ON MY WAY TO INFINITY AND BEYOND
By: Iris P. Concepcion

http://www.noynoy.ph/blog/2010/04/18/team-aquino-roxas-vow-100-health-coverage-for-filipinos-by-2013/

http://www.noynoy.ph/blog/2010/04/21/labor-unions-throw-support-to-team-aquino-roxas/

Something terribly bizarre happened to me when my age ran faster than the normal calendar count.

How time flies: the kids grow faster; they are exchanging songs sung from the mountains of the gods; they are getting deeper than the submarines; they are no longer understood except by the majority. They do not talk about tits boldly like creamed macaroons; they simply WEAR them. I know their every quirk, body movement, space travel and sentence.

I started receiving sample fillers on how to lose yourself with the opposite sex; the kind of thing I abhor like smelly armpits before.

I nag the Person Up There why these did not happen to me during the heydays of my teenhood; when everything was sweet and prosperous and beautifully serialized like the T.V. show "California Fever"; where all my combined crushes of yesteryears converged in one sitcom.

Then, I read a book on Pop Culture's history. I was made to understand that people do respond to various trigger points; associate themselves with what the medium produces i.e., salivate when sweethearts are together and they make-up a whole fairy tale story, so put-on, that everything shall happen like Goldilocks and her golden hair eventually.

I think, the book termed it "neutralizing" someone who is already way too loud with fantasies so imposing you just need to embrace them.

It is my luxury that I write (a privilege of my pen) and I assume that it is being provided by a mighty provider of the writing carnival. I see through the volubility and involubility of the combined experiences and come out, thereafter, a person who is more steadfast, and this is where the butterfly stomach kicks in, someone who had known an emotional partner who guides more than feeds. My fit, no matter how you see it. No room for scumbag hypocrites who treat women like rugs. And they are suddenly the experienced holy men of grail?

Of course we laugh, how else can you parry the obviously dead sycophants?

It is easy to succumb to weariness but like parallel wavelengths, I feel him, circumsitionally (funny word) on my path, leading. Only he alone would know if I am ready to break through the waters, skip the ground and fly a goddamn airplane. Endure my presence; stay being haughty, I am just going to follow what this better other had taught me.

This sudden outpouring of nicety could not have any motive except for bigger things no longer my own. That could have been the cause why everyone is throwing their weight around on my street of choice (look am wealthier, look am supernaturally handsome, look am David's son--all those curly hair could chest-carpet 100 bodies, look I am the smartest, blah blah blah). Of course you are after MY welfare when you place all these things before me. I shall treat you well still even if it kills because HE said so. I hope it wasn't dicatated upon by the need to ferry more women for free in some beach where all the filthy converge, one point at a time.

But always, you return to the one who had demanded once, for a love declaration when everything else is done via self-gratification. Only women thought like this but he wanted a genuine connection. I was not forced to drink, smoke, get bad, parked in motels like a paid whore; you know the drill. Never did he say "want". It was always the luminous "need".

I found myself carrying the cudgels for him; he is not a yacking, critical person whose trademark is badmouthing everyone who gets in his way. Someone who takes it like biblical truth that a pair separated when the reality is, they did not not, for a fee. He wouldn't do that for a living. What a way to earn your keep. Cheap shot but you get my freaking point. I was with them; you were never around---you were busy chasing your dreams via the coffers of the government in some faraway get away. I do not want choked for Pete's sake.

Often times, I wonder, how was he able to put up with me for more than a decade of discoveries about myself and NOT get bored? Why isn't he bored with me? He has a certain look given my way when I get loquacious. You can't miss it even when my head says: "this is an absolute farce." He always says it and delivers the opposite thing thereafter.

My first break of creative story was about him; I am making sure he will still be the protagonist when I hit the age of 101.

It is not blind faith. He had invested on that presence long time ago, back when I was temperamental, choosy, moody and obnoxious.

Yes. That is the thing I feel everytime I wake up: even when he is already in front of me, it is weird still missing him.

Believe me, this ain't the stupid affection you toot over like dead undies in a wet market.You connect with a person and that is just it. It's a Jedi thing for crying out loud.

He could have gotten it easy but chose not to. Always the breeding shows.

You should meet the kids: by God, can they write and sing even when the eldest is a special child!

I trust that the wayward information propelled by someone who shoots off from a beaten track will be granted: I mean, who needs those who count their fingers via choking ladies in cars? By the will of God, old politics comes with a price: You did good jobs, sure. I benefited from these. Let me just feel my way through WHERE the heck they are. Twenty years and I am still looking for some wilderness.