higher ground: only god can make a tree, pt. II

I remember picking leaves and flowers from the grumpy neighbor's Gumamela shrub with my cousin Mutya. After we have gathered enough, we'd proceed to the common laundry area and try to make a palobo. It's probably one of the few tasks that involve getting one's hands dirty that I actually enjoy.

Then there's the Banyan tree in front of my childhood best friend's house. It's where Toti and I would usually hang out after our afternoon nap. We'd lie down under its shade and swap scary stories, discuss the latest in comic books, cards and video games, and talk about basketball and girls. Our world revolved around such trivial things. Fun isn't it?

And the creepy Guava tree by the Pasig River which caught the attention of several people, including myself and a group of friends, when smoke started to rise from its thick foliage one night. The elderly muttered that what we were witnessing was a Kapre smoking its tobacco. Others claimed that it actually came from the pile of leaves that was set on fire by the house owner while tending to his backyard. At nine thirty in the evening.

But these occurred a couple of years back.

Changes happened.

The Gumamela tree was brashly cut off by that grumpy old neighbor, probably to ward off the kids who pick on its leaves and flowers. The Banyan tree was taken down to make way for a more spacious driveway. The Guava tree was burned down by its owner.

Thing is, I was never really there when those trees got cut off, or taken down, or got burned to the ground. I inquired as to what happened when I noticed their absence. Did I give it much thought? Admittedly, no. I was already a different person then.

I know that everything has an expiration date. Like trees, like people.

It's just a matter of acceptance.

higher ground: only god can make a tree, pt. I

Late Saturday nights are the best time to come up to the rooftop to chill.

It's that time when everything just seems to stand still. The neighborhood is more silent. The road traffic is sparser. There are a fewer people out on the street. No blaring car horns. No frantic sounds made by small children playing. No busy drilling or hammering sounds coming from the on-going construction. The closest that can register as noise will only come from the cold and crisp wind blowing from the east, the low buzzing of one sad incandescent light bulb, or the sweet music bleeding out from my horrible, horrible earphones. Other than that, it's totally serene. Or, it's as serene as this little busy town can get.

It's the time that's most definitely conducive to thinking, and writing. Although I rarely get any writing done because I often end up drifting elsewhere, pondering over things that are seemingly unimportant and totally unrelated to what I initially planned to expound on.

Like how I'm thinking about trees right now. Or rather, the lack of it. From this spot, I can barely see anything green save for those roofs painted with that shade. Indeed, most are. Compensating? Probably. Though I highly doubt that those sheet metals can photosynthesize.

Or stand for anything worth recalling.

TO BE CONTINUED.

higher ground: up to the rooftop

I've always wanted a house with a rooftop.

When I was younger, my mom and I would lay out plans of my dream house and I would always insist that my room be at the deck, like a penthouse, so I can have a fantastic view. Yep, I dream big. No, more like gargantuan. And since I have yet to have a bank account huge enough to fund the said dream, I would have to settle with the unfinished third floor of our house here in Makati. The lot belongs to my grandfather and his brothers. A year ago, the siblings decided to have the land properly divided among them. (There is a very interesting story behind this that I would share some other time. It's a very long one.) This resulted to the immediate need to have our house reconstructed, financed by the limited fund that the household income earners, myself included, could muster at such short notice.

But I am no longer an income earner.

Ever since I declared my emancipation from that mundane thing called work, I find myself going up there at night to sit among the unused lumber and metal and think. While my legs and arms become a feast for those wandering mosquitos, my mind does some wandering of its own. Oftentimes, I'd notice how crowded the neighborhood looks like from up here - every inch of available land has a multi-storey house, if not a high rise building, on it, the streets have become too narrow to play a challenging game of patintero on because of double parked cars, and from my line of sight, I can count the total number of trees left in one hand.

A lot has changed.

The then-quaint bungalow on the other side of the street is now a two-storey house. I remember that they had to cut off the Night Blooming Cestrum (Dama de Noche) during construction. The same tree that we, as young kids, would often raid when we want to torture helpless, icky caterpillars. And by we, I meant them. I was just there to watch. Seriously. Squishing caterpillars? Eew.

Then there's the old basketball court where I once banged my head on its concrete floor. Don't ask me how it happened. I was too young to remember it. Although my aunt said that I did not cry, instead I exclaimed that there were stars circling around my head. Watched too many Looney Tunes, if you ask me. Now, the sports complex is being renovated to double as an awfully-designed multi-purpose barangay hall.

And then there's the most obvious development in the area, the Power Plant. Again, I can't remember what the place was like pre-commercialization. I think it was off-limits to the public. My fondest memory would be rollerblading with several friends down the steep slope of Palma street while screaming "wee!".

In a span of a decade, everything has drastically changed and if you have noticed, it has become increasingly difficult for me to vividly recall a memory attached to a place or a thing, save perhaps for the star-adorned sky - there's something about it that never fails to give me the clearest details of things that are just too important to be forgotten.

That's why I love staring at its vastness.

That's why I love rooftops.

i hate this part

There is a strange comfort that New York City offers.

I remember walking along Fifth Avenue one night. Well, it's probably closer to midnight, or dawn because time seemed to have slowed down a bit like everything's in slow motion. The big resplendent moon was one big spotlight and the wide half-empty street the stage. There was a young couple lazily walking towards some street corner, a tired-looking man sitting on a bench a few steps from where I was, and several more people, indifferent to each other, coming in from where I was heading. They all had a story to tell but in my head, the night was mine.

My mind wandered aimlessly catching small details like how the street and building lights drown out the stars up above - the latter seem to have lost their sparkle and magic to the flare and glitz of the metro. Or how my iPod would choose to play some song that would exponentially dampen the already-melancholic mood. Like that Robbie Williams tune that I can't seem to get out of my head.

"When I'm feeling weak and my pain walks down a one-way street..."

Sigh.

But I did not dwell on it for too long. My thoughts kept on shifting from one idea to another. It's my way of coping.

A sudden gust of cold summer wind billowed towards me. I tugged my wakely jacket closer to my body and let my hands comfortably rest inside its pockets. And I continued traveling at a pace like I have all the time in the world. After passing several establishments and shops closed for the night and empty alleys with sewers spewing out steam, I realized that I haven't encountered a single soul for the past fifteen minutes or so.

I suddenly felt so alone. For some reason, I always find myself like this wherever I go. And it's really, really sad. I bet it's sadder than being an overlooked star. I know it's sadder. But there are times that I long for it. Like tonight.

I have covered a couple more blocks and stopped at an intersection to give way to a stray cab speeding along. Its blinding headlights reminded me that I'm not in some movie scene and I'm not playacting. This is reality and I am my own character. And by some lucky chance, this moment happened while I'm in New York City where solitude, loneliness and drama are always in season.

I turned to the corner, entered the building where I'm staying, went up to my room and slept.

I was homebound the morning after.

There is a strange comfort in being with the unfamiliar. Me and my lonesome heart yearns for it.

I miss New York City.

*******

I'm loving angels instead.
- Robbie Williams, Angels

everything that you are

Lunch was the only highlight of the day. The morning was terrible and the rest of the afternoon was equally terrible as well. Save for B's safe boat trip back to whatever island he's on, the day was rather uneventful. And long. Long because it's freaking 11 in the evening and I'm still writing. And by writing I mean the whole pluma, papel at gasera thing. But instead of a plume, I have my red pen and instead of a lantern, I have my TV on mute. I'm going back to basics. And I'm loving it.

Where was I? Oh, lunch:

"Can we get the bill please," I said to the waiter all the while forming an imaginary rectangle in the air with my fingers.

"Don't do that," he said. He paused before adding, "It's so Pinoy!"

I knew he would say something like that. Ugh. Any other instance, I would have felt insulted but I didn't. I think I may have already grown accustomed to how our talks would often lead to a banter of sorts. Well, that's what you get when you put two headstrong individuals together. But I'm only slightly headstrong so he usually ends up winning. If there's something to be won.

(And I just said those things because there's a chance that he might read this. But actually, I just let him win. Hah!)

Going back.

"Aren't you a Pinoy," I asked him.

And he said, "I'm a sophisticated Pinoy!"

Fine.

And I'm not.

The only thing regal about me is my blood type and that's about it.

Sophistication is not for me. Hence, I will never claim it. I love my carefree, middle-class lifestyle too much to give in to the call of being sosyal. There are so many rules to follow and rules tend to be restrictive. And I love my freedom.

I love being able to eat at Tropical Hut. Watch movies at SM cinemas. Watch local movies at SM cinemas. Consider taking a ride at the MRT. Eat fried calamari being sold by sidewalk vendors. Buy lunch from those things lined-up along the back streets of Makati's CBD. Shop at some department store and have the option to buy apparel from RRJ, Dickies and the like. Laugh out disturbingly loud in public. Hang out at a cafe without ordering anything.

If I choose to be sophisticated, I won't have the benefit of trying out those things. And that's sad. Just think of how much I might miss out if I gave it all up.

However, at the end of the day we don't get to say whether we're sophisticated or not. It all depends on how the people around us perceive our demeanor.

So if they assume that I am one, then good. If not, it's alright. As long as they don't think of me as jologs. Because, you know, that's just eew.

*******

POSTSCRIPT. This is not an attack on you my friend as you might put it. Like how you took this before. World peace and a whole lot of Orchids for you. Haha!

I know that by sophisticated you meant refined. My definition of the word, as it appears on this entry, is a bit superficial and definitely lacking. But it is a very relative term and I don't want to delve on the complexities of the subject at this hour.

I just want an entry. Hihi.

808

I've told you that my fingers are extensions of my heart.

And as I sit here they are writing,

beating

a steady stream of consciousness -
in recycled stanzas penned in free form rather than that with a rhyming line or two -

for you.

swan song

I am at the same room under the same roof but I can't recognize a thing and I ask if it matters because I think I am at the point where I am lost like something's ending and everything is now swirling around like thick smoke blocking
vision choking
words numbing
heart restless
spirit aimlessly

searching for home.

*******

There is nothing like returning to a place that remains unchanged to find the ways in which you yourself have altered.
- Nelson Mandela

if i do this for ü

YOU MUST IN TURN POST THIS ON YOUR BLOG.

I'll tell you something that I've always wanted to ask you:
If a tree falls down in the forest and no one hears it, does it make a sound?

Sound is defined as vibrations composed of frequencies capable of being detected by ears. Based on this, I believe that for sound to exist, there must be a conscious being capable of hearing and subsequently, interpreting it as such.

Just my opinion anyway.

And now for the rest of the meme:

I'll respond with something random about you:
Paano na ang Red Box?

I'll challenge you to try something:
Watch The Omen again. Alone.

I'll pick a color that I associate with you:
Pink. I like your pink polo.

I'll tell you something I like about you:
You give witty and outrageous remarks and comments.

I'll tell you my first/clearest memory of you:
My eyes were blurred with tears that time. Hahaha. Joke! You're a smart dresser.

I'll tell you what animal you remind me of:
Cat. Very regal.

With a letter I assign to you, you must write ten things you like that begin with that letter:
E.

Emancipation Of Mimi, The (Mariah Carey album) / Ever After (Drew Barrymore film) / Eclipse (partial or full blocking of one celestial body by another) / Elixir (Josh Foley of X-Force) / Eastside, Upper (where Manhattan's elite live) / Enchanted (the Disney movie) / Espresso (what Starbucks is famous for) / Escudo (a legendary ore in Magic Knight Rayearth) / Everywhere (Michelle Branch song) / Evil (not good) //

*******

As I have mentioned a couple of times ago, the girls and I used to talk and bond during office hours via e-mail as our company (read: bosses) deemed it unnecessary for everyone to have internet access. Boo!

Anyway, I was cleaning out my personal account a few minutes ago when I stumbled onto this meme we have passed around two years ago. Since I haven't been able to write anything decent lately, I decided to post this instead.

This one came from Jela. I looked for Bom and Jen's pieces but I think I failed to forward their messages to my personal account. Sad.

radical, pt. II

Before I start using algebraic symbols, I should probably continue with my narrative.

I never really favored math in school. True that I'm not the math whiz of the batch but I'm not among the mathematically challenged either. I still received ace grades on the subject. I just didn't exert extra effort to be the top math student. During senior year, mathematics was my frenemy's forte. It was alright though. I owned every freaking subject. He had math. Sounds reasonably fair back then.

Numbers just don't tickle my fancy. Words yes, numbers na-uh. And I believe that a big part of this was due to the fact that I have had horrible teachers back in grade school and high school. And by horrible I mean those teachers who blatantly favor students who: a) are unusually smart that they know the answer to "7 x 8" even before I can start counting using my fingers, or b) give gifts such as personalized Parker ballpoint pens (it was the cool thing back then) or SM gift certificates or Nikon stand fans or a bag of canned goods and instant noodles. I was neither. It was different in college though. The math professors I've had were actually good in the truest sense of the word. They made computing for the present value of n and learning the practical application of quantitative analysis in business fun, if not bearable at the very least.

But it wasn't enough; cool calculator techniques, lady professors whose voices will give Rey Langit a run for his money if he were still alive, unusually-sized mimeographed workbooks and easy 1s wasn't enough to sustain my interest in the field.

I could easily blame everything on the universal notion that if one is naturally good in linguistics (English, Arts, etc.) then he is weak in math but I have proven it to be untrue on several occasions. I know a lot of people who managed to develop both thinking processes. A part of me wants to say that I am among those people who have struck a balance between the two. However, a bigger part of me begs to disagree.

If I have gained full appreciation for mathematics then I would have found it as complex and stimulating as Humanities, Biology, Philosophy, Physical Education and any other subject for that matter. But even up to now, I don't see numbers and equations in the same light as pop music, laboratory experiments, literary critiques, debates and I don't know, soccer?

Maybe if I just gave math a chance, liked it enough, then perhaps, math would've liked me back. And I bet things would've been more... interesting.

Meh... It's never too late anyway.

radical, pt. I

For some weird reason, B and I talked about mathematics a couple of nights back. I guess it's just normal to delve into the more mundane topics every now and then. After all, we can only talk about life, love, blogs, and bloggers for so much. Eventually, we have to discuss the more unusual but not necessarily boring subjects, like math.

But I wouldn't exactly call math boring. I would like to think that I'm just not overly zealous about integers and natural numbers, vectors and functions, Geometry and Topology, differential equations, statistics and numerical analysis.

Ooh, head rush.

It is rather ironic that I can't find the zest to be fascinated with math and yet I live, breathe and sleep numbers. Heck, math pays my rent. Not that I'm renting but you know what I mean. I have my own place. Well, I live with my folks. They own the place.

Anyway, I know a lot of people find it really interesting. Objectively speaking, mathematics is. Not only that, math also plays an integral part in everyone's life. It is a core subject for a reason. Most university degrees which include the sciences (physical, life and health, social, tech and actuarial) and business and commerce require a good knowledge of the subject that will greatly help a person progress in their selective discipline. Given the scenario, future careers are highly dependent on how one will be able to apply their specific math learnings into their work.

Doctors and nurses use math. Teachers use math. Engineers use math, a lot. So do accountants. Make up artists use math. Baristas use math. Coffee drinkers use math. Customer Service Representatives use math. Yup. The Pope uses math. Palin uses math. Zac Efron uses math. Even Britney Spears uses math - hit me baby one more time... get it, get it? No? Aw.

Never mind. It's just me using a figure of speech, like how mathematicians would use algebraic symbols when they don't have a clue what they're talking about.

TO BE CONTINUED.

this feeling's like no other

They were all out and I was home alone. Again. It seemed that it would always be this way. My mother and brother had gone off with my aunt to shop for God knows what. And my friends, well they're busy doing their own stuff. And it's not like I could compel anyone to hang out with me. I would have wanted to but my better judgment stopped me from sending out invitations.

It wasn't an unusual occurrence, on the contrary it happened so often that it became my way of life for quite some time. Shopping. Watching movies. Hanging out at a coffee shop. I did all of those things by myself. And for the most part, I was imperfectly happy being alone.

However, some days are lonelier than others. Occasionally, I would give in and wish that I had someone with whom I could spend the entire day with - hanging out, sharing thoughts, and laughing at inside jokes among other things.

Striker and Gracie. Jen, Jela and Bom. B. I have several sets of really, really good friends but there are just things that I don't feel comfortable telling them. I would like to believe that they know me better than I know myself at times but I don't think they'd fully understand.

But I don't want to wallow in self-pity. Not today. Not after the fun that I've had these past few days. And when I say fun, I mean FUN in the purest, and most genuine sense of the word. The kind that doesn't need an effort. The kind that leaves an inner smile.

Remembering that is enough for me to feel good but I guess a short walk won't hurt. Besides, I need to clear my head as I badly need an idea. So geared with my iPod, I headed out.

Take my hand, take a breath

Here we go again.

Pull me close and take one step

Sigh.

Keep your eyes locked to mine,
And let the music be your guide

Won't you promise me (now won't you promise me, that you'll never forget)
We'll keep dancing (to keep dancing) wherever we go next

And...

It's like catching lightning the chances of finding someone like you

I'm in heaven once more.

It's one in a million, the chances of feeling the way we do
And with every step together, we just keep on getting better
So can I have this dance (can I have this dance)
Can I have this dance

Walking feels like dancing, with every step perfectly timed to the 1, 2, 3 rhythm. But I'm not walking. Rather, I am floating, twirling and constantly turning with... someone.

Take my hand, I'll take the lead
And every turn will be safe with me
Don't be afraid, afraid to fall
You know I'll catch you through it all

And you can't keep us apart (even a thousand miles, can't keep us apart)
'Cause my heart is (cause my heart is) wherever you are

At one point or another, every person have thought about dancing. Every person have thought about dancing with that special someone. I do. I have spent years listing the qualities that I wanted. Heck, even my friends added some traits on that list. But for the longest time, that list only made me feel like I'm missing a big chunk of my life - like I am the unluckiest person on Earth. It had been so easy for the others; as if there had been next to no effort involved. How come I can't seem to find a decent dance partner? Of course it was absurdity at its best.

Now I know better.

Oh no mountains too high enough, oceans too wide
'Cause together or not, our dance won't stop
Let it rain, let it pour
What we have is worth fighting for
You know I believe, that we were meant to be

Catching lightning is not impossible. It seldom happens but it does happen. More than believing, I guess that one should be in the right place at the right time. But until that moment comes, I will be relatively content sharing the song with Gabriella. Or Troy.

Anyone can join me of course.

Just contact my people, they'll know what to do.

*******

POSTSCRIPT. I intended to have a different ending to this but I think I'd save it for some other entry. But do let me know if you want to know about it. I might change my mind and post it anyway. Haha.