The Flight of the Rocketman

"March around/ Jericho loved the music and fell/ Into your arms breathless/ Heard a sound/ Shut my eyes so tight/ Heard the whisper of a storm coming/ Oh funny how/ I spent this time waiting around/ It's a lie/ Everything you felt until now." - Jericho by Tara MacLean

Mauro Picotto was here and I was at Whereelse dancing from 11 in the evening to 5 in the morning. I was just dancing to his music. I was just one with an ecstatic crowd. It didn't matter who I was. I was there. And I had so much fun.

Yes, the Rocketman has touched Sirius, the brightest star in the night's sky. I've touched it and borrowed its brilliance for the whole night. I fly at a leisurely pace back home towards Earth with a smile in my face and a happy heart.

It has been a long time now since I've done anything normal since Wednesday night. I work and then go out and get home by sunrise; to sleep the whole day and wake up in the evening. There is just so fundamentally wrong about that. This has been since Wednesday night all the way now. Thank God I have the strength and the capacity to stay awake. And I will stay awake until later tonight where I plan to drop dead out of exhaustion and sleep at moonrise and wake up at dawn. As people should and do.

I think I kinda pushed this whole "freelancer" thing too far this week and I should try to replace this wild (albeit fun) lifestyle with one that is more deserving of respect or admiration. Afterall, how many people out there truly admires a hedonist. Well, I do. But that's not the point. Are there any true hedonists left in this world? People who just give in to their desires and just free themselves of any moral or social responsibility and do whatever it is that they want to do at that moment? Do these kinds of people still exist? I just finished reading The Athenian Murders and it's pretty good. I mean, it's a badly written book but it had to be to prove its point, which it does very well. I'm just wondering if there was a literary failure on the author's part and he could have tried to make it better somehow. But it was still an interesting read. All the self-referential details of the book was overwhelming and brought me all the way back to Literary Criticism with Dr. Luisa Aguilar-Carino-Igloria. All of a sudden, I was just thrilled to read something that my literary training can actually, truly help me with.

It is here where I come across the thoughts of true hedonism because there are significant portions in the book about hedonism and hedonists. And yes, I do want to live my life as one, except my idealism as a person always stops me from making that first step. Essentially, deep down inside, I am still a good boy. I cannot forego these principles that I hold dear just to run after the things which I desire the most. But I try... Don't think that I don't.

But the Hedonist must be put to rest and I must take reins of my life again and make some money to pay for another week of such wanton debauchery. Well, that's too much of a hyperbole, I think. There was nothing very evil or debauched (if there is such a word) in what we did. It was just, to the eyes of many, very wasteful and extravagant and useless... But it wasn't. I met a lot of new people. And these added contacts allows me a more stable position in the social cycle. After all, I'm a racketeer; a media whore. My job comes from anybody connected to any form of media. I write, host, sometimes I act, now I'm producing and I can really do anything that involves the media - print, tv, film, theatre, etc. And the more my name goes around and the more people know who I am, the better chances of getting referred to work. It's the life of a freelancer. It's all about who you know.

"All the rest has left/ This burden on my chest/ Can you see the air is angry/ Collapsing into nothing/ The soul has risen/ But never has forgiven/ So we stay and starve the heart to make a living." - Passenger, performed by Tara MacLean, written by Tara MacLean and Bill Bell

Okay, now even I am starting to think that I am going out way too much these past weeks. But then again, it isn't just for me... My friend misses his significant other, so far away. So I'm just keeping my friend company... Ha Ha Ha Yeah, right! I love going out. I love dancing. I can spend half my life dancing to great music and it wouldn't bother me at all. I love it. I love just being able to become one with the sounds that I hear and just allow myself to get possessed or what not by the beat and the rhythm.

I'm sorry, but I really think I need to get new clothes. Clothing is probably one of the most boring topics in the whole world for some and probably the reason why the world turns for others, but it is a necessity for me, actually. Not just because it keeps me clothed and warm, but it helps me enter the parts that I have to play at the start of the day or before I enter a new situation. It's really like the new sort of armour. When you know what you are wearing makes you look good (or at least better than you did before), it is easier to be more confident of your surroundings. I can't wait to get paid soon so that I can go off to Greenhills and go shopping. There is a sort of joy that is experienced when you find something and bargain it down to a more reasonable price and go away from the store with a plastic bag filled with great new clothes. The potential thrills me. It excites me to get home and try them on again and say to myself: "I'll wear this on so-and-so's birthday party next week." Or "This is definitely a Wednesday night shirt!" Or something as mundane or as trivial as that.

We are allowed, I believe, to revel in the throes of vanity once in a while. We have to. We have to be able to look at ourselves in the mirror and be happy with what we see. Even if we have to fool ourselves. We have to allow ourselves to beat the demons that are our insecurities to be able to just smile as we see our reflections. Otherwise, what is the point? God didn't make you if he wouldn't/couldn't be proud of you, right? At one point or another, we should all realise that we are worth the skins we were given.

Yes, we should... No matter what evil, mean, sick thing I have to say about you with my friends...

The Sphinx devoured anyone who gave the wrong answers to her questions. But do you know the worst thing, Herakles? The Sphinx had wings, and one day she flew away. Since then, we men have experienced something much worse than being devoured: not knowing whether our answers are right.

The Athenian Murders, Jose Carlos Somoza

Out of principle, I am very embarrassed and would reap a heap of apologies to all who have read the previous entry. But once again, I realise, now of all times in the world, that it is perfectly fine to bast in the bright light of bliss. There is nothing really wrong being enslaved in the throes of revelry and just enjoying one's state of mind for whatever reason or purpose that it had found itself there. Now, of all the times in world, when I should be a little more restrained, I think as a person, with responsibilities in tow. Why couldn't I have learned to spread my wings when I was younger. Sometimes, I wonder if I am truly free since I am so enslaved by the opinions of others...

But whatever the case, here, I would prefer to share a mystery over a strange occurrence this morning. As my previous entry states, I arrived home quite early in the morning. I took a long, hot shower and probably retired to bed at about five in the morning. Sleep did not come quickly but eventually I did and found myself awake at seven in the morning and unable to return to slumber. Despite dancing non-stop and with much fervor from one to three in the morning, drinking and not having enough sleep the night before, I wondered what could possess my body to release me from a state of rest at so early a time? And worse, with only two hours to drive me through the whole day! But unable to return to sleep, I opened the book The Athenian Murders and proceeded to consume the book with much greed. I finished half-way by the time I realised it was ten in the morning and decided to truly start my day.

I hope all that transpire today and later will be to my advantage. Not that I truly deserve it since I have been having way too much fun these past few days. In the ebb and flow of the tides of balance, I'm sure my reckoning will be coming soon. But while the day is still full with promise, I will not abandon hope. There's just too little time in this world for that. There's still much fuel in this 'baby' of mine and a lot of places that have remained unexplored. I travel this space with a hapyy heart and sing at the top of my lungs a song well-remembered, and though, sung badly by me, sung with passion and sincerity.

All the fear has left me now. I'm not frightened anymore. It's my heart that pounds beneath my flesh. It's my mouth that pushes out this breath. And if I shed a tear I won't cage it. I won't fear love. If I feel a rage I won't deny it. I won't fear love. -- Fumbling Towards Ecstacy, Sarah McLachlan

I am sod drunk and so hapy that I can't believe that you can reach this state of bliss with out even realising... I am so happy that at one point, I have an unlucky shirt and that I can dacne from 1 am to 3:30 int he morning, striaght, no interruptions and just lose myself in the dacnign. It didn't matter that there were just little peopel, it didn't matter that the person I like was there who liked my friend who wasn't paying him any attention this time around. I just allowed myself to get lost in the dancing and the happiness and the idea that nothing outside exsited except for the musci adn the freedoma nd the realisation that there was nothing more to this moment than the dacne. I was a freaking God, flying throught he night's sky and just being who I was... someone who loved to dance and was listenign to beautfiul music...

I can't even believe my previous post at how sappy I can be over a book. Yes, it is a great book but to think of the things I was thinking? Who was I kidding? I love the way I live my life... I think I'm very courageous to drop everythign in the name of love and friendshipa nd whatever else... Many people can say that and you knwo what? I'm proud to be one of the peoiple who can say so... I'm a damn good fucking friend... I take care of the pepople around me very well.. the people I love and care about....

So I'm not unhapyp with the wayt hings are...

Yes... It's a bumpy ride tonight with the Rocketman, but he's having a good time... Three times in two weeks have I ensnared the Elusive Bliss and in three differnet moments and theree different wyas.... How cool is that...

So yeah, am I haveing a great time, you betcha! Will I be having more... Can you say "of course!"? =)

"Tell me, Xeo," she said softly. "Do you ever... have you ever asked anything just for yourself?"

I replied that I did not understand the lady's question/

"I command one other thing of you. Will you perform it?"

I swore I would.

"I order you one day to take an action purely for your own sake and not in service to another. You will know when the time comes. Promise me. Say it aloud."

"I promise, lady."

- Gates of Fire by Steven Pressfield

I've finished reading the book and once again, I find myself in tears before bounded pages filled with words. There are so many beautiful passages that I wish to impart here on the journals of the Rocketman but fear I might ruin the book for others and stay my hand from this task. But what a beautiful book!

If only we can find it within ourselves the courage to be as honourable and as courageous. I wish I were as honourable and as a courageous. Unfortunately, I am a survivor and I will do what I can to move on. My morals flex and curve at the thought of losing something dear to me and I'd rather lie, cheat and steal than lose a loved one. I suppose, at one point, there is courage in that, but if I found myself standing side by side with the Spartan phalanx, I will find myself sorely outmatched in purity of spirit.

I am glad of my convictions and that, yes, I will lie, cheat and steal for the people that I dearly love. But at one point in time, I would have to look back in my life and ask myself whether the sacrifice on my honour and morals were purely out of love and did selfish reasons creep in. My need for love and respect and admiration is one suspicious culprit to my unwholesome methods and deeds. In seeking their love and approval, have I sacrificed my own personhood?

These questions will not linger. I am in the throes of passion from a powerful book about true courage, honour, loyalty and patriotism. It is a book about love and respect and strength of character. It is about the indomitable power of the soul and the depths of which it can conjure up strength, power and might. It is about valour and, ultimately, about staking a claim for yourself, of who you are and what you believe in.

In the end, it is about faith. Faith in yourself and faith in the man beside you, even if you don't know who that person is.

I look back at myself and question whether I have this sort of Faith and whether it is strong enough to carry me through. There is nothing wrong with being a survivor. There is nothing wrong with seeking admiration, praise, love and respect. There is nothing wrong with me, really.

But I would give up so much to be able to stand up in a crowd, with the knowledge that I have the soul of Spartan warrior, faced with insurmountable odds and say to the face of my enemy when he asks me to surrender my arms, Molon Labe, "come and get them."

It was the kind of day in which you forget words and drop things and wonder what it is you came into the room to get because you are standing here for a reason and you have to tell yourself it is just a question of sooner or later before you remember because you always remember once you are here.
The thing is communicated somehow.
- The Body Artist by Don DeLillo

My hair refuses to grow any longer and just stays up here at the same length. It probably is growing, like, half a centimetre a day. Sometimes, when I'm really lucky, two-thirds of a centimetre in twelve hours. It's quite annoying, actually. There is this ugly period when you grow your hair and I'm in that period as of the moment. I did everything my cousin told me to do and I've shampooed my hair more than twice a day. I brush my hair often. Even if I am just at home. Nothing. It still has remain the same.

I'm going farther and farther into Gates of Fire by Steven Pressfield. It's getting more and more interesting. You have to admire the amount of discipline that the Spartan's possess. The kind of training that they go through. Their training is equal to real life situations sans casualties. That's amazing. Can you imagine College, where you actually make and lose money as a sort of training ground for the "real world."

I hate that, you know? When they tell students that they are preparing for "the real world." As if College isn't real enough? The pressures that they apply to you in social group, in inter-University competitions, in just individual projects that they have to submit is difficult. It is the real world. It is just that they have less to lose. They have the fallback of their parents and they have no expectation to make money and survive on their own. But it is just as real in school as it is outside, after graduation.

When I was a teacher, teaching Art Appreciation, Philippine Literature and World Literature, I made sure that the choices the characters had to make in the stories and poems and plays that I taught, are choices that my students will recognize when they graduate. These moral, social, individual choices that they have to make sooner or later. That is how I want to prepare them for the real world. Look at all the poems and stories, we wouldn't be taking them up if they weren't good and they are good because not only are they told well, but they have something to share to us about living, about being human. And we have to see these situations from the outside so that we can make our judgements. Because later on, we will find ourselves on that same situation and we won't be able to see from the outside. We will be stuck there and making a decision inside the oven. But if you remember the stories you've read, the poems you've felt deep inside, even the artworks that you have seen, all of these will help us move ourselves away from the situation and make a better decision, a smarter one.

I don't know. I'm not really in the mood to write right now. Something just didn't push through and I have a lot on my mind. New York. Do I want to go? Should I go? It's really a complicated matter and I don't know what I am supposed to do and what I am supposed to think.

I'll step back for a while. I switch my 'baby' to auto-pilot and just lean back on my chair and watch the many stars in space. I'm looking for Pisces, my star sign and hoping that any of the fish will give me a sign so I know whether I should go one way or the other. It is always one way or the other. We can never take that road that will lead us to both destinations.

I'm sorry. I think I'm lost somewhere between Pisces and Aries. I can't read my star maps properly today. And going back home to Earth will not help. The answer is out here. I just have to find it.

We cannot find the words we need, our speaking parts.
Our voices falter. that age-old silence starts.
- Confidence in Speaking by Peter Abbs

The Rocketman thinks back to all great astronauts before me. Sometimes I think of adding Buck Rogers into the mix but maybe the idea is just too funny. Too playful. And the only astronaut I can name by memory is that Armstrong guy who landed in the moon. I can't even remember the two other people he was with. But I've seen the movie The Right Stuff and I remember the movie quite well. All those fantastic pilots of such great aircrafts. All the great rocketmen before me - exploring a world still unknown. I salute them but it is not their achievements I wish to match or surpass. I am not out to stepping foot into terra incognita rather my mission is simple. To fly through the oblivion and discover more about myself through the journey. Maybe my explorations will yield significant contributions for others. Maybe it will be treated as entertainment. But at the end of the journey, when the gas tank is full and my 'baby' can't fly another mile, I can look back at myself and realise that I've done my part in the world. I did what I can to know myself and make myself happy.

Today I watched Master and Commander: The Far Side of the World and was astounded by how good a movie it was. Russel Crowe is definitely a great actor. Of course, I still think he should not have won an Oscar for his role in Gladiator and instead should have won for A Beautiful Mind. But then, I'm not part of the Academy, right? But he is a very good, very riveting actor. Paul Bethany, though, was even more astounding. There was nothing of Geoffrey Chaucer (his character in A Knight's Tale) or the character he played in A Beautiful Mind that came into his portrayal of the doctor Maturin. He was very proper and was a fantastic contract to Crowe's Captain Jack Aubrey.

It is a very powerful film that illustrates beautifully the decisions of a man in respect to duty, pride, friendship and leadership. At the same time, it was wonderful in its portrayal of the time - the excitement and the thrill of discovering new species and also of the battles and 1800 naval warfare. It was truly a wonderful experience.

Others who watch a great movie or read a good book who have the inclination of dabbling or creating either forms of art get discouraged to do so. How often have I heard people say, what's the point? There's no way I can do something like that. They feel that with the current batch of artists already in steady productivity and they see the standards constantly being raised, they feel that there is no way they can exceed the current productions.

I, on the other hand, get inspired. Watching Master and Commander or reading through Gates of Fire make me want to become an artist even more. The more I feel determined that I have to be able to squeeze my whole being for the words, the images, the situations, the creativity to do something that can equal or even surpass what is being produced now. It is quite unbelievable my desire for creative energy and my determination to make full use of it once I have it trickling through my fingers.

People are struck speechless from watching or reading or even seeing a great piece of art. I am struck into a rabble of words that cannot help but fall out of my lips. Heaps of praises just form and take a life of its own, dancing on my tongue, playing my vocal chords like a harp. I just have to say something. And then, I think how I can take whatever feeling was evoked and use it into my own work. To study the things that make me gasp and shudder and tearful and learn how it was that these reactions were produced and try to incorporate it into my own writing. While some people are carefully guarded forts that allow things to enter but not leave, I am a sponge. I take in everything that I see, hear, feel, taste and smell and then I squeeze it out of me along everything else.

How wonderful it is to be porous!

"There's gotta be more to life, than chasing out every temporary high to satisfy me. Cause the more that I, tripping out thinking that there must be more to life, but I'm sure there's gotta be more" - (There's Gotta Be) More to Life sung by Stacie Orrico

I really don't know what to say. I feel like I have to say something but, I really do not know where to begin or how to say it. Maybe I'll just choose to be vague. But last night, I felt like I almost went to the end of the Earth getting something for my friend, took a chance and discovered Bliss once more. Grabbed it by the throat and consumed it, so I wasn't wearing it like armor or some cloak, but it wore me and lived through me. For almost six hours, I was Bliss and it was wonderful.

The Ube Room went alive again with a party of my friend and I met his other friends and they were such amazing and cool people. I believe that it is one of the things I live for: being able to meet new people and adjusting my personality to suit theirs. I am interested in everything they do and say and I have a genuine respect for them and their decisions. I try very hard not to judge (and if I do, I try my very best never to show it) and I try my best to share as much as I can without being self-centered.

Connection, dancing and keeping Bliss within me, all in one moment that lasted for a relatively long time. Well, time is relative and it seemed like forever. Usually, it speeds up when you are having fun. It was different. It slowed down, as if it was giving me the chance to feel every passing minute. The more to cherish and remember.

I felt like it was a gift. After all, I've been flying through this cosmos searching for it and just when I thought it was never to be found again, this Bliss, I got it and danced with it, drank it down and had a cigarette and we shared a puff.

I found it again. Like I did in Yaku last Thursday. And I then let it go. So the chase can continue. I'm ready to write again. If I only have the time. But I don't. I have to go now. I must go to a dinner with family. So, everything is cool. I remember it well.

"In the East we have learned that which you Greeks have not. The wheel turns, and man must turn with it. To resist is not mere folly, but madness."

"And as for the wheels you speak of," my master finished, "Like every other, it turns both ways."

- Gates of Fire, Steven Pressfield

I found myself cleaning my old pad and slowly scouring over every cubby hole and shelf for things that I might need in the place of my Mom where I have been staying as of late. There is this dead air that hangs there. Still and unmoving, there is a presence that is almost comatose. Quadrillon, also knows as The Ube Room or Club Liwanag, sleeps, awaiting its former glory or to take on a new role. It will have to wait a little longer.

It has not been lived in for almost two months now. And this feeling of sadness overcomes me. As I slip in pillowcases over the naked pillows, I realise the futility of my actions. After all, no one will be sleeping there. I hound for a bed sheet to cover the nakedness of the bed but find none. None has been brought over. No one stays there. Why would anyone bother bringing over things that are in much more need back here at my Mom's.

Almost two and half years has been spent in that studio apartment. Many crazy things has happened there. If these walls could talk, all the things they could tell. I'd be glorified and then slain without mercy in the same breath. I've unfolded myself and shown my creases to the presence that lived there and still lingers there. I miss that presence. It is in that studio where I have truly allowed the Elusive Bliss to completely overcome me. There were moments in that room that the Elusive Bliss was not so elusive. It was just Bliss and I had him for constant company. Sometimes we'd wake up at the same moment and stare at each other and smile. I'd then turn around and go back to sleep despite the work that needed attending to in the next two hours. As I close my eyes and by instinct, pull-up the blanket to cover my body, Bliss would brush my hair with his hands and blow softly at the back of my neck. It would tickle but it would send me off to sleep.

I went there to pick up some CDs and books. Clean it up a bit and found myself reading the first few chapters of Steven Pressfield's Gates of Fire. It is an awesome book so far. Already, I'm thrust into the world of Spartans and mighty forces of King Xerxes and his Persian empire. But, essentially, this is a tale of bravery, of courage, of duty. Reading through, you know that these people knew what they were born to do and would die doing that which they were destined for. For the great warriors of Sparta, they knew they were to die in battle. There will be no greater glory for anyone under the warrior code.

There are no more warriors in our time. Even the soldiers cry and mourn the loss of life. Their hands are stayed by political forces that they do not understand. People will rally in the streets and protest the loss of human life. The human rights of others are trampled upon and the soldiers do what they are told in defence of these crushed rights and more bledshed is spilled. And people throw cans and rotten vegetation at their faces. I've seen, read or heard about the indifference and even the apathy that American soldiers were treated to on their return from Vietnam back in the sixties. I have no love nor care about that particular war. It has no concern to me. I don't even know the politics of that situation to properly form an opinion. But it is one powerful image that has proven to me that there are no more warriors in this generation.

They have no place in this world. You have to get along. You have to fit in. You have to part of the system to change it. To stand outside, you can only watch. For if you criticize, you meddle into affairs that do not concern you. You are part of the statistic or you are not. Glory now goes to the one who thrives after survival.

And yet there are many who carry the spirit of the warrior in their souls. Riding in the wombs of the hearts and passions of many men. Now, instead of shield and sword and spear, they carry new weapons - education, articulation, social position. Hard work has always been a weapon that people keep forgetting exists.

The wheel turns and man must turn with it. I don't know if I've been turning in the right direction. Then I read the words in the book and I can't help but gasp. It is something I've always known and something I've always dreamed of but never really took to heart what it can mean. The wheel can turn the other way too.

I don't really know what this means for me. In what ways that this can change the way I'm going. Maybe, at one point, it can help dispel the doubts about how I feel I am living my life. Why must I always move with the tide? The salmon will always be famous for swimming up the water fall to lay its eggs. Man, by nature, did not just thrive with what nature has provided for them. They altered the land to make it even produce more for them and their progeny. The wheel can turn the other way too. Maybe I can force it.

Two memorieals remain today at Themopylae. Upon the modern one, called the Leonidas monument in honor of the Spartan king who fell there, is engraved his response to Xerxes' demand that the Spartans lay down their arms. Leonidas' reply was two words, Molon Labe. "Come and get them."
- Herodotus, The Histories
Read from Gates of Fire by Steven Pressfield

I think there's something wrong with my baby because she ain't flying as fast as she used to. Probably put in some bad fuel or something. We're moving really slowly.

Found myself at a very awkward moment yesterday evening as I was taking my friend home from a completely uneventful night at Olive. Well, not completely uneventful because I got to see old friends earlier at Grilla. But whatever the case, the most enjoyable event at Olive (after Grilla) was eating two servings of squid balls and hanging out with my friends. Well, we had to have fun, we were the only ones there.

But there was this awkward moment from my friend and I as I was bringing her home. We began arguing about our current status regarding relationships. It seems we were on the same boat. She believed someone was going to come along and that all we have to do is wait. I made the claim that I was tired of waiting. I was just so tired. Everyone I seem to end up liking or having a major crush on has a major crush or likes other people (most notably my best friend). I seem to have the same visual quality of air: transparent. In the twenty-four years of my existence, I have yet to like someone who liked me back.

And I really can't stand this idea that the right person is going to come. I just have to wait; be patient. It just doesn't seem to be fair. That others can have their fill every year and I have to wait, be patient. One of the worst ways, I suppose, to tell people like me is the other favourite saying in moments like these: maybe you're just meeting the wrong people, maybe you're just hanging out at the wrong places. I like where I go, I like who I hang out with. And there are desirable people in the places that I hang out in. It's just that the desirable people where I like to hang out don't find me desirable. So I guess I just have to wait, be patient.

Will that be my new motto in life? Wait, be patient.

I remember a saying, "Love isn't really love it is only coming from one side." It makes me think about all the times before that I have been in love and I gave my whole being to these people. Wasn't that love even if these people never loved me back in equal amounts or even reciprocated these feelings? It didn't really matter to me, at the time, I gave because I don't believe that love should be held back. So many people in this world search for the spark, that moment and all of a sudden here's one person who has so much to give and doesn't give it because there is no promise of return. It just doesn't seem right.

Now, I'm a selfish person by nature. But I'm horribly generous to the people who are close to me. And I always thought what goes around, comes around. Twenty-four years is a long time for somethings to circle back. I've watched documentaries on Boomerangs and it takes only a matter of minutes before it swings through the air and come back. Well, I guess I just have to wait, be patient.

People say it is because I'm too picky. That one part of the package is not enough for me. It's gotta' be the whole damned thing. Completely desirable or nothing at all. Is that the way people should live? They got to have it all or nothing. I don't want to settle. Is that so bad? I want the whole superficiality of a good looking person plus the depths of inner being and intelligence. Wisdom from life experiences, actually, is more desirable than intelligence. I think I can fool myself into thinking I can be smart enough for the two of us. Anyway, I'm a very tolerant sort of person. I don't need to hang around intelligent people. As long as they are interesting and that they care about things. I can always fill up the spaces in-between. Whatever lacks, I've always been good at sealing open holes and cracks. I'm water or would like to be water.

But wanting the whole package, wanting a completely desirable being means a much longer waiting period, requires much patience. There are only enough of these kinds of people in the world and no one has promised me that they will come. And nobody has ever said that I deserved one.

So I'll just be here waiting, being patient. There's nothing else much I can do about it anyway, right?

Someday I'll fly/ Someday I'll soar/ Someday I'll be so damn much more/ Cause I'm biggerthan my body gives me credit for - Bigger than My Body by John Mayer

I must apologise for the previous entry. Yes, I was bleeding drunk. But yes, I will not remove it from the record. Afterall, the Rocketman was able to grasp the Elusive Bliss for one moment. It was one terribly long but enjoyable moment. And now I know what it feels like again, the way the Elusive Bliss can wrap you up in a single moment and you never want to leave, and the urge to try and raise it just a notch higher is ever-present; you know it isn't greed, it's just overwhelming and you lose control. It isn't chaos, it isn't temptation. It's bliss. That feeling that there is no other moment in the world than the one you are in. That single point where all your energy is totally focused at the moment and tomorrow won't matter as the days and hours and minutes before entering bliss won't matter either.

It's just you and the moment. That is a capacity of moments, it can be held, entered and eventually lost. A moment is something that is searched. We try so desperately to find it and once we find it, we enter it. We wear it like a new skin and we can't help but... smile, move, breathe heavier. Something. We do things magnified because we want to completely inhabit the moment. Or at least say that when we were in it, we did everything we could to cherish it.

Mandy Moore may have only sang 10 songs plus encore but she's still a wonderful person and a great singer. Her gratitude for the way the Filipinos have accepted her music, her movies and her appearance as a model for Penshoppe is not forgotten. I hope she will return and do a full concert. When Araneta colliseum, packed to the brim that it was ready to explode all sang together, as one voice, the lyrics of Only Hope and Cry. Now that was a moment. To be dancing to Joan Armatrading's Drop the Pilot and being the only person in the audience who has probably ever heard of Joan Armatrading and even knows the lyrics to the song. That realisation alone was a moment. So I wore the moment like a carapace. Like some moth, I took to flight. There was nothing better than banging my foot to the beat and singing the lyrics Drop the pilot, I'm no easy rider, don't use your army to fight a losing battle - animal, mineral, physical, spiritual: I'm the one you need! I'm the one you need!

That was so cool. And to take 3 beer bongs and dance to Dave Matthews Band and singing Tom Petty's Free Fallin' in Yaku with friends I have not seen in a long while. Or going to Bed and sending off those guys who were asking for my name. My name's Wanggo, now, please get off my dancing space may have come off as bitchy but I was in the moment and that moment wore a different kind of skin. It shimmered and it glowed and it was frictionless, so nothing could stick. Nothing stuck. I just danced the night away.

That was the nature of the situation. That is why I allowed myself to get drunk... So that I can reach the Elusive Bliss. I had it for a little while and then it was gone. Like all good things should, it should disappear with the promise of return. So I have no apologies, really. Not for what happened to me last night but I have apologies for any hurt feelings, any stepped on egos. I apologies for any biases and prejudice that may have occurred. I apologise for bad writing and indulgent writing from this entry all the way to the beginning.

But now you know my fuel and you know my destination. It is Bliss. It will come and go. I will hound it and I will find it again. And I will lose again so that I can begin the search once more. It will be written. Here and in other forms that I am allowed to present. I'm the Rocketman. And this is my journey.

When you're stoned baby, and I am drunk/ and we make love, it seems a little desolate/ it's hard sometimes not to look away/ and think what's the point/ when I'm having to hold this fire down/ I think I'll explode, if I can't feel this freely now - Stoned by Dido

Oh my God! I had just the best time tonight... Let's see, I went to watch Mandy Moore perform at the Araneta Colliseum and despite the fact that the sound system was horrible - she was great. I think I was the only one in that audience (I'm really bad at estimation) of over 20,000 people that knew the lyrics to Drop the Pilot by Joan Armatrading. And I must say, Mandy Moore does a fabolous version of it. Can I just say that she is one of the loveliest human beings that God has ever made for this world? Can I just say that? Mandy Moore is one of the loveliest human beings in this world. And I'm not saying that because I'm piss assed drunk.

Because I am pissed ass drink. You can't imagine how fast I am typing and how quickly I am erasing all my typographical errors... It is unbelievable how drunk I am that I am rotating my head and I can still write as quickly as I do... Ha Ha Ha

Because I went to Yaku and met up with friends that I haven't seen in a long, long time. And it was fun. And I had my first experience with a beer bomb. Or is it beer bong? I don't know. All I know is that I had 3 and it was great because I was so inebriated that I was dancing, laughing and feeling good. And despite the fact that someone was there who used me and I didn't mind that the person was there. I just totally ignored that person. Who cares? At one point in time, everyone was used. And it was just sex anyway, right?

Goodness... I am so drunk that I didn't erase that shit that I just put up there... I then went to this club and just dance for almost an hour and a half! I was dancing and I was dancing so great that people came up to me and told me that I danced great. It was a great feeling. Not the compliments but just to dance, just to lose yourself in the rhythm and the feeling of disconnection from a world that is so fixated on the complicated that the simple is usually overlooked. And it is the simple that is actually beautiful. It is the simplicity of things that actually attracts us to things. Or it should anyway... Goodness knows I am attracted to complicated people. But that's my messiah complex working against me...

I am so fucking drunk that I can't believe I just admitted that much... Whoa! God knows that won't be my last... The damned bong was so good I can go for one more round and still survive! Nobody can lose him/herself in the dance as well as I can... There are probably people who dance better but they don't lose themselves in the dance as well as I can... And if there are? Then I'd like to meet them. I really would.

If you won't let me fall for you/ then you won't see the best that I would love to do for you/ instead you will be missing me when I go/ cos I'm bored of hanging out in your cold - Stoned by Dido

This is what it means
to be porous Allowing
substances to pass through you
like water or pain

To inhabit a moment
offered to something hungrier
than yourself
Garden Pool, Maria Luisa Carino

I am so groggy. The Rocketman will delay his flight until his head decides to clear up. Someone said grab a glass of juice. Sure? Why not? Maybe I can decypher the secrets of photosynthesis. A funny thing: I've always wanted to have chlorophyll. Yup! I want to be able to create my own food. I want my skin to be olive, a little hint of green. I don't want to eat anymore... I release Oxygen into the world and take in all the Carbon Dioxide. I enjoy the sun, will always find myself in my own private heliotrope, slowly turning to face it, even without my realisation. I think that will be so cool...

But I still will be human... I can still bite, claw, manipulate, flirt, seduce and do whatever is necessary to remain on top of the food chain. Funny thing is, I'm also part of the food chain. Who knows... maybe with chlorophyll in my body, I'll start sprouting strawberries and grapes from my hair, breaking into my skin. I can be eaten. Will I have to run and hide? Or will I be studied, prodded and injected? Will I never see the light of day again and just dry up and whither? Maybe they'll write a song about me...

In about a couple of days, I'll have properly digested "The Wild Shore" by Kim Stanley Robinson and will be able to start reading "Gates of Fire" by Steven Pressfield about the 300 Spartans who successfully defended Thermopylae from thousands of King Xerxes men. It's bound to be a gruelling book, dramatic and painful. I hope to start reading it soon.

Geez, I'm still groggy... I'll just write here later when I start feeling like a human being again.

"Each wave is a different size, and meets a different resistance, and as a result there is an infinite variety of rippling, breaking, chopping, gliding... The pattern is never once the same. Do you see what I mean? Do you understand me, Steve Nicolin? You rather be holding on to what can be made to last than out hunting the new. But good luck to you, brother. Do some good for us out there." - The Wild Shore by Kim Stanley Robinson

It is another sunrise that I have come to meet with my back turned. Another night that I remain awake until the morning. It is not healthy but I find that with the kind of life I meet, I'll take my seclusion and solitude when it comes, in whatever form - be it alone in an elevator or 4 o'clock in the morning where everybody is asleep.

I will admit this much: there was a point of time, about 4 weeks ago, where I had failed to sleep at all and I took a trip to Tagaytay. On my return, right after dinner, I went straight to bed. I slept at 8 in the evening. When I woke, it was 7 in the morning. There was much that I was able to accomplish because I wasn't rushing for time. Everything is just opening and things move so much more smoothly. The following days were greeted with the same routine of early sleep and early awakening. The whole world was at my feet. My body felt rested, I will admit that I looked better and ate less. But all it takes is one paycheck and a weekend out with friends to revert back to my old life.

My old life. I make it sound like I'm 67. How old must one person be before he can say back in the days, considering I find myself saying that often. As long as you are living your life well, fully can you say that phrase. Back in the days. Nostalgia is a kind of punishment, isn't it? Looking back at history with a certain bit of longing. Remembering the good old times, as they would say. Why do we constantly flog ourselves when we all know that regret is such a bitter pill to drink?

Because we can not where we are going if we do not know the route that we take. It is as if the road vanishes from view if it has to begin from that point. It must begin at the beginning or else it is not a story. And we are all just stories waiting to end and then, eventually, we are just stories that must be told.

Slowly, the temperature fluctuates. The cold air still lingers but the sun begins to sizzle. My feet, covered in the darkness below the counter where the computer sits remains in the cold. The back of my neck is struck by a sliver of sunlight and it begins to burn. My senses are sharp right now. I'm about 10 feet away from the speaker but I can distinguish every instrument being played in the song that is coming out of the CD player. I can feel every nerve begin to fire up. It's a last ditch effort to remain awake as my whole body is beginning to require some rest.

I just watched People I Know with Al Pacino, Kim Basinger and Tea Leoni. Quite a sad film, actually. I don't remember having ever seen Al Pacino so tired or washed out or defeated. What a character to play! A very urban, New York type of Willie Loman for the 21st Century. It isn't going to be a classic. The analogy is weak because Willy Loman will always be remembered and Al Pacino will always be remembered for better films. But there was a time I wanted to work in PR and use my social skills to its utmost potential and schmooze my way to a certain sort of success. But after a while, I prefer that my smiles remain sincere while I can still afford them to be. I can be tired but I don't ever want to be jaded.

And now the house comes alive. It will begin its regular dose of rejuvenation as the floors will be swept, mopped, waxed or whatever. Water will be boiled for coffee or tea. Dirty laundry will be picked up and brought to the washing machine. As everything comes alive, I prepare to let my body go and sleep.

The Rocketman glides his hands over the steel fuselage of his ship. He has gone all over the infinite blackness of space with his yet unnamed vessel. He re-fuels it, gives it a good wash, gives it a tune-up on a regular basis. But there is no better way for him to show his affection and gratitude except by putting his skin onto the vessel and taking it from top to bottom before going back home. That there is still this connection even if they are not traveling in space. That it is admired and loved even when it is not doing its purpose. To love something even after it has fulfilled its purpose is a kind of gratitude. He picks up his helmet from the ground and begins to walk away. He will go home and rest. He will speak to his family and tell them all that he has seen. He will fly again. Maybe tomorrow. But as he walks away from the vessel, he whispers "We will fly again, baby, we will fly again." And though it is just an object without the capacity to hear, it knows it is loved.

"I have walked this earth and watched people/ I can be sincere and say I like them/ You can't say no to hope,/ You can't say no to happiness..." - Alarm Call by Bjork

Three people had asked me to put a comments section on my blog. I kind of freaked out. All of a sudden, it isn't so much as wondering if I am writing for an audience but to realise that they are there and now they can write back. All of a sudden, every step I take here becomes a little more and more careful. I am no longer running through the woods barefoot, shouting and screaming and waving my hands in the air. Now, I do that, but with my eyes darting to and fro checking to see who else is here with me. This is both a good and a bad thing. Now, my skin won't tear from the various brambles and branches that hung lowly from the trees that I do not see. I keep my body intact. But then again, I like having scars.

With the assistance of one friend, he told me where I could get the script which I could add to my blog for the comments and I freaked out. I don't understand Java script. When I finally did as I was told and clicked on the "save changes" option, my heart sank and I said to myself that's it, if you ruined it, there's no way you could fix it now...

The Rocketman discovers his fuel is only half-full, or is it half-empty, he doesn't really care, all he knows is that the scheduled trip to see the White Dwarf in the farther edge of the Milky Way might have to be delayed. He decides to just see the supposed satellite of Pluto at the edge of the solar system and then circle back to Earth for some R&R.

Well deserved? Maybe not. But I know that there are stories that need to be told and deadlines that need to be met. I love that quality of stories, they have to be expressed, told, revealed to be of any worth. Stories are the opposite of secrets. For a secret to have meaning, it must never be revealed. For a story to have worth, it must be presented. But many people do not know the difference of stories and secrets. Some people just keep to themselves what should be told and tell others what should be kept hidden. I think that is one quality of stories that I like. That, to another, they might think I'm telling a secret.

On the other hand, deadlines are things that we arrived to. They are met. What if we were to actually meet our deadline, like it was given a corporeal form that is drinking coffee in Starbucks at Greenbelt three. He/she is just there, waiting for us and if we do not meet him/her, we have no pressure to deliver. What if you had your deadline killed before the two of you could meet? And all of a sudden, you have no responsibility to finish the job at hand. What if I were to say "I have to be famous by the time I'm sixty" and the expectations within my heart start pounding upon my brain. I falter often because of the fear that I might not reach my deadline and all of a sudden, I will look back at my life and realise I was a failure. I hire some people to kill the deadline and I'll hit sixty and not feel so bad about not reaching that point.

Or worse, I had a deadline to finish an article and three hours to the moment, I stray bullet killed my deadline and on my way to the office to pass it, I find him there, dead on the ground, cigarette still unfinished. Seeing him there dead, I realise that the commitment is over, it is gone and I can submit the article whenever I please.

But if deadlines were in a corporeal form, they'd be arrogant and haughty men or women, in power suits with a fair, pale complexion. After all, in the world of the abstract, where words were made to name the things that we cannot see or feel or touch, they are there in the darkness along with other words like danger and sorrow. They don't get much sunlight and turn quite pale.

I have met many of these deadlines and they have found me wanting. Asking them to go away and to come back some other time. Most of the time they do not leave. One of them is standing right behind me and I refuse to turn around to get a cigarette otherwise I would have met him and that was it. I have failed again to deliver on time as published.

"This is an alarm-call, so wake-up wake-up now." - Alarm Call by Bjork

"If God is a DJ/ Life is a dance floor/ Love is the rhythm/ You are the music/ If God is a DJ/ Life is a dance floor/ You get what you're given/ It's all how you use it" - God Is a DJ written by Pink, Billyman and Jonathan S. Davis

Bought the new Pink CD today "Try This." It's great, fun music. It's often times angry, sometimes quite raunchy or wild but it is definitely fun. I can already imagine myself dancing to this in my room and singing at the top of my lungs. I love all my new purchases, actually. It's been a long while that I've bought a new CD. So when the pay checks started coming in, I just couldn't help myself and BOOM! I bought new ones.

I bought Vienna Teng's "Waking Hour" first, followed by Dido's "Life For Rent" then Chantal Kreviazuk's "What If It All Means Something" and then now, Pink's "Try This." They are all great buys. All of them. Vienna Teng is soulful, melodic and her lyrics are poetic and her voice is so pure and gentle and tender. Dido is always a winner. I love her sense of trip-hop. Her lyrics are filled with character and I love "White Flag." Chantal Kreviazuk is constantly growing. She's made a little niche for herself in the pop-rock category and she's really outdone herself this time.

I love dancing and singing. Music is very important to me. I do everything with music. I sleep with music, I take a shower to music, I read with music, I think and imagine and create with music. I write to music. Depends on my mood, I just will. And yes, I love all kinds of music. No genre disgusts me. Well, that isn't true either. I really do not like "Mr. Suave" and never will. "The Spaghetti Dance" should never have been composed and, well, I think you get my point.

I used to do this on my myspace journal, almost every entry has a song starting it, usually what I am listening to at the moment. It is very important to me, you see? Music. Yes, I am currently trying to put a novel together and still write and submit the short stories to some anthologies being put together. And while all of that is going on, I am trying to do some acting and other stuff that I like. But it is in music that I am most frustrated. Everytime I hear a song, I re-arrange it immediately in my head. I try to see if I can distinguish musical instruments from each other. Sometimes, I just sit down in front of the speakers and just listen and one by one, I listen to each tone and note as they come and try to figure out what instrument made that sound. I can pretty much distinguish the difference between a Hammond B-3 organ and a Harmonium organ. Things like that.

One day, I hope to compose songs and produce albums. I think that would be great.

So yes, God is a DJ and life is a dancefloor. And thank God I can swing my hips to the beat and shake my head to the rhythm... Thank God I'm not afraid of a dancefloor, after all, there is nothing more liberating than dancing in the middle of a crowd in a dark room illuminated by coloured strobe lights every fraction of a second. You're whole body invaded by the sound of a bassline and synthesized rhythm and your body just pulses to the beat. You lose control of your basic motor functions and you just flow. You just go. I can spend six hours dancing; just dancing. I feel so free. No worries, no thoughts about who I am or what I have to do later or tomorrow or what I didn't do. No thoughts on who didn't notice me or what so and so said about me.

So you might see me in some club come weekend just losing myself to the beat. Wearing out my shoes, perspiration dripping closely to my skin, my hair flying with every movement and my lips, slightly curved into a smile.

The flight plan of the Rocketman has been set. God is a DJ and life is a dancefloor. All I need now is someone to play the part of "you" and I've got myself some music.

The Rocketman has just landed on C-32 in the Vega system!

I am in unfamiliar territory as of this moment... I can't believe I am surfing and typing this up in an Internet Cafe. This is just too weird for me. I've been using my parent's computer at home forever, almost. When I was working in La Salle (as an administrator or even as a teacher) or when I was working in advertising - I got so used to having my own computer at my beck and call. And with my Mom's printer going wacko on me, I have to go to a place like this to print out some stuff I need for work.

I'm not saying there is anything wrong with Internet Cafes, but for someone who is quite using to having his own computer in the comforts of home, and all of a sudden, I'm here, surrounded by other people who need internet access, I find myself thrusted into totally new territory. Being in new territory is always fun but it also releases some of my natural instincts for self-preservation. And right now, it is going overload.

I took it for granted, everytime I log into my yahoo messenger or my yahoo mail that my password is really a private thing and just for me only. Now, I find myself anxious to log off immediately and remove all traces that I was here in fear of someone being able to figure out my password. I won't be overly dramatic to say that my whole life is in my e-mail account or even my friendster account - but I can imagine the amount of chaos that will ensue if some malicious, vile person enters either accounts and begins having "fun."

I'll admit this much: I'm a very curious person. I like to know things. So yes, I engage in gossip and am quite happy and interested to hear them. But I don't spread it around. I don't engage in gossip to help spread rumours, I do so because I just want to be "in the know." I like being informed and I like hearing stories. I'm sorry, but I am totally immersed in stories. Sometimes, I think I go through life just to collect stories to tell in the eventuality - subjects for my future work. Don't be paranoid, though, all the names and dates will be changed to protect the innocent and even the not so innocent... =)

Information is important which is why I really value education. Which is why I also believe that teaching is a wonderful profession by far. I miss it. The transfer of information. I learned so much about Literature from teaching it. I really think very differently for someone of my age and generation. Hearing other people's opinions help me formulate better responses and reactions towards certain poems and stories. I had a great class last January-April (3rd term, year 2002-2003) in Philippine Literature. They were a Commerce block but they were so intelligent, opinionated and eager. I learned so much about the stuff I was reading and sharing with them. Amazing experience, really...

But here I am now, in Planet C-32 and it's quite intriguing. There is an almost communal feel to the whole situation... We are all here for almost the same purpose. Connection. It's probably one of the most important things in my life. I guess that is why it is so important for me to express myself and to get a job or work in a place that allows me to express myself - be it through writing, acting, hosting or whatever. As long as it involves the media. Eventually, if it is good, everyone will have a chance to hear what I say or what I have to say (if I wrote it). My expression is transmitted everywhere.

Which is why I like this whole idea of internet journals... It's a way for me to express myself openly. Of course, I'll never know if this is being read or not... I can only hope and pray.

So that is the Rocketman's confession here in this strange planet...

The Rocketman has just passed Mars on its way back to Earth in record time. Of course, in such speeds, he almost crashed into Deimos (or was it Phobos), the satellite of Mars. I remember reading somewhere that the two satellites of the red planet are supposed to be in the shape of a shoebox - rectangular.

I wish I could find that old science book of mine. I think it was my Grade 6 science book or my Freshman High School science book. It was one of those. I used to read all the useless information on the sides and forget all the important ones that went into the test papers.

How I passed Chemistry, I still have no idea. I would get my test sheet back and admire the nicely printed 84 on the paper and not know how I was able to answer those questions correctly. I hated the rules of engagement between electrons and trying to figure out their density. I never really could figure out why it was important to know it by heart, since I won't be able to see the damned things in my entire life! I knew, at that point, I was never going to be a scientist.

When I was younger, I had this desire to become an archeologist and join National Geographic. I had no intentions of becoming Indiana Jones (though I did play around with the thought, once in a while) but I thought discovering history and finding ancient tribes and old temples would be a great way to live your life. Then, I discovered dinosaurs. I had then wanted to become a Paleantologist. I wanted to study the Parasauraphalus (Lambeosaurs where my favourites) and try to discover more and more about them. I had a dream of finding a new set of bones and the species would be named after me. Of course, the Wanggosaurus was not a really flattering thing as you grow older. It sounds like a really, slow-moving, dull, duck-billed dinosaur that always got bullied or made fun of by the carnivores.

I eventually let it go to become a writer... But before then, I was serious about it.

But now I'm a freelancing media whatever. I write, sometimes host or act and now I'm dipping my hands into production work. With the available schedules of all involved, we've been meeting at 8 in the evening and after everything has been said and done, I end up doing some paperwork until very late in the morning (or early, depends on how you want to put it). I like the work because I'm gaining new skills but it is quite frightening when you think of all the things that you have to do and you have no training or educational background to support it. All I've got is guts and a capacity to learn quickly.

I've always liked working hard for a given number of times. I love the stress and the rush of working. And then when the work is done, everybody gets paid and then its a slow life again until the next project (or until the money runs out). That's the life for me. I hate routine. I hate having to go to an office and finishing my work early but I have to stay because it isn't six o'clock yet. Or worse, getting stuck in an office where the air-conditioning is too cold and I can't smoke or play music. That just kills my imagination and creativity.

The only thing I could really do on a regular basis was teaching. But I could not do it everyday. I preferred the Monday-Wednesday-Friday schedule. I like teaching for an hour only, also. After the hour, my attention span dissipates and I am starting to get bored. But I love teaching. That was a great job. I hope to be able to do so again.

But here I am again, busy with work and learning new skills and just applying myself for a chance for some big bucks right before Christmas! I have done any literary writing recently but I was able to buy 2 new books - hardcover for only ninety-nine pesos! There is a sale going on in National Bookstore right now. The first is called The Athenean Murders which sounds exciting on the blurb. I can't wait to read it. It's about a modern day translator translating some texts from ancient Greece and he stumbles upon a text about the death of one of the students of Plato. But one of the teachers doesn't believe that it was accidental, he believes it was murder. So he calls upon a "Master of Enigmas" and together try to solve the mystery. So we go through this mystery from the translator's point-of-view. But what makes the book extra interesting is that based on the text, the modern-day translator is discovering references to him, several hundreds of years later. Now how exciting is that!

So the Rocketman is making his landing on Earth to refuel before he takes off again. This time, he's going to visit Sirius, the dog star, the brightest star in the night's sky. The Rocketman is going to learn from him how it is that he shines so bright...

The Flight of the Rocketman has been delayed until Christmas Season traffic has dispersed...

Goodness! I spent over an hour and a half in a cab getting from Greenbelt in Makati to my home which is somewhere near Greenhills. I tried to keep up an energetic front, but I fell asleep and I could have been in grave danger. I mean, honestly, these are desperate times that we are in and desperate times makes desperate people.

But the cab driver wasn't a desperate man. He was a little chatty but I didn't mind. I was just kind of surprised that he didn't know who Pia Guanio was. A bus had passed by with a huge, larger-than-life ad of smint and there was Pia Guanio, lying on her side, looking like she was flying recklessly down EDSA looking straight at my cab driver and he just gawks and stares and asks, "Who is that?" I say, "Pia Guanio." "Who's she?" "Uhm... you don't know Pia Guanio? She's a host in Studio 23."

Of course, at that point, even I wasn't sure who she was anymore. All of a sudden, I was thinking was she Angel Aquino? or is Pia Guanio an actress now? and I got so flustrered by the everyday, ordinary question and found myself wondering why such a banal thing would jar me so much.

If he didn't change his topic to Manny Pacquiao (I know I got the spelling wrong) and the fact that boxers are probably dangerous and scary folk, I would have still been wondering if I ever really know who Pia Guanio is. Not that I have met her or anything. I just wondered how well do I really know anybody?

Sleep was a happy refuge and I may have lost time but I did not lose suffering the horrendous traffic of the Christmas Season. I woke up on the street where I lived. And, realising all my things were in order, I gave the cab driver a huge excess amount from the pay. I'm not a rich man at all... but I know how to be grateful. If not to people, to the universe.

Now I am home and Sheryl Crow is blasting from my room. Track 4 of her fantastic (but critically blasted) album C'mon C'mon and my body is just so worn out. Imagine if I had decided to drive today. I wouldn't have even made it here to the net.

When you think of all the things you can do and all the things you want to do, and the amount of time you have to do it, in relation to the things that you have to do and are expected to do, you realise that some people have been able to acquire and achieve so much and still be happy people. We may not have the musculature of predators like tigers or wolves. We may not have the toughness of herd animals like the carabao, horses or even donkeys; but we humans really are amazingly resilient creatures.

But I hope that if there is an afterlife, can I come back as a fish? A really fast kind of fish, like the sailfish or what not? Can you imagine that I have yet to see Finding Nemo? I heard that it is supposed to be fabolous and really funny. There is just something so wrong with me right now.

Welcome to the Flight of the Rocketman. If you are interested, you will be reading his flight through this world (and others) in search of the Elusive Bliss.

My flight has begun quite a long time ago, actually. I think it has begun at age thirteen, when I entered High School and found myself in completely unfamiliar territory (as if Grade school was in any way familiar to me). But I believe the most interesting stories arise from College and they will be returned to. After all, the Elusive Bliss can only be acquired through recalling all the routes you have taken to get there, even if you aren't there yet.

So before one asks "where am I going" they should first ask "where did I come from" and "where am I now?" So where am I now? Well, I'm in my parent's condo in Manila, slowly in the process of moving back in after a two year stint living pretty much alone (semi-alone, haha) in my own studio pad just down the street. My Mom is away in the States for a working vacation and my Dad is here until tomorrow morning.

No one will be able to wake my Dad up for his flight so it might as well be me. After all, I'm a freelancer so I don't have regular hours. I pretty much do what I want until the time comes that I am given an assignment or I get work. So, having the least to lose, I will be the one to wake him up.

I already miss him, actually. Like some sad, cruel story, it is the one who probably will miss him the most who has to be the one to see him go. Sometimes, I feel, he is the only one who truly understands me. When I look at all the things I have done and all the things I aim to do, all I have to do is look at my Dad and know that someone has done it already. It seems that I am truly my father's son. Is it genetic or some kind of subconscious hero-worship? Or is it just that we are very similar people in passions and how we are moved by our passions that when put in comparison, one will find very little difference except for the passage of time. One is sixty and has accomplished so much and the other is twenty-four and still is testing the wings in which he has given himself (or been given). One is sixty, still creating and also looking back at all that has been said and done. The other is twenty-four, creating and looking into the future to what is yet to come.

It is a strange point of pride on my part that I am now lending my father books to read. Me? The child who would not read and wanted to be a writer. "What? You want to be a writer but you don't even read!" were the familiar words that were told to my face by members of my family. Now, a graduate of Literature and a promising young writer (if I may say so), I find myself in strange ground as I lend my books to my father and other people. Yes, it is inevitable that we grow. Some begin to bloom so early in life and others much later. But we all will bloom.

It is just the way things are.

I just woke up my Dad and now he is preparing to leave. I will see him again sometime at the end of this year. If not, I will see him at the beginning of next year. I take the time and the effort to ensure that there is something new to say when we meet. Something, any indication of growth. If it were only so easy to spread your leaves and take in the sun. Spread your roots and take in the nutrition found somewhere in the moist soil. If it were only as simple as breathing - inhale and exhale. But no, we are human beings. It takes more than just sustaining our lives to bloom. We must do something.