My Blog

sometimes it chokes me; at times, it just caresses me.

i refer to it as ‘it’ because each time it visits me during ungodly hours, it takes the form of an androgynous creature.

sometimes, when i’m really lucky, i get a glimpse of its face before it dissipates into fleeting wisps of air, each time bringing with it the chilling winds of the night. most times however, especially when i’m in deep slumber, i just feel the caress of its formless embrace and the smooth silk of my blanket as, like a slimy reptile, it slithers its way into my body.

this morning, as i slowly opened my eyes to greet the first few streaks of the early morning light, i felt a great amount of weight pinning me to my bed. and as my eyes adjusted to the light, i felt the nudge of what seemed like a head on my shoulder and a hand over my chest - its weight rendering me defenseless and helpless, even as i struggled to escape from its clutches.

then i heard it whisper: "kuyog ta sa ilalom, clyde".

and for the first time since i arrived here, i prayed.

it has been over six months now that i resettled here, and although i am, by nature, a skeptic, i am slowly and silently believing that they exist. *

Every morning when I was about seven or eight years old, my parents would take us all to Rizal boulevard for early morning walks.

As they would briskly walk along the endless stretch of cemented pavement, my siblings and I would try, with little success, to keep up with their pace while pointing out the differences of those who also take refuge in the boulevard’s allure – we would see old people who barely move an inch every time they walk, athletes with earphones who breeze past everyone else, dog-walkers who are wary of those who are afraid of dogs, and lovers who seem oblivious to everyone else around them.

Back then, this was the early morning ritual which jumpstarted the day and, young as I was, I did not complain each time my father had to shrug us off from slumber and make us prepare for our early morning itinerary. I remember that as a young boy, I was enthralled and totally captivated by the beauty of the first few streaks of light of the breaking sunrise and the cool gusts of wind which greeted us each time.

The Rizal Boulevard beckoned everyone to momentarily escape from the trappings of a stress-filled day and bask in the soothing monotony of rural living. The chilling morning breeze, which permeated with the raw scent of early morning dew, was always relaxing to my senses, making me face the new day with much zest and optimism.

When I had my first girlfriend in high school, I remember that the boulevard was the first place that we went to for our first date. No matter how young we were during that time, we were convinced that what we had was for keeps – that no matter how cheesy or cliché, we would inevitably spend the rest of our lives together.

The boulevard then, provided for the most picturesque setting to a love story that was slowly unfolding. I remember the golden silhouette of dusk hovering over our heads while we talked about how our life together would be. She would be a doctor and I would be a lawyer in Paris or New Zealand perhaps and, back then, we sincerely believed that this was our absolute destiny. Perhaps it was the unraveling of newfound emotion which led us to believe in the folly of a perfect relationship, or probably, it was the boulevard’s touch which made us hopeless romantics and believe that our love would transcend the physical plane – that what we had was ethereal and, more than that, magical.

It did not, however, take a long time for me to realize that we were just blinded by the rawness of our emotions. We were broken, as sooner or later we would have been, to the simplistic truth that the ideal partner does not exist. After successive bouts of petty quarreling and endless disputes over the most trivial things, we finally decided to end our relationship.

Fresh from the bitter pangs of my first heart break, I invited my close friends to a drinking spree in the boulevard. Save for the momentary euphoria of alcohol intoxication, the boulevard then, was cold and lifeless for me. It conformed to my cluttered state of mind, and the dizzying sodium lights only exacerbated the dreadful feeling of desperation that brewed inside me.

The solace of our young dreams and unadulterated love was also where I learned that life and love are never constant – and that we are oftentimes broken rather than complete.

Just November of last year, the boulevard was where I spent most of my pensive moments. Much has happened since that fateful night of heavy drinking when a group of young boys foolishly believed that Tanduay 65 was a comforting respite from the onslaught of solitary pain.

This time, I had been broken to the world and to the reality that life is what you make of it.

As I basked in the poetic allure of the last few traces of light giving in to darkness, I was contemplating what I had done with my life: I had squandered three years of it in a university which taught me that although academic and personal freedom are essential, too much of the latter can actually make you lose your focus and direction in life. The boulevard was my place of consolation when I felt that my life had lost all semblance of meaning; it was where I chose to collect the fragments of my broken self and consolidate my resolve to start anew. It was where I realized that change is never too late, and that yes, failures exist to solidify our perception of how our lives ought to be.

The boulevard for me, as with everyone else who grew up in this city, has been a constant source of comfort. People come here to take a breather from the intricacies of everyday living, they celebrate happy occasions with family members and friends, and at times, it is where love stories unfold.

But more than anything else, it taught me that although life is a constant struggle, the turbulence is never permanent – that although we occasionally succumb to the complexities of living, it merely serves to redefine our perspectives and make us see the grander scheme of things.

That although life and love are beseeched with constant torment, we can, through our own ways, make ourselves complete – because life, as with everything else, goes on.

sometimes, it is much braver to defy the temporary impulses of the heart than to prolong the inevitable that sooner or later, everything will need to end.

after some time, i have been broken to the simplistic, albeit impossibly comprehensible truth, that not everything is made to last. and that the brokenness of the present is only an assurance that somehow, the future holds much more promise.

yes, initially it is hard. but given how i have been numbed by past struggles, i know i will re-emerge and regain dominion over my life.

you will see, pretty soon i know, that there is a grander scheme out there. and we are left with no other recourse but to embrace it wholeheartedly. or pretend to do so.

you take care.

i have such a hazy recollection of the first
time I discreetly challenged his authority that sometimes, I am convinced that
there never was a first time. but as my fingers securely clasp the already
burnt and shortened marlboro lights stick in its place, and while I allow
myself to be lost in its hazy glory, i know for certain that there was a second
time, then a third, until finally, i was smitten and soon found myself trapped
within its bizarrely addictive clutches.

 
my first light, my first stick,
my first puff – everything started with the prodding of friends and I must
admit that initially, my guilt gnawed at me, eating me alive and stupefying my
once clear parameters and pre-established convictions. what started as a
harmless and in retrospect, a callous choice, later turned into a lifestyle,
one which would surprisingly, alter my perception of reality, and unleash a
side of me which I never knew existed.

it was nauseating – just like my nausea
whenever I am compelled to be compacted into the rigid box of shitty
convention. it tasted bitter – similar to the bitter pangs of worthlessness
that I feel whenever I am expected to conform to the norm. it was eekie – just like how pathetically
powerless and emasculated i feel whenever i am expected to accede to the
established authority of the elderly and the ‘wise’. but at the same time, it
felt liberating – to finally have a taste of the forbidden, and allow myself to
be carried away by carelessness and total abandonment of my once familiar
world.

as I puffed and puffed my health
away with the accumulated tens, and hundreds, and perhaps thousands of revolt
sticks every time I felt I needed to affirm my own sense of individual power,
my character too, was gradually propping itself up, slowly and decisively. through
time, it exhibited its niche as it left me bewildered how abandoning my
preconceptions had actually led me to the discovery of my newfound self.

yes, it changed me. it radically
overhauled my disposition and compelled me to welcome the steady yet inevitable
progression of change. slowly but surely.

stick after stick, after stick.

*  *  *   

uhmmm.

*intellectual drought*

help!

dang.

yesterday evoked a multitude of emotions. while i was sitting in class, unthinking and pensive, as i was waiting for the exams to be administered, i thought: i was neither disturbed, nor bothered, nor afraid, that i did not study. as in nada. none at all. zilch. zero. empty set. and all that sh*t.

i was sitting there, waiting for kingdom come, and my heart was beating normally, in fact, it was harmoniously in rhythm with the inconspicuous wall clock that was hanging near me.

hmmm.. flashback: UP, math 17 finals, 3rd fuc*ing time.

i sense that procrastination and apathy will soon get past me, if i do not modify my current mindset and again, *sigh*, realign.

well anyway, the semester is almost over, and i can’t be any happier. a lot of things are planned out to keep me occupied, and i can’t wait get to get my hands on ‘em. anyway, back to my story, perhaps i was numbed to guilt because my system was drenched with another kind of emotion - the heart-stopping and exhilarating kind. then it hit me, what the heck, it’s all worth it. a worthy trade. yes, siree!

and then it hit me again as i was answering the test questions, who the hell is pupdoh??

*sigh*

the euphoria has yet to die down. i swirl still in the flurry of drunkenness. ktv music. OBT. and the memory of this morning. i heave. i let out a gasp. i yawn. i take a deep breath. and still. my heart continues to palpitate with the intensity of its rawness.

*sigh*

i wonder. when  will i be released from this stupor? from the euphoria of the unexplainable. and the unquantifiable. and the inexplicable. what we have is the now. the moment. and the future? once again, i can only gasp. uncertain.

*sigh*

i have yet to move on. from the momentary pleasure. from the drunkenness of last night. and the magic of this morning. i need to let go of the euphoria. otherwise. i will be held captive in its clutches. forever.

i am literally swamped.

as i write this, my desk’s weight capacity is being tested to its optimal strength as my test papers, books, notebooks, lampshade,  radio, notes, pad papers, and other stuff are strewn in disarray. normally, this would have been a disturbing pile of litter to see, but considering the times and the circumstances, i feel enthralled to be within the student psyche again. the deadlines, the papers, the presentations, the final exams, and the pressure - all of them serve as reminders that once more, i am a student in a university. and although my past school’s hell week is thrice as toxic as is the case now, still, the familiar feeling is a welcome respite from the monotonous lifestyle that i had six months ago.

i still need to write about the filipino novel in english, and explain why yabes claimed that the philippine short story in english was born athena-like, full-grown and already distinct. add to that my book review of dean alfar’s salamanca, and my critique to zsa-zsa zaturnah and wasted, two great filipino komiks. and all these would have to be passed by tomorrow, otherwise sir casocot would fry our asses.

hell week, here i come.

once more.

once, most times, and sporadically, there comes a time when one is exhausted by the mere thought of generating words, sentences, and paragraphs from the nothingness of an unfeeling mind and the brokenness of an inchoate spirit. the prospect alone is daunting.

when this period culminates however, what follows is the unbridled onslaught of words, sentences, and paragraphs tinged with the wondrous luminosity of inspiration and enveloped with the magic of limitless and fervid imagination.

tonight i write this while i am sober, socially-recluse, and disturbed. my guilt gnaws at my very core; inching closer to where my emotions take refuge; threatening to subsist upon the void that creative impotency inevitably brings.

tonight i am a nomad, a stranger, for i have deliberately, albeit momentarily, taken the path of solitary bliss and isolation.

but alas, my pen wields even greater power, and i am left with no other recourse but to go to where my heart thrives undisturbed and unperturbed, to the place where it throbs with life and meaning –

to where my words, sentences, and paragraphs reverberate with a realness that is intangible yet palpable, and to where they add splendor to an otherwise, mundane existence.

xxx

it is rather unfortunate that our politician-parliamentarists and
the peddlers of constitutional change have maliciously shrouded the
real merits and the prospective benefits of a parliamentarian
democracy. jose de venecia and his cohorts have stooped so low as to
swerve their campaign propaganda into the realms of false
presuppositions, preposterous prophesies, and shrewd maneuverings.

we MAY, but CANNOT, and WILL not experience a complete overhaul of
our inefficient democratic institutions once charter change is
instituted. the assurance of a reinvigorated democracy is a tacit lie
that the recent surge of parliamentarism has given rise to. they claim,
and with such masterful eloquence and seeming adeptness, that once
charter change eventuates into a parliamentarian shift, the gridlocks
inherent in a presidential system of government would accede to the
smooth functionings of a government where there is "fusion of powers"
[revisit your old polsci textbooks, will ye?].

conrado de quiros presents a more realistic viewpoint as he posits
that "our society is corrupt not because of our brand of national
leaders; RATHER and to the contrary, our leaders are corrupt because
our society has been corrupted and is in decay". see, the reason why
significant legislation and much-needed statutes do not get through is
that our political parties are not thoroughly infused with ideologues
that would delineate say, the liberals from the conservatives for
example. the administration and opposition factions, respectively, are aligned under a prominent political personality, not
necessarily under a common advocacy nor a shared vision of the
supposed-to-be state of affairs. de venecia is blind, or he pretends to
be one [which is worse] if he claims no knowledge of this entrenched
filipino political attribute. and mind you, this requisite is very
crucial for a parliamentary democracy to flourish and for it to realize
its maximum potential. In the alternative set-up that has been
proposed, nothing is more important as being given CHOICES for us to
articulate our political ideals and to vote according to what we deem
is constitutive of our political necessities.

what differentiates miriam santiago from jamby madrigal [jajaja-jamby!]? chiz
escudero from mike defensor? or rufus rodriguez from raul gonzales,
perhaps? apart from their shrewdness and double-facedness, NOTHING.
administration officials are called such because they are the mindless
pawns of La Gloria, whereas opposition politicians have strings attached to them and are controlled by their master puppeteer, Erap.
Ideally, these two opposing camps should have been differentiated by
their views on critical issues such as trade liberalization, support to
state industries, their WTO commitment, the amount or burden of tax
rates, and their priorities in revenue allocation.

do we even have the slightest semblance of intellectual discourses
and political advocacies separating the administration and opposition
camps? 

unequivocally, the answer is NO.

the presidential system, with all its perceived flaws and
shortcomings, is the BETTER, much WISER choice. James Madison’s view on
the need for the "separation of powers" [ranney, 1995,hihi] in
government affairs, is a clause that protects an otherwise helpless
citizenry from the excesses of government officials wielding
near-absolute powers. sure, the fusion of powers argument might
guarantee [not even] the smoother passage of bills, but this can also
be an opening for unbridled and unchecked executive authority. and
given the collective ethos of pinoy legislators, this alone should scare us to our wits.

we DO NOT need a complete overhaul of the system, rather, there is a
greater urgency for us to rethink our societal leanings and to
re-assess the dynamics of our nation-state. a shift to another
governmental form can be likened to a surgical operation to a cancer
that has become malignant and incurable. for our purposes however,
there is enough reason to believe that ours is a curable ailment, whose
effects we can put a stop to, given the proper diagnosis, medication,
and [the] will to be cured.

we need sincere and comprehensive answers to the deep-seated
frailties of our nation as substitutes to the foolishly superficial and
callous responses that our politicians wish to employ.

my college professor once opined, in jest, that for the philippines
to leave behind its unglorious past, there is no other recourse but to
blow up the country into smithereens. and from the ruins, the filipino
will re-emerge and re-build his society.
it struck me as an unreasonable proposition back then.

but given the likes of de venecia and their distorted sense of filipino political reality, heck, i would gladly do the honors of blowing up this nation into oblivion.