starving artist

We have the kryptonite. Now, where’s Superman?

The line between fact and fiction is getting thinner every minute. Last year, Superman fans all over the globe wished that their screen-made hero’s real. Several days ago, everybody wished the Virginia Tech shooting was just a piece of a madman’s fantasies.

But voila! We now have the kryptonite, a mineral discovered by geologists in Serbia, believed to weaken Superman. U.S’s worst shooting happened in a school. However, there’s something, someone missing… Tan-tanan-tananan!!! Superman! Where are you?

If Superman’s real, he could have saved the lives of teachers and students of Virginia Tech. He could have saved Seung- Hui Cho, the gunman. He could have saved the gunman’s family from media feasts. Superman could have…

Do we really have to wait for Superman to appear and save us from our miseries and horrible "incidents"?

We don’t need the cinematic hero (pardon me, Superman fans). We can be our own Superman and Superwoman if we want to. But most of us choose to play villains, consciously and unconsciously. Okay, let’s put the Virginia Tech shooting again into the picture.

What had happened to Seung-Hui Cho before the shooting is ordinary— a kid being bullied psychologically (who says bullying’s just pure physical activity?) because of his weird ways. And many people got shocked that he was capable of the shootings. No, I am not. Everybody’s capable of everything. You can’t say you can’t because you don’t know what the kid had been through. The kid probably waited for his action figures to come to life; he also probably waited for his schoolmates to rescue him from bullies; he waited for his Superman.

But no one came. He drowned himself in darkness where he played and cultivated his bloody thoughts with his shadows; in perversion that caused him to stalk women in his campus; and in writing where murder, rape, and gore ruled (hey, this kid could have been the next Edgar Allan Poe). With no hope of being rescued, he turned into a villain.

And what about his could-have-been-Supermen and women? Before the kryptonite was unearthened, human kryptonite already runs in our system and it is called fear.

Fear of being bullied or fear of whatever could have paralyzed the people around Seung-Hui Cho from helping him. They were afraid to be part of the kid’s hauntingly mysterious behavior.

Anyway, before I drown myself with the thoughts of Seung-Hui, let’s go further.

The Virginia Tech shooting can happen here in our country, in our province of Iloilo. Ooops.. I see some eyebrows arching! You say, "But our kids don’t have access to guns!" or "We don’t even have a gun!"

Dear parents, children are imaginative than adults. They are also fond of improvisation. Creativity will come into the way in the absence of the usual murder weapons. I won’t enumerate things here, your 10-year-old might read my blog and do what heaven forbids!

And to all kinds of bullies and pretending-to-be-bullies out there, stop what you’re doing! I’m not saying that you must turn into an instant saint! If you can’t stop (because bullying is addictive), then try to lessen it, you…

Don’t wait for more murders. Don’t wait for another kid to play God in minutes.

And the discovery of kryptonite doesn’t realize an inch of our wishes of Superman coming true.

I decided to upload an entry in a previous journal; an entry which doesn’t have any relation to our local and national politics, to the new flyover which enraged busy and traffic-hater Ilonggos a few days ago, or to the 15 hour blackout experienced by the city last Sunday (minus the aircon and plus the suffocating summer heat, blood pressures of our elders rose to a degree or so). This entry is an internal discussion that I made years ago. Hmmm… Let’s see if my views of the world changed after 3 ½ years…This internalization was and is in relation to selected lines of the infamous movie Dead Poets Society. Shall we? (Sometimes, it pays to have a journal because you can see yourself and what your beliefs then were):

“Captain, my captain.”

Then (2003): Associating the lines with the last two lines of William Ernest Henley’s poem Invictus (I am the master of my fate; I am the captain of my soul), questions like “Are we really the masters of our fates?” and “Are we the captains of our souls?” emerge. Going back to the movie, one of the main characters wanted to direct his life but couldn’t because of his father. Somehow, I feel connected to that boy because I see myself in him.

Now (2007): After having experienced a lot of adversities in my young life, I can say that we are really our own captain. What we will become in the next 20 years is the product of our continuous navigation. We may have our parents, mentors, friends, and critics to help us trudge the right way, but at the end of the day, decisions are in our hands. We are always liable for the things that are happening and will happen to us but because most of us can’t accept the truth that we allowed certain bad and ugly thins to eat a part of our lives, society has allowed us to blame other people for our misfortunes. (The kind of jeepney that we drive doesn’t matter. What matters is what kind of driver we are: the driver who waits for 15- 20 minutes for potential passengers, the one who drives his jeepney like a race car without consideration to his passengers, or the one who stops in the loading area and will even fight his right if a passenger makes “para” in inappropriate unloading area.

“Carpe Diem!” (Seize the day!)

Then (2003): That’s what I’m doing with my life now. I don’t want to do the things I hate. In the movie, the boys grabbed opportunities that they think can change their lives like performing in a stage play against his father’s will. And me? I’m taking and savoring the opportunity to live, to eat, to study, to be myself, to have different circles of friends, and of course, to dream and make it a reality.

Now (2007): After a down moment last week, I again realized that I have to do certain things that will make me happy, even if I will be labeled as deviant. But seizing opportunities for me doesn’t mean gobbling spoonfuls of it (it will just lead to vomiting or bloating); one must also be very selective. Hhhmm… Anyway, nothing much changed. I’m still the same with regards to this aspect. But living, eating, and being myself is not an opportunity; it’s a choice.

“Nothing is impossible.”

Then (2003): Nothing is impossible if we believe in our truest self. But we must know our limitations.

Now (2007): “Nothing is impossible” is a great mantra if used positively. I still believe in what I wrote years ago but we mustn’t stop after knowing our limitations. We must work on our limitations and working on it is like making a circle into a square, a painter’s palette into a headpiece. (Adidas agrees with the movie! “Impossible is nothing”, right?)

“It’s hard to maintain your beliefs in the face of others.”

Then and Now: And the result? Stereotypes! And we face them everyday, including ourselves. We sometimes, if not all the time, sacrifice what we believe in just to satisfy someone and because we are afraid to be an outcast. We are afraid that they will think we are wrong. But after years of observing, there are people who like individuals who are real. Well, if you don’t agree, you can do experiments with the people who are in your circle. After all, if your friends are for real, incidental farting is not an issue.

“There’s a time to be daring. There’s a time to be cautious.”

Then (2003): This is true as there are times in our lives that we need to be daring and also, cautious.

Now (2007): We can be daring and cautious at the same time. I believe that these two should go together. I did my own little experiments on how to be just daring and how to be just plain cautious. To be daring brought me thrills of my life, the kind of exhilaration that left me breathless, gave me a kind of high. And to be just plain cautious bored me to death… It’s like you’re a freak, close to the character of Cate Blanchett in Babel. But to be daring and cautious at the same time gave me the thrill that I still want and a sense of personal security that isn’t boring. It’s like study hard, party hard, play hard condition. Definitely, a win-win situation for me, that is.

As I am nearing the end of this blog, I realized that I am still the same me as I was 3 ½ years ago. And I can say that I have a better understanding, if not the best, of things and how they work in this world. Carpe Diem!

(Seize every moment. Make the most out of it. Re-unite with your elementary, high school or college friends. Send a handwritten letter to a loved one; I’m sure that even we are in this e-mail era, she or he will be glad to receive it. Watch a movie alone; it’s not hard, really. Eat an ice cream just for this day! Dance like crazy; disco dancing doesn’t have criteria anyway. Gather that courage and say "hi" to your crush; I promise, you will not faint or melt in front of him. Just don’t overdo things. Do everything in moderation! You can be daring and cautious at the same time because nothing is impossible!)

I feel so wasted…

I don’t know if this is just an effect of the Holy Week on me but plans and dreams seem to blur day after day. Everyday, I clean my reading glasses to get rid of fingerprints and dust and to see a "cleaner" view of what surrounds me but the cleaning doesn’t help clear the blur. And with this, I feel so wasted…

"No, you’re not." People would always say that to me– that I am not wasted. They just say that because they are binded and blinded by what they see and hear about me— graduated cum laude, got accepted and worked in a famous national company, a writer, an artist, and stuff like that. Despite these so-called achievements that they believed make me a winner, they still don’t know even an inch of me.

To graduate with honors gave me hope that I will reach my other dreams (as I only took my college degree because of a bargained scholarship). It was also the reason why I tried my luck in Manila a month after graduation. And to be accepted in a recognized national company increased my desire to even go further with my dreams. I even programmed myself to believe in myself. But all of these lasted only for months.

The excitement went down. The passion burnt out. Dreams faded away like how I see the world without my glasses. Blurred.

I would like to make myself believe that I am worthy of what I have achieved but this emptiness in me is always present— before, during, and after the triumphs in my life. "Maybe you’re not satisfied," a friend told me before graduation. And it stabbed me real hard, left me bleeding up to now.

To be satisfied is hard, especially when you see your dreams falling apart; when you see that your past decisions were wrong; when the company you’re dreaming to work with rejected you; when the course you wanted to take is not available in your place; when you can’t pass your articles on time; when you found out that your loved one found another; when an acquaintance is far successful from you; when you realized that you need another job to feed your bank account and insurance plan; when you get a clearer picture of you— you, unsatisfied.

I covered this emptiness with the bronze medal I received but the wound is bigger than its size so blood still gushes out. I clothed this emptiness with excellent corporate attire but the run on my stockings makes the emptiness vulnerable, only sizing itself to the next level. I tried to sketch and paint this emptiness with watercolor but it only recognizes the color black. I tried to stuff this emptiness with words, sentences, and paragraphs; it choked it out.

I entered my emptiness and tried to put things into right perspectives. As I reviewed my life entries for the last four months, I heard a familiar voice say, "Try again."

I looked around and saw the dreamer in me.

"Try again," she whispered. She  was dying.

I looked at her again. Her teary eyes met mine. I couldn’t control the tears from welling up; all I can do is wipe it as one smoothly slides down my face.

They say if you’ve had enough, just cry it out as tears will wash the pain away. But like water running through an open wound, tears only sting this emptiness in me.

And I still feel empty. So wasted.

(I tried to reread the Desiderata for Literature that I wrote two years ago, hoping I can regain some of my sanity back… But the pill, the lit I mean, doesn’t seem to have an instant "wake up" effect on me.)