new manila

I love passing by New Manila. I could never afford to live there but it doesn’t stop me from admiring the sprawl of old money mansions, and the modern townhouses which line its deserted streets. It doesn’t have the warmth of my neighborhood. I suppose many of those who live there would rather stay indoors in the air-conditioned splendor of their huge homes. But I live for the days when I pass through Gilmore, Broadway, or Balete, and alternating shafts of sunlight penetrate the tree-lined streets. These crepuscular rays never fail to delight me. They appear like fingers from the skies, stabbing the ground in some dusty fashion.

mansions versus palaces

I understand I have given the impression I hate my present job. And perhaps, a month into it, I still do. The task is daunting, and work-life balance is a challenge. Regardless, I’m quite proud of the work I’ve put out, and in a way, grateful for the training I’ve been receiving. There’s huge emphasis on research in the organization, and standard procedures have to be followed at all costs. There are also endless meetings, collaborations, discussions, and learning cycles. But the rigorous process of accomplishing tasks have only sharpened my eye for detail. I never thought I could be this meticulous or patient in writing or researching.

Not to mention, it is a job I’m quite proud of (which is ironic when I dread going to work everyday.) Where I am, they truly foster a culture of excellence and innovation. For one thing, the company has a great track record. Management is robust, the salary is great, and the benefits are light years away from my first job. In as little as three weeks, I’ve managed to save more money than my year-end bonus from my last employer. The physical working environment is really good too, and my colleagues are all hardworking, fast thinking, results-oriented individuals equipped with tremendous communication skills. Being surrounded by smart, driven, eloquent individuals inspire me. I can really see and feel their passion for the services our organization offers. After all, the products and services themselves are quite the technological implements. I’ve never been this immersed to technology in my life, to say the least. Coming in the office, I’m not ashamed to show off my door key and ID lanyard bearing my company’s name.

Perhaps, the only concern then is that I cannot see myself in this line of work for a long time. I’m not in anyway a techie, and I would go so far as to think myself as computer illiterate. Heck, installing programs and applications in my devices give me a headache. So to write about things I cannot fully grasp is a challenge, and the learning curve as a result, is steeper than the K2 mountain. I cannot see myself dedicating fourteen hours of my life - like how the regular employees here do - talking about technological and technical ideas I personally cannot relate to. I have no qualms about working fourteen, even twenty hours of work if necessary. But the people here work such long hours everyday, they practically live and breathe the air-conditioned sniff of the office. I can’t imagine them living a life outside work.

If anything, I want a job that I can be proud of, and that really makes use of my skills (not necessarily writing) to contribute to the overall goals of the organization. I like being part of a team that is committed to a single goal. I want to continue to work - regardless if it’s a rank and file position - and making a living out of hard work, sacrifice, and honesty in my duties. But certainly not at the cost of my entire life. I have passions I would like to pursue, and resolutions I would like to implement. I also have a family to attend to, and parents and siblings I would love to support. If a job takes away hours and hours every work day, then what energy or time would be left for me to also nourish the more valuable things in life?

You might accuse me as lazy, and I would do no favors defending myself. But I’m also working to be a man of proportion. I want a life that matters, where I am doing something that is genuinely good. I want a life that doesn’t settle for the superficial: no shitty life coaching, no sappy confidence boosting - a life which exceeds emotional, financial, and spiritual veneers. Yes, I’m still young, and perhaps I am too restless. But I’m also someone who values time, and I know for a fact I can never have what is lost to it. Maybe soon enough, I will find the right career for me, where my professional skills can flourish without compromising my personal duties to self, family, and society. For now, I’m surviving, motivating myself in whatever way I can. I work the hard hours writing, picking up new things from my supervisors, and taking everything as a learning experience - no matter how emotionally draining, or time-consuming. Because if there is one thing I love, and I think I’m still good at, it’s learning.

I keep only one thing in mind: mansions are easy to built but palaces take time.

I’m 23 and I need to make some changes in my life.

I’m 23 and I need to make some changes in my life. These include, but are not limited to, the following:

  • strike a right balance between personal and work life
  • eat better, eat well, sleep better
  • read more, surf less
  • learn more about simple gardening skills
  • help out in household chores especially during the weekend
  • exercise - buy decent running shoes; jog during the weekend
  • set aside a day in a month to reacquaint with friends
  • invest in better, more professional-looking clothes
  • delete all attempts at online dating accounts
  • join an organization outside work i.e. volunteer groups, a church chorale, outreach groups
  • self-study: buy better books; learn: attend writing workshops and the like
  • save before spending; focus on goal of becoming financially independent
  • continue freelance writing and editing options; look for other genuine sources of income
  • set more earnings aside to assist family with the finances
  • stop worrying about being single
  • take longer walks with my dogs
  • unfollow celebrities in various social media accounts; stop living my life vicariously
  • pray more often, pray better
  • travel around the city; go out of town at least once in every four months 
  • less inspirational quotes and more assertive action with follow through
  • post less in Facebook and Twitter
  • proofread better
  • listen to more classical music
  • visit more museums and art galleries; stop being lazy attending friends’ events
  • watch plays
  • and finally, go to the beach because I haven’t been to one in over eight years

There is an adrenaline rush in writing unique to its process: the thrill when an idea blooms in your heart, and begins to take form in your brain; the restlessness of the hands to find paper, pen, notebook, or device to record the first surge of ideas; the pleasurable misery in searching for structure; the bouts of mania interspersed by brief seconds of calm in the desire for eloquence; the victory upon completion; the vice of our quirks – music, silence, sea or mountain – enhancing the writer’s possessed state; the collision of courage and fear in a fevered display of unity – when time, space, existence all seem to merge. The result? A few words. Some verses. A book. A play. A way of life. A living, breathing material of man’s inundated consciousness.

My best friend left for Australia yesterday afternoon. As soon as I got home from work, I went to the balcony and watched the sky for any plane passing by, pretending it was his flight, and I was waving goodbye, because I could not be there at the airport.

He has set his sights on further studies in healthcare. I could not be prouder. Nothing thrills me more than to see him happy, especially after hurdling the last year since his father passed away. I am inspired by his emotional strength, and unquestionable diligence. In spite of the tragedy, he never lost a sense of self, which has equipped him the clarity and focus needed to move forward. I can only wish I can say the same to myself. I know my best friend would reprimand me for selling myself short.

I miss him already. Yes, Sydney’s not a whole day away like any European or North American city. And yes, we now have the technology that allows us to collapse time zones and geographic boundaries. But it’s not the same as our random, tangible dates. Nothing could ever measure up to seeing each other in person, not even a video call.

The thing is, despite having different set of friends, we’ve always managed in every single time we see each other to pick up where we last left, as if we’ve been hanging out all year long. Throughout the years I’ve known my best friend, he has been nothing short of supportive. I turn to him for practical advice. I ask his opinion on decisions I am about to take. He never fails to remind me at the end of the day it’s not his advice that’s going to matter, it is really my courage and decisiveness.

I have relied on him the way he has relied on me. Whenever he needs help in any writing endeavor – whether it is editing his papers; working on prose for Literature courses back in university; making his impromptu speeches when he was student council president in high school; or writing the perfect visa application letter – I am always glad to offer help.

He makes me feel valuable, because he treasures me well enough for words to be useless.

It will be a while until we see each other again. As for now, I have to make my own adjustments. It won’t be as convenient anymore to call him, ask him to come by our house for a chat, or go to some café in the district to talk about our love lives (of which mine is always non-existent). But I am happy. I know he will do well. He will do great for his family, for his friends, for me, and for his father. He will continue to make us proud.

breakdown

My first week at work was terrible. The job was much more than I thought it would be. I was overwhelmed by the task at hand, and could not adequately process all the information necessary for the post. Unable to cope with stress, I had a nervous breakdown last Thursday. I was mentally tired, emotionally drained, and physically exhausted. When I was on my way home the traffic was painfully slow, all the buses were full, and the waiting line for the taxi snaked for meters on end. It was the worst day of my life and I found myself weeping on the sidewalk, perhaps the subject of ridicule and whispers by passerby’s.

What made the whole week terrible was the fact that just a few weeks before I was both on an emotional and spiritual high – celebrating my birthday and attending a reinvigorating retreat. Yet, I was ill-equipped to handle the big changes especially for someone like me, who came from a smaller office where the work was easier to accomplish and the relationship between colleagues were tight-knit. All of a sudden, I was lonely, foolish, scared, and humiliated.

I ate lunch alone in my new office. Soon enough, I lost my appetite. I was unable to get any decent sleep when I got home. I tossed and turned in my bed thinking and dreading another working day. At my desk, I always felt like vomiting. I kept looking at the task at hand and everything felt impossible to finish. I incensed family and friends with my stress, and similarly infected them with my negativity.

But my gut feel told me this new job wasn’t something I wanted to do. Yes, I could force myself to learn it, but it wasn’t something that was going to make me happy or content or proud. I made a bad job decision – twice. The first was giving up my first job offer for my present work. People must me laughing at me right now. There is only regret.

It’s been impossible for me to enjoy anything. My mind is on overdrive right now. I keep on thinking if I should quit since I am not only torturing myself but I am also being a disservice to my new company. How can I deliver the best when I am in such an emotional mess? It’s embarrassing that I am simply wasting other people’s time.

And now, not only am I aggravated by the fact everything is my fault, but I’m certainly disappointed on the idea I am a quitter, and a coward, and that I face greater uncertainty if I do give up and resign.

It’s so easy for people to advice me not to quit. They tell me I’m too young not to learn. They tell me the discomforts are worth it. They tell me I need to overcome this adversity. What they do not understand is that I am simply out of place in the nature of my work. It is something I should have considered beforehand. Easy words and worn-out quotes cannot help me.

I survived my first week. I don’t know if I can last another. I am too tired to think and I just want to restart and fix my series of missteps. I wish I still had the strength. But I’m too bruised to function at the moment. I am too much for this too much.

Some days, I can’t bring myself to pick up a book or watch a film. I am scared of opening anything, reading anything, or watching anything. I’m scared of being too immersed with settings, or too attached with characters. I remember watching October Sky when I was around thirteen. For many weeks afterwards, I was always thinking about small town America – rural regions like a remote community in North Dakota, a quaint farmhouse in Kansas, or some rugged suburb down Texas. In much the same way, I was so enriched by J.M. Coetzee’s Disgrace, it took me days to shake off the idea I was in South Africa. The vividness of his prose saw me twisted in the coils of literary prowess and practically in love with words.

Fiction coming to life scares me. It is almost it creeps under my skin, covers me, and cloaks me. I feel like I enter a new world that is real – as words and images are real – yet mere creations of the mind. A world seemingly impossible to leave.

A retreat, especially one that is exclusive for men, is perhaps the last place where one should coddle silly affections and infatuations. And yet, I found myself in another short-lived affair, a brief yet near electrifying encounter with a complete stranger, in between those moments of solitude, and minutes of prayer. Closed off from the rest of the world, minor attachments are formed despite the obvious need for propriety.

I do not know if he was married. He probably was, with a ring in one of his fingers. Most of those who attended the retreat were anyway. But since the first day of the retreat, we had shared several glances, mostly as a result of looking around the room where the activities were held, during the free waiting periods. We had literally bumped into one another a few times along the hallways of the retreat center during breaks. And once after lunch, we caught each other staring back, resulting in awkward attempts to pretend looking at something else.

But today, on the last day of the retreat, something happened. If you expect this to be a filthy recollection of a nasty tryst in the midst of a holy activity, well, you might be disappointed. Instead, it was a silent encounter with him – a wordless, shared connection that was unexpected.

Sitting in one of the benches after lunch, I had been waiting for the bell to ring for the next activity. While reading a book, I noticed someone approaching the bench opposite where I sat. My heart started beating recklessly, like any normal heart afflicted by such attractions. It was him. He sat quite near where I did, and was browsing through his phone. And then, he looked at me. When I looked back, he looked away, almost as if I had caught him off-guard. And yet, when I bowed my head to continue reading, I could see through my peripheral vision he was observing me. I caught him staring at me a few more times before I left. Just the same, he moved away to the holding area near the benches where we sat. When I returned, he did too. At that point, I was already engulfed in embarrassment.

Had he noticed me noticing him? Was this just a stranger randomly observing his proximity? Why is he following me?

The bell rang, and we both returned to the auditorium. While I continued on my reading, I suddenly had the urge to look at where he was seating a few rows in front of me, when once again I saw him looking. He swiftly moved his stare as far away as he could when I caught him. I was surprised. My heart was then near collapse. It was almost as if he wanted to say something to me, the same way I felt this overwhelming urge to speak to him.

We never did.

I know I sound like a fool in recounting this story. Perhaps, it was really nothing and like a naïve, presumptuous fool, I was simply a victim of my overthinking. He was after all married. And within the context of where I was, and the organization hosting the retreat, he would be the least bit concerned about same-sex attraction. I personally find it highly improbable. I have easily considered he may simply have found me so plain-looking he needed to observe me. Or maybe there was something wrong in my face. Who knows?

And yet, those fleeting minutes so engorged my senses, I could not bear the confusion. The signals were mixed. Still, they rummaged through my head effectively, taking advantage of a heart and soul in solitude, when it was perhaps most prone to physical sensations.

I’ve experienced these rare occasions before: once, when I was in university, another when I was on the train. I hate to use the term serendipitous but that was how these moments felt. I never found out the name of the man in the retreat. Nor did I ever find the name of that boy in a red Jansport bag in front of the Engineering building. Or that nurse who helped me in the cramped MRT before he alighted at Shaw Boulevard.

I once wrote about that boy at the train station. And though it seems rather odd to say, despite the briefness of time spent, I fell in love with the man at the retreat the way I did with the nurse at Shaw Boulevard station. I fell in love the same way I gushed at the guy in the red Jansport backpack who kept smiling at me while I was smoking along España.

Such encounters are better off as they are: simply encounters. Preserved in their short life is a mystery, one I can indulge in until the memories of their faces are chipped away by time. Of course, a tinge of sadness pierces my insides in wondering. But I would rather not know their names. I would rather have them as ephemeral moments, floating in my head and my heart, as far away from the claws of reality, as damn distant as possible from the dangers of expectations.

lenten lessons

If it explains anything, I’ve been attending a Lenten retreat for the last two days and so writing has taken a backseat. In fact, almost everything else has - reading, thinking, drinking, talking, sometimes even eating courtesy of fasting and abstinence.

For three days, I signed up for the works - meditation, masses, prayers, talks, discussions, spiritual direction, and individual contemplation. I must say, I have found this opportunity to be quite refreshing despite the often arduous and difficult arguments on reason and faith, and certain reconciliations of lifestyle with religious teachings and habits. Regardless of those apprehensions and their consequent compromises, I’ve thoroughly enjoyed the retreat so far. It has really focus-sharpened my personal goals and adjusted my overall perspective in the way I hope to lead my life.

I guess one of the biggest lessons I’m taking away is the spirit of detachment. Along with this, is a greater appreciation for personal struggle. I have found myself at fault, measuring success as material wealth, and happiness as mere objects of the earth. I have wrongly dreamed of things which are merely passing. As a result, I have been plagued not only by doubts, but also jealousies, miseries, and loneliness. I am too anxious of losing control in my life that instead of living it, I’ve simply been avoiding every hardship on my way. With a new job on the way, I think the retreat came at the right time, and now I think I am better equipped to take on new challenges and open new, exciting doors for personal growth.

Live simply. Live in proportion. Live with what suffices.

While I still argue that one must know what he or she deserves, so that he or she will never settle, it is also just as important to take in the bad, and make the most out of the circumstances. Whining, complaining, regretting, worrying, and indulging self-righteousness will lead no where. From now on, I must live my life not cloaked by spiritual veneer; rather with a depth of understanding for the soul. Life is a struggle. Suffering is inevitable. I need to take it like a man. I need to make the most out of my seemingly ordinary life.

No more comparisons. No more competition. I have this great chance to be not just successful, or financially stable. Even more important is the opportunity to simply be a better person, with kindness in his heart, with rectitude of intention, and with a desire to actually do something good with my time on earth.