A Companion Named Desire

In the space of a few seconds–a handful of heartbeats, a few hundred meters covered, some hundreds of revolutions of an engine–the rumbling gray clouds made good on their promise of heavy rain. Even in that tranqulity induced by driving at cruising speed on spacious roads, the transition is difficult to miss: just roughly half an hour ago I marveled at how my car, just less than six months old, can’t be kept completely cool against an overbearing afternoon sun by its air conditioning. Now a sudden downpour drastically lessens the visibility and makes me turn my aircon down by a notch.

The rain puts me in an odd feeling of being neither here nor there. Earlier that day I was at UP, and I am currently in transit through a heavy downpour with Jason Mraz for a background music. The circumstances remind me strongly of a particular summer spent studying physics and yet…I am so far from being that student anymore. A car now is no longer an element of a kinematics word problem but is something I can name among my earthly possessions. And driving…heh, driving isn’t even something I wanted to learn back then.

The lookback is even more interesting once you consider the blog. I’ve been blogging far earlier than the summer mentioned in the last paragraph and I know I made a couple of posts during the summer concerned; posts about a budding photographer, beginning his observations of light and its drama, attending debut parties with the hefty University Physics for a date. But those posts are, unfortunately, among those I axed when I turned this blog over to WordPress. So I can’t link them.

I have vague recollections of the time I decided which posts stay, and which don’t. Up until then, the blog has been through a couple of (technical, not literary) rewrites where I painstakingly migrated each and every post. The decision to prune was, as far as I remember, based on the fact that the posts axed no longer reflect my views. And also to spare my blushes for my blunder years, where I tried to sound knowledgeable of the world–mostly by using long words like “knowledgeable” where vowels and consonants do not merely alternate–when I was, in fact, writing something worthy of Buzzfeed, minus the GIFs.

If I had to characterize the posts I hid from the public it would be that they are too emotional. “I write,” I would say back then, “to exorcise my demons”, all the while feeling like a tortured genius who has found reprieve and salvation through his muse, through his art. Maybe, a hundred years after my inevitable yet all the same tragic demise, that particular quote would find itself adorning a planner given for free by some book store, after a minimum-value purchase during the holiday season. And that’s if I’m lucky. If I’m really lucky it will even be attributed to me.

Because after all that, I have realized that the hardest part of talking about feelings isn’t about finding the courage to even be open about it. In some ways, that is the easy part. Human. What’s difficult when talking about feelings is in coming out with the maturity to handle them in all their nuance, and to not end up with a piece Buzzfeed would gladly put on their front page.

Or Thought Catalog. No one wants a mopey twenty something. Not even a mopey twenty something.

Which is maybe why projects like PostSecret and The Strangers Project move me so. Whereas tortured-genius Chad would overgeneralize and sweep his adolescent neural firings under a blanket of over optimism and flashes of wordplay, these revelations from people I have no idea who achieve authenticity despite their anonymity1. Raw and unfinished, you would not find them spouting a forced positive angle because sometimes, sometimes, there is just no good ending, at least not yet, and you could just barely keep it together.

Yet sometimes, life is not just good but also beautiful; a good ending would be unfortunate because, no matter how good, it is still the end of something as warm as hope.

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(At this point, it all ends rather abruptly, as this has been gathering dust for months inside my drafts. Back when I started this whole rambling, I guess I had a plan, an outline, of how and where this all leads to. But not anymore. It gets published by virtue of the fact that it has, nonetheless, achieved its primary purpose, which is to get things off my chest, regardless of whether or not it ends up read by the intended eyes. I guess, after all that’s said and written, I remain the same, seeing words as some sort of magic to trap demons with. Some things change and some things don’t. Thank you very much for reading through and I hope you have a good one.)

  1. PostSecret founder Frank Warren was once asked whether he worries that the secrets he receives are fabricated. To which he replies that the secret is not necessarily true for the person who wrote it; it is true for the person who reacts to it. []

Sometimes, dogs do eat homeworks

Due to a long series of probably mishandled transactions, my XPeria Z ended up between the jaws of Embrr, a Labrador Retriever who part times as one of my roomies as well as Foot/Mouth-ball rival1, around two months ago. Does not help my feelings that in more than a year of our acquaintance, this is just my first (and hopefully last) possession which Embrr has sent the way of dinosaurs whereas my fellow humans who also share the same living quarters with the Lab has sacrificed so much more.

The World's Most Disciplined DogPictured above is the World’s Most Disciplined Dog.

Also, the last line I wrote is the World’s Most Blatant Lie.

Now, after three years, I decided to go to the Manila International Book Fair again. Acknowledging that my efforts to turn this blog into one centered on Literature (note the capital ‘L’) isn’t really panning out, I guess it’d help people contextualize by admitting that, people, BOOKS ARE MY VICE. Back when I first got my camera and decided that a few thousand pesos-worth of filter glass is disposable (compared to a PhP 20K upwards worth lens), people told me that this photography hobby is turning to a vice. But I disagree. Every photography gear I have has been used, and used with good reason. And, to date, not one of my filters has ever been disposed. But just one glance at my reading queue would be enough to convince any sane-minded individual that BOOKS ARE MY VICE.

Books are my vice. Now that’s out of the way, it should not surprise you to hear that it is more than challenging to bring home all of my MIBF purchases. From MOA all the way to the suburbs of Caloocan. While I’ve learned a few lifehacks to make carrying heavy stuff easier and have put in way more push-ups than during my whole time formally training in Taekwondo since my last MIBF, my spendable cash has also grown. Yay Chad’s Capitalist Paradox.

It’s a good thing then that I have some living quarters at Makati, incidentally the same living quarters I share with the Lab pictured above. So I thought it’d be nice to house my new friends there for the meantime while, batch by batch, I transport them to stand with their kind. Perfect plan.

Except for the Lab.

Of course, I made sure before I left for the weekend (along with my first batch of new suburb roomies) that the books are in a secure cabinet which can’t be opened without opposable thumbs. The problem is that:

  1. Just before I left, I found the upper part of the cabinet door not latching properly. I gave it a light kick so that it latches properly and left it at that. I should have looked for another cabinet, one that really latches properly.
  2. The cabinet is in a low enough position that should the Lab develop opposable thumbs, he can open it. I’ve seen him steal socks from improperly-closed cabinets of the same ilk. I should have put the books on my bed—the upper bunk of a double deck, the only part of our room I’m sure he can’t reach. I should note that this is the only type of cabinet we have which can house the bulk of books.
    1. But then we have a cat and the cat can reach my bed. Where the Lab bites, the cat bites, pisses, and scratches. It is for that reason that the cat is not allowed inside our room but her fondness for, and excursions to, human bed cushions is not unheard of.

I left having secured my new friends considerably well. But if there’s one thing I learned, “considerably well” is not good enough for dogs, moreso a Labrador of Embrr’s calibrr. This hit me midway through my grueling commute from Makati to suburbia and it kinda triggered that part of my brain that always wants 101% assurance on things.

Which leads us to this post. I’d have wanted to wax philosophical on faith, assurance, fight, dream, hope, love, etc. but then this post won’t see the light of day until it has been peer-reviewed and defended before an independent interdisciplinary panel of judges. So instead of doing that, I guess I’ll just ask the question…

Will my new friends survive the weekend, until I can get back to them?

They Only Grew In Numbers

We are waiting.

Edit (9/20/2016): Aaaannnddd they’ve survived! That’s all for now ladies and gentlemen, thank you very much.

  1. I use my feet, he uses his mouth. Never the other way around and I’ve never used my mouth. []

Photograph of the Month: Futsal

Want to Play

Why am I a photoblog all of a sudden? Read about it here.

And for my last PE class I took up Futsal, a.k.a, futbol de salon (not futbol sa loob), or, in plain English, indoor footbal. Incidentally, this is also my only PE which is a team sport or a ball game, my other three being Archery, Fencing, and Taekwondo, taken in that order.

Some trivia: When some people hear the word Football what comes to mind are players like this,

football_zombie
From http://images.wikia.com/plantsvszombies/images/1/1a/FOOTBALL.jpg

save that they are most likely college-age, with a muscular build, and hungers for burgers and not brains. Well people, that is American Football. America, to avoid confusion, calls that sport in which Spain prevailed in last year’s World Cup Soccer. Elsewhere it is Football and…uh…Handegg?

Because I really can’t make a ball out of that egg-shaped pork-skin, I’ll be with the rest of the world in this matter and say Spain won in the Football World Cup.

For as long as I can remember, I wanted to play Football. I remember kicking softdrink tin cans with friends way back in elementary, being that we had no Football equipment and that softdrink tin cans were just perfect in weight if not in shape. Even as relatives and teachers thought I’d be playing Basketball due to my growth spurt when I was young, I kept dreaming of green fields and goals.

My elementary school had no varsity teams. So, when I moved to a new school for high school, I really looked forward to playing a sport. But alas, the high school I moved to had varsity teams, alright, but not Football. Our space was pretty cramped, you see, that sometimes even the Basketball team had to practice half-court since the other half was being shared between two other sports (giving them a quarter-court’s share each).

And I thought I’d end up in Basketball finally, and make my teachers and relatives happy for a prediction-turned-right. But then, my high school had Taekwondo. I trained for the whole four years of my high school.

Those four years weren’t exactly the most injury-free but they were definitely character-forming. It’s thanks to Taekwondo that I developed a habit for sports and working out. It also taught me how to push-through with what I want to achieve and to give my 110% in the things I do.

Come college, I knew that I wouldn’t have enough time to practice a sport regularly. I had to stop at 2nd grade brown belt. My need for some physical action was filled in by trying out various sports (as outlined by the PEs I took) and other activities (remember rappel?).

And now, Futsal. It isn’t exactly played on green fields but hey it’s got goals and play is football-like enough.

What about you, played any sport recently? *wink*