You keep me up with your silence

You take me down with your quiet
Of all the weapons you fight with
Your silence is the most violent

– Tell Me How, Paramore 

* * * * * *

I used to think that people were so lucky to have friends to spend time with (because I hardly have any) but lately I’ve noticed that even for people with many friends, their relationships have become more and more fragile and fragmented. It’s so easy to cancel a date, so easy to keep messaging “Let’s get together sometime,” telling yourself that you’re doing your part to maintain the relationship, and just never actually show up.

I have no idea what we’re all supposed to do about this. I do know that this is very, very bad news for all of us, and probably the main contributor to anxiety and depression. Uncertainty = anxiety. When the world is telling you that your generation is a failure, when the job market is telling you that your hard-earned skills are useless, when advertising is shitting on your values and repackaging your most precious emotional experiences to sell you laundry powder, what truth and worth is left in life except the love and trust that we have in our relationships? And how are we supposed to feel when it turns out that we can’t trust each other to be there when we say we will? How many of us can honestly say that love exists in our relationships – even in the ones where it did exist before?

the fucking laundry powder

I’m tired of getting over it
And starting something new again
I’m getting sick of the beginnings

By the way – it should go without saying that I rely on my girlfriend for human company and that I’d be totally isolated without her.

I think this is why having a significant other has become virtually a necessity in our social landscape. It’s evident simply from the sheer number of articles discussing why you don’t need a significant other – why must you deny it if the pressure wasn’t so strong to begin with? – and if it affected you so, it must be something you feel internally, too. I’d even go so far as to say that the pressure to have a significant other is a personal desire that is projected onto others as an external, societal pressure, so that you don’t have to face the fact that it is something you desperately want. Nobody shames people for not having a boyfriend or a girlfriend – that just isn’t a thing that happens.

SO’s are a necessity now because the monogamous romantic relationship has become the only type of relationship wherein one person can be reasonably expected to reliably be there for the other; it is the only relationship wherein it is acceptable to demand to be a priority, to demand that the other keep his or her commitments and not make excuses. This is something that most people seem to have become uncomfortable in asking even from close friends and family members. There is the fear of being labeled “clingy,” the shame experienced in the perception of having fallen down the list of another person’s priorities, and the pride involved in the unwillingness to admit that you value their presence enough that your feelings were hurt by their absence – if it is apparent that they don’t feel the same about you, how could you admit to the way you feel?

I can’t call you a stranger
But I can’t call you
I know you think that I erased you
You forgot me but I can’t forget you
And I won’t replace you

There is this need to keep up the illusion that our own lives are filled with exciting experiences and opportunities. Our real relationships are sacrificed at the altar of the illusion. Why should you feel bad about someone failing to show up at your apartment for a quiet night in, when you could just as easily go over to four clubs in one night and meet a dozen hot strangers? Maybe: because you and your friend missed an important conversation about your problems, your fears, and your plans, and instead you wrecked your liver with shots, your lungs with cigarette smoke and your eardrums with a hundred decibels of awful DJ’ing; and you met a dozen strangers who will never mean anything to you, and that you will never see again apart from the next nights of irresponsibility and running away from the pain of disconnection (if that).

I feel like I may have asked too many rhetorical questions in the course of writing this.

I’m procrastinating about my paper right now. I know this is the only ticket to getting out of here. And even then it’s more like standby booking than sure seating. But still…

When I think about this disconnection, I think about you. It makes no difference in the grand scheme of things, and the things I’ve described are true even if I had never met you… but the truth is that I think about this because of you and the hope you gave me that things could be different. For a short while, they were. It was all the difference in the world.

And now you’re gone. Yes, you’re still around. But your face is like a bolted door. And you don’t smile anymore. How do you do that? How do you close yourself off so completely? How did you learn not to need anyone (except your girlfriend, I suppose – though I suspect you could get by without her just fine if you had to)? I want to know, because sometimes this pain is almost more than I can bear.

The truth is that need you in my life. And this is as absurd as any ridiculous crush I’ve ever had, even if I now only want you as a friend. Even more absurd – a crush people can understand, but to want a friend so desperately? How much of a loser can you be?

You don’t have to tell me
If you ever think of me
You don’t have to tell me, I can still believe

Woops

Someone asked me what I could share about the art and science of marketing and being in a sad mood / birthday tipsy I ranted that:

– the process of creating a marketing strategy begins with the segmentation of the population (putting people into boxes) and selection of the target market (judging the worth of people based on their buying power)

– which I thought was a bit dehumanizing and also essentially made you worthless if you don’t fit into any of the right demos

– that ethics wasn’t part of the curriculum

– that marketing can be much more useful to society it is now, if the right people would get into it, with the right training, for the right reasons and the right products

– and that in its current form marketing is poison for society and a major contributor to the isolation of individuals, waste of resources, and devaluation of relationships.

* * * * *

After sobering up, I reviewed the conversation in my head and realized that he might have been sizing me up for a job offer (I had mentioned I was close to graduating).

Ahhhhhh. Ahhh. Aaaaaaaaaahhh.

Snapshots from lives I could have lived

This site is dead now. I find it rather appropriate that it died around the same time that part of my life ended – the part I lived in these places and had the same musings about random pretty girls on the train or stumbling along the avenue with their friends on Friday nights.

* * * *

Loneliness (L. Barcia)

It’s not like you imagine yourself / in the arms of every stranger you pass on the street – Just the ones that smile at you

* * * *

Missed Connections Manila 

Pink shirt, office attire, shoulder-length hair, tired eyes – w4w – LRT

You boarded at Araneta station, and I only noticed you because you were looking straight at me. Can I just say I’m sorry? I know it’s rude to stare but I couldn’t help it. You were facing me directly and you were looking at me (straight at me, okay, it was pretty unnerving) and half the time you had your mouth open in this sardonic “oh, you sweet summer child” smile. Was it so obvious that it was my first time to ride the train at night? Whenever I made a joke with my friend you would smile too, as if you heard it, as if you understood the inside jokes half the time. Did I amuse you? Your eyes were so tired, but it seemed as if you knew exactly what was going through my mind. I was glad when we both got off at Katipunan and I didn’t see you in the crush of people (also because we wandered like lost sheep for a while). You unnerve me, woman, and I would like to talk to you. Just to see what you would say.

Porn ban, unemployment, lithium, bpd, fsdaf;kljd

1. Some porn sites have been shut down since January 14 here in the Philippines. One is a personal favorite of mine. It’s to address to issue of child pornography, which is obviously extremely important, but since it is “yet to be known if the adult websites have violated any provision of the anti-child pornography law”, that probably doesn’t accomplish much. Considering how much porn does for society (good and bad) I don’t think the government should go around shutting down websites willy-nilly. Haha, I just said willy-nilly while talking about porn. Willy-nully. Get it? Because the willies are now nonexistent? Null-y?

Moving along. I actually don’t have anything else to say on this topic right now. I’m just mildly upset because my favorite site would load videos and they would stay loaded  while my laptop slept, so I got the advantage of having videos ready for watching without internet and without saving them to my laptop.

2. Today we had a report. My professor liked it. I’m good at storing information in my head for a short period of time and relaying it before it expires. Could I do that for a living? Is that a marketable skill? Because I don’t have much else going for me. I don’t even really know my way around Excel.

3. I don’t know if it’s because I’m sick, or because I’m on my period, or it’s the meds, but I can’t seem to stop eating. My psychiatrist is blind to the problem, which I’m fine with, except it’s probably not good for me. She is also in denial about the fact that the country is running out of lithium. My mother lives in fear it’ll run out and I’ll turn into a raving maniac or a suicidal zombie. Which isn’t too unreasonable of her. It’s like running out of wolfsbane potion.

4. I had a friend with borderline personality disorder for a while. I wanted to love her, (platonically) but I don’t think she would have ever wanted that. I miss her.

5. 

1. fhdjkslahjflkd
2. fdjskalhjkdf

 

Filipino Standards

Me: anyways so i’m randomly looking up choreography to Body On Me

and the most watched is some awful video by Filipinos

J: Are you making a porn

Me: just some hot girls dancing in front of sports cars

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=VCZHyMSQ3ao

nah not yet hahaha

dancing first, then porn

but anyway it’s like

it reallly shows how filipinos are willing to put up with stupid crap

they literally just parked sports cars in a garage and then danced mediocrely in front of them

there’s no story, no set, no angles, no nothing

and it’s got 3M views

stupid shit

J: Hahahaah wttff

the second most watched is this Korean video. it’s got a set and lighting and all

but for sheer volume of people watching the Filipino vid beats it

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=fsp-YC98g-0

Adventures With Periorbital Cellulitis Pt. 2: Relentless Burning the Invader To Death (Prime Suspect: Staphyloccocus aureus)

e

pt. 1 here

alternative title: Why I’ve Been Such a Huge Goddamn Bitch Lately

alternative title 2: Why Many Doctors Are Full of Shit

Exhibit A, two days ago immediately after release from the ER: 

Exhibit B, just a few minutes ago, immediately after application of a compress full of scalding hot water: 

Exhibit C, my med cert from that night. Details obscured because even though I hate the people who did this to me, I don’t know what people online might take it into their heads to do if this post were taken out of context. 

 

Roughly the following conversation occurred between me and my mom (a doctor) this morning (it’s very long, with many asides about school so I cut a lot out):

MD: How’s your vision on the right eye? Can you try looking at things while covering the left? 

Me: Vision is all right. It’s just the painful abscess that wouldn’t let me open it. It was so big and the swelling went down so fast that the skin there is now wrinkled oddly if you look closely. 

MD: So it’s small already? If it doesn’t go away by Saturday we need to see Dr. G. 

Me: It goes down fast with the hot compress but flares up again without it. That’s why it’s all I’ve been doing for the past 2 days. With breaks only for sleeping and eating and when my hands get tired. 

Very scary bacteria, this one. Causes lots of diseases all over the body. Something carditis in the heart, osteomyelitis in the bone, sepsis in the blood. Abscesses in the brain if a preseptal infection progresses to orbital. 

MD: I’ll text Dr. G. if what you’re doing is okay

Me: Tell him I check my vision twice a day when I change the dressing and it’s good. And there’s no redness in the surrounding area, so the skin hasn’t been burned. No tenderness also except on the abscess. 

Hm maybe I should email a pic? 

MD: Yes send me the pic. I also talked to Dr. U. He said to use a warm compress only. 

Me: Uh huh. I thought he would say that. But if I don’t do this, I’ll have to be admitted with antibiotic IV because otherwise the abscess grows again very fast. 

MD: It’s not the hot compress that would bring down the swelling completely. It’s the antibiotics. I would really strongly advise you to see Dr. U ASAP. 

Me: I don’t think you’re listening to me. I am taking the antibiotics regularly but unless I put on the compress repeatedly, the abscess grows again. Last night before I slept it had reduced enough that it looked like a stye. This morning when I woke it had grown so much that my eyelid was drooping a bit again. 

MD: That is why you should see Dr. U. Because that is not the expected response. It comes and goes – weird. 

Me: I told you it’s weird. That’s why I got scared. Not responsive to ointments or lacto or anything, only the hot compress

MD: But you are putting the Tobradex and taking Augmentin diba?

Me: Yes I am. Both of those as prescribed. Not responsive. It’s so strong. It should be cultured if possible I am very curious about it. 

It grows extremely fast. In a matter of hours. If I hadn’t gone to the hospital that night I’m sure it would have burst my septum and went to orbital cellulitis then brain abscess after that. 

It’s best if I can be examined at [redacted] because it’s nearest. I think you should get me a referral to a doctor of internal medicine. Ophthas seem to have no knowledge of bacterial infection. They just keep talking about my vision and there’s nothing at all wrong with my vision. 

It was a Dr. Q. who let slip that I should be admitted right before she immediately referred me to the awful ophtha. Her label on the med cert is Emergency Doctor. So that or internal med doctor is what I need. 

MD: Dr. U. is very knowledgeable. He mentioned to me the possibility of you being admitted to give you IV antibiotics. 

Me: Yeah I can tell he is but he’s quite far to see personally. 

MD: If you want pasundo na lang kita tomorrow AM but bring your important stuff in case he advises admission. 

Me: I’ve been eating so many vegetables that I’ve become really grumpy because I don’t like the way they taste. My appetite is much different, I have to force myself to eat. And some things smell much stronger to me now. I suspect there may be a mold or bacteria infestation in our bathroom because it always smells like poop even though no one just pooped and it’s very clean. 

My major symptom right now is grumpiness. 

MD: Your dad will fetch you tomorrow at 7Am and you will go straight to Dr. U. Bring your things in case he advises admission. The side effects of appetite and smell sensitivity are antibiotic side effects. 

 

Kill Bill: An Ode to Parenthood

This is the training we all got. In the context of the narcissism of today, meaningless acts become exciting and meaningful acts are obscured. – TLP 

I. Why the Story of Kill Bill Had To Be Told In Two Volumes 

In Kill Bill Volume 1, Beatrix Kiddo (aka The Bride, aka Uma Thurman, aka That Yellow Suit) kills a lot of people in a terrifying manner.

In Kill Bill Volume 2, Uma Thurman kills a few people, then she snuggles with her baby daughter.

 

Without the denouement of the story in Volume 2, the violence in Volume 1 (the violence dealt to Beatrix Kiddo and the violence dealt back by her) makes no sense. Yes, you understand that it is for revenge, but that doesn’t explain why she doesn’t just kamikaze Bill, and how she chooses whom she kills and whom she spares.

Here is the denouement, for your convenience, though you really should watch the whole of the second volume:

Beatrix is ready to kill Bill. What she is entirely unready for is that, upon bursting into Bill’s home, she finds that her child (whom she thought had been killed in the massacre which she survived) is alive, and being cared for by Bill. Bill has orchestrated a play scene with the child to make her think that this is all entirely normal, and Beatrix plays along. After dinner and a movie together, Beatrix leaves her sleeping child and begins the climactic scene with Bill. 

Beatrix: Do you remember the last assignment you sent me on?

Bill: Of course.

Beatrix: That morning, I was sick. I threw up on the plane. Then I started thinking: Maybe I was pregnant. [So I took a pregnancy test.]…

Before that line turned blue, I was a woman, I was your woman. I was a killer who killed for you. Before that line turned blue, I would have jumped a motorcycle onto a speeding train. For you. But after that line turned blue, I could no longer do any of these things. Because I was gonna be a mother.

Bill: Why didn’t you tell me?

Beatrix: Once you found out, you’d claim her. And I didn’t want that. She would have been born into a world she shouldn’t have.

Bill: Not your decision to make.

Beatrix: I know. But it was the right decision, and I made it for my daughter. I had to choose. I chose her.

Got it? Bill owned her. He’s referred to as her “master”, literally, at one point in the movie. Many people in the world now can’t even turn away from a freaking box of doughnuts even though they know full well that their arteries are already filled with gunk and their pants don’t fit anymore. Each person has a certain thing, an addiction or obsession or love,  for which they would do ANYTHING. Hers was Bill, until it was her daughter.

Remember, this is all before she ever saw or held her daughter. Her decision was made the moment she found out she was pregnant. In that moment, she decided to change her whole life and give up her obsession.

And then Bill tried to kill her and her unborn daughter.

That’s the reason for her revenge. Not because of her life, but because she thought her daughter was dead. This is why she stops her “roaring rampage of revenge” when she realizes that her daughter is alive. The ending statement is: “The mother lioness is reunited with her cub, and all is well in the jungle.”

But hardly anyone talks about this because it’s so much better to talk about the yellow suit and how it’s so cool when the blood spurts.

 

II. Why You Are Your Parents

A similar trope of deadly-warrior-turned-loving-parent occurs in Spy Kids (one of my most favorite movies, which suffers from terrible design, though I don’t see how it could have been made any better except with a higher budget). This is the story in a nutshell: There are two top-level secret agents who meet when they are sent on missions to kill each other.

Her mission was to [kill him]. You have to understand that these were dark and confusing times of enormous turmoil between countries. But when she got there, she couldn’t do it. He was different than she expected. And she began to wonder if years of detached, emotionless violence had taken its toll. So they kept in contact…

[Later on], they decided to marry. 

On the day of her wedding, she felt like she would rather brave a thousand deadly missions than go through what she was about to do: the difficulties of staying together and raising a family. But when she saw him, standing there, with no doubt whatsoever – she took his hand, looked deep into his eyes, and said the two most trusting, most dangerous words you could ever say to anyone: 

“I do.” 

Fast forward several years later, they have two children. One night, they are discussing their children:

I: I spoke to their principal. Carmen’s been skipping school twice a month. 

G: Why? 

I: I don’t know. And those friends Junie talks about? 

G: What about them? 

I: They don’t exist. He has no friends. They’re keeping secrets from us, Gregorio. And I think it’s our fault. They’ve gotten this from us. 

Hardly any parent is smart enough to make this observation or big enough to admit it: That their children’s problems are their fault. That whatever bad characteristics their children have were picked up from them. It’s our fault. They’ve gotten this from us. 

Nope, never that. It’s from their friends at school. It’s from television. It’s from video games. It’s from listening to the rap music. It can’t be us – after all, they only spent all their formative years with us, picking up our bad habits, or in neglect.

“But Trinity,” says my audience which is probably nonexistent at this point, “This sounds like you’re saying that everything you are is because of your parents?”

Yep. EVERYONE I know is like their parents, including myself. Sara Duterte is a fair and effective leader like Rodrigo Duterte. Brian Llamanzares is an entitled prick like Grace Poe. My friend Red tends to be tempestuous and sharp like her mom, with moments of unexpected tenderness. My friend P. has this live-and-let-live attitude like his mom and dad, with a bit more of the democratic and permanent annoyance for mankind in general that his dad has. My parents are basically misers, critical and cruel and mostly friendless, just like their parents.

And me? Critical, cruel and friendless as well, but I’m working on changing that.

III. Okay, Back to Kill Bill; or Why Most of Us Are So Fucked Up 

Given that your child inevitably becomes whatever you are*, it is then imperative to get your shit together before you even think about getting knocked up  / getting someone knocked up. What does this mean? This means basically that you have to address all your emotional issues and secure your finances. A child cannot be exposed to adult issues that they cannot understand and are powerless to help with, because this will create issues inside them and they will grow into fucked-up adults.

This is why Bill orchestrated the play scene for when Beatrix saw her child for the first time. He knew that Beatrix would be emotional and he had to set the stage for her to demonstrate emotion in a way that would not make the child think that there was anything wrong or unexpected.

This is why Beatrix put her child to sleep before she went to talk with Bill and have their final battle.

This is why after she killed Bill, she lay on the floor sobbing pitifully and then walked out, all smiles, to watch cartoons with her child.

Most parents now don’t have the decency nor the strength to pretend for their child, to put on a show when doing so would be to the benefit of their child and not doing so would be detrimental to their child. Can’t pretend that they don’t want to rip their partner’s guts out. Can’t pretend that vegetables taste delicious. Can’t pretend that they respect the law.

If you’re not perfect, you’ll have to pretend, and they can’t even do that.

IV. Back To Me Me Me Me

Yesterday I drove my girlfriend’s family around so that they could save money. The only car we could afford was a shitty manual and I was having a really, really, really hard time with it. I was ready to cry and sleep. But it was late at night and the house was very far so I did not say anything because I didn’t want anyone to worry about me. When we got home I went in a room, closed the door and cried.

In the morning the eye infection that had been starting up the previous day swelled up so much that I could hardly open my eye anymore. Luckily, there was a doctor nearby. I drove the shitty car there. I walked in with my eye swollen shut and oozing slimy tears. I had an appointment, but I noticed a mother with her child so I let them go first because I thought it wouldn’t take too long. I was wrong. About half an hour in, I started crying quietly, without a sound, from the pain and the tiredness.

My girlfriend hasn’t been treating me very well because I have gotten very good at hiding my pain. I was always good at it, but even more so now. I am practicing because I want to become a person who will do whatever it is it that needs to be done, delivers what I promise, and doesn’t make unnecessary complaints. However, people are so used to others making random excuses and demands that they think a person can’t possibly be in need unless they make a scene. So we have been in trouble. But we’re talking about it.

The reason I’ve been so quiet is because I’ve been busy. I should be sleeping now, but my eye hurts so much that I can’t sleep. I’ve already watched Kill Bill Vol 2 for the 4th time and finished The Lost World and listened to my Korean tutorial audio tapes so there’s nothing else to do lying down with just one eye. And now I’m done with this so again I don’t know what to do.

 

 

*note that these are the fundamentals – for example, a loving Christian can end up raising a loving atheist, or a hateful atheist can raise a hateful Christian, but a completely loving atheist cannot possibly raise a hateful Christian and a completely hateful Christian cannot raise a loving atheist.

 

 

Portrait of an Egotist I: Rona Mahilum

By Henry Hunt for RD (1997) 

I. Eight-year-old Girl Saves Her Five Siblings From a Fire, Including Her Older Sister, Who Acted Like a Useless Piece of Shit Despite Being Older and Bigger 

Blazing oil suddenly spilled onto Rona’s bed and splattered the floor. Rona jumped up. Hearing sizzling, she realized that her shoulder-length hair was on fire. The blaze leapt to her clothes. She hit at the flames searing her head and shoulders. Safety was but a step to the door.

Then, in the light of the fire, she saw her brothers and sisters stirring.

She grabbed the first child she could, five-year-old Cheryl. She rushed down the ladder steps into the yard, where she lay the child under the big banana tree. Then she ran back through the smoke, squinting and holding her breath, and lifted four-year-old Ruben and one-year-old Rhocelle to safety.

The fire had begun its slow, serious business of spreading through the house…

Rona entered again, then carried seven-year-old Roberto outside. He watched his sister, her hair and clothes still smoldering with flames, run back inside for nine-year-old Roda. Unable to lift her, Rona pushed her older sister out the window.

Finally her small body was overcome, and she collapsed facedown in the rubble.

II. She Was Practically Fucking Dead and Her Dad Was Ready To Dig a Fucking Grave For Her 

As she negotiated the long, dark path home, Nenita’s thoughts were hopeful. She had left the town market around midnight, securing a few pesos at the fiesta. Then she smelled something burning.

She ran to the clearing, and saw her house.

The roof was gutted, its roof nearly gone. Beneath the banana tree lay her children – all but one.

“Where’s Rona?” Nenita yelled.

“I don’t know,” Roda answered.

Nenita dug through the rubble. A black, round lump, like a pile of charcoal, caught her eye. It was Rona, pulled up into a ball, facedown. Most of her hair was burned off. A thick, black crust of charred skin covered her back and scalp.

Rona had not shown a flicker or a twitch. Nenita felt for a pulse but found none.

“Rona is dead,” Nenita told her other children.

III. She Miraculously Wakes Up On the Way To the Hospital 

Rona’s father, returning home towards morning, offered to dig a grave near the house. But Nenita could not yet accept that her child was dead.

For reasons not entirely rational, she decided to take Rona down the mountain to a village six hours away on foot, where there was a small hospital. Perhaps a doctor would at least confirm that there was no life in her little girl.

In the morning sunshine, Rona’s wounds were terrible to behold. Her left ear was a tiny nub of burned skin. Heavy, black crust covered her head and back, oozing pus.

Nenita gingerly washed the soot from the girl’s face, which somehow had been spared by flames.

Carrying her daughter, she trudged along the steep jagged paths, along steep hills and deep valleys. A heavy rain started in the afternoon. Cold drops slammed down, battering Rona’s encrusted back.

Finally Nenita stopped to wait out the storm.

As she slid Rona off her back, Nenita saw that the child’s eyes were open and looking at her. “Momma,” came a small voice, “where are we?”

“We’re going to see a doctor,” she said gently. Then she called out joyfully, “You’re alive!”

“Yes,” came the small voice again. “I’m alive now, but I’ll probably be dead again.”

IV. She Accepts Her Death 

Examining Rona, the doctor found that she had third-degree burns over her scalp and back. Her left ear was gone. The burns were nearly a day old, and infection was mounting.

The doctor told her mother, “If she is not admitted, she will die.”

Explaining that her family did not have any money, Nenita asked that Rona only be given first aid. “I cannot throw away the future of all my children to help just one,” she said forcefully.

The discussion took place in front of Rona, who remained silent.

 

V. A Series of Fortunate Events Conspire To Save Her Life

A. On a Sunday afternoon in August, Mayor Lim sat at home reading an editorial in the newspaper Today. Lim felt his eyes fill with tears.

B. His city had recently voted to give an award to a Filipino boxer, but he did not accept the money.

C. The editorial urged the mayor to give the money to someone who deserved it: a little girl who had won her scars and her honor not in a boxing ring but in a ring of fire.

D. Now Lim began calling the editorial office, but no one he spoke to knew the exact whereabouts of the child.

E. So he chartered a plane.

F. On August 20, Nenita was scrubbing clothes in the river when people came running to say that police were looking for her at her home. Nenita walked home to find Rona. Along with the policemen, the two started the long journey down the mountain.

G. Doctors in Manila began a series of surgeries to reconstruct Rona’s shoulder and neck muscles. The city of Manila paid all medical expenses. Gifts amounting to 2.7M (in 1997 currency) have been given to the family.

 

“I did it because I love them.” – Rona Mahilum

 

 

Note: This photo was taken while she was still in hospital. Her shoulder and neck muscles are constricted from the injuries. She is forcing her head upwards.

 

 

Sublimation Pt. 2

I.

This happened last Tuesday (today is Friday midnight here).

I was walking along the sketchy sidewalks going to South Station in Alabang and I saw a hulking big dude go out of his way to step on a cat’s tail and grind the tail into the sidewalk with his toe. He was a huge fat fucker at least 250lbs and I saw that the cat’s tail was bent back on itself and broken.

He did that because he knew no one would stop him or do anything about it. Not even me. I know some of my friends worry about me, the things I do and the things I say when I see things like this happen, but even I am afraid of huge violent fat fuckers. (Serial killers usually start with hurting animals.)

Anyway I kept walking and I just cried and I haven’t been able to sleep well for a while because when these things happen it’s already too late to stop them. I could’ve kicked him with my pretty heel and then he could’ve strangled me and then I would die. I could’ve picked up the cat to take it to the vet and then it would scratch me and I would get B. henselae (cat scratch fever) and die.

He should’ve had parents who would teach him to be kind to animals. He should have had friends who tell him when he’s wrong. By the time he’s going around breaking random cat’s tails, it’s already too late to fix him.

II.

I’d just been full of restless energy since then, and I haven’t been able to sleep sound. I toss and turn in bed, and when I wake up in the morning I don’t feel well-rested. I keep seeing his body – what I could see of it under the pushcart – hunched over in pain, the broken tail trembling ever so slightly. And remembering how I stood on the sidewalk, staring at the departing dude’s back and agonizing over my decision to walk away / punch him / let him leave and take the cat.

III.

Guilt is omniscient.  You know it’s guilt because no one else would blame you for what you did, and yet you know with total certainty that it was your fault.

Guilt, re-framed relentlessly, over the rest of your life.

The only thing that ever works is to understand your guilt as not coming from the failing but generated by you as self-punishment, so that you can go on with the rest of your life.  Have you suffered enough today?  Then go out to a club and get drunk and make out with strangers, it’s fun. You’ve earned it.

The guilt always stays with you. Always. It never goes away. Never.

So either you reach some kind of harmony with it or it beats you down.  That harmony is sublimation.  

– The Last Psychiatrist, Shame (abridged)

IV.

Today I went on a walk with my mom in our village and we came across a tiny white kitten crawling unsteadily across the middle of the road, just waiting to become roadkill.

Amidst my mom’s protestations (she doesn’t like dirty things) I picked it up and carried it home.

I put it inside the outdoors cage where we’ve briefly kept poultry (chickens and ducks) for a little while before slaughtering them.* I got an old box and some rags, and filled an old ketchup bottle with hot water and wrapped it in a towel so she could snuggle against it for warmth.

Then I fed her some milk in a bowl. She didn’t know how to drink from a bowl because she had only ever taken food from her mother, I suppose. She kept pushing her mouth against my hand. It was frustrating to get her to drink the milk, but eventually she learned and she finished the milk.

After she had enough, I put her inside the box with the warm bottle and she went to sleep. I left the cage door open, and made a barricade with some cardboard: high enough so that the kitten wouldn’t be able to get out and become roadkill, but low enough so that her mom would be able to climb it and get her if she wished.

Then I went out to get drunk with my friends because finally I wasn’t fucking driving myself and I could get fucking drunk.  I made dinner and tried to make friends with the dog but she was having none of it. (Dogs take on the personality of their owner, and her owner – my friend’s dad – democratically hates ALL people.) We drank Cuervo and we played “Would you rather…” And I asked them, which presidential candidate would you have sex with? And one of my friends claimed that Grace Poe is hot in person and she paid for their lunches one time, but I am not sure that I can believe that she is hot in person.

I got home at midnight and, swaying as unsteadily as the kitten when I first saw her, went to check on her. While I was looking at her sleeping inside the box, I heard a soft but insistent mewling. (The mewl of a kitten is much different from the meow of a grown cat.) I walked a little ways down the road and saw an identical kitten once again crawling across the fucking road and waiting to become roadkill just like my dead dog.

So I picked up the stupid thing and took it to the cage to join the first kitten. I watched them crawl rather pointlessly all over each other for a bit.

Then I noticed a white cat sitting about 10 feet or so away and watching me watching them, and meowing a little bit. I thought it might be the mom, so I took one kitten out of the cage and put it down on the ground.

Then I ran off and hid behind a car and waited to see what she would do.

She just fucking sat there like an idiot while the kitten crawled all around the sidewalk under the dim orange streetlights in that helpless, stupid manner of young things new to the world.

So I got her and picked her up and stroked her jaw for a while to make her happy.

Then I saw another white cat! Again watching us. Repeat the same scenario. Except this time, instead of crawling around in circles, the kitten went straight for the direction I’d gone. Ignoring the white cat, who was: a) a fucking cat, her own species b) nearer to her and c) meowing at her.

There’s nothing in the world like the feeling of being desperately needed by a living thing who looks for you, thinks that safety and comfort is found with you and no one else.**

I watched her crawling towards me. She couldn’t really walk yet, only crawl and stumble and fall over. I walked towards her a bit. When she heard my footsteps, she quickened her stumbling and loudened her meowing.

My heart was moved indescribably.

And then the driver was like, “Can you go inside now please so I can lock the gate.”

So I put her back in the cage with her sibling, with the hot water bottle and some milk. She’s out there right now. I’m in my room. I will see her tomorrow. I think I will sleep sound tonight. ||||||

 

*I’ve slaughtered a hen once, by the way. I thought it would make me more thoughtful about the sacrifice that goes into the decision to eat meat, because I used to flirt with vegetarianism a bit. But it didn’t work at all because the hen was way too chill about the whole thing. I slit her throat with a big knife and held her over a bowl to drain her blood until she died of blood loss. She didn’t struggle at all in my hands, just stared straight up at the sky with one stupid chicken eye as the life faded away from her.

 

 

 

 

 

Deardevils

I. So today my girlfriend and I went on a date and we both almost died. Almost. We weren’t REALLY going to, but it was a possibility under the circumstances. I mean, “NOW WE HAVE TO MOVE REALLY FAST OR SOMEONE IS GOING TO HIT US!” and “DUCK!” aren’t things you typically have to tell someone during a nice date.

II. I told off an MMDA guy on a sketchy road. He thought I wouldn’t get out of the car, but I did. My mom told me to never to do that again. I think she thought I didn’t know it was dangerous. Fuck, of course I knew it was fucking dangerous. I wouldn’t be able to do a lot of the things I do if I wasn’t so big, because I move rather slowly. (The alternative to being big and strong, by the way, is to be small and fast, when it comes to escaping physical danger.)

III. Someone said that Duterte said that he said that the following conversation took place before the number 911 became Davao’s emergency number:

D: Henceforth, I want 911 to be the emergency number. 

Phone networks: But that’ll be expensive.

D: How expensive would it be for you if I blew up your cell towers?

Of course, he wasn’t really going to blow them up. Duterte’s not into terrorism. It’s an expression of how fucking INSANE it is to say that it’s an unnecessary expense to want to save people’s lives. This is the fucking result  when emergency cases aren’t routed to the best available medical facilities. All fucking right?

IV. I stopped listening to anything that anyone from Ateneo had to say after Bianca Reyes died and NO ONE, but NO ONE, from there had anything useful to say about it. Her [redacted] is headed down the same road. Does anyone care? Of course fucking not. Filipinos are only interested in mourning loudly for their dead, not in preventing people from dying.

V. Since I think American / Filipino marketing is stupid bullshit, this puts me decidedly at odds with some of my professors.

A few terms ago, I got into a pretty bad confrontation with a professor during a presentation. To the point where I began slouching against the wall in disdain and she had to tell me, “Stand up straight.” I thought I was doing a good job of keeping my cool, but later one of my friends in the class told me that it was a patently hostile exchange, and my rage was obvious to everyone in the room. I told myself I’d never let it happen again… which is why I didn’t go to class yesterday. Nothing like that has happened again yet, but I felt like it was a possibility, so I pre-empted it.