Monday night questions*

Met with friends tonight. One of us is getting married and wanted to meet up to distribute invites. The conversation started very benign. We wondered where batchmates were and teased one another about the ominous cloud called the 30s. Then we turned to the classic and perennially disturbing question: Are you where you wanted to be, 15 years after high school?

The answer was unanimous and somber: No.

No, for me, because I didn't really know what I wanted to be when I was 15. I only knew what I didn't want to be (a lawyer).

I realized what my calling was when I entered grad school. Before then, I only had a vague idea of what I wanted to happen, not for myself but for the world, or at least my country. Yup, it was that grand.

It still is. But now...where am I now? (This was getting to be a tough discussion for a Monday night at Starbucks.)

The answer is, I don't know. Not really. I do know that I have many unfilled dreams. Goals that are still unmet. Sometimes I feel a sense of panic thinking about them. I want to do so many things, and I have little patience and an increasingly short attention span. I have phases that run as quick as one week; other times I develop an obsession that goes on for months, and then fizzles out when something else commands my attention. Like right now, I'm bored with this topic and want to move on.

Flighty, inattentive, irresponsible, childish, indecisive, unfocused, fickle-minded, capricious, unstable. That's what I am. I'm still trying to find where that got me after 15 years.

*written July 9, 2012

Wounded at Sea

I wasn't ready to publish this then. I don't know if I'm ready now, but here goes.

***

25 Feb 2012.

My dog has died. My beloved dalmatian, with those hauntingly beautiful, searching eyes. Sometimes blue, sometimes white with a glint of red. Whatever the color, she looks at you the same: like a human trapped in a dog's body.

I cry from Manila to Dumaguete, knowing full well that her death is my doing. I call the vet before she is put to sleep. I try to say sorry: for not coming home as often as I used to, for not minding that she slept in the terrace instead of in the living room; for allowing the little dogs to bully her; for not standing up for her, for not being there when she needed me most.

In the days leading up to her death I avoided looking at her, for fear that she would see the guilt in my eyes. Now I wish I had looked, in the hope that she could forgive me.

I end the call because I could not get any of the words out. I text my mother so she could tell Frap that I love her. Then she is gone.
***

Water splashes about and sprays everyone in the pump boat. I welcome the onslaught, happy that I could no longer tell the difference between the sea and my tears.

I look at the horizon and the expansive blue, and, for a second, feel peace within me. Truly, I am a child of the sea. This is my home.

I promise to remember this moment, to make it a memory. One about the celebration of life, in its grandeur and simplicity. This moment is for Frap.

***
Waves crash violently on the banca, and Mark bellows. Why are you screaming? I ask. The waves are very strong, he says. Well, that's life, I tell him.

That's life.

Life is given. Life is taken away. Right now I am the mercy of the sea. The only thing that separates me from certain death is this 3 meter banca and a flimsy orange vest. I could die anytime.

Somehow this gives me assurance, however false, that things will be okay. That my world is as it should be, that there is no room for doubt. With Frap, with everything.

We reach the marine sanctuary, or whatever is left of it. Typhoon Sendong swept away everything. Everything -- corals, fish, all of life. All that's left are sediments brought in by strong currents. 20 years worth of community work, hundreds of volunteers including guests that kindly helped out over the years, all of the love and care--gone.

Life is given. Life is taken away.

There is a tremendous feeling of loss. Like your heart has been yanked and thrown away, and the void that's left behind is immeasurable. There is nothing in that space but pain, longing, regret.

The waves are getting bigger and the boat moves in silent rhythm with the sea. I submit to this perfection with humility, gratitude, and awe. When everything is in constant motion, unsure, there is nothing left to feel but this.

I can't see the destination yet, but I know everything will be okay.
***
We meet Liberty, owner of Liberty's Lodge, barangay captain, and pioneer of the community-based marine conservation effort on the island. She has just met with the Silliman University, which jointly supervises the conservation effort. How will you recover or rebuild the lost sanctuary? I ask.

The university advises us to just let it be, she says, until things return to normal.

How long will that take?

40 years.

***
Time heals all wounds. I look back at all the wounds of my past, and I'm not so sure. But I have no choice but plod on, crawl or swim neck deep if I must.

Then try to rebuild.

I don't know when - when Time finally permits - but maybe the next time Liberty and I see each other, we will both be healed.

Damsel in distress

Conflicted. I'm still trying to figure things out, particularly what the subject of conflict is. I don't know why I don't know.

I suppose I know.

What weighs more: fighting for what you know to be true, your belief, your reality -- or your responsibility for another person's feelings, particularly as they fight for their truth, their belief, their reality?

The conflict is borne of the fact that your truths don't match.

It's not so bad, if you were only friends. Friends disagree all the time about what they want and don't want in their lives. But what if your life is his life, and vice versa?

In preserving someone because they are fragile, you expose your own vulnerability. Then you realize that you, too, need saving.

Because it could actually be true: giving someone life can lead to your own (slow) death.

muni-muni

I got what I wanted, finally. What I waited for, for a very long time.

I’ve just been transferred to a position that gives due respect to the professional title I hold: environmental planner. I should feel happy and, after years of unending patience, maybe even vindicated.

But honestly, I can't say that I’m satisfied.

I wanted this, yes – three years ago. Things change in three years. The deepest shift being this: in my heart I know that it’s no longer my dream to be employed by an international firm with “pedigree” and a long history of success that I can count on; to stay here until retirement; to find professional pride and fulfilment in being one of the many wheels that keep this train chugging along.

Not that there’s anything wrong with it. Many people would love to do what I do, for all the right reasons. I can’t judge. Some people I admire and look up to have worked for this company longer than I have been alive, and it doesn’t seem like they’re complaining.

But see, they’re not me.

Am I too proud to say that I have bigger dreams than that? I don’t think so. What I feel is the strong belief that it can be done.

I’ve asked myself over and over if I deserve that bigger dream. I’ve doubted myself countless times.

But I’m over all the doubting now. I know I can do it. Actually I am already doing it, working towards that vision, albeit in small doses. As time goes by I feel more and more responsible to make the dream grow, to give it life. I need to keep that commitment not just for myself, but for others, and for the deeper “why” that I hold closest to my heart.

My only question is timing.

How much longer can I wait? Financial responsibilities, monthly bills, family obligations that I haven’t even begun to meet… Realizing the dream means giving up stability, possibly losing money, probably depending on already overstretched parents, making other people worry about my welfare. Is it irresponsible to “run from safety” now?

Or is it irresponsible not to?

blues-y

I want to spend my birthday alone this year. By that I mean a lot of time away from family, friends, loved one. I will be a stranger among strangers, hiding away in anonymity (as if hahabulin ng paparazzi haha).

I think I need this – to feel a sense of independence, to know for sure that I can be who I am without the usual people around me. To be honest, I’ve been craving for this for years. This desire to break away. I get it at random moments. I vividly remember a time when I was sitting in a jeepney on Buendia, and I wanted to literally fly through the window and just go far, far away. Of course I was stuck between office workers and men in sando until I alighted in front of RCBC, but I will never forget that feeling. That was me, on a cliff, wanting desperately – excitedly – to fly off the edge.

It's not that I'm unhappy. I actually find it hard to accept that at almost 27 years old and nearly married, I’m still looking for that part of myself that the universe hasn’t bestowed on me yet. I'm already so blessed, what is there to pine for? But I think I have to face the fact that the search for myself isn't over. I think I have to live with it, and keep moving forward.

these dreams

I had a dream last night, about J. Or I think that’s who it was, because it didn’t really look like him. But I know what I felt: “this is my ex.” Maybe the guy in the dream was a consolidation of all my past…men. Except that I only had one official past, and the others were just figments of my overactive imagination. But still.

I digress. It was a strange dream, like all dreams I have about my past in general (and there are quite a few).

We were in a public place. A bar? A party? Maybe. There were friends around. M was there, too, but on the other side of the room. Meanwhile, J sat across from me at a counter. So yeah maybe this was at a bar. Which is weird because I haven’t been to one in very a long time.

We were talking, and I felt like he was a friend. Completely benign. Completely genuine. And like friends who are close to you, he held my hand while we were talking.

I didn’t think anything of it until it was pointed out to me by another person in the group. I thought, “what’s the big deal?”

I retracted my hand anyway.

The next scene found me in a separate room (still at the party?) with M. Only he didn’t look exactly like M, but sort of him plus Rob that cutie guy from the current season Pinoy Big Brother. But I knew it was him and I knew we were okay.

Then I woke up.

I’m not sure what it means. I’ve just about given up trying to explain my dreams. I never really get anywhere. I just know that my sanity, reason, morality and basic sense go flying out the window every time.

Or maybe I should just stop watching PBB.

***
In other news, absence does make the heart grow fonder. I missed blogspot!

pathways

One more time (sorry Blogger, I've been neglecting you):

Pathways.

the best way to learn is to teach.

What a week this has been. To think it's only Wednesday.

Deadlines and missed deadlines, unexpected meetings, absences, doctor's visit, laaaaaaaaaate nights.

PLUS...I gave my first ever academic (?) lecture a couple of days ago. Yep. Me. Together with two colleagues, I've been asked to give a short (uber mega condensed) course on urban and regional planning to a group of architects. The very first lecture was one of the most nerve-wracking, stressful things I have ever done. It did not help that those architects are Mark's officemates. Talk about pressure.

But this -- teaching,  that is -- is unequivocally also one of the most fulfilling endeavors I have ever undertaken.  I've always (and often secretly) wanted to be a teacher. The problem was that I have always been the shy one, which everybody mistook for snobbish, sorry. I did try out, once upon a naive time, but I failed miserably because I could not get my words out.  

Years later, I'm finding out how...easy it could be. Not a walk in a park, to be sure, just easy in the sense that it could come so naturally. I'm actually surprised, because sometimes at home I can't even get a word in edgewise -- especially with mama! Tonight was Lecture/Module 2, and it took a bit longer to finish (Planning Theory, what do you expect?),  but I'm getting and more comfortable. Can't wait for the next one.

Len's right, it's like a drug. One of the best parts is thinking of ways to make the sessions interesting and fun.  That and seeing people engaged in discussion, participating, learning from one another. I really think that I thrive in an environment of constant learning, so to be able to facilitate that kind of activity is heaven for me.

If the universe permits, I would love to be able to do this for the rest of my life. Hear me out, U. :)

come on over

My few fans, hop on over to my wedding/whatever blog and my "serious" blog for more thrills.

No, I am not leaving blogger - I hold this sanctuary near and dear to my heart - but Wordpress works better in the office (hooray for wasted corporate hours) and it's kinda cool (blogger admin please don't delete my account or give me a virus out of spite, for I do love you). Anyhow, I might be cross-posting my entries, as soon as I know how (wonder when that will be, nuninu)

For "protected" posts, I'll give out the passwords when I'm ready. ;)

See you there. You know you love me. xoxo

Eraserheads: The Final Set

Impromptu. AS IN. Really wasn’t supposed to go anymore. A few days ago we had decided that if we didn’t get free passes to the concert, we would go to Intramuros instead for the World War II commemoration at Fort Santiago. Not sure why, maybe coz I felt like I couldn’t accept anything less than front row after the last concert hahaha, or nagi-guilty ako about the expenses. Plus the Intramuros event sounded really good (picnic and music and exhibits and such – geekdom yeesss. And Carlos Celdran was going to be there!).

By lunchtime Saturday, I had informed my friends that I couldn’t get the free tickets. So I thought that was that.

At 7pm, Mark and I were hanging out at PICC after a busy day of wedding preps (booked caterer and bridal car yey). Mark suddenly said, “Tara nood tayo.”

Who was I to object? Hahahaha. So calls were made, an ecstatic Camille was whisked to MOA by clueless Tito Sel (sikat ba yang Eheads na yan?”), and 10 minutes later I still could not believe we were driving to MOA. The traffic! The people! Will we make it? The countdown, we’re going to miss the first song! Whhhyyyyy did we decide to do this? Gaaaaah. On our way we got texts and calls from Len (already inside, dami na tao), Rhea (dining with Ajeet at Icebergs, already bought tickets), and Cherry (nagpapabili ng tickets, still in Cavite en route to Manila!). Was unable to contact Shiva, until finally I got through and learned she was in the theater watching Watchmen. Whuut?

I was in line for tickets at 15 past 7. Had them in my hands at 8:30. Soooooo many (restless) people were still queuing. All I could think was, malas. They were going to miss at least the first half. I sprinted to the concert grounds where Mark and Camille were waiting, outside Silver A. I learned I had already missed the first three songs. Bwiset. Get in, get in!

Then boom. Sea of people. You know when you’re assaulted by this mélange of sounds and sights and smells and you just go, whoa. But hey, this was it, we had to dive in. Grabe. Ang LAPIT namin - sa screen, hahahahaha! This was definitely not SVIP. Boo. I couldn’t even see the goddamn stage. Just people people people everywhere. We squeezed in, found a spot right beneath the screen (stiff neck ito), and stood our ground for the next two hours.

The vibe was definitely different – eons away – from the last concert. The last was so extremely tension-filled, everyone was holding their breath. This time, the four guys onstage seemed to tell us, hey, just chill.

And we did. We just enjoyed watching them have fun up there. They carried the mood throughout. It was so light and laidback I felt like I was at the UP Fair, kicking back and relishing the moment. When they went back after the encore performance and sang three more songs "for the road" everyone was like, "orayt, let's rock on." So relaxed. Good times.

The way they performed was also not just an acknowledgment of what they were as Ehaads, but of who they are now. Marcus taking the mic with his fun rendition of Huwag Mo Nang Itanong, and Raimund completely filling the stage for three songs (hmm, did not like his Alkohol as much), and all the other moments that made them shine individually that night told us that each of them has a full, complete life beyond the Eheads, and they look like they’re enjoying it. So should we.

And Ely and Raimund singing together, man…there is a friendship there, a bond, some form of connection or whatever you wish to call it - something that will endure, despite the difficult times, going separate ways, and the obvious fact that they can’t share a stage longer than two hours. Such a thrill. What a statement.

I felt so happy for them, for finally accepting that Eheads indeed was and still is part of history – Ely declaring “We are the Eraserheads” was truly a pivotal moment – and for embracing the love that their fans continue to give them. More importantly, for they way they’ve matured and moved forward and, even more importantly, for loving music the way they do.

It was a bittersweet symphony, an apt ending to a beautiful chapter in our interwoven, music-filled lives. Now it's time to flip the page.

I think that The Final Set was a lesson for all of us: to love them as Eheads, yes, but also to accept the journey that they are on today. It’s the same one we’re taking I guess, because we can’t be 15 forever. We’re all growing up, all moving on somehow, and coming into our own. It’s comforting to know we will always have their music – past, present, future – to take with us on the road. The Eheads will, after all, live forever.

...magkahawak ang ating kamay at walang kamalay-malay, na tinuruan mo ang puso ko na umibig nang tunay...

Parallel Universe 2

I guess what makes The Office work is that it’s so real. I keep saying this. Not because it’s made ‘documentary’ style, but because it is founded on some very basic, palpable truths.

Every office around the world is different. But somehow, the show managed to touch on what was the same. The writers based some of their stories on their experiences working for General Electric, and right there you can be sure that they didn’t just dream up the scenarios.

We’ve always known that commonplace is often funnier than complicated plotlines. Sometimes even Friends writers forgot this, and they ended up with an exhausting 30 minutes about Ross and his stupid monkey. The Office’s premises can be outrageous and amplified sometimes, but they get away with it because they treat it so matter-of-factly.

Funny is everyday life, seen from a certain vantage point (a single camera with great zoom, perhaps?). Funny is catching people’s reactions after an officemate’s emotional outburst. Not all reactions consist of an exaggerated frozen gape while the studio audience laughs. No one does that in real life anyway especially when a furrowed brow would be sufficient.

Everyday life is sad, poignant, heartwarming, bittersweet, awkward, sincere, and so many other things. The show captures this range of emotions so beautifully in such a simple way: just by watching the characters. In the foreground, background, to the side, wherever they are. They don’t even need to speak – because in reality sometimes our words belie how we really feel. The show understands that the devil is in the detail, and that the whole weight of an emotion can be seen literally in the blink of an eye, or a quiet sigh or a pause between sentences. The show delivers these subtleties and nuances perfectly. Props also to the actors who truly understand the material they’re working with. The characters of The Office are so well developed that during shooting the actors do their own stuff in the background for hours, with the single camera catching them only once in while, and they never miss a beat.

What can I say? I love the show. If you haven’t seen it then go grab a DVD. That’s what she said.

Parallel Universe

Last weekend, my Kris KringleMommy/Daddy (Secret Santa) gave me Seasons 1-3 of The Office (US). I haven’t slept since then. Solb na ako ngayong Pasko.

There are very few TV sitcoms that catch my attention. I grew up watching Friends and Cheers, so my standards have always been high hahaha. Comedy I think is the hardest to do; the writers have to be consistently brilliant. More than that, they have to know the difference between brilliant and crazy stupid. There’s a very thin line. If you don’t see that, you start to become self-absorbed, and the show basically implodes. I stopped watching Ally McBeal when its writers crossed that line.

That said, The Office is a brilliant show. I had my doubts when it first came out, seeing that the original UK version was so widely successful. But this tiny show about a mid-sized paper company in Scranton, Pennsylvania shines all the way through, from Michael Scott’s antics, Pam and Jim’s romance, Dwight’s sucking up, and even Angela’s turtlenecks. I tried to catch as much as I could on cable, but until last weekend I hadn’t been able to watch the episodes in the right succession.

(This is going to be a long entry with at least two parts, so be prepared.)

One of the very few reasons why I go to work day in and day out is that I find highly entertaining the obvious parallelisms about my office and The Office. It amuses me no end. Sometime I catch myself smirking at the thought, only there’s no camera to look at when I do it, like Jim often does. I’m surveying my desk now and seeing Dwight’s bobble heads in the form of my miniature Cinderella statue, an elephant keychain, an Irishman magnet, a Matchbox Beetle and a stuffed Funshine Bear. My phone is a Cisco (imagine how thrilled I was when our MIS first brought the phones in. I have to say, though, it’s not the easiest thing to navigate. Pam’s a whiz at transferring calls).

I work for a branch of a multi-office company. With more than 70 offices worldwide, we’re a little bigger than Dunder Mifflin’s Northeast US-based company. But the structure is the same: regional office composed of a few local staff and headed by a local guy, once-in-a-blue-moon visits from corporate executives with whom we have conflicting views on how business is run, and very little budget. Our former receptionist had a secret office romance with one of our business development guys – I say former because they got married and left the country (wonder if that will happen to PB&J*). I have an officemate who pulls pranks on co-workers a lot, except he’s not tall and cute like Jim (hah! Sorry friend!). My cube mates and I play rock-paper-scissors, and whoever loses makes orange juice for the winner. I have become an expert OJ maker. We bet a lot over inane things like Tagalog-English translations and Harry Potter trivia. The loser usually serves the winner snacks for an entire week or buys coffee at Starbucks, except we don’t call it ‘Bucks like Michael Scott** does.

The layout of our office makes us open for attack by our boss. By attack I mean the way Michael swaggers in and makes pointless announcements to the entire staff in his booming voice. Most of the time he gets blank looks and the occasional “Uhh, okay.”

My desk faces a corner, so whenever our boss comes over, I always jump out of my skin because he surprises me from behind. I’m too lazy to swivel my chair to face him, so when we talk it’s like I’m talking to my PC monitor. Lack of respect? Possibly. He doesn’t seem to mind talking to the back of my head.

Sexism, racism, ageism and all kinds of bigotry? Check. Asshole boss who likes to crack humorless jokes, tells stripper and mistress stories at a table full of women and talks crass all the effin time? Check. The uptight accountant/admin officer who acts like a Nazi? Oh, and the boss who gets told off by bigger bosses from the head office, and takes it out on his staff like an immature, selfish, ignorant child. Or the staff who look at each other knowingly when the boss speaks nonsense, and afterward in a subtle, inside-joke way puts him in his place via a small remark and eye-rolling. Or the motivational meetings and workshops that take up the whole afternoon, and the expensive office dinners even when the entire company is in the process of downsizing.

The boss showing up at an after-office party to which he was intentionally not invited (you notice I make a lot of reference to the boss). The missent emails and careless comments about a gay officemate, emergency staff meetings about the broken printer and dirty toilet (conference room, everyone!), quitting your job and then returning, and your job being…just that. (Because right now, this is a job. If I advance any higher, this would be my career. And if this were my career, I'd have to throw myself in front of a train. - Jim Halpert)

I could go on and on and on, but it all comes down to one thing. The Office is very real. As real as the list of phone line extensions taped to your PC, and your pink and green Post-it notes. As real as carpal tunnel syndrome, extended coffee breaks and solitaire on a slow day. As real as the annoying sound of tapping computer keys when you have a headache, or your very strong urge to hurl a shoe at a certain office door. Now I see the sheer genius behind the show’s mockumentary style – no canned laughter, no background music save for a constantly ringing phone and the occasional office karaoke. No predictable puns or storylines (Did I wake up this morning thinking I’d be throwing together a bird funeral? You never can tell what your day here is gonna turn into. – Pam Beesly).

No frills. Just a regular day at The Office.

To be continued.

*PB&J aka Pam Beesly and Jim (Halpert), receptionist and sales associate, respectively. Also known as JAM (Jim+Pam). Jim hangs out at the reception desk all the time. I remember my officemate sitting by the reception desk all the time. I thought he was just bored. Well, that, too.

** Michael Scott, regional manager

THE MILLION HECTARE WALK 2008 - Haribon Foundation

The Million Hectare Walk is an event which aims to raise funds through pledges. Every lap completed by a Walker is sponsored by family and friends’ pledges. Walkers can take the long route (1.5 km) or the short route (360 meters).

You are cordially invited to walk with us on November 16 Sunday at 6:00-11:00 am to help restore our natural forests. Join the Million Hectare Walk at the Ninoy Aquino Parks and Wildlife Center in Quezon City and support ROAD* to 2020 as we walk to generate pledges to raise awareness and resources to restore one million hectares of our natural forests using native tree species by year 2020. Form a team to walk together, enlist family members and friends, and solicit pledges to support your laps to raise funds to plant more native trees.

Registration fees per walker at P250 for kids and for Haribon Members, and P300 for non-members, will cover a t-shirt and bag. Pledges start at P75. To register and/or for details, please call 4211213 or 4244642, 09228159235 or 09228151942, or email act@haribon.org.ph.

Download forms:
Registration form
Pledge form

Oh, and I might be bipolar.

another one of those nights

If you're an Aries, never ever ever ever ever ever ever ever ever ever ever ever ever ever ever ever ever ever ever ever ever ever ever ever ever marry another Aries. Ever.

:D

I had the best Halloween. Ever.

hay

Bourdain in Manila. Why was Juday there?

He also went to Cebu. Prolly ate lechon.

They said he got drunk on San Mig. Hahaha.

The episode will air in Asia in 2010. Anubah. Thank god for youtube!

Tony

Anthony Bourdain was in the Philippines last week.

Gaaaaaaaaaaaaah! I cannot believe I did not know this. I learned about it today when I checked Cafe Ysabel's website for their menus, and I saw a photo of him at the restaurant.

:(

dream sequence '08

I was riding a jeepney on the SLEX service road, presumably on my way home. For some reason I was in a conversation with a stranger, and again for some unknown reason it was very clear to me that he was Atenean. Maybe a jock, not sure. He had a huge torso. Anyway, the jeep finally stopped, and I found myself at the lobby of my old school, UP Manila. It was suddenly raining, very hard. The rain looked like sheets of water falling from the dark sky. Was it nighttime? It was dark everywhere.

I wanted desperately to get a ride home. I needed to go upstairs – I don’t know why but this seemed the way out – but I was extremely afraid. Like there were ghosts waiting for me somewhere in the dark. I saw Ms Jing, one of our consultants, and asked her to come upstairs with me. We did, and again for some reason I ended up in a sort of bay area for vehicles. It was still dark and raining, A jeepney stopped by and I jumped in.

I arrived home, finally. I looked into my parents’ room and saw my brother sleeping face down on the pillows. I went into another room and saw Edward Norton, circa American History X. Muscles and tattoos and all. He looked like a live version of grayscale magazine print ad, meaning he was a glossy gray color. He was sitting on one of the two beds in the room, writing furiously in what looked like a journal. He was writing about his mentally challenged brother. I moved away from him and went to the bathroom. The toilet was full of rust, and there was no water and no tissue. I went back to Edward’s spot and saw his brother instead. He was reading Edward’s journal. I thought, yikes, busted.

At that point I think I woke up. Very physically tired, and puffy-eyed.

Obviously, my strange dreams are back.

Kainis. I don’t like these dreams of mine. They seem so senseless. The thing is they’re not. I believe they do mean something.

But I don’t have anyone to help me interpret them. So hello, internet. Yes, not very reliable, but neither are the books on dreams proliferating in stores nowadays. And I was curious and impatient. I wanted to be placated and humored.

Anyway, since there’s no way to have my dream “analyzed” without paying a fee (and I never would), I resorted to pulling out key concepts and browsing through the “dream dictionary” for available definitions (very scientific hahaha). Thus:

(from petrix.com)

Road. Achievement of something. Direction. Ask yourself about your life's path.

Stranger. Outsider. Unknown. Mystery needs to be revealed.

Dark. Mystery. The unknown and unformed. A place of fear or of potential. Difficulties ahead.

School. Discipline. Instruction. You have the skills to resolve a problem.

Rain. Release. Feelings are pouring down on you.

Stairs. Up or down. Aspirations. Looking to get to certain point against all opposition.

Fear. Unexpressed love. Self-doubts. Courage.

Ghost. Spiritual aspect of self. Memory. Past coming back. Beware of enemies.

Vehicles. Transportation. Movement. Looking for a medium to get where you want to be.

Home. Center of being. Spiritual self. Shelter. Basic need fulfilled. Happiness within the family.

Bed. Retreat from activity. Rest.

Brother. Fellowship. Expect quarrels. Masculine aspect of self.

Sleeping. Relaxation and rest. Unconsciousness. False security.

Back (because it was my brother's back I saw). Misfortune in life and will die in misery (whaaaaaat?). Unconscious.

Bedroom. Changes in own affairs. Concealment of family secrets.

Writing. Communication. Review of your feelings. Record of experience.

Reading. Learning. Information revealed. Escape from reality. Something burdens you.

Rust. Deterioration. Inactivity. Problems that need to be taken care before it's too late.

So how about that? Does it make sense now? Except for the bits on the jeepney being the specific vehicle, Ateneo, Ms Jing and Edward Norton, the explanations have frightening potential.

Also, I ran across another term and remembered I’ve had several dreams (not this particular dream, though) about making pupu.

Defecation. Elimination. Dumping, especially of garbage from the past.

It seems I do more work dealing with my “issues” in my dreams than in real life.

pm break

16.27. I go to the office pantry to take a break from doing nothing. Iced coffee sounds nice. I check, no clean glasses. Ok, normal coffee then. Black No cream, lots of sugar. I sit on a stool by the window, enjoying the warm respite from my ultra-cold spot directly under the overhead AC. I look to my right, at the condiments all lined up neatly, courtesy of our utility guy who shares my surname. I think, given time, I could really finish that entire bottle of iodized salt.

Clouds move in and cover the light streaming into the window. An officemate walks in. “May tao (anyone inside)?” he asks, pointing to the bathroom beside the sink. I shake my head and smile. He goes in, probably wondering what I’m doing in the pantry. Because no one hangs out there alone unless he or she is waiting in line for the bathroom, right?

I say to myself, no one in this office really knows me. They “know” me – my name and what I do and the general perception of me, but not much else. They don’t know that I like to drink coffee black no cream with lots of sugar, or that I can spend an hour sitting and drinking coffee alone, staring at the sky. And surely they don’t know why.

There are probably two or three people here who do know me. They’re the only ones I’d actually consider inviting to my wedding. I think weddings not because I’m having one myself, but because as one grows older you realize it’s one of those events where you really think about who you want to surround yourself with, people who share your truest, deepest joy and understand the meaning of that special glitter in your eyes. Not just anyone. Not just because you’re obligated to tack that generic wedding invitation on the office bulletin board, and then guess who will actually be attending.

Two or three people are enough, maybe. But it goes to show how, despite the fun times, the laughter and the friendly bickering, talking about work and movies and politics, that the office is still such an impersonal, almost manufactured environment.

Except that I hear my officemate pissing in the bathroom, which is such a…personal matter.

Before he opens the door and is embarrassed at the sight of me, I stand up, place my cup in the sink and make my way through our red maze known as cubicles.

Back to my cold spot.

Back to looking like everyone else and thinking how f*cking delicious it would be to break free.

Who knows, maybe that’s what they’re thinking, too.