Droning

9 June 2013

Robert is right. There’s something about him that makes him easy to open up to. It was a relief to be with him. The three of us – John Paul, Robert and I hired a cab. All the way there, we had a peaceful, chatty, good-natured time. The cabbie driver was an honest man who was dignified with what he was doing. Cabbies weren’t always sly, as he informed us of the perils he had to protect himself from especially during his night time shifts. The three of us waited for the others by the gas station. Soon, June and our male research associate arrived. They decided to order Sicilian pizza. The car would be full if I didn’t move in to the other car and so I did, sitting beside June’s pink strawberry shortcake.

It’s June’s birthday. We had a party at our convenor’s house at LGV. Arrived there with Paul and our female research associate. Why are most of the streets here named Soliven? Kept seeing street names Chile, Spain then Peru and while we were lost, Guatemala.

I was looking at all of them from the glass wall by the dining area as seen from the living room. It was picturesque, like a shot from a soda commercial about Christmas or an animated postcard depicting the holiday season. I was staring at their togetherness with contentment – everybody’s working together, helping one another. Unlike before, the consciousness that I do not know where I would place myself or how I would make myself useful wasn’t much of a competition. The view gave me a sense of peace and a snap of warmth.

Being there with all these accomplished and amazing people was not part of my plan. I never even dreamt of being there. It was a privilege. It was far-fetched, not something I would have imagined. The Pinot Noir was strong. It is warmer than the usual red wine. It must be as much more intoxicating.

POP! Came the question. It was exasperatingly recurring every time: What should I do?

Sitting there mum is the most rational, safest thing to do. Whenever I try to risk, it ends up worse. Sit upright and stay quiet. Speak only when you are spoken to and for a while keep your thoughts to yourself.

Pinot Noir wasn’t as potent as thinking. My head is hurting again as if it would explode anytime. I hope June was enjoying her time; she deserves all the joy there is in the world.

I would never do good in answering on the spot questions. I get blank-minded especially when the convenor gets to ask me a question. I remember hearing him say that they were thought to not set themselves up to be humiliated. Who wants to be humiliated anyway? I was rethinking this instance while I was lost in thought, only seeing but not getting carried completely by the ethereal bath of light on the P.Gil end of Pilar Hidalgo Lim street. At first I was afraid, I was petrified came Gloria Gaynor’s melodic commentary. I never reckon these singers when I think but they come up intrusively anyway.

Am I not in a most wonderful position - with opportunities for growth - to be trained and to work with very admirable people, both in intellect, virtue and character? They are exemplary! So the stench festers malodorously than before: Something’s wrong with you. I’m all too aware of that. How am I going to fix myself?

Martini, shaken, not stirred. Has Bond ever considered if the Martini preferred to be stirred than shaken? If God were Bond, He would’ve considered how His martini wanted to be treated. He remained gentle, stern and considerate even when I was being difficult. I am already filled with shame for harming any person, how much more acting troublesome though I didn’t intend to? And towards who, Him, the only one I want to please?

Catherine Marshall’s To Live Again speaks of how she was during her recovery period from her husband’s death. Surprisingly, as I read through her experiences then it was as if someone close to me died as well. Something’s stagnating and another’s emerging. The self versus self battle wages on. I am impatient for the battle to end; having to live day by day struggling against yourself for everything, even as simple as getting out of bed, is definitely not something I will tolerate. Living became a chore, an unwieldy burden.

Sam woke up earlier this morning from a bad dream. She dreamt that I died. I hugged her in consolation. My face was perched on her left shoulder, “Everybody will eventually die.” A serene smile erupted from me as I said that while chanting, please make mine come sooner. I will not let Sam know about it. She would just be so disappointed. Rationally, I remembered Jigsaw and all the others who were fighting to live. Why couldn’t I be like them? The more I was dissatisfied with myself. Is this self worth fighting for? Is this self all that I’ve got?

Though I am guilty for feeling this way, I can’t deny that I am generally dismayed and ruefully disappointed with the world. Either it changes itself or I get out of it. I can’t stand seeing people settling for what there is, having to stand subhuman conditions to remain alive. Everywhere I look, I am discontented and angry. Why does it have to be this way? You promised You will fill in what we lack, that You will provide for us. We both love all these people, why let them live like this? You are still God. You know very well what You are doing.

How long would I have to wait? I am in no position to make demands but waiting on everyone and everything else while I wait to be revealed to me what I really am for is no walk in the park. I no longer know myself. I became not a whole being but partitions and factions always after each other’s throats. With this much discord, how would I be able to contribute to my nation? My nation needs saving and it’s undeniable that I need saving from myself. What is the best way to wait? I do not want to waste whatever you’ve already given me but I end up doing that anyway. Thwart me from frustrating myself more. Don’t make me a difficult child. I am clay; break my legs if You have to so I won’t stray from Your path. The certainty that this mawkish phase would end is established. I look forward to that day.