Time goes by so fast; And with it change. Alot has been said about change–
Although I could say easily that my favorite would be “There’s nothing constant in the world but change.” True enough; when me and —– first met, everything was bliss. There were countless times spent just gazing upon each others’ eyes and seeing nothing but pure love. But everything in life is a cycle and things began to deteriorate just as soon as everything built up. Mainly it was my fault, there were things that she was asking of me that I cannot bring myself to give; and for that I accept this punishment. For those of you who have watched the acclaimed movie “shawhank Redemption”, the circumstances surrounding what I feel now would be similar to Andrew Dufresne’s; Andrew was framed for the murder of his wife and he dropped a line something to the effect of “I killed her; but not the way the court is accusing me of.”
I feel the same way. I have acted immaturely during our time together and I feel that I have restrained her from what she truly wants to be, and I guess this is it. And as an ode to Dr. Frankenstein…”I have created a monster.”; Ponder this though, the deeds of the monster can be blamed only partly on the monster itself and partly on its creator. And I am guilty for what I have created.
A couple of regrets—
Baby the time you got off my car hurriedly, I never got a good glimpse of you; what’s strange is I can’t seem to remember your face. For hours now I can’t figure out why in God’s name I can’t recall the face of someone I have been with every single day of my life for roughly two years? I keep telling myself “Mike, it’s just that you don’t want to remember her for fear of how you would take it—for fear of how you’d be so overwhelmed by the pain that would consume you.” And indeed it’s true. I went down an hour prior to writing this letter and had a smoke; another thing we so often do together during the splendid time that we worked here together; and I’ve never felt so empty. The world around me appeared to be colorless and bland; the noise of people talking, cars passing by and the sound of the overplayed acoustic tunes being played in Dencio’s seem to be coming to me like a mocking drone that pounds me with reminders that you’re not here with me.
Anyways, I decided to go up to the parking area (by the way, I don’t need to walk all the way to the mall to the parking anymore because apparently, they decided to extended the operating hours of the parking building in Mega World.) to get my birth certificate which I needed to submit to Human Resources as part of the employment requirements recently handed down to me. I unlocked my car and like a severed limb, I had this phantom feeling that the passenger door would open and by the time that I sit down on the driver’s seat you’d be sitting next to me, kissing me and throwing your arms around me like what you always do. My birth certificate was in a folder on a backseat but just as I was about to get it, I noticed my wallet; I must’ve left it. Unconsciously, I opened it and there you were, smiling at me—smiling at me with the smile I was so accustomed to; the smile that never fails to make me weak and powerless. It must’ve been involuntary, I lost it all right there baby, Tears were forming in my eyes and it was so inevitable. I really hate it when I do not have any control whatsoever with regards to the way I react but I guess that’s just the way it is; I sobbed uncontrollably like a baby—something that I rarely do, something that I only did snuggled comfortably across your chest with my arms wrapped around you. I can only recall a few instances when I cried this hard; the first time was when we were on the verge of breaking up and I was threatened with the fact that I’m about to lose you. You could only imagine how harder I cried this time—first, I don’t have you to catch my tears and second, I lost you. No, I didn’t lose you, but you were taken away from me; taken away by the grim circumstances and the fucked up twists of fate that ended up with you and me in the position we’re in right now.
It occured again; for the first time since two years ago, my body had seceded from my brain and took control of itself. I wasn’t thinking at all, and my actions are solely based upon my primal instincts as an animal– my brain, if it had an on/off switch– was turned off.
My memories of the events prior and after the event were lucid; the nanosecond leading up to the event, the crazy stir of emotions, building up to its climax– and then I remember nothing; I do not recall making any conscious decision that authorized my violence. A fraction of a second later, my memory again kicks in grradually and the thoughts are once again are vivid and clear– but then it was too late– and frankly I don’t care…
The mystery lies in between the second that anger gushed out of me like water flowing out of a dam and the second where I am sitting on the floor, with my back against the wall, my upper lip bleeding profusely and my knuckles sore. In those moments, those seconds, where my brain - like a switch - is simply turned “off”. It doesn’t exist. It doesn’t think, it doesn’t act. It has no control over my motor functions.
Do we regress back to creatures of pure instinct? Animals? The sweat beads on our palms, the erratic muscle spasms in our legs, our hyperventilation– is this instinct? The confrontation begins, and you vaguely remember jerking to a halt. But you have absolutely no control– like someone who is intoxicated with alcohol, you can only faintly remember an experience. Your only clues to the fact that something vile actually happened lie in the devastated outcome or the memories of others.
Here I am, standing triumphantly over the shredded pieces of my school report– The school report I’ve compiled for roughly two gruelling months; the wooden table in my study has submitted to my physical prowess and is upturned; I am frustrated but victorious; but am I really?
Subtly, I think all of us are animals– sometimes we regress to a violent creature that every once in a while, surfaces to relieve us of all the tension and worries of being a civilized man, of being urbanely refined. As animals we become creatures of instinct, of the base feelings and attitudes of humanity. Fear, anger, instinct and violence become us, and there is no denying it; and no stopping it for the coming of your animal is inevitable.
Our brain switches itself off to protect us– but we do not control the on/off switch– it controls us.
My mind is totally blank; I feel lethargic and weak; I don’t feel like doing much of anything. During the writing of this essay, Christmas is right around the corner, and I fear that I will be left unappreciated in the cold. It’s really not something I should be ashamed of– being single I mean, because for once, I feel that I am actually comfortable with the fact that I really can’t grasp, let alone, embrace the idea of commitment. I’m so much the happier for that. Yet I can’t deny that I feel this primordial need to be pampered–to be appreciated…and If I must allow–to be loved…
The problem probably comes from my ego and the predicament i’m in. At this time, most, if not all the girls I’d be interested in dating are into the assholes, the matinee idols, the jocks, the guys who are “cool” and generally bad, the guys who have the multi-million peso cars. So what? They exude coolness and style and they command attention; they are immediately attractive because they KNOW who they are, they exude confidence. And the chicks dig it, they want to be some sort of fucking trophy to be paraded by men who try to make it look like they are appreciative of them. They want his attention only because it gives them the illusion that THEY themselves have risen to that level. And for this I look down at them. I laugh and scoff at them–for like me–they do NOT know who they are.
Do I really know myself anymore?
Nowadays I feel this insatiable need to flaunt my often exaggerated accomplishments in front of other people’s faces so that they’ll realize who I am; to be hopefully LIKED. But I fear that my actions would only exacerbate the already complicated ditch I am in, and I certainly do NOT want people to like me for that–I want them to start liking me for who I REALLY am. Where the fuck did I get the notion that If the “Genius-cool-jock-superstar” is there, people will come? Wayne’s world?
Truth is, I’m not that kind of person, not one bit. I’m not an asshole, nor am I a genius or a superstar; and I more often than not, am not good enough for anybody. And I no longer want to pretend.
I am really confused, albeit happy. I refuse to reinvent myself for anyone; and through the suffering of my age and my transition into adulthood I learn to appreciate myself; I learn the importance of being who I really am. I don’t want to change and because of it, I am filled with mush on the inside, I laugh, smile, cry and get mad just like anybody else. But I don’t need to remind others of this, I don’t need to flaunt any of my accomplishments no matter how little they are, because I’m in the point of not caring whether or not they’ll approve of me; I’m content and comfortable that I approve of myself.
There’s always a time when I feel that I had to be there for everyone; and in the process, be caught in the torrents of the problems that do not concern me, drown and be blindsided by my own neglected deficiencies. I am superman, and what a superman I turned out to be.
You can only help people wo ant help. It’s a sad truth i’ve learned. There are so many people I want to pull from the currents of the gushing river, from the gale-force winds; to pull them onto dry land, wrap them in a warm, comforting blanket and send them on their way. I’ve always wanted to feel like the man who helps everybody– the super hero, ubermensch, superman…
I often picture myself sitting on the side of a river, a pit of quicksand, calling out desperately to thsoe who put their arms out at me to be rescued. Crying for my help but never actually wanting it; my unsolicited help. I’ve had to learn to spot the difference between those who just extend their hands out in distress, and those struggling to swim back to shore.
Maybe my cynicism is killing me; maybe I badly need to realize that everything I do affects everybody else like some sort of obscure chain reaction– maybe it affects everything, perhaps even everybody.
When I try to understand this, I also try to answer one thing: at the end of the day, after everything I’ve done, can I look at myself in the mirror with pride? Or have I made a nuisance out of myself?
I often dream of the time when I’d be thinking that making changes is like throwing stones in the ocean; every stone I throw raises the water significantly higher. Every splash I make generates ripples and waves; and those ripples sprew to every corner of the Earth, carrying the change i’ve done, until every water molecule in the ocean has heard the story of what I have changed. Even the still water moves, albeit discreetly, with my accomplishments. Every ripple, carried to every part of the world.
I dream of the day that when people ask me the question “How do you plan to change the world?”; I’d answer proudly: “I already have”. For I am a superhero, Ubermensch, superman.
Mike "Fucking" Villar
"a Manila-based blogger made famous by his Atrocities of Friendster series, a regular feature he publishes on his blog where he mercilessly criticizes and mocks pictures of ugly people he stumbles upon on popular social networking site, Friendster. Although a lot of people are offended by what he writes, long-time readers of his blog regard him as a brilliant satire writer."
-Taken from my WikiBios page
