Impasse

Locked.

In the moment between past and future - not present, but beyond it. Or even over it. But not anywhere else, either.

Bound.

By limitations. Of time. And circumstance. (And everything seems familiar again.) Ask not. Want not. Just stay.

Tired.

And unmoving. There are choices, yes, but nowhere to go. But this. This.

Stuck.

As life happened. Happens. Stuck. With a hot-wired brain working on overtime.

Wanting.

To deal. To crave but give in. To be silent and pray. To listen. To remain.

Confused.

But will remain. The same.

Kumamoto and Aso-san: coming together

Back in June, while I was trying to plan my life, I got the wonderful idea to climb Mt. Aso. Also known as Aso-san to the Japanese people, it is the largest volcano in Japan and is one of the biggest calderas (of about 120km in circumference) in the whole world. Like most of my plans, though, I didn't really expect it to come to fruition, due to one (almost always lame) reason or another.

The book I never even opened (nor had to open)

And then I came to Japan.

My first month in Japan was spent trying to settle in, figuring out how to juggle my studies and social life, and eating at wonderful places around town. Aso-san, as the destination of choice, was replaced by Dazaifu, which was a much closer and cheaper alternative. And Dazaifu, in turn, was shelved due to one lame reason after another.

On the early evening of 12 November 2011, however, I got a harebrained idea of going to Kumamoto, a city in Kumamoto prefecture in Kyushu Island, about 2 hours away by bus from Fukuoka. I told a handful of new friends about it, but I only got two "possible" companions. One was not sure and she'd have to get back to me on it and the other one actually thought it was a good idea. This friend, Ryan (not his real name), informed me at 7pm that his friend, Marshall (also not his real name) has also been wanting to go to Kumamoto AND THEN climb Mt. Aso. At first I was hesitant to go. Kumamoto is a "safe" plan since I can just visit temples, gardens, and museums. But Mt. Aso -- yes, my "June plan" -- teased the chicken in me since I haven't actually done hardcore climbing before (climbing a hill in Can-ayan, Bukidnon did not count since its difficulty level was like 0.5 in a scale of 1-10, 10 being the most difficult) and I did not know what to expect. 

When I pressed him for details on Marshall's plans, however, Ryan could not give me anything since he was already on his way out to go to a bar with a bunch of our other classmates. He just informed me that Marshall wanted to meet at the city proper (yeah, my place is kinda in the other side of the river) at 9am the next day. Bozo. So I was left to ponder on the Kumamoto-Aso plans alone. 

It was at around 10pm that I decided to go with Marshall's plans and extend my trip to Aso-san. But, I couldn't very well Marshall about it 'cause I didn't have his contact details. Smart. So I partially packed my bag - "partially", since I did not want to fully disappoint myself in case I chicken out the next day or fail to wake up or Marshall leaves without me and I'd be so confused that I'd end up in another city or wherever. Just for the heck of it, I messaged Ryan about my plan to join Marshall so he can relay the information accordingly.

No answer.

Small steps, big dreams

I woke up at 7:30 and dressed up in the laziest fashion ever. Then I checked my messages. No answer from Ryan. Ooh boy. So he was not able to relay my message to Marshall then. I had to look up the directions to Kumamoto online via the link another friend sent me before. At least not all would be lost, I thought to myself. I can just walk around Kumamoto. 

I rushed down at 8am to catch the bus to Tenjin, praying all the while that I'd bump into Marshall somewhere there. When I got to the bus stop however, Ryan was there - decked in pink, as usual - looking very sick and ... drunk? Apparently he got back home 2 hours (or less) before, from a night of partying, slept (crashed was more like it), woke up at 7:50, and decided to follow Marshall and me around. This was getting more hilarous than I had expected it to be. So, hating to prick his giddy-drunk bubble, I let him yak on and on in the bus about how marvelous life is and how exciting the trip is gonna be since the three of us have not known each other for long and we don't know each other's travel behavior. 

I was mighty relieved, nonetheless, that someone was actually coming along with me. Even if we don't end up seeing Marshall (Ryan ALSO did not have his contact details. Pretty smart, eh?), at least there'd be two of us looking like idiots lost in a prefecture we've never been in before.

We grabbed a quick breakfast in Tenjin, with Ryan still quite the happy drunk, and went to the post office where buses come and go and ... ta-da! Marshall was there, reading, and obviously waiting for us to pop out of thin air. And so... the adventure (mad dashes, and all) begun. 

Strange band, but a band nonetheless

*To be continued*

Attack

Strings. White. Definiteness. Life.

Autumn. Trees. Leaves. Falling slowly. Reddish-brown against the pavement.

Changes. Clouds. Cold. Night. Solitude. Raindrops. Silence. Deafening silence. Lights. Darkness. Lights. Blindness. Ignorance. Uncertainty. Irrelevance. Timelessness. Truth.

Indefiniteness. Impermanence. Sunsets. Seasons. Snowflakes. Frost and mistletoes. Wistfulness. Could've-beens. Should've beens. Words unsaid. Pills untaken. Quick hello's. Quicker goodbyes. A single tear. One last hurt.

A white flag. An easy surrender.

A broken thread.

On the Sticks - 2

You can make things simpler. You just got to move.

It's one of those days when your stomach feels queasy but you haven't actually eaten something funny. Everything around you seems in place and fuss-free: the weather is nice - neither too hot nor too cold; there are no crowds to squeeze through nor escape from; and there are no apparent points which compell you to act in a prescribed manner.

But, somehow, you are not comforted. Something is amiss, though you cannot categorically identify it. It may be on the tip of your tongue, but you can't seem to spit it out.

Maybe it's the obsessive-compulsive need to make things perfect according to your unrealistic standards. Maybe it's due to the fact that living alone is an altogether new territory and you are between two roads at present: one which delights in the idea of being free from anyone and everyone who has ever known you, and the other which is still quite dazed by how apparently alone you are.

Maybe it's just a flu virus waiting to happen.

Or just stay still. Most amazing results are arrived at by inaction.

It's confusing, though you can't really figure out what it is you are confused about. But then again, maybe "confused" is not the proper term and "overwhelmed" is.

So you sit a little corner - not really apart from the world that surrounds you, but not entirely within easy reach either - and just let yourself be overcome by anything and everything: stress, weariness, momentary detachment

Deadlines and academic load, expectations, personal standards, chores which you have never been expected to do in your entire life

The need to get out and get lost, the need to just sit in the middle of the pavement and be in everybody else's path

Lust, "love" (in an ironic sense)

everything and maybe anything at all.

Saturdate

Today, my dad and I went on a date. He wanted to watch movies - note the plural form- and I wanted to eat. So to the mall we went.

Surveying the movies being shown, we trimmed our list to the following: Crazy Stupid Love (with Steve Carell), Conan The Barbarian, Cowboys vs. Aliens, and The Rise of the Planet of the Apes. It was a no-brainer: of course we chose Cowboys vs. Aliens since it had the "biggest" stars (my dad's basis for choosing).

My dad is a lover of Hollywood superstars and upon finding out that this movie, which reeked of sci-fi tales, had Harrison Ford and Daniel Craig in it, he chucked his anti-sci-fi principles out the window and lobbied for Cowboy vs. Aliens. I was more than happy to oblige, as I had just decided then that it was the only movie in the list we COULD watch together without me flinching at any given time.

You see, I WANTED to watch Crazy Stupid Love as I think Steve Carell is just hilarious but the movie poster showed a pair of nice legs spread apart in front of the movir's main man. From the poster alone, I could foresee scenes with nudity, although I was pretty sure those scenes would have a punchline somewhere. There would be scantily clad women. There'd be a lot of kissing. And I'd be squirming in my seat with my dad tsk-tsking away beside me.

I remember the time I watched "Shakespeare in Love" with my dad anad my late uncle. They were trying to cover my eyes when Gwyneth Paltrow and Ralph Feinnes were getting it on while exchanging literary quotes. After that first rather intimate scene, they'd tell me to cover my eyes whenever the two actors would do. So much as look at each other. Needless to say, we did not get to finish the entire movie. Yeah. We walked out on Gwyneth. 

Then we watched Brokeback Mountain. that was fairly recent - heck, I was already in my twenties then. My uncle, God bless his soul, was already amongst the angels then. So, my dad and I watched with my nephew, who's about 7 years or so older than me. When Anne Hathaway's boobs came dangling before Jake Gylenhall's adorable face, my dad bolted out of his seat and declared the movie to be ugly and downright improper. Again, we walked out. This time, it was while Anne was busy riding Jake - not the horse, but Jake.

That was why I didn't fight for Crazy Stupid Love. As for Conan the Barbarian, well, we know Conan. But the the actor playing Conan and the actress playing his love interest (there's bound to be a love interest) were not on my dad's list of watchable actors. In fact, he has never heard of them. With that, we flushed Conan's movie down the loo.

The second Apes movie got included in the short list just because it was the only other 'safe' movie to watch. Also, it had James Franco and my dad liked him in Spiderman. But it was a movie about apes and we really didn't want to watch that.

So, Cowboys vs. Aliens it was. And, although it was a wee bit disgruntling to reconcile two 'worlds' - the Old West and the technologically advanced Aliens - I found the movie highly entertaining. (This is a mighty significant compliment coming from a woman who has always despised sci-fi films and who has never really liked Daniel Craig.)

I went inside the movie house without any expectations: hey, I was only obliging my dad. But throughout the movie, I was snickering at the sheer idiocy of the spoiled Percy and racking my brains for what could possibly be the next scene. Nevermind the loose ends.

 Daniel Craig was such a badass in the movie - well, save for his moments of weakness towards all things female and beautiful (sheesh) that I'm now on the brink of considering a change of heart.  He was believable as a memory-impaired cowboy with an  oddly modern bracelet on his arm. 

As for that weird bracelet, how come other aliens did not have that? Was that only reserved for the Dr. Frankenstein-alien? Also, how come Olivia Wilde (man, she was scorching) knew how to figure it out, so much that she even got to turn it to a bomb of sorts? She was from another planet (or something) and either she was very intelligent or that alien bracelet thing was standard issue in all worlds but the Old West's Earth.

How did she manage to resurrect from dead? Jeez, the movie expected viewers to just accept all happenings without raising ny eyebrows, as if we all knew the reasons behind every mystical or weird thing. This was its major flaw, in my opinion. They could have had Oilvia Wilde's character explain herself and her origins more - what her powers, if any, were, how she knew Daniel's character was THE cowboy at first glance, where she got the human body to hide her true form with, blah blah blah - but of course, the bonfire chatter was kept to the minimum. 

Amid all these questions and curiosities, still,  the movie did not fail to entertain. My dad, who would normally punctuate every other scene with questions on why a scene happened, or why the actor was shitting in his pants,so to speak, was silent all through out, save for some guffaws at specific scenes. He also did not ask his usual clarificatory questions after the movie (or maybe that was because he was rushing to get his ticket to Crazy Stupid Love - which he was watching by himself right after Cowboys vs. Aliens - and the movie was beginning 10 minutes after Cowboys ended).

Oh, and my dad hated Crazy Stupid Love. He said he should have watched Conan the Barbarian instead.

On the Sticks - 1

And so it is, just like you said it would be, life goes easy on me.
Most of the time.

The silence is deafening. Never you mind the pitter-patter of the rain on the sill and against the closed windows. Never you mind the voices, beats, and crackling sounds continuously being emitted by the decade-old speaker I've inherited from this apartment's former tenants: the silence overpowers us all.

One stick. Two sticks. Three. One pack almost gone, but I can still taste cinnamon on my tongue. A faint vanilla scent is still on my skin, on my hands, on my shirt. You and your vanilla scent. The pillows, I bet they still smell of you.

And so it is, the shorter story;
No love, no glory; no hero in her sky.

They're all that's left. You took away all there is to take. Except for these cigarettes. Except for the sheets you hated so much because they make you scratch your skin all night and you wake up with red, red arms. And thighs.

You picked them, you know. I had chosen the plain blue, green, and white plaid. You found them to be boring so you got those swirly violet and grey - no indigo and ash, you had called them, as if there could be some marked difference between those colors - sheets instead. It's your fault you spent most nights scratching and most mornings complaining. It's your fault.

How dare you leave these sheets behind.

I can't take my eyes off of you
I can't take my eyes off you
I can't take my eyes off of you
I can't take my eyes off you
I can't take my eyes off you
I can't take my eyes...

Four sticks. Four cigarette butts on the desk. You even took my ashtray with you. I loved that ashtray. I had gotten that at a second hand store in Peru two years ago - that morning when I found myself so disoriented that I could not find my way back to the motel and instead I ended up at that alley. You had rescued me. You had found me as if I had a homing device around my ankle. You had seen me looking at that ashtray while you asked me what I was doing out of bed at 9:30 AM and how long I was out.  So you bought that ashtray for me when I could not say a word. That ashtray, with your money.

Even so, that ashtray was supposed to be mine.

And so it is, just like you said it should be: we'll both forget the breeze.
Most of the time.

Whoever put that idea in your head must be shot. In the head. Through the heart. And through both soles of the feet.


Aren't you already living your life? If not, then what have you been doing all along? Whose life did you steal? Whose body is that? What have you been doing all this time -- sleepwalking?

And so it is: the colder water,
the blower's daughter, the pupil in denial.

The London sky is as bleak as usual. Nothing ever changes in this side of the world. Well, they do: from one shade of grey to another. From the lightest smoke to a cloudy black. And on those nights that the stars actually appeared, you would point out the constellations and I would listen, not really making out the shapes, not really caring if what you say were actually true. You talked a lot; you filled the silence. You were my laughter.

That ashtray should have stayed mine. These sheets should have been wrapped around your legs now. Those things should have stayed together.

I can't take my eyes off of you
I can't take my eyes off you
I can't take my eyes off of you
I can't take my eyes off you
I can't take my eyes off you
I can't take my eyes...

I can't take my mind...

My mind...my mind...

Off you.

'Til I find somebody new.

Of homecomings. And then some.

The day's over. The sun is out and has been since oh, more than 3 hours ago. It's getting closer and closer to midnight but I'm still stuck halfway to my destination, halfway out of my yesterday.

That's my current pseudo-profound, if not "trying-hard" state, attempting to make 'stuck-at-the-airport' sound as poetic as it possibly could. (Which is to say, not at all. Not tonight. Not ever.)

Airports are sui generis, though at present I'm not completely sure if I'm doing the words justice. (Heck, the words just sound right that's why I used them as such.) Yes, airports are public places. Yes, they conform to the usual foundations required of buildings. Yes, they accommodate heavy foot traffic. 

But, though they belong to a particular territorial jurisdiction, they seem not to be part of that geological area at all. They're the launching pads of heartaches. They're gigantic keys to the future. They're temporary shelters to the wandering few, and a given inevitablity for the pro's. They're there. And then they're not. You appreciate their architecture. And then you forget all about them once you leave the tarmac. Or at least up until your return, but by then, you'd most likely be feeling the rush of homecoming that airports and their magnificent or appaling facilities would just be a fly on the ends of your hair.

You may be there, but you're just passing through. Much like everyone else.

Much like everyone else, I'm in my own little bubble. I'm here, typing away on my iPad, trying to seem as if 'passing through airport' is just second nature. I am trying to look like those frequent flyers, minus the beige trenchcoats, the briefcase, and the Financial Times tucked under their armpits. I try to look busy and unaffected by the numerous strangers sharing the humongous boarding area with me. I try to look unconcerned as the person beside me talks on and on to (probably) his girlfriend over the phone. (Geez, they've been on the phone for so long now. Seems that they don't run out of conversational topics. Good for them. Hell. Good for them.)

So, back at the airport and I'm zoning in at the fact that I'm here and I'm thinking too much, rationalizing things too much. Those are my tendencies - and what dangerous tendencies they are. 

2 hours of sleep last night and almost a whole day spent shuffling around, talking to people, and thinking (out loud and otherwise). That's after a delayed early morning flight. And now, I'm here. I'm stuck at the airport cause my flight is delayed.

I wonder what others are thinking about as they pass through this airport with me.

I wonder if they have blogs to go home to whenever the world forces them to pause for a while and just... sit still and give in to their demonic tendencies. 

Or maybe it's just me, since I do not have a warm body to talk to. 

In any case, I'm going home. No, wait. I am home. I'm back. I'm blogging.