Don't Be Hatin'!

These past few days, I have been trying to analyze a person’s actuations---the long face, the sudden silence, a defiant silence that says “leave me alone, people”. It’s very easy to understand that, the wanting to be alone part, except that nobody knows where it’s coming from, and how unexpectedly. The awkward feeling is really unwarranted, especially in a place where only a handful of familiar faces deal with each other everyday. I mean, sure there are no catfights and open animosity to worry about. But pretending that everyone is collectively okay about it, for days going, while the other person marches in and about as if she’s on a global strike, well isn’t it easier to just join the picket line and boycott her the same way?

But I wouldn’t want to. I want to understand how the other person is feeling. Have we done anything wrong? Was it a slight? PMS maybe? Or just plain bad mood? Well, it’s easy to assume things, especially if the person is not so keen to keep her body language in check. So do I go up to her and talk about it? But how, when she suddenly storms out of the room at the first opportunity, avoiding everyone like a plague? I probably have had enough of this sour face that I’m really close to losing my top, and tempted to rant about it in the open. I guess I won’t.

Thank goodness for blogs where I can vent out all of these maddening thoughts, and yeah, expose my vulnerability in the process. But who cares. Isn’t this a better option, than ruminate a fight plan and eventually get myself into an epic verbal scuffle with a person? So, blogging is the answer. I promise, the moment I get over into my last sentence, I’ll feel better. I just needed to get this off my shoulders. I hope though that the bone of my contention realizes what an emotional aggravation this whole thing is to me, and to the rest of the clueless world….

It’s funny that as we grow older, the harder it becomes to open up and be forthright with our feelings towards other people. There are such things as a heart-to-heart talk, but I believe with people our age, it’s more of the head that does the dealing. Often, we hesitate to lay down all our cards, and only in a tiny moment of vulnerability will we reveal more of what’s inside us. But we would withdraw once again, with such alacrity, because it always seems imperative to be in control of the game and be poker-faced about it.

Children are different. They are brutal with truth, but once they say what’s in their hearts, there is no emotional baggage or excesses that’s carried over. They'll leave, move on with life lightly, and without apprehensions. It is only around their growing up years that they learn to fib and distort the truth. It’s a rite of passage, a milestone that sadly marks their entry into the corrupt world of adults.

If I were to be a child again this very moment—blunt and honest--- all I can say about this whole commotion is:

It’s just jealousy, honey.

Get over it.

And don’t be hatin’!

awakening...

Reflecting on the events of the past weeks, I cannot help but suspect that something is up with the year 2007. Many unpleasant things have happened, not to me but to people I know and care about, and I can only wish the unfortunate string would be cut off this very instant and we can go about our business like we’ve always used to, minus the hard luck. As for my own life, it’s still the same…not so good and not so bad. I have a lot to be thankful for everyday, especially that the kids are growing up fine and healthy, but personally I have not found a good reason to really inhale and say “this is the life”. I am not complaining, but God knows I would be shamefully lying to myself if I said it is sweet and nice. There is the perennial pattern of being poor and sucking up to the system, and I mean all systems. In my mind I am a grand dame of some neverland, but in reality I am one of the nameless millions who carry on with their lives wishing for something better, and yet not getting as much as a notch higher, where comfort and quality of life are concerned. Is it because I am married into poor money, and that having children has been a poor choice as well? Oh god I wish not, because really I wouldn't trade any millions, if I had it, for the happiness I feel with my little children. But still, you wish for those millions, don’t you?….not for yourself, but for the children who right this very minute play in the yard, blissfully unaware of the worries and consternation you feel, while you look at them with sad eyes. I think that I have completely owned up to my responsibilities as a parent, and I can never be selfish enough to think of my needs, in deference to theirs, but it is the apparent truth that to fulfill whosever needs, we must provide….

On the other hand I recently finished this book, The Awakening, by Kate Chopin. It is a story of a married woman , Edna Pontellier, whose life seems to be in a cage, but not in a bad confining way, as it seems on the surface she has everything: a wealthy life, a generous husband and two lovely boys. However, deep inside her she wanted to be free of society’s rules, to be unlike all other women who conform and do as they were expected. She was awakening to a new sphere where she comes to be her own woman and appreciates her physical and external powers, which were pregnant with sensuality and the passion she otherwise found lacking in her relationship with her husband. She took on a lover, believing that she could sacrifice the unnecessary things and reject society’s expectations, and find the self she thought she had lost in the roles she was condemned to.

However in the end, she had to make her own tale’s conclusion, as her discovery of maternal giving and loving had led her to understand that she could not go on with her unique and independent sense of self, by being what she wants, and having to be a mother to her children and a wife to her husband, all at once. As her lover rejects her, she walks into the water and swims away from the shore and from everything, thus the suicide. And, probably, the belated purpose to find herself again.

Once I put the book down, I thought…is this me? I don’t mean the lover or suicide, even if to be honest I had entertained the thought of the latter vaguely once or twice, but yeah what the heck, any form of dying is painful unless you’re born with case of catatonia. But seriously, is this how some mothers or married women must feel? Somehow? Is there a minutest moment in our lives where we feel that having married and raising kids have made us lose our sense of womanhood, of self, of personal growth? And if like Edna, we live in a society, that in spite of its modernity, has double standards, and still frown at women who indulge in their individuality a little too openly that it threatens to tear up their so-called moral fiber, well…are we to assume a mute compliance, and be the perfect mothers and wives, loyal only to our masters? Maybe I can, or will not.

I am afraid though, that when I feel I have too much to fight for my evolution as a woman, in the event that I have the full command of my freedom that I could finally grasp it on my fingers, I would be much too old and useless to enjoy, or even want it...

Hell Hath No Fury

…. Like a woman scorned, not in love, but in doing what she thinks is right. The past few days I have been in such a disposition, that the contemptible ones who thought I could be waylaid by questioning my professionalism at work and spiting me for exposing their inveterate practices-- have thought otherwise and steered clear of my way. The husband and wife team of mandrills now know better than to monkey around. And just in case they don’t know this one other thing, I WILL BE my scorned self until hell freezes over.

From Hell to Eternity

Have you noticed how certain people get into you; hit a raw nerve even if they are not aware of it? Or maybe they are, but they choose to be on the dense side and slight you anyway? Because I could never believe that everyday I go to work with these kinds of creatures that most definitely come from hell. And I am eternally sorry that I am in this kind of rut that pulls me deeper and deeper into emotional insolvency.

Oftentimes, when I recount my miseries to my husband, he would off-handedly tell me to quit my job and look for brighter, if not greener, pastures. I know what he means by that, although sometimes it appears to me that he doesn’t care one bit about what I’m going through. I should know, he has his own corporate hell to grapple and listening to mine is too much to deal with, although he admits that he, like me, finds it easier to gripe than to leave his job for his own peace. We are not at a stage of our lives to take things with nonchalance and impulsiveness, we have a kid now and everything focuses on rearing him and providing for him materially.

The same goes with these people I am ranting about. They have kids, and sisters and brothers and friends. So, to co-habituate with one another, we need to give up certain prejudices and self-importance, right? Wrong These people only put their pretty asses on your shoulder, and you, the whiner, have to do as they say.

Believe it or not, I have made the most stupid mistake of befriending him once, and now he sees me as a boil in his ass that he’s trying so hard to get rid of. Or at least that’s how it seems to me. He has this annoying habit of bossing me around, which aggravates my situation all the more because I hate being pushed to do things. It’s not that I am almighty and all. How do you deal with people who abuse office rules, make lunch a whole afternoon siesta, and yet have the gall to demand things from you, and impose themselves on you as if you are subordinate to them? I have not the audacity to confront people of what annoys me about them, but can they be too opaque as that? Whatever happened to consideration and sensitivity?

Once or twice in my life, I have experienced a situation that totally put me off, and however inconsequential it seemed, made me lose my faith in the person who put me into that. People who cheat on you, in spite of your well meaning, and who make you feel you owe them for something. I am not inclined to talk what happened, but let’s just say that I was used and abused. My abuser saw the opportunity to drop me off a cliff of embarrassment and self-loathing as to why, why, why I was incredibly naïve and stupid to have trusted them in the first place. And that’s where my hell came from.

My only regret is that I have not learned to just leave them shit and move on….

The Closure

Do you ever find yourself musing about the past and what-could-have-beens at times? Especially if you're a married, middle-aged woman who seem to be in a cul-de-sac, longing for some warmth in your relationship, in the midst of everyday things that ground you to what is truly real? Because I am. My marriage is a-okay if you care to ask, but I have often felt that in spite the hustle and bustle of my household--you know, caring for the kid and the husband---deep down is an abyss of vacuous feelings, where I am entirely on my own, and no amount of nostalgia can ever justify. I have often felt the inclination to get in touch with old friends, or past loves long dismissed to oblivion. Hang on, don't get me wrong, I do not contemplate on making any intimate connection at all. No bridges of madison county for me. Just maybe, a closure. Sadly, this is not an easy task. Especially with a person who left too much damage in my life.

Today, I found this letter from among the trash that I have intended to get rid of. Written some three tearjerking years ago. I wonder how we would have fared, had I sent this to him. It is truly a hateful missive for a someone I gave too much for, but now has become only a speck of shadow in my periphery. A goodbye I have never said and have never truly meant....

FOR G

I don't know what happened between us, but I just would like to say, before you finally disappear (again), that I am thankful for the times we've shared together. God gave me another chance to be with you, and in those few times, I realized that you are someone I can never really own. Despite our lofty claims about fitting so cunningly into each other, I sense the ambivalence and isolation. You were there but away, and a lot has ruminated in our hearts and mind. I must admit that I find it difficult to simply take things as they come. You have no idea how badly I need to be your friend. And that's probably the root of all these unfounded pains. You just touch too many aspect of myself that I find it hard to believe why things couldn't be better between us than they are now. why you come into my life without warning and leave just when I am ready to bask in the thought of you being close by. In so many unspoken words, you make me think about my worth in this world---and it scares me that I am nothing.

How unfair can your existence in my life get. And sadly, it's not something that you've thought of deliberately. It's no fault of your own, because no matter how we relinquish the truth, we both exist in a cusp of fiction--everything happens in surreal dimensions, and you are merely a mirage I have been doggedly trying to convince myself of as reality. Strange that when we were together I could never really relish you as something human like me--feeling ennui, suffering love, tasting death. I only thought of how perfect it was to be with someone whose actuation, whose intentions, whose being I could never really comprehend nor take for granted. You were pretty much holding my heart in your cold, unfeeling hands. But how should have I known? How naive indeed can love make the most erudite and jaded person. In knowing you, only the consequent pain seemed undeniable. That's what strikes me now as reality. That wasn't so then...

I'll probably never be content knowing that you walked up the beaten track and did not even know you have trampled on a hapless flower. All these times that I had been listening to your angst about poverty and disenfranchisement, I was only wishing I could let you see how beautiful the world is, if only you would put a little of that empathy you fervently hold for these so-called destitute ones, for the person who sits beside you and relishes the importance of your thoughts and your philosophies. How can you possibly be so unappreciative of what is being given you and hold so much gripe in your head as though it would explode if you don't medicate it with yearnings of something inhuman like miracles and magic? I wish I could tell you we are the magic because we are special. But then again, your freedom to walk the beaten track and trample upon the useless flower and think that being with someone is mundane and of no significance to the salvation of the world--is something I have no clout over. I simply am at a loss.

If you told me you were gay, I would have understood....
Just two words though....fuck you!

Of Men and (of) Mice

Time off meme.

Apologies to steinbeck, but after the things that happened to me in the past week, I can now only categorize people in two: men and mice.

The kind that I refer to as mice are the ones that have made my week less than appealing to talk about. But I will rant about them anyway. They are the kind people I have tried to help rise from the deep shits of their own making, yet because they are mice and are terribly shortsighted, myopic even, they not only forget those who help them. Worse, they gnaw and sink their razor-like poisoned teeth in you and kill you with their toxins. They appear adorable on the outside but they have innards that a stray can't wont even think of getting near into, lest she wants to die herself. And I abhor them with all that I can muster. Yet I must have to co-exist with them, at work particularly.

Is it me? Or are there are simply too many assholes on earth? Is it human to act up on your defense when you feel you're being slighted and thrown at with crap? It isn't just right. I'd like to pepper these morons with bullets to the very core of their being, so they will not have to bother me with their cheapskate pathetic presence anymore.

And then there are men. They are angels that never found their way back to heaven but they have golden hearts that can make you look at your sinful self in shame. They inspire you to be better and kinder and more considerate. Until you bump into your next mouse again. Sadly, they are beginning to fade to extinction. And there's no saving them.

Even the pied piper cannot do as much. What a crappy day for a crappy blog.

Neighbors

Mondays certainly reek, as Garfield would say. Reek of what, I dunno. I'm supposed to be upbeat and optimistic on the first day of the workweek, but this morning I learned from our househelp that there are people moving in next door, in the middle unit of the three apartment doors on the second floor where we now live.

Well, that should not be so bad considering we have somehow wanted to have a neighbor for an added feeling of security, especially since we've heard from the yayas that the previous occupants of our unit were broken in by thieves at, take note, 7 in the morning. Actually the moment I heard that story I wanted to pack our belongings and scamper off to the next safest place which I could not think of afterwards, but after a few deliberations, I thought that anywhere in Manila, is not safe. Ironic, but true.

I think an ounce of prevention is what is needed to reassure myself that we (Gabby especially) will be out of harm's way. Oliver is getting crazy over my paranoia every night, fastening every window with electric wires and bolting the door with deadlocks, footbolt, barrel bolt, and all the furniture I could muster to put behind the door. I know how frustrated he feels, but you see, it is distressing enough to remind myself that the reason why we moved to this place is because we wanted a better home than the previous one where we had to put up with a pesk of a landlady who badgered us no end, when all we've wanted there was to have some quiet and to be able to forget about the traumatic past when we were broken in by thieves at 6 in the evening. I think I will never get over the shock of having been trespassed by people whose identities to this day remain unknown to me. So I hope Oliver would understand why we're virtually locking us in. I need that to help me sleep through the night.

Anyway, back to the new neighbors. The bad news is that they are Maranaos. Not that I have anything against them as a tribe, or a group, or a culture. With my very limited knowledge about these people from Maguindanao, or Marawi, it would not be fair to pass a general judgement unto them. However, they, the new neighbors, are the relatives of our other present neighbors who are practically occupying 90% of the whole apartment compound, the rest of us being Ilonggo, Bicolano and Visayan.

Now, what I'm grumbling about is the fact that they are terrible SLOBS. They, as I have observed, are a filthy, grubby, messy lot who leave disgusting marks of their spit and piss anywhere they please, not even sparing the 2nd floor stairs. I should have known better than to get bothered by such trivial things. But when you pass by a place that smell like nothing short of excrement everyday, it makes your innards revolt, and HATE the slobs who leave filthy traces of themselves anywhere. As far as I know, we are the only ones I've seen sweeping the dust off our windows and the balcony, which by the way, is a common area for all five units on the second floor. Save for the Visayans who live at the far end of the apartment, the rest of them are just oblivious about their environment. To think they own cars and have kids! We are probably the poorest tenants who live there anyway, but certainly not the inconsiderate ones!

We wanted to make friends with these Maranaos, occasionally trying to flash a shy smile at them , just so to break some cold, hard ice--but they (the men particularly) just shot back an angry, if not hostile, look at us. The women are either shy or they share the same belligerent attitude towards everyone outside their creed, I don't know. But I swear that their kids go up to our unit everyday, sharing food with my son Gabby, playing with his toys, reading his books---and I don't have an inch of hatred for them.

Bigots!

Well, as I was trying to get a sneak of our new neighbors, I saw one woman was dressed in malong and didn't seem to have bothered to comb her hair and wash her face. I felt an instant aversion. I don't know, I think it's wrong to think it, but I feel maybe we deserve better neighbors. I don't care if they all have big cars or millions of pesos. I'm not scheming to discourse about their religion either.

Remembering the short story of hemingway, I feel that what all we middle-class great unwashed want is just a tidy, clean-smelling---well-lighted place. It isn't much to ask for, is it?

Anyway, speaking of bigotry, last night Oliver and I watched Monster's Ball at HBO. At first I was bored with the movie---I suppose I wasn't in a suitable condition to appreciate it while I was trying to put Gabby to sleep, wrestling him to the mattress half of the time. But when I finally had Gabby snoozing, I sat upright and thought, wow, this is one gripping movie. I was mesmerized by Billy Bob Thornton's character, Hank, whose bitterness and racial hatred for colored people was altered when his son (Heath Ledger, who had only a brief but compelling role) took his life away, for reasons that Hank and everything unspoken that had shrouded them in their fallen relationship as father and son had caused. Hally Berry as Leticia, the widow of the last convict that Billy Bob and Heath saw to his deathwalk, was brilliant.

The movie kept me thinking all through the night, about human bondage, the deafening silences of unspoken feelings, and the why and wherefores of it. Monster's Ball was a movie of symbolisms although we were terribly disappointed that we didn't see the sex scene (damn chauvinists!), between Halle and Billy Bob-which reportedly turned in 1 million more dollars for Halle Berry by baring her great bod.

Sayang!

The Uns

Weekend has been uneventful, save perhaps for Gabby, for whom a simple stroll at the malls is as exciting as his first bite of solid, he just couldn't wait to slake his curiosity into the enormous place full of magical lights and big people, and little people like himself. I am happy to note that he's eager to bask in his surroundings with the inquisitiveness of a scientist and the acquiescence of a wise man....he's just a baby, goodness me!

We strolled along the Palm Court of ATC last Sunday. I walked in at the Powerbooks, Gab in tow, and when he saw the kids comfortably lying around reading books, he crawled his way to the early learning books, found a familiar one like that he has at home, flipped through the pages, and that adorable little hand reached it out to me as if saying Mommy, please read this one to me! Of course, I'm more than happy to oblige. If I had all the money in the world to buy him those wonderful books!!!

Back when I was in college, I had met people or a group of people with whom I didn't seem to blend in well, in spite of our collective interests in the same subject matters and courses. There's something about them that didn't sit well with me, I can't exactly point out what it is. I called them the Uns.

They become my reason for un-thinking things that I thought were accepted wisdom, for un-feeling what I felt was a noble outlook. Poetry, for instance. They, the Uns, are bigoted freeloaders who do not think twice about discounting the burden that one feels in trying to express the almost inexpressible beauty of an afternoon rain, or strewn leaves.

For them rain is just one big useless drain of water from an inconsiderate god trying to ruin their day plans indiscriminately, and leaves are dirt on the road, my notions are simply out of whack and maybe i'm just emotionally misaligned. The Uns made me terribly sad.

Well I forgave them. I have almost forgotten about them. Up until the day that I tried my hand in web log. I'm surprised to find out they are still alive. Or at least now I know they are not only from my college, but from real life as well. There are in reality millions of Uns that I unknowingly rub elbows with everyday, and they almost resent the fact that I have begun to recognize them from one conversation, or from one glance. I don't know however if the saying It takes Un to know Un--ringstrue for them...I just know that they are a negative, moribund force thriving only on their brazen point of view and lack of true character. And they are about to take their last pair of legs out of the door...

So much about the poor, poor Uns. I'd rather have the suicides talk to me in my sleep.