I dream of a parallel universe.

No oceans. I brave the walk from where I am to where you are. Past signs that I have learned to disregard. Where people don't have to sleep but we still choose to just to hear each other breathe. And when we're apart, I can whisper stories into my pillow and have you listen to it from the other side of the world. Where distance is outlawed by our leaders. I dream of that universe.

A universe where I can say I'll see you in ten minutes and then be beside you in seven. Where we drive around for no particular reason on a rainy night just for me to watch the raindrops cast shadows on your arms and on your cheeks. And the car we ride will have no use for a stereo because when we overlap unintelligible sentences, we create music. And when we make a promise, it becomes poetry. I dream of that universe.

That universe where nothing happened in the past; everything is happening all at once in the present. Where the future is a mere afterthought of a boring conversation by the beach. A universe that consists mostly of you and me. And cloudy afternoons. And bottles of wine. I dream of that universe.

A universe where I believe it is possible for me to be your miracle.

Instead of you being mine.



Chungking Express by Wong Kar Wai



Music video directed by x_boyfriend himself, Zig Marasigan three years ago when were all just acting.

I could talk about me.

I could talk about a conversation I had with Eric, one of my best friends. We talked about how we are all chasing down memories. It used to be that big events were the ones you remember. Now it's a half hour over coffee or ten minutes of chat when we bump into each other somewhere. I could talk about how depressing the thought of putting a half-hour chat on your planner is. We don't have time because we don't make time. I could talk about friendship.

I could talk about yesterday. I could talk about seeing a pirated DVD of Cul de Sac right outside a duty free store in Clark. I could talk about how we all laughed at the situation but I could also talk about how it reminded me to focus on it and finally finish it. It has been haunting me for a year. I could talk about fear.

I could talk about me.

I could talk about today. I could talk about how my heart broke when I visited my grandfather and he can't recognize me anymore. He turned 83 today, bedridden for more than a year, only being able to eat through a tube in his stomach. I could talk about how I never visit him and how it tore me up when he couldn't remember my name. I could talk about guilt.

I could talk about tomorrow. I could talk about the hype I'm giving tomorrow and the expectations I put on it. I could talk about sleepless nights, when impatience gets the best of me. I used to always say that tomorrow is fiction, but it's the only fiction I believe in and because of that belief, the possibility of it remaining just fiction frightens me. I could talk about disappointment.

I could talk about my work. I could talk about how I never impressed myself with anything I have ever done. I could talk about how ashamed of myself I have become. I could talk about contributing nothing to an art form I fell in love with as a child, of how I always believed I could have done better or done otherwise, but didn't. I could talk about failure.

I could talk about love. At the same time, I could talk about regret.

I could talk about me. But I choose not to.

From now on, I won't talk about MY failure, MY sadness, MY heartbreaks. From now on, I will accept the truth that the thin line that separates things that are worth talking about and things that kids whine about is called selfishness. Or maybe immaturity.

For once, the world will not revolve around me. For once, I recognize that its problems are bigger than my own.

I could talk about me.

But then again, I'm no longer a child.

While stuck in traffic during a rainy night with hindiakosicarmi in Pampanga, a conversation on why one should say something arose. Maybe a question we should have started with is what was meant to be said. Then maybe we could have figured out why. Nonetheless, I will always enjoy the image of two writers stuck in a car watching lightning roll across the sky above the fields of Clark. Sometimes, even writers are at a loss for words when awed by something so beautiful.



From "Syndromes and a Century" by Apichatpong Weerasethakul

It was a fat 16-year old wearing glasses and a Bob Marley shirt who met Alexis, fittingly, in front of the Film Center in Manila. It was his first article and it was about upcoming filmmakers. Up until now, I still question what I was doing there in the first place but he was surprised that I could quote Hitchcock and Kubrick when everyone was still worried about their prom dates.

"You may not know his name now, but five to ten years from now, you and your friends will be talking about his films," he wrote about me in that article. That was 8 years ago. I wonder what happened.

I remember watching The Decalogue with Alexis in UA&P and after that, he'd bring me to another screening in Brash Young Cinema. On the way, in his car, we'd talk about Kieslowski and faith and allegory and weirdly enough, I didn't feel dumb talking to him despite his brilliance. I told him that someday, I'd like to make a film like that, something that would challenge the audience's strongest beliefs. I wonder what happened.

I've been asked recently whether I'm disillusioned with where I am. I think disillusionment connotes that I had an illusion in the first place. I didn't. Maybe a fitting description would be disheartened. I'm disheartened that I forgot why I wanted to make films. I'm disheartened that I allowed passion to turn into work. I'm disheartened at how people would go to the lengths of killing a friend and hero of mine just for a little bit of money. 

And this morning, upon hearing the news of the ferry incident, I'm disheartened that people's lives were put in danger for something that could have been easily avoided. What if they didn't have to go to Gen San? What if, as one of the co-writers, I changed one sequence or one plot point that would have resulted in the crew not being in the ferry? What if we didn't think of box office returns all the time? What if, for once, we thought of challenging the audience to grow?

I'm disheartened when I saw that I was part of Alexis's first article. I'm disheartened when I remember what I said in that article with regards to the Philippine film industry: "It should stop treating itself as a business." I'm disheartened that I allowed myself to forget that. I'm disheartened that I'm not doing this anymore for the reasons I started out with.

I'm disheartened that 8 years has passed and Alexis's words just remained words. I'm disheartened that I didn't grow my passion as strong as him. I'm disheartened that I compromised time and again. I'm disheartened that I did not contribute anything to Philippine cinema when Alexis thought I would. I'm disheartened that I made myself believe that there's nothing bigger than my own personal issues and angst about love, and the petty kind at that.

I'm disheartened that everything that happened this year has justified me moving somewhere else. I'm disheartened that that somewhere couldn't be here. I'm disheartened that I can't call that somewhere home.

But maybe it's there where I could finally live up to that article. Maybe there, I could give something back, contribute something. Maybe there Alexis's words would come true, he's almost always never wrong anyway. Maybe there I can find hope.

And maybe, just maybe, I can bring some of it back.

Image from Lars Von Trier's The Five Obstructions. In spite of the fear, I honestly can't wait.

 

The other day, I cleaned my room. I threw away old papers, calling cards, old burned CDs, practically everything that deserved the trash can. There's one drawer in my closet though that I rarely open. It's that drawer where I keep old medals, awards, letters from my parents, love letters, photographs, and most everything that I consider valuable and important.

There was a sense of dread as I opened it up and I made sure it was the last place in my room that I would tackle. At first, I couldn't open it. It was so filled up with stuff that I could barely open it. Inside was a jungle full of memorabilia and I realized how many things I value and consider important. I'm an avid collector of memories, apparently.

There was no money inside or anything that was valuable. Inside it were little wonderful things that I realized I haven't seen in almost 10 years. Inside, I found a script for a play that I acted in during college with miabacs . I read it again. It was wonderful. And I've missed acting alongside her. I saw the first draft of Seth the Destroyer, written and directed by drywall complete with cigarette burns that I probably put around 6 years ago, probably the first few cigarettes I shared with him not knowing we'll be friends up until now.

I saw potatocoatedair 's Oplan Alabang call sheet prepared by magicelephant  and realized how great their relationship must be. And how I've seen it blossom into something that everyone should envy. I saw hoykingcoy 's script for Ang Huling Hirit Ni Kiko Peligro and realized what a wonderfully honest writer he is, unfazed by pretension and not muddled by anything else. His pen is his heart. I saw a sketch of a guy in a hoodie holding a film camera by kitschykoo and I wonder how beautiful the world must be in her eyes.

I saw this and realized, wow, there was a time when we really absolutely and honestly loved what we do. There was a time when we didn't call what we do "work".

And then I saw old screenplays that I've written, a sequence treatment with handwritten notes by Direk Marilou, a scene-by-scene outline with notes from Armando Lao, the short film screenplay that was to become Cul de Sac. A medal for soccer (who knew?), a medal for Creative Writing. Beside those are letters and cards that I received from relatives. I saw a card written by my late grandmother saying how I should pray everyday to say thanks that I graduated from grade school.

And then there were the letters I received from past relationships. As I read through them, it dawned on me that most of them were apologies. I didn't realize it at the time but now I asked myself, why did I keep these letters? Shouldn't I have torn them up the minute I got them? But no. I kept them with no apparent reason why.

If I was to start severing ties for my plans next year, I realized that first that should go would be those from the past. So I dismantled that drawer and emptied the contents on the floor. I went through every thing, one by one. I had a pile of things that make me happy and another of things that don't. The latter ends up in the trash.

At the end of it, I realized I knew all along what made me happy and I should have focused on that. The memories I treasure are the ones I've shared with others. And as I returned the drawer to its place, I noticed how light it was and how easily it slid into place.

The things I'd rather forget took up too much space that I couldn't put in brand new things. Now there's enough space. And now that I know what goes into the happy pile, the rest shouldn't be that hard.

There's one particular item in the drawer that deserves a whole different entry altogether. It was a speech given at my sister's graduation that I printed out. That and a movie I recently saw (picture below) further assured me that I'm on the right track. Now all I need is a plateful of courage and a side dish of luck.

A law student asked me why I am not in a relationship. But before I could articulate a response fit for a future lawyer, I realized I had no answer. "Why? What's the problem?" he asked. "Still haven't met her, I guess," so goes my lame reply. "That's bullshit," he said. Apparently, it wasn't enough that I had no answer, I had no excuse as well.

"So who are you dating now?" I've been asked that for more than half a decade and I haven't been able to give a proper response. I've been asked that so many times that I wonder whether my existence is only validated with being with another. Lately however, the questions turned into "How are you?" and "When are we hanging out?", both of which are far more easier to answer. The first one I just answer with the ever-reliable "Okay", the second one with the ever-ambiguous "Soon".

Probably the people who ask about my dating had stopped caring. But the alternative I fear is that they had given up on me finding an answer to their question. Maybe they stopped believing that I'd find an answer that I would finally stick by.

So the law student asked me again. "I'm sure you've met her. Maybe you just haven't had that one incredible moment. Is that what's missing?" The question struck me as a thinly disguised version of "Have you ever been in love?".

For the record, he couldn't be more wrong. I've had a million unbelievable moments and fantastic nights. And yes, I have fallen in love and contrary to popular belief, I do have a heart. What I have come to realize is that what he asked me is precisely what isn't missing.

Now that I've had time to think it over, what I'm missing are the believable moments and boring nights. Something that I know won't just exist for an afternoon or at the break of dawn. I would gladly trade the magic of an incredible kiss, for the mundane comfort of a credible one everyday. As a romantic, I'd like to believe that someone is hiding under my porch, waiting to knock at my door. There's always someone hiding under our porches.

But then again, maybe you're asking, when? When will it happen? That, I guess, will have to be answered by the ever-ambiguous "Soon".

This was written without the pretense of being about love or about relationships. But then, Pixar came in the picture and well, added a dash of confusion to the clarity I'm experiencing, but it was a welcome confusion, hence a reference to a line from the movie. It's not a spoiler, just probably the sweetest line of any movie I've seen this year.



The last shot of Michelangelo Antonioni's "L'Avventura", one of the most beautiful last shots that I have seen in movies.
"Tell me you love me."
"I love you."
"Tell me you don't love me."
"I don't love you."

It should be that simple.