gl0ck's journal

This is an excerpt from one of my recent friendster bulletin board posts:

Time goes by so fast; And with it change. Alot has been said about change–
Although I could say easily that my favorite would be “There’s nothing constant in the world but change.” True enough; when me and —– first met, everything was bliss. There were countless times spent just gazing upon each others’ eyes and seeing nothing but pure love. But everything in life is a cycle and things began to deteriorate just as soon as everything built up. Mainly it was my fault, there were things that she was asking of me that I cannot bring myself to give; and for that I accept this punishment. For those of you who have watched the acclaimed movie “shawhank Redemption”, the circumstances surrounding what I feel now would be similar to Andrew Dufresne’s; Andrew was framed for the murder of his wife and he dropped a line something to the effect of “I killed her; but not the way the court is accusing me of.”
I feel the same way. I have acted immaturely during our time together and I feel that I have restrained her from what she truly wants to be, and I guess this is it. And as an ode to Dr. Frankenstein…”I have created a monster.”; Ponder this though, the deeds of the monster can be blamed only partly on the monster itself and partly on its creator. And I am guilty for what I have created.

The gist of this entire article is this— Betrayal. Last night I was at work and a good friend of mine brought to my attention something wrong. I went to —–’s friendster page and there it was— The worst insult that I have ever been pumelled with; A testimonial from someone who has supposedly fallen inlove with my baby. I have learned through time not to be instinctive, and this is a gift that is rarely possesed by people. I gave my baby the benefit of the doubt and called her up and it struck me like a thousand shards of broken glass—It’s true. A romantic affair has been going on between them.

Even then I was prepared to forgive and forget; I made myself clear that even with the faux pas —– was guilty of I was prepared to take her back. I was always the type of person who was steadfast with his convictions. In the words of Paulo Coehlo “The bow has no conscience: it is a prolongation of the archer’s hand and desire. It serves to kill or to meditate.”; I believe this is what lacks in my baby, she tends to be very confused and rebellious that she ends up pushing herself in situations that she’d end up regretting. I, on the other hand, have always replayed one scene in my mind. A happy Sunday morning in a ranch with kids running about—My kids. Our kids. It didn’t matter that we’re living a modest life as long as we’re together. This was a vision we both shared before and sometimes I wonder how a scene so pure could be tainted by the mundane. My baby went abroad to find herself but I fear that on the contrary, she’s losing huge chunks of it. Money, possession, convenience and luxury came into the picture. Sometimes I wonder if it’s the way to go and I find myself being amenable to the strange little world she lives in; I strived harder to climb the corporate ladder that I hated so much. I was struggling but I am invincible, I can do anything, I have something to hold on to…The scene with my unborn kids in a remote little ranch.

I have been discussing this with a very good friend as well and she told me that “Mike, loneliness can do a lot of things to people, I have a boyfriend right now and in the event that I go away I probably wouldn’t be able to ward off boys wanting to court me. But I love my boyfriend so much that even then all the guys in the world would have NOTHING compared to him.” I used to believe that and also used to chant it like a mantra every night; it used to make me smile.

The toughest question is “who’s at fault?” I am not naming the guy lest I open a can of worms (though you know who you are.); I feel that all of this are both their faults—I cannot just point my finger at the guy since —– has been entertaining him. Similarly, I cannot blame —– because like I said earlier, I am partly to blame as well for what she has become. There is one person though who’d I want to exonerate from the pain and burden of the consequences of this all…The guy’s girlfriend.

With that said, I have composed a message for the poor little girl who has been the victim of deceit and consequence. She’s the only real innocent person involved in this whole charade.

For all of you people who have been approaching me giving me comforting squeezes on my shoulders I thank you; for almost a year and two months now I have overlooked and almost forgotten people like you. You are true friends.

And to those of you who are —–’s friends and are close to her, I entrust her entirely unto your hands. I hope that you would always be there for her.

To the man I share my baby’s heart with, there will come a time when you’d have to choose and I wish you all the enlightenment in the world to make the right decision.

I am hurt right now but the fire of love still burns in my heart; but I dream of the time when this fire dies down into soothing embers which could only make me stronger. For weeks now this cancer has been eating me piece by piece, I have to sever the affected limb lest it kills me—My only regret is the limb I’m talking about is my precious baby.

A couple of regrets—

Baby the time you got off my car hurriedly, I never got a good glimpse of you; what’s strange is I can’t seem to remember your face. For hours now I can’t figure out why in God’s name I can’t recall the face of someone I have been with every single day of my life for roughly two years? I keep telling myself “Mike, it’s just that you don’t want to remember her for fear of how you would take it—for fear of how you’d be so overwhelmed by the pain that would consume you.” And indeed it’s true. I went down an hour prior to writing this letter and had a smoke; another thing we so often do together during the splendid time that we worked here together; and I’ve never felt so empty. The world around me appeared to be colorless and bland; the noise of people talking, cars passing by and the sound of the overplayed acoustic tunes being played in Dencio’s seem to be coming to me like a mocking drone that pounds me with reminders that you’re not here with me.

Anyways, I decided to go up to the parking area (by the way, I don’t need to walk all the way to the mall to the parking anymore because apparently, they decided to extended the operating hours of the parking building in Mega World.) to get my birth certificate which I needed to submit to Human Resources as part of the employment requirements recently handed down to me. I unlocked my car and like a severed limb, I had this phantom feeling that the passenger door would open and by the time that I sit down on the driver’s seat you’d be sitting next to me, kissing me and throwing your arms around me like what you always do. My birth certificate was in a folder on a backseat but just as I was about to get it, I noticed my wallet; I must’ve left it. Unconsciously, I opened it and there you were, smiling at me—smiling at me with the smile I was so accustomed to; the smile that never fails to make me weak and powerless. It must’ve been involuntary, I lost it all right there baby, Tears were forming in my eyes and it was so inevitable. I really hate it when I do not have any control whatsoever with regards to the way I react but I guess that’s just the way it is; I sobbed uncontrollably like a baby—something that I rarely do, something that I only did snuggled comfortably across your chest with my arms wrapped around you. I can only recall a few instances when I cried this hard; the first time was when we were on the verge of breaking up and I was threatened with the fact that I’m about to lose you. You could only imagine how harder I cried this time—first, I don’t have you to catch my tears and second, I lost you. No, I didn’t lose you, but you were taken away from me; taken away by the grim circumstances and the fucked up twists of fate that ended up with you and me in the position we’re in right now.

Baby, I’m really having a hard time holding up. I feel like an ant trapped in a complex colony; I’ve never felt this vulnerable and I never will do. With you by my side I felt like I was made of iron, but now that you’re so distant I feel as fragile and frail as anyone else. I feel helpless; helpless as the moment I was stopped by the guard to come to where you’re at earlier at the airport. That too was very hard for me baby; I know you’re having a hard time, I know you’re hurting and you needed my shoulders, my touch, my kiss and my words to make it all okay. I know my being there with you at that moment wouldn’t make everything okay but at least I can take all your sufferings away even just for a fleeting moment—just like what any designer drug would do to take all your problems away; to, for a moment, give you a break from all the complexities and harsh realities of the world. But they stopped me baby, I felt so helpless. I had this sudden instinct to trash out like a madman and force my way into the terminal but I thought better of it.

In time baby I’d be fine, but at the time of the writing of this letter, I am scarred unimaginably. I have lost the will to do pretty much anything and I have lost interest in all of the things that used to make me happy…the things I used to do that are just not the same without my princess beside me. Be it watching TV while I stroke your hair; driving around with my hand on your lap or even just walking around noticing all the trivial things we come across. My life is in shambles baby, I just wish that the time when I’d get to see you in your stewardess uniform, dragging along your insanely huge bag and wearing that puss in boots look on your face would be nearer that what I feel like.

Nothing could make me feel better baby; even the songs I hear on the radio that usually commiserate with whatever I feel seems to fit in perfectly to mock me in all my sadness. Baby I have written a lot now and still I can’t express how much I’m shattered right now. Below is a poem from one of my most respected poets. A simple man from Chile` who has felt the pangs of being away from what he truly loves; At least I have someone who sympathizes with me at a time when I’m so low; a time when the only person who I can talk to and genuinely sympathize with me is thousands of miles away…Pablo Neruda:

SADDEST POEM
I can write the saddest poem of all tonight.

Write, for instance: “The night is full of stars,
and the stars, blue, shiver in the distance.”

The night wind whirls in the sky and sings.

I can write the saddest poem of all tonight.
I loved her, and sometimes she loved me too.

On nights like this, I held her in my arms.
I kissed her so many times under the infinite sky.

She loved me, sometimes I loved her.
How could I not have loved her large, still eyes?

I can write the saddest poem of all tonight.
To think I don’t have her. To feel that I’ve lost her.

To hear the immense night, more immense without her.
And the poem falls to the soul as dew to grass.

What does it matter that my love couldn’t keep her.
The night is full of stars and she is not with me.

That’s all. Far away, someone sings. Far away.
My soul is lost without her.

As if to bring her near, my eyes search for her.
My heart searches for her and she is not with me.

The same night that whitens the same trees.
We, we who were, we are the same no longer.

I no longer love her, true, but how much I loved her.
My voice searched the wind to touch her ear.

Someone else’s. She will be someone else’s. As she once
belonged to my kisses.
Her voice, her light body. Her infinite eyes.

I no longer love her, true, but perhaps I love her.
Love is so short and oblivion so long.

Because on nights like this I held her in my arms,
my soul is lost without her.

Although this may be the last pain she causes me,
and this may be the last poem I write for her.

This letter was written 9.30.04– the time when I saw my ex-girlfriend off at the airport.

It occured again; for the first time since two years ago, my body had seceded from my brain and took control of itself. I wasn't thinking at all, and my actions are solely based upon my primal instincts as an animal-- my brain, if it had an on/off switch-- was turned off.

My memories of the events prior and after the event were lucid; the nanosecond leading up to the event, the crazy stir of emotions, building up to its climax-- and then I remember nothing; I do not recall making any conscious decision that authorized my violence. A fraction of a second later, my memory again kicks in grradually and the thoughts are once again are vivid and clear-- but then it was too late-- and frankly I don't care...

The mystery lies in between the second that anger gushed out of me like water flowing out of a dam and the second where I am sitting on the floor, with my back against the wall, my upper lip bleeding profusely and my knuckles sore. In those moments, those seconds, where my brain - like a switch - is simply turned "off". It doesn't exist. It doesn't think, it doesn't act. It has no control over my motor functions.

Do we regress back to creatures of pure instinct? Animals? The sweat beads on our palms, the erratic muscle spasms in our legs, our hyperventilation-- is this instinct? The confrontation begins, and you vaguely remember jerking to a halt. But you have absolutely no control-- like someone who is intoxicated with alcohol, you can only faintly remember an experience. Your only clues to the fact that something vile actually happened lie in the devastated outcome or the memories of others.

Here I am, standing triumphantly over the shredded pieces of my school report-- The school report I've compiled for roughly two gruelling months; the wooden table in my study has submitted to my physical prowess and is upturned; I am frustrated but victorious; but am I really?

Subtly, I think all of us are animals-- sometimes we regress to a violent creature that every once in a while, surfaces to relieve us of all the tension and worries of being a civilized man, of being urbanely refined. As animals we become creatures of instinct, of the base feelings and attitudes of humanity. Fear, anger, instinct and violence become us, and there is no denying it; and no stopping it for the coming of your animal is inevitable.

Our brain switches itself off to protect us-- but we do not control the on/off switch-- it controls us.

My mind is totally blank; I feel lethargic and weak; I don't feel like doing much of anything. During the writing of this essay, Christmas is right around the corner, and I fear that I will be left unappreciated in the cold. It's really not something I should be ashamed of-- being single I mean, because for once, I feel that I am actually comfortable with the fact that I really can't grasp, let alone, embrace the idea of commitment. I'm so much the happier for that. Yet I can't deny that I feel this primordial need to be pampered--to be appreciated...and If I must allow--to be loved...

The problem probably comes from my ego and the predicament i'm in. At this time, most, if not all the girls I'd be interested in dating are into the assholes, the matinee idols, the jocks, the guys who are "cool" and generally bad, the guys who have the multi-million peso cars. So what? They exude coolness and style and they command attention; they are immediately attractive because they KNOW who they are, they exude confidence. And the chicks dig it, they want to be some sort of fucking trophy to be paraded by men who try to make it look like they are appreciative of them. They want his attention only because it gives them the illusion that THEY themselves have risen to that level. And for this I look down at them. I laugh and scoff at them--for like me--they do NOT know who they are.

Do I really know myself anymore?

Nowadays I feel this insatiable need to flaunt my often exaggerated accomplishments in front of other people's faces so that they'll realize who I am; to be hopefully LIKED. But I fear that my actions would only exacerbate the already complicated ditch I am in, and I certainly do NOT want people to like me for that--I want them to start liking me for who I REALLY am. Where the fuck did I get the notion that If the "Genius-cool-jock-superstar" is there, people will come? Wayne's world?

Truth is, I'm not that kind of person, not one bit. I'm not an asshole, nor am I a genius or a superstar; and I more often than not, am not good enough for anybody. And I no longer want to pretend.

I am really confused, albeit happy. I refuse to reinvent myself for anyone; and through the suffering of my age and my transition into adulthood I learn to appreciate myself; I learn the importance of being who I really am. I don't want to change and because of it, I am filled with mush on the inside, I laugh, smile, cry and get mad just like anybody else. But I don't need to remind others of this, I don't need to flaunt any of my accomplishments no matter how little they are, because I'm in the point of not caring whether or not they'll approve of me; I'm content and comfortable that I approve of myself.

There's always a time when I feel that I had to be there for everyone; and in the process, be caught in the torrents of the problems that do not concern me, drown and be blindsided by my own neglected deficiencies. I am superman, and what a superman I turned out to be.

You can only help people wo ant help. It's a sad truth i've learned. There are so many people I want to pull from the currents of the gushing river, from the gale-force winds; to pull them onto dry land, wrap them in a warm, comforting blanket and send them on their way. I've always wanted to feel like the man who helps everybody-- the super hero, ubermensch, superman...

I often picture myself sitting on the side of a river, a pit of quicksand, calling out desperately to thsoe who put their arms out at me to be rescued. Crying for my help but never actually wanting it; my unsolicited help. I've had to learn to spot the difference between those who just extend their hands out in distress, and those struggling to swim back to shore.

Maybe my cynicism is killing me; maybe I badly need to realize that everything I do affects everybody else like some sort of obscure chain reaction-- maybe it affects everything, perhaps even everybody.

When I try to understand this, I also try to answer one thing: at the end of the day, after everything I've done, can I look at myself in the mirror with pride? Or have I made a nuisance out of myself?

I often dream of the time when I'd be thinking that making changes is like throwing stones in the ocean; every stone I throw raises the water significantly higher. Every splash I make generates ripples and waves; and those ripples sprew to every corner of the Earth, carrying the change i've done, until every water molecule in the ocean has heard the story of what I have changed. Even the still water moves, albeit discreetly, with my accomplishments. Every ripple, carried to every part of the world.

I dream of the day that when people ask me the question "How do you plan to change the world?"; I'd answer proudly: "I already have". For I am a superhero, Ubermensch, superman.

This post was edited by Jaz on Aug 24, 2003.

There are days when everyone's felt the same. You sit with your back to the wall, slumped over, waiting to cry. Today I felt like that. But something's always different when you wait to cry. It doesn't come. It never has.

I can remember staring at the wall, my eyes are glazed over. You look at the designs in the wallpaper and seldomnotice them. Sometimes you pick out random little things they form, and quickly forget. The eyes grow weary, the eyelids quiver, and you wait for that sudden rush of emotion that climaxes in the flowing of tears. The release of torment; it doesn't come...

I'm dysfunctional. Yet it seems like the best i've been able to muster over the course of the entire year. And I can remember myself slumped over against the wall, watching the designs in the wallpaper, watching the weather change, waiting for that release of pent-up emotion, of feeling like a failure or like some dysfunctional stand-up comedian, but none of it comes.

It's been on my mind for awhile. All my last few "relationships" have been dysfunctional forays into attempts at something normal. I've always dreamt of being in a John and Jane relationship where you'd be walking down the street holding hands, smiling, laughing at some silly private joke, having dated for almost a year and deeply in love. BUt I fear that isn't just possible for me anymore for I have changed from the weak melancholic pet to the tough macho cowboy with a stone heart that I've always been afraid I'd become.

Nothing is ever certain.

Those four words have been so ingrained into my psyche that it's really hard to have a lifelong opinion about anything, because everything changes. I can't sit back in a corner and cry for my future, because I can't believe it will be anything like my past. It's not certain. I can't even feel slightly sure about any of the events I foresee.