nothing makes me want to write more than an encounter with you. i don't think it's a very good sign, me getting this nasty urge to retrace my steps. i'm too old for that. we're too old for that.

*****

on the other hand... i'm so happy that you're happy. i just wish i could see the biggest smiles i've ever seen you smile.

*****

must.write.more.

In another universe, in a life that exists in between colored dreams and fleeting deja vus, I know that things are good. Not perfect, no... A perfect world doesn't exist, even in dreams. But still, perfect enough so that nothing else will matter.

(when studying for the bar, they say that you have to realize the price and consequences of daydreaming.)

it's okay..it's a price well-worth paying, as long as I know that you're living it out in this life.

***

There was something more I wanted to say. how quickly I forget! Next time.

Post from mobile portal m.livejournal.com

i wonder if you've thought of me at all...especially now, at this time, when this is all happening. i wonder if you've thought of me at all - in a congratulatory way, or in a good riddance way, in a wistful way, in a hateful way. it doesn't matter what way, i suppose. i just wonder if i've crossed your mind.

***

and so, the four years of toiling are over, and so begins the last and final lap. seems so surreal. i can still distinctly remember writing some journal entries that point to this exact moment, and how it felt so impossibly far away. and yet, i'm here now, a bit more accomplished than i expected, yet in more ways than one, in exactly the same spot that i was in four years ago.

it feels surreal, but nice. as much as i'd like to be bothered about all the emotional baggage of law school and everything else, i can't let myself be. 2010 is going to be one busy year. i can't wait to go through with it, and to claim my prize at the end: a six week vacation with my dad, finally. see you soon, pops! =)

***

i hope i get to write something more meaningful. law school has a way of secretly drying out your writing juices and reducing you to a bunch of "wherefores" and "hences" and "thusly." boring stuff, really. i'm afraid i've been sucked into this colorless shrivelled painfully dry academic world. being part of a group called "broadwaykada" helps, though. and i love them to death for accommodating me even when i can't relate to their wonderfully dramatic and explosive world. they remind me of what beautiful irrationality lies beyond these bland books of reason and repetition.

some people choose their career because of passion; while some choose the work because it feels like play. some choose to do what they love; some choose their paths in order to learn.

i envy these people. 

i went to law school because of a promise: a promise of a better life and future for me and my family. i must confess that the promise of being the idealistic young lawyer as a productive member of society came much, much later. the passion for reading the law and learning it - well, i have to admit. i'm still in the process of falling in love with this profession that i have given four years of the best part of my life to.

i'm really not complaining or anything, and i don't mean to sound ungrateful. it's just that now, with the end in sight, i'm getting scared that i might not actually like what i got myself into. it's similar to the whole fear-after-college-thing, but i guess the difference is, four years ago, when we were all wide-eyed and fresh from graduation, we all were scrambling for something to do. the question we asked most often was "what the hell do i want to do with my life?" now, the question is different. it is "is this what i really want to be doing for the rest of my life?" i'm scared i might have doomed myself into a life of stress and paperwork. i'm scared that i might have been blinded by that promise, without really looking into what that promise required of me. i'm scared that i can't choose not to be a lawyer anymore. i'm scared that i won't be a good one either, because all good grades predict is more good grades, not success. what if i'm only a good student, but not a good worker?

this thought scares me the most: i feel like i have lost the right to ask, or to ponder on these thoughts. i'm too old. i've gone too far. i've done too much. i've invested too much time and effort. so has my family. i can't let them down.

funny, i thought that graduation anxiety only visits those who graduate from college.

***

on the bright side, i'm going to be a lawyer soon. and i'm going to do my parents proud. wow. =)

there must be something with the new year that makes us desire to sync our own personal revolutions with the earth's revolution around the sun. maybe it's rooted in astronomy or something, the way we all wait for the new year to start and hope for changes in our lives. so, in honor of this traditional mindset, i spent the last day of an extraordinarily long year looking for Venus and watching the stars pop up one by one. i lost myself in the sound of my niece's delighted squeals and drowned my thoughts with the peaceful and rhythmic crashing of the ocean's waves.

as the sun began its descent, i saw the moon rise and grow bigger and brighter than i have ever seen it before. it basked in the last rays of 2009, as if to say good riddance. i took the quiet grandeur of the sky as a beautiful omen of the year to come - as a sign of good faith from the heavens that there was a wonderful little secret in store for me, just waiting to be told and discovered.

the sun and the moon strung together across the sky held so much promise. if night and day can exist in the same sky, things couldn't be all bad.

i hope.

***

so you set yourself up for disappointment

and you tell yourself - everyday -

that you shouldn't put all your eggs in one basket
that you shouldn't get too cocky
that you shouldn't go home with a bigger smile than is necessary

that today might mean shit
because each day is different from the one before
and tomorrow will be an entirely different story

that you shouldn't hope
or expect
because you used to,
and well. look where - and what - that brought you.

so you decide to finally settled your score with this cynical little thought
and to accept that maybe things may be a little easier -
albeit, a little less sunny that you'd like -
if you don't think about tomorrow
or the week after next
or next year

JUST YET.

and you coast along, comfortable as can be
(just like that story of the princess who couldn't sleep with the tiny little pea under her layers of mattresses)
and you find other things to be happy about
and to smile about

little things, like
good food
good movies
good music

a quiet house with puppy hugs
weekends with good friends
weeknights with good friends
a warm and cozy coffee shop
internet on your phone
a beautiful food blog

and just when you think that you can handle it

it hits you.
and you're back to square one.
disappointed, of course.

silly, silly girl!

(if you're curious, the princess who slept with the pea under her layers of mattresses woke up black and blue all over.)

it's funny how natural it feels to slip into the feeling of home.

it's so easy to forget the comfort you get from something as simple as having yakult when you have a cup of black coffee every morning, or lying down and settling into a cozy couch when you're always sitting on an office chair. it's easy to let go of the smell of homecooked meals like sinigang and simple spaghetti sauce when you're surrounded either by fancy shmancy restaurants or McDonald's, or the old-school look of Super Mario World and Adventure Island in the wake of super-charged Tekken 6 fighters and Wii tournaments. it has become much too simple to let go of familiarity when daunted by adventure, by experience, by change.

i remember going to the corner store of our house in the province and buying our manito, manita gifts there. my cousins and i - all 21 of us - would troop down to that store with Php20 and shop for our respective babies, on the same day that we were supposed to exchange gifts. i remember giving my sister, Chinggay, who was my manita for one year, a yellow star-shaped pencil sharpener. i received junk food that particular year. if i remember right, i got a whole bunch of Sadami - this cheap cheese-flavored chips sold in bulk that you eat in two handfuls.

for Christmas 2009, my sister got me an aqua leather bookbag/attache of sorts - her dedication said "an addition to your corporate attire," in anticipation of my coming graduation, i suppose. i gave her a rubber duckie: a waterproof bag where she could stash her stuff and protect her electronics during boat rides and beach trips, for the many travels she planned to take this year. for both of us, we saw 2010 as a year when we saw the world. ideally, anyway.

a few nights ago, i had a cup of chocolate eh. and i swear, it felt like i had just clicked my heels and travelled 20 years back.

"is it good?," said he, the one who served the hot steaming cup.

"tastes like home," said I, instinctively, and i felt a rush that i had not felt before. seriously.

it was nostalgia, wonder, wistfulness, and longing, all rolled in one. it was the strangest mix of emotions i've ever experienced.

i've been searching for that feeling of home again, in everywhere and in everyone. i felt it, in a several other things:

in spending Christmas with my best friend.
in that (third) First Kiss, yet again. 
in going to Simbang Gabi.
in having Dairy Queen. Dilly Bars, like with my dad.
in old songs, written by old friends, sung by old bands that I used to know.
in having lunch with my Yaya, and having her take care of me, like always.
in dressing up in the mornings with my sister, in a room that we share.

the memory - and the experience - of home makes it that much harder to leave it behind. the truth of the matter is, however, moving on is inevitable. nevertheless, for a few moments, it's wonderful to revel, remember, and relive the unspoken comforts of the walls that saw us grow and the hands and hearts that propelled us forward.

Today, I lay in bed with the boy and the other.

Strange to see how their dynamic worked - 
how she held on so tightly to his hand
and how, despite my encouragement, both he and she
refused to let go.

Tonight I saw how he looked while falling asleep
with the other's hand in his,
she being so unaware of how needy and dependent she was
of his presence.
I witnessed how she,
so unsettled despite
the soft pillows and the gentle contours of the sheets,
only slept soundly
curled up against his body.
I saw how he refused to leave her side,
inspite of his unnecessary warmth,
and how his peace came
just when he heard the other
breathe rhythmically.

They dreamt
at the same time
and of the same place
of the same colored dreams
and I suspect
that they saw nobody else but each other there.

Their snores were the most
painful sounds I heard.
Damn.

They spoke of my own brokenness
my own uncertain future
my own unspeakable failures.

They spoke of what I missed and of what I saw
The blacks, whites, and grays in between,

and of their own unfulfilled wishes and promises.

And I felt that I wasn't needed.

everyday for the past week, i've come home to a different bedroom.

last monday, my bed disappeared.
the next day, my airconditioner followed.
the day after that, my computer table was transferred to another room.
when thursday rolled around, all my stuffed toys were packed in huge red and white plastic bags.
on friday afternoon, my cushions were brought to the other house.
on saturday morning, i threw out my old shoes.
this sunday night, i went home to find a box filled with some photo albums and old books.

we've been trying, little by little, to pack the past 10 years into manageable little boxes, so that we can move on and unpack our lives into a smaller condo unit. my room looks like a stockroom now. i'm dreading the day when i will have to open my old shoeboxes of letters and photos that i had tucked away so lovingly in the back of my closet. if i close my eyes now, i will see clearly how i've categorized the past 24 years of my life:

a grade school shoe box, which includes letters that my best friend told our entire class to write me because i was sick and absent from school. she brought sheets and sheets of stationery, so i have 39 blue and white plaid envelopes from my classmates, all containing wishes of health and stories of what happened during the day.

a grade 7 box, which had notes that were passed underneath tables and in between breaks.

one box, for each and every year of highschool, where palancas, ID's, some report cards, and some pictures are kept. my one year in miriam is packed neatly into one container.

one box, for all the letters that had been sent between me and my best friend throughout the 20 years we've known each other. and two other boxes, for all the other letters that i have ever received.

one box, for the things i can't categorize - for those that mean too much to just be in the "high school" box; for those that encompass time and space; for those that go beyond years and in fact, constitute eras and turning points of my life.

everytime i spring clean, i always resolve to streamline how i categorize my memorabilia. eventually, however, the cleaning turns into reminiscing, and before i know it, the sun has set and the day has passed, without me ever having thrown anything out. i just re-arrange how i've kept them into more space-efficient places and blow off the dust from the old art projects, cd's, invitations, and dried up flowers. i can't seem to find the heart to get dispose of them.

i honestly don't know how i'm going to get rid of my stuff. i'm scared that if i do discard of these things, i would forget everything that has made me into who i am. i'm scared of not being able to recognize the person in the mirror if all the physical objects which signify my growth are just discarded, as if they meant nothing to me. regardless of the emotions behind the words, regardless of the anger beneath the images, regardless of the pain strung through notes that sing the deepest of feeling, regardless of the tears that spill from pages and pages of confessions, secrets, and apologies, i keep wanting to hold on to my past, in firm belief of... something. for some strange yet spiritual reason, i realize that i revel in remembering.

the other day i saw a homemade photo calendar that my high school friends made for me when i turned 19, stuck under bills, envelopes, index cards, and loose sheets of bond paper. knowing how much i liked to chronicle my activities, they made me a planner, and for each month of the year, from september 2003 to september 2004, they made collages of our times together. september 2003 was for my debut, october was for soph night, november was for repertory summers, december was for prom, january was for mica's birthday, february was for poveda days. you get the picture.

it was lovely re-reading the places i went to during that  year, and i was surprised at how i remembered each event so clearly. i remember how i felt and what i did on october 25, 2003, a day that was marked by a simple asterisk. i remember what was said on the 11th of the same month, which only said "chateau." i remember rushing to greenbelt to catch "under the tuscan sun" after a colayco afternoon sessions on the 12th of november. i remember being on mia's house, on the 28th of february, to celebrate lady's birthday. i even remember what i wore that day. oddly, however, as the year progressed and the plot of that year of my life thickened, i stopped filling in the boxes. the months of june all the way to september 2004 remained empty. but i still remember how that year changed my life, and how i was different because of it.

i still don't know how to even begin downsizing the stuff that is my life. my mom says she wants to out of this house by the end of september. that means i will have a little less than a month to prepare me for that long day of segregating what i want to remember and what i want to forget. i have no clue how to ready myself for such a day. i'm not so sure that i want to, either.

***

she opened her eyes from another useless nap. tired of road blocks, dead ends, and visions that ended only with the day's sunset, she decided that today was going to be different. today, she was going to go step out into the world and meet her future head on. she was tired of looking back, of celebrating nothing more than just her past. the past couple of years had been a dream - wisp of smoke, a mirage of what she could only hope she would have in the future.

she rubbed the sleep off her eyes and shook her head. no more illusions. no more pretensions. she wanted to see. clearly, this time. no more of this love-conquers-all bullshit. she was going to rid herself of what the disney princesses had taught her.

***

i have a confession to make.

i am a blog-stalker. one of my favorites is kara's blog, and (without her permission, i really do hope she doesn't mind) i want to re-post what she's written:

is it cheesy if i say that all i ever really want to achieve in life,
aside from being rich and blissfully in love,
is the ability to inspire?

because you know that feeling like your life is the most mundane
and tomorrow is not exciting
and tonight is no good because your eyeballs hurt, or something hurts
or maybe your heart feels heavy
or it's itchy. but you can't scratch it. because how can you scratch a heart?
or how can you soothe a heart.
when your fingers can't go that far.

and at that point, you know that the only thing that can make you feel better
is something that will move you.
and inspire you.
a beautiful photograph or an inspiring talk
or a quote from someone who is now dead but once lived a life off someone else's quotes.

and instantly, in a flash, you feel like there is hope again
and your stomach starts to flutter
and tomorrow is a new day
and on friday you decide to make homemade pizza.
and on saturday you'll dye your hair mahogany.
and suddenly your life is exciting again because the smallest things can make you smile.
like fast food and new episodes.
and oh how great it feels to just smile.

yes, that's the kind of power i want to have.

because even a surgeon, who can, i just realized,
scratch your heart...
even a surgeon can't inspire you like that.

no he can't!

when i get too hung up in this boring world of legalese and jurisprudence, when the law boxes me up in words like precedent and consequences, i find inspiration in the words of those who struggle, just as i do, and i am reminded of what it feels like to still have that fire to create and to move.

there's a witty TV show which said that there are a few things that you can do with your anger. you can either -

forgive,
let it all out,
or let it all go.

many would tell you that the last one of the three is the smartest choice.

true, i suppose. but if you do happen to decide to let things go instead, what happens when you wake up the next morning wanting to take everything back?

to be honest, i am tired. it's exhausting to keep on holding on to so much excess baggage. it's heavy. it's like that scene in Up, where the old man pushed out all his furniture so that he'd be able to run after his new adventures. it would be lovely to do that but i guess at the end of the day, even if you want to let everything go, you go to sleep still wanting to have the license to be angry when you wake up the next morning. because sometimes, without the anger, without the fear, without the doubt, there's nothing of you left. or, what would be left is what you worked so hard to get rid off.

it's quite complicated, you see, this whole moving on business. they say you should forgive and forget. can you just forgive and not forget? most people are like that. perhaps it's the simpler solution to matters of the heart. but can you just forget and not forgive? can you forget about forgiving all together? can you just move on, look ahead, run as fast as you can, and pray that the past never catches up to you?

i don't know. one thing i know for sure - when you're running away from something, it's almost impossible not to look back.

mood: listless