Time, Is Never Time at All Without Leaving a Piece of Youth...

I had this sudden urge last night to dig some old records long kept in the closet. It was right in there, contained in my old converse chuck Taylor shoe box, so nostalgic. Got hold of the Melloncollie and the Infinite Sadness album of Smashing Pumpkins, my God, that was 1995, still in high school and addicted to Billy Corgan. For whatever reason, Zero became an anthem, “I’m your lover, I’m your zero, I’m the face in your dreams of glass…wanna go for a ride?” it was so euphoric, just sitting in the floor, with Billy Corgan’s wail on the background, dreaming about better days… Wake up, wake up! I don’t know if I’m in a better position now to talk about the recent break-up of my four-year relationship. I’m trying not to be melodramatic you know. God, four years is relatively long. Ours was really a tough case to break, what can I say. For all its worth, no regrets, I think I can bet my life in saying that I really loved well, even beyond myself. I did everything that I can do, even turned around several times just to make it work. but then it’s a relationship, and if the other one stop relating, the end is inevitable. We really had good times together though and maybe when we will look back from all these, I wish I will be remembered as somebody who sees through him and understands him, more than anybody does, and maybe more than he understands himself. Sorry to disappoint those who expect hateful words or curses and hell, I’d rather throw all those words in the black hole. I want to remember the good old person I used to know and fell in love with; simple, honest, and uncomplicated. I still say thank you. Until now, i could only say so much about its lessons, or just about its demise. May it be profound or mundane; I guess I'm learning, little by little, that we decide what our lives are going to be. Things happen to us, but it is our reactions that matter. I remember this episode in Felicity where Felicity’s high school teacher told her “I guess when your heart gets broken, you sort of start to see the cracks in everything. I'm convinced that tragedy wants to harden us, and that our mission is to never let it.” I don’t want to be hardened. I’d rather be whole than hard. As I look at myself now, I feel better, maybe because I was able to come out from all of these stronger and whole. I’m slightly bent but I hope into a better shape. I am still wearing the same sweet smile and the beautiful soul. It’s over and done and maybe when I look back about this, perhaps I will just say, “piece of cake.” God, I feel all grown up! I’ll get myself another cup of coffee.

More than caffeine

As i'm having my first cup of coffee for the day, i remember one of Ally Mcbeal's episode (as to Ally Mcbeal, it looks tacky pala when your already nearing 30 but still as neurotic as a 15-year-old trying to get laid, she's not cute na eh)anyway, in that episode, Ally said that your first cup of coffee for the day should be regarded as having a very engaging morning sex. in short, your sip should be slow, lingering, affectionate, almost euphoric...kape tayo!

Nahidlaw ko kay Nanay 

The Coffee Journey in My Strange Urbanity

In the small barrio in the south of Negros, where the crickets signals the coming of dusk, I first tasted my first cup of coffee. I was four years old then; all set for kinder, and can memorize few paragraphs of Mi Ultimo Adios without batting an eyelash. I can’t really remember why I was endeared to this black concoction at a young age, a bit bitter most of the time I can say. Maybe because my lola has a few coffee trees in the backyard, which never failed to bear fruit and when she cooked the dried beans, it always smelled so damn good. Yes, maybe it was the aroma of the coffee that it made it so tempting, or maybe something else.

I was left to the care of my lola until I was four. She’s really like my kindred spirit. Every time I wake up in the morning and smell the brewed coffee with lola’s voice in the kitchen, I know it will be a lovely day. I would make black coffee as morning soup mixed with rice and hotdog. I would drink milk after that. One thing I like about lola was that she doesn’t get angry seeing me drinking coffee unlike my parents who rage like hell. Several years after, I realized that it was not really all about caffeine but the comforting security I got from my lola, which I fondly associate with coffee.

Kindergarten days came in. I left the farm and stayed with my mother in the town. I never tasted any coffee in regular basis since then. I can say that my mother borders into being a health freak, milk twice a day, vegetables in every meal, and vitamins every evening. Maybe that explains why I’ve never been thin all my life. I could say that I nearly forgot coffee during those times. I discovered sophisticated games from my fairly affluent classmates, a far cry from the rowdy games in the back of the carabaos I had with my playmates in the farm. There I also discovered that I was quite advanced with some children of my age. I could retell the story by our teacher in almost the same manner as she does and could memorize poems faster than the ordinary. I had a relatively good memory back then.

Time slowly swifts by. High school was really a blissful and awakening journey. With the pressures to be always on top, the confusions of growing up, and the cry of a broken heart, I’d wish I could go back to the mundane experience of my childhood with me and my lola sipping our early morning coffee. But I know it could never be. The past can sometimes be recalled but never relived. When I entered fourth year high, my mother indirectly allowed me to drink coffee. It was a lifesaver. Maybe because she realized that my IQ could shoot high to 120 when I got a load of caffeine. I’m not sure if it’s psychological or what, but if I had coffee in the morning, I felt I could solve polynomials even with eyes closed. That was rather strange because I was not even good in math.

College drifts by so fast and so good that before I knew it was gone. I got my first taste of real independence, which made me see the world in its entirety. Friends claim that I’m a coffee addict. While others sip fruit juices or softdrinks, I would have a cup of cappuccino while savoring the poetry of Emily Dickinson and the philosophy of Nietzsche in alternate. In my study hours, there was always a mug of coffee with the wail of Billy Corgan in the background. I disagree that I’m a coffee addict. I love it but it doesn’t control me. I know that part of it was a connection from the past, of my mountain fairy days.

Few years after that, I found myself in the strange city, living with dormates with the same hormonal problems as mine, hanging out in bookstores reading spiderman comics for cheap thrills, and having the label, “just add hot water” in my daily meal. I’m out of college, living a relatively independent life, and receiving a constant, although “barely felt” paycheck. I could surely afford a coffeemaker now, but still haven’t got one because of sheer indolence. I think the Great Taste 3 in 1 is still unbeatable, always available and never lets me down. “So what’s with Manila that makes you stick to it?”, a friend asked me once. “Bloom where you are planted,” was my answer, even until now. So what’s my impression with life being a twenty-something urban-dweller? I think I’m still trying to discover life’s manifold possibilities and getting used to the idea that those manifold possibilities are actually limited. Meantime, I’ll sip my great taste 3 in 1 now before it gets cold.

Filler

I miss the burger and the fries soaked in cappuccino
All I have here are the melting chocolates to cure my melancholia
Do I look morbid like a wolfgirl out in the woods?
The fullmoon is far, meantime, I’ll sleep.

Sunny thoughts

To quote Yael, “thoughts in my head, they come and go but I don’t know.” It’s really interesting how people, in different place and situation, could actually relate to us on a certain level. My God, this is cosmic connection! I should see you play live!

My Not so Great Expectations

i don't know what to think. all of a sudden, the thing that i look up to with so much promise and hope scattered into pieces. the initial reaction is to resist it but then it gets harder everyday. and it's actually the getting to the point that is the hardest part. i just realized, after much whining and wallowing in misery, that it's just a transitory experience, not an end in itself. true, tears could make us see things far clearly, as far as a telescope. as what they say, when you look back after this, be kind. Kind of what? i think i'd rather smile with a middle finger straight out. Peace out, Rabbit!