Of Glorietta, What Ifs, and The Bittersweet Escape

My good friend Rona texted just now to inform me that our high school classmate, Israel, died just recently. Last I heard about him, he was looking mighty strong, recuperating quite well under intensive care from complications arising from a type 1 diabetes affliction. So to say this came as a shock is a mild understatement.

Even though we didn't run in the same circles in school, I was saddened. Maybe not overwhelmingly so, but upon hearing the news, I felt the loss of the great friend, the great brother, basically the great guy that he must have been to his loved ones. I can only imagine, though, the magnitude of anguish his passing away must be to the people who knew him more closely.


*****

Get rid of the judgment, get rid of the 'I am hurt,' you are rid of the hurt itself. - Marcus Aurelius

A week after news of the Glorietta 2 incident hit me like a ton of bricks (no pun intended), I find myself still floundering in a haze of numbness. At first, I couldn't fathom how it could happen almost right in my backyard. Glorietta was the wealthy next-door neighbor's sandbox; it was the playpen for ultimate squatters like me. If I wasn't kicking away at corporeal doldrums in Pasig or trying to get high on burned Nike rubber in Legaspi Village, I could invariably be found making a nuisance of the mallrat experience at good ol’ Glorietta. I was the Great Loiterer. Glorietta to me was the sweet escape that was my second home.

So to be sure, to say it came as a surprise when I first found out about the unfortunate incident from an officemate is a total understatement. It happened around 1:40pm. People were just coming back from their leisurely lunches and what-have-you. Such normalness, such everydayness, and then some of these people's lives are inordinately changed for good. These things you never see coming, but for the loved ones of those who passed away--and for those who lived to tell the tale--the ravage is the ultimate testament to this natural truth.

In the immediate aftermath, I thought about my friends and my loved ones. Having never personally experienced anything like it, I could not picture the scope of the devastation. Rather, my thoughts mostly revolved around the fleetingness of life. What things we take so easily for granted. I thought about how eenie-meenie-minie-moeish it all seemed, how in the blink of an eye all that you hold dear could so whimsically be snatched away. You play the game of life fair and square, and still you have no say in the hand you are dealt. If you get unlucky, you roll with it. Or rather, as would be more apt in this case, you roll over. If you do get lucky, you're afforded time to think about what it could all possibly mean.

I know it wasn't the right way to think, but it was the way I tried to get my mind around it. I became quite apprehensive of the possible scenarios that sprung up in my head. The Dos, the Don'ts, the Maybes. What did it all mean? Should I? Do I want to? If I do it, will it matter? I'm hopelessly hard-headed, so my parents used to tell me growing up. Better that than being hard-hearted, I guess. Then again, I can't very well say I got the Miss Care Bear Award in the bag.

Lest I be further encumbered with such glum realizations, I had to log off from existentialist mode. I thought I was getting back to warm and toasty ground. My mistake. Proceeding from a deductive frame of mind, I thought about what was really pressing at the core of the current tragedy--my own "What If." Was I not supposed to be there, right in the heart of pandemonium, right smack at the moment of utter finality?

On account of work, I had a personal errand that had been extended for days. The venue of intention? Glorietta 2, no other. Timing? Same damn time as the incident. At the back of my head, the notion that I could have been there churned out little bubbles of queasiness that I couldn't just chase away. If I hadn't gotten all lazy-ass and chucked my errand out the window in favor of getting bum burns from sitting down in front of the PC and pushing keys per usual, I might have just gone ka-blam along with all the others. It was so simple--to go or not to go--that I can't believe it could have been the end of me. I hope this doesn't grab you the wrong way. I hate sounding like it's all about me, me, me. It isn't. Because I don't know what I would do if I was faced with the possibility of never seeing my loved ones again. Of course, it's still selfish. There's just no getting around it.

I had to stop right after that. I let the thoughts go, at least at first. I didn't want to have to keep thinking about the all-consuming possibility of death. Of loss. Of eternal non-recurrence. Doggone it. In times like these, I hate thinking. I hate having to feel more than is socially called for. Times like these, it's far easier to pull a Keanu and be the face of modern-day stoicism, of numbness. Unlike the Stoics of old, I don’t see why I have to abide by what’s right all the time. I hate coming to the right conclusions. I hate having to do the right thing. I hate it.

Duh. Writing this now, what I must do is slowly unraveling, and I might just come to the conclusion that the truth of these realizations is inescapable. Just as with death.

The Muay Thai Series of Unfortunate Events

"The more you learn, the less you know."

Leaping lizards! I knew I had a long way to go, but this is serious. How could I have deluded myself into thinking I knew a little something-something already? Would you just look at the list below. I didn't know half of those things even existed. Heck, I'm not even past first grade level in my roundhouse kick! Demmet!


*****

In the words of Britney Spears, "Oops, I did it again." The third sports-related injury I got this year, and it's not even November. That's not counting the scrapes and bruises (not to mention, the toenail incident that happened during my very first MT session last year) that on a semi-regular basis reinforce their existence on various aspects of my person. You'd think I was a battered girlfriend. But of course, how could I be? (A girlfriend, that is.)

So first it was my left pinkie. Got bruised up in an unfortunate-but-you'd-never-have-seen-it-coming sparring exercise with one of those amorous boxing trainors at Red Corner Makati. Cut short my then sudden aspirations of getting some action in the ring--yes, with media sponsors looking on and a live audience cheering you on and booing your opponent and all (yep, the ultimate wannabe episode of my life)--which is probably just as well. The pinkie incident got me looking like I forever had morsels of blueberry muffin smeared on the side of my hand, too. You'd think something so small and therefore harmless to one's overall constitution couldn't elicit gasps of horror and revulsion at the mere sight of it. It was utterly hideous, I tell you. Not to mention expensive. I had to down antibiotics for a couple of weeks--doctor's orders--which actually bore a hole in my pocket. Not exactly the most enticing incentive for living the health nut lifestyle.

The second major injury was with my right elbow. My mistake, but not totally my bad. This time, it was the big boss at the training gym in Pasig. He's super duper nice and all but really, what business did I have, being a relative freshie and all, to be doing a knee strike more than 6 feet away from the target? Plus, on solid, unpadded, unforgiving ground, no less. So naturally, gravity had to play teacher. I landed splat on my right arm. There goes the wakeboarding trip. Not to mention my ego. Yep, lootsaaa witnesses there. Anyhoo, it's all good now. Took a little over a month to heal, no biggie. Lesson learned. I more or less rock the elbow now, at least I like to think.

And now this. ¡Hay, que mal! Some muscle in the vicinity behind the kneecap I must have pulled during training. As a result, I now can't contract my right leg in certain angles without feeling a little tingle in the area (nuh-uh, it ain't the happy type, no siree). I don't even know exactly how I got it. I was just practicing my super sucky roundhouse with one of the coaches. Maybe it was due to the lack of a proper warm-up, I dunno. I never even felt anything during the actual session. Next thing I know, passing through Megamall on my way home, I'm doing a horrendous rendition of one of those stump-legged ageing Jack Sparrow types that I see on the Disney Channel.

On the whole, it's a little funny, actually. And it's really nothing in the grand scheme of things. In fact, I knew this was gonna be the way with MT, and it's all good. I just dunno how long this thing is gonna take. Now I can't go running at the very least. To think there's another race on November 25th. What's a girl to do? I can't stand being immobile. I can't not move. Doggone leg muscle thing. Man, I'm practically baldado! Arrgggghh. I get awfully crabby when my options close shop in my face just when I'm about to sashay through the door.

You Know What This Is, You Know

I know. I expected too much. Everything is transitory. I get it now. All things end, as well they probably should. Just so everything's neat and pristine.

Thanks for helping me see the light, Soms. And for trying to make me laugh.

See yah in a few.

Stumbling Into Lightness at 3am

Rio:

...looking at all of your pictures, I can tell that you and your friends seem to always be smiling and happy, and to me, that is beautiful. Really, just perfect. So many people are not content with what they have, and always want more no matter what they get, but I think the essence of their existence holds no substance because they cannot perceive the essence of things in the light of nature, thus giving nothing valuable back to nature, while genuine, beautiful, and happy people are a catalyst for the will to live, love, help, share, trust, and all of those things that make life worthy. That's what I mean.

Moi:

...well, i guess that's well and good. but honestly, i don't think anyone can ever say that anything is perfect. only that perfection (in one's life) is perfectly relative. and so maybe what matters is that people believe themselves to be happy to be happy. even if there's discontentment in certain areas of one's life, that doesn't mean they can't be happy. the notion that the essence of existence is pretty much lost because of this inherent feeling of discontent is kind of hard to take in. or maybe i'm just confused by what you mean by "giving nothing valuable back to nature."

i guess what i'm trying to say is, perfection, even in the general, zero-discontent sense, is a pipe dream. at least to me, and probably because i'm still at this stage of wanting to do a lot of things. and i think what's essential can be laid out in order of magnitude. so basically, life holds meaning right now because of certain things but i could still be searching for something deeper. anyhow, to be sure, i believe in perfection in the moment. because these are isolated, and it's far easier to take life one moment at a time. and so that's probably what you saw in the photos. and it's great because someone saw them for what they are. beauty in the moment.

//May 2007 in retrospect//