Recognizing mortality

I saw a cat lying dead in front of our house when I got home today. With all the maynilad site workers on their nightshifts, no one noticed that this poor cat laid silently on the ground.


What bothered me is realizing I had never fully educated myself with burial rituals, and my ignorance has triggered me to pass the burden of burying the cat or do something about it instead of allowing the cat to lie there, to our housemaid.


Its head got dislocated in all the wrong angles.


I am not the superhero I dreamed to be. Caring about saving the world one day at a time even on a shitty day. Just an old soul, who couldn't end the day without giving the cat justice to a proper death.

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Currently

Getting by

Last night, on my way home, I saw the most interesting thing. A line of drivers parking on the side of the street to wash their tricycles from water that has been running endlessly at one of the Maynilad make-shift sites. Maynilad has been putting in pipes so that more houses could get cleaner water but a pipe must have cracked open or something. Although my head was already floating from the pint of draft beer I had, it struck me to find how much there is we are not paying attention to. Water is certainly hard to find these days. Yet, I find myself reckless in my daily water consumption. 


Today I woke up to horrible news. One of my good friends called me up and she told me that they just found out her 14-year old sister has an open heart. I am lost for words because her sister is such the sweetest thing and I am seeing her grow up into such a fine young lady. My friend is crushed by this piece of news and she can't bear another person leaving her life. Her dad just recently died. She went home to cry and I don't know what to say that would make things okay. I don't want to go into crap about how things will be but we just have to be strong to her. I have to push her to be strong too. I hope that the operation would be successful. We need prayers.    

Hail the feminist

“We should write as we dream; we should even try and write, we should all do it for ourselves, it’s very healthy, because it’s the only place where we never lie. At night we don’t lie. Now if we think that our whole lives are built on lying-they are strange buildings-we should try and write as our dreams teach us; shamelessly, fearlessly, and by facing what is inside very human being-sheer violence, disgust, terror, shit, invention, poetry. In our dreams we are criminals; we kill, and we kill with a lot of enjoyment. But we are also the happiest people on earth; we make love as we never make love in life.” 
― Hélène Cixous

Don't be afraid, just have faith

I don't want to sound preachy but I did get the title at yesterday's homily. I attended mass alone after a day's work. Sometimes, I just need somebody else's words breathing into my disturbances. I am getting tired of motivating my self without knowing which direction I'm going to. I've been looking at the rearview mirror all this time, afraid of what lies ahead or that I won't see anything at all. Like what Herman Melville wrote in Typee:

Six months at sea! Yes, reader, as I live, six months out of sight of land; cruising after the sperm-whale beneath the scorching sun of the Line, and tossed on the billows of the wide-rolling Pacific--the sky above, the sea around, and nothing else! Weeks and weeks ago our fresh provisions were all exhausted. There is not a sweet potato left; not a single yam. Those glorious bunches of bananas, which once decorated our stern and quarter-deck, have, alas, disappeared! and the delicious oranges which hung suspended from our tops and stays--they, too, are gone! Yes, they are all departed, and there is nothing left us but salt-horse and sea-biscuit.

Seriously. Talk about despair and anxiety. How can you tell that things will get better? I used to think I was made out of steel but not a tiny portion of my soul could have endured last year's famous disaster. 


Barely surviving, my friends.


It's been a year, and I'm still messed up.