Things Chinese

(with my journal entry dated January 23, 2012, a Monday)

I was going to write yesterday, but then the morning wore on and I kept putting it off for later that late evening came and we had our karaoke session, and I completely forgot about it.

Today being Chinese New Year’s day, we are having tikoy for breakfast. I had also asked whoever was going to be up early today to prepare pancit (the instant kind, at least), so we’ll have pancit today, just to be in the spirit of things.

I have good vibes for this year, unlike last year. When people were celebrating the entry of the year of the rabbit last year, I was not so “hopeful” (albeit not dejected). I didn’t know why.

As I said, we had karaoke yesterday. My cousin Kuya Jing and I were experimenting on singing from the diaphragm (which means inhaling air and storing it in your abdomen, and then releasing it slowly as you sing, thereby minimizing the movement of the Adam’s apple in singing).

It’s hard at first, because we’ve been “mis-trained” by pop music singing all these years. I was not so into it at first. But after taking a bath (yes, the magical bath—so trivial yet so important), I put on some Platters songs (“Twilight Time,” “Only You,” etc.), and it was just amazing because my voice flowed out naturally using the technique, and I felt like I could sing anything.

But then, I put on some Michael Jackson songs (“Rock With You” “She’s Out of My Life”), and yes, I managed it, but it being karaoke, the habit of trying to sound “just like Michael” (tone-wise, that is) got in the way, and it somehow caused my voice to tire out easily, so when I was getting back to singing other songs (“Bridge Over Troubled Water”), I barely managed it. The ipit effect had taken its toll, although I could still hit the high notes. Good thing my sisters were with us, and they sang to their hearts’ content while cousin and I took a break.

Around 10 p.m., we got to our Beatles repertoire, and with my voice already hoarse and all, we just had fun with them. I was singing “Get Back” and an idea for a Youtube video came to me. Or rather, a Youtube Channel: Beatles Karaoke, with characters here and there horsing around to the music. Oh well.

After midnight, I helped myself to the tikoy that’s been sitting on the round table since Saturday. It was sooo sweet, sweeter than usual, I don’t know if I liked it better. I have a sweet tooth, but this was not the regular tikoy we ate in the past that I guess it takes getting used to.

Okay, we’re not Chinese, but Nanay used to tell us that our great grandparents on Nanay’s side were very Chinese-looking, so that is subject for investigation. But ever since I was young, I get sentimental about Chinese classical music or old Chinese structures and architecture.

When I was growing up, not too many people cared about these things. If I remember it right, people then even looked down on the Chinese. I guess that’s the Spanish influence on us Filipinos. The Spaniards then did not trust the Chinese much and even looked down on them—as a form of defense mechanism, I suppose. Unfortunately, previous generations of Filipinos adopted this kind of attitude. Up until recently, I didn’t know that the terms intsik, beho, chekwa, etc. are all derogatory.

By the time I could explore Maynila all by myself, I would go to Chinatown, just taking in the scene and food and music (or bits and pieces of “Chinese sounds” here and there).

When the Philippines had not yet heard of cable TV, Sundays were Chinese on local TV—early morning TV, that is. Chinese drama, variety shows, cooking shows. They weren’t even subtitled; but for lack of anything to watch, I sometimes contented myself watching those shows—unwittingly “making memories” of those images and sounds. Again, I suppose that’s what accounts for my being sentimental about things Chinese.

I once bought a Chinese classical music CD in Binondo, and one vendor there who saw me said it’s interesting that I take an interest in such things when many people don’t even bother, and then she added, I must have been a Chinese emperor in my past life. Hehe. Who am I to disagree, right? I mean, it’s not every day that people have this notion that you might have been royalty in your “past life.” It’s just interesting, that’s all.

There are rainy days when I’m outside the house, and I could see the drizzle of the rain and the trees gently swaying with the wind. In my mind, I can hear Chinese music.

Oldies

(my journal entry dated May 1, 2012, a Tuesday)

For a long time, I’ve been thinking about growing old and how much of the things we dearly hold on to do we compromise in the process, and last night, the urge to write it down was drummed on me when we were watching the Ugat concert on TV. It featured classic Pinoy rock bands from the 1970s to early 1980s era, and it felt weird in a way, watching them aging rock stars “rock” the stage and how “compromised” they have become (because of their age?) and yet “uncompromising” they remain.

Pepe Smith, Sampaguita, Wally Gonzales…. I asked Kuya Jing if he ever fantasized about having Sampaguita or Pepe Smith for a grandparent, and all he said was it would probably be cool, and I thought so, too. I mean, there’s probably an extra dimension to them that would make their grandparenting way way different from that of most grandparents.

And then I wondered how they live these days. Do they wear regular grandparent clothes around the house? I mean, this is the Philippines. They probably wear regular clothes most of the time now that they’ve yielded the spotlight to younger rock artists…unlike Steven Tyler, I guess. But then you think, Steven Tyler is on American Idol and listening and critiquing pop (read: conformist) music, which I doubt he would have done in his younger days and at the height of his rockstardom.

Come to think of it, just how have life and growing old made them compromise on things? I mean, one minute you’re blasting everyone away on the electric guitar, and then the next, you’re changing diapers or preparing milk bottles for your babies, or any of those “uncool” stuff that ordinary mortals do (or are pictured to do).

Metallica’s James Hetfield admitted to changing the diapers of his kids. And just the other night, on Youtube, Metallica and Guns n’ Roses (on separate occasions) were jamming with Fergie (of the Black Eyed Peas), and down in the comments section below the videos, you could read diehard fans disappointed over the “compromise.”

But then, time has a way of toning things down, and listening to Metallica and Guns n’ Roses over and over again all these years has somehow made them less shocking, less rebellious, more mainstream and more and more belonging to the era of the “oldies” stuff which young people of every generation (not everyone, though) think baduy.

Just now, I remember a classmate of mine related to us how much he hated this teacher back in graduate school, and he got into an argument with the teacher who told him how he (our classmate) was talking out of his hat, and our classmate retorted with a “Yeah? Well, you’re old and you’re dying.” And I thought it was funny because…what was he thinking? Did he think he wouldn’t grow old? Did he think he was not going to die someday?

At the height of their youth and power and life, most young people think that way. Or at least, they are inclined to. No thought of death. No thought of compromising. No thought of ever needing others to get on with this world. Notwithstanding aging relatives who, upon seeing you again after a long time, exclaim, “Well, I remember you when you were still this small and I used to wash you after you made poo-poo all over the place!” Just imagine, you, the uncompromising “immortal,” at one time needing someone to wash you, and—you made poo-poo all over the place? How sooo NOT cool was that?

I guess the lesson here is not to be that overreaching when it comes to being uncompromising inasmuch as public image is concerned. With all our frailties, us being human, to think otherwise all the time is sheer folly.

By all means, have strength of will. By all means, have strength of character. But as to the physicality of this life, why hold on too much? Whether we like it or not, it gets taken away. We get weary. Slowly but surely, we are outran.

Very few people these days get to grow up with grace, AND grow old with grace. Perhaps a period of rebelliousness every now and then should suffice, but always and ever, there should be a willingness to accept and embrace the responsibilities and consequences thereof. THAT is grace, I think.

Snap!

(excerpt from my journal entry dated September 27, 2010, a Monday)

Nagbabasa ako ngayon ng libro ni Robert Kiyosaki. Guide to Investing. Naisip ko mag-start ng isang komiks magazine tungkol sa financial independence, pagpapayaman, etc. Pwede rin tungkol sa pangangalaga sa kalikasan, o kahit na ano may maitutulong sa kaalaman ng mas maraming tao, partikular na sa masang Pinoy.

Isip ko, karamihan sa mga Pinoy hindi mahilig magbasa kasi more visually inclined sila. Pagkagising ba naman sa umaga, TV kaagad ang kaharap, ano pa aasahan mo? Sobrang TV. Nakakainis, kasi puro mga nakakabobong palabas lang ang kadalasan napapanood sa local TV. Sabi ko dati sa mga kaibigan ko sa training, malaki ang papel ng media sa pagpapabobo o pagpapatalino ng mga Pilipino. Up to now, ‘yun pa rin ang paniniwala ko.

Tapos, nangyari nga yung August 23, 2010 tragedy. Isang dating pulis ang nang-hostage ng mga turistang Chinese from Hong Kong. Tapos napatay niya ang ilan sa mga iyon.

Nag-snap daw kasi yung hostage-taker sa loob ng tourist bus matapos niya mapanood yung mga nangyayari sa labas. Yung kapatid niya kasi, umeksena pa. Nag-drama. Wala na ngang naitulong sa sitwasyon, parang sinusulsulan pa 'yung kapatid niya. Hinuli tuloy ng mga pulis.

E lahat ng nangyayari, napapanood pala ng kapatid niyang hostage-taker sa loob ng bus. Dahil na rin sa media na halos lahat ata ng detalye ng nagaganap sa labas, ibinuyangyang sa publiko. Ultimo yung planong pag-atake ng SWAT at yung posisyon ng mga snipers, ibinuking. Ampota.

Tapos ngayon nga na may mga napatay na hostages at nagalit na nga ang mga taga-HK, isip ng media maaari daw na may pagkukulang sila. Pagkukulang lang ba? Sa araw-araw na nagpapalabas sila ng kabobohan at kaartehan ng mga artista nila, pagkukulang lang ‘yon? I say media companies are remiss in their responsibilities when they distract people from the more important things in life. Kelan kaya sila magigising?

Balak ko pala sumulat sa kongresman namin at kay Pnoy sa website niya. Gusto kong mag-lobby ng batas na magkakaroon ng universal classification of consumer wastes as produced by manufacturers. Simpleng klasipikasyon lang: A, B, C, D, etc. “A” para sa nabubulok; “B” para sa di nabubulok; etc. Mas madali tandaan. Parang traffic lights lang na red, green at yellow.

Pero ang pagka-klasipika ng basura, hindi publiko ang gagawa. Mismong mga product manufacturers na ang gagawa nun. Ilalagay nila sa packaging ng mga produkto nila: “Ang pambalot ng produktong ito ay klaseng 'A' at dapat na itapon sa mga 'A' na basurahan lamang.”

Manufacturers na dapat ang gumawa ng pagka-classify, sa sobrang dami ba naman ng packaging na pinambabalot nila sa mga produkto nila, tapos hindi naman pangmatagalan ang gamit—pagkabukas ng produkto, tapon agad yung balot.

E, kung may label na yung packaging na “A” or “B,” etc., hindi na mag-iisip yung magtatapon kung sa aling basurahan ba niya dapat itapon yung basura niya. Segregation na agad bale.

Responsibilidad ito ng mga manufacturers na produce nang produce ng basura kaya dapat lang, sa lebel pa lang nila, responsable na sila. Chapter!

After the Gold Rush (Neil Young) - Patti Smith

Tungkulin ng Malalakas

(excerpt from my journal entry dated October 5, 2012, a Friday)

Kahapon, noong pinaliliguan ko si Tatay, habang inaalalayan ko siya sa pagtayo, siguro na-insecure siya sa tayo niya kaya bigla niyang nasabi na baka matumba daw siya. Sa isip ko, walang dahilan para mag-isip siya nang ganun kasi inaalalayan ko naman siya.

Pero naisip ko rin, siya naman kasi ang nakakaramdam noon—kung tutumba ba siya o hindi. Pero naisip ko rin, kung siya man ang nakakaramdam noon, ako naman na mas malakas sa kaniya ang magdi-determine kung matutuloy nga ba ang pagtumba niya o hindi.

From this incident, may mga realizations na dumating sa akin:

·         Na sa buhay natin, may mga taong mahihina at malalakas, at sila ay nagtutulungan (kahit hindi nila alam);

·         Na walang iisang paraan ng tamang pagtanaw sa buhay;

·         Na ang takot ng isang mahinang tao ay hindi dapat manaig kung may masasandigan naman siyang tao na may malakas na katawan at isipan sa pagharap sa buhay;

·         Na kapag may maaasahan kang tao na may malakas na katawan at isipan upang mapunuan ang iyong kahinaan, ang takot ay pagsasayang ng panahon lamang;

·         Na ang mga taong may malakas na katawan at isipan ay dapat na manaig sa takot ng mga mahihina at matatakutin;

·         Na madaling kumalat ang takot, madali itong makahawa, at sa bandang huli, maaari itong makapagpabagsak ng isang pamilya, komunidad o bayan;

·         Na tungkulin ng malalakas ang tulungan ang mga mahihina sapagkat iyon, higit sa anupaman, ang siyang nagbibigay sa mga malalakas ng karapatan upang manaig (o kahit mamuno pa) sa isang lipunan;

·         Na kapag hindi tumupad ang mga malalakas sa tungkulin nilang tumulong sa mahihina, nawawalan ng saysay ang pagiging malakas nila; sila ay dumadagdag lamang sa takot at mga pasaning umaalipin sa isang bayan.

Physics Talk: Read at Your Own Risk

(my journal entry dated November 6, 2011, a Sunday)

Yes! Almost everyone’s left for Church. Si Tatay lang at ako sa bahay. I have time to write and be alone with my thoughts for at least an hour. I’ve been meaning to write this speculation that came to me regarding gravity—or the lack thereof.

A couple of days ago, I wrote that there’s (probably) no such thing as gravity. There’s only friction. I searched the internet about friction and so far, I’m becoming more and more convinced that there’s only friction working to keep all particles in the universe in stable motion.

If I were to re-state Newton’s universal law of gravitation*, I’d probably go:

“Every particle in the universe is in constant contact with every other particle in the universe, and these particles are in constant and perpetual motion kept that way by the force of friction that particles exert upon each other, keeping the balance among them.”

I guess it needs a little finetuning. An equation of some sort.

At first glance, it seems implausible (naks!) to go beyond Newton’s concepts and principles. But Einstein did that, and on a larger scale, he is right. I think that the force of friction is the one measure that we can establish as a constant, just as the speed of light is held constant throughout the universe.

Specifically, the constant I’m talking about would be atomic friction (unless there’s a smaller, more basic, more consistently dense element out there whose frictional force should replace Newton’s universal gravitational constant). Yabang e, ‘no?

This frictional constant could be multiplied to the masses (m1 and m2?) of the particles involved. Medyo nonlinear nga lang ang computation nito (naks! May pa-nonlinear-nonlinear pa akong nalalaman, e, hehe!), but somehow it gives us a hint on how our world (or our universe) is a self-stabilizing, self-organizing system (SOS), as Dr. Nancy Andreasen used the term in her book “The Creative Brain”—love that book!

It means that when something happens to one particle in the universe, there is a chain reaction triggered as the shift in frictional force among the rest of the particles takes effect.

Now, the question of gravity being nonexistent, or rather explained away by friction: The constant motion and friction involved between the Earth and the moon and the Sun, etc.—is it what keeps us “stuck” or “grounded,” since the resulting force between, say, the Earth and the moon keeps us in check?

I’m not sure yet if this can be proved, but from this assumption, can we say that one’s weight varies when he’s on different surfaces of the planet? Are areas where there’s direct contact between the Earth and the moon affect an Earthling’s weight that is heavier (or lighter)? Hmm….

Frankly, as much as I’m excited about this, I don’t find the urgency to prove it. I mean, I’m not that enthusiastic about coming up with mathematical proof of it. I still have a lot to learn about Physics and forces, etc. Besides, people won’t even take a second glance at this because I’m not even a Physics grad. I’ll just relax a bit here and probably read some more. Chapter!

*Newton’s Universal Law of Gravitational Constant: Every particle in the universe tends to attract every other particle in the universe with a force that is directly proportional to the product of the masses of the two particles involved and inversely proportional to the square of the distance between them.

Gran Turismo

(excerpt from my journal entry dated June 18, 2012, a Monday)

I was channel surfing last night and chanced upon TV5 (a French cable channel), and I happened to see a group of hill-like buildings along a rocky coast on the Mediterranean. The buildings were bright white and were structured in such a way that reminded me of the Hanging Gardens of ancient Babylon.

It was a feature on Nice, one of the luxury destinations in Europe. It’s amazing, really, how the rich throw their money away just to pursue their fairy tale bliss. Those villas are just…I don’t know…enchanting, straight out of fairy tale books.

It’s funny, though, the way the narrator handled the voice-over commentary. She’s simply irreverent. The tour guide of their ferry, she described as a “chatterbox.” And when they came upon a small island somewhat connected to the mainland by a small strip of land, our narrator said that the island used to belong to this very old family who later sold it to U2 vocalist Bono, about whom she commented: “It just goes to show how a lot of money can make people dotty.” Dotty? I looked it up in the dictionary, and there it says “dotty” means “crazy, eccentric, etc.”

When the feature was almost over, our narrator then remarked that pagkatapos daw maglaway ng mga turista sa karangyaang nakita nila [translation mine], it was up to (name of tour guide) to bring the tourists back on firm ground. How candid that was!

I wondered what she has to say if ever she does a feature on the Philippines. I mean there are those of us who seem so eager to hear what English-speaking people have to say about this country. Candid as they are, the French probably have a lot to say, too, and then being the way they are, I’m pretty sure they’d have the flair with words. Ahehe.

Quite frankly, it is getting tiresome to be reacting all the time or to be concern all the time about how white people think of us. It’s not like we can gag them up or censor whatever negative things they have to say. Duh.

After that feature, it turned out that it was just one segment of a show, somewhat like the French version of our “Unang Hirit,” except that their features are more well-researched, -written and -produced.

I guess I was watching a replay. It was carnival time then, and I thought carnival time is always around Mardi Gras (Fat Tuesday), the Tuesday before Ash Wednesday. But then, I could be wrong.

Cannes Film Festival

Next feature was the Cannes Film Festival. Before this, I didn’t know that that festival is held somewhere by the sea. Onlookers who’d like to see their favorite stars walking the red carpet can do so by getting on one of the boats or ships that were stationed by the sea then. There’s even a contest of some sort as to which ship has the best view of the festival.

There were coastguards patrolling the sea among the ships, trying to maintain peace and order. Suddenly, out of nowhere, a “UFO” appeared, although the “UFO” (so says the video narrator) was clearly identifiable. It was a man who probably just wanted his 15 minutes of fame, said the narrator. The man was in a wet suit, with two large hoses attached to his flanks connecting him to this floating device behind him. Water blows from the ends of the hoses, keeping him hoisted up in the air. The coastguards chased after him, and then admonished him not to disturb the business by the shore.

And then there was this “island”—a floating “plot” on which there were a house, some parasols, fake trees, etc. A local fisherman observed that such “islands” used to be bigger, but this one is much smaller. I don’t know if he was complaining. Whatever he was talking about, he lost me.

Venice

After that segment, the next feature was on Venice, Italy. Mainly, the story was about how Venetians are getting “choked” out of their lives by the overwhelming effects of their tourism industry.

A Venetian old-timer served as the feature’s guide. He walked around the city, showing shops that sell items that “tourists want, but Venetians don’t need.” One such shop sells Venetian masks for the Carnival, and—guess what?—they’re all made in China! Wtf! Ahehe.

Stores that used to sell fruits and vegetables have now been converted to fruit/veggie stands-cum-tourist gift shops. Our old-timer guide went to one such shop and asked the owner, how come the fruits/veggies section of the store has gone smaller than the gifts/souvenirs section? And the man answered, “I’ll tell you why, but not in front of the camera.” That was very smart.

It turned out, Venice is selling out its historical buildings to corporations to be converted into hotels, casinos(?), etc. The locals, of course, are complaining. There are just 60,000 citizens in the city, compared to 20 million tourists!

A Venetian woman said that most Venetians nowadays avoid going to St. Mark’s Square around February for the masquerade. It’s filled with tourists and they feel resentful that their government is milking the opportunity to the last drop.

I’m wondering, if ever I’m to visit Venice, I’d probably do it in December, which is the lowest off season for tourists, during which time, the walkways are almost deserted. I just want to see Titians, Tintorettos, Canalettos, etc. And yes, the buildings, too. But for the carnival? No, I don’t think so. I’m introverted, remember?

The feature ends with some Venetians lined up along the banks of the main canal, holding up a very large banner for all those on the big ships entering the canal to see. “BIG SHIPS…YOU KILL ME!” their banner reads. They claim that the big ships entering the canal have adverse effects on the banks—although I’m not sure if I understood it right.

At a signal, they all raise their arms up at the big ships in the canal, and then they wave about their middle fingers. Ahehe. I sometimes wish I can do that to some unwelcome tourists in this country.

La Lanterna, Trieste

Next stop is Trieste, another Italian destination. There’s a beach resort there called “La Lanterna,” where the lovers go to be separated from each other. Literally. There’s a wall that divides/separates the men from the women on the beach.

Both the men and women who frequent the beach find the separation to their liking. The women say they can do whatever they want without worrying about the men scrutinizing their legs or breasts or the fat on their bodies. Same thing with the men on the men’s side. It’s a festival of beer bellies on their side of the wall—they lie there on the sand like albino sea lions.

One man was asked, “Do you think about your wife while here?” He answers, “No,” and then he laughs. The men say they enjoy the peace and quiet, without the women nagging at them. True enough, it seemed more peaceful on the men’s side. On the women’s side, the women chatter a lot. Yet they say that, away from the men, they are there for the peace and quiet also. Go figure. Ahehe.

The wall that separates the two was built in 1903. It’s become a tradition since then. People say it was erected to protect the women and blossoming girls from the lewdness of the men. But for the men, the wall is also a symbol of a rite of passage. Boys younger than 12 stay with their mothers on the women’s side. At 12, they transfer to the men’s side.

There was once a move to tear down the wall. Of course, it was met with opposition. There would be a revolution, the people said. Tear down the Berlin wall, but not this one, they added. One woman said, “If they tear down this wall, I will go away.” For the women, the wall accounts for the strength in character of Triestian women. Even without their men around, they say they are strong.

It’s really a good thing that I saw this show on TV5. It’s more satisfying, really, than just getting your info from the more popular travel shows all the time.

Amalayer!

(my journal entry dated November 16, 2012, a Friday)

The latest buzzword—if that’s how you call it—is “amalayer,” which I believe is a Filipinized contraction of “I’m a liar.” Not that I agree with the spelling because it’s too Tagalized. Besides, “layer” reminds me of an egg-laying chicken. But since that’s what most people understand now, I guess I’d just go with the flow.

It’s from a viral video on the net showing a female student giving an MRT lady guard the dressing down kasi ipinahiya daw siya ni lady guard kaya, ayun, nagwawala siya complete with all the theatrics she could muster.

The first time I saw it, I thought it was funny. Kasi, Inggles nang Inggles si Ate, and I thought she was doing a parody of Anne Curtis in a TV drama. The first time she said the “amalayer” outburst, I thought she said “I’m liar?” without the determiner “a.” Subsequently, she corrected herself and said, “I’m a liar!” with the “a” this time, but “liar” still pronounced as “lī-yerr,” which kinda got me a bit disturbed (in the ears). But then, that’s just semantics, and I’m not dwelling on that.

The reason why I focus on this “issue” now over the more important things out there (as far as I’m concerned) is that it’s a fine example of how the local showbiz industry is giving its public role models that are “poor”—to say the least about it. Not that Anne Curtis is "poor," but the stuff of materials that they show on local TV and the movies (in which Anne Curtis belongs) are just not uplifting either. The kaartehan does not help; the kilig factor does not help; the trying-hard-to-be-Hollywood glamour does not help.

If you wish to escape reality through local mainstream entertainment, it just doesn’t work—at least not for me. You have overexposed actors playing cliché characters in predictable storylines concocted following jaded formulas, what do you expect? It’s all fake—it sucks at make-believe. And you wonder why reality shows are “in” these days.

Unfortunately, the “fakeness” is what has streamed down the masses’ consciousness. You have stupid politicians and stupid showbiz personalities building up stupid mountains out of the littlest mounds, and the masses think that’s the way to go: be drama queens, show it on Youtube, then celebrate the mediocrity.

And in the end, it is the mass of voters who get all the flak for being duped into electing sooo self-serving politicians into office. That is not fair.

The masses need to be taught the way. And since Filipinos are generally EQ-oriented (as Sec. Robredo said), to do so would need GOOD ROLE MODELS. Role models that inspire them by deed and example, not propaganda, press releases or vulgar displays of power and attitude.

Sadly, the latter is the case with Ms. Amalayer. The lady guard said in the news that Ms. Amalayer was telling her to GET DOWN ON HER KNEES AND BEG FOR HER FORGIVENESS IN PUBLIC. Whoa! Marimar, ikaw ba ‘yan? Lol. It’s a familiar scene only in telenobelas and the movies, as far as I know.

Yet underneath this absurd comedy is the tragedy that stupid television is now dictating—or worse, even taking over—reality. For all I know, Anne Curtis would not do that in real life and in public; only in stupidly conceived TV dramas, she would.

But the stupidly misled fans probably would. The stupidly misled public would. All just because the EQ-oriented populace saw their idols doing it on TV.

Now, I’m not saying that what Ms. Amalayer did was all wrong. For all I know, maybe it really was righteous anger on her part. What went wrong, however, were her manners and motives. It gave me the impression that the why and how she did it were no different from the whys and hows politicians and celebrities do the dumbest things just to hog the spotlight to themselves.

I guess that’s the difference between Mr. Carabuena and Ms. Amalayer. The former was being true to his emotions, the latter was being true to her impressions. Unluckily, they both got caught on camera in a one-sided light. And the public who saw their videos badly needed the break from the humdrums of the dumb and common.

Cats and Rats

(my journal entry dated September 21, 2012, a Friday)

For some time now, the cats and rats in our backyard have been “playing” cat and mouse with one another—what else would they be playing? Recently, they’ve been doing it up in our ceiling, and so, from time to time, you hear their scratching and running noises up there, sometimes at night, sometimes at early dawn.

Come to think of it, those cats aren’t really our cats. They’re the offspring and grand offspring of what were formerly our cats (or were they really our cats to begin with?). Anyway, we don’t take care of them as we do our other pets; they take care of themselves.

We throw food scraps in the backyard and they eat from it. Sometimes, methinks, they go to other people’s backyards and feed there—I don’t know. Sometimes, they chase after the rats that also feed on the food scraps we throw away, which is a good thing, really, since those rats are such pests they get in our house sometimes and “promenade” here. I think they have a nest in one of the rooms, probably the library.

I once learned that these sewer rats are not native to the Philippines. They’re actually from Europe, brought here to our shores by the ships that came with the Spanish conquistadores, if I remember it right.

The real Filipino rat is actually the very cute, very furry, and very clean Cloud Rat that lives up in trees in remote forests in the country. They were thought to be extinct, but then there have been sightings of them recently, a Norwegian couple even got a picture. Great!

Southern Luzon Giant Cloud Rat
(image taken from http://rodents-marsupials.knoji.com/facts-about-cloud-rats/)

I was watching a cat in the backyard from our kitchen this morning. I don’t like that cat much because it has this habit of rubbing against your leg (begging for food scraps, I suppose), and then when it doesn’t get what it wants from you, he claws at your legs or even bites your heel.

The first time it happened, I thought it was just an isolated incident. But when it happened the second time, from then on, I make sure that whenever our paths cross, it better scamper away, or else I douse it with water. Nanay’s diabetic wound was actually caused by a cat that scratched at her leg, and I don’t want a repeat of that to anyone around here.

But cats remain fascinating for me. Their quiet, I-don’t-care-about-you “royalty” and quick and nimble ways are traits I really admire. I wonder if it’s got something to do with walking on all fours?

Yeah, right! Like, walking on all fours would definitely make Queen Elizabeth more royal. Lol. What I meant was, I wonder if their being quick and nimble have something to do with walking on all fours.

I saw this cat leap up to the roof, and I thought, “Hey, I can do that, too.” I think the reason why it looked easy for them to do that is because they’re on all fours—they launch their leap from the ground crouched tightly, with their hind legs bent with enough buwelo—whereas we humans leap with our bodies still upright and our knees just slightly bent, avoiding the embarrassment or humiliation of looking like a “lowly” animal.

And they’re also very difficult to kill—what with their nine lives. Cockroaches are also difficult to kill. I guess that goes to show that the closer you are to the earth, the farther you are from the grave.

Whatever that means.

Ready?

(excerpt from my journal entry dated September 7, 2012, a Friday)

Punta ako Ortigas ngayon. Mag-i-invest. Naks! Maliit lang naman. Para na rin kay Tatay. Tapos, kapag lumago, at least kahit paano, may panggastos siya.

I was thinking of that old man and his wife that Eat Bulaga! visited in their Sugod-Bahay portion some weeks ago. Sabi ng matandang lalaki, nag-iipon daw siya ng pera para pag dumating daw ang panahon na mamatay na siya, kahit paano may panggastos siya pamburol at pagpalibing.

It’s a morbid thought, but makes a lot of sense. Lahat naman tayo mamamatay e. Una-una lang. Mabuti na ‘yung handa.

When I brought up my plan with my sister, nainis pa siya. Bakit daw ganun ako mag-isip. E sabi ko, hindi naman kawalang-galang ‘yun. Nagiging handa ka lang naman sa sigurado rin namang mangyayari. Syempre, ako mismo, ayoko rin naman mangyari ‘yun agad-agad. Pero, just in case na mangyari nga ‘yun, sigurado ako na kahit si Tatay mismo, ayaw niya na mataranta kami kasi hindi kami handa.

Andami kasing Pinoy ang hindi handa sa buhay. Puro day-to-day lang ang iniisip. Kapag nakahawak ng malaking pera, bili dito, bili doon. Parang walang bukas. Parang hindi sila mao-ospital, mamamatayan, o magkakaroon ng kahit na anong emergency. Ayoko ng ganung buhay—isang kahig, isang tuka. Tapos, laging nagse-self pity. Laging nagpapa-awa sa ibang tao para tulungan sila. Kinaiinisan ang mga taong ganun.

Ang siste: paano pala kung kamag-anak mo? Pag sinabihan mo naman, ikaw pa ang masama. Tumulong ka nga naman daw, e bakit daw isinusumbat mo ang tulong mo. Ewan.

I wonder how the Jews do it. I wonder how the Chinese do it.

We have much to learn from them. They thrive on extended families. Nagtutulungan sila. Pero ang alam ko, may limit ‘yung pagtulong nila sa kamag-anak nila. Hanggang tatlo o apat na beses lang ‘ata. Papahiramin ka nila ng puhunan. Kung malugi ka, pwede ka pang umutang ulit. Meron ka pang dalawa o tatlong chance para makapagsimula ulit. Leverage. Pero hindi pwede abusuhin. Kasi nga, may limit.

Nang nagpunta pala ako sa Chinatown one time, napansin ko sa isang restaurant doon, may announcement. ‘Yung meeting daw ng “council of elders” nila, na-move ang schedule. May “council of elders” ang Chinatown? Anggaling a.

Naisip ko, hindi ka naman siguro magiging miyembro ng konseho na ‘yun kung wala kang malasakit sa community mo. Ganun dati ang mga sinaunang societies. May mga wise old men and women ang nagga-guide sa buhay ng komunidad.

E ngayon, ano? Mga pulitikong nananalo lang sa eleksyon. Dinaan lang sa pera at palakasan ang pagiging lider. Wala na ngang wisdom at malasakit, corrupt, kurakot at KSP pa. Ewan. Chapter!

The Good that We Do

(journal entry dated August 31, 2012, a Friday)

I’m writing this around 4:30 in the afternoon. ‘Di ako nakapagsulat kanina kasi pagkagising ko, diretso agad ako sa apartment namin kasi may kinontrata ako na karpintero para gumawa ng bubong. Dami kasing tulo. Napadaan tuloy ako kina Aling Hermie. Siya ‘yung namatayan ng asawa kelan lang.

Almost a month has passed since namatay ‘yung asawa niya and hanggang ngayon nahihirapan pa rin daw siya. Umiiyak pa rin daw siya. Kanina nga, nagkukuwento siya, umiiyak siya. Wala lang. Syempre, andun pa rin yung pakikiramay ko.

She was very accommodating. Pinainom niya kami ng iced tea. Dati kasi, kapag napapadaan kami, hindi siya ganun ka-maasikaso. Madaldal lang siya. Pero kanina, parang gustong-gusto niyang may nakakausap, kakwentuhan. Nahihingahan ng sama ng loob.

I fell to thinking while she talked. Nababanggit niya kasi si Nanay every now and then. Mabait daw si Nanay.

Naalala ko ‘yung sinabi ni Dolphy noon nang in-interview siya ni Jessica Soho. In effect, sabi niya, mas okay daw na iwanan mo ang mundo na marami ang natutuwa sa iyo, na maraming naging “blessed” kasi naging parte ka ng buhay nila. Kesa naman daw namatay ka, tapos when someone mentions your name, people go “Yuck!” Ahehe.

When I was watching that interview, I was like, “Would a dead man care at all if he was liked in life? Mararamdaman o maa-appreciate pa ba niya ‘yun kapag patay na siya?”

No, I wasn’t being cynical. I was just wondering…about people who lived their lives according to their own rules and not cared about whether people liked them or not.  Honestly, I still think THAT is the way to live. But now, I’m seeing things in a light that’s more…I don’t know…more kindly? More thoughtful? More caring?

I thought of Shakespeare. “The evil that men do lives after them.” True.

But then, my overactive imagination took it a step further and imagined, what if the evil that a man does actually does live—becomes alive—and personified? Like someone did something really bad, and that bad deed gains a life of its own, a personality that lives and breathes and acts out more evil.

Parang si Dr. Frankenstein and his monster. And after creating that monster, only then do you see the big picture. You see the monster holding up a mirror to you, and it reflects all that you have become—regardless of your good intentions.

Of course, we can’t all be saints. But I’m thinking, if we are to live life according to OUR rules, why not focus on the rules that, while do not bring about good, do not bring about evil either? AT LEAST. Yep. Parang cowardly, ano? I don’t know. “Just do it” is still the best, most open advice there is.

Everytime someone who knew my mother talks with us about her, they have only nice things to say. Well, maybe Nanay “just did it,” as the Nike ad said. And whatever it was she made of her life, overall it came out good.

Hopefully, the good that we do in this life will live on after us, just as well as—if not more than—the evil that we do.

Owning Time

(excerpt from my journal entry dated April 6, 2012, Good Friday)

. . .there’s this common notion that we live on borrowed time, and I was thinking if you borrowed something, shouldn’t you return it? I mean, shouldn’t you be burdened with the responsibility of returning it one day—whether you like it or not?

Our bodies, we return to the earth. Our possessions? The fact that you cannot really take them with you when you die (or, from a materialist’s perspective, you cannot enjoy them anymore when you die) proves one thing: your ownership of them is temporary. These possessions outlast us.

“How can you own something that which will outlast you?” sabi nga ni Macliing Dulag.

Even this very life we have, to what extent do we own this? To what extent do we own something which we have very little control of? I mean, you can decide on certain things about it, but then, there are others, too, who can decide for you.

That’s not the same with time. With time, you can choose which things or decisions or occasions or with whom you can spend it on.

Perhaps that’s the wisdom behind having just one person, one body, one self: to enable us to experience the fullness of time ownership—the fullness of life.

Imagine, there’s three of you. One is assigned to do tasks for your parents and family, the second is to spend time with your friends, and the third is for yourself. That would be spreading yourself thin—where is the freedom in that?

And dealing with the complications of having three (or more) of you, and you happen to be stupid, then that’s three times the stupidity. That would certainly eat a lot of time.

But with just one of you, you assert your freedom. You choose. “I decide to spend my time on this, and less time on that.”

That power to decide—it’s not something that others can easily take away from you, is it? They can force you, even compel you, but ultimately, it is you who can always “take your time” and tell others to kiss your arse, right?

One ironic thing about owning time is that it spends itself automatically. It doesn’t wait for anyone. Whether you spend it wisely or while it away on sleep and leisure, it remains “there for you” always, ever faithful to your bidding—yet, ever faithless with its pacing. Or rather, ever faithless with its uncompromising pace.

This aspect of time ownership—does this mean that, maybe, we don’t really own time? That it is “borrowed” just the same?

Well, if you borrowed it, where do you return it? To whom do you return it?

Just now, a notion came to me: The true masters in this life are those who truly own their time. When we were babies, we did not decide much of our time, others did. WHEN we fed, WHEN we slept, WHEN to do what things, etc.

But as we grew older, we are given the power to decide. More and more, we learn to use that power. Up until the very moment we die.

Looking back at it all, how much of our time did we really own? How many of the minutes and seconds we spend in this world can we truly say, “Ah, yes, in those times, I actually lived” or “In those moments, I was living life according to how I believed it should be lived.” That’s real freedom, I think. Whether you’re in prison or as free as a bird.

We can be great masters. I have to keep this in mind. In this life, just being free is worth it.

Dark Nights of the Soul

(with excerpts from my journal entry dated April 23, 2012, a Monday)

Kahapon, nasa PGH [Philippine General Hospital] ako. Naka-confine kasi ngayon dun yung tatay nila Weng, kapitbahay namin. May tubig daw sa baga.

Dumating ako sa PGH magsi-6 pm na. E, 6 pm ang tapos ng dalaw tuwing weekends at holiday. Pero parang ‘di naman sila istrikto sa mga ganun. Basta dire-diretso ka lang ng pasok. Kasi pag nagtanong ka pa sa guard sa may lobby, baka ‘di ka pa papasukin. So, ‘yun nga ‘yung ginawa ko. Dire-diretso lang lakad ko papunta sa Ward 3.

Akala ko si Weng ang bantay kahapon. ‘Yun pala si Totoy at yung asawa niya. Wala akong pasalubong na dinala kasi hindi ko naman alam kung ano ba ang pwedeng kainin ni Tatay Erning. Naisip ko, pag nalaman ko na, tsaka na lang ako bibili sa labas ng ospital.

Pagdating ko dun, kwentuhan konti. Dapat pala kagabi ooperahan na si Tatay. Tutusukan daw siya ng tubo para mahigop yung tubig sa baga niya. Namarkahan na nga ‘yung likod niya kung saan siya bubutasin para itusok ‘yung tubo. Pero dahil Linggo kahapon, walang doktor. So, maghihintay pa sila ulit ng schedule kung kelan magagawa yung operasyon.

Puro sabaw at lugaw lang daw ang pwedeng kainin ni Tatay. Nang nalaman ko ‘yun, ayun, lumabas ako sandali. Bumili ako ng lugaw tsaka dalawang value meals sa Wendy’s para kina Totoy. Buti pala hindi ako nagdala ng prutas. Hindi rin kasi makakain ni Tatay ‘yun. ‘Yun na lang ang nagawa ko.

Ang hirap ma-ospital. Magastos. Nakakainis pa yung paglakad-lakad mo para bumili ng gamot, etc. Tapos sa pagbabantay mo, wala ka pang matulugan nang maayos.

Nang na-stroke si Tatay, bantay din ako. Sa San Juan de Dios kami. Aircon ‘yung ward. ‘Yun nga lang, may mga kasama kaming ibang pasyente. Meron dun pasyente, comatose na. Tapos, everytime nililinis siya sa tuwing dumudumi siya, grabe. Ansaya-saya!

Natatawa nga sa akin ‘yung isang nurse dun. Dala ko kasi ‘yung “Next” [Michael Crichton] na libro ko. Kunwari nagbabasa ako. Pero ‘yung ilong ko nakasubsob dun sa pahina ng libro.

Ang konswelo ko lang sa pagbabantay sa ospital—halimbawa sa PGH—e yung pagtambay ko sa labas sa katahimikan ng gabi. Nase-senti kasi ako pag ganun e. Tsaka yung food trip. Goto, nilagang itlog, tokwa’t baboy, siopao, buy-one-take-one burger, etc.

Sa PGH kasi, halimbawa sa emergency, bawal ang bantay sa loob. Dun ka lang sa labas. Ipapatawag na lang sa gwardiya ‘yung pangalan mo kapag may kailangang bilhing gamot o gamit para sa pasyente mo.

Pwede ka namang matulog sa bangketa sa gilid-gilid ng building. Andaming gumagawa noon. Maglalatag ka lang ng higaan doon. Pero magpahid ka ng Off Lotion para ‘di ka lamukin. Tapos sa umaga, gigisingin na lang kayo ng mga guwardiya. Bawal kasi matulog sa araw. Sa gabi lang pwede.

Pero nung isang beses na may binantayan ako sa PGH, hindi ako natulog. Kasi nga tamang senti ako. Tahimik kasi ang gabi. Tapos, ‘yung mga mukha ng mga tao—hapis at desperado. Pagod sila at malungkot. Parang ‘yung mga tao sa “The Potato Eaters” na painting ni Van Gogh. Sa gabi, kahit paano, nakakasumpong sila ng pahinga mula sa mga pasakit ng buhay.

Nalibot ko yata ang kabuuan ng PGH noon. Wala lang. Minamasdan ko lang yung mga lumang building na naiilawan ng dilaw na ilaw. Feeling ko, nag-time travel ako pabalik.

Swerte ko nga noon kasi bilog ang buwan. Maliwanag. Nakatingala ako habang naglalakad. May mga parteng madidilim. Sabi nila, may multo raw dun. Wala naman ako nakita. Sa sobrang senti ko, ‘di na ako natakot.

‘Yun nga lang, nang umaga na at pauwi na ako, nakakainis ang init ng araw. Para kang bampirang nasisilaw at malulusaw sa liwanag.

Iyon ang isa sa mga hirap sa tuwing may pasyente ka sa ospital. Puyat at pagod ka. Humihinto ang daloy ng buhay para sa ‘yo. Tuloy, andaming resentments. Kahit sa pasyente mo na alam mo namang hindi niya kagustuhang ma-ospital, nagkaka-resentment ka rin. Sa pelikula lang ‘ata ‘yung mga bidang bantay sa ospital hindi nagrereklamo at hindi nagmamantika ang mukha sa umaga.

Si Mother Teresa kaya, nagka-resentments din habang nagsisilbi sa mga mahihirap na maysakit? Ang alam ko, for 50 years bago siya namatay, nakaranas siya ng spiritual emptiness—to the point na nag-doubt din siya kung totoo nga bang may Diyos. Pero natural lang daw ‘yon sa mga taong banal. Iyon daw ang tinatawag na “the dark night of the soul,” sabi nga ni St. John of the Cross.

Posible pa rin na pwedeng wala ka ni katiting na resentment sa hirap ng pagbabantay. That is, kung mahal na mahal mo talaga ‘yung pasyenteng binabantayan mo.

Pero kasi siyempre, nakakapagod din minsan ang pagmamahal. Kaya nga minsan nagkukunwari ka na lang. Kunwari hindi ka pagod. Kunwari hindi ka galit. Kunwari hindi masama ang loob mo. Masama ba magkunwari?

Napaka-complex kasi ng buhay. There’s no one correct way para gawin ang mga bagay-bagay kapag desperado na ang sitwasyon. Kaya nga minsan, iniisip ko na lang, robot ako. Gawa lang nang gawa. Trabaho lang nang trabaho. Malay ko ba sa mga tama o mali, e robot nga ako? Duh.

DeVotchKa

(excerpt from my journal entry dated May 22, 2012, a Tuesday)

May last-song syndrome ako. “The Last Beat of My Heart” na version ng DeVotchKa. Kelan ko lang na-discover ‘yung kantang ‘yon. Now, how did it happen?

I was looking for…? Now, what was I looking for? I forget what. But I do remember typing “Little Miss Sunshine” on Youtube, and one of the songs that came up was “You Love Me” (or is it “You Loved Me”). I checked out the comments first to find out what listeners thought of the song, and some found the song “beautifully written” and “memorable.” One said it made him/her cry. Whoa. Ok. So, I checked it out. I chose the video with the lyrics so I could check out the lyrics as well.

It was deceptively simple. But poignant in its simplicity. Nice. And the lyrics are just very concise and captivating. About a man who finds true love, marries her, and then in a fit of rage, they break up, and then years later, they see each other again, but he has not moved on (“I’m still trying to forget...when you said you loved me…I thought you loved me….”). Wow.

I searched for other DeVotchKa songs on there and found that they have this album, “Curse Your Little Heart,” which I think is a compilation of remakes--among them the Sinatras’ “Something Stupid,” Velvet Underground’s “Venus in Furs” (excellent, kinda new-wavy), and yep, Siouxie Soux and the Banshees’ “The Last Beat of My Heart,” which I instantly loved. I’ve never heard of it before, I only knew of one Banshees song and I don’t even know the title at that. Ahehe.

I actually like both versions—the Banshees’ and DeVotchKa’s, although I prefer learning to sing the latter because the voice range is closer to mine. It is just “majestic, imperial,” sabi nga ng lyrics. Nice.

Ah yes. There’s this other DeVotchKa song that I have also been singing along to these days. “Hot Burrito No. 1 (I’m Your Toy).” Originally by the Burrito Brothers. I listened to both the Burrito Brothers’ and DeVotchKa’s versions and I like them both.

In the original version, however, the singer seems to have been crying when he recorded the song. Although I’m inclined to like the DeVotchKa vocals better, I thought the “crying” version has something to it that begs exploring.

Why was he crying?

I checked out the lyrics. It’s about this guy in love with this girl who seems to have outgrown him (I think). Now, why the crying? I think he has regrets. Maybe when they were still together, he took her for granted, and so, she learned better and has moved on, and our lover/singer thinks that she can still come back to him anytime she wants—because he doesn't want anyone else (except her) to love him.

Or…maybe he’s always been in love with her. And then he let her use him to lose her virginity (“…and once upon a time, you let me feel you deep inside… do you remember the way you cried? I’m your toy….”). The girl has since moved on and is now a pro in the game of love, and our lover is bewailing the fact that he still loves her so. Hmm… Pwede.

DeVotchKa’s one of those overlooked bands. They really have taste, and one of the great things about them is that they refuse to be pigeonholed. They’re like the bands of the old days, when bands/singers didn’t sound like one another.

The Hands that Wrack the Cradle

(my journal entry dated June 20, 2012, a Wednesday)

I did not learn much about Jose Rizal’s birth anniversary commemoration yesterday. Except for Lourd de Veyra’s commentary about how kids today don’t know much about Rizal, which is tragic really, but the treatment of the story was rather comic, and I don’t know at whose expense—the students themselves, their parents, their teachers, mass media, or society in general.

The high school students that were interviewed to answer basic questions about Rizal were simply all over the place. One question was, what are the two novels that Rizal wrote? One kid answered “Noli Me Tangere” and “Florante at Laura.”

Another question: Who was Jose Rizal’s only brother (the answer to which is Paciano). The kid had it wrong again by saying, “Graciano.” Oh well.

It would be too premature to say that the way patriotism is taught in our schools has indeed gone down the drain. But if the gauge to finding out is measuring how much they know about the country (its history, culture, heroes, etc.), then we are in serious trouble. If the kids from the private schools flunk it, how much more if the kids from the public schools are asked?

Fortunately, I think gauging a person’s worth based on academic performance is becoming passé as years go by. Companies have not been that strict when it comes to accepting applicants with no college degrees.

Besides, previous generations of Filipinos may know a great deal about Rizal, this country and our culture and history, but where exactly has it gotten us anyway? Some of them are in politics and, well... you know the rest.

I think one dictum that we could consider redefining is one that concerns raising our kids. “The hand that rocks the cradle is the hand that moves the world” just doesn’t apply to parenting anymore. Or rather, it still does, but parents these days just don’t have the corner market in the “rocking-the-cradle” territory. We have cable TV, the internet, our children’s friends, the school and neighborhood, etc.

Before cable TV and the internet, most kids go out to play with other neighborhood kids. You knew who your kids’ friends were. These days, it’s practically the same, except for two things: First, why would the kids bother going out when there’s internet gaming, social networking sites and all-day-long TV cartoons at home? Second, with so many “hands” rocking the cradle, we’re raising distracted kids on the verge of becoming spoiled brats—or spoiled “broths,” what with too many “cooks” trying to cook them up according to their own standards.

We can’t just throw the burden of the responsibility on the parents. Children these days tend to outgrow their cradles at a very fast rate. And we live in a society that’s trying to work us hard and dumb down our sensibilities.

In an oppressive society, privileged kids are no longer just those who live with affluent lifestyles. PRIVILEGED KIDS ARE THOSE WHO HAVE GOOD PARENTS/PARENT FIGURES AT LEAST.

The Genius of Broken Hearts

(with excerpt from my journal entry dated February 16, 2012, a Thursday)

Earlier this morning, while I was gargling, I heard Ate Gina singing “I love you, goodbye” in the backyard, and then the song “It’s the end of the world” (Skeeter Davis) came to mind, and then I realized, for most people, the end of the world is so much easier to deal with than failure in love. Meaning, there are people out there who would rather that the world ended rather than face up to a broken heart. Ahehe.

I think it’s got something to do with the need to forget already—the need to get over with the emotion, the need to be shocked and shaken out of the…what? Stupor? Hypnosis? The spell?

And with what? With an experience that’s somewhat more mind-boggling or shocking, whose impact would “replace,” in the mind, the “breakup of the century.”  Ahehe.

Just now, I thought of the movie with Adam Sandler owning some kind of remote control device that can make time stop, go fast forward or in slow motion, etc. Somehow, having a broken heart can make time stop and everything else go still.

Years ago, I thought of madness as some kind of inability to cope with a difficult "present." That since you can’t deal with the present, you get stuck in the past. Or the future. Or any other time in any other dimension, other than the here and now. Parang Shaider. Naka-time-space warp ang mga baliw. Either they’re trapped in the past (either traumatically or euphorically) or they’re trapped in the future (or in some futuristic world of their own making) gaya ni Cita Aztals. Tama ba ang spelling ko ng name ni Cita Aztals?

Anyway, the point is, having a broken heart is some kind of temporary madness. Just me. There’s a temporary inability to focus or deal with present circumstances. I guess that’s why I think it’s wise to be able to detach oneself from one’s self, and see things from the perspective of another person. Or from the perspective of eternity—if you’re feeling profound enough—by thinking of the situation from the point of a great great grandchild. “When my grandma was this age, she had her heart badly broken….etc.”

And then we see things happening in our life just the way we review, say, the tragedies of William Shakespeare. I mean, did Romeo and Juliet actually live? Did their tragic love affair really happen? We make our own reflections and our own judgments and conclusions, foremost of which is that broken hearts are a universal experience.

Now, what you do with a broken heart is up to your genius, of course. You can write a play about it, or a novel in which you transform yourself in to a vampire’s object of obsession. Hey, you can make money out of things like that these days.

But then, wouldn’t that classify you as “mad” also? Hmm…probably. Pero temporary madness lang naman ‘yun. Nagkakatalo lang sa control. Ang mga totoong baliw, walang control sa detachment nila from reality. Pero ‘yung mga gifted…or, okay, yung mga may konting sayad na lang, at least may control pa rin. Tama ba?

Just now, naalala ko si Akira Kurosawa. Sa pelikula niyang “Dreams,” sabi niya, “Man is a genius when he dreams.” Or something to that effect. Come to think of it, karamihan sa mga panaginip natin, puro “kabaliwan” lang. Walang logic. Walang rational structure. Pero, our sleeping selves readily accept them  or tolerate them like they’re the most natural thing.

Teka pala. What about nightmares? I’ll think about it some other time. Right now, I can only conclude that this world is so much more alive and so much more colorful because of broken hearts. And dreams. And madness…or genius. Whatever. Chapter!