Short essays

“At the stars”

3.00 am. We’re driving in your car. My heart was behaving wildly like a lost child, but this child, at least in his own world, was far from being seated in a car. Like a burning jet nose-diving in all its glory straight down to hell, where I, the imaginary pilot, could no longer wrestle control and take any rational course of action. It is hell (where all the good things are), and pure ecstasy at the same time. Hell, the way I defined it, was a plane where desires and rationality do not meet in equilibrium. Diverging hearts and minds stirs the echoes and they ring in your ears so loudly, yet fall short of a trumpet of war. Ecstasy, the way I think about it, was being in this unbelievable state of consciousness, where you are not even certain how conscious you are, where reality and dreams do somehow equate. They’re such a rarity, that gushing split seconds of plum and torment. It’s not even funny how each word bears weight; the sharp ones stacked thornily on your head, and the pleasant ones dissipate into an unseen, unnatural fragrant to-die-for. That illusion of chasing this sweet smell of something detracts you from feeling the thorns the moment the blur turns clear. You realise there are thorns everywhere! And then you remember the aroma, albeit faintly, but keep your heart beating like rhythmic pulses envisaging a certain soundtrack to go with it. You have had that song you wanted to suddenly come to life now, but it’s the pictures that take its place in your capsule of a mind. But at the end of it all, I looked and screamed out at the stars, hoping that you’ll never have to take me back.

That’s the beginning of my love-hate affair for someone I truly adored and despised, unattainable yet an enviable friend, the girl I seemed to know from afar. She was fascinating. I should have dropped her at her door. When I finally did, I came back in sudden randomness with one phone call (obviously, I made the phone call), blushed upon meeting her face at the door, looked at my shoes as if it was the mirror, and smiled politely as I entered her domain. We watched a movie, which only after intermediate viewing, I recognised it was a movie this dearest had laid eyes on before. Her giggles, her wavering eyes latching onto discontinued joints of a world around her; books, magazine, her minor fiddling, which suddenly ends when she puts in an attentive stare at the widescreen box I had been pretending to observe with vigor. She’s an absolute delight to look at; a joy to behold to me, the onlooker, that the more I see the different sides and angles, the more I think there is a deepness that is unfathomable about this beauty. I want to know her and relate to her, but she keeps her guards up, barring infiltrators lacking charm and wits. Her dreary eyes by the end of the movie were contemplating sleep, but I was reluctant to allow an unbecoming finale to take the airs of such an awkward yet pleasant moment. I carefully poured bits and pieces of my life and my relationships, not ever knowing if she were even a tiny bit interested in it. After thinking it to be unfair for her kindness, I rapidly said good night, thinking the next morning would be the same again. I loved the smell of her long, straight, silky hair which covered parts of her ample forehead, strands of which were littered by her cheeks and by now her eyes, which were crying for sleep and her apparent lack of rest made her a fine, gentle and extremely adorable woman. What my eyes saw, my heart tacitly agreed. She was stunning, even in her droopiness; her ruffled hair mindlessly spawned thoughts protruding even the most lyrical beauty.

“Alison Foley”

“Temptation has been one of the greatest killers of man, if not mankind. Life would be mundane had no one ever drifted into temptation and contemplated very fundamental sins. Man can only forget loneliness through the company of another being, with the obvious choice in mind, the opposite sex. Similarities dissipate into thin air faster than the speed of thought (meaning you do not even think about it) but the opposites, like how our limitations of perception of good is represented by something evil beforehand before we can distinguish from either, extend our existence and provides us with a purpose in life; to co-exist and understand one another. It’s funny how our species have aims to mate without the consequences of reproduction. Mating is a sign of co-habitation in process; proving 1) we need each other to survive, and 2) that despite all the differences, we are still attractive to one another. Or at least a need to be attracted to one another. The point is, our advancements as a species make us far too brilliant to be limited by a place like Earth. We’re smart enough not to overpopulate the world with our brilliance and let it self-destruct within our calamitous desires that would belie our fate. That is wisdom.”

My attention was drawn to Alison’s words, but not the meaning. I was not so sure myself if there was one in the first place. I stared into her starry eyes, while in my inexplicably intoxicated state, was content at sharing laughs with her over nothing at all. We were drunk, bored and lonely, and particularly stoned in our smoked, sweaty outfits, that we were still too shy to remove. Lying next to each other, running short on cigarettes and alcohol, last cigarette in my right hand, last green whisky bottle in her left which we happily wrapped our lips with while we took turns to serenade each other with whatever charm we had left. I was so drawn in by her erection inducing smiles down at the bar where she works; whether or not it was me she was smiling at didn’t matter. We hit it off like two souls drowning in an over-eagerness to be with someone who could listen as much as they talked. I liked her. I liked the fact we could be so spontaneous with one another, and as if without a care, could get as smashed and stoned as life allows us to be at either my place or hers. We couldn’t care less. We both desire an audience, and each other is just who we need. Her smiles might cause my blood to circulate faster, but it did not compromise my comfort of being with her. Mind you, there was nothing much sexual of our relationship; we kissed, hugged, held hands, fingered each other’s hair, maybe a little tongue, but hardly explored further than that. She was 29, and had enough sex. I was 25, and looking for a meaning in life. Tonight was no different. We stared at the ceiling, what was once an unfamiliar sight for me, but passing out on the floor and subsequently waking up the next morning looking at an unfamiliar ceiling seemed to bother me less and less each time. There are times when 2 persons are looking at the same thing, and their thoughts are seemingly connected by a string, and we were like souls in tandem. We needed each other, the affection and a certain mutual respect that we believed we could afford one another and through the immersion of our unfulfilled desires, lift us up from a cynical and rampaging state. Those were among the last words I heard from her, and the visions of a ravaging beauty I had become so fond of was immortalised as a photo still. I was, and forever will be, wounded, knowing I accompanied her in wasting away, but did not let her know how much I wished she would be content with just me. So long, Alison Foley. So long, bye bye.

“Under You”

It was time to kick myself for wasting away; life was on the edge and yet it was still a blur. I embarked on a (very) personal journey, to rid myself of being in depression. In my very little own world, joys and sorrows are measure by my standards, and experiencing harrowing highs and lows in daily flashes were self-destructive. Four months into California, the ridding of my self-pity was almost complete. Solitude was madness; but bartending, or at least working at the bar, was my life-saver. Right next door was a Ramen noodle shop, whose demographics were limitless unlike its neighbouring bar. Working right next door was Minami, or Mimi for short, a girl that anyone would love to pamper. Her large round eyes seemed to be begging whenever she’s asking for something, and she smiles rain or shine, in pain, defeat, in joy, in doubt and other conceivable and inconceivable circumstances.

Thursday, the night of 4th June, I succumbed to my landlord’s belittling, leading to the obvious conclusion that I was now homeless. I moved my belongings down to the bar, with the idea of turning it into my temporary shack. It was at this moment, where the basic need for survival, namely, a home, was of utmost importance, that a gleaming pair of eyes turned its sight upon me. At the footsteps of the Ramen noodle shop, Mimi stood and watched as I slowly stumbled next to her, where she invited me to her place for the night. It struck me off as being careless with me. But I admired her kindness and was not ready to turn her down under current circumstances. The implications of the situation I have not fully come to terms yet dwindled with her charm, where we laughed off about our fortunes, about how we’re not even close to realizing who we are or who we could be. She prepared her famous Ramen noodles to my delight, at the same time hilariously performed a number of scenes from a Japanese movie that I bet she has watched a dozen times. If there was one thing she made me feel, it’s that I felt more alive, more conscious about existence, life and relationships with people. How is she able to withstand being with a half-assed bartender, still without a real job or aim in life, who cannot yet decide between watching Jerry Maguire or Fight Club even after finishing a hearty bowl of Ramen? The answer was probably in that I may not be as worthless as I seemed to be and that her kindness was overlooked and deemed an over-eagerness to be loved. We nuzzled onto the sofa bed, with the TV playing The Mexican, as we carelessly talked about nonsensical ideas like being famous or dating the famous. It was a topic which would have put me to sleep instantly, but for her curiosity and kindness, I repaid by being attentive. I woke up with the bright summer skies in full bloom, wishing the clouds would exercise care in allowing sunlight to invade people’s privacy. When I had fully shaken from being immobilized in sleep, I found myself under my petite host, her head on my belly, her arms wrapped around my back, softly breathing and enjoying her rest. I’ll always remember how enormous those feelings being pinned back were, how long that moment seemed to feel, and how deeply appreciated I was by her tenderness. I smiled at her, though she was not looking. She had taken over me. She had seemed a natural partner for me, the bubbly charms and sweetness that defined her may have deserved more, but my shy and idealistic thoughts meant that i won’t ever stop listening to her. I’d swear visions of her standing there on the sidewalk, or in a restaurant, still come vividly to me whenever i ride the taxi.

“Particle”

I believed that I am almost incapable of loving somebody who does not already worship me. Would you stay with the one who loves you, or go back to the one you love? To say that I am more of the former person, would not be literally self-praise of my own stupendous loyalty to the companionship I owe the person beside me, but rather I am the person who indulges in the comfort of being in the reaches of someone who would sacrifice more than they demand. The matter of convenience or a life without trouble is a simple and sorry way to live, but makes accepting and blending into the world at large, and the world under the microscope that we familiarize as our environment where we live this cherished life, easier and less painful. Kill, or be killed. Hurt, or be hurt. It was simple. I wanted neither. Natural instincts provides otherwise.

Her pain makes her beautiful, and she loves to lose control. I am not about to accept into my life the girl who is hungry for love, almost as if thirsting for blood. The flashy lights, podium and her combined, degenerating itself into a soulless atmosphere, shackling her, while her hands try to reach my heart. The façade drew me a little closer into her plight. She had seemed weightless in the room, enticing me to a few songs and drinks. Maybe more than a few drinks I suppose. I remember her hair was neatly done, with a simple bun to furnish her petite body. Her frail figure lay wasted on the bed. Her fatigued eyes were kindly heading home. Her hands disorderly flail around to turn off the lights, perhaps spending her last speck of energy to do so. I stood in the dark, with certain anticipation as the darkness hid the implosion of thoughts. It was thoughtcrime. She smelled of beer and cigarettes. I spoke kind words, in a kind and appropriate tone, as if comforting a child as she sleeps knowing she would not understand the meaning of those words being uttered but she responded with an eye lazily half-opened, smiled and reached her hands to stroke my face. Like those without sight, her fingers caressed my face, making out the contours and conjuring vivid pictures and images in the unlit room. I stuck to my part by remaining unfazed and unmoved. I only did as much as breathe. Unbeknownst to her, my thoughtcrime was ever-increasing. Or maybe she knew, and this is her way of resisting an imposition of my pre-meditated criminal intentions. If she demanded subtlety, I will oblige. She shed her top, revealing before me her bare shoulders. Her body was wrapped beneath the white covers reflecting the faint, gleaming streetlights piercing through the windows. I imagined her naked body curling submissively to my advances. It almost feels like I’m ganging on her; both my mind and body were swiftly advancing against her lowered defenses as I moved into position, taking a pull at the curtains before hiding under the soft covers lying next to her. I patted her head and played with her hair to gain her attention. Her hair was a little messed up now. She turned to look at me and said something in her native language. Even I could tell she was mumbling incomprehensible words should I have a decent command of the language. I wrapped my arms around her, even if it was against her will. The lack of courtesy to ask to do so was compensated by the slow, gentle movement as a gesture of kindness and respect. The night concluded as two atoms insufficient as a whole, combined to form a particle. This particle remains as a fragment of memories I cannot erase.

“Waxing or waning”

“You can’t be nice to everyone, and you certainly can’t afford to please everyone around you. The words you utter so carelessly sticks in other people’s minds. You have to bear in mind the weight of your words, the significance it brings and the hope that it gives other people. You have to remember what you say, because words are an action in itself, and the kindness you exuberate becomes a tangible feeling one would use to evaluate who you are. You do not allow yourself to say things you don’t really mean, I mean, I stress the word really because at that moment you might actually mean it, whether real or half-heartedly only you know. And you might find yourself in a position where you are not ready to stick to the meaning of those words, or you may not mean it anymore. You’re great, you’re kind, nice and understanding, but this cruel world will judge you in your absence, and your mind is judged by your actions and words. You encourage and give hope to the people around you. But your precious friends, when they find your words only give rise to a sincerity existing only in the heart, they will be hurt beyond repair. I will be hurt. I took your words seriously, when you asked me to keep my promises. I hope you know what I mean.”

He left on a bus to the city. Those were the last words I heard from him. Some said that he went abroad but I could not be sure. I get on by, still occasionally thinking about the person he rather not know about. I was still puzzled by his words, and up until now I could not understand what he truly meant. All of his words were always very subtle, and its meaning like a riddle, which you have to think with feelings. Imagine my surprise when I received a box from him, in it was a picture of him in a coat. The weather looked harsh and I wondered how he was really doing. How much of him have I really missed? How much did I want to ask him what he truly meant with those last words? There was a letter which I was not prepared to read at the lift to my apartment, so I kept them safely in the box again. The picture had some scribbling, words which read “Dear Sal, I hope you’ll agree…”. He was always so subtle, equally with words and thoughts. I sat by the dining, now ready to peruse through the box. I still hate to think that I had hurt him somehow. A letter. And a picture of a girl standing beside him, her head leaning on his shoulder. It read:

“Dear Sal, I hope you’re doing fine and getting by. As you can see, it looks like I’ve found a girl, and we’ve started striking off a good number of things on our lists; both hers and mine. Ski, puffer fish sashimi, searching for the best crème brulee ever, Greece, Italy, Japan, sunsets at the beach- the things I promised to do with you together. I’m sorry. I would have loved to experience all this with you in my first time, but was just not possible. I remember my lengthy speech the last time I saw you, and would not let my words stand alone here. They would be devoid of any meaning, since it’s just a piece of paper that you are holding. Doing the things that I mentioned, were richly rewarding and I got to know myself better. I would not have such a list if I had not met you. But rewards are nothing if they are not what you want. I still keep it in the notebook you gave me. I minced my words in the past, but I will not here. It was painful doing the things I want to do with you with somebody else. You’re the last person I want to do all the sweet things that we can find. You’re truly the last person I ever want to do it with. Because there’s no other person I want if I have you by my side. PS. Look at the picture of me with my back facing the glorious Alps.”

The picture was scribbled with words “Dear Sal, I hope you’ll agree…” as if asking me to look around for more clues. I flipped the picture to find words, words which accompanied by a ring. The words that end the sentence were, “…to be the last person I would do anything together with and spend nothing but tomorrows together.”

And I recalled all your schemes and dreams, the plans moving me… and the sense that you made.

***

“The Impertinence of Another Hovering Gaze”

There is an extremely bitter irony about being someone other than yourself. A devotee and advocate of an innate beauty of our minds, the intangible over those that which were tangible, i have been no more concerned than before about my poise, the delicate surface of my cheeks and forehead, ruthlessly abstaining from the wild sunlight, and my discreet eyes, like distant innards of a dark and mystical cave, one which so many men have tried to gaze into but grew too uncomfortable to let them persist for any longer than a split second. I may be guilty of a blatant fool’s simple-mindedness, helpless means of acquiring chattels and walked the path of sloth. Failing to apprehend the uniqueness and advantages of this body is not a crime on my part, but to put it quite simply, any gothic wishes or spells you wish to put yourself in is better off staying in an unmanifested sub-personality in the recesses of everyone’s unfathomable world. Restlessly clawing my way around floor after floor of mind-numbing, spirit-crunching people, filled with an omnidepressive aura that i begin to make sense of the atrocities of being an upstairs.

I have been previously guilty too, of being unaware of the importance of my existence to the people around. I had found out the injustice that befell upon the people around me through a tragedy occurring before my eyes, the eyes of which is not mine, making contact and focusing on a little girl whom i could no longer claim as my own. She was rushing, almost racing to the arms that comforted her all this while, clinging relentlessly to someone who almost treats the little girl as a stranger and nothing more. I looked into the eyes of the man i used to be, his derailed mind descending upon his ample, round, dumbfounded face. There was the initial feeling that i was losing much more than she was; she had already built up a cockiness that will take charity beyond belief to undo all the rage snowballed across the department. She had presumbly no friends, no one who would cast a genuine care of her life. Surrounding the walls of her life are only those who would take pleasure in her sufferings (like me).

There was just a fleeting thought, that maybe a there’s a man in her life that she would submit to. A far, more horrible and dominant person who would sedate her with scary, phony and the occasional thoughtless words that would keep her waiting for him while they both try to topple their superiors, one with a dash of beauty and supreme confidence, the other with logical, rational thoughtlessness and an irrevocable self-belief. That man did not exist. That men did not exist in her life was no utter shock, since guys these days don’t tend to work too hard for their women, recalling the days of the cries of gender equality, men and women are one of the same, that should place no responsibility on who makes the first move during courtship. Who would’ve thought the constant old barrages of women accusing men to be nonchalant and not working hard enough to earn necessary amounts to make everyone happy still exist? Free enterprise has a problem here.

My life, on the other hand, has never peaked. But the joys of the laymen were all to see. I’m well-liked by my peers and i’m father to a delightful little girl who means the world to me. It occurred to me, she was full of respect and never doubted her father, a strange bond that i was to notice only looking at someone else take on the responsibility of being her father. She remained ever as jolly when he is around, although his hair drastically changed, his ways and mannerism were infinitely faggot-like, and the most violent change of all; being determined and hardworking. Mind you, i have never taken pride in being lazy; i just do not know how to take what i have to the next level.

All of our hardwork should have culminated in a blast as we surpassed all the expectations at the job fair. Intricate planning was ruined at the last minute, with one heart attack almost leading to another. We embarked on a scandalous pursuit for replacements, and we found them to be more than deputising for our lost personnel. The disaster that befell upon what was supposed to be a crowning moment for me, was only made less sinister by the same action which had started these chain of events.

In all seriousness, recounting these days is taking its toll. I wake to find i’m somebody else everyday. Although after the job fair episode, i had begun playing an active role of parenting again. It wasn’t like i could do much else. It was manic. The everyday highs and lows and the exasperating notion of wanting it all to change. The windows. The doors. The fridge. The cabinets. The glass mirror. The cosmetics. The couch. The TV. The vase. The sink. The coffee cup. They have all been abused, in my misery. No one would believe our fabled, delusional fantasies. Searching cluelessly for an answer, i looked up books on the arcane and on philosophy.

The human mind is a strange matter. Without our natural bodies, our minds lack the defining characteristics. We were born with superficial wisdom; the ability to distinguish wrong from right. The inheritance of such discernment meant we, at all times, could identify with the good and the bad. There are possibly 3 ways of looking at it; two extremes and somewhere in the middle. How could we exist with just a beautiful mind? It is not the tangible object we could look at and judge. Judge. That is the consequences of the ability to tell right from wrong, good from bad, beautiful from ugly.

The isolation was killing us. This was no way to live, and i will rather die than grow old like this. When i was myself, i never felt alone. But now, it is unbearable. I have thought of killing him. Maybe that would bring me back myself, and my sanity. But he’s the only person whom i can empathize with, the one who would understand my predicaments. Self-pity was a trait that i loathe in people, but i find myself loathing my own circumstances, endlessly wishing for the day this transcendental madness would end.

Appearances manifests itself in the minds of people. What appears to be, is, until contrary evidence can uncover that what appears to be, actually, is not. It is just like my burly figure is not a reflection of the size of self-worth i used to place on myself. The accident remains a surreal tragedy to me. I clearly remember the despair of hovering in the car, in my dodgy estimation of about 60 – 70 feet off the ground, but never hitting the ground. I battered my mind to recall the accident. Perhaps the only way we both could force a way to pick the pieces of the accident, was to deliberately do it again.

I was hesitant, at first, but surely i could not do without trying. My determination was met with the resistance of the little girl; should both of us not survive the crash, there is little justification in our actions. My affections for her grew as i dived deeper and deeper into the role of a parent, one responsibility that I still find hard to understand. I could never understand if the way i am, was through my own microscopic view of this fledgling world, or the nurturing of great parenting. She does show steely grit at a tender age, and i see much of myself in her. But I am not fit, perhaps not ready nor wise enough to be a parent. That was the only for argument that would allow me to coax him into forcing the accident one more time.

Like many grand schemes of mankind, two (or possibly more) heads were combined. We had rifles; openly shooting non-sensical notions of the psyche, figuring there must always be a relation between cause and effect; creation and destruction, birth and death, in and out, and surely there would be a way out for both of us. One such occasion, we rubbished the anomalies of spirits and souls, and envisaged the use of some hypnotic technique, or engage in some form of meditation or another, or offer ourselves as research subjects to transfer our bodies somehow. That would have been groundbreaking. The truth is, we were every bit outraged that something like this could ever happened, and yet soothing each other in our own careless ways. Careless because at this point, we could hardly care less about who we are. Replicating what happened one year ago was at all easy; there was planning to do and a plethora of uncontrollable, variating circumstances and situations. Speed, timing, pedestrians, other cars, and finally, the colossal impact that nearly killed us both.

We finally set the stage at exactly one year after the accident. It suited us since it was a Saturday, the roads were less generous with the cars and quite possibly, our experimentation would only hurt ourselves. How badly i wanted this to end was a tragic feeling. I felt a certain rage, a rage similar to the initial despair i suffered in the hospital, lying on the bed. That rage was peculiar. The nervous anticipation surrounded my head, looking at an unfamiliar ceiling, an unfamiliar scent, and an even more unfamiliar sight standing on my left. The disdainful look on their faces, faces that i could not recognise, sharply fixated on my wellbeing. I was bewildered. Barring my condition, i would have seeked an immediate explanation for all the unfamiliarities my eyes were witnessing. Simple bits were already unfolding amidst the silence of the room, but these obtused looking bunch of sporadic faces were supressing my search for an answer. I gave up, already feeling weary from all this penned up animosity with people i don’t know, but were already abusing my mind. This injection of unprecedented uneasiness allowed me valid reasons to take another deep nap to recover from this shock.

Our initial conjecture had us starting out from the office parking lot. This proved to be a problem as the office has since folded, and is now taken over to be part of a burly multinational. Part of me was subjugated by the fact that this could go horribly wrong, kill one or both of us, or wreck other people’s lives, and destroy the lives of the people around us. The guilt was regressing into a potent factor, one that was threatening this plan. I mulled over the idiosyncrasies of the gaps between us, something which i have wondered since the beginning of this debacle, was that putting the interests of others first gets us nowhere. This has to be done.

And it was. It will remain a mystery, how the divine must have felt for us, and heart our hearts yell. It looked a perfect day. After agonising over where the chase would begin, we departed. All contingencies thought out beforehand had been in place. We had seem so thorough that we felt that we would pull this off, like a magician who never fails to pull the dove out from his hat. Sweats of concentration trickled down in the noon heat. Mixed emotions began to set in. There seemed to be something attached to the accelerator, for the more i stepped on it, needles were flying and every part of my body seemed to be bleeding. My mind was screaming, but i continued.

We hit the long stretch, quick and easy. The roads were safe, save for a few strollers who we left behind to bake in the sun. We cringed at each bend; the signs were not there but it signalled our intensed minds we were surely not getting any further from our rendezvous. By this time, if it meant that i will be crippled within the next minute, it was too late. There was no going back. The bend approached. The mirrors emptied the roads.

An ire of crunching brakes. An eruption of screeching tires. The first car halted its dynamic left swerve as it scraped the railings of the overhead bridge with the front making contact with the concrete railing first, the second car frantically followed suit, smashing into the rails with less impact than it did into the tail end of the first car, sending it in a frenzied spin, with the second car crashing onto the passenger side of the first car at reduced speed, partially from the blazing contact with the railing. The cars stopped. Both started breathing again. Blood flow struggled to match the intensed emotions rushing through their bodies. Pictures, words, voices, actions from the past, present and the future were emanating from various sources, transmitting themselves before them right now. Tears welled up. It was the one thing they could not imagine that saved them from plunging. Death.