How is it possible that I am still here? How is it, despite the fact that sometimes, my heart feels like it is slowly being crushed by the weight of planets, that I am still living? What tethers me to this world so violently, enough to keep the life blood in my veins flowing relentlessly against time, fighting for all it's worth but with so little sense of purpose or freedom?
It becomes so unbearable, that pain. So sharp, and piercing, and quick, but driven in too deep that I can feel my organs throbbing against the invading cold, glinting metal, beat per beat.
Without wanting to sound more melodramatic than I am doing so already, I must confess that suicide has always been a shadow, stalking me silently ever since I was fifteen, sixteen. Back then, it was merely a matter of crying for help -- which I have gotten from a lot of the friendships I have made during the time, of which I am eternally grateful. But now, it is inexplicably blinding. I honestly cannot tell what it is borne from, even if most people would believe otherwise.
For now though, I will be keeping myself alive and ignore the incessant malevolence rupturing my heart -- as I have done so in the past. Tomorrow I will wake up beaten, yes, bruised, yes, but still very much alive. Although honestly, I do not mind not waking up anymore.
Wednesday, May 24, 2006
Substitute for Love
I was on a bed that wasn't mine, reading a book I had brought with me out of habit. He stepped out of the washroom, wet on his hair and only a white towel on. "Hey," his smile seemed to say.
I returned the smile and went back to my book. The words were marching through my mind, but nothing was really registering. The book was merely a convenient thing to be holding, going through the motions of letting time pass until he was beside me.
Just about the moment when the meaning of the words were starting to sink in, I felt the bed shift on his weight. The blending of soap and his scent filled my senses, and all other things save his name evaporated from my mind. I looked at him and he smiled again. This was what I wanted, I felt myself smiling back. This, when words were not needed anymore. When everything can be communicated through a slight convergence in the air, a minimal shift of muscle.
His face hovered near mine. We kissed, and then he held me to him. He saw the book I was still holding and asked what it was about. "I'm not really sure," I told him. He chuckled -- an odd and merry sound bouncing playfully off the four walls of the room. Another change in the air. Still pleasant.
I set the book down on the bedside table and snuggled under his neck. His skin was still cold from the shower, but I can feel the warmth of his flesh -- how bare, how vulnerable, how human he seems. How real. There was a glimmer of doubt for one second, if everything that was happening was merely a delusion of mine uncanilly molded from a powerful dream, but when I felt his hand stroke my hair, I finally accepted its absolute, inexorable reality.
He lifted my face and kissed me again. We disrobed, and made love in silence. "How much do you love me?" I found myself asking. "This much," he said. "This much... and this... and this..." and on, and on, until we both came. It seemed like lifetimes, and then suddenly it was over. Still, silently over. We laid down again and slept.
I felt the bed shift again. He was getting up, getting dressed. He kissed my forehead, my consciousness eventually converging within the four walls of the room that was not mine. I rubbed the dust of sleep from my eyes, and got my wallet. I handed him two P500 bills. "Thanks," he said. "I'll see you again soon. Txt me."
Shivering from the air conditioning, I pulled on my jacket. "Sure. Thanks." He smiled one last smile, different from the ones he gave me an hour or two ago. I smiled back, also different from the ones I'd given him. He let himself out. I checked my mobile phone for the time. I still have an hour before I had to check out. I went back to sleep.
I returned the smile and went back to my book. The words were marching through my mind, but nothing was really registering. The book was merely a convenient thing to be holding, going through the motions of letting time pass until he was beside me.
Just about the moment when the meaning of the words were starting to sink in, I felt the bed shift on his weight. The blending of soap and his scent filled my senses, and all other things save his name evaporated from my mind. I looked at him and he smiled again. This was what I wanted, I felt myself smiling back. This, when words were not needed anymore. When everything can be communicated through a slight convergence in the air, a minimal shift of muscle.
His face hovered near mine. We kissed, and then he held me to him. He saw the book I was still holding and asked what it was about. "I'm not really sure," I told him. He chuckled -- an odd and merry sound bouncing playfully off the four walls of the room. Another change in the air. Still pleasant.
I set the book down on the bedside table and snuggled under his neck. His skin was still cold from the shower, but I can feel the warmth of his flesh -- how bare, how vulnerable, how human he seems. How real. There was a glimmer of doubt for one second, if everything that was happening was merely a delusion of mine uncanilly molded from a powerful dream, but when I felt his hand stroke my hair, I finally accepted its absolute, inexorable reality.
He lifted my face and kissed me again. We disrobed, and made love in silence. "How much do you love me?" I found myself asking. "This much," he said. "This much... and this... and this..." and on, and on, until we both came. It seemed like lifetimes, and then suddenly it was over. Still, silently over. We laid down again and slept.
I felt the bed shift again. He was getting up, getting dressed. He kissed my forehead, my consciousness eventually converging within the four walls of the room that was not mine. I rubbed the dust of sleep from my eyes, and got my wallet. I handed him two P500 bills. "Thanks," he said. "I'll see you again soon. Txt me."
Shivering from the air conditioning, I pulled on my jacket. "Sure. Thanks." He smiled one last smile, different from the ones he gave me an hour or two ago. I smiled back, also different from the ones I'd given him. He let himself out. I checked my mobile phone for the time. I still have an hour before I had to check out. I went back to sleep.
Tuesday, May 23, 2006
Summerland Doesn't Love Us Anymore
The universe just won't let us live in peace. The moment our program sees signs of settling down, something will come our way to shake up the dust.
After the innocuous event involving our boss and some of our teammates, another storm is brewing -- six of our people will be transferred to another account. This means from the twenty five people we have (excluding two supervisors and two leads), we will be reduced to nineteen.
Management says we're overstaffed. I say NO WE'RE NOT. What with the system latency we have to put up with day after day -- which by the way is another irritating issue with a simple solution but, for some weird reason it almost feels as if there's a conspiracy against us, our IT department doesn't do anything about -- and the occasional random unfortunate event, it's pretty apparent that we are just properly staffed. I can't even pull people out for up-training and coaching we so desperately need!
Sigh. I say it's one of the many desperate measures management has been making recently just to cut corners. I doubt transferring people would help though. Our group is very small, and people have already expressed intent on resigning if ever they get chosen to be transferred. Bad move for management. No one wins.
And even I, who normally wouldn't even spare half a glance -- let alone complain -- towards such things involving finances, am being affected by their decisions. I am doing the job of a Lead Agent, QA, and Trainer, and still I'm earning the salary of an agent, give or take a thousand pesos. They even had the gall to mark me down as being absent for one day and then being late for three hours on my payslip when here I am, going to work four-fucking-hours early almost everyday the past week just to finish the GODDAMNED UPTRAINING I AM NOT ABLE TO DO BECAUSE I CAN'T PULL PEOPLE OUT, WHY? Oh right. THE IRRITATING SYSTEM LATENCY OUR IT DEPARTMENT DOESN'T DO JACK SHIT ABOUT!
WHERE IS THE LOVE, PEOPLE?!?!
After the innocuous event involving our boss and some of our teammates, another storm is brewing -- six of our people will be transferred to another account. This means from the twenty five people we have (excluding two supervisors and two leads), we will be reduced to nineteen.
Management says we're overstaffed. I say NO WE'RE NOT. What with the system latency we have to put up with day after day -- which by the way is another irritating issue with a simple solution but, for some weird reason it almost feels as if there's a conspiracy against us, our IT department doesn't do anything about -- and the occasional random unfortunate event, it's pretty apparent that we are just properly staffed. I can't even pull people out for up-training and coaching we so desperately need!
Sigh. I say it's one of the many desperate measures management has been making recently just to cut corners. I doubt transferring people would help though. Our group is very small, and people have already expressed intent on resigning if ever they get chosen to be transferred. Bad move for management. No one wins.
And even I, who normally wouldn't even spare half a glance -- let alone complain -- towards such things involving finances, am being affected by their decisions. I am doing the job of a Lead Agent, QA, and Trainer, and still I'm earning the salary of an agent, give or take a thousand pesos. They even had the gall to mark me down as being absent for one day and then being late for three hours on my payslip when here I am, going to work four-fucking-hours early almost everyday the past week just to finish the GODDAMNED UPTRAINING I AM NOT ABLE TO DO BECAUSE I CAN'T PULL PEOPLE OUT, WHY? Oh right. THE IRRITATING SYSTEM LATENCY OUR IT DEPARTMENT DOESN'T DO JACK SHIT ABOUT!
WHERE IS THE LOVE, PEOPLE?!?!
Wednesday, May 17, 2006
Still Running
I couldn't shake away the feeling -- the uncertainty -- whether I'm running towards something or running away from something. This limbo is going on longer than I'd anticipated. No sight of the great white light yet.
So tomorrow's another day. Still running. Still running.
So tomorrow's another day. Still running. Still running.