and then it hit home…

June 12, 2008

i left home with a heavy heart. it was so massive i thought i’d had a cardiac arrest. 

this is the very first time, and probably the last time, i’m gonna speak about it; well, in general terms. (so well crafted, you’d think it’s fiction. so long, you’d never reach the end of it. sorry, it’s not part of my system to spill the beans. i’m used to bottling up everything although i know it’s unhealthy. if after this, i’ll leave you confused, it’s intentional). i just had to unload, for once, or else my veins gonna explode. 

the incidents leading to “the” event were whipped with so much irony. my source had been feeding me with what to expect. i was in denial. i would always say, if that’s going to happen, maybe, it just had to. let’s not work against nature. i was putting up a brave face but inside, my foundations were crumbling. this is where the saying, “tulak ng bibig kabig ng dibdib”  is applicable minus all the romance. i’d been summoning all the powers of and in the universe to stop what my source had painted me via text. but i believed otherwise. i knew positivity would fail me for the very first time. i was still thinking it although i didn’t believe it  at that time. so twisted, i am now confused. and i know, you all are.

i had to leave yesterday for work. i could easily say i couldn’t attend but i didn’t cancel. i’d failed my group for so many times with my own follies i couldn’t afford to gamble another chip. it’s true that when you leave your mind behind, no matter how agile the corporal is, it’d be lifeless. 

on my way i was praying but my prayers were plain words–meaningless. i was so agitated that every move of fellow passengers could possibly trigger my explosion.

few steps to our meeting place i had to veil myself with the usual happiness. but the veil was diaphanous. i knew they would and could see through it.

and then i made a call to my source.

they decided to leave, my source said. and they were taking my playmates. 

questions filled my mind. and tears welled up in my eyes.

they couldn’t take away my playmates. they just couldn’t.

we shouldn’t drag them into the downward spiral we all crafted. we just shouldn’t.

i finally brokedown. and they noticed it.

they wanted me to unload. but i couldn’t speak. 

i’m not used to the grand gestures–the speaking, the hugging, the attention. hell no! i really don’t like attracting all eyes towards my direction. i don’t have the confidence that can survive all the stares. 

i’m not a fridge and i don’t like the sight of the i’d-been-to magnets attached to it like leeches. i maybe touchy but when crunch time comes, my sense of and yearning for touch would always leave me. (but don’t get me wrong, i still love to be hugged). 

i prefer the rhetoric, the literature. i’m more comfortable with and in it. hence, this entry. i owe it to my sincere groupmates who were puzzled. sorry i had to hush myself. i have to resort to this. 

my life, or better yet, myself is a poetic repository of ironies. i used to think (and later believed) i’m convivial. but recently, i never realized that i prefer to be alone more than being in the crowd. i prefer to be with my playmates than with the outside world. i don’t know if this is my body’s way of preparing me to the life ahead–reclusion. and this is just one of the many examples of the ironies in my life; the others deserve a whole new entry.

i had to keep up with my group’s joviality. otherwise, i’d cast dark clouds over us the whole day yesterday. and i didn’t want them to be dragged in the darkness. but all my laughters were hollow. in the middle of every bite, every sip, and every act (of the fabuleux secretaire drama), i could only imagine the fear that this whole damned incident has brought forth to my playmates.    

the pendulum swung monotonously until, finally, i had to leave. 

it was the loooooongest trip i’ve ever had. so long i could do nothing but cry. in the darkness, my tears glistened. and i f*ckin’ hated it. people started to look.

i’d been dying to rush home but i had to attend our church meeting. another avenue to ease the tension, i reasoned out.  

then, finally, i arrived.

and there it was, amidst the blaring and glaring tv set, the vast emptiness. the by-product of the drama that happened earlier when i was out.   

the same toxic air enveloped me like devil welcoming a new recruit.

the sound of the television couldn’t mask the echo of the silence. 

i still would like to believe my playmates were just hiding behind the door or underneath the dining table as they would always do every time i arrive. 

but the usual time had elapsed and still no playmates.  

and then i asked for what had transpired. 

my source’s story didn’t yield any clarity. i asked more questions.

above any other things i was, and still am, thinking of my playmates.

*what about their school?

*what time they have to wake up?

*where are they sleeping? or a better question would’ve been, can they still sleep after what they’ve witnessed? oh god…i wanted to turn back time. i could have covered their eyes and ears. i could have protected them from that malevolent event. 

*will they still visit us? will i ever see them again?

though i want them more than the answers, i have to settle with mere hypotheses.

now, i can only stare at the screen. every corner of this house reminds me of them. and every reminder seals my wantonness to cut all my connections to the outside world.   

as the screen projects the words, i couldn’t figure out what i’ve written. i have to stop from time to time to wipe away the tears. i have to calm myself to steady my shaky fingers. if i used the wrong words, i apologize.

oh god, i miss them already.

around this time, they are pestering me with their requests to watch makuro kurosoke referring to the fictional ghost in the animated japanese film–”my neighbor totoro”. either that or for me to stop reading and play with them.

hours from now, specifically after lunch, i would be instructing them to brush their teeth, to wash their feet, and to go to bed. we would then be continuing the story we crafted together–haring azur who hates, hates children who often cry. 

i miss screaming, “wear your slippers!” 

i miss their tantrums. and my to-the-rescue-and-save-the-world drama.

i miss our group hugs. 

i simply miss them.

in retrospect, i wanted to believe i’d been too strict with them. i’m starting to realize that i took their presence for granted. i could have been more understanding, more patient. i should have lent them more of my time. 

i wanna stop. my eyes are too dry to shed more tears.

but i have to finsh this. let me finish this. i want to complete something for today.

i don’t know if i still have the strength to think. or even to exist. my body is exhausted, my mind is depleted at least for now.

i’m a fan of silence, of serene places. but now i crave for their laughters, for their shouts. this kind of silence is choking me.

in their absence, everything means nothing to me, now.  

i don’t even want to think what will happen with our fraternal bond after this incident. i don’t care. let nature and time handle it. 

but i’m dying to ask him these:

*now that you’ve unleashed your anger, are you happy now? 

*have you ever thought of my playmates who have to endure the aftermath?

*what now?

*what does it mean to you when you gained the whole world but you are ruled by solitude?

if april 14 will be remembered as the defining moment of my faith, june 11 and beyond will go down in my life’s history as my darkest hours. 

yes, i’m mourning for the losses–time with my playmates,  and fractured (if not totally broken) fraternal bonds ; as well as for the gains–heartaches and loneliness.

as i close my eyes, i’ll try to keep the words, “fear not, for i am with you,” ablaze in my mind.

if hope springs eternal, then i’ll hope for the impossible–that someday when the silverlining starts to appear on the horizon, i’ll be reunited with my playmates and we will be the rowdiest group ever (i’ll be fine with it), broken bonds will be mended, and i’ll be jolted back to life.

n.b.:

to my friends, i’m sorry if i’ll be gone for a while. goodbye for now.

(no more sparkles)

 

the calm before the storm.

 

my sensitivity level to the unspoken, the euphemisms, and even to the undefined is so high that sometimes i had to act as if i were numb.  

earlier yesterday, the air inside the house was toxic. i thought i was inhaling what i’d already exhaled. something was wrong–terribly wrong–i knew it dead-on. and everytime i had that feeling, i knew it would happen.

after my church service, i decided to block off  the negative vibes, the awkward silence, and the painful scenery with much gusto. that’s why, while i fixed my closet, i tuned in to magic 89.9’s good times with mo. the djs were talking about stereotypes–apparently, it’s a segment in their (in)famous radio program. it’s called “spin the wheel.” the marker landed on stereotypes hounding african americans–the item said: african americans are the world’s best performers and they have humungous whang.

 

the last clause reminded me of the saying, ”once you go black, you can’t go back.” true enough, majority of the callers agreed with dj mo who believes in this.

 

i got hooked to their interesting-and-starting-to-be-a-heated discussion. mojo jojo passionately defended his side saying not every ”brother” has lochness monster hidden down south. but that was easily refuted by mo. they were just talking about the general population. of course, there will always be special and isolated cases. i agree.

 

then a certain marcus (the black guy who sang their show’s theme song. it’s very good, by the way.) phoned in. without batting an eyelash, mo asked: ”so brother, how big is your whang?” i think i heard marcus’ adam’s apple snapped out. being a polite foreigner, he answered with great humility that it registers 6 on the scale. (and i wonder: 6 under normal condition? that’s something…) the queen mojo went wild (enough said).

 

(plug: marcus composed (i think), produced, and recorded a song dedicated to filipinas. i caught a line from the song and it says: “…nothing in this world like a filipina girl.” way to go, marcus!)

 

as they were about to wrap up the day’s topic, mojo mentioned a scale that measured the dangling thing of the male population around the world. and the scale revealed tha african americans ranked number 1 (meaning biggest and longest–the power combo). followed by the hottie latinos. at number 3 the europeans. charging behind are the americans (well, for this portion, you have to check the accuracy of my ranking). and the last are, well, asians. if we want to be more specific, mojo continued, those who belong to the yellow race ranked the lowest among asians. and mojo (still) continued, those breed models–the mestizo (the half and half) type–are the lowest of the low in the ranking system. geeze! can you imagine! everyone is drooling over them as they strut down the catwalk only to find out they are the “untouchables” (see the caste system) in the ”whang-dom.”

 

then, they closed with a song entitled, “99 Words for Boobs” (check youtube.com for the mtv).

 

well, at least, even for an hour, this show had given me the illusion that i wasn’t this close from a cyclone, which would take place just minutes after i left the house.

 

(oops, i almost forgot the other half of the stereotype. uhm, let’s settle the issue. yes, they are are the world’s greatest performers. done.)

 

and then it hit home…

to be continued…