the Warrick Brown philosophy

...or everything you needed to learn in life you hear echoed in pop culture. As always. I actually wanted to write this entry in my pop culture blog but since it turned out to be a bit personal, it thus got uprooted and landed here. So there.

I was watching CSI earlier, the original with my favorite cast, and I was down on the last episode of season 9. Catching up of course, since this season played way back in 2008, and I don't update myself that much unless I'm watching the show already. This was the episode where Warrick, the cool black dude with the cool eyes, was shot because of a mole in their office and standing up to a mob guy and all that. My heart nearly stopped. Noooooo, not Warrick! Sara left already! Not him! And then I segued into the episode opening of season 10 to see what happens next, to verify if indeed he dies. Yes, alas, he dies, and gets buried. And unlike in Filipino action movies or TV drama series, I know he will not make a comeback and live for another season. He remains dead, I'm sure. And he did.

The cool cat's exit. Photo from here.

It's just funny that I find him the one to die. He was the one who said a quotable quote for me at a time of my life when I needed to hear it. It's just simple, cliche, and basically rings of such truth.

There was one season, one of the earliest, where he took a fancy at this pretty African-American girl with the nice eyes, or that actress that played alongside The L Word's Tina in her earlier dyke film The Incredibly True Adventures of Two Girls In Love. This girl was playing a lounge singer, one of those sultry ones, like the scene and she stepped out of those early film noir films of the 1940s -- smoky, seductive, siren, sweet. And in that episode, the girl was also a cocaine addict of sorts, or maybe a user. Warrick discovered it, and was turned off.

There was a shot there where the girl was trying to woo Warrick back to liking her, but the addiction turned him off. The girl with the pretty eyes eyed him disbelievingly, her eyes asking why he's turning his back on her, and he sighed. And thus, he said one simple truth that stuck to me until now.

"Life's too damn short..."

And he then walked away from this beauty, this situation, and this circumstance. Just like that. Even if he had this huge attraction to the girl as well. Life over beauty? Perhaps.

And now, he dies. Tragic. The one who said life is too damn short is now dead. Imagine that.

Since I saw that episode many years ago, I felt like I've always been setting aside a lot of things in my life to do other things in my life, or most notably other things in other people's lives, specifically my past girlfriends. Often, I find myself putting aside my art, my hobbies, my interests and likes in favor of theirs. That or I just have this knack of finding women who are somewhat high maintenance in terms of relationships. Why is that?

Beats me.

Perhaps there's a thin line between being in love and being stupid, and I tread that line maybe too often. Maybe this is also the reason why I never want to get in touch with exes once the relationship is over -- I so do not want to be reminded of the things I gave up or the things I set aside out of stupidity-slash-love when we were together.

I know I can't blame that on anyone but me. It's because I also let it happen. Even the universe is guilt-free of that. I know the things that make me function highly reflect my being born a Taurus, but I also can't really peg things on that one reason alone. But yes, it gives one a clue. Clues, to be exact, of what to sort of expect, what to sort of think of, how to sort of behave under certain circumstances. Like living life and falling in like/in love/in lust.

But I guess I let those things happen because of this Warrick Brown philosophy as well. What are the chances? What are the odds? Love--or any permutations of it--is always a gamble, from day one of engagement. You take a chance and see where it leads you. And I guess this is also why I don't throw away or throw out any possibility of any kind of probability that gets thrown my way by the universe as well, no matter what the outcome in the end. Because life's too damn short. They sang it well in the musical Rent, one of my favorites of all time:

Forget regret

or life is yours to miss

no other road

no other day

no day but today

No day but today. Live in the now. Like that cliche goes, eat, drink and be merry for tomorrow... what? You may die? Perhaps. And this is what Warrick proved.

If I remember it right, I heard of Warrick's "philosophy" at a time when I was stuck in a relationship longer than I should have had. There was actually another pop culture moment that I could relate to, when I was still in this situation, that actually moved me to tears and to a huge realization that I have to move on, to get out, and to actually live the life I wanted to life for myself without giving a flying fuck about what others think, especially those women who were supposed to make me feel safe, as another pop culture reference once said (see Wall Street: Money Never Sleeps). This moment was a scene from the movie The Hours when Meryl Streep's character was standing in the kitchen and just began silently sobbing in frustration of her situation and her lesbian relationship. My goddess, when I saw that film, I actually felt her frustration, I could relate to it, and yes, I cried with her, silently as well, inside the cinema.

Yes, that is how films get to me. And that is partly why I eat-live-breathe-sleep-dream films. Since my youth. I could escape to them/with them, and I could actually relate as well. Ah, pop culture. You gotta love it once, twice, or sometimes. No escape.

immersing more John Steinbeck-created pop culture

with James Dean (Steinbeck Museum april2010 salinas, california)

And as I've theorized much lately in this space for months now, I am getting this realization of how life is just really too damn short right now. With the realization that I'm not getting any younger and my earth years are starting to catch up with my earthly body, there are several adjustments to be made, and I have been doing those, with favorable results, I might add. So that's good.

Adjustments about work and studies are also making themselves visible lately. And while there are professional engagements that I've regretted, there are also those I've cherished. This year is full of those engagements, I tell you. From the most simple ones like sustaining pro bono radio shows to losing mainstream big-paying connections while maintaining alternative small-paying ones, this year has been full of such challenges that never ends. Well, bring it on, I say! No day but today, folks.

Of course perhaps the bigger or biggest challenge that always challenged me to no end has something to do with matters of the heart. Just this past couple of days, I've been chatting to no end with two old friends that I've lost touch with over the years, and I was glad to reconnect with them now. One is brokenhearted but not broken in spirit, and I so need to learn from that. Ninja training mode, yes, and I picked up a new module from that situation -- auto-logic, or the philosophy of applying logic automatically to stressful situations that get thrown your way. Well, it makes sense since this culprit was a philosophy major hehe, one with a big IQ to boot. But for the EQ, ah, that's why they approach me for advise hahaha! Kidding. I heart my baby dyke friends.

The other friend I already learned a lot from, specifically since we've been talking about her own years-long dilemma which she happily and perhaps successfully overcame like last year or so. We were actually ruminating about our own personal struggles, comparing lessons learned from love/life by the Subic beach side just last month with another friend, in between work stuff. And their realizations even fueled my own fire more into believing that life, indeed is just too damn short to waste on waiting for someone to reciprocate, to wait for someone to instigate, to wait for someone to communicate, or to just wait, period. Waiting sucks. That is why we grab the bull by the horns or as another pop culture reference popularized it in the '80s film Dead Poets Society, carpe diem. Seize the day. Why? Because life's too damn short!

And this is why I take no chances in attraction. I've never actually waited; the universe provides. Not like manna from heaven sometimes, but they just arrive. Like comets. You should just know where specifically in the sky to look. And sometimes, it's also not about looking, but feeling. When you feel, then you look up, and then you see it, grazing the night sky. And then you smile.

But of course, you also take it in stride. No rushing into it, even if the manual says grab it by the horns. Sometimes you also let it unfold. Or you just let it be. You also don't have to play by the rules, by the usual standards that make the world go round. You can also create your own rules, do your own grabbing, your style, your way. I've always believed that desire has to be reinvented. Or else, I won't be with women today, right? But I also believe that love has to be reconstructed because the usual patterns might not apply to current situations at hand. Or something to that effect. Or maybe to lessen past hurts, the present needs to be readjusted, like constantly. Yes, passion can also be realigned as well -- or at least how it functions for you. No excuses, no apologies, as my fictional gay idol Brian Kinney once said in Queer As Folk. Yes, Brian, I am living it. Hard, and soft, at the same time. Hm.

Yes, still, the bottomline of all this is simple: life's too damn short. Live life to the fullest. Never be afraid of attraction. Never settle for status quo standards of desire, and pretty please, reconstruct and jazz up love whichever way you can, whenever you can. We're entering another decade in a few days. Who ever thought we'd reach this far? No one. So we move on, flow, smile, and live.

And dance like no one's watching.

[dec2010 hagikhikan 2010 photo b vlad gonzales]

a funny kind of sad

And the soundtrack of this post is brought to you by the lyrically poignant duo from our favorite '80s musicians called Tears For Fears.

...welcome to your life/ there's no turning back...

Sometimes, the only way to cope with a stressful situation is to engage it full on, collide with it head on, like bungee jumping to conquer your fear of heights, in a manner of speaking.

So with the dreaded uber-commercial holiday that is Christmas, it's either integrate or isolate for me. Both tactics work every year, for the past decade (and more). Imagine being in a country where Christmas countdowns are done as early as September, and listening to Christmas songs extend up to January. I kid you not, folks. Try coming here in Manila to experience it. We put the jeez! in "Happy Birthday Jesus." Promise.

...acting on your best behavior/ turn your back on mother nature...

So yesterday, I was preparing myself to do the second "i" -- isolate, to just hibernate here in my cocoon I call home, but I remembered I have to see this movie sequel of a movie I so loved in my youth (review later). Plus I remembered I had to buy a few items at the mall. So the two-in-one mission pulled me out of the second "i" mode and engaged me totally with the first "i" mode - integration.

And what better way to integrate one's self in this stressful yuletide time than to go to a freaking mall. Stupid me did that - headed to the nearest SM mall here in Marikina where I was hoping to catch Tron Legacy in 3D. Alas, I came a little late so I decided to first check the department store for the items I wanted to get. And next thing you know, I gave in to getting more stuff that seemed to accumulate in my to-do list. And since I have this itch to tick off things in my to-do list immediately, haaaay... I ended up spending like 3 hours or so roaming around the mall buying the stuff I needed. Yes, perfect timing, huh. Amidst mommies running around getting gifts for their spoiled kiddies and daddies trying to convince mommies for unnecessary purchases, this queer girl was just walking around like a zombie, walking like she just didn't care, since she had her Ipod with her. And that's the trick with me, my coping -- music. Yes, I can see you, Christmas, but I can't hear youuuuuuu.

...into that void of silence / where we cry without sound...

And when I sat down to eat and journal in one of my favorite cafe corners at this mall, this music suddenly played:

and i find it kind of funny
i find it kind of sad
the dreams in which i'm dying
are the best i've ever had

Yes, indeed, Roland and Curt, it's definitely a mad, mad, mad, mad world here in Manila during yuletide. Funny. A funny kind of sad, to rework your lyrics.

... high time we made a stand / and shook up the views / of the common man...

This was my view when I was sitting and journaling while waiting for my dinner to while away time before the next movie screening:



Lovely. Lights aren't uber-kill this year here. Not that I have a point of comparison. Or maybe my view obliterates the other tacky decor. Whatever. And from the photo, you would think that the mall is quiet and has less people. Wrong!

... these are the things i can do without / come on / i'm talking to you...

But one ever-reliable coping mechanism I have to combat this yuletide stress is channeling the downtown syndrome as I call it. I guess this is why I like living in a cosmopolitan place; this downtown syndrome works best in such places.

Petula Clark has this '60s hit or something, a song I really like since I was small. In a way, you can say that this is my own personal anthem:

When you're alone
And life is making you lonely,
You can always go downtown
When you've got worries,
All the noise and the hurry
Seems to help, I know, downtown

Just listen to the music
of the traffic in the city
Linger on the sidewalk
where the neon signs are pretty
How can you lose?
The lights are much brighter there
You can forget all your troubles,
forget all your cares and go

Downtown, things'll be great when you're
Downtown, no finer place for sure
Downtown, everything's waiting for you

Don't hang around
And let your problems surround you
There are movie shows downtown
Maybe you know
Some little places to go to
Where they never close downtown

Just listen to the rhythm of a gentle bossanova
You'll be dancing with 'em too before the night is over
Happy again
The lights are much brighter there
You can forget all your troubles,
forget all your cares and go

Downtown where all the lights are bright,
Downtown, waiting for you tonight,
Downtown, you're gonna be alright now

And you may find somebody kind to help and understand you,
Someone who is just like you and needs a gentle hand to
Guide them along
So, maybe I'll see you there
We can forget all our troubles,
forget all our cares and go

Downtown, things'll be great when you're
Downtown, don't wait a minute more
Downtown, everything's waiting for you

And it was ever so poignant when Winona Ryder my love and Angelina Jolie my lust (yes, I am polyamorous that way, chos! :P) sang this in one of my favorite films of all time, Girl, Interrupted in a cute off-key tone hehe. Lavet!

they were singing to this other "inmate" friend
who was locked in isolation. man i love this scene!
photo from here.

Downtown. That's a good way of coping, especially if you're doing the integration mode thing. Listen to the rhythm of that gentle bossa nova indeed. Or in my case, the angst-ridden male singers of the '80s and '90s on my Ipod. Yes, TFF.

...you don't give me love / you give me pale shelter / you don't give me love / you give me cold hands / and i can't operate on this failure / when all i wanna be is / completely in command...

Don't ask me why I don't like Christmas so much. That is a long one. But aside from the obvious reasons -- crass commercialism and the forced-togetherness-rammed-down-your-throat-media-messages -- it's also about one ritual I don't give a damn about already. Sure, celebrate the birth of Christ but then, not everybody does, so why do we all have to celebrate it? Respect for those who don't follow this organized religion, please. I just want this season to pass without being reminded that He will come to Save Me and Redeem Me and all that jazz. Sorry agnostic girl speaking. Catholic school girl angst flashback mode.

... my features form with a change in the weather...

Hay, I can go on and on about this. But really, I just want a quiet space to be in, at this time of the year. So I guess I'll go into that isolation mode now, here in my cocoon I call home. Yes, I bah humbug, but I don't limit those who want to celebrate this season in full bloom. So I still accept gifts and greetings from well-meaning friends, acquaintances and relatives nonetheless. I could be a scrooge but I'm not totally cynically cold-hearted that way.

And that was one thing I like this year. Maybe some friends, as we all grow old gracefully, come to terms with lots of things in their lives, in our intertwined and tangential lives, that they send messages and feelers that, after all these years, they care, and they're there. For you. With you. This took me by surprise this year. A pleasant surprise at that, though.

... soon we will be older / when we gonna make it work?...

I was so touched with this small, simple yet touching gift this college friend of mine gave me. It had this personal touch of a letter only to me, and it was full of thoughts I never knew she thought of about our friendship. But I am so glad to hear it still, of course. After all these years, you never know how you affect other people, you never know how you are valued as a friend. So touched, grabe. I heart my friends so much.

Of course, the feeling is mutual. I value them as much as they value me. I am fiercely loyal like that. Taurean trait. Like my tagline in this blog says, I'm just one of two things in people's lives: either I'm your best friend or your worst enemy. And people know, and have experienced, being on both sides. I still abide by this tag, even if I've lost a few good friends along the way. Sans regret. No day but today, as they sang in Rent. People come and people go.

...kick out the style / bring back the jam / sowing the seeds of love...

And even if they know that I am not such a gift-giver this season, they still give me gifts. Universe bless them. Two friends gave me books this year. One has been doing that ever since anyway, and I value it so much. Also, I received lots of chocolates, mostly from colleagues. Hm. Will give that away to kids maybe, as I'm beginning to dislike chocolate this year. Yes, that's another story. I don't know. Maybe some other time.

... we've got the whole wide world in our hands...

Well, I don't know where this post is heading now, but I guess it's my own weird way of greeting all of you. Regardless. Yeah, I'm weird that way. Anyway, signing off now. Back after the big shebang. You can listen to us later at our Cine Chichirya radio show at 6pm, all about Christmas movies and why they are crafted the way they are. And hehe I love it that two out of three of your radio hosts dislike Christmas hahaha. Just listen to discover who, aside from me. That's on DZUP 1602am band if you're in Manila and via dzup.org / dilc.upd.edu.ph live streaming if you're out of town or the country.

Anyway, HOP-PY HOLEY DAZE folks. Don't get heartburn. Eat/drink moderately.

the smell of December mornings

I have this new morning ritual to keep me on my toes, feet, brain, whatever. I try to write something raw as prompted by passages from the book I'm reading lately called A Natural History of the Senses. I termed this prompt-writing exercise as "The Ackerman Prompts" after its author Diane Ackerman. It's an old book, published n 1990 but the writing and content is blowing my mind! I should have read this a long time ago.

The reason why I started this activity is because every so often, I catch myself stopping from reading and my mind wanders off and entertains thoughts that are nice to jot down. Yes, I get inspired to write that way sometimes. So here we go.

I usually get the passage that prompted me to write and then go straight to my writing. This one particular piece I want to share here, as raw as it is. Feel free to comment.

THE ACKERMAN PROMPT #3:
Buckets of light
One of the real tests of writers, especially poets, is how well they write about smells. If they can’t describe the scent of sanctity in a church, can you trust them to describe the suburbs of the heart? (p. 18)


The gall of the mass(es)

How do I write of a smell I do not want remembered, especially since the memories that it triggers harks me back to some of the happiest days of my childhood, happy days which would eventually turn sour as I get older, and thus harking back to them overrides their ability to invoke happiness?

Yes, my thought processes are complicated like that.

But still, we try.

*

It’s funny that I wake up now at an hour or so after sunrise. I am not a morning person. Never was. Until maybe I transferred to this place, this new abode of mine, one I am keeping for keeps, hopefully, for good. That, or maybe my body clock changes as I grow old. I’ll theorize about that more some other time.

As my senses slowly take charge of me, my window catches a glimpse of the changing hues of the horizon, from dark to light, but it’s not sunshine that really wakes me up, especially during this time of the year – it’s the smell. The smell of early morning, like cool moss, misty dew, some light heaviness in the atmosphere brought about by the December cold, traveling into the air, carried by clouds, traveling down through mist and fog. This year, though, there seems to be no mist to accompany the smell of December mornings. Climate change, anyone?

I wake up at around six in the morning, sometimes a few minutes earlier, sometimes a few minutes later. Sometimes it’s still dark, sometimes the cracking of dawn syncs with the opening of my eyes. It differs. But the smell is constant. These kinds of smells in the morning remind me of mornings I have had before, during Decembers, too, with my grandmother, my paternal lola, and a whole bunch of people, making their way to church and coming from church at the wee hours of nine December mornings, leading up to the birthday of this baby deity we revere here.

At age seven, eight or nine, I remember being dragged to hear mass at these ungodly hours. My face was still buried in my favorite white pillow, the small one swiped by my Lola from the country’s airline carrier. Its logo was embroidered at the bottom corner of the pillowcase and I loved smelling it, maybe because I love the smell of crispy clean sheets, or once-crispy clean sheets, pillowcases included. Or maybe because one day, I wanted to ride it as it would take me to places I never imagined going. And it did, but that’s another memory recall.

Getting up was a struggle for me to attend misa de gallo, the early morning mass, that leads up to Christmas, but since Lola was a devout Catholic, we practically had no choice. I was dragged to hear mass, sleepyhead that I was, and perhaps it was the smell of the early December mornings that somehow stimulated me to wake up. That, and the smell of native delicacies sold during this time of the year on the street sidewalks – bibingka and puto bumbong.

Bibingka is a round but somewhat flat bread, usually colored yellow. One could think that this is a Filipino distant relative of the pancake, but I think its ingredients are more complicated than its western kin. It is usually cooked on round earthenware, the surface of which is covered with fresh banana leaves, and then placed atop another earthenware contraption that houses the hot charcoal that cooks it. Thus, when the bibingka is cooked, the banana leaves form part of its package at the bottom. I’m not sure if it’s made of rice or flour, but its smell reminds me of bakery smells nonetheless.

The smell of bread baking, any type of bread, always brings me back to my childhood, since this is an aroma I smell from the ovens of our neighborhood street bakery or served on the breakfast table. The smell of bibingka does the same thing for me, that yellow-colored smell of rice or flour mixing with the fresh green scent of the banana leaves, and the semi-sweet smell of the coconut shavings that come with it, along with the small slab of butter or margarine on it, take your dairy pick, and that whole aromatic package permeating the coolness and coldness of our December mornings. That, there, is the smell of December for me, the smell of upcoming Christmas, the smell of a happy childhood.

But as the years went by, the aromatic package changed over time. As I turned my back on the religion that once brainwashed me, I turned my back on that ritual that hypnotized near-zombie masses into waking up and going through the motions of that designated ungodly hour ritual. As the knowledge of capitalism also crept into my being, I also dislodged from celebrating this ritual we call Christmas and stopped associating December mornings with that holiday. But that’s another slab of discourse altogether. Some other time. And of course, I grew up and moved out, never again smelling the lovely smells of neighborhood bakeries since I now live a few floors above streets. Bibingka is now more mass manufactured and I can get my fix, if I wanted to, at the nearest mall that says they got it all for you, but the bibingka there smells different than the ones prepared over earthenware and banana leaves. Imagine a microwave and tin foil. It smells now of technology, not food. Ah, the smell of progress.

And so, what is left? The smell of December mornings. The smell of early morning, like cool moss, misty dew, some light heaviness in the atmosphere brought about by the December cold, traveling into the air, carried by clouds, traveling down through mist and fog. This year, no mist and fog. But still, it smells like December morning. Without the rituals. Without the aroma of bibingka. Without the holiday commercialism. Without early memories. Just new ones.

I can live with that.

*

I’m not sure if I achieved the challenge that prompted me to write about December morning smells, but at least I tried.

It’s just funny to realize that I might be more visual than anything, since what I distinctly remember from those early morning December masses, more than the smell of bibingka and misty dew actually, is an image, this one particular recycled paper made to carry the bibingka we buy from the street vendors. Image over smell.

Before one mass, we passed by to place our order so we could avoid the after-mass madness of bibingka buying.

The nice lady vendor asked for my name. “Sige, isang bibingka. Ano’ng pangalan mo, hija?”

“Libay po,” I answered while handing her the payment.

She smiled. “Sige, pagkatapos ng misa, daanan mo na lang.”

I nodded. “Thank you po.”

After the mass, I went up to her and picked up my order. She handed it to me with a smile. But when I looked closely at the label on the recycled paper bag, I laughed and showed my Lola how the lady vendor spelled my name: it said “Lhivhy.”

Ah, the spelling of my name, and how it gets massacred from time to time, is another story yet to be told.

Some other time.

(19dec2010 sun)

of natural highs and eliminating lows

As I write this, it's two hours before the final rehearsals for this year's Hagikhikan 2010, or the University of the Philippines Diliman's annual Faculty Follies show where different UPD profs, instructors and lecturers show their lighter side to a bunch of eager colleagues, students, staff and whoever wants to watch teachers make a fool of themselves at the UP Theater.

This was us yesterday as we were rehearsing. Photo from my college film buddy and co-UP Film Institute colleague Melissa:

Hanep!!!!!!!!!!!!!! It's soooo happening!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
Fraaaaaakkk!!! December 15 3pm and 7pm at the UP Theater.
That's the day I become a Youtube sensation! Wooot :P

I just shook off my pending stage fright this morning by spending two hours at the gym downstairs where I live. Well, it worked! Working out lately has given me a new sense of natural high, one I've been missing for months -- nay, years now, actually. I'm glad to rediscover this, sweating out the bad vibes and kicking in on the endorphin supply to trick my brain and body to feel happy, successfully.

And goddess knows I need new supplies of natural highs these months, 'no? Yeah, the universe is telling me... and sending me some. Which is cool. I think.

One such natural high is having meaningful conversations with new friends from abroad, new friends I've been hanging out with lately, young ones who provide me a new sense of kinship in some strange way with the female power of the universe. I always like hanging out with new people regardless of age, as long as they exhibit that emotional maturity that is so lacking in some adults I interact with here. So imagine the breath of fresh air these idealistic young thinkers are providing me. I miss having these kinds of discourses. Not that I'm not getting any from existing friends. It's an addition to that.

Ah yes, friends. That is another natural high I've been honing lately. The support they've been sending me, in any kind and any permutation, is very much welcomed especially during this last quarter of the year. Whether it's a special gym workout, beer buckets in Cubao X, dinner or lunch breaks from work and play, impromptu movie dates, momentary dancing parties, quiet chats over coffee or whatever whether person-to-person or via online means, they're all good, all welcome, all valued. Interactions give me personal highs. I heart my friends.

I guess this college participation thing at the faculty follies is my latest natural high in that regard. And again, goddess knows I need to have more highs in that space at these times. And I'm glad I'm getting it from colleagues, friends and allies there. Or as I'd like to term them, people who are not insecure of me (my intelligence? my beauty? my spunk? my energies? my in-your-face queerness? take your pick!) and therefore do not need or see the need to pull me down or malign me or stab me behind my back. Oh yeah, that's heavy, huh? Well, buy me some drinks and I'll tell you about it sometime heheh...

But I guess that's the thing with having natural highs. I want to have more so I could eliminate lows, such deep lows, that I have been in danger of being trapped in. I guess I am thankful to the universe for showing me quite a few comets of opportunities that gave me much-needed inspiration and direction to just be, just act, just take it all in stride, and grab the bull by the horn. Hey, this bull is hearing it, universe. Send some more feelers!

One major low, one that I was expecting to be a low, was the latest pride march. Sure, it was cool, it was closer, but somewhere along its preparation, I also decided that this should be my last. My last Manila pride march. I don't know; this is a helluva long discourse. Maybe some other time. But this is the reason why I borrowed a friend's DSLR and captured it the way I wanted to, this time digitally. And I got the 1,000+ pictures to fill me with enough memories to live with.

somebody, a friend of a friend, took this kinda stalker photo
of me during pride hahaha. but i love it! it's showing the good work
i've been doing for myself lately. this is the first time after 10 years
that i wore a tank top in public. dig that! i kid you not.
gotta love your own body! :)

No, this doesn't mean I'm dying or moving or whatnot. I just decided. Sometimes, you would know that enough is enough, and one should know when enough is indeed enough. That's called gut feel. And we should trust our bodies more, listen to what it's saying to us about a lot of things because sometimes, our minds don't have a clue and our hearts are just blinded by emotions, mostly fear. Or maybe insecurity.

I was just talking to a good friend about this last night over some vodka sprite. How do you conquer lows? I shared with her how I've managed to wake up from this decade-long slumber, that my interaction with new people, especially her, roused me up from this deep sleep and made me realize that who I really am is this person that's buried deep down in some emotional quagmire that was suddenly built around me, most times without my consent but sometimes with my permission. And after flagellating myself for letting that happen to me, I came to realize that it's time to take it back, take me back, TAKE THE REAL ME BACK. And thus, I am putting her back in orbit, in circulation, and whoever wants to hang out in this universe is most welcome to make contact, for it is not an awful waste of space as Carl Sagan once wrote, but it is a reclaiming of a once-awesome space I am reliving in this new time-space continuum we call today.

Yes, sorry I'm a geek lyk dat :P

Welcome to my universe. Feel free to orbit around.
(taken by my sister at the Griffith Observatory
in LA, California April 2010)

Maybe that's all it takes for one to discover one's self again -- having new interactions, new conversations, new ways of looking at old(er) things. That's what's happening to me right now. And recent conversations with former students also affirm me towards that direction. Sometimes it's just so heartwarming to realize how you've taught some of these great kids well, and they're now the ones who are teaching me back the lessons I taught them. Funny that.

Full circle. I love it.

And perhaps other highs to replace some lows will be rolling in in a few weeks or so. Contributing to much appreciated security of sorts in other parts of my life. That's cool. The first one already kicked in, and I hope there's more to come. But that's another blog post altogether.

So there you go. And that's where I am, and that's where I'll be heading, I guess. Like my headline says in DL, I'm just revolving around four-letter words. Whatever those words are, they don't matter, as long as the spirit or essence behind them are the ones ruling me, making me happy, checking my gear in order, guiding me. And they need not be literally taken as well.

Life.
Love?
Lust.
Shit!
Fuck.
Damn!
Yeah!
Hate.
Cool.


Sometimes, there's just too many four-letter words. So we take them one day at a time.

As always.