Safe Distance

October 26, 2006

I’m running away from you, taking all the chances of leaving you, of forgetting you, to a safe distance where you can never hurt me again.

I have played my part in this allegory that only told of your absence, of you wanting to prove that I was wrong all this time, when in fact I have done nothing to your impending crisis. My part has seen the curtain close, and that I think was enough, for me.

I am tired of looking around, wondering what I must do and who I am meant to be, for me, for you. What I hold on to, and the only thing that I must not depart with, is this modicum respect for myself and for you. I have given up of understanding you amidst the confusion in my life, in your life. Maybe it is time for me to think about me, considering you have played over and over, in my thoughts, in my words since we met. And from such time I have forgotten that I have a life to live on my own, which incessantly gets no relief from you and that I need to help myself, now.

The way I defined you on the first day has changed the way I define you now. I don’t think I can even define you now, much more identify with. From where I stand, which haven’t changed much, you have bended many boulevards and fooled many dark alleys that I may never find my way to you again.

But I have also not failed to see that what you have now is consummate joy, fulfillment, warmth. Maybe that is what your goodbye was all about, now as I understand it. Maybe that is what made me matter so little and not enough afterall. But let me tell you that there is no hatred in this heart, but only alterations of sadness, that what you have exactly predicted has happened; disbanded reality that nothing is perfect in this world and that all that I have are falling meteors; and that I have let you hurt me and nobody’s sorry.

Safe distance — that feeling of absolute attachment to oneself that existence is strictly defined only by that exact moment: when you are equilibrated on the border of not thinking yet thinking, when you are devoid of any scurf of emotion but only believed that all the hurt and the joys have conspired to bring you to that exact moment, to that exact time when you realize you have made it somehow.

That is my safe distance. And you have showed me time and again that it must be away from you.

Terminal Madness

I call it the Terminal Madness. It happens and it kills me everytime. It is some sort of behavior I don’t quite agree as a symptom of ageing as my roommate said. I think it transcends beyond the growing of age. I think it is a coming of age.

When this semester started, I made an agreement with myself: I will enjoy the few months left in college no matter what costs this may involve. I even said to myself that it won’t matter anymore if I don’t get high grades and graduate with honors. As long as I can say to myself at the end of all of this that “Whoa! I had a blast!” is sure enough.

And sure enough, to date, this is the BEST SEM ever! And I am sad that it will bring to closure in a few days.

Which brings me cold wafts of apprehension, excitement and sadness: the first semester has ended rather quickly and one more quick semester like this and I am done with school forever, unless I go to graduate studies, which I am now considering as my bigger option than finding a job after graduation.

The other day, my classmates had some daydreaming. What if we all go out of the country after graduation and study abroad for our PhDs? That would be fun! It is nice to know that most of us would like to study more, perhaps realizing that today’s competition is one that puts more regard to academic achievement.

If you would ask me, I still have no definite plan after graduation. One of my professors has already offered me a scholarship for Tokyo but I guess it would still be very early to tell if I am really ready to go out of the country right after graduation. I don’t know about you but I feel that I am still not that old for such thing. For instance, when I told my mom I want to go out of the dormitory, find my own place and try to be more financially-independent next semester, she freaked out. Maybe she also thinks I am not that old yet. Even my friends find that really bizarre. To make them understand, I tell them that it is part of the rehearsal for my boring, forlorn life after college. It is part of the whole Terminal Madness. Whether I like it or not, I have to leave the comforts of dorm life sometime anyway. Besides, I will be doing someone a big favor if I leave so. But enough about that.

Going back, the fact that I don’t have plans after graduation is making me queasier. But I guess that is just simply how I go with life— giving more space for more varied combination of possibilities, and picking which one I like after sometime. Besides, the miracles of something good always happen on the last nick of my no-decision-to-decided phase. Who knows, I might end-up working in a call-center, swallow my pride after eating the hate-words I hurled against call-canter agents, and pound my bedroom wall every night for being such a cynical mediocre. But don’t get me wrong , I have nothing against the call centers. They make yuppies rich, but the downside is that they also make them stupid.

The Bicycle Drive

October 18, 2006

When I was small, I only drive my bike when I’m sad. The swoosh effect of the streaming air to my ear and my face grants a temporary break of happiness that I cannot articulate even until now. I had this regular itinerary which passes through streets which had no dogs and cars in the neighborhood. It was a circuitous route that I can even close my eyes and not kill anything on my way. I would usually make five rounds in one drive. But it was strange that every cycle is different from the other four. And since no one was left at home but my Yaya, I would drive some more cycles just to find the subtlest differences of every drive. Of course I would not be able to recognize them but I know something has changed.

This afternoon, I drove around the campus and that same quizzical feeling from youth devoured me again. I guess I haven’t changed much after all. I still drive the bicycle only when I am sad and I still can notice that weird impression that something has changed every time.

But what has changed? Was it the natural arrangement of the tree canopies swaying with the unpredictable, playful winds? Was it the color of the sky that has darkened as the sun chases the night? Was it the number of people that I get ahead of as I speed through them? Or maybe it was I who has changed?

But I don’t think I did. Or I ever did.

I would like to believe Diana when she said that I haven’t changed much since my 5th birthday. Take the hair color away and you still look the same, she said.

I know. And beyond the physical, I haven’t changed much I guess.

I still dream of becoming a writer someday. I always wanted to write when I was very young. Churches still give me that feeling that I am home. I grew up in a little town where the church is on the next block from our house. I still like walking at night on streets made wet by the late afternoon shower just like how the way my mom would bring me to the plaza at night. I still cherish things like nightfall silence which I grew up with back in the province. I still consider those foods cooked by my mom with so much effort and yet still taste bland as the best things on earth. I still stick out my tongue at people I like. I still bring my head out sometimes when I ride the jeepneys because I think it is exhilarating thing to do.

I still cut out articles that I have read and liked just like how I do when I was ten. I still write my most important prayers on a notebook. I still sleep with the just-before-sign-off songs on my radio. I still keep crap things like doodles on papers, candy wrappers and post-its on an envelope and not throw them away because they would serve my memory later. I still consider Tom and Jerry the best thing that ever happened on television and that Cartoon Network is for adults too. I still enjoy doing things alone just like how I did things on my first ten years on earth.

Maybe I have lost some innocence but I still think that people never wishes harm to other people. I still consider myself as a dreamer and that times are hard for people like me. I still believe that somebody is also waiting for me somewhere just like during prep school. I still believe that in order to be happy is to entirely forget happiness but enjoy it.

And maybe, driving a bike changes me a bit every time. But I guess it simply arranges the clutter of this life that I never get tired of complicating.