Liz and Doms

In my antique flash drive, there was a folder where I stored pictures of jazz musicians, supermodels, my real life friends, and animals. These were pictures I meant to sketch; I wanted to draw realist arts like those by Andrew Loomis.

How I wish I could go back to that time when I was younger, naiver and hungrier, and not too critical of my own work that I become demoralized. Even when I knew that my hands were not those of an artist, I did not care; I whittled my time away while forgetting all my problems by drawing on blank sheets of Oslo paper.

I look at these stuff…

…and hope that the sun will shine on my sketchbooks again someday.

Cast My Fate to the Wind

Blue in Green (Miles Davis)

June 1, 2007

She was pretty cool to me before, and I was happy because I felt like we were beginning a beautiful friendship. But then post-vacation, after the time we were at each other’s presence, she refuses to talk to me. She didn’t answer when I sent her text messages and when I tried to call her. It was just very strange. While this may read as if I was being too persistent, I actually wasn’t. I’ve only tried to contact her thrice, and all I was trying to do was to thank her for her hospitality.

January 2, 2008

I came to the office today a tad earlier than usual. A new organizer sat atop my desk. It was left there by a girl I used to have a huge crush on (I was out of work the previous 2 weeks, so I didn’t see her when she came to visit). Why did she have to leave an organizer on my desk anyway? Such a painful reminder of her. If she wants me to remember her, couldn’t she just phone me and say, "I have something to give you let’s meet up somewhere"? Yeah, me and my silly fantasies.

So… thinking of this girl made me feel miserable. How could she be so friendly with me during the vacation days, and then treat me like I was a phantom after that? I was bothered by this for several months, because it’s not the first time I’ve met such kind of person, and I’m certainly not the only one who’s ever been "befriended" by those who do it only because I was a convenient way to shake off boredom. At modern times - or maybe just in an adult’s life - this happens a lot. Overnight friendships. One night stands. Something about how ephemeral all the warmth of such companionship never fails to depress me.

January 15, 2008

Sometimes the funniest things happen in my life. I was just complaining about how unexciting my life was when this happened: I saw that girl again.

We recognized each other, and she greeted me with the same hospitality that I recall was her characteristic. So we spoke to each other a bit. You know, the typical "comment allez vous" stuff. I really should write "how are you" instead but since I just ate French bread, I was still feeling a tad French-y. She recalled coming to my office two weeks ago and leaving a gift on my table, and she wondered if I had received it. I said I did. I never told her that I did not throw it away, nor did I tell her that I had been mad about at her. I do hope that she hadn’t read my blog. But I’m going off-tangent so, back to us. It was a conversation of two people treating each other professionally, meaning we’re pretending to like each other more than we really do. Or, at least I don’t like her as much as I appeared. I hope she likes me though.

She also said she’s being transferred to another department. She will now accommodate Makati clients instead of the Ortigas ones, although I could still contact her if I wanted to. Why, guess what, girl, pfft! I’M GLAD TO HEAR THAT YOU’RE BEING TRANSFERRED! Guess I won’t be seeing you again now that I won’t even try to contact you so out of my life you go mwuahahaha can I ask you out some time?!

May 19, 2008

Woman, you ought to know how annoyed I was when I heard that you’re coming here at an unspecified time tomorrow. I was neck deep into finishing the job assigned to me, you see, when that announcement was made and it disrupted all my train of thoughts. I spent the rest of the day fumbling about, not convinced that I wasn’t having a nervous breakdown, although somehow I made it home without being carried by stretchers.

May 20, 2008

Despite saying too often about how much I don’t like being reminded of you, the rest of me are more fond of you than my words would admit. They like you so much, that I need not see you to know you’re already here. I can sense you from the way you speak, that unmistakable Ilonggo-accented Filipino words being muttered like the way a saxophone could play any notes beautifully. My brain suspends thinking about all mundane things they pass off as logic when you’re present. Every time you giggle the sound of it reverberates inside my ears for hours as if I need to let marinate every nuances of it. You look like a splotch of colors in the middle of an unused canvas that begs to be painted. 

Did you notice, the moment you held my elbow, that I was incapable of talking, incapable of thinking straight besides wishing that this moment lasted longer? Did you count how many times I said something very random and how I would get embarrassed after that? Did you realize how frustrated I was that I only have to remember 5 minutes of the span of time we talked because that was how long it lasted, because the world had set to expedite this meeting? Why did you have to leave so soon? 

I wrote too often about my reluctance of seeing you again. Today I realized that these words were flatulence, and that I was a fool all along for not being honest with my feelings. Truth is, I was indescribably glad I saw you last Monday, even if I didn’t know if the smile you gave me meant anything, because that smile could’ve been just a fake bankteller one. But that didn’t matter. It also didn’t matter that I knew nil about you. The time you got on that cab, and as I watch it drove farther until you were merely a dot, I felt a sense of loss, a loss of vibrancy in my already dreary life. It only proved one thing that I was all along too hesitant to admit: I felt strongly about you.

I have taken everything in. And that’s why I’m letting everything go.

If you’ve been reading my blog and have been aware of this love-and-hate dilemma I trouble myself with whenever I think of you, know that I have let go of the hating and I will no longer hold you accountable for whatever anger and sadness I have felt in the past. That is all you need to know, and I can accept whatever that happens, even if it means never seeing you again. Sure, I still want to know you better, and if I can meet with you again I would feel terrific. But if that never happens, I’ll be fine, and will still be cheering on you from afar. Because, like how Toni Morrison said it, sometimes, seeing your kind of beauty is enough. I don’t need to photograph, paint or even remember it. I don’t need to write about it or even have someone to share it with. I just let go, because I can.

You Gave Me the Mood Indigo

There’s this bit about Truman Capote that never ceases to amaze me. According to him, he can remember 94% of his conversations with anyone. And while I can only wish to share his genius, his superb writing skills, and his ability to document about killers in non-judgmental way (see: In Cold Blood), today I can gloat about being able to remember more than 94 percent of the conversations I had. 

Because it was you who I was talking to. 

Despite having said too often how much I don’t like being reminded of you, the rest of me are more fond of you than my words would admit. They like you so much, that I need not see you to know you’re already here. I can sense you from the way you speak, that unmistakable Ilonggo-accented Filipino words being muttered like the way a saxophone could play any notes beautifully. My brain suspends thinking about all mundane things they pass off as logic when you’re present. Every time you giggle the sound of it reverberates inside my ears for hours as if I need to let marinate every nuances of it. You look like a splotch of colors in the middle of an unused canvas that begs to be painted. 

So you did not come wearing that white clothes after all. So it was red. So you made it apparent that the color of my cheeks was trying to compete with that red polo shirt you’re wearing every time you say something too cute. Did you notice, the moment you held my elbow, that I was incapable of talking, incapable of thinking straight besides wishing that this moment lasted longer? Did you count how many times I said something very random and how I would get embarrassed after that? Did you realize how frustrated I was that I only have to remember 5 minutes of the span of time we talked because that was how long it lasted, because the world had set to expedite this meeting? Why did you have to leave so soon? 

But you said you might come back tomorrow. I can tell you this much: I was at the edge of my seat this entire day, probably anxious, probably too fearful, probably could not feel the ground no matter how hard I stepped. Yet if pressed to say whether or not I want you to come back tomorrow, I’m sure you know how I feel. I’m sure you know that remembering the things we talked about in five minutes is less than satisfying to me. I’m sure you know how much I cursed the taxi for arriving too soon. I’m sure you know I’d like to spend more time with you, if only to test how long I can sustain remembering 94% of what you say. Maybe if our conversation went for hours, I’d still prove to be better than Capote in that regard, but I’d still not be satisfied. 

Isn’t that right, woman?

My Streams of Consciousness Part Two

I have a friend who lives near me, and he has a girlfriend who also lives nearby. His girlfriend and I also happen to be working in the same area, so we often take the same public vehicles home. 

But despite all these, and despite us being quite familiar of each other’s appearances, we’ve never spoken to each other. Truth to be told, I’d love to talk to her. My life’s been such a bore since this year started. Really, I’d love to talk to anyone. But after seeing her body language, I change my mind. 

To be exact, with or without her boyfriend besides, she deliberately ignores my presence and pretends to be asleep. She does not “wake” even if I’m chatting with her boyfriend - and I’m not much of a chatter in real life so I don’t believe that I’m disrupting their “conversation time” at all - perhaps to show that she has no interest in what I’m saying. What’s the deal with that? She thinks I lack the cognitive skills to see through her put-ons? So, yeah, this jeep we were on skidded abruptly, and her legs stood on the same spot instead of being pulled by inertia. 

If she candidly admits not wanting to be my friend, I’d have been cool.  But these acts do not simply suggest so. They also suggest that I’m not worth being respected. Point taken, since she’s trying to imply that I lack intelligence. That’s perhaps the worse kind of dissing anyone can get, and I hope she does not become the receiving end of it from someone else. I’m only disappointed of her using such a dumb tactic to imply that I lack intelligence, and I sure like to know what kind of dimwit will believe in her façade.

Whenever I’m not pissed off about other people, I’m pissed off about myself. And this self-loathing peaks whenever I lack inspiration. Perhaps you know that I’ve been taking up classes on web design. I’m currently doing my final project, and I’m trying to make it a magnum opus of sorts. Now if only I could come up with anything I’d find aesthetically pleasing. 

I went to multiple bookstores and, in my hunger for ideas, browsed through a few coffee-table books, none of which left me feeling sated. Blargh! As I was about to leave the mall, I heard a melodious call of my name, and that was it, my inspiration: a resplendent woman, who I’ve met three years ago and thus far have only seen thrice in my whole life. I was overwhelmed with the desire of lolling around with her, but our meeting was cut short, because she had to attend a meeting. 

And then I recall that I’ve never talked to her for longer than 10 minutes. I griped. 

So there goes my inspiration, coming and going as fugaciously as a soda’s fizz. I looked at her go, and I looked at her blur. And I wondered why everyone is so busy. 

Two girls, different sentiments, but all bitter. Perhaps, just another day in my life?

It’s a Conspiracy!

I hope novz will like this post. 

Sometimes I think that in my life, things happens with the most ridiculously conspired timing. Previously, I was complaining about my life being uneventful. That deprives me of inspiration, and without inspiration I don't write enthusiastically.

Fate may have read my blog post and said, "You want events? Here's an event! Now update your blog!"

Phooey! At least make that event PLEASANT! Frankly I'd rather NOT see HER so soon.

I'm referring to that GIRL.

But I'm getting ahead too fast. Here's what happened: I went out of my office to have my lunch. And just when I was about to come back to our office's building, I saw her standing outside the lobby.

We recognized each other, and she greeted me with the pleasantry of a masseuse. Bleah I'm dried of metaphors. So we spoke to each other a bit. You know, the typical "comment allez vous" stuff. I really should write "how are you" instead but since I just ate French bread, I'm still feeling a tad French-y. She recalled coming to my office two weeks ago and leaving a gift on my table, and she wondered if I've received it. I said I did. I never told her that I did not throw it away, nor did I tell her that I had been mad about at her. I do hope that she haven't read my blog. Wait, scratch that. I'd rather that she have read it, because she'll contribute to my Page Ranks, and in this day and age EVERY FRIGGIN BLOGGER MUST BE OBSESSED WITH PAGE RANKS! SO THERE SUCKERS I JUST SAID I WANT HIGH PAGE RANKS FOR THE FIRST TIME IN MY BLOGGING CAREER (gee do I try so desperately to make that sound grand)! Right, I'm digressing. Anyway, back to us. It was a conversation of two people treating each other professionally, meaning we're pretending to like each other more than we really do. Or, at least I don't like her as much as I appeared. I hope she has a crush on me though.

She also said she's being transferred to another department. She will now accommodate Makati clients instead of the Ortigas ones, although I still could contact her if I wanted to. Why, guess what, girl, pfft! I'M GLAD TO HEAR THAT YOU'RE BEING TRANSFERRED! Guess I won't be seeing you again now that I won't even try to contact you so out of my life you go mwuahahaha can I ask you out some time?!

See? See what's happening? That's a quality mixed feeling you're reading there.

Seriously, I still don't know if I should be glad of this chance meeting. She reminds me of a past disappointment but, then again, I still want to smell her hair and kiss her.

Que sera sera then.

My Streams of Consciousness

My gibbest challenge in maintaining a blog is to post an entry AFTER a long vacation. Though I can say a lot about those days, I do not know how to express it in a way that does not sound either euphoric or languid to the point of boredom and inaccuracy.

Grammar polices might already bug me to correct at least one word in the previous paragraph. No, sorry, I do mean "gibbest" and not "biggest". Yes, I feel the most like a castrated cat when faced with the challenge of posting post-vacation entries. Does that make sense? I'm sure it doesn't.

So hello 2008. I came to the office today a tad earlier than usual. A new organizer sat atop my desk. It was left there by a girl I used to have a huge crush on (I was out of work the previous 2 weeks, so I didn't see her). To be more accurate, she's given it to everyone in the office, but I do hope, anyway, that she cares for me more. Hoping is not a very bad thing, unless when you're a New York Knicks fan.

Er, why are you giving me that look? You're surprised that as misanthropist as I could be, it's amazing that I could still adore someone? Shut up. So, about my ex-crush. Oh geez, I just mentioned that word. I loathe calling people ex-crushes because that implies my defeat, if not annihilation. It's true in this case. Oh what in the world am I saying, it's just the second day of the year and already I'm feeling blue. You ain't been blue, no, no, no... Er, no singing. It must not rain in spring.

("Nightdreamer, will you please be more focused?" That's harder than you think, folks.)

Why does she have to leave an organizer on my desk anyway? Such a painful reminder of her. I wanted to throw it away, but it looks very embarrassing to be emo in the office (I'm not sure if emo doesn't look embarrassing elsewhere). If she wants me to remember her, couldn't she just phone me and say, "I have something to give you let's meet up somewhere"? Yes I'd say yes in about yes the same number of times yes James Joyce said it yes in the last hundred pages yes of Ulysses yes. Yeah, me and my silly fantasies. So… thinking of this girl made me feel miserable. She was one of the unpleasant memories of 2007, which has otherwise been a good year for me. Normally, when disappointments like this happen, people go "let go and move on". I'm not doing that right away before reflecting on what went wrong, because there's a lesson here, kids. Now open your Aesop's Fable, I'm about to tell you about this foxy lady.

[Yucky pun]

We don't work in the same place but it was in a company vacation of early 2007 that we met. Or, rather, she met our company as she booked our excursion. She and I established rapports in those few vacation days and we hung with each other a lot. We inevitably had to leave and to go back to doing the bugger of a deed that pays you but consumes your soul. Work, in other words. To keep us in touch, we added each other in Friendster. The first week since, I tried to contact her so that I could thank her for giving me a wonderful time. That was all I was trying to do, but, bizarrely, she NEVER answered my call, or replied to my SMS's. She even deleted me from her friends list. Why? If I was being too persistent, I would understand. But I only tried to call her twice, SMS'ed her once, and messaged her in Friendster once. I even reviewed my messages to see if there was anything in them that offended her. Can anyone tell me what's wrong with "Thank you for giving me a great time in the past few days"?

I was disheartened. How could she be so cool with me during the vacation days, then turn into a Medusa-whose-stares-turn-people-not-to-stones-but-to-phantoms after that? This bothered me for a lot of months, because it's not the first time I've met such kind of person. And I'm certainly not the only person who's ever been "befriended" by those who do it only because I'm, for the time being, a convenient way to shake off boredom. At modern times, or maybe just in an adult's life, this happens a lot. Overnight friendships. One night stands. People do not even TRY to keep connected anymore. Why even bother creating a social link in the first place if you're not going to give some attention to the other? Were we even like that back when our lives weren't dominated by coffee shops and the technological marvels of communications? Do they actually bring people closer?

[Ask your philosophy teacher. But, perhaps, they wouldn't know. They're hermits.]

It just annoys me. Readers, treat those you meet more as human beings than as fireworks. None of us are ephemeral displays of fancy, exceptions being if you're Sean Kingston or Paris Hilton or other tabloid-whores (the verdict of what's so fanciful about them is still pending). The rest of us deserves attention more often.

Anyway, the organizers this certain girl had handed out landed on a certain forlorn guy. The organizer says "Patio Pacific" but it's formerly known as Pink Patio. When I was on Shanghai (QUIET! THIS IS RELATED, I SWEAR!) there was a Feng Shui professor who suggested that I should buy a Pink Pixiu (I didn't buy it, though). Pink Patio. Pink Pixiu. I'm starting to think that someone is out there doing a practical joke on me.

It was nice knowing this girl, and I had memories of her, but we only passed each other by like ships in the dark. She has embittered my vacation twice, but it's ok. This time, I will no longer allow myself to chronicle her as the last (and the most - it's so trite to say "last but not the least", that lasts are now somewhat assumed to be the most) thing about my vacation. I still have a lot of better things to say about my Christmas and New Year, before I move on. Now, if only my thoughts on those could become more coherent in the next few days.

At least writing about her wasn't that hard.

Not verbally, anyway.