"Oh Sunrise..."

People pass by him as if he's a big slump of dirt glued in the wall of gleaming marble in the 4^th street building. Ironically, he is used to it—from passers by who look down and shake their heads upon smelling his stench and eventually avoid as if he is the twin of Frankenstein. Hopelessness still lingers through however, from head to toe and each core of his being. For him, life was not always misery and hunger. No, sir. He had dreams like you and I, maybe even farther than the stars. Yet, goodbye came too quickly as hello said goodbye effortlessly, which leaves where he is now, sitting outside in the middle of winter, frozen like Popsicles and almost freezer burnt like a slab of meat.

Owed his success to his parents, Mike decided to gamble his luck and invested for Urban Shoes. It was some good luck at first since after two, fruitful years being employed at the Company, he met what recalled to be “the one”. Like most marriages in this vast country of love and infidelity, their relationship seemed to be deem forever. After a year and a half of tender love and inexplainable highs, they already have three beautiful children who binded them even stronger than before. Good luck became his reality, where life became the vision he had in mind all along: glimmering like the Bay during a sunny day. He dreamt of taking over the Company someday, sending his children to prestigious colleges abroad while growing old gracefully with his loved ones and money by his side.

But such good luck took its toll for the worst, however. The company failed to met the quota for numerous deadlines and concluded to be fallible, in the end bankrupt, each single dollar was transferred to the bank. His dreams vanished as fast as the shutter of a disposable camera while his family, long gone, abandoned him with the gathered resources through out the years. It was not love that binded them; it was the money that kept them a family yet broken them apart. They savagely withdraw the savings, all 10,000,000,000 dollars of it and fled away to the shores of Mexico. “Worthless man” were the last words from the people who failed to be his support group.

He also lost his parents that year, about 10 years ago or so today. Plane 0567 is reported to suffer from internal machinery troubles and crashed amongst coconut trees and bushes in the blue island of Antigua.

His heart erupted and excreted vile feelings of total depression and madness, upon hearing the second round of bad news. One by one, all the purposes of his life came collapsing down, possibly worst than 7/11, or so he felt—as uniquely as his life experiences can be. For months, he hunkered in the living room sofa, nulling over the strong taste of wine in his tongue. Getting help, he believed, was not the answer but the improbable beginning of even more heartaches. He drank as if it relieved the pain—it only made it worst; he usually found himself crying in the morning yet intoxication continued until one day he just found himself outside, seated in the cold asphalt in 4^th street.

Mike did not entertain the idea of remembering how he got there looking as bad as he smells—worst than a dead, decaying crow in the side road. He knows he is use to the stares, to people pitying him yet not do anything about it, none at all, just warm voices who whisper “Awwww...” while they pass by. His day to day battle with the police also prevailed as they yell at him to “...go do something with (his) life or die painfully in jail”. Jail, he guessed was better than the sidewalk although they never took him in and lock him up. Damn police! They leave him there, rotting away like the winter trees: fragile, cold, and wilting away waiting for a tinge of light to come rescue him.

One, muggy, November morning along with the hustle and bustle that the city usually brings during this time of day, he woke up as always, with the blurry silhouettes of businessmen in their fancy coats and fatigued looks. Out of nowhere, he reached for his pockets like it could talk and told him to do so, when he found a 20 dollar bill inside and a tiny pill with a sun engraved to it. He concluded it must be some sort of children's vitamin or just plain candy. He squatted there happy and abruptly, he took the yellow pill in and sighed in “sunrise...” in which could be seen peeking through tiny spaces between buildings and hugging through atop smaller ones.

“Eeeeehh!!” he shouted in disgust upon tasting the pill as unconsciously, he swallowed it quickly, ruthlessly...disgusted. “So much for a fucking fantastic morning...” he said under his breathe. Twenty dollars clasped on his left hand, he started walking to the left, towards the big arch sign that says McFerrils, a cheap counterpart of the famous joint. Inside, he could smell the aroma of caffeine, the smell of baked biscuits, and frying sausages, a very different sight as he had not had a “good” breakfast since an old lady gave her 5 dollars and 2 cents...about 4 months ago.

"May I have some coffee...and.." he was interrupted by the person behind the counter.

"What size would you like sir?" she asked politely, unfortunately an obvious insincere one.

"The biggest one you have! Today, I'll have a feast like a king!" he said loudly, it scared Jona as stated on her badge.

"...Hold on, I'm not done. Let me also have a breakfast burrito, biscuits with bacon...uuuh apple pie...a cheeseburger and a chicken wrap..." he continued and stopped her from getting his coffee.

While enjoying his "feast" at a table near the window, overlooking the children's play area, his perspective changed drastically from feeling happy to even happier. All the meals he ordered had turned into gourmet meals--the ones you can order in some expensive restaurant by someone famous like Wolfgang Puck. The aroma was almost bearable for him and everything seemed more brighter & livelier...and were the McFerrils employers dancing to...Gold Diggers by Kanye West? He seemed more profoundly friendly to the other customers who just looked him with disgust when he approached them. While normally, he would feel worst than a stray dog when people ignore him, at that time, he never felt more confident in his life, he ignored the banters, took his food outside and danced his way to 4th.

Surprising, he did not huff by the sight of businessmen hoarded, walking in unison talking on their cellphones, yelling at god knows who and what about. It usually upsets him when he realizes that he could have been one of them too but that day was different. He offered them food as if they've been eating McFerrils everyday of their lives. The skylines towered over him as if they were god-given nature while the trees looked even prettier although its the middle of winter. His "home" which sits outside the noted "fancy" building looked like a big ball of warmth--just like what he used to have. "Life is not that bad...its fantastic!" he screamed on top of his lungs...in his head.

His perception became worst when night time fell. Christmas, that's how he called it that night all the lights twinkled, shined above his light head. He didn't mind the numbing, cold wind...he was just, HAPPY.

Until after sometime that everything wore off and he started yearning for the...SUNRISE. He realized that he was back to reality and self-control, self unworthiness...and even more so, misery and pain.

Labels: FICTION, reality, short story, XTC

| Steamy, esteem.

My own thoughts and insecurities leaves a bitter taste in my mouth. It is an indescribable bitterness that even lola, with all her experiences as a town-proclaimed guru, have failed to explain. I once pictured this bitterness as a growing lump in my mouth and every time I speak lowly of myself, it escalates ten folds. Of course, after years of low self-esteemed speeches, the disease would have ruled my mouth and I wouldn't been able to verbalize all the demented reservations smoldering in my head. It wouldn't be that bad, I thought. Although I soon then realized, my brain, the source of everything ingenious --naughty thoughts and insecurities--will approach memory full and rupture from overflowing malignant disease.

How hard it is to accept oneself completely and live an insecurity-free life? What if every time we feel like shit, we (think we) look like shit, and think we are shitty (all together) we magically turn into hapless, helpless, turds (and become shits completely)? The wikihow articles didn't nail it; other sites fell completely short...so how do we really improve ones low-self Esteem? The pessimistic says, "Kill all the beautiful people. They make me look miserable!" The optimistic disagree "Oh, its all about peace, love, and happiness. If you think you're a gorgeous individual, the rest will follow." But is it really? Do we really need to decieve ourselves and be self-absorbed ignorants and think "Yes! I am the most beautiful human on earth"?

Which presents me to my next case, where 50% of females in the planet do not know the difference between confidence and being a stuck up, shallow bitch. There is nothing wrong with thinking that one is good-looking and lives a wonderful life. However, it is a tad bit different when one thinks she is being hated because others are jealous of her obvious beauty and her dad being a pilot (example). That's living in a delusional world...and of course, nobody really wants one braggart, stupid chick who cannot get her grammar straightened up and still don't get IT: people hates her because she is self-absorbed, she is full of shit, and full of wrong grammar blabberings but does she realize this? No, oh fucking no.

Where does this leaves anyone, really? Say, have confidence but not overtly too obvious. Quizzical blogging is confusing and well here it is:

Labels: egos, fictional, good self-esteem, random blahs, reality

| Back and Over it.

Reality for the first three days (or even a whole month, oh fine, forever!) of coming back from a very long dream-like vacation is not fun AT ALL. There goes the thick clump of bills to be payed off, the drama between you and your friends, families, and or coworkers have not subsided yet with all the magical cruises and free getaways in the white sands of the Carribean (darn it, right?), and oh, you can also count on going back to a 50 hour week loaded with another group of rude, prude, annoying customers and their babies who mess up in isle 7, or just going back to being a prisoner at school is a hassle.

I had me a dose of my own reality right after I unboarded PAL 103 back in California. Its nice service, good choice of movies, tasty, non-fat (I hope!) dinners, and cozy sits have gotten me wanting for more of such lifestyle. You know, a sweet life with maids cooking and cleaning after you, no real problems, except stepping on chewed gums, to worry about, and an over abundance of tender, loving care from your family. Ironically, I call my 4-week holiday in the Philippines surreal with everything I wanted already there. Aside from the love and hospitality my growing family have provided me, I, all over again fell in love with the simple farm life, I used to have. Living miles away in a remote town with not a phone line or internet to keep me tech-inclined, I wandered through blurry TV channels, and dusty cassette tapes from 20 years ago. And even that was the case (back to "Old Skool"), I did not miss one bit of my dull, deafning silence, life here in LA.

The reality here is that, I am married to a working-class family: my mom works all day & night, my bro works harder all day & night. Thus, when nobody's around, I abruptly miss loud noises (any kind of noise)-- from my nieces and nephew, the "auuunnntttyyy'ss!! and plllssssss." they squabble about when I fail to give them what they want. The slightly bickering conversations between my sisters and I. My grandma's wise words "Do you have a boyfriend? No. No. Don't get pregnant and marry soon" and all the vague lessons from my dad "Don't do anything stupid". I have had another taste of our loud, disfunctioned lives this summer; and it maybe so disfunctional and chaotic, but it was all the merrier to hear the voices that once surrounded and ruled my life, again.

After noticing (and going ballistic soon after) a drastic change in my room, my bed positioned somewhere else, devirginized letters under my bed, pictures of unnotable people posted in my picture wall , I realized that there won't be any maids cleaning for me, ruthlessly washing my clothes with mighty force, or even a great cook to feed me with sinigang, igado, tinola...ever again. I found out hiring a maid is so unnecessary for my oldest sister to do although after a week of getting use to all the easy tasks I had to do (not doing anything at all!!! Except be a great aunty, and converse with people, which, i'm very fond of doing, thank you very much), I gave in and thought it was not bad at all. However, such lifestyle have kept me whining for a good amount of time after I got back to an empty refrigerator and not a single filipino food to eat around the house, that is. I actually rang my friends after waking up around 4 in the afternoon or earlier everyday and tell them how bad I'm having it...I.HATED.REALITY.

Labels: reality

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