Won't You Hold Me Down

Life is just that way. There are times when I get tired of it all, and feel like I just want to die. But there are also times when everything is so amusing I want to go on living forever. It's like the scene in cartoons when a little angel is standing on your right shoulder and a little devil on the left, and they're fighting over who will win. My will to live and my desire to die were the same as the angel and the devil -- it was a fifty-fifty tug-of-war raging in my soul. Gravity seemed to be the only thing holding me down.

-- Sakumi, from the book Amrita by Banana Yoshimoto

Kung Saan Nagpunta Ang Ulan

“Sana umulan,” ang parating bulong ng aking kamalayan. Kahit nuong highschool pa lang ako, tuwing umaga pag lalabas ako ng bahay at magsisimulang maglakad papuntang eskuwelahan, unang dasal ko parati, “Sana umulan…” At pagkatapos makapag-antanda ay saka ko lang isusunod ang mga taong naghihirap sa mundo, ang mga gutom, ang mga walang matuluyan, ang aking mga kaibigan, ang lola ko, at ang pamilya ko. Ngunit nauuna talaga sa isip ko ang ulan.

Hindi naman siguro malakas na ulan, tulad ng ipinagdadasal ng karamihang estudyante. Hindi ko naman gusto yung tipo ng ulan na babahain nang lubos-lubusan ang ka-Maynilaan. Binabaha rin kasi ang kalye namin, at pumapasok pa sa loob ng bahay kaya mahirap ding ipagdasal yun, gustuhin ko man dahil mawawalan nga naman ng klase.

Ang gusto kong ulan ay yung kung nasa loob ka ng bahay namin at nasa may kusina ka’t nagkakape’t pandesal (o pag sinisipag ang tiya ay naiisipang mag-champoraodo), isang mahinahong tunog ng pagmartsa ng patak lang ang maririnig mo galing sa nagpapalakpakang yero at ulan. Marahil ay nakikipag-usap ka sa tiya mo, o sa lola mo, o sa kaibigan mo na naghihintay ng paghupa ng ulan pero hindi niyo kailangang magsigawan dahil sa sobrang lakas ng tunog ng bagsak ng tubig sa bubungan. Naririnig niyo pa naman ang tawa, ang pag-oo at pag-hindi ng bawat isa. (Marahil pati na rin ang tibok ng puso sa pagitan ng bawat paghinga…)

Ang gusto kong ulan ay yung hindi malakas, at hindi rin paambon-ambon lang. Yun bang kung lumabas ka sa kalsada at maglakad, ay para bang may karamay kang kaibigan. Yung para bang gusto mong makihiyaw, magtampisaw, at sumabay sa paghalakhak dahil sa isang bagay na nakakatawa na kayo lang dalawa ang nakakakaalam. At kung tatahimik ka ay pabulong na magsasabi ng sikreto tungkol sa lihim na pag-ibig ng buwan sa araw. Ng gabi sa liwanag. (Niya sa iyo…)

Ang gusto kong ulan ay yung titingala ka, pipikit, ngingiti, at magpapasalamat dahil alam mong ang ulan na iyong kaibigan, karamay, katipan ay isang pagbabasbas mula sa langit at patunay na may dahilan pang maging masaya habang ika’y nabubuhay. Iyon ang tipo ng ulan na pinapanalangin ko tuwing bago ako lumabas ng bahay.

Ngunit tulad ng maraming bagay na ating ipinagdarasal, hindi ito ipinagkakaloob sa atin. O marahil ay mas naaayon, hindi ito ipinagkakaloob sa atin sa panahong ating ito’y inaasahang dumating.

“Sana umulan,” ang sabi ko sa sarili. Tulad nung gabing nabanggit mo na kailangan mong umalis, mangibang bansa. Kailangan mo munang magpahinga, magpalayo, mapag-isa. May mga panahon din naman na inaamin ko sa sarili ko na hindi kita maintindihan, at hindi ko na pinipilit ang sarili kong intindihin ka. Ang kapal naman ng mukha ko kung isipin kong naiintindihan ko ang bawat pagtibok ng puso mo, dahil lang mahal kita.

Nag-alay na lamang ako ng mumunting dasal na sana kung saan ka man pupunta ay matagpuan mo ang katahimikang hinahanap mo. Inuna ko nang ipagdasal ka, saka ko na lang sinunod ang ulan.

Nang umalis ka, para bang sumama rin sa maleta mo ang ulan. Pakiramdam ko nagtampo, dahil sa kauna-unahang pagkakataon, may mas inuna akong dinalangin bago siya. Natandaan ko ang mga araw na nagmamaktol ako sa loob ng mainit at tahimik kong kwarto. “Ang daya-daya mo talaga,” ang sabi ko sa sarili. “Aalis ka na nga, sinama mo pa ang ulan.” Wala tuloy sumabay sakin nung tahimik akong nagsisisinghot sa sulok ng kwarto at umiiyak. Para akong bata na nilubog sa mainit na tubig at hinayaang malusaw sa sariling pawis at luha. Inaasahan ko ang lamig na yakap ng ulan, ngunit ipinagkait mo pa iyon sa akin.

Ngayon mas napapadalas ang dalangin ko. “Sana umulan…” Ang tahimik kasi. Ang init. Ang lungkot. Parang antagal na panahon nang huli kong marinig ang pagpalakpak ng ulan sa bubungan. Parang antagal na panahon nang huli akong nakatawa nang malakas kasabay ng isang matalik na kaibigan. At antagal-tagal na ring panahon nang huli akong nakarinig ng kwento ng mga nag-iibigan.

Kailan ako muling mabababasbasan? Kailan muling magkakaroon ng patunay na mayroon pang dahilan para maging masaya? Patuloy akong dumadalangin. “Sana umulan, sana umulan, sana umulan…”

The Rest Of Us

I imagined the lies the valedictorian was telling them right now. About the exciting future that lies ahead. I wish she'd tell them the truth: Half of you have gone as far in life as you're ever going to. Look around. It's all downhill from here. The rest of us will go a bit further, a steady job, a trip to Hawaii, or a move to Phoenix, Arizona, but out of fifteen hundred how many will do anything truly worthwhile, write a play, paint a painting that will hang in a gallery, find a cure for herpes? Two of us, maybe three? And how many will find true love? About the same. And enlightenment? Maybe one. The rest of us will make compromises, find excuses, someone or something to blame, and hold that over our hearts like a pendant on a chain.

-- Astrid Magnussen, White Oleander.

Jumping Into The Fire

even from a couple of miles away, you know it's going to hurt. but you still plunge on. you know you're going to come out bloodied and burnt and scathed and almost out of breath... but if you even have a microtesla of a chance of coming out successful and victorious, you'd do it. it's obvious folly, and a waste of energy (not to mention huge amounts of sanity, heck you've been wasting sanity all your life), but you'd take the chance anyway.

life's crazy like that. and i don't know if i'd want to punch it in the face and kick it in the gut, or just walk away laughing my ass off. either way it's a hoot.

sigh. operator, i need an exit.

Skip To Next Post - Shameless Self-Pitying Ahead

sometimes some people just make me feel like a talentless freak. like i'm not really, as in really good at anything. sure, i'm good at doing stuff, but i feel like it's all i'm ever going to be. i'm not going to be someone exceptionally good at something specific, something really mine.

ok, let's count our blessings one by one. i've been told doing that cheers one up...

• writing. sure i can write. sometimes surprisingly, i even impress myself. but most of the times it's just my brain blebbing out random thoughts. not really coherent, and if anything it's majorly rhetorical and only i get to know what i'm talking about. it doesn't have a purpose nor a direction. it just suddenly existed because my mind had to fart.

  
  
  

• drawing. great. i can draw anime females in four profile views with very unproportioned boobs. like my writing, it has no purpose, everything is random, and there are loopholes needing patches which i do not really care to think about, much less correct.

  
  
  

• webpage design. this one i don't know. sure, i like designing and illustration and anything regarding digital art... but my disposition is too gloomy to spread out to other fields and design techniques. i'm too much a fan of monochromes and very much a minimalist to really bother exploring other schemes... pfeh.

  
  
  

• talking. ok, i can talk when i need to. in front of an audience, to a friend, to a stranger, to plants, to inanimate objects... what have you. i think i'm pretty decent when it comes to conversing in english, tagalog, and coñospeak. it's just that... i don't feel really connected with the person/s i'm talking with. and i don't really have a grasp on the ideas that my mouth is divulging. it's like forcing my arse to release a sweet-smelling fart. it's so fucken' harrrrrrrd.

  
  
  

• thinking. this is the crux. i may be good at thinking, i may be grace under pressure, and i may be mightily clever at times... but my mind always tends to spiral downwards. it takes a real effort pulling it up the way it should be going. an effort sometimes not worth making. oh god.

well that's about all the things i can think of. bottomline, it's all useless. the energy used up in doing those things are just wasted. and that's not even the problem. the problem is i don't even know what it is i'd rather be doing. i feel... dispensable. like anyone can replace me anytime. like i'm not really needed.

and i'm not even sure if being needed is the problem...

about over a month ago i stayed in my room for three days. i came out only to pee and poo. i didn't eat, i didn't talk with anyone... i just laid there on the bed. the most significant movement my body made was billow the blanket. other than that i was just either looking out the window, or looking at the visualizations the mp3 playing in my laptop is making.

those three days... nothing felt odd at all. it felt right just lying there. silence became the air that i was breathing, and it would only feel like i was suffocating everytime my mother would come in and ask me what was wrong with me.

here i go again. this isn't exactly an online journal is it? this has become a garbage dump. a toilet bowl of sorts.

god, i need to fart.