Mother’s Painful Memory

When I was still very young and living in England, I one day felt a tremendous amount of sadness from my mother. We were going back to the Philippines. My mother acted like someone had died. I didn’t understand what was going on. I was so confused. On the plane, my mother started crying. She looked out the window and cried silently. I looked to my father and expected that he’d explain what was going on. I was ignored like how he ignored my mother. I thought we were going on vacation, that we were going back. Fear overwhelmed me when I saw the slums of Manila. This was not a vacation. This was permanent. “Is this Hell?” I remember telling myself. That was how I knew my father was not a husband to my mother. He had forced us to go with his stupid decision, and he knew that a child and a submissive mother would not do anything about it.

Blue Sky and White Clouds Mused Me

This is my last term DLSU. Yes, I am opening this blog entry with the idea of leaving. For the past months, that seems to be theme I’ve been living in. Goodbye academic world and hello working world! Please take it easy on this unemployed fresh grad with zero professional work experience. Wouldn’t that be Utopian?

Thesis and internship invaded so much of my personal life that I haven’t been able to finish three books since the start of the year. My mother’s finished four books in a month! I drowned in a sea of envy during my “thesis writing sessions” when I saw her reading on the couch whilst drinking tea. Since thesis is done, I get to read my book during breaks at the office.

Interning is giving me some rather interesting things to think about. A few days after I started, I rode a jeepney to said company, and the driver was this really jolly guy. He had friends everywhere along the route he drove. His smile revealed rotting teeth but he wasn’t afraid to show his happiness he created along that route of his. It hit me that this guy, someone who’s probably never gone through college, high school or even elementary, is happier than I am. I pretty much have everything I could ever need–opportunities for a better future. Yet this guy has found the happiness that I’ve been trying so hard to find. Sure enough, he’d be happy if he had a better paying job. But I think he’d miss the people.

Anyway, I have 3 weeks, 3 day, and 5 hours left in my internship. I hope something interesting happens.

I’m perverse. You always knew, but I’m saying it.

My chest was invaded by pieces ever-expanding shards of ice. What was happening to me? I considered that a long shower would calm me down.

My invader liquefied into a thick hot stream of satin which coursed my arteries till my heart realized it was drowning in adrenalin. I felt so hot, unstable, and dizzy that the wall that protected my naked body from the outside quickly became a mother’s embrace while my shower head continued to rain on me. I tried catching my breath; I say I tried because I only got worse.

I relinquished myself to my veiled invader, not knowing what it was that made me concede. I concluded that I was longing for someone. Why? I thought. I don’t know why, but I wanted it. Of all the people I’ve been with, fell in love with, kissed with, held hands with, gazed eyes with, caught scent with, touched skins with, and shared silence with, there was only one in my mind. I had an unnatural desire to have her.

My synapses sparked for her when I had seconds for myself. This time was different; she just wouldn’t disappear from my head. Continue reading

The Corporate World is No Place for Social Sciences

A few months ago, I was losing my marbles when I had a week left to find a place to intern. I pulled out all the stops and used every resource I had. Then lo and behold, a friend of mine asked if I could intern at said company, and I didn’t need to go through an interview! “Can you start tomorrow?” She asked. I was extremely elated! It was as if a miracle had come and present itself on a silver platter. I didn’t care if my training in IR was useless in said company. I was in it for the “office experience” and the hours. Oh, naïve child, if you knew what I know now…

Being trained in IR makes me, at the very least, inquisitive in global affairs. No one here dares to argue about sex, politics, economics, history, philosophy, morality, ethics, and religion. The one person that does is leaving the company tomorrow! My brain is dead in said company and most people here talk about TV shows, celebrities or tragedies. I know an interesting TV show called House of Cards, but these people talk about Rhodora X (I know, don’t ask). Politics and business DO NOT match. They’re oil and water, I’d say.

If I had waited a little longer, I would be interning in ECCP.

What am I?

I’m not a normal person. Without thinking, I hurt people through my actions and when I do think, people ask me why I did it anyway. I don’t know how to be normal, and I don’t know what rules society has put up. I play the guessing game. “Is this the right thing to do?” I do it. “Why did/n’t you do that?” I try to understand why things clash with me so much. But when I do, it’s already too late. I don’t realise what I’ve done until the consequences bite back. I don’t mind the pain since pain is a great way to remember things. It’s the people that’ll be at the receiving end that worries me. I’m trying to be a better person or at the very least, a normal person. I just don’t know how. All I’ve got is learning through mistakes.

Spending Christmas with a Single Mom

Before my father decided to leave mom and I, we would fly to the province every Christmas vacation and have a little family reunion. Aside from us, two other siblings of my father’s and their family live outside the province. One lives at Australia and the other lives at Hong Kong. I found this yearly reunion fun and exciting. There would always be a huge feast on Christmas Eve coupled with games designed to make all the adults look like complete fools. On Christmas day, the feast would continue with another rousing round of games and the seasonal Secret Santa. Tradition.

My mother always hated this tradition. She was never welcomed openly by my father’s family, and my father felt obliged to bring her along. She always felt like an outsider. I was too young and naïve to notice it. Fortunately, the separation meant that we needed not meet the Clan (yes, my father’s family is a legitimate clan formally registered in the government) every festive season.

The past Christmas Eves with my mother always involved trips to different restaurants or hours in the kitchen. I never once missed the Clan’s celebratory mood and the money in envelopes that came with it. This Christmas Eve was different. Continue reading

An old repeating record player

It’s a quarter to 2 in the morning. I don’t plan on sleeping, and I’ll probably boil myself a cup of coffee. Now though,
I’ve sat myself on this couch with a bowl of plain oatmeal whilst the TV shows a Korean music show for old people and a documentary. All the while I know that in 6 hours I have midterms, followed by a gruelling 3 hours of International Law and German, and afterwards another 3 or so hours of thesis research.

This tasteless fibre treat coupled with the vibratos of these aging Korean artists brings me down to where I feel like I’m a depressed old man, regretting the things he’s done or not done and knowing that it just might be too late to make things right.

It’s so difficult to find self-happiness. I know where to begin, and I know that I have to have peace within me. This peace will have to come with a temporary distortion of someone else’s peace. I’m just so fucking afraid of what would happen to me and to her once I finally have the balls to fucking sort myself out.

I have to fix myself (I’ve probably said that a billion times), because this is harbouring so much pain that I have to act differently to friends that remind me of her. I have to have a life where I’m not constantly basing my actions and ideas through bittersweet memories. I want to have my own life.

I really thought I could live on my own, be dependent from the past mistakes. That will never happen. If peace is a still lake in the morning, then I have a small pond with a large rock thrown in the middle.

I find myself feeling jealous of people who find closure to these kinds of things. I guess I’ll return to my pity party of one.