I simply grew woozy about the existential dilemma, like having so much cheese, or so much chocolate. Now I have nothing to explain my plight in life.
Leaving. L___ is leaving for the States to study photography. Unlike me, there had always been a deep boldness in her to pursue her passions, embrace life or maybe take semi-calculated risks.
She gathered many of her friends the night before she left. It was at the newly reopened Penguin, and a great Jazz band played that night. Genuine Jazz.
Half the crowd were L__’s friends, half of it artists from CCP (I recognize some of them from Tanghalang Pilipino, from my ushering days, although they would have no idea whom I was). It made the crowd more interesting with all the artsy women in their artsy clothing. There were smartly-dressed good-looking guys who were old and gay. It was the best crowd I’ve seen in months, and the best party I attended in a long time. A lot of philosophy majors, lit majors, DLSU mountaineers, and a lot of people from Madison came to the place. Everybody grew up a little, and lot of them grew prettier and dressed better. The cosmetics they applied looked more expensive. Or maybe my tastes have changed. A lot of them launched off their careers as editors or writers in magazines, Law school students, MA students in Philosophy or Music, Call Center Reps, or what not. One or two got married. I remember getting lucky with one of them. Many of them were just the types you’ve always dreamed of: very clever, pretty, excellent taste in everything, passionate, and most importantly: you can’t have them. Maybe the hype lessens when you put them under the microscope.
Aside from getting all boozed and listening to the music, I got a chance to talk to____ about getting an MA in Philosophy.
After the party, the people just drifted away. Who can tell when life will be kind enough to have us, or ever meet and gather up again? I’m eternally glad I wasn't at work tonight. Beautiful comets rarely land on earth.
Restating a redundancy. Why did I have to learn of, experience, reason with, and eventually get over the phenomena of existential angst at so early a time in my life? Although I never really resolved it (it was merely a matter of getting over,) I simply grew woozy about the existential dilemma, like having so much cheese, or so much chocolate.
Now I have nothing to explain my plight in life. The only other issue I could take up with myself is how excruciating work is, especially recently. I don’t occupy myself with matters such as romance or related trivialities, politics or society.
Here I am with my redundant, my tautological issue. Whenever I think about quitting work, I think about what I might lose. I have to take a lot of crap from our customers and even some co-workers, fuck them all. But then I may also lose on the lifestyle I’ve been sustaining. For the past three hours, I’ve been just able to live with the kind of pleasures that I want to reap: reading Kundera, in the coziness of the room, watching the late afternoon sky’s nimbus clouds liquefy into hues of orange and purple as if it was deliberately brushed and stroked by a painter’s skilled hands. I listen to a fitting set of Chillout, while big, fat drops of rain chant outside with the chorale of passing cars.
Is it my job that positions my life in this reciprocal arrangement? Perhaps heavy stress and high intensity is required to be able to take it easy.
What was the last real risk I’ve taken? None.
I resolved that I at least have to stay in this job until December. But I have filed most of my remaining vacation leaves which has left me with almost a week’s vacation each month. I resolved to just take it easy at work, not minding my metrics too much. Maybe I’ve taken it too easy, and I’m foreseeing my warnings.
As a result, I’m able to take it even easier when go home. It was Sunday morning yesterday, and I was able to go running again at CCP yesterday. I took a warm shower right after, some good coffee, reading the papers with the excellent editorials of Today, and then new book by Jessica Zafra again in the relieving sanctuary that is my room. Sunday night at work was relatively relaxed, though I had to encounter a grueling one and a half hour call with the usual, vicarious venting of a customer. And then it’s home again. I had a monster breakfast out. I saw most of the shows in the Juice channel and it amuses me a lot. It’s addictive. It showcases modern urban living in a candy-coated reality. Nothing ghastly ever happens in that channel, or if ever there was, it has already been dissipated. Most of the features are about fetishes, on fashion, beautiful spaces, good living, good health, vacations, trendy recreations, with very interesting advertisements in between, and drop-dead charming hosts. It helps to have a dose of those. It helps to be happily ignorant of harsher realities. Right after, I had a serving of some pornography and even got to see a video on the newly acquired DVD player. I’m not fond of suspense thrillers and with my weakening constitution; my heart jumps and began to wonder how strong this coffee is.
And then I woke up, to my last day this week, anticipating my days off. I woke early enough to see the 70’s show and Frasier tonight. I figured, this at least, should be rewarding enough.
Indulgence. I wanted to feel I had friends. – Bargo with D.N., M&L, and then Café Adriatico with ___…. Eiga Sai afternoon and then dinner with J.K. and his friend at Don Henricos. Saturday Morning: North Park with officemates… M.'s birthday bash at CPK and then a few drinks at Malate during Saturday night.
Tuesday Night: W___'s birthday at his place, then Café Adriatico again with ___.
Without regard to being superfluous, I feel the need to register this profound sense of fulfillment during my days off. It comes along so effortlessly, for the fact that there is no work tonight. I decided not to go out on the night of my day off. I spent the night alone in the room, where everywhere I turn to is pleasing to the eye. The Ministry of Sound and Real Sound of Ibiza CD sets a relaxed, perceptive mood. Jessica Zafra is an easy read. She speaks of reality with a mildly angst-ridden, but tasteful, and truly intelligent voice. The language is rich and her voice is distinct enough to stand on its own. It thus produces a genuinely insightful, well crafted and humorous read that never fails to turn against and put up a fight against all that is phony and maintain strong contempt for all that is moronic. There was a time when I though she no longer had anything left to say. Now, I just envy the life she lives. Except for my job, I love my life to the little-lest detail, especially nights like this. The sky is enveloped with this blank mantle, the city sleeps, the streets and lighted with pink and orange halogen lights. I lay ever comfortably in a room which brings me so much relief. I’ll be watching some DVD’s in a while, and maybe get some take out when my stomach starts to grumble.
Am I inventing my difficulties? I make my fulfillment with the moment fluctuate as often and as quickly as the flapping of butterfly wings. For here I am, exclaiming my complaints about my job again. I have seriously considered resigning, for maybe about 6,976 times now. I know that this kind of decision would momentarily give me a great sense of liberation. Momentarily, yes. But it builds no confidence for the future. I want to be immersed in new experiences in life, and I want to savor previous pleasures I have been missing. But I do not wish to regret later on, if my semi-calculated risks turn out to be enormous disasters. And then there’s the a long list of clichés to advise me:
my own cliché: Life is a brief pause in a bleak world.
Some people just shut the fuck up and work. Either they have found what they wanted out of life, or struggle to maintain what they already have: families, houses, girlfriends, cars. Some people simply don’t know what they want and let others tell them what to do so they shut themselves to work. Some of them have occasional sex, keep an apartment and a pet. Right now, I recite my litany of complaints about my job. I worry, I try to decide, foresee my possible regrets, foresee some momentary joy, hope for some meaning, and while I do this: life happens. Life happens, even if you didn’t have any plans.
For all I know, my life has already, rather so quickly, just flashed my eye and passed by.
The Dancing Zarathustra. The last schedule rotation blessed me with weekends off, beginning this Saturday night. A spontaneous blast of party mood coursed through my body. I took my brother along to where the ladies slightly younger than us flock and fall in line at the entrance.
Young women are eternally crazy about dancing, while young and old men are eternally grabbing the opportunities for chancing while dancing with women.
When you're there it just happens. You go home and you wonder why you have additional entries/digits in the phone book. She danced so well, I can never call her anymore especially when she saw me as the Dancing Zarathustra. Even ___ was restraining his hyseric laughter.
The disappointing end of the “The End of the Affair.” One Monday afternoon while more ordinary people are working to make a living, I lie in my room watching DVDs. The End of the Affiar is just the type of movie that suits afternoons such as this. The moving, melancholy musical score, the delicate movement, even the color, setting and screen play fits well with mood I set.
Everything in this film is notable. The theme itself has a simple (almost conventional) storyline that was made rich with the complexity of the characters (matched with excellent casting), dramatically powerful setting and cunning storytelling.
I love the way it measures and equates love with jealousy. It raises jealousy to a higher platform, a kind of pedestal where jealousy turns into love. I have never thought of it as sensible. This is where I saw jealousy, hate, desire and betrayal as meaningful components which embraces love. This film seems to have demonstrated that. For a few seconds, I missed having that ilk of passion.
The script was remarkable, and since that DVD afforded my to read subtitles and allowed me to literally dissect the film, I noted a down a few good lines:
I am a jealous man.
I am jealous of this stocking.
Why? Because it does what I can’t. It kisses your whole leg.
And I am jealous of this button.
Poor innocent button It’s not innocent at all.
It’s with you all day and I’m not.
I suppose you are jealous of my shoes. Yes.
Why? Because they take you away from me.
I measured love by the extent of my jealousy.
And as my jealousy was infinite,
Anyone who loves is jealous
My love should have been infinite too.
Everything was notable except perhaps for the ending, where the protagonist falls into self-pity and surrender to a belief in God. I don’t really give a fuck if the film aims to divulge a proof of God’s presence through a story of sexual jealousy, infidelity and desire, but I see it as a kind of Deus Ex Machina where God intervenes to make himself triumph.
Despite the disappointing ending, I’d say this afternoon was nothing but terrific, as terrific as the many afternoons I had before. The sort of thing I live for. It’s amazing how the coffee I myself make nurtures the spirit, how something as given and available as the weather: occasional drizzles and the murky clouds --- gives me glee. I opened the room’s window to let some light in, while a playing a freshly burned CD compilation of film themes. I had a terrific weekend, and this is the icing to the cake. I don’t think I’d even bother to sleep.
All’s wonderful, for now. And I think of it all: the films that I see, the music I hear, the reads that I read, the walks that I walk, the weight that I carry, the lightness that falls on me now, and yes, the loves I had, the love I lost, and even the love that I do not have.
