Slump

Someone asked me, just casually, the other day, "How are you?". I replied, "Same old, same old." Then he said, "It will stay like that until you do something about it."

It hit me. He was right.

The past days, I would wake up dragging myself to motivate me to face the new day. I have been constantly chasing for something that I don't know. Aimless if you may say. Admitting it now might make some friends say, "You very well know what (or Who) is missing." There's a default answer.

How can someone shatter you so badly it's too darn difficult to put yourself back together again? In just one blow you're knocked-out. So hard you can't get up again. The tragedy of it all, you found yourself alone... Some of the things that you used to believe because they make sense don't add up when real life confronts you. I very well get it now when they say that experience is the great teacher.

Some things are easier said than understood. If there's one thing I learned from the recent "big events" in my life, it would be to learn to listen and understand people more. I had those moments when I was such an obstinate and would deem explanations other that what I thought makes sense as stupid and acceptable.

And what about this writing? I think I'm in a period of slump and I'm afraid the people I know I can turn to will not understand.

Manila: Circa 1938

A little piece of history. This is Manila post-Spanish and pre-Japanese era. We have many rise-and-fall-and-rise-again moments as a nation and this video shows one slice of Manila in one of its glorious days.

The Day My Phone Was Stolen... 
And Got It Back

I have been telling my friends about how I would have mini heart attack whenever I don't feel my precious iPhone in my pocket. It happened just like that in the colorful but crowded Pahiyas Festival in Lucban, Quezon. Before finishing the second round of touring the kiping-adorned neighborhood, I slid my hand in my pocket to get my phone and it wasn't there anymore. I knew right away that some thief got it.

The feeling of losing is terrible. I knew I did not put it anywhere but my pocket but I still desperately searched for it in my bag. I lost myself for a few seconds before I thought of ringing my lost phone. It was about to become a horrible day but as my companions said, I was lucky. When I called my number, it was answered by a policeman telling me to claim it and that some lady in the crowd managed to stealthily snatch it. Hands down, she was a pro. I can't imagine how she got it in my deep pocket because I honestly didn't notice that I have been robbed already.

When I arrived in the police station, the police pointed me to the pregnant woman who stole my phone. She looked young, maybe in her early 20's. I think she looked pitiful but I'm not sure if she was remorseful. The policeman explained that they have intelligence unit deployed in the area to outwit the thieves who were also scattered during the fiesta. I thanked and commended the police in civilian clothes who caught the pregnant thief. I can only hope that we will always get the same excellent police enforcement. Before I left the station, several tourists arrived to also report their lost phone. Some, their lost wallet. I am just grateful that I went their to claim what was stolen to me.

Looking relieved (and stupid with smiling Mickey tied on my bag). The first photo from my phone after I claimed it in the police station.

This experience made me realize how something lost can be more valuable once you find it again. You treasure it more. You take care of it more... Because it's painful losing something precious and you don't want it to happen again.

Hope

For almost two years now, I refrained from watching wedding videos as much as I can. But this one got me and reminded me how beautiful love is. Quoting my best friend when he shared this video to me, lie down... try not to cry... cry a lot. This one's worth sharing so, here...

Unit B2

I have been living alone since May this year and I am having a me-time overdose but I am enjoying it. From 2007, I have been blogging on and off and promising one periodic post after another that I will be updating as often as I could, but define "often". I am tempted again to say that I'll try to post more frequently from here on but I'm off-topic now so I'll carry on from the first sentence of this paragraph (too much blabber).

I'd like to share to you my 25-square meter studio-type room that has become my home for less than a year now. I used to dream about getting my own pad and living alone like a real bachelor and this is the closest that I can get. The apartment where I am renting now is along the Grove, about 300-meter walk to the UPLB gate. Just beside our gate is a coffee shop, a cake house and small bar. Stone's throw away is a hospital and across the road is a small bookstore, a beauty salon, and a town mall under construction. More restaurants, drinking bars and coffee shops are just a few meters walk. Perfect location, if you will agree.

It was just last July, through the help of my eager and willing Ate RD, that my room had a make-over (this blog is also my way of thanking Ate RD for her time and the job well done). It looks pretty decent and more home-y now, see. 

My room before -- bare without curtains and unorganized.

My room now -- the perfect place to rest after a day's work.

My fascination as of late is making my own food. It's a pity that burner and/or stove is not allowed in the apartment but nothing can deter the inner cook in me so with a rice cooker (thanks to my former roomie, Rein for leaving it with me) and an oven toaster, I do my own pasta, sandwiches and grilled cravings (I will have a different post about my cooking in the coming days). My fridge satisfies the food lover in me (a second-hand Sanyo I bought from Darell, a kuya who left IRRI to work in Mexico). Without it, my groceries would be limited and keeping my leftovers would be impossible.

I am less of a "gala" now because instead of going out or hanging around at some friends house, I would rather stay in my little crib and sleep or cook or read or do extended office/academic works. I also realized that cleaning the toilet, next to cooking, is one of my favorite things to do on a weekend. Living alone, all I care about is my own clutter and I can clean it whenever I like. The best  part, I think, is during lazy days that   I can just "stay home on my birthday suit and let everything hang loose".

By the way, friends are always welcome to visit as long as they bring food. Brewed coffee is on me.

42.195

A year ago, never did it cross my mind that I will be running a marathon. I was 80 kg then. I was in bad shape, inside and out.

In four days... The Bull Runner Dream Marathon. I am runner #329.

What is 42.195 km? Let me tell you a story.

Last year was my toughest and craziest ride (this part needs a musical score). Treasured relationships crumbled. Dreams disappeared in thin air just like that. It felt like I was stripped and left alone. Just before I lost my sanity, I found running (though one could argue that it was actually the tipping point, I indeed got crazy). I would hit the road everyday, even day and night, just to get the self-pity and bitter feelings off my head. Long distance running was a catharsis and only a runner would understand what I am saying.

I got to know TBR Dream Marathon from a good friend who ran last year. I have been joining several fun-runs for the past months and the dare came after I ran my 16.8 km. They say that 16 km is the crisis stage of a runner where he/she is at the point of deciding whether to remain as a "fun-runner" or to conquer greater miles, i.e. half or full mary. And so I said, "Yeah, why not?". I took my chances in the marathon/training that sells like pancakes only to be disappointed when the list was released. I wasn't included. After a few days, they announced that they increased the number of "Dreamers" from 500 to 600. My name was in the "chance passengers" list. Boy, I was excited! Then, the six months of training started.

I underestimated the training. It wasn't easy as I thought it was. The (super) long distance part (i.e. 28-32 km runs) of the training gave me cramps and quitting crossed my mind. I started to question my motivations and called myself crazy for trying to put sense in running hours and hours under the scorching heat of the sun or the coldness of the pouring rain (err... that was an exaggeration...it was just a non-stop drizzle, actually). I had those moments when I would feel so sore and can hardly walk after a long run. Three weeks before  March 18, I have to see a doctor because there's a funny feeling in my left thingamajig. The doctor told me to rest and stop any strenuous activity for a period of time. I obediently relented, paused my training and took my meds, afraid that situation may worsen and I won't be able to run.
 
Hilarious as it may sound, I am running my first marathon as a celebration of my sanity. No kidding, I almost lost it. It's almost a year after my "great deluge" and thank God I am now doing alright. Everytime I cross the finish line of the race I am joining, I am reminded of this verse in the Bible that says, "Therefore I do not run like a man running aimlessly; I do not fight like a man beating the air. No, I beat my body and make it my slave so that after I have preached to others, I myself will not be disqualified for the prize."

Deep down inside me, I know this is not just about running. There's a greater message that God is telling me that I still refuse to take a hold of. During my TBR training, they always say that it's not about how you start but how you finish and I think it speaks so much about life. There are cramps and wall and uphills and downhills. But there's also what they call the second wind, where after a point of exhaustion you find a brand new push to go on and get going. I am thrilled to know that even in marathon, there is such thing as redemption. Yeah, life goes on and there are new and challenging roads to take. I can run. I can walk. But quitting is not going to be an option.

The Red Light


Man's spirit is set on default to hope. Despite all the crazy misfortunes, you try to keep afloat and hope that it's going to be better. Hope... Hope could be very stubborn as it pushes you to keep on. To breathe each gasping breath. To take each limping stride. To grapple in pitch darkness.

But what happens when that final flicker of hope finally dies? When the slap-in-your-face-that-it's-over finally sinks in and the kind of devastation you felt in knowing it the first time is nothing compared to the harrowing agony of your helpless spirit in accepting the reality of it?

How do you makes sense out of all these? How could you even pick up your broken self when all that's in you is the physical energy to live but your spirit is dying? When even desperation decided to give up?

What do you do when the things you know and the things you were told and the things you learned doesn't help to understand why? What do you do when the will left in you is the will to give up?

How can you not stop?