September 2001

I don’t know hot to put it without the triteness. I don’t know how to pick up from where I left off. But I remember having to put with all the unnecessary drama whenever I let the months just snap without having a single sentence written. I try to compel myself on what a waste it was, with me not having to tell the tales that transpire in my life, or the thoughts I think. What were those sordid tales of debauchery, what unique shape does can my thoughts bear, how delightful, how hurtful could feelings be? Of course, these questions themselves are vague, shapeless, and insurmountable. I’m looking for something concrete, although not something which is tangible, I want something that I could describe, something that I could determine.

How long will this last? Today, I declare that my life is beautiful. Amazingly enough, the formula comes off from simple ingredients: delicious food, decent reads and decent coffee, images and thoughts to feed my soul, errands to help my family’s business, the company of my friends and family, my work to keep me level and give me money to sustain my lifestyle, and music to give it all of it a suitable soundtrack.
I don’t know what urged me to proclaims this sort of declaration, the nice weekend the came after a difficult week at work. I spent Saturday morning reading a few chapters of Michel Houellebecq’s “Atomised,” and the afternoon burning mp3’s to CD audio. I had great titles, alternative music from High School (e.g., Better than Ezra, Oasis), film themes, and even club. The next Monday I bought the new Café del Mar release, and a mainstream compilation. I think I’m beginning to develop a considerable collection, although I lack a few essentials to suit my taste: jazz albums (of the Miles Davis, Charlie Parker, etc. persuasion) because they are not available in pirated versions. I spent Saturday night, despite the fatigue from thirty-six hours of sleeplessness, getting drunk with ___ at his girlfriend’s place. Sunday morning to fix my drawer, Sunday afternoon to watch a La Salle game and drink a few beers. Sunday evening was a fantastic dinner with my family at Suko Thai courtesy of my brother and I.
What I truly miss are evenings, because it’s more conducive to listen to chillout, or drink coffee. But then I’m beginning to have this love affair with the noon, because it’s the time before I sleep, and then wake up watching something like The Simpsons or That 70’s show. Early afternoons glimmer with the most natural give the most natural renditions of light and poetry of shadows --- on windows, blinds, and pages of books. Undeniably, my office in Makati and the streets of Ayala is a sight and soon, with some more experience, I will be able to place it into words.
Obviously, I can’t box this happiness or put it on record, but this feeling is happiness nonetheless. This is a feeling that makes me less frightened of the future.