Sabi Ko Sa Sarili Ko

Worst is to assume you've known a person completely. You can only best learn a way of dealing with someone. And changes too abrupt. Primary to discover your self, your desires; check your defenses.

It's very easy to love someone so beautifully ordinary, because you can create all the myth you want of her and marvel at the humanness of her. Because once someone is so seemingly perfect, you feel him or her too good to be true.

But inconvenient when you are surrounded by minds too narrow to fit a shapeless relationship in.

Who cannot figure the pleasure lies there shifting, only given to certain luck for capturing.

You Lose

a continent.

And you remain, to find in you something twice its size, to give.

The mayness of May

They trip to fall into themselves unknowingly.

—Seamus Heaney, The Play Way

1.
I'm taking all the chances to make my chances.

2.
Elliptically talking to friends. Sentences disguising the sentiment.

3.
I make a dedication not to list the statistics, for I want to turn the facts into story. That which has beginning, middle—how I'll linger in the middle, and I'll hurt in the middle, and I'll wait in the middle, might even make promises in the middle.

4.
For something sane:

But for the name, the only pronoun appropriate is in our common tongue: siya, niya, kaniya. And of between us: kita.

5.
Pagtingin: no, never, never a feeling, but a way of seeing.

I have a way of seeing you.

That which the I can never elucidate to the you.

Thus the injury.

6.
With E:

E: I don't think I can handle rejection.

Me: I undermine rejection with worth of that gift of knowing someone finds a certain wonder about you.

Simply acknowledge that someone honestly admires you.

Either accept it or reject it: in both ways, you'll acknowledge it.

Own my sincerity. Hold the most abstruse part of me.

7.
And stray, or end it in the middle?

When suddenly at midnight you hear
an invisible procession going by
with exquisite music, voices,
don't mourn your luck that's failing now,
work gone wrong, your plans
all proving deceptive—don't mourn them uselessly;
as one long prepared and full of courage,
say goodbye to her, the Alexandria that is leaving.
Above all, don't fool yourself, don't say
it was a dream, your ears deceived you:
don't degrade yourself with empty hopes like these.
As one long prepared, and full of courage,
as is right for you who were given this kind of city,
go firmly to the window
and listen with deep emotion,
but not with the whining, the pleas of the coward;
listen—your final pleasure—to the voices,
to the exquisite music of that strange procession,
and say goodbye to her, to the Alexandria you are losing.

—CP Cavafy, The God Abandons Antony

No connection with pain

Appendectomy
Gwendolen MacEwen

it's interesting how you can brag about a scar;
I'm fascinated with mine; it's diagonal and straight,
it suggests great skill, great speed,
it is no longer or shorter than it needs to be.

it is good how it follows my natural symmetry
parallel to the hip, a perfect geometry;
it is not a wound; it is a diagram
drawn correctly, it has no connection with pain.

it's interesting how you can brag about a scar;
nothing in nature is a straight line
except this delightful blasphemy on my belly;
the surgeon was an Indian, and beautiful, and holy.

Trip

I went to Paenaan, Antipolo last Friday for a company outing. Suddenly, 17 of us found ourselves bored and so nagkayayaang umakyat ng bundok.

We were just supposed to see a waterfall. We didn't know we had to climb a mountain for more than an hour.

It was my first time. I haven't even tried wall climbing in the malls. Had I been alone, I wouldn't pursue it at all. But "Since the rest of the girls are doing it, why can't I?", I said to my self. Uhuh, peer pressure.

Every time I worry about going through a very steep incline, my worry doubles, for I also had to think of going back--how I could manage that.

And because I'm writing this, I managed.


I never thought I would enjoy it. After reaching the waterfall, and higher, drinking the fresh water from a bamboo tongue, I got a feeling I could do anything. There really is something about challenging your physical limitations--the moment I got down, I thought of when my next climb would be.

Good Intentions

I guess it's an old idea that in the end (or at the core?) of all acquaintances and relationships, what we really want and need to know of another is what they think of us. With the knowledge of how the other perceives you, suddenly s/he becomes complete, or suddenly uninteresting.

I never¹ reject a Friendster testimonial, for I would like to believe those things are written with urgency, thus sincerity.²

And you are, of course, excited about what people would like to say about you, excited even at the craft of it--how they say it (your friends, after all, are reflective of you.) And you, of course, can't help but wait for that adjective you want to hear.³

And, of course, the time when I overanalyze. I get a bit crazy when people throw away a description like "she's a good writer," when they haven't read anything I've written, nor are they interested in writing at all. I get crazier when they write their testimonials as if they're texting you. But I will never reject, because again, the theory that it's done in the highest sense of spontaneity.⁴ Plus, I am of the mythological conditioning that I get along well with all kinds of people: elitists and others; text-conscious and not; homophobic and alcoholic; Ann, Anne, Ana and Anna.

This source of blind trust is what intrigues and bothers me, because I cannot figure anything but ignorance. Not that I'm being hard on my self and them, but pleasure and pain are accurate when their source is real. And real things are hard to come by.--Or that it must agree to what I opine?⁵

I wonder what those friendsters of mine think of me now. Now, at this very moment, that I look at some special ones: each of them surfacing constantly from memory, since their pictures have never been complete in my mind.


1) Well, not entirely true, since I do not approve those graphic stuff that you don't really think of.
2) There are two instances, though, when my friends blatantly told me they're writing me a testimonial, so I should write them one too! Eww.
3) For the longest time, I've been waiting for someone to say I'm sexy; I can't understand why no one has written that yet. Leche.
4) And hey, it's just Friendster. And hey, who among us is perfect anyway?
5) To make it easier, what I only mean by "real" is "intelligent." What I always mean by real is intelligent.

Please Read This

Don't worry, these are not my words, so you can relax and trust them. This is an excerpt from Anne Michaels' astonishing--astonishing--book (I don't want to call it a novel), "Fugitive Pieces."*

     A parable: A respected rabbi is asked to speak to the congregation of a neighbouring village. The rabbi, rather famous for his practical wisdom, is approached for advice wherever he goes. Wishing to have a few hours to himself on the train, he disguises himself in shabby clothes and, with his withered posture, passes for a peasant. The disguise is so effective that he evokes disapproving stares and whispered insults from the well-to-do passengers around him. When the rabbi arrives at this destination, he's met by the dignitaries of the community who greet him with warmth and respect, tactfully ignoring his appearance. Those who had ridiculed him on the train realize his prominence and their error and immediately beg his forgiveness. The old man is silent. For months after, these Jews--who, after all, consider themselves good and pious men--implore the rabbi to absolve them. The rabbi remains silent. Finally, when almost an entire year has passed, they come to the old man on the Day of Awe when, it is written, each man must forgive his fellow. But the rabbi still refuses to speak. Exasperated, they finally raise their voices: How can a holy man commit such a sin--to withhold forgiveness on this day of days? The rabbi smiles seriously. "All this time you have been asking the wrong man. You must ask the man on the train to forgive you."
     Of course it's every peasant whose forgiveness must be sought. But the rabbi's point is even more tyrannical: nothing erases the immoral act. Not forgiveness. Not confession.
     And even if an act could be forgiven, no one could bear the responsibility of forgiveness on behalf of the dead. No act of violence is ever resolved. When the one who can forgive can no longer speak, there is only silence.
     History is the poisoned well, seeping into the ground-water. It's not the unknown past we're doomed to repeat, but the past we know. Every recorded event is a brick of potential, of precedent, thrown into the future. Eventually the idea will hit someone in the back of the head. This is the duplicity of history: an idea recorded will become an idea resurrected. Out of fertile ground, the compost of history.
     Destruction doesn't create a vacuum, it simply transforms presence into absence. The splitting atom creates absence, palpable "missing" energy. In the rabbi's universe, in Einstein's universe, the man will remain forever on the train, familiar with humiliation but not humiliated, because, after all, it's a case of mistaken identity. His heart rises, he's not really the subject of this persecution; his heart falls, how can he prove, why should he prove, he's not what they think he is.
     He'll sit there forever; just as the painted clock in Treblinka station will always read three o'clock. Just as on the platform the ghostly advice still floats: "To the right, go to the right" in the eerie breeze. The bond of memory and history when they share space and time. Every moment is two moments. Einstein: "...all our judgements in which time plays a part are always judgements of simultaneous events. If, for instance, I say the train arrived here at seven o'clock, I mean: the small hand of my watch pointing to seven and the arrival of the tain are simultaneous events...the time of the event has no operational meaning...." The event is meaningful only if the coordination of time and place is witnessed.

* Michaels, Anne. Fugitive Pieces (New York: Knopf, 1997), pp160-162.

The fact of my days

O noon that's vaulted wide,
but for one hour infuse my eyes
with that good light which was before eyes were—
melt down the lie of colors...

—Gottfried Benn*

The truth I care about passes my tongue and reaches fullness! before it ends again.

When I look back from the farthest future, this will be the most vivid filmstrip that'll present itself, my lunch hours: how I outlast people in the dining room and then have a wonderful 30-minute walk to the office.

I, too believe you can never perfectly duplicate anything, let alone an experience, an astonishing experience. And so as much as possible—it is always possible—I try different places and different food in different noons.

*I received 2 remarkable messages today, one from Althea (Kanina pa ako natatawa mag-isa! Dahil naaalala ko long poem ko!') and the other one was this short verse by GB, texted to me by JO.

A Day's Discovery

1.)

Be careful how you live. You may be the only BIBLE some people read.

--sign below the dashboard of the Sucat-Ayala shuttle service I was riding.

2.)

My brother and I caught the Klazz Brothers and Cuba Percussion's concert at Arirang last night. They played music from their album, "Mozart Meets Cuba." If you like Mozart, if you like jazz, if you're a fan of creativity, get this! (But if you're not fan of those things, yet you like me, then get me this!)

!

The Sound Breaking

Got seriously sick in six months. I woke up, the right side of my head felt like breaking. I thought it would just go away if I fight it, just like what I did to my other headaches. And so I got dressed, went out. I rode a bus from Buendia to Ayala, and as the bus passed by the LRT station, I felt like vomiting. I got off. Vomited.

I vomited the ache away. I could already walk and think straight, but I opted not to go to work. Six months ago, given the same situation, I would've gone to work with no question, but now, no.

Figuring my way back home, I still considered going to the office. It was so near. I felt bad for the sum of money I'd lose and the impending blemish on my attendance report. Funny, I never wanted to live for money and records, but if not for these short-term objects, what for?

I kept remembering my friend who'd not attend to work, because he had to write a poem. (Bakit kaya ang sarap-sarap ng tula? I completely admire those who trust, ang tula, hindi para sa may ibig sabihin.)

I hailed a cab, skyway. Passing by the narrow path, I saw another highway being constructed. There I began to doubt the poet's awareness of his job. Never mind nobility and uselessness. The reality is this: we are less forgiving of the mailman, pilot, carpenter, engineer, doctor, surgeon; their mistake could cost us our lives and loves. A poet is no different. Imagine how they'd havoc an eager mind with a carelessly composed verse, loosely linked words, an imprudent punctuation.

What keeps some of us

Poetry
Don Paterson

In the same way that the mindless diamond keeps
one spark of the planet's early fires
trapped forever in its net of ice,
it's not love's later heat that poetry holds,
but the atom of the love that drew it forth
from the silence: so if the bright coal of his love
begins to smoulder, the poet hears his voice
suddenly forced, like a bar-room singer's--boastful
with his own huge feeling, or drowned by violins;
but if it yields a steadier light, he knows
the pure verse, when it finally comes, will sound
like a mountain spring, anonymous and serene.

Beneath the blue oblivious sky, the water
sings of nothing, not your name, not mine.

The greatest gratitude for poetry.

We'll Correct Our Errors Later

From the 15-year-old Lee Hyeon Ju:

Teacher razle and susan are you Okay?
Yesterday I was reading a newspaper and saw it.
The philippines has a state of national emergency.
so I was very worried.
In my country the president is not good at government.
So a nation is complain about a president.
I think your president is not good when I saw newspaper.
Did you same thinking of me?
Anyway I hope that the philippines will Okay.
Teacher susan and razle take care.
(Please a reply to me all right?)
Bye Bye ^-^

I do same thinking of you, dearest Hyeon Ju.

State Of Vacuity

We learn from history and repeat it cheerfully. History does not caution, it sanctions.--Don Paterson

Am ending my February. It's too much.

See you March.

Old Lover

Starbucks's Maple Oat Scone is back.

I was already having my chicken empanada heated when I saw at the bottom shelf a familiar figure in an unfamiliar, but expected price (guess what, from Php40 to Php65.)

My candid self almost asked the barista, "Did you bring it back, because I kept asking for it?")

What stopped me from asking was, I didn't need an answer. But more practically, I did not want to embarrass the barista--and my self.

But I always need that. That feeling, I mean, that every event in the now, I have a hand on. Because it's as if all has been a machination of chance. And while most of the time I believe in what they say about you engineering your chances, the universe has a way of making you see your self so little. So little you squint your eyes trying to find your self, trying to find your self, the universe disappears.


¤


UPDATE (5 Feb, 2343): I finally asked the barista last night (at the Starbucks, Taft branch--I always feel at home there.) She said it's a promotional thing. Just like their Christmas lattes. Well, if absence makes the heart, tongue and stomach grow fonder, then whatever will be, will be.

And Then Etc.

There are three absentees in our little office today. Here are their reasons listed in order:

Absentee A:

Nadulas ako sa banyo kaninang umaga.

Absentee B:

Umuwi akong Bulacan kagabi. Napagod lang siguro talaga ako. Magkakalagnat pa yata ako.

Absentee C:

Ikakasal ako sa Sabado, kailangang maghanda ngayon.

Guess what the order is.

Holding onto its injuries year after year

Chemin De Fer
Elizabeth Bishop

Alone on the railroad track
I walked with pounding heart.
The ties were too close together
or maybe too far apart.

The scenery was impoverished:
scrub-pine and oak; beyond
its mingled gray-green foliage
I saw the little pond

where the dirty old hermit lives,
lie like an old tear
holding onto its injuries
lucidly year after year.

The hermit shot off his shot-gun
and the tree by his cabin shook.
Over the pond went a ripple
The pet hen went chook-chook.

"Love should be put into action!"
screamed the old hermit.
Across the pond an echo
tried and tried to confirm it.

Labor N' Love

Katext ko kanina si Allan at napag-usapan namin sandali--ano ba naman ang mapag-uusapan nang matagal sa SMS?--yung tungkol sa crush ko na nakilala niya bago pa kami nagkakilala.

Di ko na siyempre ikukuwento ang buong detalye dahil di naman importante. Pero dahil sa simula pa lang, napakita ko na ang pagkabahala ko sa pagkakaroon ng someone to watch over me, sabi niya,

Antayin mo lang kasi. Wag na mag-anticipate ng kahit ano para masorpresa pa rin.

My gosh, Allan, I thought you were a poet! I thought you knew a thing or two about language!

Pinag-aantay mo 'ko, tapos sasabihin mo, 'wag mag-anticipate? Duh, "antay" and "anticipate" are synonymous kaya?! Although I kinda get the point naman. Parang waiting without expectation ('Pag binabasa ko ulit, parang ang labo pa rin.) Ay, mas better: 'wag magmadali/mainip, 'wag mag-expect.

Although alam ko na naman talaga ang lahat. Klarong-klaro sa 'kin ang lahat--ang problema, sanhi at solusyon--ganito lang talaga tayong mga tao, kailangan ng kausap.

Nakita ko kasi kanina yung crush ko sa Alabang Town Center. At ang sabi ni Allan, it's a sign. Sagot ko naman, hindi sign 'yon. Maliit lang talaga ang ATC, kako.

Which brings me to my favorite conclusion, na trinatrabaho talaga ang pagmamahal. That it's not just a gift that falls from the sky whenever you have an open mind, heart, hands and shirt; or grows from underground without tending. I can't think any other way, dahil kahit sa pamilya at kaibigan, ganoon din naman, kailangan ng effort. Pag-aalala't pag-aalaga. Careful dapat. That's my--what's the expression, "two cents worth"? May halaga pa rin pala, kahit papaano, ang opinyon ngayon. Di ko na nga lang natext 'yan kay Allan, kasi naubos na ang load ko. Nagnanakaw kasi ang SMART. Oh well.

Iridescence

Ang favorite color ko yung nag-iiba-iba ng kulay.--An audience at the World Pyro Olympics

That we appreciate each other despite moods, theirs and ours.

Forgive and accept with reason, but reason withheld.

Laugh, jest.

Discriminate, create.

Continue desiring iridescence, despite safeties.


* Photo from the World Pyro Olympics website.

Travel advisory

1.
Horoscope for week of December 29, 2005 from Rob Brezsny:

In his book The Disappearance of the Universe, Gary Renard quotes the counsel of his teacher: "A jet airliner is always going off course, but through constant correction it arrives at its destination. So will you arrive at yours." Remember that advice throughout 2006... My analysis of the astrological omens suggests that you will be frequently straying from the path of your highest destiny, and yet that's exactly what needs to happen in order for you to reach your highest destiny. Forced to keep making regular adjustments, you will tone and strengthen your willpower, which is essential to you achieving the goals that really matter.

But how to distinguish the highest destiny and therefore notice if one has strayed?

2.

Travel
Edna St Vincent Millay

The railroad track is miles away,
And the day is loud with voices speaking,
Yet there isn't a train goes by all day
But I hear its whistle shrieking.

All night there isn't a train goes by,
Though the night is still for sleep and dreaming,
But I see its cinders red on the sky,
And hear its engine steaming.

My heart is warm with friends I make,
And better friends I'll not be knowing;
Yet there isn't a train I'd rather take,
No matter where it's going.

Oh the friends I make and the better friends I'll not be knowing!

And them who will never know me.

3.
From the introduction of my current reading, The Twenty-One Balloons by William Pène du Bois:

There are two kinds of travel. The usual way is to take the fastest imaginable conveyance along the shortest road. The other way is not to care particularly where you are going or how long it will take you, or whether you will get there or not. These two methods of travel are perhaps easiest to be seen by watching hunting hounds. One hound will follow his nose directly to his prey. Another will follow his nose in a roundabout way to molehills, empty rabbit holes, garbage cans, and trees; and perhaps not pay any attention to his prey even when he happens upon it. This second way of getting around has always been pointed out as the nicest for, as you can see in the case of the slower hunting hound, you are able to see more of what is going on in the world and also how nature is getting along.

4.
'I shot an error into the air,' said Irene Warsaw.

Dressed in light

I just received my 13th month pay yesterday. I love money, because it is so concrete, so useful and manageable. I know exactly what to do with it.

I bought the gifts for people whom I feel like giving something to. (I like the bows, nightglitters and untying. I like opening, ripping, finding. And despite dedication and signature, a trace of anonymity. That piece of self ungiven—because unresolved—in the present, beyond touch and thought.)

Since late October, when I come home from work, I pass by the line of trees dressed in light along Ayala Avenue. And every time, I keep hearing Yourcenar's words about stars whose brilliance dazzle but keep you cold. Like knowledge, like gold.

And so my wish for everyone is the same wish I've constantly been wishing for people I care about. That we may be blessed with light that both clarifies and warms.