I belong to a generation who sleeps in the morning.
My fountain pen is lonely. It seeks both a partner and a substitute. I will take one which looks exactly like the last fountain pen I sold. Tomorrow, they will be together and they will both be mine.
While it isn’t too bad. I’ve been complaining a lot for the past few months. Yes, work is wide pacific fucking ocean of stress. But it dawned on me, as it did before, and as it always does: perhaps things aren't that bad. So I started to take notice of what isn't. Little incidents that change the tide and propels me hopefully through:
Buying dinner for my family last Sunday at Banana leaf, and walking along with them in the new part of Greenbelt.
Watching the New York Philharmonic Orchestra at CCP with my high school friends. It’s amusing to see, once more, the glittering jewels of the lumpen fucking culturati that almost matched the sparkle of the crystal chandelier. And then drinks, and lots of laughs.
The postcards and the Berkeley shirt which H.'s pasalubong from the States, and burning for my copy of his Aimee Mann CD.
During my one of the four days-off this October: Watching a movie alone at Greenbelt, Wong Kar Wai’s “In the mood for love” and then watching a Jazz Band and drinking wine with ____'s friends at Monk’s Bar in Rockwell.
Helping out my parents whenever there’s some catering to do.
Getting a lot of good, Sunday night music from wherever my younger brother gets it.
Discovering the pleasure of my older brother’s favorite Starbucks drink which we usually on Sunday nights.
Sleeping at the PVP bus on the way home.
Reading, writing in my room: which is all I want it to be.
Whenever new hires are around in the office, I’m glad I’ve lasted this long.
Somewhat similar to the butler in “Remains of the Day,” I look forward to work with a certain motivation: to feast my eyes with the pretty women in the office. But I also don’t have much complacency is considering them as prospective long time partners. I saw some pretty interesting ones who carry something like a copy of Foucault’s Pendulum by Umberto Eco. What else is there to say? As I always said, many people in the office are closet intellectuals who no longer have room to channel that sort of wisdom, occupied as they are with more mundane concerns for a better customer-serviced US of America.
Drinking Pale Pilsen with D.N. and A.V. in front of the store at two in the afternoon.
Walking along Valero St. at five in the morning.
Finally, going to Boracay next week with expectations of just being able to enjoy and take it easy for a while. At least, I had a plan that materialized. Another desire fulfilled. Someday, there will be time to demand more out of life.
I’m tired now. I saw one of my classmates this morning, and she’s working at a call center near our office. My office has an office in their building as well. I have two blockmates whom I work with in the same vertical. I think 60% of our employees went to La Salle also, and most of us have common friends or have probably met before, was the boyfriend or girlfriend of whoever, have been classmates before, I’ve met two of whom I made out before. Most of us all have the same jobs now. It’ a generation with a low profile, but not exactly a superlatively easy job with a relatively higher income, and on a graveyard shift. A working class who feels none of, or have forgotten all about imperialist exploitation.
I belong to a generation who sleeps in the morning.
Why, life continues to be kind to me! Work’s trend came to a very relaxed stance even if I only had four hours of sleep in the past fourty hours. It’s been a full week without a single irate caller, which has then turned having some laughs with my officemates, and actually enjoying work. Right after work this week I literally rewarded myself. I took the car on a Saturday afternoon, went to PowerBooks and bought myself an Ian McEwan. I took a peek at a few more titles, and prospecting the women peeking at the titles.
On Saturday night, I felt thankful for my brother’s concern for the stress I’ve been encountering, together with his own mounting impulse - I suppose. Along with another cousin, we went to a place called Miss Universal. We marveled at the finer results of billions and billions of years of human evolution in this universe. It was Miss Universal. And compared to the audience in "Coyote" bars, since this crowd watches in a gentlemanly fashion as the beauty of the universe unfolds before the eyes. I got a good massage, a lot of prawns from Gambas, and a really good drink.
The next day I got one of those board shorts in Greenhills. On Sunday night, I watched Amelie again, this time in a pirated DVD copy that showed exceedingly good quality.
As each detail in the film Amelie is fascinating and beautiful, I feel that so is my life this very second. Amazingly enough, Monday morning is the only time I’ve been able to get some good sleep. I feel some part of me refuses to shut down.
I feel that sad part of me sleep inside, lying dormant, like something awaiting extinction. Why wallow in sadness when there is not a hint of sadness to console.
From my window, with the glow of lamps I just watched the sky transform again, as I listen to Aimee Mann, the Salinas Sessions then Moby and Chicane.
I look around the room and I’m pleased with what I see and what I can look forward to: more reads, thoughts to ponder, smells to smell and the one of the best places in the world to be in --- in Boracay with my happy solitude. I’ll be taking an island to such an island.
Why, have I pondered happiness and felt it.
