No Phoenix

15 May 2013

I know who I am. I am a chameleon as my sister says. I blend with the surroundings until I become indistinguishable. My desire to become natural manifested as wanting to imbibe and become one with the surroundings that I shun and hide from attention.

My duplicity is voiding me out. How come I have very defined requirements that even I become unaware that I should receive them in the right amounts or I’ll get upset?

And Sam is on the bed. Her horizontal orientation entices my eyelids to droop. She talks about her new crush, one of the two interns, John Paul. Initially, she had a crush on Jerome, now she’s crushing on John Paul. Now she’s talking about Randell. Distraction cultivates in me a healthy sense of self.

Oppression is a state of mind. Poverty is a form of oppression. So is illness. I had the notion that people who are sick called it upon themselves; sick people are responsible for the state of their poor health. The mind thinketh, the body disagreeeth.

If I gain a firm hold of myself, of who I really am, I will be free to do things. Everything became a possibility. There were no if onlys or unless. Everything was an it and my mind would no longer be apathetic; half of its shield stripped off and my naked mind was at work, defenseless.

Micai said I must’ve been traumatized. Maybe. When I was screamed at and humiliated the last time, I might’ve. How would I know? I want to recover badly from it. There’s no use rushing or I’ll unwound the work that’s done. My mind refuses to accept information lately, especially when it’s related to work.

I am not the only one who has to suffer despite the odds against me. Not only I, most people have tougher battles to face than mine. I was always aware of that but it didn’t reach me.

Depression was a fog. It deceived me into thinking that my flame was nonexistent. All there was was a torch with a burned out flame and I am one with the darkness.

I felt I’ve aged years, as if I was experiencing a sort of Sinai, and just like Moses I would come out with all white hair. In my case, I got shorter hair. My mother was disturbed. Who wouldn’t be? I grabbed at the right side of my hair, cutting at the top end of what I’ve grabbed. I left it that way and waited until after the elections before I cut short the other side. Not a healthy sign, I must be on my way to going nuts.

I thought I was not carrying a torch in my heart. Then came the rain. It was the rain that lit the torch. The conflagration dissipated the haze and I knew that the fire had been burning there all the while. Now the flame is ablaze. I am aware of it.

No more I’s. I will work through the world, becoming a productive member of it or trying to be whatever the case is or however prolonged the anxiety presses. There is no I for there is only a Him. I will work for Him. He is the strength of my heart. My purpose is clear: the bigger picture is that I love the Lord with all my heart, all my mind and all my strength. He is my part and my portion forever. Even if the world around me fails to make sense, as Solomon enunciates that everything is meaningless and so do I, I no longer have any zest at all to live but I should not surrender my claim to life even so.

Regardless of the rise, the truth of the fall and each tik waiting for the tok where I am at the pendulum as well, swinging side to side constantly at the deciding point between utter destruction and exaltation, He remains the same. He upholds the gloriousness of man – the faith proven by His life that people could achieve glory that denies being and doing, of life that transcends dying.

More conscious am I that during these times, I live as I die. Each moment of life is spent on death, a sort of decay and degeneration. Am I a phoenix that I should put up with this?

Yeah

13 May 2013

There are no accidents. Last May 8, I was officially four months into the job. What has become of me but a whimpering, shivering eighth of a person I used to be. How would I be empowered? C’mon, if it’s inspiration, the people I work with and for do not lack in those at all.

In my current state, I have no redeeming attributes. They are far eclipsed by my glaring inaction. I am petrified. When I run through any piece of work work, half my mind is paralyzed. Why? Should I pass the blame to my thyroid?

Let P!nk be pink; she’s my favorite pink in the world

13 May 2013

Why did You make me this way Lord? Why did You make me bend as easily to stress? I am wishing that what I am seeing is naught but a dream and reality is something else. Give me a miracle; let my reality become a dream that I would simply laugh at when I wake up.

Though I am starting to feel so disturbed I am actually contemplating that I might be getting crazy, I have gone to the precinct. I have gone to a precinct twice now, not only to a precinct but to three precincts all at once. I voted fast–shading ovals beside surnames that have the best recall.

Anomalies were existent. First was a child, distributing meters away from the elementary school premises flyers. In the school’s entrance, an old man was distributing flyers for another councilor candidate. The worst was that someone was distributing LP sample ballots as we were on line before the classroom turned polling precinct. What I hated most was that I kept on voting for those candidates regardless of how unlawful the actions of their minions were.

Distracting myself from the thought of work has become a chore. Living became a chore as well too.

Let my thoughts be healthy; a lush garden will emerge. I will run with careless abandon through its flowers and the beetles would rub their wings in delight. In my garden, the sun will shine with life. Vibrancy is consistent. Color is everywhere and virtues are nymphs peeping through the eaves of overlapping leaves. The crispness of my laughter rivals the blue mirth of the cloudless sky. Visit me in my dreams; I may still have them. Will you sing me to sleep as I hum to my Shiela?

My solace is none that’s mine just as everything is. My ‘beautiful’ mind–not infallible; my efforts not directly translated to productivity. Duress squeezed me empty–daily exposing me lacking and wrong; thus it was my cell where I am both gaoler and prisoner in a pit of darkness. 

Ropes do exist. It’s a good thing they do and that they’re for free in my case. I have my family. Praise be to the Lord for letting me call those people mine even without owning them like robots.

The world is still not a perfect place. The dissonance that there is within me, in what I aspire, in what I actually deliver, in what I think, act and feel. A punch from Sheldon, I can’t always call on them to resort to Rock, Paper, Scissors, Lizard, Spock whenever I have to decide.

I’ve tried to memorize a song, and we don’t know how | how we got into this mad situation | only doing things out of frustration | trying to make it work but man these times are hard. I will break free of this fusion of ennui and repressive passivity. I am tired of denying myself. Let me have life once more. Smile on me my Lord and fill me with hope. If You want me to drown in the depths of despair, let me die instead. What do You want me to live for?

Gaiman Says Make Good Art

12 May 2013

Layers were peeled off. I saw myself, my ethos separated in sheets. The main question of what I am going to do with this life persists.

I am so afraid. I might actually be going crazy; the probability is more evident. Last night, a single image came to my mind. I wanted to dissolve it; to take it out of my mind’s eye; to not think about it at all. My mind was obstinate. I was pushing the image away but it taunts me. Brain vs brain – the autonomous vs the subservient. It’s a civil war! The vision already pained me.

My psyche revealed its levels to me.  I know that the psyche exists and that its dimensions are undeniable but it’s different to have to face them as reality through experience. I physiologically had a hard time breathing.  I was pleading; even praying for it to go away. Peace has eluded me. Where is my faith? Stress from work has changed me. I am broken and I don’t even know if I can be restored. In reality I was doing nothing. June and Paul were doing the bulk of the job. I am in misery. There was no validation of my existence. I am not satisfied with my outputs as well. It was daunting to incite and watch yourself to go to war against each other.

Even my loved ones are bothered already. I am sorry that Sam had to see me breaking down – laughing and crying at the same time. Should I keep on with my work if I am already becoming a different person; also unknown to me, disruptive to other people’s lives? The situation is unhealthy for me.

Lord, I’m sure you have given me this because this is something You know I could handle but because my being is in discord – with my mind, heart and body out of harmony, doubt is beside me. Will You let me go out of this? What will I become at the end of this, a sounding board, a mute being, a passive snail? Or will I melt out, either passivity kicked out of me or my sensitivity engulfing me into an oblivious existence in an imagined world? You provide me with strength according to my need; will this make me insane? Is this my breaking point? You give me those I thought impossible – both the wonderful and the aching. Will I make it through this? Am I not completely broken? My rock, am I not smashed to bits before You? So You giveth, so You taketh away; I’ve lost my sense of self and my self-reliance. My confidence is in its all time low. To me I am nothing but a pair of arms, a set of eyes and before I sleep through enumerating, a warm body, I lack energy because my purpose is unclear.

What will actually come out of this that I’m going through? I can’t see it yet. My temporal thoughts drone: the world would be a better place for you. The trite what doesn’t kill you makes you stronger buzzes. I allowed myself to be pillaged and pulverized. I feel so violated; I allowed myself to feel useless and incompetent. If James Morrison hasn’t put it in words, it will be more unbearable; I’d snap into insanity faster: And I know that it’s a wonderful world but I can’t feel it right now. It’s the I know vs the I feel. I don’t know if I’d push through with challenging myself to this or if I would back out lest I be totally lost even to myself. I am capacitating myself at a slower pace than the erosion the situation brings to my existence. Demolishing me is way easier than building me up. Would it be worth it to be destroyed? Would You rebuild me?

Why should I write about this? I have no other idea for the moment how this would be useful. Maybe Neil Gaiman is right, that this is how it is to make good art. In this sense I am a creator. I only create without intending to make it beautiful – only to make something. So Neil Gaiman, thank you for the positive connotation of making good art, an immediate inert assumption that what I make whatever the current situation is is not only art but good art.

Quoting Daniel

11 May 2013

What is the best way to make use of sorrow? To quote from Daniel Padullo (That is no typo there, Daniel Padullo is my sister’s classmate who happened to be my elementary classmate’s younger brother.), “When life throws you lemons, make orange juice!” It is my responsibility to produce something out of everything-loneliness included.

I keep on wondering why I am boring and solemn. When would both qualities get warranted as interesting other than to be among the list of qualities to avoid?

Paulo was on the same queue I was in. I initiated the conversation. I was at ease around him. Without him knowing it, he has inspired me to always emerge through constant rejection. He is more refined now. A sentient silence surrounds him. He sounded wiser.

Can’t help compare that I am not the way he is. I am not ready with life. It is launching me to misery. I am at my end. Hopefully it be the end of a rainbow not the end of my life. What is my calling really? There are no definite plans in my life. Ah. I do not want to stay in limbo.

Now that I’ve known firsthand how happiness is essential for productivity, I am for it. May peace be with me. May it cover the mantle of the earth. May its badge and crest be stamped at the posts of my household.

I’m diminishing as a human. My eyelids are Droopy’s. I lack inspiration. What more do I need to be motivated?

I am afforded a peek at the wide world. Am I turning my back to it?

I’m shattered to pieces. How can I function well, I broke Asimov’s rule for robots. I’m no robot but temporal sense dictates that I should be okay lest everything that will come out of me is broken. Am I Anderson’s delusional firecracker?

Asked now what my work is, I would answer: give others a hard time. June and Paul might think I am getting off easy by letting them do the job. I don’t want to be a freeloader. It pains me whenever they have to take over what little I am doing. This makes me think more than ten times over if I have to continue letting them take pains for me. Jesus already suffered for me. Why should others suffer for me as well? This is a pressing issue. I do not want to inflict others pain. It seems impossible not to; it’s the cost we pay to live.

My mind and my emotions don’t merge. I would be of no help to anyone unless I am complete.

Soar

11 May 2013

My fluctuating moods and mental stimulation is beyond my control. For a time I go from energized to tired. Whatever’s happening now must be because I really have to go through this. If I want to change, I have to change NOW.

No amount of intention would equate to visible action; my heavy heart sapped all my energy reserves.

Yesterday, as I was at our team meeting, the fourth day of our newly implemented four-day-workweek (which consists of working 10 hours for four days), Paul’s fuse burned out at the timeline for the ACT Davao del Norte project which is completely under his custody right now. I am the project’s de jure frontliner; Paul the temporary research associate. The de facto condition is completely different. Paul is everything for ACT – the frontliner and the overseer.

I am a redundancy. Paul is doing the work for me and I am getting paid for it. This adds greater to my frustration other than the truth that I am already through a phase of depression. If only I could easily disregard some thoughts. Is it us who rule our thoughts or is it us who are ruled by them that our lives depend on them? My life is at the mercy of my thoughts.

Why does my mind refuse to absorb what I am working on? I read and read and read and vaguely remember any of it. If I were a computer I would want a reboot or anything out of this. The more I feel useless and voiceless, the worse I become. I don’t want to involve the entire team in my downhill slide.

As I sway from side to side, I hear from Neil Gaiman. I envy him. He knows what to live and die for; I don’t. How could my current self dissatisfaction possibly be to my advantage? The mercy that befalls me comes from forces I do not see, not only my thoughts. Life found me lacking in faith, love, hope, speech and discipline.

I am spoiling my day. Today is my day 1 back home in Calapan. It’s as if I never left at all. It rained; my stars are wearing their dark specters, their sparkle wouldn’t reach me. Got my period as well today so I wouldn’t get to bike. Nevertheless, home is where I am.

On the bus ride to the port, the seat on my right was occupied by a mother and her infant child. The child was smiling. She is browless. She is a she as evidenced by her heart earrings, shaped the same as the pair I was wearing at the moment. I was once a babe, had I enjoyed it? Must I lose the joy I could get from this stage just because it does not go well for me, just because I have to struggle badly? My cares, please refrain from tucking me to bed. If I want to be tucked to bed, let it be love, faith, hope or dreams doing it. My best preference is prayer but it eludes me. I continue to beg for worry to leave me. Am I Saul, tormented by a demon? Would I only be calmed if David played his flute? No one wanted to be an antagonist or is it merely a pre-conditioned thought?

The movie version of Hasbro’s G.I. Joe Cobra was on. In general, the comic graphics evident in the film was enjoyable (Until the end of the movie, I lack a priori knowledge that it was based on a graphic novel). Interspersed through the film’s length, I had some breaks. Neil Gaiman was on play too, "Make good art," thus:

My gray matter donned its sweatshirt of loneliness as insulation to pain. The jumpsuit of sadness inhibits it from leaping beyond the atmosphere of worry and disappointment.

I re-imagined the dream where my ship capsized. Naturally, I was flailing my limbs to keep afloat; I don’t know how to swim. Energy drained, I kept afloat by moving only when I was about to sink. Boatmen, yacht vacationers, fisher folk, canoe riders, kayak pairs, dragon boat teams, hordes of them passed me by. Instead of coming to my rescue the way I thought they would–by bringing me out of the water, what they did was to hand me dead weight. At first I held on to each, “These might come to good use.” Before my arms couldn’t hold the accumulation of trinkets any longer, I saw that the best use of what I had was to throw them down, letting them sink on top of each other. Soon there was enough for me to step on to reach a strip of land.
Setting my feet on firm ground wasn’t rest.

Jotting this in cursive on my journal took longer than if there was no vehicular motion. The ink of my thoughts also dwindled. Why am I so detached from the ever rippling ocean of cosmic ideas?

The last bus ride I had with Sam last Sunday featured Jackie Chan in Chinese Zodiac. The boat ride today also had Once Upon a Time in China with Jet Li. I rarely get to finish these action films because the transit period cuts them un-ended. These were the movies I get to see recently which got me attentive and entertained. For a passive person, I immensely enjoy watching active, moving, risk-taking people. Whether I get inspired or more convinced that those larger-than-life characters only exist in movies and I am far removed from being one, is beyond my conscious interpretation. I will not underestimate my subconscious; it’s already side-stepping my conscious faculties.

Because I am so serious

05 May 2013

The thought that being alive is difficult made my heart ache. The truth that politics, not simple hard and honest work would get you through easier, was weighing down on me. 

Some things are difficult to accept but we have to move on. Some do at a faster rate than others; I am not among them. The pressures of saving money, keeping a job and taking care of oneself contradict each other. 

Just the other day I was taking my usual morning bath. I felt a squeezing pain at my heart and immediately blamed my vaso vasorum for the disruption. It ached badly. Please blood vessels, don’t bitch, supply oxygen rich blood to my heart; don’t commit suicide. 

The idea that I had a heart attack wasn’t implausible. I stretched both my arms upfront before me and spoke out loud, just as was instructed during physio reporting class to determine if one should be rushed to the hospital. I remembered it was from stroke and not heart attack but I did it still.

Wasn’t it easy to be alive? You were afforded life every morning before the day you get to read this and who knows how many days after? It was granted to you like some gift you never wished for. You know it’s good but that doesn’t mean it would be useful. It might be just the sort of gift you want to keep and stare at from the glass door shelf with oak wood paneling. (Not really knowledgeable on what oak wood is. It just sounded appropriate as a mind’s eye illustration.)

Introducing John Trimble

5 May 2013

When I was at the bus a while ago and Sam was heading for home, I was immensely enjoying Jackie Chan’s Chinese Zodiac. I was entertained. He makes what he’s doing look so easy that I am convinced I could do it as well. I know I can’t. For a person who gets easily titillated, I am surprised that I have a liking for action movies. Remember James Bond and Jackie Chan? I love watching them.

Also, I have John Trimble with me.

..if we thus imagine he will approve of us only in our starched-collar manner, we will usually wear that manner, however much we secretly abhor it. It’s the same thing in writing as in life. Each is always imitating the other..

With this text from his book, Writing with style, he brought me to the path of thought that made me realize how I prefer to be natural. Let everyone see the imperfections. I do not have to impress anybody. I do not have to match anybody’s standards but my own.

TOTELarian views as versed by John Trimble:

This rule assumes that the best expository prose is the most scrupulously impersonal. In theory, the best prose would come from a machine, which is precisely what many TOTELarians attempt to imitate. Little wonder that their prose is invariably bloodless and boring: all the life has been drained out of it.

And that one above just made me laugh aloud. John provides me with justification that I have a right to feel stifled that I was given a new voice, as if I was forced to wear a muzzle and speak through it. Of course the voice wouldn’t come out and sound right.

Thought wreckage

5 May 2013

The other parcel of my now usually riddled life is when Sam and I went out yesterday to buy Krispy Kreme donuts and another unplanned action, purchase for Shiela the Spongebob stuff toy I’ve thought of giving her since January.

Why would I let anything stop me?  I often am stumped at work. I arrive usually at the rock bottom, without any idea as to what they want because that’s already how I think of it and I admit to not being prolific enough. Why would I also be curtailed in other dimensions? I thought as if I were rich. God is smiling on me. This time it’s no longer patronizing but dazzling. Wouldn’t I be blinded by your radiance dear Lord? Jerome is a positive influence on me. I am grateful for his life of faith and dreams. When I heard him speak of how he wanted to apply to Harvard for med school and how he said after a few years he’d be rich, he’d hire June, I heard myself again, as Sam reminded me: “Hindi ako mamamatay na mahirap.”

I was that sure. I had that unwarranted conviction. I did not need reality to credit that it would come true. I am sure. My certainty came from I don’t know where. It’s just that I was so sure it was as if I were saying the colors of the rainbow in order are ROYGBIV. To me it was a fact. Why did I let it go?

Isn’t the Lord who created everything still my Father? I am more a human doing than a human being. I was always measuring myself according to my own standards of acceptability. I ascribe my importance to what I can do, not to who I am. I rarely thought of who I was. I will find myself in Him.

I must be so static and miserly. I’ve been trying to save for my own purposes. My mindset is being torn apart and reassembled like a puzzle piece. This is better than Janga, everything will work perfectly because it is God at work.

Countdown

5 May 2013

I’m pushing myself too hard that I am wrung out. Up to now I’m still not sure if I use my mind more than my heart.

I was excited today. Sam had to leave for home. Though I dislike the thought of it, I was comforted by the change of scenery and the movies that come with the bus trips.

The deworming guide makes me crazy. I don’t know if I could stand it any longer. I really planned to not write anything repulsive or depressing but I feel I have to let this out. My mind is so full and so wracked up I no longer know what to do. This happens to me so often, me getting at the end of my rope and not knowing what else to do.

What happens to me whenever I am working is this: I whip up something. It is in my voice. My voice is too chatty, nonsensical and monotonous. But I find it warm and friendly, very conversational. That’s not how scientific writing, which is required of me from the office, should be. I still can’t get it! Haaah! So frustrating! When I try writing in a formal tone I sound like an automaton, totally devoid of emotion. And when I’m in that frame of mind, I can’t make my writing sound simple. It becomes totally obfuscating the reader would rather be in a labyrinth since GPS already exists. Why does that style of writing evade me? I cannot fathom how they do it. My hunch is that I have chanelled myself out too much into the realm of formal English and extreme pedantry I totally lose everything. Even my demeanor changes. I act as if I lack life and the level of thought I’m currently in is so deep even I get lost in it, completely clueless as to how to find my way back. My humor would not even put up with me that I do not find everything funny as I used to.

I remember that I wrote before that it was as if I was trying not to be myself in my work. I am surrounded by people who are judgmental of whatever I say that I am readily convinced to shut up. I cannot separate aspects of me as easily. If I change one part of me, all others change too. So when I tried to become stuffy just to sound formal in my writing or at least formidable to be believed in by others, I am becoming more confused as to who I am. 

Changing one’s frame of mind really is powerful. Whether it works for good or bad, it really works.

Okay, after all that out, let’s get back to Sam. When we were on our bus voyage to Batangas port, I was having a good time. I was even thinking that I would go and write about a lot of things I missed writing from days ago. One was when I got to Tagaytay, not just to pass by, but to actually stay there in a hotel.

I just saw that I am out of my mind lately. I had an entry, anything but lukewarm which I dated April 4 which I actually wrote May 4.

To the Tagaytay team outing again, there were a lot of chances for me to be happy: plenty of things to be thankful for and to enjoy. Because I am taking work so seriously, I am crippled. I cannot walk out of where I am now. I want that to change.

In the Tagaytay trip, as expected, we had an alcohol night. My back was so hot and itchy and it’s difficult to breathe. Red spots must be erupting in my back was what I thought as I was emptying my second bottle of San Mig light. The moon was a waning gibbous, in a curious red hue. My bladder was showing off how small it was and my kidneys were working so fast, I peed at three minute intervals. I felt woozy already but I was able to walk straight. To me I was walking straight, but I was drunk so that observation is not reliable. Maybe they were too so there’s no issue.

Before going to the “red light district,” we had a feast at Josephine’s, something I would’ve enjoyed. It’s food! The satisfaction was not optimum. Kept on calling Sam and Grace alternately and texting Grace messages of deep regret and shame. I just told her that Donya Buding, her hard disk drive, which she entrusted to me, can no longer be accessed. It won’t open anymore. I was throwing shit at Sam as well. It was worse when I was back during Labor Day. We marched to Grace and I was yelling at her at the street. It’s a disgusting habit. To the dumpster is where that belongs.

Grace remained true to her name. At ten pm before her trip to Ho Chi Minh, Sam and I were at her door. So Jade’s out of the condo, renting some place else and Grace was still all hospitable. How could she do it? She’s amazing. I’m sure she’ll meet her objective in Vietnam – to win souls and make disciples.

The sphere of Grace’s influence was on me May 1. Jerome told the story of his dad and their farm on our trip from Tagaytay, before we arrived at King Bee, the Chinese restaurant by a gate to Sta. Rosa Estates 2. I saw from the road Ling’s house. Nostalgia was a fire. I also set my eyes twice on Ling’s beloved alma mater, the Adventist University of the Philippines (AUP). I texted Em immediately after I saw their grounds as our junior doctor informed us that the expanse of uninterrupted land was AUP.

Jerome told us how they are literally living on faith as a family, under his father’s leadership. Our team leader also was telling stories of his life, imparting nuggets of life lessons which left us unblemished by raw reality. Three stories of inspiration in a day and one wallowing heart. I hope I had a weeping heart, even for a day. Why can’t I weep?

I’m writing in chunks as if I don’t care about chronology. Sorry. I type as they appeal before me to present their case. Before we went to Tagaytay, the three of us (I and the interns) had to travel to Katipunan so we could hitch a ride with our male research associate (only one male research associate’s left now. The other, my immediate supervisor, already left the team.). We were late. I thought we wouldn’t make it on time to the hotel. We did. He said he drove fast. Maybe I didn’t know what fast was then or I was imperceptive to it because I was in a car. (Just another side story, at periods when I was stressed, I always imagine myself driving a car through the race track at top speed. I miss my bike already and the surfeit of stars in my familiar galaxy.)

A guy at the Recto station helped us purchase tickets faster because the ticket dispensing machine spewed out coins we fed to it at random for no particular reason than to exasperate us. The LRT2 administration probably should shut those machines off than deceive passengers that they work.

I am now recounting the moments when God was waving a hand at me, “Hello! I exist and I love you. Please believe me.” Permit me to use fortunate (though I do not believe in luck) because I am. I am granted grace. I receive those that I have not worked for, generously. It was I who set up scrawny boundaries.

I spent 2 days and a night at Tagaytay. I did not pay for it. I stayed in a hotel and had free meals – at Josephine’s, the Manor Café and King Bee. My travel fees were accounted for by free car rides. What had I done but look through the passenger side mirror and alternately smile and wince. When I find something humorous, I kill the smile away immediately. I can’t relax. Healthy state of mind, auto restore! chanted like the red power ranger. Transform! Autobots assemble! I’m mixing them up deliberately.

I am blessed and loved but if I bottle up, intent on staying stagnant, not receiving my portion from life, I’ll wither.

Make me anything but lukewarm

4 May 2013

Feeling like an angklung player enlisted to play for an orchestra for their series of upcoming shows. Yes, a musician still, but angklung playing meant shaking the bamboo instrument to produce the sound of the single note assigned to you. Even if I was the best angklung player ever, I wouldn’t make it if I were asked to play a complicated musical instrument for the gala performance.

I love what I am doing. I love my current job and all that is in it, from conceptualizing to waiting for the team’s comments, to researching. All of it is wonderful, too wonderful for me. Why is it still difficult for me to attune my writing tone and my business mind frame to what’s required? I am flustered and flabbergasted because I don’t know what to do anymore. C’mon little monster friends, let’s dance around the carousel. Hand in hand, we will ring around the rosie and circle round and round in neglect and abandon despite the probability that a new plague would fashion a new nursery rhyme for us to sing to.

Sam’s been with me for a week now. She has been my healthy distraction (If you get to read this Sam, I am in no way hinting that sarcastically though you’re on the heavy side). I am trying to recuperate. I feel like taking a vacation from work because I’ve been too much shaken but I can’t! I have to push harder! I won’t let myself back out of this even if I have been encountering too many mountains on the way. Am I better off dead? Am I better off a quitter? I’ve been thinking of that as well. Let me fail over and over but I will not quit just because it is difficult for me.

Thank you for all of this. I’ve finally experienced how it is to be down, so down low which, I’ve always thought I’d never experience chronically. As I am typing this out, I am grinning from ear to ear. I’ve gone through the cycle. This is the cycle of life where I am brought to experience lots of things. I finally know how sore losers felt. Does having a complicated life translate to being alive?

I have seen several times this week how I should harden my heart at times. I had this Ministop ice cream cone. Three bites from that vanilla fluff and a girl blocked my way, extending her arm, “Akin na lang.” It came out automatically. I dodged my right hand, grasping the sundae cone, “Ayaw ko.” The force by which I have said that was firm. To me it sounded mean, maybe to her as well. I was surprised that it came out of me easily. A voice in my head congratulated me, “There you go, that’s your resolve!” a counter argument erupted, “Where had charity gone?”

The next night, Sam and I were famished. I came home past 6 pm. I felt I was unproductive at work again. What an emaciating feeling! My life spirit was sapped. Never would I relinquish the truth that I am alive though I am barely living.

Grocery shopping with Sam for Marby’s cheese bites and other food groceries was compulsory. Together, we seem to be eating too much that our supplies needed replenishment the next day! The miser in me was cursing then. The litany goes: electric bills, water bills, PRC ID, BPI account, Sam’s tuition fees, our combined living expenses, Shiela’s medication. Go ahead but don’t roam around too much! They do not give me a moment’s peace to piece myself as something untouched and beyond every kind of trouble. The simple finite shard of happiness I could get close to was wolfing cheese bites as we were leaving Rob. Sam and I both had mouthfuls when we came across two street children. They must be about Sam’s age, those teen guys. They mimicked our gobbling. When we were close enough, face to face at arms width apart, “Pahingi kami,” the elder ventured. “Ayaw ko,” I said again. The grin they had on their faces vanished as they walked away.

Beyond my compulsion to go to hospitals, I visited, with Aids, RL, RA and Camelle, Ma’am Rabuco. There’s no need to mention all the details. Though I was still averse to being there, I do not regret having gone with them. There’s no better way I would’ve spent that time. I’ve seen the life of people, just like me, living day by day despite the odds. Aids is a brave persona, RL is still the light-hearted person she was, RA was seizing life by its horns and Camelle never looked stressed. And surprise! Dr. Salamat has a lot on her plate! I hear her words as if she was telling them to me again, “Whatever you’re at, enjoy it!” Yes I am, enjoying at a different level through the specters of frustration.

People were dying everyday, dwindling because of sickness. People like those children I denied food from had to literally fight to live. I am so hung up. On what? I can’t feel anything. Living was drudgery. I slept soundly, not as Peter Lynch attributed as from peace of mind but because it was an escape from thinking.

There’s too much conflict. I’m being pushed to push back. There was a time when my every step had a sprint  (yes, a single step went on and brought me way fast to where I should be going), why am I trudging on with invisible shackles? Where am I being led to go? We will see. For the time being, I am laughing at myself. I barely laugh these days. I rarely cry too.