I commit

I will not be able to sleep until I make a firm resolve to start what needs to be started.
Let this post, then, be a declaration of my commitment to writing.
Starting now, I will not be scared to write down my thoughts on matters that interest me or you.
I also firmly resolve that starting now, I will make good with my promise to concern
myself less with making mistakes, but more with learning about and improvement in all that's essential.

To do

I noticed my overflowing laundry basket when I got up this morning. I didn't think two weeks was that long, but if I postponed doing it for another week, I might as well head back to Mindanao and grow rice (as my father would tell all of us before when we failed to do our chores).
Growing rice.
It's strange that that did not sound as scary as it used to a decade ago. Before, the images I associated with it were comparable to those of a spent actor deciding to run for president. Now, the first thing that comes to mind is gratification, and next is peace.
What has changed?
I figured I would be sitting on my bed till kingdom come without an answer if I pursue the question, so I looked at my laundry basket again, sighed, and promised that this weekend is all about getting it done.
That's just one of the things that I would like to accomplish this weekend, though. These days, I enjoy torturing myself with lists that supposedly bring essence to my life if done.
Sadly, my lists contain re-named items of things that were not done last week, the week before that and the week before, and the week...
Still, it is better than not having any list at all.
Sure, I have completed some of them- those that do not require thinking like giving my living room a new look, going on a road trip, going to places  I have never been to and of course, doing the laundry (which I am not sure fits in, as this requires me to ponder deeply on whether I should do it or just go buy some new clothes to wear instead). However, the more important ones have merely become tired to-do's.
Could it really be that I have been drugged?
A week ago, I was drinking with a friend who was telling me about how he had just decided to quit his job and run his own business. At first, I thought what is with these people who are scurrying towards becoming statistics of people who tried and failed? I was lost in my cynicism when he said something that really stuck with me, "You know, working for any company is like being drugged. You work your ass off for days, get depressed by the fact that you are doing something that no longer makes sense, and then you get your pay on the 15th and the 30th, then, you are on high spirits again. You forget your miserable life for a few days, and then back to being stressed and then, pay day once more. It is a cycle that not only steals your time, but your ideals, as well. You will wake up one morning and realize that you now need to look up what idealism is on the dictionary, let alone spell it!"
Great.
I fervently hoped that this morning was not what my friend was talking about.
I-D-E-A-L-I-S-M. Good. I am still ok.
I may be drugged, but I have not lost my wits entirely.
I know that any day now, I will have to urge myself to face that needs facing, like understanding what's changed about growing rice.
For now, though, let me get out of my bed and put "Do the laudry" on top of my to-do's for this weekend.

Baguio- Sagada- Banaue- Batad

For the second time, I visited the cold Benguet and Ifugao regions.
I was fortunate to be able to enjoy a four-day weekend, and though I failed to book tickets in advance, I was in luck. I found transportation that would bring me to as far as Batad.
For details about this trip, click here.




Untitled

"I'm leaving."
I pause the movie I am watching and look at him,
standing by the door, holding the handles of his big, red bag.
Why only now after eight long years?
He looks down, lifts the bag, and turns.
Before he closes the door, he says,
"I can't fix the shower knob for you anymore."

A Resolution

For who could stop farewells
One can only let out a smile
pretending to remember the infinite succession
of years
of days
hours, minutes
that had passed before that smile- a child of nostalgia
or a product of one's acceptance
that farewell is the easier way to go
about forgetting.

You marvel at an old friend's recollection
Both of you were trying the bike for the first time
He wanted to go home after the fall
You thought the scratches were painful
But you would never let go
of making it around that waterless fountain.

Now, you only remember the fear of falling.
You are not even sure you can still ride a bike.

Some afternoons, when everything seems busy
the clanging of metals from a house being built
the soft hum of the fan from your living room
some distant shouts of children playing ball, perhaps
You close your eyes for an instant
sip some cheap instant coffee
As you try to notice how it goes down your throat,
your eyes toward where the light of the setting sun
makes the greens of a tree brighter
You remember, you woke up late again.
But even that habitual self-reproach will fade
Like how a friend reminded you
of how you wanted to teach.

I have some years ahead of me.
I will welcome them like a sunny day after weeks of rain
It may be fleeting
before they become fragments
of stories my friends will remind me of
But I will see them pass by
as a child sees
a beautiful, colorful marching band
whose music can be heard even from later years

They are possibly not happy

I read the news today, and my attention was drawn to how the CBCP (Catholic Bishops Conference of the Philippines) is planning on "luring back prodigal children".
It wrote how Cebu Archbishop Jose Palma said that it’s possible that we failed somewhere in the sense that people are transferring to another sector because they are not happy.
The first thing that came to mind is, "WTF!"
So, they merely consider this a possibility? Don't these pious ones really know why many have defected or simply stopped going to church on Sundays? Are they lacking up in there or just playing deaf and blind?
At least, though, they finally got it right. The people are not happy. Not because they don't have God in their lives but because they have leaders that seem to act as if they may not be able to spell the word L-E-A-D.
For almost 500 years now, the Filipino people have grown tired of their arrogance in asserting that only they know the truth and no one else. History has slapped them many times over with embarrassing moments of how many of their beliefs had been wrong all along. The people have been very understanding. I have been very understanding, knowing that they are also just human beings who are not exempt from making mistakes every now and then. However, there is a limit to that, especially, when they deign to care very little about history repeating itself. There they are, still, at the helm of every idiotic movement, imposing on people, and proselytizing them for a cause that is as clear as morning to somebody who has just gotten up with a hangover. It is tiring, indeed, to hear another priest's sermon on how this and that bill should be opposed or how this and that should not be allowed because the Bible literally says so. Sometimes, I wonder, do they think that God created his image without brains to think with?
Yes, they can guide people to be in the right. They can show the way, but should they have to push people to whatever way they think is the right path?
They are right, I am not happy. I am not happy because they are not letting me to be. To me, they are no different from a nagging wife who does nothing each day but point out all the wrongs by virtue of how she believes them to be wrong.
To CBCP, the people have not lost faith. I have not lost faith. I still believe in God. I still believe that everything has a beginning, a purpose and an end. Sadly, though, I have lost faith in your ability to lead my spirituality. You just plainly do not cut it anymore. I believe 500 years is such a long time for you to prove you're worthy to be the Catholics' leaders in this country.

Collateral

 I had just gotten out of bed when I received a message from my parents asking me to call them when I get the chance.

Knowing their previous record of sending messages only when there is a problem or when they need money for my sisters' school, I thought I would be some grand poorer before the week ends.

   "Do you still smoke?", my father's voice on the phone sounded hesitant. I said, yes, a couple of sticks a day, 8 sticks max. 

I felt a little strange with the question, especially, since this was the first time we ever talked about my taking to smoking. They never said anything about the first time I went home from university with a pack of cigarettes. They even bought me an ash tray.

   Stammering and sounding worried, my father continued, "Well, your mother and I, we...we just thought that maybe, you should start thinking about quitting". I was shocked, but found myself saying, "I am trying. That is why I go running every now and then to naturally expel the habit. I know it is really bad for my health, so I want to quit as soon as possible". 

   It has been 11 years and 2 months since the first time I started inhaling nicotine down my lungs. Previous to that, I had always thought that smokers did not have half the brain most people do. It's a no-brainer how smoking kills, and yet, they never seem to care or understand. This was one of the things I thought a normal, good person would actually avoid. Ironically, it was the same belief that led me to start it. With the decision to force myself into a nasty habit, I would be redefining myself. I would be breaking free from a self-concept that was too safe, too ordinary. 

   Now, this juvenile attempt at being unique has taken its toll. I am stuck, and every time I think of quitting, it only makes me smoke more. I asked a friend who managed to forget about nicotine after more than 10 years of puffing at least 1 pack (20 sticks) a day. To her, it was not really a decision to quit. It was more of a consequence of her decision for a better, healthier lifestyle. It was a holistic change that made quitting cigarettes a mere collateral change. And because it was not really an object of which she had to spend a lot of energy mustering her will against, it was relatively easy. Like her, I also believe that if I focus so much on the negative, meaning by going with the personal campaign: I will not smoke again, I would still have the action smoking for this to come true. I would have nothing to negate if it did not exist. So, I thought, like my friend, I will decide something positive: I will live a healthier, happier and more exciting lifestyle. I know that when I embrace that, smoking would become passe. 

   "Ok. We were just concerned, with all the news, TV ads, and your sister telling us about the statistics...", my father trailed off. "Yes. I understand. I am slowly getting rid of it", I said.  I realized, I was so entranced by the conversation that I only puffed twice before the cigarette I was holding burned out. I was so close to telling myself that should be the last, but I snapped out of it. I know that if I said that, I would be running counter to what I believe. It's not smoking I want to stop, it's a better life (whose explications I am attributing to what I know as the highest ideal there is about life) that I would like to start. If I am still the one who shuns contradiction, then I know that smoking does not fit in. Naturally.