#nowhereletters

Hi, Substack! 久しぶりですね。

Something has been sitting in my mind for a while now that I fear I will forget the longer I keep it. So while it’s still not ready, and I’m still not too fond of my memories the last time I was here, here goes -

There’s something sad and unholy when morning breaks.

You know, that sliver of time when there’s light enough everywhere to see but not having been there long enough yet that the happenings when there was less of it still concealed things, or made them seem like some sort of a hazy image.

It might not always be the case in your part of the world, but I believe somewhere, to someone, or something, it is. These thoughts, simply spurred by two vivid instances I saw during my travels home from work a few months back:

The first - simply, a man diligently washing clothes.

Except that he was rinsing suds off the clothes.

And that he used very little water. Almost just a trickle. In what seemed like an effort to conserve what little he had then.

The water? It was stored in a used gallon container.

And it was also a bit murky.

It just rained that morning. The roads were still wet and there were still puddles around where he was.

Puddles with murky water.

This isn’t speculation, dear one. I saw his efforts with the container.

And the clothes?

They were tiny.

I’ll let you do with that image, what you will.

*****

I love dogs. Always have, always will. I used to have asthma as a kid and I was told I could never have pets to spare me from fits. I’m glad that didn’t become a reality.

Walk home from work, and I spotted a stray on the other side of the street lounging cozily almost behind a lamp post.

I thought, “Ah, that’s where it probably spent the night sleeping.”

I even thought what a lucky dog, that one, to just have been able to sleep that night away. I was exhausted, did a mountainload of work and had another mountainload waiting, it was starting to get hot, and the commute was adding up to everything. I was one tricycle ride away from home.

The roads cleared. I started to cross. Eyes still on the stray, I saw it seemed to be enjoying itself licking on a treat in front of it, then pausing to look around as if proud of the treat.

I got closer, curious and almost asked her what it was in front of her that was giving her much joy. I was close enough to recognize it didn’t have the body of a male dog.

The treat was pink. Ah, might be stolen meat from one of the early market sellers. But it was a weird pink, I belatedly realized, and the treat was elongated. Fuck, was it a filled (with something else) condom? No, seriously, I thought it was for a split second.

Then I saw the two dark nubs. And it hit me that it wasn’t a condom. It wasn’t a treat. Her licks were actually frantic, she wasn’t cozily lounging behind the lamp post, and the floor she was lying on was wet. It didn’t rain that day.

The thing in front of her was stolen, I think we could both agree. Although not from anyone or anything else, but from her.

She paused and looked around again. It still wasn’t breathing. And she continued licking.

*****

-

5/10 sticks.

That’s how much is left from the pack of cigarettes I bought god-knows-when.

I guess I’m doing pretty good in life then, to still have half a box full for more than a year(?) already. No idea on the time though, but it’s been pretty long since I bought that box on a whim.

-

Yes, I smoke cigarettes. But just a stick or two. On good nights with friends… On the worst of days. There’s just something that calls for that slow, reckless death in both those scenarios.

-

This is more of a rant, if you will, than a letter. I’m typing coherently (I think) and stuffing my face with boiled egg, ketchup, and rice tight now. Drunk as well. I haven’t had anything substantial until the meal I just mentioned. Smoked a stick earlier. Sometimes, days/weeks just keep on getting worse and worse and it’s just too much for me to want life.

-

We’re not going into details for now of how I got alcohol, nictone, and I guess glucose, in my system. If you noticed, or not, then I might as well point it out, I’m not good with digesting things in my life. I live in a constant state of denial and would rather forget things than accept them, or try to understand them. EIther seems too tedious and misery-inducing for me and this short life I (would like to) have.

-

To be \honest, it’s the dogs keeping me sane and alive for now. I can’t trust anybody else to look after them as I do, should I be gone for a long time or for good. They don’t deserve having miserable lives just because I do.

-

Should anybody find this, should I be gone when anybody does, please please please, find my dogs and give them to my family. My sisters would take good care of them as much as they could, that I’m almost certain. To my sisters, love Bary and Miwa as much as you possibly could, please. I wouldn’t be able to bear anything less for them.

-

My mom watches Filipino films when she’s miserable and sad. I guess I’m the same— watching the same feel-good movies I alreadhy know and love to keep me up and mentally dead.

-

Back to The Proposal I go for now. :)

It’s the morning of January 4, and during work last night, I was asked what my expectations were for this year.

As always, I had nothing. And I feel like I was wrong. Was made to feel like it, and to a certain degree, I (can) agree.

“Oh, so you’re not a planner?”

I tried to save face to this person by saying that I was. A planner. I mean, when there are trips, I usually make the itinerary for the group or whoever I’m with. Birthday celebrations also have had a hand or two mainly from me before. In my mind, the definition for ‘plan’ was justified. But I said, I don’t expect too.

Farcically, the irony here is that this person took me seriously when I said I didn’t like celebrating my birthday “because I felt old”, which was a lie. Who doesn’t like celebrating birthdays? The matter of the fact is I don’t like being reminded that it’s my birthday…because I have expectations. I have people whom I expect to greet that don’t. I expect a date out, a surprise of some sort from people I chreish, but there’s none. I expect my birthday is an extra special day out of everybody’s, but…you get it.

So, what is the point here?

Today’s letter, I guess, is a reminder to have more plans this year, and less of “just” expectations. Definite, achievable plans. For now, a solo trip on my birthday—discover somewhere new, eat something I have never had before, try something for the first time. Hopefully, the list grows as we go on. We’ve had our spontaneous fun, and we could still have it every now and then, but this year, let’s do more to cut the disappointments back.

So the next time somebody asks what our expectations for the new year are, I don’t think it would be too bad to say,

- - - - -

As with all things I write, this isn’t something new - I rarely have a good opening. I just knew I needed to create this now, and hope that I have the patience/perseverance in the future with which I’m starting.

I initially wanted it to be a diary for the future me. I was washing dishes in the kitchen and reminiscing the days when I used to cook a lot and enjoy cooking for people I love, mulling over how the times have changed - I haven’t cooked anything worthwhile, delicious, or something I’m proud of, in a while. And I thought, ‘future self, if you could, still try to have a big family, much like the one you came from, and cook and have hearty meals with everyone, once again.’

But that seems hard in the current situation. Recession looming, financial stability still hanging, the physicality of time bearing down on my body…

Hence, being confined in a future letter. Now here but with nowhere to go.

I started this because I felt like there would be more to come. So with this I close,