Full of character, familiar to happiness, used to loneliness, examined so many answers but left blank, as though the world conspired to answer only with question marks.
I long for lyricism amidst all the mercantile prose of work.
On the weekend of my 22nd birthday, I went back to Subic with my brother, who will be working there all weekend. I’d like to thank him and his company for the ride and accommodations. I spent so much time alone staring at the open sea while having a drink. The only inconvenience were the mosquitoes, pestering you during nights at Scuba shack. I shouldn’t have worn shorts. I took long walks around Subic, and for the first time in my life, went to the beach alone. On a number of occasions, I thought I’d approach someone. But I guess I was too determined by this happy aloneness. All this time alone with nothing to do but savor Paella and grilled squid on restaurants by the beach during afternoons. Sunlight sparkles like a million diamonds floating by the sea. A salty breeze wafts as you drink watermelon shake or as you light your cigarette. The best part of it was sleeping in the hotel all day, in long, long, hours. And of course I was able to affirm that at the moment I was in love with myself. It’s more difficult to dredge up the past now and remember exactly what I thought.
It would have been difficult if things took the route where I persisted on loving someone else. But then, without bitterness, without regret, I have chosen the ultimately selfish end. And I’m glad I did. I would find out, later on, that there are a lot more endearing smiles and dazzling eyes. Very quickly these faces came and went, all to become faceless again.
At the beginning of May, I made an instant decision to join my officemates to Puerto Gallera. Despite how weary we were of work, and how literally tired for coming off the shift and going straight to Batangas and the ferry to Mindoro, my officemates seemed never tired of partying all night squeezing fun out of the weekend. I’ve never seen such determination to be happy. There were a lot of people on Puerto Gallera on our first day, since it’s the Labor Day holiday weekend. The beach was crowded with ladies in their bikinis and bare legs and backs, and nincompoop guys in their board shorts. When the ferry arrived at White Beach we were greeted by other officemates who were already there. All my officemates simply looked better if they had nothing but their bikinis on. Accommodations and food on Gallera were extremely cheaper compared to Boracay. We got them for a really good price, after a little effort. All bars sold beer at thirty bucks a bottle. The beach is not so pristine and the place had lesser character compared to Boracay. Some of the bars played Chicane and some chillout, most of the music were hip hop and R&B. It was more of a party place. Nonetheless, the beach was not much of a hype but still beautiful, and with our crowd it was so much better. And the parties here lasted longer. My officemates never tired of dancing. There was the usual fruit shake by the beach, the massage, banana boat rides, barbeques, seafood and kebab. As we swam in early mornings, had lunch and swam again in late afternoons, there was barely enough time to sleep but still managed to drink again at night. After getting drunk, we lie on the sand and stare at the stars. There was also time to meet someone new. One of my officemates brought a friend with her. I had a few drinks with them during the afternoon, while everyone went dancing to “In the Club.” We shared a common inability to dance. While everybody else got drunk and danced all night, we took a walk. This is the part of the movie where the dreamy music fades up and the romance swells – or at least I took it that way. We met earlier that day. It was beautiful – how she was thin yet she had round features. You know she’d grow up some more to reach that full bloom. She had a snobbish air hanging with her. We talked and drank together on the beach. Later that night, while taking our stroll, she lay her life open and told me her story. I listened intently. She’s the only child of a rich family. Her father has planned out her career for her. She probably has never made a deliberate choice in life. Never had a boyfriend but was also interested in a hunky Filipino-Canadian whom she met in Pravda. They have a house in Canada, and she lives in Alabang. She’s geeky, she supposes, but goes to Pravda a lot. Strikingly stereotypical daughter of the Filipino elite. Not too long ago, I’ve given up my dream of becoming Pepe having her Carmen Villa. In this case, class struggle robbed all the romance I had left it me. When we got back to rejoin the group, her friend remarked, “Where were you? We thought you got kidnapped.”
On the way back home, the ferry to Batangas made me mentally draft my last will and testament. We laughed off the strong waves at first, but as we moved on the passengers were calculating the ratio of available life jackets. As early as noon the waves were strong and boat tilted to as much as a 45 degree angle. In an attempt to assuage our fears, I held hands with an officemate who was sitting on my lap and wrapping her arm around my shoulder. On another occasion, I would’ve been turned on. As the wooden boat docked, I couldn’t dislodge my balls from my neck.
Another summer ends well.
No matter how we choose life, we continue to live a rather passive existence. I remember how walks along La Salle, Ayala, CCP and Nakpil, the books in the library or in Powerbooks brought me such bliss. It made all the absurdity manageable somehow. It made me embrace it.
Does life slowly dip into a quiet desperation, as you grow old? I already imagine my walks along Valero, Paseo, Ayala and Greenbelt, when I find myself in a different spot from where I walk now.
I’ve slept for only three or four hours everyday for the past week. I can’ return to sleep anymore after having my first four hours. My mind’s too distracted to concentrate on reading. I end up getting drowsy over the smell of the room’s burning scented oils, or get too lad back and loungy with Chillout music. Work hasn’t been the hassle it’s been, but has become very demanding. It keeps me pretty occupied. My off is two nights away. I’d like to watch good movies, go to the theater, gobble cheeseburgers, read all day, write all day, get to have dinner and coffee, funny and profound conversation with Nietzschean quips and occasional existential angst or deconstructive art, books, and movies, in these excellent restaurants. Would it be asking too much if she looked like a celebrity?
I look around my room and realize how all chilled out I am and how I hand-picked my lifestyle based on available resources, however I still often feel blank. Full of character, familiar to happiness, used to loneliness, examined so many answers but left blank, as though the world conspired to answer only with question marks.
I love how paper absorbs thick fountain pen ink then dries up, like how memories become indelible and permanent.
Nowadays, everybody seems to dream of just being conventional.
