Rediscovering Eros
Wednesday, November 28, 2007“Eros does not exist!”
So exclaimed a friend of mine over e-mail. I was shocked. She was a beautiful, intelligent, and passionate fashionista with a cause who had access to many of life’s gifts and who probably held the key to many men’s hearts—how could she say that Eros does not exist??
She was seconded by good friend of ours—an award-winning poet, playwright, filmmaker, and creative genius who, in the pursuit of his One Muse here on Earth, has awoken all the other muses of the heavens and has probably swept them off their wings and into the harem of his mind.
I was shattered. How could my friends—these amazingly talented and passionate individuals—no longer believe in magic, in passion, in destiny, in all these wonderful things that make love maddening yet sobering, that make life chaotic yet serene? How could they turn their backs on the madness and embrace a life that is staid, bland, and… dead?
* * * * *
When I was much younger, I refused to believe in the concept of One Love, of that One Soul from whom our souls were separated and with whom we must reunite if we were to experience Real Love. I was cynical probably because I was the product of a broken marriage, and because I never saw in my parents an image of love that was acceptable to my sensibilities. For me, then, love was the product of attraction, commitment, devotion, dedication, and a lot of hard work. You didn’t just experience love; you had to earn it. (And maybe my parent’s just didn’t work hard enough.) During my freshman year in college, a friend of mine asked me which I preferred: a man whom I loved, or a man who loved me. I chose the latter, and I reasoned that anyone can learn to love anyone else—what matters is that the man loves the woman more than she loves him. (Where on earth I got that idea, I don’t know…) I couldn’t have been more wrong. My previous relationship was with someone who really, really, honest-to-goodness loved me (or so I thought). He wasn’t the guy on my wish list, but he just cared for me so much that it became easy for me to imagine that, maybe, I could learn to really love him back. He seemed to be the quintessential boy-next-door whom you could bring home to Mom, and so I did, trying to convince myself that he could be the guy for me. After four years of waiting for Certainty to turn up, however, I realized that I couldn’t be with someone whom I didn’t love as much as he loved me. You could stone me now for being such a bitch, but one of the things that told him when I said goodbye was that he was “the perfect little black dress that every girl sees from the store window and wants to bring home”, but that I realized that “that perfect little black dress just doesn’t fit me well”. You really shouldn’t just settle for someone when you know how much more you can give with someone else.
* * * * *
My relationship with Paul made me believe in Eros again. Our reunion was the product of a long string of coincidences and, in his words, “cosmic accidents” that were too intense and too real to be humanly contrived. We bumped into each other again, after seven years of neither seeing nor hearing from each other, at the right time and under the right circumstances; and we just knew from that first meeting-again that something was going to happen that would change our lives in ways we couldn’t even begin to imagine. We thought that it was already “freaky” that we shared the same birthday, that our fathers have the same first name, that our mothers were colleagues and friends during their PAL days, that we grew up in the same area, and that some of our friends and relatives moved in similar circles and were closely connected. What we didn’t see yet back then was that more things would happen to us in the next two years that will bind us even closer to each other, in ways that only God Himself could have orchestrated. A few nights ago, as we were driving home from a party, we were talking about relationships, and about what brought people together and what drove them apart. We discussed other relationships that we were privy to, and we agreed that you shouldn’t stay in a relationship that doesn’t feel deeply, organically right. You had to feel the certainty in every pore of your body, and this certainty had to come from and go right through your core. Otherwise, you’d be stuck in a shallow and lifeless relationship—and who would want that? As we were approaching home, I just had to ask the question that every girl is probably dying to ask her boyfriend, in the context of our conversation: “So, what about us?” “What do you mean, ‘what about us’?” “Do you think we have what it takes… to, you know… go the full stretch?” (Of course, I had to sugarcoat my question.) I was expecting him to sigh, take a few seconds or so to think, and maybe even say that he wasn’t sure. (He's a guy, after all.) But his response was as matter-of-factly for him as it was surprising for me. “Nines, I think we both know by now that we are intrinsically linked.” I couldn’t help but smile.
* * * * *
“Intrinsically linked.” There goes the idea of Socrates’ erotic love again—of one soul that was split into half and that goes through life searching for the Other. The idea that each person, each soul has a corresponding Other, and that there is someone made just for somebody else. (At least I think it could be attributed to Socrates, but I’m not really sure.) It’s funny because I feel it with Paul—I know that what we have is too real to dispute—but I still can’t bring myself to understand it. If there is exactly one person for everyone else in this world, then how do you explain all the failed relationships around us? Is it because people have been too impatient, and have settled for other partners, therefore barring themselves from meeting their True Soulmate? And, since there are now more women than men all over the world, does it mean that homosexuality is truly acceptable? (Of course, Socrates and his young pupils would certainly think so.) And what if you don’t ever find The One? What happens then? It’s a scary thought—going through life alone, or going through life without someone whom you truly, deeply, passionately love. Maybe that’s why so many of us are in a mad scramble to commit ourselves to someone even at the risk of being stuck with “the wrong person”. Life is too perplexing and exhilarating at the same time to go through on your own. But, then again, who can blame us? Finding “the right person” is such a tricky deal—and it’s often the product of chance or pure luck—that you’d really rather put yourself in a safe and secure place, than go out there and risk coming back with nothing. However, I am reminded of another good friend of mine—someone who has already recognized her One True Love and who is not willing to settle for anything less—who told me once: “Life is already filled with so much mediocrity, and love shouldn’t be one of them.” She’s right. If Eros means seeking for the truest, deepest, most perfect kind of love of which we are capable; if it means knowing what’s Real and what’s Right and fighting for the right to have it; if True Love means never giving up until we’ve found our home in the Other, then I think we owe it to ourselves to live it. (Written: May 2005)
Creating "Us Moments"
I was awakened at midnight by a light tapping on my window. Knowing that only one person had the habit of showing up at my doorstep at the oddest hours, I jumped up and hurried my unadorned little self out the door. I still had some leftover eyeliner on my eyelids, dark circles under my eyes, and just-got-out-of-bed hair, but the only thing I was thinking of at that time was, "How long had I kept him waiting outside the door?"
I opened the door excitedly, not really knowing what to expect from this man of many surprises, but nobody was there. A car was parked right smack in the middle of my driveway, however, and that told me that Paul was just hiding somewhere, waiting for me to step out. And so I stepped out of the door, bare feet and all, and after a few seconds of me calling out his name, Paul stepped out from behind his car with a large smile and a warm, Valentine's Day kiss.
He had been waiting outside our village gate for quite a while already, he said, but he wanted to surprise me by knocking on my door at exactly midnight today. It was only the first of his many Valentine's Day surprises for me, and it amazed me that this guy could still think of all these little things after all this time. The courtship had ended a long time ago, but the romance definitely hadn't.Ü
I am one lucky girl.
* * * * *
We were also lucky enough to get a very crisp DVD copy of Shall We Dance, which–of course–we had been reserving for today. As I watched Richard Gere sashay down the dance floor, tears flowing from my eyes, I thought about all the things that happen to us everyday that keep us from keeping the romance in our relationships alive. Work, meetings, chores, domestic matters, family squabbles, petty arguments, issues large and small… These all fill up our days and hardly leave any space for us to create intimate moments with our loved ones. So no matter how much time we spend with our beloved, and no matter how much money we blow on expensive gifts for each other, we still sometimes feel a loneliness that could only be cured by real "us moments"–moments when nothing else really matters except you and the life you have created together.
It often takes special occasions, such as today (Valentine's Day), for us to remember to carve out some time for those "us moments". But why not create "us moments" everyday? Like John Clark, Richard Gere's character in Shall We Dance, we shouldn't hesitate to dress up nicely and ask our beloved to dance (literally or figuratively) anytime, anywhere. After all, we never really know what tomorrow will bring. We shouldn't wait for the perfect opportunity to do something romantic, for that "perfect opportunity" may never arrive.
Ultimately, it's up to us to create magical moments in our lives. They can happen anytime, anywhere–whether you're loaded or broke, whether you have a minute or a week. Love changes in form and expression, but Romance should always be part of any love relationship.
For if you don't keep the romance alive and take your beloved dancing (literally or figurately), somebody else might.Ü
Happy heart day, everyone! Welcome to another year of Spoonful of Sugar.
Holding Hands
Sometimes we don’t need a helping hand—we just need a holding hand.
~ Nines and Paul
Everyone needs a holding hand, I think—not someone who can push you forward or pull you up when the going gets rough, but someone who can stay put with you even when you’re stuck in uncomfortable situations. Especially when you’re stuck in uncomfortable situations.
You know those days when it seems as if the whole world is against you and you just wanna shrivel up and die? That’s when you need someone to be there with you. Someone who can take the flak and the sh*t with you, someone who won’t run when you’re cornered in a dark alley, someone who’ll take Life’s punches and blows with you. Not someone who’d say, “Awww, baby, I know how you feel… here’s a hug”, but someone who still can’t speak because he got hit and bled just as much as you have.
I’m not saying that people shouldn’t do anything when they’re stuck in a rut, but sometimes there’s a value to just staying put and staying still. With each other.
There were so many times in our relationship when either of us got slapped in the face by Life and found it so embarrassing to be in front of the other. Naturally, we wanted to show only the best sides of ourselves to each other and just retell the painful stories as if they were parts of a distant—even comic—past. But there were moments when we’d just catch each other at that exact moment when Life hit us really hard and we just stumbled and fell. And we just stayed there, immobilized by the pain… shamed by the thought that the one you wanted to shield from all this was right there, witnessing everything in real time.
Sobrang dyahe.
It would’ve been so easy for either of us to just say, “I give up. This is too much for me to handle,” and just run as fast as we can to the opposite direction. Instead we chose to say, “If this is part of being with you and loving you, then I’m taking it.” Not because we’re martyrs and we love the idea of sacrificing ourselves for the other (yeesh….), but because we know that loving the other person means going through Life with them—whatever Life means.
Sometimes, it’s more bad than good. And there’s nothing much you can do.
Except to pray that something good happens soon. And to hold each other’s hand and cheer each other on.
* * * * *
What does it mean to hold hands? Well, it can mean several things.
Sometimes, it can mean just being there for the other person and hearing them out when they need a loving and patient ear. Having the same birthday and being made of pretty much the same stuff, Paul and I have this tendency to yak and whine about the same stuff over and over… and over. Now, if you were the other person and you also had something to whine about, it can get pretty tiresome listening to the other person going on and on like a broken record. But because we respect each other’s need to unload, we give each other that space to whine until we get tired and say, “Thanks for that. Now it’s your turn.” And the whining goes on. (You really just need to do it, sometimes.)
Other times, holding hands can mean resisting the urge to fix things for the other person and giving them enough space to make their own decisions at their own time. Sure, it’s nice to go into “solution mode” especially when you think that the answer is already staring you right at the face, but I’ve realized—especially most recently—that everyone has his or her rhythm for doing things, and there are some things, some decisions that you just can’t rush. Holding hands means not pulling someone up or pushing them forward, but just staying still with that person—no matter where you are, no matter what the circumstance, even if you’re already itching to move.
Holding hands in that way reflects how you respect each other’s individuality and how you trust each other to make good, sound decisions. Of course, it’s always good to ask for each other’s advice, especially when the decisions that have to be made will affect you both, but it’s also nice to just stand back and see how the other person moves. You discover much about the other person that way, and what you learn often amazes you.
“Holding hands” and giving each other space is also a sign of security and stability, at least in the context of our relationship. When we back off and just stay in the sidelines, it’s as if we’re saying, “I know my place in this relationship. I don’t own you… I know your love for me doesn’t depend on this one little thing in front of us… I can’t think for you, so go ahead and make your own decisions. I’ll be here for you no matter what happens after.” No you-should’ves, no if-you-had-onlys, just we’re-in-this-togethers. Even if you end up making a wrong turn after all.
* * * * *
I’m not sharing all these to be preachy or to brag about my super-fabulous relationship. Far from it. I think it’s because Paul and I have gone through a whole lot of hell together that we can now look back and come to these realizations about ourselves and our relationship. As I’ve said in the previous Spoonful, there’s nothing like adversity to bring people closer together.
A romantic relationship brings with it so many joys and pains, so many wonderful moments and unforgettable scenes. There are great days and duh-days, kisses and fights, laughter and tears. No matter what state we’re in, however, I think it’s important to remember something that someone once said: “When crossing the street (or going out into the world), stay close together and hold hands.” (Or something like that.)
May you find that one person to hold hands with, and may you sincerely enjoy holding hands.
(Written: July 12, 2004)
More Sights and Lessons from the Rooftop
Tuesday, October 2, 2007Happy new year, everyone!
I should have written this a week ago, exactly on New Year’s Day, but I was too busy enjoying my self-imposed vacation that I decided to hold off on any work-related activities (including writing this Spoonful). I finally went back to work with a vengeance on Monday, but my PC died on me, perhaps heralding the beginning of an unpredictable and challenging year.
I don’t mind surprises, and I don’t mind challenges, either. My experiences the past half-year have taught me to embrace them. And I’d like to believe my gut when it tells me that 2004 may be my most exciting year yet! (Or, maybe, that’s just me putting on double rose-colored lenses.)
* * * * *
New Year’s Eve was a simple, solitary affair. I spent the hours leading up to 2004 cooking a simple pasta dish, after which Paul and I spent over an hour watching the fireworks from our favorite hideaway by the bay.
Up there on that rooftop, everything seemed bright, lovely, and—I’ll use the term again—enchanting. The streets were ablaze with lights of different colors (those by the airport runway were the most fascinating of them all), and they were virtually empty, save for a few whizzing cars here and there. Light show after light show erupted across the metropolis’ skies, and we amused ourselves by guessing which fireworks originated from what place—and what events were being held there. Of course, the Makati area seemed to be the liveliest of them all, although what seemed to be Alabang or Las Piñas—or even Cavite—surprised us with their own showers.
Imagine the fireworks display over New York Harbor on the 4th of July. That’s probably the only show which I know will rival what I have seen that night. It was as if the lights were performing a symphony of their own, with different colors, styles, “textures” (I can’t find any other way to describe it), and rhythms blending harmoniously to form a cohesive piece. It was the best fireworks display that I have ever seen in my life, and I thank all those homes and establishments who have spent tens of thousands of pesos on fireworks for giving me a truly memorable evening.
* * * * *
But the best part… oh, the best part, my dear friends, was not the fireworks display that greeted the new year, but the morning sun that ushered in a bright new day!
After taking a pre-dawn drive to greet some friends, we rushed back to the rooftop in time for some early morning sunshine. You would not believe how white everything was! The sky, instead of being tinted blue, and orange, and lavender—as the early morning skies usually were—was a study in monochromatic white and silver. Everything was just so bright that the sky looked more pristine and… heavenly than usual. We could hardly look up anymore, and we spent a good number of minutes gaping in awe. It was a morning unlike any other, and it was the perfect way to greet what could be a perfectly good year.
* * * * *
As we sat at the edge of the ledge, looking, as Paul said, “like two little schoolchildren atop a little hill,” we saw two birds circling the building, soaring up, then dipping down, then curving this way and that. Paul wondered if they were a pair, because although they seemed to be moving along wildly different paths, they were still flying in the same direction.
We observed the little creatures for a while, who seemed to be enjoying that little side trip of theirs, until Paul concluded, “They’re a pair, alright.” Then we went back to face the glaring sun in peaceful silence.
* * * * *
That scene, especially in the context of our New Year celebration, made me think about life and relationships. All too often, we expect our partners to be traveling along the same road with us, walking beside us to hold our hands, behind us to catch us if we fall, or in front of us to lead the way. It seems to me that we haven’t yet accepted that partners can lead completely separate lives and walk distinctly separate paths, but still look towards the same direction, share a single vision, and therefore maintain a loving and supportive relationship.
Moreover, when we think of “paths”, we imagine narrow stone walkways, marked trails, or anything with boundaries—instead of a wide open space where we can choose whichever way to go. What really struck me, more than seeing the pair of birds go off separately then fly again in unison, was the figure of the path they flew on.
Imagine curved lines that run parallel for a while, then intersect and form a figure 8, then go off in wild directions, then somehow run parallel again. Our childhood, educational system, and corporate cultures don’t seem to encourage that kind of route. Somehow, everyone is conditioned to run a linear course, to do things one-by-one, step-by-step, instead of being allowed to experiment and find a path that fits.
Worse, we expect our partners to travel on exactly the same path where we are, leaving the poor fellow to awkwardly find his place on that road.
* * * * *
I’ve always compared myself to a bird. Nelly Furtado’s song “I’m Like A Bird” became my anthem at one point in my life, and that metaphor stuck to me even more after that surreal morning. Like a bird, I want to fly off in different directions, surveying and enjoying the view along the way, and perhaps learning about life in those parts of the sky. I want to bask in the brightness of the morning sun, and I want to feel the glow of life as I flap my wings and go up, then down, the round and round my little world.
And, like the birds that we saw on New Year morning, I want to fly with a partner who can go off on his own way, but still come back to share the view and the rest of the journey with me. Is it that little schoolboy with whom I shared the view atop a little hill? Only time can tell. Happy 2004, everyone.
(Written: A Spoonful of Sugar, 8 January 2004)
Red Pills for Breakfast
My favorite breakfast is warm, sticky oatmeal—with just a dash of brown sugar (Muscovado, preferably). If not that, it’s gotta be a sunny-side-up egg or two, without salt or the yoke (that’s where the cholesterol is!), and no rice. That’s it; plain and simple (I’m on an eternal diet).
This morning, however, I got a totally unexpected treat when my sweetie called me at 4:30 a.m., telling me that he was going to drop by in 15 minutes with something he had to give me. To the rest of the world, 4:30 is an ungodly hour, but to us, it’s a perfectly good time to come calling.
He showed up at my doorstep shortly before 5, with a small bunch of red flowers in his hand.
It was just the kind of thing to make my day—or even my week. Or maybe even longer than that.
To all those guys who want to get the girl, take this hint.
(Of course, you may not be allowed to visit at 4:30 a.m., but try to be creative and see where this takes you.)
Then, after a lot of chit-chat and catching up, he pulled out another red pill from his bag of tricks: this really funky, trippy¸ in-your-face magazine called The Stick Insect Hunter (“the website you can bring to the bathroom”). Published by artist, photographer, writer, and creative genius Andy Maluche, it features 36 pages of amazing (if not twisted and perverse) artwork, photography, and scribblings. It carries most of the content from his weblog, http://dont-touch-my.com, and has enough wit, sarcasm, toilet humor (literally), and creative genius to last me several weeks.
His style is eons apart from my own, but here was another red pill staring me at the face.
I highly recommend it to anyone and everyone seeking a little bit of artistic inspiration, as well as a good ol’ kick in the b—. Okay, it may be a little offensive to some, but it’s worth a look-see anyway. And, mind you, the magazine is beautiful… even if the website comes across as amateur and “mishmashy”.
Here are a few interesting lines I stole from page 28:
Doubt is creativity.
If there is doubt, then there must be an alternative.
By doubting you automatically create an alternative.
The urge to find an alternative is what makes an artist or scientist.
As an artist you should doubt everything, even truth.
Don’t try to find the truth.
What are you going to do with it once you found it? (sic)
Find security in doubt.
Art doesn’t make sense.
So you have to do it fast before you realize that.
Before the ugly doubt beast starts gnawing at your insides.
That is the other doubt—the destructive kind—
Self-doubt.
I may not totally agree with everything he says, but I find it interesting, nonetheless.
So… here’s to art, creativity, genius, and red flowers before dawn.
(Written: A Spoonful of Sugar, 25 November 2003)
