Closure

stream-of-consciousness 03.03.03

the last time we talked was on my birthday. i stepped right out of the carenderia where i was having supper with friends to answer your call (i didn’t want them to hear me speak the second language only a bunch of my kind could dread and unknowingly despise). you asked what i have been doing lately. i have not had anything to do at all these past few days, so how was i to know how to answer you? i’ve been reading, i said, which was partly true because i’ve been stuck with this really thick book written by ayn rand for weeks. i didn’t mention that what eats most of my time is my literally and figuratively staring at blank space, which has weighed on me like a pillow in my face, making it hard for me to breathe. i braced myself for that sudden jolt to flight i was used to feeling each time i speak with you, as though the cellphone network has that loose a traffic so as to have me fly over the distance from here to where you are and be in physical contact with you. but that didn’t happen. my sentences were lifeless, consisting of but one word that, before, would have meant panic on my part because it was you that i was conversing with, and that i was not worthy. but i only felt indifference that day, a sudden disinterest i couldn’t blame myself for. you have crushed my heart a lot more times and in a lot more ways than i should’ve allowed it. when we hung up i heaved a sigh of relief that i swear to god was accompanied by a powerful pull of the earth on my heart. that instant i felt i could explain how gravity was discovered. yet i missed to note a more important detail: that i was also being forewarned that a few days after that i was to acquire the courage never to answer any of your calls again. i didn’t tremble when I went back inside the carenderia. but i did find it difficult to finish my meal, and i masked it by talking with untoward gaiety which i hoped that my friends didn’t notice that it was my way of convincing myself that I will be okay.

Option

Suddenly I got depressed. Depressed and frustrated and a little bit angry. I'm in the office right now and I cannot remember how but me and my officemates started talking about uncircumcised penes a few minutes ago. (Yes, penes is one plural form of penis. Another, of course, as is commonly used, is penises.) Our supervisor shared that he plans to give his son the option not to get circumcised, because he was not given that option.

I was not given that option.

Had I been, I would have chosen to stay... well... in colloquial terms... uncut. I believe the penis, in its natural form, would look much better. And though it may require a lot of hygeine work, I would not mind that. I also learned that sex would feel much better with a foreskin. And I hate the fact that that premise will always stay alien to me.

I also hate the fact that I was not given the option to choose my religion. Had I been, I would not have chosen any religion. Because I do not believe in religion, in prayers, in rituals, in that sort of pageantry. I would have chosen to just believe in God and nothing else, because there is no other explanation I could come up with why I am here.

So that is why I suddenly got depressed today. Because I started realizing there are several other things I was not given the option to be or have.

Like being born. This has never been my option.

* "Neitszche's Eyes" by Paul Cole plays. *

Ten Things to Accomplish Before Dying

I amused myself today. I was rereading an old journal and got to the part where I wrote the ten things I wanted to accomplish before dying. The journal entry is dated June 24th, 2002. I was nineteen then. Twenty-one now, it amused me that at nineteen I should think I knew what I wanted in life. It also amused me that two years has passed and I still have not accomplished even one of those goals.

Tenth on that list is get a tattoo. I do still want a tattoo until now. And I know exactly on which part of my body I want it. I still could not think of any particular design, though. But if I do get a tattoo, I do know I want to give it a Sylvia Plath slash J.D. Salinger feel. Whatever exactly that is I still have to come up with.

Ninth on the list is donate to charity. I believe I remember why I thought of this. I saw a documentary shown during our Social Science class (yes, that Social Science class) and it somehow touched a nerve. It was about children being made to work to pay the debts of their ancestors. With all the work they do, it’s becoming impossible for them to go to school and develop the necessary skills so they can have better jobs, earn more, and pay the debts they were told were for them to pay. In short, they’ll never be able to move an inch in life, not even their children, or their grandchildren. The very thought pissed me off a lot, which is why I want to, in any way, do something that could improve that type of situation. Sadly, I am one that needs improvement as well, so those children will have to wait until I get to straighten myself out.

Eighth on that list is -- take note of this -- write a love song *squirming in my seat right now*. I believe the song I was crazy about at that time is "Paperbag" by Fiona Apple. Songs like "Paperbag" make me want to write one myself that is just as good, or even better, even if I’m not really a songwriter. I am not even close to being a songwriter. In fact, I have stopped denying to myself that I will never be a songwriter. But I still do intend to write a song, though. A nice love song. And I think I am going to write it in Cebuano.

Seventh on that list of mine is skydive/bungee jump. Right now I’m having second thoughts. Not because I’m too chicken shit to skydive and/or bungee jump but because I do not see the possibility of me being able to do either in the future. It just seems like there’s a lot of work involved, and for something which requires a lot of work, I usually need my friends to want to do it also. I guess I just need to propose that sort of thing to them one of these days -- when we’re finally accomplished individuals and before most of them could get married and have children and be an invalid for life.

Sixth is master a musical instrument. Right now I’m practicing the guitar. I’m still fumbling with the instrument, but I am improving on my "If We Hold on Together." Before I tried the harmonica but my niece broke it.

Fifth is sketch in precision. There was a point when I got crazy about doing portraits of people in pencil. I even bought different shades of Staedtler pencils one time. It’s frustrating. I want to draw someone’s face ‘precisely’ and ‘life-likely,’ but it ends up as a cheap work, like some homage to those Tagalog Romance novels of which the person on the cover is Justin Timberlake, but it really just looks like Justin Timberlake.

Fourth on the list that I came up with is give parents a huge sum of money so they can start some sort of business and have my little brother and sister finish school. This is an entirely different story, and if I go into this further right now I may kill myself.

Third is write and direct a movie. This is one of the impossible things one could ever wish for. But I am keeping an open mind. I will get to write and direct a movie, even if I have to sleep my way to have this realized. (There. Punchline.)

Second on that list is win a palanca. At this point, I’m feeling a lump in my throat. I have just realized that the closer I get to my first goal, the more unattainable the goal is.

First on my list is fall in love.

See! Impossible. Pakshet!