Most days in Manila, I feel a strong wave of melancholy. There is always something to be sorrowful about. My daily route passes through a high end village, then through the slums and then through the busy highway outside the Sandiggan bayan. The combination is an unnerving diorama of social classism. I begin my day absolutely helpless to this inpenetrable reality.

Crawlers of old Manila are all looking for a fuck. There is always someone random who is lonely and looking for casual. It’s beautiful how two minds can meet thru loneliness. And that some need to strip themselves of all their reservation to survive the night. There can be plenty of people in a city but there are more who will still feel terribly alone. Waking up to nobody who cares is just a daily affair.

I like to walk the streets at night. Alone. Luckily, I’ve never been mugged or raped. Yes, I can be too reckless. It makes me ponder why crime doesn’t stop. Criminals will always be there in society. But victims are always at the wrong place at the wrong time because they have too much faith in the goodness of people. People are heartless. Manila teaches this in a didactic way and yet there are those who choose not to listen. Even me.

I’m inclined to think that a hair cut’s aesthetic shouldn’t change my experience of sexuality.  For the most part.

About the hair:

Sherad said, “Aha, you’re up to something.”

Ry calls it the look of “Hey, I’m this tough NGO person fighting for gay and lesbian rights.”

Francis muses, “You look like you’re thirty.  But in a good way.”  And adds, “you look twice as intimidating.”

Jace says flatly, “You look butch. Pero chox.”

Kaye greets, “Wow!  I want to fuck you in this hair.”

Happy independence day, one and all.

There were some rocks lying on the ground, that got chipped off from some discarded hollow blocks.  I picked up about three of them and threw them at the wall.  The rocks easily shattered when it hit the concrete to bits that scattered in mid-air.  Falling to the ground.  Impossible to piece together again.

I felt like those rocks.

***

I am starting to get embarrassed of the fact that it takes a little bit more time and gab for my friends to cheer me up these days.  I have been smoking incessantly, chasing the pack.  A rush of helplessness.

Was not sure whether it was easier to look away indignant or have a resigned smile.

Last night we had this whole conversation about nothingness and detachment.  How does one go about it?  Is there such a thing which can trivialize the insanity of passion and the things which tie us to the world?

In my mind I want to lie down and shrivel and die.  But I love life and as Sherad puts it, “The beauty of problems”.  I still feel compelled to wake up the next day and go about a routine, so that I may live.

The fight goes on.

But I cannot lie. I am struggling emotionally. It will take a lot of time to heal. Unfortunately, like an inept writer I must remain secretive as to the cause of all this stress. At least for the time being.

I dreamt that I acquired a great deal of money by accompanying my former boss (whose guts I despise) steal from a couple of middle-eastern men who do 5-6 for a living. I suddenly had this vision of myself holding a thick wad of cash.

While we made a couple of stopovers throughout the city, I suddenly had the urge to excite my body. I propped my legs on the dashboard of the car and touched myself. I was going as fast as I could. Having reached climax, I opened my eyes and we were driving away again. My head was dead-weight on the outlines of the door on the passenger seat. The windows were rolled down and I could feel the cold wind on my face, especially along the line of tears on my cheeks that were suddenly there. I had been crying.

Finally, we stopped at a parking lot and we counted and arranged the money we stole to our liking. I was holding a brick of money. And I thought of getting myself hotel accomodations. And then I suddenly turned my head and saw Kaye. Asked her to marry me for convenience and that because of the money I acquired, I could raise a family with her. Asked her to leave everything behind, let our friends see that we could get married and forget everything that had happened. She smiled at me, touched my face gently and mouthed a mute reply. She turned her back and walked away.

The car doors had been open for some time while I had that strange encounter with Kaye. The cash was swirling up in the air. My companion was panicking, saving what he could. I stared up at the tornado of money. And then I sat back down in the car, exhausted, wishing for my bed.

And then I woke up.

***

A quick analysis of this dream in addition to the nature of my writing as of late, tells me that I am emotionally fatigued. In my dream I had been dealing with people who were both challenging to an extent. My former boss, Don, was not exactly the easiest to get along with as he is the kind of man who rationalizes his weakness but is keen on pointing out his complaint about everything else outside of him. I still had a profound respect for him, for his talent and what he had accomplished in life. But to me, he was an example of a man who was disillusioned in life.

Kaye. I don’t know where to begin talking about her. She was many things to me. I recall several times that I asked her to marry me. In the earlier part of our relationship, she was apprehensive of the prospect of marriage. Mid-way she was acquiesing to it. Toward the end of our relationship, she finally said yes. Fickle at first, but I got a yes. Just as few months later after that fateful Yes did we begin to crumble. I had thought about our faults. There were many things that couldn’t be said that I feel are too painful to explain. Could it be that her muted reply in my dream is myself telling me I don’t want to hear a word of it?

Kaye and Don crossed paths, in a way. This was the time that I was so in love with Kaye that I’d usually clock in late for my shift at the station. Don was really pressing hard on me, pressuring me to come to work. (I remember thinking ‘right back at you’). He would check the radio if I was going on air on time. And send me a message, “where are you?” Morning shifts. Getting up before 6 in the morning to greet the city as it wakes up. And I was in a daze after a long commute from Kaye’s house feeling begrudged to leave her side. She’d still be in bed by the time she hears me come on the radio. It was my way of still being with her. I’d play her favorite songs and some ’sleepy’ music to let her fall back asleep. My boss would text me ‘what the hell are you playing at this hour?!’ And I’d laugh about it in the loneliness of the booth; my voice echoed with the profound acoustics of the room’s design. Had a great view from there too, of how the morning lights evolve in a matter of four hours.

About a few months later my contract was not renewed, so I could no longer go on air. That devastated me. I learn much later they had to nix someone because the station was losing money. Fine. But my ‘let go’ letter stated that they would not renew my contract because of my numerous lates and absences. My colleague said that in a normal situation they’d have me suspended for my first boo-boo. Whatever the real reason was, I couldn’t deny my slacking off from the job. My technician, Edgar, died that same year. He was the guy who’d punch me in the morning while I was still cuddling with Kaye, lingering with her. Apparently, I had no escape from the axe after Edgar died. I’d punch in late and Don would complain about it, that shady character, after he’d come in an hour late too. There’s an injustice to life. He had never failed to let me know how disillusioned and tired he was from the so-called radio industry he had worked in for ten years. He told me how gung-ho he used to be. And like a married couple, he said, you begin to feel tied down and unable to grow. Why he would liken a marriage to that is curious. And so this man remains a bachelor to this day.

Don said he wants to chase a dream. Start up his own business. Get the pay off of all the monthly housing he’s been putting some money in for. I don’t know how far along he is in his dream. But I saw him one day in the mall doing a hosting job. I turned my head when the atrium reverberated with the distinct timber of his voice. He was at the back of a stage sitting down, looking bored. Oh well, I wish him well. I hope we all find our happiness.

Perhaps we like to peek into the other world and be able to see what joins or separates it from our own. Let me open this window for you.

Today is Saturday. I woke up today having the intent of leaving the house early to catch school before the enrollment cutoff. Woke up from a dream, with nebulous imagery. I can only recall that it is about a friendship with an unlikely character. Someone I know. It was a happy dream.

When I woke up, I kissed her face. I realized how affectionate I can be. Sometimes, I just forget everything in a cumulative way. I have to say, I’m thinking less and less of you. Your face does not superimpose in my mind when I am kissing someone else. People have different faces. Do you recall me telling you that women should be loved differently for they are each different from one another? I left out the part that they should be loved as they are.

***

I trailed off about two days ago. I fell asleep writing. It’s almost 4 o’clock now. I still have things to do in school tomorrow. I always wonder who I’ll see in school. How their faces will be when they see me. It does not interest me how we will discuss the banalities of life in the university, however, I still talk and try to appear engaging. My friend Byron told me to always have a smile on your face. It’ll start making one feel more cheered up, he says, no matter how bored, sad and angry you might be. I tend to believe him. And so I’ll try it later.

***

When I was on my way home, it began to rain hard. It was like a small outburst from the heavens. About two minutes later the rain suddenly stopped. Cosmic staccato? Funny. Just when I was quietly thinking to myself how people would manage to go home when they’re stuck in a commute. I know how that is, living very far away from the heart of the city. That used to be my life… I remember those times when I’d pack extra cloths and figure out where to sleepover the next day. Years I found it unbearable to live with my father. One night it was raining, I had planned to sleepover at Marj’s apartment. I was foolish enough to think that a few shots of rum in my body would warm me up. I get cold easily, you see. I need warmth to doze off in to the night. Marj said she understood. She’d let me sleep on her bed while she spent the wee hours playing Zeus on the computer, lording over some virtual colony. This rainy night I’m talking about: it rained hard enough that I lied there with my eyes open, feeling some droplets spit at my face through the jalousie. It was wonderful. I was chilling and gritting my teeth, but was smiling actually. The rain seemed like a companion to me that night and I welcomed her. She tells me “Life is fickle”. Weather, weather lang – as Kuya Kim would put it.

Now, I have my own bed.  It is a place very far away from my dad.  Sometimes I miss him, just to look at his face and see if I still feel absolutely nothing.  Not hate.  Not love.  Nothing.  I feel sad about it.  He used to pick me up in the rain sometimes, when he doesn’t feel lazy.  Drive all the way to wherever I am after a night of sleeping over at a friend’s house.  And he’ll ask me nothing about me.  And I would tell him nothing.  Instead, he likes to whine about my mother in these long rides, how she left us and left him to take care of “everything” and I’d sit quietly, not quite listening.  Looking out the window from the front seat of his car.  Leaning on the glass, stoically.

***

When I was a kid I used to draw people. I draw them quite well.  Sometimes with a cartoon-like quality.  Other times, I like to make faces out of geometric strokes.   And tell everyone – it’s a face.

My mum once forced me to join a drawing contest that had a US dollar cash prize.  I told her I would lose as I’ve seen the caliber of sketch artists who probably are well trained in to the physics of shading and blurring, and depth perception.  Whereas I was just a preteen hobbyist who happened to use a great deal of rear end notebook pages to draw the story of a fictitious character – which is not tantamount to skill.  I initially refused.  I was so embarrassed to even send an entry!  She was persistent to the point that she posed a threat that she will never support my drawing as a hobby if I don’t enter this contest. Come to think of it now, it was a really twisted and very cruel thing to say to an 11-year old.  But at that time, I thought that there was no way to go around it and that I had no choice.  Why would I want one of my favorite things taken  away from me?  And so I drew.

And that was the last time I remember drawing a great deal.

I’ve always thought of publishing my work.  But I’ve read the caliber of writers out there.  Sometimes, I’m afraid to write.  Not because of the work that is out there already.  There are stories that will write themselves, eventually, through time.  We will always leave imprints of historical memory through written work.  If I do not publish my work, the world will not be missing any great literature.  Great literature will always be there.

I’m afraid to lose the will to write.  It may sound absurd however, writing is not something I wish to do for a specific endeavor.  I wait for it to come to me like a dream.  Unexpected. Unforced.  Like a woman you woo.  You can never know when she will come.  You can never force her to come.  But you have to be prepared when she does.  You can’t chase her off and suck her dry like an enterprise.  She won’t like that.

***

I guess, I am not ready yet.  But my goal at the moment is to shape up.  I will work to deserve the craft.  To possess her and rightly so.

***

According to Tito Cube, the great philosophers never settled down with one person because they are married to the world.  A person has only so much love to give.  It appears to me as a reasonable choice.

***

I’d love to spend my birthday somewhere very far from home.  I am seriously putting together the possibility of traveling abroad to Malaysia to visit my friend Kye. Yes, just need to file for my lost passport etc…basically put up with the mindless bureaucracy to what end I desire.  It seems very near, at the same time far off.  Consider also the funds I have to raise for such an endeavor.

However, if not at all possible I still plan to fly a considerable distance from here.  There are some events in Dumaguete come July which appear to me as the perfect excuse to go there.  Excuse, being the operative word.  Albeit, my old teammates from the debate team are encouraging me to join their adjudication pool and the idea does have some appeal.  You know, my favorite part of these conventions are the socials.  Meeting like-minded delegates from different parts of the country…and possibly new love interests, hahaha.  But on a serious note, no, I am not looking for love interests at the moment.  Shouldn’t I be at this stage of exorcising such ridiculous thoughts of love?  Yes, I am projecting my friend R who says that one can do stupid things now and justify it later with cynicism.  Whilst I dwell more at the latter portion of that thought.

There is just something about traveling that stirs the soul.  The sky shifts above you and yet you feel the oneness of the terra firma. The singularity of the world no matter where you are.  Just a new perspective.  New smells. New sounds. New images.  One beautiful subject.

Yes, the things you hope for to be content with one’s lonely freedom.

If you must leave me before the margin, kiss the large space that you’ve left empty, but not with a guilt that comes with a frustrated poem due for discard.

I ask that you hold this theme and rewrite when you are ready to begin another page.

We take extra care of what goes out of us, sometimes more often than what comes in.