Feeling Like the Paraplegic Macaulay Culkin

8 November 2013

did not report for work this week's thursday. muscles were leaden, heavy and stiff. slept until it was 1pm. things were going better than planned with me sending money to mom's account which she would pay for piglets. sam's ticket for her trip to manila which i brought with me would be refunded anytime within the year with a 20 per cent surcharge because by the time i have refunded it at the calapan port office, the vessel had already departed as printed in the ticket.

mood swings were bad. for a while i thought i would be deeply annoyed about everything again for no apparent reason. then after a giant serving of sour passion fruit tea, i felt better. before i downed down all of it, i was imagining that i was sipping it as i swing. how i miss the outdoors and the swing. if i were in Sual, i would've been swinging. back in my granny's house i would've gotten my whim as i sway under the shade of bougainvillea canopy. partially my peace may be attributed to ackowledging the fact that for anything i want, i should be willing to pay a certain price. this assuaged my complaint on beauty coming with a hefty price; beautiful things are expensive. my anger on how only the rich could possess beautiful things dissipated. as i was walking on the tiled floor of midtown wing, i saw a man in worker's attire: long sleeved shirt under a tee over jeans with their own constellation of white paint, the man's shy above the shoulder hair tucked under a kerchief. he looked respectable and in sync. if everyting around me evoked my irritation, the sight of him calmed me. i regreted not having enough memory on my phone for a photo of him. he was the thunderclap, the cue to make me see how dignity is beyond clothes and fashion but under a bearing of ease, unpretentiousness, honesty and the extreme absence of self-pity. like the little child that i am, i went home and played dress-up with the clothes in my closet.

contentment is a state which man could not strive for but can be bestowed freely. in truth, i was afraid of my own greed as expressed by miscontent in place of my usual gratuitious outlook. much more is my dread since i know greed feeds on itself. how i would delight to be offered the fluid of life which would quench me until thirst would be an urge i would not recall. my body might be filled with sustenance but if my soul remains parched, not the most exquisite food or beverage would make it go away. my soul was satiated. may i praise the Lord for this and more.

as expected, tito tony and tita terry contacted me. my immediate impulse: prattle on fb a pm for cze that would report the incident. duty squelched fancy. that meant i had to clean the house and probably not tell on the tale. the sun persists on rising so i make myself stand was written beside jeniffer lawrence on the standee poster for catching fire. this plus Dr. Seuss' Green Eggs and Ham and i was sure i would finish on meticulously cleaning the house. this made me miss Sam more. Cleaning up would be accomplished much faster had she been with me.

Squeeze Out All Usefulness

7 November 2013

what do we need to get the most of what we're reading? aside from the inevitable consumption of time, we need a mind that is critical but nonetheless open to what we're being pesented. am reading Love Your Frenemies again. after the first read, i was convinced it was heftily priced, not worth what i paid for. today, i decided to reread it again, trying to efface the dismay of the lackadaisical investment on that book. the act stemmed from the line of thought that i could've spent that money on clothes instead. i had to wash clothes as wednesday transitioned unnoticeably to thursday because i have nothing to wear anymore. since monday this week i've been wearing Sam's clothes to work without permission. (Hopefully she wouldn't get to read this.)

i was also thinking how i should make the most out of this tablet which dad has given me. i haven't alloted much time to learning how to use this gadget since the battery drains too fast for this gadget to be used conveniently during my road trips. unlike our now obsolete tv playstation portal which was not used at all for gaming by any member of the family, i would prevent this gadget from meeting the same fate by abstaining from buying an android phone since it would likely keep me from using this.

back to buying the LYF book, the beauty of any story like this one depends on how much i, the reader, could relate to it. i retract regretting buying it. the mistake that it was was a price i am willing to pay for the lesson. i am usually disappointed with myself since my learning curve has long since dipped down. this drained out vacuum feeling is lodging and gaining its nourishment from me. this beautiful life i have i could not waste on being tired. i am tired of being tired, where is that sense of wonder for things that i often have? when my mind, body and heart aren't on the same beating page, i have to realign them.

Mrs. James Bond Rachel Weisz

10 November 2013

Fan-girling once again on James Bond brought me to trouble. Missed on eating breakfast and lunch for about 50 pieces of crunchy chocolate chip cookies - the perfect movie marathon munchies. And, my most awaited showroom day arrived and I am not ready! Caught unaware was what I was until my benefactors and their visitors were pounding on my door. Ugh. Isn't this most unprofessional? But, I can no longer retrieve what has already occured. Instead, I am to celebrate my dad's birthday. Time and experience has given me the invaluable tip of not spending anymore time lamenting on something I can no longer remedy, I might only build on bricks before me, paving the way as I walk on it. If I have made a lousy job with paving, I could not afford to stop to make it acceptable. I have to walk on the pace set for me by I don't know who.

Debt Deluge

16 November 2013

I was never a fan of debt. I will not unnecessarily subscribe to borrowing money if it was not really required. October was a quiet time for me. September was too. I said I was going to be more conscientious with documenting my thoughts and feelings by writing them down. I haven’t. Despair had caught up on me. I opted to stay quiet than to write nasty thoughts about people and life in general.

The world is filled with polarities I was not able to sort out and see through as fast as I have to. The illusion that I had been through with disillusionment had been wrong. I was not even touching it close. There’s more to come and I seem to have no mettle whatsoever to meet it. 

So wake me up when it’s all over

When I’m wiser and I’m older

All this time I was finding myself

And I, didn’t know I was lost

I am not impervious to temptation. They leapt up on me fiercely and I feel discontent and dissatisfaction alternately. My mind recognizes that I have lots to be thankful for. The command has been overridden. I was saturated with all these materialistic carnal thoughts I am becoming a monster of sloth, selfishness, greed and envy. 

It is easy to be good and modest when you have no other option. When I have the luxury to choose, when I could see the spectacle on the other side, how could I be content? Sir Edson proclaimed the other day, must be on the month of September that life’s unfair, to which I quipped, “No it isn’t, it’s unfair to everyone.” He’s right. I see lots of things that breach my standards of professionalism and public service-oriented integrity. I have seen, I have heard, I have been caught and endangered by acts that are self-serving and sacrificial. It was like the previous scenario again. I was caught in polarities to enter a new cave of an insidious, highly conflicting niche of polarities. Can’t help but observe how some people get more for giving less while I get less for giving more. Oh giving tree, how I hate your blind nobility bordering insanity. Bob Ong, please do not badger your silver-bound book about the hero from whom everyone took away everything.

It is easy to live a good life, that path to peace and goodness in solitude.  But being in a society where some people project to be more than they really are, some people believe to be less than what they could be and some people could not even have the most basic of their needs to develop in themselves self-respect, morality and politeness dictated by society, living a good life would be the proverbial difficult-than-a-camel-passing-through-a-needle’s-hole.

It seems too that all my efforts get nowhere. They are supposed to propel me. In Physics, work is defined as force applied in a specific direction. I am nothing but force that goes wasted. The force is with me and I am energy, neither created nor destroyed but without direction, I become an end to an undefined means. 

I will manage my resources well. This is the challenge. May my mind, as it is covered with meninges be impervious to the call of immediate gratification. Immediate gratification makes everything banal and passing and much more cheap and temporal than all other objects are. I prefer simplicity: that is, if I do wrong, I will admit and repent. When I do wrong to someone, I say sorry and try to make amends. Let all other people float in their self-named seas where they always are right, they always have a point and all that matters is their own welfare. These kinds of thoughts come quite naturally but going the other way around, always thinking of others before oneself– that is a challenge I presume as worth-taking. I’d rather fail at doing something greater than humanity and its embodiment that win at doing something so many people are excelling at.

Augustus Waters, you are right. Hurting is inevitable but you have the option of who has the power to hurt you. I will continue to care even if it hurts. Everyone could hurt me but that guarantees that it would surely be a very wonderful person whom God would send to make me forget that hurt ever did exist.

Fan the Girl

6 November 2013

Before Sam and I went back to Calapan, we had the opportunity to meet with Gab (which was a very anticipated event  given her always hectic schedule). I remember wanting to write how I live in a rainbow, walking through lanes of colors one at a time. Dama de Noche blooms made themselves felt with their omnipresent scent which since after that night Gab, Sam and I walked to Luneta, followed me even to the crannies of Baclaran and our good old local cemetery. In the years I’ve stayed in Malate, not a year did those white flowers bloom (Are they really dama de noche even? Their petals were white and they grew from such tall trees!) Manila streets are soaked in these scents at night the dried out spit, lingering urine ammonia, and the stench of garbage mounds are oppressed. Only that scent reigns. For that, I love Manila nights.

How I have longed to write but as was, did not get the time to. I wanted to post in my FB status:

Feeling the way I did with Kevin Spacey in Tremors <3 <3 <3 upon sighting face-to-face a James Franco look alike

It wasn’t of prime importance to me so I did not make any effort. Yet , recalling him would really make me smile in the middle of the day.

Counting on Pearls: Dracula's Delusion

24 October 2013

I strain to hear but I fail to mimic. I can’t make my inoculating style as melodious as Sir Philip does. He may be unaware of the artistry of the sound and the line of his streaks. He may not even see the craft he has made out of those repetitive acts. He must be. How could he make the analogy of hand flicks between streaking and painting?

This reminds me the worthy of mention dedication of Sir Edson. Almost all of the staff was out last September 16. He had to be in charge of Benches A to C though he is still sleepy after driving for the Tagaytay excursion with his recently-operated-on-not-yet-fully-recovered-knee. Kudos Mr. Simon, RMT, MPH!

Today, I heard my footfalls on the plush but still thin carpet of B hotel’s 10^th floor hallway as my jeans, 5 inches above my knee, reveal the friction between them with their scraping sounds at my every step.

The granite bench beneath the almost ceiling to floor mirror was giving off concentrated coolness on the chilly room. Grazing down the glass side of the hotel’s room, How lonely it would be to have all this luxury all by yourself. I have all the wealth in the world – health and family and everything my heart could ever desire, I already own them. I just don’t know it yet.

These material riches, I could work my life to gain them but never in exchange for this family I cannot afford to lose. I have the people I want to spend my life with that life in luxury becomes dull in comparison.

Blistered and Blighted

17 October 2013

Psalm 128

People may achieve wealth through one’s own will, work and wit but to the righteous, God grants abundance beyond compare, prosperity devoid of worry and contentment free from poverty.

21 October 2013

Some people may be going through life faster, easier or harder. I will be at peace. My pace, You have chosen. My changes, You have ordained. I will be at peace. I will wait for You patiently.

23 October 2013

Psalm 137

Our faith is subject to despair and anger and all other emotions. They may subside and be replaced but never let faith go.

Just when did I start weighing like a ton of bricks? With a heart this heavy, I’d be Jupiter if it were measured on earth’s weighing scale. 

I’ll be a tamarind. My rind will be white and pure and right. Humility over authority. Modesty over luxury. All of these will be lost. Everything I see is temporary.

Day by day

28 September 2013

If I could subdue my day as if it were an animal, we would both be on the arena, I would stare at it and it would stare back. My gaze would not flinch and it will hold its eyes on me. By the time the sun descends from its perch on our zenith, my day has transformed into a cat and we would be sitting side by side, a comfortable but familiar gap bridging our nearness. Both of us transfix our gaze on the traversing sun, knowing fully that our togetherness is marked by the setting of this heat ball on the horizon. What do we do but cherish the only period when I was myself as I was meant to be when we meet and that my day, in the form of the cat, was the cat that would sit by my side and convene with me in silence. We both know that both of us, as we were together, would be gone forever. What would prevail is thankfulness that such a moment transpired, that we, as we were, coincided in this world of ineffable possibilities. Today was such the day when I knew my days could talk to me this way.

The days come by to present me who I am. And I embrace that truth that I may not be who I thought I am or that I may not end up who I thought I was going to be. Nothing’s certain in this life and while I’m tempted to append, more than death and taxes, without those, I am certain, the point’s been taken.

If I would recount all that had happened to me this week, it would not only be laborious but more so, redundant. My journal has contained lots of what has transpired as I had documented. I was not faithful however in my transcription of each day though at most times I feel as if I only existed to observe everything and try to capture all of them in words like the moment when Ma’am Bing and Ma’am Tiff were singing Chasing Pavements together. I haven’t missed what Ma’am Tiff meant when she said that getting the lyrics clear in my head but not singing because of shyness was of no use because unlike me, she, despite her being out of tune, she said, was singing out loud. I have my reasons. Those were clear to me and I have no compulsion to explain myself to her. I was more happy hearing them singing together than it would be if I were to sing with them. I do sing often and I have heard myself singing that song so many times, I have to set aside that time to hear other people sing the song.

Bothersome to me is the fact that without even consciously realizing, my attention was summoned by my intact but injured spatial cognition. Weekly, I get to bang myself on door posts or faucets because my mind has forgotten to orient my body away from these objects. These are stuff we do not think about, like an overwrite command which works on its own without us having to will it or conceptualize it. It simply happens that when we pass by openings, we walk through the spaces and not merge ourselves face to face walls then wonder why we haven’t gone to the other side. They just happen. And I am losing this auto function. Why?

Universal Recordbook

21 September 2013

I want to spend this day writing writing writing. Recording how I felt at this and that time. What certain things bring to mind and how shrewd most people were. As I have written most of the other days on my journal, I would write now, those that I have missed retelling. I would’ve wanted to describe in detail the world as I saw it. The things I actually saw and what thoughts they illicit from me. That was the hard part there. I could not put into record everything - what I heard and how delicious it was for me like how I enjoyed Miley’s Wrecking Ball playing on the radio because it was art. She was expressing her emotions and I visualized from the words and the sound, the fervor by which she sang it, that she was on the fields as the sun was just rising, the blades of green grass which touched her fingers were still wet with dew. She had her Hannah Montana hair on twin braids, falling on the blue  blouse concealeing her shoulder blades. I could only see her from the back, as if I was walking behind her a comfortable distance away. How selfish my intentions were for sharing this. Introspection revealed that I wanted to share this thought with someone, with anyone, because I wanted someone to see it exactly as I did and feel exactly the same way as I did. The least I demanded from the person I shared it with was energized agreement. What a bummer! I wanted another person to project what I was on her/himself. And so was I selfish.

I have all this thoughts but I don’t have anyone to share it with. Actually I am picky with whom I would share these matters with. So they are all there in my mind. I stay quiet and think now is not the appropriate time to give this remark. It doesn’t match the mood and it won’t be a hit. This extra cautiousness just shuts me up. If they let me talk, I may not shut up. I talked with Nica that way as I was matching her with Sir Mark. Wahaha! Without him even knowing Nica’s name, Nica knows a lot about him. She just keeps on asking about him. Isn’t that telltale of where her interests lie? So though she keeps on denying, I know. She must only be denying it for the sake of herself. The denial was mostly for herself; she couldn’t accept it when no one would be fooled by this denial.  I remember how she cuts me off when I was telling her the story of my day. I must have gotten too specific and into detail, she got bored with the story. That’s a communication tip for me. Also, my face is too transparent. Must be that it’s strong. Even until the tips of my hair, I am a story teller. I will be careful. Right now I am a mix of rawness and inspired sophistication. I hope it makes other people curious. It wouldn’t be fair if it was only I who was curious about others.

I read into everything, trying to ascribe meanings to everything. There was no and so it was for me. Some I had to hold on to until I got it, some I had to simply let go. What I had no skills about was to decide where an interest, a curiosity should go from the options there were. What was my priority? I had none so my mixed messages (words and body language) tire people out. Rare is the person in my present world sphere who loves challenges. (Paul maybe, because he finds work challenging. But even so, I may confuse him and he doesn’t care about this a bit.)

At times, I indulge in my out of body experiences. I try to see my daily life from the perspective of an observer; I was seeing myself as I was doing things.  At that point with Nica, I was too pre-occupied with myself. What mattered to me was hearing myself talk. I can’t even remember hearing myself talk. I was simply talking I forgot to listen to myself and to her. When conversation becomes a self exploit, those we talk to get bored. When our conversation partner starts to feel unimportant or was not made to feel special, they leave.

I also thought that God gave me a morsel of imagination. He also bestowed me potential for faith. Why shouldn’t I use both for my country? The stagnation, discontent, hopelessness, lavish authority and insecure selfishness reek - a malingering odor in an atmosphere where bahala na wafts. Here, minding oneself meant providing oneself with indulgence. I might call these assaults as I step out of the bus to a sidewalk of pressed feces and encounter tired faces, lost faces, defensive faces. If I let these images get to me, I might have left this country for good. If Filipino people were serious about anything, we were serious with not getting serious. I could imagine my country with dignified people, not a country where people were out for show with the hopes of getting a jacket and 5,000 for looking good, being attractive or being entertaining. We would have a state of living where we inspire respect and not only project, but radiate humility. By simply hoping, and minding my world, God will make my faith grow. It no longer matters to me what You make me do. There are no critical and menial tasks. They are all Your trust which we are to respond to.

The Right Write

14 September 2013

Sam just said, "Ate, you no longer write in your blog anymore."

Just why didn't I?

I get the feel of everything that needs to be done. It's clear to me now like the child in the story book that keeping tons of cooked food doesn't mean you're stocked up for a year because they rot. I have to exert effort if I want to get anything accomplished and that doing things once doesn't mean you won't have to do it again. I have to spend to learn - be it time, money, strength and emotions. I HAVE TO WORK. And so should OCD be left out - Obssessive Comparing Disorder as http://www.relevantmagazine.com/life/7-cures-your-quarter-life-crisis dubbed.

Go on slowly. Little by little you'll get there! Don't rush and don't despair.

Don't know myself yet? Yes. That's good. I have a whole lifetime to battle with and come to terms with myself.

In my world, it doesn’t snow, and I have no driveway that needs snow shoveling.

14 September

In this season of questions, they pile higher than my laundry pile. I shovel them out, much like snow out of the driveway. In my world, it doesn’t snow, and I have no driveway that needs snow shoveling.

Quarter-life crisis. Is this what they call this now? I’m so glad not everyone gets to this point all at the same time. What would be of this world if it did? You are in the best condition in life to do this and that and you are in the position other people would have wanted to be in. I know. Sadly it ends there in I know because all of me resists understanding and it ends up as an I know.

I say I walk in darkness. I must be wrong because the light bulbs were focused to near and to close for me to mistake brightness as pitch black. A lot of signs were on my way. Alarmingly plenty.

How could I have not seen? But why am I still unaffected? My mom speaks to me of her conversation with my dad, “Kinikilig pa rin ako kapag kasama ko si daddy.” Then she tells me he confirms he still feels the same. My parents have something to knock the socks off my hopelessness. How I’ve always been asking what there is to work for when everything is so empty and how it will be for nothing. There, I have been feeding and living off something children would’ve wanted their parents to have. It’s not an and they lived happy ever after; it’s so much more that they love each other for.  I have it. Am I not it?

They’re like kids still, both of them, tinkering on something exciting, their new projects and all. It’s shattering. I want to ask them, “Do you know where you should go?” but I’d rather not know. I want to keep them my reliable parents, conniving with them in keeping their childish magic interwoven, the gold thread perceptible only if we look closer.

Reclaiming

4 August 2013

I want to become myself again. When will I become myself again? The self I knew of before was more stable and self-sufficient. Now all I do is contradict and question myself and give in to the indulgence of sleep. That was what I did last week but this week it might just all change. I am not giving up on myself now even if I fall asleep in the middle of studying though I should really be reviewing again on Microbiology as part of my job. I have to somehow be adequately knowledgeable of this. Let me read on and study and learn instead of restricting myself and giving in to the call of rest. Let me work beyond my limits instead of simply going home to sleep. Make me bold in the right place Lord and let me entrust You with everything.

All that I plan to do this week, I have not done a single thing! Why o why?

ECG is just as it's meant to be, a visualization of life. It will only get still when you're dead.

4 August 2013

Monday: Last week, I had fun trying on my clothes. I am like some little girl trying on her mother’s wardrobe when I actually own them already. I am grateful for that moment of unadulterated bliss though it was at the expense of my microbiology review.

Tuesday: NRL-BED (National Reference Laboratory – Bacterial Enteric Diseases) received outbreak samples yesterday. Tons of work to do yesterday and where was I? So that day, I worked on samples and had my first taste of chlorophyll preserved Bangkok guavas. Yum! I was going on okay in Bench A.

Wednesday: Alternately having to change apparel for the BSC-2 (Biosafety Cabinet 2) samples got me tired. If the week before, I was having it slow and easy, now, all of them are coming at me, rushing me to learn everything or maybe that’s only how I perceived it.

Thursday: Confined to Bench A. Barely helped with BED but Ma’am Jo helped me big time.

Friday: I’m sure I missed up the whole shebang. I kept the CCDA plate in the CO2 incubator instead of putting it in the candle jar. I forgot the TCBS and SS direct plates for the stool sample. I forgot to prepare a smear for a sample. I taught the trainees assigned to Bench A wrong procedures on receiving specimens when I could have called on senior people to help. Ugh! Regardless of all those faux pas which could have cost me the favor of others in DOM, I’ll assume myself stronger now. Let me not melt easily on the heat of the spotlight. I also received my own manual.

Saturday: Cleaning and laundry day where again, the polarities are tugging on the reins one after the other; I have to control them when they are acting to my detriment. I can’t keep still! Oh Oh! But I got to watch Ice Age 4 with Sam.

Throughout the entire work week, dad was here, cooking us meals and buying us stuff. All I do is worry and I’m not even good at it. So, instead, I will pray. When I am troubled and plagued, I will pray and thank the Lord. I told Him before that I would be of praise whatever comes. I will. Still. And I know that when I do, it is not because You willed me to.

Vigilance

28 July 2013

Dad rushed to get back to Calapan early Friday morning. He was to meet with ninong and while he was away, my wallet was stolen from me. I went blank again. Amazingly, I did not stress out on this.

After a long time, I felt absolutely on track, my confidence went up yesterday when I was ailing in my prayer, “Then, let me lose all confidence in myself if I would gain faith in You.” I was happy, like I’ve never been for ages. Just when I was at this state of mind, my wallet, the wallet Czelene gave me, the one which contains all my IDs, ATM cards and membership cards had been stolen. And I was like, “I lost it.” What was that, simply shock? It would have been more normal if I cried or if I was predominantly angry because I’ve lost a valuable item but what I have felt is acceptance. There was dismay at my negligence but the predominant feeling was acceptance. If only I was alert enough, it would not have had happened. Then I remembered how I didn’t have any intention at all to go where the wallet was fished out of my bag. It’s as if it was really meant to happen. I’m feeling I’m bumming and being irresponsible again. Help me out of this Lord!

Alabang Shebang

28 July 2013

Been currently employed! What a surprise for me! I’ve been given access to prestigious research institutions in the Philippines, first was NIH, now RITM. And I am still apprehensive as to where this would bring me.

First was emailing my CV. The next thing I was called for an interview. The interview last Friday, July 19 led me to travel to Alabang. Instructions on how to get there care of ivanlakwatsero. What an inspiring blog he has. I was bold online to attempt chatting him on FB. The same day as that fated interview, dad called to tell us he would being arriving in Manila and that we should be prepared to meet him a little after midnight. Sam and I rushed on our general cleaning preparations. The three of us had no sleep until the next morning.

Before the interview I didn’t get to bathe and that was how it was when I traveled early Saturday morning to Calapan. Mom was to meet with dad and I was to look after Shiela. The travel went well. I was into my thinking mode again through window glimpses at the SLEX and how poetic I thought this sounded: Let the grass and the running asphalt intertwined tell the story of my life. The recompense I had was the trip inclusive Thai action movie with all its slow-motion different camera views for the action scene. They made muay thai appear as the art of both force and grace. I felt I have not given it the credit it deserved by enjoying it not as immensely as I usually would if I were on my receptive state. Back home with Shiela, I was able o do nothing. I was at odds about where I should be, what I should be doing, what purpose there is for my lie. For the first time since The Voice local franchise aired, I was able to watch it after that tear-streaked viewing time for Carlo Aquino’s MMK episode. I slept with Shiela on my arms. She’s such a wonderful, very blessing and inspiring child. As much as I would want to stay with her, I have to grow too.

I knew that. Even if belatedly, I accomplished what was expected of me. Michiko looked like a gray tiger cub in his three little pig’s-like stone house. Fluffy still looked juvenile, the same as when I left her.

The next day, I did nothing again until I had to rush on getting back to Manila for the first day of work on Monday. Mom and dad arrived before I was even ready. Our kind-natured neighbors dropped me off by the municipal road where I rode Ka Pael’s trike to the port.

On the bus, Jack the Giant Slayer was playing and I missed most of its parts because one of my fellow passengers started preaching. It was a novelty. My seatmate was all fatherly he was laughing at my reactions to the movie.

Since then it has been work time for me. I don’t want the idea of I don’t belong and I am not needed here again to take root in my being. I was carefully observing what everyone else was doing, trying to make small talk with each one.

Day 1: Not so late. Still trying to find out what I should be doing in the lab. Sir Philip and Ma’am Pearl were the people I talked to and was with most of the time. Why not? We were on the Enterics team. Basically. I was like Sir Philip’s shadow, trailing after him. Had a free ride in Sir Edson’s lift from RITM to the terminal with Ma’am Pearl, and Sir Jun. Though I was exhausted, I pushed on with shopping for groceries. Made use of tape as hair clip for today.

Day 2: No buses in Manila starting this day. I scrambled to make it early. Good thing I heard Ma’am Jo and Ma’am Pearl and Sir Mark (He just told me last Friday to not call him Sir but this was last Tuesday, an exception) talking about how I would get to Alabang via the LRT-Alabang jeep route. We had ice cream too during lunch. I was almost sure I am late since I was struggling to find the cybervan to RITM. I wasn’t late and I followed Sir Philip around again while humming and reading to myself about Department of Micro basics. Way back home I was on the bus marked Plaza Dilao. Just where could Plaza Dilao be? I was seated beside a man whom I thought was drunk. He was friendly but his breath smelled differently during his frequent coughing that I was somehow alarmed that he might be infected with TB. He reminded me so much of Tetsuro from About His Brother. I was almost sorry I had to be indifferent to him. There was this ruckus at the street by Quirino cor. Pedro Gil. Soon a man, a civilian in black, was helping the traffic enforcer with the traffic under the seldom tiny drops that were still falling. The road decongested. Only then did I realize that that man was Carlos Celdran. The bus driver told me I was impatient. Oh yes I was. I attempted to alight somewhere before P. Gil and Vito Cruz. Good thing the bus driver intervened with that foolish plan. I came home to cook dinner and sleep. I felt drained from lack of sleep.

Day 3: I went on the wrong route. This commuting adventure got me a late mark on my timecard. The bus travelled the Las Pinas route and the jeep left me more impatient in the Alabang Metropolis traffic. Commuting is teaching me patience and prudence. I have short supply of these apparently.  I’m sorry that when I arrived Sir Philip was done with bench A work, receiving specimens and doing preliminary work-up. He was still kind enough to allow me to work with API 20 NE. It’s fun! Bought rice and upo from Don Robert’s with Ma’am Joy for lunch. Sir Armand and Ma’am Mel shared me their meatballs with misua and upo meal. Pushed on to get load using paper bills from the automated load machine despite the pains we both got during our last encounter. Through Ma’am Bing and Ma’am Winnie’s help, I got my load! Dad arrived today back in Manila and it made me more taxed that I had to endure this FTI – Pasay Rtd jeep line. I didn’t know better. I just overheard Ms. Pearl telling me that I should ride the Rotonda jeep. It’s raining again. I came home to tinola and fried chicken cooked by dad. I came home late I didn’t do anything more.

Day 4: This time I’m early. API reading for me! I was ‘microscoping’ on India ink and Gram stained smear.  This was my “atribida” day. It was implied to me that I am an atribida. Maybe because when Alissa was asking about ONPG and she said ornithine I said yes. My bad. It was very easy to assume that I was playing know-it-all.

Day 5: Plating! Oh how fun! I was actually practicing somehow. When I was performing API tests last time, I was thrilled and fulfilled. I had my quiet concentration time. I loved it! There’s peace in what I was doing. And now, plating, Sir Philip said I had to have a light hand during streaking, akin to painting and coloring. It was my first time to buy barbecue from the cafeteria I accidentally subscribed myself to the COOP discount. How much fun this is! Ma’am Sally was also giving a lecture on sensitivity testing. I am in a place where I would work with experts. It’s great!

Void

18 July 2013

Got it now! What made my time at NIH unbearable is my inability to grasp the world. Listen here, before, I’ve always lived more to be understood and not as much as to understand though I claim to be doing that. I’ve limited the world into my idea of it, seeing it according to my circumstances or seeing it as it is, fully blinded that I could be part of its other parts I am not a part of. Sounds confusing? The same with me too but that’s the gist of it. I see the world as separate from the world I am in now, as if they are not a part of each other. I’ve isolated myself to my little world and to the idea that I could not be a part of the world that I’ve never been previously a part of though I am aware that it exists. I only saw that I have this life to live and that the other possibilities of life for me are just there but it’s not for me to join or mess with. How wrong!

John Trimble nailed it when he said, to the amateur writer [or speaker] (I just added this in context but John never mentioned speaking, his book was on writing.), he seems to make perfect sense and is convinced that because he understands it clearly, the reader [and listener] will get it exactly as he understands it though he merely conveys it in vague manners, simply like putting thoughts in paper. That’s what I’ve always done! That’s how I lived by! I never put into consideration how the reader and listener would receive what I’m saying. I expect that they would already understand it simply because it makes sense to me. In that same faulty manner, it hit me that I was seeing my world disjointed and unattached from the rest of the world that I do not entangle myself with anything that doesn’t seem to suit the flavor or color or any attribute of my current world. I was too preoccupied with self-expression to no end I no longer considered the benefit of what I am doing for other people. Probably, I was just wasting other people’s time and was wondering why they haven’t felt enlightened at all with me around!

The frustration of not being understood lies there! You may express yourself but do not demand understanding if it was not part of your intentions while you were creating to be understood. Oh, I was just too greedy, demanding everything with a single effort. The more I want, the more effort I should give. Something’s out there beyond, not within the circumscribed sphere but very much wanted, find a clean way of getting it!

The weak spot has just been identified! The cause of operations failure, spotted. There is also a world out there, you are a part of it. That world outside yourself is a world you are a part of and you want it to validate your being a part of it. There’s no better way for it to validate you than you to find ways to convey to it your need, to convey to it clearly and unmistakably, transferring from your own world to the outside world your thoughts as unadulterated as possible. That’s the point of communication and that’s why I’m failing at it! Whew!

Unlike the cell that has a semi-permeable membrane surrounding it to preserve its integrity while allowing an exchange of contents from both sides, an individual ion-gated channel was all that I had, a very restrictive barrier. I kept myself so isolated from the rest of the world and now I wonder at the alienation? It’s hilariously insane. What a laugh this would be!

To the endless horizon

12 July 2013

Intentions were absent. Maybe they were there, subconsciously. But now, I actively work to attain amusement and happiness. I am willing to make efforts and to spend for me to be happy. Guilt is not much associated with my lopsided perception of opulence. It was I who set this rigid limits of what was for me, of what level I could stay, of where I should be, of how I should live, of who I should talk to. They are being demolished. I am being given the unhampered view of how high I could soar and how low I could fall. If only I would want, I would ask and then it would work. I could be all things good and all things bad. I could be anyone at this point. When I should be doing something, the first question is not “Why should I?” but “Why shouldn’t I?”

This must be cosmic air. I inhale it and I know I have re-learned what I always knew. It would make sense but I shouldn’t rush it.

My life is being made full. These moments of grief, they will end as with all other moments. I will grow. No matter how much I’ve been savagely cut, I will bloom again. It is not something I could control. It’s just who I am and I can’t stop it. Sam said that since I was depressed with my work, she saw me as someone more human. What was I before an automaton? Must be. I was so cold and independent, I relied mostly on what I could do, on what I have. Far worse, I existed only for the win. The glimmer of gold has blinded me from seeing that this brand of victory wasn’t the one that I should bank my life on. It is easy to wreck and I will be beyond repair if that was all that I had.

I am more forgiving of others, only harsher on myself. I do not forgive myself, calling a stricter code upon my actions and thoughts. If I am truly free, why do I improvise chains for myself? It’s laughable how stuck-up I am with my incompetence I let everything else fall. As I hear Joseph and John comment on how I said Beiber sounds like a girl, “Not anymore!”

I have many more tomorrows before me. My first obligation is not to a job that chokes life out of me but to life which has stayed with me as long as my memory permits. Again, this is not the ending of endings. Game over flashes before my screen but I still have tokens to insert in the slot. Game on! 

Who is Eiga Sai

12 July 2013

 The first time I went there was with Jello. It was during the invitationals where he introduced me to MCAD (Museum of Contemporary Art and Design) people. There was Ms. Lara who happened to reside in the same building as me; Ms. Patty whom Jello said always come to work looking the way she did that night, always freshly made up; Ms. Pernia, DAC (Department of Arts and Communications) professor at CAS (College of Arts and Sciences) and Ms. Cruz.

To keep myself from being late for the event, I left the office at 4pm, only to end up buying Sam’s goggles and denatured alcohol from Handyman as advised by Ms. Marianne and Ms. Ruby of DEOH (Department of Environmental and Occupational Health). I went there initially for Aids but since he was out, it was Ms. Marianne who told me where I could purchase those items from and the retail price of the denatured alcohol.

I still made it before the beginning of the program, 6:30 pm, but I wasn’t able to help Jello with his kite-material purchasing. Since we haven’t confirmed how we were to enter the set-up space for Eiga Sai’s opening, we decided to eat out first. I had a Wham! Burger. Sam and I were on a budget especially since I will be unemployed for a while and I won’t be earning anything. Well, I still had the burger. It wasn’t everyday that I would be spending that much and Jello assured me that the film would be shown for free.

By the time we got back, we were allowed to enter the cordoned space around the ground floor’s fountain. The simple opening rites involved the national anthem of the Philippines and Japan being played. We weren’t feeling at all about Japan’s national anthem. It was as if it was an unheard of song. It was pure sound, without any lyrics and nobody was really singing. Even the Japanese ambassador who gave his welcome speech shortly after didn’t sing. It was infuriating to see how people from the higher levels of the mall, though I’m sure they hear the anthem playing, didn’t pay the respects due to the Philippine anthem at least, discounting the raised flag on the rather short pole. Are we that selfish and stuck-up in our own little worlds? (Hearing me talk it wasn’t as if I’m hung-up on my previous employment. I made it my life. Then it kicked me away. Ugh. This emo me is nauseating.)

We lined up eventually at cinema 2. About Her Brother started with Aoi Yui’s narration of her life up to her marriage where her uncle is first shown. The customs of Japanese people are surprising for me and probably, normal for them. Marriage rites were in a closed door ceremony and all that happened there would only be retold to the visitors during the reception. It was way too formal. All the time before the uncle started the ruckus where he battered the usher’s head with the microphone, what he did was acceptable for me but was shameful and annoying for all the others there. That gave me the impression of how uptight they are. The brother, Tetsuro, was actually charming. It’s as if he can’t help acting the way he acted because that’s who he is.

How they managed to live day to day in way too cleaned-up houses, the systematic arrangement and undisrupted flow of systems, why couldn’t we Filipinos lead that life too? Is it a prevailing lack of discipline? Is it laziness? Maybe both. When I was still dragging myself to work, I wasn’t that tired, I knew that I had energy to spare if I really wanted to but I let Sam do the household chores because I knew she wasn’t doing anything else. And when I pushed myself to fix everything before resting, what I thought was, there’s still tomorrow to finish that which you’re doing. It reminded me of ate Grace too and how I thought it lazy of her not to tidy her house of dust when she’s practically got nothing else to do when she arrives home from work. Being tired is only in the mind. It only extends as much as you think you are in it.

Ginko, the older sister of Tetsuro, was an amazing character. She’s dependable, always calm, reliable and kind. She excelled at everything. She would do everything well and good. There were these shots where she was shown to take refresher courses for pharmacy, and calligraphy classes. She’s brilliant. I remember Tetsuro saying, “That’s for you to say when everything you work on comes easy for you.” Replete with the close-knit neighborhood congeniality, the story went on until the part where Tetsuro died. Occasionally, the director focused the camera on stills or objects before continuing on with the story line. It could be an empty hall, the pharmacy door, the wind chime. It brought a sense of calm and rest in the film. This was a recurrent style for Japanese films as I have observed this in all four I’ve watched so far.

It was as if the perfection and stability that came with Ginko whittled out Tetsuro’s futile attempts at life. Tetsuro was having difficulty with living just because he wasn’t able to keep up with society’s standards.

Watching other offerings at this year’s Eiga Sai, I thought that Japanese culture flourish because their people appreciate their art. See their movies and know that they were created not only for profit but more for art and expression. These same intentions make those films earn money. And as I hear the couple who were next to me in line, yes, the Philippine consulate in Japan could conduct parallel film showing sessions! Isn’t it the Japan-Philippines friendship month? Can’t we sponsor or at least arrange for paid views of Filipino films there and ask them as well if they are concerned about our lackadaisical but intriguing culture-influences as depicted in our films? Wouldn’t this be an efficient promotion of Philippine tourism?

The run and re-run of overused film storyline and the emergence of a generation of artists portraying films for the sake of art and expression should be spark enough to infuse in the consciousness of other nations that film and art in the Philippines exists. Aren’t we convinced? I don’t want to dismiss the surfeit of talent I’ve seen among the illustrators and animators in the recent Oh No! Manga Cosplay Camp 2. Don’t we have other outlets for our creative energies? We have our own brand of art–the lushness of music, dance, fashion, architecture and style. Shouldn’t we take ourselves a level up and not stop? But oh we do. We stop to catch our moments of happiness. We stop to refill our reservoir of inspiration as we are surrounded by truly depressing sights of dilapidation. We take time to motivate ourselves, contrary to what Japanese value as I’ve watched for hours through their films - success. We use our time instead to live.