The World Is My Urinal

10.    UE - Caloocan (the field, the tambays, the profs, everything)

9.      Greenpeace™ : saving dolphins, planting trees, talking with bears

8.      Tugtugan walang humpay with Guns & Rosas

7.      Beach (the sand, the waters, the boobs, the life)

6.      Mcdo (Double Cheeseburger, Large Fries, Coke Float, Apple Pie)

5.      Cosplay / Roadtrip / Photoshoots / Everything J-Pop (Hai!)

4.      Dayami Heat outings… so very!

3.      Tulog (yung tipong beyond 4 hrs naman for a change)

2.      Eheads…salamat sa walang humpay na ligaya!

1.      ***** (to be revealed in due time… di pa takdang panahon!)

• You are a beautiful person, Doctor. Clearheaded. Strong. But you seem always to be dragging your heart along the ground. From now on, little by little, you must prepare yourself to face death. If you devote all of your future energy to living, you will not be able to die well. You must begin to shift gears, a little at a time. Living and dying are, in a sense, of equal value.
  • Thailand

• Why do people have to be this lonely? What’s the point of it all? Millions of people in this world, all of them yearning, looking to others to satisfy them, yet isolating themselves. Why? Was the earth put here just to nourish human loneliness?
  • Sputnik Sweetheart

• And then it came to me then. That we were wonderful traveling companions but in the end no more than lonely lumps of metal in their own separate orbits. From far off they look like beautiful shooting stars, but in reality they’re nothing more than prisons, where each of us is locked up alone, going nowhere. When the orbits of these two satellites of ours happened to cross paths, we could be together. Maybe even open our hearts to each other. But that was only for the briefest moment. In the next instant we’d be in absolute solitude. Until we burned up and became nothing.
  • Sputnik Sweetheart

• “You yourself created this Town. You made everything here. The Wall, the River, the Woods, the Library, the Gate, everything. Even this Pool. I’ve known all along.”
  “Then why did you not tell me sooner?”
  “Because you’d only have left me here like this. Because your rightful world is there outside.” My shadow sits down in the snow and shakes his head from side to side. “But you won’t listen, will you?”
  “I have responsibilities,” I say. “I cannot forsake the people and places and things I have created. I know I do you a terrible wrong. And yes, perhaps I wrong myself, too. But I must see out the consequences of my own doings. This is my world. The Wall is here to hold me in, the River flows through me, the smoke is me burning. I must know why.”
  • Hard-Boiled Wonderland & the End of the World

• Numbers aren’t the important thing…what matters is deciding in your heart to accept another person completely. When you do that, it is always the first time and the last.
  • The Kidney-shaped Stone that Moves Every Day (translated by Jay Rubin)

• Money had no name of course. And if it did have a name, it would no longer be money. What gave money its true meaning was its dark-night namelessness, its breathtaking interchangeability.
  • The Wind-up Bird Chronicle

• But even so, every now and then I would feel a violent stab of loneliness. The very water I drink, the very air I breathed, would feel like long, sharp needles. The pages of a book in my hands would take on the threatening metallic gleam of razor blades. I could hear the roots of loneliness creeping through me when the world was hushed at 4 o’clock in the morning.
  • The Wind-up Bird Chronicle

• He inherited from his mother’s stories the fundamental style he used, unaltered, in his own stories: namely, the assumption that fact may not be truth, and truth may not be factual.
  • The Wind-up Bird Chronicle

• To sleep with a woman: it can seem of the utmost importance in your mind, or then again it can seem like nothing much at all. Which only goes to say that there’s sex as therapy (self-therapy, that is) and there’s sex as pastime.
  • A Wild Sheep Chase

• If you’re in pitch blackness, all you can do is sit tight until your eyes get used to the dark.
  • Norwegian Wood

• But who can say what’s best? That’s why you need to grab whatever chance you have of happiness where you find it, and not worry about other people too much. My experience tells me that we get no more than two or three such chances in a life time, and if we let them go, we regret it for the rest of our lives.
  • Norwegian Wood

• Whether you take the doughnut hole as a blank space or as an entity unto itself is a purely metaphysical question and does not affect the taste of the doughnut one bit
  • A Wild Sheep Chase

• I don’t really know if it’s the right thing to do, making new life. Kids grow up, generations take their place. What does it all come to? More hills bulldozed and more ocean fronts filled in? Faster cars and more cats run over? Who needs it?
  • A Wild Sheep Chase

• The house kept its own time, like the old-fashioned grandfather clock in the living room. People who happened by raised the weights, and as long as the weights were wound, the clock continued ticking away. But with people gone and the weights unattended, whole chunks of time were left to collect in deposits of faded life on the floor.
  • A Wild Sheep Chase

• But I didn’t understand then. That I could hurt somebody so badly she would never recover. That a person can, just by living, damage another human being beyond repair.
  • South of the Border, West of the Sun

• Even castles in the sky can do with a fresh coat of paint.
  • South of the Border, West of the Sun

• Mediocrity is like a spot on your shirt, it never comes off.
  • Dance, Dance, Dance

• As I already explaned, I don’t have any form. I’m a conceptual metaphysical object.
  • Colonel Sanders in Kafka on the Shore

• You burn barns. I don’t burn barns. There’s this glaring difference, and to me, rather than say which of us is strange, first of all I’d like to clear up just what that difference is.
  • Barn Burning (short story) in The Elephant Vanishes

• Painful is the stress when one cannot reproduce or convey vividly to others, however hard he tries, what he’s experienced so intensely. In my case, the stronger is the intention to “write about a particular subject in a particular way,” the harder it becomes to start writing and to express myself. This stress somewhat resembles the irritation one feels when he cannot describe to another person what he experienced so vividly and realistically in his dreams. All words I use to narrate my feeling of the moment fail incessantly to describe what I wish to, and then they begin to betray me.
  • A Long Way from The Stuffed Cabbage (short story)

• According to Aristophanes in Plato’s The Banquet, in the ancient world of legend there were three types of people.
  In ancient times people weren’t simply male or female, but one of three types : male/male, male/female or female/female. In other words, each person was made out of the components of two people. Everyone was happy with this arrangment and never really gave it much thought. But then God took a knife and cut everyone in half, right down the middle. So after that the world was divided just into male and female, the upshot being that people spend their time running around trying to locate their missing half.
  • Kafka on the Shore

• Anyone who falls in love is searching for missing pieces of themselves. So anyone who’s in love gets sad when they think of their lover. It’s like stepping back inside a room you have fond memories of, one you haven’t seen in a long time. It’s just a natural feeling. You’re not the person who discovered that feeling, so don’t go trying to patent it, okay?
  • Kafka on the Shore

• First, about the mind. You tell me there is no fighting or hatred or desire in the Town. That this is a beautiful dream, and I do want your happiness. But the absence of fighting or hatred or desire also means the opposites do not exist either. No joy, no communion, no love. Only where there is disillusionment and depression and sorrow does happiness arise; without the despair of loss, there is no hope.
  • Hard-Boiled Wonderland & The End of The World

• That people’s memories are may be the fuel they burn to stay alive. Whether those memories have any actual importance or not, it doesn’t matter as far the maintenance of life is concerned. They are all just fuel. Advertising filler in the news paper, philosophy books, dirty pictures in a magazine, a bundle of ten-thousand-yen bills; when you feed them to fire, they are just paper. The fire isn’t thinking ‘oh This is Kant’ or ‘Oh This is Yomuri evening edition’ or ‘Nice tits’, while it burns. To the fire, they are nothing but scraps of paper. It is the exact same thing. Important memories , not-so-important memories, totally useless memories : there is no distinction - they are all just fuel
  • After Dark

• “likewesaid, we’lldowhatwecan. Trytoreconnectyou, towhatyouwant,” said the Sheep Man. “Butwecan’tdoit-alone. Yougottaworktoo.

Sittingsnotgonnadoit, thinking’snotgonnadoit.” “So what do I have to do?” “Dance,” said the Sheep Man. “Yougottadance. Aslongasthemusicplays. Yougotta dance. Don’teventhinkwhy. Starttothink, yourfeetstop. Yourfeetstop, wegetstuck. Wegetstuck, you’restuck. Sodon’tpayanymind, nomatterhowdumb. Yougottakeepthestep. Yougottalimberup. Yougottaloosenwhatyoubolteddown. Yougottauseallyougot. Weknowyou’re tired, tiredandscared. Happenstoeveryone, ok? Justdon’tletyourfeetstop.”

• • Dance Dance Dance

90’s Kid, the whole Mojacko phase.

and then

High School Chaos, birth of the Apocar Boys.

to

Kapatiran.

and then came

Guns & Rosas.

and then I went

Block. Convergys Days.

The start of the whole

Tata affair.

and then there was

The Dayami Heat.

They come and go, and now there is the

Cosplay Community

How far will I go?

More when I feel like it

Kiwi, Peeking Outside The Box

Written By: Kiwi Abalos. All Rights Reserved.

"The things that happened in what I believed to be the most enjoyable (class) in the world could be found happening in any school. Everyone would find them to be ordinary occurences. Once I realized this, I suddenly found that my surroundings were beginning to lose their color. Brush my teeth and go to sleep at night. Wake up and eat breakfast in the morning. People do those everywhere. When I realized that everyone did all these things on a daily basis, everything started to feel so boring. And if there were so many people living in the world, there had to be someone living a life that wasn’t ordinary. I was sure of it. Why wasn’t that person me?"

- Haruhi Suzumiya

Existentialists rave over it, empiricists ignore it. Religion answers it with images of subjective Quasi-God puppetry, and science simply dispenses it as if it is not even a question worth asking. I, on the other hand, feel that it is the most significant question of all questions, way more important than the laws of physics, the theory of relativity, socio-politics, or any of the Universals that most ‘learned men’ get gaga about.

What is the significance of our existence?

To serve the lord, a devout religious person would say. To spread love and peace among people, says the philantrophist. To fuck chicks and score some booze, says Brandon Boyd.

I do not know, the Philosopher would say. I could not know that for certain.

Imagine a huge house with everything you would ever want in your lifetime, all packed up inside. Everything that surrounds the house, though, is an abyssal darkness that is infinitissimal, thoroughly uninviting, and the dread that fills you up just thinking what could be outside is enough reason for you not to step out. Uncertainty of what exists (or does not) beyond the four walls of your magnificent home is, basically, the sole reason why you keep yourself inside. What’s outside is unimportant, you finally decide. I’ve got everything I need in here.

That’s what most people think. They are either too scared to venture outside, or are content with what’s inside. The house I’m talking about is the famous Philosophical "box"… the idea of ‘thinking outside the box’ or ‘content with what’s inside the box’ is the eternal wall that seperates Philosophers from narrow-minded scums. A friend of my sister even went as far as saying "You people are deluded. I’m not thinking out of the box. The box, to me, does not exist in the first place".

In my work Critique Of Human Intellect, I explained my theory of the Six Elements concerning Human Intelligence: Imagination (Induction, which is necessary for Artists and Philosophers), Deductive Reasoning (Deduction, which is necessary for Scientists and Mathematicians), Perception (how we percieve ideas with our senses), Critical Thinking, Rationalism & Interpretation (which focuses on the importance of how much depth a human mind can comprehend), and finally, Open-mindedness. I.E., "To think out of the box".

A few days ago, when I spoke in one my classes how I view the world (and my exact words are: Why do we exist in this boring world?), the class percieved my proclamation as a result of "bitterness", thinking that I may be some depressed bum or else a person who lead a humdrum life of school, home, and Zaido marathons. None of these preconceptions are, in essence, true, as I am a very jolly person (and therefore not depressed), and up to now I still believe that I live a pretty cool lifestyle (and not exactly a Zaido fan). No, I am not bitter, just thinking out of the box. Open-mindedness is a concept far from bitterness, and that alone proves the weakness of the whole class’ sense of rationalism. The absence of universally accepted ideals may be percieved as weird, but it doesn’t make it wrong. But that is none of my concern, of course, what I am truly (concerned) about is the lack of open-mindedness in countless people I meet. More specifically, people I meet in school. Are you saying that you are contented with your dull, whistle-worthy boring life? Satisfaction is one thing (I myself am satisfied with my life), but contentment is another. Contentment has a sense of conviction and a faint whiff of surrender to the universe’s standards (it’s like accepting what the world is saying: "That is as far as you get, pathetic human!"). I believe contented people are either pathetic or unbalanced. What, I ask, is enough to make someone content in this world? Humans are never meant to be contented, otherwise the universe wouldn’t be this indifferent.

(Just to straighten this out, I do not harbor delusions of intelligence (unlike many people I know). I, in fact, openly suggest my ignorance in various topics in this universe, which is a trait even the cleverest of geniuses possess. I know for myself that what I know doesn’t even cover the tiniest fraction of reality, and all I can really do is to expand my faculty of wonder… which, incidentally, is not something common within today’s society. There are still dimwitted morons who spin fantasies of cleverness, the modern day sophists. They talk like scholars, but their reasoning and interpretation of ideas are far from the human standard of wisdom. And the fact that I know I do not know anything, as Socrates himself declared, makes me superior among them Pinoy Big Brother-watching dumbasses.)

Kant asserted that, because of the limitations of reason, no one could really know if there is a God and an afterlife, and conversly that no one could really know that there was not a God and an afterlife. For the sake of society and morality, Kant asserted, people are reasonably justified in believing in them, even though they could never know for sure whether they are real or not. Kant explained: "All the preparations of reason, therefore, in what may be called pure philosophy, are in reality directed to those three problems only [God, the soul, and freedom]. However, these three elements in themselves still hold independent, proportional, objective weight individually. Moreover, in a collective relational context; namely, to know what ought to be done: if the will is free, if there is a God, and if there is a future world. As this concerns our actions with reference to the highest aims of life, we see that the ultimate intention of nature in her wise provision was really, in the constitution of our reason, directed to moral interests only."The sense of an enlightened approach and the critical method required that "If one cannot prove that a thing is, he may try to prove that it is not. And if he succeeds in doing neither (as often occurs), he may still ask whether it is in his interest to accept one or the other of the alternatives hypothetically, from the theoretical or the practical point of view. …Hence the question no longer is as to whether perpetual peace is a real thing or not a real thing, or as to whether we may not be deceiving ourselves when we adopt the former alternative, but we must act on the supposition of its being real."The presupposition of God, soul, and freedom was then a practical concern, for "Morality, by itself, constitutes a system, but happiness does not, unless it is distributed in exact proportion to morality. This, however, is possible in an intelligible world only under a wise author and ruler. Reason compels us to admit such a ruler, together with life in such a world, which we must consider as future life, or else all moral laws are to be considered as idle dreams… ."

I seem to stray out of my essential point here again, a habit I never fail to (miss) everytime I write. Where was I?

Right. Existence. And why I think the world is a boring place.

There are many factors in considering this "state of mind" as a valid argument, many of which occur in everyday living. But what influenced the biggest percentage in my line of thinking is none other than The Melancholy Of Haruhi Suzumiya, which spawned my pseudo-religion Haruhiism (I would not explain the concept of Haruhiism here, as I have already done so in my other works. To find out more about my works <concerning> Haruhiism, visit www.the_melancholy_of_kiwi_suzumiya.blogs.friendster.com). Why is the world a boring place? The answer lies within our very notions of living: Too ordinary. Being one of the ocean of people doing and thinking the same thing every damn day couldn’t get any duller. "Extraordinary", as far as I am concerned, is nothing more than an abstract concept which exaggerates and romanticizes everyday occurences. It exists in some plane beyond reality, and can only be achieved by bending the law of physics itself. The only thing we can do is accept what is fed in our lips. Acceptance. Acceptance is defeat. Defeat is surrender. And surrender is nothing short of pathetic.

According to Hirano Aya in Bouken Desho Desho?, "I believe doing what everyone else does is no fun". So I, as much as possible, cram as many "not-so-ordinary" traits in my arsenal as I can to counter-act with this ordinary world. It is boring in the first place, so why be boring yourself? Why be contented? Why accept defeat?

Why snuggle comfortably in that damn box?

Today I had an epiphany.

I was doing nothing, my favorite pastime, lolling around my neighborhood with a pair of headphones clapped around my ears. Singing along to Ely Buendia, I killed time fascinated with the sheer zilch of my surroundings. It was sort of an uncertainty, but I never thought that emptiness and silence could be this entertaining.

“Oy! Tingnan mo ‘to o!”

Taking my headphones off, I turned around to see my 7 year old neighbor holding a humungous papier-mâché dog.

“I made it myself! It is my art project!” she said proudly, her eyes glimmering with excitement as she stared at her masterpiece.

“Ang ganda naman!”, I replied. “Pano mo nagawa yan?”

“It wasn’t easy. But I had to do it because my teacher might scold me.”

I laughed. “So you made this all by yourself, huh?”

“What, you don’t believe me?, she exclaimed, her voice stern and her eyes narrowing.

“Hmmmmm. No, I don’t think so. Hehehe. Gawa ng mommy mo yan eh!”

She frowned. “Hindi ah. Mommy didn’t help me with this. Well, she did help me carry it to school because it is too heavy. But technically, I made this myself!”, she said, angrily.

This kid’s vocabulary is rich indeed, I thought. She’s definitely smarter than most of my classmates in college. “Fine, fine, I believe you. How did you do it? I myself couldn’t make a papier-mâché rat that huge.”

“It’s not a rat, it’s a dog! And for your information, it’s not easy. First you have to…”

While she continued lecturing me on the correct method of making a paper dog in loving detail, I observed the dog carefully. It really is magnificent, especially for a seven year old girl. I bet even a Fine Arts student at my school would have difficulty making a paper sculpture this splendid.

“…and the nose was really tricky, it’s got a nasty bump on the left nostril, but I managed to mold it together with super glue.”, she finished as she gasped  for air.

“Wow, that’s really impressive.”

“I know!”, she shouted with delight. “All I did is I worked really slowly, without haste. I put in effort and I didn’t rush it. I did it one day at a time.”

Huh. One day at a time.

Funny how a kid’s word turns out to be more valuable than the advice I get from friends and hundreds of text quotes.

One day at a time. The line sparked a light bulb in my head.

Nowadays, people rush into everything, zooming into impulsive decisions without taking the time to think of the outcome of their actions. They get married too quickly, get pregnant too early, and die young. This lack of patience and persistence is a sandstorm gushing its way into a constricted canyon: it loops around your brain, and when the time comes all that’s left in its wake is misery and a pang of regret.

I’m going to live my life one day at a time.

I will write songs with passion and resolution. I will study with patience and dedication. I will laugh my days off, I will walk all the way to Monumento, and I will run across the field apathetic to the judging eyes of the students around.

I’m going to love you, one day at a time.

It will take time to gain your trust. And I don’t care if it takes a decade for me to attain it: just a smile from you will be worth all the time and effort.

I will fight for you, one day at a time.

I will smile at you at the first day. I will raise my eyebrows the next. I will say “Hi” the third. Then I will talk to you, make you laugh, even sing “Push The Button” for you. If I have to wait for seven more summers to be with you, I will.

I will wait for you. One day at a time.

Life is complicated. Too complicated.

                        Another year had passed, and once again, as one or two of my only readers can guess, I’ve wasted my time on moping and indulging on fruitless attempts. I’ve been through hell, got back, and now I return, again enduring its scorching flames that are licking my soul’s veins.

                        It’s too complicated.

                        I must have been an evil man in my past life. It’s inevitable to ponder such odd speculations: Why is life this unfair? Why do I remain this bored, unhappy man that I always have been (for the past five years, at the very least)? Sure, life can take you to heaven for a couple of hours, but it can bring you to hell in a matter of seconds and wait for a century to consider remembering you. I guess in life, you can only choose two paths to take: a life of happiness, where you embrace the present, never reminisce the past, and never care about the future… or a life of meaning, where you wallow endlessly in your past and obsess about your future. One can never have both.

                        But I’m not that kind of guy. I will fight for both.

                        Lately, many changes in my life altered its direction. I’ve been a follower of Haruhiism, studied turntablism, tried to write a novel, and… fell in love.

                        Before, Love to me is just an ashtray laid upon the burning pits of hell. Which is a poetic sentence for: Hahaha. Love. What a bummer.

                        I have never fallen in love, and I have never, in my life, imagined I would be. To me, women are a source of entertainment… I pursue them; I spend time with them, and then get tired. When I get bored with one, I find another. If I don’t, it’s okay… I can live for months without a woman by my side.

                        But all of a sudden, with just the time needed to snap a finger, it caught me. And boy, did it suck.

                        I fell in love with a woman in the wrong place at the wrong time. I never got to know her, which is why, up to now, I still question myself: How did I fall in love with her?

                        After I met her, I’ve been obsessed with finding her all throughout the school. I sought her for months, but all of it was in vain… and everything was too fucking complicated. And using the word “complicated” the fourth time meant only one thing: it is, in fact, THAT complicated. Ponder that.

                        8 months ago, I never thought for a second that I’d fall in love. 8 months later, here I am, writing about her.

                        She has been my favorite topic for the past 8 months, a realization I thought of, surprisingly, just a few seconds ago.

                        I said it several times, and I dare say it again: It’s too complicated. Which is why I question no one in particular: Does life have to be this tortuous to find a purpose? Do I have to endure this bitch of a pain to achieve happiness? Why can’t I just meet a girl, fall in love, and that’s it? Why do I have to be the one to go through all of this?

                        But like I said, I’m not that kind of guy. If the universe doesn’t want to, to hell with the universe. I’ll be the one to fulfill this.

                        I am not going to seek her, for that is against the rules of fate. No. I am hopelessly in love, yes, but I’m not an asshole to jeopardize a relationship.

                        I will wait.

                                                                        * * *

                        This madness that I assume is “Love” brought me through different phases… I have become a cheesy, obsessed moron who never gets tired of talking about her, imagining her face, and reading intolerably corny love quotes. I spent all summer wondering how fantastic it would be to be with her. I had been what a year ago I feared of becoming: a hopelessly romantic guy. Which, to the past “evil” me, is nothing short of boring.

                        But it all changed after one text message.

                        She told me, a few weeks before the end of the semester (and before I got to do my astonishingly incredible plan), these exact words:

Some one will but not _____. I really love him, Vinny. He’s hurt because of you.

                        In my defense, I never did anything to meddle into their picture-perfect relationship. I just let her know how I feel, and that’s it. And now back to my story.

                        My whole world shattered before my eyes. A few minutes later, I was a walking bottle of wine… and the epitome of misery.

                        It was then that I transformed into this heartless, evil guy. From the loving, desperately devoted Kiwi to the Guy-who-nails-every-girl-he-went-out-with; I swore never to think of her again. It was my Anakin Skywalker to Darth Vader moment: (Cue: *Darth Vader Background Music starts here*) I donned my dark cape, wore my pink shades, and put on my helmet. It was the start of Kiwi’s legendary pursuit for the usual, clichéd machismo. (Which, in my opinion, is kind of pathetic.)

                        But life is that startling. Unforeseen circumstances can slap you in the face with a force more powerful than your sister’s.

                        Let me explain.

                        Something happened this summer I never expected… she sent me a private message. It was something more shocking than finding out Leonardo Dicaprio’s bisexual… it was something that awoke an inner fire within me. It was, to put it simply, another life-altering thing. Yes, with just a message.

                        What the message contained and what our conversation (cyber, yes, but still a conversation) was isn’t the essential point here. It was vital, yes, but it’s not the summit. It is her that made it so incredibly intriguing.

                        She knows.

                        For all I know, she could be reading this now… the information fed to her was unbelievably accurate. Her informant could either really hate me, or really love me. It all depends upon the informant’s motive.

                        She knows who I am.

                        And up to now, I deny it from every angle. No, I cannot expose my secret identity. It could trigger false opinions upon her pretty little head: she might think I am attempting to ruin their relationship for personal gain. And that is the last thing I would ever do… it is wrong, immature, and it is against my code.

                        All I can do is wait.

                        However, I decided to continue my legendary quest: my evil side that hunts a girl, nails her, and dump her after. It is foolish to persist after a girl I cannot have.

                        Unfortunately, I just couldn’t do it. At least, not entirely.

                        Maybe deep down inside, I’m still in love with her.

                        So I decided to not to be evil at a certain day. Wednesday.

                        I chose Wednesday because it’s what the signs are telling me… it is sacred. It is the day when I first met her. It is the day of my second letter. It is Valentine’s Day (2007).

It is the day when she broke my heart.

So Wednesday is Tata Day. It is the only day of the week where I take off my helmet and commemorate my good old days. It is a day of joy, of sorrow, and of heartache. It is the day when I get back to my true self.

Tonight, while writing this, I am an evil man… with evil plans. But in a few minutes, it shall be Wednesday once more. In a few minutes I’ll be different. In a few minutes, I’ll take off my helmet, listen to Norah Jones, and stare at her picture.

In a few minutes I’ll be back… to love her again.

Why you?

Why am I in love with you? Why can’t I get you out of my mind? Why am I so cheesy when I’m thinking about you? Why do I shiver when you are near? Why is it that when you pass by me, I punch the air? Why can’t I force myself to think of somebody else? Why do I love you, even though I’ve never been with you?

Why does my heart beat fast when you stare at me? Why does my hair stand on end when you look at me? Why can’t other girls make me feel this way? Why do I waste my time and energy on my fruitless attempts, when I could be hooking up with someone else?

Why do I write these questions? Why do I get so lonely and at the same time, happy; when I think about you? Why does my kilig vein pop when I see you? Why do I look away when you look my way? Why does my heart pound hard when I hear your name? Why do I get goose bumps when I hear your voice?

Why can’t I get over you? Why do I think of you when I’m with someone else? Why can’t I accept the truth that I will never be with you? Why didn’t God let me get to know you? Why do I have to endure this agony?

Why can’t I talk to you, why can’t I touch you, why can’t I kiss your eyes? Why do I dream of you, why am I afraid of you, why can’t I break the ice?

Why do you gaze at me with dreamy eyes? Why does your voice sound like an angelic choir? Why am I tolerating this late-night sleepiness? Why can’t I find you when I’m seeking you? Why do you suddenly appear when I least expect you to?

Why can’t I get closure?

Why can’t I find another you?

Please tell me, why? Why you?

* * *

Why you?

It is you I saw. It is you I have chosen. It is you I spoke to. It is your palm that met mine. It is your smile that has smitten me. It is you I sought for months. It is you I was thinking of when I’m with her. It is you I imagined, it is you I dreamed of, it is you I prayed for. It is you I wrote letters to. It is you I wrote songs to. It is for you I got too drunk that night. It is you I cried for. It is you I blushed for. It is you who is the headline of my friends’ stories. It is your image in the screen of my phone. It is your message that’s all I’m waiting for in Friendster. It is you I was running to when it rains. It is your face behind the veil of my imaginary bride. It is your eyes that I see upon the stars. It is you who makes my world stop. It is your voice that soothes me. It is your name that I whisper in the morning, it is your name that I breathe through the night. It is you who unleashes my inner genius. It is your face that makes me forget about every single face on earth. It is you I hear when I listen to the wind. It is your hand I’m holding when I’m holding hers. It is you that makes me struggle against the hands of fate. It is your smile that is worth fighting for.

Why you? I don’t know. I only know one thing.

It is you.

* * *

“You are not at all like my rose. As yet you are nothing. No one has tamed you, and you have tamed no one. You are like my fox when I first knew him. He was only a fox like a hundred thousand other foxes. But I have made him my friend, and now he is unique in all the world.”

And the roses were very much embarrassed.

“You are beautiful, but you are empty. One could not die for you. To be sure, an ordinary passerby would think that my rose looked just like you—the rose that belongs to me. But in herself alone she is more important than all the hundreds of you other roses : because it is she that I have watered; because it is she I have put  under the glass globe; because it is she I have sheltered under the screen; because it is for her that I have killed the caterpillars (except the two or three we saved to become butterflies); because it is she that I have listened to, when she grumbled, or boasted, or even sometimes when she said nothing. Because she is my rose.”

                                                                                              -The Little Prince

 

 

 Wednesday noon, it was. Indeed.

 

 I can clearly remember everything, every aspect as lucid as a picture rummaged in an old photo album. It is one of those recollections that has chosen; regardless of my refutation; to stay within the shutters of my memory. The harder I try to repress it, the tighter it clings its tentacles unto my soul… with every tiny facet thorough and concise.

 

I was alone daydreaming, Hotel California playing on repeat in my mind. I was deeply preoccupied with my thoughts, completely unaware of the deafening prattling of the students around. The world then, to me, is an untilted hourglass, utterly useless, the bottom full of sand and the crest as bare and empty as an extinct lagoon. My eyes were blind to the undertakings surrounding me, my ears deaf to the noise of the boisterous crowd. I was apathetic to the point of total ignorance, loneliness and indifference orbiting my insides in a mutual dance. With nothing worthy of distracting my concentration, I continued on, wallowing in my own sad little universe. Never would I have known, then, that my hourglass would be once again tilted into vitality.

 

The bottom was starting to fill up. The crown was, once again, alive and bursting, fading little by little, every grain slowly integrating within the banks.

 

There she was, a few meters in front of me, her eyes intently fixed on whatever she’s reading. A distraction she truly was, entering my once-indifferent world; of deep shades of grey; in full color. She was the only apparent entity amidst a hazy blur, her aura making her glimmer among the indistinguishable. My heart automatically shut my safety off… and a hypnotic trance whirled my mind into a reverie. Every detail of her was too perfect. Her gorgeous eyes, the tiny wrinkles of her forehead, her hair dancing with the breeze… everything about her sent shivers upon my spine. Close To You began to play in my mind, with a passion so powerful, it’s hard to believe no one else was hearing it. All of a sudden, without knowing it, with no idea why, and unaware of the nosy students around me, I blurted out:

 

“Classmate! Can I ask you a question?”

 

She turned her beautiful head up, her stunning eyes gazing unto mine. That look made my heart melt like a dying candle… and it is with some effort of consciousness that made me hear what she had said:

 

“What is it?”

 

Now aware of the nosy people around us, I crossed the isle and slowly walked towards her.

 

“You are the prettiest woman in the building. But then again, you must be the prettiest woman in most buildings. Or maybe of all.” I haven’t thought; for the life of me; that that was something I would ever say, but it came out of me before I knew it. With every breath of air escaping my lungs, I barely recognized the expression of her face after what I said. Relief is what I felt when her lips formed a smile, her breathtaking eyes happier than a thousand singing lovebirds.

 

“Why, that is very sweet of you. Thank you. Hehe.”

 

Our conversation after is like a dream: every bit of it wonderful; every word spoken fascinating; every time our eyes met, it was as if an angel passed by. Like the magnificent sound of a thousand lyres, her voice is gently caressing my skin. With my fingers embracing hers, I drifted into sleep, my head warm against her lap.

 

That didn’t happen, though.

 

As I approached her, I was wracking my brains for the right words to say. I’m not exactly a pick-up line expert, so I decided to just ask her name.

 

She smiled. “Hi, I’m Tata. And you are?”

 

“Vinny. Call me Vinny.”

 

I smiled back, and asked her for her number. Slightly giggling, she told me that she doesn’t give her number to strangers.

 

“That is the reason why I’m asking for it. So I could get to know you. I wouldn’t be stranger, then, would I?”

 

That made her laugh, a laughter as melodic as a heavenly choir.

 

“Just looking at you, standing in front of me looking drop-dead gorgeous, is enough to complete my day. I know it is wrong to stare, but don’t expect me to stop.”, I told her, matter-of-factly.

 

A month later, we became a couple. And we lived happily ever after.

 

But that didn’t happen, either.

 

Out of words to say, I asked, without knowing why: 

 

“Uh, uhm… Do you have the time?”

 

In my mind, I was hammering my head with a gigantic mallet saying, “Do you have the time? What the hell was that?”

 

“It’s ten past two.”, she replied, her voice echoing inside my ears.

 

“So that’s ten past two, on the fourteenth of November. Thanks. I just want to remember this moment, the exact date when I met… uhm, what’s your name?”

 

“Tata.” She chuckled.

 

“… the exact date when I met Tata.” I continued.

 

And remembered that moment, we both did. It is also the day when we got married.

 

And obviously, that didn’t happen either.

 

Out of words to say, I just asked her a couple of questions, the desultory “Do you know someone named blah blah blah?”. It was nothing of a conversation, really, just an excuse to know her name.

 

“What’s your name again?”

 

 “Tata.” She chuckled.

 

 “Tata. Apir tayo.”

 

 Our palms met as I caught her smile at me. And one thought popped into my head: That smile… is the one thing I think is worth fighting for.

 

 But then, what do you do when the one thing you think is worth fighting for doesn’t think there’s a fight to fight for in the first place?

 

 You spend your time waiting for a second chance. Even if waiting would take forever.

 

 That happened. Honestly. And it is still happening. Me, waiting. Even though I know that I could be waiting for nothing.

 

* * *

 

 

 

 

* * *

 

Last day of the sem.

 

 I was walking alone, on my way home, when I heard a voice behind me:

 

 “Vinny.”

 

 All the hair in my body stood on end, my hands were cold, and my heart began beating faster and faster. As I looked around, I still wasn’t expecting it to be her. But it is her.

 

 “I’ve read it. And I’m sorry.”

 

 “It’s okay.”, I replied. “It wasn’t your fault. It is mine. I do blame you for being what you are. I do blame you for what I’m going through right now. But then again, I have no right to blame you.”

 

 Tears began falling down her cheeks, slowly flowing, dropping silently on the floor. “Of course I appreciate what you did. But I really love him, Vinny, I do. I’m so sorry.”

 

 I wiped her welling eyes with my thumb. “Don’t be.”

 

 I slowly walked away from her, and she did too. As we walked our separate ways, I couldn’t stop my own tears from falling.

 

 “Uhm, Tata?”

 

 “Yes?”

 

 “I’ll be waiting. No matter how long it takes.”

 

 That didn’t happen, either. I wish it would, though. And I’m still wishing.

* * *

I couldn’t disregard the fact that our meeting might simply be, chance it may seem, a coincidence. But I’d rather think that the giant hands of fate, from the time of our births, have been subtly shifting our orbits so that we would one day meet on the separate isles of TYK Bldg.

 

 I hope the hands of fate tweak the circumstances a bit, this time. I hope and pray that from the bottom of my heart. If, by any chance, you are reading this, Tata, then I would know for sure that fate has answered my prayers. A bit.

“You are there, but not really.

You were mine, but not really.

I never really had you,

So I never really lost you.

I guess this is how we’ll always be.

I had you, you had me,

But then again…

Not really.”

That is a line from another song I’m working on. It was originally composed as a cheesy text quote, a quote inspired by a shattered heart, a driving passion, and several bottles of Red Horse beer. I have yet another enthralling tale to share with my readers (Total Number: 5, including me), and it is such an engrossing story, I do not want to rush it. I wish to do it justice by not summarizing it to the point of sheer ennui. No, I will interpret it with poetry and subtlety, it is a tale I feel is worthy of being ripped off by Hollywood movie directors. Except, it has no clear-cut ending, as the story I’m about to tell is still on-going in reality. Kind of Postmodern, if you ask me.

It started months ago, a little after the semestral break. I was a confused student, for it is my first time venturing in the unknown world of Free Section. My whole college life (a total of two semesters), I have been living Block… an extended part of High school, of sorts. The same people in every subject. I feel it more appropriate for me: I’d rather have a few close friends than multiple “eyebrow raising” acquaintances. Yes, seeing the same faces all over again is a bummer, but I figured it’d be easier to make pals in a Block Section. Apparently, I was mistaken.

My Block consisted mostly of dorks.

After sembreak, I was excited at the thought of a new life far from AB3A (yes, the dorks), and I expected endless pagtambay with cool chaps and a pretty “prospect”. I was, however, disappointed. Early on the second semester, I was a lonely bloke. Friendless, enraged, and miserable; I tried to concentrate on writing for the school paper. I only lasted within three weeks: for the Dawn people are a bunch of gullible, pathetic idiots not capable of sustaining consistent satisfactory issues. The system is crooked (as a result of Recto manipulation), the work tedious and unsatisfactory (reminds me of my Convergys days), and don’t even get me started on “benefits”. In short, it’s a fucking drag… I’d rather dance naked in the middle of EDSA in ballet shoes and a tutu than work for Dawn again.

So my point here is, at that time, I was miserable. I never got to enjoy the lush greenery of the campus (perfect for tambay sessions), hanging out there by myself is not that appealing. Instead, I would smoke by myself at the back of the UE Stage while listening to Radiohead and Callalily (IMPORTANT NOTE: the Callalily part is sarcastic). Time passes by so slowly when one is alone: thirty minutes by myself feels like several rainy days and a few hours stuck in an elevator with Yael Yuzon.

My girlfriend isn’t exactly helping, either. If anything, she made my life even worse. I don’t want to delve into details, but I dare say I’m ashamed that I had a thing for her once. Breaking up with her is a dream come true: as wonderful as the day I graduated from that horrible nightmare known as High School.

* * *

Now this is where the real story starts. I bored even myself with that crap of a prologue (it’s dull to the point of constant yawning), but I think it’s vital for the plot of the story. So here it goes, without further ado:

I was daydreaming.

Misery is one thing, indifference is another. It took me several minutes to figure out what the hell I was thinking about, but there you go. I was simply apathetic, but not miserable. That’s what I was thinking that memorable day. That’s what’s stuck on my mind while drooling on one particular isle in TYK Bldg., oblivious of the noisy chattering of the students around me.

That’s what I was thinking when I saw her. Hello, Tata.

She was right across the isle, exactly in front of where I was involuntarily daydreaming. Tata, an angel disguised as a UE student, with eyes more bedazzling than a bright, summer sky. There was an aura around her, making her glimmer amidst the raucous UE crowd. She was alone reading something… and her face so focused on whatever she’s reading had; please pardon my cliché; made my heart skip several beats to the tune of Spandau Ballet’s True. It was too unreal, too perfect: the way her eyelashes blink, her hair swaying in the breeze, her lips curling with every word she’s reading. All of a sudden, without knowing it, with no idea why, and unaware of the nosy students around me, I blurted out:

“Classmate! Can I ask you a question?”

She turned her beautiful head up, her eyes poring over mine. That look made my heart melt like a dying candle… and it is with some effort of consciousness that made me hear what she had said:

“What?”

“Tatawid lang ako.”, I replied, and slowly walked towards her.

Out of words to say, I just asked her a couple of questions, the desultory “Do you know someone named blah blah blah?”. It was nothing of a conversation, really, just an excuse to know her name. My mind going blank, I suddenly muttered through gritted teeth, “Apir na lang tayo.”  I gave her a hands up, and our palms met as I caught her smile. And so goes the beginning of my maddening passion.

Days have gone by, turned to weeks, and weeks to months. I had hoped and prayed to get a glimpse of her after that little incident, but fate didn’t grant my prayers. I searched for her around the school in vain… it was not until post-Christmas vacation that I caught sight of her too-beautiful-to-be-human face again. At that time, I was a completely different person: I was finally enjoying my college life. I found great friends and spent all of my time and energy on pagtambay… and all of my friends are aware of my declarations of eternal passion. Tata when I wake up, Tata before I lose consciousness. Tata in my dreams. Everywhere I look, everything I do, every thought that strikes into my head… There you are again. Tata.

Having hung around with my friends helped me collect information about her: her ideal boy-next-door boyfriend, her too-nosy-for-her-own-good friends, her major. I have found out something about her on my own: her ability to teleport. I seldom see her even if I sit around for hours waiting for her to pass in the lobby… I’m beginning to suspect she teleports to her destination after her classes.

Finally I decided to do something. I wrote her a letter, Amelie style (love letters are too cliché anyway), under the name VC. Hiding my identity is part of my plan.

My next Amelie letter was supposed to reach her on Valentine’s Day. Supposed, because she rejected my letter (as my messenger has told me). Devastated, I made a dedication that rang across the school:

Tata. Si VC ito. Hindi tayo tao, hayup, o halaman. Alam mo kung ano? Bagay. Bagay tayo.

I couldn’t get through the line without laughing (my laughter heard all over the school), but the effect is still good: after that line (and the inadvertent laughter), I said, “Para sa’yo itong kantang ‘to.” And Mr.Big’s “To Be With You” suddenly blasted through the gigantic speakers around the school. Smiling, I left my letter to a classmate of hers. The envelope read:

Property Of: Tata
BSA

My second letter has indications of  “leaving things be”, but it is all part of yet another plan: my final act. My emancipation, the day I would reveal my identity. It is a plan inspired by a certain scene from British film Love Actually, a plan so moving it makes my guy friends giggle with fits of “Aaaay, ang sweet!” . My music of choice is Carpenters classic Close To You. Everything was perfect.

But the world is not perfect. Things didn’t work out, as they usually do.

I couldn’t bear to tell what happened next, nor have I any inclination to. My story ends here.

* * *               

For now, let me just say… Tata, I’m not over you yet. Finding someone as extraordinary as you seem impossible. You are the only girl capable of making me look at other girls as if they are mere insects… and making me feel ironically content with the agony of not being with you.

For now let me just say, without conviction: I couldn’t face the truth yet. The truth that I cannot be with you.

For now let me just say, amidst the agony I am enduring: I’ll be the one to fulfill this. It is not the will of fate for us to be together. It is my will.

For now let me just say, without hope or agenda—

—To me, you are perfect. And my wasted heart will always love you, until you tell me it’s alright… to watch you right until I die.

* * *

“What’s your name again?”

“Tata.” She chuckled.

“Tata. Apir tayo.”

Our palms met as I caught her smile at me. And one thought popped into my head: That smile… is the one thing I think is worth fighting for.

Hello, Tata. Goodbye.

* * *

A heartbreak isn’t always as loud as a bomb exploding,
sometimes it could be as quiet as a teardrop falling,
and the most painful thing is…

Nobody hears it, but you.