Merry Christmas

It's almost Christmas. Last night, on the train ride home, I realized that this is the first time in 8 years that I don't feel down during the Holidays. I'm not happy either. I'm in a neutral daze. I appreciate this.

I'd like to think that through the years, I've hacked away at reeds to create trails, I've shot rounds of fire to cover, and I've picked up broken pieces for people I love. That they may survive. That they may eventually thrive. I can't help it. It's what I gravitate into doing.

Someday soon, I'll have to do these for myself. I look forward to this.

Rejection Part II

So thinking about rejection matter-of-factly, I also tripped on a nugget of truth: People hadn't told me I was awesome because let's face it, I was not. Therefore, I am not really portraying myself as a victim in this whole life situation but just one of the players. I'm just merely tracing my history in order to understand better how these may have affected the significant recent events in my life which included rejections and my subsequent depressive state.

Let me dissect my first statement. I was not awesome because I was always walking on eggshells around wounded people, echoing my childhood behavior of trying not to be bothersome or demanding to my dad lest he erupts into fits again or slinks deep into stupor. This holding back became a habit, curtailing whatever awesomeness I had in me. Sure I exhibited witticisms which amused the men I was interested in. Sure, I became flirty and naturally engaged when encouraged. But during the mundane days or days when they became introspective or detached (because of their exes or some other thing), I'd lay low and got out of the way. Sometimes, when got I tired of inhibiting my own visceral reactions and already-identified feelings just to not rock the boat, my rebellious self would rear its feisty head and I'd lash out or be sarcastic. I could not help it. Now I can see how, emotionally, I did not help at all. I was called unstable by one and sometimes clingy by another. No hard feelings, I get now why the men in my life chose others over me.

Now that I am presented with this realization, it is incumbent upon me to correct this behavior by trying to be as authentic as possible. I have to remember that I am not doing anyone any favors by being insecure and worried and cautious all the time. Sure there are times when it's more advisable to bite  my tongue or let things slide, but I should acknowledge that my thoughts and feelings matter equally and that I should also be free to express them and not obsess about how these will be perceived. These include silly talk and scandalous banter and playful gestures. In short, I should just get my head out of my ass and just be me. Who knows, I might not offend afterall and someone someday might just find me awesome. If they don't, then I'll just consider it as life's natural selection process. We find and choose our tribe and, if we stay true, our tribe should find and choose us too.

History repeats itself for those who are slow to learn because life is generous like that

I've been thinking a lot about rejection lately and how it has surfaced to be the running theme of my life.

I learned that my father harbors a secret inappropriate love for someone and it's been going on for decades. He never acted on it though, for the most part because his feelings were unrequited. This answered a lot of questions I never even knew I had about myself and my family. So that was why he was often so cranky and bubbling with this palpable discontent! So that's why whenever he was not breaking things and turning tables, he was just vacant, hollow, someone who was there and didn't leave us but never really was. I have come to realize that his obsession with this person inadvertently meant rejection of my mom, my brothers and me. Now I know why my excellent grades and my piano recitals never meant anything to him. That puzzled me then.

I never held a grudge, though. I dismissed his disinterest as a character quirk. It is only now that I am confronted with the possibility that this rejection may have affected me in insidious ways.

I have been rejected twice in love. Both times I had it coming. The first person I dated for a while but he eventually chose to get back with his ex. The second one was a friend who fell in love with my cousin who didn't love him back. He later chose someone who helped him get over her. That one had the "femininity" of an old flame and the "charm" of another. Both of these men never showed me that they cared enough. Maybe I was desired by one, trusted and respected by the other, but I never really felt cherished or appreciated. They never told me, not once, that I was awesome. Someone else was always awesome, not me. And yet, I loved them.

Someone who was in love with me once told me I was awesome, but I dumped him and I didn't understand why.

Why is that we pine for people who reject us and reject those who wholeheartedly adore us and try to support us in every way?

I don't hate my dad, in fact, I pity him. It's weird that I actually resent my mother more for allowing this to go on and for instilling in me the kind of love that actually destroys you inside. Might I have loved those men because I was drawn to what felt familiar? Might I have continued loving these men because it was what I thought love to be like? My mom showed me that love is sacrifice, love is loyalty, love is being there because you think they need you to sort out their issues, love is continuing to care even if you're not thanked or appreciated enough, love is believing even at the brink of losing your sanity. 

You see now that both times, I had it coming. There were recurring blatant signs, but I chucked them aside and thought men were just being men -- that is to say confused and confusing. I hadn't learned from my parents' cursed life yet at that time. 

I have yet to experience wholehearted affection and a warm desire again. This time, might I be more wise to respond in kind? What if that one chance had passed? I don't regret my missed opportunity that much. I kind of knew we weren't a good match. It was cringe-y at some point. Maybe I was too young and awkward then, or maybe I just wasn't used to the feeling because I had no precedent and no example to draw from. Either way, I hope, if I am given another opportunity, I will be able to meet this person with courage, even if it gets too overwhelming and beautiful to be true. 

I'm writing this down to calm myself because it's 4 a.m. and I'm being my father by default plus there's this undeniable pull to be like my mother again which I can't undo just by thinking things over and breaking things down and it's making me want to punch a face. 

This is turning out to be a dream diary.

So last night, I dreamt that I just discovered I was pregnant. I was caressing my bump, but the overall emotion was worry and sadness. You were the father of the child. We only had sex once, unfortunately. I knew you didn't want me nor the baby. In the dream, everything was hanging, awaiting decisions. It was an awful dream and I had to sleep more and prayed to have the dream replaced, but I woke up hours later still feeling lost, disoriented, and lonely.

We were in a terminal, maybe an airport, but unlikely because we were at a non-chain convenience store inside a terminal. Maybe it was a pier or a jetty. Anyway, our trip was delayed and we were trying to resign ourselves to the long wait. I think for this trip we had company but so far, in the picture, there was only you and me. We were bantering on a bench/ledge/something we were sitting on, our bags at our feet. You were in good spirits, and I noticed with swelling joy that you sat close to me, even if the bench/ledge/something we were sitting on was long and spacious. We were shoulder-to-shoulder. You leaned as you animatedly talked and ribbed and joked. My shoulder bag was lodged between us and I carefully adjusted it so you could get closer. Later, after in the middle of a gradually descending lull, you yawned and said you were feeling sleepy. Matter-of-factly I pointed out that you could take a nap on the wide bench/ledge/something we were sitting on space. I patted my lap to signify that my thighs can double as pillows. You had a bright idea and spread out your sleeping bag on the floor and lay in it. Out of nowhere, the convenience store owner's toddler son dived in your bag too and you laughed and looked at me mischievously, as if telling me in on your plan, and you enveloped the little boy in your sleeping bag and roughhoused him to his delight. Minutes later, the boy's mother reprimanded him and scooped him out of your tangle while you and the little boy were still laughing.

I woke up smiling and it took me minutes to realize why. I had dreamt of you and it was a happy dream. But then I got sad. I miss you and your company. And then I got confused because our dynamic had never been like in the dream. The only accurate part of the dream was when you refused my thighs just as you refused so many things I had offered in real life: dinners, hugs, a shot at love.

They say that it is always the last stretch that's most difficult. My heart is tired of the pressure I place on it to be okay. I want to be okay. I feel I'm nearly there. I am nearly healed from the wounding that I have mostly inflicted upon myself. My healing style is very chill. I let time pass and pick up lessons here and there, insights gleaned from the drudgery and wonder of daily life. But at this point, I want to speed it up already. I'm growing impatient.

Good things have surfaced from this time, though. I have learned what I want and don't want out of life, out of my relationships, out of myself and how I interact with people. I am not angry anymore. I understand that people make mistakes. I made mistakes -- chronic ones. I didn't know I was making them until it was too late. I am confronted by the things I have done and not done that must have fucked people up. But that's done. I think I know how to avoid them from now on and prevent myself from getting hurt and hurting people in that way.

More recently, I have learned to say no to things and yes to some. Most things are a no. I want to say more yeses, but so far nothing has inspired me to engage more fiercely and enthusiastically with whatever it is others would think I should engage with. That's the thing with authenticity: I can't bullshit myself that I'm having a good time and everything's okay anymore. When I know something's not right or something's contrived, I no longer playfully banter to make things seem alright. I no longer scramble to come up with look-at-the-bright-side ideas. I'm okay for things to be what they are, even if it means they're boring or awkward or sad. I don't worry and obsess as much, so that's good.

I want to be excited about projects and things and people again, though. So far, everything falls short. My feelings fall short. Everything just seems muted, blunt, meh. I've grown used to it, but I'm also scared it will stay like this forever.

My brother got a dog, so there's that. I love that dog. I never knew four stubby paws, a ball of muscly fur, and dopey eyes can make me feel inexplicably buoyant.

I knew I shouldn't have taken that extra hour to sleep.

I was in this dusty place with parked trucks. It was an outdoor stage of sorts with no inclined portion, just that space in front of a barn-looking wooden building where actors were doing a pre-something performance. I was part of the audience, but also it dawned on me while I was shuffling around that I knew the actors and that they were opening for a bigger event which I was part of.

As I watched, I remembered that I should be taking photos. I couldn't find my phone so I rushed out of the crowd, ducked under the truck toward our van where I thought my phone was. I was rushing because I knew the opening act outside would be short. Then, while running towards the van, I was able to grope on my phone in my left pocket where I didn't usually put it. So I ran back, ducked under the truck again, and passed local people who looked like handymen and mechanics speaking in another language, their local language. It turned out we were in another country. One mechanic was looking at me. He was handsome and pleasant-looking under all that grime and I nodded to him while his less attractive companion jeered my rushing bumbling passing self in their native tongue. I chose to ignore him and rushed towards the spectators. Suddenly, I felt my phone had a charger attached to it. Dammit, I also needed to charge? Again?

I unplugged my phone off its charger, took a snapshot of my girl boss who was currently in a fight scene. I'm not sure if she was my girl boss. In the dream, it felt she was someone of authority, someone I esteemed well enough. The setting was medieval and she looked like Cersei Lannister with the short hair (I do not even watch Game of Thrones so I do not know what that means). Then I rushed to Jo-em Bascon (who's a real-life crush) and I was dismayed to discover that the best of his parts was done. Now he and two others were dead, tied to an wooden execution wall. I longed to take a photo of his handsome face but his head was bent. I was not familiar with the play and when he and the two others started to jerk around and sort of blissfully dance a dead men's dance tied to the wall, I took some photos through my phone, but in my excitement, knew I did not take the best shots. As a photographer, you always know when you have the shot or you don't. Also, my phone was not responding as fast as I wanted it to. I cursed it under my breath.

The opening act ended. The actors dispersed and I saw R, a photographer friend who also acted in the play. As I was late and my focus was fixed on my "boss" Cersei and Jo-em Bascon, I almost forgot he was there. In fact, I didn't really see his performance. In real life, R is a jolly, funny, very talented photographer friend whom other people say have a crush on me. I somehow knew this although he never made any clear advances. He was just excited to see me all the time. He's a kindhearted soul. I really like him but in a teddy bear kind of way so I pretend to be dense. Anyway, in the dream, R saw me and I said my congrats and asked whether they will repeat the performance tomorrow. I hoped I would finally be able to watch it and take decent photos. He said that they will, but this week, only tomorrow, and then the troupe will be back next weekend. I patted his back playfully while he was walking toward the area where there were Hollywood studio-like stoops, and as I am wont to do, complained that I didn't get any good shots of them. He said I made the wrong decision to use my phone and I should have used my real camera instead. It was an expected quip from a hard-core photojournalist. Somehow whenever I see R, I feel guilty of not getting serious about my photography as he'd like me to be.

R sat down the stoop and I saw Rob Ty sitting there. I said, "Hi Rob" like it was not weird that he was there. After I woke up, I blurted out, What the fuck was Rob Ty doing in my dream? It was just a non-speaking cameo but I hadn't even seen the guy for years and we're not even Facebook friends so I couldn't have seen his picture and included it in my subconscious.

Anyway, I said to R that I had better get going coz I remembered they might need me inside. Everyone was now in the barn-like structure. The dust outside was setting. I entered the door which opened to the backstage, not the front part as I expected, and that's when I realized I was playing the lead role in the musical which just started. A musical!!! Lead role! Well, sort of. The lead role was shared by my character and an alter-ego played by Rachel Ann Go who was now singing on stage in a bustier. I froze. I was suposed to enter the stage in a few minutes and I could not remember my first line at all. I paced up and down the back stage and looked for a printed script. I asked a production staff who in my dream was embodied by the mother of my high school honor roll rival--a stern and haughty doctor in real life. She said no script. I peeped through the curtain and saw glorious golden stage lights and Rachel Ann slaying it in front of a delighted full-house crowd. I wrung my hands, felt my  blood drain, felt the world closing in on me, tried to speak my lines to myself once again but nothing was coming. Upon my cue to enter the scene, I gathered all of my will from the deep recesses of my dream-state mind to wake up.

I opened my eyes swearing. What an escapist.

I've finally grown opaque

After great pain, a formal feeling comes 

By Emily Dickinson

After great pain, a formal feeling comes – 

The Nerves sit ceremonious, like Tombs – 

The stiff Heart questions ‘was it He, that bore,’ 

And ‘Yesterday, or Centuries before’? 

The Feet, mechanical, go round – 

A Wooden way 

Of Ground, or Air, or Ought – 

Regardless grown, 

A Quartz contentment, like a stone – 

This is the Hour of Lead – 

Remembered, if outlived, 

As Freezing persons, recollect the Snow – 

First – Chill – then Stupor – then the letting go –

I think my not smoking for 26 days has taken a toll on my cerebral activities. I've just been dozing on and off for the last month and watching funny pet videos for mental stimulation, however spasmodic. I feel soul-dead, if there ever is such a thing. Like if the otherworldly substance in every human should vibrate, mine is vibrating on the lowest decibels. I sound utterly drunk but I'm not. All are such adults and I hadn't had alcohol in months! Also, adulting is only exciting when you're adulting with someone. Did you know that we are in the last of the two-year Tetrad? Like from 2014-2015, there had been 8 eclipses, 4 in each year. And this will happen again in 600 years. Well, I hate to admit it but in hindsight, all the shitty things in my recent life (and the most path-altering) happened during those eclipses. The last one, which happens to be a supermoon and blood moon at the same time, happens in 24 hours, so let's see what that will bring. Optimist astrologers and new age buffs say a Tetrad brings about an awakening. Well. My soul sure is up for a rude one. Slap me now, universe. Thank you.

The lovely Shirley MacClaine. #theapartment

I've been sleeping raggedly for the past week. The other day, I had a weird daytime dream.

Opening scene: I was in a taxi while Manila was experiencing weird weather. Outside it looked like Gotham rain and dusk and smog and fog. Taxi went under a tunnel. I was seated directly behind the driver and then suddenly, a guy appeared on the front passenger seat. I was threatened but kept my cool. He said he was just hitching a ride and it seemed as though he and the driver had some discreet transaction. The driver had two right hands. The other one sprung out from the outer right part of his right forearm. Then the passenger got down and I discovered he was a police officer. He made some chit chat with the taxi driver from the street. When the taxi moved, I let out a sign of relief.

I was supposed to go to suburban Cubao to see Toni although she called me to wait for her at home. (In real life, Toni was at Gateway and I napped waiting for her at home). I had the address where I would supposedly catch her but I was not familiar with the place. Instead of dropping me off in front of the address, the taxi driver told me to get off a few meters from it. But he accompanied me and we walked towards the place. It was a compound of around 12 small detached and semi-detached apartments divided in two rows. The front of the 6 houses faced the other front of the other 6. There was a narrow paved road in between rows but for pedestrians, not cars. There were no cars. It was a commune of some sort. People were hanging out outdoors, having dinner, talking, etc. There were stoops, or actually, azoteas of old. The number of people would have been 5 per house, on average. In the middle of a row was a clump of restaurants that looked high end. It was maybe where I was supposed to meet Toni, but these were all closed. I tried to text her but I ran out of load.  The taxi deiver had already left through the back exit. I followed him only to discover the back exit led to a barbed wire fence. Where did the taxi driver pass? The weirdest part of this was that I felt paralyzed. I stood there at one corner and waited for Toni to call. I'd rarely felt this lost in my life, I am usually comfortable in unfamiliar places and know what to do to get to where I should be. In this dream, I did not. I did not feel worried though, just disoriented and baffled.

Then I sat on one of the outdoor dining tables, talked with the people, but did not ask them help about getting out of the place. It seemed I was resigned to my fate. I had no plan, I was not trying anything at all. (When I woke up, I realized that was the weirdest part). Suddenly someone I know arrived with a group of guys -- Neil, photographer friend who is now a real estate broker. He just passed the most recent exam and is now posting weird stuff on Facebook, articles on economics, and personal finance, and business, never about photography. So Neil came up to me and greeted me in a joking manner, "Huy nasan na yung glasses ko, winala mo. Nasan na?" To which I said, "Huh? Sayo ba yun? Akala ko kay LJ (this other photorgapher)." We were thrilled to see each other there. Neil said, "Hindi. Sa akin yon. Anong ginagawa mo dito?" So I say, "Ewan ko nga e. Di ko nga alam paano lumabas dito e." He says, "Sige, may meeting lang ako. Sabay na tayo mamaya lumabas." So he invites me to this house where he was supposed to have a meeting with four other guys. At this point I was confused whether Neil was really Neil or Benedick, a high school friend who is now an architect. They look alike. Anyway, the guys were watching a film through a contraption which they had to fill in with tape -- yes, tape. It was an Al Pacino thing and I laughed because I'd already seen that movie and I liked it. I had the urge of spewing out spoilers. So I just sat on the floor and did some crafts (huh) while waiting and tried to behave.

The end.

Fuck men. Men are whiny sons of wankers who feel entitled to the sweetest loving care there is without even having to do the same kind of caring themselves. And when tired women leave them, they act as though their depressed sorry-ass state should be dignified by a loser of a comrade and even sympathized with by another woman who would gladly show her tits and suck his dick because it's the most natural and basic thing to do, caring for another human being with her fucked up motherly instincts. And even that becomes too much for the poor sap when that other woman starts to show her real personal issues. I mean fuck you, assholes. Go have sex with a silicon doll.

I just want to hunker down and work everyday and, on weekends, take long walks, cook good meals, and have quiet conversations (cuddles included) with someone. Simple.

And so it goes. You meet someone whom you find attractive. I mean, really, you wouldn't mind waking up to that face everyday. He helps you carry your stuff (yes, shoulder bag with laptop, and not awkwardly) and is an overall attentive and thoughtful person. He speaks nicely to his elder sister on the phone. You like his laugh and the way his face crinkles when he smiles. You don't mind that he's a scientist because he's into social development anyway and he dives, climbs mountains, and bikes to his NGO everyday. You find his apartment cozy, i mean really, you can live there everyday. You even find his habit of turning off unused lights impressive, not annoying. You find it cute that he hides a stick of cigarette from his sister but later casually offers you weed instead. You inspect his many bookshelves and discover they'd merge beautifully with yours. You like his framed Japanese paintings, even his huge Matrix toy. But then, you confirm a hunch--he's married...with two kids. The family is far away but their faces are on frames littering that perfect space. The best things in life are taken.

If ever I have a kid with a great voice (ahem, it is possible, I have recessive singer genes), I'd be playing Disney and Broadway music in the mornings, throw in Motown, some rock and some opera, even rap and reggae, have him/her take voice lessons if he/she wants. We'll go to plays, concerts and gigs, lots of them, and we'll have so much fun.

That's because I came across Mallory Bechtel while looking for The Last 5 Years covers. She's so talented and lovely and amazing and I want to know someone like her in a real overwhelming way. Is that weird?