The End of Pretending

The universe has permitted me to have a good taste of the simplicity I humbly craved for. I’m sloshing it in my mouth and chewing it slowly. It’s delicious. I am fully devoted to caring for my wife, son and daughter. I run almost three times a week, read two books a month, spend my afternoons driving my son to and from school while reading, listening to music or writing in coffee shops during the interval between. I rarely drink. I do the house chores and I also do part-time work, and the work is home-based. The job, if I can call it that, is stress-free, has minimal responsibility and a flexible schedule. I’m even good at it and derive some satisfaction. For those of us who do not seek fame or fortune, this is it.

We are debt-free, the bills are paid for, but we also have to be really financially conscious. It’s difficult to be charming without money but easy enough not to spend on non-essentials. There is such a joy in spending so little, but having so much of life to actually squander.  As I always pray, keep me at my humblest and therefore wisest.  The wisdom there is a practical one: nothing lasts. The financials are good for the next three quarters, and if my new part-time work does not sustain us I will have to go back to pretending big time. 

So be it. I hope I still know how to pretend when I wake up from this dream.

Fuck the day when I return to my former company and tell the executives, “Your prodigal son returns.”

Most people will probably look down on what I chose to do, or would think that I threw my career away along with the decent salary. Of course I worry that very little money is coming in. I worry that what I am doing now is a kind of morbid self-indulgence. I suppose will never be truly fear of worry.

Previously, when my energies were sapped by work, all I could think of was mentally drafting my resignation letter.  I pulled that trigger, resigned, and finally felt more alive than I’ve ever been. These days, I’m so happy I’m mentally drafting my obituary. But having lived, I know better.

Tomorrow, I’ll actually write that short story I’ve been mentally drafting. 

To Us, It's Tuesday

A gulp of beer. A slurp of the shabu shabu hot pot soup. A gulp of beer. A bite of thinly-sliced beef or dumpling. A gulp of beer.  A bite of steamed, fresh lapu lapu that they just fished out of the aquarium. A gulp of beer. A slurp of shabu shabu soup. Laughs and conversation.

Repeat.

We’re all here. It’s mother’s birthday. Like everyone else, we know well enough that everyone one of us has some sort of inner conflict or pain, but that gets assuaged whenever we are together like this. This is the joy that we will remember.

Standing Around Downtown Manila

I invited D. out for a date, but my own wife stood me up on the last minute. She had the best reason in the world (our daughter). So I headed out alone and promised I'll be back within three hours. The Spanish language school, Instituto Cerevantes, sponsored a music event in Escolta.

This gig is an attempt to spark a cultural renaissance cradled in Downtown Manila. To me, it’s never been dead or out of fashion. Perhaps our Spanish sponsors know our city and history better than us, and it did look like people are having fun. I’m happy for them. It was a very small space in art gallery within a historic building. It’s a terrific crowd - Spanish men and women drinking wine in plastic cups, and a bar that sold craft beer and reasonably priced local beer.

I came for the music, and I was on time for the up-and-coming, local indie artist’s set that I sought for.. She plays electronic music while singing along. I wanted to experience her music. "I like to make eye contact with the audience." I heard her say in a YouTube interview. Her performances require an amazing amount of multitasking along singing, flipping through switches, waving through radio buttons, devices, microphones. She is convincing anyone who still thinks that electronic music is a soul-less enterprise, to reconsider. Through changing tones and a shadowy pair of eyes, it is as if she tries to peer through your soul. There's an immature thing here and there in her lyrics, or the hat she's wearing. But when you’re as young as her, what better time do you have to nurture your raw feelings? She is only coming out of her sheltered enclave. I was persuaded to listen to how this music blooms when performed live.

And I was disappointed with the set because she really was just there to spin. Soul-less as shit, just as how i felt standing on the pavements of Escolta with a drink in hand. I wanted to be home listening to Spotify instead of being surrounded by a good crowd. Maybe I’ve been outside the circle too long (if ever I’ve been in). Maybe it’s because D. wasn’t with me, and I failed to rekindle that penchant for being alone.

I saw the artist on her way out. She was flanked by two young, tall gentlemen who surrounded her like groupies. I overheard one of them saying, “You want to go Makati? But both of us are broke.”

I spotted a pair of young women. Both of them were fancifully, fashionably dressed, the sides of their hair shaved down to a half-inch. Under an Escolta lamp post, they kiss on the street. I didn’t mean to intrude, and I was in a far-enough, respectful distance. I realized they wouldn’t have given a damn if anyone was watching. Let them all see true beauty, they seemed to say. It was the most beautiful thing I’ve seen in this night, impressing upon me how Escolta's always been alive and it's no secret.