Dear World, now would be a good time to kill me.
Really, this is as good as it gets. Words sing, anger -- the only shred of sexy I ever owned turned out to be not the only thing keeping me alive. There is irony, and wit, and lots of loving to go around. The walls? They might never go away but I promise to be more discerning next time. People falling in love is dangerous business, labels truly suck, sometimes I figure these crimes we commit to others are mere projections of how much we detest ourselves.
And so they are. And my crimes have been ... well, inordinate fascination with all things dark and terrible, like suicides and murders and abnormal behavior, and mind jobs, like how eternity feels like, and whether it'll be fun, and how all things are one and the same -- and sin feels much like willful separation from a life source, and how memory is such an overrated concept: I think we have a skewed perception of the past and the future. All things are here. All the things that matter, all the things that can be loved, they are here.
It is quite refreshing to chew the fat with somebody new (again). God, if only for those breaks, I'd take them back -- everything I ever said about hell being other people. They can be, especially kids and all the shit they do to lie to you and get you to do things, but that, Intermittent Reader, is another story. Let's stick with this one, shall we.
So on the way to buy a travel book, a girl called Bixie drove me over to Gateway. Here, a girl with a sense of responsibility enough to actually drive a car around (yes, I consider a car a giant responsibility), who's had the verbal acuity to learn new languages, who digs flagrant re-wording (?) of the most popular and the most obscure songs to the point of absurdity, overflowing with energy and spunk (which scares the JITs sometimes, and I bet), tells me, with the nonchalance of a seasoned axe-murderer recalling the latest hit (or some rocket scientist pumping up sixth graders for college), "Ah, yung The Secret? Sus, tagal ko nang ginagawa yun e."
And the cool thing about that is I so got what she meant. She was an athlete, after all, so visualizations and goal-setting were concepts that were as utilitarian to her as cursing was to me, and all that shit. I don't know why that hit me so hard but I guess it was a new page in a book I thought I already read through. I always knew people were different. How different is what always surprises me.
And Bixie's really just one of them. There's Tin, and her eclectic tastes in music, her sponge-like absorption of music-makers' subtitles (and yes, subtleties), her willingness to surrender to feelings and sensations and adventures other people would balk at. There's Mayee, also known as the cutest thing on earth, and her thirst for uh.... everything that can be and must be read in the known universe. The first time I saw Mayee's stash my mind said, "Tangina hindi siya mahilig sa libro." There's Justine, and her inner European, what with an intense desire to immerse in the classy cultures and lifestyles of them Brits (slash Italians, Spanish, etc. -- forgive me here, I fail to recognize which is which). There are others, all characters, stories waiting to be told.
There is comfort in the familiar, but by George (Michael), there is hot damn, that was way-cool in the new.
P.S. As to how well the Secret works? Let's put it this way. Two days ago, I exclaimed how much I missed eating sinigang na maya-maya sa miso. The people at home aren't fans of cooking much (but only because I have not bought them a kitchen showcase cool enough to inspire the mother), but guess what I had for lunch at home (insert smug smiley here).