Thursday, December 31, 2009


2009 began

2009 began in the hospital. And that set the pace of how I lived out this year. I lived it. Yet in silence.

I am just now realizing that this necessary silence in the beginning may have affected my brain, and my heart, and my soul that are used to being honest and open; it is now cautious, afraid to even reveal strong feelings for unrelated things lest it might reveal concealed truths. I write this final blog entry for 2009 with such caution.

Nowhere is this silence and caution evident than in my blog. I presume that in my daily conversations I appear normal and unaffected by a soul that is now only learning how to shut the doors around it. I appear candid and freeflowing, but my blog revealed my speechlessness. You’d think rigorous trainings for the UP Dragonboat Team’s races, and the first-ever CamSur Ironman70.3 would release my blogging juices but they only gave a diversion from self-introspection. The exciting events and sidelights racing with an entirely new set of teammates in Boracay weren’t enough to excite me to write a traditional post-race report on things not race-related. The Ironman experience made writers out of triathletes, and pressured me to finally recount my experience – but the piece lacked an inspired humor, and it failed to capture the content glee of having for the first time, my parents see me cross a finish line. I found a lack in soul -

- underneath Singapore’s clean, first-world façade, but I just said it in my status update. The less talk. And so I, despite numerous attempts, and believe me a strong desire, failed to make a detailed account of my fun, exciting, and fulfilling first trip abroad. So many wonderful thoughts for eloquent essays where reduced to mere shoutouts.

“Rey is…” and uploading photos became excuses for not writing. My wonderment with an unexpected trip to Japan are not in black and white. I found myself dumbfounded everytime I try to write down my profound happiness about Japan, evident whenever I restrain myself from going on and on and on when I talk about my adventures there in face-to-face conversations. Talk more, write less. The former allows one to just ramble off memories, while organizing one’s thoughts into a coherent and beautiful essay might trigger unwanted ideas into popping up in the process.

And painful ideas do pop up, even when doing mundane things. I would have preferred the mundane face-to-face break-up, though. Over him calling it off in a cellphone conversation that began with him texting: "col me then." Well-meaning friends sat me done, helped me process it over alcohol, but we were all surprised to discover that unlike before, I cannot seem to talk about it. Hearing me say what pains about the outcome of that relationship only compounds to my fear and uncertainty.

Ondoy submerged our home of 30 years. I didn’t have to add clutter to the bulletin board. I just let others tell their stories. Listening to people’s problems puts yours into perspective. I am blessed -

- to be alive. That I shall not hesitate to write for all the world to see: I AM ALIVE!

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