On Hold

I feel like I’m constantly trying to drive away something that slowly creeps in my soul. Something dark and clingy and repressive. I do not have a name for it. Or I do not choose to identify it for fear that it may grow stronger with its acknowledgement. No, I do not have a name for it; just the instinct to keep it at bay.

Most days, I keep it pacified. By reading books, listening to loud music, being with friends. I bombard myself with all the superficialities the material world can hope to offer. I get to convince myself that the world is a wonderful place. The future is bright. And everything is all right.

But it catches up with me sometimes. When I walk alone. When I lay awake at night. Sometimes when I close my eyes long enough, it corners me - this dark and clingy and repressive shadow. And it badgers me with images I don’t care to see or recall. With memories I’d rather forget but have to keep. With grief I have not given into.

I have a debt to pay with grief. I keep on stalling it, putting it on hold. But it patiently waits for me in quiet moments when I don’t have any other excuse and all I have left is my own soul, tired of moving around in never-ending circles, unable to find an escape.

It bothers me that every morning, I have to concede to myself that these moments of weaknesses come to me as they please. And make me pay up. I’d have run away, if I could. But in truth, I’m much too tired.

There isn’t a day that passes that I wish this weren’t all real. And that when it becomes too painful to bear, I’d be granted the mercy of waking up. To a wonderful world where the future is bright and everything is all right.

"Hush Now"

I am not used to seeing her like this. Wordlessly reclined on a chair, breathing with difficulty. It’s the quietness that unnerves me most. Her usual energy is now replaced by laborious movements. A few steps drains her so.

Her illness did not just take away from health; it took away from her whole person. She stopped talking to people and would decline even long distance phone calls from her siblings wishing to inquire of her wellbeing. How she loved to talk and to laugh. Laugh. Yes. Nieces and nephews would mimic her distinctly hearty laughter. And the way she ended her conversations with a melodious, “Okay, buh-bye!”

She never ran out of stories from her colorful life. And she never lacked of willing listeners. People sought her for her conversations, her lively company.

I see her now, frustrated at her own body. Seemingly angry at everything in this world because she couldn’t partake in the beauty of life as she used to.

I learned to speak to her in hushed tones. Without tension, alarm, or worry. To speak without sadness or impatience. Especially not sadness. I’ve mastered the art of monotone. Of having a calm bedside manner.

I learned how to get used to being woken up abruptly and acting as if I’ve been up for hours – no sleepiness in appearance, no hoarseness in voice, nor disorientation in behavior. On cue, I know her medication, from the milligrams, to the generic name, to the prescribing physician.

I learned to feign tiredness when I’m wide awake and she wants to turn in for the night; wakefulness when I’m sleepy and she wants someone to stay up with her. When it’s late at night and there’s nothing else on TV, “Ang Dating Daan” starts to become interesting.

I learned how to hold back my own tears whenever I ask her not to cry. To keep a steady voice despite of the creeping fear inside of me, while I assure her that everything will be all right.

I learned how to invoke in me enthusiasm for things that might cheer her up. I tell her funny anecdotes; watch her favorite soap operas with her; and plan vacations we’d take together. Her disposition seems to lighten up when I tell her we’d visit the province, go to the nearby beach, and eat freshly-baked warm bread by the shore just like we used to do on idle weekend afternoons when I was younger.

The thought makes her smile and it’s worth it.

This morning at the hospital while I was overwhelmed by the medical forms, the long queue, the insurance, and the bills, she tells me she needs to rest her head and catch her breath. I frantically look around for a waiting area, a couch, a seat, even considered the emergency room.

For a moment, I forget everything I’ve learned, and panic registers in my actions. She lays a hand on my arm and quietly tells me she’s sorry for burdening me with all these worries. Inside, I scold myself for causing the look of sad guilt on her face. I shrug off her needless apology and mumble something incoherent that I hope would pass off as a reply.

What I wanted to tell her, “I love you, Ma. I’m the grown up now. And I’ll take care of you.”

----

I wrote this a few months ago when my mother was still in and out of the hospital. She has been diagnosed with stage four lung cancer. She has been confined in the hospital for almost a month, has been in depressed consciousness for a week, and has been in the ICU for four days.

Please help pray for my Mama.

xkcd series: "Journal 4"

xkcd series: "Small Talk"

Precipitation

Every monumental turning point in my life is accompanied by rain. When I die, I am convinced that there will be a downpour. It will be the most appropriate ending to a life lived like a drenched person with an unused umbrella. How ironic. Or disgustingly accurate.

In any case, always check your local weather news.

The Checklist

Lately, when I have enough free time, I find myself hearing mass during my lunch hour. Maybe it’s true what they say. People find Him especially when they’re in deep in sh*t. Well, those are not the exact words. Something more elegant sounding. But you get my drift. Besides, I don’t think there’s any indignity in admitting that I need help of a higher nature. Ultimate level of appeal, so to speak.

During weekdays, there’s a 12.15 mass at the EDSA Shrine. This is what I rush off to catch. I take an FX and walk the length of Galleria. I usually sit at the center-most back pew. I find peace in not being with anyone, not knowing anyone there.

The first reading today is one of my favorite chapters in the Bible - which I’m sure also a lot of people love. First Corinthians Chapter 13. Apart from its profound meaning, I like it a lot because it is well-written. Expressive. Succinct. Elegant. I’m sure even Strunk and White will commend St. Paul.

Maybe a lot of people think love is anything they wish it to be. I believe this chapter is the definitive checklist. When others ask me if what they’re feeling is love (you’d be surprised to know how many people volunteer this kind of personal information to me) – I just go back to this chapter. Is it patient? Kind? Jealous? Righteous? …

You’d be surprised to know how many people realize what they thought was love is actually heavily disguised pride. Or worse, selfishness. Ok, extreme example: Just think of any soap opera villain who is obsessed with the protagonist. Is that love? I think not.

I expect dissents, of course. But this is my opinion, and last I checked, it’s still my blog. And I run the risk of being thought of as a pedant or a prude. Sheesh, I suddenly feel like I’m ostracizing everyone. I’m just saying, it is a big deal. Love. Not just the romantic variety. Parental, platonic, patriotic – whichever. We should not just say it because it’s… cinematic. Heaven knows how much Hollywood has ruined our perception on things.

But that’s another story.

----

I Corinthians 13:1-13

"If I speak in the tongues of mortals and of angels, but do not have love, I am a noisy gong or a clanging cymbal. And if I have prophetic powers, and understand all mysteries and all knowledge, and if I have all faith, so as to remove mountains, but do not have love, I am nothing. If I give away all my possessions, and if I hand over my body so that I may boast, but do not have love, I gain nothing.

"Love is patient; love is kind; love is not envious or boastful or arrogant or rude. It does not insist on its own way; it is not irritable or resentful; it does not rejoice in wrongdoing, but rejoices in the truth. It bears all things, believes all things, hopes all things, endures all things.

"Love never ends. But as for prophecies, they will come to an end; as for tongues, they will cease; as for knowledge, it will come to an end. For we know only in part, and we prophesy only in part; but when the complete comes, the partial will come to an end. When I was a child, I spoke like a child, I thought like a child, I reasoned like a child; when I became an adult, I put an end to childish ways. For now we see in a mirror, dimly, but then we will see face to face. Now I know only in part; then I will know fully, even as I have been fully known. And now faith, hope, and love abide, these three; and the greatest of these is love."

Incorruptible Tomatoes

We have a long-standing science experiment in our apartment, Luz and I. It started the week we moved in. That is almost four months ago.

The primary subject of such experiment is (spotlight, please) a pair of tomatoes.

A brief background of this scientific undertaking. The tomatoes in question entered our lives as innocent vegetables (or fruits?) meant to be sliced and served with salted red eggs as part of an effort to escape the daily routine of dining in fastfood burger chains that serve unhealthy grease with every meal.

Somehow, amidst all the trouble of adjusting to a new place and in the hubbub of everyday living, the tomatoes were left forgotten in an inconspicuous corner of our table. It was probably in the fourth week that Luz noted that the tomatoes were still as fresh as the day she bought them. Without refrigeration, or any cling-wrap nor vacuum pack. Smooth, bright orange, unblemished.

Her first instinct is food irradiation. Mine is… well, I probably didn’t think too much of it, at this point. I was pretty convinced it would spoil soon. So we didn’t throw them out and just waited for nature to take its course. So weeks went by, and we just let the tomatoes be - a constant pair of orange orbs on top of our ref, quietly sitting between the pancake mix and its distant relative, a pack of tomato sauce.

After two months, this prolonged shelf-life can no longer be ignored. These freaky tomatoes were outlasting every perishable thing we put in our refrigerator. They were too weird to eat by now (who would want to eat something like those, anyway?) but too interesting to throw out. Eventually, we address them as “Ang Mga Mahiwagang Kamatis” and thus, the experiment commenced which aims to find a conclusion to the ultimate question:

How long will these tomatoes last?

Yeah, ok. Not very scientifically relevant. We wouldn’t find out the cause of its non-spoilage or the effect if we did consume them. But hey, these tomatoes may be freaky cool, but we actually have lives. Well, most of the time.

To make gazillions of money, Luz considers the idea of selling these tomatoes to Dr. Vicki Belo. Behold, a product of nature that unaffected by time, temperature, humidity, and the unkemptness of the studio apartment it resides in. Kept pristine by heaven-knows-what, with an unknown stubborness in not yielding to its decay . That’s up to the Belo Medical Group to find out.

Just this evening, Luz wondered aloud whether the tomatoes would last til Christmas. Asking why she wanted to know, Allen joked whether Luz was going to get them holiday presents.

I’m thinking a sweater. But something in a neutral shade. Very few colors go with orange, you know.

Presently Missing

I woke up from the beep of an incoming text message. It is Saturday afternoon. I got home that morning and was exhausted from a week-long load of work, of non-work -- of life. Weekend afternoon naps are a luxury that I seldom get to enjoy.

It is a short message. "I miss u, Cee! L0ve u!"

Only my good friend Tago calls me Cee. He got this from reading "Atonement" where one of the characters is my namesake, Cecilia, but is nicknamed "Cee".

I reply, "We just saw each other this morning. :) But I do love you, too, Tags. Everything ok?"

Yes, I am a pessimist and a paranoid. I often assume the worst in everything.

"Yeah. Namiss lng kta. Hehe."

Aww. It was such a sweet thing to say and I was touched. I feel so blessed to have friends who sincerely care about me. The past couple of weeks - I feel like I've been drifting in and out of reality. Or ascending and descending levels of reality, if it is hierarchical.

To me, life becomes real in varied forms: in sleepless nights when I lay awake worrying, in church homilies I escape to during lunch hour, in the throbbing pain in my nape from leaning too close to the monitor, in an SQL package I am updating, in my mother's tender hand as I prick her finger for another blood test.

Reality is the moment when I realize I've been spacing out in too many conversations I am a part of. That I've been close to abusing my friends' patience and good humor.

"I miss just hanging out with you, Let's plan the next major group activity soon. :)"

He ends it with, "Agree!"

back. back. exit. keypad lock.

I try to remember old realities of less complicated days, temporarily available only in short Saturday afternoon naps.

Deathcatcher

Let me share with you a dream I had a couple of weeks ago. How I remember every tiny detail is freaky in itself, but if this kind of thing interests you, do read on.

I was part of a household. There was a married couple, the wife's elder spinster sister, and an old man - probably the husband's father. Their faces did not resemble anyone I know from real life. I lived with them in a second floor spacious apartment with an air of antique grandiosity. High ceilinged with tall french windows. The ladies wore long dresses and the men, coats.

One stormy night, when we were all gathered in the house's great room, the old man died. Outside, the winds howled. Rain poured hard with thunder and lightning. Soon after, there was a funeral and we buried the old man.

Some time after, I found myself looking out the street below from the window. I saw the ghost of the old man. The ghost helped save a young man from his death by pulling him just in time to escape being hit by a vehicle. Immediately after the act, the old man looked up at me through the window with intent gaze.

I blinked and he was right before me. The old man told me that he was not supposed to die. And the young man below the street would have also died if the old man were not around. I was told that I was the one who was supposed to die that night. Not the old man. And by consequence, neither did the young man.

He disappeared as suddenly as he came and I found myself alone in the great room. The sun was out. It was a glorious day outside. I was sitting down and just quietly taking in the cheerful sunshine. The sisters gaily walked in at that moment. They had their long wavy hair cut short and asked me whether I liked their new look. I smiled ad them and said they looked really nice.

The elder sister walked toward me, bent down, and gave me a hug. When she loosened her arms around me, I opened my eyes and found the room completely transformed. The brilliant day was replaced by a gloomy night, the bright sunshine with heavy rain. Everyone was present in the room, even the old man. I looked at the woman who just embraced me, and before my very eyes, her newly cut hair grew out to its original length. I realized that we all came back to the fateful night of death. The spinster's face became expressionless and in a monotonic voice she said, "This is how it was supposed to be."

And at that point, I couldn't breathe. I gasped and struggled for air. And they just all looked at me like an audience while I lay dying.

I swear I still felt the sensation of the embrace when I woke up. I sat up and hyperventilated for a while, ressuring myself that I could indeed breathe in this reality. I was shaken for a time. It still creeps me out when I remember it.

If there was a dream interpreter I could approach, I would have arranged for a consultation. With a condition that all analysis pertaining to extreme morbidity will be stripped to bare minimum and its correlation to my whole being will be downplayed.

Maybe all I need is a good authentic Native American dreamcatcher. With a deatcatching expansion pack.

Bumming Around

I’ve been on leave from work the whole week. Kuya is leaving the country again in a few days and I wanted to spend the time so we could all be together as a family. Besides, I needed the rest. Not just physical rest. I just needed a break from the monotony. Among other things.

This break has also given me the chance to move in to the studio apartment I’ll be sharing with Luz. I start living there next week. We shopped for the things we needed last Monday. And it was like a mall walkathon. I met her around ten in the morning and we finished just when the malls are closing twelve hours later. The only times we got the chance to sit down was when we had breakfast, lunch, and dinner and the couple of minutes when we were in the cab and FX. No kidding. Imagine a calf muscle workout taken to the extreme. You’d think that we’d both be really worn out from all that, but it was fun because we had the chance to catch up. Besides, we both like walking. Although, after that much hours of walking, you’d think we’d reach a summit somewhere and not just the end of a taxi line.

Hunting for a suitable single bed took up a lot of our time. We hopped from mall to mall, store to store looking for an affordable and decent bed. Did any of you know that single beds can cost as much as P14,000? It’s as if the bed can transform to something else during the night. The weirdest incident during this whole bed quest was when one furniture clerk eyed us disbelievingly when he told us that they do not sell single sized beds. It’s as if he was wondering what’s wrong with us still looking for single beds when everyone else our age were already looking for queen or king sized ones, and - gasp! - maybe even cribs.

Anyway, I settled for a single bed frame made of black metal and dark wood. I can’t wait to move in so I could use it and of course, to spare myself from hours at the FX queue and in traffic. I still get to go home every weekends, so it’d be cool. Not-so-total independence. Somewhat pathetic, but at least not so overwhelming.

This week also gives me the chance to hang out with my siblings. We go shopping, watch DVD’s until the wee hours of the morning, make home-made pizza, and eat midnight snacks. Mama complains she doesn’t get the TV series we always watch, but then she starts playing Free Cell or Text Twist in the computer and promptly forgets about us. We don’t have household help right now so we take turns washing dishes, folding laundry, feed the askals.

It’s nice being home. I miss being with my family and seeing them without rushing off to work or without being too tired from work.

This whole bumming around thing will end soon so I’m making the most out of it by solving kakuro puzzles, tying my hair in pigtails and braiding them, and of course, boring you with my blog updates.

Ink-Stained Pinkie

It’s 6.40 in the morning and my mother will disapprove if she finds out that I am here typing in front of my laptop instead of sleeping. And when I say “disapprove”, I mean that she will continuously nag me about abusing my health, especially my eyes.

Admittedly, she has good reason to be concerned. I just got home from yesterday’s work. I’ve been up for almost twenty-four hours, most of which are spent in front of a computer. Thus, my mother’s puzzlement on why I want to subject myself to more time in front of another one when I get home. But I don’t have the ability (ok, the patience) to point out the difference between writing a functional spec and writing a blog entry.

Two weeks it’s been like this. Monday blurs into Tuesday; Tuesday into Wednesday, etc. Each day’s end blurs into lifeless cab rides home with faceless drivers whom I mechanically direct with, “Kanan po tayo sa may stoplight” until I reach home where one of the members of our household with undisturbed circadian rhythm sleepily opens the front door to let in the transient of the house.

I’m like a ghost that drifts in and out of their everyday lives. Although, my mother tries to talk to me over breakfast, the only time she gets to spend time with me. In that span of couple of minutes while I feed on sunny side ups, she tries to tell me as much as she can about what has been happening. About anything, really – how our askal is being morose lately, the replaced faucet in the sink, our neighbor’s baby daughter, news of price hikes, her recent followed teleseryes, and whether Angel Locsin is worth all the media hype.

I wonder if she has a checklist somewhere of all the things she wants to talk to me about. There are times when she takes this serious tone and asks me about what my future plans are, about things that involve life-changing decisions. My sarcasm wants to kick in and just say that my goal is, although very short-term, is to have at least eight hours of sleep. Of course I don’t say that. I never want to cross my mother when she’s… Hmm, I never want to cross my mother. Period. I always give a noncommittal nod and assure her we’ll talk more lengthily when I’m sleep sober.

At work, I try to be a good scout. You don’t feel tired when the rest of your teammates who works harder and longer than you do continuously do what they have to do. You just have to do whatever you can and keep up.

But sometimes it catches up with you, that unnamed feeling that makes you yearn to be somewhere else and do some other thing. Dozens of occasions I promised myself that I’ll take a walk outside after I finish something. Just this, just after this, I swear I’ll go out for a walk. But early evening comes, and I end up being reprimanded by Liz, “Ba’t di ka pa umoorder ng OT dinner?!” She has that thing about me dining alone, no matter how I assure her I’d be ok. Although I appreciate it that someone tries to look out for me during these very long hours of work.

In the wee hours while waiting for raised issues, I try to write. Although I’m not sure how wise it is that I should admit that here. Misuse of company resources and all that. Although in my defense, I never get to write anything long and substantial. Once I started something which I tentatively named “Ink-stained Pinkie”. I got it after noticing that when I write with a pen, I always manage to smear some ink in my pinkie. The material never got finished and it’s just taking a resurrection here as a blog title. Sometimes I read ebooks in my workstation. Currently, it’s Madeleine L’Engle’s “A Wrinkle in Time”. Hmm, I don’t know how that would be any less a misuse of resources.

My mother walked in and in her own way, was very persuasive in making me unceremoniously cut this entry. I suppose posting this is as good enough as any, after a long hiatus. You’ll forgive the over-all blandness. After all, you can’t expect much from a swollen-eyed zombie, recently reprimanded by her own mother for being so stubborn.

--

I wrote this early last week but only got the chance to post it now. Internet withdrawal symptoms.

040408

I woke up very early on the day I turned a year older - around five am, when it was still dark outside and everyone else was still asleep.

Hmm, come to think of it, I actually woke up at midnight because of two consecutive calls from my friends. Of course, both calls manifested themselves as Fuel's Sunburn.

"The sky was dark this morning / Not a bird in the trees / And silence hung suspicious and anxious / Like a blanket covered scream"

Not a very cheerful song to wake up to at the gloomy hour of midnight. This added to my disorientation when I answered. As a response to "Happy Birthday", I incoherently said, "Happy Birthday din." If I had my wits about me, I would've just added "... in August." But all I could manage was a glib "Ahm..." Anyway, that's why I didn't consider myself really awake at that time.

I heard mass at the Antipolo Cathedral before going to work. And I realized how much I missed going to church alone which I often did in college. When I got to the office, Dens loudly and FALSELY announced to everyone within earshot that I was thirty-two. (And for the record, I most certainly am not.)

The rest of the day went pretty much the same as any other working day. Although I had lunch out with a couple of my friends and we had donuts in the afternoon. When we got off work, a lot of us also had to go to the Pinatubo pre-climb meeting.

From that day's Our Daily Bread entry, there is a very comforting quote that I'd like to share in this post.

“Pray the largest prayers. You cannot think a prayer so large that God, in answering it, will not wish you had made it larger. Pray not for crutches but wings.” - Phillips Brooks

--

I'm taking the rest of this space to thank the people who made it a special friday. Tago, Gary, EJ, Dens, JC, Paulo, Karl, Tal, and Ryan - thanks for a very fun lunch. Luis and Oni, thanks for the Potatohead accessories; it's so fun! I now have a pirate and a princess! Yey! Special thanks to Miker and Robert for the very unexpected, thoughtful, and (literally) sweet gift. Also to Dale for the charming book of kids' photographs and an amusing commute home. To Luz who spend minutes of talk time just so I can tell her about my day. And to everyone else who sent messages and greeted me on my birthday. Thanks, guys. Know that everything is sincerely appreciated. ^____^

FX Aftereffects

It was already a bad indication when the FX driver ignored the “No U-turn” sign along J. Vargas Avenue. What made it worse was just after he turned; a traffic police who apparently saw him commit the violation pointed at him and motioned him to pull over. Uh-oh.

But the FX driver seemed to be unflustered. He placed his hands on his back languidly – there’s no other way to describe it. And I had the sense of foreboding that this could not be good. True enough, I have another reason to believe that I have psychic ability because the driver did not pull over but sped past the officer. He made a run for it. At this point, I took off my earphones and looked disbelievingly at the driver. You’ve got to be kidding me. He overtook car after car and recklessly swerved in the road to gain distance from the officer who mounted his motorcycle and had started chasing the FX.

I turned to my fellow passengers. Surely, one of them would share my sentiment that this was terribly, terribly wrong. But they seemed to be oblivious to everything. It’s as if they were riding a totally different FX wherein their driver was not snaking his way in full speed along St. Paul road while a traffic police was pathetically trying to keep him in sight. I wonder whether I could have just said that I needed to get off at the nearest corner so I could get off the damned FX and the officer could catch the errant driver. I doubt if that would’ve been a welcome twist to the whole incident, though. For the driver and other passengers.

The chase ended in Meralco Avenue. Mamang Pulis was unable to catch up and was lost somewhere in the turns and Manong Driver even got off the vehicle and looked around during a stop sign to make sure that he was clear. I got off two blocks later. Thankful that I need not be part of that horrific ride anymore.

And that was not the end of my horror commute for the day. On my way home, a pair of men was occupying the front seat of the FX. They were loud and annoying and arrogant. Everyone was forced to hear their conversation. One of them works at a construction project and told his friend of how he miscalculated and cut a cable five meters short than expected. He then continued how he and his coworkers skillfully take supplies from the construction project. They do it regularly and with organization. No remorse whatsoever! They were robbing their employers and they were proud of it because they do it so well! And I thought to myself, an incompetent and a thief. Perfect. Employee of the year.

Not to be outdone, the FX driver displayed his own alarming behavior. He opened his cellphone inbox while waiting for traffic to move (not a very good thing to do, for starters) and made an angry call after reading a message (worse thing).

Here’s how the driver’s phone conversation went almost verbatim (worst thing). Imagine him talking in a VERY loud and angry voice, enough to overpower the incompetent thief in the front seat.

“Di ba sinabi ko sayo na itapon mo na yan?! (Pause) Di mo pa tinatapon? Anak ng tinapay! (Pause) Pagdating ko dyan, wala na dapat yan! (Pause) Anong takot-takot? Sinasasabi ko sa iyo itapon mo na yan!” End call.

Images of a dead body being disposed played in my head. And can you blame me? How else can you interpret that? I discreetly paid my fare to the driver and kept a low profile. Heck, he could be a homicidal maniac, for all I know! Whenever he cursed at a red light or at a slow car in front of him didn’t help in dissuading me otherwise.

Public commuting is such an adventure. Horror adventure.

Tick tock

It had begun almost imperceptibly. It had been a long day. A very long night. And it could have been just another sound in my head - mingling with the other commotion of a whole day of continuous keystrokes and mouse clicks, frustrating dead-end investigations in front of Google and Wikipedia, all the excitement in the life of a programmer.

Inside that cab on my way home, I was looking forward to lying in my bed and finally get some sleep. Admittedly, it would only be for a few hours as I had to be back in the office early the next day – later that morning. But then the ticking started.

Tick-tock, tick-tock. Tick-tock, tick-tock.

At first I dismissed it and continued to rest my head against the window to look out the state of Ortigas Avenue at past midnight. It’s very different from the Ortigas Avenue during rush hour. I wouldn’t say more peaceful. There’s always something creepy about urban streets late at night.

It pressed on, the ticking sound. It seemed the more I ignored it, the more persistent it became. Just like in that Edgar Allan Poe short story, The Tell-Tale Heart. I looked around, expecting to find a clock under the backseat or something. None there. I craned my head to check the dashboard thinking maybe it was the cab driver’s cellphone with a weird ringtone, but he glanced back at me, apparently thinking it was my phone making the sound. At least, I confirmed at that point that the sound did not exist only in my head.

And with the ticking sound as a faint background and all sleepiness wiped out from me, my imagination let itself loose, as it is wont to do. What if the ticking sound was from a bomb placed in the trunk of the cab? What if it was about to blow up at any moment? I sat up a little straighter. I had officially freaked myself out.

I must admit, I was scared as hell. Or of hell, if you want be to be more specific. Most people don’t deal with the idea of afterlife until – well, until they have to. I guess John Mayer was onto something when he wrote, “I am invincible as long as I’m alive.” In my head, I said a frantic prayer. These days, it seems that’s all the kind of prayer I get to pray. Frantic. And trust me, I’m not too proud of it, either.

And my morbidity kicked in because my other concern was that if my cadaver would be recognizable to my family. But of course I’d be blown up to pieces and the only way to identify me was through my ID. And the John Mayer soundtrack persisted in my head, “… should’ve smiled in that picture… it’s the last thing I’ll see of you.”

“Mabait ba Diyos mo?”

EJ asked me this question out of nowhere during one of our usual afternoon conversation breaks from work. We were talking about some inconsequential thing, as we often do. Maybe something about my awkward Tagalog – a source of amusement for him. Or maybe he was feigning inaudibility and just asking me to repeat something I said at least three times, just for the heck of it.

Whatever nonsense we were talking about, I certainly wasn’t expecting him to segue into the sudden theological question.

“Diyos ko? Bakit, iba ba Diyos natin?” I had to ask. I was under the impression there was only one God. For everyone. But he said yes. My God. Or more specifically, my concept of how God is like.

Is He a God who asks me to confess to priests? To have my forehead smeared with ash on a certain Wednesday? To fast during lent? To be afraid of a hell in the afterlife?

Hmm.

While we exchanged our thoughts on these questions, we got around to talking about doctrine, salvation, sacrifice, the church.

EJ’s God, he says, is a forgiving God - a God whom he can talk freely without the memorized prayers. His God is not impressed with outward display of religiosity. And most importantly, EJ’s God will not allow His beloved children to end up in a fiery hell.

It was a long time since I had a conversation about faith. The last time was with two of my other closest friends: with Luz during our Los Baños overnight trip and with Gary while we were rowing a boat in Kalaw. Although, come to think of it, over pizza just this weekend, we talked about the fragility of life and the overwhelming question of what happens after this. All this.

I don’t write about it this often because admittedly, it’s a very touchy topic for most. But I have friends who have different beliefs. Or non-beliefs. (Rye, Tim – I know you’re out there somewhere) And although there must only be one truth out there, each of us has our own ways of finding out what that truth is. What comforts me is that they share with me the uncertainties of… well, everything. Some people would claim that they got it down. Solved. Really, really, really got it. With my friends, I know that we may have different view on things and we may not even know what we really want to believe in yet, but it’s ok. It’s really just ok.

And even for that, alam ko, mabait ang Diyos ko.

Of Tonsillitis and Projects

At the risk of ostracizing my non-Azeus and non-IT readers, do allow me to write about my work for just a bit. I’m home sick right now with very annoying inflamed tonsils and a slight temperature. I would have wanted to read one of the books in my pending stack but I can’t get off my worries over work just yet.

I’m part of three projects right now. With PONICS, I just do mostly ad hoc stuff. I am just the spectator when Blas bullies Jerome, in jest of course - I hope. CSIS, which I am supposedly coordinating, is just made up of me, Aldwin – our software test engineer, and Marco, our newbie dev. It’s an old project and most of the time, we are in a constant guessing game – trying to figure out what exactly goes on, but we only have each other to rely on. As Aldwin succinctly put it once, “A duling leading a blind leads them to a pit.”

And of course, COMIS, my first project with the company. My teammates and I consider it our “sanity” project. No matter how crazy things become, we always welcome COMIS tasks because it keeps us sane. The camaraderie in our team is widely known, even by the senior management. We still keep in touch with old teammates who have resigned, like Aimee and Patrick. In fact, Patrick once dropped by the office just to catch up with us. Afterwards, he texted us that he’s been feeling down at his job and he only felt better only after seeing us again. (All together now, “Aww…”)

An offshoot of that team is COMIcS, friendships forged through sleepless working nights spent at the office; our energy on coding and testing were fuelled by Starbucks coffee in our bloodstreams. That was the time when we all go home still with yesterday’s clothes on when normal people are on their way to work. Sleep for a few hours at home and then go back to work again. Imagine doing this for a couple months.

Hmm, I’m not sure if I was allowed to divulge what my projects are. I honestly don’t remember the contents of the confidentiality paper I signed almost three years ago. I could always claim that I did not have the mental faculty to recognize what I was doing. On account of my tonsils. And fever. Right.

While our housekeeper heads to town to buy my antibiotics (yeah, that’s how far we are from civilization), my mother pushes two glasses into my face. One with salted lukewarm water and the other malunggay tea. Gargle with one, drink the other.

Gargling the salted water just reminded me of beaches in Surigao where we used to go as kids. And all those times I accidentally ingested seawater whenever we play the game of finding the tossed coin. I terribly, terribly want to go back and visit this year. Beaches just a trike ride away. My amusing nieces and nephews. And the food! Fresh seafood. Sinugba. Chicken barbecue by the pier. *Sigh* Anyone else wants to go to Surigao?

Anyway, the malunggay tea didn’t remind me of anything. It just made me squirm in distaste.

oddities and such

The rules: The first player of this game starts with the "6 weird things/habits about yourself" and people who get tagged need to write a blog of their 6 weird habits/things, as well as state this rule clearly. In the end, you need to choose 6 people to be tagged and list their names. Don't forget to leave a comment that says "you are tagged" in their comments and tell them to read yours.

Karina tagged me for this. A preliminary oddity/irony: she and I communicate more often now that we're in different cities. Hehe... (Wish we could've hung out more when we were still in the same office, Karina!) Anyway, I think it's good to own up to one's own eccentricities, so here goes.

1) My obsessive-compulsive behaviour is the object of many inside jokes. Uncapped pens, disorderly pillowcases, and upturned collars unsettles me. I am not a neat freak, there are just certain insignificant things that I find unnerving. But I'm trying to outgrow this. I recognize that walking back at least five times to our house gate to make sure that it's locked is totally unhealthy.

2) I think in the deepest recesses of my soul, I don't like being with people. When I was a kid, I cried when my mother invited other kids to my birthday party. In a previous life, I might've been a hermit. There are times when I actually go out of my way to avoid any human interaction.

3) My initial instinct when I get overwhelmed by anger or frustration is to walk out. Blind, aimless walks. The last time I did this was a few weeks ago when I half-ran out of the office and later found myself in Escriva. I scared the sh*t out of my friend whom I left in mid-conversation and those who saw me rushing to the elevators.

4) I'd like to die young. And I have a list of people I want to die ahead of - those I'd miss too much if they went ahead of me. And I want to be cremated; I don't want people looking at my lifeless body laid in a coffin and forced to politely remark how peaceful I look as if I'm just sleeping. Oh, please.

5) I've never been in love. At least, I'm pretty sure I haven't.

6) Hmm, it's tough coming up with a sixth one to share. All I can think of right now is that I like Sunflower crackers with Cheez Whiz and hot sauce. :)

It's amusing to question normalcy every now and then. Let's unearth more weirdness into the open so I'm tagging Tago, Ryan, Tim, Macha, Jo'Aqs, and Dian. I'm sure you won't have any trouble coming up with your own lists. ;)

Making Peace with Pinatubo

We were living in Pampanga when Mt. Pinatubo erupted in 1991. We experienced the strong earthquakes, the frequent aftershocks, the ash fall, the lahar, the day seeming like dusk all throughout because the sky was covered with volcanic emissions. That same year, we moved out of Pampanga. I had to transfer school, leave my close friends whom I could have attended high school in St. Scho with, learn a new dialect, get used to a new culture – among other things.

Recently, we have been invited by the cool people from SabitMountaineer to join the day hike to Mt. Pinatubo. The trek, accordingly, was far easier than Pulag. But personally, I really wanted to see this volcano for myself – this mass of land that impolitely derailed me from what could have been a more conventional way to live a life. A life with no moving around, no confused way of Tagalog/Bisaya speaking, no more hesitations when I am asked where I am from.

Who knows?

January 26, Saturday

The day before the climb, I already had to lug my travel backpack to the office. To those who aren’t aware yet - yes, I do have Saturday work. I live in Antipolo so it was not a very appealing idea to still go home after work and then commute to back to Manila in the wee hours of Sunday morning. As EJ in his ridiculously deep Tagalog would say, “hamak na oras na iyon.”

Luckily, I’ve made plans to occupy my time until the assembly time at 3 am. I’ve badly needed a haircut. So I thought I’d finally get one while killing time. My hair has grown too long since the last time I had it trimmed. I wish I could say that in a figurative way (“Ang haba ng hair ko!”) but alas, no. Just the actual measurement of length. :P

After the haircut (and inwardly hating how it turned out), I met up with Liz, Paulo, and Tago for dinner. We wanted to veer away from the conventional fastfood chains we always frequent so we decided to try out Bubble Tea (lower ground floor, Mega A, near the ice skating rink). They serve Japanese fusion (Omurice Paella, Katsu Curry, etc.). The menu price is OT reimbursement level but the food’s great - at least the ones we’ve tried. I didn’t want to experiment with the milk teas and the fruit shakes or I’d have risked an inconvenient disagreement with my digestive system just in time for the hike. The horror.

Gary caught up with us just after dinner. His cousin Niña dropped by for a while (pretty, pretty Niña, hehe) but she had to go home right away. The rest of us watched the last full Show of “Heartbreak Kid” which stars Ben Stiller. You won’t be seeing its review here in my Multiply. It’s not worth a review, not even a bad one. Watch it on cable, borrow a pirated DVD. Just don’t spend money on it.

January 27, Sunday

After the movie, around midnight, Gary and I headed back to the office. We fixed our things and tried to rest while waiting for the time. By 2.30, we were already at the assembly point in EDSA Balintawak Chowking. Jay, the organizer, and other familiar faces from the Pulag climb were already there. EJ and Yza came not long after followed by Neal and Pia. We helped Jay distribute the IDs and I even won a bet against Gary, haha. We were guessing the gender of a particular name in one of the IDs. I was right, “Wa” turned out to be a guy. :)

Going to Capas, Tarlac

By four am, we boarded the rented vans. I dozed off almost immediately; I had zero sleep. I am starting to think that hiking without adequate sleep is becoming a usual thing. I woke up during the stopover to Capas town proper. It was almost sunrise by this time. We bought McDo breakfasts and boarded the vans again to head to the jump-off station. The scenery on the way was very pretty. There were a lot of fruit-bearing trees along the road. And it was even made prettier because of the soft sunrays which were starting to peek from the horizon. The jump-off station was an Asian spa of sorts. Japanese, Korean – I’m not sure. We got the chance to take pictures while waiting for the 4x4 vehicles.

Four wheel driving up Pinatubo

Luckily, we occupied a 4x4 vehicle with a roof. Or we’d have been treated to a free face powder courtesy of Pinatubo ashfall. The ride was dusty, long, and bumpy but so much fun. I was looking forward to this part of the trip. Just like a mini rollercoaster ride. Over shallow streams, rocky terrain, desert-like wastelands, those drivers went off like speed was their high. There was a part when our vehicle had to be towed by another when we got stuck in a muddy road. But no biggie. We reached the base with no other hitches.

Assault

The sign read “Welcome; Mt. Pinatubo; Walking Distance; Only 40 mins away”. I was a little skeptic when I read the time estimate. When we climbed Mt. Pulag, I learned that when you ask seasoned mountaineers how long will it take to get somewhere, you still had to multiply that with a factor. The newbie factor. Or the I-lead-a-sedentary-life factor. Their one hour could take you an hour and half. Or something.

The first part of the trail was not very promising. It was loose sand, downward, and very steep. Every careful step I took going down, I never forgot that I will have to go this way again going back up. But eventually, the trail leveled. Became easier, more interesting. There were cliffs on either side and there was the occasional stream to cross. Water was cool and not deep, just above the ankles. Thankfully, too, the sky was overcast. We thought we would be extremely exposed to the sun, but the cloudy skies made the hike more pleasant. We took our time hiking up that trail. The ascent was very gradual except for the last few minutes heading up to the crater, but otherwise it was very manageable. We didn’t even have to stop to take a break, just steady continuous walk.

Crater

When we reached the crater, we were awed at its color. It was so beautiful, unlike any other body of water I have seen with my own eyes. Blue water surrounded by green-covered rocky structures - the actual crater of Mt. Pinatubo. It was surreal. Like it was just artificially colored. One wouldn’t readily think that this quiet lake with serene blue color was the ground zero of one of the largest volcanic eruptions in the 20^th century.

We had a quick lunch after taking pictures. After that, we headed down to the water. There was a stairs constructed for the hike down to the water, but it was long and sharply inclined. When we got to the crater shore, we took more pictures. But time dragged slowly down at the crater. We found ourselves throwing rocks into the water, aiming at some questionably floating substance that curiously disintegrated when agitated. We also threw skipping stones. Or to be blunter about it, they threw skipping stones, while I unsuccessfully just ended throwing rocks at the water which promptly sinks with a pathetic “plop!” Skipping stones is now officially in my list of things to do before I die. Gary’s record that day is an impressive seven skips. Or if you ask him, “at least seven” skips.

Anyway, we must have depleted the rock accumulation from where we sat. We were joking that we might have disturbed Nessy the Loch Ness monster from way below the water. Good thing no such monster reared its head until it was time for us to leave.

Descent

We started descent mid afternoon after the quick socials where Gary won a trekking pole. It also started to rain a bit so we had to put on our rain gear. But the hike was still enjoyable. No untoward incident happened, although there was a point when our group almost took a wrong turn in the trail. We just talked about movies and books while we trudged along. Before we knew it, we have reached the beginning part of the trail and my worries of hiking up that very steep and loose soil were realized. I had to catch my breath a couple of times before reaching the plateau where the 4x4 vehicles parked.

Going home

Our 4x4 had trouble again when we were on our way down. The steering wheel wouldn’t, uhmm, steer. Good thing we were out of the snaky muddy roads and already in the wide open wasteland. They got to fix it in a jiffy, though, and we arrived at the Asian spa safely. Shower fee was P100, but most of them were too tired to clean up so we just changed shirts. We arrived in Manila around 9 pm. I got home around 11 or midnight.

I honestly realized that I never really harbored any ill feeling towards Pinatubo. I might not have really fit in St. Scho, anyway.

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."