I took on the persona of a young boy in my first dream last
night. Or at least the first dream that I was aware of. A male adult, I don’t
know who, was behind me, guiding me as we flew—or fell—from a high place, most
probably a tall building. I was delighted at the sights all around me and was
even adjusting my goggles while hanging on to something, could be the adult’s
hand or arms, so as not to fall (which was weird because we were already
falling). My excitement at the feeling of flight quickly turned to panic when I
realized that we did not have a parachute and we were on our way down. Head
first. Fast. Just before I hit the ground, there was total darkness for a few
seconds. There was a part of me that was struggling to wake myself up. I finally
woke up to total darkness. I was lying on my stomach, facedown on my pillow. My
heart was beating fast and I was catching my breath.
Visions of relatives finding my dead body in the morning made
me afraid to fall asleep again. I lay awake for a long time, fighting off
sleep. I had had similar dreams in the past where it would feel like I was
about to die of something but this seems to be the first time wherein I was
anyone other than myself. I was a young boy of about 8 or 9. I had also woken
up several times before, having to catch my breath. I think I might have
stopped breathing for a few seconds.
had before I woke up in the morning, I was living away from home in a small
house that I was sharing with a number of other people, families even. The
living condition did not feel very ideal although I cannot think of a specific
reason now. There was a feeling of mild chaos, maybe because of the many people
in the same house. An older woman visited me and was asking about my condition,
clearly concerned. I don’t think I know the woman in real life. In the dream,
she did not seem to be a relative although someone familiar to the family. She seemed
to be from the same “community” from where I came from. I cannot explain what I
meant by that, except that she might have been a close neighbor or a family
friend. We were in the living room. She was convincing me of how much better I
would feel if I did go back home. She was asking me why I didn’t just go back
where life was more comfortable. She mentioned how “there are no squatters back
home.” I don’t know what exactly that had to do with anything. In the dream, I
had to think whether I was back in
but it was clearly somewhere in
Finally I asked her, “Kamusta si Amah? (How is Amah?),” suddenly feeling such a
deep longing for my Amah. She shrugged and answered, “Ayun, buhay siya. (She’s
alive.)” I then felt like going home just to be able to be with Amah again.
Then I woke up, still filled with longing and sadness, and realized that Amah
had been dead for 17 years.
There is something about the
year 2007 that makes me optimistic. True, the start of every year brings (or at
least is supposed to bring) a refreshed feeling of shedding off all that was
detested in the past year, waking up with all the promises of getting to start
anew. It allows a person the hope that the new year will also be a start of
something good, something better than the last, something grand and pivotal for
one’s life. If anything, it gives us the excuse to try our damned best to look
forward, forgive ourselves of past mistakes and be able to delight in the
possibilities of the future.
And then you reach a certain
age and realize that it’s all an illusion. What’s the big deal about new years?
It happens every year anyway. It’s just another day and no amount of
polka-dotted clothes and coin-jingling can make it more important than any
other day of the year. In fact, it’s to be feared because it signals another
year added to your age while everything else remains the same, if not a change
for the worse, in your life.
It’s very much like the first
day of school. You go to school excitedly with your new bag, almost new shoes,
maybe new socks, possibly a new hairstyle and (if you’re lucky and have
outgrown last year’s uniforms) new uniforms (probably a size or two too big for
you so you can still use it until you graduate). You meet some new classmates and
mostly old ones who have their own sets of new things that are a lot better
than yours (mostly because theirs really are
new) then you start feeling low and hope that nobody notices the hand-me-down
textbooks from your elder siblings. Nevertheless you make the most out of it
with all your notebooks wrapped in plastic cover, fragrant and creaseless in
their newness. The sight of the long newly sharpened pencils and perfumed and
colorful eraser is enough to make you want to do well in school and end the
year on the top honors list. So you promise yourself that and listen intently
as the teacher introduces herself and the class and you make a mental note of never
yawning in class because she hates students yawning while she’s lecturing. And
you’re raring to start taking notes in the best penmanship you can muster but
then somewhere along the school year you forget all of these promises and your
notebooks are filled with scribbles and your now-not-so-new bag is sticky
inside because of the juice that leaked when you brought your baon one time. Not
to mention that all your notebooks are permanently orange-stained and the lines
smudged at the edges after the juice has dried. And you can’t find your dirty
nauseating eraser so you now borrow from your seatmate every time you misspell
words, which is often. And you wish the school year ends. Fast.
But there is something in the
year 2007 that makes me more hopeful than usual. It could very well turn out to
be one of those boring years where nothing significant stands out. I could just
be waiting for it to end by the time September rolls in. Or earlier. But maybe
one also comes at a certain age when she learns to appreciate the unknown and accept
that erasers will get lost eventually but all those notes she took still count
for something. Perhaps it has something to do with all the astrologers (both
Western and Eastern) predicting good fortune for me (a Capricorn and a sheep,
monkeys are lucky too so even if I turn out to be one, ha! Still safe!) this
year. Maybe because I am finally working on my novel, a dream I have had since
the beginning of time, and thus the possibility to finally have a book
published is within reach. Or it could just be that I’ve grown tired of
cynicism and have decided to be happy and positive for a change.
It’s been two months since
the year started. At the end of 2007, I’ll reread this entry and either be
sorely disappointed or smile at a promise granted.
Novel page count: 118.
There was a time, about a decade but what feels like several
lifetimes ago, when one needed only turn on a faucet and water came out of it.
In our barangay in Gen. T. de Leon,
mere ornaments, a reminder of something that used to have a specific
function—that of bringing water into our homes just like in most civilized
places. Gone were the days when residents could shower in their bathrooms. Now,
we have to wait for rain to enjoy droplets of water falling on our faces. Somehow,
our local officials must have a very romantic notion of wishing wells and maybe
even doing the laundry beside a stream, for why else would the water problem
never have been addressed through all of these years? I have no problems with
mayors seeking adult fun on the internet as long as my needs as a citizen are being met—no I’m not talking about my needs in the adult fun department but
a more basic need—that of clean running water in my bathroom when I want it and
when I need it. Is that too much to ask? In the coming elections, I will be on
the lookout for the candidate who will be able to assure me of providing my
basic needs. See how low maintenance I am? Basic needs! That’s all I’m asking!
Jeezus! (No, this is not on the national level but think of it this way: if it happened to us, it could happen to you too...)
he proven enough of his incompetence in the previous elections? But then
perhaps it is precisely his incompetence that enables him to stay as the
COMELEC chair.
On a similar note, what’s the point of having elections after the "hello garci" incident?
Question: If a Filipino soldier/corporal/whatever were
convicted of rape in the
would he be under the custody of the Philippine Embassy in the
Gretchen Barretto should never open her mouth. There are
times when I would like to submerge myself in the illusion of absolute beauty.
The illusion shatters once she starts talking.
Finally, an update on the novel. 100 pages and counting. No
nosebleeds, but I'm going crazy. Wait, I already am
crazy. I’m going crazier. I'm hoping to be done with my first draft by mid-March. What, are you telling me the whole nation is not at all interested in my progress with the novel -writing?
