Payback

So my right eye is still swollen, and my left cheek still hurts a bit. Man, it's been a long time since i got into a fight. How i wish i was totally prepared for it, so that the stupid asshole would've known exactly who he was dealing with. I've been wishing for an actual fist fight for months, and when it came unexpectedly, i was totally unprepared. fuck. my. life.


It was a real fun night. Just hanging out, we just kept on drinking and drinking. nothing special, but we were having fun. At least i was. And when i called my close friend a bitch--- a word that i meant as a term of endearment when i said it, some asshole suddenly punched me in the face. Partly because i was already tipsy, mostly because i was totally caught by surprise, i wasn't able to react quickly. I fell, then another punch  to the side of my head. I wasn't feeling any pain. Maybe i was numb from all the alcohol. Or maybe that asshole just throws weak punches. And oddly enough, i was calm. I just asked him why the fuck did he punch me. and then there goes another punch. The way i reacted was kinda funny, now that i think about it. it's just not the proper reaction when someone punches you in the face. and it's definitely not the reaction one would expect from me--- after all, rage has been bubbling underneath my skin for months now, threatening to break free without any warning. But i'm happy when i'm drinking. I guess that's why i was calm, i guess that's why i had self control. The fact that those weren't very strong punches made it easy for me to brush everything off. And yeah, though my friend's denying it, it does appear that they are in a relationship. subconsciously, i guess i was also thinking about her. And i was a lot older than that asshole, so the mature path was mine to take. By the time we were on our way home, i was already laughing about it. I was just gonna chalk it up to experience and move along. another story from my colorful little life that we can talk about on some other drunken night.


But god, when i woke up with a swollen eye and a painful jaw, all that rage started to pour in. The calming effect of the alcohol was gone, and i was back to my normal, spiteful self. I wanted nothing more than to get back at that asshole. On my normal state, i have made guys bigger than him fall, and i can definitely make him pay for what he did. yeah, i called our friend a bitch, but is he aware of the state of our friendship for him to decide if i offended her or not? We've been friends for twelve years, and we call each other names in jest--- all the time. And even if he wasn't aware of it, any sane person can tell with the way i spoke that i didn't call her that in a derogatory manner. He took the word for its literal meaning without analyzing the context of how i said it. god, how stupid is he? and let's say i did mean calling people names, can't we have a discussion on it first? he goes ahead and just throw punches as he pleases? yeah i admit i curse a lot, but that's the way i am, that's how i speak, that's my normal vocabulary. he has no right to tell me how to speak to people, especially when i only say those words casually and in a friendly, non provoking manner. it's not like i have a motive to continually offend people. if people get offended, bring it up with me and i'll try to control the words coming out of my mouth. no one has a right to force me to cleanse my language, and no one has the right to go ahead and use force instead of discussing such issues with me first. I'm no hypocrite, i admit i have a very short temper, but i don't go around just punching people just to make them conform to what i think is proper. i don't go around hitting people without having some sort of discussion first. and i don't go around throwing punches unless someone is undeniably provoking me first.


You bet i'm gonna get back at him. there's just no way i'm not. but this bitch that i used to call my friend just wouldn't tell me where i can find that stupid lameass boytoy of hers. i'm gonna find out sooner or later, and when that day comes, he's gonna regret ever messing with me. it's not about my male ego, it's about being fair. it's about being just.  it's about teaching a very irrational person a thing or two about life. If he can't adapt to different people, if he can't tolerate how different i am from him, then he might as well live in an asylum or something. Or he might as well drop dead. if i could find i way to get away with murder, then i would. That dumbass needs to pay. And the world would be a better place with less assholes like him, i'd be doing this shitty world a small favor. Again i'm not being a hypocrite. He's the one who started this, i'm only gonna finish it. because clearly, he's not strong enough to finish this whole mess himself.

Religulous

Though i don't really care about religion, i've always been tolerant and respectful of other people's beliefs. I may silently mock them, but I never say all those thoughts out loud. It also never occurred to me to try and sway people from their beliefs. I know having faith in something can have some benefits, especially when people have nothing else to turn to. It gives people that false sense of security and comfort, and during times of duress, a false sense of comfort is better than no sense of comfort at all. but religion has this tendency to make people throw the very basics of common sense out the window. Many times, i just find myself shaking my head.


For months our mother has been pestering us to have a pilgrimage of sort--- the whole family, simply because it's better if the whole family went. we will receive more blessings. it's not very far, just a five hour drive... but to me, driving for five hours just to visit some "special" church just seems so trivial... and unnecessary. it had to be postponed several times due to conflicts with out schedules--- hey, we all have different lives, and it can be a daunting task to fix out schedules so that we can have one similar day off from work. then she finally put her put down. we had to do it this month because if we postponed it any further, something bas will happen. whatever that was exactly, i didn't even bother to ask. her answer will probably be some more superstitious religious nonsense, and that would piss me off even more. but to days before that trip, i came down with the flu. i told them i'd rather not go with them, but both of my parents gave me that look they gave me whenever they felt the need to start one of their tirades, so i knew better that to argue. even with a fucking cold, even if i had a fever, even if i hadn't even slept yet, i went with them. I was blowing my nose during that whole trip, but gives a shit. we were  headed toward sacred grounds, and once we get there everything will be all right.


By the time we arrived, i just walked around. So this was that special church, which looked no different from all the churches i've seen. well, it was more dilapidated than most, i wonder if that's what makes it so special. No use kneeling down someplace and pretend to pray. there were probably more than a hundred people kneeling, praying aloud, some even crying. a lot of people were rubbing their handkerchiefs on some statues, as if those statues were their gods or something. oh what a sight to see. i just took pictures of the different sights, trying to take artistic shots of anything i laid my eyes on. then suddenly, someone familiar was standing a few feet away from me, looking directly at me, smiling.... it was the lord Jesus Christ himself... okay i'm just kidding. it was my aunt, who's an even bigger religious freak than my mom. she was all giddy as she was walking toward me.


She said she was so happy to see me there, unexpectedly. truly the lord works in mysterious ways blah blah blah. she asked me who i was with, and when i told her she exclaimed more religious nonsense. when i brought her back to where my parents were, she told them that we should all go to this blessed well a few miles away, because when you bathe yourself with the water coming out of that well, all of your ailments will go away. that's how her arthritis disappeared she said. her daughter's psoriasis was also cured after she bathed herself with the water from that well, and all her doctors were completely baffled. and then there was this guy who had cancer and he was cured miraculously a few days after bathing in the well.  oh please. ever heard of coincidences? ever heard of remissions? ever heard of the natural course of psoriasis, and how it comes and goes? she knew that my mom was developing arthritis, so she told us that we should definitely go. and then she noticed me sneezing and blowing my nose, and she told me once i washed my face with the water coming out of the well,  my cold would go away in an instant. i felt like telling her that i was probably just allergic to bullshit, because i've been hearing a lot of that these past few days, but like a good nephew, i just chose to smile and stay silent. so to make a long story short, we went to that fucking well. my mom washed her hands, my dad even took off his shirt and washed his whole body. my sisters washed their faces. to my surprise, my aunt drank some of the water. she told me to drink some too, so that my cough would go away.... ehhh... ever heard of microbial organisms, a lot of which thrive in rural wells? but what the heck, i washed my nose, washed my neck, and because the heat was already getting to me, i played along and washed my hair and torso. for a minute my cold was gone, and i though--- shit. miracles do happen. I was wrong, the lord is real, i should repent! repent! ... then i sneezed again. and i had to blow my nose. i looked at my aunt and i guess she knew what i was thinking. miracles don't happen immediately she said. the faithful knows how to wait. like i said. bullshit.


i'm cynical. Yeah i may be stubborn at times. but i'm also fucking objective. if you want me to have faith in something or someone, then show me something concrete to hold on to, something that could justify my faith in him or in it. I'm sorry to say this, but blind faith is for morons. it's not just ridiculous, it's also fucking stupid. just look at the things some people do for religion, and look at the things religion does to them. worshipping statues. drinking from a dirty well. believing in a whole lot of superstitious nonsense. and look at the most extreme cases, suicide bombers all in the name of the goes that they worship. these people are too gullible or just simply stupid. no wonder they have so much faith in their religion. Religion should be used to guide you, people should use it make better persons of themselves. Instead of guiding people, religion just shows other people how stupid some people can get. Nothing can be more ridiculous than that.

Revision

So maybe i was simply caught up in all that anger when my wrote my previous entry. After almost a month my mood has changed a bit... and i'm capable of thinking clearly one again. But time hasn't changed my disdain of humanity in general. I know there are a lot of good people out there, people who are still capable of selflessness and genuine concern... but they are overwhelmed by the overwhelming majority. I doubt if i could ever regain my faith in humanity ever again. 

i hate driving to work. it burns me up everyday. It takes so much longer to get to work as it should, thanks to traffic mismanagement. thanks to those stupid individuals who make up all those stupid traffic rules, and as ordinary citizens, we have no choice but to obey. and i also have to thank all those stupid drivers who keep clogging our streets with their incompetency. i mean, it doesn't take a rocket scientist to understand simple traffic rules. all it takes is common sense, something that i used to think we were all born with, but i was wrong apparently. take one of my pet peeves: vehicles that block intersections. if they can very well see that there's a traffic jam up ahead and they can't really move that much forward, why the fuck would they continue moving their vehicles and then subsequently blocking the intersection? because they just want everyone else to join them in their misery, is that it? were they secretly hoping that all the vehicles in front of them would miraculously all move forward and give way for them? god, i don't know if these people are incredibly stubborn, selfish, or simply incredibly stupid. i wouldn't mind shooting them in their fucking heads if only someone made it legal to do so. i wouldn't even feel guilty afterward. I'd be ridding this world of stupid people who only serve to bring others down along with them. getting rid of them would be for the greater good, no doubt about it.

And then the grave robbers were at it again. before they just slowly ripped off the metal trimmings outside the mausoleum...i dunno, they would probably melt them and then sell them afterward. then they stole the lights outside. We didn't check on the mausoleum for a month, then when we came for a visit three weeks ago the whole metal gate was missing. Jesus, those bastards managed to take the whole gate. It amazes me how they could have taken that whole gate, carried it out to the streets and not one person saw them carrying it. The street outside is very busy even in the wee hours of the morning, it's impossible that no one noticed them carrying such a big gate. It's either no one cared, or the people in the surrounding area were in cahoots with them. And with the gate gone, the entire contents of the mausoleum was one big free for all. All decorations were gone, as well as the lights and fans. Anything that they could take, they took it. I was surprised they even left the kitchen sink and the toilet bowl. Maybe they just left them for next time, because apparently for the bastards and assholes in the surrounding neighborhood, they have found their new source of income. with shit like that happening, how could i ever learn to trust people again? I keep thinking of just staying there for one night and wait for anyone of them to show up. Then i would shoot them pointblank. I can never go on a random shooting spree without feeling guilty afterwards, but with those people, i could kill them with no apprehensions at all. or maybe put them to sleep with an intravenous medication first, bring them someplace and then skin them alive, very slowly. or maybe burn them alive so that i won't make that much of a mess. their screams would bring such pleasure to me, that's one thing that is certain. These people behaved like animals, and they deserve to be treated like animals. By doing such deeds, they have revoked their right to be treated as humans. honestly, even if they were already dying of hunger, even if they can find no other source of income, would that justify disrespecting other people's graves? how can they eat the food at their tables knowing how they were able to get  food that they were eating? to do so would be to give in to your animal side, to your carnal cravings. and if they choose to live like animals, then they deserve to die like animals as well. they deserve to be slaughtered like cows and pigs in the slaughterhouse. No mercy to those who continue to live by simple necessity. 

So yeah, i wouldn't just kill anyone for no reason at all. i was caught up in rage when i said that, that wasn't me talking at all. but for all the many people who have waived their right to humanity by virtue of stupidity and giving in to their animal cravings? i would gladly kill all of them one by one, if only someone would give me the power and right to do so.

Rage

If someone handed me a gun earlier, i would have shot everyone in sight, i swear.


I really don't know what's happening to me these days. Somehow, i have become totally numb. I have become morally ambiguous. I could practically do anything and i wouldn't feel bad after. I guess my conscience has totally disappeared. I felt its presence slowly diminishing as days went by, but i couldn't determine the exact point in time when it totally left me. And in a fit of rage, i could practically do anything without any regard for all possible consequences. Instead of thinking, i would just act as i please... or let anyone do anything to me as they please... And i doubt if would feel any remorse after. I believe i could kill someone outright and i wouldn't feel a thing right after. except maybe for that tiny bit of pleasure as i have carried out an inherent carnal craving.


When we see stuff like that in the news, we are shocked. we are appalled. we are dumbfounded. Back then i didn't understand how such individuals acted the way they did. I wondered what could have made them do such horrible things, i wondered about the state of their minds. Surely, no person in his proper state of mind could commit such acts. These people must have gone crazy, and something traumatic must have pushed them onto that breaking point. But now i know that's not always the case. because i have felt that rage in my proper state of mind, and only then was i able to understand. They were fed up with humanity in general. They were fed up with this fucked up world and all its inhabitants. Humans are by nature selfish beings, humans are by nature destructive and violent. Humans are arrogant and they don't care for anyone else but themselves. I know because i am human, and no matter how much i rationalize, no matter how much i try to convince myself otherwise, there's no denying that flicker of my animal side, and i am sure that it is also present in everyone else. We question how such people can harm so many innocent lives, but is anyone really innocent? we are all guilty, either actively or passively. If several people are truly capable of caring unconditionally in this world, they are only a handful. All the rest are scum. If someone handed me a gun earlier i would have gone on a shooting spree before i shoot myself in the head. Everything was so fucked up earlier and i got so tired of all the people, i got so tired of every one's nuances, i got so tired of the chaos in this fucked up world. If someone hadn't come and took me away from all that, i would have totally exploded. I may not have a gun, but i would have totally committed unspeakable acts of violence with my fists in such a fit of rage.I would have wanted nothing more than to end it all right then and there, and i see nothing wrong if i bring a ton of scum along with me. The aftermath may be horrible, but in the long run i would have made this world a better place. I see nothing wrong with that at all, and neither should all of you.

That Fine Line

I hate being sick. Whenever i'm sick, i lose all sense of reason. I lose all control. Whenever i feel this bad, this weak... whenever i feel this shitty, it just makes it so much easier to end it all. When i feel well, i'm not someone who would back down from almost anything, but when i'm feeling this way, i'm someone who wouldn't even put up a fight. Right now i'm wishing that when i fall asleep later, hopefully i won't be able to wake up anymore. Problem solved, this miserable feeling would go away in an instant. I know i have the means stashed someplace that's easily accessible... but simply thinking about going through all the motions leaves me tired. All i want to do is lie down and wait. I'm groggy from all the meds i've been taking. If there really is a supreme being, he should be aware of how miserable i'm feeling right now. If he could only show a bit of mercy, he would take me out of my misery.


Even before this infection hit me, i've been feeling really down these past few weeks, i dunno why. About two months ago i was feeling fine. That was when i've come up with a plan, something that seemed really feasible back then, but it seems pretty bleak now.  I wanted to give it another try, but then it hit me. If i didn't make it before when my chances were better, i guess i probably won't be able to make it now. I've been doing a lot of crazy things, things that i would never have done a few years or even a few months ago, when i was still my normal self. But with the way i'm feeling now, nothing really seems to matter anymore. who gives a shit about consequences, who gives a shit about personal values and convictions. who gives a shit about principles. Certainly not me. Whatever i do, whatever i choose not to do, it doesn't really matter since i'd be gone in a few years anyway. I don't care about anything anymore. I simply refuse to. I have become morally and spiritually numb.


All the shit that goes on around the world certainly does not help change my perspective. People aren't good by nature. That's nothing but a fucking myth. People are selfish. people are assholes. People are by nature destructive. There are a few good souls here and there, sure... but they are grossly outnumbered by the scummy majority. Humanity is not something worth caring for, it's not something worth fighting for. When the time comes that i have to leave this world, humanity is not something i would miss. It would be a great relief to be away from such horrible beings.

Maybe i'm just saying this because of the things that have been going on around me these past few weeks, all that shit has definitely put me in a pessimistic mood. but such things have been happening for the longest time right? I just wasn't aware of them before. It's just not my family. It's not just about what's happening to my close friends. It's about what's happening everywhere around the world. Grave robbers continue to loot my grandparent's mausoleum. I dunno how we can stop them from doing so. My close friend's dad was killed 2 weeks ago, when drunkards beat him up real bad for no logical reason resulting in a traumatic head injury. And then i look at what happened in norway. in london. What's still happening in the middle east. It's as if all sense of reason has gone out the window. Civilization has regressed to its barbaric nature. It's as if humane and ethical means of solving problems and voicing our grievances have become totally unheard of. There can be no peace because man is by nature primitive and violent. Who can be optimistic when everywhere you look, there's nothing to be optimistic about? When even the educated show glaring signs of stupidity, when even the so called intelligent ones aren't capably of sound reasoning? I'm not really being pessimistic, i'm just being realistic. There's a fine line between those two things, the same fine line that separates optimism from stupidity. I see a lot of things wrong with the world, and that surely doesn't make me stupid. I'd rather call things as i see them, and not pretend that everything is fine and dandy when it's clearly not. I have valid reasons for feeling this way, i have reasons for being depressed. People say i have a lot of things to be thankful for,  they say that i'm luckier than most, but are those enough reasons to be happy? Are those enough reasons to keep on smiling and basically ignore everything that's wrong in our lives? Anyone who says that this world is worth fighting for, that this world is worth living for is either ignorant or a liar. I'd rather die now and be free from all the crap the world throws at me than to continue living more years in a lie. As i've said, i'm not being pessimistic. I'm just being real.

My Own Private Suicide

If i went through with my original plan... well, to put it bluntly... i should be dead by now.


It wasn't that hard to plan it. Nothing like the cold winter nights of december to put you in an introspective mood. Nothing like the stillness in the air to make you look back at the sort of life you've lived, and look forward to the sort of life you'd end up living. And all the things i've seen were nothing short of depressing. I had one shot, i had that one chance to make a difference. If i blew it, i probably won't get another chance. If i miss that opportunity, I'd be stuck in the same old rut. Rather than continue living a life that i hate, i'd rather just end it. There was no other way.


July 1. That was the day that i was supposed to do it. That was the day of change. If i got lucky, i would be out of here, and i would never look back. If luck wasn't on my side... well, i'd still rather be out of here, and there lies the attraction to that other option. Win or lose, come July 1 i'd be out of here. No matter the outcome, come July 1, the life that i knew would end. That was it.


I came home on the last week of January. Being surrounded by all things that i hated made it so hard for me to hold on. It was so tempting, yet i had to wait. Things may turn out for the better after all. It was too early to tell back then. By mid february, i started making all preparations. After months of planning, i already knew how to go about it. I knew the things that had to be bought, i knew the things that would be needed. More than a decade ago when similar thoughts clouded my head, i wanted to make the most impact. I wanted it to be as bloody as possible. I wanted it to be messy.I thought about jumping off a tall building. I thought about bleeding myself slowly to death on the bathroom floor. I thought about shooting myself in the head with my grandpa's gun. But after more than a decade, i have somehow become more subdued. I didn't want a violent death, i was more at peace with myself. I want to go out quietly, subtly,  without much noise. I chose my weapon of choice. It was a drug that was easy enough to procure as long as you have a medical license. The only problem was, i could fall asleep before the the toxic dose has been pumped into my veins, thereby foiling my plans. So i figured out the delivery method. Five times the lethal dose would flow through my veins. I would be long dead and the drug would still continue to be pumped through my bloodstream. Once i flipped that switch, there would be no turning back, there would be no recovery. When i realized that, although i was drowning in depression at that time, i managed to smile. And it was a genuine smile. I was really happy.


It was a rainy day in mid february when i bought the drugs. The weather was fitting, i thought to myself. It was easy enough to buy 6 vials, no questions were asked. The salesperson didn't even give any second thoughts. Everything was set. I had everything i needed. After a month i would know whether I would have any use for all of it or not. I hid my armaments in a place no one knew of. I practiced inserting an IV line on myself just to make sure no hitches would happen on the big day. I encountered no problems. It was gonna be easy. I didn't want to leave any suicide note because i thought that would be cheesy, but i guess I owed my family at least that. No explanations why i did it, just a few words directed at them. To my dad, i wouldn't say that he's one of the main reasons why i hate my life so much. I would just say that it's not yet too late to make a change, and i wish he would finally wise up and use his remaining years to fix his messed up, god forsaken life. To my mom, i really don't know what to say. Except maybe i wish we could have been more closer to each other... so that i can sincerely say that i would miss her. And to my siblings... well, although i never really felt close to any of them, i would say i'm extremely proud of those three. They are all younger than I am, yet they have already managed to accomplish so much more in their lives that I would ever dream to accomplish in my entire lifetime. And i just want them to know that. They make me so god damn proud. Everything was ready. All preparations were done. All i had to do was wait.


That week in March was definitely the lowest point in my life. There it was, in bold letters. They didn't even try to sugarcoat it a little. I failed. I sucked. i was a loser. All was lost. I tried so hard not to use it back then. I knew it was too early, but i really wanted to end it all back then. I already brought the drugs out. I was already setting up the IV line as i was crying, I was already hanging the soluset, i already inserted an IV catheter on my right hand... i managed to take several deep breaths before i managed to control myself. Yes, it was too early. I can't stray away from my original plan. those few months in between were meant for me to tie up many loose ends, to settle any unfinished business, and to say my proper goodbyes to the very few people i cherish. I can't deprive them of that. Besides, the death anniversaries of my grandparents were coming up, plus the birthdays of all my siblings. I didn't want to steal anyone's thunder. i wouldn't want to cause grief on their otherwise happy days. I had to wait. If i wanted to go quietly without any noise, I had to force myself to wait... and waiting was such an agony.


One of my online buddies told me that what i was thinking of doing was selfish, and i disagreed with him. We had one long argument because of that. I told him it was selfish for other people to deprive one person of his only form of escape. We may argue that there are other ways, death is not the only option, but we can never really understand what another person is going through because we do not live the exact same life that he is living. If you are thinking that it is selfish because the person contemplating suicide doesn't care about the grief that he would cause others once he takes his life away, then it is just as selfish for those loved ones to force a person to continue living a life that brings him nothing but agony just so they can save themselves from grief. But in the end, that was what stopped me from doing it. Because if i went through with it, it would have really been selfish... but not because of the reasons that he stated. If i went through with it at this time when our family is still finding it hard to make ends meet, i would be causing a lot of problems, especially financially. As of now we have no funds for emergencies, and another funeral so soon after the death of both of my grandparents last year is definitely not on anyone's list of expenses for the year. I don't really care about what they would feel when i'm gone. But leaving such a material and concrete burden to them does seem selfish. If I leave them with a lot of problems, i won't be able to go out quietly. I'd still be making noise long after i'm gone, and all I want to do is to leave in peace, leaving no troubles and problems behind.


I still have everything that I need. The drugs won't expire until after four years, that gives me plenty of time. I haven't scrapped my plans, i'm simply postponing it. For now i'm working again, i'm saving up for my funeral. Once I have saved enough, i'd still be going as planned... Unless I find that reason for living that I have been continuously searching for... always searching, but never finding. That's the only thing that can stop me from leaving. But at this point in my life, the chances of that happening just seems like wishful thinking. But who knows, a lot of things can happen in a year or two. Instead of saving up for my funeral, i could be saving up for something worth fighting for and worth living for. But for now, I shall keep it all inside, my own private suicide. each day that i keep on living i'm slowly killing myself inside, but i have to force a smiling face so that no one would ever know that i am slowly tearing apart. In my life, nothing has changed. i'm still floating alone in this river of misery. I'm just going where the current takes me. I'd just shield my eyes from all the pain and ugliness life brings, i'd just try to be numb and take everything in stride. For the next year or so, i'd try to continue living. The world will continue to move on, and for now, i will just be.

Letting the Guilt Go

It's been a year since my grandma passed away. I used to think that it would be easier as time went by. In a way, it is easier. But in every idle moment, certain images still haunt me. Whenever i find the time to stop and think about all the things that have happened, whenever i find the time to reflect, all those painful memories come rushing back. A year has passed and i still feel as lonely. A year has passed and i still feel as guilty as i have been a year ago.

Every now and then our relatives would ask me if I dream about her. They are a superstitious lot, especially the old ones. They believe that dreams are one of the ways that those who have moved on to the afterlife communicate with those who are still living. I do not believe in such nonsense, but to answer their question--- yes, I dream about her. A lot. Not because she's communicating with me, but because she remains in my consciousness. And even at those times when i'm preoccupied i still think about her subconsciously. She's always present in my mind.

On most dreams, we are simply talking, as if she's still alive. And i remember waking up with a smile, and that warm feeling would quickly vanish once i realize that it was all a dream and she's long gone. Several times i dream of the last day she was alive, but i did things differently, things turned out well and i managed to save her life. Everything's fine, and i would wake up feeling so happy. And like most dreams about her, that great feeling that everything is all right with the world would disappear the moment i realize it was just a dream. All those dreams were so surreal, all those dreams were so vivid, i always thought that they were real instead of make believe. But that's just the way my life plays out. It gives me one fleeting moment of happiness, then in an instant it would take it all away and push me back into the darkness where it chooses to keep me.

I had several dreams about here which were so horrible that i wake up shaken and afraid. I never could remember what those dreams were about except for one, which was as vivid as it was disturbing. Again the last day of her life was being played out, but this time it was in an old, gothic, dilapidated hospital, the type of building you'd see in an old creature feature. Cobwebs abound, mysterious eyes shone in the dark, the floors would creak with every step--- stuff you'd usually see in those old horror movies. In this dream my grandpa was still alive, and we had to carry my grandma's body down to the morgue because in that hospital, it was the duty of the deceased patient's loved ones to bring the patient down. As we were carrying her i noticed that she wasn't that heavy. I remembered that i couldn't carry her on my own when she was still alive, but at that time i thought i could carry her easily. With faulty logic I just figured that's just how it is when a person dies, a lot of her weight would disappear. The morgue was filled with lighted candles, and there were a lot of coffins inside. I wanted to hug her for one last time so I pulled back the sheets that were covering her body, and it turned out all that was covered underneath was her spine connected to her head, her intestines, plus a big blob of blood. There wasn't any skin. Blood poured down on the sides of the stretcher, then my grandpa vomited. From out of nowhere my dad came out shouting at me, blaming me for something i could not understand. Then a little boy came out of the darkness, splashing about the pool of blood on the floor. He then reached for her intestines, then started nibbling on it. While he was chewing on her innards, he was looking at me and he was smiling. That was when i woke up.

My life as it is right now is in shambles. The fact that she's gone just makes things so much harder to bear. I never realized it back then, but she used to give me a reason, she used to give me a sense of direction. Now I don't know where i'm headed.I'm like a sailor out at sea, with no specific destination. I have always been lonely. I have always been angry. But not to the extent that i am now. Ever since she passed away all these negative feelings have been magnified. Oftentimes, i just feel like crying for no apparent reason. Not a day goes by when I don't lose my temper. Not a day goes by when i don't want to beat someone up. Whereas before i can easily keep my emotions in check and keep all the anger inside, nowadays i always feel the need to show it. For the past year i have provoked a lot of people into fighting me, just so i could release all the hate inside of me, but so far no one has been stupid enough to fight back. I've know what it's like to beat the hell out of someone who has done you wrong, and it felt so damn good, i have actually been craving for it. The satisfaction it brings is immeasurable. But the opportunity to release all this anger onto another person hasn't presented itself yet, so i have to be content with spending several hours in the gym. Some people think i've suddenly turned into an obsessive compulsive health nut. The truth is, i've been going to the gym frequently to release all this anger. Lifting all those weights and hitting that punching bag again and again is strangely satisfying. I just have to imagine that I'm hitting another person... someone i despise... someone who has done me wrong. And somehow, as i transfer all the pain onto an imaginary being, the pain i feel inside would go away, even for just a fleeting moment.

If she had told me that she was ready to die, maybe it would be easy to let go. But the very last time that i looked into her eyes, i knew that she still wanted to live. By the time that we've managed to get her inside my car, I already knew that i let her down. And with the way i'm living my life right now, i'm letting her down again and again and again. I know i can't let go of her memory, but her memory is entwined with such great feelings of loneliness and guilt, it makes the very act of living so damn difficult. It would be so easy to just give up, especially since i still have no apparent purpose, and i see no compelling reason. I know it's not the sane option, but giving up may be the only way of letting go of the guilt that's continuing to haunt me in this life.

Nines

I've had a number of close encounters with death in my life. Just a slight miscalculation, or one seemingly negligible change in the chain of events could have led to a very different outcome. I have cheated death more than once, and i wonder why it had kept on evading me. The existentialist in me would believe that i still have a purpose, there's still something that i have to do in this life, that's why it just can't let go of me. But the pessimist in me would dismiss such beliefs as hogwash. It's all coincidental. There's no higher power. There's nothing more to it than luck. Nothing but pure, dumb, stupid luck.

When I was 10, i remember floating in outer space. It was such a vivid memory. I felt so serene and at peace, but that feeling didn't last long. Aliens appeared out of nowhere and they began to chase me. No matter where i would hide, they would always find me, and i was so afraid of them. They could catch me any minute and i was sure that they would kill me. I didn't want to die, but that's exactly what's going to happen when they catch me. I couldn't fight them, there were too many of them and they were so strong, running and hiding was my only option. I felt as if my heart was going to explode from all the fatigue. If they didn't kill me, i would die of exhaustion instead... but that would still be the better option. Better than dying in the hands of those space creatures. It lasted for days before i finally escaped. And the visions of outer space and my intergalactic horrors slowly faded, at first merging with reality before disappearing completely. I was bedridden at home for a week before they admitted me to a hospital. Everyone thought that it was just a simple fever, but it turned out i already had meningitis. The doctor said they administered the antibiotics in time. If treatment got delayed for even a day, i probably would have died. I didn't understand all the fancy words i was hearing back then, but i understood that it was serious condition, and i was so thankful that everything turned out right. I was 10, i had so many things to look forward to, i had so many years ahead of me. I was happy to be alive.

I can't exactly remember the reason why i felt so bad at that time, but back when i was around fifteen, i thought my whole world was falling apart. I felt that there was no other choice, i had to escape. On hindsight, i believe it was a combination of multiple superficial and insignificant things that just piled up. To my present self, whatever problems i faced back then were nothing compared to the ones i encounter these days... but back then, things were so different. When you are young, everything is amplified. Nothing is insignificant. Even the littlest things can cause a great amount of pain. That was when i found myself standing on the top floor of our house. After an hour or so of crying, i decided that it was time. There's no other way, all i had to do was jump and it would be over. I stood up, i closed my eyes, and just when i was about to leap forward, a strong gush of wind pushed me back and i fell on the floor. I was a religious person back then, and i saw that as a sign. That I still had to keep on fighting, i still had to keep on living. I still had a purpose. I could almost feel death breathing down my neck, and just like that, i decided against it. I saw something, but in truth there was nothing. I believed that a superior being pushed me back and kept me from making a huge mistake, but in truth it was all coincidental. I was the only one up there on that ledge and no one else. No one prevented me from jumping but myself... back then, i just couldn't see that. It was easier to believe in superstitions. When you are young and you haven't encountered all the different types of shit that life throws at you, it's easier to turn a blind eye. It's easier to pretend and make believe.

It was a few days before Christmas on December 2003 when i fell asleep driving on my way home. I had a number of exams on that week, and i slept for only 2 hours each day. The night before it happened, i didn't sleep at all. I came from my friend's place and i left as soon a we exchanged Christmas presents. The last thing i remembered was i was driving at about 140 km/hr on the highway, and then i woke up with a lot of people surrounding my car. Someone was knocking on the windshield. I looked ahead and saw that I crashed into a parked car and its rear end was totaled. In order to get there from where i was, i had to make a U turn, do a quick right turn and pass by an intersection. I couldn't have possibly done that unconsciously... to be able to make it that far without hitting someone, without crashing into something else was quite impossible. My faith was already wavering that time, and i doubt if some superior being had any hand in it, but i had to admit that what happened was a miracle. My car wasn't damaged as much, and i didn't even have a single scratch on me. Everything about that event was nothing short of a miracle. It's probably dumb luck, but it was really miraculous just the same.

January 2008. That was when my highly publicized accident happened. My car was a total wreck, it burst into flames and nothing could be salvaged from it. It was funny. I could no longer count the times when i went home drunk and still managed to come home in one piece despite the fact that i couldn't remember how exactly i got home when i wake up in the morning.... and on that one time when i just had a few drinks and i wasn't even tipsy, i decide to drive too fast just to get that adrenaline rush and then ---- BAM! Driving on a curved road above the speed limit was a disaster waiting to happen. It was all over the evening news, and the footage can still be seen on Youtube up to this day that my friends continue to bring it up every now and then much to our amusement. I could laugh at it now, and i could poke fun at the fifteen minutes of fame that the incident brought me, but it wasn't funny back then. My life was already a mess back then, as messy as it is now, that if i died back then i wouldn't even care. If there was an afterlife, i'd probably be looking at the wreck, looking at my lifeless, bloody body and i'd most definitely be smiling. Because it's all over. It's finally all over. But I had a friend with me at that time, and that made all the difference. I may not regard my life as much, but to take another life with me as i throw away my own, whether intentionally or not... that's not something i could bear. If i was driving alone, i would have wanted things to turn out differently instead. It would have spared me from all the shit that i had to deal with in the succeeding years. But i wasn't alone, and that's one time that i have to thank my dumb luck. It was one of those rare occasions wherein luck was on my side instead of against me. It wasn't divine intervention. It was just plain luck. Something that happened by chance, something coincidental. To put reason into a non specific chain of events would be over analyzing. But for the sake of argument, if some superior being did keep on saving me all those times, then it must be a superior being with a wicked sense of humor. A being that finds it so amusing to keep me in this rut. I couldn't put much faith in such a being now, can it?

I have cheated death so many times, i often ask myself if there's a reason why. Do i really have a purpose in this life? is there really something that i still have to do? can i really make a difference? With the number of times that i have cheated death, anyone who's even slightly superstitious would probably say yes. Something like that could be seen as strangely logical. If i have some sort of purpose in this life, i am not seeing it. If i have to do it in the future, how many more years do i have to wait? how much longer do i have to languish in this purgatory? I would say that i have touched the lives of a few people. I know of two people who have said that their lives are better because they got to know me. And for some weird reason, someone told me once that i gave her inspiration. In my line of work, i know a number of people who are alive because of me. Either i've directly treated them, or because i was able to help them financially to afford the medications and procedures that they needed. If that's my purpose, then it's not enough. Those things do not happen often enough. I need something like that constantly, i need something that would keep me pushing and fighting continuously. Opportunities that happen sporadically aren't enough. Everyone needs a purpose to go on through life. It may be something that inspires you, it may be something that drives you insane, but either way, it keeps you going. To live a life without purpose would be dull, uneventful. It's like you're not living at all. A life without purpose is a life without meaning. You'd often wish you were just dead because it would seem you're not really living anyway. Your body may be functional, but everything else is just lifeless. It wouldn't make any difference whether you're still alive or already dead.

Through the Negativity

I couldn't say i was surprised. It's just that i was hoping that i was wrong. I suspected it when my cousin was diagnosed with shingles. He was fit and healthy, he was not in any undue amount of stress. There has to be a reason why he became immunocompromised. So i forced him to undergo some tests, just to rule out certain possibilities. When the results came out, i was right.

So yeah. He's HIV positive. And he also has hepatitis B. At first he was just laughing about it as he told me on the phone. He kept making jokes, injecting humor in a very serious situation. So i went along with him. But the next day i received a call from his sister, and she told me that when she visited him he was laughing at first, but the wall that he surrounded himself with suddenly fell down, and all his tears came rushing out all at once. He told her he wanted to kill himself. Maybe he would ask for my help so he can get his hands on a lot of prohibited meds, swallow all those pills in an instant and let it all be over and done with. I didn't know what to say. I would say that we're pretty close, but i never saw that side of him. I've always known him to be that happy go lucky guy, that guy you can always count on if you want to have a great time. He's the guy you can count on if you want to leave your problems behind... albeit temporarily. Come to think of it, that was how we became close. He always gave me some sort of escape whenever i needed to.

I've had several misadventures with him. During my carefree days, back when i didn't give a fuck, he showed me all the perfect spots, where to pick up the hottest girls for the cheapest price, where i can really have a good time. He taught me all there is to know about the trade. You could say that he was my mentor. Maybe it was inevitable, that he would catch something serious. Two years ago he got infected with gonorrhea and we were laughing about it as i was treating him. He got laid very often. There was a time that he got laid almost every night, and each night it's with a different girl. And he never practiced safe sex. Whether it's with prostitutes, with some girl he knew from work, or some random chick he met at a bar, he never wore condoms. I always tell him to wear condoms, but he would just give me that cynical and smug look of his whenever i told him that. The fact that he knew for a fact that i don't always practice what i preach makes me sound like some sort of a hypocrite i guess. He even got laid two weeks before the results came out. And he still had shingles back then. I didn't know what surprised me more. The fact that he could still have sex even when his arm was painful as hell... or the fact that some chick could get horny as fuck that they would screw someone who had a lot of lesions in his arm.

I saw him the other day. I made a medical certificate for him, diagnosing him with some bullshit sickness, the most plausible illness that i could think of just so he can get transferred to the morning shift. Morning shift = less stress. That was how i justified my recommendation without going through the specifics. He wasn't ready to tell people yet, and i understood him. No matter how much people say that they understand HIV and AIDS, discrimination still exists, especially in the workplace. People will avoid him, like that asshole brother of his, who left their apartment the very minute he found out because he believed he will get infected. He could even lose his job if his boss makes up some silly excuse just to get him fired. Stuff like that happens. And he cant afford to lose his job, especially with his many future expenses. If they ever found out that i made some bogus diagnosis, i could get reprimanded... heck, i could get suspended but i didn't really care. All I wanted to at that time was to help him, and i was willing to do everything i could.

When he entered the clinic, i no longer saw that smile that he always wore. now he doesn't even make any attempt to hide his true feelings. As I was explaining to him the results of all the exams, as i was discussing his illness and his prognosis, he became teary eyed. And then he started to cry. There was nothing i could do or say to make him feel better. Any word would just seem like horse shit coming out of my mouth. So i just let him cry. After a while i told him that i knew what he was thinking. His sister told me that he was contemplating suicide. It's not the end of the world. He could still live a normal life. He still had so many years ahead of him, he can still do all the things he wanted to do. There's no need to let go of his dreams and ambitions. But we both knew that wasn't exactly true. We both knew that i was just trying to make him feel better. His condition may not change everything, but it changes a lot of things. On many drunken nights he had told me his goals in life. How he wanted to start his own business. How he wanted to earn a lot of money so that his mom no longer had to work. How he wanted to send her niece to school and finance her education until she finishes college... because his good for nothing brother didn't want to have anything to do with his own kid. And how he wanted to have a family of his own someday, once his family didn't depend on him as much as they do now. For someone who seems so frivolous on the outside, this man has such noble goals. His dreams in life prioritizes the needs of other rather than focusing on his. There are so many things that he can no longer do. Several of his dreams can no longer be turned into reality. And i guess that's what hurts the most--- to have your dreams crushed in front of you, just like that. As i look into his eyes, i see myself in him. I knew exactly how he was feeling. We both wear this facade, we want to show the world that we are carefree, that we have no worries, that there's always something to be happy about. We always wear this smile, we try to project this aura of happiness just so we can hide the mess that we are inside. I know what it's like to be filled with dreams, and just like that, because of some bizarre twist of fate, everything is taken away from you.... leaving you with no hope, leaving you with no purpose and no sense of direction, leaving you in such a state of disarray. After our long talk, i've managed to cheer him up a bit. He told me that somehow I've managed to give him a little bit of hope. He's probably lying, i know. He's just trying to make me feel better, as much as i was trying to cheer him up. It would talk more than several inspirational words to lift me out of a state of misery. If nothing can pull me out of this present state i'm in, i doubt if anything can pull him out of his either. I may not be able to make things better for him, but i wanted him to know that i'm here for him. And unlike the many people surrounding him, i understand exactly how he's feeling. I'm pretty sure he's not aware of it, i've never taken off my mask in front of him... but I am a kindred soul. As we continue walking through this joke that we call life, we can't really do much. It's either we give up now, or we keep moving as we laugh along with it. And as long as i'm able to, i would be laughing along with him if he chooses to.

Of Dogs and Men

People seem to assume that I like dogs. That’s not exactly true. Yeah, my username on different websites usually has the word dog attached to my name… but that’s just something a few of my friends called me in high school--- and it stuck. Because dogs are always horny, that's their explanation. I wasn’t really a horndog back then, but you know how high school life is. Once people start branding you with something, it’s gonna stick no matter how far it is from the truth.

Now back to our canine friends. I’m not really fond of dogs. I don’t hate them either. You can say I’m indifferent, but when they start becoming overly playful they become incredibly annoying… especially if I’m not in the mood. Yeah there are times when I like playing with dogs, especially when I’m incredibly bored. But after a few minutes I’ll grow tired of the game. Then they become annoying as again... sometimes they get too annoying, that i have to keep myself from kicking the hell out of them.

It’s not just dogs. I’m not very fond of pets in general. It wasn’t always like this. I remember when I was around 5 or 6, me and my siblings used to collect hamsters. At the peak of our hamster hoarding phase, I think they reached about 30 in number. We couldn’t keep track of all of them, and it wasn’t unusual to find a dead hamster tucked beneath some furniture on any given day. I didn’t really care for them. I viewed them as some sort of commodity, and I never developed any form of attachments to those creatures. When one died, we just bought another one. I guess the only time I got attached to a pet was when I was about 9 years old. Each of us had a rabbit, and I frequently played with mine. But one day we made the mistake of leaving them outside during a storm, and by the time we checked on them they were all dead. When I saw my rabbit, I cried so hard. I was the only one who cried, and I got so embarrassed, yet I couldn’t stop. I kept crying until the next day. I even made a makeshift coffin and grave for my rabbit, it even had a makeshift tombstone. The next week our grandpa bought new rabbits for each of us, but it just wasn’t the same. I never grew fond of my new rabbit. She just wasn’t as affectionate. I left her outside on most days, and after a few months i didn't even bother to see it at all. After two years when I was told that it had died I just shrugged m shoulders. I just didn’t care at all.

We always had dogs inside our house. Even the big and burly ones, we kept them inside our house. My sister is very fond of dogs. When one died, she’s gonna ask for a new one. At first she preferred those toy dogs, but as she grew older, she began to prefer those big dogs… and I found them more annoying. They slobber twice as much, they make more of a mess, and they stink the hell out of our house, especially when it gets really warm.

Around that time when I had that rabbit, my mom had a dog named Max. Our neighbors were so afraid of that dog. He was big, and any time he saw a stranger, he was ready to attack. I wasn’t really fond of him, because he was big and stinky, and he loved to slobber all over me especially during the mornings when I’m about to go to school so I’d have to clean myself up all over again. But all that changed after one incident. I don’t remember the reason, but my dad was so angry at me that time that he was about to beat the hell out of me. He pushed me once and I fell on the floor, and just when he was about to hit me, along came Max. He barked so loud and was about to bite my dad on his hand. My dad managed to pull his hand away just in time, then Max chased him to his room where he locked himself in. I never saw my dad run so fast. I was crying so hard that time, yet I couldn’t help but laugh at the sight of my dad acting like such a big pussy. After a few minutes of barking and growling at the locked door, Max came back to me and he licked my tears as I hugged him tight. How could I not possibly love that dog. It’s impossible not to feel affection for a dog who’s so loyal. He was on my side, and that meant a lot to me. On that fateful day when someone forgot to close our front door and Max got out, I knew just how sad my mom was feeling back then. For about two weeks, my mom kept preparing his food, just in case he came back on his own. She knew that was next to impossible, yet she kept hoping. I heard her crying for so many nights, and I knew exactly how she felt. That feeling of loss was so great because Max wasn’t just an ordinary dog. To her and to me, that dog was part of the family. In fact, I felt closer to Max than some people in our family.

When I came home a few months back, I was surprised to find a new addition to our kennel--- My brother bought a beagle. Great. Another dog. In addition to the mixed breed we keep outside, and to that huge german sheperd that kept on shedding its fur inside our house. It was kept inside a small cage, so I figured it’s not really going to bother me. But everytime they let it out, it would try to hijack one of my shoes, and it pees and shits all over the house--- so many times in a span of a few minutes, I often wonder where all that shit and pee were coming from. But no matter how annoying that dog is, what annoys me more is my brother. He bought that dog, yet I never saw him take it outside except on Saturdays. During weekdays, after coming home from work, he basically ignores it. On Saturdays after spending an hour or two with it, he’s gonna go someplace else and he’s just gonna leave it in the house for everyone else to take care of it. And now he’s out of the country, guess who’s taking care of his dog. It’s been more than half a year since he bought it and that dog should be potty trained by now, yet it isn’t because no one’s training it. If you buy a dog, then it’s your responsibility. Jesus, he’s not a child who could just buy a dog due to impulse, and expect others to do the real work for him. If you can’t handle the added responsibility, then don’t buy a pet for Christ’s sake. That’s why I don’t buy pets. I just can’t deal with the added responsibility of caring for another living thing. I have enough things to worry about at this point in my life, and I don’t have the patience to deal with the idiosyncrasies of any specific pet. I guess that also explains why i'm content being alone most of the time. I don't want to deal with the excess baggage, i want to be free from any complications that any sort of interaction might bring. On my free time I would prefer to just sit back without worrying about anything at all. I’m not someone who’d buy a pet just for company. And I’m not someone who could easily pass the burden to someone else the minute I find out I just can’t handle it.

Early this morning, after I had my breakfast, I saw it staring at me from its cage. Normally I wouldn’t even let it bother me, but it just looked so sad and lonely. If you’re kept inside that small cage all day, who wouldn’t be. When my sister is here she would let it out and play with it, then clean up the mess afterwards, but it’s been a week since she’s been here so the poor thing has been kept inside its cage all week. I must have been incredibly bored this morning because I let the dog out, got her leash, and took her for a walk. For real. She peed at least twice, but it didn’t matter since we were outside. And for some reason, I didn’t get to see any poop. When i was walking her, she wasn't forcing me to go anywhere i didn't want to go. If I didn't know any better, i would've thought that she was trying to be in her best behavior, because I know for a fact that she's not like that at all. Everyone describes her as being a huge pain in the ass. I carried her and she didn't make a fuss. I let her sit on my lap and she didn't make a big fuss. In fact, she just remained still. She seemed perfectly content as I was. The whole scenario just felt so weird and alien to me. Maybe being kept inside that cage for so long affected her behavior somewhat. Or maybe her doggie sense told her that I'm not that type of person who was willing to play games with her. I'm not the type of person she can mess with. Maybe it was just perfect timing, and maybe the exact scenario may never happen again, but it felt so odd and so good at the same time. That was when i thought that this could work. Something like this can actually work. Like the way we interact with other people, sometimes it's all about the right place, the right time, the right circumstance... even one small alteration in any of those parameters can spell the difference between animosity and harmony. I guess everything was just right on that Friday morning. I guess there's a chance that i can form some sort of attachment with a pet after all. Up until I took that dog for a walk, I've always thought it was impossible. No matter how much I try to deny it, there are times that i find myself letting my wall down. This wall has kept me from being hurt and it has kept me free from additional emotional baggage, but every once in a while, it feels good to let the wall down. No man could thrive in complete isolation after all.

Typical.

Man, that was one horrible weekend. I need a vacation from that vacation. I was foolish enough to believe that it would turn out otherwise. I mean, it was doomed from the very start.

It was early January when my dad called me, telling me not to make any plans on the last weekend of April because the whole family was going to attend my cousin's wedding. And he told me that he was about to buy plane tickets because air fares are cheaper when you book months in advance. Fast forward to a month later. Yup, he hasn't bought any plane tickets by the time i got home. We finally bought tickets two weeks before the scheduled flight. And he had to use my credit card because he had no cash on hand at that time... and by the way my credit card was blocked because he paid my bill with a check that bounced. And what about our tickets for the flight back home? we bought it a week before, and apparently he never talked about his planned duration for the trip with my siblings who can only afford a few days off from work. And what's so fucked up was the fact that i was coordinating things between all of them. Jesus, why couldn't my dad call them instead? and why the fuck did he not talk to them months before? Well, that's my biological father. The word planning is not in his vocabulary. There's minimal amount of responsibility and initiative in his body. I wouldn't be surprised if there wasn't any at all.

The flight to our destination was awkward. He sat beside me and kept on making small talk. The fact that i kept of tinkering with my ipod should have been enough for him to realize that i was in no mood to talk to him. But no, he just kept on blabbering and blabbering. By the time we landed, i asked him about our travel plans. The day after the wedding, we were supposed to rent a van to travel to the beach a hundred miles away. Then we were supposed to stay at some resort. I wasn't surprised to find out that he hasn't made any arrangements. We'll just rent a van when we get there, he says. Find a place to stay when we get there, he says. The two days we were there, he never made any fuckin' calls. He never made any arrangements. Good thing my aunt offered to lend their van when he asked my dad how we were going to the beach. And this happened a few hours before we were supposed to leave. That's my biological father for you. Everything has to be served in a silver platter to him. He can't do anything by himself. For anything to happen, some other person needs to do things for him.

Oh yeah, we got delayed because he just couldn't get up early, even when necessary. And again, he didn't call for any airport transfer service until the last minute. How typical. And we almost missed our flight home because he kept on insisting that we didn't need to leave early because the airport was only an hour drive away. Never mind the fact that we kept on telling him that we should leave early. He just told us to trust him. Jesus fucks, we've known him all these years. Did he actually think that we can trust him? That we can depend on him? And hasn't he heard that there's no way that the time spent traveling by land would be constant. It's either more or less, and when you have to be someplace important it's better to be early because you never know what you'll encounter on the road. But that's my biological dad. He doesn't believe in the saying that it's better to be safe than sorry. His motto in life is just to fix things as you go along. Trouble is, he doesn't really have the capability to fix things. He just has this penchant to consistently fuck things up. And what's worse is the fact that he was shouting at the person driving us to the airport telling him it's his fault that it took so long for us to reach the airport. The same way he shouted at the waitress at the restaurant earlier because the coffee that was served with his breakfast wasn't brewed, even when it says clearly on the menu that the included coffee in his meal was anything but brewed. The same way he shouted at the airport employees, ordering them around as if he ran the place. That's my biological dad for you. He always acts like he's king, like he's such a big deal even though he's not. He's always boastful, he's always bursting with pride even when in truth he has nothing to be proud about. He thinks of himself as everything, always going for the shock and awe approach and he manages to fool a lot of people. But for those people who can look closely, for those people who can see what he really is, they know that he's nothing. A hollow, shallow, empty space filled with nothing but fluff. He's just a huge chamber filled with nothing.

I realize that the main reason i enjoy traveling to different places and why i enjoy going on vacations is because i am far from him. Sure i feel great when i get to explore new and different places, when i get to do different things, when i meet new people... but the location doesn't really matter as long as it's far from him. At home i'm always pissed. At home i'm always sad. It's just either one of those. When i'm far away, i feel content, i feel happy, even when i'm not doing anything at all. A real vacation is something that keeps your mind off the negativity, even for a short while. It's won't be a vacation at all when you bring that negativity with you. In my life, most of the negativity centers on my dad. He's someone that i wish i can always leave behind.

Bygones

It's been more than a year since i've been to the top floor of our house. That was February of last year, two days after i came home. That was when my grandpa was asking about the things that were happening to him, and i gave him one wrong answer after another. On that top floor, there was my grandpa's room. Adjacent to it was a makeshift basketball court where my brother and i used to play when we were kids. On the rooftop was a small garden, and when there weren't too many building around almost twenty years ago, we could see as far as the ocean back then. Back then, it was some sort of sanctuary from me. Back then, it was all serene and quiet, and i used to go there when i needed to get away from it all. It was yesterday afternoon when i decided to go upstairs. There was no specific reason. I just thought of going up there all of a sudden.

Most of plants have died now, save for a few which were beginning to wilt. The soil was dry and cracked. The iron chairs we placed there were now all rusty. Privacy and serenity were things of the past. Before our house towered all above the others, now several buildings were around us, and the tenants of the apartments right next to us can see me clearly if they chose to look out their windows. I could no longer feel a breeze, i could no longer breathe fresh air. I could no longer see the ocean. All i see are smog and skyscrapers blocking the view. It's no longer a view that can foster joy and relaxation. The sight i see now is simply depressing.

I went inside my grandpa's room, and it looked as if a bomb hit it some time last year. The sight that I saw shocked me. The last time i was here everything looked okay, it didn't seem so dilapidated. I dunno, maybe it was and i just didn't take notice. Now all the paint on the walls were peeling. Thick dust covered his bed and the floors, i left shoe prints everywhere i walked. I saw family pictures beneath the glass covering one table, our faces unrecognizable due to the damage caused by water that had managed to seep through the walls. It's amazing how a year of neglect can make such a difference. Before, proper maintenance managed to hide all the wear and tear. Now it's exposed for all the world to see. If i didn't know better i would've thought that this room had been abandoned for years.

And then i looked up and i saw the basketball ring. I was never good at that sport, i never played it unless i had to, like during our physical education classes because i had to be graded, or during intramural games in high school because our class lacked players. But playing with my brother when we were kids was the exception. There were no rules, there was no pressure to perform well. We played by our own rules and we made them up as we went along. Come to think of it, the only times my brother and i got along well was during play time.... until we argued about something about whatever we were playing, then we'd end up fighting like we always did. lol. But I spent many summers up there with my brother, and during the extremely warm days of summer when i close my eyes and everything's all quiet, i smell fresh grass. I smell the flowers on our rooftop. I hear birds chirping. i see myself playing on the streets with people i've already lost touch with. I see the view of the ocean from a distance. i see myself playing with my brother on that makeshift basketball court in our rooftop. And I hear my grandpa cheering us as he watched us through the window of his room.

I have no idea when that backboard broke and how it broke. I guess 20 years is a long time for even the sturdiest of boards. Twenty years is a long time for anything. Anything is bound to break sooner or letter, all things tend to pass away some time. It's funny how time flies by so fast. It seems like it was only yesterday when everything seemed so much different. People just become so preoccupied with many other things, most of them unnecessary, that we tend to become blind to the changes happening around us. We tend to ignore the changes to the things that we become familiar with, to the changes in the things that we used to cherish. To the things that were once essential, but has since lost relevance. I guess i went upstairs because i remembered the feeling of peace i felt back then, every time i spent all those afternoons alone on the roof top alone... and i really missed that feeling. It was something that i wanted. It was a feeling that i was yearning for. But when i went up, i discovered a very different place. It all seemed very alien to me. It could no longer offer the peace of mind that i was looking for. Its time had passed a long time ago. I never went back when it could still give me that reprieve that i needed. Like may things in my life that i have somehow neglected and disregarded, the realization came too late. It's a sad fact of life. For most people, regrets always come in the end. All we could so is wish for a way to turn back time, but there's nothing more we can do but wish for the impossible. We failed to act when our actions could have meant something. We never think of doing something until it's already too late.

A Reason

I've been thinking a lot about life these past few days. About how ephemeral it is. About how insignificant and superficial one's life is in the grand scheme of things, yet at the same time eerily profound. I've been thinking about how it holds great importance to some people... no matter how miserable their lives are, they still see some sort of beauty in it. Some people just see life as redundant. An endless cycle that we have to do again and again just to get through with it. Life brings no misery, yet it brings no joy and excitement either. It's just one monotonous episode after the other. To others, life brings nothing but pain, and that they would do anything to be free from it, no matter how beautiful and blessed that life is to to other people. I've been thinking about how life can be viewed differently. Depending on which perspective, depending on the circumstance, depending on who's living it. There are so many facets in life, a single person can't possibly see each one of them. We can't really see how life is through another person's eyes, and we can't really see life in its entirety.

I've been thinking about work. I guess it's about time i ended this routine of doing nothing productive and move on to the next routine--- one where i could at least do something of worth, no matter how small the impact may be. I've been unemployed for more than a year now. I'd much rather sulk all day, lying alone on this bed, wallowing in guilt and misery... but i realize i can't go on living like this for the rest of my life. I've got to do things to keep me distracted, to keep me away from certain thoughts... at least temporarily. For the time being, I have to pull myself up.

During those years that i have been working at different hospitals, i've gotten to know a lot of patients. There were those who were completely devastated when told that there was no cure for whatever ailed them. There were those who would move heaven and earth just to receive the proper treatment. There were those who would stubbornly hold on, even when all hope was lost. When i looked into their tearful eyes, i saw the same thing. They were asking for mercy, for another chance, practically begging me for it... as if i had the power to change things. Most of them were old, most of them were weak, most of them weren't well off. And therein lies the irony. I never knew them well enough to know how they lived their lives, but i guess in their eyes, life was beautiful. Life wasn't something you'd give up just like that.

On the other hand, there were also many who didn't give a damn at all. They were usually the young and the strong, those who seem to have great potential. Some were rich, some had great jobs, some had a lot of things going for them. They come in after a failed suicide attempt, and they look at you with hatred as you're treating them because you have deprived them of their chance to escape... to escape that life that seemed so perfect to others. And then once they've calmed down, they look at you as if you have betrayed them. They look at you as if asking for mercy, because they know you have the power to make things all right again. Sometimes I wonder if we were doing the right thing back then. I could never know how life was for them. I'm not them, i wasn't living their lives. Life must be really bad for anyone to consider doing such a thing. Sometimes I wonder if we should just let these people be. Because what happens after we have saved them? Most never recover completely. A lot of them would suffer from a lifelong depression. Then there are those who are left completely paralyzed, there are those who could only feed via an intravenous route for the rest of their lives, there are those who can no longer speak, hear, or see... what kind of life did we give them? WHat kind of second chance? I'm not sure if we really did save their lives if we only made their lives so much more miserable. We had to sacrifice their own happiness just to make their loved ones happy. If it wasn't considered a crime, if it wasn't considered unethical, maybe it would be better if we just put people like them out of their misery.

As i'm sitting here alone inside my grandparents' room, I've been thinking about life. I guess it's my room now. I've been thinking about the past. I've always thought of my grandpa as some sort of a fighter--- he's not gonna give up without a fight. He wouldn't let go just like that. It was early March last year when i heard him say the words I'm giving up. Those words took me by surprise, because I never thought of him as a person who'd give anything up. But when i looked at him, how weak and tired he looked, i began to understand. He wasn't used to being so dependent on others for anything. He wasn't used to being carried all around, he wasn't used to being spoonfed, he wasn't used to being treated like such a baby. We never told him that he was dying, but I'm sure he knew. A few months back he could do anything he wanted, he could go anywhere. And then last March, that was what he was reduced to. By that time, life already had no meaning for him. There was nothing left. If he still wanted to do certain things, he must've realized that no longer had the strength to do them. He depended on others for every single thing, and to him, that wasn't living. When a person has reached that certain point in his life, that's the time to give up. We will all reach that point in our lives, some sooner than later.

This is the room where my grandma breathed her last breath. In fact, I'm facing that chair where I found her slumped and no longer breathing. For the past couple of years I guess i was the one she depended on mostly... at least next to my dad. Whenever i went out at night, she would ask me to come home early. I used to think that was just her being overprotective as always. And every time i'd get annoyed. But as her health gradually worsened, I saw an increasingly worried look in her eyes, as if anything could happen any minute. She had a point. My grandpa had a separate room upstairs, my dad didn't live with us, and my brother was seldom home. If she needed to be brought to the hospital, no one could bring her there immediately. She had to call me or my dad. That happened several times during the last few years, but i was always at work when it happened. I guess that was just dumb luck. She had to wait a few minutes before my dad came, but they always made it to the hospital just in time. Maybe that's why we have grown complacent. She always made it in time. She always had that worried look, and that's how I know that she's the type of person who'd continue clinging on to life for as long as she could. On her last few days I thought she had already given up. SHe refused to go back to the hospital no matter what. She'd rather stay at home. But somehow she found a reason to keep fighting near the end. That woke her up from her state of temporary hopelessness. But it's just her luck that I was the person at the house that time and not my dad. I know, i did everything i could and things probably wouldn't have gone any different if my dad was the one at home with her that time, but that's one fact i can never erase. I was the one who failed to bring her to the hospital in time.

My grandpa didn't find any reason to keep on living, that's why he gave up so easily. My grandma found one and that brought her in a proper state of mind, though that realization came a little too late. That's what gives every person the strength to move on. At least one reason to keep on fighting, one reason to keep moving, that one reason that continues to give hope. I'm looking at my past, and there are so many things that i regret. There are moments of happiness, but they are all mixed with so many painful memories, things that i wish i could easily forget. I'm looking at my present life, and i fail to see anything of worth. There's just nothing. I try to look at my future, and the uncertainty is just so damn depressing. There's a hint of certainty, but that certainly looks bleak. It's that certainty that i do not want to face. It's not the future that i was hoping for. But i guess i'll just have to go with the flow, go wherever this monotonous life takes me. And I hope that somewhere down the road i would finally find my reason to keep fighting, my reason to keep on living. A person can only take so much, a person can only wait so much. It is uncertain at what point our travels would become tiresome. Without a definite target, to keep on walking would be deemed pointless. Without something to hold on to, sooner or later, any person is bound to give up.