Where can I get foresight? I’m such a shortsighted person. Wrote a poem when I was 11 entitled “Dreamless Me.” Nothing’s changed. Fifteen years—whoa, 15!—later, I’m still dreamless, aimless… but restless. Which I think is a good thing—restless. Means I’m not comfortable with the way things are. The uncertainty, the lack of direction, the procrastination… A bright day can’t actually be far behind 🙂
I just turned 26 last weekend. Whew. First time I didn’t feel too excited about a birthday. Honestly, I’m starting to panic. It seems I’ve wasted a good deal of my twenties sitting on the fences. Or sulking. Or procrastinating. I’m scared. I fear the next five years would still be the same. I don’t want to be 30 one day and realize I still have the same issues! No one ever told me life can get this scary….
All my housemates are in the next room watching a VCD. I’m really getting good at being a hermit. There’s ice cream–ube macapuno–to go with the movie-watching. But not even ice cream could make me abandon my solitude. Had it been a different flavor, chocolate perhaps, i would have succumbed 🙂 Maybe, maybe not.
On the way home, i took a sidetrip to Ayala. I just wanted to roam. Alone. As always. Starving, i decided to have dessert first before dinner. Silvanas and sambos, with ice tea. Yummy, but crumby. I didn’t roam for too long after my premature dessert. Thought about watching a movie, but the idea of sitting in a dark room for two hours didn’t quite excite me. So i trudged towards the MRT station and joined the mass of Makati-based humanity in a rush to go home or elsewhere.
Cellphone radio on. Mellow Touch, taking you where your heart is. Nice songs. “Fixing a Broken Heart”. “Unbreak my Heart”. Oldies but goodies. I lip-synced. The cellphone in my right pocket buzzed. I laboriously took out the gadget, being careful not to nudge anyone squeezed around me in the train. Then i thought, “Shucks, I have become a slave to the cellphone (among other things). Can’t even delay checking my message.”
The message was from my father. He texted to say thanks for the jacket i bought him. Told him it was worn by MacArthur during his funeral! Haha. The jacket was a great pick at the infamous Baguio ukay. For the first time after a long while, i didn’t get irritated by a message from him. I actually smiled and replied immediately, which was nothing short of a miracle. He must have noticed the miracle, too, because he tried to keep the light banter between father and son going a bit longer. The text conversation ended with him reminding me of an errand–something about a vacuum cleaner. I didn’t text back. Back to normal again…
There is a fountain filled with blood,
Drawn from Emmanuel’s veins,
And sinners plunged beneath that flood
Lose all their guilty stains
I can play that hymn on the piano. In fact, it’s one of the few i can confidently play in public. I like the poetry. But once you really listen to it and visualize its imagery, i have to admit, it’s not pleasant. A pool of blood? And sinners (read: me) submerged in that red pool? Hmmm…. And the paradox: the blood does not stain, it cleanses. And what a stain it removes! Tide has never claimed to rid us of “guilty stains”.
What I’d give to once again sing and play that hymn with the knowing tears of that boy just learning the keyboard…and just learning how in need he is of that pool of blood. But the years of not playing on a piano have made the fingers stiff. The years of hiding from God have taken their toll on the heart. Stains all over. The tears seldom flow now. The song is still familiar. I guess the need for a dip in that flood of blood has never been greater than now.
It’s lunch break at work. Just had lunch (pork adobo and rice, sarsi, 3 sticks of fish lumpia ), now im worried about the “break” part. I’ve discovered something funny about myself of late: I dont know how to take a break. Case in point: I work five days a week, with sometimes only the thought of weekend keeping me sane. And then Saturday comes. I sleep in, wake up at 11AM… and then…. bang! A blank. No plans. By the time i find the nerve to text friends, they’re either still asleep from Firday night gimik or on their way some place for something, with someone. Cant blame them…
And then now. Still have 12 minutes before the clock strikes one and the lights are turned on…