Just Another Bio

Here I am for the nth time writing about the topic I oftentimes love and sometimes dreaded, myself. This ambivalence came from the necessity of explanation of ones self for societies impossible clarity.

First and for the most society annoys me. That hatred proves to be beneficial since I’ve been incessantly trying hard to change it. I planted a mangrove and it branched into anti- coal, renewable energy and cleanliness campaigns. Questions have vagued my judgement, some of them open ended, unfortunately most of them are unanswerable. There are a lot of things I just dont agree with.

If you see me buying a self help book that is a gift for someone. Aside from the love of sharing the beauty of reading, I hate self help books. They are literature’s biggest fiction. But one day I would like to write one. Life is ironic, mine especially.

Just like most people music is one of things that my world wants to revolve around to. I am not a musician. In music, there are two kinds of people; the one appreciates, the other creates. I am neither. They’re all inside a circle and I am outside writing about them.

My real friends are the shadows on my barren walls. They throw me words when I need them. Just like right now. The people I talk with, they’re my resources. The people I hold hands with when I cross the street I call them my family. The people who brought me to the Earth are my home. The rest are just nuisance intricately arranged like a maze, and I knew them as my enemies.

Love exists everywhere. It is the higher source, if not the highest. My first love was drawing but I have fallen truely in love a number of times. You could consider it a phenomenon like the thunder, some brief, others last, but they all are definitely real. Currently, I’m on the lookout for lightnings.

When people asked me what I do, I used to answer with my wide grin “I’m a bum”. Now everytime I get the question, I confidently answer “I write”. There isnt much difference actually. Writing is like bumming around in your imagination but you get paid doing it.

I have eyes that hides themselves in my laughters, teeth that are outgoing, cheeks like the chocolate hills, freckles like a constellation and a pretty friendly face that creates a barely noticeable presence. My physical appearance is my stealth, when I speak I begin to dissolve into people’s attention. But mostly I choose to be a flower on the wall.

Above all of this there is only one sentence you need to read to know me. I want to create order from chaos, pleasure from pain and love from hatred.

There it is, now let me go back to what I’m reading.

The Endless Pursuit of Creative Churva

Note:  This was written on May 23, 2011.  Right after the presumed Rapture.

Another note:  Written against a dose of Hiligaynon.

Too bad the world didn’t end, the journey continues. We have to face same struggle and shit while we wait for 2012. Yes, our seemingly unending desire to discover that gift Bob Dylan, Woody Allen, Van Gogh and Lester Bangs has been abundantly receiving all their lives. Fuck you dreams that just wont silence itself from screaming in the head of the reluctant people who deluded themselves with your grandeur.

Enough deep stuff kay indi man ta deep nagapadeep deep lang.

This is going to be a serious multidialect attack. Go eat shit with perfection, you grammar Nazi.

When did this whole “I’m special, I must be an artist” kachurvahan started, anyway? Siguro sang ginhambalan ka loser sang elementary ka. They just dont understand the things I do. Or maybe when you failed your Algebra sang first year high school ka. I have an illogical mind that only means I must be an artist. Nagsala ka gid kay si Descartes ang naghambal nga “I think therefore I am” sya man ang nag-obra sang planes nga rason kun ngaa bagsak ka sa Geometry. But then again just like all reality realizations, this too came later in your life.

Teh kay creative mind ang ginpili mo, maano ka? You cant sing like Stevie Nicks, not even Janis Joplin or fucking Joan Jett. And you’re not famous enough to harass record execs into producing you an album. You try to make friends with musicians because you share their lie of them being the coolest people in the universe and even the parallels. Well, bad news, even Jesus aint cool. You wont go far with them than a) watch them smoke b) join them smoke c) fuck them after you smoke. It’s not the 70′s or the fucking 80′s but that shit is still true. And so with a VERY FEW EXCEPTION rock n roll is still a dirty lifestyle. Dirtier than the garbage they left during free concerts. Dirtier than the puke your guts pushed out of your mouth while you kill your liver with alc. So gwa ka na nga daan samtang wala ka pa nag 27.

Kay you’re good enough for rock n roll(which seems to be the only real art in music form aside from Broadway) you dived into its darker twin universe, literature. So sobra mo nga basa you blurred the line between reality and the books. The sad part of literature is when life imitates art. That’s when all emotional hell breaks loose. Better see a shrink before you go all Edgar Allan Poe and shit. Try mo magsulat but writing is stubborn the more you push it the more it pulls away. Kun makasulat ka man wala man publisher, and the bad news is you’re not the good old sport, F. Scott Fitzgerald.

Damu ka na dayon crowd nasudlan, your attempt to transcend cultures has been too damn successful, that you went on to confuse yourself.

“Daw hippie ka hu.”
Mental protest dayon.
“Hippie man gid ko? Daw naligo man ko.”

You better wear a shirt that says “Punker than Johnny Ramone” that might silence labelling. You have emersed into a lot of stereotypes you became a cultural mongreal. Amu na to ang paggamu sang identity mo, the more you struggle for an individuality the more it gets out of your grasp. “Indi nyo ko pagpamangkota kun ano na nga kanta kay indi ako rakista.” But then again you cant tell that to people when you are wearing an AC/DC shirt.

Your angst is driving you so fucked up you need to scream “fuck you” at somebody. What’s a better rage absorber than of course the government. It’s the fucking Rage Against the Machine taken literal. It is easy to shout profanities at the government because they normally wont shout back at you. Instead they’ll take you to an institution, educate you and train you to be their enemy. People this is where your taxes went, well some of it. Kulang pa gid. Damu damu ka gid kaakig sa life. Religion naman eh kay gincage ka. Parents naman eh, kay they’re not the Lopezes. Until you realize you keep on blaming people and you’re never satisfied because the real person responsible of those fuckeries, is you.

This is the unromantic existence of a romantic.

Allyn: Maobra man ta ya movie ah.
Nonoy Jeffrey: May script ka na da aw?
Allyn: Ginahulat ko pa creative awakening ko ah.
Nonoy Jeffrey: Tapungulon ta ka bla para maawaken imu creativity.

Men, kinanglan ko tapungol, subong na.

PS:  Just in case you are wondering what is the meaning of the word ‘churva’ here are some definition from Urban Dictionary.

Drink, Pray, Love: A Memoir of Three Weeks

“Ruin is a gift. Ruin is a road to transformation.”
-Eat, Pray, Love

You must know a few things before I tell you the story.  I’m twenty-one.  I had two previous jobs not related to the four-year major that I worked hard to finish.  I survived an eight month-long distance relationship with an emotionally abusive guy (and I’m not saying this because of bitterness but because it is a proven fact that can be supported by witnesses accounts). I listen to a lot of depressing music, from The Smiths to Nirvana. And I am not a daughter of a motivating multimillionaire parents.

Things we’re falling apart like a badly built infrastructure. I was standing right in the middle of it not knowing whether to pick up the rubbles or avoid the dangerous debris. Then I started running away. I searched for a place to hide. I found friends who embraced  me.  We somehow shared that silent defiance to the conservative society. It was like a fraternity. And soon we begun to build a little fortress, where everyone can come as they are and they are accepted.  The initiation is a shot of rhum mixed with ice tea.

And shot grew into shots.  It was the first time I got drunk five straight nights. We shared not just vodka and verses, rhum and rhetorics, wine and words but a special bond. It was a shared feeling with Paul McCartney’s “I get high with a little help from my friends”. Just like that high it gives you, alcohol is only a temporary escape.  But during those solitary hang overs, there was a moment when I pondered.  I found myself in a crossroad, one leads to a pool of beer with swimming deviant and the other to a steep summit overlooking an exhilarating view. It was when I remembered Sid Barrett and that tragic Pink Floyd song. I can’t stay a lost soul swimming in a fishbowl. I have fears to conquer. And I have a beer belly to get rid of.

After a week of living hardcore, I found myself talking to a spiritual guru. I tell you they’re like a master-key that opens up people’s long locked reservations.

I had my initiation to a spiritual group, structured mostly from Buddhism.

I got my mantra and is hoping to gather all the self discipline to religiously practice tantric yoga.  But you can’t do yoga if you don’t have self-discipline. That made it a huge challenge for an impulsive person like me.  Plus, I wont live without chicken fillet.  I only eat vegetables because I can’t cook.  Meditation is the cure for the spiritually ill, spiritual wellness leads to emotional soundness, and it all spins into the center: a better person. It will take time for me to master the skill of meditation but so far with only few hours of it, I think it made me a better master to myself.  At least I have a spiritual direction.

During the last days of that harrowing week, I met a man. An artist with not so creative innuendos that are strangely flattering and hilarious at the same time. And most of all, he carries my kryptonite. I swear I can kiss anything that can play good music. With the fake society that I normally try blend to, his honesty surprised me. The first thing that he told me about is his child. I don’t want to take a father away and most importantly I don’t want to be a mother, well not yet. The second thing he told me is how he quickly walks in and out of people’s life, suggesting he will most probably do it with me.

Still, I didn’t close the door. I tried to enjoy his company while blocking him from getting inside of my life. I guess, the more failed relationships you have the more lessons you learned. It was a chance for love but knowing that it will lead to more sympathy seeking journals, it must be killed before it can live.  That was then that I realized I was loving myself more than any man who pretended to love me. Well I don’t have to love others to prove that I love myself. And besides I have a family who despite my rebellion still sends me weekly allowance. I also have friends who cook meals for me without wanting to have sex with me afterwards. There are people who unconditionally love me, one of them is myself.

In three weeks, I have discovered what life is and will be. I got rid of a job I hated and got a better one that I instantly loved. I got over with the customary boys and booze phase. Though I still listen to sad songs, I don’t wallow on them. When I look at the twenty-one year ruin, I could feel the transformation, subtle but strong.