Two Million Thoughts

At most times, I feel so alone, yet, I am content with talking to myself or staring at the moon than going out with other people. I can be in one crowdy, noisy place but I can still hear the silence and emptiness of my heart. I can laugh out my heart loud, tell the corniest joke, deliver the coolest punchline, but really, deep inside, all I want is a good old friend to talk to, a warm cup of Swiss Miss Chocolate or a therapeutic green tea to sip, a shoulder to lean on, and profound things to discuss.

My classmates would never understand why I would suddenly change my mind in having lunch or shawarma with them. They could never empathize with my need to go out of the library and be alone studying in the back stairways of VH Hall. They wouldn’t comprehend why in the middle of all our brouhaha, they would suddenly find me with lips sealed, saying nothing, just wearing my ever-reliable smile. They wouldn’t and couldn’t because I find it hard to explain. I find it hard to explain because there are just too much to talk and I don’t really know if someone would care to listen.

Going out with friends surely cures a lonely and miserable soul. But I couldn’t fool myself. I’d rather lock myself in a room and torture my poor mind with the never-ending analysis of my life–what I am now, why I’ve become this and that, etc. than bingeing on iced tea and pizza until the wee hours of the morning but feeling emptier after.  I’d rather talk to the lifeless screen of a PC or to the blank pages of my overly-abused anything-and-everything-goes notebook than have an all-day talkathon with some people, my mind and heart not actually present.

Last week, I received a text message from my housemate. It talked about the complexities and ironies of life. A part of it goes: it’s crazy to be sane, we need to fall to fly…we have to unlearn to know the lesson, we have to give up because we are strong…

It was kind of a relief to have received that message. Somehow, it confirmed the fact that I am still normal, a fact I have long pondered and doubted. Yes, I have written it right–without the letters a and b–I am still NORMAL! Yehey!

There are just times that I need to do something crazy just to keep my sanity intact. When I was still in the land of anime and techno gadgets, one day of thrill rides, foods, and splurges in Disney Sea cured my homesickness and boredom. In another instance, when the pressures of the one-on-one interview assessment of our intermediate Japanese class were eating me up that the sound of the teacher’s scrawling on the white board made me sick, a breathe of fresh air and a loud scream in mid-air in Disneyland’s Big Thunder Mountain Railroad ride did just the trick in keeping my balance between sanity and insanity. And still in another instance, I grabbed the opportunity to visit Yokohama Sea Paradise and rode the dizzying rides, with a stranger at that! Today, I watched a romantic comedy, and right at this moment, I am already logged in for two hours, still reading some cynical materials from the Cynical Traveler, and endlessly searching for diffent people here in Friendster despite the fact that I have voluminous books to read and multiple cases to digest! Indeed, it makes me crazy to be always sane; so I go crazy once in while!

If I may add another line in that text message, I’d write: We need to cry to be happy, to be alone just to feel that we are part of the world, and to be silent to hear our own voice.

Isn’t it then a wonderful life?

I was staring into a live triscape ten hours ago. The deep blue sea gave a starking contrast against the clear turquoise sky, while the silhouette of the mountains served as background of the various shapes that traversed into space.

Just beneath my heels are the waves, gracefully dancing and rejoicing as the sun illuminated them. The platform of the boat cut through the serenity of the sea, producing a thick splash of white water upwards, gaily twirling round and round, without boredom. Right above my head, the sun smiled its widest grin, bathing me with its golden rays. And very near it, on its left side, is a long-haired fairy in a billowing skirt, blowing a trumpet for me.

A few moments later, the fairy in a skirt moved farther away and on her original position now came feathers of Cupid’s wings. Light, fluffy, and floating flirtily with the wind, they seemed scattered and disoriented, as if looking for their rightful master.

Where was Cupid anyway?

Then I remembered the stranger in my future. Would he be able to see the live masterpiece I was seeing? Would he share the same thoughts? Would he let me fly and toss me to the sky so I could tiptoe on the cotton candy that floats with it? Will he dive and dance with me underwater and play with the mermaids? In some mighty coincidence, was he staring at the same painting at that moment, too?

Was he, just like me, appreciating The Great Hand that changes the painting every millisecond with his powerful stroke and fill it with color in his palette at any instant?

I closed my eyes and took a picture of what I have seen, taking every precious moment of the moving picture in front of me. Just before I went on with the daily rush of my life, I dropped a pebble into the sea and watched it creating a ripple that grew bigger and bigger, hoping that one day, with some stroke of grace and miracle, the ripple would become big enough to reach him.

One day, I won’t be staring at the picture alone anymore.

I was trying hard to control my mind to stay focused on where I was going, desperately coaching my stomach not to vomit what I had just managed to eat that day, and at the same time, cursing the rainy days for all its inconveniences. Little voices in my head seemed to mock and tell me, "Why did you enter this kind of life anyway? Why did you go to law school when you had a good job and could possibly get a better one???" My world was spinning, my lunch of Skyflakes was about to go a U-turn, my legs were wobbling, and my head was about to crack. My brain was endlessly processing two million thoughts, most of them worries, problems, desperations, etc…and my chronic Peptic Acid Disease was about to go in full force…

Then I saw her… A chubby girl of five or six, with wavy hair tucked carelessly behind her hair, smiling while squatting and eating with her bare hands on the street, under the light drizzle. She seemed not to care of the people around her, the situation on her surroundings. She sat there innocently– contentment and happiness plastered on her face.

For a split second, I was touched. But the thought of finishing my research paper on the world’s legal systems and of getting my pressed uniform on time got the better part of me. I ignored her smile, proceeded with my agenda that day–my mind empty and my heart emptier–and miraculously managed to log-in and fire furiously like an automaton on what my opinion is on the Chinese and Hindu legal systems. From time to time I could see her from the glass windows of the Internet Cafe, playing with the other kids on the left side of the street, or at times, jumping up and down and mumbling some words I could not comprehend.

When I finally decided to stop my mechanical typing, I proceeded to get my uniform from the laundry shop. On my way home, I saw her again, this time, sitting on one of the benches with another child her age, playing something with their hands. For a moment, I yearned I was a child again, a child free to roam and wonder, with nothing to worry about. But then, I had to rush to my 5:30 class so I just passed by them without even looking.

For a minimum of 15 minutes, I managed to change to my school uniform, put on a light make-up to conceal my emptiness, wore my two-and-a-half-inch-high pump shoes, arranged my books on a black, lifeless bag, and hurried to school. My mind had successfully subdued the effects of hyperacidity and had just done a complete shift–this time, I was trying to recall Article VIII of the 1987 Philippine Constitution, and the facts, issues, and ruling in the case Llamas versus Orbos.

I was too busy making mental notes that I didn’t notice I was only a foot away from the Chinese garter she and her friends had set-up across the pedestrian side of the streeet. With her sweet smile that revealed a missing tooth in her lower jaw, she said, "Ate, lukso! Chinese garter ta! Kahibalo ka?"

At that instant, I wanted to cry and hug her. I wanted to thank her for showing me the lighter side of life, the little things that I usually ignore. I wanted to feel the warmth of being alive, of breathing, and living, despite the pain.

And so I looked at the bright red and yellow garter and the sparkling drops of water that had soaked it. I looked down on my heels, and felt the heaviness of my bag, for the first time that day. I looked around me and felt the soft breeze and the light drizzle and I remembered that yes, I do love the rain.

I gave her my sweetest smile. I told her I knew their game and that I used to play it when I was in fourth grade. And secretly I told myself that I know how to play the game called life.

Despite the stupidity of how it looked–a law student in her off-white and pinstriped uniform with heels and make-up playing with a six-year-old kid–I did the jump anyway.

And I am glad I did.

I didn’t know her name but I now call her Happiness.