spoonfuls and mouthfuls: January 2010

Big Sad

The author whose tales of adolescent angst and family dysnfunction that captured generations died last Wednesday, at 91. I remember vividly how at a very young age of 8, I grieved and pictured young Holden Caufield's quest to outrun the world in J.D Salinger's book, "The Catcher in the Rye."

Farewell, my favorite author. Someday, I'll bump into you and discuss how phony the world can become... Rest in peace.

Photo taken from: http://www-tc.pbs.org/wnet/americannovel/timeline/images/salinger_pic.jpg

Inked Again!

They say I am the most self - obsssessed individual 0n the face of the planet. Truth be told, I am more than that. I am, in fact, a freak who thrives in chaos and self - inflicted pain. So your lola got another tattoo last night. The wheezing of the tatt machine seemed like music to my ears, (twas so melodious) and the pain the needle caused my listless pulp was immeasurable but yes, very rewarding. Hehe.

Where it all began - stencil and outlining:

And it ended looking like this:

Anyone of you interested in making that skin bleed and inked, holler at me. My artist is good and he doesnt charge much. :)

Where?

Love is. I don’t know, That seems to be the best definition I could make off when somebody dumped me. Dumped? What a very straightforward word, maybe that was all there is when a lover brings it straight to your heart; that things are not working anymore and you should forget me, or say, stop this relationship. ‘Love is’ because you can’t recall that such feeling exists in a moment when right here, right now, You just can’t say farewell to sadness. But you have to. It is the ability of inability. It’s like singing goodbye yesterday…. (with fingers crossed stubbornly, ha!). Say, if a lover brings it straight to your heart…wait, Where is the heart anyway? I believe you can locate that by not pointing at your head too often and carefully pointing at your chest with denial. I’m not really sure.

I care not dwell on the details, but all you people probably know how it feels when the thing called love leaves you when you got too much to give on the line. I have loved. I would like to believe I gave something more than myself. I know it’s a line you hear much from movies, but hey, they come to life sometimes and I’m the leading actor. It is true that a scorned lover comes into different phases of recovery. Most of us can relate to this because we all are human, generic, unique, and relative.

Who amongst you disagree, please throw a boulder at me! ---Ouch, oh, let’s add uniquely relative to that.

I myself sought refuge in my strength, in books, in everything the world has to offer. I invented ways of rationalizing what happened to me. Aside from my mentor-friend who showed me the wonderfully bitter world of existentialism, I met new friends on my way to the so-called recovery. Kafka, Kierkegaard, Nietzsche, Kundera, Neruda, blah blah…they were there. I met them; they showed me how ‘scientifically romantic’ literature was when seen from a gloomy point of view. It was all revealing, and at the same time, excruciating. They taught me well, even Karen Kunawicz has something to say about a broken heart: only you can hear it. Kahlil Gibran on the other hand preached, ‘Love is self-chosen’, and I couldn’t stop myself from approving violently. ‘The body makes a promise when you make love’ says that movie Vanilla Sky, but sometimes, we have to break some. Funny, but I was happy to rediscover these things that sounded stale when I was in my pleased moments. I’m happy but I wasn’t smiling, I thought I had it all under control and suddenly Eros kicked me in the butt for not listening well.

See, I’ve known these friends, and they all exist in my head that I can readily point at and testify that we have come to an intellectual conclusion. But that was me talking; no one among them, not even my dearest Sartre assured me that an Einstein on love could bring you to the promise land of healing. You can only rationalize too much but in the end, it is your inevitable call. I had no choice, or I did have the choice to be with my real friends. I spent the rest of my time going out, like what we all do. One has to come out from the broken shell and hope to get even. Call that depression, better defined as not forgetting you’re sad. But I have to forget, rocking a chair won’t bring me anywhere. This may be patronizing but I have come to a point of realization to tell this. I somehow managed to get up that chair. Nobody said it was easy.

I ask you one question:

What do you call that time in the middle of the night when all your hopes are depleted, your body is wasted from too much booze, when you have puked everything aside from your soul, when everything has been said and fearlessly done, and you just want to stop thinking?

If you’ll ask me, I call that Tomorrow. When you wake up the following day, it’s something different. It can be more, or likely less painful, but at least different. That’s one inch closer to the promise land I was talking about.

Adios.

Now, where is the heart? You got a lot of pointing to do.

Mocking the Sun

A friend once said, "There’s something about powder blue waters and talcum sands that makes one miss kindred spirits. My friend Bill, is having a grand time in Thailand. I’m here in Cebu, trying to enjoy workign everyday – to soak my weary head in hopeless contemplation. Ah, but there’s a consolation! I get to miss a kindred spirit minus the refreshing blue and briny bottom! How crafty is that?

If only you were here, dear confidant... Maybe you could again, give me a piece of your much needed psychoanalyses. Alas, I would have to fathom this disturbing thought all by myself.

My palate for friendship is beginning to sour with every turning of the tide. Why does everything have to get so complicated? Here you go, basking in quiet conversations, little quips and quirks; and then someone has to blow it just because he thinks friendships offer too narrow possibilities. This is what you get from someone you’ve confided to, Someone you’re supposed to have trusted your life-story, heartaches and secret admiration. Some friendship!

You don’t have the right to tell me what can make me happy! Do I look like I’m in so much need of caring that you have to shove it in front of me, that you have to ask me the whys all the time? I don't expect everyone to understand nor be happy for me. Just don't add salt to the wound. I’m tired of this. Get a life! I’m not the one you’re looking for – the next girl available.

Don’t ever assume when your presumptions are wrong in the first place. You never saw me smile when there was nothing to smile about so stop bombarding me with things I don’t need!

A Note To Self!

Dear Self,

Since when have you learned not to really sleep at all?

How long will you give in to the demands of that freakin job and come to the office despite the fact that it's your rest day?

How will you find time to relax and manage to leave the world and it's cruelties when all you do is work?

Girl, you seriously need rest!Go get some, will you?

You make me worry.

Sinulog!

My head was starting to swirl from all the booze I drank. The blinking lights and cigarette smoke caused my face to cringe and my eyes to burn. The Sinulog night is the best here in Cebu.You get to meet different kinds of people. Cute guys with attitude; weirdos and their mohawks; human pin cushions and their pierced bodies; and if you’re lucky, you can even get a glimpse of hot celebrities in the party scene. Yes, people are always like that during Sinulog. Of course it depends on whether you were able to fold a Ninoy Aquino inside the hidden pocket of your wallet to keep from spending it. You see a lot of teenagers yanking their soul out of their bodies. Corporate people used to the fast - paced life, settle for a momentary pleasure with friends on a night of booze revelry. They consider this as treating themselves after a long day of mind-frying. Party time may last from midnight to the crack of dawn. What the heck, this only happens once every year - people gather altogether to celebrate to one beat. But for sure, a night in Sinulog is never at a loss for the unexpected.

I recall one time, I was dancing my stuff in one bar I frequently go to, two Sinulogs ago. I almost thought that I’d go home without a story to tell. Just then, two gays started shouting and raving to the music. One climbed on top of a seat and the other stood in front, below the former. They started extending their hands and swaying to opposite directions, like spiders playing patintero with their prey. “Play our music!”, they shrieked, like harpies, their tongues flailing out their mouths; almost as if trying to taste the raw atmosphere of smoke, booze, and sweat. I check the arena, turning three hundred sixty degrees, with an almost infinite slowness. Every face I see is different. Every movement, saturated with life. Every soul inside the night coven, bursting with a story to share.

Take "Silingan", for example. I call her that because she once lived a block from my place and we were classmates in two subjects when I was still in school. I don’t really know her to the core, but I see her every time I go to Mango during Sinulog; almost as if she lived here. This was her kingdom and she was queen every night she danced. The ledge was her throne; every gyrate of her hips, a commandment; and every other person inside the dark den, her subject. Some say she was no longer studying. I then come into deep contemplation. Did her parents know this? I swiftly erase the thought from my mind. This should not be part of my reverie.

I sway around, catching a nanosecond-smile from M. This, on the other hand, was a guy who was there, not to drown his burden in ale, but to scope the place, looking for his latest victim; like the vampire, Lestat. For those who are not familiar with Anne Rice’s most famous character, the latter is a blood-sucking romeo who prefers victims who deserve to be victims. The more dirt, the better. Pero syempre, mas nindot kung palaban! That was how M liked it.

And there's this gwapo na waiter I met, in one of my bar adventures. Quiet, but friendly, patience was already evident, the second I saw the sweat from his brow. He was working his way to college. Eskwela sa buntag, trabaho sa gabii. Kinda’ like makes you feel all guilty inside. But then, all these faces form a part of me that make up what we coin as, human. I am "Silingan", when I try to cover my melancholy with a life evident with happiness. I am M, when I try to feel good about myself by toiling with the emotions of those I consider my inferiors. I am "waiter", when I try to make up for what life cannot readily offer me. I am each of these three and a million others. But most of all, I am Sinulog --- full of life; bleak sometimes, but always full of hope.

I felt my head wanting to explode; thoughts turning redundant. I had too much to drink. It’s time to head home.

Anjo

He always had this wonderful smile on his face. He never misses class and I can sense that he was always determined to pass the exams with flying colors. He was the type of kid who was born with a silver platter on his table but no, he never showed or brushed of arrogance. The owner of Cebu Beach Club, he remained to be that down to earth kid you can always "bully" around. He surprised me when he introduced himself as a registered nurse. He said he never wanted to practice his proffession in the first place. He held the world on the palm of his hands yet he remained to be that sweet and caring kid among others.

One day, he got too exhausted with work and decided to just quit. I respected his decision and said that he had to find his niche in this life - even outside our workplace; away from the 19 others who have grown to love and adored his company and presence. So why am I writing about him? He shot me one sweet message that touched me big time. It read:

"Ann, I just want to thank you for everything and for being one of the best teachers I've met. Friends gihapon ta ha? I'm deciding to resign and look for a day time job. You've been really great and hope you don't change. Maka influence jud ka in the way you teach."

The message just got me smiling. :) You see, I may know more about the product that I'm teaching but these people surely taught me so many things that'll give me so much the advantage in the world to come.

To you dear, Anjo, continue hitching your wagons to the stars, in search for greater heights. Someday, we'll cross each other's path and talk as usual over beer and life's tiny trinkets in wonder.

Holidays '09

So how did your lola spent the holidays? Well, Christmas was celebrated in Moalboal while I welcomed the New Year with a bang a'traipsing Cebu and it's majestic corners (okay, that's exaggeration!) Snippets of the maddening events are below: