Bunny-Ears Knot

I find that I talk to myself more often lately. I talk to myself out loud - that's not a new quirk. I've been doing it since I was a child. The frequency of it now is what is I find notable.

You see, I have this notion of the afterlife. When we're done here and we get there - wherever that is for each of us - there's a film showing of your life. For everyone to see. We're in this great big hall with a screen much, much bigger than ten iMaxes put together. It's not going to be length of your lifetime, I'm imagining. Just a montage of important events. You know the videos they play after an American Idol gets voted off? That kind. Or an episode of E! True Hollywood Stories.

Maybe there'd also be video collections of special moments. Some voice-over will be saying, "... In her lifetime, so-and-so is known for her klutziness..." - then rolls a video of slips, skids, knee-scrapings, glass-breaking (very familiar actions to me, I must admit). It'd be just like a rip-off of America's Funniest Videos. I watched too much TV in my lifetime, too. You can always tell from all my references. I'll write a whole book about this notion, I swear. As early as now, I'm accepting advanced reservations.

Anyway. I was thinking that when they play my video, there'd also be a specific section dedicated just for the times I talked out loud to myself and then maybe a glimpse of the reaction of the people around me. The period of the past few months will be a wealthy resource for these clips of my life. Maybe because I'm by myself more often now. Alone by circumstances, and lately, also by choice. It's ironic to think that I'm not talkative when I'm around people, but relatively chatty when I'm by myself.

When I watch television, I applaud, swear, and let out acerbic comments whenever appropriate. Who says it isn't interactive? I draw the line at shadowboxing when watching Pacquiao, though. That was something only my mother did. I also think out loud when I write. I'm murmuring now as I type this. When I walk alone, I think of character monologues, dialogues, multi-logues - those I make up on my own and those that I want to say to people and those that I like from books or movies. I find it tricky to write conversations. I don't want them to seem trite and contrived. People do not talk tritely or contrively. So I'm learning how to do that by saying it out loud before writing them down.

My roommate is used to it by now. But Luz talks to herself a whole lot, too. Especially when she's studying. At least, my loud thinking mostly pop culture. Hers can be too medical to make any sense. So it's fair game at the apartment.

At work, though, I still get ribbed when I talk to my monitor. My loud "What is wrong with you?!" remark has been replied with, "So ano? What is wrong with it daw?" I also have my share of "ffO" moments accompanied with "You've got to be kidding me!" I sometimes get asked if I was still ok. I guess burying your head in your hands, digging the heels of your hands in your eyes, and yes, talking to one's self are not very good indications of wellness.

This afternoon, I got to hear mass at the Antipolo Cathedral. I had to go home to get some stuff from the house. Just two things actually: my sleeping bag and a couple of DVDs. I didn't stay long at our empty house. Couldn't. I get so overwhelmed with the emptiness of the living room, the dining table, my parents' bedroom. Too much that I almost couldn't breathe. And so, I don't stay long.

Yes, I go on talking to myself and to the memories of people in my head. Meanwhile, I try to act normally as I could and do normal things. I think about this during mass as I watch a kid in front of me arduously attempting to tie her shoes. It was during the Prayers of the Faithful. And guilty as charged, I got distracted from listening to the petitions. The mass was in Tagalog which I'm not used to. In any case, the toddler caught my attention. The shoelaces of her high-cut sneakers were loose and with her uncoordinated fingers were trying to tie them together. I hung on to her every failed attempt and her perseverance to not give up, rooting for her to finally pull it off. And when she did, I caught myself saying out loud, "Good job!" I discreetly look around somewhat embarrassed.

For the record, though, I'm not going crazy. I just feel compelled to mention that.