What happens when you don't have a plan

So I am here in our room, alone. I can't stand the mess. I want to clean up but I don't know where to start or how to. The room is full already -- with refrigerator, two double decks, a folding mattress lying on the floor, a closet, one more closet and still one more closet, a long table, a drafting table, and a small table, a platform and too many things under the beds. I want to start from zero -- without these things. I want them out first.

So that's what happens when you  don't plan ahead, when you just put things inside without knowing how to arrange things in place -- a messy, hard-to-clean-up room.

Same thing goes with relationships. If you get into it without planning ahead, it's like getting yourself in a quicksand -- once you get inside, you sink slowly and it's hard to get yourself out. 

Because there wasn't any plan in the first place, you just start to put things into the relationship -- surprises, dates, gifts, more surprises and then more surprises. Then it starts to build up. Like a messy room, there's just too much inside. Yet you keep putting in things, thinking it would save the relationship. You 'd put in more dates, to facilitate good communication. More gifts, to show your appreciation. And a lot more surprises, to keep things alive and... well, surprising!

So you think you're saving the relationship that way? You might as well think again.

The more of those "things" you put into, the more you suffocate your relationship. Until it can't take anymore. And it blasts!

Then one day, you find yourself standing there thinking of cleaning it all up, doing it all over again. But it's impossible to take the things out -- the same things you yourself put in.

So that's what happens when you  don't plan ahead, when you just put things inside without knowing how to arrange things in place -- the realization that you could have better.

Try "other things" -- those that doesn't take up too much space in a room, like thinking.


Same goes with a planning a city. Look what we have here:

1. We bow down to these devastating disasters - fire, earthquake, typhoon.

Picture from http://filipinolifeinpictures.wordpress.com/2008/07/23/manila-fire-and-the-aftermath/

2. We spend a lot of time on the road, we get stuck in traffic.

Picture from http://www.justanotherpixel.net/2010/06/we-need-car.html

3. And this skyline.

Picture from http://egagah.blogspot.com/2011/05/welcome-to-other-side-of-philippines.html

Someday, I will do something to arrange things in this city. Someday, I will have a plan for this city. I know I can't just take things out and I can't start from zero. That's the challenge I'm willing to accept.

But for now, I'll settle for this small space -- our messy, hard-to-clean-up room.

Kaput

I remember the afternoon of March 31st, 2002. I just graduated from gradeschool, as the class salutatorian.

I was sitting at our back door, staring blankly on the wall that separates our house from the street. I was alone, or perhaps I just don't remember there was anyone in the house at that time. I don't know where they are. We just came home from my graduation.

There were not much congratulatory greetings from anyone, no food, no celebration for what I thought was a special occassion. I just finished elementary school with flying colors, second in class. Maybe that wasn't good enough. So there was really nothing to celebrate for, or to be proud of. I was just second.

And here I am, 9 years after, winning first prize in a national essay writing contest. I kept it to myself and a few close friends for a while, for I needed time to absorb the good news. And how big a thing it was for me! Two weeks later, I brought my certificate and trophy to my sister. "May ipapauwi ako" was my discreet way of saying "Hey, I just won first prize in an essay writing contest!" But there was nothing except, "What's the Rizal trophy for?" Back home, I received no reaction, up until now.

Like my gradeschool achievement, it passed unnoticed, unacknowledged, unappreciated.

So I realized no achievement or award could give me that. Not that I'm yearning for acknowledgement or appreciation, I'm just saying...

Drifting Away

When you don't have a goal, it's so easy to drift away. Drift away. Drift away. Drift-aaa- waaaaaay...

Bridges and values

"I don't like to burn bridges." I often hear it. That's what they always say. "Don't burn bridges," my friends would tell me, which sounds quite... demanding? All right, all right.

But how about sincerity, honesty, truth, fidelity, loyalty and kindness? Are they no longer as valuable as friendships? The human values that are supposedly instilled deep into our veins, where are they now? Aren't we supposed to do, not just what we like to do, but what is right and good and virtuous? Is it enough to "not burn bridges" when you know you're doing something wrong? Even if you're not the one doing it? Do you think you are justified just because your hands are clean?

I should admit, that a lot of times, I fall into the trap of that kind of pleasure. That kind of pleasure which somehow eases the loneliness within you, that which you do just because it's something you can do at the time. But after a while, you are still the same old you, just worse. Because you were too weak to fall into that kind of trap.

I want to understand what is with these bridges. I believe they don't burn easily. They must not burn easily. I believe they should be strong enough that no matter how hard it is hit, it would hold steadfastly. And the bridges that you are not afraid to burn because you believe they are strong enough not to collapse, are the only ones you should keep. The bridges that burn, are the ones that are weak and unworthy of keeping.

I have burned some bridges. Those with cracks are really hard to save -- they'll fall no matter how hard you try to conceal the cracks.

Bridges, sometimes they amaze me.

Bored holes

The days still feel empty. You wake up every morning feeling that void in your heart you can never replace, however hard you try. These are the days when you find it hard to get out of bed simply because you find no reason to do so.

But it has not been long enough. Time, like they always say, heals all wounds. And I am hoping that in time, that void will be filled with something else. It doesn't matter what that something may be so long as there's no more void in it.

Just a little trash can

Just a little trash can is what I need because I seldom throw things, even a bubble gum wrapper or a restaurant receipt. I find it hard to throw things, exactly because I find value in everything. I mean, they might seem unimportant right now but if you keep it long enough, for, say, five years at least, you'll see the value in it when you look back. They say anything that is old has value in it. And I think there's truth in that. Take, for example, antique furniture and bonsai plants. They really are valuable, at least for some people. Most importantly, our wise old men. Some things just get better with age. And oh, red wine and old friends!

Even if a thing is broken or can no longer be used, they don't go straight to the trash. I keep them in a box, especially if they were given to me, or is a reminder of a special part in my life. Even if it's just a piece of broken, useless, paper clips. I keeps things -- letters, notebook pages, notes on post-its, dried flowers, chocolate wrappers, gift wrappers and it would take forever to enumerate the things in my boxes. And by things, I mean a lot of things, if not everything.

The idea of throwing things and carrying on with life without them -- them which were once part of your life -- just seems too scary for me. Aside from feeling incomplete, it makes me feel guilty to just let them go. I have this feeling that I should take responsibility for the things I get a hold of. Like when I borrow a pen from a classmate, I take the responsibility to use it properly, and care for it just like how its owner would. I cannot, ever in the world, lose it if it's not mine. That would be UNacceptable!

I am given the power to fix broken things -- mind power, that is. Or the will to keep on fixing and fixing and fixing. I'll fix whatever. I can even go on fixing it forever. Just don't make me throw it! It won't be easy for me.

I mean, how is it even possible for people to just throw things like that? I don't get that. Am I the only one with attachment issues here? Or who values sentimentality? It does not even have to be those kind of corny things. How about the 3Rs -- Reuse, Reduce, Recycle? Or the value for money. Or resourcefulness. Or having things to remind you of your past when you're old, sitting on your rocking chair looking at the window?

It makes me sad to have to throw things. But being sad is okay at times. Life, after all, has to be balanced. How can you feel happy when you don't know how it feels to be sad? You can't keep things forever. Sometimes you have to pass it on. Throwing them doesn't mean they'll be gone in this world forever. They'd just be somewhere else, owned by someone else. Everyone needs just a little trash can.

NOTE TO SELF

Before dinner at Quezon City Memorial Circle

LEARN TO GO WITH THE FLOW

“Life is a series of natural and spontaneous changes. Don’t resist them – that only creates sorrow. Let reality be reality. Let things flow naturally forward in whatever way they like.” - Lao-Tzu

“Smile, breathe and go slowly.” - Thich Nhat Hanh

“Flow with whatever is happening and let your mind be free. Stay centered by accepting whatever you are doing. This is the ultimate.” - Chuang Tzu

The Catcher in the Rye

It was an easy read. Just like someone’s telling you things. Like having a conversation with someone but you’re just listening to him talk. I like him, I must say, the author. At first, I was bored with his style but after a while I kind of enjoyed it. See, I think I am actually imitating his style right now. I like him. He made me laugh most of the time. And made me cry a little twice. Did I tell you I like him?

I am far from busy this semester, like I said in one of my recent posts. School takes up just about six hours of my entire week; studying for my subjects takes up about… well, I haven’t done that yet. I’m much more in the mood to read and write and fix my life.

The Catcher in the Rye is about a boy who got kicked out from college, flunked all his subjects aside from English. He hated how things went in there. It was just a story of what he did before going home. He doesn’t want to go home ‘til Wednesday, the day his parents would receive a letter from the school headmaster informing them about their son’s dismissal. And there were a lot of digressions on it. A lot. His thoughts along the way made it interesting.

I don’t want to compare authors since I respect their individual styles and I think everyone is good in their own ways. There weren’t much of quotable quotes in the book, unlike Dostoevsky. But that was a good thing in a way that I am not so anxious to mark pages with pretty lines. So I was able to focus on listening to the author talk, naturally.

I just said I do not want to compare authors but I’d also like to mention Charles Dickens here. He’s a classic, really. I’d like to think he’s the author’s favorite author. By the style of his writing, it may not be apparent. But he mentioned David Copperfield and Charles Dickens in the book. Okay, that may not mean anything at all, but I’d like to think that so please let me. Thinking about Dickens could have made his writing suck, but it didn’t. I don’t remember the last time I actually finished reading a book – I usually start reading and gets bored afterwards so I end up grabbing another book before even knowing the ending of the previous one. I do that most of the time. But The Rye, as I’d like to call it, actually got me wanting for more. I felt the author right in front of me, really. And oh, how I just wish I could hold him!

So about the not-so-many quotable quotes, I just have here three:

Certain things they should stay the way they are. You ought to be able to stick them in one of those big glass cases and just leave them alone.

The man falling isn’t permitted to feel or hear himself hit bottom. He just keeps falling and falling. The whole arrangement’s designed for men who, at some time or other in their lives, were looking for something their own environment couldn’t supply them with. Or they thought their own environment couldn’t supply them with. So they gave up looking. They gave it up before they ever really even got started.

The mark of the immature man is that he wants to die nobly for a cause, while the mark of the mature man is that he wants to live humbly for one.

Okay that last one just got me. Arrector pili muscles contracting! (Goose bumps) I don’t know why. Well, actually I do know why I just do not want to tell it here. I like authors.



P.S.

I am aware that my writing here and on my recent post is influenced by J.D Salinger. :D

Math and other things

I am thinking of my tutee right now. It’s 2am and I was just about to sleep but my mind’s pushing to places. I am thinking about my tutee and how our interaction today was different from any other sessions we had. It was the first time we had a three-hour session; it was supposedly for two hours only. It was the first time she cracked a joke on me, two actually; the first time we had a deal (that if she fail her long test tomorrow, I’ll make her run 5 rounds in the UP Acad Oval) I think she liked the idea but acted like she didn’t. Oh, high school girls. I’ve been there before; the first time we had a physical contact, that is, a high five whenever she gets the right answer just minutes before we ended the session; the first time we were actually almost being just ourselves – mocking each other and telling random things, whatever comes out. I must admit, at that time, I was becoming happy with what I was doing – teaching a high school student math. I never said I don’t like doing it before. As a matter of fact, I like doing it but sometimes slow people just gets into my nerves. Today, I loved teaching.

The mood at the beginning of that session was very different compared to the latter part of it. Because, before we began with what I planned to do, she handed me her quizzes on simplification and addition/subtraction of radicals, and her scores were almost like friction, negligible. Just almost. Or maybe I just have high standards for negligibility. I was so heartbroken at the time and I want to break down. But my intervention has not sunk in those tests yet, I thought. I hoped. I’m the type who does not easily give up, especially if I know I can do better. And I was certain I can do better with teaching her, pushing her to her limits.

I started the session the mock exam I made beforehand. And while she was into it, I was examining her exam papers. Oh, the pieces of my heart were just falling down those sheets. I computed her scores, 35% overall. A mountain and seven seas from the 75% passing grade. And to think tomorrow’s her long test? Oh, I could die. What have I done wrong? Am I not teaching her well? I can only blame myself. I want to tell you she really isn’t interested in the subject and if only she could pass by running a thousand miles instead of solving math problems, I’d swear she’d do it. But the blame’s still on me.

So what do I do when I’m teaching a student who’s not at all interested in the subject?

She loves running, or her team, or the field. I don’t know but her heart is obviously everywhere else, just not in math. She just got suspended from running/competing because she failed math. She won first place in the 2k event but she can’t get her medal because, technically, she’s no longer part of the team. And there are a lot of things she could lose if she continues to fail math. Not only her track team, but also her high school or her batchmates. If she succeeds in failing math once again, she won’t be allowed to enter third year in the same school. That means, either she has to transfer to another school or repeat second year high school. If only my opinion matters, either of the two is a good way to go. Because in my opinion, she hasn’t learn anything in math since Grade 1. It’s really disappointing to have to go back to the basics when you are teaching a second year high school student, who cannot even add fractions! Oh, it gets into my nerves.

It’s heartbreaking. I can tell by the stories and the tone of her voice that she really loves to run. She’d rather train than study math! When we change the topic from math to running, the tone of her voice suddenly shifts from bored to excited. It just pumps her up.

What I like about teaching is that it makes my short piece of patience longer. Really it does. I swear, when it comes to people who are slow to pick up, I don’t have the patience to discuss a lot of things with them a lot of times. I just don’t want to get into that kind of trouble.

But the thing about teaching math (or any subject for that matter) is that it’s not actually just your student you’re teaching or who’s learning. It’s not actually just your student who’s getting something from you. If you think I’m saying I am getting something from my student, well you are partly right. The thing is, I am getting something from myself as well. If she’s not picking up what I said, then that would only mean I am not communicating well with her. I am not conveying the words in a manner she’d understand. This is something I learned from my boy. I learned a lot of things from him. He’d make a good teacher. He was good for me.

Going back to my tutee, I think what we need is rapport. First and foremost, she has to trust me. And even if it’s hard, I have to trust her – that she’ll be able to pick things up. She tells me things she doesn’t want to tell her mom, and I think that’s a good start. But she’s a kid, she tells a lot of things.

I want this tutor-tutee relationship work. It’s like having a little sister. I want to take her to UP, to show her what a nice campus UP has. I want to tell her about architecture and what good things that comes from it and all about its grandeur and elegance. I want to take her for a jog regularly and we’ll have breakfast somewhere. And we’ll talk about math discreetly. I want to be a good model for her – show her how important it is to balance things in life, like training for running and math and other school stuff. I want to tell her what I wished I have known when I was still in high school. I want to warn her about life outside the family and how it feels to be far from home. I want her to be good in math, and a lot of other things. I want her to like numbers like I do, and letters, and art. I want her to grow up to be better than me.

Something about Running

New Balance Chevrolet Power Run 2011

I have been planning on writing about this since that day. I want to share to you how I managed to finish my first more-than-half marathon, 25k to be exact. I want to tell you how I managed to run for three hours straight without stopping, with the exception of tying my shoe lace once. I want to tell you how it feels like to run in the rain starting at 4:50 in the morning. I want to tell you how it feels when you pass by someone who seems to run out of breath and all you have are legs and knees that are a little tired. I want to tell you how it felt whenever I overtake men. I want to tell you what I was thinking during those three hours of running, feeling like the queen of the road. I want to tell you  how strong my will at that time that it didn't matter if my knees are weak, and my heart weaker. I want to tell you how it felt when I finally saw the finish line and how I gained much more energy at that time. I want to tell you how it felt to be stronger than ever. I want to tell you all these and more.


But I'm so scared my words might not be enough. I'm scared that I would only demean this one great experience I just had. I think by the title alone I just did injustice to this experience. You see, it's not just something about running. It's much more than that.

Maybe, when I become better with words, I'll tell you.

Move.

I am thinking of running from here to any beach. I'm taking my phone with me, in case i get injured along the way. I want to take a book with me, to read when I get there. Of course, I'm bringing my sports beans Mama gave me. I guess I'm gonna need more of that. And cash. And (knock on wood) for identification purposes in all cases of emergency, my student ID. If all else fails, I'd take the train to Bicol at night and wake up in an unfamiliar place. Press F5.

Journeys are the midwives of thought. Few places are more conducive to internal conversations than moving planes, ships, or trains. There is almost quaint correlation between what is before our eyes and the thoughts we are able to have in our heads: large thoughts at times requiring large views, and new thoughts, new places. -Alain de Botton

Read more here: http://www.kristinbairokeeffe.com/tag/living-architecture/

Habits

I just woke up. I slept at almost 3am and now it is almost 11:30am. I was planning on having oat granola for breakfast (I asked my guy roommate to buy me fresh milk last night) but rather I'm taking it for lunch. Later, I will be meeting my sister and my brother and we're eating buffet so my stomach would be compensated.


I only have 5 units this semester and I am far from being busy:

Tuesdays and Thursday afternoons are for school. So what about the other days? What am I gonna do with this life? A lot actually. This is the life I've been wanting to have. I have been wanting to quit school so this is almost like it. Almost. Maybe. This is the perfect time to fix myself. And earn some money. Haha.

The lack of will made me hop on random things to do. This is wrong. Men's natures are alike; it is their habits that separate them. I have not been allocating time to read books when I should be spending most of my time on that. Though I miss Pip, I have to grab other books for now.

That I am writing right now is a good action and a habit I must not break: write upon waking up, where thoughts are clearer, unbiased. Record experience. Developing this habit to write would also be one of the goals this semester. These habits of reading and writing (what about architecture? don't worry I also have plans for that but not for now) would make my life stable. Watching movies could also take some of my time, as it refreshes my mind and brings me new perspective.  But only the good ones.

The Talented Mr. Ripley: reason why I slept late last night.

Matt Damon is just great. He made my arrector pili muscles contract! Basically, the movie shows how one lie can lead to ripples of lies that can affect your whole life and your well-being. It was a good watch, except for the blood.

"Don't you just take the past and put it in a room in a basement and lock the door and never go in there? That's what I do, And then you meet someone special and all you want to do is to toss them the key and say; open up, step inside, but you can't, because it's dark, There's demons and if anybody saw how ugly it is. I keep wanted to do that, fling the door open just let light in and clean everything out."

Last night at Leona Art Restaurant: dinner alone.

Also, art therapy with my roommate makes me excited! That's the long time dream. I've been yearning for paint brush and a canvas for years. It's better to be with my friends now, now that they know about me and what I am going through. To be with them has never been easier. Oh, this would be a great semester. I feel like I've been handed a new life. :)

My virtue is selflessness.

It feels heavy whenever I become selfish so I always try to let everyone else have their piece before I have mine. I give not to myself, what anyone deserves to have. I am sensitive to the needs of the people around me, at least the needs I am capable of identifying and providing. I put myself at the end of a line, allowing others to get ahead of me to have what they need (or want.) I try to be kind to every stranger I meet, a politician at that, as my father says. I always try to give way to others, to the point that a half-hour drive may take me three times longer just because I am the one who'd always yield. 

But equilibrium is inevitable. Life, they say, must be balanced. I give a lot to people, so there is this voice within telling me that I should also take something from life. I cannot just give and give and give without taking anything in return. Something must be taken from life.

I was unaware before that I am compensating myself by biting more than I can chew, literally. I was taking more than what my body needs, in food and sleep. I was trying to get from life what I thought I deserve. I was never really altruistic. I wasn't giving without demanding anything in return. At the end of the day, I demand for some reward that I must have for myself. Thus, the trash eating, a lot of unproductive days, long hours of sleep and idle moments.

There are a lot of other ways to compensate myself for my selflessness. There are a lot of ways to feed ourselves. And we can also choose which of our needs to feed. Some choose to feed their carnal needs. Some choose to feed their hungry and growling stomachs. Some, their intellectual needs and some, their emotional needs.

Now the question is, which need needs to be fed most importantly? If my virtue is selflessness, I need not feed myself at all. There is this thing we call sacrifice. Now equilibrium is already out of the question.

Look inside instead

A hundred streets, a thousand faces, and a million steps.
I've gone through places, lost in some turns, missed some trains, left without a trace.
I've gone through places and through this before.
And every time I look far beyond, it is hard to see what I am looking for.
Often times, I see nothing, end up with nothing.
I get tired of walking, of running away, of looking at both sides and crossing, only to find myself in the place where I started.

Why leave when there is nowhere to go?
Why leave when there are a hundred reasons to stay?
Why not try to be better and look inside instead?

Break Away

I will go away far from this place not because I want to leave, but because I need to see new things, feel brand new, and most importantly, know that there are a lot of other things out there. Yes! There could be a lot of things out there. Longing to be touched, to be felt, to be tasted, to be consumed, to be recognized, to be appreciated, to be of importance. I would like to believe, I am not alone in this world.

Lost

The past few months had treated me good and bad at the same time. There had been lots of new things I have tried, as if I was filling up holes in my life, building up walls to strengthen my defense and leaping far beyond to see things I have never seen before. Even so, I had been reluctant to go overboard, to get my other foot out of the mud I've put myself into for far too long that it takes a lot of effort to do so.  I find it hard to completely let go of the things too familiar, like home.

There had been too many memories, dreams, unspoken promises and beliefs to hold on to. Letting go of what used to be is like letting go of the years that molded me, and still molds me. But just like home, time will come when I have to leave. I can look back as often as I’d like to, go back as often as I can, but I should not expect things to be the same as before.

Home, I used to think, should always stay the same, treat you the same. NO. I was wrong to think that. Home, I realized, is not at all familiar. Because the slightest change could make it a thousand times different than before. Then you’ll find yourself lost in a place you thought is yours. And you don’t have any idea where you stand.

I failed. And soon got up.

I was an hour-and-a-half-away from home when my sister asked me to buy bananas on my way home. When I got home at past 8 that night, she was already in bed, sleeping. I put down the bananas on the dining table and went straight to my working table, where a desk lamp is on, the only source of light in the room at night. I turned my laptop on and started reading the PDF Files about cities for a quiz tomorrow. From where I was sitting, I can see my sister’s closed eyes. They seem heavy, with dark circles around. They seem to tell me that they are too tired.

My sister is on training for a call center in Makati. She wakes up early to travel more or less an hour to get to work at 7 AM up until 3PM while also maintaining another ‘part-time’ job in the previous company where she worked full time. She is attending the training for the call center, ‘just so she could have regular monthly income,’ just before she gets out of the country to work in Abu Dhabi. Abu Dhabi… yes, in the Middle East, in Abu Dhabi. What’s in Abu Dhabi? I am scared to know the answer.

I haven’t been asking her about Abu Dhabi. Through eavesdropping, I have known that she’s leaving in March and she’ll be there for only 6 months, but may extend depending on her work performance. I am scared. I am scared of whatever will happen to her there. I want to blame my parents for her leaving, but I can only blame myself.

I am extending my years in school because I failed an architecture course. I feel so weak. I feel so guilty. I feel responsible for every wrong turns that’s happening in her life – especially, not going to Law School, which was her initial plan. I know she will make a good lawyer, but I just robbed her of the opportunity to be one simply by being with her, by depending on her.

And that’s also what I am doing to the most important man in my life. Simply by being with him, I pull him down. That the things I thought were helping him were actually things he feels bad about.

I am not doing a very good job in anything I do. I fail in school, thinking it is more important to spend my time building relationships, making them stronger. But then, just as I thought I was building relationships and making them stronger, I was actually destroying it. As a sister, I have already made the biggest sin of my life – robbing her of her dreams. And for the only reason which makes me hold on to dear life aside for my big dreams, I am nothing but a failure.

What are left of me now are my big dreams. And I can only dream alone. For I cause no good to the people I love the most, who made me dream big, bigger than what I think I am capable of. In return, I gave them disappointments and I constantly fail to make them feel what I want them to feel… loved.

Perhaps not to be is to be without your being

Perhaps not to be is to be without your being,

without your going, that cuts noon light
like a blue flower, without your passing
later through fog and stones,
without the torch you lift in your hand
that others may not see as golden,
that perhaps no one believed blossomed
the glowing origin of the rose,
without, in the end, your being, your coming
suddenly, inspiringly, to know my life,
blaze of the rose-tree, wheat of the breeze:
and it follows that I am, because you are:
it follows from ‘you are’, that I am, and we:
and, because of love, you will, I will,
We will, come to be.

Well, need i say more? For the lack of any other better words, or better skills in combining words such as this, I bow. For this may be mediocrity, borrowing words of someone else to speak for me. I am no Pablo Neruda. But I think in this poem, I am.

Four sachets of coffee today

For the last few nights, I had dreams of attempted murder and rape, of people wanting to take advantage or kill me. But for all those dreams I have successfully saved myself by running away. Without knowing where to go, hoping some place else could be safe... running as fast as my heart would allow me and I can only ask God to make it stronger this time, until I'm light-years away from danger.

The nights are becoming scary for me. And the moment I wake up, I feel restless.

GOAL-SETTING, or something of that sort:

Haven't I told you the end of the road isn't clear for me just yet? One of the goodness of home is that (aside from the really good food and fresh air) you live only with the necessities, with things that really matter the most. It's like a gift without a wrapper, a flower without thorns, a face without make-up, a car without a stereo, a... you get the point. When you live only with the essentials, you tend to see things clearer.

I came up with this list on a whim, while I was idly using this netbook, looking for old stuff as usual. So here's me setting my goals in life, trying to have direction, to have a clearer view of the path I am taking... Of course these goals shall not narrow my mind and blind my intuition. This is only a guide.

In random order...

·         Top the LEA (partly for my sister, partly for myself, and partly for my children)
·         Work as a freelance design architect
·         Study Structural Engineering (preferably not in the Philippines)
·         Study Psychology (perhaps on my own)
·         Paint and draw and watercolor (just hobbies)
·         Run a marathon (the NY marathon)
·         Be a triathlete (or just finish a triathlon)
·         Blog about ‘Bean Sprouts’ open to the public (with pretty picturesJ)
·         Work in an Architectural Research and Development company.
·         Help develop Philippine Architecture
·         Play the piano and the saxophone/any wind instrument (hobbies again)
·         Build my own dream house J
·         Design an auditorium/theater/coliseum (before I… no time limit!)
·         Travel places, discover the world (and taste good food, meet other people)
·         Publish a book (subject pending)
·         Solve environmental problems
·         Have a truly happy family (‘truly happy’ subject to change: can’t think of the right word right now)
·         Grow old with the first and last and only and most important man in my life (everything in this list can go but not this one)

Where’s the positivity gone?

Okay. This blog isn't fun. It is not made for you to read. Who would want to be sad? Who would want to be down reading things about sadness, failure, mistakes and sure-this-isn’t-cheering-me-up stuff? Everyone, aside from you… so thank you for bearing with me. Even though you are the silent audience in this dramatic soliloquy of mine, (who I know would not say a word or give a hand) that you are there on the front seat (or wherever you may be sitting) is more than enough for me.

This blog is too serious for the one who’s writing it. If only you could be with me for one day, or just for a moment, you wouldn’t think that I am the one writing this. Because in real life (or at least the life of me who mingle) I am this person who’s always smiling, who will definitely make your day a little brighter just because I can make you laugh even without knowing what makes you happy, who makes fun of every little thing, who enjoys the things she does and sees, and everyday is a day when I was born and I would die.

But this blog and this person writing all this stuff is someone else. Someone who finds fault in things she used to appreciate and give value to; someone who sees the wilted yellow flower on the side of the road in a bright sun-shiny day and the stain on a clean tablecloth; someone who closes the door to every possible moments of happiness and enjoyment and pleasure and fun just so she could spend her time thinking about how degraded the world has been all through these years. Well, that’s a good thing actually. To think about the deteriorating environment in which we live in everyday of our lives, every moment of breathe and every blink of an eye we see. So let’s replace ‘the world’ with ‘herself.’ But that’s not the point I am trying to make.

My hopes are high, and with fingers crossed, soon the 'me' will come to light. Or that I can be sure, I do what I do because I know what I know. Okay, that alone is confusing. This is just that point in my life where I am trying to figure where the hell I am heading because right now, I can’t see the end of the road.

Fake Paint

Playing with paint brush on a computer mouse.
Need a Wacom pen.
Or a real brush.
...and a lot of time.

The Heart of the Matter

You know the heart is like a motor, the motor of the body. If the heart goes bad, then everything else may.

My heart is trembling. It is pounding, rapidly beating, fluttering… as if it does not belong to me, as if locked inside wanting to come out. Can’t breathe, but not suffocated. There’s too much air to take in, but I am short of it.

I feel so weak, so fragile. I lack strength. I look pale. Not enough blood in my nerves, not enough meat on my bones. I asked myself, “How did I end up here?”

When everything else seems to go wrong, there’s one sure thing you can get right: carry on. But..   

A Birthday To Remember

I have been telling this story for more than thrice now and I thought it is worthy of an entry here in my blog since it is about… my birthday! J

The day started with the sound of a pounding hammer on the side of our house. After trying so hard for many times to fall back to sleep, I finally gave in to the loud and constant pounding, as if pulling me from bed against my own will. So I did get out of bed at past 9 in the morning on the 29^th day of December, and standing in front of the closet mirror, I told the girl who lives there, “Okay. 21 now,” and took a deep breath. As expected, I found myself alone inside that two-storey house, which reminded me to prepare merienda for the workers, since no one else would do that. “Not my job, but fine… It’s my birthday after all.” The four workers kept me company that whole day and I served them some merienda in the morning and in the afternoon. I prepared their merienda with delight and enthusiasm, full of positive thoughts about birthdays and all days that are supposedly joyful and enjoyed, as if I am preparing the food for the guests for my birthday. And as I serve my ‘guests,’ they do not know that today, though for them is just one of the days of a long week’s work, is a special day for me. So there, my first human encounter on my birthday was with the workers, telling them, “Merienda na po kayo.”

Then as I was having my breakfast, Ma, my grandmother, came in with my 4-year old cousin, who wants to sing ‘Tomorrow’ (the only song she knows how to sing on our videoke). After I turned the TV, DVD and speakers on, and keyed in 10520, (My cousin sings the same song for more than 3 times a day for almost a week then so I memorized the videoke number already.)  my grandmother left excusing herself to have breakfast at home. And so I was left with my 4-year old cousin, who I can barely have an actual conversation with, singing ‘Tomorrow’ as I was coaching her the lyrics she can’t pronounce properly giving the phrases  ‘bet you’re your bottom dollar’ and ‘so you gotta hang on’ innocent injustice. It was almost lunch time when she finished her third song and her yaya fetched her to eat lunch/brunch/breakfast. Poor kid, I didn’t know she hasn’t eaten yet!

Anyway, at lunch I decided to cook. The dish was something no one has ever heard of or tasted before. It was tuna with tomatoes and tomato sauce and uncooked rice and water all mixed in the pan. I called it, ‘Food for the Ducks.’ And yes you got it right, after eating some spoonfuls of it, I fed it to the ducks. Then I had sandwich with liver spread for ‘real’ lunch and oh, it was time to serve merienda for the workers so they had the same, sandwich with liver spread plus Four Seasons juice.

It was the time of the day I always associate as the time when maids are stuck on the couch watching their favorite afternoon daily shows, I was there sitting on the couch singing songs on the videoke, with ‘Alone’ as my featured song of the day. ‘And the night goes by so very slow, oh, I hope that it won’t end though, alone.’ Virtually losing my golden voice, I shifted activity to watching HIMYM, stuck on the couch, like the maids in the back of my mind.

Then, someone who does not regularly visit came into our house, what a surprise! It was my grandmother’s sister, who I call, ‘Tita A.’ She asked about our new dining set, how much it was and when it was bought, then that decorative plant holder in the kitchen counter, and the round fruits on the table (if we already got 12 of those, and said she needed two more; this is a New Year’s thing) and then she asked for ‘makakain’ so I gave her some bread I found inside the ref and some fruits on the table. And that was it. She left not knowing what day it was or so I figured.

And then, finally, someone remembered my birthday! As I was looking from our door to the street, there was ‘Manang,’ our laundrywoman, with her apo, properly dressed as if to face people in a decent occasion, approaching our house. She knew it was the 29^th of December and she knew it was my birthday! How thoughtful is she to remember that special day of the year! They came in and Manang greeted me ‘Happy birthday,’ the first personal greeting I received that day. But after finding out I had no party and no food is to be served, they went home disappointed perhaps for the futile effort of dressing up and walking from their house all the way to ours.

Not taking the day too personal and convincing myself I chose it to be this way, I was back on the couch, eyes fixed on the TV, but mind wandering elsewhere. I was thinking of... uh... I was thinking.

And just like that, it was dinner time. The workers were gone now; they left at 5, as they do everyday. And too lazy to cook again for the ducks, or for myself, I just bought sardines for dinner and got back on the couch to watch and wished for the day to end more quickly. I just wanted to sleep so that it’ll all be over – the loneliness, the absence of personal greetings, people coming but not knowing it’s your birthday, people who don’t know it’s my special day, the lack of balloons and cakes and foods that comfort you, the surprise guests you’re not suppose to anticipate, the absence of the most important people in your life and most of all, the emotions inside me I can’t seem to feel right about or understand. But really, other than that, I was fine.

And just as the day was about to end, my mother came in and greeted me with a big smile on her face and a ‘Happy Birthday, anak.’ I know she wasn’t suppose to go home that day because tomorrow’s not a holiday. She took a leave from work so that she can be there on my birthday. She forgot her phone in the office because she was, perhaps aside from being forgetful, in a hurry, so she can be there before I get in bed. And she did, she was there on my birthday! Though she texted me that morning to buy cake and ice cream and use the money she gave me the day before, I decided not to, for the lack of people to share it with. She asked if I already had dinner, and she figured out what I had. 

They say, ‘Mothers know and understand without you having to say it,’ and though I didn't say a word, we were communicating. Even if I don’t understand what it is I am feeling, she knows exactly what it is. She went out for a while to borrow a phone charger from my tito, who lives near our house. When she came back, my grandmother and my 4-year old cousin, my tito’s and tita’s came in the house to greet me. How awkward, I thought, what my mother have done. How awkward, I thought, for these people to be there who knew to themselves that they had totally forgotten and was only reminded that today is my day. How awkward, I thought, to sing Happy Birthday on videoke, when they all think I had the day and the house and all the things within all to myself, alone. And that it wasn't so much of a happy day.

My mother tried to make things lighter and easier for me to bear. She tried to celebrate with me that special day of the year by reminding the people who has forgotten and giving me foods that provide comfort, watching HIMYM with me, opening a bottle of wine, giving me my birthday gift, and all the things that she could probably do to make me feel good. I was fine, really. Except that it was my birthday.