TAGU-TAGUAN

2011-06-06T21:21:00.005+08:00

Don't you 'miss call' me

...~~I might just answer your call~~ I'm busy turning tables.

( I owe the Devil this one. Thanks, the song couldn't have been more perfect.)

2011-06-05T00:24:00.001+08:00

If I was Donnie Darko, you'd be my abominable bunny

... driving me mad and totally imaginary.

I'm not being overly dramatic...

2011-06-04T21:28:00.003+08:00

It’s just that when I read that farewell footnote of yours on what could be your last piece for the Paper three nights ago(unlikely as it may sound coming from me, I am not closing my mind on the possibility that some twisted stroke of fate might bring you back to the cold, unwelcoming arms of our alma mater), I immediately knew that you’ll be gone for an indefinite (and perhaps, infinite) period of time. The week before that I tried not to act like a foolish little girl crying over her ‘dead’ doll, for who knows, you might be back in days, in a week, in a month and I might have to swallow back words spat in hatred for you. Who knows? No one knows. Even I don’t know – I never know with you.

Nights ago, I found out what I didn’t want but maybe had needed all along. Deus called me to ‘fess up about this problem of his. It’s personal, as everyone’s reason seem to be lately. So he went on with his story, blah blah this, blah blah that, he updated me on the status of our soon-to-be-defunct Paper. I don’t know, I can’t quite put a finger on it, but with the mention of the Paper and the people I so closely link with your name, I felt a feeling of... unease. I don’t know if I was expecting news about you (for sure I wasn’t ‘cause I know for a fact that Deus would probably be the last person to know anything about you), but when he said that you already e-mailed your long-overdue-piece, a surge of hope came rushing to me -- hope that you might be back from your pilgrimage to wherever, or hope that maybe you’ve had a change of heart and an epiphany told you that such pilgrimage isn’t for you and so you just dropped the idea altogether. So with Deus’ voice on the line turning into a blur, drowned by the rush cursing through my body, my finger frantically searched for keys to hit as I type up the words that would open the mail that contains what you left for everyone (as I would later find out) -- like a kid who leaves a box full of little trinkets for his friends, a trinket for each to remember him by because he is going away.

“Would the odds be at its rightful play, I shall see you again”, your last parting words said. “May the odds be ever in your favor”, I tried to jokingly mumble as I clutched onto my chest. As if I can hold my heart and keep it from shattering into a million pieces. Funny, I never knew you really do that in real life – I thought it just makes for a good drama movie scene. (But well, you know how I tell you all the time how every scene of my life seems to be a scene taken out of the movies.) And funny how you used to say you’re not good with goodbyes, because this one is really good. My heart found the floor and it’s a match made in haven. The scene was tailored-to-fit in my straight-out-of-the-movies everyday existence.

And hey (funny how you managed to turn that innocent, meaningless word into something. You really did a marvelous job tainting everything.), I still try to find you in all the silly places I used to look for you in: my junk-full of e-mail, our ‘blogs’ – my unbearably-emo one and your witty/tongue-in-cheek version of mine, the music I listen to, the films you told me to see... the night, the rain, the stars, the sky. I still try to find you in all these silly places... and fail. When this happens, and I’m telling you it’s been happening a lot lately, I tell myself, “This is not bad at all. If he ever comes back, all this drama would end, all the moping and sulking would seem pathetic ‘cause of course, he wasn’t planning on being gone for too long after all.” Course it would be pathetic, like Romeo crying over a still-breathing-yet-he-stupidly-mistook-for-a-dead Juliet. Course it would be pathetic. And it wouldn’t make for a good movie scene.

Knock knock knocking on a fucking door (that won't open)

2011-06-04T10:45:00.009+08:00

Exactly two weeks ago, around this time (or maybe earlier), Deus and I were scrambling to our feet trying to pull off the impossible shoot. The pointless overnight presswork has just been concluded with the groggy, I-only-had-two-hours-of-sleep-last-night look on our faces. Everyone was already taking turns in our makeshift bathroom, eager to wake one’s self up and wash away that sleep-deprived feeling with a splash of cold water only to find the tattered, cream-colored divan beckoning for company as it always does. Not to be tempted, I decisively told myself that this day mustn’t go to waste for last night has already gone there. So Deus and I went out for a while and immersed ourselves in the business of making the impossible, unplanned shoot possible.

When we came back from our tiring and futile walk trying to find whatever was needed for the shoot, well, everything seemed normal. I mean you showed no signs of distress or whatever, you were unfazed still, and calm as always, and if you were preparing to leave for a day or two or forever, I wouldn’t have known like I always don’t know with you. With the Norah Jones/DM/Luppi collaboration playing in the background, “Can't we be/like the season’s trees”, the voice sandwiched in a bossa nova/jazzy musical arrangement sang, you left. Just like that, you left. I was putting on make-up, my eyes focused on my image in that giant, grimy mirror when from my back I heard you say “Uwi na ‘ko.” No one questioned you, as no one almost ever does, and in unwilling unison we relied on the bobbing action of our heads to say ‘okay’ for we, I, wasn’t ready to say that. I mean it was early, there’s still a lot of work to be done, the life of this Paper is your life, its heart your heart, so I saw no point in your going home (if that’s were you were headed that day) early, but still let you on. For who am I to stop you, or even ask where you were headed? For we, we don’t ask. We never try to stop people. At least you don’t, and that’s what I’ve learned from you. So in the middle of the music, I mustered the courage to mutter a calm “Okay.” I was trying to convince myself then that it was.

Fast forward to today.

Today came a letter in the mail for me. Funny, I never knew our mailbox serves a purpose other than for decoration. The letter was from Dom, Deus, and Bryan. It isn’t any ordinary letter (nothing is ever ordinary when it involves these people) -- it’s a page torn from a notebook, wrapped in a plastic bag to prevent the rain from making it undecipherable, and with a handwriting that seems like whoever wrote it was scurrying. It was dated today at 12:55 in the wee hours of the morning, and seeing the time, I tried to picture what I was doing then. Oh yeah, I was faithfully married to the bed that time, lovingly hogging the pillows. Fuck-a-doodle-doo, they just missed me in my waking moments by thirty minutes or so. I was still wide awake at 12:30, but I don’t know what happened. All I remember was finding him in the wisps of my memory like I always find him there overstaying his welcome before drifting off to sleep.

So I missed them. They knocked, probably banged on the gates of our slumbering house on a particularly damp, cold night out of the many nights they could choose from. I need these people, I need to see them if only to tell me that yes, everything happened, he used to be here but he’s gone now. Or I need them to maybe tell me that he’s just like that, really, he just needs some time off, he’ll be back in no time. I needed to see them. And now, as my eyes search for these people in the letter they left me, my belief that the world is fucking me over and around is affirmed. It’s not that hard to harbor hate feelings towards ‘God’ and the world and the universe and all its fucking useless forces, I’m telling you.

A Lesson from Radiohead on 'How To Disappear Completely'

2011-06-03T17:36:00.001+08:00

Looks like they taught you well.