Day 6: catatonia


5:15 PM


Did it come to me?  Numbness?

Did the clouds spit its weighted showers and directed it on me?

Did I choose to swarm into the system of work that I deliberately forgot who I truly am amid the surrogate slavery of heirarchy and unbeknownst redemption of workload?  Did I give in?  At any rate, did I choose to give in?

It is a black Sunday and it is chilly outside.  I do not want to go out.  I’d rather stay indoors and wallow on complete nothingness.

Has my motor skills actually stopped?

Has my body been wrapped by  an invisible metal as I glued myself in bed after waking up at 7 AM until I found myself drifting in and out of sleep – barely checking the desk clock . . . (in intervals) . . . 10:10 . . . 11:25 . . . 2:15 . . . a phone call from the office that I answered swiftly . . . 2:56 . . . 3:30 . . . went to my dvd player and played Sex and the City Season Six . . . 4:30 . . . the television buzzing in light blue hue . . . 5:00 . . . I stood up and conditioned my hair . .  .  and now I am here, in my desk, writing Day 6 when in fact, I have nothing to write about.

So I am holding the trigger to shoot you – squirt you – frame you – and get over these wantings that proclaims the need to be reborn, even perhaps, for a minute, in this shady, cloudy, Sunday afternoon.

Have you ever asked yourself lately if you know yourself?

Are you friends with yourself?

Are you happy?

6:26 PM

After standing in the terrace contemplating what to write

Let me talk about sadness.  Something that I have befriended over the years.  It is cunning.  It is tricky.  It commemorates the numerous failures that you have done once it strikes, deflating your ego like a madman would until you are left dangling, emotionally bleeding and catatonic.

What not to do:  succumb to it.  It is useless, stupid and definitely a waste of time.

What to do:

milan-kundera 2Read Milan Kundera.  Through the years, with books like The Book of Laughter and Forgetting, The Unberable Lightness of Being and The Joke, he has helped me get through rejection, existential angst and mood swings.  Kundera does not particularly write happy novels – fact is, he writes sad sad novels; dimensional chronicles of mindless depression and loss.  Crashing down to the pits of your own disorder, a Milan Kundera novel can reinvent it and turn it into something worth being sad for:  picking yourself up, realizing that death is just another chapter, not an epilogue, and it makes you even more of a substantial character if you go through the pits knowing that there is beauty in sadness, hence, you become a beautiful person altogether.  Worthy of being in a Kundera novel.  Worthy of dimensional transitions and a god of melancholy in your own right.

margaret choMargaret Cho is a recent discovery.  My old friend Jun Tacio indulged me with her comedic work two years back and since then, I was hooked.  I have watched her stand ups on dvd many times and have learned to go back in times of low self-esteem. A Korean American  whose advocacy is feminism and gayhood, she touches the heart with her ethnic jokes and sheer despise for conventionality.   She is simply divine and I am telling you, you’ll have skid marks in your underwear from farting watching this woman with her funny stories.  Cho is a genius and she will remind you that being different is actually being cool.

familyFamily, as we all know, is a  reminder of where we came from.  Change and the advent of independence have reshaped us into somebody we chose to be, but every now and then, we need to rekindle that long-ago you who belonged in one constituted roof, where mama and papa maneuvered everything and where everything is comforting beyond belief.

I belong in a big family.  Living away from them for thirteen years now is something that I got used to eventually but in times of drop deads and sinewy mind sets, I never fail to remember where I came from, thus, I always place that call and talk nonsense for 10 minutes or so and then I am good.  I don’t know if you know this but your family is your only savior when everyone seems to have no time for you.  They know your real mind works even if you don’t tell them.  They are always the first one to know, in fact  . . . but ironically, the last one to admit.

cosmosI am a big fan new age philosophy.  Astrology, theism, interpersonal relationships, writing, Buddhism, Eclecticism, psychic perception (something that I am still working on), organic diet (something I am currently working on and I am having the best scourging time of my life), law of attraction and yoga are things I dab gladly amid my very busy life.  Writing this now seems to be contrived in a sense that I barely have time for it but when sadness hits – I dwell in it and channel my thoughts to the universe, momentarily rubbing my crystal bracelets, eating only fruits for a day or two, read, write my thoughts and talk about spirituality with my gurus Jun Tacio and my sister Lourdes.  Here is a thought: we need to go along with it because it is something that co-exists with us but we ignore it all the time.  Indulge in it – it can be the biggest friend you have yet to meet.  We are smoking marijuana and having tequilas for years now.  Great times.


Getting lost in the grocery is like getting lost in a library or the bookstore.  There is something hypnotizing about shelves lined up like teeth.  Curiosity does not only kill the cat,  sadness too.

In most cases when I feel lost – I just go a grocery store and join in the clutter.  It makes me feel less alone – and there is always a price deal buster or something new in the market that is worth buying at the end of the day, so, try the grocery therapy.

emily dickinsonI have to mention Emily Dickinson here.  She was my earliest influences and I have particularly liked her works because it represented melancholy and its branches.  Her call to the wind, associations with insects and fornications with death were maddening fusions in my youthful head thus to this day, I still read her whenever I am feeling lonely.  She reminds me about my young self getting over unrequited love, acne, bad grades and coming out.

Emily D was my literary mother.  She always made sure I celebrate misery and turn it into nostalgic perceptions.

sex and the cityI have the entire season of this classic television show.  I never get tired of watching it until recently when the movie came out.

Here’s the catch though:  It works well with my depressed state.  No matter how cliche it sounds, seeing Carrie, Samantha, Charlotte and Miranda brave their storms every episode, eases even the gravest problems or even the usual disbelief of life.  It is my stress ball.  This show feels so right at all times and it never fails to make you laugh your damndest and tell the world that it is just life after all.

rosaryI was never a good Catholic.  I stopped attending mass religiously after high school, choosing to be agnostic over fanaticism.  I am unapologetic about it and believing in basic goodness is more than enough for me to worship God, as He is, in reality comes in many sonic shapes other than cathedrals, candles, the Stations of the Cross, attending mass and weekly confessions.

The rosary, however, will always hold a special niche in my heart.  The Virgin Mary, in fact, holds a very solid implication in my life because she is a woman, she is a mother and she represents goodness in women.  Studying Buddhism for years, I came to know the cosmic joy of reciting prayers.  In Buddhism, reciting Om countless times numbs the sordid existence and hypnotizes the head, thus, a current or wave of spiritualism pierces the heart.  In turn, the person receives clarity.  God.  The rosary does the same thing.  The Hail Marys and the Our Fathers surmounts in recitations and solidifies the mouth, the body and the head.  It removes the self to where it is sitting and elevates it into divinity.  Try praying the rosary when depressed.  It works all the time.

toriamosThe music of Tori Amos saved my life in many ways.  She is my musical goddess since college and her music have seen me through my 2os and my early 30s.  It is more than a serenade.  Her music has incorporated my yearnings, insecurities, sexual conquests, literary aspirations, new age wonderment, addictions, sadness, happiness, nocturnal transits to void or melodramas and self-flaggelations into my very own galaxy of trust.  The trust to trust life and make the best out of anything that came along with it.  Tori Amos saved my life for the sole purpose of making sure I celebrate the things that we don’t understand.  In times when things are just spinning, I plug in her cd and things become bigger and I see myself afloat, whole at last.


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