The Flight of the Rocketman

and if I had one wish fulfilled tonight
I'd ask for the sun to never rise
if God lent his voice to me to speak
I'd say: "go to bed, world!"
-- 3:45: No Sleep, performed by The Cardigans (words by Nina Persson, music by Peter Svensson)

You know what I miss most about my old life? Sleep. Sleeping when I want to and waking up when I've rested. Now, I don't get enough sleep. Since April, I've been going through life with only 3 hours of sleep everyday (if I'm lucky). I need some time for myself... except most of my time is spent on work. So I push my body to the limits just to be able to communicate with friends, meet new people, read, write and do the things I like to do. Even when I know I should be asleep because I have work early the next day; I can't. I need time for myself or I'll end up just killing someone. And I can't do too much work in jail.

Yeah, I miss sleep. I miss sleep a lot. I wish I could do that more often...

Ain't gonna hang my hat
Ain't gonna take off my boots
Ain't nothing gonna stop me in my pursuit
My stage, time to rehearse
Gonna see all of the wonders of the universe
-- Legend of a Cowgirl, Imani Coppola (written by I. Coppola, M. Mangini, Donovan Leitch)

As things begin to crumble about me, I've realised more and more what I'm worth and though I'm about to travel into the unknown, blasting off into the next dimension on a rocketship fueled by ambition, there's nowhere to go but up. It's all darkness all around me but as if it was anything different for anybody else, we're all extending our hands, groping down the walls, trying to find our way in this surreal blackness. Wherever we go, remember, we got there through touch. Feel it, don't think; breathe - inhale and exhale. They say that if you close your eyes and open your mouth, your hearing is increased by at least 20 percent. If that's true, then we have to trust the voices that we hear; be it from the wind, from the past or from the future.

It's the need for speed in moments when things seem lost. Then there's no other choice than to allow yourself to get lost some more. If you're already deep within the woods, you have no other choice but to get out or get down. I have no intentions of getting down. You won't see me throwing up my hat and crying in despair. It's scary. But that's exactly what Terra Incognito is -- "There lies dragons..." Well, give me my lance, I'll mount my horse and I'll get ready to charge off into the fray. I've always gotten burnt. I may be charred and broiled but I'll never be beaten.

The darkness flickers and I can see some shapes and forms. I have a strange feeling I know what they are. I'm trying to get there but we'll see how successful I'll become.

Who knows what I'll touch in the darkness? Who knows what the source of the light at the end of the tunnel is? All I want to be sure of is that I tried, am trying my best to reach it and find out.

Yeah, so it's the need for speed at the moment. Let me have it and then I'll let go of it once again. Temporary enlightenment, or maybe, a better way to put it, instant gratificiation. Well, whatever churns your butter, whatever melts your throat.

This is what I need right now. I'm old enough to know... I'm in the darkness; but so is everybody else. We are all walking around blind, hands extending far out as our bodies will allow. We are going at it by feel. What do you feel?

What is it that you feel?

I've been thinking
I've been thinking I've been thinking too much
I just want to live now for a little while
And cast my dreams to the wind
Don't wanna wonder
Don't wanna wonder what it's all about
-- Maryland, written and performed by Vonda Shepard

Everything has gone back to the same-old, same-old. Everybody is getting back to their old groove and everything is starting to go back into its clockwork routine. I've come back to Shanghai and after a day, everything has gone back to normal. But I've returned from Shanghai a different person.

All of a sudden, I've been in a city where things work, and people work hard and if you work hard, you can make it. I've met people who just upped and left for that city, not knowing a single word of Mandarin and have made it, adjusted to the world they live in and are making it, not just surviving, but thriving.

I realise now that I have options. I'm not stuck here. I don't have to make it here. I can be anywhere I want to be. I can be anyone I want to be. I don't have to remain in this city. There are so many progressive cities all over the world. It's not just Manila. And if it's my pride that I'm a Filipino that is holding me back, well, I can still be a Filipino working abroad and making it good abroad.

It doesn't necessarily mean I will leave. All it means is that I can go through this life knowing that I have the freedom to stand up and go when I don't like the things around me; that the grass is just as green in other fields. That I have options, I have choices. And that makes me less needy. It makes me less desperate.

Right now, I'm transient. I'm not home yet I'm not lost. I'm not attached yet I'm not completely distanced. I'm self-sufficient yet I'm still quite dependent. Any gorgeous, progressive city will entice me. And I will allow myself the joy and pleasure of the enticement. I'll see where my dreams will take me and go where the wind blows...

I realize now that the reality of things is not something you convey to people but something you make. It is this that gives birth to meaning. -- A Window, Haruki Murakami

I'm back from Shanghai. Sometimes, I still can't believe I've left and that I was there. And I can't believe that I left it when I did. I've been to Rome and Florence and Hong Kong but those places always opened up a sense of wonder and inspires me to be rich so that I can travel.

But I'm not rich and I was able to travel. I guess, it means, I just have to work hard at what I love to do and everything else follows suit afterwards. I finally realized that I'm good at what I do and that I learn pretty quickly. I was writer/ production manager/ boom mic operator/ personal assistant/ production assistant and whatever else that was needed for the production and I did the jobs pretty well. I was fast on my feet and thought of actual solutions. I'm proud of myself and what I can do and what I was able to accomplish there in Shanghai.

All of a sudden, the world is so much more open to me now. I don't have to live here in Manila. I can still be a Filipino, still be proud to be a Filipino but not necessarily live in the Philippines. Shanghai is a gorgeous, gorgeous city. It's something I can really become a part of. But then, there's also New York and then Rome, or London or Singapore or even Thailand. All these places and so much more. And I can do so many different things... I can teach, I can write, I can manage, I can work in PR, I can work in advertising. I can learn. I can be whatever I want to be and where I want to be. It just doesn't have to be here.

I'm still in a daze, tired beyond belief with my body ready to give up on me. I'll probably be more coherent (and more restrained) tomorrow after I get some rest. But I will have to say, I got to see Paul Oakenfold spin in Shanghai, Parc 97, a cool club there. He really is one of the best DJs... Amazing...!

I am in Shanghai right now... It's so clean and orderly and neat. The roads are wide, there is barely anybody walking on the streets (they told me I have to wait for Monday, though, hardly anybody out on weekends) and it's just so God damned gorgeous.

I want to move here. I don't know why. I just got touched by something. I've barely seen the city and already my heart started to feel a sense of peace, of calm.

I will move here. I will. Nothing will stop me...

"I don't put a gender tag on empathy." -- Natalie Merchant

I don't want to start another entry about the sorrows of work. The weight has doubled and I feel closed in from all sides. I love my job. I don't like my environment, all of a sudden. People who have power, abusing it and flaunting their ignorance just to prove something just completely bothers me. Ooops! I think I've started. I don't want to go there. Instead, I'll go somewhere else...

I'm reading all these books on art and I find myself completely drawn to the world of "imaginative life," as Roger Fry would call it. He wrote this fabulous essay, "An Essay in Aesthetics" and he defends art and its existence in this universe because it allows us to observe the world around us with a critical eye. It captures in freeze-frame the details that we always miss because of natural reaction to real situations. The example he uses in his essay is the wild bull. The moment you see a wild bull in real life, your first instinct is to search for safe ground. It is to flee. But we tend to miss out on the beauty of the bull's strength, the sun in the sky, the farmer walking slowly towards the bull, completely used to the bull's wild, fiery temper. We miss out on these details and so much more. In art, we do not have that same fear of the painting because we know for a fact that the bull is not real. And then, we begin to see the deep contrast and similarities the bull has to the raging summer sun. We see the deep contrast of the bull to the aged farmer. And while all of these details exist in both the real world and the imaginative world, only in the imaginative world are we allowed to see the beauty and the connection of all things. We tend to miss out on these symbols and relationships in the real world since we are too busy reacting to real life situations.

This is the importance of art, according to Roger Fry. It captures the essence of beauty in nature and projects it to us so we don't miss it in our lives. At the same time, it allows us to reflect on what real life is really like. That if we see a bull, wild and raging, our first instinct is to flee when, in fact, the farmer is on his way there to placate him. There are many ways we can approach a situation, but we don't see it since we are creatures of instinct and impulse.

Maybe the bull is a bad example - I've distorted Roger Fry's example to a point where it doesn't make sense. But I think you get what I mean.

Sometimes, I feel so pretensious reading books on critical analogy of art. Or, when I read philosophy books or books on history or literary criticism; I feel pretensious. It's like, I have to read these books to prove I'm smart. And since I'm the type of person who likes to share information and knowledge and who likes to try to incorporate everything that I experience in my day-to-day life and conversation; I feel that I will end up sounding like a name-dropper or a know-it-all or a pretensious prick! But what can I do? I do like reading these essays on art. I so enjoyed reading Jeanette Winterson's "Art Objects" (considering the fact that I cannot read "Art and Lies," it is so difficult).

I don't want to apologise for the books that I read, for the music I listen to, to the people I converse with and to the movies that I watch. I do not want to apologise for the things that I remember, the ideas that I subscribe to and the way I live my life because of my experiences. I like the fact that I can read these books, understand them and share them, make them easier to understand to my friends. I like the fact that I can appreciate art, poetry, music (of all forms), film, photography and other forms of art. I like the fact that I can talk about these things with enough confidence and belief in my opinions that I become an engaging conversationalist in these matters.

I think a life that is lived with or in art is one that is both fruitful and fulfilling. After all, I've always believed that art reminds us what it means to be human. If that is true, I want to always remember and to help people remember what it means to be alive.

I think this is where my self-indulgent nature comes from. I think this is where my passionate nature stems from. I think this is why I always try to give 100% in everything that I do. It's because life is only fulfilling when you do everything that you love. And that, in the end, you've experienced a wide range of emotions and lived many lives (despite having been given only one). And then, leaving something of worth behind.

Making a mark and living well.

I just want this to be good,
I just want this to be good.
- but you don't understand,
you don't understand me, and I want to be understood.
But if it doesn't brush my shoulder,
and it doesn't beat my heart,
that's not what I want - no, that's not where I will start.
I never kissed somebody so that they would break my heart,
that not what I want.
-- Wishing Heart, words and music by Lisa Loeb

My friend Alex asked me yesterday, "Which would you choose? The person you love or the person best suited for you?"

I take it that the person best suited for you, you don't love and the person you love might not necessarily be in love with you. If you are about to cross the tight rope, do you jump straight down to the safety net to avoid all the anxiety and the pain or do you ask them to remove the safety net and begin the deadly walk across? The comparison is almost the same.

My answer to that question is simple: I'm a performer. Let's give the crowd a good show.

Love is an important, very powerful word for me. It is something so completely undefined, it is something so abstract and makes people do so many weird, stupid and wonderful things that there is no one real way that you can properly describe the effects of love. And people feel it differently, react to it differently. Love is something very personal, something experienced individually.

And why will I give up a chance to go for it? A chance to have it for myself? Why will I settle for the safe choice? Where's the challenge there? And I'm not saying I'm up for it for the challenge, no, not all... I'm no gamesman. But I tend to not value the things that come too easily. I think that's a Des'ree song; but I digress... And I don't know if it is masochism or stupidity on my part but I've walked that tightrope many times and have fallen. I hurt myself many times, broke a few legs and probably died a couple of times. But that won't stop me from removing the safety net and putting up a good show. Because once you find reciprocation; once you get together with someone that you love and loves you back with the same intensity then you know everything is worth it. It is really worth it.

I'm not saying that going for the person who loves you and will understand you and take care of you the way you want to be taken cared of is a stupid choice. No, not at all. It's just not my choice. If I was to enter a relationship, I want the whole shebang: the fireworks, the orchestral music, the happy ending. I want the crying and the passionate kissing. I want the thrill of the unknown, that all you have is each other and you don't know how long that will last. I want the fire. I want to burn.

As I said, you have every right to call me a masochist, a stupid fool. But if I find that person; if I find reciprocation, you'll have to excuse me while I get my last laugh...

If we all leap before we crawl, we might fall,
and it's not always candy spun from head to heart,
and it's not always meant to be,
and it's not always up to me.
-- "Wishing Heart," words and music by Lisa Loeb

It's a gamble, it's a roll of the dice, it's the spinning of the roulette wheel, it's the slowly turning over cards... It's not a game, though. Do not make that mistake. That mistake is crucial. That mistake can mean game over for you. Never play. I'm trying to think of a good metaphor for what love is (or the search of love) but I can't find one right now. Words fail me at the moment...

It's an over-used hackneyed topic but it's really what all stories are about. It's really why we are still alive. And it is described in so many ways; in so many different ways. It is related to us in so many different stories. Practically all stories are about it. And yet, we can't really truly have one good definition of it. Eleven billion people in the world and one person will refute or object to any one given definition because his or her experience of it is different.

So why will I bother finding a metaphor for it? I could use any one word and it would be good enough...

And when I talk about therapy
I know what people think
That it only makes you selfish
And in love with your shrink
And oh how I loved everybody else
when I finally got to talk so much about myself
-- "What Do You Hear In These Sounds" by Dar Williams

I guess this is the reason why I get so involved with communication. This unbelievable feeling of connection with someone else. Exchanging ideas and experiences, telling stories, it's a different kind of high, really. And the more and more you get to talk about yourself and in relation to whoever it is you're talking to, you end up realising more and more truths about yourself, about people and about reality and the universe in general. It's true... the world is a living entity as well. It changes, the rules change after a while. Nothing in this reality stays the same. Nothing is truly static. And by constantly talking to people, sharing your experiences and listening in on others, you'll be able to figure out what direction the world is going to next.

That's why I love talking. That's why I am so involved in talking to people and learning new stuff and meeting new people and really discussing things. Even the most mundane things carry a sort of heaviness, encrypted messages to what will happen next. You just have to be able to glean it out on your own.

I guess that's why I really get so involved with this journal. Considering the fact that I lay myself bare and vulnerable to people's judgements; what is there to be afraid of? It's the idea that I'm getting my message across. That someone may be reading this and saying, "Hey! So that's how life is for that person. Interesting. I never thought to see it that way." And all of a sudden, a connection is made. So yeah, there is a sort of egotistical trip going on in here; but I assure you, my intentions of this blog was genuinely for the sake of reaching out to more people.

And yes, the blog is also therapeutic for me. Letting go of all the stuff in my head, in my heart, I feel like it can't hurt me. Or that it becomes a story I can re-write. It separates itself from my being and I can react to it with less subjectivity. I was reading my blog again earlier today, every entry from February until the most current and I felt myself thinking of the things that I did as if it were another person. And I could give this person advice from an objective stand point and it works. All of a sudden, I've let go of all the drama that was piling up the past few days.

Of course, I have not let go of the anxiety of moving. I think that only disappears after I finally move in.

But there, that is one of the reasons for this blog. I mean, why do people write in the first place? Essentially, they want to tell a story. I want to tell myself a story. And, I want everybody to know the story too. And if we all can get something from it, if not some wisdom, maybe amusement? Then who am I to complain?

Oh, give me a reason to be beautiful
So sick in his body, so sick in his soul
Oh, and I will make myself so beautiful
Oh, and everything I am
-- Reasons to be Beautiful, words by Courtney Love and performed by Hole

I just borrowed the digital camera of my good friend Berna and suffice to say; the true extent of my vanity reared its ugly head! Ha Ha Ha I washed my face and hair; put on gel and then began shooting away at home. My brother and Mom kept shouting, "You're so vain" and all I could reply was "I know!"

And it's funny... I eat so much and I didn't realise how thin I've become. On the pictures, my cheeks have sunken in and it is kind of scary... I don't recognize the face in the pictures and the face I see in the mirror. They look alike. But they are not the same face. Is that even possible? Or is the face the same, is it me who does not recognize that both images are mine? Do I really look different on my everyday than my face when I see a camera pointed at my direction?

Yesterday, I was at work from 1 in the afternoon until 3 in the morning. It was insane. I was so tired afterwards but hey! It was great. I started learning how to use the editing application (we use Adobe Premiere in our editing) and it's really a lot of fun. I love the whole idea of cut and pasting the interviews - cutting down a whole interview from 20 minutes to 4 minutes. It's amazing work! The tricks of editing are endless.

Right now, I'm listening to The Prayer Cycles with my Mom and I've forgotten how gorgeous this album is. Jonathan Elias' compositions are just unbelievable. It really makes you stop and think about what's going on in your life. And truth of the matter is, the happiness I had, the elation I was speaking of in my Blog last February, I let it go. I lost it. And it was me who dropped it. I let people affect me more than I should have let them. I expected too much. I was reading my blog from February all the way until March and discovered how happy I was and that I could achieve it. It really is just a simple thing. I let it go. I guess I'm just the type of person who puts too much importance on other's opinions... Well, "others" meaning certain people. And when our communication lines broke down, I felt like it was a personal comment on my person, which it isn't. It never is...

Just because someone doesn't feel as much about you as you do for them doesn't mean there's something wrong with you. It is all a matter of opinion and personal preferences. That goes to say about everything in this world. That's the only problem with human beings and the ability to think. We tend to trash and destroy the things that we don't like when, in truth, it probably is very much liked and admired by someone else. And God knows no one has a right to impose their standards on anybody else's. So we have to put ourselves behind the lines that we make and not go over it.

For all we know, we might be substandard to someone else's frame of reference... So I won't take these silences as an expression of rejection. Maybe the person just doesn't feel the same way. Maybe I am not what the person is looking for. I can handle that. I'm sure it must've been the same way for some other people with regards to myself. I'm not going to go out of my way to look. I'm not the kind of person who does. But if it comes, I've never denied it. I push it to the limits. It's the only way to know if it is going to stay and if it is worth it.

Hey you were right
Named a star for your eyes
Did you freeze did you weep
Turn to gold, baby, sleep

Hey honey mine
I was there all the time
And I weep at your feet
And it rains and rains
-- Reasons to be Beautiful, words by Courtney Love and performed by Hole

"Why is it that as we grow older and stronger/ The road signs point us adrift and make us afraid/ Saying "You can never win," "Watch your back," "Where's your husband?"/ Oh I don't like the signs that the signmakers made./ So I'm going to steal out with my paint and my brushes/ I'll change the directions, I'll hit every street/ It's the tinseltown scandal, the Robin Hood vandal/ She goes out and steals the King's English/ And in the morning you wake up and the signs point to you/ they say/ "I'm so glad you finally made it here," / "You thought nobody cared, but I did, and I could tell,"/ And "This is your year," and "It always starts here,"/ And oh, "You're aging well." -- You're Aging Well, words and music by Dar Williams

Amazingly enough, I woke up without too much pain from my body. I ate lunch, watched Survivor and grieved at the ouster of Kathy from the tribe. Kathy Vavrick O' Brien has got to be my favourite Survivor ever on that series. But she admitted it herself, she wasn't playing the best game she could have this round. And though I agree, she was still the best survivor out there and was a deserving winner, if only she could have been able to sever the ties that kept the original Chapera team tight. But that was filmed late last year and there is nothing to do but watch and find out who takes home the prize.

I work and discover, in-between cigarettes and phone calls that I think I'm pretty much sold on one condo-apartment near work. Deep down inside, I've already imagined how it would look like, how I'm going to fix it up. I will still look around and do the math; but I think there will be no way to deter myself from making the decision to move in that place.

I guess knowing where I will be ending up is some small relief. I can now visualize what life would be like. Where I will be doing my accouns, writing checks and paying bills. I know what I will look like and what kind of furniture to buy.

Then, about 30 minutes back, I did a quick run, feigning I was on Survivor myself and I think I pulled a muscle on my left thigh. I went dancing all night, crazy-wild dancing from 12 midnight to 3:30 and I didn't pull a God damn muscle or a ligament; and then, in one movement, feigning a run as if I was doing an individual immunity challenge, I pull a muscle! Is that a sign that I was not made for Survivor? Ha Ha Ha I hope not.

Joining Survivor is the only reason I can think of to getting an American citizenship. As foolish as it may sound, I'm proud of my Filipino citizenship. Even if it burdens me in travel; I will carry that with me with great pride.

And I just liberated myself from all stress and anxiety. All my problems these past few weeks were erased by a hyper-kinetic bout at the dance floor. From 12 midnight until 3:30 am I was just one with the music. I moved to the beat, the bass line, the drum loop and the effects. I sang along to the songs. I closed my eyes and breathed in the energy and the passion. I was just one with the dance. I was nothing more than just dancing, a while back. And it was great. It was liberating. For one stray moment, I wasn't thinking about whether I should get a gas stove or an electric stove, whether I should save up for a car or a laptop, or think about whether I should learn how to do my own laundry or just use the laundromats. Will I even have time to do my own laundry? These things didn't affect me. I was just dancing.

I didn't care that some idiot stepped on my foot over 12 times in one song alone! It didn't matter to me that someone spilt his drink on my shirt. It didn't matter to me that I accidentally hit someone's hand while dancing that caused her to spill her drink on some poor guy's shirt. Or that someone rammed his face into my cigarette or that I forgot to buy another drink.

I was just dancing. And it was good. It was so good and liberating. It was just what the doctor ordered. I'm good again. I'm ready once more to face this world; to try again and move on. What can I say? I'm cheap... hehehe

I got a call from someone I didn't expect to hear again in a long time. It's so good to receive news that what you thought was wrong; that there are always expectations and that I'm not someone who just gets left behind. I'm worth thinking about too. It's a wonderful feeling.

I should really get out more and stop becoming what my work demands of me. I should enjoy life once in a while again; like I used to. Dance. Feel the electricity coursing through my body, running through my veins.

This may sound weird or even mean but I feel sorry for people who cannot dance or don't even want to try. I believe it is a great expression of everything that is deep inside.

And you know what? I found another attractive quality in a person. If the person knows how to enjoy the moment, dance, holler, and just enjoy; they become all so much more attractive to me. That's a really funny and silly thing to say... but what can I say? That is who I am.

You know what? I haven't danced in ages... I think I need to dance... Free myself of this anxiety that is dragging me down. My family and friends think I can make it... I met some people who believe in me (and we only just met) and if only I can channel all of that and think positively; I think I can make this work. I think I can work this out. I'll survive. This is just another step. The whole world is out there.

All I need to do is dance again. Remember the feeling of motion. Let the blood rush through my veins. Let my body imitate the sky and water. I need to feel free. I can't wait to go dancing again. The weekend is coming up. It's a whole world out there. And I'm a part of it. Mine are not the only problems in the world. Mine are not the only issues that need to be solved. I have to get out of this self-centered way of thinking.

I just need to dance again...

I just can't shake this feeling of anxiety... Things seem to be going well for me; but the whole idea that I'm going to be moving out and really, honestly striking it out alone really, really freaks me out. After all; things have been quite easy these past few years.

Despite the fact that I tried my best to be as independent as possible; I was really sheltered. Simple things like paying for electricity and water went totally past me. Not having to bother about laundry was a leisure I took for granted. Now, in the next few weeks, I'll be living alone and I am thinking about dishwashing liquid, toilet paper and buying lysol and those black trash bags. It's an extreme shift in thinking for me. It's exciting - I'm 25; it is about fucking time anyhow for me to strike it out on my own but it's scared because there is no safety net down there. If I drop, I fall to my death. I guess it's my pride. There is no way I'm going to live with my grandparents. At the same time, I really don't want to get a roommate because I like the privacy and the fact I'll be calling all the shots for myself.

And geez, I'm smart enough to know that getting a roommate is almost like getting a wife. It's like a marriage. It will definitely break friendships. Especially with the kind of personality that I have. I'll just tolerate all the things that bother me about the person and then, one moment, I'm just going to burst and it won't be a pretty sight.

As much as I am exploring the new landscape of my inner bastard, I'm still inherently a martyr. So I know that my personality does not really call for me to have a roommate.

I wonder what this new dynamic is going to do for everything about me. With most of my money going to utilities and rent; will I be going out less and less? Will I be foregoing my purchasing of original music? Will I be looking for more and more work, giving up an active social life (not that my social life was active these past few weeks).

God! I've been working so hard; I miss my friends and just hanging out. It's something I really miss. Not so much the "going out" part but I miss just hanging out with my friends, a little bit of the dressing up and just telling stories. Telling what is going on in my life right now. And now... I'm moving out, I'm getting my own place.

This is just so weird...

"The essence of being human is that one does not seek perfection, that one is sometimes willing to commit sins for the sake of loyalty, that one does not push asceticism to the point where it makes friendly intercourse impossible, and that one is prepared in the end to be defeated and broken up by life, which is the inevitable price of fastening one's love upon other human individuals." -- George Orwell

I just love the above quote very much. My Dad sent it to me via text (he always sends me such wonderful quotes) and I think this one is one of the truest; if not, then at least the one I relate to the most.

Are we not all willing to commit sins in the name of loyalty? Who has not? I have. Plenty of sins. Plenty of times. And I'd probably do it again. That's just the kind of person I am. And I try never to put art above communication. I love art - I believe it is one of the greatest things in the world. I believe art is important because it reminds us what it means to be human. It reminds us what it means to feel. But to put that reminder over communication; the ability to transfer ideas just seems contrary to the reason why I love it so much.

And I am always prepared to be defeated and broken up by life because of love. I think, if anything, this blog has proven that. The way I straddle over precariously the thin line between desparate and pathetic (a line I wish I never was on, and yet, I will not deny that I reside in) is telling of the way that love affects me and how powerful I truly believe that word is.

As Natalie Merchant sings in one of her songs, "Jezebel:"

I'm not saying I'm replacing love for some other word to describe the sacred tie that bounds me to you. I'm just saying we've mistaken one for thousands of words.

And then she continues:

I'm not saying that I'm replacing love for some other word to describe the sacred tie that bound me to you. I'm not saying love's a plaything. No, it's a powerful word, inspired by strong desire to bind myself to you.

By the way, it's also a great song. Both the original version and the Unplugged live version. Gorgeous song. Look for it. Get your own copy. It's one of the best songs the 10,000 Maniacs ever released while they were with Natalie Merchant.

In a way, I feel like Natalie Merchant will understand me. I look at a lot of the lyrics of her songs and find myself relating very strongly to them. Today, the screw up in the schedule gave me a whole afternoon off and so I decided to enjoy myself - solitary; alone with my own person. I visited people but spent a better part of the day alone, walking around Glorietta and just absorbing the changes that are about to come. It was good. To do what I want, when I want and at my own discretion.

I saw a couple holding each other and talking; except the man had a second phone, hidden in his jacket. I saw it when he went in the bathroom. Anyway, who would wear a jacket in the middle of summer?

I saw an old man leading his daughter along the mall. She wanted to stop at a toy store. He didn't notice. He tugged her along and went to a store selling watches.

I saw a clerk in a store who whined and complained that she hadn't sold anything that whole day; yet she remained motionless in her spot by the cashier. She made no attempt to approach a customer and make a sale.

"Have I been blind? Have I been lost? Have I been wrong? Have I been wise? Have I been strong? Have I been hypnotized? Mesmerized by what my eyes have found in that great street carnival? In that carnival?" -- Carnival, Natalie Merchant

I find myself shedding skin. The sunburn has begun to peel. A layer of myself has come lose. I scrub it off with a lufa when I shower. Yet I can't get rid of it all. It takes its time. It will run its course in due time. How can I not feel this moment to be metaphorical? The peeling off of layers. My shedding in a moment of absolute vulnerability. To all who know, you know I will be alone, all on my own. You know what I will be going through in the next couple of weeks. I'm both frightened and excited - but I believe more frightened than anything else that I could possibly feel.

The tether is severed. I sail the oceans for the first time too far from shore without a map to return to. All of this as I turn 25. Quarter of a century old. I guess that means there was no better time that this...

"Have you practiced so long to learn to read?
Have you felt so proud to get at the meaning of poems?" -- "Song for Myself, Walt Whitman

I suddenly realized that the new comment space on my blog doesn't send the comments to my e-mail and I'd have to read it on the site itself to see what comments have been placed on my blog. And whoa!

I mean... WHOA!!!

Someone just sent a comment that I write badly. He/she (though the name is Kathy so I'm guessing it is a she) says that I write badly and that she doesn't understand how I got published in the first place. Ouch! 25 points of damage to my writer's ego. I know I cannot possibly please everybody but this is the first real bad comment I've heard about my work since I've begun writing. I really feel bad about it. Ouch!!! I'm in real pain.

Anyhow... I just got back from a fantastic vacation yesterday. I was in the tiny seaside town of Mauban in Quezon province. On our arrival, we got on a boat and took a 40 minute boat ride to the island of Cagbalete where my friend's family owns land there. So, pretty much, we were in a private beach, all to ourselves.

Suffice to say, I got dark. I got burned. And I love it! I finally have that beach tan I was dying for for the past 4 to 5 years... And my body is in pain because I played soccer in the beach. The following day, with my body in pain (and still out of breath) we played kick-ball. It's kind of like baseball but we don't have a bat and we don't have a baseball; so we just rolled the football towards the plate and the "batter" kicks it (instead of batting it). It was so much fun. Afterwards, we played dodge ball. It was just so amazing to get so sporty in a beach. I was sweating like a pig (do pigs really sweat? I thought that was why they love to stay in the mud because that is how they keep cool?) and I was burning under the sun. I could feel my muscles tense and stretch and improve and as I was losing breath, I realised, I was being sporty in the beach. How cool is that? He he he

You have to excuse my utter thrill of having played sports in the beach. I'm not a sporty person at all. I used to play a lot of volleyball back in High School but then again, that wasn't enough. It's just the whole idea of it. I remember last year, when I was at Boracay, I saw a group of young guys and girls (they were probably freshmen and sophomore's in college) who drew out in the sand a rectangle where they played soccer and it was so nice to see this group of young boys and girls having fun at the beach. In a sense, I was envious of them. It didn't matter to them if they were winning or losing, playing badly or playing extremely well; what was important was having fun with the rest of the gang in a paradise-like island.

That's the same way I felt in Cagbalete except that I was in a private beach, so the idea that nobody was watching helped me become less self-conscious. But of course, it didn't reduce my competative spirit in any way. I was still as competative as ever, needing to win. Thank God in both games, my team won.

How come I feel like I just spelled "competative" incorrectly? Damn! I think I spelled it incorrectly.

Someone, an anonymous commentor in my blog, mentioned that "just when I thought Wanngo (it's 2 "g"s and 1 "n") stopped being mushy, here he goes again. Well, what can I do? This person has been on my mind as of late. Can't seem to shake this person out of my hair. I don't have the capacity to let go, it seems...

And yet again, this person, drugged out completely to the point of stupidity texted again. This person was looking for me in Boracay. Probably wanted a kiss... I was nowhere near.

Goodness! I still can't get that comment out of my head! I'm a bad writer! 1 person thinks I'm a bad writer! I have to know why they think that way! What can I do to improve? I know I can't please everybody but at least, I should be able to know what is it in my writing that some people find bad. This will be in my head for weeks...

Nothing really matters, love is all you need... -- Nothing Really Matters, Madonna

I'll be gone for the better part of the Holy Week. Will be out of town, amongst friends (friends I haven't hung around for quite a long time) and far away from work and stress and people that have caused me much anguish. And it's about time too. I read past entries in this blog and discover a lapse in eloquence, style, literary grace... I'm tired. My mind is tired, my body is tired, even my aura is tired. I've been cranky. I've been mean. I need to re-charge. I won't last if I continue doing this. I need to regroup. Have fun again. Just unwind. Let it all out. Or not let it out but shove it aside and put "me" in the forefront. A chance to remember what it was like to smile.

I've been so busy I haven't even written in my tangible journal, my little black book where all my secrets, my feelings, the truth is hidden away. There are four to five days in-between entries. That's bad. Considering that I used to write everyday, sometimes even more than twice a day. But then again, I was inspired...

Yesterday, I indulged myself. I know I can't sing. If this world depended on me singing, well, suffice to say, this world is completely and utterly doomed. Yup! It would be doomed. Because I cannot sing a note. I can't even carry a tune. But I didn't care. Yesterday, I indulged myself in Red Box, a family videoke bar and my good friends Jaypee and Berna (later joined by John and MJ) and I sang our hearts content. And Jaypee quickly ran out of energy (he's been on his feet with only three hours of sleep for the past week) and Berna was too embarrassed to use the microphone. So, probably eighty percent of the time, I was singing with the microphone and it felt great. I sang so many songs: Al Green's "Let's Stay Together," Edwin McCain's "I'll Be," Madonna's "Ray of Light," Duncan Sheik's "I'm on a High," and so many more... I can't seem to remember.

It's so great to just let go and cut loose. To sing and sing and sing. And no one telling you that you sound bad and asking you to stop. It was just about having fun and being ourselves and letting go. And that was a nice little entry into a week vacation that will just let me be myself. Coalesce. I need to coalesce.

To a particular someone: You've come back in my mind. I text and you never reply. "I will always be your friend," you said. "I will never say good bye to you, Wanggo," you said. "I'll always be here for you," you said. All the things you said doesn't mean a thing. Three weeks. I have not heard from you in three weeks. We could have just let it lie when we both said good bye. But you had to call me back and tell me these things. You said that you have never spoken to someone the way you've spoken to me; with me. You trusted me. I earned it. And you let it go. You let me go. And I'm trying to return the favour. But when something is important to me, it isn't so easy to just say good bye. I had one week reprieve but the anguish returns. I am longing once more to hear the sound of your voice again...

"Never is a promise and you can't afford to lie" -- Never Is A Promise, Fiona Apple

Hope is a double edged sword. It keeps you going when all seems lost. It is a driving force, it is fuel that keeps us moving ever forward to that destination that seems so faraway; sometimes, you can't even see it. But it also keeps you on the path that maybe you shouldn't tread on. Hope. A double-edged sword. It keeps you moving forward and forward to a place that may no longer be as fertile as you remember it to be or you have imagined it to be.

I wrote a poem before. It was about hoping and wishing for love. It is about how people would wish on stars, not realising that they are wishing on the resonance of these stars. After all, a million light years away, the star could be long dead and gone but we wouldn't know it. We only see what remains, the light that keeps shining through... We may be wishing on a star that is no longer there. Isn't that how love can sometimes be?

"It's a beautiful day..." -- Beautiful Day, U2

Once again I find myself in an internet cafe and all of a sudden, I'm becoming more and more comfortable with the whole internet cafe thingie... This whole public access thing is not as bad as I first thought. Either that, or I'm just becoming more used to the idea. Whatever the case, my blog has reached a larger sense of mobility.

I really want to be able to have my own column in some newspaper. I want to be able to make column-type articles about music, movies, theatre (not that I watch a lot of it) and travel. Sometimes, I can talk about going out, the nightlife or urban living as a yuppie (or yuppie-wannabe) and see where it goes. It's a place for me to review parties and other stuff like vacations, hot-spots and things that seem to excite and thrill people of my age and generation. I could talk about the release of a great new commercial, or talk about a hot young poet that's releasing work or unknown bands (like Bliss, who I got to see in Racks El Pueblo; they are so good, the girl was singing "These are Days" by 10,000 Maniacs and "Tonight and the Rest of My Life" by Nina Gordon, that has got to say something about the quality of this two-man band).

But since I don't seem to get any sort of offer to start my own column, I'm thinking about whether I should just start an on-line column by opening another blog and publish a column weekly... I don't know. I'm still toying with the idea.

Anyhow, the "hang-over" from the wedding is starting to go away and I feel like I'm starting to take control over my time again. I love my family dearly, but in a way, there's more space in the house again and I'm starting to relax. I can unwind properly. Let go a bit. I'm not at all claustrophobic but I now know how it feels like. That feeling that you cannot get away, that no matter where you turn, where you go, you're stuck and there are people breathing down your neck, people watching your every movement, every gesture. It's horrible.

By the way, for the record, I never get hang-overs. I can drink like a freaking fish the night before and I will always wake up without those blasted head aches and dizziness that usually is associated with being hung-over. I never get hang-overs, one of the very few things I love about my body chemistry. That's just for the record.

Work is starting to taper off... The coming Holy Week is going to be the much needed rest I'm looking for. I just want to let loose, let go and just have fun and not have to think about work. If it goes well, I'll be able to re-charge properly and I'll be able to enter a flurry of work and industry for the next 3 months or so. So I'm kind of excited for that needed re-fuelling of energy. It is what I need.

I was able to go dancing again last night. It was for a short time only, but I can't help the feeling of energy that surges through me and I'm fine now for the day. I can feel my muscles turn into knots right now, but it's okay because my mind is loose. I can think a little more clearly. I had a real good editing session today and I feel that it is because of the dancing I did last night.

Dance. I think it really is important. It can really help.