Forgetting by the world forgot

"How happy is the blameless vestal's lot?
The world forgetting, by the world forgot.
Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind.
Each prayer accepted and each wish resigned."

-- Alexander Pope, taken from its eponymn



I watched Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind on dvd yesterday. I haven't seen it and it was an attempt on my part to forget something that badly required selective amnesia.

The movie was great, the quotes were memorable, the acting superb, the shots and sequences were to die for, the music very ponderous. I'm a huge fan of Michel Gondry, the Kauffman brothers, KATE WINSLET, and Beck. Almost everything about the film was applaudable, except that I forgot I was trying to forget.

I'm in the exact same situation as Jim Carrey's character. In an emotional rut, an existential vacuum, a slow torturous decay through unreasonable longing. Although the story had a happy ending, I ended up wanting to look for mine.

And all this time, I had been drowing myself in caffeine, suffocating myself in smoke, locking myself in my room like before, mellowing out with a vast selection of CDs.

So now I'm trying to analyze -- would I have survived without my music, my smokes, my coffee, my room? Or are these the things that make me hold on, make me remember what I don't have? Do I hold on because I have these things to hold on to? Are these plain addictions or are they therapeutic means of catharses?

I took it as a sign on a Friday night, that I had to stay disconnected from everything. Two plans I had made were cancelled, I wasn't able to reply to my new friend because my mobile's dead, both our telephone lines are dead too so I couldn't connect to the internet even if I wanted to so badly.

... but when the door closes but a window opens -- I got invited to make a catalogue for a shirt store my friend owns, I received a 22-minute phone call from my a very close female friend, and I got to suggest stuff for our college group's christmas meet-up the same night.


I fell asleep at around 9:30pm listening to good chillout music.

The Edge of Reason

My old busmate invited me to watch a movie in a nearby mall, a pleasant segue for the real reason he wanted to go there -- to have his bluetooth fixed. We met at the train station and he told me how much thinner I am now. I told him, "It came with a price. I lost a friend because of this."

The repair shop was closed because the employees had a company-wide Christmas party that day. We went on to watch Bridget Jones 2. It was simply hilarious in some parts, but like what other people have told me, and to which I had agreed, the first one was still better. Jacinda Barrett was effortlessly beautiful.

Rather than become a good distraction, the movie reminded me of what it was I had been escaping from. My friend had similar concerns.

We sat down for coffee at Seattle's after I bought a new pack of lights: It had officially become an addiction for me, smoking. I let him rant about his long distance relationship. It was ok for me, seeing as how I'm soooo used to hearing personal issues. It's not a bad thing really, just as long as I don't over-empathize. I mean, I'm a very good listener it's therapeutic for most.

At 5pm, I was already sleepy. We went home and I instantly fell asleep on the bed sheets.


This is fast becoming a compensation mechanism.

Four Friends and a Funeral

"Life is not measured by the number of breaths we take, but by the moments that take our breath away."
-- George Carlin

Four Friends

I met up with college friends last Tuesday at Dôme in Shangri-La. I already ate dinner before going to save myself any uneccessary expenses besides a pack of lights. I tried my best to feel good, to be in manic mode again, but I haven't been good at convincing myself lately.

With a raspberry ice tea at hand, I pretty much remember what our conversations were about but I don't have the mood to go elaborate on them right now. I told someone how I was hurt by her comment. The last thing I needed to see online was the truth being shoved in my face. It was a very short comment but the thought lasted for hours. I thought of posting a retort on my behalf, but I'm not one to lash out, not anymore.

I was there but my head was somewhere else. It had been flying through with the faint music, with the smoke coming from other people, with the slight glances strangers make at other people, with the ticking away of the minutes.

The Funeral

It was hell trying to get a ride from that area. My friend and I resolved never to go to Ortigas again. Both victims of street crime, we were so paranoid that night, cautious as if all the people surrounding us were timing in for the kill. We rode the bus and then a cab to Arlington where her close friend's grandmother was on wake.

It was a pleasant change being there. Quiet, cool, well-lighted. Once again I was around new people and the simple conversations got my mind off a lot of things. I'm not in the mood to elaborate on them right now.

We rode the cab home. I slept through my exhaustion.

Bi-Polar Express

I've had a conversation with a busmate from elementary the night I was mugged. After catching up with each other's lives, he came to tell me how I may be slightly bi-polar.

That's just great really. It means I'm not only spotting 1 train, I'm trainspotting for 2. Of course, it could all be a faulty hypothesis on his part, being a junior med student and all. The implications however ...

... which train am I on? Am I on BOTH trains or am I in the middle of an impending collision between both? Is it ambivalence or merely indecisiveness?

Anyway, I refuse to ask any more questions because I've stopped asking them a long time ago. A peaceful existence comes from killing off certain curiosities. Also, the reason why I'm trying to escape to Carpathia once more is because I don't feel like talking about myself lately and blogging is essentially an eloquent means of exhibitive self-absorption. It's a good cathartic instrument though.

I'm still thankful that with my fcuked up circadian rhythm and bouts with insomnia (and recently, hypersomnia) someone up there still listens and finds ways for people to call me up in the wee hours of the morning. I am here in the middle of disconnection not having sms handy on my handyphone and being on a self-imposed strike against hooking up to the internet. I am here trying to be on middle ground between 2 trains -- a joyride to euphoric optimism and a ride to the center of the Maleborge, Dante's 8th hell, as the fancy quiz once told me.

I am here trying to be indifferent to my differences.

I didn't mean to

Isn't this love?




I didn't mean to
visit you again.
I had already sealed
my bleeding mind.
I don't recognize myself
sometimes
when our minds mix up.
The imbalance
is sometimes complementary,
mostly imaginary.
I thought I was rescued
but it was my own hand
that resuscitated me.
I feel for yousometimes
but I don't know you.
I feel for you
but you don't know me.
My mind bleeds more
when I let it.
I let it stop
sometimes.
This isn't good for me.
You're not really nice.
You're not troubled.
It was my thinking,
a form of my ideas.
Your words mean to me.
My empathy doesn't mean
you love me.