The day in random thoughts

I can't sleep.

Finished Christmas shopping today. The press of people in SM is suffocating. Informed my friends that I have contemplated genocide. Will avoid said mall except to watch Avatar.

I need to do something about the mess in my room. It's been a good week in books and piles are growing. Must move them soon or risk getting buried alive under an avalanche of fiction.

I miss my mother. I see mothers and their daughters caught in the rush of last-minute shopping and I think of Alice in the market, buying ingredients for her Bicol Express.

I think there are more carolers this year. For the last couple of weeks, I have listened to renditions of Jingle Bells and Silent Night punctuated by wild barking. Peals of terror inevitably follow. Rako and the boys do not appreciate Good Cheer around spaces they have claimed with their urine.

Later.

Peace

One of the advantages of taking Jake to school is that I get to enjoy Baguio in the morning. The sky is so clear, the moon has nowhere to hide. Clouds float lazily along, mindless of the vast expanse of icy blue. Except students with early classes, there aren't many people out on the streets. You can walk without being rushed, move without bumping into strangers. Vehicles make quick progress down the road because early morning traffic is barely traffic at all. The air is clean so that when you inhale, there is just a whiff of pine. The breeze makes itself known on your skin and in your hair, but never through your sweater. This is Baguio as it should be.

The birth of cold

There is a characteristic chill in the air - the sort I normally expect to begin in October. Out in the sun, the heat is almost intolerable. In the shade, the cold burns the skin. I am home.

Objects appear more defined, as if the lower temperature has sharpened the edges of things. Nature is adventurous with her palette. During the day, the sky is impossibly blue. At dusk, the sunset is an opera of bold fuchsia tones. The hills are green carpets with bright yellow dots: the sunflowers are in bloom. We are lucky to even have them this year. They, like the soul of this City, are disappearing.

Yesterday, I made spaghetti for lunch. It was quiet, and the kitchen was glowing with the yellow light of the afternoon. If I spend enough time cooking, I stop thinking. All I feel is the heat of the stove and the knife handle as I chop garlic. The faint sizzling of sautéing onions is the most wonderful sound. I miss my mother.

Last night, I fell asleep under three blankets. I spun a cheetah 360 degrees in the air by its tail, threw it at a horde of zombies chasing me, and ran for all I was worth. Then I woke up. A cocoon of heat cultivates eventful REM.

Rako spent the morning under the sun so when I touched him his fur was warm. His nose was cold, though. My cheeks were duly informed.

Once I have established warmth, it is difficult to get up. This does not bode well for household chores. Or personal hygiene. I doubt that clean hair is more important than warm toes.

You are like the word...Melancholy

It is one of those nights; some canyons are deeper than others.

Tonight, I borrow words from a Master.

I LIKE FOR YOU TO BE STILL
By Pablo Neruda

I like for you to be still
It is as though you are absent
And you hear me from far away
And my voice does not touch you
It seems as though your eyes had flown away
And it seems that a kiss had sealed your mouth
As all things are filled with my soul
You emerge from the things
Filled with my soul
You are like my soul
A butterfly of dream
And you are like the word: Melancholy

I like for you to be still
And you seem far away
It sounds as though you are lamenting
A butterfly cooing like a dove
And you hear me from far away
And my voice does not reach you
Let me come to be still in your silence
And let me talk to you with your silence
That is bright as a lamp
Simple, as a ring
You are like the night
With its stillness and constellations
Your silence is that of a star
As remote and candid

I like for you to be still
It is as though you are absent
Distant and full of sorrow
As though you had died
One word then, One smile is enough
And I'm happy;
Happy that it's not true

I got you babe

I have developed a strong resistance towards anything productive. My turbulent adjustment to free time has caused most of my family considerable stress-- only Rako appears to understand my awkward evolution. His tolerance knows no limit, showing no apparent distress even when listening to my interpretations of songs by the Pretenders. That's love.

Here he is on guard dog duty.

Zen for breakfast

6AM You wake up. Your internal clock works like a charm. You look up and see sunlight filtering through the glass into your semi-dark room. Your eyes are still adjusting to daylight and your body refuses to get up. Under the sheets, it is warm and safe. You don't want to leave. You pull the blankets up tighter under your chin and turn, finding an even more comfy position. You think, "15 minutes more." It is blessedly easy to doze off again.

6:15AM Reality is more palpable. You need to get up for work. For months now, you have been wondering if you can still keep up the charade that is your job. You have been thinking of resigning. You fear that your 8-5 desk job has made you bereft of all creativity and depth.

6:30AM You are still in bed, and beginning to hate yourself for it. You should have gotten up at 6. In your head, there is a battle: Is this the day I finally leave my job? What will I do with all my free time? I can't take this job anymore, it's time to move on. Where will I get the money to pay for the electricity? You bury your face in your pillow and mull over these nagging thoughts.

6:45AM Shit. Now, you really have to get up. You drag your heavy body out of bed. It feels like you've aged ten years since you woke up. You heat water for your bath and put together the stuff you'll bring to work. Your thought battle is nearing its end. A resolution is in sight. You think of the day ahead, wondering if it will pass painlessly. You imagine what you will do to make the hours more bearable.

7:10AM You are nearly ready. You can hear cars and jeepneys zooming by your house. The rest of the world has woken up with you, ready to take on the day. You look in the mirror and take a deep calming breath. Your mind is preparing itself, because it knows that preparation is the key to anything. You spray on some perfume, because you want to smell good even if you're miserable. This job is killing you.

7:20AM But you have to be realistic. You walk out the door and stand in the street, noticing a clump of students a little way down also waiting for a ride. You feel a slight pang in your chest, wishing you were still in school. You shake it off. You hail the first jeep that passes and it is not full. You are beginning to accept how you will spend the day. You seat yourself close to the door and look ahead.

7:50AM The moment of clarity. You walk into the office. The long jeepney ride has cleared your head. Or was it the fresh air? You have decided to remain hopeful about your job. The slump in your shoulders is beginning to vanish. The work day ahead no longer feels insurmountable. You remember that you will eventually find a way out of this monotony, but for now, you will have to suck it up. You go to your table. You see the work you left unfinished the day before. You sigh. It is not resignation. It is simply the realization that all this is temporary: you are relieved.

For the rest of the day, you pour yourself into work. You do not worry about the future or that fact that this job may be sucking your soul out. You know that your soul does not belong to this boring eight-to-five. It is alright. You have freed your mind of the unpleasant thoughts plaguing you earlier. In fact, your mind has become cleared of any worries and distractions. You exist only in the present. You focus on the tasks before you, and actually perform excellently. You have achieved inner peace.

Going home

The first post I ever wrote for Baguio Below was - you guessed it - on Baguio. I put up the site originally to be a lasting testament to the place I grew up in. In turns, I am exasperated by and totally in love with this place.

Like many of the residents, I lament that Baguio has lost most, if not all, of its magic. Our descent into normal has a lot to do with SM. People flock to The Mall to enjoy shallow entertainment and spend hard-earned cash to satisfy the ravenous appetite of a consumerist economy. I've had my fair share of quality distraction in that place so I don't really disapprove of it. I'm only concerned we may be enjoying SM too much. The Mall makes fun mindless. We've stopped thinking up interesting ways for recreation. We've ceased being creative about how we spend our time. I need to relax, let's go to SM! I'm depressed, let's go to SM! I need to contemplate my sordid adolescent existence, let's go out for coffee in SM! I need to watch a censored film, let's go see a movie in SM! Eat in SM, shop in SM, breathe in SM! SM is the answer to everything!...sorry. I got a little hysterical there. But you get the picture.

Baguio was a haven for people who wanted to get away. Artists came here to clear their minds and find inspiration amid the pine trees. Now it has become the stressful environment people want to get away from. We see more gray concrete than the greens and browns of trees; feel more stifling heat than cooling breezes; hear more traffic noises than the refreshing sound of silence; smell the sweat on a thousand human bodies more than the clean tangy scent of pine; taste the bitter panacea of commercialism more than the savory flavors of eccentricity.

The local government measures modernization in terms of how many McDonald's branches there are in the city. In its eyes, development means the construction of malls and silly cement trees. Buildings higher than four floors are sprouting out of the forgetful minds of our city architects. (That thing in 1990 was just a little tremor, nothing more.) City Hall's idea of convenience is a battalion of taxicabs clogging our streets and making our air un-breathable. Economic success is based on how many English tutors are hired by rich Koreans who presume they can make it snow in a place that, for thousands of years, has reveled in bitingly cold, dry Decembers. Academic excellence is evaluated on the basis of how quickly a substandard nursing school can be put up.

The only thing I regret about not registering is not being able to help decide how my city is going to be run. Philippine national politics sickens me. It's the country's longest running joke. I don't want to trouble myself with a government knee-deep in its own shit. On the other hand, I see local politics as more tangible. The decisions made by the local government are readily perceived by the residents of a place. The ripples of their actions immediately touch everyone: from the frustrated pechay vendor in front of PNB to the student trying to pay 6 pesos to a cranky driver on a Saturday.

In the same way I will have to endure changes in my life, my city will have to do the same. But no matter how much our faces change, I will always belong to this mountain place. Baguio will always be my home.

When shit hits the fan

(This is something from my old site. Over time, I will be re-posting other entries from the Blogdrive site here.)

I've seen a lot of dreams evaporate because of unwanted pregnancies. I've seen a beauty queen hang up her crown after finding out she was pregnant. I've seen a world class debater rendered speechless when she got confirmation that she was 10 weeks along. I care about these people, and it makes me sad that their dreams are going to be put on hold because of a momentary lapse in judgment.

I cannot possibly imagine how an unmarried girl feels when she finds out she's got an embryo growing inside of her. But if you would permit me this one presumption, it's probably like being smothered a thousand times. A friend of mine says that if she got pregnant, it would be like getting the kiss of death. Your life flashes before your eyes and your grand plans become what might have been. When you find out you're responsible for another life, everything else (including your own existence) seems paltry. You cease to think only about yourself. You've got someone else to worry about now. The center of your universe shifts and your planets circle your child. Your own life, in a manner of speaking, is forfeit. You never get your turn in the world.

People spared from such a tragedy are dumbfounded. They think: "How can they be so stupid?" To a mere observer, careless couples do appear as if they had taken leave of all mental faculties. I must admit that my own thoughts ran in this vein for a pretty long time. Then I thought that it's probably unfair to judge them this way. Looking at it from a purely biological perspective, I realize that these kids probably didn't stand a chance. Hormones pretty much run our bodies. The way we act and respond to situations are based on perfectly timed chemical reactions. One cannot escape the throes of passion. It's physiological. I'm not giving them an excuse. I'm just trying to empathize.

Anyway, apart from the hormones, they've also got natural selection on their side. In ecology, a species has an innate desire to procreate. Reproduction is an adaptation. An organism produces offspring to ensure that the traits necessary for survival are passed on to the next generation. Once the continuation of its species has been assured, it has done its duty. The monarch butterfly, for example, dies soon after it has laid eggs. Humans, like every living thing around them, are slaves of evolution. Only the fittest will survive. In nature, being "fit" means being able to make babies.

Captives of their own bodily functions and the instinctive need to perpetuate the species, people really do need to have sex. Also, human beings are the only organisms, apart from dolphins, that actually enjoy it. Other animals are free of that inconvenience. (Apparently, male cats have barbed members. No wonder the females are so noisy. Those aren't moans of pleasure, they're cries of pain.)

Let's not forget our society. We have the misfortune of living in a country that frowns upon sexual promiscuity. The Church damns fornicators to an eternity burning in Hell. Despite that, pop culture puts sex in a new light. We see a lot in movies and music to make us think: "Wow, those people sure seem to be having a lot of fun." Frequent exposure to that sort of thing encourages the present generation to accept that it's okay to be sexually active. Throw that in with the deeply ingrained teachings of a conservative Filipino culture and you get a lot of confusion. A personal choice suddenly becomes a moral issue. What a conundrum: a lot of people are having premarital sex but, gosh, nobody's allowed to talk about it. We're living in a time of transition. But in all cases involving change, there are growing pains to be had. S-E-X is still taboo, as far as a lot of people are concerned. Our society is in denial. It insists that premarital sex is immoral yet tolerates the sexually-laden messages of the media.

I don't really know but it looks to me like the next generation will consist of mostly illegitimate children. What a way to be labeled: illegitimate. The kid is barely out of its mom's womb and already, people are gossiping about it. They grow up with the stigma that they are less than kids born to married couples. It kills me. No one should have to endure that. Not the mother and especially, not the child. Are you ready to bring your baby into a world that is ready to condemn it before it even breathes air? Here's where society should meet us in the middle. It should struggle to save us kids from having to deal with a situation like that. The key is still information. The same media that shows us the rewards and pleasures of sex should also be able to show us the consequences.

People cannot, and will not, stop thinking about sex. The trick is to make them look at it from all possible angles. Kids have to be reminded that their future doesn't have to be left to chance; it is within their control (like their actions). There are a dozen safe ways to be protected. Read. Learn. Find out as much as you can about how you can keep yourself from getting pregnant before you are ready. If you're a girl, demand that the guy you are with uses a condom at all times. Even then, you can go to a doctor and get a prescription for the Pill. It's nothing to be ashamed about. I mean, if you're ready to have sex, you should be ready to face the music. If you're a guy (and getting some), make sure you always carry protection. Apart from a rubber being an anti-sperm wall, it also keeps you from getting sick. The idea of going to a drugstore and purchasing a box of condoms may seem humiliating, even daunting. It's admitting to a God-fearing society that you're, well, fornicating. But if you can overcome that bit of embarrassment, you'll be rewarded for it. Apart from staying healthy, you get to decide when and how to have a kid. Joey Ayala quotes from a wise man: "The real revolution is what you do with your kids." So you need to have the right stuff when you bring a life into this world.

Here's a great piece of advice, if ever I heard one: "Be good. If you can't, be safe."

The Big Move

The decision didn't take too long to make. I just needed some kind of affirmation. I texted a couple of my friends to declare that I was moving. I suppose I needed to tell someone because I wanted to mark the departure from my old site. Let an old writer feel sentimental just a little bit. But I really did have to move. I was ready for a change. My old url: baguio-below.blogdrive.com