A beautiful blur

Sometimes life goes by deliciously fast

Life went by rather quickly in 2014. I haven't had time to sit down and take stock of every thing that's taken place. Life swept me off my feet so grandly, and if I am never swept away by any kind of love affair in my lifetime, I will look upon 2014 and still feel that life has given me enough.

time slips away

Image from here.

My father turned 60 today. Yesterday, we had a nice day, celebrating the milestone year. I took them to see a play and to dinner and we were all rather pleasant because of the experience. I was distracted by the idea of what having a 60-year old for a parent meant. And then as we were pulling out of the mall parking lot after the play, I realized that there might not be a lot of years left when I could rely on my dad to drive us to places -- the thought terrified me. Not even of him dying, though everyone dies -- just the idea that he would be there but unable to fulfill the functions I had grown up being used to: driving, getting cars fixed, having all the answers, things like that. It made me feel so inadequate and unprepared for anything.

Today, during his all-day birthday party, I had a similar thought again. My grandmother was here for the celebrations, and while I was trying to coax a birthday greeting out of her, I realized that she was no longer as lucid as I thought she was. I realized that she could barely open her eyes because she no longer saw very well. I want to say that this is what a big big family does (you could go on living not thinking about your grandmother because there are too many of you to think about) but I really don't want to use that excuse. I can't believe that so much time has passed and despite my grandmother living a few minutes away, I have not taken the time to know her beyond the cursory "hello" and "how are you" when I come and go. She was lying on the couch (she has been immobile since she broke her hip a couple of years ago) and as I was trying to get her to recognize my voice, I rubbed my hands on her legs and she smiled. It was a little girl smile, a smile I didn't see on her face when my grandfather was alive, or when she was lucid for that matter. It made me realize that it must have been so long since someone rubbed her legs like that -- since she felt anything about her legs like that, and it made me smile that even when she could no longer recognize me, I could comfort her by simply rubbing her legs. I wish that I had given her more, that I had more to give back when she still knew the difference.

The idea of time passing makes me nervous. What have I done with the time that's gone by?

somethings and nothings

What lovely words. Image from here.

So November has come and gone without me even writing a post, which is really just baaaadddd.

It has been a mix-up of good and bad things and mostly me trying to struggle with deadlines and me trying to sneak out to get to a lecture or to have time to see friends and attempt to have a life.

I have been busy yet there is this feeling that the busyness that has taken over is filled with such insignificant things.

It's not a bad place, where I am, but I am always questioning why I am unable to move past this -- to wow myself and the world in ways that I thought I would.

There is the feeling that I have been filling my days with "nothings" and this is why I haven't written -- but then again, I suppose things it is up to me to make "something" out of things. What makes a moment, a thing, a person special anyway?

When I began the idea for writing this, I was thinking of how I felt left behind by my peers -- My body has forced me to graduate through certain phases of my life, but I don't necessarily feel as though I've recovered.

There is that feeling of always just needing to catch up on life.

Now though, all thoughts turn to a dearest friend who has encountered a sad thing. Why do things happen the way they do anyway?

Rest

Rest by Pearce Highsmith (Image from here.)

I finally have gotten to the point where I realize how vital rest is. When I was much younger, weekends were very much restless days, spent arguing with myself (and my parents) because I wasn't making the most out of it. I felt then that weekends were best spent outside, doing things and meeting people and finding someone to fall in love with and things like that. Now, on the weekends, I am just incredibly happy when I get to rest -- and by rest I mean literally doing nothing, lying down, breathing in and out, having nothing on the agenda except to watch movies, read, eat and sleep.

I did just that this whole weekend. I was supposed to study for midterms, but after I found out that my midterm was pushed back, I settled into the weekend whole-heartedly. I lounged out on the lanai and sipped my coffee slowly, while I read cookbooks. I watched a lot of movies - classics and fluffy ones alike. A lot of movies. I watched two last Friday, four yesterday, and a sprinkling of tv shows in between that. It doesn't sound like much, but it was glorious.

This Sunday morning was spent eating a lazy breakfast with my brother, and then writing this entry while listening to the Garden State soundtrack, which is awesome. Can't believe I didn't discover it till this weekend.

There isn't much more to my weekend than that, but it was just what the kind of weekend that I've been praying for for a long time. Thank God!

What's your idea of a great weekend?

Bathers at Rest by Paul Cezanne (Image from here.)

does it matter if you know why?

Image from here.

This evening, my mom, dad, and I went to watch my brother's choir (the Ateneo College Glee Club) in concert. It was their return concert after touring Europe for over a month, mainly because they competed for the title in the European Grand Prix.

During the concert, one of the choir members shared his thoughts as they prepared to compete -- the feeling was familiar, he said, because he had competed for the title with the choir nearly 10 years ago. Both times, the grand prize title eluded them.

Upset, he shared how he had to ask himself why; why did they keep on losing? Why then, why now? And then, he said something which struck a chord in me. Does it really matter if you know why? 


In the end, he said, it mattered more how hard they had worked to compete for that title again. It mattered that they did it anyway, win or lose.

Those words, along with the great music of the choir, made me think of the "whys" in my life. Why I stuck to some things and quickly abandoned others. Why I felt the way I did about many things and many people. Why I was placed in the circumstances I was in now.

Personally, at this point in my life, I find that the whys aren't as important as what I am doing about them, and how I am addressing them given what I have at my disposal.

As though by magic, I found myself stumbling over this favorite quote of mine by Rainer Maria Rilke, taken from Letters to a Young Poet. This pretty much sums up how I feel about the questions now.

One of my favorite quotes EVER.  Photo from here.

May we all live our way into the answers!

what do you sacrifice for your dream?

Image from here.

I haven't written so much this summer, which is a bit ironic, because I thought I would be writing up a storm. Well, I am, but not the kind of writing that I thought I would be doing. I've been working. A lot. Just as summer began, I literally found myself swept up by a work opportunity, and so my days went there --- I was (still am) being paid to write. Nothing literary: releases, newsy types of articles, manifestos and the like. I don't like the writing part of it much, because it feels too technical and thankless at times. But it is for a cause I believe in, and it pays well (particularly when combined with another writing job that I have), and I suppose this is why I am sticking to it and have committed myself to it for the time being.

It is by no means easy, and there are times in my day when I have to ask myself why I am doing this. The answer is really quite quick to come: I am doing it for the money. It came as a surprise to me, especially after the decade that I had, how I could find myself earning as much money as this -- a lawyer's salary almost, even if I am not a lawyer. On the one hand, it feels good, knowing that I can provide for myself well enough by my writing skills alone. I know that I am committed to doing this (and to not writing literary stuff for the time being) because I want to save up enough to fund my dream of studying and living abroad.

This new mentality comes as a surprise to me because when I started working, there were so many things that I wasn't willing to put up with. But maybe that was because I found advertising to be so thankless. Or maybe, I really was just too idealistic going in. I'd like to think that I was able to draw the line somewhere, and move in a progressive way, learning from one job to the next, finding myself better and in a better place to work too somehow. Now, there are still parts of the job that I find difficult to deal with, but I find myself more pliable to the things that are thrown my way. I see myself being able to stick to it for longer, far longer than I ever have before.

So for now, I am sacrificing my time, doing the work because I know that it will help provide for the dream that I hope to achieve. It feels almost grown up, to be honest, to give up something of my self for a bigger goal. I haven't felt very grownup in a long time, but I do right now.

clean cuts

Image from here.

I'm beginning to think that clean cuts aren't at all possible.

I cried today. It was the first time I've let myself cry in a long, long time. It was during a conversation with a friend whom I had cut out of my life. She was just trying to be a good friend, thinking that I had already recovered from all the things that have haunted me in the past year. But I haven't. I think, with the passing of time, that I've gotten worse. At handling things. At hoping.

In the middle of her begging me to meet her, I just found myself blurting out every reason why I couldn't see her. Ever. And it made me cry. Because she was still so nice. Because I was reminded of why she is a much better person than I am.

Because she is an example of someone living out my life the way it is supposed to. Orderly, successful, driven. Instead I am here. Cutting off people left and right. And then sobbing right after that.

I suppose it was coming. You don't spend two weeks in isolation and then deal with your worst insecurities on a daily basis and not pay for it somehow. This is the true price that I am paying for my desire to handle this job I think. I wonder what it is about me that reeks the most of strange?

Parents

Photo from here.

So my parents are at a funeral tonight. It's their 3rd one in the last 5 days. Thankfully (not for the ones who've lost their loved ones, of course -- may they rest in peace) tonight's wake is for someone who is older than them (one of their friend's dad I think); but the other 2 were relatively contemporaries both in age and and lifestyle. Having my parents go off to these funerals feels terrifying and unsettling for me. While it is a fact of life that people die and that more often than not, our parents die before us, I question whether I am ready to survive a life without them. Most days, I think I am not. I question whether they have taught me (or whether I have learned) enough life skills to live on, and I also question if they feel like they know me well enough to make a pronouncement on whether or not I have made them proud as a person.

A lot of the time, during the most random things, I find myself looking at them and thinking about things I will miss about them when they are gone. Like how my mom falls asleep every time without fail when praying the rosary, even if she is the one leading it. Like how my dad's shirt hangs over his belly when he's sleeping, exposing his midriff to the cool air of the electric fan. Like how my dad bangs on my door in the morning to let me know that we are eating breakfast.  Like how when I look at my mom, even when she is being obstinately difficult and irrational, I see a sense of survival that I find myself depending on and that I am not sure I have. Like how when I turn on the radio in search of happy sunday music (mostly standards), I often see my dad's rounded figure tapping his fingers out on the table because he loves those too.

I am thirty now. It is such a strange and scary place. I thought I would know more, be more -- but I'm not sure I do, I definitely know that I'm not (as I imagined I would be at this age). What I can pride myself on though is that I am trying. Always trying. With weekend plans, with my daily life, with my plans for the future.   But what I am sure of is that I am thirty, I am not quite ready to be without parents yet. Not to move out, not to get married, and certainly not to fend for myself in the case of untimely demise (DEAR GOD NO). Who knew that I would be feeling this way at thirty? I know sometime in the future I must be ready, or at the very least, willing to live in a world where I have the most grownup opinion that I can count on.  But not yet, God.  Not yet.

On turning 30

Image from here.

I turned 30 a few days ago, and it went very differently than I thought it would. For the longest time, I have been dreading turning 30 because of recent developments (or non-developments) in my life that have set me back and changed my views of the world from how I perceived it a few years ago. For one, nearly my entire twenties was spent working in attempts to survive law school. All of this work was geared towards becoming a lawyer at the end of all that work and hopefully settling into a financially stable and exhausting (though rewarding) work life. When I turned 29 last year, I got the most devastating (I'm still recovering from its trauma) news of my life learning that I had failed the bar. The knowledge that I could fail something I had put so much into really crippled me, and I cut off many friends and hid from the world for a year trying to recover from the news. I couldn't make myself take the exam again and I had to really ask myself if I was willing to spend another year of my life working towards something that felt so futile and so thankless.

After a year of being inactive, of trying to grapple with who I am as a person and with what strengths I do have, I decided to forego taking the bar (indefinitely), choosing instead to work towards rediscovering my passions and capabilities. I am entrenched in the creative writing world now and on most days, it feels like this is (as it always has been) a much more comfortable fit for me than law ever was. Still, so much of my life feels like a question. I wonder always if not taking the bar is the correct step, if I will regret that I put it off for so long, or even if I could make as much as I did had I chosen to focus on becoming a lawyer and not on rediscovering creative writing.

I had thought that turning 30 would give me this clarity that would make me see things from an entirely different perspective, but the day crept in quietly, and without much fanfare. There were no glaring epiphanies or sudden directions or life paths discovered, only an awareness that I had been around for 30 decades now, and that I had better learn to enjoy the small moments as much as I look forward to the bigger ones. Life is made so much of the smaller moments, and I suppose these are the things you remember when you look back on your life later on.

If this year has taught me anything, it would be that life too is so much about having the courage to take chances. I had thrown myself into the ringer by accepting a project that allowed me to travel to 5 different cities in less than 10 days so close to all my deadlines, leaving little time for me to work on them. But I did it anyway and came out (for the most part unscathed).  So much of my life and my decisions are based on the prudent options, always foregoing adventure for what is expected, what is practical. This time, I just really wanted to do it without questioning if I could or couldn't.

I took this lesson and applied it to my birthday, and how I wanted to celebrate my life from hereon. It was an exercise in deciding how I wanted to do things, and then finding a way to do them anyway. I heralded its arrival with a few friends who stayed with me till midnight, over tapas and sangrias. I spent time with my family, and then gave myself the chance to relax and take it all in on a weekend jaunt to Baguio, one of my favorite places to visit. As I sit here now, by the balcony, enjoying the cool air while writing off the delicious food I had from the buffet, I feel quite pleased at the idea of wanting something and then making it happen.

Hopefully this is the start of a more conscious, more deliberate life, focused on the little things as well as on the big things. I want to stop fearing things and do more of them. Off the top of my head, I want to dare to dream about standing on a surfboard, riding a bike, go to Europe, kiss someone, and maybe even fall in love. I want to try new food, meet new people, find something that I am absolutely passionate about, and reclaim my fitness. I want to really feel alive, finally.

So true

Image from here.

Saw this and laughed out loud. The accompanying article was a pretty interesting read too. In our quest to do everything, we end up doing nothing, or invalidating what we have done because it falls short of our own unrealistic expectations. Do read the article! It certainly made me think about the way I view my life and what I've done with it so far.

What I Must Learn To Do

"And then I learned, most important, to write while not writing. Without jotting a word, I wrote all day long with my eyes and ears and mouth. I didn’t learn boundaries—my office space where I can think, versus my real life. It was all one life, one blur. In a way, because my actual time at the desk was so limited, I learned to write all the time—even in my sleep. And so when I got to the desk, I wrote madly. It all came fast."

- From the writer Julianna Baggott, who has written 16 books in 3 different genres

It seems as though the lesson that keeps getting impressed on me is to continue trying. To write even when I can't. To live even when I am uncertain if it is worth it. To hope even without knowing if it is within the realm of possibility.

alive.

I have been feeling so strange these past few days. I couldn't place what it was that was wrong, yet I have been walking around with the strangest feeling in my gut, that churling (churning and wanting to hurl) feeling that you get when you left something important at home, or when you remember that you had something to do but didn't. But I couldn't figure out what it was.

With my life being particularly uneventful (about a hundredfold more than it usually is), I feel like I am slowly degenerating into nothingness, and it just occurred to me yesterday that this is my body's way of telling me that, contrary to my belief that I am slowly morphing into a zombie, that I feel so much despite doing so little is the Universe's way of reminding me that I AM STILL ALIVE.

Perhaps, this could explain the overwhelming sense of emotion I get when I watch movies, or hear songs - I get this feeling of wanting to stand up and run as fast as I can, away from this fort I have built around myself. Now that I have finally succeeded in separating myself away from the rest of the world I sometimes feel so cloyed by having myself as my only companion. It's ridiculous how the only way I get to feel things now is by listening to songs or that my source of connection to humanity lies in tapping into the lives of fictional characters.

And all throughout this immersion, I get that gnawing feeling, reminding me that I forgot that this isn't how life is supposed to be. Maybe one of these days that gnawing feeling will actually prompt me off my seat and give me courage to dive head first into everything I've been steeling myself against.