At work on a Sunday

It’s not because I am such an industrious worker. Most of the time I am not. My views with regard to work have changed countless of times. They’ve flowed and ebbed depending on the fulfillment and financial reward I derive from them. I could spring to as high as not expecting remuneration so long as the toil gives me some feeling of ebullience and satisfaction for having helped others, or I could neap to as low as counting every minute of it and not working beyond the final minute knowing that I am not anymore paid for it. Work has become so perfunctory (has it never been?) that I often dread going to work. There are rare occasions, however, that I regain my long-lost insouciance toward work. Sadly, I am not very consistent in keeping it that way.

Today, I left home at 7:15 for my make-up work from 8:00-12:00. That’s a failure to keep the Sabbath Day holy, the fourth commandment in the Decalogue. But the issue whether the real Sabbath is Sunday or Saturday is still being debated. Until the time Christians have settled the matter, I won’t feel contrite working on a Sunday (or Saturday).

It’s a downward journey, I hear most people say. Once one has given up his Sunday for work, he’ll have very few excuses not to give up his evenings, holidays, even those precious moments with people dear to him.

This blog is temporarily going private

I think that in order for me to begin writing again it is important that I close this blog and to write only for myself. I am freer this way, freer to write about whatever topic I feel like writing and in however way I want it written, and this can only become possible after having shielded myself from the gaze of that ideal reader whose standards for what he reads are too difficult to meet. I will be hypocritical if I say that I write for my own pleasure. I do not. In fact I write with a specific purpose and a specific reader.

I keep this blog, to be very blunt about it, because of my ‘imagined public’ (I hope I have quoted Kundera accurately). However, recently, my fear of displeasing this reader has stripped me of the temerity I used to have when I began this blog. Consequently, I have arrived at a difficult decision of making my blog private for the time being until I regain my confidence in my skill as a writer, albeit in a form most traditionalists view as pandering too much to the popular taste.

I suspect that my online presence is becoming more of a liability. It’s difficult to be who you want to be in reality if your virtual presence impinges itself into what is supposedly real. The dissonance created by this contradiction between the image reflected and the actual image is just too heavy to carry for me.

As a writer, I think I need to rediscover the bliss of masturbatory writing, obviously in the privacy of my own mind.

This blog shall go private two and a half hours from now.

Some indefinite plans

The semester ended with the Third Act of Maxim Gorky’s The Lower Depths. From here on, my days will be spent checking students’ papers, completing essays in my master’s class, and reading books that have piled up in my room. In the next few weeks, however, I shall be embarking on a journey to a totally new place, and hopefully, the hiatus will give me enough time to recuperate from the bashing and thrashing of the last ten months and ruminate on future plans, where to head next, and whether happiness can still be had from what I presently have.


We begin thinking about the future more, incessantly, when the present becomes shaky, that not even the certainty of the past can ensure that what will be tomorrow is the same as how yesterday’s tomorrow became moments ago.

I knew it was meant to be forever because I was hoping and praying for it to last that long or at least until the time my brain is still capable of processing perceptions, the beautiful feeling of love being one of them. But, we humans are too untrustworthy when it comes to our relationships, or maybe it’s just I. We humans are fickle when it comes to intimacy, or maybe it’s just I. How funny the word fickle sounds. I love the sound of capricious or vacillating, but I ended using “fickle”. It’s a linguistic mystery how this un-serious-sounding word is able to contain meanings far bigger than it, far blacker than it, or maybe it’s just I who has problems with clarity and telling the truth.

Today I did what I usually do minus that “inner happiness” that carries me or I carry, whichever way, around when my day begins to be unforgiving. My happiness hung onto something as wobbly as somebody else’s heart (and smile) which I never regretted. Now I am holding it in my hand not knowing what to do with it.

I am forcing myself not to believe that true happiness can only reside in the “narrowly escaping”, “hanging by the thread”, but it appears to me that it does. We humans are tragic beings because we are wired to seek happiness somewhere else, or maybe it’s just I.

And for this, the happiest man in the world is somebody who knows with certainty that tomorrow, which will not truly come, will be his last. I know that my tomorrow will be followed by another tomorrow, and of course, another tomorrow. And I woe that it will certainly be just me, by myself.

I have not been alone for a long time, and it proves challenging to relearn it. I have totally believed in forever that I have completely forgotten how it is to be in solitude once again. Though I am not an old dog so I’ll definitely learn new tricks.

*My apologies for the turgidity of this prose.

On course

I am elevating multi-tasking to unprecedented heights: being in the middle of class, checking papers, blogging, and daydreaming, all these I am doing almost simultaneously. There is something about doing many things at the same time that pushes me to be better than myself. The more I spend time resting, the duller I become, the less perceptive my senses are, and the more sluggish I process the stimuli around me. Hiatuses are overrated. And I guess I am back, for good. I hope this time I will be able to post more regularly like before. I have already settled most matters that kept me from writing, hurdled the towering fences, and circumvented some imagined dangers. I am on course now.

Pinoy Blogfest 2.0

Pinoy_Blogfest 2.0 advocates social media for social good

With Filipinos once again acknowledged as among the most active social media users — via FaceBook, Twitter, Multiply, Tumblr, Flickr, YouTube, etc. — Filipino bloggers are challenged to explore the potential of social media as a transformative force in Philippine society.  “Social media as an agent for change” will be the theme of Pinoy_Blogfest 2.0, happening on Friday, 05 August 2011, at the TriNoma Activity Center in Quezon City.

Leading the discussion will be prominent social media activists Usec. Manuel (Manolo) L. Quezon III and Ms. Gang Badoy, who will share their thoughts on these two basic questions: How can we harness the power of social media for the social good?  Can bloggers become positive change agents through social networking?

Both Usec. Quezon and Ms. Badoy will be the main speakers during the Blogger’s BIO (By Invitation Only) programme, scheduled from 7:00 to 10:00 pm as the culminating activity of Pinoy_Blogfest 2.0 on Friday, 05 August 2011.

Pinoy_Blogfest 2.0 is a whole-day event, with several Social Activities targeted at various audiences.  These are open to the public, as follows:  10:30 am to 12:oo nn – The New Workplace; 01:00 pm to 02:30 pm – It’s A Digital Life; 02:30 pm to 04:00 pm – Photography; 04:00 pm to 05:30 pm – Healthy Living.  With expert resource persons for each of these social activities, the public will surely find the sessions both educational and entertaining.  On-site registration will give the audience a chance to win raffle prizes and other give-aways.

Pinoy_Blogfest 2.0 is organized by GADGETS Magazine, with the support of The Coca-Cola Export

Kalahating taon (half of a year)

After more than a half-year, I am still as madly (if not more madly) in love (enamored perhaps) with babe as the first time I saw that fluttering soul in black at a hotel in Ortigas more than six months ago. It occurred to me that calling it ‘6th monthsary (cringing while typing this)’ relegates our union into something of little significance; this may lead you into thinking that I am appropriating too much weight on something as young and as unproven as ours by describing the length ‘kalahating taon‘ instead of the more neutral ‘six months’, probably I am. What makes being in love one of the greatest byproducts of human evolution, though, is the blindness it bestows upon smitten individuals, a beautiful kind of blindness that allows them to see the hidden that is more breath-taking than the corporeal, and the dementia that skews their perception of time and temporality.

The half-year feels like we’ve only spent less than a week together; the fleetingness of the bedtime conversations, dinners, or the precious silence between us while we look at each other’s face makes us look forward to the next time we’ll be seeing each other again.

And the world becomes merely incidental.