I am watching...Slumdog Millionaire

What does it take to find your first love?

He used to be a Man.

And now whenever I catch glimpses of him, in rooftop conversations, at surprise parties under the blue moon - where the blue moon drinks most of the vodka, and at a midnight cruise into the terrible ocean of forgetfulness and remembrance at different hours...

I can't help but be pulled apart.

Mostly by two things.

ONE, by a grevious and otherworldly sense of loss.

TWO, by a calm and egregious peace that I have moved on.

Dreaming a dream. Is it over?

So I dreamed that there was an earthquake.

Or rather I dreamt about finding out about an earthquake.

My mom was telling me about it over breakfast.

Surprised, I said, "When did it happen?"

"Just this morning." Then as she was reaching for the blueberry jam, she said, "I think C is dead."

A large pause. Blankness blanketed my mind.

"What?" I exclaimed in disbelief. "He could not be dead! How do you know?"

"I saw him and his father on the news."

"What - " I paused and tried to rack my brain, trying to remember something that I wasn't aware of had just happened.

And a mental picture, sort of like a random "memory" popped up and the small square of toast I was eating was still perched halfway to my lips. Indeed, I "remembered" seeing a newsclip showing C trying to wade his way over a river of rubble, with his dad following a few meters behind.

And sort of like an immediate realization hit me on impact a moment later.

"Mommy, C is dead! I can't live without him. What am I going to do now?" Although in my mind the words came out in a lament not deep enough to fully awaken my heart to any serious pain. The words, instead, as I said it aloud...sounded more like a whine.

'Of course you can!' Mommy said, waving her hand in my direction. She was already busy doing something else.

Then I remember something else happen:

I went to the corner of the room, near the windows where the white curtains were draped and pulled to a close, and I prayed.

My prayer went something like this:

'God, please don't let anything have happened to Joshua and C. Please don't let anything bad happen to Joshua and C......'

And then later I woke up.

I remember the room was still dark. It felt around 4.30 AM in the morning. I sat up in bed, propped myself up with the palm of my hand pressed down on the bed. My hair, as I saw myself later in the mirror, dishevelled and decorated with long curls big enough to give La Union's tidal waves a run for their money.

In those initial moments after the weird dream occured, I was just sitting quiet listening to myself - with grogginess tending to leave the brain blank and addled. It wasn't difficult to recall what I had just dreamed. And also what I had felt during the dream:

Nothing. A distant mourning and regret, at some point. But without any pain that truly pierced me.

In fact, during the dream and afterwards I felt like how a drugged patient in a mental facility must feel: slow, confused, distant, self-contained, floating, mildly ironic.

I write this down simply because two things surprise me:

1. The way I "unconsciously" reacted to the scenario. And my reaction, in particular, to someone named C----------------. I thought that in the least, whichever way I would have felt would have been....uh, Stronger.

2. The vehemence and suddenness with which I included and even centered my prayer to God around Josh.

There really is no appropriate ending for this general diary entry.

This may be because there are still previous dreams concerning the subject (whatever that is - death perhaps? Or the hidden meaning behind death? Or the hidden meaning behind the hidden meaning of death? etc...) or the people I had before this one. Suffice to say, life is but one big puzzle - and one that is yet unsolved! Woohoo! - and dreams are merely fleeting spiritual orgasms that come to you from the culmination of your current mentality, unexpressed emotions and may even come to you by the supreme pity or in utmost confidence of the Universal Deities.

So there is no diagnosis or anaylsis I'd like to scribble down here. If I have any, I think its only proper to keep my lips shut and keep it stored on a mental shelf for any future reference.

All I would like to say is that I had a dream.

And then I woke up.

Because I will let you Stay on My Mind.

The Legend of 1900: Playing Love

Somehow I break out in starlit wonder when I watch this movie. I have this particular track on my playlist, it's title: Playing Love, and when I listen I feel neck deep in the daze of quiet awe which is the mist of magic expelled from the tip of Guiseppe Tornatore's wand.

There is a hidden majesty always understated, I feel, when I watch Tim Roth on film. A few of his roles which have been my favorite include this and The Bellman in Four Rooms. There is always a quiet elegance to any of the characters he portrays, which makes me want to throw him a standing ovation all evening.

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