Not Who I Think I Am

Contemptuous contemplation, still looking for that spark of inspiration.
Stare at the stars and jump as far as my feet take me.
Yet, no matter how I try, they still look down on me.
Mocking me for my existence, 

I started smoking 2 or 3 years ago. It was a spontaneous night. An hour of persuasion, a taxi ride to Alabang, then a 4-5 hour drinking session. I had my first stick. “Harmless.”, I thought. “Just to get rid of this hammering in my head.” I justified. 
I’ve been hooked ever since.

I know I should stop. It ain’t good for my health. My second wind’s been hardly coming, lately. I’m lethargic and moody whenever I haven’t had one in a long time. I should stop.

It just feels so good. Like every drag I take gives me a bit more room, like I can jump a little higher, think a little faster. I remember the nights I spent staring at that SM Southmall sign, smoke in hand, while pondering nothing and seemingly everything in the same breath.

But I should stop. I can’t rely on something so little for inspiration. I need to find a better source for that.

Then I’d need to fill in my post game rituals. Usually, I’d have a smoke and some sort of soda. Just to get me back to normal, unsweaty levels. My friends joke around and say, “Vitamins.” like I rely on them to get my juices flowing. That’s not far from a half-truth though.

I should stop, though. I spend almost 50php on this a week, not counting the candies I pop whenever I smoke. That’d be 4 hours of DotA, a one-way trip to Manila, or a half-assed lunch right there.

I’ll just need to find me some other sort of comfort on those cold lonely cliched nights that pops by every so often.

I should stop. I really should, even if it’s just because I know how good it’ll feel once I reach for that stick again.

I am sporadic at best.
Lines that fit nowhere found in between words that feel more out of place than they should be.
I am uninspired at worst.
Grasping at air, looking for some word to define the improbably defineable, and ending up with some make believe word pulled out of my own ass.
I finish things when I feel like it.
Then again, I never do. Inspiration hits me in spurts and my brain hurts when I try to conjure up something more than old pains and heartaches.
I don’t finish things at all.
And maybe that’s the problem… 

I stare at the silver sheen on a black label, this and my yellow cricket. They’ll save me from my own thoughts. A flame appears and I take breath. Oh sweet taint, bitterly filled with false hopes, has me lost. Frantic, the chaos of wanting to be somewhere other than here. Desperate for direction, a guiding light perhaps? At worst, I ask for the ending, a misguidedly sweet ending. Embers red and ashes gray, all get lost as I flick them away. And when all of my thoughts get derailed, I find myself here again. Nothing to do but stare at that silver sheen on a black label, that and my yellow cricket.

Hey there little guy. You’re most likely asleep by now, after a night of tv and whatever it is I used to do back when I was little. Anyway, you’re entering that awkward stage that I haven’t quite left yet, and it’s gonna be not too easy for you. I know for me it wasn’t, still ain’t. So here are some tips that might or might not help you along.

1. Stop worrying about how you look.
   You’re still growing. You may be short, chubby and a little bit on the pale side now, but in a few years you’re gonna shoot up by a good few inches. In fact, you’re gonna be tall enough that you will be in place to play the forward slots at most basketball games. Most of that fat will burn off, and that paleness will be gone within 3 to 4 basketball afternoons in PhilCol. Just wait for it. You won’t be the most handsome guy in the world, but you’ll get along fine. Enough to be a little vain, at least.
2. Find your interests and develop them.
    Here, I’ll probably give you a bit more help. You’ve always loved music, so why not pine for a guitar until your/our parents give in, then learn to play it? It’s easy and it’ll save you from many long nights of boredom. Not to mention the cookie points with the ladies. Also, remember that old organ that’s collecting dust somewhere in the house? Learn to play it before your fingers grow stiff. To touch on more things that might and probably will interest you. Sports will finally be on your list of things to love in a few years so start early. Pick up a basketball and learn to love the game. You will, eventually. And if you find something else along the way, then why not? The sky’s the limit when you’re at you’re age, at any age actually but I digress. Another thing, writing but that probably needs another bullet. So…..
3. Read, Listen and Write endlessly.
   Read everything that gets assigned to you, don’t just bluff your way out of English. You’ll learn a lot more that way and have some fun too. Everything from “To Kill a Mockingbird” to “Catcher in the Rye”. I’ll give you a pass on the Filipino Lit mainly because I still haven’t read any of those selections. Well, those and Don Quixote because that’s a damn thick book. Anyway, write too, about something, anything, everything and nothing. You might not get any better at it but hell, if it keeps you sane right? You’ll probably spend many nights jotting down randomness in notebooks that are barely even opened in class. I know you’re probably scoffing at the thought of you writing anymore than is required but you’ll see. In time, you will discover the joy in words as much as I have.
4. Love everyone around you but never forget to love yourself.
    Cherish everyone around you while you can but try not to get too attached. Whoever said that seasons change and people don’t, didn’t know what the hell they were talking about. Most of everyone have expiration dates. It’s sad but it’s true. There will be fall outs, break ups and sometimes just plain old distance. Sure, take a chance on relationship or two but never expect forever until you get there. This piece of advice will save you from many tears and stupid phone calls, emails and IMs. Still, always be there for anyone who needs you or at least try to be. You’re a good person. I shouldn’t have to tell you that. 
5. Take many a leap of faith.
   Sure, it might come back to bite you in the ass one day but it’ll take you places you wouldn’t expect you’d love. Like on the road as you’re birthday slowly ticks away, trying to find something that was lost a long time ago. Or on the road with a hoodie on and pile of clothes in your backpack at 3am just trying to find a place to rest your bones. Or in an apartment somewhere trying to sleep off a hangover. Or in a house in Cupang celebrating a fiesta. Or a random street in a village you’ve been in only twice before, smoking a cigarette and trying to find the way back home. It won’t be the best of times but it’s still a damn sight better than things you’d have been doing otherwise. When you’re gut tells you that you should do it, then do it and ask questions later. You’re gut’s probably right and if it’s wrong then muster up a little more of them guts, and muscle through. You’ll make it through, always. I have and I believe I always will.
6. Remember that the night is yourfriend.
   Sure, some people say that the sun rising is a sign of new hope ‘cause it’s new day but you know what? The sun setting doesn’t have to mean that hope is gone, it’s the start of something better. I know this because the night has given me more than it’s share of comfort. A lot of my favorite memories happened when the sun was well below the horizon. Inspiration strikes you as the moonlight through your windowpane lights your room, however dimly. You’ll look at the stars and know that there’s something more out there, something bigger that whatever it is that worries you. The cool breeze, the quiet chaos, the yellow-ish streetlight, I know you’ll love it.
   
   And last of all, perhaps most important.
7. Keep moving and never give up on yourself.
   Face it, you’re a dreamer albeit a optimistically cynical one but I digress. You look out a bus window and imagine how much better life will be in x years from now. And you know what dreamers do? We continue dreaming, we never stop. Sure, be sentimental, hold on to things but never stop moving forward. As is the golden rule in any nighttime walk, never stop putting one foot in front of the other. Continue to believe that everything will get better in the end because it will. You know why? Because you’ll make it so. Whatever happens, however hard it gets, you’ll find a way to get back up with or without your friends. You’ll make it, of that I’m sure. 

That’s pretty much it. All I can say really. I know you probably won’t get to read this little guy but faux writing to you gives me a lot of hope. After all, if a little kid like that made it through everything I have, then here I am world, give me your best friggin’ shot. Ok, off tangent again.
Still, you’re gonna turn out great little guy. You’re gonna be fine when it’s all said and done. We’re gonna be good enough for this world. I’m gonna be worth it.

Cheers. 

I admit this was supposed to be a hastily written rant about many things, disrespect, judgmental-ness and the absolute absence of compassion but then the night came and doused all my anger, at least most of it. So here goes my attempt to transform what was an expletive filled post with half a semblance of sense to something that tries and furiously strives to make sense.

What was once a fuming and seething rage turns into something else entirely, a boatload of fatigue. Shoulders drooping and far from any sign of a smile on my face, I walked home. I don’t know what to say. I guess I shrink at the thought of even more conflict. 

I’ll walk through it backwards. Last things first. It sucks that when I come home late, no trace of worry can be found on either of my parents. I call it the assumption of survival. Under this assumption, you survive everything, traffic doesn’t affect you, nor do any other circumstance aside from those that lessen travel time. How would you feel if, when you come home tired as flying fvck that you can barely walk and the first thing you here is, “BAKIT NGAYON KA LANG?” Just imagine that, being tossed at you at well over 70 decibels. And no matter, how truthful you are or what explanation you give, you’re never given the presumption of innocence. Call me a bad son, but I hesitate to call my parents “great” at raising their kids. Then again, this might be just an overly rebellious streak I’ve carried over. I don’t know. You tell me.

Next, I have a problem with those who speak out of turn. Like people who hear one  verse of a song and judge that it’s not any good. I hope you’re following me, or not. It’s just that if you must speak and spit out your sentiments then please consider how others would feel. Most importantly, don’t contradict yourself. If you want to help, then say so and ask how. Don’t blindly rush in and start blaming people. That’s what you call being counter productive. I’m not making any sense, am I? I guess, I can sum it up in this next sentence. “Don’t tell me who I am or what I should do when you don’t know where I come from and what’s happening to me.”

Last and most frustrating of all, DON’T FVCKING POINT YOUR FINGER AT ME LIKE I HAVE NO RIGHT TO BE AT ANY GIVEN PLACE AT ANY GIVEN TIME, MUCH LESS MAKE IT SEEM LIKE I’VE DISRESPECTED YOU, WHEN YOU WERE THE ONE TO SAY AND I QUOTE, “ANG KAPAL DIN NG MUKHA NITO NO?” Here comes the rage, I guess. I admit, the first thing I said when you turned around was, “Well, fvck you too.” But then a better part of me took over and made me understand. I don’t know what you’re going through nor where you come from but please do not belittle me like I’m some petulant child with an oral fixation. And that finger, were I this bad a mood when you pointed it at me? I would’ve bent it back so far it would’ve pointed itself back at me. I’m being bipolar, aren’t I?  Well, just take it easy and try not to step on my rights any more than you already have. Lest I step on you. You’ve already embarrassed me in full view of a streetful of strangers, my sis and a friend. Not to mention, that you’ve already made it exponentially difficult for me and someone I love. I don’t know if my patience can take any more than that and I don’t want to lose my patience. It’s been years since I’ve had any sort of outburst, so please, for your sake and mine, don’t try me. And I shall try to be, at least, civil when matters concern you.

This is the end, I believe but let me put in a good length of apologies.

First, to you who read this and expected something, anything at all really, I’m sorry to have disappointed you.

Second, to anyone who got affected and hurt by my rant, well now at least, you know what you’re doing asshole-ish-ly.

And last to her, because I stood the thought of you crying. Because I left you to deal with everything alone. Because I didn’t recognize her, of all people. Because I smoked and then smoked again and again and again ‘til I couldn’t bear the thought of another. Because I disappointed you in all the wrong ways. Because I love you too much to leave you. Because I love you too much to make rifts in your family. Because I don’t know what to do. Because I am powerless. Because I love you and that’s all that I know for certain, right now.

//Title is stolen from the best album from FBR since TTTYG.

Some nights, I just want to be someone else. Yeah, I said it and I admit it.

By all accounts and indications, I am an average guy from an average family that earns average income. I play basketball, badminton, a few computer games, the guitar, piano, all of them at an average level.  I’m not a genius, not particularly handsome nor tall. I’m not fair-skinned, not that athletic and while I try my best at singing, I’m pretty average at that too. 

You probably hate the word “average” by now but it’s true. No matter what angle you look at me from, I am the very definition of the word and some nights, I just don’t feel like I’m enough.

For those of you unfamiliar with the feeling, it starts out innocently enough. Comparisons, that’s the root of it all. I look at some guys and they look much better than I do. Heck, some even make my own pseudo-gf admit swoon more than I can hope to achieve. I load up a a youtube cover and see the true artistry required to be a musician and find that I don’t nearly have enough of it. Wherever I go, it just happens, on the court, in the classroom, even in a comshop.
Then a burning feeling of inadequacy ignites a spark within you, leading to a flame of self-loathing and inevitably to an inferno of depression.
It’s dark and you can certainly get lost in it. Trust me, I’ve been there.

And then there is the feeling of insignificance. Like anything you do, no matter how hard you try, it won’t matter in the grand scheme of things. No matter, how many words you write, songs you sing or baskets you make, you’d only be delaying the inevitable drop back to being nothing.

I get it. Some of this is just vanity but can you blame me for wanting to matter? For wanting to actually make a difference?

Some nights, it just gets too much. So I close my eyes, hold back whatever thoughts haunt me and stare at the ceiling until fatigue takes over my mind and lulls me to sleep.  

For years now, with bus windows and shower heads as philosophy teachers, I’ve tried to find a cure for this “sickness” of mine. Then one day, as I was mindlessly having fun with my block, it hit me. 

I do matter, however little or insignificant to some, I really do matter. I’ve affected dozens of lives just as dozens of lives have affected my own life. I may be average, but being average allowed me to keep in touch with most of everyone I have encountered. I smiled.

Sure, some nights I still walk from here to anywhere at all with only the purpose of forgetting and some nights the ceiling still holds my gaze. And I’ll admit, some nights I still want to be someone other than who I am but then again, most nights I’m perfectly happy.

TL;DR: Some nights, I still want to be someone else but most nights, I don’t.

/*I had previously written over 5 paragraphs worth on these two guys, but my laptop died and everything vanished. I shall be more brief this time. Partly, because I don’t want that to happen again but mostly because it’ll be hard to remember all the embellishments I had written beforehand. Sorry guys. */

I’m just gonna go with the basics. It was my 2nd year within the four walls of MaSci when I grew to know these two guys, Patrick Santos and Tim Cruz. Pat was and still is eccentric, a bit small but a generally nice guy. Tim is athletic, musically-hopeless and the prototypical family man or at least the near-22 year old approximation of one. Two of my best friends and two of the best friends anyone can have.

From 2005 to 2009, we all lived in houses relatively close to one another. I was more or less, one jeepney or tricyle ride from Patrick and from Patrick’s we were two rides away from Tim. We were, as Tim called it, South Boys (since we lived in Southern Metro Manila). Back in those days, we had dozens of overnight sessions with excuses ranging from the mundane (“Wala lang”) to the real important (“Gagawa kami ng project para sa TLE. Clearance namin yun.”). The day of both our Junior and Senior Prom, we spent preparing in either Tim’s or Pat’s house, not to mention our GradBall. I basically grew up with these guys. I hate the cliche, but it’s true, we were like brothers, I guess we still are.

/*Reading back, I neglected to mention there were more of us in out little group “SB” (what it stands for shall never be spoken of again, ever). In quick succession, there’s me, Tim, Pat, KR, Lucky, Jeff and Ron.*/

I’ve seen Patrick’s little brothers and sister grow up and and Tim’s little sister (who’s older than I am) celebrate her debut. I’d like to think and believe that we were extension’s of each others family. Even now, I get a free pass to go outside and wander whenever I tell my parents that I’m with Tim, Pat, Luck or any combination. And while our little get togethers have grown more infrequent, I have little reason to believe that there is any love lost among all of us.

I’ve gone off tangent. I guess, all that I’m trying to say is, 

HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO TIM AND PAT. TWO OF THE BEST FRIENDS ANYONE CAN HAVE. MAY THE GOOD TIMES KEEP ROLLING AND MAY WE ALL BE TOGETHER WHEN THEY COME AROUND.

3 o’ clock in the morning and I’m smashing away at these keys. Evading sleep while normal people are well into their dreams. Old habits die hard, I guess. If so, then what about old love? What of old passions? I’ll let my train of thought get derailed just to avoid this line of thinking.

I don’t know what to write of, I just know that I want to, as it has been so many times. Looking around my room for any inspiration and my search comes up empty. My faded Lakers Basketball is staring at me. My preschool diploma is up on the wall with a a scowling picture of li’l old me. My favorite purple jacket is hanging from a hook behind my door. So many memories, though none that I could, would or should conjure up just so I can write of something.

Instead of anything profound or trying-hard artsy fartsy shit, I guess I’ll just tell you of what I’ve been doing lately or what has happened. Something that’ll hopefully interest you or not. I go with the latter. Then again, I’m not doing this for you.

Well, just yesterday I bought two (not-sure-if) authentic Fender Picks. A .5mm one  with a Pearl design and a .7mm one with a camo design. They made me pick up my guitar more often over these past two days than the previous week. While I believe I’ve neglected my strings, I’ve been practicing and trying to learn to play the piano, courtesy of our old but newly-relocated electric organ. Just tonight, I’ve finally been able to play Forever My Father semi-consciously. So yeah. 
Actually, I have a self-proposed goal of really trying to record a few songs over this summer. Wish me luck yeah? 

Also, I’ve been having a hard time, moving forward and looking forward. I know things have a way of working themselves out but I can’t help but feel anxious. I don’t know why I am but I am. I’ve got my girl and a great boatload of friends to help me, so I’m pretty confident I can do this. 
It’s just that when I think of them, they inspire me so and they motivate me like few others. But when I feel myself here, alone, just me and the steady humming of the electric fan motor, I lose faith just a little. Still, hope springs eternal right? 
Yeah, optimism only for those who don’t live in the real world.

And that’s it. I guess I’m out of words that I can publicly share. But maybe in a month or so. I’ll be back and with more than a few words. Of despair and hopelessness or of victory and relief. We’ll see. For now, I’m just gonna keep moving along, to the steady beat of my own.. uhm.. electric fan motor? 

Good morning light rouses me from a still-lingering stupor.
It is only then that I realize that we are alone, me and my lonely cigarette.
A sea of asphalt and green lies before my eyes, moving with and against the wind.
Structures tall and immovable, a city’s hustle bustle.
I stay veiled behind silence and indifference.
Ghostlike, I move to and fro.
Here, I am invisible.
Here, I am unknown. 
Here, my heart beats alone, lost in a cacophony of sounds foreign.

In truth, where I am is no different from where I used to be.
No more than 8km from where I used to roam.
But it’s still not the same.
I just hope one day, my heart learns to beat for Morayta as it did for Faura.