Morbidity and Mortality

Paranoia. We live in paranoia where transient lives filter every molecules confined in space. Mortality is either brought by natural causes (calamities, diseases, etc.) or the not-so natural ones (murder, accidents, etc.). We never really know what could become of life after death. And why am I talking about this abomination? Well, morbidity is my lunch.

Paranoia. When I die, I was thinking it would be either due to drowning, hit by a speeding bus, airplane crash, eaten by a shark after a ship sank, or abducted by aliens and will never be heard of ever again (I just made up the 'aliens thing' because it is way too cool), but never by a degenerative disease or a virus/bacteria contracted from a passenger in a jeepney. I always thought my death would be something very sudden, something I could never prepare for, like accidents or alien abduction. That's why I am so paranoid. I might get a disease right now and know my exact day of death, that's way too uncool. I can't imagine the dialogue I will have with my family and friends, all the sobbings, the sniffs, the sobs. Although I look good when I cry according to one of my friends, I could never imagine myself crying with all these tubes hanging from my body. That's way too pathetic, obviously. I'd like to elaborate more on this but I'm afraid the person sitting right next to me might have a TB, and this is an airconditioned room, droplets, droplets.

Paranoia. They say only paranoids survive. But in this world, nobody survives. We'll all die anyway.

Three Deaths

I've been through three different deaths these past few weeks. First, my former superior's mom died, then a relative died, and just this week, a friend's father died. They were all in three different places, Dumaguete, Iloilo, and Cadiz (Bacolod) respectively. This got me into thinking, what are the odds of these happening?

Deep inside, I've been suffering my own death. I've been dying to get out from this position I am in right now. It's pretty hard to be me right in this very moment, struggling to get away from the memories that I left behind in Dumaguete, from the people that holds me back from doing new things in Iloilo, and from the harshness of the new environment I have chosen to dwell in at the moment here in Bacolod. There's too much of dying in all these places and I, too, want to end this. I've been dying inside, really dying, my heart bleeds. But death for me is a celebration of life. May be I am celebrating life deep inside, rejoicing these momentary changes that I thought will influence me as a person, triumphing this stage of life where I know I have to eventually make a choice, a risk that will plunge me in depths of realism.

It's been pretty hard to be me lately. And I'm dying to move forward and get over this. Pass me the Prozac.

Sink or Swimmin'

Once in your life, you make a stupid decision. I might think this could be one, but after some thinking (yes, I do think), may be this is not as worse as I might imagined it to be. Or it is. Surely, there are times in your life that you seem to struggle over some decisions that you haplessly make. There are also times that you seem to doubt your capabilities, you have lost your confidence, you have stepped on shit, but in a way, these times gave you lessons to ponder. We make mistakes; we always do, and if this one will end up as one of those, then well may be God has other purpose for me. But I don't like to think it that way. I don't want to make this one as something I'll cry over my pillows at night. I have no time to wash them.

In every changes that we encounter, we make risks which will either make or break us. I'm not ready yet to crumble in pieces. It's do or die, sink or swim.

And I am swimming baby, yeah!!!

Up and Moving. Again.

Mountain bag, duffel bag, knapsack, trolley, carton boxes, plastic bags: the basics of travelling.

"When are you going?," my roommate asked. I never really plan the things that I do. If I'm sure that I'm gonna do it, that's the time I start spilling the beans. No more mushy-moshy sob-sobs, but deep inside it's hard. It's always hard to start all over again. From cities to cities, new faces, new friendships, I'm always bound to move. Sigh.

"Wednesday." I said in that soft tone of voice, the voice that wants to be stopped, "oh no, you're not going anywhere." But once I have made my decision, that's it, that's really it.

"Next week?"

"No. This week."

"Bieoootch." This is what my friendship means here.

Mountain bag, duffel bag, knapsack, trolley, carton boxes, plastic bags: the basics of a homeless.