Thursday, April 19, 2007

Curiouser And Curiouser

Ramblings. Sometimes, I like to pretend that I have more depth in me than what my superficiality has to offer. This is one of those days. The word 'ramblings' is not at all new to me. It's one of those words that you first hear being used on tv when you were in high school, and was easy enough to understand just by listening to how it was used (I think there's a term for that, but it escapes my memory right now), you know, one of those words you didn't really need to look up in a dictionary. But somehow, today, of all days (actually, there isn't really anything special about today, I've just always wanted to say that but was never presented with the opportunity), it just struck me out of nowhere while I was in the middle of one. I was, at the time, trying to debate upon myself how vicious a cycle being taken for granted is. It's a question, actually. A question I am so desperate to know the answer to, hence the rambling. You see, in my twisted hindsight, I find it so unfair how one, such as myself, can just give and try his entire life and not get a single thing in return. I know that it sounds simple right off the bat, and sure, there's no doubt you'll probably agree to what it says. But I find this statement to be so encrypted with layers and layers of subtext that I know, once segmented, will reveal multitudes of curious queries for you, too. Ramblings are not just excessive thinking. You may not realize, but they're still thoughts and, more importantly, they're yours. Yes, they do seem random and arbitrary (duh, that's why they're called ramblings), but they carry so much honesty and reality to them. For me, they're extensions of your very own persona.

You wouldn't believe it, but this was actually inspired by a memory of mine from the not so distant past. This memory, which was merely from yesterday, finds me on the brink of finishing my petite (which, on a side note, is just as satisfying as the fiesta) halo-halo, that I so casually laid aside in order to attack my chicharap (yes, I had my merienda delivered from Chowking; as if the halo-halo wasn't clue enough) with much fervored gusto. And as I munchingly devoured (what? I was famished) the crackling-upon-contact-with-saliva things, my enthusiasm was halted when a pestering house fly (or fruit fly, i don't really know or care) decided to join in. As I nimbly swatted at it with the backside of my slackened hand, it merely dodged impact, then plainly returned to it's original spot very near my cold treat. I kept shooing it away, and it just kept coming back to feed on the spilled droplets of evaporated milk that clustered beside my halo-halo. And as my patience quickly wore thin with how unrelenting the fly became, I was struck with the thought that a deep-thinking optimist (which is the exact opposite of myself) would merely see this as a chance, a God-given opportunity, to exercise that which makes him just that - an optimist. He would see this as a perfect analogy for human virtue. As humans blessed with sentience, we are expected to realize that 'trying' is merely a by-product of gumption, and the key to a triumphant success. And with that in mind, I started to think to myself. Would things have been different if I tried harder in life? No doubt, things would definitely be different, maybe even better. But I know for a fact that not all things would be affected in the same way. I'm referring to emotions, you know, those God-awful things that make us human. When it comes to matters of the heart, things always tend to be a little trickier. If I tried harder with love, would things be any different than the way things are now? Would things have been for the better if exerted just a little more keen effort, like my little fly friend (who I killed, by the way, in the office, with murder weapon newspaper)? Or is a little more just way too much effort already? Because when you go through what I've been through (and I'm hoping someone actually has), is that much effort actually even worth the risk or the trouble? Would I be in a loving relationship right now if I had pursued 'her' even when I know deep down I would be fighting a losing battle anyway? I tried, and I'd like to think that I gave so much, but when is it ever enough? Should I have tried harder? God knows I probably would have. But was I just supposed to keep doing it forever? Cuz that's an awful long time of hurting. A very accidentally wise colleague once said, "if it's meant to be, it will be." So naturally, it goes both ways. If it isn't meant to be, it never will be. Should I have put in that much effort in something that will never give me anything in return? Shouldn't I be using this much energy on something else instead, something productive? Don't I deserve rewards too? They say each of us has a shot at happiness. Yeah, okay, so maybe I made that up. But isn't it true anyway? I mean, some people (ehem, ehem) are already not living life at all, should they be deprived of that one shot still? When you try and you keep trying, and nothing ever comes your way, isn't it just more practical to be realistic, in the sense that you understand that there may never be anything for you this one way, and that you should move on and try another route? But what if the other party doesn't think you've tried enough? That's the thing, isn't it? You just never know for sure. There's always that possibility, no matter how minute, how slim the chances of that happening are. But sometimes, isn't all this trying tiring? Should we always attach ourselves to that small glimmer of hope? When your life is as dreary as my existence, should you always look forward to a silver lining, when there isn't even a possibility of one? Or is that just allowing others to add insult to injury? It's pretty much a no brainer that it's an unfair deal to the ego to receive so much humiliation, but to keep doing it to yourself...? I guess the question now becomes, when it's as universal as faith, when it could just as well be considered a religion, how important is it to believe in hope, when there's a fifty-fifty chance it might be false? Heh, see what I mean by rambling?

Ramblings. I like the sound of it. It's like 'unorthodox', or 'mediocre', or 'apathy'. Ramblings. Yeah, I definitely love the word. It has an inescapable level of uncertainty that's almost unintelligent, but not really. I think it'll make a permanent home in my vocabulary, and quite a lovely addition, don't you think?

*rawr*



:p

***
Quotable quote, not necessarily related to this post, but noteworthy nonetheless:


"For a kiss to be really good you want it to mean something. You want it be with someone you can’t get out of your head. So that when your lips finally touch you feel it everywhere. A kiss so hot, so deep you never wanna come up for air. You can’t cheat your first kiss Nicole. Trust me, you don’t want to. 'Cause when you find the right person to first kiss, it’s everything!" – Alex Karev, Grey’s Anatomy...

Monday, April 9, 2007

Exacerbated Gibberish

My recent bout of unemployment had caused me nothing but insomnia, boredom, and a whole lot of Sex… and the City, that is. While I was never a devout fan of the successful show in its prime, I did occasionally enjoy an episode or two. So on the one day that I had absolutely nothing better to do, and since becoming a fan of DVD telethons as the new recreational sport, I decided to watch the entire six seasons of the popular show. And even though I’ll admit to the fact that my intentions of watching was originally to get out of running family errands, doing chores, and even getting myself a decent haircut, my opinions of it changed as I watched episode after episode.

Looking back to when the show aired, I vaguely remember myself watching a few episodes every now and then, just for the sake of watching. I figured, because everybody else was watching, and not wanting to be thrown out of a conversational loop whenever the need arose, I might as well pretend I was a fan too. I even only started watching on the third or fourth season. Frankly, I didn’t quite get it at the time. Back then, it was all about the sex for me. I was mortified, to say the least, yet strangely aroused and disturbingly interested from all the images and scenes of, dare I even say it, soft-core porn the show provided; this is, of course, despite the pre-program advisory in silent black and white. Somehow I just couldn’t quite grasp how such taboo topics as sex and male and female genitalia or lewd, promiscuous sexual acts I’m embarrassed to even mention here, suddenly became okay to be shown and discussed as normal, everyday conversational pieces, say, over lunch, brunch, dinner, a movie, a telephone call, a date, before sex, after sex, and even during sex. Heck, the lead character’s job is entirely about those topics. Clearly, I missed the memo there. But now that I was watching it again after 2-4 years of gained maturity something-or-other, and what I hope to be a better understanding of life, I actually saw the show in a totally different and better perspective. Turns out, it was indeed about relationships like they kept on saying to the public before. I just forgot how living with cultural differences can sometimes hinder a full understanding of things. Apparently, if our normal, acceptable behavior here in Manila is what Americans, especially the New Yorker ones, would define as conservative, their “normal” over there is our liberated. And this is how they manage to get away with broadcasting stuff like sex on national television every single time. Unfortunately for me, though, after watching six seasons straight, the show somehow managed to have Carrie Bradshaw’s way of thinking rub off on me a little, as the cobwebbed gears in my head started turning with those sudden random thoughts on cultural differences, and I found myself just having to ask… are we really behind the times that bad, or are they just the ones who are moving too fast? Or is it possible, that it’s just me? If so, then I need to rephrase my question. Has the liberated ship already set sail without me on it?

Despite twenty-two lousy years of a pathetic existence I frequently refer to as my life, I know that I need to start calling myself a bachelor now. And while my experience in the relationship department is certainly lacking in so many aspects, as a single man, however weak and depressing, living along the outskirts of the posh side of our country’s very own version of Manhattan, it strikes me as very worrisome that the clock has already began to tick, and I’m still stuck on a time loop. It feels like I’m still caught between being the dependent child, and the struggling, striving young adult. In retrospect, you could say that my family history and anti-socializing definitely had something to do with it. I feel like Miranda Hobbs, always too proud to show the slightest sign of weakness, always cringing at the slightest imperfection. Somehow, I just find it so hard to be comfortable around other people, and just eventually developed intimacy issues. But when it comes to matters of the lust-induced sexual appetite, what’s holding me back?

I have to ask myself… I couldn’t help but wonder… am I just another Carrie, who’s living his life in the city, on the lookout for love? Now that’s a scary thought.



Sex and the City trivia:

Back in the day, when Chandra Wilson was not yet famous and successfully playing Grey’s Anatomy’s Dr. Miranda Bailey, she was an extra on Sex and the City playing a female police officer who was supposed to stop Samantha (played by Kim Catrall) from posting posters of her then boyfriend Richard’s face all over the place. When Samantha explained to her with much fervor how she caught the man (Richard) eating another woman’s p*ssy, Chandra let her carry on. She had about two lines and not more than 10 seconds of face time, but I still noticed. ^_^



:p

***
Quotable quote, not necessarily related to this post, but noteworthy nonetheless:


His hello was the end of her endings
Her laugh was their first step down the aisle
His hand would be hers to hold forever
His forever was as simple as her smile
He said she was what was missing
She said instantly, she knew
She was a question to be answered
And his answer was, "I do."

- Carrie Bradshaw, Sex And The City...

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