(WARNING: The first parts are in strongly sexual language. Discretion is advised. But please do read to the end.)
I have an urge to go and make love with my past.
Yes, take my past and scrunch it up into a bundle and make violent love to it. I wanted it to hear me scream “F**k you, bitch, I’ma take you down you f**kin’ sl*t!” I want to slap its butt, brutalize it, just make it scream out loud for mercy, mistreat it. Tie it to a pole and beat it until numb, then make it blow me and make it beg me to release it, then spit into its face and treat it like a dirty rag, kick it around, slap its face over and over, and then, when I’m satisfied, pour all my rage on it like so many bucketfuls of hot j**z.
Or maybe I should be more romantic (but nonetheless still brutal) about it. I will kiss, bite, and fondle it first, all over, then, when it acquiesces to everything I do, make it do progressively more and more dirty things. At the end it will simply take in whatever I wanted it to swallow.
Though it wouldn’t hurt if I romance it the old-fashioned wedding-night way. Carry it to the door of the bedroom, watch it undress, let it watch me undress, and when we stand naked together, kiss and hold each other. I will then take it to bed, hunch over it, and enter it, progressively getting more aggressive, yet still in a loving way. And when it’s over and we are both satisfied, I will kiss its forehead and cuddle with it, and say good night and sleep.
But the past is a dead weight (literally: a weight that is dead) if I try to revive it. And I feel like making love with my past at times, very brutally (like the first instance). I do not have a relationship because I am still (even slightly) in love with my past. The past is an ex who mistreated me, but I love it and lust for it every day. But, as Kelly Clarkson says, it’s already gone. And the proper thing to do is to mourn it for a week, and then move on.
This is not just an excuse to mope for a time. But when the past is an ex, mourning takes slightly different forms from if a person is the ex you’re mourning about. Chief of these differences is remembering that the things past are all transitory things. Now, here is the paradox: exes do come and go, but the past somehow makes us into what we are now.
So the best thing is to think that what we are now is just transitory, too.
I am waiting for the clock to tick the half-hour as I type. I will be late for prayers and a set of more drinks of water. Detachment is something I ought to practice, and live with, to be at peace. So that later this night I can lay down and sleep and think about love, real love, love that cannot but give itself up for the good of someone else.
(Inspiration is this piece from the Thought Catalog.)
Little Flower,
I know that our life together has been filled with small, infinitesimal actions toward each other, with some big ones that stand out like peaks on the dull chromatogram of our common life. But take one and the other together, over and over and over, and you will find that the definite integral from when we first met to now is already large. Or that’s just me and my calculitic mind, because what if you only took the tangents and constructed derivatives? Some negative ones, some positive ones.
Ah, the struggles. Where I was declaiming about increased area you talk of negative slopes. Did you take second derivatives and find that you liked me more slowly now than you first did? Or that you loathed me more easily than you did before?
It is all so confusing, but do not worry. Even if you measure negative slopes, I will never measure negative area. Nothing will cancel with me. And regarding you, I can chance upon a day when you measure a positive slope, and I will regale you with “increasing area!”. The funniest thing about you, Flower, is that you measure derivatives. They don’t really cancel over time – they’re meant to be instantaneous. I measure areas, and add the totals, so if I measure negative area, I might have to cancel. But no, for you I won’t.
I will always remember the first day like it was today. I love you so much (as anything, really), and that’s that. But I remain
Sincerely and terribly unattached,
Chao-wei
It’s a mad rush to Election Day back in the old country. And just as we* are being treated to new, and renewed, promises of prosperity, we are also being treated to the warnings and entreaties, as if we were deities. We’re exhorted to vote for good candidates. We’re told that we should mind our votes, that we should choose candidates of Life and not of Death, that we should reject political dynasties, that we should, that we should, that we should… (A chock-full of posts on my Facebook wall.)
This mix of promise and warning might have been well and good, except that we’ve been through this many times already – so many times, I lost count. There was good ol’ 1986 (well, the revolutionary situation had promise and warning). And then there was 1992 – we might have made it big had we followed up. And then 1998, in which Erap won – looking back, I sincerely think he might have done much better than the present situation if he continued to govern. And then, the 2001 midterms, which saw another revolution and a riot before it happened. And then, the infamous 2004 elections, the one where we learned that the incumbent got 100% of the votes in certain Southern provinces. And then, the recent 2007 and 2010 elections.
You know what, even listing these dates made me a little sleepy. I know that you know this already, though, and you’re also probably a little sleepy from reading the paragraph. But what the heck.
There will be so many promises made during these 45 days prior to Election Day 2013 (seriously, I didn’t even bother to look the date up). And each cycle, moneyed and famous people are promising us change, optimism, light, growth, resurrection, whatever. Each cycle, the party-list system tries to seduce us with its glowing repertoire of parties, which represent, among so many others:
- security guards
- janitors
- tricycle drivers
- scientists
- the pro-life movement
- the Left (why don’t they just form a coherent party? or a united front? why do they have to be people running around the mountains?)
- women
- religious people
- Left-leaning women
- Left-leaning religious janitors
- Left-leaning janitors who are also tricycle drivers
- pro-life religious women security guards
- Left-leaning pro-life scientists
- Left-leaning pro-life women tricycle drivers
- Left-leaning pro-life religious women bus drivers
It’s a confused Venn diagram out there, buddy, but there’s some “consolation”: the party-list system itself beckons us, each freakin’ time, to rejoice in the multipartisan glow of the Philippine political scene, so different from the political monotony of the red hook across the sea or the royal ornery of the saffron flower further west.
Don’t get me wrong. I like voting. I like it so much that I abuse polls on cheezburger.com and I would like to give you the opportunity to do so on this blog (soon, if circumstances permit). But don’t you think that, for far too long, Philippine elections have been exercises in futility? No, don’t tell me I should make my voice heard, or that you hope I will still give it a try. Elections are not like sex, where “making your voice heard” while being stifled is very pleasurable, or where even a bad try is still a good try. Elections are supposed to be straightforward things, because what you put in the ballot should rock the vote and determine the government. But in the Motherland, the vote stones the voters. And the government? Well, if you note that the ideological composition of the government changes while the people in government do not, and that the change has nothing to do with your vote, then damn.
*means you back there in the old country, so damn – again.
mind warps. fatigue.
you should have seen me driven to despair
by your words
i made a resolve to accept that i’m not for her
but i failed – i caved in
and so, i curled up like an infant
in its mother’s womb
(without the ranting, snide remarks and other vexations)
and slept.
we sort of pledged not to tell each other
what we felt
so much as what we THOUGHT
it’s okay, but let me tell you i weakened in that respect
so you would understand
because you do not read minds
of course i will get up again
and change it all.
hear the words i never speak
sounds that come from way down deep
i must feel like i’m a stupid guy
entranced in idealizing you so high
the wound you gave me
it was not ordinary
it became like a festering sore in me
i promised you would be my friend
i had no idea you wanted this to end
you just laughed at me
and never took me seriously
now you bring before your courts
the sentence to hang me in the ports
so i’d deliver a guilty plea
i want to die, i want to disappear
from this cruel world so unclear
or just be in a pasture of green grass
bereft of insanity and actions crass
the sorry you would hear from me
is “sorry for this idolatry”
hear the words i never speak
sounds that come from way down deep
i must feel like i’m a stupid guy
i must be sinking into the sky
my mind faces a barrage
i keep springing inside my heart
“when your mind breaks the spirit of your soul”
– yes, green day, we knew when it was!
kept popping out of nowhere,
i was losing my resolve,
the bombers roar over the city
they drop their thousand bombs
{maybe you dunno what i’m talking about,
but still, take a listen}
i keep losing my mind
i keep seeing things
that should be in a dumpster,
in a place they call ‘not here’
i swear i’m not a nutcase,
i swear i’m not insane
but the thought of you, the simple connection with you
again and again and again and again
blushing i just go to the sides,
waiting for my moment to rise
but for now i’m lying here
desperate – not for you –
but for my soul to prevail
even the city reminds me of you
even the simplest instrument
even the simplest word of a song
but my saving grace is that i said i will stand firm
again and again
and again and again
and again.
heto na naman ako. ewan ko ba, pag nagsusulat ako ng sanaysay dito, madalas talagang (tulad na lamang kanina) natutulala lang ako sa harap ng makinilya (o siya, siya, ‘computer’ na!). mga limang minuto rin halos iyon.
limang. minuto. nang. walang. laman. ang. utak.
masarap tumulala. hindi naman ito isang bagay na hindi natin puwedeng piliin. oo, puwede tayong mamili sa larangang ito. isabit ang conscious mind sa coat rack. ipalutang ang iyong imahinasyon (hindi hayaang maging malikot, hoy!), at humimpil lang. tumahimik. i-absorb ang lahat sa paligid – nakabukas ang mata (hindi ito meditasyon, hindi kailangan ng mantra). puwedeng kumain/uminom.
ang importante ay tiwala – sa sarili, sa Diyos (kung meron kang idino-Diyos), sa kabutihan ng tao. pero siyempre hindi mo dapat isipin iyon – hindi panunulala iyan pag inisip mo pa. alam mo lang na nandoon ang tiwala.
damhin daw ang ihip ng hangin. ang walang-kahulugang pag-ilaw ng monitor. ang lasap ng mga pagkaing nasa harapan mo, ang takam ng mga inumin, ang mga letrang lumulutang sa iyong harapan. wala ka nang daramdamin, ni pagnanasa ni galit ni inis ni pagod. tila mga papel ang mga kaisipan – lumilipad na parang hinanginan ng hanging dumadampi sa iyong eksteryor na bahagi: di mo sukat akalaing darampi din ito sa iyong kalooban.
sea-drenched,
flogged by the waves,
i arrive to you, french coast
words spoken by a talking clock
tick, tock, tick, tock –
i would have gone to germany
and did –
but i found my soul in you, i found my soul in you,
dear bonne terre of the vine
i left a world of stodgy towers
and promised myself i’d kiss you
kiss the ground before me – that is,
when at last i come to your shores,
build my tent and sing hymns carried across the
strait
straight
to my old home
from the islands which lay scattered on the belly of the blessed archipelago
i still love germany
but in you i found me
so i will spin my fantasies and create my bibliotheques
for you, for you, dear motherland
{i may have been in a poem-writing frenzy, but never mind}
‘it’ started with your kiss
on my sleep-deprived forehead
as i was busy working the night
‘it’ grew into a whimper
then i found you on the internet
when lonely nights have left me drained
and inexpressive
‘it’ grew into a song
then i saw ‘it’ in a writing on the wall,
a kiosk with something old inside it,
and words which had meaning but were like bell chimes
now ‘it’ is a cry of the heart
now i return to you
singing you
over and over and over again
in front of the computer
and you’ve mingled into
the love, the hate,
the fear, the loneliness,
the resentment, the joy,
the pain, the pleasure,
the wonder, the amazement, the frustration –
you seem bereft of ideology,
but you are an ideology in itself –
‘it’
.
parang hindi ako makapag-unwind verbally sa wikang tagalog. parang nagiging folk-poetic ang aking mga salita. pero susubukan ko.
mga kantang iginigitara. mga pasyon ng buhay natin. tila malayang taludturang nilapatan ng tunog na parang nangungulila sa pag-angkin ng salita sa tulang nilalapatan sana niya. parang di-nasukliang pag-ibig.
pero maganda na rin dahil weder-weder lang naman lahat ng aspeto ng buhay dito sa pilipinas – at sa diwa ng mga pilipinong katulad ko. parang yung mga salmo sa simbahan na pilit nilalapatan ng tunog na ala-gregorian chant, nga lang, di ginagamit sa pagsamba. marahil sa pagpahiwatig ng mga emosyon o saloobin sa trabaho. yung tipong “ang boss ko/ pinagalitan ako/ hindi raw tama/ ang aking itinype…” at iba pang katulad na mga berso.
nasumpungan ko na naman itong klase ng musikang ito. “samson went back to bed/ he ate a slice of wonder bread/ and then went back to bed…” mga ballad ang tawag sa mga iyan. istorya ng tao, istorya ng mundo. pero hindi na ako makasulat tungkol sa aking mga damdamin sa ganitong porma: “nakita ko siya/pero gusto kong maging kaibigan lang/ hindi naman ko ninais/ hindi ako bading…”
para kasing nangangatwiran na lang ako, na parang inuulit ko na ;ang yung mga saloobing sinabi ko na dati pa, na tila propaganda na lang at wala nang bisang espiritwal. tapos hindi ko rin naman alam kung maiintindihan ako ng kahit ng mga taong nakakarinig. ano ang punto ng pagsasalaysay kung iba ang mga gamit na salita at kahulugan?
pero kakanta pa rin ako ng mga ballad. makikinig pa rin ako ng mga istorya.
Chao-wei Files 