Day 36: what is your secret?

It was 3 PM and I got home early.  I went straight to my room and suddenly felt uneasy.  I looked around its purple composure and dusted the side of my television.  I wrote the word SCOURGING, of all words, on its dead blue equilibrium, fancying it spoke the way it did, with its digital discomposure, “Why don’t you clean the entire room?  You have not cleaned it since New Year’s Eve last year.”

Before I can even argue, I removed all my books and dusted each and every one of them.  After about 15 minutes, all my books shone, neatly organized by author and ready to be read all over again without the usual sneezing.  Collectively, my tenacious self brought me to my CDs and did the same thing.  I placed U2 who was living inside Marvin Gaye’s case back to its own house among other lost CDs that were stashed everywhere, even between my managerial books that sat accidentally among the musical apparatus.  Agitated by my own makings of a major slob fest, I threw all my CDs in my bed and laboriously organized them.  I found out eventually that my Prince CD got lost somewhere and that I actually have Bjork’s Greatest Hits when I thought I have already shipped it to the Philippines last year.  It is perplexingly beautiful how you discover things among the mobocracy of piled effects.  It is almost like reconvening with a past propensity. To me though, it was like going back to the 90s.  The time of my audacious life.

Like a diva rummaging through the prudence of her mishaps, I made my room habitable for a change.  I even cleared my bed after being rented temporarily by unread books, portfolios, KFC boxes and newly-washed socks.  I changed my sheets – the works – and did my unbecoming military bed-making.  I swear I could’ve tossed a coin on it and it’ll bounce back triple times.  I was proud of my hard work!

And then I saw my affirmation wall I called The Secret wall.  A remnant of the flair after reading the very popular book on the Law of Attraction called The Secret two years back.  Apparently, I followed its endorsing advice to put up an avowal frame that should collage all the things that you’d want to (be) happen(ing) in your life.

The law of attraction:  sending epistles to the universe and channeling your mind to the pseudo-scientific power of positive thinking, hence, gaining a happier, more contented life by capturing the essence of influence and subconscious ability to make your life, well, better.  It is easy.  You don’t need to perform witchcraft or black magic to synergize your mind’s potency.  All that there is is pure surrender, wait for the time the universe tackles its sovereign hands on you and magic! you are transported to your ideal dominion.  Its genesis being positivity and self-belief.

I believed it.  More than anything else, I believe in the power of the self.  I always did.

*The Secret is a book that presents what is claimed to be a centuries-old idea, which in essence is the power of an individual’s positive thinking to change and influence outcomes in their lives. The book claims that by using the “Laws of Attraction”, an individual can become wealthier, healthier, and happier. The “Laws of Attraction” are the “secret” that the title of the book suggests to the reader. The book claims that the secrets outlined in the book have been known by famous and influential people for centuries, but that they have conspired to keep these secrets hidden from the general public for their own benefit.

A phenomenal best seller all over the world, the book is described as a New Age spiritual self-help book, with the basis of the claims of the “Laws of Attraction” originate through understanding the cosmos and how an individual can influence it for their own personal gain and benefit.

So, around the year 2007 and half of 2008, my friends and I ate this book like gourmet.  After a while, as advised by my guru, Joon Tacio, I put together my The Secret Wall.  In it, I had the following hammered out in a colorful photomontage:  (italics were the supposed end results)

1.  A picture of myself in Baler, Aurora Province on top of a rock that my best friend Norman took after I painstakingly climbed up to it knowing I’d crash through the stones below and plummet myself to a very revolting death.  I did  not, thank heavens.  I posted it because it symbolized predominance and hard work.

(A year later, I decided to come home to the Philippines to look after my sister Kit who was having marital problems.  It was one hell of a vacation.  Incidentally, Norman had to go home as well to see check on his son, Guiliano.  I spent a week in Baler, unexpectedly, after the stretch of Kit’s millstone and after the burial of my friend Gracie, who died during my stay in the Philippines.  All along this burdensome month, Baler opened its arms to nurse my broken heart and digress my crippled perspective of life.

This was also the year when I was plucked out of the restaurant operations and was promoted to training manager)

2.  A photograph of my sister Kit.  For no reason, I put it there.

(Months later, she gave me a call to tell me she is leaving her husband for battery and subjective abuse.   It was 8 years of marital hell and she finally decided to annul it.)

3.  A photograph of myself, Norman and our model friends in a party.  For no reason I put it there.

(The year 2007 and 2008 were my party years in Dubai.  I met new friends and started the alcoholic movement that removed me from the urgency of stress and somehow calmed my nerves in more ways than one.  The city also embraced me with its anxiety and competitiveness and I fitted perfectly.)

4.  A photograph of my Norwegian friend / lover / fling, Jessie.

(I don’t know if this is accurate but I had more sex after the post .  All shortlisted of course but I had some and they were ugly fabulous.)

5.  An old photograph of one of my earlier friends in the UAE, Jin Jin and me when we were still conjugating the verb.  I had to put it because I missed his gun at the time and I wanted to have it 24/7 all over again.

(I got what I wanted.  Jin Jin suddenly rose from the dead and did me at least once a week.)

I never really liked Russian fiction.  Very verbose and all the characters seemed to be in desperate need of a deodorant.  What can I say?  I am also a literary smellist.  I like my heros and heroines to smell good.  Needless to say, the Russian literary hoopla condoned to so much politics that I am beginning to realize that the fall of communism in the Soviet Union sprang from their rhetorical plenty.  At any rate, I like Fyodor Dostoevsky.

Notes from Underground was one of my favorite books back in college. It spoke of hunger for clarity and the impasse of poverty and mental pacification.  Even before The Secret was published, my earliest recount of the law of attraction was interloping on Existentialism, or to put it plainly, the law of reality. The tiny book spoke of life’s charades narrated by an anonymous storyteller called the Underground Man.  His bitter vernacular as a civil servant in St. Petersburg have dealt with basic pain and basic loneliness wonderfully shaped by suffering and surprisingly, to the gratification of suffering as well.  Apart from this, it also commemorated the uncertainty of morals that has embodied him as a man and the intellectual irony of inertia.  Man’s onslaught to extenuate life through lethargy and neglecting the prevailing logic and  bureaucratic beginnings of raucous Russia.

The novel is iconoclastic and it engulfed my then-doubtful eagerness to be heard.  It made me lock myself inside my room to immerse in my very own existence and to mentally detect which buttons I have yet to push to understand WHY THE HELL I WAS HERE ON EARTH.  Unknowingly, I did not just jail myself in my very own room but also bolted myself inside MYSELF.  To emerge and walk back to the university with a little more clarity – and a mindful of guts to possess what is ahead of me.

Like the Law of Attraction, Dostoevsky’s Underground Man mused on patronizing what it is inside and recouped the lingering verity of negative forces that twisted man’s obsession to tangibility.  In the hypothesis of both books in terms of man’s weakness to conquer his inner voice and what it can do, I conceived within me what happened around me as a child, as a teenager and as a young man back in the 90s, WAS, in fact, my choice.  My mistakes.  My triumphs.  My beliefs.  My Self.

Accordingly, Dostoevsky acquainted me with more books on Existentialism authored by the defiantly sexy Jean Paul Sarte and the more psychedelic Herman Hesse.  As much as it did after I read The Secret which brought me to Eckhart Tolle’s The Power of Now and A New Earth and of course, to Brian Weiss, whose books Only Love is Real and Many Lives, Many Masters guided me to the gallant path of self-recovery.

Books, funny it may seem to be, will always be my guardian angels in contriving to lead my life properly.  It may have ruined my sense of balance had I looked through the eyes of any normal man but indeed, it has oddly saved my soul in different facets of confusion and self-doubt.  In a more acute, grossly conventional way though, I think that it simply calls for awareness.  To be aware of the fact that I exist in this planet to know myself and to know how to empower my life through my own causation.  To give kindness.  To express compassion.  And to love.  Well, to at least try.

What is your secret?


* From Wikipedia


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