The Biggest Roller Coaster of All

The last time I was on a roller coaster was 3 months ago, when I accompanied a visiting friend from San Diego to Magic Mountain.  It's a theme park in Southern California known for its gigantic roller coasters.

The memory of all the rides that we went on are now starting to fade, except for that painful thrill when the first roller coaster we went on took its first major dive.  Painful, because of that unexplainable turning of the stomach as the carts go hurling down back towards the ground.  Thrilling, because despite of all the screams and that disturbing grinding noise, somehow all the assurances of a safe adventure suddenly doesn't seem that assuring anymore. 

On top of it all, it started raining while we were in the middle of one of the longest rides.

For all of those who have braved riding one, I'm sure that there is no greater feeling than realizing that the ride has ended, and that another beast has been conquered by the brave.

My life has been one big roller coaster.  The dips have been just as painful, and the screams, just as real.  I've been twisted and hurled in so many directions all at the same time that sometimes, numbness seems to set in almost permanently.

Like a roller coaster ride, I have learned to laugh out loud and scream quietly at the same time, because there seems to be no other way to mask the pain. 

Like my life, I take every opportunity to breath deeply when the ride seems to ease up, in preparation for the next dip or twist or turn.

In both, I have learned to protect myself and hold on tight. 

In both, I have found out that hearing the screams of others provide a disturbing assurance that others, too, are going through the same things that I am enduring, even if we can't reach out to provide company.  Misery loves company, I guess, just as being in a company isn't a guarantee against feeling lonely.

I may not turn out wiser or braver, but I've long accepted that this roller coaster ride called life does not offer any guarantee.  I'm going to ride it out, not by chance, but by choice.

I will continue to laugh despite the pain.

I will continue to muffle the scream despite the rain.

I will ride out my roller coaster called life.

I will endure.

Road Trip on My Mind

Tonight I write knowing fully well what I want to tell.

I went on a road trip last night.  On Christmas eve, I found myself on the road, just cruising my sadness away, hoping that my destination would fulfill its promise of a happier me.

It's funny how, realizing that I took a longer route, I was amused at the thought of the parallelisms of a road trip and my life - I can go wherever I want and yet I often choose to stay close to my comfort zone, I can get lost and yet still seem to be able to find my way back again, and even though I can see all the other travellers around me, somehow I still feel alone inspite of their presence.  Just now, though, I find myself wishing that life had a gas meter attached to it, to tell me how much more miles I'd still be able to take.  Then maybe, just maybe, I'd know when it's time to drive back home.

I reached my destination at a much later time.  How typical of my life, being a latebloomer in a lot of aspects. 

The place had all the familiar sounds and sights, amidst all the expected unfamiliar smiles and handshakes.  The feeling was still the same - I was in the company of strangers, and the anonymity was a blanket that I'm already used to in covering my sadness away. 

Blue Christmas isn't an empty phrase.  I was holding it last night.

The Mother of all Chain Letters

THIS MADE ME SMILE.  I HOPE IT'LL HAVE THE VERY SAME EFFECT ON YOU.

HAPPY HOLIDAYS! 

MIKE

------------------------


I want to thank all of you who have taken the time and trouble to send me
your damn chain letters over the past few years. Yes, thank you, thank
you, thank you from the bottom of what's left of my heart for making me feel
safe, secure, blessed, and wealthy.

Because of your concern... I no longer can drink Coca Cola because it can
remove toilet stains.

I no longer drink anything out of a can because I will get sick from the rat
faeces and urine.

I no longer use Saran wrap in the microwave because it causes cancer.

I no longer check the coin return on pay phones because I could be pricked
with a needle infected with AIDS.

I no longer use cancer-causing deodorants even though I smell like a water
buffalo on a hot day.

I no longer use margarine because it's one molecule away from being plastic.

I no longer go to shopping malls because someone will drug me with a perfume
sample and rob me.

I no longer receive packages from UPS or FedEx since they are actually Al
Qaeda in disguise.

I no longer answer the phone because someone will ask me to dial a stupid
number for which I will get the phone bill from hell with calls to
Jamaica, Uganda, Singapore, and Uzbekistan.

I no longer eat KFC because their chickens are actually horrible mutant
freaks with no eyes or feathers.

I no longer date the opposite sex because they will take my kidneys and
leave me taking a nap in a bathtub full of ice.

I no longer buy expensive cookies from Neiman Marcus since I now have their
recipe.

I no longer worry about my soul because I have 363,214 angels looking out
for me and St. Theresa's novena has granted my every wish.

Thanks to you, I have learned that God only answers my prayers if I forward
an email to seven of my friends and make a wish within five minutes.
(Geez, the BIBLE did not mention it works that way!)

I no longer have any savings because I gave it to a sick girl who is about
to die in the hospital (for the 1,387,258th time).

I no longer have any money at all, but that will change once I receive the
$15,000 that Microsoft and AOL are sending me for participating in
their special e-mail program.

Yes, I want to thank all of you soooooooo much for looking out for me!

I will now return the favor.

If you don't send this e-mail to at least 1200 people in the next 60
seconds, a large bird with diarrhoea will crap on your head at 5:00 PM this
afternoon and the fleas of a thousand camels will infest your armpits.


I know this will occur because it actually happened to a friend of a friend
of a friend of a friend of a friend of a friend of a friend of my next door
neighbour's ex-mother-in-law's 8th husband's 2nd cousin's 3rd husband's
ex-wife's mother's beautician!

a reply to mr. popular

at 6:05 in the morning, i am smiling.  thank you.

on that same note, i'm grateful for your interest in reading my sporadic blogging.  i honestly wish i could write as often and as much as i'd want to, but oftentimes i find myself staring into the monitor and thinking, "no, i can't write that."  self-censorship is something i've always been used to, you know.  lately, though, i'm starting to realize that my journey has slowly been leading me to crossroads where i've been meeting other people who have been great sources of inspiration and comfort.  now, each day that passes makes me more hopeful, anticipating the day when i can retire most of the masks that i've been wearing all these time, and bring down the walls that i thought may have protected me in the past, but now seem to serve as nothing more than a barrier against my true self.  i hope to capture all that as i blog along.

but you know what?  i think i'm actually coming out of my protective shell, come to think of it.  contrary to what i imagined things would be in my naive years, there was no big bang.  no sudden overhaul of the wardrobe, nor a quick dash to the tanning salon.  i still say "please" and "thank you" to strangers, i still open the door for people, i still say my prayers before meals, and i still say "sorry" and mean it.  i still subscribe to the virtues of politeness and kindness, hard work and dedication, and in the belief that there is Someone who watches over all of us who is not so easy to condemn and judge for being truthful to one's self, contrary to popular preaching.  i still love the care-free feeling of putting on a pair of sneakers and jeans, as much as i still believe that the best form of relaxation is either sipping a cool drink under a coconut tree on a white sand beach, or just by being in bed on a rainy day, under cool crisp sheets, with a good book in hand, and a warm drink by the bedside. 

i'm still me - flawed and imperfect, but constantly trying to improve and be good.  that much, i know will never change.

and, yes, despite my happy feet, i'm still out to prove that i can't dance.  i don't think i can even be good enough to merit being called "spastic", but we'll see.  ;-P

i'm looking forward to reading your next blog.  or maybe another message.  either way, i know both will make me smile.

take care of yourself, and have a great weekend.

mike

Happy Feet

I wish I could say I could dance well.

In all honesty, I've always envied people who seem to glide so effortlessly on the floor.  Dance is a sensual ritual, and sometimes it may even be more powerful than spoken words in conveying who we are, how we feel, and what we stand for.

Ballroom dancers whose hips seem to have a life of their own fascinate me.  Just now, I realize that their butts remind me of the condom balloons my cousin and I once innocently played with when we were in first grade - they look just like any average balloon, but for some reason you know that they're special.  Firm but slippery, round but in an odd kind of way, and, yes, they seem harder to pop even though they look so sensitive.

Hip hop dancers.  Now, they're a treat to watch.  They're almost always covered in layers of clothing, so the hips and the butts are harder to appreciate, but there's a certain rawness in the movements that makes it hard for me to look away.  I'd admit that some look like epilepsy patients gone wild, and that half of the time I'm just waiting for a bone to pop.  However, almost always, watching them move never fails to bring a smile on my face. 

Fact is, I'm almost convinced that I'd probably take up either ballroom or hip hop dance classes next year.  Why?  Because... hold your breath... people say I can dance.  Yes, it's this week's revelation.  But here's another secret: I really can't.  And I'm going to class just to prove that.   

I dance, yes, but only in the corners of the dance floor, or wherever the darkest portion of the bar is.  In the recent occasions that I have, which is always under the influence of Bud Light or a sweet Mojito, I just simply close my eyes and move to the music.  I can't describe the feeling, but I'm aware that I do weird jerking motions when I move.  There would always be the initial feeling of being very conscious as to why my feet are doing what they're doing, but after a while, and when my hips, shoulders, arms and head would finally realize what they've just gotten themselves into, then the whole body would seem to move in the exact opposite beat that my feet listens to.  It happens all the time.  But you know what's hilarious?  I'd actually get a few compliments about my dancing.  Yup, my complete lack of feet-and-body coordination is always misinterpreted.  I love drunk people.  Or is it a new pick-up line that I'm unaware of?

Have you seen the movie Happy Feet?  Did you find Mumble's dancing completely adorable?  That's not the way I dance.  I dance the way he sings, to put it mildly.

But maybe, just maybe, what I've got are happy feet.  No, that's not to suggest that I'm a natural born dancer.  It just means that although I'm completely clueless as to what my feet are doing, I feel great just observing how happy they they seem to be despite my embarassment.

I was smiling the entire time I was writing this.  I can't wait to write something about my attempts at singing.  Haha!