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Quasi-Existential Queries

May 30th, 2005 by dimapakali

Have you ever looked in the mirror lately? What did you see? As strange as it may sound, I haven’t looked at the mirror in ages. Freudians might say that I probably see the image of my mother, my rival for my father’s affection. Smart alecks might say that I am probably just unhampered by social conventions. That I probably just don’t care about what I look like. I wish.

The reason why I haven’t looked in the mirror lately is that everytime I do I just keep seeing a faceless stranger. Faceless because like many others of our time, I have become a slave of my despair, my sorrow… A stranger because nobody knows the real me… nobody… including myself… Alas, I am a stranger to this world… Perhaps the only "real" thing I am acquainted with is loneliness…

Sometimes I feel that the world beyond is moving on without me. I have no sense of growth and evolution anymore. My life is more a question of taking a shower, watching the junk on tv, eating tasteless foods and getting from one point to another. But there is nothing about my life right now that makes me feel that I have grown in recent years…

Is this just a simple case of ennui? Or am I really unhappy? What is happiness anyway? Is it really attainable? Or is it as elusive as Marcel’s philosophy? I have read somewhere that happiness is a matter of one’s most ordinary everyday mode of consciousness being busy and lively and unconcerned with self. To be damned is for one’s ordinary everyday mode of consciousness to be unremittingly and agonizingly preoccupied with self. Does that mean that all the unhappy souls out there are self-absorbed and self-centered? Does that mean that I am egocentric? I hope not… but it does feel and sound right… I just hope it’s not yet too late… I hope there’s still hope for restless souls like me…

——

I wrote this one ages ago but I came across it while cleaning my disk space. I just posted it because I have been feeling the same restlessness and boredom lately.

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Work in Progress

May 18th, 2005 by dimapakali

As the incessant blinking of the cursor hypnotized me into typing words which do not really make sense, my mind wanders to a time and place when I was whole.  A period where in I was at peace not only with myself but with the entire world.

I remember Cris, my pillar of strength.  My lone critic and fan.  My muse.  Just a single kiss from him could put me in an artistic frenzy which would shame even the most prolific writer of our time.

Marla looked in the mirror and she was disgusted by what she saw.  Looking back at her was a young girl whose eyes reflect an emptiness, a void, which nothing seem to fill.  She put on a mauve colored lip stick and smiled.  The reflection smiled back at her but the woeful expression on her face was still there.

“Why do you always write about loneliness?”  Cris asked me as he put the first draft of my short story on our dining table. 

I continued chopping the garlic which I would use to coat Cris’s favorite dish, breaded pork chop.  I shrugged and said, “I guess I just like writing about what I know.”

“What you know?  Then, why not write about love, bliss and mind boggling sex?  Haven’t our 3 months of being together taught you anything?”

I chuckled heartily.  Cris is perhaps the most self-assured guy that I know and I never fail to point this out to him.  “But the missionary position has already been discussed in details by a lot of writers, dear.  It just won’t sell.  The readers nowadays want to read writings which would either excite them or make them seem…”

I never got to finish my sentence.  Cris tenderly grabbed me by the waist and kissed me full on the lips. After what seemed like an eternity, he looked at me straight in the eyes and said, “You smell like garlic, sweetie.  But that’s okay.   Women who remind me of Nana Miling turn me on.” 

We never had dinner that night but I didn’t care.  Food was definitely the farthest thing from my mind as Cris took my hand and walked me to the laid-back confines of our bedroom. 

I stopped typing and trying desperately to produce something which my captious editor would surely hate.  It has been 7 months now since I had submitted a story which he liked and subsequently published.  It has been 7 months now since I had made a decent amount of money which paid for the rent and for the credit card bills.  I never should have listened to Cris.  I never should have spent an obscene amount of money for the ultra sleek yet egregiously uncomfortable furniture that sparsely adorn my spacious living room. 

I stood up and went inside my bedroom.  I opened the drawer on the bedside table thumbing through all its contents until I found what I was looking for – a bundle of bills and rejection letters.  How am I supposed to pay for all these?  It went against my grain to ask for help from my family.  I would not want to give my dad the satisfaction from muttering the vicious phrase “I told you so.”  I would not want to subject myself to again hearing my mom’s now familiar monologue:

“What happened to you, sweetie?  What happened to the feisty and dynamic girl I raised?  What have you done to the quirky yet self-assured girl who never failed to amuse the people around her with her antics?  What happened to my smart, thoughtful and vibrant daughter who was a constant source of my pride? 

I only have myself to blame for this.  I never should have encouraged you to pursue your passion for writing.  You would have been better off as a lawyer or even a doctor.  You’ve always been the smartest kid in school.  Some would even describe you as an ambitious overachiever.

For the life of me, I have no idea why you opted to pursue a career which pays peanuts? I never should have let you study in that blasted state university.  You’ve let yourself be corrupted by your eccentric friends who are as out of touch with reality as the cockroaches that infest your filthy apartment…”

I tossed all the bills and letters on my bed and sat on the floor, strewn with soiled clothes, terribly frustrated.  I can’t believe that the memories of my not so distant past still haunt me up to now.  I have tried almost everything to get rid of the voices that I keep hearing on my head yet my personal demons continue to plague me.

“I love you, sweetie.”

“Don’t say that if you don’t really mean it.  You know how much I hate pretensions.”

“I don’t go around town telling every girl I meet that I love her, you know.  I have never believed in love until I saw you at the library desperately reaching for the Sociology book.”

“I didn’t know that love entails going around the campus sleeping with every willing girl you meet.”

Cris didn’t say anything.  He just looked at me with an intent expression on his eyes.  He then took my left hand and said, almost inaudibly, “You’re the One.  You stirred something deep within me which I never knew existed.  You’ve done the impossible, sweetie.  You’ve made a man out of a lost and horny teenager.”

I guess the sappy line got to me.  That night Cris and I made love for the first time.  It was just like magic.  And magical moments like that only have perfect endings.

“I love you too, Cris.”  I whispered before I slept peacefully on his arms.

“I try to say good bye and I fall

Try to walk away and I stumble

Though I try to hide it it’s clear

My world crumbles when you’re not here.”

My trance was interrupted by the ringing of my mobile phone, the one which Cris used to own.  I rushed to the other side of the bed and answered the call almost out of breath

“Hello.”

But I could hear nothing but static from the other end.  And then, finally, a girl spoke indistinctly,  “Are you Denise?”

“Hmmm, yeah.  May I know who’s on the line please?”

“You don’t know me. My identity is not important.  I just want to tell  you that Cris is…”

And then the line went dead.  I tried to call the girl back but the number can’t be reached.  The girl’s voice sounded disturbingly familiar but my memory is failing me as usual. Pain and misery have a way of blunting one’s thinking, I guess.

I woke up feeling disconcerted.  I looked around the unfamiliar room and wondered where I could be.  This can’t be home.  Home, for me, is a place where one feels safe and loved.  A place filled with memories – whether happy or sad  – which helped one be and feel better.

———–

To be continued… (I can’t help it.  I am influenced by soap operas :p)

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Musings of a Vain Soul

May 18th, 2005 by dimapakali

When I was a kid, I dreamt of being approached by a modeling agent who would be so enthralled by my beauty and grace that he would offer me a juicy modeling contract immediately. This dream remained elusive, of course.

My closest brush with being a celebrity was when I was interviewed by one of the staffs of “Today with Kris”. She asked me who my favorite sport celebrity is. The odd thing was she asked me to say that my hero is Paeng Nepomuceno (despite the fact that I was and still am not into billiards – errr, I mean bowling). Anyway, since I really wanted to be on television I consented. I even concocted a touching story why admire Paeng. But much to my chagrin, my clip was edited. So much for truth in the media!

Anyway, before I digress further by relating anecdotes that had something to do with my pursuit of stardom, let me go back to the topic at hand. Yesterday, I went to Manila to do some shopping with a couple of friends. No, I wasn’t approached by an agent. In fact, I don’t think anyone even paid attention to me (except for a few suspecting salesgirls who probably thought that I just came from the palengke because I was carrying a gigantic clear plastic bag without any label).

After almost 4 hours of uneventful (window) shopping, nonstop gossiping and pigging out, my friends and I decided to call it a day. But before I went home, I decided to stop by and optical shop and buy myself a new pair of contact lenses.

So I went, looking pretty harassed and flustered. When I was on the way out, the saleslady muttered something I didn’t really hear. I thought she called me “Inday” and I was rather mortified. I walked towards her while composing my thoughts. I wanted to give her a lecture on respect. So I asked her, “What did you just call me?” I was pretty mad at her nerve. Then, she earnestly smiled at me and said, “Ganda po.” Of course, I was again embarrassed for I was all set to give her hell. So I just said rather lamely, “Ah, I thought you just called me Inday.”

And I left the shop almost as fast as a speeding bullet. I went straight to the bus station and board the bus bound to my place. It was almost empty when I entered so I got to choose my seat. I sat beside the window because I like looking outside while traveling. I have just began daydreaming when my reverie was rudely interrupted by the arrival of a family of four. They were pretty hard to ignore because they came in smelling like donuts. They sat opposite my seat. After a few seconds, one of the kids (a two year old) started running back and forth the aisle. He was clearly bored. He noticed me and decided to sit beside me. I was pretty tired. I wanted to just hurl him back to his parents’ seat but I didn’t want to cause a scene. I feigned interest and answered all his questions. After a few minutes, he stopped talking and he just sat silently beside me. I was glad. I was not really in the mood for small talk, particularly with a two year old boy whom I barely understand.

After almost an eternity, the bus was full and it was time to go. The mother of the young tyke called him but the boy started to throw a tantrum. He said he wanted to sit beside me. So the mother consented and I automatically had to play babysitter. The kid never took his eyes off me and I was sort of disconcerted. What could he possibly see in me? Maybe he thought I was an angel or a fairy. So I started talking to him and his eyes immediately lit up. I asked him if he knew me. He moved his head from left to right in dissent. Then he added, barely audibly, “Maganda ka lang. Parang mabait.”

I was touched (and impressed for the kid clearly had taste hehehe). I started to teach him games and songs. I was having the time of my life when the suddenly stopped. It was apparently time to go. The parents stood up but Wen didn’t want to go with them. He held my hand tightly. Fortunately, it was also my stop so I got off the bus with them. When it was finally time to said good-bye the kid’s mom thanked me and Wen just smiled at me. And at that moment, I felt that my life had just been touched by an angel (even if I wanted to just eat him for dinner in the beginning)

…….

Disclaimer: The writer is not as vain and shallow as she seems. She just lives in a world where the people are cynical and heartfelt compliments are hard to come by. She is also a bit insecure. This is why even a simple remark from a two year old who is still bulol means a lot to her… :p

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