My Friend, My Benefit

Sa salamin tayo nag-uusap.

Nakaupo ako sa kama, samantalang ikaw nakatayo sa may banyo. Nakaharap tayo sa salamin at doon tayo nagkikita ng mata. Kakatapos lang natin kumain ng dala kong takeout na Jollibee.

"Ang puti mo pala," sabi mo bigla.

Napatingin tuloy ako sa sarili ko sa salamin. Mukhang maputi nga ako tingnan. Naka-sando lang kasi siguro ako. Tapos siguro nakatulong na din na hindi na ako nagsusuot ng salamin ngayon kaya medyo maaliwalas tingnan ang mukha ko. Gusto ko sanang sabihin na pagkatapos ng lahat ng mga nangyari sa atin, ngayon mo lang napansin na maputi pala ako. Ilang beses mo na ako nakita nang walang damit tapos ngayon mo lang yun napansin?

Nag-shower ka at humiga na muna ako sa kama at nag-isip. Bisperas ng pasko. Maraming tao sa labas. At heto tayo, magkasama. Normally, mga magka-relasyon lang ang magkasama ng ganitong araw. Pero heto tayo, magkasama.

Maya-maya, lumabas ka na at humiga sa tabi ko. Nakatingin tayo pareho sa kisame. Hindi tayo nagpapansinan. "Ako lang ba ang nagtataka sa sitwayon na ito?" inisip ko.

At iyon, nagsimula ka nang magkuwento. Dapat nga, kakain na muna tayo sa labas bago tayo pumunta sa hotel. Pero sabi mo takeout na lang para makapag-kuwentuhan tayo. Kaya iyon, hinayaan lang kita kasi alam kong gusto mo ng kausap. Maya-maya, magkadikit na mga braso natin. Kunyari hindi ko namalayan.

Pumapatak ang metro at ako ang nagbayad ng kuwarto pero hinayaan lang kita magkuwento nang magkuwento. Pwede naman sana gawin iyon sa labas. Sa ibang lugar na walang bayad. Pero sa labas kasi hindi kita matitingnan nang maigi. Yung tipong malapitan talaga. Hindi naman sa nagwa-gwapuhan talaga ako sa iyo pero minsan ang sarap mo tingnan habang nagsasalita ka. Nadadala kasi ng personality mo. Nadadala ng pagkatao mo.

Hindi ko na din natiis at maya-maya ay niyakap na kita. Niyakap mo din ako. Pero tuloy lang ang kuwentuhan natin. Lumapat ang kamay ko sa tagiliran mo at bigla kang gumalaw.

"May kiliti ka pala dito?" sabi ko.

"Oo."

"E dito?" Gumalaw ka ulit.

"Huwag," sabi mo.

At hindi ko na pinilit. Kasi pakiramdam ko ikaw yung tipo ng lalaki na hindi ganun. Lalo na kas hindi naman tayo.

Minsan hinahalikan kita. Sa balikat mo, habang magkatabi tayo sa kama. Sa leeg. Sa pisngi. At alam ko na bawal dapat iyon kasi nga, hindi naman tayo. Pero hindi ko alam din sa sarili ko. Hindi naman kita mahal. Pero gusto kong gawin iyon. Gusto kitang lambingin. Siguro kasi yun ang hinahanap ko ngayon. Yun ang kailangan ko.

Maya-maya nagtalo tayo. Tungkol sa kung bakit mas qualified pa sa mga trabaho ang mga may college degrees kesa sa mga taong mas may experience. Medyo naging mainit ang diskusyon kaya napabangon ako. Umupo ako sa iyo, habang nakahiga ka at doon ako nagpaliwanag kung bakit dapat ganun ang sistema. Parang wrestling lang ang posisyon natin. Para ding mag-asawa. Alam ko, hindi ka sanay dun. Pero wala eh. Pasko. Malamig.

Dalawang oras na pala tayong nag-uusap nang hindi ko namamalayan at nag-ring na yung telepono. Twenty minutes na lang daw, sabi ng receptionist.

"Naku, tara na," sabi mo, sabay hablot sa akin.

"Ayoko nang nagmamadali," sabi ko.

"Sayang yung bayad."

"Okay lang."

"Sayang."

Pero tinawagan ko pa din ang receptionist at sinabing mag-eextend tayo. Kung puwede nga lang, huwag na natin gawin kasi masaya na naman ako sa lambingan natin. Pero wala eh. Ang hot mo kasi.

***

 "Baka usisain ako ng nanay mo," tanong mo habang magkatabi tayo sa jeep papunta sa amin. Di ko alam talaga kung bakit ba kita inimbitahan para uminom sa bahay. Medyo awkward kasi iyon. Well, sabi mo nga, wala ka din namang kasama sa Pasko. Malulungkot ka lang. Malulungkot lang tayo pareho.

"Hindi," sagot ko. "Nag-text na ako sa nanay ko. Sabi ko huwag siya matanong kasi hindi naman kita boyfriend."

"Wala akong cap. Hindi ako sanay na wala akong cap. Lalo na kapag lumalabas," sabay hagod sa maikli mong buhok.

"Okay naman ah," sabi ko. Pero natuwa ako nang kaunti at nag-alala ka sa itsura mo. Kinabahan ka ba sa nanay ko?

***

Ikaw ang nag-timpla ng iinumin natin. Ikaw kasi nakaka-alam nun. Lime. Sprite. At gin. Wala nga lang yelo kahit saan dahil naubos na ng iba ding mga iinom ngayong Christmas Eve.

Inom. Yosi. Maya-maya namumula ka na. Humingi ka ng contact lens solution kasi nagiging grainy na yung suot mo.

Nakikinig lang ako sa iyo. Kasi, kapag kinukuwento mo yung lahat ng napagdaanan mo, nababalewala ang buhay ko. Ang dami mo nang naranasan. Kung saan-saan ka na napunta. Lahat ng mga isyu ko sa buhay ngayon, nagiging trivial kapag ikaw na ang nagsasalita. Hindi lang problema ko. Lahat ng mga problema namin as a batch, nagiging pawang mga kaartehan lang.

Akala ko dati, sa mga mas matatalino lang sa akin ako mai-impress. Dun sa mga mas malawak ang pag-iisip. Dun sa mga kayang gumawa ng mga bagay na hindi ko kaya. Hindi ko akalain na meron din palang mga kagaya mo na iba ang liga, pero deserving din ng paghanga ko.

Minsan, habang nagsasalita ka, gusto ko sanang hawakan ang kamay mo. Lalo na kasi minsan alam ko naiiyak ka na. Lalo na kapag nagkukuwento ka sa pamilya mo. Kung paanong nakikita mo silang lahat na masaya sa Facebook. Masasaya na sa kani-kanilang pamilya. Tapos ikaw na naipit sa gitna, wala nang nag-aalala. Leche pati nga ako naiiyak. Kaso hindi naman kita malapitan masyado. Kasi friends nga tayo. Friends lang.

Pero may mga pahaging ka pa rin na mga salitang binibitawan. Mga "what if" na sitwasyon. Mga sinasabi mong hindi ka naman naghahanap ng boyfriend ngayon pero hindi naman ibig sabihin noon sarado na ang puso mo. Mga sinasabi mong minsan nakakatuwa ang tadhana kasi may iba-ibang klase kang taong makakasalamuha tapos baka yung iba dun, siya na pala yung hinahanap mo. Mga sinasabi mong sa sitwasyon natin wala naman kasing nag-iinitiate ng papunta sa relationships pero kung meron lang sana.

At sa totoo lang, gusto ko nang patulan yung mga hirit mong iyon lalo na dahil lasing ka naman so baka di mo rin masyado maalala. Pero kasi, alam ko, na ang kailangan mo ngayon ay iyong makakatulong sa iyo. At hindi ako iyon ngayon. Kasi sarili ko nga, hindi ko maayos. Paano pa kaya ang ibang tao? Gusto ko sana subukan pero hindi ako sigurado kung kaya ko ba.

Tsaka kasi wala ka na ring tiwala. Kasi lahat ng mga lalaking na-meet mo, habol lang sa iyo katawan mo. Lahat ng pakikipag-kaibigan, puro sex lang sa huli. At sadly, ganun din tingin mo sa akin. Hindi ko tuluyang ma-deny. Ang hot mo kasi. Pero alam ko na kaya kong wala. Kasi may nakikita ako sa iyo na hindi nakikita ng iba.

"Hindi naman ako nagkukuwento sa iba eh," sabi mo. "Hindi ako ganito. May isa din dati. Kaso wala na siya ngayon."

"Wala ka bang mga kaibigan?"

"Wala na. Kasi palipat-lipat nga ako. Tsaka dati yung bestfriend ko, sinulot yung boyfriend ko. So wala na akong bestfriend-bestfriend ngayon."

"Alam mo, ang malas mo. Ang malas mo sa lahat ng mga taong nakilala mo."

"Kaya ako, alam ko na iyan. Marami na akong alam tungkol sa mga tao. Sex lang habol nila."

"Huwag mong lahatin."

"Laging may kapalit iyan."

"Hindi ba pwedeng may mabait lang talaga? Tingnan mo ako, ilang beses na din naman akong ginamit at niloko ha."

"Hindi ka ba natatauhan? Masyado ka kasing nagtitiwala. Ako, dinala mo ako dito sa bahay niyo. Paano kung masamang tao pala ako? Dapat hindi ka ganun."

Kumunot ang noo ko. Kasi may point ka. Tama ka.

"Ayoko kasing sumuko," sabi ko.

"Saan?"

"Siguro kung sa iyo, ang tingin mo sa akin hindi natututo. Pero pwede mo din namang tingnan na hindi din ako sumusuko."

At for once, napangiti kita.

***

Inayos mo ang iyong mga gamit at tumayo ka na para umalis.

"Ihahatid mo ba ako?"

"Oo."

"So pano," tanong mo habang tumigil ka sa may pinto.

Niyakap na lang kita. Ang gulo kasi ng sitwasyon natin. Marami sana akong gustong sabihin. Maraming gustong linawin. Pero hindi pa panahon. Sa ngayon, friends tayo. Friends lang.

"Merry Christmas."

The Scientist

I think that almost all of us, back when we were younger, were asked this question at least once in our lives:

"What do you want to be when you grow up?"

Doctors. Lawyers. Teachers. Engineers. These are the most common answers. But me, I always had one solid answer. No seconds wasted for thinking. No time spent on dithering. Just one straight solid answer:

"Scientist."

***

I had always been good at the physical sciences. I was one of those who were born curious. I asked many questions. And science delivered the answers. It satisfied my natural curiosity. And back then, though I had only the vaguest image of a man wearing glasses and lab coat, holding a flask and mixing chemicals, I already knew I wanted to be one.

High school came. Then college. And my answer never wavered. I still wanted to be a scientist. That was why chemistry was my first choice. I never really wanted to be a chemist per se. I just wanted to be a scientist, and chemistry was my highest science grade at the time I was filling up the UP forms.

Then grad school came. And then my resolve began to fluctuate. At times I held on. Other times, I began to be disinterested. Slowly, that feeling grew. Until I began to abhor being a scientist altogether.

Of course, this change of heart wasn't really caused by grad school alone. I think most of it was due to the philosophical revolution I was going through at that time. But sadly, though, what pushed me to jump off this boat altogether was the scientists themselves who I encountered.

Now I'm not saying they're bad people. Not at all. They're actually great people. Awesome, even. And I look up to them because of their brilliance and discipline. I just don't like how they were too focused about their work, if you know what I mean. Too focused that some of them tend to forget to develop their other aspects. They're awesome in their own fields, but from what I've seen, they are also quite imbalanced.

I mean, some of them haven't had enough of feeding their egos. Some of them do it only for the praise. Some of them do it only for the prestige. And some of them don't like fun at all. And worse, they tend to extend that mindframe to others and expect them to not have fun too. I just thought that, being familiar with the scientific method, they, of all people, should be open-minded. But some of them weren't. The gap between what I expected from them and how they are in real life somehow dims my awe of these people.

Now I don't think some of these unwanted effects can be helped. And I think I understand a bit of that transformative process myself since I was under it for almost a decade. The extravagant expectations, the never-ending pressures and deadlines in this field... They do take their toll in one's psyche. Perhaps I was simply surrounded by the wrong types of scientists. Perhaps.

Some people are telling me that I simply lack the discipline to be a scientist. And I'm not denying that. It's true. I think that if brainpower was the only requirement, I could have muddled through that somehow. But I'm a slacker. I'm one of the worst there is. But even if I were to discipline myself and make it as a scientist, I still wouldn't be happy with what I've become. I'd be a failure as a scientist. I'm sure of it. Since I'd be too distracted with life.

If I were a scientist I think I'd spend more time looking out of the lab windows. I'd be looking outside at the people. At the sky. At the trees. And that simply wouldn't do. So I'm letting it go. I have to let it go. This childhood dream proved to be not for me.

Sometimes I do wonder why I had to go all rebellious during my grad school years. Sometimes I wish I never questioned the things they were demanding from me. Sometimes I wish I never doubted my own drives and simply followed everything blindly. I'm sure, that if only I behaved myself a little I'd have more progress in this field. But questioning myself and everyone was the scientific thing to do. I cannot be a scientist, but that does not mean that I couldn't be scientific, right?

It's funny that when I was younger, I had a ready answer to the question: "What do you want to be when you grow up?" Now that I'm older, I find that, strangely, it's one of the most difficult questions that I have to answer.

And if you ask me that question now, reader, my answer would be:

"I don't know."

Inches

It was one of those nights, you know. When you're in some random queen-sized bed, in some random room, in some random sleazy hotel, and some random guy has just left. There had been the most awkward silence after. And it seemed like hours before he finally decided that he should probably leave. He said something was wrong with you. He asked you when was the last time you did this. And you lied and said the last time was two years ago. Although it was really only a few weeks since. And the guy did not question you because you were so bad at it that it was believable.

You extended your arm across that empty space in the bed, wondering what has happened to you. The other guys before, they said you were good at this. Extremely good even, that they did not want to lose you even if they never wanted to get serious with you. So good then. But now something has broken and you... you're left caressing that empty space on that vast bed. Feeling it. Stroking it. Caressing it, and hoping there was someone warm there. Not just any random guy. Someone warm.

And in your head, you run through all the guys you've slept with. Those you can remember. And you realize that it wasn't really them who were cold. It was you. And try as you might, you just don't feel that warmth you used to feel before. You know this, but you can't do anything about it.

So you... You just lay there, hoping that you'll feel a bit more lonely so the scene would be perfect. But nope. That's beyond you now. You're just lying there. Cold. And broken. Unromantic.

The Death of Sir Bry

These days, I feel like my life is being twisted into another finale of sorts. Like Mat Cauthon, it seems like a pair of dice is rattling inside my head. I need to make an important decision very soon, but I'm too busy with work at the moment to allow myself to really think this through. Goodness knows that I shouldn't even be writing in here. I can't afford the time to reflect. But since I can't make myself move forward in writing the book at the moment then I might as well straighten the road ahead of me by picking apart these knots while I can.

And what's this very important decision that I'm bugging you about? Well, it's nothing really grand. It's just that I'm thinking of quitting the academe.Which like, has been my job since forever.

You see, I've always had this drive to try and do something else. I've been told that I do well as a teacher, and goodness knows how many students have cried just to prove it. This is all very fulfilling and flattering for me, and the universe knows how grateful I am to be a part of these students' lives and I have discussed this more fully in several of my older posts. Education is my passion. Or should I say, was. I... I don't know what really happened. I thought that I could teach until my last breath. But I guess I'm not as noble and self-sacrificing as I once thought I was. From recent events, it turns out that education is only a secondary priority.

I don't mean to be a humbug, but the truth is I am not challenged anymore by teaching. I can see it in my head already. I'll be doing the same things over and over again. As I've said, I don't really make an effort when I teach. I just flow. And as it is, I do okay. Even if you add research to the formula, the variety it will add to my job will not be enough. I will be bored. In fact, I am bored. And I hate this feeling. No growth means no go in my book.

Of course, one could argue that I can choose to grow vertically. But then again, even if I do secure a more stable position in this field, I'd be doing the same things. Even if you add the prospect of administration as I go up the ladder, I don't see how it can present things which would be challenging for me. I need to go out now. I need to start anew. I want to discover the other things that I don't know I have.

It goes without question that I would hate to leave my students. This issue had never been their fault. On the contrary, they are the only major reason why I would consider staying. But unfortunately, I'm not sure now that what they do is proving to be enough. At this rate, if I stay, I'd end up a robot, no matter how fun I make my classes. I must light my fires again, and my job at the moment is just not doing this anymore.

I'm not sure if I'm right, but I just think that there is so much more to life that I want to experience. And the thing is, I wouldn't discover these things until I leave the academe. The practical (and logical) people, well they would say that I'm acting the fool again. They'd tell me that I can do these things later. They'd tell me to build a solid foundation first. They'd tell me to secure my future instead of continuously flipping back and forth. One day I'm dead set on doing one thing. The next day I've completely convinced myself to do the opposite.

Despite all these being said and done, still, nothing is final yet. I might make a compromise between my purpose and my personal growth. I might learn to find a new reason to stay in the academe. But then, my instinct is telling me to go now. It had been a faint voice before, but now it's becoming louder and more and more insistent. I should go. I need to go. I must go. Now.

At the moment, I honestly still don't have a direction. I have gut feelings maybe, but I'm taking no steps to pursue them yet. As of now, I'm really lost. But something tells me that I should follow this feeling all the same. In the end, it's better to get lost and fail because of my own rash decisions, than to stay dissatisfied in one track because I'm too cowardly to try new things.

It's almost as if I've had enough of this kind of life. In a way, you can say that I've made the most out of being a teacher. I've squeezed it dry and I've reaped results teachers more experienced than me could only dream of. Now I'm done. I'm ready to move on. I'm ready to start my second life.

***

I was playing Civilization IV a month ago and I stumbled upon this Euripides quote from the game:

"The wisest men follow their own direction."

I've been following my own path for most of my life but I just wish it would make me feel wiser. As it is, all it brings me is confusion and frustration. Wagonloads of them. Maybe one day, it will. Though I half-wish this will never happen because the moment I deem myself wise, I know I'd feel empty.

PV = nRT

I closed the gate of our house and I stepped out onto the rain-soaked street. Though I had a destination, I still felt lost. My steps were slow and uncertain, and though it was raining a bit, I didn't feel like using an umbrella. I did not have enough space in my mind to worry about getting wet. And of all the people I would come upon as I left home, I saw my Mom walking towards me. She looked smaller, somehow, and other times I would have essayed a weak and guilty smile as she walked past but I never even looked at her that time. I ignored her as if I didn't know my own Mom. And that's okay because I'm sure she feels the same.

Things have changed between us, and they've changed so much beyond what she could mend. Long gone were the days when I could approach her with a problem she could fix. I've grown up so much that I've grown out of the simple domestic life I used to be part of. Come to think of it, I've never really approached her with anything serious. As in never. Because I know my issues were far beyond what she could comprehend.

I spent the weekend over at my friends' house. It was lucky that both of them were my close friends before they got married to each other, otherwise I wouldn't be able to stay for the night. I wouldn't have anywhere to go to, if that wasn't the case. My other friends, well, they're too far from me. Miles away, they were, in different time zones spread across the globe. I'm the only one left here. And when I think about how spread out we all are now, it only adds to my loneliness.

Being with my friends brought me calm. It made me more stable, in a way. Somehow, when I'm with friends, I am shielded from the darker things in my mind. I don't think they could get me completely, since I don't think anyone ever will, but at the least, I know that they would try to understand me all the same, and that brings me comfort, albeit only temporarily.

It had been an amazing experience, those two days I spent at their house. Though we did not really do anything special. We just lounged about in their queen-sized bed, reading magazines, browsing the internet, and watching movies and TV series. Nothing extraordinary. But I suppose that was what I needed at the moment - a semblance of normalcy.

Even how they dined together as a family proved to be a wonderful experience for me. That they eat their meals together regularly. They talk about mundane, sometimes bordering on the most frivolous, topics, and it wasn't exactly a mentally-stimulating experience. But just the fact that they were all there, as a family, being normal... That that was how things are supposed to be. I... I could just cry.

But I had to go home eventually, and when that night of my departure finally came, I couldn't help but dread how I would feel back home. I knew that immersing myself in their household for a while will only emphasize how dreary my own life was. So I found myself walking away from their house, on a rain-soaked street, with my head bowed and my steps uncertain. I had a destination. I was going back home, but I still felt lost.

Despite all these seemingly undefinable things clouding my head at the moment, somehow, the other people around me, they still make me feel loved. When I got back to work yesterday, I was welcomed. I was missed. People worried about me, and I felt guilty because I felt that I do not really deserve their concern. My students smiled at seeing me back and wondered how I was. They smiled, as if the simple sight of me brought them happiness. I should be happy at that, and of course I am. But I... I couldn't bring their warmth inside my own heart.

And that's the saddest thing, reader. Being confused, and being burdened about the shitty aspects of life - that's sad. But being confused despite being loved? This is worse.

I don't really know how to pick myself up again, reader. When other people ask me for advice, I give them solid and rational ones. That is easy for me, since I've allowed myself to go through many different situations in the past, and the experiences I've had and my objectivity make me more reliable as a source of wisdom. But in this thing, reader? I don't fucking know what to do. I can help others. I can help the world. But I can't help myself. Other people try to support me. And I'm thankful that they do. But I... I still can't help myself.

I wish for this episode to be over. Gawd, I do. Other people rely on me, and they need me to be back on track. It is essential that I get back on track. But how can I heal when the only thing which could help me is to be rid of their dependence on me for a while?

How I wish I could just live for myself for a while. That it would only be me who would be affected if I make a misstep. But now, if I stumble, other people would fall too. And I'm trapped in this situation. I have to let these burdens go, but I can't. I simply can't walk away. There is no one to take my place.

It's frustrating, reader because recently I've devoted my time to finding out the right ideals from which I can wrap my life around. Ideals to be my pillars, my guiding principles on how to live. Unlike other people, maybe I actually already have a semblance of how to really live. But what I haven't figured out is how to live in this world. This world which is, you know, far from being ideal.

Time To Sleep

All week I had been dreaming.

All week, I've been unable to get out of bed and go to work. I'm not exactly a stranger when it comes to absences, but it is only now that I've done so five days in a row. I'm admittedly at my worst career performance. I may have been reckless once or twice before, but never deliberately this... defiant. I don't know how warmly I will be received at work this Monday. In fact, I'm too ashamed (and too afraid) to show my face there ever again. If I only I could just say "I quit" and be done away with this. But I can't. This world simply does not work that way. And I owe my colleagues much more than such a heartless way of saying goodbye.

In the end, no matter how frazzled my psychological state may be at the moment, I am responsible for my students. It would've been so easy. These boundaries between what should be done and what should be avoided should have been clearly defined. This issue isn't even substantial enough to make a good argument. I am wrong, period. But then, it's this same responsibility I am actually running away from. That's the catch.

You see, the trouble with being strong (or at least, trying to be strong) all your life is that sooner or later, that last feather which will break your back will fall. Now I am not going to list down all my burdens, stressors, and deadlines for you since I don't want to have your pity and I don't want to give you a headache. There are just times when, you know, you feel like you've had enough and you have no other recourse to deal with it other than vanishing into thin air.

I haven't talked to anyone since Monday, even to my parents, and it is only this afternoon when I had a moment of lucidity to realize that I fucking need help already. That this is insane and I had to fucking talk to someone. I really was unable to get out of bed, and if you're thinking that I spent the time going to malls or flirting left and right (I wish I did) and pretending that it's sembreak already then you're sadly mistaken. And if you're wondering how my parents dealt with that - how they dealt with me trying to squeeze myself into the corner of my bed and desperately shutting myself off from the rest of the world - well then, let's say this wasn't the first time this happened to me. Besides, we already do live in a mental hospital of sorts, so they're quite used to erratic behavior. They've seen much worse from my brother.

Now reader, I really don't want to go back to those moments on my bed. They're ugly to describe, and just thinking about how I was then twists my stomach into knots. At the moment, I am sitting here on the floor of my friends' bedroom, just in case you're wondering how I got myself out of that stupor. I just need people around me. People I can talk to about these things and yep, I think I'm much better now. Talking does help when it comes to my craziness. At least, now that I've got company, I'm okay. I really don't know what will happen when I get back home. I'm beginning to dread my bed now. Yeah, my recent episode has been that bad.

It's all in my head, you can say. Maybe this is all simply make-believe. I mean, I may be creative enough to invent symptoms or whatever and maybe you wouldn't know the difference. And perhaps you're right. But I wish we could just swap brains for a moment and let me see how you deal with these. Maybe we could swap lives.

It's all in my head, you say, and yeah you're right. Only that everything is all in my head. Everything is all in your head also. And we can go beat our heads up and wax philosophical about these things so don't you dare say that things are simple when it's all in your head.

My dreams are all in my head too yet they make me feel real emotions. I have had such awesome dreams this week you know. Simple themes, really. Like me and my ex working it out again. Like me having a son whose name was Ion. Simple themes, yeah. But that feeling I got when I looked into my son's eyes?  That feeling of stability that knowing the love of my life still feels the same for me after all these years? They were real all the same.

All week I had been dreaming and I got myself lost in my own head. You can say that I'm crazy, dropping off everything just like that. Or maybe all the rest of you are the ones who are crazy, getting yourselves obsessed in rigid man-made structures like careers and tasks and money.

This past week had been an ordeal to endure awake. But when I've muddled through another night of insistent and unbidden thoughts of killing myself and I've managed to fall asleep and dream, it's a different thing. I learn more about things when I'm dreaming.

It says a lot about my life at the moment that I'd rather just sleep and dream than live through it. And yeah, admitting this makes me sad as hell myself.

Yeah...





I suppose...


I suppose it's time to sleep now.

Istranded

Nagpalipas na ako ng isang oras sa Faculty Room para lang humupa na kahit kaunti yung baha sa may Taft. Pero pagdating ko doon, medyo mataas pa rin ang tubig. May mga batang naka-uniform pa na kinuha ang opportunity para kumita ng pera. Naglagay sila ng mga kung anong mga kahoy para makadaan ang mga tao sa baha tapos naniningil sila ng mga barya. Naasar ako dahil nagtitipid ako ng pera ngayon. Sinubukan kong humanap ng ibang daanan pero wala na kaya nagbayad na din ako. Limang piso pa. Wala kasi akong mas maliit na barya at hindi ko alam kung susuklian nila ako if ever.

Umabot ako sa gitna ng Taft at doon, lurkey-lurkey ang mga tao. Nagkalat ang mga estudyante. Nakikipag-patintero sa mga bus at jeep na usad-pagong naman kung umandar. Buti na lang may mga traffic aides at kahit papaano, nababawasan nila ang pagkakabuhul-buhol ng mga sasakyan at tao. Naging tila isang maze ang kalsada. Iniiwasan ng mga tao ang mga bahang lugar. Di naman na ganun kataas ang tubig pero ayoko ding mabasa ang sapatos kong leather kaya sumali din ako.

Nakaabot ako sa usual kong abangan ng bus malapit sa Luneta at nagsimula na akong maghintay ng bus papuntang Las Pinas. Pero as expected, lahat ng bus puno. As in puno kahit yung mga nakatayo. E ayoko namang tumayo sa bus kasi alam ko nang matindi ang trapik, lalo na sa La Salle at Buendia. Kaya nagmatigas akong maghintay pa.

Ngunit after 15 minutes, wala pa din talaga. Kaya inisip kong lumakad na lang papunta sa Lawton. Baka doon makaka-upo pa ako. Kahit na dalawang taon na ako sa Manila area ay hindi ko pa rin kabisado ang lugar. Unlike sa nakasanayan kong Quezon City na derecho lang ang mga daan, sa Manila maraming pasikot-sikot. At tila lahat, main roads. So kahit na hindi ko sure ang pupuntahan ko ay naglakad pa din ako. Otherwise, wala akong patutunguhan.

Nakakatuwa din minsan kapag baha. Doon lumalabas ang creativity ng mga tao. Yung resourcefulness kung paano makatawid without getting your feet wet. Long cut dito. Ikot doon. Akyat sa halamanan sa gitna ng kalsada. Minsan may mga mauunang makahanap ng daan kaya maswerte ka at susundan mo na lang sila. Minsan ikaw mismo mangunguna. At kung dead end pala at mas lalong baha sa dulo e wala kang choice kundi bumalik. Nakakahiya man sa mga nakakita sa iyong ibang tao pero well, at least sinubukan mong humanap ng paraan.

Sinimulan na akong pawisan dahil sa exertion ng ilang minutong paglalakad. At lalong mainit ang pakiramdam dahil naka-jacket pa ako at sobrang humid ng panahon. Hindi rin nakatulong ang mahinang ambon dahil tingin ko ay magkakasakit ako kung mabasa ako nang pawis at pagod. At kung bakit ko pa dinala ang mabigat na textbook ni Harris pauwi noong araw na iyon ay hindi ko mawari dahil dumagdag pa siya sa burden ko. Pero kahit na super uncomfortable at pagod ko na noong mga panahong iyon ay nakuha ko pa ring mag-isip dahil parang ang laki ng symbolism ng pagka-stranded ko sa mga nangyayari ngayon sa buhay ko.

Naisip ko na yung paglalakad pabalik sa ruta ng bus, na yun yung investment phase ng buhay. Kung gusto mong makaupo sa bus at maging komportable, kailangan mong maglakad muna. Kung maghihintay ka lang at di ka gagalaw, baka wala kang masakyan o baka nakatayo ka lang sa bus. Tapos yung iba-ibang strategies ng mga tao para makarating doon, yun naman nga yung kanya-kanya nating diskarte para maka-ahon. Minsan may susundan ka na. Minsan ikaw ang pioneer, which is mas mahirap.

Kagaya naman ng lagi kong ginagawa, kalahati lang ng utak ko ang nasa present kong sitwasyon noon. Yung kalahati, naglalakbay at nag-iisip. At naisip kong wala talaga akong patutunguhan kung nandun lang ako sa bus stop, maghihintay kasama ng iba. Kaya naglakad pa ako pabalik. Hanggang naka-abot na ako sa Lawton. But no, wala pa rin. Di ko maisip kung anong mahika ang meron at kahit na andun na ako sa mismong iniikutan ng bus ay puno pa rin to the bones ang bus. Di ko maalis ang inggit sa mukha ko habang nakatingin pababa sa akin ang ilang nasa bus. At hindi nakakatulong na tila nag-smirk pa yung iba sa aming hindi pa rin makasakay. Sige, kayo na ang maswerte.

Tapos dumadagdag pa sa pagka-asar ko yung fact na heto ako, naghihirap magtrabaho. Naghihirap pa makauwi. Pagod na pagod, pawis na pawis, at hindi alam kung paano makakauwi. Samantalang ang mga tao sa bahay namin, komportable lang sa harap ng TV. Na ang sweldo ko, mapupunta lang sa kanila. Na hindi nila alam kung gaano kahirap din para sa akin ang kumita ng pera, lalo na para sa mga taong hindi naman talaga deserving masuportahan. Nood-nood lang ng TV tapos ako magbabayad ng kuryente. Kumpleto sila kumain, with matching meryenda intervals (walang palya 'to) samantalang ako dalawang beses lang kumain araw-araw. HIndi rin nakatulong nung sinabi ko sa magulang ko na gusto ko sanang magpahinga this sem. Naasar lang siya sa halip na matuwa na kahit papaano, for the first time ever in my whole life, ay mababawasan ako ng mga iisipin. Minsan tuloy naiisip ko na ang tingin lang nila sa akin ay taga-kita ng pera. Na kaya lang sila mabait sa akin dahil doon. Nagka-anak sila para dito.Kasi di ba, sana naintindihan din niya na napapagod din ako. Pero wala eh. Hindi ganun. Kaya yun, sinubukan ko na lang aliwin ang sarili ko kasi baka pumutok ako right then and there sa gitna ng bahang kalsada.

Minsan may mag-jowang napatapat sa akin habang nandun ako mismo sa gitna ng Lawton. Napansin ko sila dahil ang gwapo ng lalaki na naka-school uniform pa. Naka-side view siya samantalang likod lang nung babae ang nakikita ko. Pinapayungan niya yung girl at nakapa-ikot yung kabilang braso niya sa bewang nung girl. Nahuhuli niya akong tumingin pero dahil naisip kong hindi ko na naman siya siguro makikita ulit ay hindi na ako nahiya. I mean, stranded na ako and all, burdened physically, mentally, and emotionally tapos papalampasin ko pa yung chance na mapasaya ang sarili ko kahit in this mababaw way lang? So yun, I got myself lost, imagining na ako yung kasama niya. Na ako yung pinapayungan niya. Tapos inisip ko din kung ano kaya pakiramdam na mahawakan yung arms niya. Yung maramdaman na secure ako, despite all this baha and strandedness.

Pero yun, hindi din naman ako tuluyang nakapag-senti dun. Kasi alam ko na ako din naman ang pasaway when it came to my relationships. Kasi meron namang mga dumating kaso ako lang ang nag-iinarte parati in the end. Kaya na-divert ang hopes of emotional security ko sa lust na lang. Ano kaya feeling nung ka-sex siya? Yun. Yun pwede pa.

Ngunit isang oras na pala ang lumipas at wala pa din talaga akong masakyan. So kailangan ko pang maglakad northward. Kulang pa ang investment ko. And there, I said goodbye to my imaginary lover.

Lumampas na ako ng City Hall at hindi ko na talaga alam kung nasaan na ako exactly. Basta huwag lang akong tatawid ng Pasig River, somehow makikita ko din kung saan nga ba umiikot yung mga Las Pinas buses. Naka-ilang tawid din, pabalik-balik, ngunit umabot ako sa lugar na hindi na pala dinadaanan ng mga bus na kailangan ko. So yun, after nang malayo kong nilakad, bumalik lang din ako. More than two hours na akong lagalag sa puso ng Maynila. Pawisan at basa pa ng ulan.

Tapos doon nag-sink in sa akin, at my most difficult stranded moment, na dapat chill lang ako. Ang exagg na nga ng situation ko eh, so huwag ko na dapat dagdagan internally. Tumigil na lang muna ako sa tapat ng isang tindahan at bumili ng yosi. Next time alam ko na. Next time manood na lang muna ako ng sine. Next time tumambay na lang instead sa mall. Or mag-dinner. Next time, alam ko na. So chill lang, makakauwi din naman ako.

Sinubukan ko yung ibang daanan at this time, nakita ko na ulit yung mga Las Pinas buses. Puno pa rin sila, heaven forbid. At napatigil ako for a while sa ilalim ng overpass. Doon ko nakita yung mga homeless na natutulog at natauhan ako. Around them, aligaga ang mga tao dahil nga sa baha. Pero for them, okay lang. Wala namang bago for them kahit na for the rest of us, it was a night to dread and remember. Doon pa din naman sila matutulog. Narealize ko na ang arte ko dahil ang problema ko lang naman talaga at the moment ay hindi ako makauwi. Pero at least may uuwian ako. E sila?

Kaya naglakad pa ako. Kaya pa 'to. Huwag akong maarte. Konti pa. At yun, magically, may tumigil na bus sa harap ko. And magically, hindi siya puno! Although naunahan pa din ako ng ibang makasakay, may natira pang empty seat for me. At yung feeling nung after nakaupo ka na after halos tatlong oras nang pagtayo? Yung feeling na yun? Serene. Hindi ako ecstatic or triumphant. Serenity ang naramdaman ko instead. At doon ko na-sense na in fairness, kahit na lugmok ako most of the time inside my own head, may mga bagong bagay pa din akong natututunan. Sa mga panahong di ko ineexpect.

Yay. I survived.

Sana kayanin ko pa din. Til this season is over.

Electrique Ushers in the Third Age with its Glorious 32nd Album, "Kingdom Come"

With the recently released Electrique's second four-year greatest hits compilation "Forever Young" gaining critical acclaim from both long-time fans and new listeners, Electrique CEO Mr. Aldasiel wastes no time in basking in his success as he once again turns on his full gears towards his next project, "Kingdom Come" slated for release as early as July this year.

"This is the beginning of a new era in Electrique's career," Mr. Aldasiel announced in a press conference held in the more stable outskirts of his mind amidst an imaginary audience. "It's the beginning of the Third Age, this next four-year period, covering 2013 to 2017. It's daunting to imagine that I would be 32 by the time I release my third greatest hits compilation, and because of that internal pressure, I want my first album for this period to be a cut above my previous works. I want it to be definitive, this transition. With this new album, I want my listeners and fans to be shocked anew about the new heights I am still capable of achieving. I want to give them the impression that they really haven't heard anything yet. That I have much more to deliver."

Electrique received a renewed vigor after it released "Icarus" (2011), arguably its most successful album to date. Form then on, it continued its winning streak with album gems such as "Revelations" (2012), "Head in the Clouds" (2012), and "Electric Dreams" (2013), all gaining Electrique new fans and converting previous naysayers into thinking that this simple personal project is more than a whimsy and is really capable of producing something grand. Can Electrique really scale it up when it already has achieved so much when it comes to mixtape-making?

"'Forever Young' wasn't a difficult album to make since it was a greatest hits album. The songs were already there and mostly I just had to plan their lineup nicely. And the six new songs included there were already in my pocket and I had been simply biding my time until this season came around. So you can say that since "Viral", I wasn't really making a new album. And this is why I still have this pent-up energy and ideas within me to come up with some spanking brand new sounds."

Electrique's last official release, the aformenetioned "Viral", however, failed to achieve its namesake popularity. It received a mediocre reception, recalling the response of its listeners for "Drifter".

"I think the reason why "Viral" did not make it big was because it was essentially a feel bad album. I think it's my saddest album, despite the rampant sexual context. It starts warm and steamy but ends up cold and dry and lonely, and very few listeners will revel in that. Despite a few glitches towards the end, I still think it was a remarkable well-executed album in a thematic sense. It presents a solid story, complete with an emotional progression supported both lyrically and acoustically. However, it bogs its listeners down. Other than that, I admit that its making had been rushed. It ended up half-cooked.

"So I'm going to undo all this lull with this next album, "Kingdom Come". It's going to be about changes and transitions. As with my best works, I want to showcase this theme not only in the lyrics but also in the sound. I've been lucky to unearth some songs which sound fresh, and they're going to dispel the tiredness which permeated "Viral". "Kingdom Come", as the title suggests, is about hope. It is about getting back on track, so some songs in here are definitely paean in nature. But of course, the concept of hope is best executed through overcoming trials so there will also be some downers in here. Not very many I hope. Just enough to deliver my message effectively."

But how exactly will "Kingdom Come" sound? Electrique's recent albums can be roughly classified into two poles: the twangy acoustic ones ("Icarus", "Revelations", "Head in the Clouds") and the synthy electronic ones ("Drifter", "Electric Dreams", "Viral"). Which would it be this time?

"I'm excited with the sound of  "Kingdom Come" because it's a fusion of genres. The base of the songs here are of the usual indie rock/pop palette, but the overtones are liberally laden with synths for more texture. It's the first time I'm doing this, and the results are unusually good. It provided the much-needed freshness I'm aiming for with this record. Hopefully, I will win the hearts of those who like either genre. And of course, there's something new to the sound of the album as well but I won't reveal it at the moment. The title of the album also hints at this new... err, beat. There are so many facets to the title of this album."

As the press conference drew to a close, Mr. Aldasiel gave one last message to its longtime fans.

"You are in for a treat, my friends," he proclaimed while raising his arms in a warm welcoming gesture. "I want this album to be my best album, beating by leagues both "Icarus" and "Head in the Clouds". You will feel that this is indeed, a new era. A new level to sound. A new level to meaning. This is music which will make you feel giddy. Music which will not escape your ears for days maybe weeks. But the message, my dears... The message of this album will be the one which will truly last in your minds and hearts. Beat the drums and sound those trumpets, let our Kingdom Come!"

And with a last resounding hurray from the audience, Mr. Aldasiel retreated into the chaotic confines of his mind to work more on his self-proclaimed work of art.

A Gate Left Open

I was 18 when I first ran away from home.

It was during summer so I had no school and it started because of a rather silly issue. My family were in the living room, and my father was making a mock phone call to a cousin who I was close with. My father was calling my cousin names because my cousin was rumored to be gay, and of course that set me off. But it wasn't about my father's bigotry which irked me, and in those days I wasn't "out" with anyone anyway, even with myself. I got mad simply because he was making fun of one of my friends. That started a row. And at that time, my father and I weren't on the best of terms. Shouting arguments with him were not uncommon in my teenage years. He used to hurt me physically too but that night I remembered it wasn't one such.

As we were exchanging choice words, my father deflected the issue to more serious ones, telling me I was only mad at him like that because he couldn't give me the things I needed for school. He couldn't buy me a computer. He couldn't buy me books. He couldn't give me enough baon in the first place. And that surprised me, because even if what he said was true, I never took those things against him. I never resented him for those lacks, not even once in my thoughts. Besides, that wasn't the issue at hand. But he stayed adamant about his own beliefs of why I was mad at him. He went on with ruing the day he allowed me to go to UP because it allowed me to be rebellious, as he once feared. He said I shouldn't fight back. He did not want anyone questioning his authority. I retorted that if that was the case then he did not want a son but a slave. All this time my mother was just sitting there quietly. She never interfered when we were fighting. As our shouting drew to an end, my father gave me an ultimatum - if I don't like how he's running our household then I should leave the house.

And so the next morning, I did.

I slept in the living room that night. I sneaked out of my bedroom, bringing my pillows and blankets and some clothes and I hunkered down on the sofa for the night. I woke up early, and when I passed through our gate, I left it wide open to spell it out for them that I was gone.

Thankfully, I had some money with me at the time, enough for me to commute to one of my aunts who lived nearby. And when I reached her house, I told her simply that my father and I had a fight and I asked her if I could stay there for the night. She just looked at me and nodded, and thankfully she did not ask too many questions. I played with my younger cousins there all day and though there was a tightness in my throat, I somehow forgot my troubles.

The next day they went shopping, and they let me tag along. They were quite on the richer side of the family since my uncle was a seaman, and so I had a grand time pretending for a day that I was okay and that I wasn't starving like we were back home. My two cousins were tugging at my arms, leading me this way or that, trying to play with me at the mall and for a while I felt like they were my own family. And I wished they were.

I told my aunt that for that night, I will be staying at my other aunt's house because one of my favorite cousins was staying there for the night too. So we parted on the road and she gave me some money and as she looked at me to say goodbye she might have seen something in my face because she pulled me closer and said "Halika nga dito" as if she was about to give me a hug but then I was standing too stiffly and I hardly moved so the hug never materialized. To this day, I feel sorry that hug did not happen. Back then, I still wasn't used to receiving hugs and I still didn't know how to react to them.

My second aunt was a bit stricter and she had a little scolding prepared for me when I got there. It wasn't very bad though because it was clear she only meant well for me. I forgot the rest of what she said except for these words: "Kung may lungkot, may ligaya."

On hindsight, it wasn't really very helpful advice. It wasn't really special or insightful or anything, but I suppose it was just the way she said them which made those words very meaningful for me. She's arguably my favorite aunt, and that's something because most of my aunts are really great people. She was the one who kept marvelling at me and believed in me, and she's special because we lived in the same house where I grew up and so she was there with me since the beginning. "Bakit ang galing-galing mo Bryan?" she used to tell me, even when she was in the hospital, dying from cancer. And even while she was sent home after her chemotherapy to spend more time with her family, she kept on asking me what I wanted for my birthday. I told her not to busy herself with it but then she insisted because she said "Last na naman 'to" and of course I had to turn my back on her that time because I was already crying so bad. She died two days before my birthday.

Anyway, back to the main story, the next day, I decided to sleep at yet another aunt's house, this one farther, up in Kalookan City. And so I said my goodbyes to my cousins and took the long commute north. It was on one of the jeepney rides in this part of my journey when my resolve began to weaken. I was confused why that was so, since I was welcomed okay by all my relatives. I was fed and I had good company. And I had enough money to take me to my next stop. But that lump in my throat grew bigger and bigger and it was all that I could do to keep myself from crying right there in the jeepney. This particular moment remains vivid in my mind after all these years.

When I reached my third aunt's house, my mother had already gotten abreast of my whereabouts. It seemed that she had been calling my relatives, and my two aunts have told her where I had been and where I was going next. To my surprise, my third aunt wasn't a bit mad about making my mother worry so. It seemed that my aunts already know about these things and they think running away from home is no different from visiting on Sundays. Incidentally, the cousin I had defended from my father lived there. Though of course, I did not tell my cousin the details of why I ran away in the first place.

I could have stayed there longer but the next day was my mother's birthday, and truth be told I was already missing her badly. So it was then that I decided to go back home. My third aunt gave me some more extra money to see me safely back home, and since I almost never spent all the money my aunts gave me except for my transportation fares, I was able to buy my Mom a cup of Cornetto ice cream and a siopao from 7-11. I knew it wasn't much but that was all I could afford.

I suppose my third aunt rang up my Mom to tell her I was going back home so that probably lessened much of the awkwardness if I were to suddenly turn up back in the gate out of nowhere. It was my Mom who opened the gate for me when I knocked, and I was aghast at seeing black circles under her eyes. It was so surreal because they were so thick it seemed like she wore thick eyeliner. I quickly gave her my gifts, greeted her, and immediately went up to my room. The house was silent for the next few days, except for my brother's occasional outbursts of craziness. And from then on, my father had been more careful with his words when I was around.

My father slammed down his fist. He had been cruel and unfair. So I revolted. And when I came back after three days, I showed him who really won that fight. But of course, I couldn't bask in this glory for too long because after all, he was still my father. And worse, I'm afraid that what I did back then broke him up for good. To this day, he seemed a broken image of who he used to be. Now he's the one doing my bidding.

Our family was never the same since I first ran away from home. Worse in some areas, better in others. Truth is, reader, I wrote about this because I've been thinking of running away a second time. But this time, not because of domestic arguments. But because, I just want to escape from them all...

Run away from my family.

Run away from work.

Run away from my friends.

I want to go on this journey of sorts. And it's silly because that's how it is in books and movies. And it's sillier because I feel the same. I have this urge within me to drop everything and go out there. To try my luck. To do all sorts of things away from my comfort zone. To learn to really survive.

And you know, to live.

To really live.

The Difference

My contract in the university will be ending a few days from now, and though my superiors seem set on having my stay there extended, I am now (gasp!) having second thoughts. You see, this deal will not be sealed unless I go back to graduate school. And this involves a lot of paper work which I will have to follow through within this month. And if I don't do this then I will be free to find my own way. My chains will be severed and I'll be back to zero. And I'm twiddling my thumbs at the moment about it and I'm slowly running out of delaying tactics. Turns out I'm not wholly set on getting my degree after all.

As a compromise, I've talked my superior into changing my teaching status into part-time next semester, assuming that I will go back to UP for my MS. I did this partly because my work is stressing me out. And partly because I just feel the need to escape from this system somehow. And that's why I've been raving out my plans of becoming a part-time barista and my training to be a DJ in Facebook. But these are not mere noises, mind. I am dead set on these things. I have submitted my resume to Starbucks and is currently practicing being a DJ (I'm starting with a relatively simple software) on my spare time. Which makes me think now why is it that when it comes to things like these, I can discipline myself but when it comes to my MS, I somehow cannot?

I've been thinking about these things earlier and though I know that starting from scratch (and in a completely different field too) will be extremely difficult, but somehow, I don't mind. In fact, I'm quite excited about this prospect of laboring and working my way up again. I don't know. When I said I was sick of this system, it turns out that I really was and I do not want anything to do with it anymore. I want to wash my hands off it.

Now of course, I acknowledge that from the perspective of the majority and of the practical, my plan is foolhardy even at its best. Why the fuck would I throw everything that I have now away when it all it takes is a few more months of toil and I just might finally clinch that required graduate degree? Why throw away this chance of stability over a seemingly whimsical and risky endeavor? What the hell is wrong with me?

You see, this reaction comes from having the same view as the majority. And as I've demonstrated many times, I don't follow such conventions. I don't want it. And I'm only forcing myself to get what the others want me to have. So in the end, I don't get out of my way to grab it. I don't make an effort. Not because I'm lazy. But because I simply don't want it.

I've said this many times before and I'm saying it again - I'm not living for careers.  I live to find meaning. For life itself. And I know it sounds vague and pretentious for the normal person but really, we can go and have a conversation about it and you will see that this is not all fluff and nonsense. I've really thought it out and this is the way I want to live.

I want to be a barista because I want to seek balance in my life. Being a teacher (and a celebrated one at that) tends to overinflate my ego (if it hasn't already) and I want to keep this swelling of my head down to manageable levels. I want to learn humility. I want manual labor. I want to know how it feels to serve. My first year of teaching people older than me had been calling me 'Sir' and had been giving me respect I didn't really feel I deserved at such a young age. And it goes on up to now. Teachers are always respected. I know that we should be but I'm talking about my personal growth. It just isn't very healthy to be unduly respected all the time.

I want to be a DJ because I want to put my creativity into good use. As of now, they're dripping out of my system in the form of my mixtapes and my blogs and my other minor side projects and these are all very well since at least, I am able to let them out but I think it's high time for me to channel these urges into something more productive. I've always had good sense when it comes to music. And I love it so much I cannot just stand still and limit myself to appreciating it. I've tried my hand on playing instruments and I realized it's too late for me to become a passable musician. So being a DJ gives me hope. Maybe here, I can use this musical talent. Coupled with my love of dancing and playing loud music and parties and pleasing the crowd, I couldn't see anything more perfect for me other than to be a DJ. It fucking fits. It just fucking fits me.

These new interests give me life. They refresh me. And goodness knows I'm drying out. I need some vitality to keep me from being stuck in a depression. I need these things. For me to appreciate life more.

But my MS degree? Whenever I think of it, it never fails to sour my mood. It's a burden. It's a requirement for me. Not a passion. And it isn't like I need this degree to prove myself. Because the way I see it, this whole system seems like an extended version of high school. I think that I've reached the point when I don't need to prove myself anymore. I don't need these degrees or titles to make me happy. I've somehow grown beyond these things and now I'm running after the things which for me are more important.

It's just too bad that I have to give up teaching for a while. But it isn't like I'm closing my door on it forever. I just need to breathe. This year, I want to do things for myself. I have served eight fucking years and I deserve a break. I know that after a period of not teaching, I can really evaluate whether I'm dead set on being an educator. I think I caught it too much too early. I need a pause. I need to rethink. I need this break from my routine.

And I also need this break for me to clear my head so I can write better. I still haven't given up on this dream also. I need to widen my experience so I can write about more things. I want to do odd jobs so I can further develop my character.

I can already imagine how it would be if I get lucky in this new direction. I'll be going home, tired from my shift. I'll face my laptop to write a bit, letting my mind wander inside a rented room in a dingy city. On some nights, I might get a DJing gig and I'll be off to this bar. And I'll go home, a little tipsy and really happy. This is how I imagine my life to be. Not the conventionally boring one. I want a dynamic life. An artist's life. Not a scientist's life. Oh how I want that so bad.

That kind of life? That's home for me. That's what life is for me.

The Road Not Taken

Two roads diverged in a yellow wood,
And sorry I could not travel both
And be one traveler, long I stood
And looked down one as far as I could
To where it bent in the undergrowth;

Then took the other, as just as fair,
And having perhaps the better claim
Because it was grassy and wanted wear,
Though as for that the passing there
Had worn them really about the same,

And both that morning equally lay
In leaves no step had trodden black.
Oh, I marked the first for another day!
Yet knowing how way leads on to way
I doubted if I should ever come back.

I shall be telling this with a sigh
Somewhere ages and ages hence:
Two roads diverged in a wood, and I,
I took the one less traveled by,
And that has made all the difference.

-Robert Frost

In the Dark Room

The last I watched a movie I was with someone I barely know. It was around a month ago, when I was in Dumaguete, on the first of two dates I've managed to mangle out of the city. The guy was okay, other than the silly hat he was wearing. But it was a failed date because there was simply nothing interesting happening between us. I would have responded if he held my hand when we were watching the movie. Or maybe if he placed his hand on my leg. He wasn't exactly a looker but he had a nice chest and the shirt he was wearing gave a nice view of it. Nice legs on him too. At the moment, I'm trying to recall his name. But I can't. Starts with a J? Or an A?

I've had lots of movie dates ever since I graduated from college and entered myself into the market. It's a safe thing to do when you're with a new guy. To pass the time if the date's not doing well. To fondle each other if the date's doing extremely well. And it's funny how some guys act differently when the lights go out. I remember my first date with this guy who works in the Palace. He looked so neat with his white long sleeves and crisp black pants. But he tried to slip his hand up my pants only a few minutes into the movie and almost forced me to kiss him then and there. He was really cute and I would have loved to ply my tongue on his but there were just too many people around. In the end we did kiss although I couldn't get comfy because you know, there are strangers two feet away from us. In all directions. We never dated again. But not because of that.

And there's this other guy who gave me a hand job while I struggled to shield my thing from prying eyes with my bag on my lap. It was good that the movie we were watching was an action movie, so any gasps and moans which might have escaped my lips can be interpreted as my surprised reactions on the film. It was still very risky though and as much as I would have wanted to spread my legs, fear and decency overcame me. Any minute I imagined security guards descending on us, flashlights quickly swerving on my exposed dick for everyone to see before it was unceremoniously kicked out of the doors with the rest of me. Which reminds me, is that a criminal offense? Will being caught in that appear in my records or something? I suppose I'm bound to find that out for myself anyway. Well, this happened every single time we had a movie date (we lasted weeks.) And it's funny because when we're alone in the room he isn't as horny. At least I was always hornier than he was.

And then there's this other guy who was a sex fiend and did me on the bus and other unlikely places and yet when we were in the movies he barely even looked at me. I kept running my hand on his arm and the most he would do was give my leg a squeeze. This time I wanted something. The movies are much more private than a bus zooming along Commonwealth. But nope, no can do for him.

But my dates with my boyfriends were always on the more serious and sweeter side of things. I don't know why, but somehow, I get this feeling a date's going to be great if the guy does not do anything fishy with me on the movies. My first boyfriend, I used to reach out for his hand in the movies when we were still new as a couple. And then after months, he began to reach for my hand too. And then our relationship became cold and we didn't hold hands anymore. Then we broke up and got back together again. And we came back to holding hands in the movies. When he's feeling cuddly he'd come rest his head on my shoulder sometimes. And I'd try not to move too much lest my sharp shoulder bones give him an injury.

My second boyfriend loved holding hands too. And we'll hold hands in the movie until they were decidedly warm and sweaty. And on choice parts, the tearjerkers mostly, we'd give each other's hands an extra squeeze until we're holding hands with increasing tightness as the movie ends. I'd find myself walking out of the cinema, working my hand and trying to get blood flowing back to it again. Hands severed due to fear of prying eyes around us.

My third boyfriend had no fear of prying eyes. Absolutely none. He'd kiss me in the lips in the middle of the mall. In its exact center, mind. And he'd hold my hand whenever and wherever he felt like it. We didn't last long but in the movies, I remember that at times he paid more attention to me than to what we're watching. He'd ask me if I'm cold. He'd check if I'm comfy. And when there's a hot guy on screen he'd get jealous and try to cover my eyes. Seriously. But that's him. That's his own brand of sweetness. No other guy paid as much attention to me as he did.

And of course, there's my dear Little Boy. We've watched quite a lot of movies when we were dating. To the point that we were counting the coin we have left between us just so we can watch this film on that night. Once, the attendants even asked us to leave less than 30 minutes into the animated film we were watching because apparently, the mall was on fire. Yeah. We had the tickets refunded the next week anyway and we watched the same movie and had a great time and I even cried.

I liked him a lot and of course I tried holding his hand in the movies but he's really tough and he wouldn't give in. Not in the first movie. Not in the second. Not in the third. I'd ask if I can hold his hand and he'd always raise his eyebrow as if that was out of the question. Then one time we were in the movies, with my hand hanging about, I felt his hand touch mine. Not hold, really. No fingers entwined. But it was a touch. An unmistakeable one. And I rubbed my fingers on his and he didn't move them away. I looked at him, a bit puzzled, but he was engrossed in the movie and I just smiled. Oh how I smiled. But he's gone now too. Like the rest of them.

And still there were times when I'd watch movies alone. Just me and my faithful Jansport backpack on my lap but not hiding anything. People around me but no prying eyes on me because there's nothing unusual to see. My hands hanging out on both arms of my seat, safe from being touched because the seats beside me are empty. No heads on my shoulder. No sweaty palms. No hands covering my eyes. Just me watching the movie, hoping against hope it will make me feel something again. Until the next guy comes around.

Forever Young

I find it funny that I'm writing this in the wake of my attempt to sequester some poison from the laboratory. It was right there in my hands, a kilo of it, crystalline and white, and all I had to do was scoop less than a handful, stow it away in a vial in my pocket, and move away while no staff was looking. But in that moment, I was paralyzed. I was half-laughing with confusion, to be honest, holding that bottle with slightly trembling hands. I knew then that I would be sealing my fate if I went on with my plan. And I realized there in the laboratory storage room, under those tired-looking fluorescent lamps, that distinct lab odor of various chemicals and with only the whirring of the exhaust fans to break the silence, that I was not ready. That no matter how much I have contemplated of killing myself, I still haven't thought it out thoroughly enough. And this makes me ashamed of myself somewhat.

I learned that it wasn't as easy as I thought it would be. Hours before that, I realized that to commit suicide, you must turn off both your brain and your heart. You must not think. You must not feel. You must be a cold automaton to be successful. It must be a decision made in cold blood. And perhaps at that moment, I wasn't feeling numb enough. So I failed. Though I did note the exact shelf where that bottle of KCN lies for future reference.

I do not really understand why I get these urges. Sometimes at night, "I want to die" will suddenly play on repeatedly in my head. And it is all that I can do to keep myself on my bed, tossing and turning, knowing that the moment I got up and really did something about it, it might be my end. And it doesn't matter whether I had been particularly sad or happy that day. I could have had the worst day possible yet I wouldn't feel suicidal. There are triggers to it, that's true, but it isn't as obvious as "having problems" or "feeling sad". I've come to the conclusion that most likely, it is something in my genes which makes me have thoughts like these. In fact, I'm getting this feeling now that I've lived past my supposed death date. It's crazy I know, and I'm doing what I can, but I'm not sure whether trying to stop these urges will really help at all. It might be making it worse, for all I know.

The night before last I was making the artwork for this album. And I was browsing through my pictures, looking for suitable ones to be representative of what had gone on for the past four years and what I got from looking back at those events was amazement. From where I am now, I couldn't believe what I had accomplished just a couple of years ago. Look at those semender parties, for instance. I couldn't believe that I've really made them happen. Who I am now seemed but a faded relic of the storm I used to be. I made waves. I was a force. But now I've lost them all and I'm down in the dumps more often than not.

This album chronicles the best and the worst years of my life. And although it is mightily embarrassing to make a case study of oneself and promote it, I'm pushing through with this because like what I've said in a previous post, it is a life all the same. I might have been wishing for my own death for years now, but while I'm alive I'm really alive. And you can almost feel the passion oozing out of these songs. Think Tom Riddle's Diary. Really, these songs are my essence. It's Sir Bry 101.

I'm sharing this album for several reasons and to reiterate one of those, it is in the hope that you might learn something from what happened to me. We go crazy with books and movies, especially those that touch us so why don't we learn from the lives of our own real friends right? I can't make a book yet, much less a movie, but mixtapes are within my current capabilities so this is what I do. The songs might not be mine, but the way I compile them makes a work which is bigger than the sum of its parts.

This is not an attempt to glorify myself even if it does seem that way for those people who don't know me well. I keep putting my images on my albums simply because I do not want to be forgotten. If you doubt me, then let's have a chat about it. I can't explain further here. The universe knows I have had enough of unwanted attention.

I'm going to claim that "Forever Young", personal bias included, is my best album. And it should be, given that it's a compilation of the best songs I've found for the last four years. My first 4-year greatest hits album "Dusk at Red Island" (released last May 2009) focused more on love and my tumultuous relationships. And it's interesting that here in "Forever Young", my paradigm has shifted to more meaningful things. How I've established my identity. How I've started to make a change. Much deeper musings on love, life, and death. Others may claim that their best achievement for the past years had been graduating from grad school, getting this house or car, or finding the love of their lives. But for me, this album is all I have to show. It is the wisdom gained. The experience. The lovers. The friends. All here in this 80-minute album.

May you have an enjoyable ride through time with me while listening to the music here. This is my life I'm sharing here with you, and from a fellow human being, you couldn't ask for more.


Love,
Bry

Here is the link:
Download "Forever Young" HERE

I've fixed the link above. It now links to Hotfile. :)

Nu Porn

I'm tired of that same old porn. I'm tired of steamy bodies fucking each other senseless. I'm tired of pecs and abs and sculpted thighs, arms, and feet. Tired of dicks and balls and assholes and cum shooting all over the place. I'm tired of the sweat and the saliva, the moans and the lapping sounds. They're all very attractive to watch, when you're in that mood. But I'm old and I've been there and I'm telling you it's not as great as it looks. At least for me it isn't.

During my younger years I've wondered whether there was some kind of acting involved in porn. And I don't mean those posing as amateur or voyeur videos. That lust I see on their eyes - is that real? The way they kiss and devour each other - do they really mean it? I've always wanted to be considered cool and being cool, in my book, includes sleeping around and having sex left and right but I've never made myself act like what they do in those porn movies. Some porn movies attempt to inject some semblance of a story in their plot but in the end it boils down to stranger meets stranger, then they fuck. Well, I've been there, and I've fucked with strangers but somehow, I've never managed to match that level of raunchiness those porn stars display.

Everyone needs some sex, sooner or later, unless one is a virgin, asexual, or a plant. Those who are claiming otherwise are either hypocrites or are talented enough to completely curb their basal instincts. And I've met men and women who are prudish on the outside but go on like rabbits when the lights are off. I suppose that for such people, porn movies seem real to them. When you've been bottling up your lust for other people to see, once you let go, I suppose you just kinda explode and you become this animal on the bed. I think I envy those people. Because even if their lives are twisted in this manner, at least they get to feel white hot. Me, I can only manage a yellow flame these days. It leaves me dirty. Sooty. I want to feel white hot too just because I want to feel it all. I want it all.

Not having a boyfriend means resorting to casual sex when you're lucky. If you're not, then it's just you and your hand. But since I'm adept enough when it comes to these things, I've somehow managed to have sex with men hotter than I am. And when you've been there and you've had those men, those porn movies somehow lose their potency. It's like watching a romantic movie when your own love story is so much better. They lose their sense of fantasy, and that takes out much of their vile charm. At times, I wish I hadn't sought after and scored with those men. Maybe I'd still have something to look forward to.

But of course, I still watch porn. Sex is a need as much as hunger or thirst is. You won't be satiated for long. But the kind of porn I like now are those where men kiss like they're really a couple. Like they're in love. The way they look at each other sends me jitters down my spine. The way they smile and hold hands. The way they embrace each other. The way they make love. And I... I miss those days when I'm being intimate with someone I have an affection for. This new kind of porn - it's not sexual porn. It's emotional porn. And unlike the former, this is much harder to find in real life. You can have sex with a hot guy as long as you're persistent enough. But love? This is much harder to find and maintain. And I think that for me, this will remain to be a fantasy.

For now, at least.

Fade to Gray

I'm not really certain what other people make of me and my mania for making mixtapes. Not that I really care about what those other people think. I only want to know because I always want to assess myself and the things I do. I want to try and see it from the perspective of others so I'd have a more balanced view of me and the many silly things I do.

At the moment, I am listening to Youth Group's "Forever Young", the title track for my upcoming second 4-year greatest hits compilation to be released next month and with this song, somehow, I am given this overwhelming notion that making mixtapes and sharing them with others has been one of the most meaningful decisions I have made in my whole life. More than choosing to be an educator for instance. More than my passion to make a change in this world. Mixtapes might seem to be a very small thing compared to my other passions, but it is somewhat more intrinsic. That no matter what occupation I might find myself in, no matter what instruments might come into my hands to further my nonpersonal goals, this "art" will allow me to touch others in a way which few others can. Other factors in my life might have been incidental but this one, perhaps, I can claim to be truly mine. And don't mind Charlie because I did this first.

I had always been puzzled why others don't do this. Why others (seemingly) let their years wash by them without leaving a permanent mark. I wonder what they use to mark each year and all the experiences, thoughts, and memories which go with it. Pictures are all very well, and perhaps they might even be effective in some cases, especially if you're going to make albums out of them, but I think that's different from creating something out of your experiences. It's not really something you can share to strangers, especially if you're only taking pictures of yourself. Well, you can of course, if you're going to push it. But my point is what will I get out of looking at your pictures other than being happy for you? I want to be affected and moved. I want to get something out of your experience, and this something I hope I can find useful for my own life. I'm not sure about this, but I'm getting the sense that other people do not even have this need to learn from others in this way.

Another way to accomplish this would be by writing, and I'm thankful I'm connected to some friends who do just that. Those who write beyond making mere diary entries. Those who aim to impart something to their readers. It's just refreshing to be in some other people's shoes for a while. Refreshing to delve into their minds and immerse myself in how they think and interact. Again, this building frustration at why most people I know do not do this. I would have loved to be in your head for a while you know.

I don't know why others don't get this but despite the sheer effort I put into making each one of my compilations, at the end of the day it's all so overwhelmingly worth it. That even if no one gets to listen to my albums, the fact that I was able to make something out of these thoughts and emotions is so fucking worth it. And if I'm getting this gratification now, what more in the years to come? When I'm more worn and frayed, all I have to do is select an album and I'd be instantly transported to this particular phase of my life and I'd get this sense that what an amazing life mine had been. And what more if I play them consecutively? Before my time is up, I'd make certain I get the time to listen to all of my albums one last time.

It will be such a barrage of information though, if I do that. With each song playing, names and faces come cascading down on my head and I'm not sure I'd be able to handle them all at one go and I'm not certain now why I'm telling you these things because what I want to do is to convince you to start making mixtapes and telling you that these songs can make you cry might make you think otherwise. Really, reader, I wish you could feel what I feel right now. This sense of... I don't know. A sense of a life lived. Shared. And sometimes reader, I do question why my life should be shared. Though I'm certain that the emphasis is not on it being my life but just that it is a life all the same and we must make the most out of it and I can't understand why others don't get this.

I don't understand why others don't feel death breathing down our necks and that we must go now and do things and record things while we can because we may not all be given the chance to leave something behind for those who will come after us and though compiling songs might be such a silly thing this is still what I can do well and I'm certain someone somewhere will get me and will be affected by what I do.

I don't understand why most people are so selfish they focus instead on things which won't really last like money or jobs or material stuff. I don't understand why they can't see what I see and that I have to resort to blog things like this, explaining away the weird things I do when in a more advanced, a more ideal society things such as these would have been normal and self-explanatory and though I'm going to admit to you, reader, that I'm beginning to dislike where life is taking me because it is making me follow the rest of this blinded foolish society and the current is so strong I'm afraid it might wash away the things which make me me, including making these mixtapes, including blogging, and others might understand what I'm getting at but they will be helpless all the same and they'd leave me struggling to keep my identity because they were once like me but they've now faded into the gray.

Why have you let them do this to you? Was it worth it? Tell me. Was it worth it to lose who you really are just to go with their flow?

Electrique Unleashes Sexual Contagion With Its 30th Album, "Viral"

MANILA, Philippines - Electrique Music CEO, Mr. Aldasiel, has opened the gates for his 30th mixtape, "Viral" to pour all over the metro and beyond. On a press conference held last Monday at the launch party in Miggy's Penthouse in Manila, the CEO spoke more about the themes and difficulties related to this album.

Q: What is "Viral" all about?

A: "Viral" is about the intricacies of love and lust. For eight years, I've tackled all sorts of love in my albums but it is only this time that I chose to delve into the rather unspoken aspects of it. It will be hypocritical for most to claim that love, in the conventional sense, has absolutely nothing to do with lust. In "Viral", I've tried to untie that knot which keeps these hidden aspects a tangle.

Q: What is the inspiration behind this album?

A: Many times, I have found myself in some room - cold and lonely, no matter how many warm bodies I've tried to tap through. And in one of those moments, I wished I could somehow capture what I was feeling at the time. For the sake of those who are about to go through what I went through. For the sake of those who are curious. For those who just want to know what it is to sleep around and spread yourself thin over so many partners...

Q: What is the reason for the title?

A: Well, "Viral" is a word which has many layers imposed onto it. But mostly, it is about something contagious. Something which cunningly resists cure. From what I've learned, casual sex has that nature. You get hurt at first. Then, to feel better, you sleep around, possibly causing emotional pain to your partners when they learned that you were just using them for sex. And it goes on in a vicious chain reaction.

Q: How does this album sound?

A: This album is not as musically cohesive as "Electric Dreams" or "Head in the Clouds" although I did my best to make transitions seem seamless. There are actually two genres in here. It is electro rock through and through. Although it begins with more of the rock and it ends with more of the electro. This spectrum is essential to the plot of the album though, so I want my listeners to be aware that this was a deliberate act.

Q: How does it compare with your other albums?

A: I suppose it falls somewhere in between the synths of  "Drifter" and the glam rock of "Platinum Soul". It is on a class of its own, to be honest. Thematically, I haven't made an album like this. It's not so downtrodden and melancholic, but it's not so carefree either. It is just... real. It has attitude. And it is meaningful, even if the sexual theme might turn away my more conservative listeners. Trust me. I did not use a sexual theme just for its "tabloidal" effect. There is much more to this and by the end of the album, if you're listening carefully, you would have known what I wanted you to know. And you won't forget that. Ever.

Q: What response do you expect from this album?

A: To be frank, I am not expecting as great a response as I received from "Revelations", "Icarus", or even "Electric Dreams." The theme (which is rather advanced) may be lost upon my younger listeners. And this is no hit factory like "Revelations" or "Electric Dreams" were. The catchy songs may be few and far between but they are there. For "Viral", the message is more important than how catchy it sounds. There are only so many analogies I can use with the title, and catchiness may not be one of those.

Q: Any last messages to those who are thinking of downloading this album?

A: As with my other recent compilations, this is an experience. I'll take you to those damp, dark city alleys. I'll take you to those red-lit motel rooms. I'll take you there and you'll learn what that is like. You'll feel what that is like. Come on. Try.

You can now download "Viral" HERE.

On A Wednesday, In A Cafe

Of course I miss you.

Of course I miss those lazy afternoons with us idling around, just watching some random movie from HBO, drinking Coke and eating those Jalapeno Cheetos which you love. Eating ice cream. Trying to eat that durian I bought you just because you said you love durian and laughing at how that made the whole fridge smell funky. I remember how I'd try to touch you all the time and how you'd pull back more often than not, but when you put down your guard and you allow my hand to touch yours, it felt great all the same.

I remember that week when you were sick and I had to take care of you since no one was there for you. How I'd go to your place to bring you bananas and milk, melons and meds. I'd buy us some dinner and I'd text you, asking what you like and you'd say anything would be fine. Except that you don't like this or that. And I'll arrive at your house, arms loaded with brown paper bags and how we'd laugh about the situation - like I was the husband working his ass off bringing groceries home and you're the wife, staying at home doing chores and taking care of the dogs. And I'd pretend to complain, like husbands do, and you'd threaten me by saying "So you're complaining now?" and I'd just laugh because though it was stressful, traveling from Marikina to Las Pinas every night, it felt great taking care of you.

I remember how Haggie would bark when we're watching "Ina, Kapatid, Anak" because there was poop in her cage and how you'd yell at her and when you're coughing I'd imitate your voice and I'd yell "Haggie!" to you too and inwardly, I'd laugh because it felt like a simple kind of life. Local TV, dogs, Xian Lim, and you. And me.

And I remember all those times we were simply lying there on your very comfy bed. The light from the windows dim and clothes hanging everywhere and Snow underfoot. And how I couldn't resist not hugging you or not kissing you or not undressing you and you'd get mad at me and you'd warn me with a pointed "Bry, what are you doing?" and I'd desist but then I'll start again and we'll end up wrestling each other on your bed. And of course, if it was Friday, I get to stay for the night and you let me wear one of your short shorts and I do not have to worry about the sound of cars approaching just in case it was your uncle. How I'd never forget that one night when you said you wish it was Friday so I could stay and that would make you really happy. I simply shrugged that off right then, but I'm telling you now that I never forgot that. Nor that time when you called me "Baby Bry" and I asked "So am I your boyfriend now?" and you said "No, not yet" and I did not feel as disappointed as I thought because I hadn't been expecting much in the first place.

And I remember that time when you'd leap into my arms without warning and I'd struggle to keep you up though my knees felt like they would buckle at any moment. And you'd ask me "Kaya mo ba ako?" teasingly and I'd boast and say yes because even if it was tough keeping you in my arms, I still want you to be there. It took all of my strength but then I gave up and now you're gone and of course I'd hurt you towards the end because what you said to me had been more hurtful. Of course I'd save myself because I couldn't withstand another fall. Because with you, I've already fallen.

And now when I play Taylor Swift's "Begin Again", I still remember that glorious Wednesday afternoon at Bag of Beans. With you sipping tea, the sunlight flitting through the screens and making patterns over your hair, and us talking about art installations. How I couldn't keep my eyes off of you. I still remember all those things but I don't feel sad anymore. I can't even afford to let myself feel that anymore.

I don't know why I'm writing this. I don't know what's the use. But perhaps it wouldn't do any harm to admit that after all this time, your name still lingers over my head. That I still haven't erased your messages. That it is still you I couldn't help but remember when I'm texting someone new. because I think no one can beat the special moments that we've had. I couldn't help it but it is still you. It's still you.