The Flight of the Rocketman

The mark of age seems inept for brilliance that seems to transcend time. -- DC Corpuz

I throw away the keys to my rocket. It's over. I didn't think it would be over but I've decided to let go of the journey. The Rocket Man no longer seeks out the elusive bliss. He has grown up. Space is not the final frontier, he has discovered. It is ourselves.

Why search for something that continues to remain elusive? Why search for something that continues to free itself of you and then jumps into view every once in a while? Like a wily lover, a player, so to speak, it refuses to commit itself to you yet also refuses to let go of you. I don't play that game. No, not anymore.

I've let go of so many things and the pleasure of the elusive bliss no longer thrills me. I've learned so many things since I've begun and writing here has been influential. It helps me make these moments tangible. It helps me deal and helps me let go.

But I am moving on.

I've decided that there has to be a change. And this is one of them. I'm moving house. I'm no longer the Rocketman. I am no longer seeking out the elusive bliss. Now, I've decided, I'm going to celebrate my life's indulgences. I'm going to enjoy the pleasures of life. I am going to indulge.

And so I start a new journal -- Indulgences. indulgences.blogspot.com is the new home of all my thoughts.

And I will be starting another journal, this one, reviews of the movies, books and music that has touched me and/or has pissed me off in some way or another. It is my way of cataloguing art in all its forms. Here is hoping that I learn how to post pictures in my site. This one is called Watching Things Burn. The link is at the side bar.

Thanks to all the people who have read and those that have commented. Hope to see you on the two new sites.

I say good bye to the rocket. Sweet ol' girl has made me proud. It's time I let it go...

"Wangs, there will be a day in the future where you will look back on these days of penniless existence and say those were the best times of my life! Then you will laugh and smile about it. Of course it sucks right now but it's really intended that way to make reminiscing so much more sweeter. So though you feel tied and bound, can't do the things you want, etc. Just keep the good fight cause the harder you try to free yourself the better you get at it. And believe me you will need those tricks to untie yourself over and over again because it seems life has an inexhaustible supply of ropes." -- texted to me by Anne Rodriguez

On the eve of my birthday, I find myself staring at an existential sort of contemplation. In the middle of work, on a hot Sunday afternoon with only 2 and half hours of sleep and a very long day ahead; I watch as things burn.

It always returns to fire. Fire cleanses the land, strips it so that water comes to heal it and start things anew.

It was my first time ever to ride a fire truck. It was my first time to head towards a fire. I realise now the insane sense of nobility that firemen have, to rush headlong towards the thing that people rush away from. Where people run because of fire's unending hunger and its dire need to consume, a fire fighter heads towards it with the goal to end its wrath. They save lives and they save things.

I watched them from the top of their fire truck as they look at each other, eyes hollow, faces blank and darkened with ash. Four firemen have just come back from battling the red beast and they just sit while firemen from other brigades take their turn. They just sit there. And what is it that I imagine them thinking? I imagine thinking I couldn't bring it down to its knees, I didn't stop it, someone could be killed, things are being destroyed. I am not good enough. But I watch them sit there, looking defeated and think, such noble and honourable people; to stare danger and death straight in the face and say 'I must help my fellow man.'

And this isn't bullshit either because they are all volunteer fire fighters. They receive no compensation whatsoever for what they do. They do this because they want to. These are people with regular jobs, families and friends. These are people with lives like us; except that they spend a lot of their free time training to fight fires. And they rush into the dangers, save lives, and are real life heroes a minimum of 200 times a year.

And they don't want anything in return. They just want that good feeling that comes inside when they do this thing. It's amazing.

It is truly inspiring.

And there I was, standing on the top of a fire truck and watch all these people running around; some women crying, faces black with ash and soot while I saw another walking around with a large pink back pack and a coffee-maker. One boy not older than 15 was carrying a huge 24 inch television. A woman sat in the street with a plastic bag filled with clothes, un-ironed and a little black bag. The things that people pick up; the first thing on their minds or in a state of panic, grab that which was easy to bring. I saw one man walking around with a gash, a wound in his arm and teary-eyed, holding above his head a bicycle. With all that chaos surrounding him, he saved his bicycle. Another man had saved his dog and since it had no leash, he had to hold on to it.

I've always wondered what I would do if I were to find myself in that situation. What do I save? My CDs or my books? Those are the only two things I've collected that would cost me much pain if I were to lose it. How could I ever get those individual pieces back? It would just be too much to put it back together. It would be the death of me.

But then, watching all those people running, crying, holding on to coffee makers and rice dispensers; I wondered, there really would be no question. I'd grab whatever I can get with my two hands and just run. Life is precious, after all.

There are people out there who risk their lives everyday for people they barely know. They do it because they know that it is good and doing good makes them feel good. My friends took care of me last Saturday. I didn't spend for anything as they brought me out to dinner, watched a concert and went dancing. They were very loving and treated me with great tenderness. I was flooded with affection. There are no other like them...

Cds and books? Yeah, they are an important part of my life. But so is my life and the memories that come with it. All things are transient. It only depends on how much value we decide to give to them.

I was watching things burn today but I also learned how to put the fires out.

The songs are about the intangible, about situations out of our control, moments that aren’t entirely rational. Maybe it is all about love. -- Tanita Tikaram (about the songs in her new album, from her website)

It's a penniless existence for me. Work is piling up and my hopes are always raised and then fall over to nasty disappointment. I should really stop going to VTRs because they keep killing my ego.

But then again, that's not true. I have rationalised that I'm not the one they were looking for; there was another look or a better actor. It wasn't that I wasn't good enough, it was just that I wasn't the one that was envisioned. The disappointment comes from not having a chance to work in that environment and field again. And of course, the loss of the money. That's painful.

Especially in my situation now.

After what happened last Thursday, I feel so lost without a destination to go dancing. I have an alternative, but Embassy is just so far away and without a car, quite a difficult destination to go to. I know it is there if I need it but there is always a level of sadness when letting go of something -- even if it ended badly.

But I don't really feel like dancing these days. I want to do more writing but haven't had the urge, the feel or necessity. I've been disappointed too many times to try and write another script. I don't want to be jaded and force myself not to think about it and just to keep writing, keep producing work. But at one point, you can't help but think it is exactly like a raffle, like the lottery and I never win in games of chance. It's always got to be about hard work.

And I'm working hard now. And nothing seems to be paying up and I'm wondering how long it will be before I march up to my parents and do something I haven't done since May of last year and that's to ask for money. Something I am so loathe to doing. I don't want to. I've been enough trouble as it is... but I've got bills to pay.

And the days drag on and everyone is flooding to the beaches and I have to stay home to remain practical and it is the smart thing to do considering my current financial status. And everyone returns to the city and they are dark and peeling and radiant and energized. I wait for my turn.

I wait for my turn.

But I have a smile on my face. I am getting to know someone and someone is getting to know me. And I feel safe and secure and this is exciting and thrilling as much as it scares me. I'm getting back on the saddle again, or so they say. I'm trying it out one more time. I'm giving it another shot.

I'm not jaded. I'm not yet done with love. I once again pack my bags and take the journey and hope I don't get lost like I have so many times before. I always take this trip.

That means I'm not jaded. And that's a good thing...

No rice
So into the bowl
I put flowers
-- texted to me by my Dad

I have to find a new place to go dancing. I just had a horrible time in the two clubs that I frequent and I don't want to go back until the anger subsides... And that will probably be in the next 8 to 10 months maybe.

I'm just so pissed. I'm over-the-edge in anger. In the first club, so disgusting asshole bumps into my while I'm pissing in order to get my attention. I ignore him. He then slurs something which I suppose was to resemble something akin to speech but I just look at him and say "I can't understand you." He then proceeds to stick his finger in my ear and I move my head away and raise my voice and tell him he was rude. He then proceeds to continously annoy me until I finish peeing and walk away calling him a rude son-of-a-bitch. I didn't want to start a fight, the club belongs to a friend of mine and I was raised better. But I really so wanted to hit the fucking fag. I hate it when they impose their fucking sexuality on you. I can't stand in when they can't take the hint that someone is not interested. God. I really, really hate them.

On the dance floor, I was really enjoying myself, especially since the club was practically empty. I had a whole large piece of the dance floor to myself. He whips me with his shirt to get my attention. I so wanted to smash his face in, kick his ribs until they broke and then snap his leg into two. I wanted to turn him into a bloody pulp. I never had so much violent thoughts almost turn into action at any one moment.

In the other club, something similar happened. It was more full and the club's design makes it difficult to dance when it is crowded. People standing in the dance floor looking like idiots. It's a fucking dance floor, God damn it! What are you doing just standing there?!?! People walking right in front of people who are dancing, crowding them and forcing them to the wall. People just started to crowd and would just stand in front of me. What the fucking hell is that?!?!

And then people would just grab my arm and force me closer to them so they can whisper something to my ear. I'd respond in kind, smile and then move away. Then they would do it again to say exactly the same thing. Jesus Christ! So I dance well. So I dance like there's no tomorrow. That doesn't make me public property. I don't care if you admire me; treat me like a God damn human being! Tap me in the shoulder, smile and introduce yourself. I'm not some thing, I'm not your property.

Fucking assholes. People standing around, trying to see and be seen. It is so pathetic. I should know, I've been there. I've done that. Fucking losers.

They always teach us, everywhere, in movies and television and whatever other classes that we take for self-defense that no means no. No. What? Do they want me to be rude? Do they want me to call them losers? Do they want me to act like the hand of the devil slapping them in the face with the cold hard truth? Do they want me to show them what I think of them?

I swear to God I have no plans of being nice anymore. I am so tired of being polite or civil. And if I hurt their feelings, so be it. I don't fucking care because they didn't think of mine when they started to treat me like an object.

I'm a human being, for God's sake. I want to be treated like one.

Some people just can't control themselves. They just go nuts and ask people to help them, to help them stop the things they don't want to do but they go off and do it anyway. They make it difficult to help them. It is such a waste of time.

Oh yeah, the icing on the cake? I didn't even want to go out. I had already decided I wasn't going to go out until next month. I need to save money. I need to be practical. I didn't even dress to go out. But a friend is leaving for the States for a while and we had to say good bye. I thought, or was led to believe, we were just going to have coffee in Greenbelt until I was told that we had to meet him at his club. I didn't want to go but then, he's a friend and he's always treated my friends and I well. So off I went. And he never came. We didn't even get to say good bye. That was just so stupid.

I'm really tired of this. It's time to say what I mean and mean what I say. I am going to do other things now. This whole night-life bullshit is done and over for me. It leaves a bad taste in my mouth.

Listen when I'm silent there's a
Sound that only you can hear
Listen when it's quiet I know
You can hear it, cover up your ears
COVER UP YOUR EARS
-- A Sound That Only You Can Hear, K's Choice (written by Sarah & Gert Bettens)

I'm not going to say that I'm out of it but it's nice to be smiling so easily again and it's nice to be here again even though I don't know where here will be after a few months. All I know is that there is so much fun in getting to know someone new and the little bits of electricity that you get when that person smiles because you did something funny.

The little game of being yourself and being funny and charming and wonderful and hoping that it is appreciated.

Getting materialistic again and I've got a wishlist going on and the top three items on that wishlist is a car, a laptop and an I-pod. The car is to help me get around and not have to rely on public transportation that gets impossible during rush hour and that gets a little intimidating during really early morning and you are sleepy and tired and it's late and there are suspicious characters about. The laptop is to help me work anywhere I find myself. I can take a vacation is still write. It's the mobility of working and something that doesn't take too much space since, apparently, I'll be moving to a smaller place. And an I-pod is for music in-demand. I can listen to my music when I want it, where I want it. I think I can fill up the 1,000 song requirements in a matter of seconds with all the music at my place. It would be instant.

Little things are like books and more CDs. I still have yet to buy the new Tori Amos CD and I see it all the time and it stares at me and beckons me to buy it and I want to but I have to be practical. I have rent to pay, bills to pay. I also want to get the new Kelly Clarkson CD especially since Chantal Kreviazuk co-wrote songs with her. I don't have the latest Corrs CD either. I still have yet to get a single Aimee Mann CD and I love her and I still don't have a single album of hers. That's so frustrating. The books are plenty but I don't know which to get. There have been no recommendations. I know that I still want to get Margaret Atwood's The Blind Assassin. It sounds like a book right up my alley. And I really like her writing. Neil Stephenson has a new series which started with Quicksilver. Of course, that scares me because that means I won't be able to rest until I've completed and read the whole series.

I also need new shoes and kind of a new wardrobe. I've been recycling clothes and running out of combinations for the outfits at home. I need to spark up a bit.

I've always wanted a metal watch and a bracelet.

*Sigh* The material life. It's something that hasn't entered my mind as of late and it was fun living a life that was not bent towards things. It just hit me again lately. It's funny that way, I guess. Popping up at the strangest of moments.

Well, gotta keep working so I can eventually afford all that I want.

It all started in another dimension...
-- Go, written by Melanie Chisholm and William Orbit

No matter how much you want to stay away from certain things, it always finds you. You can't hide from the things you want the most. Denial has a very strange way of slapping you on the face and reminding you of the things ignored, forgotten or denied. There is no way you can run from the things that you so desperately want.

To a particular somebody: I have yet to know what it is about you that I find fascinating. But for sure, the half of the face that I could see when we talked on the steps was more enchanting than the changing of colours, of the sudden burst of life of the morning. Your profile is more wondrous than the sunrise. And for me, who loves the sunrise and the sunset (my favourite times of the day), that is saying so much. I'm taking this one slow. I hold on to the changes that shift inside me and do this differently. There's just so much to gain and so much to lose. But isn't that how it is supposed to be?

I find it funny that despite all that has happened to me, I still have hope in my heart. And I'm not talking about love. Well, that's part of the equation but I am also talking about still going to VTRs and still doing things like submitting work to contests and stuff. I still plan on joining short film contests and joining script writing contests. It's strange. I thought, by now, I'd be forced to just live my life focusing on the here and now, on the things that are stable and not based on chance or a competition -- like a lottery or a contest.

Human persistence, I guess... The inability to throw in the towel; the desire to never give up. Maybe that's my nature, to continuously throw my body into the fire knowing it will burn thinking that I will be reborn after 3 days. Maybe I believe, deep down inside, that it's a phoenix soul that resides in my heart.

Now isn't that silly?

Strange soul you are
I stand in wonder
You make your own rules and use your own devices
You lay back easy to do
And I wish I were you
-- Wish I Were You, Alisha's Attic (written by Terry Martin and Shellie and Karen Poole)

I have jet-setting friends. I have friends who have traveled the world and seen the many different wonders there are to see in this enormous planet we live on. I have a friend who has surfed on the waves of 4 different continents. He has seen so many parts of the world. Another goes back and forth from Europe and Asia, different countries, for work. My parents, when they were my age, traveled all over the world.

What a wonder it would be to just step out and see it -- the mountains of Tuscany and Austria, the rivers in Thailand, Vietnam and Cambodia, the Great Wall of China, Big Ben and the Aurora Borealis. How wonderful it would be to visit New Zealand for a month. See all the places that Lord of the Rings had shot -- mountains, streams, forests. I even saw an episode of Amazing Race where they had a chasm that's really, really deep in New Zealand. And you have to hang on a rope and be brought down. If I'm not mistaken, 200 feet deep.

I've only been to Rome and Florence, Hong Kong and Shanghai. I want more. Rome and Florence was so beautiful - ancient and glorious. Shanghai was a mixture, the old and the new. It was fusion. It was alien to me. Hong Kong was just a huge shopping mall and for a kid of 13, that's not bad.

But I want more.

I just wish I wasn't so scared of doing the whole back-packer thing. I know I could probably find work as a dishwasher in a restaurant. I'm not against hard labour. I can sleep anywhere. All I really need is a clean toilet bowl. That's all I ask for, that's my only modern comfort demand. Otherwise, it's a go.

I'm just scared of the time lost. I could be making my resume more impressive. I could be making more work and if I'm out there, living a life fantastick out there in the world; would I be able to do that. I feel that maybe, after 3 years of that, all over Asia, I'd be able to sit down and just write non-stop for weeks. But I just can't help think of the things that will be left behind.

I'm weighing the things that will be left behind and the things that will be brought home with me... And I can't figure out which has more value to me. It is such a neutral debate in my opinion.

I know that it's mostly fear. Fear of the unknown. The fear grips me and forces the thrill of the unknown out of me. I want too much to spend my time in such a life experiment. I want sure results.

And that really makes me sad for me. I look at my friends who have been around the world, who threw care to the wind and just left and became a part of whatever world they found themselves in. It's so inspiring.

And it makes me feel small.

But I don't stop dreaming that one day I'll make it there. That I'll see this world myself. With so many wonders, so many things out there that is so beyond us, how could one want to just stay home forever? It is something I don't understand...

You know I can breathe, even when I cheat
Should, Should've been over for me
No angel came
-- Juarez, Tori Amos

The stupidest thing happened to me the other day. Goodness, I felt like such a moron. My keys slipped out of my pants and those are my only copies. I never got the time to make duplicates. It was horrible. From Saturday evening until this morning, I was pretty much wearing the same clothes except when my best friend, whose house I stayed in, lent me clothes for the house.

I even went to a VTR in my clothes from last Saturday. Thank God they were very neutral in terms that I wasn't in extremely night-out dressy clothes.

It was just a really silly, stupid, funny situation to have found myself in. Now, I have to ensure that I get these keys duplicated and leave them with someone I can trust (most probably my brother) so that if this stupidity ever happens again; I don't have to ask a favour from my friends to let me sleep over.

I watched 5 one-act plays of PETA last Saturday and found myself thoroughly enjoying myself. I was invited by a good friend of the family who is an actress to watch the plays. It is part of the laboratory workshop of PETA in their efforts to try and enrich Philippine theatre with new works. From this performance of the 5 plays, they choose which one they will develop into a full-length to feature in their next theatre season.

It is so nice to see PETA growing and moving away from the in-your-face dialogue and situations that are so obviously symbols and metaphors that it makes you want to cry for having been spoon-fed the theme of the play. 3 of the 5 plays showed a lot of subtlety, wit and intelligence. They really struck a chord in me and made me very hopeful for Philippine Theatre. I think it is good that PETA continues to try and produce plays in Filipino and more importantly, are moving towards more quality work.

I can remember when I watched Lisa Magtoto's Agnoia. That was a treat.

In fact, it is time to be more cultural. I remember before, back before I was turned into a cosmopolitan, night-owl; I used to go to museum with friends and we would critique artwork and explain what we felt and what the artist was trying to accomplish. I remember going to bookstores with friends and reading off to each other from books that we found interesting. If we were lucky, one of us would have money and would buy one of those books and spend the next few weeks lending that same book to each other and hurrying them up so we can sit down as a group and talk about it. I remember rengga sessions and art collaborations back in the days when making art was the sole purpose of my life -- to the exclusion of living.

Now that I've done my share of living, shallow as it may have been (maybe), I'm off to find the balance. Sure, I still enjoy dancing and what dancing does for me but I will not be the kind of person who works and then goes out, works and then goes out. Boring. I want to be the kind of person who works, watches movies, dances, reads, watches plays, goes to museums, knows the history of certain locales and landmarks. I want to be a complete person. A sort of modern rennaissance man who is involved in so many things.

It's more important to be someone who is as large as life and not just a tiny parcel of it.

And I don't want people to box me in a sort of simple category. I've got to keep people guessing all the time. Make sure that they can't figure me out. Be everything that I can be and then push it as far as I can to be even more.

I have this sudden rush. This spark. I'm holding on to it as close as I can to my chest. See if I can start some sort of fire and let myself get burned.

Imagination is more important than knowledge. -- Albert Einstein

Had a wonderful talk with my brother, you know, to help put certain things in perspective, and I ended up thinking about a lot of things.

There really is something about proximity. The dangers and the pitfalls of it can be quite confusing at times. Sometimes, being so close to someone can make that person so important to you, you end up valuing them more and more as each day passes. You might even think you are in love with that person. But given just one week away from that person, you may begin to wonder why the feelings are no longer the same.

And then take for instance the other edge of that sword: a friend whose company you enjoy becomes your day-to-day companion, hell, maybe even room mate and all of a sudden, all the little things just start to annoy you and irritate you and you can't stand this person anymore. Anything this person says just pisses you off and rubs you the wrong way. You end up looking for space and after a month or so of not seeing each other, the moment that you do again, you have a laugh about it and end up becoming the closest friends again but always conscious of your distance.

It's also the same with family, I suppose. The ones you are with are the ones that you always understand, whose sides you see and whose words and actions affect you the most. Whereas the ones from a far you may care less about (but not love any less) and have all these warm wishes and friendly prayers for but not really seek out in times of need.

But then again, there are also the family members so close to you, physically too near that you end up pushing away and hoping and rushing for the family that is not near to you; whom you always think of in the best of situations.

It's just that you aren't so near them that you always remember that which is good and brush aside so quickly what is bad. There is that moment of reflection. And then there are those who are so near to you, you see them for exactly who they are, the good and the bad and you can't help but feel too strongly about things that you look for distance and space.

There is something about proximity that creates some much in the distance between two people. The farther you are, the space in-between is one of fantasy and memory yet we never really take fantasy and memory too seriously in comparison to how we accept what is real. And the closer you are to someone, the space in-between is harsh reality and we are always very critical over reality that we always run to dreams and fantasy.

It's a never-ending cycle and in my family that keeps moving around from Manila to Bacolod, Bacolod to Manila and back again, Cebu, Los Banos and even the United States, we are hit so badly by these sudden shifts of feelings and attitudes towards people. Sometimes you don't know what happened and why you feel the way you do.

And there is always experience and real memory, the memories that we treasure even if they are not favourable, even if they remind us of bad things, memories not peppered by what we need them to be but remember exactly for how it happened. These help us define how close and how far we want other people to be.

My Mother moved to Bacolod for good, leaving my brother and I orphans in Manila with only each other now to run to if trouble boils ever so slowly. I don't know how to feel about that.

I've been living alone and independently since May of last year. I've been reliant on myself for my day-to-day life. It has always been about me.

Sometimes, it's nice to visit my brother who always reminds me that no matter how far I run to try and stand up for myself, my family is always two steps behind, chasing after me waiting to see if I'll ask for their help to stand up again if ever I should fall.

I guess, when love is involved, there are spaces we cannot measure and there are people that cannot be eliminated by dream, fantasy or reality. They will always be what they are to you, no matter what time and action has done to try and change that.

And now that things seem so empty; I realise it isn't all that empty after all...

We don't see things as they are. We see things as we are. -- Anais Nin

So now I can feel myself slowly coalescing. I'm far from completion, I'm still in a state of transition but I've made a decision. I've been acting too much like a door knob -- everbody gets a turn. Nope. No more of that. Enough of that. I'm letting go of my care-free life. No more seeking out casual sex. It's really not doing me any good these days.

Geez, I was a promiscous son-of-a-bitch this past year. I've had my fun. It's over now.

Yesterday, working our asses off, we were able to once again pull through with the whole shoot despite unbelievable circumstances had begun to beat us down. Unsigned permits, expenses that sprung up from nowhere, a traffic jam that could make people cry and rain. Rain, of all things, something that can't be stopped or argued with or paid for! Incredibly (and incredulously) it just stopped when we were about to begin.

And I was so tired and I was so beaten up and it is just so difficult to keep smiling and to keep my jokes so that everybody else's spirits stayed up. It's not easy being the care bear. It's not easy being the fool, the jester.

I'll take stock of myself soon. No time this weekend. Got so much stuff I have to do for others... again. But I have this certificate for a massage and I'm going to use it soon. I need it. I twisted some body part or a muscle on my thigh and it hurts to move it (doesn't help that I was dancing so much last night) and I am walking funny and that's not funny. And I've got a neck pain and my back has just taken in too much stress. It's too tense. Can't handle it anymore. I need that massage.

Coalescing. I can feel it. Soon, I won't be so lost in transition. Soon I'll be me again. It will be a new me. But at least I'll know how to react to things...

I let the beast in too soon, I don't know how to live without my hands on his throat; I fight him always and still. O' darling, it's so sweet, you think you know how crazy -- how crazy I am? -- Fast As You Can, by Fiona Apple

I am Lost in Transition.

I told my best friend yesterday when he asked me what was wrong, I told him that while everything looks fine, it isn't. I look around me and everything should be okay but it's not okay. It isn't like last year when things were out of line and crazy and it seemed like it. It was what it appeared to be. I feel that this is like the ocean, a beautiful ocean scene where everything looks beautiful and the water is inviting but you do not realise how deep the water is and where the undertow lies. This is probably what it feels like to be in the eye of the storm. Calm and peaceful, everything is serene but at any moment, it can all come crashing down on you; thunder and lightning.

On my way to work this morning, I stepped out of the MRT, bought another 100 peso ticket and was fixing my money on the way up the steps and a little girl, pretty but absolutely dirty and dressed in rags came up to me and begged for money. Without thinking, I took out a twenty peso bill and gave it to her. She was flabbergasted. I continued walking past her without emotion and finally it hit her that she got a twenty peso bill on her first beg (maybe) and she shouted thank you, thank you. And I realised how I probably might have made her day but felt nothing. I neither felt good nor bad. I felt nothing.

On my way to work yesterday, my sandal broke and I ended up walking around Starmall with one foot bare. Went up to a stall selling sandals and found one that I liked. It only cost 200 pesos and was simple yet elegant. I tried it on and it felt good. But I only had 150 pesos in my wallet. So with only one sandal on one foot and my other foot bare, I walked down to the first floor, all the way to the ATM, withdrew money and went back up and bought the sandals. I found no humour in the situation. I still told people about it and it was only then did I realise how I should have felt back when it was happening. But I didn't feel it at the time.

Now, the sandal's leather has hardened but only on the left foot. It has scratched my toe and a bit of my foot and had rubbed off the skin. It leaves a mark that is not so much a wound... I don't know what it is called. All I know is that it is extremely painful when wet or when contact is made. It's almost as if the first layer of skin was rubbed off. It's painful and I spent 200 pesos on a sandal that has managed to hurt me. What a waste of money!

But yesterday, when I discovered this, I was not at all pissed. I was grimacing in pain but was not angry as I should be. I just found a way to walk that ensured the strap wouldn't scrape against my skin. It is only now that I feel like I was had. But I won't do anything about it. I'm not the type to.

My best friend called me early this morning, around 1:30 in the morning. He asked me if I wanted to go out. I said I didn't. I had wall-climbed and I fell straight to sleep without having to shower (which is very uncharacteristic of me). I also have an early shoot. He then said, in between smiling (it was a phone call but I knew he was smiling and having fun), Wangs, I think I know what your problem is...

An eyebrow raised and I was eager to hear this.

You aren't in love. You are not inspired... I miss all your whining and your stories and your complaints. You have to be in love again. I'll set you up with somebody...

All I can think of is how astute and wise my best friend is. How he cuts to the core and straight in the middle! Very observant of him.

Is it really all that simple? Despite my bad luck with love, is that the fuel that keeps my fire burning? Even when unreciprocated, even when despised by that which I desire; is it what keeps me going?

I'm afraid of the answer...

Life does not cease to be funny when people die, any more than it ceases to be serious when people laugh. -- George Bernard Shaw

Worked today. Ended up back in the college I graduated in and also taught for a couple of terms. Strange how completely and utterly different it looks now. So much change. I was taken aback. And the usual reaction that follows, "Is so-and-so place still there? Is so-and-so restaurant still good? What happened to so-and-so building? Everything looks different!" I felt so alien walking around the area considering it was a major part of my life. I really didn't feel like I belonged. But then again, I left La Salle with a lot of bad blood. Certain things unresolved, certain things never said. Honestly, I feel it is better that way.

There was this big poetry reading but I was just so angry. A lot of people think that going up on stage and saying just anything cool, anything that gets a reaction is considered poetry. They say shit and fuck a couple of times and talk about penises and how much they love someone who doesn't love them back is considered poetry. They think that as long as their verses rhyme that it is a poem. Argh! What happened to the objective correlative? What happened to the idea of the metaphor? Thank God for Vim Nadera and Nerissa Carmen Guevarra. Real poets who know about literary language, who do not sacrifice quality for sentiment. They go for the heart reaction, not the gut reaction.

Of course, I must admit, Vim Nadera's poetry tends to lean towards the political and I never liked my art to be overtly political. I like subtlety. I like my art to make people think, I don't like it forcing people to think.

This is going to sound really bitchy, but one guy goes up on stage and asks the audio man to put on the CD that says 'stalker.' As the CD goes on, some sampled and looped beats begin to churn and electronic effects start coming in and the person begins to recite how he follows this girl around. How he knows all her boyfriends and how all the boyfriends have gotten into "accidents." During the 'chorus' part of the song, he starts to exhale deeply and lets out tiny, quiet grunts. Then he continues. All this in a prosaic manner... All this tell-tale stuff of being a stalker. If you want to know about the power of stalking, listen to Sarah McLachlan's song Possession. Now that's poetry. If you heard it, you know that your... Poem? Do we call it that? Your monologue is merely redundant; it is unnecessary. It's been done before. The only difference is the music you played.

Then two people got up and had the gall to say that they are renew-ing an old tradition called Balagtasan. They then begin to read from a piece of paper an argument between two people over the size and power of their penises. Okay... Sure, it was in proper meter and rhyme but it wasn't a real argument anyway. For those unaware, the Balagtasan is an old tradition of debate. Two people come up and then begin an impromptu debate (the topic is given then and there) and they must argue in proper meter and rhyme against each other until the matter is settled by a mediator.

What these two people were doing was... I don't know? Is it a parody? It was just so non-sensical and it wasn't even entertaining. My friend looks at me and says, "I think this is comedy. It's comedy."

And that's what people are going to think of when they hear 'poetry reading.' People are going to think poetry reading is some sort of comedic entertainment. Poetry is supposed to be entertaining, it can even be funny... but most importantly, poetry is suppose to move us; make us think and feel strongly. It is suppose to make us wonder.

And these people want a reaction. They think it is just playing with words; but there are rules, there are objectives. When you know the rules, when you know what has been done before, then you can break the rules but never lose your objective.

Make them wonder. Make them gasp. Make their heart skip a beat. Do not pander. Do not toy with them. Move them and then make them think.

That's what poetry should be. I haven't even tried to submit a poem in months because I know what I should try to achieve and I haven't done that with any of the drafts I've written in the past few... Don't take it too lightly.

Remember: before all this, poetry used to move the world.

Is this me now?
Looks like I've changed my ways again
Is this me now?
Funny how you can't remember
Well, you know me better than that
At least you thought you knew me then
But what you know now
It's not always a happy ending
-- Don't Feel Like Cryin' by Abra Moore

Got to see Million Dollar Baby and realised that it is as good as people have said it was. I know Hilary Swank is a good actress but I find that her look and her character is very limited. I got to see The Affair of the Necklace and found her off to be in a period piece. But her sincerity and her intensity is so real but does not get in the way of the performance. It comes so natural. Movie made me cry but then again, my dad said I cry at the dropping of dandruff flakes. It may be an exaggeration; but the un-exaggerated version of that statement is that I do cry in a lot of movies.

In fact, I cried at Lemony Snickett A Series of Unfortunate Events; so what chance do I have?

Went for broke and found myself in a strange place. Totally new experience. I was shocked at my own capacity for improvisation. I changed into someone I could be but never really embraced. It was so much fun. Interaction with strangers do have their appeal -- especially when you play around with who you are.

I wasn't being someone else. I was still myself and I didn't tell any lies. What was different was that I was more confident, more mysterious, more playful... I was the me that was tougher -- desirable I think is a stronger word. It was fun.

Sometimes, you can just be yourself at your utmost potential and then play it to the hilt... If you believe it, even for just a moment, you can take it to its farthest point. And then you can become that person. You can become yourself at your utmost potential and make it some sort of game. Bring him out when you need him and make it work for you. It's like acting. And what's great about it is that it isn't lying... it's you.

It's you. And then you think about it and ask yourself, "Why do I have to pretend to be this confident, this sure? What was I waiting for? Some form of affirmation? An award?" You don't need it. I discovered you are worth it. You don't have to act sure and confident. Just be sure and confident. You are worth all the love that you are looking for. You deserve it.

And don't ever let that go.