Oh jeez! I feel so wasted. And in the bargain, I think I need to re-think – umm not re-think. I think I need to take a good look at the friends I term as friends and throw some out of the window.

In other words, I need to overhaul my friends list.

You see I befriended people merely because at the time when I was to befriend people, I wanted to be nice and sweet and admired and loved by all.

Not anymore.

I did so much for them and did so many things because of them. Things that I would never have contemplated were they not to put them in my head. I had sex out of wedlock, I began to watch porn, I tried to find humour in crass lewd, third-rate films, and I forced myself to laugh at jokes that I never ever wanted to.

I did so much and what did they do for me? Well, some gave me a ear and a shoulder to cry on when my boyfriend ripped me apart and left. And that same set did make me reason out with myself whenever I quarreled with  my family. These I admit were and are true friends. And they are not the ones who encouraged sex out of wedlock nor introduced me to porn.

The other set – the one that just shut up and kept silent when I was awash with problems is the one I want out now. They are the ones who insist on being around only in happier times. They drink, smoke, leer, lech, and just because they read a few intellectual books term themselves liberated. I think that’s the most scandalous representation of liberty and that has been my opinion only lately. Earlier, I did – like a blind fool – think that all what they did constituted a ritual that freed an individual of restrictions conferred by society.

By George! What a fool I was to think so. The only reason they did all that they did was because they were addicted to being happy and did not want to confront the most intimate of feelings and emotions at all. They thought themselves (and they actually are) inept at handling all that and I was so blind, I did not see the obvious!

Anyway, at 30, I can see all that and more. And I don’t want to have anything to do with that pack at all.

I am better off with my books, my music, my movies, and the select few – my family including – who know me and want me in their lives for what I am.

“Happiness is not a brilliant climax to years of grim struggle and anxiety. It is a long succession of little decisions simply to be happy in the moment.”  — J Donald Walters

The rhythm of life is hard to keep pace with. Or, so I thought to myself till sometime back.

The ride was getting harder for me – it was taxing my nerves and I was beginning to feel heady with random details crowding my insides. Plans gone awry, unforseen events, an aching heart.

But, then the moment caught up with me. I had left it somewhere in the past, when future was all that I was lusting after.

That concept of living in the moment, seeking pleasure in the present through the means of little gestures, was something I had given up doing.

Happiness is fickle by its very nature. That being the case, it is futile to keep sacrificing your life in the present at its altar, with some grand future goal egging you on.

I was somebody who believed in putting it all into trying to make the ‘plans’ work. I was somebody who did exactly that for a good 15 years of her life. But, I am not that somebody anymore.

I still nurture hope. I still envision a better future for myself. The only difference is, that now I live within a shorter purview. I try living for the everyday. I try living for the now…

“Excess of everything is bad,” was the oft-repeated adage of my mother to me during my growing up years, and the same will be surely rattled off by me to my kids.

It is the one rule of life that I adhere to, or at least try to adhere to. Impressions dull, compliments fail to impress, and appetites diminish in face of excess.

Some ties, some impressions, some connections have to be really strong to be able to weather out the storm of excess, which brings a monotonous boredom in its wake.

Girl meets boy. Boy seemingly falls hard for her. Girl is all blushes as boy pays court. Days go by, moments glide past and herein enters the reality of life. Fevered compliments become lukewarm. Conversations now come interspersed with awkward silences.

Everything has a shelf life. Your appreciation and liking for most people including.

We rarely find the few we intend to and find worthy of appreciating for a long span of our lifetime. And suppose you do find one, the reciprocation of the same is highly doubtable.

Past experiences have taught me to be wary, to hold myself secure within the walls of my inner being in case I am faced with a non-responsive heart and soul.

A silver-tongued devil, a completely alien creature and a supremely talented person is who I recently came across. After enjoying a period of animated conversations and much more, am now afraid of the demons of excess taking over.

Should I ration my affection carefully so as to sustain something I have come to cherish dearly? Even if I do so, the insecurity that comes from being rejected once fails to leave me alone. And, time and again I find myself wondering about the sincerity of feeling on part of the other.

Isn’t it also unfair on the other? Isn’t the other person entitled to a just hearing? Hmm..I think so.

Well, life is sure to teach me more.

I must, nay will, learn to get over this glitch and continue my pursuit of happiness in earnest…

Today is Halloween, which means that tonight you’ll be doing one of two things: either you’re putting on a costume and going to a party; or you’re staying in and watching horror movies.  For that purpose, I had started to compile a list of the best horror movies to watch on Halloween.  But, then I realized that there are tons of lists like that floatin’ around the net and there isn’t really anything that I can add to my list that would make it that different.  Sure, every list will have some variations — some people are into more intense films than others; some people prefer classics, others more modern fare — but basically, they’re all the same.  So instead, I have made the bold choice of highlighting what I think is THE best all-time movie to watch on Halloween:

That’s right folks, it doesn’t get much better than The Monster Squad.  Up until a few years ago, this gem wasn’t even available on DVD, so it wouldn’t surprise me if some of you have never heard of it.  For me, this is one of the highlights of my childhood viewing experience, but for some reason a lot of people, even those my age, haven’t seen this film.  It’s possible that since the VHS release of this movie was in 1988, which was when I was 9 years old, that a lot of kids my age didn’t get to see it because their parents wouldn’t rent it for them.  The movie was rated PG-13 and featured all the classic movie monsters in frightening poses on the box cover, so it’s probably within reason that parents avoided this one.  When I was a kid, all the movies we rented we watched as a family.  It didn’t matter if it was Follow That Bird or Commando, my parents would be with us when we watched these movies.  So, if a movie seemed to be really inappropriate, they would just turn it off.  But, that hardly ever happened because they never felt as though they had to shelter us from stuff.  I had very cool parents.

Anyway, now that this film is on DVD, it’s available for anyone to watch it.  And the best time to watch this movie in on Halloween.  When you see the poster, you pretty much understand why it’s perfect, but if you need extra reinforcement, here’s the trailer:

Reason number one why it’s perfect is because it contains so many of the classic horror movie characters in one film:

Creature from the Black Lagoon, Dracula, Frankenstein's Monster, The Mummy, The Wolfman

And even better than that, they were all redesigned by the late, great, monster maker and special effects wizard, Stan Winston.  That in itself is enough to make this the greatest Halloween movie ever.  In addition to covering all its monster bases, the movie covers several movie genres as well.  There’s action, horror, comedy and even drama.  Consider the moment when the kids visit Scary German Guy and as they’re about to leave, Fat Kid says: “Man, you sure know a lot about monsters.”  And, Scary German Guy says: “Now that you mention it, I suppose I do.”  Then, SGG closes the door and reveals a concentration camp tattoo on his wrist.  It’s an intense moment.

If you haven’t seen the movie, at this point you’re wondering: Fat Kid and Scary German Guy, don’t these characters have names?  Yes, Fat Kid is named Horace, however even his friends call him Fat Kid throughout the movie.  But, Scary German Guy remains Scary German Guy throughout.  Everyone else has normal names, but all the characters have their own interesting quirks.  Actually, there’s a strange balance in the way that all the kids act: on one part, they act just like kids their age should, but on the other part they act and speak very much like adults.  This is all rooted in Shane Black’s witty script.  You may not think you know who Shane Black is, but if you’ve seen Lethal Weapon or The Last Boy Scout, you are familiar with the work of a man who at one time was Hollywood’s highest paid screenwriter ($4 million for The Long Kiss Goodnight).  And all the elements that Black has laid out are expertly pulled together by director Fred Dekker.  If you want to make a good double-bill monster movie night, check out Fred Dekker’s zombie movie Night of the Creeps, which is a more straight-up horror movie than this one.  Monster Squad isn’t exactly a work of genius, but it is such a wonderful hodgepodge of genres and characters that there’s something for everyone to enjoy.

And that’s what makes this such a great Halloween movie.  Anyone can watch it.  It’s not especially scary, so it’s great for kids or people who don’t like horror movies.  But, there’s enough monster action to satisfy any rabid horror fan.  And best of all, the next time you’re attacked by a band of classic movie monsters, you’ll be well educated in the art of monster hunting.  In a life or death situation, it’s helpful to know whether or not the Wolfman has nards.

In those sweet, quiet moments when I’m holding my babies and all is right with the world, I often think to myself, “I will never, ever forget the way they look right now.” But I do — and all too quickly. I was looking through some old photos tonight when — WHAM! — I got blindsided by this wonderful snapshot of three-day-old Maren.

This was only four and a half months ago, and already I’ve forgotten the way she looked then. I even blogged it! So, sorry for the repeat, but it’s just so precious that I’m forcing you to ooh and ahh over it again (or am I just another mom who croons endlessly over her weird-looking pruney little alien baby?).

I had a great active day and prepared my meals at home to take away to work. I mixed an own creation of thuna salad: peas, thuna, paprika, tomato juice and spices – it really tasted awesome. I had this for lunch and p.m. snack at work. For dinner I have prepared a protein shake. So far, day two was great – I have changed the food a little, but be creative if you do not have the exact ingredients from the book!

I am really looking forward to tomorrow – I will have a run in the forrest in the morning before breakfast to burn some more body fat, then have breakfast (protein shake or egg white with veggies and tea).

Stay tuned and stick to the program – plan in forward. I will also go shopping tomorrow and buy lots of veggies, salad, thuna and a portion of chicken filet. Then I will have enough ingredients in the fridge for the weekend and beginning of next week.

Have a great evening,

Jens

Part 2 contains my impressions of Richard Kelly’s new film, The Box.  Below, in Part 1, I recount my childhood memories of seeing the Twilight Zone episode Button, Button, whose original short story is the basis for The Box.  This was written prior to seeing the new film.

When I was a kid, my younger brother and I were babysat a lot because my parents often had conflicting work schedules and because as young parents in their mid twenties, they also enjoyed going out without the kids every once in a while.  Lucky for my parents, we had a lot of friendly, trustworthy neighbors that could look after us.  And lucky for them, my brother and I loved watching movies and TV, which made us very easy to look after.  Two of these neighbors were an elderly couple that lived four or five houses down from us.  Honestly, there isn’t much that I remember about them; not even their names.  But, I do remember that whenever I would go over, after my brother was put to bed, we would watch The Twilight Zone.

Not the original series, but the 1985 revival.  To my recollection, I never watched a single episode of that show when I was at home.  I don’t think it’s because my parents didn’t want me watching it, but rather because they had different TV watching habits than our neighbors and Twilight Zone wasn’t a part of their schedule.  Although I enjoyed watching TZ, it’s not a show that I anticipated viewing every week.  In a way, I think I just didn’t “get” the show.  Every episode had a different story performed by different actors and so I never knew what to expect from week to week.  It was different from the format of everything else that I watched — like Knight Rider and MacGyver — that had the same formulaic plot structure every episode.  So, even though I wasn’t a huge fan, somehow a lasting impression was made.  However, it wasn’t immediately apparent.  Years later, when I was a teenager first starting to write, trying to figure out what stories I wanted to tell and how I wanted to tell them, there were elements from some of those Twilight Zone episodes — episodes that I hadn’t seen since those first childhood viewings — that were still creeping around my brain and that eventually oozed out onto the page.

Two episodes in particular were firmly planted in my mind.  One of those is The Toys of Caliban, whose influence on my love of horror and gore is profound.  Even though there is only one brief moment of gore in the episode, over time, my young mind exaggerated it and expanded it and transformed it into something even more grotesque.  But what’s noteworthy about the gore in that episode is that it’s not there for gore’s sake: it’s an integral part of the story.  Now, as much as I would like to go on about The Toys of Caliban — perhaps I will dedicate a post to it another time — the purpose of this post is to highlight the other episode that left it’s mark on me.

On March 7th, 1986, 7 days before my 7th birthday (7-7-7 — weird!) — which probably also coincided with the beginning of the March Break — I watched a Twilight Zone episode titled Button, Button.  When it comes to remembering television shows from my youth, I typically only remember bits and pieces of episodes.  Usually just the cool parts.  Like this episode of Knight Rider: A couple scavenging on a beach with a metal detector find KARR (KITT’s nemesis) buried under the sand.  Somehow he’s revived and by the end of the episode he’s trying to destroy KITT with a laser that’s been installed on his hood.  Then, they both “power boost” towards each other and KITT destroys KARR.  It was an awesome episode, but I don’t remember the details at all.  For Button, Button on the other hand, I remember every detail.  Now, I could tell you what the episode is about, or you could simply watch it for yourself.  If you feel you don’t have the time (come on, it’s less than 20 minutes long!), and don’t mind spoilers, you can read a plot synopsis here.

Button, Button – Part 1

Button, Button – Part 2

I think the reason why this episode has always stood out in my mind is because it was the first time I became truly aware that a story could have a twist ending.  I’m sure that I had seen other TV shows and movies that did this, but it never struck me how effective it could be as a form of entertainment.  I was also aware that it was a morality tale.  At the time, such stories were always present in cartoons, after school specials and movies of the week, but I hadn’t seen anything with such a diabolical ending.  These characters were going to die, but you had the sense that their fate was the punchline to a joke.  That the people who made the episode were grinning from ear to ear, proud that they had pushed these characters over the edge of reason.  And, something in me thought that the whole thing was just really cool.  And clearly, other people thought it was cool too, such as Richard Kelly (Donnie Darko) who has turned this concept into a major motion picture titled The Box.

Actually, to be more precise, The Box is based on the same short story that the Twilight Zone episode is based on, Richard Matheson’s Button, Button.  I love Matheson’s work, most notably I Am Legend, which doesn’t quite resemble the film adaptation from a few years ago (for a better version of that story on film, check out The Last Man on Earth with Vincent Price; wiki, trailer).  He also wrote the script — based on his own short story — for Steven Spielberg’s first feature film, and a favorite of mine, Duel (wiki, trailer).  But, I’ve never read Button, Button.  Based on what’s posted at Wikipedia the story has a different ending from the episode, which Matheson didn’t like:

In the original short story, the plot is resolved differently. Norma presses the button, and receives the money — after her husband dies in a train incident where Arthur is pushed onto the tracks (the money was the no-fault insurance settlement, which is $50,000 instead of the $200,000 in the Twilight Zone episode). A despondent Norma asks the stranger why her husband was the one who was killed. The stranger replies that Norma never really knew her husband.

Matheson strongly disapproved of the Twilight Zone version, especially the new ending, and used his pseudonym Logan Swanson for the teleplay.

Even though I haven’t actually read the story, I like that ending.  I like both endings.  They make different statements.  The episode is a meditation on the social conscience and our feelings of sympathy towards those we do not know, living in circumstances we know nothing about.  The original story explores this as well, but takes it further and declares that we are essentially all strangers to each other — and therefore we are all the same.  In the episode, it’s not quite clear if they will both die, or if only the wife will die, but one way or the other, the consequence is that the person who pushed the button will perish when the next person pushes the button.  But in the story, the character who pushes the button gets to live and the person who is closest to her dies.  The wife is then forced to spend the rest of her life reflecting on the consequences of her decision to push the button.  Somehow, that punishment seems more severe than in the ending of the episode.

It’ll be interesting to see which ending Richard Kelly decides to use for his film, that of the short story or the episode.  Or, perhaps he came up with his own ending.  It certainly seems like a possibility once you take a look at the trailer.

The Box Trailer

Now, you need to add a lot to a story like this in order to expand it into a feature film, but there are some truly bizarre images in this trailer that I don’t know what to make of.  I enjoy watching trailers and trying to figure out what the plot of the movie will be, especially when there’s other material that you can reference in order to make your prediction.  Trying to figure out if the writer or director will make the same choices you would based on the same material is a good creative exercise.  But there’s a lot to be baffled over in this trailer.  Could the whole story somehow add up to some sort of alien conspiracy?  It’s a possibility when you consider some of the weird stuff they’ve posted on the official website.

I am a huge fan of Kelly’s Donnie Darko (but haven’t seen Southland Tales), so I’m willing to let him lead me wherever he wants to take me.  Especially since he’s made an exceptional choice in hiring Arcade Fire to compose the score for the film.  My completely biased opinion says that this will be one of the greatest movie scores of all time.  If you’ve visited the film’s website, then you’ve heard a bit of that score already.  If you haven’t gone to the website, here’s a sample:

Arcade Fire Score

The first time I heard Arcade Fire’s Funeral I had the impression that I was listening to the music from the greatest film never made.  And, as their music evolved with Neon Bible, the idea that they could compose a great film score was further cemented.  Especially after hearing the final track on the album, My Body Is a Cage.  I’m not alone on this.  If you do a search for the song on YouTube, you’ll find all kinds of videos that are comprised of movie clips accompanied by this song.  There are some good ones and some bad ones.  It would seem that this one that uses clips from Once Upon a Time in the West is quite popular, but apprently it contains spoilers.  And since I’ve never seen the film and assume that some of you haven’t either, I’m posting this one with clips from Nosferatu instead:

My Body Is a Cage – Nosferatu

Damn, that song gives me chills every time.  Knowing what I know about the box and the consequences of pushing the button, I don’t think I could do it.  Except, if in exchange, I was promised the opportunity to become a member of Arcade Fire.  That would be tempting.  Very, very tempting.

Megha Sharma

A breezy dawn it will be..
The day I walk into the sea

Wet sand will cling to my toes
The day I let go of all friends and foes

The wind will whip my hair haywire
As I pay homage to all my frustrated desires

Caught between the extremes of life
I will abandon my role amid all the strife

Soft and sultry, the waves will lap around my feet
The day I finally bemoan a heart untouched by love’s heat

It will be long before they come..it will be long before I am found
It will be long before some cry..it will be long before some wonder,  just why did I die

When I consider how my light is spent
Ere half my days, in this dark world and wide,
And that one talent which is death to hide,
Lodged with me useless, though my soul more bent
To serve therewith my Maker, and present
My true account, lest he returning chide;
“Doth God exact day-labor, light denied?”
I fondly ask; but Patience to prevent
That murmur, soon replies, “God doth not need
Either man’s work or his own gifts; who best
Bear his mild yoke, they serve him best. His state
Is Kingly. Thousands at his bidding speed
And post o’er land and ocean without rest;
They also serve who only stand and wait.”

- John Milton

(Kind of.)

Maren had an unusually wakeful night last night. She’s had a little nose and chest congestion over the past week, which gives her (and mama) some trouble sleeping. Three times last night, I awoke from bad dreams — and I don’t have bad dreams very often!

The first dream is funny, in retrospect. I dreamt that Richard and I were still dating (no kids yet) and that he broke up with me — because he wanted to find someone who was outdoorsier than me. Ouch! (I love the outdoors and the occasional campout, but I also want this magnet.) I was heartbroken, so what did I do? Why, I set out to find the perfect chocolate chip cookie recipe in order to win him back with cookie dough, of course.

The funny thing about that is that when we were dating, I tried to break up with him on a number of occasions (always, curiously, at the same time every month). He’d just listen as I sobbed and choked out my reasoning, calmly say “Okay,” and we’d both go home (and I was sure we’d never see each other again). He claims he was so calm about it because he always knew I’d come around a few days later, white flag in hand (he was right). Boy, am I glad about that.

The other two dreams involved spiders and stage fright. Those were not so funny.

And it’s as if some hands

Just suddenly

Switch the whites

The blues,

The lights off,

And everything else,

All the other colors 

Blend with black,

Dissolve to darkness;

Blue and white vanish

To shadows of memory.

Like white and blue

Of summer fun

Kite flying in my mind,

And then a raging storm came

To claim it

Paper kite dissolves

Never to return.

Like paper boats

Sent off to blue ocean,

Wilting to uncertainties.

Cotton soft clouds,

Pristine white

Smudge on blue 

Like powder

On cheeks of youth,

On the calm face of heaven.

And then came

Some turmoil to claim

Pristine mirths

Lost to time.

Like some hands

Just suddenly let go

Of their grips,

Leaves falling from the trees.

Canopies losing their verdant color

Green is naught,

Belonging to distant

Summer dreams

As green concedes

To the will of the season.

Like some hands

Switch all the street lamps off

Just like that,

And the once lighted alleys

Dimmed to fears of uncertainties.

White and blue

And all the vibrant colors

Dissolve to melancholy.

Would it be nice

To walk the dark alleys unafraid,

Holding hands with someone ~

To catch the falling leaves,

To feel warm around each other’s presence

In the midst of rain;

To watch the kite dissolve to skies of memories,

To sail the seas on paper boats,

Re-live mirths,

Summon lost colors

Celebrate white and blue

And to feel safe

Even in black.

—

The poem is written in memory of my white sony vaio computer, the only thing that stayed and gave me company for the last 3 years, just suddenly went black, and all files gone to untangible memories. My lost made me retrospective of things I lost that I could never re-claim, but my heart is large enough to contain all the memories.

It was total darkness for the past few days, and the leaves are falling outside my window as autumn claims vibrant life from the trees, to give my lost such a gloomy backdrop.

I found company in my new computer, it’s still our getting to know each other stage for now. And oh by the way, my new pc notebook, his color is black.

Megha Sharma

Was it bad timing or sheer rotten luck? wondered Neesa. Neither, whispered a small but persistent voice in her head. It was a rare case of Divine Retribution, also known as poetic justice.

The realisation of the same hit Neesa in the gut like a fist. She was long afraid that might have been the case as she lay staring at the cieling for days on end, with tears trickling down the side of her face.

Utter desolation swept over the frail-looking young woman as she wiped the perspiration off her brow.

So this was it, this was God’s way of reprimanding her to be careful about what one wished for. All she had wanted was to secure some succour for her mom, whom she could clearly see reeling under the effort of taking care of Neesa’s long-ailing father.

In her wish to see her mother relieved, Neesa had inadvertantly brought on an untimely end to her beloved father’s life. Or so she believed to be true.

In the aftermath of that tragedy of magnum proportions, Neesa witnessed her mother struggle day in and day out, trying to deal with a loss she could barely comprehend.  The loss of a husband, a companion of 27 years.

Taking care of her father, though exacting, was all that Neesa’s mothers’ life revolved around. And once freed of that task, she hardly knew what to do with herself.

Had she, Neesa, been indirectly responsible for inflicting this pain unto her mother and the rest of her family? Had somebody taken her wish to put an end to their misery to mean an early death for her father?

And, was this the reason for her own heartache and the miserable failure of her endeavour to secure the affections of the one guy she had truly fallen for?

The lovelorn girl pictured God deep in thought, finally deciding to etch her punishment in stone. “Quid Pro Quo,” he uttered with a small sigh.

Neesa was rendered numb.

She knew she had to get out of this, conquer this for once and for all because it would be stupid to wallow in grief for the rest of her life over it.

One’s life is one’s own to alter and improve. Beyond a point, there are only a couple of people who are truly affected by what happens to you.

Placing her conviction in this adage, Neesa vowed to try once again to let this pass, and live in the moment for herself and those chosen few whom she knew would be glad to see her smiling at all times.

For me, a restaurant like Eat’n Park is a centering agent.  An anchor.  A constant.  My mind races so much everyday and tries to solve so many problems and re-evaluate so many situations that after hours of driving and dealing with that, I need something to center me.  I also need food – still not sure which one is taking precedence.

Eat’n Park in mid-afternoon is an interesting world.  The one constant from the morning – old people – remain, only in much smaller doses.  Those that remain are alone, staring forward over decaf coffees and wondering what to do with their time after here.  They think about the time before retirement, when they were active and moving around and serving a purpose and yet then, then they longed for the glory days of retirement when the world would be their oyster.  Now that glorious time has come, and they’re alone, and oysters aren’t any good at Eat n’ Park.

Today’s the day that’s worth living.  Even at our most overworked and overstressed moment, we are painting memories for a time of reflection, not preparing for an empty existence.  Seize those moments now and they will make you smile.

Think of a time in your life when life seemed agonizing but now, in hindsight, you realize was one of the best times of your life.  Share some thoughts and memories below.

Megha Sharma

Distancing yourself from the everyday, the routine, life and the people in it comes very handy in leading a peaceful, unfettered existense. Devoid of any ups and downs, devoid of any pain and ecstasy..comfortably numb.

Recently, I have been in twin minds over such a mode of living and all it entails.

Till some time back, I was a confirmed believer in the concept of ‘feeling’ and the importance of it.  To feel – be it sorrow or happiness, dejection or elation – is always better than a hollow vaccum. Or is it?

Lately, I have started wishing for a wee bit of that vaccum to engulf me. I think I need to cultivate some amount of indifference in order to feel less, in order to avoid pitfalls, and in order to be relaxed.

An easily excitable and too cheerful a nature is of little help in face of rejection and suffering.

I consider myself one of those who are too spunky to be down for too long, but with that spunk comes a keen sense of perception too, a heightened awareness.

And this presents a problem when all you want is for things and situations to not affect you.

Maybe it is a cheap way out, but then I am not sure I will be able to see myself through it.

After all..I do love them damn tears, and them damn giggles way too much to imagine my life without an exclamation mark in it!

I cringe when I read my earlier posts. I sound obsessive and depressed.

Am I?

No. There is much more to life than reminiscing about past loves.

I totally abandoned my beloved blog for the past 3 months. It feels so long since I started it… and I am still trying to remember why I did it. This is not my first one… I guess I find it difficult to finish personal projects.

This reflection doesn’t emerge by coincidence… it’s a constant in my life but I think I know the reasons. However, let’s rewind a little bit…

Yesterday I went to the cinema. I have one of those Cineworld Unlimited cards (which I am by no means promoting!) which allows me to go to the cinema as much as I want in exchange of a specific amount of money a month. It’s great and lately I’ve been using it more and more. That way I get to see dozens of films, good and bad. Yesterday, as I was saying, I went to see “Julie and Julia“. A film about cooking, perhaps. For me, it was quite like watching myself (with some slight differences) in the life of Julie Powell. It was like a reflection of me, her frustration and her desire to finish something.

I’ll explain myself now… unlike Julie, I do like my job. I like the subject, I find it extremely exciting. I could almost say my job is my passion. And not a lot of people can say that. However, I have a bigger passion which has been somewhat neglected since I came to England. This passion is writing and has been in my life since I remember. I used to write little tales which I also illustrated when I was about 8, then when I was 9 or 10 I used to create “small” magazines that my mum would “buy”. I wrote a whole stupid novel when I was 13, at the same time that alongside my best friend I published the first magazine of my secondary school.

Forwarding to today… I’ve been looking for a project of my own (“something to do” as Julia Child’s character says on the film) for, what’s now become, years. I started several blogs, but the problem usually is the lack of focus on a subject or, more concretely, the lack of a goal, an objective, something to do it for. Something that sticks my ass onto my chair every night.

PS: Likewise, I love cooking and have a tiny crappy kitchen. I live in a minute appartment in London and worship food. However, I don’t cook amazing dishes everyday… anyway, too personal for today.

Here I am pursuing

In endless circles

On and on

Wandering, wondering

Where’s this circular course

Taking me,

Where’s this ring going?

Like the fan blades

In the dining,

Grating, squeaking in the ceiling

Racing overhead.

Like the propellel

At the boat’s rear

My mother once showed me

Stuck in my memory

Of things turning

Around an axis

Aimless.

I did my laundry

The other day,

And lost myself

With the motion

Of my clothes spinning,

So did my head

Juggling with thoughts

As the Wheels,

And mills,

The clock running

Round in circles

But really,

Where is it going

When it ends where it begins?

I hear an alarm

Of high pitched signal,

My laundy is done.

The machine pukes

Fragrant vomitus:

My clothes smelling the scents

Of spring and renewal

Like my mind

Finding new meanings:

The fan in the dining

Brings me air

Of homey comfort

Makes beef stew rice topping

Tastes like what my mother

Used to feed me

From my distant memory of home.

The propellel at its rear

“Mamang” directed my young mind

In my first boat ride

Brought me faraway,

Closer to my destination.

As the Wheels,

And mills

The clock running

Round in circles

And me pursuing

This ring course,

Breaking grounds

Widening scope

For reasons

That some day,

My nephews and nieces

Would grow up

To understand.

* “Mamang” a name we call our mothers in some regions in the Philippines.

(Jeques, 2009. From his A Traveler’s Soliloquies poetry collection)

As a writer I’ve has always preferred writing stories rather than articles. Concentrated on the fiction life had to offer rather than rally around the truth… But today I realized that no matter how much you choose to run away from it, the facts never leave you alone. Fictionally, sometimes my ego takes me to a new high and I am the best at everything, factually however I’m a software engineer who, in my own opinion hasn’t achieved much in a lifespan of 23 years.

Today I complete two years at my job as a software engineer. For as long as I live, this will continue to be a memory of a mixture of sordid as well as euphoric achievements. If any of my colleagues happen to be reading this (I’m sure some will coz I’ll send them the link), in words of the great Bilbo Baggins, “I don’t know half of you half as well as I should like; and I like less than half of you half as well as you deserve.” My greatest joy in these two years has been sharing and having a lunch and a lunch table conversation with some of the most wonderful people you can ever come across. My worst regret however is that, professionally, being whatever I have become, I am definitely sure that I still haven’t found what I’m looking for.

Reaching a new milestone, I have this set of mixed emotions asking myself what would happen if chose to not show up at work from tomorrow. Would they remember me, retrospectively, only as a minor contributor in some ridiculous projects? Or would they remember me as a guy who gave his best, to his work and his colleagues and made some really impressive breakthroughs at software engineering? The answer is another fact of life: No one is indispensable. In the end it’s always about enjoying the journey without worrying about the destination.

While I might sound very much like a guy experiencing a quarter life crisis, I would like to add that looking back at these two years the transformation from a fresh out of college clueless 21 year old to a still clueless 23 year old software engineer has been thoroughly enjoyable and has been one hell of a ride all thanks to a few people who I would like to name only in terms of metaphors: The mentor, the happy-laughing-rolling-round-boys, the whiz kid, the nice guy, the gamer, the trance man, the guys on the virus development team (I’ve always had sooooo much fun making fun of them), the captains and vice captains, the loud mouths, the hyperactive man and not forgetting to mention my bitches (yes these kind exist not only in prisons but at workplaces as well).

Right now, the AC in my office only cools one chair and the guy sitting there is freezing to death while the rest of us are sweating it out, the one, yes ONE window is shut and the blinds are drawn and you never know whether it’s day or night, you always keep wondering where the next unruly smell is going to come from, the administration has stopped keeping a sauce bottle in the kitchen pantry as a cost cutting measure and they’ve recently started keeping the microwave at minimum and started a policy of keeping food in it for exactly 37.23 secs… But yeah life’s good.

It was nearing midnight in a lonely South Carolina parking lot when I finally had that moment of truth. Until then, there had always been someone there — a cry, a phone call, a whisper away — someone who, if I really needed it, could come and rescue me. But there I was, alone in a rented minivan with two hungry, crying babies in uncomfortable car seats, exhausted from two flights that took us to the other side of the country, nervous and excited about finally seeing Richard in the morning, worried that I wouldn’t be able to find the hotel — let alone something to eat at midnight — in an unfamiliar city, and how the #$*% do I turn on the headlights?!

I wanted my husband. I wanted my mom. I wanted my dad, my sister, my brothers, my best friend, my Relief Society president — I wanted all those people who had been there for me so faithfully and so unquestioningly through it all. I wanted help — someone to secure the car seats, someone to calm the girls, someone to navigate, someone to talk to. In that moment, gripping the steering wheel in the rental car parking lot, trying to work up the nerve to start the engine, I had that irrational and overwhelming but very real feeling that the world was about to stop. I just couldn’t do it, and that was it.

But in the very next moment, a voice of comfort came: no, you can do it. You have to do it. No one is going to do this for you. There is simply no other way; it’s got to be you.

And then I did it. I started the car. I turned on the headlights. I found us something to eat. I found the hotel. I set up the crib. I found the missing blankie. I got the girls to sleep. I took a shower. And then I went to sleep, too.

It’s strange that such an epiphany should happen just hours before I got to see my sweet husband again, the person on whom I have depended the most these past six years. But the Lord works in incredible and indeed, mysterious ways — teaching us how strong we can really be if we will rely on Him. He’s always there — a whisper and a thought away — and He can speak peace to our minds, helping us do what may seem insurmountable at the moment.

Here we are, ready to rock at the San Francisco airport that morning: a ginormous backpack, two carry-ons, a stroller, and two babies. Yee haw!

“A rose by any other name would smell as sweet” – William Shakespeare

Before I left to Florence, I can’t tell you how many people told me that it was their favorite city. My expectations were high. I’d NEVER been to Europe, I’d never even flown on an airplane alone! It was a year ago today and the moment I arrived my eyes were wide open, eager to see everything. All I wanted to do was soak it up. It was so hard to process the fact that I was, at the time, standing on soil on the other side of the globe from where my feet are used to treading. I looked up into that sky or glanced over at those birds, so many times, romanticizing their Italian-ness. I just couldn’t believe I was there.

My first few days were spent running around to various school orientations and becoming acquainted with my path to and from school. Unfortunately, this path took me through the less glamorous side of town and immediately, my impression of Florence dropped. During that first week I began wondering what it was that people favored about this city, it was dirty and filled with illegal street vendors and so many tourists!

It took some time but eventually that initial dislike wore thin and shed itself into a new understanding of the beauty of Florence (the dirt I saw wasn’t just any ol’ urban dirt, it was centuries old dirt – dirt with charm and history. It was character, not dirt). I don’t think it was the same image that I’d been so readily showered with by admirers of the city though, it was something that only the locals – the Florentines – were able to see. I began to make Florence my home and it was within the local café and my neighborhood Esselunga (a large supermarket chain) that I stitched my own picture of Firenze. It didn’t have to be that fairy-tale image that I’d wanted it to be of long strolls through piazzas and stops at fresh fruit stands, chatting with vendors (though these were incidents that worked themselves into my perceptions), it’s too hard to live up to standards like that. It was my one jog through Cascine park with N- (followed by a lunch of Lampredotto sandwich, defeating the whole notion of going for a run!) and walks to Dr. K-’s office in the Piazza Mercato Nuovo and wriggling through uncomfortable conversation with crazy Giovanni at Mama’s Bar and having a cold beer watching the Last Minute Dirty Band play in the Parterrre and awkwardly flirting with the cute cook at Mario’s and 2am drives up to Fiesole with F- (stay tuned for that!) and overeating great chinese food near the airport with my new Italian friends preparing for a live-show double header and becoming a groupie of my friend’s bands and grabbing a pizza to-go from Cellini’s and sitting at the bar next door’s outdoor patio to catch the Calcio game. These are what made my Florence. That’s the idyllic vision that I now have to try to re-live.

LA, though, thats not where it’s going to happen. I need to get back there, soon.

I was walking home the other day. I had got down at Sion circle and had crossed the road to take the lane opposite to the bus stop. I noticed the flyover had not changed appearance. It was as lame and dirty it was in the morning. The roads too felt stale and the buildings that stood alongside it made me feel jealous of their occupants. After all, I cannot afford those apartments therein and I feel miserable that inspite of such a fabulous salary, I cannot even contemplate buying one of those flats that were looking at me at that very moment.

Anyway, I walked and felt the heat and the humidity competing at getting me to curse them. As I did so, I noticed a woman in shades and looking very much like someone I knew in college. She came closer and I saw her breasts were small and tightly wrapped by the blouse she wore. And her jeans too had decided to cling to her thin thighs.

She came close, she looked around and passed me just as I passed her. It was then I realized who she looked like. She looked like Carolyn – the elegant shabbily dressed bitch I knew in college.

I had a crush on Carolyn. She had this lovely hair – all curled and positioned at just the right places around her neck and shoulders. So, when she walked in, a set of curls bounced away from her shoulders to make way for another set that was just next to it.

She also had a lovely voice. I remember it well. But the thing about her that I remember the most is the fact that she was a snob of the most spectacularly horrible variety. I tried to talk to her when we were both in the 11th standard, but that woman! Whew! She would reply in monosyllables. It was so humiliating and insulting. However, when she wanted stuff such as notes, journals, etc, she was a picture of sweetness.

I was young that time and quite quite naive. So I let it go. Of course, I did grumble and complain about her to people I considered my acquaintances then, but now, those acquaintances and that woman seem so stupid and not even worth knowing at all. I really feel a little stupid about the whole episode – about I letting myself be driven around by that squirrel of a woman and that bunch of idiots I termed my acquaintances.

Oh man! Thank God for something known as growing up! Or else, I’d never know what’s right and wrong!