The year that was

Dying

You know what I would die for tonight?

A talk.

So that I can free all my confinements, and that I won't be shy. So that I can be funny, and amusing, and finally someone will see me that I am both. That I can take a chance with no guarantees. That I can speak my heart through my mouth and don't piss off anyone in the process.

A talk.

Sometimes, the simplest things in life can be maddening. Being not able to talk using all the workable liberties is maddening. When was the last time I told someone that world peace emanates from the inner thoughts of individual people? When was the last time I told someone that the weather outside was as nice as a leisurely walk? When was the last time I asked someone if he is as nice as what other people thinks he is?

This is the point where I don't know to whom my thoughts are for any longer. Japan doesn’t trust Russia, one lecturer in my university said. Disentanglement is sticky especially if it is about one mistrust after another. Nobody takes chances anymore. Everyone but me is in their comfort zone.

This is the point where I miss the old times. Democracy is a mad dog but sweet nonetheless. Sunshine in the tropics can open people’s mouth. Winter makes cold hearts. Sometimes, misunderstanding is not about differences in cultural climes. This talk that I am writing about is not at all about language. I want to be understood as plainly as possible because I’m sure that the goodness of my core will come through. A talk. So that people can see the best parts in me.

You know what I would die for tonight?

A talk--- that’s all that I am.

Dec 08 Ear Candy: Your Ex-lover is Dead

Funny, how it's Christmas soon, but even the songs I listen to are depressing! This one is on-loop since last month.

The view from here

I live in Yokohama right now. I stay in this dormitory that is provided by the university. The nearest station to my house is Aobadai. On any given day, it never runs out of fun. There's a shopping mall for instance. And izakayas (Japanese version of a pub). And the best karaoke house in town. And nice and neat salon. And a cheap supermarket where I can buy San Miguel Beer Light. And a very friendly guy in the chicken store. And Starbucks. And little, quite parks. And so on.

It's around 40 minutes away from my school. But that can feel like forever because I'm using one of the most crowded lines in Tokyo. From my station, it takes around 15 minutes of slow walk or around 1.5 sticks of Marlboro Lights to arrive in the doorstep.

This is how my lazy nest looks like.

View from the balcony.

My refrigerator, up and inside.

Outside and inside of my room

Nov 08 Ear Candy: I'm Yours Acapella

The acapella version of my current favorite song by a Filipino in Youtube. I miss Manila!

Isn't this amazing?

'...a poopa choopa tutu...a moochi watcha koo...'

hahahaha....

Diana left me a message

Spring 1940

Spring was always an awful time for me about work. I always felt that in the long boredom of winter there was nothing to do but study. But I lost the feeling in the long, dreamy spring days and managed to be in scholastic hot water by June. I can’t tell you what to do about it- all my suggestions seem to be remote and academic. But if I were with you and we could talk again like we used to, I might lift you out of your trouble about concentration. It really isn’t so hard, even with dreamy people like you and me - it’s just that we feel so damned secure at times as long as there’s enough in the bank to buy the next meal, and enough moral stuff in reserve to take us through the next ordeal. Our danger is imagining we have resources- material and moral- which we haven’t got. One of the reasons I find myself so consistently in valleys of depression is that every few years I seem to be climbing uphill to recover from some bankruptcy. Do you know what bankruptcy exactly means? It means drawing on resources which one does not possess. I thought that I was so strong that I never would be ill and suddenly I was ill for three years, and faced with a long, slow uphill climb. Wiser people seem to manage to pile up a reserve- so that if on a night you had set aside to study for a philosophy test, you learned that your best friend was in trouble and needed your help, you could skip that night and find you had a reserve of one or two days preparation to draw on. But I think that, like me, you will be something of a fool in that regard all your life, so I am wasting my words.”

-a letter from F.S. Fitzgerald to his daughter Frances

I'm drunk of missing so many people. I remember the last talk with Diana. That one was for the books.

First Month

Today marks my first month in Tokyo. I have been staying awake until the morning to see the sun rises. I have a feeling that a welcoming change is about to happen along with this morning, among the many other mornings in my life.

Awhile ago, I was listening to Felipe and Darren talking downstairs, in the ashtray machine. It was two in morning, and if you don't say a word, you can hear the footsteps of lizards a mile away. But we were in Mexico, all of a sudden, because Felipe realized too many things in one stick worth of cigarettes. Darren is going home to Malaysia this Thursday. You never go home with a happy heart. You go home for cure, to look for a new angle to approach life because your eyes have socked out, and they cease to see what contents you, or make you happy just even for a while. I wish Darren all the good things.

My room in the morning

Last night, we had a drink in the lab. My professor, who was sitting beside me, suddenly nudged my elbow. He said he will be celebrating his 60th birthday soon. We had too many beer for a night I guess. Suddenly, he was telling me why he feels weird about getting old. You just don't change, he said. When I was your age and I was in Cambridge, I feel so many things all at once that I have to grow up even though I have no time in the world, he continued. I said the same things, I guess, are happening with me, because sometimes, I still get this funny amused feeling whenever I cross the street and everyone looks bizaare. But you know, he said, no matter how old you are, your feelings about the world, about yourself, about the things that are happening to you don't change much. The way I approach my life, and the way I want things to fall on the places that I think are right for me are still the same when I was 40 as when I was in my 20s. The only difference now that I am near 60 is perhaps that I'm beginning to ask where should I move further. It was easy when I was 40, you know life drifts by even if you don't make it so. Now, that I get older, I also get this feeling of not feeling death anymore. Birthday makes you pensive a little, he apologized.

Purpose brings people together. Today marks my first month in Tokyo, and I am 23. I swear there are a million things still awaiting to happen for me every sunrise.

Diet

I hardly eat breakfast lately. Morning rush makes me sick too. Trains here are like canned goods. I'm like a sardine every rush hour.



Anyway, I wanna try the banana diet. Midorigaoka neighboorhood never runs out of this thing.

Oct 08 Ear Candy: Paolo Nutini

I've been listening to Paolo Nutini from Glasglow lately. I like this song particularly. Says a lot of the new life that I have now.



Check his music on his site.

Starting this month, I hope I can be religious in posting the music that plugs my ear on a monthly basis. I have this disorder with music. If I like it, that's the only song that I play over and over again for a month or so until I get tired of it and pick up the next one. Talk about faithfulness. haha...

Fontness

I have strong psychedelic tendencies with fonts. I love fonts, and all the many abstract forms one can create with them. Sometimes, I feel that text alone can make me high. And I'm not talking about communicative meaning here that these texts can unexpectedly create inside my throat, although that, too, can drive me real mad at times. But have you expereienced that ethereal feeling, when a senseless character is juxtapose in a manner that can loosen your bra strap, or make uncomfortable sweat trickle down your armpits? How to say this is beyond me.

After I'm done fixing my 'new' life, I want to do something like these:

Credits (from top, down): 1, 2, 3, 4

Classes

The classes for winter semester start this week. I'm almost done with registration, and all I gotta do now is to show up (this can be a bit hard since each day is colder than the last) . I'm taking most classes in Midorigaoka, which is literally a village, around 15 minutes walk from the main gate.

Some of my subjects need lots of neurotic concentration, so probably I'll be busy.

I hate this feeling, you know, having notebooks and complete set of pencils and erasers. It's like I'm back to school. But who am I kidding, I AM REALLY BACK TO SCHOOL.

Arrived

Today, Tokyo bleeds white. The city is cold. Some mornings you remember because you wake up with a thud. This time though, you will remember because nothing in your life is colder than this.

About a week ago, while I was walking alone along the academic oval inside UP, basking the last strays of tropical sunshine, I thought about how'd Tokyo feel like when it will finally breath behind my shoulder. It's this, as cold as the nose of the cat.

Photos: Views from the window of the corridor in my lab. On a clear day, Tokyo Tower is visible. Still got to find that out though.