1.1.11

2011.
I spent the first day of the year with my family.

Unshackled

December 7, 2010. 9:08PM

I released myself from the tyranny of Facebook.
Because I can.
Ah, freedom!

Meteor Shower: Geminid 2007

"Uy, shooting star!!!"
"Saan?"
"Ayun, meron ulit! Yehey!"
"Mag-wish ka na!"
"Ha?! Wala nang shooting star.."

So there we were, all seven of us, on the viewdeck, having a conversation about swimming pools and sembreak plans, when suddenly, we were interrupted by shooting stars.

I didn't even know that there was going to be a Geminid meteor shower that night.

I craned my neck upwards just to catch a glimpse of that elusive heavenly display.

Nothing.

After a short while, i saw three shooting stars successively streaking through the starry night sky. We were all applauding and hooting like giddy children as the meteors vaporized into thin air.

"Mag-wish ka na," Bernie said to RC. Somehow, everyone on the viewdeck made a wish.

I didn't.

Not because I didn't want to but because I didn't know how. When do you actually start making a wish? Do you make it before, during, or after the meteor makes its dash across the sky? I have long asked that question but I haven't really seriously asked anyone about it.

If you make a wish before you actually see one, would that count? Shooting stars could be so elusive, you could have kept wishing and wishing and end up not seeing a single one at all.

Suppose you make a wish as soon as it appears. I tried that many times, with precision and timing, but I often fail to complete the "wish" since the shooting star would have already burnt itself up completely.

Now, wouldn't making a wish after you've seen one, make the whole point of wishing on a shooting star pointless, since you would be wishing on something which has already disappeared?

Anyway, I still wonder about how to do the "wishing on a shooting star" properly. hehe.

by the way, I ended up with six sightings that night.

Oh, and after that, I looked up one of my old notebooks and found an old poem (in Filipino) which I wrote after the Leonid shower in 2002:

LEONIDS 2002

mamaya
aabangan ko
ang pag-ambon
ng mga kwitis-langit.

maglalatag ako
ng banig
at ako'y titingala,
nganganga,
at maghihintay
ng grasya
mula sa itaas.

gusto ko kasing makatikim
ng nagbabagang bato,
tulad ni Isaias,
nang maranasan ko
kung papaano
mag-dilang anghel.

Taken from my journal, dated December 16, 2007.

Lost in Traslacion

It was the first day of my first visit to Naga and I found myself amidst the swarm of fanatical devotees to Ina, as the locals endearingly call the image of Our Lady of Peñafrancia. The traslacion, as the procession was called, was a yearly event that signaled the start of the novena to Ina.

Originally, I had no plans of joining the procession of voyadores; I was already forewarned by some brothers about the creatively concocted stench of liquor and sweat and body odor. I was told about the danger of being crushed in the stampede of devotees clawing their way through the thick cordon of voyadores just to touch or wipe their hankies on the image of Ina. And of course, I was skeptical of public and fanatical shows of devotion.

Yet, there I was, about three layers of voyadores away from the image of Ina, almost sucked into the vortex that held the crowd's attention. At first, I could not understand how some men were crying as they joined that religious commotion. That is, until I actually got lost in the traslacion.

The feeling was that of something that spoke to your gut--raw, powerful, palpable, instinctive, engaging, overwhelming.

The rawness of the experience felt like it punctured something in me. but instead of blood, it oozed hot, stinging tears.


Taken from my journal entry, dated Sept 11, 2007.

Hypertension

150/100.

No, they're not test scores nor eyesight measurements.

Lately, I've been trading blood pressure stats with some of the scholastics. There has been an outbreak of hypertension diagnoses, ever since I got a 140/100 a month ago. When my hypertensive condition was detected last month, some of the scholastics decided to have their BPs checked as well, only to discover that I wasn't the only one with fairly high stats.

Earlier this evening, as we were trading jokes outside the oratory, I suddenly felt something snap in my nape. It triggered a sharp pinching kind of pain, and I immediately thought that it might have something to do with my blood pressure. IJ and Jhaw then told me to go to the infirmary to have myself checked since by that time i was already breaking into a cold sweat. When we went to the infirmary, one of the nurses took my BP and informed me that my current stat was 150/100. Of course, I panicked. I didn't want to get sick again because it was so depressing to be confined to a room and find yourself suddenly incapable of doing the things you often take for granted.

Thanks to but unlike Wordsworth, I call these moments of utter vulnerability and helplessness my "intimations of mortality." I'm still young and being sick like this makes death less of a possibility; instead it becomes as real as my own Damocles' sword. I know death would eventually come but its own random timing scares me. 

My situation reminds me of Heidegger's insight on being-towards-death. My most individual and extreme possibility is death. No one can experience death for me. I alone will experience it. It is what individuates me and at the same time, unites me with everyone else.

Heidegger cautions against inauthentic living -- a kind of living that denies this mortal destiny. And yet, here I am, afraid of dying as if i am not going to die at all. On second thought, maybe it's not death I'm afraid of, maybe it's the pain that comes with sickness. In my case, the physical pain is only secondary. The pain of being incapacitated is even more painful, I think. To be fully conscious and yet unable to to act out one's conscious thoughts, I surmise, must be a really painful experience.

Yet maybe, these kinds of pain are birth pangs of an emergent spirituality. Recognizing my own limitedness can be a real blow to my ego. But perhaps, after the self that i had been holding on to has been shattered, when the dust of confusion settles, i would begin to see myself and my life more clearly. I am not in control. I am merely clay in the Potter's hand. 

Taken from my journal entry, dated Nov 12, 2007.

LSS

"So far away...doesn't anybody stay in one place anymore..."

It must be echoing some deep-set sentiment, this song. Bamboo's rendition gets to me when i listen to it. Some old songs have that effect. You play them and they transport you back in time when that same song had some meaning to you. I'm not sure though what meaning it had for me for that hypothetical "then".

I grew up listening to "High School Life" and "Don't Cry For Me, Argentina". I listened to these songs, brimming with emotions, profound feelings that surely a four or seven year old would not have understood. Yet, i can recall moments when I actually shed tears listening to Sharon Cuneta wax about high school when i had not even reached Grade One!

Songs follow a logic of their own. So does the heart, as Pascal reminds us. It's quite a miracle when you have lyrics that perfectly match the melody. Both these elements intertwine inextricably. You forcibly take one out and the song dies.

Miracles also happen when you have songs that fill the gaps in your consciousness. These gaps are often the things you haven't really figured out that much. It cries out silently. It screams mutely. Only the song soothes. Only the melody assures.

And you just quietly sing along... 

So far away
Doesn't anybody stay in one place anymore
It would be so fine to see your face at my door
Doesn't help to know that you're just time away

Long ago I reached for you and there you stood
Holding you again could only do me good
How I wish I could, but you're so far away

One more song about movin' along the highway
Can't say much of anything that's new
If I could only work this life out my way
I'd rather spend it bein' close to you

But you're so far away
Doesn't anybody stay in one place anymore
It would be so fine to see your face at my door
Doesn't help to know you're so far away

Travelin' around sure gets me down and lonely
Nothin' else to do but close my mind
I sure hope the road don't come to own me
But there's so many dreams I've yet to find

But you're so far away
Doesn't anybody stay in one place anymore
It would be so fine to see your face at my door
And it doesn't help to know you're so far away

Taken from my journal entry, dated March 5, 2007.

Thrill

Imagine ziplining at 12 meters per second through an almost 700 meter long cable, dangling facedown from a harness 600 feet up in the air, gliding across a landscape of precipitous waterfalls, rocky streams, and pointy trees.

Imagine doing it twice, in span of a few minutes, but covering half the distance.

As I was waiting for my turn to take that zipline ride near Lake Sebu, I wondered what draws people to attempt such stunts.

Ziplining entails a lot of risks, raises a lot of fears, but promises a one-of-a-kind experience.

I stepped up to that platform — palms clammy, heart pounding through my chest, vision blurring — and for a split second, I wanted to back out. I was immensely nervous that I could feel my courage ebbing with each millisecond. I couldn't even clench my fist because my strength was leaking out of me, as well.

I definitely knew I was afraid. Of heights. Of plummeting to my death. Of the ropes snapping. Of some freak accident happening despite the park's safety measures (I hope).

I certainly knew I was excited. To take the challenge. To take the adventure. To face my fears. To experience the prospect of a thrilling ride.

Thrill is the intersection of fear and excitement. Eventually, it was thrill that pushed me off the platform, and kept me company for the longest 45 seconds of my life.

Midway through the zipline, my initial primal scream ran out. When I had finished shouting at the top of my lungs, I was finally able to take in the awesome beauty of it all.

"Lord," 

was the first and only thing I could think about. It wasn't a curse word, really. I just couldn't think of anything that was almost as majestic and transcendental.

Then I remembered the people whom I wished would also experience what I was going through at that point. I have heard that when someone brushes shoulders with death, one only sees the faces of the most important people in one's life.

I guess I learned something from that brief detail, I spontaneously became aware of the most important people in my life. And as much as I have tried to suppress your memory, I saw your face clearly then; you were smiling the way you smiled when we took our first motorcycle ride together.

The lure of the thrill pushed me off the platform. Thrill is a powerful motivation. It can make you feel alive, or it can get you killed. When it comes to thrill, life and death become flip sides of the same coin. You begin to understand clearly when you are in those limit situations.

I think that is why I'm attracted to it. When I was younger, I lived for those moments. But not anymore. I just enjoy them as they come. Thrill might give one a reason to stay alive, but living from one thrill to the next may not necessarily keep one alive. Thrills are meant to be enjoyed for their ephemeral character. Its magnificence lies in its very transience.

I'd like to keep it that way. Because when the extraordinary becomes the ordinary, what else is there to live for?