27 July 2009 9:36 PM
The multitude of characters I come across during my daily commute is a veritable microcosm of our social disparities. From the amiable to the pretentious, from the hurried to the catatonic, from the verbal and ostentatious to reserved indifference, a spectra of personalities inhabit the four corners of public transportation.


The bubbly girl whose endless banter never ceases to render you oblivious to the traffic, or the brooding guy whose eyes cannot deny a broken heart yet attempts his earnest to feign strength and a firm control of his emotions. The social-climber that perplexes by her unending rant of expletives against the inconveniences of commuting, yet refuses to either take her car out or shell out for a cab. Every commute presents a plethora of characters that keeps me entertained throughout my daily diaspora. There are a few, however, that never fail to either irk, irritate, disappoint or infuriate me: the nudgers who continually pushes you away whenever even a sliver of the clothing you wear touches them; the spread-eagle who will not, under any circumstances, move his legs together for fear of (1) diminishing his masculinity, (2) crushing his oversized sacs, or (3) lest he feels he's not getting his money's worth; the clinger who refuses to respect personal space and either pushes himself to you, crosses his arms effectively pinning down yours, or rests parts of his body in the depth of slumber (this of course does not apply to guys who have other intentions, may it be sexual or pecuniary in nature). But last night I met a guy who was actually all three.

He sat with his legs way beyond his space in the seat. I would've forgiven him if he was tall which makes sitting upright a challenge in a cramped bus seat, but he wasn't. He was my height. The bus was packed so tight that a can of tuna would be ashamed. So I figured, I better ask him to allow me some of the space which I actually paid for. I asked "Pare, pwedeng maki-usog?" To which he replied with an indifferent stare, gave me a look-up-down, and proceeded with his current obliviousness. I had two choices: (1) repeat my request, and (2) concede to his retardation. Of course, being the passive non-confrontational sort, I chose the latter.

So there I was, in a cramped bus with but a morsel of my derriere hanging on the seat and was only prevented from falling off of it by the multitude of people standing along the aisle. Of course, the road to the south is replete with potholes and various road faults that the bus cannot help but sway in its navigation. He, being a retard, disregarded this and incessantly shoved me whenever the bus tilted by arm towards him. Of course, this too I forgave in lieu of his apparent idiocy.

He finally fell asleep, and to add insult to injury proceeded to rest his shoulder on my arm. This, I tried to nudge since I was already uncomfortable in my current position, which he ignored and continued to make a comforter out of my triceps. I was enraged. But I contemplated the repercussions of inciting an argument in a cramped bus. So I sat still.

Sometimes life throws us such complexly overwhelming circumstances just to test how far our understanding can go. I detested the guy's lack of manners. But it would be disrespectful to those standing if I argue over the question of proper seating space. Maybe someday he'd meet someone who did not have the composure, understanding and passivity that I mustered that night. Let him teach this guy a lesson. But for now, I resolve to being an observer.

We are afforded a glimpse to our own psyche when we learn to every once in a while choose only to observe those who surround us. Men are the mirrors to our own consciousness, and it is in the attempt to comprehend the actions of your brothers that you gain an understanding of your own.

Nasaan ka na? Kailan ka ba dadating?

Umuulan na naman, alam mo namang sa tuwing umuulan at nata-trapik ako kakapanhik-panaog ng Cavite lagi na lamang sumasagi sa isip ko na sana may inuuwian akong yayakap sa akin. Hindi lamang upang painitin ang nilalamig kong katawan, ngunit para iparamdam sa kapit ng iyong bisig na wala akong dapat ikabahala. Na ligtas ako, at hindi na muling magagalusan sa pait ng mundong umiikot para sa iba. Dahil may sariling mundo tayong kaloob sa bawa't isa.

Hindi naman ako nagmamadali, alam ko namang kung sakaling itadhana ng panahon na maligaw ka sa aking landas, maaring umusbong ang pusong ipiniring ko ng matagal. Ngunit hindi mo rin ako masisi dahil may mga gabing ang simpleng yakap mo lamang ang papawi sa luhang pilit kong ikinukubli, sa hapong dibdib na nagnanais pumiglas, at sa nangungulilang palad sa makalinga mong haplos. Malamig ngayon, pilit ko iyong iniinda. Ngunit ang paghinga ko'y hapo sa takot na baka hindi ka na dumating. Na maaring ang pangungulila ko ay siyang tanging pinagkukublian ng katotohanang hindi ako ang iyong mithi.

Sa bawat gapang ng bus na aking sinasakyan, ang katabi kong mag-irog ay walang-puknat na nakikipag-harutan sa isa't-isa. Yumayapos. Nangingiliti. Magkayakap. Habang ang lalaki sa harapan ay panay ang sulyap sa konduktor na nagtataglay ng matamis na ngiti. Ang magbabarkada sa likuran pinipilit palipasin ang limang oras na biyahe sa maharot na kantiyawan at sariwang sabi-sabi. Tila bang ang panahon ko'y sumasabay sa usad ng mga sasakyan sa kalsada. Habang ang mundo sa paligid ay umiikot, naiiwan ako sa nakatali kong pagkatao. Pilit dinadala ang responsibilidad ng pamilyang hikahos, habang ang damdamin ay nagaagaw-buhay sa lamig ng gabi. Nangungulila.

Sino ka ba sa dagat ng mga mukhang nakakasalamuha ko araw-araw? Nakilala na ba kita? O hanggang ngayon ay salisihan pa rin ang ating patinterong pihit? Hinihintay mo rin ba ako? O baka naman abala ka pa sa kanyang iyong kaulayaw ngayong gabi?

Magbubukang-liwayway na maya-maya. Titila uli ang ulan. Hayaan mo't mapapanatag ko uli ang aking kalooban, ihahanda ang pusong humarap sa gulong ng buhay na pilit kong pina-iikot. Nakaraos na naman sa mga bumabagabag kong pag-aalinlangan. Sa mga takot sa kinabukasang baka hindi naman darating. Napagtanto na ang panahon ang tanging hukom sa lapat ng ating kwento.

Baka bukas, ang unos ay titigil upang salubungin ka ng aking balikat.
Baka lang.

Arise, oh heart as ripe, as true;
Though the darkness fail this cold.
The loins speak of tales untold;
Fate shall set you free anew.
The evening, unleash its splendid fangs;
To whom that is most unbeknownst.
And tears will dry, as sweat will flow;
Inebriated amidst the night’s glow.
Though concrete pavers lined in dew;
Will witness tales that’ll ensue.
Headstrong, proud you’ll face its lure;
By the integrity whole and sure.
-red the mod 03:16am 16 July 2009






The heavens are silent tonight. It is the calm before the storm, the sweet serenity preceding a tempest. There are days when the heavens wail, and we are made most aware of its defiance against our own transgressions. But tonight all is silent. The foreboding fear is far more menacing when we are left clueless in the dead of night. Despite our valiant attempts to regain composure, certain things must be faced only when the moment permits. Only when time deals its aim. Only when the situation is immediately apparent. Only when faith unfurls its mighty shroud before our eyes.

I sit now in contemplation of a long lost book. Whose pages echo a story so exquisite and eloquent we cannot help but bask in the comfort of its epiphanies. We have lost that book to the turbulent tides of the current, to the phantom mists of our ambivalence. Yet I here I am once again seeking its comfort in spite of its hurried absence. An era has ended with the closing of its covers. It is but a mere memory of the nonchalant wisdom it once offered me. In its place a longing trembles without a voice, and I look beyond to the copper hues of the heavens awaiting indications of its former spark. I reminisce what very little my memory can afford, to relive his words that lance my existence with a knowing beyond his years. The cerulean sheets lie naked in the bosoms of history. Time will come and the storm will pass, in its wake we will forget the book it took in its Diaspora. But here and now I would like to remember.

Almost two months ago a blog closed. And a vow of chastity was made. I will never be privy to the prior series of events that lead to its untimely termination. If anything, I can only profess my deep admiration for the words that strung stories and lessons we have been so luckily audience to. Suffice to say, what it represents has lost its ground, and a new chapter must then be written. In it, the knowledge gained from the past chapters will seek validation in the forthcoming volumes. It was a big loss to blogspace, whose hurried ramblings seek only the momentary distraction of more than a few, and we pry our days in yearning for its melodious meaning. But fate has dealt its cards. And a new chapter must commence.

In a few hours the vow of chastity will be lifted. Whether or not its lifting will unveil a pandora’s box, we can only listen to its oscillating pulse, whose wavelength echoes the span of the heavens. Blue and bejeweled, or pitch black and paralyzing. Seek comfort in the hope that the lessons of the past will find cadence in the beating of the heart. And that integrity will succeed against the allure of the mundane.

You say you want a heart? Why would you want a heart? A heart will never be practical until it is made unbreakable.
–The Wizard of Oz

When the storm arrives, do look up in the heavens. Maybe up there you’ll see a glint of the Jomanian Constellation, whose magnificence provided radiance beneath the crowded tracks, and across the glistening streets. Remember what we learned, and respect what we are. Men of the night. Resilient and strong, whose virile dominance waver occasionally, but the core retains its virtues. There is always a choice, and although it never presents itself so eagerly, we need only to seek bearing from what our hearts will never deny and our humanity confirm.

I am a mere observer to the tale of the soul. Whose very words speak of a burden that we cannot comprehend. The same burden all of us carry in varying degrees, in various permutations, in all morphologies and phenotypes. My empathy may never be enough to fathom the depth of its sentiment, and the intricacies of its plot. One can only hope for him. The same hope we have for ourselves. That beyond the superficiality of our cultural anarchy, the few will never be forgotten. And that integrity still has value. And that love is an achievable possibility.

- To Pulsar, Darkstar, Kitsune, and Mugen

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Postscript 12:03pm
As of press time, the heavens did wail. The trails of the forthcoming typhoon lashed its turquoise tears this morning, bringing with it torrential flooding of semi-epic proportions. Aguinaldo Highway is now a lake, the very reason of the tardiness in the posting of this entry, and the author being 4 hours late to work.

How does one lose oneself?

It is neither abrupt and distinct, whose adamantium fist falls with certain finality, nor sinuous and foreboding, whose creeping embrace engulf with such voracity. It is subtle and discreet, slow and cumulative. Like the constrictor whose venom lies not in its fangs but its ability to subjugate, in the most graceful and understated manner, its prey to a demise that is as heartless as it is painful. A lingering cut that never bleeds, but suffocates your very core.

I fell for someone whose apparent phobias and insecurities constitute the better part of character. Playing the trusted friend, I blindly and gingerly aided him in all his debauched ramblings, and failed attempts on romance. Slowly without me realizing, I have fallen into a spiral with him. Doing double-dates with girls I could barely look at, or drinking parties with little to do but stare at each other. Sarcastic as it may seem, the longing for connection found its translation in means that can only be defined as equal parts hypocritical and in denial. I was smitten, but with little chance of achieving any of the bases with him, the sentiments were resolved as a humble footnote to a supposedly strong friendship.

A friend beckons.

It starts with the most humble of gestures, in aid of an affection that will never find its voice nor will ever be requited. It is a lowly mantra echoing in the depths of my psyche, a hypnotic trance that finds translation in gullibility. Slowly, you let go in the obtuse belief that tacit affections will preternaturally find its way into the heart of the heartless, a song whose tune will seek only his ears. Inaudible and inspired, but silent nonetheless.

Problems arise.

The burden of your family beckons your resources. The call to responsibility have always been one you are keen to thwart, yet fate has a humor as pungent as its sarcasm, and you find yourself welcoming with open arms, in lucid defiance, a fate far less than you preferred. In a time when you have envisioned wanton abandon in the frolics of the flesh, or the booming beat of the calling dancefloor, or the blinding lights of the nether times, of friends and lovers and acquaintances in cohorts, you find yourself slaving over matters well beyond your chronology, considerations as perplexing as the anatomy of a lost lover, but devoid of the warmth and exhilaration, in the bosom of the keyboard whose sweet embrace only serves to meditate your fading fire. Maturity fed bucket-full’s to a gaping mouth held by circumstance. Learned from the streets, now strapped in domesticity.

In every failed relationship, and in every failed attempt at one, you lose a part of yourself to the person. Love is a bitter pill whose fruits are as extreme as its pits, while committing licenses the other party glimpses of a vulnerability you would normally safeguard. It gives right for him or her to cause you pain, the same manner affections can uplift in bliss. And in every passing chapter to your spirit's book, pages are torn sacrificially and in offing to those whose brief stay merited your attention. Despite supposed lessons gained in each unique instance, you fall on the next chance only to, briefly, subtly, taste in passing love's piquant nectar.

Rejection is a salve whose bitterness is the hardest to swallow. It poses issues that feed insecurities one tries vehemently to pacify. Shifting between periods of sober contemplation and inebriated debauchery I find myself filling voids left by unsung songs, joining gaps caused by sacrificial pieces of my heart, to the faceless crowd whose superficial understanding of my existence only dwells on what can be achieved with minimal effort. From what can be gained in my emotional weaknesses and intangible investments; without the risks of vulnerability or the opportunities for genuine connection. I was nothing more than a willing subject, whose days are spent seeking validation in the bed of people whose backs turn in the return of sunrise, or in places whose only comfort afforded is the recoiling abandon of inebriated oblivion.

Lost. To the spiraling mundanity of pain and retribution.

With each rejection, my wounded psyche is fed with a hunger more uncompromising in its appetite. Fearing a growing indifference, I led myself from one arm to another, seeking valuation of a faint and fading self-worth. Despite my wavering emotional integrity, I capitalized on my improving physical assets in the erring assumption that this is the only way a genuine attraction can be achieved or discovered in the pathos of our subculture. There I was objectifying my own worth for the price of a few hours of detached ecstasy.

Bound. To a life of denial and distraction.

Months pass, then years. With the growing jadedness in my heart threatening the hope for romance I have longed to find in the most awkward of places, epiphanies have been set aside for the few morsels of attention, whether from pity or a passing fancy or the thirsty momentary lust, I can elicit from whomsoever I can lure or who can lure me. And without my knowing, I lost what should’ve been of greater value to me. With each failed attempt, more and more I am bound to a losing battle of my own doing. Before long, even the few cards I was able to deal against the voracious flesh market of our generation was slipping beyond my grip. Looks fade, my once physical arrogance now covered in layers of a thickening adipose wall. The amiable demeanor whose presence tended to enlighten a party is replaced with insecurity beyond comprehension. My humanity enforced against a once proud existence, fated to smite my transgressions against personal integrity, honesty, sincerity and love.

One day you wake up a mere shadow of your once shining melody. All the potential and capacity for ardor and recuperation are still there yet the notes that defined your heartsong are but a jumbled mess of off-key timbres seeking its own harmony amidst the anarchy of compositions and memories. You are bound to the notes whose remnants remind of a past brilliance, and you hold on to a hope that one day you’ll regain that seminal sensation, and the notes will again fall into place to resurge in an opus that has long awaited its audience in the company of a love that is as requited as it is genuine.

Hoping what was once lost is regained in the rediscovery of life. Hoping what was bound in the shell of a lost confidence is freed to an understanding beyond one’s failed history. One can only speculate to what conclusion this journey will lead to. Fear is my companion, and hope my ally. I shall thread this path with the blind myopia of my hermitic existence, but with the awe and bewilderment of a child learning to walk for the first time. Time will be my jury and sole audience in the search for liberty from a self-imposed prison. Solitude will heal what fate has dealt, yet the callus and scars remain as reminders of my numerous failures. Redemption would lie not in finding the other half of the melody, but in relearning my own song beyond my responsibilities, beyond my faults, and beyond my disappointments. In salvaging the strength that fear has stolen and the courage that pain has hidden. Only then will the lost be found. Only then will the bound be freed.