Helter Swelter

The sweltering heat of the afternoon inspired nothing but boredom from me. It was a summer afternoon not unlike many that have gone past. It was hot. It was humid. Heat was radiating from everything that the sun caressed in the last 8 hours.

I settled on reading books I had long abandoned. Like a ritual, I took each one and wiped the dust off the covers. I flipped to marked pages. I tried to recall where I left off. I realized I had left my books too long that I could no longer recall. I had bits and pieces of the stories in them, nothing more. I settled on one of them, Connecting Flights. I resolved to read it cover-to-cover. As I went along, I discovered missing pieces of what I could not remember fully. I discover new  stories I had originally skipped. I consumed it within an hour.

I picked up another. Pete Lacaba's Edad Medya. I read a couple of poems. The mood was too somber, I could not go on. I might've triggered depression if I did. Most of my old friends would tell you that I suffer from these episodic bouts of depression, which confused many of them, so much so that I've only managed to keep a handful of them. I picked up The Kite of Stars. Memories began to flood my mind. I knew this book well. It imprinted on me so much that the mere suggestion of it's blue cover with gold lettering triggered memories of the stories the lay within it. I will read it again, when I lacked inspiration. There is no better epitome of so great a love than the kite of stars.

I picked up Dream Noises : A Generation Writes next. I read the first three stories and felt a sadness settle in me. I stopped reading and decided I really had to do something else. I have a writer's heart. My skills are not at par with many of the published kind. But I have the heart of one. I read and I understand. No, I feel the stories. They stir in me the emotions these authors felt when they created these works.

I guess this was one of the reasons I stopped blogging, or even writing in general. I did my best work in the most emotionally destitute times of my life. I wasn't the kind that could write the cheery side of everything. I was the kind that fed off my darker side. The sadder I was, the better the prose. I subconsciously begged myself to stop. And stop I did. But you cannot really deny what you are. I need to write again. If only for myself. If only for me to release my demons.

As I started typing this, it started to rain. A light drizzle that belied the true strength of an approaching typhoon. I guess we all need some rain in our life. Otherwise we would not wish for more sunshine, however hot it was..

I'm Still Human After All...

Friday night, I got word. A dear old friend died. After 2 weeks in a coma, she had succumbed.

For the last 2 days I had been trying to come to terms with myself. When I got the news, I was sad. Very sad. But no tears had come. In the years that have passed I had learned to steel myself against grief. I had forced myself to accept whatever disappointment, however big or small, and move on. I had to move on. The rest of the world either didn't care or didn't stop moving despite what I was feeling. I felt expendable an replaceable, nobody was going to stop to help me if I fell behind. I often told myself that whatever didn't kill me made me stronger. Well, the the last 2 days I was already questioning if I was still human. I asked myself if perhaps I had done too much of this rationalizing that I had succeeded in making myself numb and unfeeling.

Early today, driving to the market, I just said it out loud to my wife. "Namatay na si Maya." I didn't take my eyes off the road. She asked, "Kailan mo nalaman?" I replied, "Nung Byernes, pagkauwi natin" I steadied my grip on the wheel as felt a sudden emptiness fill me.

I had gone to work Thursday night. Friday morning, I had to pickup Matt at swimming practice. Then after that, we had to go to San Fernando to make our monthly mortgage payments. When afternoon came, I had to go back to work to do overtime on work that had to be finished to meet a deadline. By the time I got home, I had been awake 26 hours. That's when I read the text message. I had been sent earlier but I was too busy to have noticed it. I only read it when I got home. Over the last 2 days, I was busy with out usual weekend chores.

After saying that I knew as early as Friday night, and after my wife realized I hadn't talked about in the last 2 days, I finally cried. The sobs came on their own. I could barely hold the steering wheel straight as I drove. I just drove as I sobbed. I sobbed even worse when my wife put her arm around my shoulder to console me. I had to put my hand up to tell her I had to do this on my own. I had to grieve my loss my own way. As we approached the market, the sobs died down. I felt better knowing I could still grieve my loss.

Solitude

It's been a while since I've had these episodic attacks of insomnia and depression. Last night was awful. I lay awake in bed for what seemed like hours. Though looking at my phone at the time it must've been around three hours before I finally dozed off.

During college, being surrounded by writers, activists and musicians, we had a term for this. It was the "i wanna curl up and die" syndrome. The 1990's were an in-between time that made for a confused generation of people trying to sort their feelings out. You had the vestiges of the New Wave melodramatic culture trying to resurface. The angst of the revived punk movement was rising from the ashes. The technology of the internet was just starting to influence how people used computers. I and my group of writers were torn between our DOS-based Wordstar and new-car-smell appeal of Windows 3.1. There were left-wing rallies everywhere. I was wearing anything from torn jeans, concert t-shirts, leather sandals, Vans skate shoes, Mao caps, eye glasses (nope, I had perfect vision). I wore my hair long. I was a jumble of contradictions.

Those times, as confusing as they were, were conducive to writing. Writers with extreme emotions are able to draw inspiration from them. So bouts of depression were almost always half-wanted. These days, my bouts of depression are unwanted. They come and bother me from time to time. Usually the images in my head range from saddening scenes of me in various stages of emotional and physical distress to morbid thoughts of an unspeakable degree. The vivid detail in my imagination had always been a blessing or a curse.

So last night was difficult. I was struggling. I couldn't sleep. I almost wept. I was pathetic. But it was a cycle I had to go through, I had to ride it out. And then I dozed off. I woke up feeling tired, a few hours of sleep not helping one bit. I found my little girl had strewn the floor with 4 different kinds of flash cards. Toys were all over the floor too. She was almost at a tantrum and when she saw I was awake kept asking me for her morning bath. It was time for her morning bath and she was adamant about keeping her schedule. As I picked up the flash cards and started sorting them to put them back in their designated cartons, I felt a little bit better. The domestic routine ground on you, but it was also comforting to feel needed. Belonging is one thing, but to feel needed is foremost in what every depressed person out there may be craving. To feel useless is be without purpose. And without purpose, what are we to world?

Wanting to be Indifferent

The days following the weekend, a bit of news had me happy and content. It had me hoping and dreaming. Then when the same news was not welcomed by someone very important to me, even labeled as a "problem", it irked me. Then after a few hours it depressed me. That was yesterday. I feel differently today, having mixed feelings of guilt, anger and frustration. At times we don't realize the impact our words have on others. We are callous to what words can create or destroy. For me, this time around, it brought my world crashing in.

I've been pre-occupied with these thoughts the past couple of days that I've been dreaming weird dreams. The other night, I couldn't concentrate in the audio book I was listening to. It was half past midnight. I was lying down, listening to Daemon. I was drifting in and out of sleep as the reader rambled on about the story. In between waking consciousness and drifting off I saw snatches of split-second images. Anatomical figures, much like pieces of those anatomy dolls showing the nature-engineered magnificence of the human body beneath the cover of skin floated in and out of my sight. An arm, the upper torso, a leg, the face and shoulders, all with muscles exposed. It went on too fast for me to even register fear in my subconscious dreaming stupor. In my waking moments, trying to remember what it was I dreamt about, I was surprised to find I wasn't afraid of the scenes that unfolded. It would have been logical to feel fear. Weirdly enough, I remember feeling calm all through out, like the strangeness of it all had stirred an oblivious detachment in me. I was, during the dream, without emotion. I was just a passive observer, free of pain, fear or worry.

Looking back at that dream, I cannot but feel a need to be detached.

Memories

Last night, I was up late as usual. I found myself looking at pictures trying to get an image that I could use for my desktop background. The current one was already about a month old. While browsing on pics, I found this picture we took about a month or two ago. This was where we bought our very first piece of property. It isn't much to look at but it represents something significant to me.

I got married seven years ago. About a year later we decided to start saving to buy a a piece of land we could call ours. It was a big decision, but make it we did. We were trying to make ends meet and we just had our first child. It was a risk to put our money in an investment that wasn't as liquid as cash in a bank. We managed to get enough to make a down payment and eked our way through the monthly payments. Difficult as it was, we made it. It was a significant achievement for me and my wife.

Four years ago, we were still renting an apartment. We didn't have any savings to build a house on the property because all our money was going to the monthly payments on the property. Luckily, we got a break. Long story short, we managed to borrow money to finish the 1st loan off and start payments on a 2nd property.

Three years ago, we moved in to our new home. This place is not so big, but it is ours. We have 6 years to go on the mortgage but we'll make it. If the way things have gone is any indication, we will make it. We have a great motivation to keep this home. This is where our 2nd child was born. This is where we have managed to build relationships with people who like us have been trying to find the perfect place to start building families. Incidentally, my wife is part of the organizing committee for this year's Halloween Trick-or-Treat. There are even more kids this year than last. My son really enjoyed dressing up last year. He had a great time. Seeing the smile on his face really makes for a great time. This year, maybe the little one could go with us. It feels good to live here.

As I scrolled over the thumbnails, I saw my life pass by in front of me (pun intended). There were many more events in between the ones I just shared, many pictures that told different stories. A lot of up's and down's. Many crying moments over a scrape on the knee, or images of the 1st blooms our orchids had. I saw a few of my son playing in the large sala of the old apartment. Pictures of us as we celebrated birthdays, anniversaries , christenings, weddings, fiestas, house blessings, holidays and what-have-you's.

As I went through them, I couldn't help but feel nostalgic, tired, proud and happy at the same time. We had come such a long way. We had a lot of help doing it . We had both good and bad, but we felt our family's love and support all the way. We have a happy life. And I will say that if I have learned anything in the past few years, happiness should really be spelled "Happyness" - without the "I" .

Sold the PC...Cheap

If you haven't seen me posting anything, there's a reason. Been trying to sell my PC for the past week or so. A buyer finally made and offer and I took it. She texted me a few days back and I remember feeling sad about it. I grow attached to things, really. Too much of that emotion thing going on. I proudly say that I build them (PCs) myself and they never break down. Now, I feel kind of odd that I'm selling a machine that I built for the satisfaction of it.

I used to always tell my wife that me building PCs is a "blood, sweat and a bucketful of tears" affair for me. I agonize over what parts to use and what functionalities to compromise for the sake of price. I do the research, I scour the shops, I haggle for the best prices, I take the parts home and roll up my sleeves. When building a machine, I am a reclusive hermit for at least half a day. I troubleshoot and test it the next day to ensure I have a stable machine. So to me that machine is a whole lot more than just the sum of its parts. It's time well-spent, learning and tinkering. It's me giving parts of myself. See, I told you I was too sentimental for my own good.

So lately, I've been setting it up over the last few days to her specifications and she'll be picking it up by Saturday. So, I'll be posting from internet cafe's for a while and Twittering from my mobile. See ya...

Outpour of Support

Several of my fraternity brods sent text messages asking how we we're doing and offering help. My sister-in-law offered to call up a friend of hers who worked for the PNP Regional Command to help expedite the police's incident report. My brother-in-law, who worked for the Philippine Daily Inquirer, also visited us at home to see how we were. I was overwhelmed by the support they showed. I was overwhelmed by the fact that so many people cared about us. To them, my grateful thanks for lifting my spirits. I've been depressed since yesterday's incident :-(

Car Accident

This afternoon, I was involved in a traffic accident. I was about to turn the corner on our way home when a black SUV hit us head-on. Unfortunate for me, as the party that hit me was part of a convoy of PSG (Presidential Security Group) vehicles. They left the scene of the incident immediately, leaving me to fend off for myself and my family.

My wife was seated beside me was dazed but she had the presence of mind to check on our son immediately. My son was in the back seat and at first glance he had a bloody lip but no other obvious sign of injury. At the time of the accident, my concern was for my son. Never mind the wreck that the car was in. I was fortunate enough that several tricycle drivers at the scene helped us out. One of them brought my wife and son to the hospital. I stayed behind to see if law enforcement would respond to the accident.

A few minutes passed and a traffic investigator arrived. An attorney Santiago, representing Mikey Arroyo, also came by to talk to me. It turned out that the PSG convoy was escorting Mikey Arroyo to Clarkfield. After taking pictures, the kind policeman who came to investigate the accident gave me a ride to the city police station. I wrote up a sworn statement and left to go to AUF Medical Center to see how my wife and son were doing. When I got there, I asked the ER staff to examine me as well. All three of us had minor bruises. Luckily, we did not sustain any severe injuries.

We got home around 5PM. Attorney Santiago called shortly after and said he wanted to speak with me and his wife. He came by around 6PM and spoke to the two of us. Santiago brought along PSG Major Santos. They said they only wanted to see how we were doing so they could report back to their respective superiors. I saw that the kind lady major was genuine in her concern.

Santiago then took me aside and said that the PSG-JAGO (Judge Advocate General's Office) would be coordinating with the local police for a resolution. Depending on how the police report goes, he said the PSG might or might not decide to pay for property damage. He said he was not in a position to promise me any kind of settlement. But he also assured me that for his part (representing Mikey Arroyo, that is) he was open to helping me find a resolution through the Congressman. He gave his contact number and asked that I keep him updated on the medical check-ups and cost quotes for the damages to the car. I thanked him and we parted ways.

I only have but one worry left now. If the police rules the traffic incident against me, PSG-JAGO might sue me. Other people have gotten into trouble with them over other traffic accidents. I would hate to bear the brunt of no less than the military group responsible for the safety of the president herself. What a mess I am in :-(

Our Little Angel's Home

You probably noticed I haven't been posting all that much. My wife gave birth to our daughter about a month earlier. She stayed in the hospital's Neo-Natal ICU for a week. We took her home last Saturday. Our little angel is now home with us, where she belongs.

Quitting, Yet Again

I was muttering to myself again. Yes, I was having a conversation with myself. I've put this off long enough. I looked at the half-empty pack in my hand and decided it's going to be my last. I've decided to quit smoking yet again. 13 years of smoking isn't easy to put behind you, but I will try again. I will once more put my self through the paces. I know from experience that that first 2 weeks will be characterized with a great sense of relief, like having a gargantuan weight lifted off one's shoulder. Then after that, it will be a daily challenge to fight off the urge to light up. I hope to God I can do it this time and swear it off for good.

Christmas With the Family

Just got home from a mini-reunion of sorts. One of my cousins came home to the Philippines from Seattle. His mother cooked up a feast. I almost didn't go. I had gone to work last night and am on my way to work in a couple of hours. But I told myself, I haven't seen the guy in some 15 years. Might as well go see him.

We spent the better part of the day there chatting with relatives and eating the usual Kapampangan holiday fare. Cameras were all around. I still find it cheesy that the older generation (i.e. my mother, aunts and uncles) still joke about digital cameras running out of film. Before we said our goodbyes, we swapped phones numbers and promised we'd get together (the boys only) before my balikbayan cousin flew back to Seattle.

Ironically, my being a techie was no achievement as everyone but me had a Friendster account. I joked about being the only one without it and got an encouraging goading to get one to stay in the loop with all my cousins, their wives and 6th degrees. I just smiled back and cussed at myself for openly admitting I was an anti-social introvert in the social networking scene. I gave them my usual "you say tomato : I say tomahto" to-each-his-own speech and moved on to another topic. Even though I mostly sat around, ate and drank, I felt tired near the end of the afternoon. Upside was, I came home with a big smile on my face, a full belly and a warm fuzzy feeling from feeling connected - offline.

Christmas Carols

Earlier this morning, we brought our son Matt to his school's Christmas presentation. I was a bit worried as I stood backstage with him. He was fidgeting, as the noise and chaos was getting to him. It was noisy and people in colorful costumes were running around. It was sensory overload for him. I worried normal people wouldn't understand if he "misbehaved". I held his small hand in mine as long as I could. As one of the teachers led the kids to the stage area, I held my breathe.

I saw the teacher lead Matt to the open area beneath the front of the stage. There were too many kids to fit into the small elevated stage. As the teacher (my son's favorite, actually) climbed up the stage, I saw my son running in a panic and then bolting to climb to the stage. I almost ran to him. I told myself, if no one steps in to guide him, I'll do it myself. Good thing another teacher saw him and guided him to an open spot on the stage. She was patient enough to talk to him to get him to stay on the same spot. The music came on and they began to sing. Matthew sang along.

After the performance, the teachers marched the children down the stage and Matt was one of the first. I gladly took his hand as one of the teacher guide him over to where I was. I breathed a sigh of relief, the ordeal was over. My son had coped and made his mother proud.

The thing that gets me is for parents of children with autism, simple milestones like these are special. It doesn't take much to make us happy or proud of our children. Small steps make the biggest impressions on us. Things that normal parents with normal kids most likely just ignore, we treasure. It's both a blessing and a cross to bear. These contradictions will never see light in the perspective of regular people.

* - Edited for anonymity, posted for posterity

*****************************

Hello Doreen

This is my first email to a site manager. I don't really know why I am writing this to you. Maybe I just feel I can share this with you and you would understand. You've been in the company long enough that you'd have the perspective to understand what I'm about to say about how I feel.

I felt a tinge of sadness when Steve left the company for good. He was a visionary and the company was his baby. He had anticipated the effects of the "Bubble" would spill over to companies like his and he moved to merge us with another company. I was of the opinion he was trying to save his "baby". I really believe his purpose was to allow the company to survive the hard times that were to come. I felt the same sadness when Bob announced he was leaving too. Combined, these two brought success to the company. I was more than just proud that I was employed by a company serving 36 million people, and when they left it felt like an empty victory. Analogous probably to a son trying so hard to please a father, only to find him no longer there when he reaches the pinnacle of his achievements.

I was saddened when they shut down OKC. I felt a strange affinity to the people there, even if we only communicated through IMs and email. I felt a bit lost after they announced that the company was shutting them down. I felt resentful that they were replaced by people from a place I barely knew (India). Ms.Ludy kept my spirits up by telling me that the new employees there were looking up to us in the same way I regarded the people in OKC.

During the "Meeting" earlier, I was deeply saddened by Stephanie's announcement. I thought I had prepared myself for this eventuality. I had known a month in advance that a takeover was about to happen. An employee from another call center here in Clark told me that ***** execs that came to their center were harping about acquiring us. So it should not have come as a surprise to me. But surprisingly, I felt saddened by the "formal" announcement. I told myself an era was ending. I felt resentful at the way one of the ***** execs worked the crowd to get them excited about the change. I put on a happy smile when employees around me started noticing my lack of enthusiasm. I had a responsibility to keep their spirits up. But deep inside I felt awful.

When you were saying your piece at the close of the meeting, I was praying hard that you wouldn't tear up. I felt the tension in your voice and each time you paused a little I was half-expecting that you'd say goodbye.

I don't know how to end this email, so allow me to say that the company's been a big part of my life. I spent a good fourth of my life here. Through the good and bad I stayed with it through the years. I even pledged that I would "go down with the ship" even as friends were leaving for other companies and going abroad. The company was more than just work for me. They say that home is where your heart is. For many years, the company felt like home. I feel saddened that I have to bid it goodbye. My heart will always belong to this company.

Allow me to use my signature one last time...

Respectfully and sincerely yours,

Ed

XXXXX

I Hate Hospitals

This fact I do not hide to anyone. It may have something to do about my fears or my guilt. But that is another story.

2 am, my wife woke me up. There was a commotion in the street in front of us. I wake up just in time to hear my wife storm down the stairs and ask the kids outside what the heck was wrong. Apparently, their grandmother was having an asthma attack and their parents were nowhere to be found. Having overheard that, I scrounged up whatever pair of denim I could find, put them on, pocketed my wallet and got the car keys in under 5 minutes. The car was out the gate by the 8th minute. All this I did while I was still half-asleep. My mind was wandering and I was fighting hard to get myself to concentrate. My body sort of just moved automatically.

We got to the nearest hospital (a government-run one) and most of the nurses there just semi-ignored us. One of the nurses did stand up and approached my wife. He asked if she was Reggie's twin. She didn't even allow the volunteer nurse to finish the question and said yes. She then politely stated what she knew about the old woman's condition. It was the nurse in her that kicked in in these situations. He quickly wrote up a prescription and i went off to buy them. When I got back, the nurse was explaining Reggie had been his instructor in one of his classes. I asked my wife to excuse me, as I told her that the smell of hospital disinfectant gave me goosebumps and reviled me all at the same time.

I had to spend the next 3 hours going back and forth; buying meds (for the old lady), getting sandwiches (for my wife and me) and getting coffee (2 for me). When I wasn't doing that, I staked out the front of the hospital talking to the tricycle drivers about how frequent early morning patients were at this government hospital's ER. I also had some time to continue reading my ebooks when I got tired of the small talk. I ate a hotdog & bacon sandwich while I read Geek Mafia by Rick Dakan.

The old lady was discharged at around 5:30. My eyes were tired, my head heavy and I was looking forward to going home. When we got home though, I could not sleep. I am still awake and I'm hoping I won't be too sleepy tonight as I go to work. I have a few more hours to sleep, so see ya.

Dreams...

Dreams

Last night I had a dream. I rarely do, but recently I've been having
more and more of these strangely (seemingly) symbolic dreams.

I was in the office parking lot, admiring 2 cars I owned. Both looked
like 50's era classics. Both were the same make, but the older one
was black and the newer one was white. They didn't have white
sidewalls or chromed hubcaps, so they looked like halfway through
being restored. From where I was standing, I reminded myself that I
had brought them there after I had them filled up from a nearby gas
station and that it was time to get them home. I circled over to the
back of the parking lot trying to catch up with someone who was
walking away from me.

After circling, I suddenly found myself in the middle of a group of
vehicles (most likely a convoy) filled with military men. In the
middle of a group was a small bus that was being raised on giant jacks
for repair. Not finding the person I was looking for, I found myself
back on the front side of the parking lot nearest my cars. It had, by
then, been fenced off with material common to construction sites here.
Since it was made off of bamboo skin weaved like a giant mat, I was
able tear a hole and get to the other side. After moving to the other
side, the waning sunlight suddenly turned into the darkest night. A
few pale street lights loomed in the outer borders of the parking lot.
I saw a small yellow car leaving the lot, a one of my supervisors in
the back seat waving goodbye to me. I couldn't find my cars and I was
having second thoughts about waving them back to hitch a ride. A
moment of silence passed as I stood there.

I woke up. I felt empty, afraid and confused. I looked over to where
my wife and son were sleeping. Morning was about ready to break.
Dazed, I was trying to figure out why I felt so bad.

The last three days, I spent mostly at home or running errands. The
last three days went by like a blur. I lost track of time, kept
forgetting things and constantly worried about my son and my wife's
condition. My mind wouldn't stop churning out morbid thoughts, running
worst case scenarios. I was preoccupied with thoughts of my mortality,
philosophical and otherwise.

I feel like breaking down, again...

Grasping at Straws

Last Tuesday, we went to neuro-developmental pediatrician to have my son evaluated. She didn't mince words and said my son had autism. I've been trying to deal with it all ever since.

I'm sick to death about worrying, with another child on the way. I hate being a burden on others, a trait that's been part of me ever since. And I keep worrying how my children will fare after my wife and I pass.

Things have been rough (emotionally) for me the past three days. I kept trying to deal with the frustration and guilt. I'm at a loss. I don't know how to get past this.

Pagninilay sa Gilid ng Swing

Sa paghahanap ko ng parking space kaninang tanghali, nagawi ako sa side park ng Bayanihan Park. Nasa gawing kaliwa ito ng main park kung ang punta mo ay sa SM o 'di kaya'y sa Main Gate ng Clark. May maliit na daan sa likuran nito na nasisilungan ng malalaking puno ng acacia. Dinala ko duon ang anak ko habang hinihintay namin ang misis ko na nagpatingin sa Gynecologist n'yang nagki-clinic ng 'di-kalayuan sa lugar na 'yon. Habang binabantayan ko si Matt sa kanyang palipat-lipat na pagsakay sa mga swing at slide, napansin ko na marami rin palang taong nagagawi du'n sa maliit na park na 'yon.

Malaki na kasi nagbago simula ng magbigay ng donation si Henry Sy para pagandahin ang lugar na bubungad sa mga mamimili na papuntang SM. Napaayos na ang Bayanihan Park, kumpleto pati landscaping at mini-playgrounds na nagkalat sa buong lawak ng park. Ang side park naman ay nakadikit sa gawing likuran ng napakahabang linya ng mga stalls na (sabi ng maraming taga-rito) eh kumukubli sa Fields Ave., ang daang dinadayo ng mga puti at banyagang naghahanap ng gudtaym.

Sa mga taong nagduon sa side park, karamihan ay nagpapalipas ng oras habang lunchbreak. May isang grupo ng estudyanteng nagaargumento tungkol sa kanilang assignment sa isang picnic table sa may 'di-kalayuan. Ang ibang kasamahan nila eh nakasakay sa mga swing at seesaw. May isang nag-iisang dalagang mukhang naiinip, nakaupo sa isa pang park table, hawak ang folder sa kaliwang kamay habang tila nakatingin sa kung saang napakalayung lugar.

May isang mamang nakaupo sa gilid ng malaking plant box. Nakasuot s'ya ng lumang di-kwelyong t-shirt at kupas na pantalong seda. May hawak s'yang mas kupas na payong. Panay ang paghimas n'ya sa kanyang noo at paghawak sa ilong. Malungkot ang mga mata n'ya at tila balisang palipat-lipat ang kanyang tingin sa likod at gawing kanan n'ya. May ibang ale't mamang kanya-kanya na ng pwesto sa pagtulog sa mga nagkalat na park bench at plant box. Mayroon ding grupo ng 5 batang may kanya-kanyang dalang sako na puno ng plastic at karton. Nag-aagawan sa sila sa mga swing sa may gawing kaliwa namin. Siguro, ito na ang lunch break nila. Todo laro, para maibsan ang gutom.

May isang tricycle din dumating, at nabigla ako ng nagbabaan ang laman n'yang anim na bata at mga magulang nila. Ang dalwang ale may kanya-kanya pang kalong na bata maliban du'n sa anim na nauna nang nagtakbuhan papunta sa mga swing. Ang mga asawa nila, may bitbit din. Ang isa may dalang kumot at maliliit na unan, marahil para sa mga bata kapag napagod na sila. Ang isa naman, may dalang Selecta Non-Stop sa kaliwang kamay at bitbit na medium bilao ng Susie's Pancit sa kanan.

Iba-ibang istorya, iba-ibang pinang-galingan, iba-ibang patutunguhan. Lahat kami may kanya-kanyang baon na pakahulugan sa lungkot. Lahat kami may kanya-kanyang ideya kung ano ang saya. May mas pinalad sa amin, may mas kaawa-awa. Pero iisa ang pinunta namin duon. Naghahanap kami ng masisilungan sa gitna ng kaguluhan ng syudad na ito.

Nang mag-text ang misis ko na pabalik na s'ya, inaya ko na si Matt. "Uwi na tayo.." ang sabi ko. Ngumiti s'ya. Mabuti pa ang mga bata, buo sa kanilang puso ang kahulugan ng kasiyahan. Tiyak sila kung ano ito.

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Awake...

I can't sleep. I should be. I had a long night. It was a challenge. It was emotionally draining to deal with the frustration of not knowing who was stabbing your back for personal gain. Some people just can't be pleased, no matter what you do. And incredibly stupid too. They are willing to risk the jobs of countless others to get their revenge. I need a drink, a stiff one... If only I still did.

Memories

Several weeks ago, I found myself buying a newspaper on my way home. I had bought a copy of The Phil Star when I saw one displayed at the counter of that Ministop near Clark's maingate. During the time, I had to take a long commute as the bridge that connected Clark's peripheral gate to San Fernando was closed. That was actually my shortest way home. When the bridge was closed, I had to take a jeep to Angeles City's downtown and take another jeep that circled back using another route. It was a 45-minute ride as opposed to 15 minutes now that the bridge is open.

The newspaper was a welcome change. I had for years subsisted on news delivered online. I missed my college days when I could not do without a newspaper. I would buy one everyday, even if I had to skip lunch to have money for it. I would read the funnies then go the headlines then rant about the opinions in the columns and go to to my favorite part last. That would be the crossword. Well, on that fateful day that I bought that copy, I was not inclined to do the crossword, owing to the fact that it quite hard to concentrate on it when the jeep's rumbling past a thousand potholes. I browsed whatever caught my eye. Then I saw an article by my sister. Actually, half-sister (long story). She was writing about her trip to Berlin.

That made me think about the summers we spent at her grandparents' house. They never treated us any different from their flesh-and-blood grandchildren. We were always welcome. At a very young age, we discovered unrequited love from people who were barely related to us. Those were good times. I have very fond memories of growing up because of those short summer vacations we had there.

It is not without a tinge of guilt that I sometimes find myself crying when I think of those times. They are gone. I miss them. And now that I have a family of my own I find myself having a difficult time creating good memories for my son, the kind that he will remember and love to reminisce about when he grows older. Mostly, our days become shouting matches. He still has his uncontrollable shouting tantrums that drive me to my wit's end. I end up shouting to get his attention most of the time. That doesn't work. Nothing works, really. When he starts his tantrums, he will go through them no matter what. It may already be ADD or ADHD. We don't know yet.

Sometimes I blame myself. Something in me is what caused this, something in my genes. At times I ask God why He had given my son this burden and why He made me his father, the fumbling angry nervous wreck that I am. That's two crosses that he will have to carry for the rest of his life. I find myself depressed at times just thinking about all the what-if's. I just cry in frustration at the very thought he will have to live with this for all his life. There are even times when I just wish it could be better in a blink of an eye. But that won't happen. All I can do is pray that it won't get worse.