summary

My friend, Riva, showed me her old planner at her condo during one of her parties. Stapled on its pages were show tickets, bus tickets, fliers, and other pieces of paper that trigger memories of her studies in London.

“Don't you find it strange that your life can be summarized by a small planner?” I asked her.
She said she wouldn't exactly put it that way. These pieces of paper represented memories. These were imprints of her past.

Why indeed did I not see it that way? I myself had been going crazy trying to leave imprints of my mad existence in small notebooks, on my laptop, and later on, in this blog. Hell, I even keep the ticket of my first visit to Fort Santiago way back in gradeschool. Have I, in my mad rush to get on with the drudgery of work, forgotten to leave some pieces of myself behind?

One look at this blog will tell you how much I've neglected my chronicling duties. This blog was almost on the verge of nonexistence. Oblivion does seem comforting at times, especially when intrusion into one's privacy has already gnawed away portions of one's personal space. But I have learned to thrive here. I have loved offering myself naked to the gods and demons and all the other boring creatures in between. I have stripped my clothes off in this blog, both figuratively and literally, to expose my soul. You have, so far, been seeing me in all my nakedness, excess hair and all. The sublime and the hideous have all been mixed up here like jello and mud, each enhancing the flavor of the other.

Will I stop summarzing my life within these pages? I don't think so. Not while my alcohol-marinated dendrytes are still functioning. Not while I still find cathartic pleasure (or masturbatory delight, if you will) in exhuming my thoughts and laying them down on paper. Not when so many events, both forgettable and blissful, are taking me into a cycle of ennui and excitement, turning, whirling, rolling my consciousness into the mildly sour folds of transcendence.

I am back.