meetjopeblack

I just paid my cable and phone bills prior to this.  What a way to start the day!  The week that was was a calm and happy (and I mean it in the fulfilled kind of way and not merely the loud cheery mood kind) week.  My students are, as planned, being initiated into the adult vocabulary of self-creation and moral definition.  This major philosophical unease will probably start their quarter life crisis.  I'm at the door of their entry to confusion and I'm excited to see them come out of it soon.  I'm relaxed by my nightly sips of Marqués de Murrieta Ygay and I say this is far better than valium.  I'm nourished by easy reads like Martin Page's How I Became Stupid and J.K. Rowling's book five.  Will go back to Chuck Palahniuk after a few more pages of Martin Page.  The philo 40th anniv plans are going steady too.  I'm heading the department arm and the tie up with SOH Sanggu is making the fruits of countless brainstorming and deliberations months ago happen.  Wedding/Marriage preparations are going along smoothly and on schedule.  Cathy and myself are really keyed up on our future together.  So many dreams; will one lifetime be enough?

Everything's going swimmingly except for money.  I have my savings  and they'll pretty much cover my share of the wedding expenses and probably a little more.  This capitalist Christmas, however,  is getting me nuts over budget.  Last weekend I spent roughly around 8k for presents and what-nots (and oh! 6K this month for tires and car tune-up and a new car horn--I love my macho car horn!  Was being a bully yesterday, honking on almost everyone that got near me!); I'm expecting 12K on my billing statement this December (including my unaccounted purchases prior to last weekend and my steady monthly bills for phone, cable, and insurance!).  If it's any consolation, that's 266 added miles.

I have less than 2K in my wallet and it'll be 10 days more before payday with a lot of things yet to be bought.  The Step-up stipend on Sunday hopefully can spare me of more withdrawals from my ATM or a swipe on my credit card.  Or i'll die in debt.

Some say money should be the least of one's concerns.  That no worries on money should ever preoccupy one's mind. That's easy for one who has money to say.  If only money is as easy as dancing Boom-tarat-tarat on national tv.  But then again, who says swallowing up one's pride and dancing feel-na-feel plus concocting the saddest of stories to move Willy to give you $20 is easy?

Cathy and I had a crying-contest last night while driving home.  I can't make myself cry on cue even if I've already killed a handful of my loved ones in my mind.  I should've thought of not having money instead, that will give me more than just a tear.  That I feel is what the street children have mastered--the art of evoking pity--and they have internalized it so much that the question on pride and human dignity never comes up.  That's what Boom-tarat-tarat is--one devoids one's self of pride for the money.

When can we just dance Boom-tarat-tarat for the sheer fun of it?

meetjopeblack

I left the seminary six years ago and the question asked of me is why I left.  The usual hunch is that I enjoyed life outside too much, I decided not to go back.  This typically appears in the form, "he was tempted by mundane pleasures..."  Or perhaps because of a girl I met--with eyes peering at my fiancée with absolute derision.  Poor Cathy; she had nothing to do with this.  I met her only three years ago and that accusation turns me off of Christians all the more.

It's actually none of these that I left.  I always say it's a matter of principle and I'm glad I made that decision.

I can never go back and these are the reasons why.

To say that religion is the opium of the masses is an understatement.  It is a huge factory of lies and threats and blessings and curses in the name of the Holy.  I still believe in God and Jesus' teachings but like Gandhi, I don't believe in the people who run this business.

meetjopeblack

When things are not working for you, everything seems to be unfair.  But when things are to your benefit, no matter how unjust the system is, you turn a blind eye and enjoy the privileges you don't deserve.

I admire the brave who stand up for their rights against whoever whatever their oppressors' position may be.  I admire those who go all in in defense of their principles and cherished values.  But I have most admiration for those who through their demand for respect and equal rights, do not let their emotions get the better of them.  Who in suffering still knows the issues they are facing and not just rant about perceived injustice or unfair treatment.  I admire those who also evaluate their stance and see how they have contributed to the effecting of injustice, if injustice is indeed done.

Here's a secret I learned through years of constant fighting "the enemy":  sometimes  the feeling of being oppressed comes from within and is a fabrication of the unliberated self within one's own private sphere.  In other words, sometimes, the cause of oppression comes from within as much as from without.

The beauty of democracy (and liberal ironism) is that we can talk, discuss, and even argue about our positions and felt oppression.  However, part of the resolution of problems is the admission of one's fault and a corresponding reformulation of one's vocabulary.  An admission that, "I was hurt and you may have nothing to do with this.  It's my fault and I'll rectify it myself."  Imagine people all thinking in the line of, "what can I do, what must I do to address the problem?"  I, me, myself, will do something about this problem!

It's always easy to point a finger at others and blame them for one's own folly and for the suffering of all.  Braveness is not only about boldness; it is also about surrendering to defeat--defeat to one's selfish causes and an openness to the story of the other and of humanity as a whole.

I may be speaking greek to some, yes; but to those who have ears, hear.

Plugged into: The Flower Duet from Lakme by Leo Delibes

meetjopeblack

Antoine in "How I Became Stupid" was right: "Saying there are no reasons means you don't have to admit that the reasons aren't exactly glorious, because what good is the truth going to do anyone?"

Sometimes you don't give YOUR answer to a question because you feel the one asking won't understand.   And I say, "won't" not "can't"  because surely, the question-er can understand but will he dig deep into your soul and follow your train of thought er, feelings?  Will he hold your hand at the end of your statement and say nothing because indeed, there are no words to speak after the soliloquy?  Or should you even take him seriously in the first place when you know he's just playing with your being emo?

 Truth be told,  some reasons are reasons which are purely on the feeling level--ones that you squeeze your brain out to deliver you the right words, pausing at every syllable, making sure that it encapsulates what you yourself cannot figure yet.  Some reasons border on the absurd or the mystical even that only you and your closest eye-squint-talk-buddy can decipher.  I'm not even talking about silence here.  No! You want to speak, you want to say something, you want to shout, you want to scream but you can't because there are no words to speak or if there were, the message wouldn't, couldn't get across.

And so, you speak your baby-talks--those cliché formulaic typical answers which you blurt out just so you can give an answer to a question so real, so transcendental, so mystical, so dear to you.  But it backfires and you end up being psychoanalyzed and categorized as shallow and inauthentic.  Angst creeps out, no! --it erupts from your core like you wanted to debate and strike back and explain your side and do a monologue... but then again, you stop, you hold back because you realize it will be suicide--it will be commercializing what was meant to be unique and special; it is allowing the public to ogle at what is private; it is giving access to your vault of seclusion to strangers who do not really care about your personal convictions.

Do you really want to know?  --Then listen.

Plugged into: Fur Elise by Beethoven
Today's weather is pissed

Congratulations to my best bud, Joel!

Plugged into: Canon in D by Pachelbel
Today's weather is pensive

meetjopeblack

It was at the Gesu one anticipated Christmas dawn mass that I realized I am no longer a Catholic.  It was the first time I was able to admit that to myself:  not going to mass every Sunday, being very critical of the Catholic rites and its presiders, being detached from the rituals and Catholic traditions everytime I subject myself to it.

This did not happen overnight though.  It was when I was awakened by the urgency of multiculturalism that I took a step back from die-hard dogmatism.  Rorty introduced me to liberalism and by his definition, liberalism means not wanting to inflict pain on others.  He says that to be liberal is to see that the most cruel thing we do is to hurt other people.  Organized religion did a lot of "unliberation" to people and I saw that because of this, religions especially the Catholic faith can not carry man to his fullness.

This year's Christmas is extremely significant--a milestone in my adult life to say the least.  I did all the usual Christmas shopping, bargain hunting (er, hindi pala. Never had the patience for that!), gift-giving, decorating, mood music, layered clothing, etcetera.   I was even surprised to hear about people not feeling Christmas-y this year when I've started to when I first set-up Christmas decors at home.  But as the days go by and the 25th is fast approaching, the expectant kid-Jope in me died and my Christmas sense died along with it too.  I was worn-out and beaten by Christmas capitalism (and yes, work before the Christmas break!).  Yeah, it (they) got the better of me.

Christmas eve.  The traditional family mass at the Chorillo chapel was nothing to be excited about.  For one, I'm not into masses anymore and two, I'm numbed by the so-called Christmas spirit--suffocating, suffocated by the unsolved mystery of Mary's virgin conception, the real score behind the divinity of Jesus, everyone's preoccupation with shopping for LaCoste shirts (Shangri-la ran out of stocks! Wtf!), parties, parties, and more parties (actually, it's the prepartion in my head that's a killer!) and not having money til the 15th of January.

We arrived at the chapel just in time for the mass and boy, it was a huge crowd of kids and families, hoarding chairs for their members.  Christmas eh?!  I was roving the chapel for available seats when I bumped into Fr. Mars P. Tan, S.J., my JVP supervisor in Cabanglasan, Bukidnon and friend.  He's presiding over the celebration of the mass that night.  Instantly, I heard the angels sing, "Glory to the new born king!"  God knows how picky I am of presiders and spiritual lecturers--I only listen to a handful and Fr. Mars is one of those I'd place my bets on to in terms of homilies in masses.  True enough, he delivered a simple message emphasizing on us being a liwanag.  What struck me is his introduction.  He said that more than the focus on Jesus being born to us, for us  and with us, Christmas signifies our being a light to others just as Jesus is the gift of light illuminating our hearts.  It somehow synchronized with my Christmas message to my friends:

Christmas is not only about the Lord entering the history of mankind.  It is also about kings, shepherds, the carpenter and the virgin who comforted each other in the midst of personal despair and political unrest by sharing the joy of God's presence with each other.  That original Christmas scene is repeated and renewed in me through you.  Thank you for the friendship, for being an Emmanuel to me.  Merry Christmas!

My dad and I weren't able to get ourselves seats; it was a bummer to be standing all through the duration of the mass.  Feet clamped into a point as it followed the shape of my shoes, I was monotonously trying to feel every response in the Eucharistic prayers and veer away from the holy sacrifice of standing.  When the mass reached the exchange of the sign of peace and I nodded, greeted, kissed, waved a gesture to my family, relatives, friends, and know-nots, "Peace!" and the choir faded in to sing "Kordero ng Diyos"...

silence...

calm... 

...peace.

I felt God's presence.  I felt that Christmas joy again.  I was happy, really happy in the midst of noise and worries and confusion, even for a fraction of a second.  It was a pinch inside.  Something moved in me; something moved me.  It's a warm feeling inside-- like all my questions about Christmas was answered by a bomb of silence.

I have everything I want and needed.  I ask for nothing more.  What happiness!  Smiles, a hearty laughter, the noise of colorful gift wrappers and merry-making, I realize,  are not infallible proofs for happiness.  One can be smiling, laughing his lungs out, without being happy.  Happiness is a quiet still inside, in the exchange of peace  between friends and non-friends--sideways.  You look for Christ beside you, not search the skies for a beatific vision.  Happiness is seeing people in the eye and allowing yourself to be affected by their sincere offer of peace.

Party.

Went home at 4 am.  I was turning left and was overtaking a van who was driving so slowly when he sped his way and won't let me pass just as  I had my noise almost past his.  The driver was cutting me my lane and pushing me to the sides in the narrow two-lane drive of the road leading home.  Alas after the bridge I passed him.  I stopped my car and waited for his next move.  Seeing me, he stopped a few safe meters away from me.  I was looking at the van through my rear view mirror, his headlights on my face.  He wasn't moving his van.  I wasn't moving mine.  Dead moments.  No movements.   He turned right up the pavement; I likewise steered my wheel to the right to block his way and not let him pass.  He stayed there facing the gate of a house, not coming down of his van to open it, not honking either for someone to open the gate.  No one from the van was going down.  I was ready to go down and smash the bottle of Asti at his face.  But there was no movement still and I thought I was just wasting my time over some strung man-pride.  I drove away unharmed but infuriated.  It was Christmas, four in the morning.

Christmas.  After the 25th, all the months of preparation is over and it'll just be another ordinary day with extraordinary expenses and expectations.

Christmas.

Plugged into: The Tshirt Project
Today's weather is blah

meetjopeblack

DON'T GO FAR OFF, NOT EVEN FOR A DAY
Don't go far off, not even for a day, because --
because -- I don't know how to say it: a day is long
and I will be waiting for you, as in an empty station
when the trains are parked off somewhere else, asleep.

Don't leave me, even for an hour, because
then the little drops of anguish will all run together,
the smoke that roams looking for a home will drift
into me, choking my lost heart.

Oh, may your silhouette never dissolve on the beach;
may your eyelids never flutter into the empty distance.
Don't leave me for a second, my dearest,

because in that moment you'll have gone so far
I'll wander mazily over all the earth, asking,
Will you come back? Will you leave me here, dying?

Pablo Neruda

Plugged into: Paglisan by Color It Red
Today's weather is lonely

meetjopeblack

Don't you just wish you're 33 or 34?

It has always been my desire to see myself all grown up and mature.  I'd love to know how I'd look like by then, how I think, how I dress up, what my character is, how stable I have become.  Somehow, the thirty- numbers have that kind of enchanting spell--I always consider it something idyllic.  I have this illusion that by then, I'd be the best person I am destined to be.

In the seminary, a freshie, I'd always associate with the 4th year theologians, roughly eight years my senior, to learn from them.  I remember having a chit-chat with Erwin (Fr. Erwin now) asking him what life is like being all grown up, what challenges he faced, what struggles he surpassed.  I want to be in his place--skip the turmoil of being an adolescent and just be there, all calm and stable:  passions reined and drives controlled.

I remember him telling me about being like a clay jar, being molded and broken and remolded and being broken again.  Mold and Break:  two words which struck me about life and the pains of living it; two words which I bring with me up to now; two words which I actually shared with my students who I know are going through the rollercoaster ride of emotions and experiences in their road to the adult life.

32, 33, 34, 35.  The magic numbers of a dream castle in the sky where life will probably be much easier and fuller and stable.   I don't know where I got that idea, I may be wrong you know.  Even in my thirties, I can still be spinning around my circle like a dog catching his tail.  But hey, give this one to me, it's the only escape act I'm allowing myself to swim in in my world of brash truthfulness and brute candor.

What am I not saying?

I'm in an emotional low right now.  Probably in the breaking phase of the cycle of a clay.  And the number 3n is that number where I pin my hopes onto for the end of this excruciatingly dreary process of molding and breaking.  When will this end?  Never.  Even the illusion of an end in the 30's is just that--an illusion, a delusion to be exact!

This is probably too much to expect from a partner, but to Cathy, because there will seem to be no end to the circle of my so-called life, I borrow Achilles' words in the movie Troy:  "you gave me peace in a lifetime of war."  I need you.  I love you.