There's no point to this entry. It's just one of those Saturdays, with a lot of little nothings.
I wake up trying to remember the things I need to do. Take-home work, thesis, overdue book, what else? Please don't rain too much today.
I try to listen to the rain. None. Good.
I hitch a ride with my dad to the MRT. Have to be in UP before lunch, because the Econ library closes at 12 on Saturdays (Econ people are clearly not book readers). I walk up the stairs. The queue wasn't long, points for MRT! I pass through the gates and chance upona billboard on the upper platform area. The picture has PGMA's huge smiling face (this is what greets passengers on their way to the trains every single day. Imagine that.) It also has a simple outline drawing of the MRT Line, telling me "You are here", and shows the other existing LRT lines and proposed LRT lines, and how they link up with this particular Line.
I work for a consultancy that specializes in infrastructure. We (well, the experts) built LRT2. And some of our partner firms in that project built LRT3 - MRT to everyone else. I ponder on that fact as I try to decipher the criss-crossing lines of the different LRTs in the billboard. Amazing. Transportation. How these blocks of cement and metal (and all the big and little things I don't understand) can carry people from Paranaque to Quezon City to Recto to Kamuning. I look around at people scurrying by, rushing to the trains, and wonder if they can see that, these huge arteries that carry our lifeblood all throughout the metropolis, every second of every day - unless there's a power outage or some other malfunction, then everyone takes the bus and road riots ensue.
What was I saying? Ah. For a brief moment I feel slightly proud of the people and entities who work to build trains and roads and bridges, even though in the actual fact I've never had anything to do with the design and construction of any piece of infrastructure.
I walk away from the billboard immersed in that thought, and go down the stairs to the platform.
Crap, the doors are closing. GMA and her stupid smiling face just made me late for my train. Oh wait here comes another. Is it me or are things working well today?
It takes me about 20 minutes to get from Taft to Quezon Ave, and I spend it listening to the Beatles . Good times, the 60s.
I board the jeep at the terminal beside Quezon Av station. A young boy sits in front, in his mother's lap, with his father in the driver seat. The father keeps on tickling him all throughout the ride, arousing fits of laughter and little legs flying over the dashboard. At Philcoa the boy straightens up and shouts joyously, "Ahh--UP, UP, UP, UP!" cajoling people to get in the jeep in the biggest voice his six-year-old body could muster. His parents laugh at his attempt. Of course this doesn't stop him from belting out once more. I don't feel sad like I usually feel when kids do what adults are supposed to do. Probably because this child isn't working, he isn't being abused (at least not today?). He's playing - the way young middle class children put on their daddies' ties and their mommies' heels, prancing around the carperted room until they trip over their grown-up costumes. For this one Saturday afternoon, I feel slightly...relieved.
I stop at the Econ building and run to the library, to be greeted by an irate librarian who huffs, "OVERDUE." So where's your fire huh, Ms Dragon? I pay the fine and leave immediately. I go to the SC to surf the net and wait for Mark. Lunch at Rodic's would be fabulous today. And it was. The hustle and bustle, the clanking of metal plates, the carinderia-style call-outs for food, and the air of 60 years of Rodic's history invade my senses. Then of course there's the yummy tapsilog. I eat and think, I want to write about this place. I will, I promise.
Later on, Mark and I pass by the "70% Sale" at ISSI before going to SURP. I mull over a pair of Lee jeans while Mark buys shoes. Hm, should I buy these jeans? They look like they fit, but do they? I'm not allowed to fit, so I stare at the thing for a good ten minutes. I finally ask Mark, and he asks back, "is it an immediate need? How many pants do you own?" Well, thanks a lot for the support, man. Parang linya ko ata yan. Tip: Never go to a sale with a man. He will crush your faith. They do not understand it. Yes we do know, sales are not really sales, they are schemes, and often end up ripping us off more than normal purchases do. I know I don't really need the jeans, and I know that logically I should not buy them because, personally, I need to know that they actually fir me, and there's no way of of knowing that here. I even know that it's not actually 70% off. But that is not the point of going to a sale. Going to a sale means feeling good about yourself. Period. Bah.
The rest of my afternoon is spent at the SURP library, trying to lift my mood. I think I'm growing library roots, honestly.
I go to thesis consultation a little later, then off we go to Glorietta to watch Pirates of the Caribbean.
What a funny movie! Could not stop laughing. Can not. Hilarious story, funny characters. Gorgeous Orlando Bloom. After the movie I see a girl whip out her digicam and take a picture of a Pirates poster. I bet you she's zooming in on Orlando. But why would you endeavor to get a 2D copy of a 2D copy of a person? I'd shave off one degree of Kevin Bacon: Picture Version, and plot to get the whole tarpaulin instead. Unless it's a life-size standee of Kimi Raikkonnen, then I could have my picture taken with my arm woven through his cardboard arm. Which I have done by the way, in Duty Free. Hahahaha.
Anyway I go home still laughing at the running cage scene, and with a mental note to watch the first Pirates movie.
So that was my day. It was a good one. Yun lang.
Saturday, July 15, 2006
Tuesday, July 11, 2006
Saturday, July 08, 2006
WHO WILL SAVE MY SOUL?
If I could tell the world just one thing it would be, we're all okay...not to worry coz worry is wasteful and useless in times like these...I won't be made useless, I won't be idle with despair..
I remembered this song a couple of nights ago, lying in bed and feeling exactly that: idle with despair.
It has come down to this. That once again I question the purpose for and value of me being where I am. That the regrets I've been keeping at bay are suddenly creeping up. I had never been so desperate and internally out of control sitting at Starbucks sipping java chip, as I did early this week. I wanted to throw the chairs all over. It didn't help that the movement around me indicated the ever constant and steady: people walking hurriedly to work, that guy routinely ordering ham and cheese croissant like he does evey morning at 830, girl with uber straight hair and delicate face holding her morning cigarette. It's as though everything was working perfectly, except me. Of course inside these people, something else may be lurking, a criminal, or some insanity raring to burst out on that sunny-rainy morning. I hardly think so though. At that moment, it certainly felt like I was the only one helplessly struggling against the current, trapped in my little box full of mental toxin.
I'm clearly not stable. But hey, I've never been.
So what's the problem? The problem is What If. What if I hadn't taken on this job that I have now, and continued with my project work instead? What if I had spent my summer preparing for the board instead of, well, not preparing for the board and missing my chance to take it? What if I had stayed strictly on track instead of deviating from "the plan"? What if I had followed my heart and sought adventure and uncertainty, instead of falling back to what I thought was safe and familiar? Which turned out to be the opposite, by the way. What if everything was different?
Well, what if? I'm actually tired of asking this question, knowing that any response of any variation all boils down to "wala na akong magagawa, nangyari na" and "ang tigas kasi ng ulo ko."
And because matigas ang ulo ko, I've been igniting brain cells to bits overthinking the petty. I'm writing here when should be sleeping, thinking about the what ifs and their possible impacts on my future. The question moves to What Would Happen Then? and What Now? My head is running from Past to Future and back again at breakneck speed, spinning and falling at every turn.I am foolishly welcoming a head-on collision with the unstoppable and undeniable - time. Time has actually become a hazy concept, except for the very clear recollections of my personal mistakes and missteps. Time. You can never go back. You can never redo or undo. What did Rhea use to say, after everything fell to pieces? Don't look back. No regrets.
Regret is a nasty word. Regret clings to you like a leech, poisoning you little by little. It's a monster. Up until this point I have had a couple or so regrets: that I allowed myself to "fall in love" with a guy who ultimately broke my heart, that I didn't take Math seriously (I'm serious), and well, I can't think of anything else. In retrospect, of course, I wouldn't have changed a damned thing. Because getting hurt taught me a ton of things, like being a better partner and waiting for the right guy. Because being crappy at Math made me realize what I really wanted to do (and I'm not as bad at it as college made me out to be, promise! I actually like it, which is to say I appreciate the concept, just not the computations haha).
Anyway, looking back years after, I find that I have no regrets after all. Cliche as it may sound, those things in the past have made me a better person. Right up until the second half of this year at least.
Does this mean that the churning feeling in my tummy today will, years from now, be just a happy, nostalgic thought? Probably. Does this stop me from being miserable today? Hell no.
"You worry too much," says Mark. Yes, yes I do. I'm a worrywart. The worst, praning kind. And I've run out of good paintrushes so I can't paint to calm my nerves, much less save my remaining threads of sanity.
So I sing.
I remembered this song a couple of nights ago, lying in bed and feeling exactly that: idle with despair.
It has come down to this. That once again I question the purpose for and value of me being where I am. That the regrets I've been keeping at bay are suddenly creeping up. I had never been so desperate and internally out of control sitting at Starbucks sipping java chip, as I did early this week. I wanted to throw the chairs all over. It didn't help that the movement around me indicated the ever constant and steady: people walking hurriedly to work, that guy routinely ordering ham and cheese croissant like he does evey morning at 830, girl with uber straight hair and delicate face holding her morning cigarette. It's as though everything was working perfectly, except me. Of course inside these people, something else may be lurking, a criminal, or some insanity raring to burst out on that sunny-rainy morning. I hardly think so though. At that moment, it certainly felt like I was the only one helplessly struggling against the current, trapped in my little box full of mental toxin.
I'm clearly not stable. But hey, I've never been.
So what's the problem? The problem is What If. What if I hadn't taken on this job that I have now, and continued with my project work instead? What if I had spent my summer preparing for the board instead of, well, not preparing for the board and missing my chance to take it? What if I had stayed strictly on track instead of deviating from "the plan"? What if I had followed my heart and sought adventure and uncertainty, instead of falling back to what I thought was safe and familiar? Which turned out to be the opposite, by the way. What if everything was different?
Well, what if? I'm actually tired of asking this question, knowing that any response of any variation all boils down to "wala na akong magagawa, nangyari na" and "ang tigas kasi ng ulo ko."
And because matigas ang ulo ko, I've been igniting brain cells to bits overthinking the petty. I'm writing here when should be sleeping, thinking about the what ifs and their possible impacts on my future. The question moves to What Would Happen Then? and What Now? My head is running from Past to Future and back again at breakneck speed, spinning and falling at every turn.I am foolishly welcoming a head-on collision with the unstoppable and undeniable - time. Time has actually become a hazy concept, except for the very clear recollections of my personal mistakes and missteps. Time. You can never go back. You can never redo or undo. What did Rhea use to say, after everything fell to pieces? Don't look back. No regrets.
Regret is a nasty word. Regret clings to you like a leech, poisoning you little by little. It's a monster. Up until this point I have had a couple or so regrets: that I allowed myself to "fall in love" with a guy who ultimately broke my heart, that I didn't take Math seriously (I'm serious), and well, I can't think of anything else. In retrospect, of course, I wouldn't have changed a damned thing. Because getting hurt taught me a ton of things, like being a better partner and waiting for the right guy. Because being crappy at Math made me realize what I really wanted to do (and I'm not as bad at it as college made me out to be, promise! I actually like it, which is to say I appreciate the concept, just not the computations haha).
Anyway, looking back years after, I find that I have no regrets after all. Cliche as it may sound, those things in the past have made me a better person. Right up until the second half of this year at least.
Does this mean that the churning feeling in my tummy today will, years from now, be just a happy, nostalgic thought? Probably. Does this stop me from being miserable today? Hell no.
"You worry too much," says Mark. Yes, yes I do. I'm a worrywart. The worst, praning kind. And I've run out of good paintrushes so I can't paint to calm my nerves, much less save my remaining threads of sanity.
So I sing.
Hands (Jewel)
If I could tell the world just one thing It would be that we're all ok
And not to worry because worry is wasteful and useless in times like these
I will not be made useless
I won't be idle with despair
I will gather myself around my faith for light does the darkness most fear
My hands are small, I know, but they're not yours they are my own
but they're not yours they are my own
and I am never broken
Poverty stole your golden shoes but it didn't steal your laughter
And heartache came to visit me but i knew it wasn't ever after
We will fight, not out of spite for someone must stand up for what's right
cause where there's a man who has no voice there ours shall go singing
In the end only kindness matters
In the end only kindness matters
I will get down on my knees and I will pray
I will get down on my knees and I will pray
I will get down on my knees and I will pray
My hands are small, I know, but they're not yours they are my own
but they're not yours they are my own
and I am never broken
My hands are small, i know, but they're not yours they are my own
but they're not yours they are my own
and I am never broken
We are never broken
We are God's eyes
God's hands
God's mind
We are God's eyes
God's hands
God's heart
We are God's eyes
God's hands
God's eyes
God's hands
We are God's hands
God's hands
We are God's hands
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