Just feeling it...

(Written in May 2005, accidentally published in June 2022. I stand by what I wrote 17 years ago. To the one with whom I spoke about unrequited whatevers, this is what I meant then. But yes, it's all a bunch of "nothing"...)

This must be the night of plagiarization and unoriginal thought. Nonetheless, I enjoin you to humor me as I share with you a little something that I just came across in the blog of a friend's friend (come again?).

"For all sad words of tongue and pen, the saddest are those 'It might have been.'" - John Greenleaf Whittier

The guy sure knows his stuff. Now, to "borrow" from the idiot box, here's a lengthier tidbit. Got this from the the Internet movie database, by the way.

Joey: So what is the best ending in all of literature? Don't say Ulysses. Everyone says Ulysses.

Professor David Wilder: That's easy. Sentimental Education by Flaubert.

Joey: And what happens?

Professor David Wilder: Nothing, really. Just two old friends sitting around remembering the best thing that never happened to them.

Joey: How do you remember something that never happened?

Professor David Wilder: Fondly. You see, Flaubert believed that anticipation was the purest form of pleasure... and the most reliable. And that while the things that actually happen to you would invariably disappoint, the things that never happened to you would never dim. Never fade. They would always be engraved in your heart with a sort of sweet sadness.

Whoever said Dawson's Creek was crappy, sentimental garbage or any permutation of such is absolutely wretched.

Now that I've made my point, I should be getting back to work.

Have a great weekend, y'all!

Happy Guilt Trip!

Which would be more excruciating:

To want what you cannot have?

Or to want what you want, which you can have but know you don't really need and would probably be better off not having (which then makes you want it even more)?

Gaaah! Why oh why did the concept of want ever have to come to being anyway? As if that wasn't enough to give you a minor heartburn, there's freedom of choice waving in your face the proverbial noose with which to hang yourself. Ack. This indecisive war between the id and superego, between desire and responsibility, is killing you. You're positively writhing inside. And it's all your own doing.

***

But it's great, you think, that you're made to come to terms with such things. Through the distress of contemplating battles with the self comes the Trojan Horse of a boon, a welcome respite reminding you of what you have and have had.


You have had the time of your life. Whatever's gone down in the past so far, you know this much remains true. And for this, you will always be grateful.

And yet you sit there nursing your designer coffee, whining about how the past is getting old, and clamoring for más y más.


Maybe that's the beauty of experience. Maybe it's human nature to want more than what you have in your hands. Others are not so lucky. A few will probably never be.

And really, you have to admit that sometimes, you don't even deserve it. At least not all of it. Maybe not all in one big go.

But dammit, you want it. You want it. Heaven help you. You just don't know how bad you got it.

Then again, maybe you shouldn't try to find out...


Happy April Fools', everyone.

Pandora's Box of Old, Musty-Smelling Poems

I was finishing the last chapter of Daniel Keyes’ Flowers For Algernon when I came across the part detailing the protagonist’s out-of-body experience and his brush with the otherworldly. And suddenly, I remembered something that I had written long ago, buried under a mound of musty-smelling clothes that I had never worn since I brought them with me to Kalayaan dorm in 1999 (good golly! just saying this makes me feel so ooolllldddd....). Hurriedly I dug through the impressive heap until I found what I was looking for: my first diary since coming to Manila.

I make this pronouncement with distinction because my time in college and the thereafter is worlds apart from my life in Zamboanga. High school was an angst-ridden, ambivalent period for me, whereas college was a time for self-discovery, for rabid self-analysis. For trying to ask as many questions as one could in the hopes that somehow an answer would get drawn and ensnared in the black hole of uncertainty that kept self-amassing ad infinitum. As documented in my personal journal, it was also a time for writing poetry. And apparently, of things “(threatening) to consume me.”


This is probably the last poem I've written. Somehow I have lost all fire for writing poetry. Which is probably just as well, judging from the above.

Whenever, wherever, whatever. These days, it seems that's the best I can do in times when I feel the end is closing in on me. When poetic inspiration fails, there's always blogging. There's nothing like reverse voyeurism to validate personal experience as you attempt to purge your inner demons and let it all out for the whole world to behold.

Life's A Beach

Hunger hurts but starving works
When it costs too much to love...

- lyrics from "Paper Bag" by Fiona Apple

During a trip to Palawan with a few friends last year, I asked Greg as we were sitting out on the porch of the rustic beach house we were renting about something that my mind just wouldn't lay to rest. Earlier that day, we had toured the myriad of islands in El Nido and by golly, the view that stretched out in front of me was so sublime that my eyes hurt. I was so struck by the blinding beauty of the place that the question I posed only made sense: "What is it that makes places like this a thing of universal beauty?" That is, if there is even such a thing.

Much like moral relativism, I believe in the plurality of aesthetic values, in how something to which one ascribes beauty as a natural truth can be viewed quite differently by another. But certainly, at the key moment of recognition, there was no question in my mind as to whether El Nido was beautiful. No ifs, no buts, no maybes. I'm saying this now because prior to our arrival in Palawan, I had expected the rave reviews of El Nido to be overrated, that maybe the budding tourist trap was not all that it's cracked up to be. Now I know that to cradle thoughts to the negative was a sacrilege. To even acknowledge such a question could exist in the realm of the natural world was unimaginable. And that was what got me wondering, exactly what was it that made imagining so difficult.


To this day, I still have no idea.

And really, all I wanted to do was just post pics of some of the things that got me asking that question again today. But of course, I had to have an opening. =P

Anguilla

Nevis

Tangiers, Morocco

Capri

Amalfi, Italy

St. Barts

This is why people like me work like dogs. Because you never know when it's gonna be the day that the cosmos might decide to go nuts and give you your lucky break. C'est si bon!


Photos courtesy of Wimco Villas. The Conde Nast-winning villa and boutique hotel reservations company has an ongoing essay contest wherein you stand a chance to win a US$1000 credit on your villa vacation. Check out their official site and MySpace profile for more information.

Happy Happy!

Ah, yes. I'm at it again. Still here, still.. well, here. Picked up right where I left off, overtime overdrive. Where has all the never-ending self-bashing gone?

***

So I spent last New Year's Eve hobnobbing with fellow Makati-lites at the Countdown to 2008 Bash over at Ayala. Sweet. It felt like college all over again, except that we were rocking to the likes of the Bloomfields and the Itchyworms alongside the likes of Victor Basa and Teddy Boy Locsin. Yep, you read right. Mr. Congressman with his cute lil grandboy perched on top of his shoulders, à la Woodstock '69. That scene reminded me of all the reasons that I absolutely love the New Year celebration. Never mind the summertime; NY Eve is the ultimate time and place to be.

So I have to say, it was the first time I spent the holidays away from home, far, far away from the city that sleeps a little too early but parties hard on NY Eve. I thought I could take it. But it was damn hard. Good thing there was raucous music and the eye-blistering burst of fireworks c/o the city government of Makati to distract me from thoughts of home, of dad and the kids lighting up illegal firework-like thingies all over the backyard and just generally trying to outdo and out-obnoxify the neighbors. It was hard, but I managed to have a scream of a good time. How could I not, with Lej clutching at my arm, leading our twosome in an impromptu jumping jacks in place showdown. "You never know if our growth spurt might still come," she proclaimed amid the fantastic popping of lights and stars in the sky. I thought people our age stopped subscribing to such things. Apparently, Lej is an even bigger optimist than I credit her for. Which is exactly why we're buddies to the end.

Apart from the celebrity eyeballing, we bumped into a couple of equally suave-looking orgmates from MSA (Aldean and Assad), exchanged working profile details and calling cards with them (as opposed to numbers, coz I couldn't get my cellphone to behave appropriately at the time), and ate ourselves into a morning-after tummyache (oh right, that's just me again). We also ruminated on a great many things, not the least of which was our perennially blissful state of you-know-what. Yep, we give new meaning to the term "sistahs in da 'Hood". Yes, that 'hood, all right.

The night ended not really with a bang but on a crackling, "I miss it already" note. We stayed out and chewed the fat until 3am to try to hold on to the wispy remains of the year we both started really living.

***

Happy Blistering New Year, folks! Another year to live fast and party hard like it's 1999!

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.

24/07

Man, I am so friggin' stressed out. Last week, it was OT/all-nighters to death. This week, it was no-ventilador sweating to death. Hot dayym! These hot summer nights are killing me. I swear to God I swear to God, tomorrow I am totally getting myself my second electric fan in 3 days. Long story but basically, it's all for the love of Momsie-poo.

Which provides the segue I was looking for. I just celebrated my 24th year of being yesterday, woohoo! Mom was in town and we had dinner together with Cuzzy dearest and her kuya. First time I spent my special day with anyone from the homefront in 6 years, which in itself is cause for some major wine-and-dine action. But what's even more remarkable--at least to my mind--is the fact of my extended, erm, celibacy.. Doggone it! So there, I finally said it.

Now hold your horses, if I may offer a short elaboration. Celibacy is herein described as the condition of quasi-self-imposed independence from any form of official entanglement with the opposite sex. You might probably be wondering about the quasi part. You see, I used to think it would be pretty simple: Steer clear of all things that hint at a possible Romeo and Juliet not-so-happy ever after, and vindication will be yours when you finally meet Prince Charming at a time that you're ready for him. Coz you know, the modern Cosmo girl has to be able to schedule these things well. Otherwise, all hell would break loose and there goes your chance at a storybook ending. Although to be honest, you don't really subscribe to the whole dashing Prince Charming myth. But well, you know, a girl's gotta try. At this point, your luck's been limited mostly to Pinocchios--cute and loads of fun at best, but also afflicted with the legendary Pinoy propensity for lying and two-timing.

It's all well and good, this little theory of yours. But you know how those tacky telenovelas start out, right? No real complications at the beginning, but then you get a sense of disconnectedness that you can't quite put your finger on. You notice this only happens during the most unlikely of times, when out of the blue you feel that cloying little twinge of.. well, nothingness.. gnawing at your insides 'til you actually take a breather from the Cosmo girl routine long enough to attempt to give this thing a name. And the epiphany is that after all this time, after so long a wait, you feel you're finally ready. You honest-to-goodness actually wanna give it a go, the whole relationship thing. The tragedy is that you just can't find anyone to do it with. Just where have all the cowboys gone, that's what you'd like to know.. Imagine that. Almost a quarter of a hundred years of solitude. Boy, García Márquez would have been proud.

Then there's the occasional pang of remembrance for what could have been. You probably got lucky a couple of times, you know. Like in the movies, you never saw it coming. But somehow, the magic wasn't there. Or okay, maybe it was, but your head was floating too far above the clouds to see the fireworks going on down below. And you are all about the fireworks, aren't you? But all you had were dreams and hopes and ideals and fear and confusion. The never-ending parade of questions that follow a doomed affair. Or so you thought. But there you go. That's Varbaridad 101 for you: ego, superego, id. Life is a rollercoaster. And then, nothingness.

Welcome to the rest of your life.

Ditzkrieg

OMG! I saw him again. And I wasn't ready, damn him!

Shit naman o. Eight-plus hours in a working day and he had to see me at a wa-poise moment. Why oh why did we have to bump into each other at a time I'm ngarag and all frazzled from OT work? When the elevator doors opened and we had an Inday Badiday moment (read: eye-to-eye), I didn't know what hit me. I just knew I wasn't pulling the smooth operator act. I was slouching, dammit! I couldn't friggin' stand straight. I had to lean on the side of the elevator and couldn't look anywhere except either down at the ground or up at the LCD display showing the floors we were passing as the lift descended to the building lobby. When it came to a stop, I couldn't get out of the thing fast enough. Good Lord, I almost knocked over an elderly executive type who was halfway through the door in front of me! (Totally sorry, mister! In the unlikely event that you read this anyway.)

And never have I felt like I wanted to sink to the floor while crossing the lobby to get to the nearest convenience store. He was with a couple of female co-workers, one of whom even sorta smirked at one point--to herself, WTF! was she smirking at me??--during a lull in their conversation in the elevator. Yes, I caught that in the reflection on the shiny walls of the lift, all right. But he was NR (no reaction), and had the weary look of a regular OT junkie.

Lordy, have you ever felt like all eyes were on you, and not in a good way? His eyes especially, I swear to God. How could he not, what with that weird enough walk that I've always had, which I'm sure must have looked even more awkward when I was trying to make my getaway (and on 3.5-inch heels, no less). Ditzville moment but I felt my heart beating out of my chest like in the B movies. You know when something stupid happens and you go, "This is so not happening!?@!?" and you swear to God you feel like you could faint right then and there but the tragedy is that you don't? That's how it was.

Dang but I absolutely hate him, hate him! My goodness, I've never felt this stupid before. Not even when Yummy 1 caught me and my cousin openly gawking at him with a look of dopey (I'm sure) wonderment plastered on our faces at Glorietta 4. This was ten times worse. Doggone it, I wanted the earth to just gobble me up whole, face first. I felt I couldn't walk at all! How utterly, utterly stupid is that? (Plus, now I'm reduced to going on and on about it spouting "stupid" as the only way to describe the whole ordeal.)

This is weird. Honestly, this has never happened to me. I swear to God. Never. But I'm not jumping to conclusions. This is unacceptable. I never saw this coming.

Someone please do me a mean roundhouse, right on the noggin, like right now!

Revelations, Revelations

~written on December 31, 2006

I’ve calmed down a bit. It’s been a little over half a day since I received the final wake-up call of the year to date, after all.

I don’t think I can take any more surprises today, the official end of twenny-oh-six. I figure fate probably couldn’t hand me any more shockers in the next 12 hours coz I’m shutting myself off from civilization long enough to enjoy a nice New Year’s Eve with the fam. Kind of like trying to start the coming year with a clean slate.

I’ve been neglecting posting updates these past few weeks on account of work and preparations for my pilgrimage to the homefront. Anyhoo, in the interest of making a neat summary of my two-week sabbatical thus far, I’ve come to the following agreements with reality:


1. If you’re the hero of your own story, others will always be the bad guy. At some point, everyone takes their turn at trying to make life a little more complicated for you. And I do mean everyone.

2. If the market seems too bullish to be true, it probably is. Look before you leap. Don’t assume your stock will always soar.

3. I am Cold Fish. Normally, I’d go for Ice Princess or the proverbial Girl-on-the-Pedestal or something equally privileged-sounding. But I feel I’ve been a tad too generous to myself this year. Time to make like Calvin Klein and get hard-core minimalist.

4. Sometimes you’re on top, sometimes you’re not. And sometimes others need the prize more than you.

5. Every dog has its day. Just hope that yours comes at the time you need it the most.

6. Muay Thai is always a good idea, especially if you’re feeling the need to beat someone to a bloody pulp. Trust me, a mental picture won’t be enough. Of course, this doesn't mean that I condone violence. Like the ladies in the beauty pageants, I wish for world peace.

7. Secrets are a fine thing. Everyone should tuck away at least a couple funny ones to smile to for times when life seems a little less fantastic than usual.

8. You can’t blame parents for being how they are. You may be right, but they know best. Usually, anyway. Or at least until you become one yourself.

9. Despite your best efforts, you can’t change society. It’s either get with the program, or get your walking papers. Good luck to you too, Oprah.

10. Consider this: You’re strolling along downtown minding your own beeswax when all of a sudden, one by one you run into each member of your family, plus a few outliers in your family tree (i.e., baby-ridden relatives you see only at weddings and religious holiday parties). And get this, all in the space of 5 minutes. It’s enough to make you go off your rocker. But if your own uber-overprotective dad bumps into you at a time you least need to be conspicuous and at which you took pains to go incognito, then you know it’s time to pack your bags and skedaddle. There’s no such thing as anonymity in downtown Zamboanga City.


Happy 2007, everyone!

Ramblings

Funny how time works to help you get back on your feet. Not that I believe I’ve actually fallen on my ass before. But memory is a funny thing. Sometimes, even in the pits of the pits, if you absolutely have to be honest with yourself, you realize that there are some things you don’t ever wanna learn to forget. For a variety of reasons. Or simply just because.

Listening to the Love Actually soundtrack doesn’t do any wonders for me anymore. And not just coz it's so 2005. I can’t remember how I used to see visions of the now-forgotten whenever Eva Cassidy’s “Songbird” would play. I no longer feel like putting Maroon 5’s “The Sweetest Goodbye” on insta-replay. But don't get me wrong, the whole album’s still great, I love it. I’m just not moved by anything anymore.

My sassy friend Anna said living in the present is, for all intents and purposes, the best thing we can do for ourselves. But what if the present is anything but where you wanna be? No matter how it’s turned out, the past can be a well of wisdom and wonders, if you know where to look. And I’ve always thought the future is just super if you put enough faith in it, and in yourself. Besides, our capitalist culture doesn’t exactly make daily life conducive for such real-time living. Here in the RP, not all things are bright and beautiful. In corporate-landia, downtime in any shape and form is a waste of time and opportunity. Boost productivity, supercharge your bottom-line, and you’re on your way. Thinking at least two steps ahead is de rigeur. It’s get with the program or get your ass kicked. And to expand your vision, you have to start living it.

Because life is a really icky mess of processes (for lack of a better term), even the realm of the personal isn’t spared. Guilt trips are endemic in relationships. Behind every success story is a nagging seed of doubt that tells you if you aren’t careful, you could be setting yourself up for a debilitating fall. In Zen-like manner, Anna’s mom tells her to diss the guilt, and I wonder just how messed up can I be to be so utterly confused by the concept. When you think about it, the period between the before and after is the least reliable of all timeframes, precisely because it's in the here and now and we can still do something about it but for some reason, which I would attribute to human frailty, we don't. Or we mess up. The right way the whole carpe diem thing is supposedly done is to check all baggage, as well as expectations founded on experience or insight, at the door and just, well, live. But the thing is, life isn't all about the good times. (Lucky you if it is.) So of course it’s never that easy. Nothing is. Living in the eternal present is actually more work than it looks, and if anyone’s succeeded in doing this--like really really--I’d appreciate sticky notes on the topic.

Regression Analysis III

How can you regret something that made sense? How can you regret something that’s keeping you sane, even if you feel otherwise? How can your salvation lie in both the safe and the self-destructive?

Maybe that shouldn’t be the question. Maybe it oughta be, if either way your salvation can only end as a mistake, which mistake can you not live with?

Oops, I forgot. That can’t be it. Not anymore, anyway. The fcuk with questions on salvation. The 50 Million-Dollar Question should now be: When are you gonna stop?

***

Thing is, maybe I don’t want to. It’s crazy, but I’m scared that someday I’ll forget. I’ll forget how I used to feel about things. I’m afraid of the day when my memories of all things "malabo" will lose all depth and color. It’s scary that such memories can recede into nothingness. And all I’ll have are nebulous scribblings to serve as a reminder of the times.. and then, nada.

Guess I should be happy at the prospect of impermanence; it's the only thing one can ever count on. But.. I dunno. I just don’t wanna ever forget.

Regression Analysis

Man, I cannot stand not knowing.

Yes, I know. Chicken shit never win in the rat race of life. That's what I deserve for getting cold feet when things were just about to get hot. Have no idea what I'm talking about? Heck, that makes two of us.

Seriously (and I hate being serious), there are few things in life that I actually regret. Okay, so I regret not having been more of a nerd in college, I regret not being sports-inclined earlier in school, I regret not having taken height enhancers before I hit 20 (okay, so that's way too much info). But that's about it. Of course, that's not to say that I make the best decisions. But in events that require you to think and act, you do what you can and stand by what you've done. Regrets are all about losing out in the past.

Heck, I don't even regret the whole BJ episode (yes, you keep on guessing). What's to regret? I definitely learned a LOT of things from that. If life is about to deal you a roundhouse kick to the noggin, you gotta learn how to dodge it a la Neo in The Matrix, or bear the full brunt of its force and just roll with the blow. In any case, you learn.

The point I'm straying from (again) is, what if you regret the future? Or the non-future, as is in this case. (Sappy waters ahead, but don't say I didn't warn yah.)

Just so you know, the gist of this entry is written under the misguided and unlikely notion that I might be saved by this admission of guilt. I think I made an error of regret when I ran away from possibility. Just coz I didn't know better. Chalk it up to the innocence of naivete, chalk it up to the so-called wisdom of being unduly cautious. Whatever the case, that's no excuse coz everything in life is a gamble anyway. And let me tell yah, sitting in the sidelines for far too long is just gonna get you some major butt burns. And that ain't gonna be a pretty sight, nuh-uh.

And the worst thing, I never told him why I had to disappear. And to think I told him way back when that I was all about total and open communication. Pffft. What a fake.

It's been a few months since. To date, I take regret as my daily dose of reality. I don't even have to think about it, or get lost in the same engulfing waters, to know that it's there.

It's just there.

Confessions of the pa-profound

Some say the true test of character comes when you go beyond yourself and your desires. Freedom from want is the only way for the spirit to be truly free.

Lately, I'm beginning to feel that my life has become one booby trap-mess of questions that need answering. My days are fraught with redundant moral dilemmas that have nothing to do with the essential. Daily living is an exercise in the mundane, which only becomes essential after you've taken stock of all your meandering ways and realized their moral implications. Just a minor caveat, I use the term moral loosely here, for lack of a more definitive word. Groping for words is a natural reaction for me, which results in occasional stammering and involuntary statement repetitions. People tend to think I'm suffering from a lapse in speech and thinking. Come to think of it, it may even be true.

But I digress. See here, mediocrity is truly a tragic crime of the youth in the same way that boredom is, and there are days when I fear that all of my 22 years of middle-class upbringing in suburban Zamboanga will go down the toilet as a mere example of globalization. Now I don't wish to try making sense out of this socio-economic debate. The point I'm driving at here is, well, that I'm decidedly consumerist. And I don't mean this in the entrepreneurial sense.



This I blame partly on my experiences in quasi-cosmopolitan Manila. Thank goodness, my penchant for acquisition hasn't blown up to massive proportions. I'm afraid people will no longer want to hang out with me for fear of being infected via osmosis with the consumer-crazy gene. Now child of materialism I am not, but these are consumer-driven times, and people who are not so gung-ho about acquisition like I am are indeed so lucky.

Crap. That's a lot of words, and all I wanna say is: I really gotta get me that Balenciaga motorcycle bag that I chanced upon in Greenhills. Seriously. This is basically what it boils down to.

Now you're probably wondering what's so special about faux designer loot. Nothing, really. But you see, in all statistical probability, this is the real deal. Yes, and it's in Greenhills. It's a few grand beyond budget, but it's still within price reach. And it's not fake, just probably acquired through other dubious means. After all, nothing that beautiful can be free and nothing that great a deal can be attained legally. Another moral dilemma in my hands. Sadly, only figuratively.

Actually, I'm not a bag hag through and through, and I don't need no damn Balenciaga to be happy. I'm the girl who can live from having to wear the same ratty Chuck Taylors day in and day out because they're just damn comfy. I'm not really partial to big name brands. But doggone it, I dream of Balenciaga. Truly madly deeply. It's crazy, but that's how bag hags like me operate. Selective acquisition, not variety, is the true spice of life.