Today I just stayed home and wandered aimlessly in cyberspace, having haphazard online conversations with friends here and there, watching videos of performances from the 2008 MTV Video Music Awards, and looking through paparazzi pictures of Victoria Beckham’s latest bold, astonishingly short hairstyle (which she “launched” during New York’s Fashion Week, how posh), so there isn’t much to talk about, really. Yesterday, though, I woke up to the peculiar feeling that the day was at an end, like it was already sunset just as the sun was beginning to rise. The noise I heard around me sounded more like people were already ending their day instead of just starting it, finishing work, packing things up, heading home and preparing for supper. When I hadn’t even had my breakfast yet. It went on for about half an hour more, this disturbing disorientation, the entire time I was preparing to go to class. Weird, I know. But then things went back to a state of boring normalcy soon thereafter, anyway, with me attending a rather overwhelming class in neurology and then going to the mall after the lecture, eating pasta and fresh vegetable salad in a pizza parlor and singing my inexplicable frustrations in the videoke rooms at the arcades. So there isn’t much to talk about yesterday either.
So I’m going to talk about the day before yesterday, Sunday, instead. Despite the gloomy weather, there were many good reasons why it was better to go out and see the world rather than just stay in. There was a power outage in most parts of the city and we didn’t have electricity the entire morning (and I was told through most of the afternoon as well). I was either just eating whatever rotten stuff I could find in our old, disintegrating refrigerator or imagining how it would be like to go wandering outside. Needless to say I was a bit bored, especially after staying indoors the past few days because of my recurring illness. I was also feeling better and had not done anything remotely significant in the past three days or so, so I decided to go out and put my body on a test drive, just to see if it was ready for another rigorous week of living life as it is. I wanted to do something else. Save an innocent pedestrian from being abducted by alien life forms, perhaps? Who knew? I just had to do something entirely different from just vacantly counting down the days, so I wouldn’t have such a hard time telling the days apart from each other (they’d been all the same lately). So I volunteered and presented myself to take my brother’s newly laundered clothes to his school (where he’s housed for the rest of the semester), if only to have a good excuse to get out in the middle of an impending typhoon.
As usual I dressed myself up. That is simply how insecure, self-esteem deficient, attention-seeking people like me cope with the pressures of everyday life. I wore a pink graphic tee shirt and a pin striped vest along with a pair of black skinny jeans and my worn out high cut, eggplant violet Converse All Star Chuck Taylors with electric pink shoelaces. That is all I seem to wear these days. I also snuck in a pink and white shemagh inside my pink and black, skull imprinted tote bag, just in case it gets frigid. But of course it never does since I live in a tropical country in South East Asia. But I insist on wearing these colorful scarves for shallow, merely aesthetic purposes. Fashion is a way of expressing oneself without having to cause violent riots and rallies and widespread anarchy, you see.
On my way to my brother’s school I got on an old jeepney that was almost empty. It had two other passengers, two rather cantankerous, unattractive women in their mid adulthood (although they looked way older). These two women were harassing the poor driver to leave as they were in a hurry. As if women like them had any important appointments and meetings and commitments to catch. From what I could see, they looked pretty much poor and unemployed and seemed to have been on their way to a leisurely stroll in the park, no less, where most women like them went to for cheap manicures and gossiping on Sundays, their usual day off. One other passenger had already walked out and left as the driver momentarily parked the jeepney in a corner, waiting for other would be passengers. I understood the driver’s plight, as gasoline costs so much these days and it’s just so hard to get by and make both ends meet. Apparently, the two women did not. I felt the driver’s upset as he drove off, empty and very much hassled, and in a random act of pure kindness and charity that surprised even me handed my fare to him and did not bother asking for the change. I was telling myself to just let him keep it, if not in recompense for the two women’s insensitive harangue, then at least for being so understanding as to not have retaliated. It wasn’t much anyway. So there, I let him keep it, for whatever it was worth. However when I got off where I was supposed to, the driver called out to me (I was almost halfway across the street by then) and gave me back my change. I was pleasantly surprised. Apparently the universe was not used to and did not want my sincere generosity. Oh well. I whispered a quick prayer as I went off, asking God to bless the driver for being so unexpectedly pleasant.
I’ve always loved roaming downtown. And I’ve always treated Petula Clark’s song “Downtown” as a spiritual mantra of sorts, singing “when you’re alone and life is making you lonely, you can always go downtown” as I watch the city lights flicker like little stars on the pallid cement horizon, looking at the colorful store displays and the rivers of people who make their way through the crowded streets. We all deal and cope with our lives differently, and for me, this is one way I do. I roam and watch and look and think. It’s a good place to go to when you’ve got too many things on your mind that you just want to momentarily forget. The more you walk around, the more these thoughts seem to just trickle out of the very pores on your soles, and soon you feel your brain slowly being emptied of all these ill humors as they are quickly replaced by the amusing sights and sounds all around you. That day I went to all three malls in the city. One can tell I had so much in my mind I wanted to escape from. I went everywhere, as if everything would disappear tomorrow and it was my last chance to see them all.
I enjoyed watching people watching me. I walked around the downtown area, weaving along old (but never forgotten) buildings and stores, crowded streets lined with sidewalk vendors and bystanders and street preachers. From behind my (fabulous) sunglasses I could see them look at me as we crossed each others’ paths. I consciously posed each time. Sigh. The things I do to cheer myself up. Sometimes it’s all you need. A complete stranger appreciating your odd fashion sense, asking for autographs and pictures. But of course I never get that. So I just walk and walk, pleasing myself with curious stares and a few discreet giggles here and there. I love roaming downtown.
Sunday, September 14, 2008
Life gives me a headache sometimes
I’m throwing away my debit card. Lately I’ve been using it like some vital internal organ, my pancreas and its precious little islets of Langerhans, perhaps, and depleting my hard-earned savings as quickly as the toxic industrial fumes are the atmosphere’s ozone layer. One of these days I’m just going to break it in half with one crisp snap and chop it like onions into even finer shreds with our trusty kitchen knife. I’m going to put it in a good blender and grind it into a smooth, creamy pulp. I’m going to ride a boat and throw it into the heart of the ocean where some big, gentle whale will swallow it and keep it safe in its blubbered belly before some cruel Japanese fishers catch her and cut her open. I’m going to dig a deep hole in the backyard and bury it there where it will rest in peace forever beside my old cat’s bones. I’m going to burn it until all that’s left is whatever’s supposed to get left behind when you burn something like it or pour some acid on it until it melts into absolute nothingness and some foul smelling smoke or crush it into fine bits with a big rock and sprinkle it on my food like gourmet seasoning or seal it in an envelope and airmail it to someone in Mount Kilimanjaro where it will be worshipped as some pagan earth spirit or something. I just have to get rid of it. Or should I?
Last week I was cleaning up my room again, and while I was lost in the oblivious moment of changing the linens and pillowcases some new, rather disturbing, realizations came to mind, tearing apart the cobwebs that have been left clinging stubbornly in the corners of my mind’s ceilings, clearing up the space and breathing much needed new life into the small, dark room in my head I call my brain. I changed the old, bland cream curtains mounted on my windows and put up new, silken green ones adorned with lace and pleats and delicate flower prints that made them look like they’d been taken from a life-sized dollhouse, wiped the thick dust off of every pane, every glass louver and jalousie they’ve peacefully settled on in the past weeks, swept the small fragment of space that is the floor, and moved some of my clothes into a new container I had bought the day before. The closets and cabinets were full, and there simply was no room left for another one. So my clothes are now folded, stacked up in piles and crammed inside plastic containers like they were healthy little sandwiches neatly tucked inside a lunchbox.
While moving my clothes to their new coffins I rediscovered some shirts I had not seen (let alone used) in the past few months. I had forgotten about them as every other week (or day, depending on my mood) I would go buy stuff and new clothes were quickly piled up on top of each other, relegating the older ones to the bottom where they would never again see the light of day. I had so many I honestly didn’t know what to do with them. And so it led me (I don’t know how) to wonder why we do the things we do and go through the things we go through over and over again. Why do we dust off the furniture when we know they’ll be covered in dust again a few days later anyway? Why do we work hard to earn money and then spend it all anyway? Why do we buy clothes and end up not wearing them anyway, and then buying some more? Why do we take a bath when we know we’ll end up dirty soon thereafter anyway? Why do we go to school and forget the things we’re taught anyway (or end up not learning anything at all)? Why do we eat when we know we’ll end up hungry again later anyway? Why do we sleep, wake up, and then end up sleepy again later anyway? Why do we take medication when we know we’ll still end up sick again later anyway? Why do we choose to live, to continue living, when everyday we die a little inside, and sooner or later we’ll die completely anyway? Why do we ask ourselves questions when we know we’ll never figure out the answers anyway?
Of course the only answer I ever give myself, and the only answer that seems necessary each time, is because. Just because. If I don’t satisfy myself with that answer I could very well just go mad. So I take that answer, if only to keep myself from asking anymore questions. That is how living life in this great big universe is. You can, of course, choose not to live it, to stop living it. But for as long as you are, that is how it will be like. Morning, noon, and night. And I’ve no plans to stop living just yet (although the temptation is always there and I could change my mind anytime), so I’ll just take things as they are, live life like it is. Even if living it is such a burden.
After recuperating the weekend before and feeling a bit better earlier this week, I’ve had a relapse of sorts and had to miss classes again the past two days because of my arthralgias. I can’t say it’s a big injustice and I don’t deserve it (so you should pity me and send in donations) because I went around walking and strolling and malling again, roaming the city without a care in the world even if my feet were telling me, protesting, that they were tired and needed some rest. I ignored their complaints and went on curiously and eagerly peeping into every boutique and shop that lined the mall’s interiors. At the end of the day I was limping like I had been viciously run over by a rampaging ten-wheeler truck.
I know this is probably some sort of connivance between my subconscious and my body, another attempt at sending me some subliminal message about something I haven’t exactly been paying much attention to. I don’t know. But of course I won’t dare go back to my rheumatologist yet again and ask for help. Otherwise he’d think I’m some stubborn, helplessly ignorant patient who isn’t taking any of his expert medical advice seriously. Or that he’s so far been altogether unsuccessful at treating my mysterious illness. I’m sure people like him don’t take apparent failure lightly.
Life is a bit stubborn, you see (much like me and most of us), and it will not stop until you learn the lessons you refuse to learn, giving you the same redundant, repetitive (and painful, if necessary) experiences over and over again like you were some hapless hamster running in circles inside the same old wheel of a treadmill in that small, cold metal cage of yours. Everything just seems to go on and on in an infinite, senseless cycle.
I guess life is about that. Just taking whatever it is you’re given and going on living and moving along like any other student lined up in the canteen on lunch hour, taking whatever strange, radioactive mess is dumped into your plate by the cranky cafeteria staff with terrible make-up and that ridiculous hat and yellow apron. Life is about persevering, going about doing whatever it is you have to do despite the monotony and adversity, continuing, moving from one day to the next. Until you no longer have to.
Everyday for me now, after all that cleaning and wiping and neatly stacking up things and unguarded thinking, is another chance. It is in itself both a beginning and an end, and therefore no two days can ever be the same. Everyday is a different one. What was there yesterday might not be there anymore, and what was not might suddenly be. It may sometimes feel like they’re all the same, but they are not. Now that, of course, is also in itself both a blessing and a curse, as although your worries and troubles might be gone, so could your successes and joys. Although the things you want to change could change, the things you don’t want to change could change too. And although the things you don’t want to change could stay the same, the things you want to change could very well stay the same as well. But that’s just how things are and should be, I guess, so there is no wisdom in opposing it.
You just have to hope and pray that things get better, because whether they do or not, they are what you will have to face and they are what you will have to live with tomorrow and the day after that. And the rest of the days to come.
I got a headache writing this and trying to make whatever sense I could out of all of it. But life’s like that. I guess.
Last week I was cleaning up my room again, and while I was lost in the oblivious moment of changing the linens and pillowcases some new, rather disturbing, realizations came to mind, tearing apart the cobwebs that have been left clinging stubbornly in the corners of my mind’s ceilings, clearing up the space and breathing much needed new life into the small, dark room in my head I call my brain. I changed the old, bland cream curtains mounted on my windows and put up new, silken green ones adorned with lace and pleats and delicate flower prints that made them look like they’d been taken from a life-sized dollhouse, wiped the thick dust off of every pane, every glass louver and jalousie they’ve peacefully settled on in the past weeks, swept the small fragment of space that is the floor, and moved some of my clothes into a new container I had bought the day before. The closets and cabinets were full, and there simply was no room left for another one. So my clothes are now folded, stacked up in piles and crammed inside plastic containers like they were healthy little sandwiches neatly tucked inside a lunchbox.
While moving my clothes to their new coffins I rediscovered some shirts I had not seen (let alone used) in the past few months. I had forgotten about them as every other week (or day, depending on my mood) I would go buy stuff and new clothes were quickly piled up on top of each other, relegating the older ones to the bottom where they would never again see the light of day. I had so many I honestly didn’t know what to do with them. And so it led me (I don’t know how) to wonder why we do the things we do and go through the things we go through over and over again. Why do we dust off the furniture when we know they’ll be covered in dust again a few days later anyway? Why do we work hard to earn money and then spend it all anyway? Why do we buy clothes and end up not wearing them anyway, and then buying some more? Why do we take a bath when we know we’ll end up dirty soon thereafter anyway? Why do we go to school and forget the things we’re taught anyway (or end up not learning anything at all)? Why do we eat when we know we’ll end up hungry again later anyway? Why do we sleep, wake up, and then end up sleepy again later anyway? Why do we take medication when we know we’ll still end up sick again later anyway? Why do we choose to live, to continue living, when everyday we die a little inside, and sooner or later we’ll die completely anyway? Why do we ask ourselves questions when we know we’ll never figure out the answers anyway?
Of course the only answer I ever give myself, and the only answer that seems necessary each time, is because. Just because. If I don’t satisfy myself with that answer I could very well just go mad. So I take that answer, if only to keep myself from asking anymore questions. That is how living life in this great big universe is. You can, of course, choose not to live it, to stop living it. But for as long as you are, that is how it will be like. Morning, noon, and night. And I’ve no plans to stop living just yet (although the temptation is always there and I could change my mind anytime), so I’ll just take things as they are, live life like it is. Even if living it is such a burden.
After recuperating the weekend before and feeling a bit better earlier this week, I’ve had a relapse of sorts and had to miss classes again the past two days because of my arthralgias. I can’t say it’s a big injustice and I don’t deserve it (so you should pity me and send in donations) because I went around walking and strolling and malling again, roaming the city without a care in the world even if my feet were telling me, protesting, that they were tired and needed some rest. I ignored their complaints and went on curiously and eagerly peeping into every boutique and shop that lined the mall’s interiors. At the end of the day I was limping like I had been viciously run over by a rampaging ten-wheeler truck.
I know this is probably some sort of connivance between my subconscious and my body, another attempt at sending me some subliminal message about something I haven’t exactly been paying much attention to. I don’t know. But of course I won’t dare go back to my rheumatologist yet again and ask for help. Otherwise he’d think I’m some stubborn, helplessly ignorant patient who isn’t taking any of his expert medical advice seriously. Or that he’s so far been altogether unsuccessful at treating my mysterious illness. I’m sure people like him don’t take apparent failure lightly.
Life is a bit stubborn, you see (much like me and most of us), and it will not stop until you learn the lessons you refuse to learn, giving you the same redundant, repetitive (and painful, if necessary) experiences over and over again like you were some hapless hamster running in circles inside the same old wheel of a treadmill in that small, cold metal cage of yours. Everything just seems to go on and on in an infinite, senseless cycle.
I guess life is about that. Just taking whatever it is you’re given and going on living and moving along like any other student lined up in the canteen on lunch hour, taking whatever strange, radioactive mess is dumped into your plate by the cranky cafeteria staff with terrible make-up and that ridiculous hat and yellow apron. Life is about persevering, going about doing whatever it is you have to do despite the monotony and adversity, continuing, moving from one day to the next. Until you no longer have to.
Everyday for me now, after all that cleaning and wiping and neatly stacking up things and unguarded thinking, is another chance. It is in itself both a beginning and an end, and therefore no two days can ever be the same. Everyday is a different one. What was there yesterday might not be there anymore, and what was not might suddenly be. It may sometimes feel like they’re all the same, but they are not. Now that, of course, is also in itself both a blessing and a curse, as although your worries and troubles might be gone, so could your successes and joys. Although the things you want to change could change, the things you don’t want to change could change too. And although the things you don’t want to change could stay the same, the things you want to change could very well stay the same as well. But that’s just how things are and should be, I guess, so there is no wisdom in opposing it.
You just have to hope and pray that things get better, because whether they do or not, they are what you will have to face and they are what you will have to live with tomorrow and the day after that. And the rest of the days to come.
I got a headache writing this and trying to make whatever sense I could out of all of it. But life’s like that. I guess.
Where the lost souls go
Lately I’ve been sick and the never-ending issues we have at home (we never seem to run out of them, if only they were convertible to cash) are getting to me. I don’t want to confront my problems and sort things out right now, not when I’m sick and tired and weak and sore all over. I don’t want to have anything to do with them. All I ever want and seem to do is either sleep to pass the time or do something else that would help me take my beautiful mind off of things. So I went on an enlightening spiritual pilgrimage of sorts. To the mall. Where all lost souls like me go to find themselves.
I don’t know about you but whenever I’m sick (or feel somewhat like it) I find it twice as hard to cope and deal with things I’ve become used to dealing with, things I can normally swallow whole with little effort, without so much as batting a well-curled eyelash. It usually takes the best of me just for me to deal with the things I deal with, and when I’m sick and just can’t be at my best, I find it so hard and draining to put up a good fight and do what I have to do. There really are times when you can’t help but just, well, helplessly look on as your defenses crumble to the ground, the walls you’ve learned to put up around you collapsing to nothing but dust and debris, and life just gets to you when you’re least ready for it. Whenever that happens I don’t face life, I choose to turn away and run from it, promising like the great General MacArthur that I shall return soon.
The past week my joints were aflame and I pretty much just stayed home on a solitary confinement of sorts and contemplated on things and wrote and wrote and wrote (except on Monday, since it was a national holiday and I decided I’d have a break too). I was drinking painkillers like they were harmless little vitamins and punching more holes through my stomach. And then if I wanted to hurt myself more than I already was just staying awake and keeping perfectly still, I would try walking around the house while holding on to whatever sturdy piece of furniture I could get my hands on, all the while gasping to catch a breath. Needless to say I missed my review classes too. But Friday was the day of reckoning. It was the day all the planets aligned and the stars conspired and all three malls in the city where I’m from were to start their three-day sales. I was not going to miss it for the world.
So Friday was the first day I’d step anywhere outside the house in like three days. From the suburbanish wilderness where I’m from it would take around half an hour to get downtown. No matter. The house isn’t half as entertaining as the mall, you know. And the mall, despite the noise and the big crowds, isn’t even half as chaotic and stressful as the house either. Nevermind that my wrist and some fingers were still a bit sore despite the analgesics I’d put myself on. I was going to buy things and forget things. I went north and entered the mall in that part of the city, heading first to the second floor and buying myself my favorite brew of banana, pineapple and mango shake, my delicate throat parched with all the traveling under the noontime heat. I looked around a bit then decided nothing interested me, so I decided to move on to the next mall, where I was sure I’d get something. I had been window-shopping. Then I remembered I was supposed to have lunch with college friends at some karinderya outside the university’s integrated school. Cheap steak and greasy spareribs always have people coming back for more. I boarded a jeepney and, not really getting off where I was supposed to, somehow lost my way and went on an unintentional joyride. In the same small city I’ve lived in for the past 22 years of my life.
After lunch my friends and I walked around, dropping by some stores and boutiques around the university, the same ones we’d linger around in back when we were still fresh-faced students. And then we all went together to the mall downtown, the one near the bay area. I wasn’t prepared for what I’d see. It seemed like everyone from the city (and then maybe some who lived just outside it) stopped whatever it was they were doing, dropped whatever it was they had their hands on and all went there in throngs. Tsk, tsk. Indeed times are tough. People pounce on every chance they get at getting things at a cheaper, discounted price. They only seem to come out to buy the stuff they like but don’t really need once they’re already marked down (and quite possibly past their shelf life). You can see it in their eyes, their seething want, their burning desire, and their despair to get the things they want but otherwise cannot afford to buy. I’ve never been a wise buyer. I don’t like the feeling of being deprived.
We went around, trying our best to stick close to each other as one would’ve easily been abducted or kidnapped in the midst of such a terribly thick crowd. I bought sunglasses and some more tee shirts, as if the ones I already had at home stacked in mountainous heaps were still not yet enough. We somehow made it through and found our way to a fast food restaurant, eating even more greasy food. When you’re with good friends, laughing and chatting and reminiscing the past, you tend to overlook even dangerous stuff like that. The day ended with me lugging around a big, cumbersome plastic container, one I bought to store all the new clothes I’d been buying in. I struggled finding a seat big enough for both me and the big, cumbersome container in the jeepneys that would take me home. Still, I got home. And the issues I wanted to forget were still there to greet me by the doorstep. They had not gone anywhere. But I still didn’t want to face them.
So I went to the mall again yesterday. I knew there’d be lots of people there (I was there the day before and saw it with my own two eyes), so I made sure I looked as best as I could. Not like anyone would notice (actually there were some who did, bless them), but I wanted to feel good about myself. So I wore a graphic tee shirt, a nice vest, a pair of green skinny jeans, my favorite yellow and green sneakers that I bought years ago, back when I was still in college, and a yellow and black scarf ominously tied like a noose around my neck. Lo and behold, all the people who were there the day before seemed to have returned that day, and this time they brought their neighbors and relatives with them. The mall was crammed full like a tin can of sardines in Spanish oil. I pushed my way around and soon had the usual bittersweet iced mocha in one of the mall’s coffee shops, a small pocket of peace in the wide ocean of chaotic crowds that flocked to the mall’s three-day August sale. They all hurriedly passed me by to watch some locally televised quizbee onstage at the mall’s events center and maybe look around and buy stuff as well. Somehow, the coffee shop was my refuge in the middle of all the madness. I sat there, looking around every now and then and then getting a headache each time, constantly stirring the chocolate syrup that had settled at the bottom of the cup with the black straw to keep myself somewhat busy and not so distracted by all the people marching along in platoons, people who wanted to forget things, people who were burdened just like me and wanted to cheer themselves up a bit watching other people pass them by. Soon I took out a big notebook from my bag and started to scribble stuff down, most of which is what you’re reading now. My cellphone had run out of memory with all the things I was writing down and storing there and my attempts at writing on tissue paper proved futile and rather unattractive.
I tried to stay for as long as I could in that café, afraid that the moment I step outside I’d be swept away to some faraway corner by all the people stampeding like herds of feral African wildebeests on migration. There was just too many of them. But my iced mocha could only last so long, even if I tried my best to sip it as slowly as I could.
Despite the physical harassment and sheer annoyance of going there at a weekend sale, I still adore the mall. Instead of worrying about all the things I constantly worry about, I was constantly fighting to save my dear life, struggling to keep myself from suffocating, or getting hopelessly lost, or falling to the (dirty, dirty) floor and getting stepped on and crushed to a rather grim and unsightly death by the hundreds of people walking around. At least I had my mind on something else, on other less life altering things, and I wasn’t just brooding and sulking and moping around, thinking about my life and its many depressing complications. It’s where all the lonely people go to chase away their loneliness. And maybe haggle a bit for a good bargain, too. I ended up buying fuchsia pink briefs and a brown and red cardigan every self-respecting senior citizen should have stored with the moth balls in his closet. The things boredom makes you buy.
With so many worries to free one’s mind from, the mall is indeed a good place to go to. Only that when you go home, the worries haven’t gone away and are still there waiting for you.
I don’t know about you but whenever I’m sick (or feel somewhat like it) I find it twice as hard to cope and deal with things I’ve become used to dealing with, things I can normally swallow whole with little effort, without so much as batting a well-curled eyelash. It usually takes the best of me just for me to deal with the things I deal with, and when I’m sick and just can’t be at my best, I find it so hard and draining to put up a good fight and do what I have to do. There really are times when you can’t help but just, well, helplessly look on as your defenses crumble to the ground, the walls you’ve learned to put up around you collapsing to nothing but dust and debris, and life just gets to you when you’re least ready for it. Whenever that happens I don’t face life, I choose to turn away and run from it, promising like the great General MacArthur that I shall return soon.
The past week my joints were aflame and I pretty much just stayed home on a solitary confinement of sorts and contemplated on things and wrote and wrote and wrote (except on Monday, since it was a national holiday and I decided I’d have a break too). I was drinking painkillers like they were harmless little vitamins and punching more holes through my stomach. And then if I wanted to hurt myself more than I already was just staying awake and keeping perfectly still, I would try walking around the house while holding on to whatever sturdy piece of furniture I could get my hands on, all the while gasping to catch a breath. Needless to say I missed my review classes too. But Friday was the day of reckoning. It was the day all the planets aligned and the stars conspired and all three malls in the city where I’m from were to start their three-day sales. I was not going to miss it for the world.
So Friday was the first day I’d step anywhere outside the house in like three days. From the suburbanish wilderness where I’m from it would take around half an hour to get downtown. No matter. The house isn’t half as entertaining as the mall, you know. And the mall, despite the noise and the big crowds, isn’t even half as chaotic and stressful as the house either. Nevermind that my wrist and some fingers were still a bit sore despite the analgesics I’d put myself on. I was going to buy things and forget things. I went north and entered the mall in that part of the city, heading first to the second floor and buying myself my favorite brew of banana, pineapple and mango shake, my delicate throat parched with all the traveling under the noontime heat. I looked around a bit then decided nothing interested me, so I decided to move on to the next mall, where I was sure I’d get something. I had been window-shopping. Then I remembered I was supposed to have lunch with college friends at some karinderya outside the university’s integrated school. Cheap steak and greasy spareribs always have people coming back for more. I boarded a jeepney and, not really getting off where I was supposed to, somehow lost my way and went on an unintentional joyride. In the same small city I’ve lived in for the past 22 years of my life.
After lunch my friends and I walked around, dropping by some stores and boutiques around the university, the same ones we’d linger around in back when we were still fresh-faced students. And then we all went together to the mall downtown, the one near the bay area. I wasn’t prepared for what I’d see. It seemed like everyone from the city (and then maybe some who lived just outside it) stopped whatever it was they were doing, dropped whatever it was they had their hands on and all went there in throngs. Tsk, tsk. Indeed times are tough. People pounce on every chance they get at getting things at a cheaper, discounted price. They only seem to come out to buy the stuff they like but don’t really need once they’re already marked down (and quite possibly past their shelf life). You can see it in their eyes, their seething want, their burning desire, and their despair to get the things they want but otherwise cannot afford to buy. I’ve never been a wise buyer. I don’t like the feeling of being deprived.
We went around, trying our best to stick close to each other as one would’ve easily been abducted or kidnapped in the midst of such a terribly thick crowd. I bought sunglasses and some more tee shirts, as if the ones I already had at home stacked in mountainous heaps were still not yet enough. We somehow made it through and found our way to a fast food restaurant, eating even more greasy food. When you’re with good friends, laughing and chatting and reminiscing the past, you tend to overlook even dangerous stuff like that. The day ended with me lugging around a big, cumbersome plastic container, one I bought to store all the new clothes I’d been buying in. I struggled finding a seat big enough for both me and the big, cumbersome container in the jeepneys that would take me home. Still, I got home. And the issues I wanted to forget were still there to greet me by the doorstep. They had not gone anywhere. But I still didn’t want to face them.
So I went to the mall again yesterday. I knew there’d be lots of people there (I was there the day before and saw it with my own two eyes), so I made sure I looked as best as I could. Not like anyone would notice (actually there were some who did, bless them), but I wanted to feel good about myself. So I wore a graphic tee shirt, a nice vest, a pair of green skinny jeans, my favorite yellow and green sneakers that I bought years ago, back when I was still in college, and a yellow and black scarf ominously tied like a noose around my neck. Lo and behold, all the people who were there the day before seemed to have returned that day, and this time they brought their neighbors and relatives with them. The mall was crammed full like a tin can of sardines in Spanish oil. I pushed my way around and soon had the usual bittersweet iced mocha in one of the mall’s coffee shops, a small pocket of peace in the wide ocean of chaotic crowds that flocked to the mall’s three-day August sale. They all hurriedly passed me by to watch some locally televised quizbee onstage at the mall’s events center and maybe look around and buy stuff as well. Somehow, the coffee shop was my refuge in the middle of all the madness. I sat there, looking around every now and then and then getting a headache each time, constantly stirring the chocolate syrup that had settled at the bottom of the cup with the black straw to keep myself somewhat busy and not so distracted by all the people marching along in platoons, people who wanted to forget things, people who were burdened just like me and wanted to cheer themselves up a bit watching other people pass them by. Soon I took out a big notebook from my bag and started to scribble stuff down, most of which is what you’re reading now. My cellphone had run out of memory with all the things I was writing down and storing there and my attempts at writing on tissue paper proved futile and rather unattractive.
I tried to stay for as long as I could in that café, afraid that the moment I step outside I’d be swept away to some faraway corner by all the people stampeding like herds of feral African wildebeests on migration. There was just too many of them. But my iced mocha could only last so long, even if I tried my best to sip it as slowly as I could.
Despite the physical harassment and sheer annoyance of going there at a weekend sale, I still adore the mall. Instead of worrying about all the things I constantly worry about, I was constantly fighting to save my dear life, struggling to keep myself from suffocating, or getting hopelessly lost, or falling to the (dirty, dirty) floor and getting stepped on and crushed to a rather grim and unsightly death by the hundreds of people walking around. At least I had my mind on something else, on other less life altering things, and I wasn’t just brooding and sulking and moping around, thinking about my life and its many depressing complications. It’s where all the lonely people go to chase away their loneliness. And maybe haggle a bit for a good bargain, too. I ended up buying fuchsia pink briefs and a brown and red cardigan every self-respecting senior citizen should have stored with the moth balls in his closet. The things boredom makes you buy.
With so many worries to free one’s mind from, the mall is indeed a good place to go to. Only that when you go home, the worries haven’t gone away and are still there waiting for you.
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