A girl asked me to dinner awhile ago, and after a lot of dodging and parrying, I ended up saying OK anyway. I’m not one to assume that this thing is a date, and while I have my reasons for steering clear of any sort of romance these days, I hesitated because… I don’t know, I just didn’t want to see people right now. Date or no, I just felt like I had to stay in what I call “hermit mode”. Anyway I said OK since guys can’t really say no to girls. As it wouldn’t be… gentlemanly to do so.
I had a couple of rough weeks after a considerable amount of responsibility fell on my lap without preamble some weeks ago. I would normally dodge complications in the past the way I usually do, but this thing involves family, and it just so happened that no one other than myself could handle things. For a time, I felt pretty disappointed since I had to sacrifice certain things I had worked hard to put together—to be able to find solutions to a more important priority, I had to face a lot of NOs which, after awhile gets rather depressing. Relative to someone who has been living the past months mostly for himself, creating and working towards personal YESes, I’d guess you’d understand why this really did me in. I now realize the kind of life my mother had been living during the past years, and the unbelievable amount of worrying it entailed—which can cause anyone to lose a grip on life’s upkeeps like work and happiness and basic peace of mind. And that, while she is away, I’ll have to find a better way to manage things rather than just keep things from falling apart.
After sorting out last of those loose ends, I move back to the flat—ready to hole myself up and pick up where I left off. I have a big exam coming up in two months, and I couldn’t afford to lose focus now. Yesterday, I made a schedule and wrote it down on a huge piece of paper and stuck it on the wall beside my worktable. I tried to stick by my sked today, with moderate success.
I missed this place. I felt a huge grin work its way from the stressed tightness of my stomach to my mouth the moment I walked through the gate, carrying all the stuff from the other house so I can get back to my old life properly. My sanctuary, with my toys and my music and my room and my privacy was waiting for me.
* * *
I don’t like the way I deal with stress, or problems. I have a tendency to avoid people so they won’t have to see me not in my usual happy steady mode. I don’t really talk about frustrations or “vent” the way most people deal. I figure I could always sort things out on my own—and I most often do. But doing things this way has this unhealthy effect. I’m still bothered by the way I feel about things even after everything’s sorted out. I feel like a totally different person from whom I was—the happy steady person who seems immune to any sort of bad vibes—and from then on my mind would work itself to exhaustion trying to rationalize why I couldn’t go back to that old self. Gregg and I call it “The Black Hole”—that tiring, endless din caused by a mind chiefly concerned with self-consciousness and introspection. It isn’t a good place to be. The more you want your old self back, the more distant and non-existent that possibility becomes. Parang namamahay ka sa sarili mong katawan. The more you try to act like your old self, the more alien and contrived it feels.
* * *
I could barely hear the girl speak over the din of my own thoughts. She had a lot of stories to tell. I’ve always admired people who could carry on a conversation when all I could offer as input were nods and general grunts of assent. She made all these vivid gestures and punctuated her stories with imagery, which my old self would have appreciated had he been around. Thankfully, my body and facial expressions could go on autopilot and seemed to know the all the proper responses in a conversation.
The girl talked mostly about her lovelife, then of work, of her friends and family, all in great detail and flourish. Inside, I felt so frustrated that nothing—not one thing—seemed to connect. People say I’m a good listener, and I think it’s mostly because I enjoy stories, and I relish the process of personal information being relayed to me, the way some people relish the rich marrow expediently fished out of bulalo. But that passion to listen, that genuine interest in another person—it all seemed to disappear from my body. All I could see was myself inside myself, and all I could hear was the rush of thoughts in that personal blackhole—a despairing realization that I didn’t feel like myself.
The Old Spaghetti House. I ordered their special, sundried tomatoes and pesto with grilled chicken, and she, pomodoro. We came to one of my favorite topics—Ondoy—and I found myself unable to describe my favorite stories and scenes the way I used to do. The flood and that rich experience that I’ve found myself treasuring seemed lost to me—it’s as though the data containing those precious life experiences became corrupted, and all I could come up with were these lame, fragmented details that didn’t mean anything.
She hinted at “Alice in Wonderland”, and I said I’d rather watch in 3D. Next time, next time, I smiled. I did not feel too guilty when she pouted in an exaggerated way in an effort to hide her disappointment.
I was not going to watch a Tim Burton film under these conditions.
* * *
I noticed her fight a sting in her eyes when we came to the topic of her father. My body, still on autopilot, pressed her on the arm and asked her if she was okay and she said she was. She seemed to appreciate the gesture.
Still, nothing was connecting.
Pets and I once talked for almost twelve hours, after only taking a two hour nap in between. I relished every anecdote, every witty quip we would come up, segues that kept the conversation smooth and made meanings much, much richer. We talked about the good things, about great friends, failed loves and our families. We talked about the bad stuff, the heavy shit that came along secrets kept too long and encountered raw emotions that were preserved well enough to surface in their original forms. I relished everything about those ten hours, and I felt as if I was prepared to dive into bottomless wells and the molten cores of planets and come out not only unscathed but more powerful.
* * *
It was around midnight when I began to listen. I don’t know how it came about. Maybe my mind was simply tired of working itself and worrying. Things still weren’t connecting, but they were coming in, at least. I lie back on my chair and let her speak to me. From her stories, I picked up on her street smarts, that tough attitude one gets from being an only child. She was very honest and open about sharing her experiences, even the ones people normally keep to themselves since it could be too embarrassing to lay out in the open. It did not make her feel vulnerable; c’mon just try and laugh, her eyes said.
We had coffee. I ordered myself something vanilla, and she got tea. She talked, and I listened more.
* * *
We were going home. It was the only then that I had noticed her heavy laptop bag. She did not fuss when I reached out to take the bag’s strap off her shoulder. She looked relieved and seemed to sigh.
I was walking her to a taxi stand when I told her about the first genuine feeling I’d felt at that night.
“I’m really glad we met tonight,” I said. “I had a tough time for awhile and I think it was good for me to hear someone else talk about her life. I’m glad you shared all of this with me.”
It sounded like a lame, general statement. An watered down, uninspired summation to wrap up the night. A polite ending with the complimentary dose of appreciation thrown in. It did not matter, I felt it, and I was happy to have said it the only way I could.
“I’m glad you listened. I feel much lighter now I’ve gotten all these things of my chest,” was her reply. “They don’t bother me anymore.”
* * *
I got her a cab, and she went home. I did not take the shortcut to the jeepney stop and took the long way instead, taking my time. I saw the quarter moon and the clouds. I saw Serendra for the quiet place it was named for. I listened, and listened, and when it was quiet I let my mind rest for a bit.
