solace: chapter 1

“Excuse me, do you have the time?” the man seated on the next table said as Jason broke from his trance. Jason obediently looked at his wristwatch and replied, “It’s eleven thirty.” He was half amazed at how slow time must have gone since he planted himself in that quaint coffee shop. His thoughts must have run rather far because he felt like he’s been sitting there for years. He instinctively reached for his coffee and felt the side of the paper cup. It was still warm and that brought him relief. He conjured an almost autistic smile and toyed with the question of whether or not the man seated next to him thanked him for the time. It doesn’t matter, he concluded; he needed to be snapped back to reality anyway. He should even thank him. But it was unnecessary, he thought, and never proceeded to do so.

Around him Jason noticed a bevy of people busy living their lives that night. There was the man next to him who, judging from his anxiety and interest in the time, may already had been stood up by his date. In one corner a group of youngsters were busy enjoying their adolescence while in another corner a couple was having their after-movie-or-dinner-date date. Still, other people’s lives were flashed before him and Jason suddenly wished he could have his own life flashed before him. He wanted to know answers to simple questions like why he was alone in that shop.

Or why Cathy is not there with him.

His cell phone sounded off a message alarm. He fished it from his pocket and started to find the message. His heart thumped a bit harder and he felt his body rushed with adrenalin. But to his disappointment, it was Kip. He read the message: “Pare, wer u na? D2 na kmi hangout. Dala k yosi. Madami.Bilis!” It’s Friday, Jason reckoned, and Kip and Brad are waiting for him at their weekly brotherly asphyxiation through cigarette smoke and beer. He whispered to himself, “be with you a little later guys.” He was about to compose a reply to Kip’s message when a new message arrived. And it was what his heart thumped a bit harder for.

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Cathy blew the lighted matchstick with closed eyes, pretending that it was a birthday candle and that she was entitled to one wish. It was after all a few hours before her birthday. She opened her eyes slowly and the light from the candle on the table next to her bed blinded her. She had turned off the ceiling light and the lone candle lighted the whole room. Cathy had just climbed to her bed, but still not in the right emotional level to sleep. Her mind was filled with random thoughts that are becoming disturbing to her only because she was entertaining them. She couldn’t do otherwise, she reasoned with herself, and she felt more confused. Tomorrow is her birthday, and she’s alone. Her boyfriend Joseph is miles away on a completely different continent. Strangely though, she wasn’t so anxious about the expected midnight call from him, and she never did expect any. It was one of those thoughts that bothered her.

Cathy reached for her mirror lying on the desk next to her bed. She looked at herself and asked, “what’s wrong with you?” She examined her face, scouted for facial lines that might be showing already. At 24 there couldn’t be many, if there are any at all. She was pleased, and she smiled a bit. “You need a drink young lady.” She told herself, as she looked straight at her reflection’s eyes. They were dark, round spheres that seemed unfilled. That’s no problem that a good drink wouldn’t fix, she concluded. Cathy got up, hurriedly changed clothes for a pre-birthday night, probably alone. Nonetheless, she liked the idea of being alone tonight. It’ll be for a change. She got her cell phone and her keys and went directly out the door. As she was about to turn the knob, her phone sounded off a message. It was from Kip, and it read, “pare, r u stil up? Maybe ud lyk a bottle r 2?” Cathy felt amused. She remembered she should have half expected her three best boy friends to be out on a drink. And it’s always an open invitation for her. Not tonight boys, she said to herself, I’m on a one-girl night-out.

Cathy lazily cruised along the main thoroughfare, still undecided if she’d try out one of her fantasy. Yes, she could say that. It was indeed a fantasy for her: driving all the way up to Antipolo and parking her car right where she could have nice view of the city lights below. She’d very much like that, if only she wasn’t so afraid to do it alone. And besides, Jason would really freak out if he knew she did it. Jason, yes Jason would be much concerned about it. She suddenly had a funny inkling to go immediately to where the boys are. But she brushed it aside. Then her cell phone sounded off again. “well, what do you know? Speak of the devil and the devil sends you a message.” She playfully said aloud. It was from Jason, and it read “ey pare, hapi bday. R u out?”

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Brad slid back on his seat. He took a sip from his beer bottle and took a cigarette to light. He searched for the lighter from his pocket, and accidentally shoved his bottle on the table. He clumsily picked it up and wiped the spilled beer with some table napkin. Kip was laughing all the time. “You clumsy oaf!” Kip handed Brad the lighter that he was holding all along. Once settled, Brad threw a piece of crumpled tissue on Kip, saying “pare, are they coming?” Kip shook his shoulders, and with head shaking, inhaled a large amount of smoke. “I dunno. They ought to, it’s Friday. Let me check.” Kip fished out his cell phone and proceeded to compose a message. His first thought was Cathy, but hesitated. Suddenly he didn’t know what to say, so he decided to send Jason a message first. “Where can you be tonight?” he asked himself. He wrote, “Pare, wer u na? D2 na kmi hangout. Dala k yosi. Madami.Bilis!” and immediately pressed the send button. Kip suddenly had a strange feeling, and imagined that Jason was with Cathy. This made him uneasy, and Brad noticed him stare straight into the wall in front of him. He knew there was something in his friend’s mind, but was already sure what it was. He didn’t bother asking him, but instead raised his bottle towards Kip and teasingly dared him to go straight up. Kip snapped back to reality, and politely obliged. Then having emptied their bottles, Kip signaled to the waiter for another round.

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“ey thanks pare. Yep, am driving around. Watup?” Jason read the message. He was somehow alarmed at the implications of that message. Was she driving alone? And where to? She’d probably be going to some date or with girl friends like she usually does. But what kind of a date would let her drive and not pick her up at her house? Jason’s head was filled with questions again, and he wanted answers for each of them. It was becoming more often that when it comes to Cathy he was always bothered. This has to stop, he thought, and fast! “wer to? Wid whom? Was wondrin mayb ud lyk 2 go out tnyt. Wid me.”As Jason typed the last letter, he fidgeted. His thumb cannot seem to press the send key. That’s too bold, he thought, she’d never fall for that. So he erased the last part, “wer to? Wid whom? Was wondrin mayb ud lyk 2 go out tnyt. It’s Friday.” That’s better. And finally his thumb hit the send button.

Jason took a sip of his coffee, and celebrated that it was still warm. It’s amazing what 100% recycled paper can do. And he patiently waited for the reply. He remembered Kip and Brad, probably slowly growing irritated at him for not showing up. He felt he needed to explain, so he composed another message for his two friends. He typed, “b ther soon. Gotta do somthng.” That should do it; after all, it’s the shortest most valid reason ever. No questions can possibly come after that. He heaved a sigh of satisfaction at having rid of the need to hurry up to them. Now what he needs is another message from her.

alcoholism

It’s an old adage that explains alcohol is the best disinhibitor. Drinking several bottles of liquor that’s at least six per cent alcohol by volume loosens the tongue. That’s scary. It reminds me of the tortures ignorant people used to do in the medieval times, where they do all sorts of things just to make one talk, never mind if it’s the truth or not. Nowadays, bars are filled with poisonous smoke from different branded cigarettes and poisonous words from different drunken tongues. Loud noises, seething through one’s ears as though the lies are meant for one.

It is in this same pretext that I find some people unworthy of ever imbibing alcohol. Sure they’re fun to be with when in a drinking spree, cracking jokes, laughing for the slightest reasons, even making up instant comedies. They are the best of friends. But when I listen intently, there’s nothing in words they utter. No substance holds their thoughts coursed through their tongue. And oftentimes, their words lose their meaning come morning. And the whole denial stage is being performed again. Half of what was said was because of the alcohol. The other half was because of the night, and the smoke.

In moderation, alcohol can be your ally, letting favorable words slip easily from your mouth, or even through the written word. Many wonderful love letters were written under the faithful guidance of alcohol, when the heart is not hindered by hesitations of the mind. Many emotions were made known by the removal of the inhibitions brought about by fear, anxiety and uncertainties of the logical mind. All in all, alcohol consumption should be limited to such an amount as when the mouth still speaks what the mind wants.

In contrast, excessive consumption of alcohol causes delirium. People speak of imaginations, of fantasies, of self-gratification, of wants and desires, of things that have yet to come to past, and of things that never will. Some would travel great lengths to improve self-grandeur, others would simply magnify self-worth. Still others would intrude to where others are and conjure words that’ll pull them down from their clouds. This is how fights and brawls start. Worse, this is also how friendships are broken, hearts are scarred, and the possibility of eternal love shattered. Alcohol now induces lies. The truth gets buried in a pile of bullshit make-believes.

I cannot fathom what you want to say anymore, because I cannot hear your own voice. Sometimes, even when you’re not drunk, I still do not know who is talking. Is it you? Or is it the alcohol?

You ran away from me now. I can never believe you again.

mispronounced

Love burdens itself with a whole lot of things – from the (yes, perhaps I could admit a little) truly important to the out rightly insane. For such a small word, love has come to mean the universe for some people, and yet, absolutely nothing for others.

I fall in the in-between.

People say love reside in the heart, and that the heart is the one part of the human body that is capable of loving, of understanding what it meant to love and be loved. They say it is where the human soul rests, and that it is the greatest gift one can possibly offer to another. By giving one’s heart away, one is giving out love.

An anatomist would disagree. There is nothing in the heart that can closely, even remotely, be capable of loving. It is simply a muscle, an organic pump that brings blood to where it is needed most to stay alive. To demystify it further, the heart has no other function other than that. There are no chemical processes that allow it to understand love, much less to give it away.

So why all the fuss about the heart? It is the heart that beats, signifying that the body is still alive. It is the one that aches when we feel something bad, or lonely, or sad. It is also the one that comes alive with excitement over some cute guy or a lovely girl. It is the one that pumps blood into our faces when we blush. It is also the one that doesn’t pump blood enough when we faint. It is the refuge of emotions that the brain cannot process with all the reason and logic it was programmed to do. The brain is much like a computer, processing information by standard logic, maybe a little arithmetic, and a lot of the man-made reasons. But like all equations, there are difficulties, and sometimes-undefined results. These are the emotions brought about by infatuation, anxiety, or longing for someone. And it is the heart that gets blamed for all these emotions.

Love is not logic. Love is not reason. It is for these reasons that love sometimes is not welcome in our minds. The brain cannot process the chemical reactions that produce love. That is why as an outcast, it needs to find a different venue for expressing itself. And love chose the heart.

The heart as a home of love is an idiom, one that is collecting dust. We do not, cannot, and perhaps even with a million years of evolution, will not think with our hearts.

“mind over heart. but in truth, you sometimes allow yourself to lead with your heart.” A friend once wrote of these wisdom-filled words. She could have changed the last word. We oftentimes allow ourselves to be led by LOVE.

why are we here?

Today I read a couple of good blogs. A couple that fails my taste for intellectuality. And still a couple that simply falls under absurd. It makes me think though, what are really blogs for?

A: entertainment. But whose? The blogger’s or the reader’s? I simply cannot dismiss the playful thought that someone could amuse himself with writing passionately for hours on end, about the same incident, and on the same emotional level every time. Don’t they have doctors for this? If I could convince myself that it is indeed for the blogger’s entertainment that blogs were created, then I must reconcile to myself that perversion is rampant, and that self gratification has evolved into the cyber kind. It’s scary. But if I could convince myself that it is for the reader’s entertainment that blogs exist, then by all means, the selfless souls who write for other’s joy are growing in numbers, and that probably the end of the world is not too far away… that’s even scarier!

Do not argue for the in betweens! It can only be either one or the other, never both. Otherwise, go somewhere else and plant something, like camote maybe?

B: expression. Who the fuck cares!?!? Since the so-called liberation of the Philippines from twenty years of imagined oppression, never have the words “freedom of expression” been so irritating. Wars have been triggered by expression. Families have been destroyed by expression. An eternal conflict between the religions of the world can never be quelled because of that freedom to express one’s ideology. Ideas are born out of other people’s opinion, or even an unknowing remark. The whole world can end with a simple expression of emotion – a profession of faith, or a criticism for fashion. Surely blogs aren’t created to ignite the next world war.

C: cultural exchange. The only exchange coursed through blogs is the knowledge that everyone else is as sick as you are. It’s more of a domination of one culture over another. There is hardly an exchange in culture, but a proliferation of the dominant one. It is like a virus – the only way to spread is to find readers to convert and start their own blog sites.

D: money making scheme for the thousands of computer geeks passionately writing computer codes to make and unmake a new blog site. If indeed blogsite hosting is that profitable, the stocks would have skyrocketed in the Dow Jones. E-bay has a bigger stock in its warehouses than all the blogsites combined.

There MUST be something else, something that drives the intellectual to continue pounding on the hapless computer keyboard.

I cannot think of any more reasons why people are so addicted to blogging, or why blogs sites exist. Surely there must be a logical reason. It’s sad to classify this dilemma with the one about the existence of flies, mosquitoes, terrorists and other pests that in all logic and reason shouldn’t even have evolved but somehow did. Whatever your reason for blogging, stay firm to it. You have the last true ideology of this century, you are part of the last remaining souls that will inherit the earth. You will live long after all the bacteria have disintegrated. Your legacy will endure forevermore!

After all, some freaky scientist who probably blew up his high school chemistry lab would find someday undeniable proof that blogging is genetic. The human genome shall need re-writing once again.

oxymorons

There is joy to be found in sadness. There is closure in between sobs and tears that trickle down your cheeks. Within that single second, you find yourself stronger than you were the second before.

There is unity to be found in loneliness. In being alone, you become one with yourself, with the emptiness that envelopes you, and with the void that you forcefully keep at bay, not letting in to your heart. There is no one to hurt you, no one to hurt, and no one to blame.

There is satisfaction to be found in longing. Anticipation is an end by itself. Every second that come and go brings you closer to that moment when your life’s wishes and wants are obtained. It is a step higher into that stairway to your stars.

There is truth to be found in lying. This one… I cannot explain.