Melody and memory

Today, I dug up a CD I've had a few years back, a compilation entitled "The Art of Letting Go". I surrendered completely to the way the songs in that compilation swirled my abundant, hodge podge emotions; and then passed the CD on to the hands of other grieving friends in need, like a potent medical formulation. And then while still vulnerable, I recklessly entrusted my heart to someone I hoped would put the pieces back together again --- only for it to end up not only broken but splintered into bits.

Argh! As daddy Eph would say, "The pain, the pain!"

As there are many ways to slice a cake as there are varied ways of bouncing back from a broken heart, I refused to tread the sulking, sobbing path and decided to keep my hands off my sentimental arsenal - "The Art of Letting Go" included.

I refused to be a *normal* broken hearted person and pretended that I was okay. I adopted a scientific aproach to the emotional, and sometimes physiological effects of a failed relationship. I've had enough of waking up in the morning feeling an invisible big boulder on top of my chest. And oh, the searing pain when it seems an invisible spear is piercing and tearing up my ventricles!

And so I exercised, I played badminton a lot and went to the gym regularly. To me, the only way to deal with this is to increase my body's production and release of my favorite neurotransmitter, the endorphins.

Yes, I did and I guess I convinced everyone, including my friends, my family, *Voldemort* and even myself that I was okay. Certainly, I didn't need to listen to mushy songs to get back on my feet. I didn't even burdened my friends with my woes. I kept it all to myself. Dust thus started to gather on top of "The Art of Letting Go". It was fine. I was fine! Everything's gonna be fine.

This morning, I visualized my copy of the album dusting itself off and emerging from amongst a pile of my CDs, victorious that it could still be of use. The resurrection of the album was prompted by a nagging question of what is that song in "The Art of Letting Go" which is about someone who asks, "how can you live without me when I was the one who left you?" In the course of discovering the title of this song, which incidentally is "Without Me" by Clair Marlo, I thought of listening to the CD today. "Why not?"

I was immensely satisfied.

What I love most in this compilation is Stephen Bishop's acoustic rendition of "Separate Lives" originally performed by Phil Collins. It is so real, so sincere, so perfect, the way he sings, especially the part where he pauses in between "someday" and "I might". You feel the pain, the regret, the hope...

You have no right to ask me how I feel...

... And if you lost your love for me you never let it show.

Music has such a magical effect on me and I realize it was foolish to refuse to go through therapeutic song listening sessions, in utter refusal to acknowledge that things are not perfect. Music puts words into unexpressed, unfathomable feelings all locked up inside. It articulates the unspeakable when you do not have any strength left to string the words by yourself. Hypnotic, analgesic, sometimes curative --- music is potent, music is powerful. It could dig you into deeper pits of wailing existence; it can make you feel other emotions which you, temporarily blinded, could not imagine can be felt.

Without me, how can you live without me?
My world is gone and you carry on without me.

Music, as if holding your hand, walks you through the path of experiencing emotions which must be felt, airing issues that must be ventilated, making decisions that must be made.

I've made my life fulfilling to take you off my mind
My head is always willing, my heart is not that kind.

It brings to mind the word "unwind". I suppose it has evolved from other words such as "uncork" which implies the release of something which could be good or bad, depending on how it was made from the start or the timing of its "uncorking". Just the same, as feelings are stirred up, it goes through the phase of dirturbing particles at the bottom to reveal a cloud which eventually clears up once dissolved.

Everything dissolves, eventually.

And now I see that you're so happy, it just sets me free
And I'd like to see us as good friends
as we used to be.

Uncork, unwind...

You're in love, that's the way it should be
cause I want you to be happy
You're in love and I know that
you're not in love with me...
It's enough for me to know that you're in love
now I'll let you go...

Untie.

A Miracle

Dear Jesus,

Thank you so much for listening to me, even if you know I forget about you at times. I am amazed at how faithful you've been to me even if I was not as faithful to you. I'm really sorry. =(

It was so thoughtful of you to give me just exactly what I need - I'm sure you know what I mean. You just have your way of letting me know that you are for real and what happened this morning wasn't just a random stroke of luck. I can't wipe out the smile on my face up to this very moment as I write this... to the last centavo! You are really amazing. I know you're always around, so please keep me near you okay? I wouldn't want to lose my way. Just let me know what I can do for you, although I know you care for me enough that you are really not asking anything in return except...

You know I was never comfortable to say "I love you" to anyone so I wouldn't say it. I don't know why but you certainly know how I cringe at the thought of saying it. Anyway, you know how I really feel. You see through me and my closed heart.

Thanks again. More than getting what I whispered to you yesterday, what really makes me happy is because I heard from you again. I guess I just have to keep away from so much noise so I can get to hear you more when you speak to me.

Love,

May

Postscript on Date dissecting

How should you treat your ex-dates?

This is one of the questions spurred by one of my friend's comments on my Date dissecting blog, the answer to which has already been swirling inside my head even before writing the same.

First things first, people you'll go out on a first date are either (a) complete strangers, (b) friend-of-a-friend strangers, (c) acquaintances or (d) friends. In the case of (d), which is friends with whom you knowingly went out on a date not as mere friends, and to some extent (c), the question is not much relevant since the awkwardness of the aftermath of a date is not so striking as in cases (a) and ( b ) where there is no prior state of affairs. In cases (c) or (d), you can either maintain the status quo or degenerate the relationship into extinction in case something goes awry. Well, of course, in cases (a) and (b), being strangers is a also an existing state of affairs but then, I comprehend the difficulty of simply dismissing a failed ex-date (as of course, as opposed to a successful ex-date) as a mere phantom that briefly hovered over your life.

Perceiving myself as a sensitive person and one who is careful not to hurt another person's feelings, if avoidable, I proceed with dating having this in mind that the person you are going out with is a human being, worthy of respect and decent treatment.

As such, save in the few moments before entering the restaurant where my date is waiting, taking at least 3 deep breaths before proceeding, I rarely have any issue about being comfortable with being myself. I am a very transparent person - what you see is what you get. The lines and creases on my face, and every movement of my facial muscles would betray my thoughts. It's never a problem for me having to deal with the awkwardness of sitting across (or in the recent past, beside) someone you've just been introduced to. A few times in my last date, I caught myself boisterously laughing. And though it occurred to me that such kind of laugh might be a turn off, I figured he has to hear it as I certainly do not plan to supress. Rule of thumb for me during dates is to be myself. Take it or leave it. And modesty aside, I do believe that *myself* is very good company.

This is why I think that, from an observer's point of view, my behaviour and demeanor during the date would not be the basis in figuring out if I had classified my date as v. good, good, bad or v. bad. But of course, owing to my transparency, my friends would have no time to start speculating as I would have told them my assessment after a brief evaluation and examination of conscience. In any case, I believe that my behavior and demeanor during dates is, unless date misbehaves, an unconditional invitation to being friends. Even in my example for the second scenario, the good date, wherein I knew early on that I clearly wasn't interested, I wouldn't mind replying to his text messages a few times (as in fact I even greeted him a "Merry Christmas", remember?). I know that if the guy who is a true gentleman is not interested, he'd probably not make any further communication for fear of being misunderstood as interest to move the relationship further. Very understandable and justifiable, considering that society imposes that men be the pursuer and the women the pursued. Conversely, in case of a bad date (i.e., other person seems to be interested when you are not), it is best not to encourage him when he is making contact for reasons already adverted to in my Date dissecting blog.

I read last night in "Half a Life" by V.S. Naipaul something like this: when hosting a party, make the boring guests deal with equally boring guests - let them deal with each other." (Pardon me for being too lazy to make a direct quote as I was on th verge of sleep and wakefulness when I came across this idea.)

With that, my asnwer to the question on "how you should treat ex-dates" is this: treat your ex-dates the same way you would treat others --- always with respect, consideration, concern, tact and caution, keeping in mind the saying that, "do not do unto others what you do not want others do unto you." However, in case of misbehaving dates, treat them in a manner they deserve.

That would be all your, Honor.

Shoe blues

I'm narcissistic.

I couldn't stop looking at my new pair of size 9 1/2 brown shoes which I bought from Via Venetto. I'm so pleased at how it looks so pretty on my feet (though I'm quick to concede that what's pretty is the pair of shoes and not my pair of feet), to think it is merely 1/4 the price of my Php 5,000 moral upper limit for a price of a pair of shoes.

(Hop-skip-hop-skip, yipee!)

It's just too bad that towards the end of the day, my legs started to ache due to the strain resulting from the not so sturdy heels of the pretty brown shoes, not to mention nearly twisting my ankle in front of Mega Mall across my office.

Well, I really couldn't be blamed for raving at my finding the pretty brown shoes. You see, my size 10 (or 40) shoe size makes me not too keen on frequest shoe shopping. I'm not complaining though. I certainly would look ridiculous to be a big-boned, 5'7" tall girl with a size 5 shoe size. At least I wouldn't have to go on therapy for being afflicted with Imeldific shoe hoarding tendencies.

If I were to write my shoe biography, I would be spending a sizeable number of pages on a few unforgettable shoes. When I was little (probably 4 or 5 years old), I was brought to the house of my angkong and ama (lolo and lola) to pay them a visit. Angkong had a shoe factory in Marikina but, of course, this fact I've learned only when I was older. I do distincly remember Angkong and Ama beaming down at me after Angkong finished putting on me a pair of very pretty red shoes. Happy as I was with it, the little red shoes seemed equally happily fitted unto my tiny white socked feet. I used to take a peek at my shoe cabinet every now and then just to admire the pair. Angkong died shortly thereafter and my next and last memory of him was at the wake, with my Ama crying loadly in a sing song, sometimes cat-like tone.

I had another unforgettable shoe, the one I had when I was in Grade 2 which may yaya picked for me. It was a pair of blue fabric shoes with some red trimmings and with rubber soles. It had shoe laces and a bit on the high cut side. About the red trimmings, come to think of it, I'm really not sure if they were there but that is how I picture that pair now. I wore that pair in one of our school programs where I sang "Bop Girl", complete with choreography and back-up dancers.

Thinking about it now, I was always well dressed (with very well kept and beautiful long hair) when I was young until my yaya left us. I was in Grade 3 then. When she came back more than a year after, both of us seem to be not as keen on fixing up. And, I guess, that was the start of the dark manang days the shadow of which still hovers over me now.

Going back to my memorable shoes, I couldn't remember too much aside from the two. Almost all of my shoes are worn out and deformed before I throw or give them away.

On second thought, I had three pairs of shoes which brings funny memories to me. You see, since my shoes are big, I would be the perfect source of my male blockmates' shoe needs for the "Miss Freshman" beauty contest which was held in school. Having been unused for quite sometime before being worn by my three blockmates, the shoes were already cracked and peeling all over or to be more graphic, borrowing the words of beauty pageant host Dennis Edano - naaagnas come question and answer portion. To the naaagnas comment, contestant Virginia P. wittingly retorted that the shoes were courtesy of (then recently murdered) Gianni Versace. Hey, don't look now, as it would be difficult "filling in those shoes" as their most recent wearers prior to their disposal (they went straight to the trash can after the pageant) have since become either EDSA II "student leader", LLM scholar in NY or bar topnotcher with an average higher than Ferdinand Marcos and Diosdado Macapagal!

Who knows what's in store for me and my new pretty brown shoes? Hopefully marvelous.

Date dissecting

Just finished reading "Bridget Jones: The Edge of Reason", which I started yesterday, the day when my being Singleton, to borrow from Helen Fielding, has been fortified. I should have sensed my optimistic thoughts about joining dating scene is unfounded. First bad omen was yesterday morning's discovery that the guy who was flirting with me over the net last weekend is married. Not that I believed what he told me, as I do remember taking everything he said with a grain of salt. But still, that was a clear attempt at deception, and I just hate being fooled. Though I didn't really take him seriously even if I considered him a friend way back in grade school, for purposes of prepping up my ego, there was some sort of a loss I couldn't clearly point to.

I went out on a date last night, only the third time, or to be precise, 482 days since the abrupt, very unceremonial end of my brief but eventful whirlwind love affair, initially perceived as a graduation, but turned out to be a mere leave of absence from being unattached, errr, to be very blunt, boyfriendless state. Eighteen days ago, I went out on a *very* blind date with a 30 something guy. Again, my instincts proved me correct when we were finally face to face. I spent one and a half precious hours of my life, struggling to rid us of dead air which occurs whenever I pause to give my jaws a break from trying to make conversation. He seemed fine, seemed intelligent (which is my minimum qualification) and seemed to be secure of himself. I am certain though that there was no spark between us, a few minutes into the date. I just couldn't see *us*, as even the thought makes me cringe. On my way home and a few more text messages from him made me formulate my theory on the four ways of assessing the aftermath of a date.

FIRST SCENARIO: V. GOOD DATE

The best scenario after a date is when both of you are mutually interested to see each other again, owed to the fact that you mutually enjoyed each other's company. This scenario encompasses love at first sight or at the very least, a willingness to spend a few more of each other's precious time to see if you can work out something.

SECOND SCENARIO: GOOD DATE

I think this happened to me last year, a few months after my moral disqualification from not being entitled to put "In a relationship" on my Friendster profile. I dated a doctor who was, at that time, a resident surgeon at a very reputable and always busy hospital in Manila. We kept the conversation going for three hours, effortlessly at that, though I was quick to realize the conversation was between a doctor and a lawyer who were comparing notes at how difficult our professions are. Hmnn... needless to say, I didn't get any text message from him after the date and got a "who is this?" reply from him when I greeted him a Merry Christmas. Duh. Well, no hurt feelings as I certainly wouldn't want to have anything to do with someone whose existence is more miserable than my previous miserable existence, as I already had a life outside the office at that time, thank you very much. It was a good date, still, cause I had half of my favorite pizza and had no guilt feelings whatsoever that, after the date, we will be going about our daily lives separately, permanently.

THIRD SCENARIO: BAD DATE

Awww… What I really hate is to lie and be lied to. Terrible terrible terrible. It was after my date with the 30 something guy when I formulated these four scenarios and my date with him is a certified third scenario. You see, within hours after the date, he was already asking me to have coffee, dinner, lunch, what have you the following day. Very difficult to come up with excuses, you know? Since I don't want to endure telling lies and making excuses all the time, I decided to tell him I just realized I wasn't ready to date after breaking up with my first boyfriend (partly true). I just felt it was the fair thing to do, as I wouldn't want to go out with him just because I was feeling lonely (as I wasn't) or I just want to be treated to dinner (I can pay for my own meals, you know). Bottom line is, in the end, I don't want to be accused of taking him in for a ride. I don't want to be regarded as his girlfriend de facto by mere acceptance of benefits. I've been a victim of being taken advantaged of and I certainly wouldn't want to end up hurting someone's feelings.

FOURTH SCENARIO: WORST DATE

One thing I dread more than having a bad date is of course, the worst date, which I think, happened to me last night. I had a hunch things would not go well after the discovery of the married flirting guy early in the morning. As it turns out, this one would prick my heart. Ouch. The worst date is when you find yourself liking your date who obviously has not even a slightest interest in you.

It was bad enough that we were seated beside each other, which didn't give him a chance to *really* see me as you would need to constantly twist your neck and shoulders just to look at the other person. Anyway, he seemed to be immensely enjoying his Sukhotai more than being around me. Delicious Sukhotai though. Of course, we were in the company of a couple, my law school batchmate, former officemate and his girlfriend who was my college friend. I was actually the one who introduced them to each other, probably why, of my three dates after the break-up, they were the engineers of the two. It is just exasperating that the guy didn't ask even a single question to me. He didn't really speak to me, just me! I mean, what a way to show you're not interested. I know his mind is back in the office, thinking of several overdue work which needs to be turned in by Monday. Been there, done that, as I used to be part of that firm and would do the same thing - rush off to dinner in nearby Greenbelt and go back to the office to struggle to re-commence trying to make my gray matter work. But surely, he made me feel like he was just coerced into having that lengthy dinner at Oody's.

Too bad I kinda like him. Too bad he looked like some intelligent guy friend that I kinda like. Too bad he actually is intelligent, very intelligent at that and seems to be very decent. Too bad he's taller than me and it's really difficult to find someone who's at least 5'7".

Of course, no text messages from him after the dinner as he didn't even get my mobile number. Of course, he had my number all along as our friend, his office mate had already given it to him a week ago. Oh well, sent out a few text messages to guy and girl friends scattered all over Manila, Paranaque and New York City and then went back to reading Bridget Jones. Maybe his assessment of the circumference of my thighs and the girth of my torso prevented him from seeing the inner beauty of my soul.

When We Were Orphans by Kazuo Ishiguro

I've had this book for about a year now but it was only last weekend when I've had the inspiration to read it. Yes, rummaging through my bookshelves, now occupying one-fourth of my ex-bedroom (cause it's now more like a very untidy storeroom), is one of my productive alternatives to procrastination. And so, instead of getting started with what I was supposed to do, I plucked the quite heavy hard bound book from the shelf and began reading.

It took me just one day to read the quite sizeable book. Hmnn... basically, it's about an Englishman whose parents mysteriosly disappear in Shanghai where the family was based since the father was employed with a British company who imports opium into China. Set in the early 1900s, the Shanghai depicted in the novel was the cosmopolitan Shanghai, the Europe in the East. In the fringes of the International Settlement were the Shanghainese villages, a wall dividing two worlds far apart. I wish I had read the book without being able to perceive that Ishiguro is Japanese. My personal biases persisted, having a cognitive resistance to a Japanese writer writing about a British in Shanghai in the first person. Christopher or Poppin, the main protagonist in When We Were Orphans had only one friend in his lifelime who he considers to be closest to him, Akira, a Japanese boy who lives next door.

Several years after the boy Poppin was brought back to England after he became an orphan, he returns to Shanghai, at the brink of World War II, now as an acclaimed detective, determined to unravel the mystery behind his parents' disappearance, which eventually, he did.
Being Japanese, I thought Ishiguro painted them in a positive light in this book. There was a scene in the novel where Poppin, who strayed in that portion of Shanghai already occupied by the Japanese and was actually turned over to the British Embassy unharmed. I began to doubt the historical accuracy of the novel, having read Iris Chang's "Rape of Nanking" which is a memoir, until I was reminded that this is fiction and Ishiguro has the artistic license to write his story. Afterall, his novel does not attempt to advocate for or against a race or any political decisions made during the war. Instead, he succeeds at depicting and chronicling how a certain kind of love can make a person go at great lengths to protect another from hurt, from pain, from despair. As a child, Poppin and Akira shared this kind of love, each striving to protect each other's feelings when it matters. Impelled by her desperate desire to change her son's impeding fate, Poppin's mother chose a miserable half-life existence just to allow him to remain whole, alive, albeit, an orphan. Ironically, these acts of people who love us and we mutually love gives rise to feelings of misery and guilt. It is difficult, but the choices made by people who love us can only be returned by feelings of gratitude, and a resolve to not to waste and put such act of love in vain, as Poppin did.

(Also posted at http://www.isabellemoon.blogspot.com)

When it throbs...

It would probably take a lecture from a neurologist before anybody can make me belive, or accept, that I am suffering from a migraine. To me, a headache is a headache. Ascribing a simple, layman nomenclature to this affliction is a means to downplay how it ruins my day.

I was one of those who were lucky to actually experience excitement over the prospect of learning new things in college. One of the mysteries I sought to discover is why do people experience headaches. Unfortunately for me, one of the first few things my bio psychology professor told us is that scientists have not really identified a particular cause for having to endure having a stubbornly pulsating and throbbing head every one in a while. The fact that I have to resign to the use of the very broad word "pain" to describe my ordeal gave me a clue that there could probably be numerous reasons why my head shows symptoms of malfunction. But then again, it seems it is just befitting that something as intricate and prolific as the brain would have an equally intricate and unexplainable affliction. Same with people and things who, or which, "means a lot " to you. They don't really matter to you if they didn't have the power to evoke such strong positive and negative emotions. But of course, you wouldn't want to have it any other way, would you? So I guess, I should be grateful for having headaches? At least it means my brain is still working...

Procrastination

Finally, I was able to finish doing something I've been putting off for... geesh, half a year?

It escapes me why something seemingly so easy to do remains to be undone for that long. I remember myself in law school, staring at my Legal Research paper in Legal Ethics, wishing some words would just materialize out of the very clean coupon bond before me. Being objective about it, it is actually against reason, in fact, irrational, to resist doing something you have to do. The deadline is tomorrow and no amount of staring at the blank paper would reverse the ticking of the clock. Still, at that point, all I'm aware of is this: brain not functioning, thoughts remain wandering despite hypnotic repetition of reasons why something must be done. And yet, nada. Nada.

Men are supposedly rational beings and yet, if men are truly rational, why do we at times act in a very irrational way and need very less effort to act that way? Jaywalkers seem to know their geometry when they insist that the shortest distance between two points is a straight line. But maybe, shouldn't the jaywalkers be living not by what is the shortest distance but rather, the safest distance between two straight lines, which is the blue and pink metal structure, bastardizing the cityscape? What do we really want to express when we say, "it escapes reason"?

Is reason relative?

Should people be rather acting "naturally" or spontaneously rather than deliberately and painstakingly? If we need to be deliberate and painstaking to be at something, and that without that effort we would be aimless, does that negate that we are rational beings? If it is easier to act impulsively, shouldn't that mean that man is naturally wayward?

I guess its is too late to ask, and even futile at that, to question how things are. The complexity of life is the reward and consequence of change which is generally ineveitable. Maybe our feeble attempts at steering ourselves will have no significance to the tides that we crash into.

I will not attempt answering all my questions right now. Or perhaps, I should have answered these question while studying Philo I. Anyway, procrastination is a very, very, bad habit. In a psychological point of view, there could be many more explanations. But right now, the pragmatic in me hints at stopping this aimless discourse and start being productive again. After all, waves and the tides only exist in the open sea. There is much steering and paddling I can do in this puddle I'm into.