Ramon and Other Ghosts of Blog Entries Past

I commuted for three freaking hours last Tuesday. Three. One - two - three. I was out of the house by seven am, but only got to login at the office at ten am, barely making it on time. What made it more frustrating was that I was hoping/expecting to arrive early so I could go to ULTRA after work.

But nooo. The usual twenty minute trike ride took around forty minutes. Father Suarez, the Canadian-based healing priest was in Antipolo church that morning and traffic was rerouted. If you've been to Antipolo, you would know how already confusing the roads are. Narrow and full of one-ways, only left turns, only right turns, only patient people with cheerful attitudes.

I had to walk the last two blocks to the FX terminal. And when I got there, a part of me wanted to turn around, take a trike back home, and just sleep in my bed. The queue was so long I had to double check it wasn't heading to some movie theater showing a blockbuster movie of I don't know - Piolo Freaking Pascual. Or whoever people line up for. You may notice that "freaking" is going to make more appearances in this entry.

There must have been fumes rising from my head at this point. The only thing that made me temporarily forget my annoyance is when I saw the old couple again in the queue. I wrote about them before. As usual, the old lady just stood beside her husband while waiting for the shuttle. When he finally boarded, she helped close the door and gently tapped a finger at the window. He smiled and waved at her from the inside and she waved back.

And me? I felt stupid for getting teary eyed. And seriously, the sudden change of the mood swing can be a real cause of alarm, don't you think? Anyway, it's a baseless longing for something I don't understand (at all), haven't felt (pretty sure), but can appreciate from afar (of course).

Another character of an old blog entry made a "non-appearance". Remember Ramon? Good old Ramon - old buddy, old pal. Gosh, I have received enough calls and texts from his family that I feel we are connected in an inexplicable cosmic level. Maybe we are freaking meant for each other. (There's that word again.)

Just yesterday night, his mother called me up. I was having dinner with my friends. The voice on the other end of the unregistered number was sharp and somewhat shrill.

"RJ? RJ? Hello?"

"Hello, Ma'am. Sino po hinahanap nila?"

"RJ? Is this Ramon? Hello?"

"Sorry po, Ma'am, but you have the wrong number po."

"Ah, ok."

She didn't click the end call button right away and I heard her say, "It was a wrong number. He changed numbers? How come?"

Two minutes later, the same unregistered number texted me this message: "Pls call. Mommy"

RJ - could be Ramon Junior, I suppose. Haaay, RJ, RJ. Old buddy, old pal. Didn't you read the first edition of "Life's Little Instruction Book"? The last instruction was: "Call your freaking mother."

Not in the same words, I admit. But you know which one to omit by now.

Inbox Residents

Confession: I have dozens of messages in my phone that I cannot bear to delete. And although all of my phone data (contacts, messages, images) have already been backed up and safely stored in my machine's hard drive, I still can't get myself to let go of them in the phone itself.

There, you got me. I am a sentimental fool. I don't know. Some of these messages are seemingly meaningless. But when I reread them, I am taken back to that moment and I am touched that I was able share something with someone. Little entries of memories accessible with a few keypress in the phone keypad.

"... Sometimes I walk around like Nicole Kidman in "The Hours" thinking about what my characters are going to do next and all that. I wish you could write new pieces so I could learn from you again."

"I woke up early this morning and decided to go to the ricefields. I took pictures of the scene and got the chance to talk to the farmers. And there was this woman who refused to be taken picture of..."

"Thank you for being my friend."

"Things that don't kill you makes you stronger. So just don't let it kill you and all will be ok. :)"

"Haha, now that you've evolved, MRT rides by your lonesome won't be such a big thing anymore, hehe."

"Have you ever felt that feeling that somehow you lost your will to dream big?"

"I miss talking to you. I can't remember missing a girl friend this much. I need the sanity of our conversation."

"Good morning, Cecil! Musta? Walang bumati ng good am sakin. Pagaling ka HA? Hehe..."

"Thanks for being one of the few people with whom I can share how I really feel."

"E, B, C#m, A, F#m, E, B, C#m, A, B. Chorus: E, B, C#m, A, B, E, B, A, C#m, B, A.. yan na lang muna. Hehe... www.ultimate-guitar.com"

"Thanks, Ces and Luz... Despite all things that you guys do, alam ko love nyo ko. Hehe. You guys are the best. And I love you both."

"Ate Cecil, maraming salamat po! Sa payo, tulong, at pagiging kaibigan."

"Hello. Pasok kaw? :) I hope I'm not acting like a boyfriend. Hahahaha. Joke! :) Sige pagaling kaw."

"I love you, Ate Cecil. You're the closest I have to an ate. And I just want you to be happy."

"Hehe. Just add flash in MANUAL mode. :) Ang saya naman ng trip nyo! Inggit ako."

"Ate Cecil, happy new year. Currently watching fireworks while listening to Jimmy Eat World's Just Watch the Fireworks. Astig."

Commuting Thoughts

I encounter the most interesting people during my commute. Last week, I was in queue at the FX terminal with an elegant middle-aged woman. She was tastefully dressed in a crisp white shirt with denim pants and she was carrying two boxes of Krispy Kreme donuts. The most remarkable thing about her - no disrespect to the donuts - was her facial expression. It's a cross between a terror Math teacher and a strict nun principal from a Catholic school.

It's as if she was in on a secret, a terrible burden of truth, that happiness is nonexistent. Her mouth actually formed a downward arc. And her eyes tell you that she is not a person whom you would want to cross. At all. Not even a tiny little bit.

And of course, I was stuck with her in the front seat of the FX. I often find myself in these tricky situations, you see. She held the door before boarding and told me, "You go in first, I'll take the outer side." It wasn't a request but an imperative statement. And I'm quoting her verbatim. So cross out that description about the Math teacher. She could have been an English teacher. Or a CAT commander. Whichever.

I was trying not to doze off during the whole trip. I didn't want to lean against her accidentally. How uncomfortable was that whole traffic, can you imagine? When the FX finally pulled over at the Antipolo terminal, Mrs. Don't-Cross-Me held out a hand and tapped the driver in the forearm. "Where are you going to end up? Are you stopping here?" The bewildered driver didn't answer right away, I'm assuming he doesn't get to be tapped and addressed in English very often. He eventually said, "Dito na lang po ang babaan." And I finally got off (unscathed, thankfully).

I thought about how horrifying about it would be to end up having someone like that woman as a mother-in-law. Think of all the cold stares, the disapproving eyes. Whew. The horror. As far as I'm concerned, another reason not to get married. That topic's a whole other entry by itself. Heck, it could be a whole book. ;P

Walking it Off

I like the expression “walk it off”. I often hear it in movies when people are breaking up two quarrelling parties. The Urban Dictionary defines it as “to stand up like a man and forget about it, or deal with it.” I especially like it because when I need to deal with things, I take a literal walk.

I logged out of the office as soon as I was legally able to. I didn’t tell anyone beforehand that I had plans to take a long walk by myself after work, so Liz was a little puzzled why I was in such a hurry to leave. When I finally told her I intended to go to ULTRA alone to walk and take pictures, she had to ask me again to make sure I wasn’t kidding. She said it was a crazy thing to do.

Crazy is not being able to do this sooner. I needed this for so long. To sort out my thoughts, reassess my life, remember who I am and what I really want to do.

For an hour, I walked around that track oval. At first I listened to my playlist, but I eventually took off my earphones to better hear myself think. And it was awkward at first, being alone with myself. I didn’t recognize the person behind those agitated thoughts. But eventually, I made peace with her. She was not impervious to pain, jealousy, hatred, or bitterness. I had to admit that she was a part of me and I have to live with those emotions, however unpretty they are.

I took pictures of the track oval after. Some of the joggers cast curious glances my way while I struggled to keep my hand steady for each shot. Five seconds is a long time to hold one’s breath for a non-blurry and well-exposed shot. I only got to take a few decent ones. The weather threatened to rain and I had to head home soon.

After this experience, I decided that I should get together with myself more often. For this date, we just clearly figured out two things: that my right knee has not totally healed yet and that I should think about buying a tripod.

PD/TC: Ennui

I’ve reached new heights (or lows?) in work boredom. I actually blogged this in my phone during my break. Normally, I’d use a pen and my journal. But I’ve yet to get a new one and besides, I just have to email the text file to myself, access it from home, then copy and paste. No typing rework! (I could be such a geek sometimes, I know.)

I’ve been told – and I’d like to stress that it’s not too often that this happens – that my workstation is an utter mess. Luis was looking for a place to hang the Kenshin doll he wants me to keep, but couldn’t find anywhere to place it in. But, in my defense, I’d like to think of my mess as “charming disarray”. Most of the clutter are carryover from the holidays: stuffed bears (Mario and Mirella), a planner, bookS, penS, pictureS, a fish-shaped note-holder-slash-sharpener, a card game, a shotglass, a John Mayer DVD, a rosary, gifts I haven’t sent to Cebu yet (sorry, Jay and Karina!), a bottled Frap drink, and I even have a baseball! Not the stress ball variety, but the real kind used in sports that can cause concussion when thrown with malice at someone. Paulo, who gave it to me, even wrote a stern warning in the card that I should never aim it at anyone. My propensity for accidents is so well-known, what can I say?

So these things are not really clutter, but little testaments to friendships and appreciation.

(Beat.)

Ok, ok. That was clearly just a lousy excuse for being a slob. Hehe…

I will find time to tidy up my workstation this week. In the meantime, Kenshin has found temporary lodgings behind my monitor secured by a magnet in Karl’s system unit whose ”testament”, apparently, is a thick layer of dust in his machine.

Misery (or in this case, “disorderly”) loves company, haha. :)

Salty and Fruity

I would have liked to write something profound to start off this New Year. Reflect on the experiences of 2007 or at least try to the conventional route of stating the resolutions I’m going to break for 2008. Ironically, they won’t be resolutions anymore, but just plain wishful thinking.

Truth is, I have resolved to make changes long before this whole firecracking, superstition-laded occasion. And changes which do not even allow me to have transition periods to ease into. They’re the kind of things that you just have to let go once and for all. Or jump into without hesitations. No residue.

So anyway, what is amusing about New Year celebrations is all the supposedly luck-inducing traditions. Some of which my mother and sister only practiced this year. I swear, they have waaay too much time on their hands and watch waaay too much television.

Just before midnight yesterday, Mae almost stepped into me while I was lying down, reading in my bed. I sleep on a bed mattress on the floor, by the way. Just below the bedroom windows. And the whole reason for my almost broken fibula is that my sister is sprinkling salt all over the house and was trying to throw some out of our window. No kidding. Salt all over the house. Like fresh fish just before they’re fried. And not only that, while she was generously scattering Sodium Chloride in our home, she was loudly saying – and I am quoting this verbatim: “Be away! Be away!”

And of course, I had to ask. I don’t know why I subject myself to further weirdness, but I just had to ask. Be away with what? Evil spirits, she says. Of course. That makes perfect sense. Why didn’t I think of that?

Early this afternoon, dining table talk turned fruity. I mean, literally pertaining to fruits. Mae’s favorite fruit is the banana (“because they’re so friendly”), we know that Kuya’s is Lanzones, while mine is pears. And whenever talk turn to this direction, my mother would always recall the fruit cravings she had when she was conceiving each of us. She craved coconut meat when she had me. Not just any coconut meat, she only liked it when it was scooped from the coconut shell whole, shaped like a small cup of edible white meat. I joked that I should’ve been born with fairer complexion. But I thought that wouldn’t be too fair to my siblings: Washington apple red for my Kuya and mango yellow for Mae. What an unhealthy hepatitis complexion that would have been.

I laugh to myself as I take a piece of kiat-kiat from the fruit basket and wonder if it was one of the dozens that my mother rolled into the floor when the clock struck midnight.