clarkee

If there’s one true thing that makes my heart bleed is a toss up between seeing old people helpless and perhaps women crying and I thought all this time that hiding myself under my shell and scooping out my sensitive eye with a spoon, thus the hiatus, would make me desensitized to this narcissistic world but apparently it hasn’t.

Walking home to a shared bed space one day as I pass by a still closed Shangri-la edsa mall made me pause for a while for I saw a woman in her 20s, with several luggages around her silently crying at the foot of the side entrance steps of the yuletide-ready mall and instantaneously looked away and continued walking, just like the hundreds of us who saw her, minding our own business without a care. I know how your modus operandi works I said to myself as I continue to walk away. You will pretend that once approached by a gullible, kind-hearted Samaritan to wonder, you’ll narrate in your most dramatic way that you are new to the area and had somewhat lost your all money and you need barely enough just for bus fare for you to go home. I know. There are a lot of you who does the same gig actually, assigned only at different locations - outside U.S.T, outside the church and recently, outside cityland shaw this time complete with a crying child at your hand for added realism and flair and will definitely not give in because I had learned my lesson the first time outside UST. Then I thought–what if the crying lady was really in trouble? What if she really needs help? What if that was me crying dependently but too timid to approach strangers for anything? Will you just walk on me?

If I was god, I would first punish those who took advantage of other peoples compassion. How dare you remove my creation of their ability to help and concern to their fellow? With what you’ve done, that person will forever not give a care anymore and the entire cycle will be discontinued. The cycle of kindness ends with your cruel joke.

But isn’t it also being human to stray away from the experiences that made you a more developed human? Yes. Believe me, I know. For someone who was mugged at gun point 3 times in 5 years, it is not easy to welcome a stranger’s trust without a full cavity search. The key is not to lose the urge to at least be curious; that I think is the first step to everything.

This is my reawakening. I have decided to take my chances with humanity again. I will spare myself from the what-ifs and act on my instinct whenever I feel a genuine concern to someone in need and also share with what little I have– starting with these thoughts to you. so are you with me?

Its time to take that chance again and free the dream.

Till the next entry.

“Uuwi na si tatay pre.”

My friend for the longest time and next door neighbor Bernard told me a month ago but his tone wasn’t as engaging unlike previous homecomings they have prepared for him and I felt I knew why. Tatay is the father-figure-head for us residing here at Bota Flores. Although a third of his life was probably spent working at Saudi, managing his business at Negros and partly retiring at Canada combined altogether, he made sure to make you feel that you’re one of his own whenever he’s here at lagro. He was a tanned and stouter Charles Bronson with a tinge of Efren “bata” Reyes. His wisdom, cuteness and sense of humor inherent and contagious that it just breaks my heart seeing him lose it all with Alzheimer’s. He was here barely 2 years ago to witness his youngest get married. Though early signs of the ailment were starting to manifest then, Tatay managed to perform his duties as the proud father of the groom and still had no difficulty table-hopping and remembering — That’s why I was at a loss of everything when I saw him again.

He was being held by both Bernard and Aimee, walking slowly at their front porch so frail and unresponsive. He was 50 years older and 50 pounds lighter. Mirror image of Mr. Bronson or even the magician can’t be found anywhere form him now. Tatay, si Clarence po, yung bestfriend ni Bernard, Aimee said. Sure tatay remembers me, ano ka ba? He met me first before he met you, I said to myself but he just passed by me, without flinching and saying a word. I don’t like this as I clammed up and hurriedly excused myself to go home. His Alzheimer sure took a turn from being cutely veteran to strangely serious as i gave out muffled sympathies inside.

I know I may have written somewhere below that I am prepared to have the disease but after seeing its full effect, I take it back. Except for the name though, there is nothing cool about Alzheimer’s. The one thing that really depresses me about it is that it will rob you clean of your memory, past, present and the forthcoming. I know my life story for now really is not worth all the loss but this is all I have - collective memories gathered from 30 quite years of shallowness, sensitivity and appreciation to everything. My square and a-plain-of-a-life permits me to recognize the value of having ultra-limited means that’s why I treasure these memories so easily. Although deprived from a lot of material things and experiences a person at my age probably has and felt by now, I still love my square and a-plain-of-a-life. Can’t complain, really…

I could hear Tatay from where I am right now. He lets out a voluble cry at times, maybe of frustration, pain, attention or maybe just out of nothing at all. To all of you who still had complete, willing and able parents, no matter how unfortunate the upbringing they did to you before, love them now while they can still feel and respond because you will miss them and you know it.

Bong M.D. said that there is no real cure for Alzheimer and my net research validates it. What the doc-friend prescribed is that we could only try to stimulate the patients mind and music may play a vital role on such. That’s why if ever Mr. Al Zheimer finally catches up on me, please play either my hangad cd, the last days by hourglass and never lose your heart by Noel Pointer repeatedly to wake my just slumbering mind for I still have a lot of thinking to do.

There will be a next entry.

I owe everything I am to all of you.

You may not know it but I have been stealing from you ever since we’ve known each other. I have been observing and absorbing all your admirable traits and had incorporated them in my life thus making me the person that I am right now. There is a piece of you inside of me and I am eternally grateful for all the things I have learned from all 184 of you. My life at the moment is like the close-up tarpaulin photo mosaic at Edsa-Guadalupe, a self-image then zooming-in to see all your faces, your teachings, your experiences and memories put together, only twice as big –That is how immense your influence is to my life, my friends.

To all of you who had chanced upon the stories, who took the time to listen and be listened at, do not tire of sharing your life with me. Do not tire of doing good to others as well for you may already be teaching and touching someone without you knowing it - me in example. Continue to be the beautiful human that I have always known you for because you have, in effect, made me into one and will gladly pay it forward in return.

There is still a lot to uncover and I will anticipate our conversations. The beauty of it is that what we are never changes but who we are never stops changing, better or worse but with you as my friends,  I am guaranteed that my life would be more and more interesting and beautiful as we all age together.

Thank you everyone.

I didn’t report for work today.

The gray and drizzly weather got the better of me, overslept and woke up exactly the time I was supposed to report on my workstation.  Since I have officially declared it an extended weekend and have the whole day to myself, I have decided to visit one of my favorite spots in quiapo — Arlegui St. to be exact for I make it a point to visit pirate central twice a month to try to catch up with the 100-year backlog I still have with cinema.

After the 3 hour search for CSI las vegas season 5 in individually-packed cases and acquiring serpico, napoleon dynamite, the untouchables, When Harry met Sally and would you believe my sassy girl,(watched it earlier and admittedly found it, er…charmingly inspiring) I overheard myself say “now im a happy man…” and proceeded to jollibee arlegui for a late lunch.

Slowly consuming my regular yum with cheese beside the glass window made me observe the effects of rain here at quiapo – actually, the rain really has no effect on arleguis’ residents; their frenzied life continues. Pedicabs still a-passing, sidewalk merchants still at their posts, everyone walks without an umbrella. Everything is as the way it is — The rain just made the entire neighborhood clean and briefly sanitized.

I was looking so far ahead that I failed to notice just a windowpane away from me, a little boy of 5, I think, and his mother; denture-less and aged. Both of them frail, barefoot and cold and sharing what I think of is their lunch.

Their lunch consists of boiled rice and daing na bangus, all served in the mothers left hand while the right hand is used to feed her child. All it took was one mouthful for both of them and their meal was done. A fistful of lunch.

I sighed with a deep breath and soon after, involuntary tears started trickling down my face. Oh no, please not here… Please make the tears stop. I tried to hold it back by eating my fries but it was getting difficult to swallow, especially with a big lump of guilt lodged between my throat. The boy was now staring at me, looking at me and my tray.

“bata, patahanin mo na ako, ‘wag mo muna ako tingnan…” I keep saying to myself. Turn a blind eye, turn a blind eye but I just cant. It seems im the only one who can see them. Skippy has a better life in comparison with them.

I re-ordered meal number 8 for take out this time and hurriedly went out the store. I approached his mother. The child was still looking at my tray.” Ay, manang, tira ko po. Pakihatian na lang po yung anak nyo.”

I said stooping down because I was still misty eyed but looked up for a moment and saw the perplexed looked at manang. After handing it over, I walked as fast as I could and grabbed the first Fairview FX I could find.

I was angry and helpless and wished I could have reported to work so I can set up a meeting with our CEO and tell him he has the power. “Puro pagpapahaba na lang ba ng buhok ang gagawin naten?” why not give something back to them instead of making ann curtis and channel 2 rich. I told you I was angry. My thoughts were all over the place, looking for someone to blame for I know the frail mother and child will have no better future, that things will not get any easier for them and their lives will be more and more depressing.

Im now at home, calm and warm and enjoying the DVDs I purchased earlier but I take it back - the “now im a happy man “I said before doesn’t seem to be my present state right now because I still think of them. Right at this moment, im wishing I am the company’s CEO and giving away financial aids and building houses to them unfortunate ones.

Then It dawned on me that rain, after all, has an effect to arleguis’ inhabitants — It makes its homeless more profound and its guests more charitable.

Till the next entry.

Not listening to last Sundays mass and instead looking for familiar ascension faces made my misshapen mind wander again. Where are they? Where are the PPYC? The squires? The 6:30P.M mass used to be packed to the rim, usually of my age bracket — the “magboyfriend – girlfriend” sched was now slowly being replaced by an all-family mass activity. The parish is definitely changing and im the only one stubborn enough not too follow.

Late due to the hard rain pouring outside, one by one, my church mates started appearing and though we still belong to the same age bracket, I could clearly categorize them to the later - the “all-family” churchgoers but now with their own families. Ah, ok..i quietly said. The parish hasn’t really changed. Were still the same congregation but the people looks different though. They’ve developed. They’ve matured. As I see them carrying their offsprings in hand, I suddenly thought of my life and my own mortality - that I am now half way through and sooner than I think, will be out there at the great beyond just floating adrift in limbo, pulling my still living friends legs as they sleep, spooking my grandchildren during death anniversaries and brownouts — and then I thought of lady death.

In gaimans’ sandman mythology, death is portrayed as a goth-pale, perky young woman who genuinely cares about people making her and her role in the supreme balance more bearable — that death really is not a bad thing.

I wish death could really be like that. I wish lady death would be kind to our soul no matter what or where the destination would take us. Huh? Homily done already? I’m really not paying attention to this mass. Apart from the priest being inaudible and being notorious for second collections, the weather seems to be conducive to think of the topic at hand. Maybe ill just go to the Eucharistic chapel later to do some hard praying but now, Lord forgive me po…

If I could choose how my passing away would be, it’ll be number 1, skydiving and knowing my parachute would not open. It’ll be ala David Aames in vanilla sky where you get to see your life flash before your eyes; where you’ll see everything significant, beautiful and memorable again in your existence. This early, I’m starting to compile a collage of memories worth viewing again. Don’t worry my friend, you’ll be in it…

Number 2 would be of heart failure. Now this ones far-fetched kase I know I have a tough heart. Broken, yes, sensitive, yes but it’s one tough nookie – a 21st century man with an ol’ fashioned, reliable and durable first century heart. I just like the thought of me having a big heart which would eventually also cause me my ultimate demise. My heart is like a balloon about to burst with all the beauty and emotions it had been secretly saving all these years. Partly American Beauty…

Realistically however, my COD would either be due to my fondness for anything salty/MSG laced or Alzheimer’s. Recent studies suggested that people who daydreamed a lot is prone to alzheimers’. Great! I thought dreaming was for free? I knew dreaming has its price but it’s ok though, ill be like tatay, cute in an incoherent kinda way yet still sensitive to the world.

I only hope my blog outlives me so my grandchildren would know that apart from being a mumu or a rambling ass, their lolo lived a pretty colorful life. But for now, ill try to live the second part of my existence and try to touch as many lives as possible, in my own little, crazy way.

I will wait for you Mr. Al Zheimer and Lady Death. But for now, let me live, love and dream. besides,one can only dream…

till the next entry.

I remembered a conversation with someone close long ago as we traveled home tired from pitching ourselves the whole day to different companies. We were talking about how hard life is and what would become of us, as seen through the eyes of newly grads in dire search of employment. 

Stopping by crame, a homeless mother tugging her two kids and carrying another in her arm caught both our eye and immediate sympathy crept inside us.  “buti na lang hindi tayo ganun ‘no?” I recalled saying to her. “buti na lang nakikita natin yung ganyan para naa-apreciate naten kung ano yung meron tayo ngayon” I added. She was silent. She was just sitting there, looking afar from the bus window but you can tell it was the homeless family she was staring at. “’lam mo, kahit maging ganyan tayo, sasamahan pa rin kita, kahit sa kariton pa tayo tumira..” she whispers with benevolence and certainty. “Buti na lang ‘may kaya’ lang tayo”.i said. “Kase kung mayaman siguro ako, di na ako mag hahanap ng trabaho, di ko mararanasan mag-commute.” “hindi tayo magkakakilala” she smilingly finished my sentence. “Ayoko naman maging sobrang hirap kase feeling ko, magiging rugby-boy lang ako, ang payat payat ko na nga eh and syempre wala rin akong ambisyon kase tamad ako, di ba?” she nods in agreement. “buti na lang middle-class tayo ‘no?” she uttered. I listened intently. I know she’d have something clever to say after that remark. “siguro ginawa ang mundo para sa’ten”. What she said just grabbed me by the ear and I couldn’t agree more. I can’t wait to give my side of the argument and at the same time was so amazed as to how this lady thinks. “kase as middle-class, pinapakita sayo ni lord yung dalawang side ng buhay”. “May control ka kahit papano.” Ok, you want this type of life, so be it. “Basta here are your options”.” Kung ayaw mo naman mag decide, mas OK kase you have the best of both worlds”. With that, silence bestowed upon me.

There was so much I want to add that night, so much I want to say but I just sit there numbed, lost in thought because of a thousand, simultaneous thoughts crossing all over my mind.

We both feel blessed as we reach monumento and felt that the complaints we were saying the entire day was the cause of our exhaustion. We were dragging ourselves down with all our pessimism and all it took was a red light to crame to see how fortunate we are.

Sadly though, both of us are not middle-class anymore. Last time ive heard, she already has a beautiful 2-story home at the fort and doesn’t take the bus anymore while me, I lay witness seeing my family slipped from middle-class to low-class and still embrace public transport. Was that a conscious decision we both took?  Maybe. Maybe not…

I took the bus home from work yesterday and all at once missed the comfort and the stories shared. Stopping at crame ilalim, I could have sworn I saw the homeless mother again, still tugging her two kids while still carrying another in her arm. What lesson will you impart on me this time? I asked then answered myself  -  Blessed are the middle class, I know, and smiled my way to sleep.

till the next entry.

It’s Friday after-office rush hour and expectedly, the line to the SM Fairview-bound FX below the Quezon Ave. MRT station is a maze on its own - a labyrinth of people all silent and all wanting to go home. Removing their wet and weary shoes and eat a hot meal are I think, what’s on every ones mind right now and definitely I’m one of them.

Slightly disappointed that the 15-30 salary will be released later than expected, I’ve tried to make the most out of my last remaining peso to appease the growling beast that is inside my abdomen. Alas! The answer! Manong with a bucket-full of roasted peanuts. I called manong and bought me ten pesos worth, with extra roasted garlic of course and just like that, the people behind me started buying them, as if they were just waiting someone to hail manong for them. I’m the peanut starter, I said to myself.

After an hour of waiting, it’s finally my turn off the line. The ride that pulled over was a dilapidated minivan, and as I hurriedly find my way to my seat, the people behind me hesitated to ride the old jalopy but the ones in a hurry cut through the line and immediately, we were all ready.

Sitting facing the passengers, as this certain minivan has this type of interior; I shift into my “gruesome grissom” mode and try to ‘read’ my fellow commuters’ persona - all 7 of them. The group is as diverse as a G8 summit yet somehow easy to study, if we are to use basic profiling. Enough CSI for me I said. The amateur anthropologist in me strikes anew.

The 4 sitting farthest from me consists of a 20 something couple, a middle aged male fashionista and someone resembling my tita baby. The ones directly in front of me ill try to name. From left to right: Mang Jun, the laborer, yuppie-boy, the 20 something ayala big shot and mommy dearest, a 50+ working mom.

After settling our fares, what caught my eye was that yuppie-boy, still wearing his necktie even at the trip home, is hugging all the space and even allowing his laptop to sit while poor Mang Jun has to sit outward. “My laptop has far more value than you, Mang Jun so sorry if you have to sit that way. You’re used to hard labor, aren’t you?” thoughts I make up to justify the insensitivity upfront. Mommy dearest, someone resembling my Tita baby, Mr. Fashionista are all texting. I could only guess what mommy dearest is texting:” Anak, mag saing ka na, andito na ako philcoa, love you.” Message sent. Someone resembling my Tita baby, poker faced and all just reads previous messages received while Mr. Fashionista probably forwards sweet messages to half the girls in his phone book.

Now the only ones not using their cellphones are me, mang jun and the couple. The couple, having each other already, does away without texting while myself and Mang Jun probably has the same reason – check operator.

The couple, I think are what Madonna says “making most of the dark”. Let them be, I say. They’re in love and they miss each other so. Flashback. I miss fetching someone from work. I suddenly remember the anticipation of finally seeing her, toxic from work yet could still get away with a little lip balm and a smile. One day, ill sit at the back too, with someone leaning on my shoulders while I watch her sleep. For now, woe is me, all I could do is reminisce.

Half way thru the journey, Yuppie-boy pulls out his i-pod from his jacket, his face now aglow from the monochromatic light. Not to be outdone was Mr. Fashionista also sporting an i-pod mini and as if trying to say something, both guys look at me whilst I hold on to my i-wa with one headphone busted and dangling. “Ours is cooler!” cloud of thoughts directed at me. Oh well, at least mine has a cd player, I said to myself, as if that would help.

Nearing saint peter parish, I made the sign of the cross (force of habit) and said a silent prayer to all my love ones and to all my co-passengers. God bless them is all I can say. I always do that, say silent prayers to everyone, maybe my way of helping and thanked god that the work week is through.

It was raining hard as we reach fairview and as i guessed, i will be the first one to get off.

As I prepare my baunan and my umbrella, I realized that the journey home tonight was not really reading my co-passengers personalities but somehow, it was me I was reading. Myself present in all of them. The laborer who is evidently exhausted yet contented, the yuppie, successful yet numb, the mother - strong and compassionate, the flashy fashion victim, the still, emotionless tita and the lovers are a few inspiration of what seemed to be my life right now - predicatable disarray. 

As i was getting off, Mang Jun opened the door for me and paid him back with a smile. closing the door and waiting for the jeep to lagro to arrive, i was secretly saying." dont be fooled by the barong, Mang jun. Im just like all of you, weary and eager to get home and were almost there." it was you i could relate the most and i thank you for the reflection.ingat po.

till the next entry.

Ive always wondered what the big fuss is about blogs and for what purpose does it do to our routinary, mediocre lives.is this some on-line journal? an open diary that everyone could just read, thus defeating its purpose? i have lately hid myself in my own 6×6 meter universe and was getting along fine -  with my pirated dvds to accompany me, until i stumbled upon someones blog.(doc katleyas’) actually, i just finished reading her entries here at the office and was inspired to start my own so i beg your pardon for the scattered, sudden and senesless thoughts youll read here.

i could now hear my friend, who somewhat isolated himself from the modern world -" wheres your anonymity?"by starting this, maybe im revealing a side of me not known by my friends or even myself but what im just thinking of right now is that this a form of therapy for me.putting your thoughts into writting somewhat reinforces your goals or plans or whatnots.so with this said and done, join me, dear reader as we both discover how colorful my life could be as we document it in black and white.

‘ have to keep the economy rolling and deadlines passing. till the next entry.

clark