I Am Just Quietly Untamed

Evenflow,
Thoughts arrive like butterflies
Oh, he don’t know
So he chases them away.

Nobody could have expressed our angst better. Not the way Pearl Jam and the grunge music of our generation made whatever absurdity we felt less shapeless. We were on the way to the beach, aboard the bus to Batangas and I was reading Oscar Wao with the grunge playlist plugged in. I heard Eddie Vedder's deep yet screechy voice accompanied by guitar distortion. The lyrics were powerful and furious. With its hidden meanings, it made me understand why the world worked in wayward ways. It made all the Emo music of this generation seem sissy and just cretinous. We didn’t have Google yet back then, but we understood.

And precisely because I understood, I protested. I was young and ready to make world spin in idealized directions. I wanted to change the world’s wayward ways. And then the music grew too loud. I got drunk silly, chased girls, and youth disappeared. I grew up, silencing myself.

Hearing this again now, I understood. I am just quietly untamed.

Short Stabs at Philosophy

One of the tasks of philosophy is to both seek and inspect the creation or discovery of a knowledge-base that is solid (with foundations) and at the same time fluid (with its willingness to agitate those foundations).

Pardon my level of discourse. I'm only peeking out of the cave for a glimpse of that "world of forms."

It's a classic, and you've probably heard the question a million times from students such as me: “Do philosophers really live up to the stereotype of being confined to ivory towers with their brows arched, writing their scholarly volumes?”

Is it the snobbish air hanging around Philosophy which easily dismisses popular culture with a bad reputation, denoting the absence of good foundations? Have we examined at all what purveyors of popular philosophy had in mind? What could Bryan Magee have done differently in his philosophical TV show in BBC, if he should have had one at all?

We live in a time where the information is readily available, if not nearly-effortlessly accessible. While this is good in many ways, the inevitability of information dissemination leaves too many stones unturned. Too many details are left unchecked. "Popularizing" philosophy may easily backfire into misinterpretation or misrepresentation. Even more perilously, popularizing philosophy can lead to intellectual indolence. It can also breed its own monsters and create its own convenient fictions or totalizing narratives. Can we simply describe it as their participation in the beautiful mystery of life in the universe?

Even with so much imprecision, the dispersion of Popular Philosophy will persist. An angsty teenager is likely to look up Nietzsche when he sees "Fight Club" or Schopenhauer when s/he sees "Antonia's Line." A talented artist will call their art "postmodern" and will popularize that philosophy thorough its icons - Warhol-style. Someone will ask, “What are the metaphysical issues expressed in T.S. Eliot’s poetry?” “Is there a touch of nihilism in the lyrics of Radiohead or The Smiths?” Whoever reads Camus' The Stranger will easily warm up to Existentialism.

Our world is understood or misunderstood in many, blended forms of learning. One of the tasks of philosophy is to both seek and inspect the creation or discovery of a knowledge-base that is solid (with foundations) and at the same time fluid (with its willingness to agitate those foundations). Philosophy should be able to clarify concepts, question truth claims, and examine methods - perhaps even in popularized forms. Maybe it's worth the time?

Popular or not, I'd like to believe that Philosophy will reign as the mother of all disciplines. Popular or not, philosophy will prevail. This gives us a little room for excitement - to find out how it’s being played out there, outside its circles.

Remember Wittgenstein's Poker?

I've been following some forums and discussion boards on Philosophy in the University I attended and it's exciting to think that there might be scenes amongst Professors similar to what happened with Popper and Wittgenstein's Poker.

Among us, there are those who lurk quietly and pursue philosophy in our own non-academic ways. We read reviews/discussion boards about recently-published Philosophy books or Philosophy-related books, films, plays or music that show coherence or congruence with certain philosophical ideas, some genuinely exciting philosophical insights and (with a blighted hope) maybe some sense of humor.

Either fortnatately or unfortunately, some of us aren't afforded the privilege of having Philosophy as way of life. Nonetheless, we want to keep on having Philosophy as an influence in our lifestyle choices, or as a lifestyle choice in itself.

The Feeling at the Finish Line

A quiet wave of depression momentarily settles when things come to an end. Like when film credits roll out, you're left with an empty space. This quiet wave of depression told me that without the meaning D. gives me and everything I do, all that running was just a sad waltz with the wind.

Running gives birth to new metaphors and we picked up so many in the finish line. 222 km to 2.22, this wedding path of ours, made us feel enlightened with our plans.

Next time around, in life's longer races, we just know we'll run even stronger.

And on to the next path.

A Lovely Light that Never Goes Out

In fifty days, I'll be spending the rest of me with my wife, who (describing her as she is now, in a day in her life) writes papers on International Development, attends yoga classes or group exercises, enjoys tofu and chocolates, cooks for her family, picks up the best foreign-language pirated DVDs, laughs alone while reading, and hand-crafts these candles for our wedding.

With one gesture, she can make my whole world sparkle with light.

From envelope linings, to place cards or escort cards, table numbers, menu cards, to her choice of table-top flowers, she never ceases to amaze me with how everything she touches becomes wonderful.

In our estimation, the ceremony and reception will only have a maximum six-hour running time. Although the wedding hasn't happened yet, we already have a full stash of memories. For us, this wedding had begun the moment we started planning. We've rehearsed it a thousand times in our minds, and it was sweet as it was splendid.

We've also realized that many things don't go on as planned, and all the rehearsals in the world can't change the fact that fate steers into unexpected turns. But as a quotable quote goes, 'The brightest blazes are commonly kindled by unexpected sparks.'

Drinking Life Deeply

The upside to getting married out of town is that many of our preps and requirement-fulfillments turn out to be small-scale, quiet excursions. This is, after all, the making of our lives as a truly blissful trip.

The most recent trip was our Pre-Cana Seminar in Caleruega. The drive to Tagaytay was pleasant – around 2 hours including a brief breakfast stop in a coffee shop along the way. We sipped Dark Cherry Mocha in the car with a blend of contradiction in an all-too-commercialized red cup. It pumped some holiday cheer to our veins, but it also came with self-reproach for patronizing a company who may have disadvantaged coffee farmers in Ethiopia. We can only wish that our future marital arguments would be restricted to mundane matters such as these.

Back to the trip now, before we complete digress. Being in Caleruega again reaffirms our decision to get married here – the view of Mt. Batulao is spectacular, the flowers are in bloom, and you slip into an instant transformation towards serenity and sincerity. We half-expected the seminar to be a bookish refresher on The Seven Sacraments, along with an awkward sex-education/family planning forum with other couples who will also get married soon. We were too happy to prove ourselves wrong. Caleruega’s parish priest conducted an excellent and effective seminar which even came with entertaining bits. Priests like him make you extra proud of the Holy Orders: Father had a profound knowledge of the Canon Law, a sense of humor, gardening skills, conversational skills, a genuinely hopeful disposition towards would-be couples, a laptop, and (if J. sees it right) - Oakley prescription glasses.

So that’s Why Miracles are Made

D.’s favorite bit was when the priest encouraged us to come back here in the future, to have retreats as a family or as a couple and look back to the wonderful experience of Holy Matrimony. She imagined herself and her family, here, in the future. J.’s favorite bit was when the priest noted how the first miracle of Jesus was to turn water into wine during a wedding. Miracles are made, he thought, so we can have swig and drink life deeply.

After the seminar, we had booked the venue for our wedding preps. Logistically, it’s the perfect place - being a few minutes away from the chapel. The golf-course views would make a scenic background. The surroundings are peaceful and relaxing and the Presidential Suite would have enough room for us and our parents. (Thank you to Best Man Lloyd for another worthy recommendation).

Ferment Your Own Yogurt

We had a late lunch at a Greek restaurant along the Tagaytay highway called Mano's Greek Taverna. It was late in the afternoon, the weather was cool and we were famished. A hearty Moussaka was called for. The restaurant set-up was simple in its blue and white. It’s an elegant simplicity that avoids the formulaic concepts of overpriced shopping-mall restaurants. A family picture of Manos, who owns and runs the place, hangs in one of the walls. He himself was there serving salad with feta cheese to his guests, even guiding cars in the parking lot. We overhear him boasting, “we bake our own bread, we ferment our own yogurt, import the virgin olive oil, make our own patties, everything has no chemicals, no preservatives, no vetsin, no mantika.” We went yummy yummy yummy and ha ha ha.


We once saw how Greek coffee was made in Travel and Living. They use percolators but we couldn’t remember if the sugar was thrown in with the powdery Arabica. But we're confident that no Ethiopian farmers were harmed in its making. Greek coffee was delicious. There we were – J. and D., - drinking life deeply.

One more stop for our parent’s pasalubong - those assorted (pineapple/buco/mango/ube) tarts. And we’re off home from another blissful trip.