enjoy the company of people who share the same positive energy, the same wavelength, the same mindset. And then que sera sera. My eye-for-an-eye mentality is no longer about revenge. It’s about appreciating those who treat me right and ignoring those who don’t.

I CHOSE MY BATTLES. I don’t argue with close-minded people. I disengage myself from those who are all bark and no bite. If there is a problem, I attack it at the deep-seated root cause and stop the domino effect. I stare the hard truths in the eye and make the hard calls. I live and let live.

Bottomline, I no longer waste my energy on the negative. It doesn’t bring me anywhere but down.

Sorry if I’m not the same person to you. I no longer live for your opinion. I don’t breathe to get your attention. I don’t do things to earn your likes and double taps. I do them because I want to.

Hi, this is version 2.0. Nice to meet you. 

Kingdom Of Disenchantment

As a kid, I never liked carnivals and amusement parks. It’s a make-believe field of fake and short-lived emotions where you create a bubble of happiness, court danger or conquer your fear.

Or maybe as a writer, I am just overwhelmed by its metaphors and ironies.

The carousel whose sick cycle spins you thoughtless but gets you nowhere. You delight in its blur until reality snaps back into clear view.

The ferris wheel, an imposing symbol of the highs and danger of life’s up and the disappointments and fleeting hope of life’s low.

The horror train where you scream your lungs out only to find out that the real horror awaits outside and by then you can scream no more.

The clown whose smile is too wide to be true. Then you see the droopy sad eyes and the hurt from a joke that was on them.

The wishing well which gives you a stab at chance and destiny. But looking at your coin join others in its watery grave, you realize it meant things will come with a price.

The toy store that has every kid’s whim and fancy but will never be big enough to satiate their caprice. 

The game booths where your odds at winning is slightly higher than your odds at finding love.

The princess whose beauty almost hypnotizes you to take her out of her forsaken castle. But the knight in tarnished armor that you are sees the safety in captivity, away from the din and sin of the free world. You end up adoring her from a distance and she’ still hoping for that someday when her prince will come.

You exhaust your ticket to ride inside the park. Then the music stops, the colors fade to darkness and the magic dissipates.

You exit and look back.

You realize that everything was a just play of color and light. In hindsight, nothing is what it seems. 

***

This is an aftermath of finishing the book “The Fault In Our Stars.” It sent me in an emotional tailspin. This cancer from loving too much and risking too little. 

Photo credits: www.fineartamerica.com

Still

Sometimes, I catch myself letting you back in.

I don’t know if that is good or bad. Part of me knows I want it and I need it, more so now that I’m going through tough and crazy times. But part of me still hesitates, knowing that doing so would repeat the cycle of love-loss-hope. With you, I am always at war with myself.

Seeing you that Saturday afternoon made me realize what we had and what we lost. I knew I should have taken the chance and bridged the gap between yesterday and today. But truth to tell I was simply mesmerized. At the sight of you, all my logical thoughts just fly and I am reduced to a senseless fool.

I tried to find other ways to express it or explain it but I always come back to one simple truth: I miss being overwhelmed by you.

I miss sharing my life-changing moments with you. I remember how you helped me ace one of my coming-of-age moments. How you came running after such a short notice and how you waited patiently until I finally made my home run. Then you faded into the background so I can enjoy my limelight.

I miss how you make each red-letter day special. Especially Christmas. I never had a Christmas as merry and bright and as warm as when we had our own wonderland. I have to admit the memories of you torment me most when the cold wind starts to blow.

I miss having intellectual conversations with you and how we can talk about anything and everything. It helps that you like what I like and vice versa. And whatever it is that you or I do not like but the other does, we influenced each other until we are both so into it.

I miss how you understand my rants and just laugh off my sarcasm until my anger and angst dissipate. You calm the storm in my heart. I miss our banter and how you do not always agree with me and call out my mistakes. I realize also that I miss our fights, even the cold spells that lasted months. Yes they are awkward and agonizing but there is some comfort and beauty in the making up. It’s like falling again and doing everything for the first time.

I miss the version of me that can do anything when I’m with you. Until now, I cannot fathom how I was able to do the things I’m scared of, I’m ashamed of or would simply never do under normal circumstances. I never knew I was capable of those things until you happened. Because somehow you make it easy. And rewarding. I’d give or do anything for that smile of appreciation and that uninhibited hearty laugh of yours that not many people know you are capable of.

I remember the good... and the bad. I have never forgiven myself for that ill-fated episode some years back. By now, I hope you realize that the knife cuts both ways. And for what it’s worth, I got my karma and the shorter end of the stick: it took me forever to move on.

You are still my Patronus. When darkness and dementors are upon me, even a sliver of memory from our best times together is enough to cast a blinding light and suddenly I’m invincible.

The irony is that we have to quit something we never tried.

Eras have passed but one sad fact remains the same: there cannot be just the two of us. No matter how good we are for each other, there is a bigger world out there. As with anything in my life, reality always gets in the way. I was forced to see things the way they are and not the way I wish they would be. In as much as I want to fight for what we have, it will just be one battle after the other. Sure I can take that but I don’t want to subject you to that. You deserve much much more.

So this is me adoring you from a distance. This is safer for both of us, even if I will forever be haunted by the could-have-beens. Please don’t make it any more difficult for me. Don’t remind me of the things I am trying to forget.

There was a time when you were my power, my pleasure and my pain. And fact is, you still are.



***

You don’t have to say a word coz deep inside I already know
That you can’t keep holding on just because I can’t let go
I’ll be alright, try not to cry when you again walk out my life
Just leave me with a beautiful goodbye

Raise Your Glass, 2010! And 2011...

Dear Y2010,

I am writing this letter in the calm and quiet that ensued after you left. Last night I watched you slowly slither away as the world explodes in welcome to your predecessor. Sorry for the quick thank you and good-bye; I am really bad at these things. The flipping of the calendar always makes me sad but I mustered a smile for your departure. And if you are hurt by my happy smile, know that I am smiling from the good memories that you left and not that I am happy to see you go.

Well, in a way I was happy to see you go. The 365 days that I spent with you was a crazy roller coaster of a ride and you know I am someone who craves stability. OK, to be fair, you were in equal parts good and bad and that makes you a blessing in itself. Coz I’ve had it real bad before. You can ask your siblings when you do your recap. Some of your brothers (or was it sisters coz they were such a bee-yatch) were real unkind to me. I couldn’t wait to kick them out of my system.

Anyway, those are all in the past and that is something you taught me. To let go and shrug it off. You changed my perspective and made me realize that the past has grounded me but in a negative way. You forced me to weed the bitterness from the lessons learned. You taught me acceptance where there was once indifference and dismissal. You made me calmer and more composed in dealing with the everyday battles.

Having said that, you dared to conjure battles I never thought I would fight. Something beyond my wildest imaginings. And though I accepted your challenge, it took the most out of me. That trauma is still fresh and even if you take it with you, the aftermath will stir evermore like ripples on water. Maybe in time I will laugh about it, but for now I am still licking the wounds. This will be your tattooed remembrance on my persona. Good thing that during those darkest hours, I found some sort of Patronus. But please do me a favour and tell your next of kin to ease up on the Dementors. I long for the times when I was just plain, simple, boring and ordinary, as opposed to being the chosen and designated one.

And what’s with you and your penchant for CHANGES? Blimey, did you make a lot! Some I am thankful for and some got me pissed off. You unveiled new avenues of possibilities and opportunities, which would have been awesome but there are times when I felt that you went overboard. You could have at least warned me when you were shoving me into the fire. I could have held onto the frying pan for a while longer.

You helped me find a new home so I can again enjoy the rains and not be paranoid of being swept away by a freak storm. Plus the new residence is more accessible to a lot of stuff. If only you gave me more time to enjoy it all.

Oh thank you for showing me a new-found appreciation for people. Yes, I am still channeling George Clooney in Up In The Air (in terms of my stand on relationships) but I do appreciate what I have. I am blessed to have a great family at home and at work, the people who make it all worthwhile. And of course friends who slap me with the truth, make things tolerable and give me ammunition to fight back. Plus, this year you brought me closer to my long-time friends from elementary and high school. You also brought new people into my life, people who gave me fresh perspectives and provided stepping stones so I can further propel myself. Some of this new people gave me a difficult time, but still I learned a lot from them (who says learning is easy anyway).

Hey, come to think of it, you also sidetracked people from my life by placing them in a different tangent where out paths will now seldom intersect. It was disheartening to let go of some people who have deeply shared my life for the past years. Though I know our connections are stronger that those defined by the workplace, damn you still for shooing them away.

Another downside: you made my schedule so crazy and impossible. Many a times I wished I have Hermione’s time travel machines so I can defy Physics and be in two places at once. It sure felt like a million clocks are counting down my deadlines. I had to sacrifice personal time and I had to disengage myself temporarily from my blog (shameful 14 blogs this year, the lowest turnout ever) and Facebook. Good thing there was Twitter to make me feel alive...online. You took me away from my books and now I have an entire bookshelf of a reading list (I know you will blame me for not getting an iPad). I have to settle for magazines and surfing just so my brain cells won’t stagnate.

As a side effect to the stress you gave me, I had to resort to retail therapy. Have you seen the number of shirts, jackets and shoes I bought this year? It gives a whole new meaning to the phrase charge it to experience.

I realize that you have added a new layer of indifference to my hard bitten cynicism. And I still don’t know if this is good or bad. I seem to be unaffected by a lot of things, be it the awesome or the horrific. I am blurring the line between nonchalance and insensitivity. I think the part of me that is empty and numb has ballooned. With it comes the sarcasm that, like wine, is getting more potent in time. My own coping mechanism perhaps. Something to keep my head above water as I wrestle against time and tide.

With that I say goodbye to you, 2010. You were good to me, and since I seldom get "Great," that puts you with the best of them. You taught me a lot and made me realize the options that I can pursue. You gave me distressing struggles but you threw in some shining moments. Having known you have made me a better, stronger person. I can never thank you enough for that.

Love,
Bernard

P.S. This goes out to your heir apparent. Please be kind and cut me some slack. That’s all I ask. I am not even asking you for Love and anything grandiose. Just a chill lifestyle. Less of the stress, curve balls and hurly-burly moments. And maybe you can throw in some generosity. I heard it will go a long way. Just so you know, you have big shoes to fill. Thanks in advance. XOXO

***

A quick shoutout to everyone:



May this year be filled with new beginnings, second chances, fond memories, miracles, magic and dreams. Let's go, 2011!

Airborne/Earthbound

Leaves fall... do you blame the wind or the tree that let it go?

Just one of the questions burning in my head right now. I have not been the happiest camper lately. There is this deluge of disillusion and disinterest that just burst forth, like flood water breaking out of a dam. It’s unstoppable and in no time I was drenched and carried away.

A friend asked: What happened? I said: Nothing. Just a series of unfortunate events. Which is more cruel because you don’t know which episode to digest.

I have never been good at throwing caution to the winds. Calculated risks and over-analysis are my cups of tea. But when logic eludes me and emotions become my pilot, I roll the dice. Last week, in a light bulb moment, I decided that whatever will be the Billboard #1 song will make or break an upcoming decision. It’s my version of asking the universe for a sign.

I know most people will just do the head-or-tail toss. But I’d like to be more creative and a little more personal. Going back to the head-or-tail toss, I read somewhere that as soon as you flip the coin there is that moment while the coin is in mid-air that you wish that it will go a certain way. Then that is the decision that you want for yourself. No flip of the coin can dictate that.

Ok, so I was torn. But while waiting for the Billboard charts to refresh last Friday, I realized I was secretly wishing that it will be a new #1 song. Somehow deep inside, I know this is the decision that will make me happy.

To cut the story short, last Friday the #1 song was Fly Like A G6 (Far East Movement).

There is no clearer sign than this.

I guess we are who we are for a lot of reasons. And maybe most of them we will never know. Maybe we don’t have the power to choose the “given” but we can still chose where we go from there.

Yes, I miss the perks...



***

I'm looking to the sky to save me,
Looking for a sign of light,
Looking for something to help me burn out bright.

Dear John, you should have stuck with the book

I picked the Dear John novel last weekend (thanks to CB for lending it to me) and I got really hooked that I finished it in less than a week, a feat for a busy bee like me. It was my companion while waiting for my 1.5 hour-delayed flight back to Manila last Friday. But I had to stop reading before I reached the end because I was already feeling a lump on my throat. Tears on a guy are like bombs on an airport, if you know what I mean.



THE BOOK

The story is rather simple, since simple beauty is the forte of Nicholas Sparks. He uses straightforward language and laid-back storytelling. But what sets Sparks apart is the heart he allows to beat in every story he fabricates. Living in this complex world, Spark’s simplistic prose appeals to our intrinsic human emotions... that is to revel in the lovely sunshine and the joys of love and at the same time suffer the gloom of heartbreak and loss.

Yes it’s a love story but told from the male perspective, so it is not that emasculating. Truth to tell, I can relate to most of the male leads to ever walk out of Sparks' pages. But John is probably and ironically the most self-destructive in the name of selflessness. Like John, I’m much of a loner and nonchalant to the thing called love. But when I do take the plunge, I approach it with such sensitivity and a mixture of wonder and trepidation that my life is never the same again. Sigh. And like John, I have been known to inflict personal pain if that meant making another person happy. Another sigh.

And so I drop the bomb. This is the third book to ever make me cry. Not bawling-in-fetal-position kind of crying. Just a tear shed for the beauty in the sadness. Reading Sparks is like engaging in a losing battle to keep the blues away. And then comes one sentence (yes all it takes is one sentence) which will dissolve all your restraint and you just let the emotions engulf you. At least I am man enough to admit that.

Dear John explores a different way of loving another person. And the sad part is that it’s also the only way I know how. Hence, no happy ending for me as well; I’ve longed accepted that.

There goes my Dear Bernard.

THE MOVIE

I was pretty much in a Dear John zone that I immediately dived into the movie after finishing the book. As a personal rule, I read the book first because I want to “connect” with it personally and not let a filmmaker interpret it for me. More often than not, the movie adaptation is a trying-hard effort. Some stories are not meant to be visual (stories can be simple whereas a movie has to be glossy). Since he banks more on emotions rather than imagery, Nicholas Sparks' works belong to this classification. But for some reason his novels and often turned into movies.

In fairness, the A Walk To Remember movie was acceptable, and not just because of Mandy Moore and the amazing soundtrack. It captured the essence of the story. Still better is the The Notebook adaptation. I hated the book (the ending chapter was revolting) but the movie gave the story a whole new light.

I think the trick is to stir up emotions and poignancy via cinematography and narration. Of course, it doesn’t hurt to cast pleasing actors and throw in a good soundtrack.

Dear John, the movie, is a dedication in dissapointment. It suffered from bad screenplay writing and lame direction (to think the director previously dished out Oscar-worthy Chocolat and The Cider House Rules). Though I have not read and watched Nights In Rodanthe, this is the worst movie adaptation ever. It’s like a Muslim was asked to make a movie out of The Bible.



Casting Channing Tatum and Amanda Seyfried was a step in the right direction. I initially wrote off Channing as a shoo-in for John (girls will swoon at his pretty face and built that is moulded for an Army uniform). But he proved me wrong because he carried the heavy scenes well enough. Still, the two lead actors did not have the same chemistry as Mandy Moore-Shane West and Rachel McAdams-Ryan Gosling. And they have the script to blame because the movie lacked something that the novel has.

Dear John’s biggest downfall is that the movie failed to capture the HEART and SOUL of the novel. It felt like the screen writer and director did not engage in the emotions of the story. They just look bits and pieces and strung it sans rhyme or reason. Sans emotional build-up. Even the full moon analogy was hackneyed, lacking the dramatic moments like the telescope-shooting star sequence in A Walk To Remember.

Had I not read the book, I don’t know if I would follow the development of the movie plot. For instance, how could Savannah say that John’s father has a disorder just by seeing him with his coins? In the novel you can understand how Savannah concluded that because we got to know the Dad. In the movie, the Dad was a disconnected character who was later given a tearjerker scene which left the viewer dumbfounded. Sorry, but the only reason I want to cry is because the movie was so far from the book.

And to add bitter icing to this already blown-up cake, they made a lot of changes to the characters (like Allan being Tim's son instead of brother). But I can forgive that. What’s appalling is that they had the nerve to change the ending! THE ENDING! It’s like they questioned the decisions made by John in the novel.

I didn’t realize that Hollywood can be this heartless.

Dear Mr Sparks, if it’s your dream to see your novels on the big screen, this is not they way to do it.

Marooned

They say when you’re down and out, go to that place where you were once trampled and try to spit at its face screaming “Look where I am now!” Just to feel good about yourself.

And damn right, it works. In a reverse psychology kind of way. Some people conjure happy thoughts to keep the depression at bay. I think of the previous dismal points in my life (and there is an entire gold mine) to convince myself that I am in a better place now. No matter what I am going through. Life is unfair that way. It can get harder as it gets better.

I am having this horrid week and by some twist of irony, I found myself in this redeeming situation. Unknowingly. I was driving around on official business and mulling about what I would like to call occupational hazards. And I soon realized I am in a very familiar territory. Not that I have not returned here since I left. It’s just that everything is relative to the emotions you are feeling.



I don’t know if it was the heat which reminded of those punishing summers of not so long ago. But under the entangled embrace of the trees that lined the oval, the memories came rushing back.

And what is a cinematic moment without a musical score. My iPod that was playing on shuffle suddenly coughed out MJ’s song Childhood. Have you seen my childhood? I chuckled.

I see the familiar sporting a different look. Same old brand new things. I realize that things may change physically but their epitomes are immortal. Like the street names now boast of a different color but to me it’s the same old street. The streets where this journey began.

I saw the same queue on jeepney stops where I wasted countless hours scrambling for a ride home. There are the same anxious and constipated faces hurrying to destinations unknown or sitting lost in thought on the building steps. Students who look older than they are, burdened by the sins of their past and the uncertainty of their future. Some years ago I was one of these people. I want to tell them now that they have every right to be distraught. Being there is just a ticket. A deceitful ticket. It gets you IN but it doesn’t get you THERE. You’ll know what I am saying the moment you step out of the cocoon of those halls. Cue in Ryan Seacrest saying “Welcome to the real world, baby!”

I saw the old tambayan where I learned about love and adult life and everything in between. Lunch conversations over sticks of barbeque infested by the occasional falling caterpillars. Vacant hours spent shuffling a deck of cards and flinging coins. The logbook that whispers pages of secrets and confessions. The politics and the juvenile drama.

And then there was the building where I spent my last years. I remembere it as grey and cold (though it is now painted); a showcase of luxury and apathy. Very representative of the people who thrives in there. This building is my downfall and my salvation. My first real taste of bitter reality. Outside looking in. It took me a lifetime to erase its tang from my mouth. This is where I developed my shell of indifference and my talent for self-dependency.

Now comes the church where I made a wager with God himself. He kept half of His promise, and I kept the half of mine. But by then I was already broken beyond repair. I already morphed into a cynic. Like REM, I lost my religion. Which is really different from losing your faith. Faith is belief, religion is rules.

The memories are getting heady but I am starting to feel a sense of fulfilment. Somehow going back to where my real journey started made me realize how far I’ve come. It may not be that far for some people but in my personal yardstick, it is. Somehow hitting rock bottom makes you appreciate the bouncing back, regardless whether it comes in pulsing increments. This rewarding feeling is forever lost to people who have been so used to being in the stratosphere.

I hurriedly did my official business there. And left. That day, looking back became my calming salve. It is a lesson in humility and a recharging of my pride.

Driving out, my iPod shuffled out R. Kelly’s Fly Like An Eagle. Ok, Mr. Musical Scorer...I think you got the wrong song. No offense but I’m not THAT blue.

Flying Without Things (Excess Baggage Not Allowed)

Once in a long while, a movie comes poised to slap you in the face and pat your back at the same time. Up In The Air is that kind of movie. It patronizes and mocks the person that you are. A satire where no one is laughing because while it was fun, it was almost cruel in its intense honesty.



Up In The Air is a cosmopolitan dramedy that humanizes the antiseptic lifestyle of a modern alpha male (modern existential man, to be exact). A man who looks at himself and finds his value in VIP cards and frequent-flyer miles. Ryan Bingham (George Clooney) is a professional Shiva. He is in the business of firing people, sugar-coating job termination as an opportunity to chase your other dreams. He lives a high life that is spent mostly in-transit and doing the dirty work that corporations have no balls to do themselves. He is deeply in love with his job and its platinum-card privileges. He seldom comes home; and home to him means priority airport lounges and humdrum hotel rooms. A self confessed cynic, he has isolated himself from his family, from relationships and people in general. Hmmm.

Enter two women who will shake Ryan's clockwork world. Alex (Vera Farmiga), the female version of himself who engages Ryan in a casual relationship which will soon turn into his sweetest disappointment. And Natalie (Anna Kendrick a.k.a. Twilight’s Jessica), an ambitious newcomer who has a brilliant idea of using the internet to sack people professionally. She makes Ryan squirm in insecurity and she questions his philosophy in a bid to make him see the other side of being human. Alex is the Ryan now, Natalie is Ryan from 10 years ago. Alex is the karma, Natalie is the conscience.

Take out the hot girls and Ryan will look like someone I know. As a friend who knows me so well has pointed out, this is the Hollywood adaptation of my life. In a crude kind of way. My life, my rules, my philosophy. Yes, my backpack.

All the telltale signs are there. Single man who enjoys a thriving career and non-existent “life.” A lifestyle made by choice, mind you. I almost smiled at Ryan’s radical philosophy: What’s in your backpack? He preaches that relationships with people and things tie you down and if you rid yourself of those you are free...well, up in the air.

In Ryan’s wise words, I am travelling light; I am living a life that is divested of relationships and all other things. My life is ruled by my job and I am deliberately alone most of the time. And guess what...I am not complaining. This is the life I have wanted and designed for myself. This is the life I am used to. My rhyme and reason. I know most people don’t understand it. But if being boring and two-dimensional meant that life will be less complicated, then I am in this boat alone. No frills, no fireworks. Simplicity is the spice of my life.

I often wondered at what point did I exactly de-sensitized my existence. I really can’t tell. I think it was the sum of all fears, doubts, disappointment and letdowns. Over the years, I have tried different versions of myself. And lately I have settled for what is most comfortable; the path of least resistance. I play the run-of-the-mill guy who exudes cool awesomeness under pressure but with a suppressed caustic side. Hard candy with a surprise center.

The movie ended with a sharp sting, perhaps the most sophisticated and heartbreaking ending in silverscreen history. Like most great movies, it leaves more questions than answers.

Yes, I have anticipated that kind of ending to my story. I’ll confess that there are times when I feel empty and hollow. Pointless even. But I prefer this to being caught up in a tangle of emotions and I see attachment as a double-edged sword. I’ll admit that sometimes paranoia creeps in. What if I die alone in my rented house and it will take days before anyone realizes I’m gone? What if people will stare at my sarcophagus and realize that they know me but never really KNOW me.

How about some self pity...what happens during those winning moments? Will I be like Ryan and celebrate the realization of my platinum dreams with a total stranger? But then I realize that if I am man enough to own this lifestyle, then I’m also man enough to face the consequences.

I’ve also asked myself if I am master or if I am slave. In my search for stability, maybe I have trapped myself within a mechanical routine. That in trying to avoid the high and lows, I ended up running in circles. And I like it that way.

Under its high gloss production (it's a Clooney vehicle for crying out out), Up In The Air is actually brutal and hard hitting in its emotional truth; an entertaining depiction of modern socio-economics. In more ways than one, I find this movie deeply comforting if not a little disturbing. I always thought that I was fighting a battle of my own. That all the previous events in my life have conspired to bring me to this point. Little did I know that I am only one of many. I was churned out of a cookie cutter after all.

The next time someone asks me why I am devoted to a life of lucrative solitude, I’ll just smile and say: I’m up in the air.

KThxBye, 2009...Hello, 2010!

Where does time go? A few breaths ago, we were closing the decade and shooing 2009 away. Now we are already a fifth into 2010 and Christmas/New Year was a thing of the past.

Before I say anything more, HAPPY NEW YEAR to everyone! May the dawn of the new decade bring us closer to the brighter future we all long for, be it in our personal lives or as a country.



While many people think that the new year marks a fresh start, a new beginning; I’d like to think of it as a MOVING ON. Especially after our experiences in 2009, an annus horribilis for most people.

It was the year of challenges and triumphs for our country. While we seem to be afloat amidst the global economic crunch, we were hit by the storm of the century. Storms, to be exact. The scenes from Ondoy and Pepeng are forever seared in our memory. And amidst the horrorscapes of devastation, there are the proverbial rainbows after the rain. The spirit of bayanihan is in the DNA of every Filipino. We CARE, and that is half the battle won already. I still remember the girl who had a cast on her right shoulder but was helping us pack relief goods. With only her left hand. We need everyday heroes like her.

We celebrated the people who made us proud to be Filipinos. The death of democracy icon Cory Aquino revived the nationalism and it is a miracle that even in death, Cory showed us the way. Manny Pacquaio, Brillante Mendoza and Efren Penaflorida erased the global fallacy that we are a country of domestic helpers. But a few hours after CNN toasted Efren as their Hero of the Year, the Maguindanao massacre hugged the CNN headlines and shocked the world. Ergo, Ampatuan became our Villain of the Year.

On a personal level, I think I did well in 2009. I will even go as far as saying that this is one of my best years ever. It felt like after running in the shadows for so long, I suddenly burst into my own pocket of sunshine. I am usually wax nostalgic as the year comes to a close. At the end of 2009, I did not feel a twinge of regret or remorse that that I wasted the year. I did my part in 2009! I felt happily invincible that even the ghosts of the past failed to haunt me.

To start the new year and new decade right, I got obsessed in organizing my life. It started with the makeover of our house. Seeing everything spic and span and seemingly new is a natural high for OCs like me.

A new year also means new journals for me. And I have two journals. The green one is for tracking my finances (weekly budgets, credit card purchases) and personal stuff (date for changing contact lens, wardrobe plan, wish lists, reminders, etc.)



The second one is for jotting my thoughts which will soon find its way into my blog. Or for writing inspiring passages (even inspiring tweets)I come across. Thanks to C for giving me that leather cover! It makes me feel like a legit writer.

For this blog, I plan to do a little makeover. Of course there will be my usual musings and rants. But I might veer away from the entertainment blogs (music, movies). In my own little way, I want to promote positive change. Hence, I will be sharing tidbits which can improve lives, change perspectives and promote well being and empowerment. Nothing political or preachy, but definitely something close to our hearts. Wink, wink.

Placing yourself in the right moment puts you in the best position for BETTER moments. While I will miss 2009, I’d like to think that better things are in store for 2010.

I will make 2010 count! So can you.

Emotional Breakthrough At 31

There is no better way to say it so I’ll say it plain and simple. I HAD A HAPPY BIRTHDAY.

I am almost scared to shout this out to the universe thinking that it might steal this away from me. But no, I already have this blissful slice of time. I have immortalized this in the depths of my cortex.



For the record, I am not good at being happy. I lived my life thinking that I thrive on disappointment and misery. For people like us, happiness is a burden; it is fleeting and has the tendency to vaporize. And it comes with a heavy price. Whereas sadness is more tangible and permanent; it leaves a scar in your heart.

For my birthday, I planned something a little out of the ordinary and mid-key. Not something lavish, just something I know people will enjoy. Part of me wants to celebrate this great year. I didn’t know my family and friends caught the same virus of excitement. They have been gushing about my birthday for days and I can’t help but feel some pressure.

My birthday bash at the office went beyond expectations...I almost expected fireworks. Everything was pitch-perfect. Outside of the great food, I was really happy being around these people. Sometimes I don’t understand the logic to their kind of affection. How can they love a grouch and moron like me? Haha!

On the day after my birthday, I tried to capture the beauty of it with words. But they escaped me... I had this gaping blank page. I almost panicked at the thought that I need misery for my creative ink to flow. And it seems like misery upped and left me...for once. This is a little morbid but I told a dear friend that should the best moments of my life be replayed as I am breathing my last, this point of time will surely come up.

This mood is new to me: I am pensive but in a good way. The feeling that is engulfing me now is realization and GRATITUDE. Seeing the cake and candles, I’ve asked myself what I wish for for my birthday and surprisingly I came up with no answers. I am good.

It took me this long to find the key to being happy. No, I have not opened the floodgates of happiness. It’s just that I am ecstatic of the puddles of happiness that I unlocked. I am not HAPPY. I am just happy. And I like it that way.

I realized a lot of things this year (I had the opposite of a mid-life crisis...a mid-life renaissance?). Although my life is far from perfect, I realize I AM OK. Yes, there are still things I want (things could be better) but not having them at this point will not de-value my life. I find happiness in enjoying what I have instead of wasting time longing for what I don’t have. I even learned to find happiness in the small things. Forget renaissance, I will call this 31st year my EMOTIONAL BREAKTHROUGH.

I’m blessed to have a fulfilling job, with an added bonus of being able to work with great people. How many can lay claim to this? I have a supportive family and we are enjoying what we dreamed of and worked hard for. I live a largely comfortable life. I am able to do the things I want: blog, read, go places or just some time alone.

This year, I have this almost zen-like attitude in tackling things. I learned to handle people and manage expectations. After being given my second chance, I saw the good in most people and became more accepting. I now know who my real friends are. They are the people who understood me at my worst. The ones I wronged but never took it against me. The ones who stayed silent when they have the right to lash out and be one with the world in torturing me. The ones who offered help even before I could muster the courage to ask for it.

After life broke me countless of times, it seems like I just decided to ditch my walking-wounded drama. I learned to stop struggling and let myself go with the flow. And I wonder if age does this to a person. Have I accepted my fate and resigned myself to the ravages of the times? Whatever it is, this is better than where I was before. After running drenched for so long, I suddenly burst into my own place in the sun.

On my way home Friday night, I realize I did not look at my birthday horoscope (from The Philippine Star), which has become a birthday tradition. I thought of dropping by 7-Eleven to get a copy but then I changed my mind. What the heck. I will make my own fortune, my own future. I will not let some stupid stars foretell it for me.

Looking back at the things I went through just to be here, I will not say I deserve this. Rather, I’d say IT WAS WORTH IT.

Cheers!

***

I want to thank A LOT of people from the bottom of my newfound heart. But please allow me these special mentions:

MY FAMILY for single-handedly preparing everything. I knew the food tasted good because it was a labour of love.



MY (Extended) MARKETING FAMILY for pulling all the surprises. Makes me wanna scream and make some noise. Haha! I could not ask for anything more. How can you do such good things to a "boolei" like me?! Loved the video (Buti na lang safe...whew!)



K, B and J for helping me pull it off until the very end (which is clean-up time, hehe!). And the wonderful gift straight out of my wish list (how did you know?)!

For my “silent” friends for being as excited as I am and for making sure I enjoy every minute of it.

For The One Who Need Not Be Named, for doing everything above and beyond. Even if I’m not worthy, you still choose to overwhelm me.

Un-dying

Memories will never die. I realize this after my first taste of the death of a loved one. You live in suspended disbelief during the three days of the wake. You shed an ocean of tears during the internment. Then you move on with your life, however incomplete it has become. But in one unguarded moment, something stirs your memories and you remember them. It can be a song, a thing she loved...in my instance even a rock. The remembrance steals your breath; the pain sears and clutches the heart.

This year, I will be celebrating more deaths than ever. I can still remember how I learned of each death. Nothing can prepare you for it. It’s difficult to forget the point where your life took an abrupt turn. The memories are sharp, like broken shards of glass. Yes, the pain of loss does fade in time, but it is the kind that will never truly go away.



I have always been sensitive about the death of a loved one, even before I had my firsthand experience. I remember when A’s dad died in sixth grade. I thought it was cruel; how can a good-hearted girl be given such unkind fate. When she returned to school, I don’t know what to say to her. I don’t want to ask if she was OK. That is probably one of the most inconsiderate questions ever invented. How can you ask someone who just lost her dad if she was okay? Of course she is not! So I think I just smiled, hoping that will convey my sympathy. But I decided it was too uncaring so I asked her what happened. In the process, I ended up making her cry as she recollected her dad’s last hours.

Three years later, I was at the other end of that table.

There have been good days, in as much as there have been darker days. Now that I am in a much better place in life, I wish my departed loved ones could see what I have become. A lesser disappointment. I longed for their pat on my shoulders after surviving each fall. Especially my Lola. She always championed what I am and what I want; accepting my flaws and applauding my smallest feats. At the lowest point in my life, she was one of the handful who did not look at me with disillusionment and odium. When she passed on, I felt so alone for the first time in my life. From then on I started living in shadows. I learned to be autonomous...to deaden and detach myself. Depend on myself.

When my dad died, my life rebooted. It forced me to let go and come to terms with a lot of things.

Sometimes I wonder if I am the person I was supposed to be. If this is the life I was meant to live. Or is this some kind of half-life, a metamorphosis engineered by loss and expectations and reinforced by the will to survive.

I realize what I missed most about family who have passed on is their rock presence. Their being there, regardless if you need them or not. At 30, I still feel like a child sometimes. A child trying to grab hold of a hand; only to realize it is not there anymore.



***

I've seen fire and I've seen rain
I've seen sunny days that I thought would never end
I've seen lonely times when I could not find a friend
But I always thought that I'd see you again
Thought I'd see you one more time again
There's just a few things coming my way this time around... now
-James Taylor

The New Perspective

I’ve read somewhere that we cannot control the evil tongues of others, but a GOOD LIFE will enable us to disregard them. This mantra rings true, especially at times like these when I have broken free of what used to drench me and knock me down.

Hence, the new perspective. The new looking glass.



A certain date is approaching real fast, and it usually sends me spinning in a pensive and introspective mood (a soliloquy of the non-verbal kind). What have I become at this point in time? Excuse my being self-anointing but the answer to that question is definitely...BETTER.

Lately, I surprise even myself. How I handle certain situations and certain people. Yes, there are still the hissy fits and adult tantrums but only when the situation really calls for it.

I don’t sweat the small and non-existent stuff as much. Yes, even what other people think (especially people who don’t even deserve my two cents). Love me or hate me, I’ll live. I’ve also learned to respect (and shake-off) other people’s nuances and idiosyncrasies (the politically correct term for mood swings).

Just this week, I came face-to-face with one of the sources of my stress some eons ago. And though she was poised to spit on my face (literally, of course), I held my ground and kept it cool. James Dean cool. My lips formed an empty smile, out of courtesy. She meant to disarm me but her “game” vaporized before it can even graze my skin. I am THAT invincible.

In parallel, my friend D blogged about half-wits who leave nasty and pointless comments on his blog. I know the feeling. Some people have a way of imposing their opinions on others. They use the freedom of speech as a license to make a fool of themselves. I told D to chill, they just want pieces of him (maybe that PJ collection) or wants to be him.

As I am rebuilding my urbanized life after Ondoy washed away some remnants of the old me, I got caught in the excitement of starting anew. Ergo, my silver lining. Change now excites me, whereas it used to stress me a lot. Is this a sures sign of being "stable?"

On a grander scale is the realization that while there are things that I want or am deprived of, there are a lot of things that I have and am grateful for. Looking back, there were times when I longed for greener pastures. Only to realize (thankfully before it’s too late) that a greener pasture usually comes with a huge water bill (wink, wink).

Often, it is best to let the natural course of things unfold. I watch, amazed, as the pieces just fall on their proper places. And they do fit seamlessly...far better than if I have intruded. I stand back now and see the rhyme and reason.

I never knew it could happen to me. But in the dead of winter, I found my eternal summer.



***

I feel the salty waves come in
I feel them crash against my skin
And I smile as I respire because I know they'll never win

Stop there and let me correct it
I wanna live my life from a new perspective

And who cares divine intervention
I wanna be praised from a new perspective
- Panic! At The Disco

Falling Rain, Dripping Thoughts

It’s Sunday and I just woke up from a rewarding sleep feeling superbly rested. I’m beginning to crave these weekend rests. I vowed to myself that I will work like a workaholic (huh?) from M-F; but weekends will be decidedly quiet and uneventful. And I’ve been successful for the past months (insert pat to the back). So quit asking me why I seem happy and glowing (it’s not about the four letter word).

The weather is halfway agreeable. The rains over the evening left everything damp and cold. But a weak sunshine is now arguing with the still-heavy clouds. I survived the entire night without the help of a fan and I remember waking up to look for a blanket. It was unusually chilly. But I like it that way.

The bed is still invitingly cold (and I don’t mean that as a metaphor) so I decided to linger some more and read. I’m a third into an Anita Shreve novel and her prose really has a hypnotic effect. The story revolves around a reunion of college friends and it made me crave to be around my long-time friends. The ones who promote no animosity even if I barely see them in years.

Last night I dreamt that I was watching a movie with my Marketing buddies and then an earthquake struck. Pandemonium ensued inside the dark theatre. Surprisingly I remained calm and nailed to my seat. Like it was part of the entire movie (was it a 4D cinema?). I don’t remember what happened next but I wonder what that meant. Ever since the July 16 and Mt. Pinatubo days of my teenage years, I’ve been a little paranoid about earthquakes. But more thrilled than fearful of it. I may be a geologist in my previous life (which explains why at such a young age I know the atlas like the back of my hand and I can identify the tectonic plates and volcanoes...geek alert!).

The problem with rains and cold weather is that the small meals I take will not last as long; I am perpetually hungry. Also, since I am on water therapy, I feel the need to pee more often. This is really inconvenient during long drives (by this time the restrooms at gas stations materialize like oasis in the desert). Plus, the rains make me deviate from water and glug down a decadent amount of coffee.

The good thing about the rains is that it showers me with inspiration. I just want to stay locked in my room and read and write. Maybe if it rains for 40 days, I can write an entire book. Well, assuming it does not lead of a flood of Noah’s proportions.



Something in the rains also makes me listen to sad music. I’ve listened to Jeff Buckley’s The Last Goodbye thrice in the last hour alone. I’ll try Sarah McLachlan’s Mary next; to see if it can amplify the gloom. (Shoutout to A: You are not allowed to say that I am again sad and tortured. Blame it on the rains and the weatherman). Methinks the rains awaken the sentimental fool in all of us. Maybe, in wearing our pains in our sleeves, we wish for the rains to wash it away. R said it is because the rain represents our tears. Hmm...makes sense (forget that rain is freshwater and tears are saline). Alphabetically speaking, pain and rain are within arm’s length.

Wait...excuse me, I need to get food again. And pee.

Pensieve #3: The I.Y.S.

Pensieve is a blog series which features short and often funny past-life captures. Dip your head into this Pensieve and revisit the murky waters of my memory.



I don’t know if the acronym means anything to you. It was a cool fad during the later part of my grade school years and lasted way into our high school years. IYS stands for International Youth Service.

Long before email and online friends, there was mail (now called snail mail) and pen pals or pen friends. I will use “pen friends” because “pen pals” is more colloquial, they are the ones you see at the back pages of comics and magazine, together with the want ads.

IYS is a paid pen friend service based in Finland. You sign a form requesting a pen friend, enumerate four possible countries (where you want your friend to come from) and pay 25 pesos (equivalent to maybe 150 pesos if you factor in inflation). A month after, you will get a name with a legit address and the rest, as they say, is juvenile international correspondence history.



I remember that to avoid the extra postal charge for sending money as payment, we will place the money between carbon papers so that the postal service will not decipher the pesos inside. And seal it with a prayer that the form and money will find its way to Finland.

There is even an IYS promo wherein if you get 10 people to sign-up (and pay), you will get a pen friend for free. Or sometimes, you will get a mail from out the blue. Meaning, IYS sent your name to someone who paid for a pen friend.

Other than books, writing to my pen friends was the hobby of my growing up years. It reached a point when I had ten pen friends at the same time, mostly from Europe. I even had two from Czechoslovakia; only because you get bragging rights for having a friend in a country most people cannot even spell. I can still remember some of their names. There is Renata Kabelkova (the correct spelling of her surname escapes me) from Czechoslovakia who sent me a photo of herself (in black and white glory) as a kid feeding a swan in a pond. There’s Liz Smith from England who will send me stick chewing gums (which I never ate, of course) in her letters and who gave me a UK calendar as a Christmas present.

Back then, we asked Santa for the possibility of our pen friend visiting the Philippines. I have ten chances for this dream to come true. A child can dream, right? I was under the impression then that anyone with blond hair and blue eyes are filthy rich.

I remember that some of my pen friend’s English are really bad. This served as my training ground for the editing jobs I will handle later in life. I also remember people saying IYS is a hoax and only a roomful of people are writing those letters. True or not, those letters became my elixir of life back then. I am getting letters almost every week and the distinctive roar of the mailman’s motorcycle infuses excitement onto the boring days of my pre-pubescent period.

Maybe one of these days, I will search for my old pen friends online and see if they still remember me. The boy from the Philippines (a country they often misspell; yes, like Czechoslovakia) who writes in almost perfect English, has nice cursive and loves to send post cards featuring beaches and mountains.

A boy who saves his allowance just to buy stationary, post cards and postage stamps. Just to be able to touch a life on the other side of the world.



Update: I tried looking photos of IYS for this blog. It was then that I discovered that IYS closed down June of 2008. Internet killed the pen-and-paper star.

My Name Is...

I know my name is far from unique. If I will take that Facebook How Unique Is Your Name Quiz, I will perhaps get a 5% score.

But my name has evolved over the years to the point that if someone calls me, I can tell from which point of my life he/she came from.

Elementary and HS school mates would call me by my legal name. College friends will just use two letters to call me or a name that sounds like beige. Colleagues, on the other hand, summon me like I am a purple dinosaur.



But lately, I have been called other names. No, not Bastard or S.O.A.B.

Last December, I was at Shangri-la doing some Christmas shopping. I decided to take a breather at Starbucks. I ordered for their cherry-something Holiday blend and waited on the side for my coffee. Several minutes passed by and the barista has not called my name. Then I noticed that all the people behind me when I ordered already had their coffees. In my most pleasant of tones, I followed up my order. I noticed a lone cup standing at the counter and asked the barista if that was a cherry concoction. She said yes and I said that could be mine. She apologized profusely. It was then that I saw the name...EDWARD.

I forgave the crew because it did sound alike and that was the height of the Twilight fever.

Today I got the new lease contract for my QC apartment. The landlord just slipped the envelope under the door. It says Unit #12...for RONALD.

I quickly checked if I had a clown-y smile, yellow-and-red costume and big shoes. I didn’t.

Just to put everyone on the same page, I am...(queue in janjararan sound)...MISUNDERSTOOD.

Haha, got you there.