The year 2007 is coming to an end, yet this is my very first writing for the year.  Time really flew fast, I hardly noticed the passing of the months. The last time I posted an entry, I was barely starting with "J" company, having just left "S". Today, I am barely starting again, in another company I call  "U",   trying my luck in a foreign land. Yes, I have always wanted to work in another country, leaving my comfort zone and not merely surviving but making my experiences and my  pockets richer :)

It is not easy, I tell you. I can't count the number of times I cried out of loneliness. I can't tell you how much I am missing my friends and family. Just thinking I won't be spending the coming holidays with them is enough to send me to tears. I terribly miss the  following in no particular order: sinaing na tulingan, our house in Calatagan, the aimless walking in the mall, Chef D' Angelo, Yellow Cab, Go Nuts Donuts, my old room in Pasay City, the ride home to Calatagan during the weekend, having an early breakfast with inay, mangapitbahay, going to Baclaran every Wednesday, going to my favorite ukay ukay in Padre Faura. 

Yet, I am also enjoying my life here. I love my computer and the fast wireless internet connection. I love the tidiness of the city and how everything I need seems to be very accessible. I am coming to love the food as well, I always love Chinese food anyway. Noreen, my room mate and my newfound friend always keeps me company and helps me keep my sanity. We have a lot in common, she said. 

I'll have to spend 21 more months here according to my contract. But I hope I can visit the Philippines  next year. I have promised myself I will make the most of my stay here, like what Mamalen told me before I left,  "enjoy mo lang dyan".

Monday, 9:45 pm

How could you not notice me? I was just there. Silently waiting, quietly hoping you would see me. What's a short nod or a simple glance? Just look. Please, please, I beg you to look. One glance and I'll go home happy. I hope it rains again today or tomorrow morning before I head home...maybe then you'll notice me. "Hey look, a girl running under a stormy rain, what a wimp!" And it was for this gratitude that I will go home totally soaked but happy.



Tuesday, 7:10 am

It was raining. I walk. Pass by you...i look and then you were gone. I think I was more than soaked. But I was happy. Did I bother telling you? I think this was the time I started singing. Oh yeah, and then I coined a concept. Walking in the rain...it's simply symphonic! I hope you could see me, the way I see you. 

That even in a crowded place—
I feel terribly alone.The flow
of noise passing through me.
Between a silent heave,
I bit my tongue and let it bleed.
Taste it slowly, indulgingly
Just to know— if I exist
and if you are still there
somewhere, in this maddening crowd.


-------

You know how crazy it is?

Hearing the rain and feeling the heat all at the same time. This weather is a schizo. It makes me sick sometime not knowing what to expect. Will it rain today? Will I see the sun tomorrow? I never really like to bring umbrella.

But I like the unpredictability of life and so it goes with the weather. Sometimes, you really wouldn’t know. I’m a rain person simply because I like this certain effect that only “rain” could give me. But what’s good about raining is that, it leaves a mark. It covers the ground, the way, blackness covers the earth during night. It’s like a concealer. It covers the ugly parts and brings out new perspective depending on how you view it.

After the rain, there are drops of dew. And they make the grass looks so fresh and the color green so vivid. The view tempts me to lie down and feel its coolness down my back. I’ve tried it so many times and it never fails to amuse me. It's like my own bed of roses and there are no thorns just plain, cold moisture.

I could not  contain myself as I looked into his gaunt expressionless face. His is the kind of face that I enjoy gawking at even if it means embarrassing myself. He strikes me as the type who cares for no one but himself. I tried reading his thoughts but my mind bled -- I couldn’t get through.

 As I looked at him from across the room, I couldn’t help but envy the cup of coffee that he smells under his chin..

What I wouldn't give to trace the lines of his hands.

Everybody seems to be having a blast these days and I don't know where I stand. And this new musing is killing me. I can't stop myself from dreaming things that are too far from happening. Everything is still a big wonder for me. I can't even come up with the proper words to say. Or describe it even.

The world is reclaiming its lost magic. New taste, new flavor with an added spice. korni ko!

When will I stop questioning the world? It's been giving me the silent treatment for 24 years now. But then again there's a nagging suspicion that it was just really me.

And oh, have I ever mentioned that I hate work? I hate it because I can't leave it. I can't leave it yet.

That glint in his eyes. The slow whurr of the ceiling fan. The heat of the entire world that is toasting me alive. A deep rumble, his voice, mouthing my name...

The world is slowly coming alive around me. I want to open my heart and I want all the good vibes come out in an overwhelming rush. And I want to sing about it.

I've proven it - that my hope isn't somewhere inside of me. If hope was only a product of the chemical processes of my brain, a mental illusion, a linguistic device I created to organize my thoughts, then be honest with me: why bother with this whole breathing thing? If I can't hope that things will get better inside my self-centered world, then it's all pointless.

I hope. It's all that's left to me. And you know what the funny thing is? The hardest part about hoping is hoping for love. Not in love, but for love. It's easy to hope for more money, because I can actually do something about it. It's easy to hope for fame, because I don't care about that so if it never happens, I wouldn't lose sleep over it.

If I was being optimistic, then the most I could expect is that I die a happy single person. With maybe a dog or two. Call me stupid, or irrational, maybe even illogical, but I still hope. There is still somebody out there for me, somebody who would not puke when he finds out how much I love him, how I've saved everything (all my mistakes and flaws and mess-ups) for him, just him, only him. I don't just hope, actually, I believe in true love. I believe that one day, I'll commit the entire remaining years of my life to that one man, my husband, and it'll be good.

Happily ever after, you know.

The truth is, the rational, logical side of me knows that I am being stupid when it comes to this whole true love thing. The odds of finding true love is about a googol to zero. To hope for true love. What is this, a fairy tale?

But I still hope. Like I said, that's all I have left.

You asked me why I am such a solitude-freak. I did not answer you right away because I do not know the exact reason why I am like that. It's just that verything that’s sad and quiet and lonely and serene and nostalgic and wistful and inexplicable appeals to me so much I feel I have to own it or I’ll be missing a lot. I read somewhere that solitude is seen in likely places, only the person seeing it must know immediately if what she’s seeing is real or a put-on. I do not have that ability. What I have is the ability to suck up to everything. The sad eyes, the sulk of a face, the wilting of a once beautiful flower, the newly-cut grass, the drops of rain, the sound of a piano playing, a man sitting on a bench, an old woman looking at a window glass, pieces of torn letters, a burnt book. I’ve always been detached (or so I thought I was) and for the last 24 years, I’ve always thought I had it in me to always be unaffected and untouched even though deep inside, I know I’ve been smacked. I’ve always been wary about the whole idea of happiness for I’ve always known it as an ephemeral scheme of the mind. It was introduced to me very late in life that although I was quite familiar with the face, it was never real to me. It was just an idea. Everyone can see and everyone desires it but it’s just there…only to be admired. Like this friend I used to have…this person was my whole idea of happiness but this person was JUST there, merely to be admired.

I do hope you’ll stop asking me things that even I could not very well understand. I’ve told you before I don’t know myself that well. And I’m not that intelligent either. Not enough to tell you everything about me. The vividness, the details, the aspects aren’t just my thing. At least for now. Or maybe I’m just afraid to open up. Again, this is another one of my aspects, I’m not likely to open up…not if you beg me for it.

“How does one grow up?” I asked you the other day.
There was a slight pause; then you answered, “By thinking.”