Summer 2010

That season, I was supposed to stay in a place prescribed, not chosen, by somebody else for me. There were minutes about last Summer that I could vividly recall: the wonderful landscape of Naic, walking for miles breathing fresh air, eating freshly picked vegetables, learning what it was like to live like a farmer. When I look back at that Summer it sounded like a vacation of some sort, but there were parts of it I would remember with the most bitter taste: being forced to campaign for political candidates, being labeled a communist, being with communists, being there, face to face, with 20 or more armed men standing in the front line of a protest I did not have any actual business with. So the experience was soul-tearing from me--from being pulled away from home, from having to sleep on the floor, from doing my own laundry, to not being able to be online as long as I want, to seeing how ugly poverty in the rural areas is and to live said poverty, to mimicking the accent and pattern of speech of the locals. Soul-tearing because I had to be content with dried fish and dried fish and badly cooked fritatas and canned goods and vegetables whenever I was with the people's organization I was with; because I had to endure their ill-managed organization who planned and planned, but never followed one single plan; because I had to stay mum even when I hear people badmouthing other people; because I had to keep most of my opinions to myself; because most of the time the paranoia and the fear became so real I had pictured myself as if I was walking in dreamland, acting someone else's story, being in someone else's film. And I told myself it'll be over, it'll be over, even if the hand of fate decided to slap me with the most traumatic experience on the last day.

I am writing about last summer because it broke me. It shattered me. But it was not the kind of trauma that leaves you with little pieces of your life scattered and scrambled on the floor. It was the kind of experience that makes you whole, that confirms who you really are. But that would be reducing all of last Summer to pocket sized memories. It was certainly, much much more than that. I am writing about last summer in an attempt to sum it up, maybe even squeeze the moral story out of it. Make it sound like it was a pilgrimage. A chaotic one, at that.

From the little black box

I haven't been in the internet for such a long while, and there are reasons, all of which I'll try to sum up in this small space. I'll probably start with last summer, my here and hereafter. For many reasons life-changing, last summer was the culmination of my beliefs and personal character. What happened last summer, you ask? It warrants a full detailed explanation, and as such I may have to dedicate a separate page for it. It's that important, seriously.

I have since developed a feeling like I'm detached form the rest of the world: refusing to go out as often as I used to, desiring to stay inside my room at all times, not wanting to talk to people. It's stupid, I know. But ever since last summer, I've lost interest in many trivial things. The change was not of character or demeanor, but rather of perception and understanding. I wish it was as profound as it sounded.

Here, in this little black box, time cannot go backwards, and so all of it, the beauty and madness of last summer, will be carried over tomorrow. Meanwhile today and thereafter, I need to commune to myself once more, through this blog.