Two weddings and a movie

Two weddings. One movie. One day.

The first one was my friend's sister's. It was lovely. She was lovely. The ambience was soulful. I ate a mouthful and indulged on some, until I had to adjust the belt so I could breath. Gluttony is my top sin today.

The second was also memorable. It was my first time to attend a wedding that orchestrated rock music. I was mesmerized by the husky and deafening vocals of the singers. It was one hard rock song after another. And the theme of the wedding was black and white. The metamorphosis of this event, courageous yet effective.

We booked a movie after the weddings. We dined in after. As we finished our splendid food, Love is All Around Me, a song from the movie Four Weddings and a Funeral, permeated in the background. Yeah, it was all love that surrounded me today, the love of God to top it all. I am 29, a step away from the mid-point of my journey, and a soulmate, a quarter of a foot away from my embrace, is awaiting. I could hear a faint sound of bells ringing and cymbals clashing. 

Dreams are imminent. :)

Vanity: A Crime

• OBSERVATION
• Evidence #1: Zits popping out like mushrooms out of nowhere, thus smearing an untainted visage in years. A tear was shed.

• Evidence #2: Veins invading flawless legs and proliferating. They have branched out, defying any cheap form of annihilation. Pillows are wet with tears.

• INVESTIGATION:
• Fact A: A friend of mine never had pimples her entire life, except when she started working that stress led to emergence of zits. I asked her if it affected her lifestyle and morale, causing depression and anxiety that may have led to misanthropy, and she uttered, with all innocence and sheer undoubted spirit, no evidence of vanity in her skin and bones, a big, gulpy NO. There was never a minute she was saddened by this extreme change. NEVER AT ALL.

• Fact B: Another friend who used to be very conscious of her physical fitness had turned into plumpness after delivering three wonderful kids. She was recounting to me, in a synopsis, how she looked almost scrawny but three babies after she wandered off from the measuring tape and concentrated on child-rearing. She lost consciousness of it; her hour glass figure stumbled behind her and is now history. And she was narrating this to me with no stain of regret whatsoever. All she was wearing was her big, gulpy SMILE.

• HYPOTHESIS:

It made me wonder. Some crack open their piggy banks for vanity. Rivers of tears are shed. Millions of currencies are expended. Why? Because we are a visual people. Beauty lies on what is perceived by the eyes. A flaw is impermissible. Vanity is elevated into being the highest form of satisfaction. But is it, really?

Every beauty magazine exudes perfection. Perfect ovally-shaped face, perfect pouty, seductive lips. I was qualmish about imperfection, but who is perfect? "Only Barbie is," my friend told me. I was living a satisfied life, my hair is straight (it had never been, thanks to new technology), I am gaining weight (it suits me, by the way), until I turned around and noticed paths of bulging blood vessels behind my legs. I freaked out. I yawped. I weeped.

Vanity should be sued for moral damages. It can kill. It kills moods, outlooks. It hinders a normal living.

But that was the old me. The new me vows to crush Vanity. I am still affected, I might still gather information to resolve issues, but harboring the losses rather than the gains, I vow to diminish. "One virtue at a time, " someone said. Replacing a vice with a virtue, replacing vanity with optimism, considering from a happy viewpoint, letting logic preside over succumbing vanity, makes the world go round. It waters the plants, permits the sun to shine, outstretches arms aiming to touch the blue skies, with vision taking sight of what is ahead instead of what is behind. "I was ranting not having enough shoes, until I saw a man without feet", a truth from somewhere.

• CONCLUSION:

Vanity is dead. It died with the punks. :p

Water, Anyone?

So the line was long. It formed a snake figure curling within the poles. A good three feet more and it had reached the door.

We prayed for rain to pacify it. I guess it was not time for it. Instead of water pouring, a heavy downpour of people kept on replenishing those who had stepped out of the hall. I took a deep breath.

No promise of rain shower was evident, but the weather outside was neither sunny. I could see the reflection through one of the rooms' door, it was all gray. I was still optimistic, the rain was the value of the X in the mathematical equation. The only reason for a momentary pause. The sun cooperated, I was grateful.

But no rain occurred.

Today was busiest. I did not even have the chance to wander and let water out, nor let it in. All morals thinning, face still grinning, I was still conversing with the person in front of me when this particular friend of the person I was serving expressed solicitude verbally. I missed it. He repeated. I thought he was pertaining to himself. He was not. He was referring to me.

Rain shower may not have befallen, but concern from a stranger was enough to stop the chaos, put the hall in mute, and let peace govern me. Solace stretched in majestic minutes. He said, "You don't even have time to drink water."

While some were protesting, he was appreciating. The statement was enough to water and revive me. Despite tribulations and mayhem, the world is still a beautiful place. 

The Name Game, and Help, and Tonsils

It is 9:30, sighed by my Motorola. I was shaken to awakening by an invisible hand at 8:50. I could not return to hibernation after.

I stood up, carried my lovely Mac, and headed to the common room. I took a bag of mini Toblerone from the fridge. There are still three mini bars inside. The past days have been Toblerone for breakfast for me prior to my actual one, and I reckon it to be the cause of energy flooding in my veins into my arteries. My days were dynamic, I grinned from ear to ear to my clients. The culprit are the Energy Bars.

So I devour them despite my tonsils' complaints. I have been ingesting sweet victuals, McDonalds' Chocolate Fudge, Hershey's Reese's Peanut Butter Cups for the past days. Yesterday was a Prima Deli Chocolate Mousse Cake with Strawberry on top. It was meant for the October birthday celebrants courtesy of the branch. I chomped a chunk. My tonsils bleat.

And today is my usual Toblerone. They now wiggle inside my tummy, and I am still famished. I have an appointment at 12 noon. I need to consume a substantial meal at 10:30. But everyone is still traversing in dreamlands. I am dependent on their flair for cooking. Help?

30

Time is gold, or so they say. Treasure the minutes and seconds as they are due to expire. Once gone, they are irretrievable. Time is the most splurged and the most implored.

My friend told me once that upon reaching thirty, time swifts by. The sand in my golden twenty-ninth hourglass hastily passages through its narrowest section. It will scream 'Time's up' sooner or later. Before the last bit of sand occupies the microscopic space, I need to face two grueling options: to let it breeze right through me like an arrow hitting an apple from afar, unnoticed, or savour its sweetness and bitterness with squinted eyes and twisted mouth, salivating. Hmm.

It has been three days since my birthday. I have been pulling hours and days to hasten them, but I had not realized that by doing so, I am skipping the most valuable in-betweens. Missed conversations, missed appreciation, missed smiles. Missed hellos and missed goodbyes. Nature taking its course but slipping my keenness. I do not mind missing deadlines, but missing bellow of laughters and whispered small talks equates to missing a pricey day in one's life.

And it has been three days since my birthday. I guess this would be my most documented pre-birthday, my thirtieth. Thirty is a big number. It is a big leap of faith and a small step towards betterment. I will be forwarding to a new phase of my life, thirty. If the average life expectancy is sixty to seventy, thirty becomes the climax of one's journey. It breaks or makes it. It alters it. It imbues it. Life does not begin at forty. It commences at thirty.

"Thirty, Flirty, and Thriving," according to 13 Going on 30. Thirty, Flying, and Still Trying, I say. What differentiates me from my comrades is my persistence and my muses. Procrastination is a venial sin. What lies ahead can be trod graciously. 

And so my preamble begins. :)

Plan B

Plan A: Fall head over heels over a significant other. At the age of 25, strut down the church's aisle, pacing while melting to meet the man of my surreality. He is patiently waiting at the altar; a smile beautifies his calming face. He is the only love among all the hate, the only one allowed to enter the gates and slay the dragon. The union is unforgettable that only tears can attest. It is the most significant of all days.

Reality: At 29, here I am, loveless. 

Plan A: Conceive kids at 27. A brood of three boys compose a lovely home. 

Reality: At 29, still childless.

I understand that most plans fail to materialize. Meet that special someone at 23, blush at the sound of his voice pronouncing his never-ending loyalty and love. Get engaged and be bound for perpetuity. Blah blah blah.

I spoke to my mom on my birthday. And my mom, being the wisest mother that she is, uttered verbatim, "You're already 29. Better find someone and get married before you turn 30." I was dumbfounded. How is this mathematically and scientifically possible?!

Inspired by my mom's great insights, 

Reality: At 29, a revised and improved Plan B is unveiled: If after five years my current state has never appreciated, maybe a significant other I can overlook. If I cannot obtain a love of my own, I might as well have a kid of my own. There are a lot of babies in need of a good home. It is an opportunity to alter someone's future and blossom my plight in the process.

Not a bad idea, eh? I don't think my mom will be impressed, though. :)

Thank You

When I am in my most vulnerable, you shoulder me. When I have dwindled, you rekindled me.

I am aware of my commitments, but I choose to neglect them at times. A stone is thrown at me; I throw it back with might. I proclaim my love for you, but I am aware you detect lip service. Everyday is a struggle for me, I know you consider my efforts against all others.

And now you have given me another year to be a witness of your profound love. I wholeheartedly accept to be the embodiment. I will falter. I will stumble. Forgetfulness will succumb me that I will cave to my limited perspectives. But I know you would understand. You have always understood. I never understood your continuous abundance of graces, it overflows my cup. I am a frail being. Yet you see me as I have never been seen before.

I woke up today, breathed your gift of air, and as I was walking to work I looked at the world from your vision. It is indeed a beautiful life. I thank you for lending it to an undeserving me.

Thank You for everything. :)

Jya

So I stole a moment of bliss again yesterday. My eyes met his presence. I took a deep breath.

I laid my eyes on him again, after an eternity of less than a month. The last time was an agony. Yesterday was a beautiful release.

This would be the last time I am laying it down in writing. Love is a sheer passing thought. It is like a wind blowing in a magnificent field; it stays momentarily, then it perishes. Eternally.

They say true love comes once in a lifetime. I reckon mine has just elapsed. Soul mates, if they exist, are a replica of our true self. Mine tiptoed past me, because I blinked for a millisecond. That was my unpardonable, vehement, mortal sin.

And I am letting go. It was a stainless goodbye. We greeted each other by kissing on the cheeks; we bid farewell the same way. It was the most poetic of punctuating a temporal fantasy.

I feel better. :)

M

M is for May Day

that was my day

M is for Marshmallow

that I felt on that day

M is for ice cream

I Melted with ease

M is for Moreover

moreover, I breezed

M is for the Moonshine

that glided in snow

M is for Mobile

my feet had its glow

M is for Manic

when I saw him there

A shadow was forming

another with flair

M is for Hopeful

I scrambled my letters

I panted and ranted

my scream unwanted

M is for Morose

the senses mislaid

M is for Mournful

a breath disarrayed

M is melancholia

the battle now lost

M is for May

forever not sought..

Unfortunate Reality

I lost my shoes. I thought I brought it with me when I travelled to work. But it was lost.

Then it was found. It was lying on the pavement, plastic and all. Fortunately, the cleaner did not spot it first and declared it to be a suspicious item. My shoes might have been submitted for further inspection had he found it before I did. Further inspection in the garbage bin.

I was asked to go home. Today was the day. There was some confusion, I thought it was on the 15th. But today was the day. All birthday celebrants for the month of October were invited by the management to a hearty bonding. Today was the day. And I did not bring any apparel. I had to head back home, fret over my rummaged closet, because today was the day.

And I lost two dollars. I saved my shoes, saved my dignity, but I lost two dollars. And I lost my sunshine morning. 

A series of unfortunate events. There are in between takes which I refuse to expound. They are somehow intertwined with too much thinking, a little tear flowing, a little sleep, and a little someone.

It is unfathomable why some events transpire as if to tease us, especially when obligations and commitments are all focused and drawn. Memory is a burden sometimes. I should not have wrung my brain cells out and extracted the cause of my connection. But I did.

And as I see the happy memories, I drown in misery.

The irony.

The Life of Pi

I had been longing to read this book for the longest time, but since I still have some that are patiently waiting for me to explore, the intention was pushed aside. It was reignited when I learned of a plan of turning this into a movie. I wanted, I needed, to digest it earlier than the moviegoers. So, out of impulse, I bought a copy from one of the local bookstores when I passed by it a couple of months ago.

It took me two months to finish it. It is impressive in the beginning, declines in mid part, and reaches the Mt. Everest somewhere in the middle and all through the ending. It is an interesting linear graph of emotions, with ascending and plummeting points popular all throughout.

The story is about a boy named Pi π. This is the short form of his Indian name that even his fellowmen are having a hard time pronouncing. I am still contemplating till this very moment if this name is a significant symbolism of something in the story. Is it equated with his guilt, like the mathematical constant that has an infinite but decreasing value? So is his conscience? After his ordeal, he returned back to God. The relation of his name is uncertain.

His family owns a zoo in India. His father, wanting to upgrade their economic status, decides to sell all the animals to migrate to Canada. They were in the middle of the Pacific when the ship sank. All the animals, the crew, and his family submerged along with the ship. He is the sole survivor. 

Or he thought he is.

When he falls on the water of the Pacific, he sights a lifeboat. He strives to aboard it, swims the best he could, sees another life form heading to the same direction. He attacks the living thing, he succeeds, then he drags his body to the safe part of the boat. This is where realization strikes him. He is not the single soul who survives.

And his adventure commences.

There are two realities presented in the story: the 'dry, yeastless factuality', and the 'better story'. After he reaches the land of Mexico, two Japanese men pay him a visit. Pi elaborates the two realities to them who are extracting valuable information from him as a way of justifying the ship's tragic end. I had accepted the 'better story' involving Richard Parker and dismissed the thought of defense mechanism playing a big part in the atypicality of the story. Until Pi uttered, "Which is the better story, the story with the animals or the story without the animals?", inquiring of the two men. So it is defense mechanism at work that is the main point of this book. Magnificently maneuvered and delivered!

He thanks Richard Parker for the company, Richard Parker vanishes like he never exists, and his imagination forms a better story to conceal his guilt. Richard Parker is the character he chose to acquire. Pi is a brilliant boy, God-fearing, and I guess he has all the valid reasons for all the lavishing and cannibalism he acted. According to him, animals are capable of doing crazy things for self-sustenance. If it does not resort to such, there is no way to survive. And men are the highest form of animals.

The Life of Pi bagged the Man Booker 2002 Award, a prestigious award-giving body for literary piece. It is an intelligent mixture of religions and human spirit, beautiful wordings crafted from a rich vocabulary, and well researched data to back up the facts. It is a survival manual containing three major aspects: spirituality by glorifying God in all patterns; morality with the creation of Richard Parker, and physicality through cannibalism, literally and metaphorically speaking. It is a twisted mentality, a last resort all of us might be capable of cooking up if in such a circumstance. But God is good.

At the end of it, Pi gets to take his cookie and eat it too.

I Need an Ice Cream

I was supposed to be enlightened by the Holy One. Instead, a different light shone upon me. It was a red light.

My only wish is to be swept off my feet. I am not looking for riches, or influence, or physical attributes so highly astounding I will be the envy of every girl I know. No. My guideline is simple. I only want a gush of feelings brought about by mere sight of someone that will bring shiver down my spine. After a very long time, after fervent prayers and a river of tears, God answered it.

It is mystical how a person we have not really had personal contact with can just touch an iced soul. It is elating. I was covered with snow. I liked some, yes, but I feel most of it are superficial. I was forcing the emotion just so I can have a reason for a sunshine morning. A few days ago, it was different. I felt something sneaking in me until I could not stop stealing a few glances. I could not be myself when my hand was held. Fantasies drifted me to far away places; I wholly accepted to be swayed by it. I found myself in reverie, him and me.

I finally found someone who sweeps me off my feet. 

But he was found by his wife first. 

And yes, they have a kid. 

I feel like the most miserable individual in the whole wide universe.

I have been telling my closest friends that I might be destined not to be married. That I was born to be alone, will go through life's journey on my own, and will leave without holding someone's hand. That I am not even to experience an exclusive hug. Today's revelation can be an affirmation.

I have never been affected in short days. I had never understood how this situation felt, until today. So this is how it is, huh. 

I need an ice cream. :(