Ex Post Facto

Somewhere, someone is reading your words and thinking about you. Words are tricky little things--like pieces of skin you can shed and leave lying around. Weeks, months, or years later, you come back to find the molted words and marvel at how something can still be you and yet be so detached from your current self.

Somewhere, someone is steadily growing enamored with you your words, without realizing the pointlessness of pining for something that someone has long left behind. What kind of fool falls in love with snakeskin? And yet that someone reads on, treading carefully so as not to disturb, trying intently to piece the hazy fragments together into something closely resembling you--or at least a shell of who you were.

Somewhere, someone is going through the cycle of your thoughts and emotions, and wishing they'd been able to do something about it. Like anyone could ever keep snakes from shedding, or keep autumn leaves on trees. What's done is done, and someone who has changed is harder to bring back than someone who has simply gone. They fail to see that displacement is most often replacement, too. Snakeskin, autumn leaves--lizard tails, even. It's less rocket science and more 2nd-grade biology.

To be more precise about things, then: somewhere, someone is thinking about who you were, holding on to your snakeskin words--not wanting to bring you back, but simply hoping to be led to where you are now.

Torre Lorenzo

September 1, 2010

I'm in Torre Lorenzo, with a sudden amount of free time. I was supposed to be on an all-morning date, but something came up. Three hours to kill, and nothing to do. I'd brought no laptop, no books—not even paper, save for my psychology reviewers. So I'm living out the ultimate writer's cliche—scribbling on coffee shop napkins, and basically trying look artsy fartsy. 

I'm just kiddding about that last part. I look nothing like an artsy fartsy, mysterious writer—if anything, I look sleep deprived and too small to be a college senior. Anyway, what was going to talk about? Oh yeah, Starbucks Torre Lorenzo.

I figured I've never done a blog about places before, and if we're talking about favorites than this definitely tops the list. I know, Hollywood and the endless stream of rich kids have made coffee shops overrated. But Sb Torre and I go a long way back.

I first became acquainted with the place in high school. I grew up in a school in Vito Cruz, and Starbucks was my usual source of treats for my girlfriend, or of payments for lost bets. Don't get me wrong—I'm no rich kid, though. I still see this as overpriced coffee. (Side note: actually, my wallet /was/ actually considerably thicker back then—now I seem to be stuck in a financial crisis all the time).

I remember this one time, I was with some of our high school faculty members. I'd developed an unlikely friendship with one of my teachers, and I remember how good it felt to be able to talk and laugh with those teachers without being the target of petty gossip. I haven't talked to that particular friend in a while, and Starbucks always reminds me of how much fun we used to have. A love of coffee was one of the things we had in common, and one of the things we immediately agreed on—even though she'd always, always disagree with me, just for the sake of disagreement. Despite the eleven-year age gap, she treated me more or less like an adult, a real friend whom she could trust with real issues and problems. I actually kind of miss her.

Torre Lorenzo also played host to various rendezvous with various friends, even with my college friends. We would take the jeepney ride from Faura to Vito Cruz. Starbucks Rob just doesn't have the same feel—it's always full of foreigners and their "exotic" dates. Dates and meet-ups with my girlfriend also end up here when we run out of ideas, or time, since it's nearby. Aside from the usual dearth of seats, Torre never fails.

But what I love most about this place is the time I get to spend here by myself. During moments like this one, when I 'm bored, I go here. People-watching is always fun. I'd sit at the long tables fronting Taft or Vito Cruz, and watch passerby. I'd think up stories for them. I'd never actually written down any, I just suck at finishing stories. But really, it makes for a relaxing time-killer.

Also, whenever I feel frustrated, I turn to coffee instead of alcohol. It's harder on the pocket, but I'm sure my liver will thank me for it later on. And besides, drinking alone makes me even more depressed. Alone time here just makes me relaxed, then sleepy after a while.

October 17, 2009

Another flashback, to almost a year ago. I'd planned a surpise which had miserably failed. I was worn out from all the relationship stress and I didn't know what else to do. I hung out here for around three hours, until I felt better. I wrote, I read, I texted my friends. That, for me, was the defining moment of my coffee-fueled relationship with this place. Okay, weird. Maybe it's just the coffee—it actually makes me sleepy.

And then there's this last thing about the place—they never get my name right. They've generated more nicknames for me than all my friends and relatives ever have. I've been dubbed RG, RJ, AG, Arjie, Arci, and Liza, among others.

That is, except for today. They finally got my name right. Well, granted that the barista asked me about the spelling, it's still a first. I think my favorite coffee shop is starting to like me back.

Pack Rat

I'm allergic to dust. Whenever I get near the stuff, I tend to sneeze uncontrollably and break out in hives. It's a fact as much as it is a lame excuse to get out of cleaning my room. My mom recognizes that, which is why we were still forced to clean the room and wax the floors a couple of weeks ago (it was worth it though, for mother dear bribed us with 2 14" pizzas and enough soft drinks to satisfy my RDA of sugar for a week). 

Now, room cleaning is a rare event for me—second only to trips to the dentist in the list of necessary things which I religiously avoid doing. So it came as no surprise when I discovered an assortment of mementos stashed in the various nooks and crannies of my small room, some of which I haven't seen in years, literally. My initial reaction was—well aside from the uncontrollable sneezing—a pang of nostalgia, which led me to reminisce about the said items and their history.

Among the objects I found were loose beads from a bracelet given to me by a former friend. You'd think that I would know how to hold on to my few friends, but apparently she grew tired of our company, as well as of the numerous issues we managed to get ourselves into. I remember the Wednesday morning more than a year ago, when the bracelet snapped as I was getting off the train on my way to our class. It seemed ominous, since we were already starting to fall apart/drift away from each other at the time. To this day she refuses to talk to us and barely acknowledges our presence—a tough feat,considering that she usually ends up being group mates with our other friend.

I also found my extemporaneous speech plans, nestled between the yellowing pages of unused bluebooks which I hoarded during my first year in UP, for fear of having to take an exam without one. I put the bluebooks to good use during finals week and reread the speech plans. I was taking that class during my GE days, when I first decided to shift out of ComSci. I don't want to go into details, basically it was a time when my whole life was in a state of flux (which is a polite way of saying "totally freaking confusing and chaotic"). That speech class was a breather for me, almost the only place where I more or less knew what I was doing. Later on my prof became a panelist for my OrCom admission interview (where she got to scold me for my habitual tardiness) and by God's good grace, I got in, and my life regained its direction.

Another notable find was a ratty band-aid (yeah I know they're called medicated plastic strips or something, but that's too long and too lame) given to me by a dear friend back in my awkward high school days. It was a bit dramatic, actually, a symbol for her declaration that she would always be around to help me cope with my emo issues. She kept her word, and she was a great source of comfort for me throughout that year. She gave me a letter during graduation which totally warped my mind—to date I consider it as one of the very few real surprises I've had in my life. We haven't seen each other in about two years, and if you're reading this Jek, well, I think we need a reunion.

I was also pleasantly surprised to find a notepad with short letters from my grade five friends. I remember we got a little sentimental at the end of that school year and writing notes became the in thing during our last day. The notepad contained messages, some affectionate, but mostly jokes—it was only years later when I realized how much my classmates back then loved to bully me. They would hide my bag and lock me out of the room, call me weird names, and even go through the effort of building up a showbiz career for me—they made posters of my supposed "concert" and all that. But it wasn't so bad. We stayed friends, and besides, I'd like to think that I wasn't such a nerd back then. At least they were laughing at me, not behind my back. I sort of enjoyed that too, I guess.

At the back of that notepad was a short note from my crush at the time who decided to go for my friend, much to my ten year-old heart's dismay. It merely said "Ei Rizza o last day na. Have a happy summer vac[ation]", but I remember how I treasured it (pathetic, I know). Thanks to my social awkwardness, we never became close—I would call her to spend almost an hour of not talking—and she eventually migrated or something. I wonder where she is right now, and if she's changed as much as I have. Lame as it was, it was the first in the book of my (un)romantic history. That's another story—which perhaps should never be told in this blog, for my own sake. 

I realize how much I've babbled here, and I'd like to apologize for wasting your time. I have no lessons from this, except that awkward teens need not despair since awkwardness can be outgrown—not that I've managed that, but well.

Photo from here.

I now think of how much of a pack rat I am, both materially and emotionally. I'm a sucker for nostalgia, and sometimes I find myself wishing for things to be the way they were before. However, I've been around long enough to know that there's no going back. I'm just glad that my life's pretty good right now, I'm thankful the people who stuck around. As for the awful times and the people who left, in the words of Fall Out Boy: thnks fr th mmrs.

The Post That Has No Point

Aren't you getting tired of me saying "it's been a while, but I'm back" every month or something? Well, I am. I've now realized that I can't guarantee any regularity in my posts anymore. Fact is, I kind of have a life at the moment, and often I'm just too tired or preoccupied (with, say, my How I Met Your Mother Marathons) to actually write about it. I guess you could say inspiration took a break from me.

Man, I've been swamped. I could ramble all day about school work, or about the hassles of good old everyday commuting, but tonight I just don't want to. Tonight, I just want to relax and smile and breathe the world in.

 

Something happened last week. I kind of got into a fight. Long story short, I got told a few things about me that I wasn't so glad to hear about. But in retrospect, I know they're true, and I'm glad I heard them. My bubble does need a healthy bursting every now and then. The thing is, that fight was probably the first and last I'd have with that friend in a while--she's accepting a job offer abroad, leaving in a month. 

And then this week, just tonight, I was with my ComSci friends on an impromptu DPSM Film Fest Premiere Night viewing. It was fun, but honestly it did get boring. I realized the only thing keeping me there was that I wanted to watch my friends, the people I knew.

[insert One-Tree-Hill-ish background music here]

I also realized that year after year, a bunch of my friends turn into seniors and graduate. Others, still turn into professionals, breadwinners, or simply people with high ambitions for their careers, who take off in pursuit of those goals. The thing is, they usually leave once I've just gotten close to them. I don't know why, but I often end up bonding with people just some months before they graduate or leave the country, or move some place else.

Which is bad, since I'm the super clingy type of friend, the one who'd rather keep all the people I love near me forever and ever, if I could. But I'm learning that while it's sad how people come and go, it's also one of the best things in life, I think.

I've always been happy to meet new people and create new adventures with them, but I guess it's only now that I appreciate the beauty having to say goodbye to people. Some people just have to leave, because they've served their purpose in our lives and it's time to move on to new adventures with new people.

And even if I've only had what seems to be such a short time to spend with those people, I think that in a way, that's the exact amount of time I need with them, maybe. That way I get to treasure my adventures with them more.

So this has turned into the sobrang cheesy talaga! post with no point. All I really want to say is, you, my friends, are such wonderful people. Thank you for making me feel right at home with you no matter how stupid or crazy I get.

[end of One-Tree-Hill-ish background music]

Photo caption:  HIMYM is like a year2000something version of FRIENDS. ;)

Something's Mi si g

You can ignore this post, doesn't make any real sense, well maybe except for me.

So I've been perpetually hungry and restless and all that. I have about 5 movies waiting to be watched, 7 and a half of the Demonata books to read, and some Chuck Palahniuk ebooks to try out too. I have several games on this laptop, from Plants Vs. Zombies to The Sims 3. I have cable TV. I have a guitar, and several gigabytes of downloaded songs in my hard drive. We have a refrigerator, which my mom has wisely stocked with an assortment of snacks. I have my Facebook account, my Plurk page, and I have enough cell phone credits to last me for the week. I have one or two friends nearby whom I can call to invite out, or crash with. To say that I've laid out some boredom-prevention methods is quite an understatement.

And yet, I'm fidgety. I can't sit still long enough to get anything done. Whether I'm reading or playing or watching TV, I can't seem to stop myself from getting up every ten minutes, heading downstairs to the refrigerator. I open it, stare at its contents, craving for something I just can't define. I grab one snack or another, and then halfway through finishing my food I decide it's not really what I wanted.

I can't believe it took days and a Facebook post to figure it out.

Maybe it's because this has been going on for a while, that I'd somehow assumed I was used to it. But now it's getting to me once again. Maybe it's because of the break, a time when I don't have school to worry about, or  idyllic tambay hours to fill my day. Maybe it's that Christmas is just around the proverbial corner, and everyone talks about being with the people they love, the people they care about—the people that matter.

Maybe it's because I've had to say goodbye in different ways to a couple of people just recently. And probably because there's someone I've been wanting to be with for so long now.

I might have a lot here, it's a good life. But something's missing—aside from cash of course. Haha. Seriously though, sappy as it is—I'm missing you, and you, and you, and most of all, YOU.

Raiding the fridge is my way of showing you how much I really care.

Photo shamelessly stolen from Definitely Filipino.

 To all the people I miss (whether you're halfway around the world, or just 30 minutes away from my house), and to all who share this feeling of missing, let's still keep Christmas merry okay?

All right, I'm going back to reading now. No wait, lemme check the fridge first.

On Silence

*picture courtesy of HDR Landscapes

I began the new year in silence. I was up until around this time yesterday morning, so got I to watch the first sunrise, and revel in the morning silence. It wasn't intentional--just a mixture of my periodic insomnia and my still on-going stomach infection thing. And despite the stomach pains, it was a really nice feeling.

I've almost forgotten about silence. When I was in high school, we used to have what they called one minute of silence after breaks. If I remember right it was "to pray for peace..." and something like that. I don't really know if everyone took it seriously--I admit that most of the time I didn't. I was usually half sleepy during those times, or just plain out of focus, probably praying for my Physics teacher to be absent.

But I've always appreciated silence. I don't know if growing up in a school run by nuns did that to me, or if I'm just really introverted. I can sit for minutes, and possibly hours with my silence and my thoughts. It's calming.

Another high school memory: we had a retreat, during our senior year. In Tagaytay, of course. It was early November, and it was such a relief to be there that I almost wanted to be a nun. Plus the food was great. Haha. It's one of my favorite memories from high school. We spent the mornings, afternoons and evenings in prayer, reflection, and other stuff retreats are made of. Then we spent the odd hours sneaking food into the dorms, playing card games, taking scandalous pictures (I didn't join in on that, though), and calling people up--when we weren't allowed food, cards, cameras, and phones in the dorms at all. We had to surrender them, but of course we didn't. We skillfully hid them in our luggage, and we got them past the slightly freaky inspection process. Haha. They pooled the beds together and made quite a party out of it. I distinctly remember my Australian lab partner telling ghost stories. It was hard to decide when I was supposed to be scared, since she talked kind of fast. Yeah, nose bleed. Haha.

That last paragraph had nothing to do with silence. It was nostalgic rambling, as you may have noticed. Sorry.

On the first morning of that three-day, two-night retreat, I showered earlier than my dorm mates, and decided to head out and spend time alone with the life-sized statues of our school saints in the garden. I just wanted to take in the view. But somehow I ended up thinking, and praying--I remember I had left behind a lot of issues in Manila that time. And until now I haven't forgotten that feeling that just came over me. I think I may have felt the peace that the sisters were always talking about. And I still don't know what changed, but something did after that. And I came to love the silence.

I didn't get to do it again--by the second morning I had a terrible headache (I didn't know if it was from Steph's stories or from all the potato chips), and we all slept in so late that our adviser had to wake us up for breakfast. But since then, I knew I needed silence to keep me sane.

Lately, I've been to celebrations where the people never seem to stop wanting to talk. I've been through another noise-filled New Year's Eve, with the fireworks on one hand, and my singing neighbors on the other. I've almost forgotten to be silent. In a few days I will be back in school with all the fuss and noise, and stories about the break. So I'm glad I got to enjoy my silence early this year. And of course I'll be looking for it, in the oddest places. Silence keeps me sane.

This has been an ironically long-winded blog about silence (well, technically I'm not really talking). But anyway, I'll stop here. I've been rambling about silence, now I'll leave you to enjoy yours.