This is what good music is all about. Gloomy but relieving. You could only wish you could go back to the time when songs like this fill the air.

This time, I would have to say the calendar. A manufactured remnant of a tree that could have lived all its glory but served the purpose of giving hope to someone who’s enjoying the delicious anticipation of his return.

Its been months… there were some attempts to revisit and write something but the demand of this life that’s shoved down my throat is unbearably painful. Yes, complaints of being bored was where this blog started. Surprisingly, I have found myself slid far from it, to its opposite extreme. This time I enjoy how it fills the emptiness of the old boredom and gives me more reason not to miss it. But in way, in the middle of the hustle and bustle, time is somewhat kind to allow me to wallow in some seconds to be as stiff and dead as a cactus in a desert, and just stare at the day and ask myself, “how far have I come..become?”. I eventually snap back to reality and wear again the face that’s pretty agreeable with the career I am in now. And so, this question keeps hanging like an abandoned cobweb of a seasonal spider. Dancing back and forth as the wind forcibly seeps through a minute hole in an attic. The web endures, swings until a moment when it loses its grip, lies down on the ground, unanswered but fulfilled its purpose.

I am not really sure if my title is permissible as far as grammatical correctness is concerned. I had also been vacillating on what could be the best title for this post since it was the first that entered my mind plus singling out all other options, I found it’s best suited. I have developed the habit of looking at the calendar disregarding the numbers and fixating my sight on the month itself. Maybe out of impatience and longing, I have tried to make myself believe that by counting my stay here by month’s would somehow ease the long wait to get back home.

Yesterday, after that cold engulfing morning shower, I applied my deodorant and noticed how long it’s been with me for some months now.. almost 5 months I guess. Nah! don’t get me wrong! I do value hygiene highly! It’s just for some reason that despite of it’s everyday necessity, I’ve known how to economically swipe it without compromise. I know the irrelevance of my stay here and my 5-month old deodorant but as I noticed how the latter has endured the months and possibly some more months, I can say that my first year here of stay here prior to my vacation I might only use two deodorants including the one I am currently using. So, in that case, the second one would mean I’m few months away from my vacation. I know it sounds desperately sentimental but I guess no one has the right to contest me, the way I see things in an unusual way, the way I put my anticipation into a hygiene trifle and counting days by month’s. Being here is like chasing the moon - just when I think I have it, it disappears into the horizon. I grieve and try to move on, but then the damn thing comes back the next night, giving me hope of catching it all over again.

Last night, I decided to go for a walk and convinced myself to try and appreciate my place at night. I rarely go outside at night since I have never gotten used to the humid and hot weather here. Yes, it’s been three months and I haven’t gotten used to. I still find myself complaining how intolerable the summer here is, how envious I am seeing people comfortably walking on pavements without much lines in their foreheads from frowning. Day’s weather here is night’s as well, if that does make sense at all. In the Philippines, people throw much anger on the unpredictability of the weather. At any moment, sun shines in all it’s glory leaving the amorphous clouds intimidated and almost abandon the sky. In one snap, it comes with a thick vengeance pouring all it’s might with a trembling sound. I was one of those people who would complain about how fickle-minded weather was. But, truly I miss how the weather becomes so unfathomable like a woman, irritating.. but necessary to her as she is to me. My dad told me to prepare for September as winter —really Dad? Does winter even exist in here or maybe a result of hallucination due to this unforgiving heat, the insatiable wanting of something totally opposite?— comes. So, to kill the curiosity and enliven the hope of that anticipated “winter”, I googled it and found to my surprise that indeed there is actually winter here, well minus the snow but it made me somehow enthusiastic about something to look forward to. So then, with much excitement I count the days toward September and meticulously examining the weather if there’s a change or something. It’s almost September and aside from the cold weather, I can’t help but anticipate Christmas. Although, I must admit that I put more importance in New Year, there’s something about the coming of “ber months” that put magic in everyone and everything. Simply said, everything and everyone is Christmas. I don’t know if I have to be excited or to be about excited about anything in the first place. I’m in a place where Christmas is nothing but an ordinary day. Where I think, is an absolute upside-down of the place I came from. As I strolled the city, I can’t help but look at the mosque ironically lit by Christmas lights.

Seeing Christmas lights, unconsciously became a spectacle. It took a long while before I realized I have my camera with me and so I did take some pictures.

The joy it brought looking closer to every bulb feels like regurgitating the good ole’ taste of the memories and chewing it again hopefully to squeeze in considerable sweet yesteryears.

Walking few blocks from the mosque, I saw people doing their evening groceries as today’s fasting just ended. Unusually, I liked being in this place, at this moment. The feeling of Christmas was at my threshold of imaginings, it could’ve been more realistic if I just had my IPOD with me and “Jingle Bells” played on it. “Christmas is just around the corner, how great is that?”— an aunt once told me when she visited from US last September. Such a mundane and typical expression but the way she delivered it, it’s as if the air is blessedly scented of cinnamon roasted chicken and laughing was easier than breathing. When I arrived home feeling I had too much of my imaginings, I succumbed to the necessity of showering off my could be’s and would be’s and headed to bed. I stared at the abysmal ceiling and let myself sink to the deep slumber. 

     It was some weeks ago that I started getting very hooked on this song. I could even play it whole day without break. Music has been one of my ever-reliable company especially these days when all you can do outside work is to basically lie down in bed, randomly play IPOD, and try to thresh out whatever memory a certain song has. A very special person who happens to be as very well-versed with music as me introduced me to Matt Kearney. Annie was her favorite by the way. Out of too much curiosity specifically when it comes to music, I hurriedly downloaded all his albums but one album that did stand out for me was Black and White. It’s a type of record that suits to each and every mood you may have. Up to now, it always delivers. But of all the songs, one that really got me is Lifeline.  Not that I can relate to it but there’s so much depth on this song. The melody was contagious, the phrasing was refreshing and lyrics.. damn compelling! It’s one of those few songs that you’ll never dare to sing or sing with it because you fear it will lose it’s magic in you.

       After several weeks of just loafing on Facebook, I decided to have the guts to say hi to her— (thank God! I didn’t have to literally walk towards her and say the word). Nevertheless, saying hi and anticipating seeing italicized “******** is typing” gave me the most jitters ever. Verily, nothing can be as delicious as anticipation. I was amazed that despite the distance and inevitable changes between us, easiness toward each other didn’t wane. I wanted to imagine us talking like the way we used to, spontaneity was always the subject matter. I wanted to just close my eyes and imagine how she grins and taps my chest whenever I tease her about how unkempt her hair was knowing she would be troubled as her hair was her most precious. I wanted to imagine how it feels good when she lies on my arm, hands tightly clasped and fall asleep together. Occasionally waking up and kissing her neck softly making her giggle.

   My scenery of sentimentality stopped as I looked at the sky and shut myself off to reality that yes, the skies are gray and clear, the city predictably moves in what it seems to be a pre-programmed motion. I am here miles away from the spontaneity that brought the genuine happiness unexpectedly. I wanted to tell her that everytime I listen to Lifeline, I’m talking to her but I want to spare myself from further drowning to loneliness. As she typed her reply, I suddenly felt that a surge would come in. Then there was this rare loneliness out of spontaneity spelled in her words.. The abyss which I used to stare was now staring back at me attempting to devour me and put me in his gut forever locked in darkness of despair. I knew that for every word was her tear and for every punctuation her moment to gasp her breath. Imagining her crying was too much to bear so I just put on a smiling icon after my words, carefully not letting my worries flow through my fingers. That smiling icon I used to despise and never used was now the best way I could make her feel ok. I stared at the icon and somehow made me feel OK. Maybe for the reason that the state where I am now, simple things bring simple happiness and that will always be that way, for now. She bid goodbye amidst the prevailing loneliness which I wanted to believe I already mastered to temper. I wanted to tell her she’s unfair leaving me in this puddle of her own doing. I hated her even more for ruining the process of getting used to and now I have to go back to the start to determine another means resistant to sudden surge of melancholy. I then bid goodbye and told her “to wait for me”—if other words can be less painful or possibly spell absolute relief— As soon as her status became offline I felt an urgent need to let go to smoothly get up from the puddle she’s left and so I thought of playing “Lifeline”. Realized how fitting this song is and maybe it’s the reason why I loved it the first time I heard it. So to you from whom I always draw my happiness, this song’s for you..

You’re watching everything you ever held on to 
Slip away from you 
And all you’re running from well it’s catching up to you 

Got you looking for a lifeline 
Swimming in the high tide 
Waiting for the daylight 
To bring you home 

The world is too big to never ask why 
The answers don’t fall straight out of the sky 
I’m fighting to live and feel alive 
But I can’t feel a thing without you by my side 
Send me out a lifeline 

You’re watching everyone you ever belonged to 
Walk away from you 
Maybe all along you’ve been running from the truth 

Got you looking for a lifeline 
You’re swimming in the high tide 
Waiting for the daylight 
To bring you home 

There’s nothing I would change, I’d give it all away 
For you again and again and over again 
Everything I own is in your control 

I’m looking for a lifeline 
Swimming in the high tide 
Waiting for the daylight 
To bring me home

I know they might be unpleasing to many but I find them cute. With the habit of associating myself with almost everything, I’ve found a piece of me in all of places and moments. These two squeakers are as frail and inexperienced as I am now and I find comfort that I have two buddies that share the same feeling as I have. The way they look at me, I know they see me as weird and threat as the way I see the people and whole of my new world here. Soon enough, like the grown-up pigeons they would be able to live through with life’s endless dealings. Sadly, yesterday as I paid them afternoon visit, I saw them lifeless side by side. I’d definitely miss the enthusiastic chirps whenever their parents return to feed them.—- never thought of naming them actually.

Boredom.. what an un-poetic and trivial way to start my writing which I think would accompany me for quite a long while. I have stopped writing when I began to realize how sensibility counts predominantly after my High School. Back then, I used to write almost everything.. about everything. Without reservation and worries that other people might see them as nothing but a piece of crap articulated. I remember the days when I was skipping break during class and writing spontaneously at the back part of my notebook. Those were the days when I had my liberties and most people saw it as something magical. There’s something about words, and making them entwined and married, that I thought I found effortlessly easy. Boredom was never a subject for any of my writings back then because figuratively, nothing bored me. Everything was constantly moving as if time was not of essence and I enjoyed it. It kept me fed of ceaseless ideas to write, from the hanging machine-washed clothes swaying by the rhythm of the summer wind to the incomparable feeling of relief after a morning run. Writing was as easy as breathing for me. I inhaled the world and I exhaled through my pen the reality of it. Getting into college and all the successions that took place, writing had slowly slipped away. There was I think for some reason, I had to fit in with the structure and concrete rules of what was to write. I suddenly began to get conscious and conform with what I should write, as comprehensive as something out of Karl Popper’s Open Society and its Enemies review. I felt strangled and spontaneity began to lose life in me. Maybe it was for that reason that I didn’t push through with my Political Science course. From then on, everything was coordinated and planned. And the world that used to have flying elephants and laughing horses became an arid land with towering monotonies. Predictably so, boredom was born. And so from boredom, I have to start hoping that it would be just as anyone’s cycle. Sooner or later, life will get back to its perennial spontaneity.