Monday, July 11, 2016

As mountain rain falls, memories of monsoon waft by

I ALWAYS say I am a very courageous guy. I am not scared to interface my truths or my little me in any given situation, circumstances, diversity. But that doesn't mean I am a very confident dude or a person beaming with grandiose self-esteem. I write because I am not very trustful of my spoken word. I mumble. I ruminate as I talk. I ramble. So I project myself in so many ways in relative quiet—art, literature, cooking, organizing events. I am not as proud as others in terms of my physical attributes. I am short and skinny etc. I also believe in so many ways that I am just weird and oblique that I get scary and dark. You know, the fear of not knowing an individual who seems to be so different.
          So before I could even “fully introduce” myself, I already frightened people away, uh huh. I wrestle with my acute inferiority complex yet no one who knows me wouldn't believe that at all. “Pasckie, you rock out there! You are all over the place!” I always crack silly jokes that elicit unfeigned laughter. Yet the only moments that I feel really belonged and attached is when I read poetry in front of an intimate crowd. I relish the moment up front on the mic. Yet still, after each show—I gravitate back to The Batcave and wish that warmth stays. But you wouldn't know that, ain't you? Until I share this drama. In fact, right now I am painting with radiant colors as the Bee Gees (again!) provides the dancing vibe. 

ALONENESS is an understatement. My immediate family are oceans away. Yet I never really felt loneliness the way I hear it from some friends, including those who are with loved ones. But I do feel sadness sometimes. Of course, I do. But living in this mountain idyll for almost eight years now blessed me with sublime quiet and warm intimacy—and familial love from my friend Cindyrella—that negate whatever that may be defined as "loneliness." Life evolves. I enjoy my blessings. I write stuff that I know make people feel better somehow. My sappy poems could still win a smile or two, albeit online. Well, that's all the little hero that I could ever be. I am happy being that kind of pasckie. Meantime, Georgia The Babedawg and Cyd The Koolcat are such transcendent gifts of presence.

ALL THOSE YEARS AGO. I feel that at age 55, a relentless five decades of life that not many of my current friends have witnessed in me, I already experienced most of what life has to offer. I am a totally different person when I was in my 20s to early 40s. But although I experienced at lot more than an average 80 year old has, I didn't do the "wild" stuff. I mean, I've never experimented on drugs or engaged in any form of casual sex or never violated the law--apart from my rabid activism when I was in my 20s to late 30s which I call, civil disobedience. I've never been (legally/lawfully) charged of anything or ticketed for whatever--despite a very active life out there in communities in so many big cities and small towns in two continents. 

          Among many other adventures and misadventures--I have been to places that a few will dare tread, covered events that journalists refer to as "hot spots," raised kids at a very harsh time, been into life and death situation twice, "ran between the rain and bullets" as a traveler, backpacked like the road was my home, traveled my worst road trip ever beyond physical danger (which happened recently), and been to a most difficult relationship. 
          My emotional wear and tear supercedes my physical exhaustion--yet the spiritual growth that I derive from all these negates all the mental tiredness. But although you and me might say, we also experienced a most ideal relationship sometime years ago, till we wasted it so foolishly--that doesn't meant we can't experience another one. A lot better. There are a few thousand more miles left to negotiate. After all these crazy years, I haven't been healthier since my surgery in New York City in 2000. No vitamins, no food paranoia, no viagra--yet I can still sweat it playing basketball or doing yardwork. No regular trips to the doctor for checkups, no pills, no let up with steamed white rice. I drink yet I know when to quit (gone down to two beers or two shots of tequila or vodka), no debts, no court dates--but sigh (!) still no wife and no girlfriend.

         Meantime, in life, we should accept in humility and surrender where we faltered and failed in those attempts and so we should know how to succeed the next time. They say save the best for last. Absolutely! As for me, for sure, next year will be closer to what I was. Just older and wiser. But a different life. I still got time to engage some entrepreneurs to a business hook-up in an Asia/US route, write more books and read them in cafes and universities, brainstorm a movie or two with my son, write more songs with my former band, fundtraise for typhoon victims, deliberate political upheavals and economic trends locally and globally with a think tank, play pickup basketball with my four brothers and nephews, visit France and Italy and Greece and the rest of the 7,641 islands in the Philippines that I haven't set foot on, and make love from dusk till dawn (if there's another chance, that is).
         Therefore, the journey isn't over yet though. It just took a different route leading to the ultimate destination. On layovers, there will be chilled raw oysters and mango mojitos on a seaside and lots of laughter by a roadside cantina. 

No comments:

Post a Comment