...drive...

Part 2

Peter turned on the ignition key and his Honda City purred like a stirred kitty. His hands held the steering wheel, as he sits undecided if he should go or not. He fished his cell phone from his shirt pocket and opened the message inbox. “Are we still on for lunch today?” read the message from his wife. He glanced at his wristwatch and saw it was half an hour still before 11am, enough time to think about it. Peter replied with mixed hesitation, but mostly anticipation, “m sori hon, hav emergency miting at d ofc.” He bit his lips slightly as a breath of prayer slipped past his teeth.

Peter put his car in the first gear and pulled out from his parking lot, and out the exit gate.

___________________________________________________________________

Michelle placed the check she had just signed neatly under a pile of paper on her desk. She had been signing checks the whole morning and thought maybe lunch would be a good reprieve. Her watch said it was 10:36 in the morning so she took her cell phone from her purse to read a message that had just come in. it was from her husband, telling her how some meeting at the office made him unable to fetch her for lunch. She had anticipated this, as she would have been wont to do, since her husband is a very busy man.

Michelle picked up her desk phone and asked the building bellhop to get her a cab. She grabbed her purse, her jacket and hurriedly went out of her office room, and down the elevator to her waiting taxi.

___________________________________________________________________

Peter cruised smoothly on the highway; he wasn’t in a hurry. Traffic on Edsa seemed to be cooperating today, he thought, so there’s still a lot of time. He carefully opened his date planner and rechecked his scheduled activity for lunch. It said 11:30am, but he knew it was something they use to buy them some time together. An early lunch would mean two hours with her.

Peter steered the car towards Arnaiz Avenue and parked in front of a flower shop. He thought maybe for a change we’d surprise her with some Tulips. She likes tulips, and had hinted on him that she’d love to get some on her birthday. A few days ahead wouldn’t hurt, Peter thought, he’d still give her another bouquet of tulips then.

Peter saw through the glass doors of the shop a taxi almost sideswiping his parked car. He hurriedly went out and followed with his eyes, helplessly, the speeding cab. “Hey!” he shouted.

___________________________________________________________________

Michelle sat impatiently on the back seat of her taxi. She amused herself with mental notes on what the insides of this cab have, and lack. Frankly, it needs a makeover, she thought, but what can you expect from Philippine taxis. She felt uneasy being in the back; she felt uneasy riding cabs in general. The normally short drive from her office to Pasay Road seemed to take a lifetime today, what with the taxi driver being extra careful, as he had said in his just-listen-to-what-I-have-to-say chatter.

Michelle politely told the driver to speed up because she was in a hurry (to get off your stinky car, in her mind). Perhaps feeling insulted that his extra carefulness in driving wasn’t fully appreciated, the driver jerked the taxi to overtake on the right lane, with hardly an inch left in avoiding hitting a parked Honda. Michelle looked back through the taxi’s rear windshield to catch the receding image of the Honda’s owner and read his lips shout “Hey!”

...drive...

PART 1
_________________________________________________________________

The brake lights on the white Nissan Sentra in front of him turned on, and Peter cautiously stepped on the brake pedal of his car. His Honda City came to a slow stop three cars away from the intersection as the traffic lights turned red on their street. Kalayaan avenue has surprisingly light traffic today, he reckoned to himself, as he checked his watch. It said 7:23 in the morning; twenty minutes had passed since he made the last turn going out of their village. It usually takes him 30 to get where he is now, at the corner of C5. A swarm of motorcycles pass him on both sides as they jockey for position in front of the stopped traffic. He was never fond of cycles, and shook his head as he watched more and more motorcycles pass him by. He thought that the lights stayed at red longer today than it did yesterday, and was suspecting that the day before the lights turned faster. Anything to amuse himself, he thought.

Peter took time to check his phone; perhaps a message or two would be there. None. Oh well, some days you get them, some days you don’t, he held this thought to himself. He thought of composing a message, if only to solicit a reply. He hesitated, and glanced at his wife asleep on the passenger seat next to him.

The cross traffic halted, and the lights on Peter’s street turned green. He shifted to first gear, slowly released the clutch pedal, and honked impatiently at the Nissan in front of him as he stepped on the pedal.

_________________________________________________________________

Michelle felt her seat shake a little, even shuddered, but decided that it wasn’t an earthquake. She was firmly aware of where she was, and from behind closed eyes she could make out the ghostly appearance of the large familiar billboard. She shifted in her seat, leaned some more on the glass pane of the passenger seat. Her seatbelt was pulling tightly on her chest, as if adding more pressure against her heavy breaths.

With much anticipation for getting out of that car, maybe because she felt uncomfortable sitting in such a confining space, or maybe because she just felt the air outside would be more comforting, Michelle looked out the window, her face hidden from her husband’s view. She watched as a white Nissan made a sudden right turn, and thought the driver was in the same hurry as her. She imagined that she was on that car, on the controls, and making that swerve.

Michelle pretended to sleep. Her husband was turning the radio stations, perhaps looking for a song familiar to him. She listened closely, trying to guess each station’s songs by the few tunes that she would hear. For some, she uttered dislikes, for most, she secretly wished her husband would hold the station longer. The station that her husband picked crooned, “…no matter what I do, it’s just a lifetime to live through…”

Michelle felt like Kalayaan Avenue was an endless road.

_________________________________________________________________

The seeming endless chatter of the radio’s more than opinionated DJ’s seem to bore Peter, so he decided to turn the dial. He didn’t really know which station to listen to, but just a station with more music, and less talk. He turned and turned until he found a song he never thought he’d like. Today was full of surprises, so he let himself listen. “…I try to smile so the hurt won’t show…”, sings the radio.

In his head, Peter reviewed his schedule for the day. He can never get it right the first time. Either there are cancellations, or a sudden change in plans would force him to move one appointment a few hours back, or totally forget to attend to them. Even in his mind, he was not certain of the day’s schedule so he reminded himself to check his planner at the next intersection. He wished that this time, the lights would stay red longer.

Peter stopped the City a few inches away from the zebra crossing. He watched for a moment as several people crossed in front of him. His wife was still motionless, and Peter decided against making a remark. He preferred to keep her asleep. She’s a lot peaceful that way. He reached in the backseat for his planner, careful not to rock the car so much so that his wife won’t wake. He looked for today’s page, and was surprised to see the item at 11:30 - Lunch with Michelle. Peter glanced at his wife, and a sly grin was pasted on his face.

...bottleneck...

Things have a way of getting themselves entangled in painfully frustrating bottlenecks. James is slowly becoming a swell of emotions as he looks through his glass of Talus, and sees Nikki’s smile develop into a blur. She is looking at a couple on the other table, seemingly observing them with an enchanting pair of deep-set eyes. He wondered what her thoughts were dwelling on, or perhaps if he was any part of them. From across the table, James straightened in his seat. He was ready to talk to her, if only he knew what to say.

Nikki smiled, and took a sip of her wine. James watched in detail as her lips parted to make way for the red liquid into her mouth. He wished that he were that glass, upon which Nikki’s lips were pressed. He imagined his lips in contact with hers. And how marvelous that would have felt. James took a sip of his own wine, and found sanity to calm him down.

“Would you like more wine?” the waiter politely interrupted their séance, and when the pair nodded, poured more of the red intoxicant into each of their glasses. It was a pinot noir, particularly chosen by James to try and impress Nikki, to which she was, and complimented him on his fine choice. Nikki said it was the smoothest wine she’s ever had, and James knew she was flattering him, because she didn’t have many. Nonetheless, she joked that she could finish a whole bottle with him, and James was pleased with the “with him” part.

“Why do you like me James?” she asked with a smile, the kind that expects a cajole. James was tempted to oblige, but seized the moment to cautiously unclog the emotions swelling up inside him, like a policeman directing traffic at a busy intersection.

“I don’t really know why, Nikki. I guess if I did, then that would mean I like you only for that thing. But I don’t.

I don’t like you for your smile, which surely melts me every time you give them to me.

I don’t like you for your eyes, which surely sees my soul no matter how deep I recede into myself.

I don’t like you for your touch, which sends me into the greatest ecstasy that I have ever known or will ever know in my life!”

James placed his wine glass to his right side, away from the center of the table. The red rose that was set on the small wooden vase complimented the glitter caused by the wine glass from the light overhead. Nikki’s eyes were glistening, because they were near tears. She didn’t expect a barrage of sweet words from James, and the way he had said them had her eyes filled with the exuberant tears of bliss.

James reached his left hand out in front of him. The table was wide, and Nikki met his hands halfway through. He gave her a light squeeze, gently telling her with his hand the rest of what he wanted to say. James looked straight into her eyes, and she nervously looked back. Nikki loves James, and up until now, she was the same swell of emotions that he is.

“I like you, Nikki, because you’re you. I like you for everything that is you. And everything that is you, makes everything that is me complete. And I would give everything that is me, to be forever in love with everything that is you, Nikki.”

James felt the alcohol and the adrenaline in his blood being pumped rigorously into his brains. He wondered for a moment if excessive mixtures of both cause cardiac arrests. His sight blurred for a second and his consciousness became hazy as he heard himself speak sincere words.

“It would be a great honor if you would have me in your life, Nikki; if you would take me as your boyfriend and you as my girlfriend…”

Nikki bit her lips softly, unsure of what words to use. She has in her head a conundrum about how she would respond. She wanted it to be special; she wanted James to feel that she too, is in a billow of emotions for him. With her right hand clutched in his left, and the disinhibitor called pinot noir that she had just taken, she decided there were no sweeter ways to tell James.

“Yes! I would love to have you in my life James, and it would be my honor too, as it is yours!” Nikki uttered in a single breath, chest tightening with the excitement of this new development. She heaved a contented sigh, and gave James the sweetest smile she could ever give, and James melted like butter on a hot day.

James stared into Nikki’s eyes with the look of a happy man, and she looked back at him full of anticipation for a new chapter in her life. They both emptied their glass of Talus, just as the check arrived.

The date was March 27. It has always been since.

...the taxman...

“…let me tell you how it will be, there’s one for you nineteen for me…. ‘Coz I’m the taxman…yeah, I’m the taxman…” - The Beatles, Taxman


In one of my sober moments, I had the displeasure of having a calculator on one hand, and my pay slip on the other. Apparently, I figured that this isn’t such a good combination. As I perused the contents of the said pay slip, I came across the tax deducted from me as income tax, and my geeky self immediately decided to compute for the percentage. It turned out to be 28% of my salary for that pay period.

That’s almost a third of what I earned!

I sheepishly, yet with hatred building up ever so constantly, consulted a friend of mine who is knowledgeable in the law about it. I wasn’t really going to discuss what was written in the revenue code with her, but simply to understand why it was so. Out of the discussion we had, I understood one thing - the Lifeblood Principle. As I gathered, this principle summarily says that the State, being the society that I belong to as a human being, needs the monetary contribution of its constituents to subsist. It simply means that the State, or this country, or whatever country that has an organized form of governance and society, needs its people to pay taxes for its expenditures. Fine. I concede. Without money, no form of organization can exist. That goes for the government.

But why income tax?

Apparently, she argued, that it is every citizen’s duty, mine included, to pay a certain amount to the State for the privilege to earn. And this really burst my bubble. Further, it is postulated that it is because the State allowed one to earn that one must, as a matter of obligation, be taxed for the same. The word that struck my chord was “privilege”

It is NOT my privilege to earn; IT IS MY RIGHT!

I am an individual, with specific talents that I am willingly and unselfishly contributing for the welfare of this society, and subsequently, for the State. I could have very well joined the bandwagon and exercised my talents on some foreign soil benefiting some foreign people. But no, I chose to remain in this country, and I still choose to remain in this country. My talents and skills are being used and abused for the benefit of MY State. It is therefore NOT my privilege to earn. Rather, it is now the State’s responsibility to compensate me for the service I am doing. This is my RIGHT to earn, that remuneration that I must be getting in return for my skills and talents. The State must recognize that it is the one in debt to me, and that I have no debts to pay.

Yes, I concede, taxes are important in that it brings life to the State. Tax me for buying liquor, tax me for dining out in some fancy restaurant, tax me for using the roads that the State so boisterously claim to be well maintained, tax me for all the luxuries that I can spare in life. I have no qualms about those; I can survive without those things. Those things are my PRIVILEGES, brought about my capacity to earn, in exchange for the skills and talents that I have so unselfishly sacrificed for the good of the State. Those are PRIVILEGES, not needs nor rights. Tax me all you want!

But my income, that is my right! I have worked painfully for it. I had toiled countless hours for it. I would have bled for it if I were only given a chance to do so.

Collecting income tax from the people is like asking them to pay the State for allowing them to serve the State. It is like asking them to pay more than the blood, sweat and tears that the people are already paying. Must a slave pay his master for letting him serve?

I am not opposed to the collection of taxes; taxes are the lifeblood of the State. But tax only those activities that the people enjoy because of the State. I am only opposed to income taxes. It is not a privilege. It is an individual right.

I had been vehemently convincing myself that my talents and skills are better put to use serving my own countrymen. I don’t know how much more I can fool myself.

...the conscious choice...

“…tuesday came and went, as quickly as expected. I didn’t notice that I needed it to stay…” - Gabriel Mann, Lighted Up



A friend asked me in a serious tone, what love is, and I replied, wholeheartedly, what I think love is.

Love is a choice.

I remember, as it seems now a lifetime ago, I had been in a not-so-sober discussion with another close friend about how he and I differ in our views on love. Ah, love. That proverbial entity that seems to permeate every insane individual’s mind and heart. He argued that love is a choice, much to my naïve understanding of the word. He postulated that anyone could fall in love; bathe in its seemingly never-ending bliss of infatuation and that sordid state of bliss, where one can, inadvertently, overlook the other’s shortcomings and failings. He pictured love as that state after that passionate boy-meets-girl encounter, after all the glitter of he’s-so-cute or she’s-so-damn-sexy stage has waned. It’s that time after all the blindness has come to pass, when one sees the truth about the other – his oversized beer-belly, or her incessant nagging. It’s when the curtain of being in love has faded away that the clarity that is love becomes obvious.

I had argued otherwise.

But now, I seem to have shifted sides. Sober and abstemious, I now share his view on love. Love, like that blasphemous Savage Garden song, is just a collection of chemical reactions in one’s brain. Love is indeed a decision, that state where one decides if one is capable of handling the chaotic state of waking up with the same person everyday for the rest of his or her life. Love is that decision of accepting the other for everything and anything that he or she is, both the good and the worst part of his or her person. Love is that decision of being patient; love is that decision of being kind. Love is all the decision of being everything that that Bible phrase tells what love is all about.

Being in love is a wonderful feeling, and no one can be denied of that. It is most commonly the beginning of loving. As it would have been stated by now, being in love with someone and loving someone are two very different things. And how the latter differs from the former is by no means measurable by human standards.

Being in love is being blinded naturally, by that ever-guiding cosmic retribution thing that seems to favor the occult. It is like the uncontrollable urge to be with someone, like the animals in spring. Being in love is like the unwritten law that compels one to brush his or her teeth in the morning, or to use underarm deodorant. It is that forcefully being blind to the bad things that the other is doing, and the complications that it brings. It is that thing that stretches our patience to infinitesimal lengths, that we don’t even know we are capable of.

Loving, on the other hand, entails a conscious decision; a mind that is cognizant of all the consequences of that decision, emphasis on the all. Loving is a deliberate act, one that involves acceptance of the flaws of the other, as opposed to just being blind to them. Loving involves doing things because you actively want to do things, and not just simply being told to do such things. Loving involves limiting one’s imperfections, not desperately trying to change them, as a result of self-stimulation and perseverance. Loving is a selfish act.

I had been in love. It’s a wonderful thing to be in love. But I am past that stage, and I have decided to love someone. I have unconditionally devoted myself into loving this special someone, beyond the realms of infatuation or enthrallment. Yet, unexplainably, I believe I am still in love with her. And the irony that is of a conscious being in love with her, I firmly believe, can exist. I know. I feel it for her.

I am in love with you. And I promise that I will always love you, no matter what.

To my friend who asked me what love is, it seems that I do not know after all. Yet I do.