And The King Drank From The Well of Madness

In my twenty years of walking around in this planet, I have observed that most of us have been going to great extent just to meet the demands of this society and what for? Normality.

And what exactly is normal indeed? Neither of us really dared to question and if ever, we just spew out the same banal explanations taught and conditioned to us by society itself. So what is it with normality that we strive so hard to achieve? Writing this, I myself cannot even think of an answer that could satisfy this existential curiosity. By saying normal, are we trying to find some sort of "anchor" to keep us within the bounds of what the majority expects us to become? And if so why would we want to be fettered by this voluntary self-confinement? Isn't this quite self-defeating not to mention a hint of masochistic desire?

Looking back in history, rarely do I find a remarkable man who has never been an outcast or a deviant from their respective social contexts. These men that we call geniuses today have been labeled as madmen, lunatics, or heretics, for the simple fact that those people dared to explore a different dimension that exists outside the confines of the social constraints in their time. Without these so-called lunatics, I think I wouldn't be typing on my laptop but rather writing this entry on a parchment with a plume. Without imagination, invention is nothing but a far-fetched delusion.

Last Monday, I was searching over the net on what movie I should watch next to divert myself from the grief I felt for losing a friend. So I found out that the book that inspired me to take up psychology has already had its movie adaptation available for streaming. The book is called Veronika Decides To Die written by the brilliant Paulo Coelho. It starred Sarah Michelle Gellar as Veronika and she played her role quite stunningly well though I was hoping they would get a European actress to play the part. But overall I think the movie adaptation did the book some justice as it was wise of them to hire Paulo Coelho himself as one of the screenwriters.

So what's the connection between normality and Veronika Decides To Die? Well the story revolves around a woman in her mid-20's living a perfectly "normal" life, with a high-paying job, a pretty face, and with brains to boot. But one day she suddenly realizedt hat life doesn't quite cut it anymore so she decided to kill herself through over dosing only to end up failing and locked up in a psychiatric facility. What's more devastating for Veronika is that she was informed by one of the doctors that the attempt she did on her life made her heart develop a certain condition that any time it could stop beating and kill her in an instant. She asked the doctors how much time she has left but the doctors just told her bluntly that it can happen at any time of the day, it could be tomorrow, next week or the week after next.

Having this knowledge about her impending death made her realize how much she has been trying to meet societal demands that made her experience full-blown existential ennui and extreme unhappiness that pushed her to end her life at once. She has come to a conclusion that she would've been much happier had she done the things she wanted to do that society forbids her to. Having an increased awareness of death made her want to live more of her life.Not just breathe and extend her existence but to actually live it. To live it beyond the generic definition of how she should live her own life, without the dictates of the majority.

There inside the loony bin that she initially despised she found a few friends that made her question reality, society, and life. One of the most notable thing I wanted to share from that book is the story told by one of her "crazy" friends about The King and The Well of Madness. The king and queen are loved by the people but one day the communal well was contaminated with something that makes one turn mad once you drink from it. Then the people started to go against the king's orders because they don't see eye to eye anymore. It created so much outrage that the once peaceful kingdom was slowly turning into a place of anarchy. The queen suggested that they might as well drink from the well in hopes to turn things back to "normal" again. Hesitant but was totally out of options, the king considered the queen's suggestion and both of them drank from the communal well and the moment they drank the water of madness, they started to see the people's point of view and so his reign in their kingdom was once again restored.

It rings a bell doesn't it? It happens all the time. The bandwagon will always pass you by and chances are you are going to go for a ride. You are going to become just "like them." A cog in a machinery of mindlessness. But do you really want it? I don't think so, but you are just like the king, pushed to drink from the well because the antagonizing people are the majority. The majority establishes what is normal and what is not.

Will you stay afraid from the majority or will you live on freed from their chains?
As one of my favorite author, Chuck Palahnuik said,

“You have a choice. Live or die. Every breath is a choice. Every minute is a choice. To be or not to be.”

A Sudden Goodbye: Farewell Peter Bautista

L-R: Peter, Kawaguchi, Me, and Francis during OVC Tour Jan. 2009

I called in sick for work today. I want solitude to meditate and nature made a point to sympathize with me by greeting me with a cold, cloudy morning. The gloom is so overwhelming my knees shake out of sheer sorrow.

Today happens to be my friend's cremation. I can't even be there to witness it and personally extend my condolences to his despondent wife. I never expected Peter, a laid-back and cheerful man, would one day decide to tie a noose around his neck and end his own life. But I must have forgotten that everyone wears a mask just to get by one day after another. Even I, and I guess so did Peter.

I talked to him months ago, around May, and he said in passing that he has been feeling quite dismal and discontented and that something is missing that makes him feel empty. I haven't known him for too long but he once shared to me in one of our random conversations that he tried stabbing himself some years ago out of depression. And I heard a few weeks back that he tried killing himself again but was hospitalized so his life was spared. But last Sunday, he finally succeeded in his final attempt. The only kind of success I could never cheer him on for.

He may have his own resolute reasons for doing what he has done but one thing I learned from this is to never take depression lightly, not even the minor signs of it. I am a psychologist and I should've done something about it. So much for regrets.

L-R: Sak, Charing, Peter preparing the food in one of the COT feedings

I do not intend to be extremely rueful about this but I cannot help thinking that this could've been possibly prevented had he happen to talk it out to people. Depressed individuals operate in a notion that everybody is against them and that nobody would bother listening to them nor empathize with them. Most people suffering from depression have difficulties in conveying/confiding their sorrow even to the ones they know they could trust. They have a deficiency in communicating their feelings and if they do, they cannot disclose everything. Suicidal thoughts would conclusively cross their minds when push comes to shove. The only key ingredient is a major trigger. Seeing death as the only answer, it must have been one.

I think such is the case that happened to my friend. He's been carrying that burden for a while now. Masking his forlornness with a smile on his face to avoid worrying the people he's intimately involved with. For the short time that I got to know him, I knew Peter loved his friends and his family so much, especially his wife. Hence he'd rather keep his torment in hiding or at least he tried to. He may not be the perfect husband nor a perfect friend but he's a person who knows how to love deeply.

Another painful thing is, he is such a terrible loss to the hardcore scene, in Davao and the entire Philippines as far as legit hardcore is concerned. We may have clashed with our ideas when it comes to the direction of our music in the past, but we maturely agreed to disagree. He can get cantankerous at times but nevertheless, I still consider him one of the most influential people that contributed to the maturity of my band, Caitlyn Bailey. He's the big brother in hardcore that I looked up to as a matter of fact. He hangs out, he supports, he scolds, he oversees your growth just like what a real brother does. But all of it is in the past now and the face that I have recognized as such will turn into ashes, becoming one with the earth once and for all.

I pray for your soul's eternal rest, dear brother. May you continue moshing and writing awesome songs as you have always been, where ever you may be.



Here's a tribute video made by the Flowergrave Collective for Peter:

Axe To Fall: Japan Invasion

This is it. The show I've been waiting for as far as my entire hardcore consciousness is concerned. I'm finally going to see CONVERGE live this December 15th!!! They're going to launch their latest album Axe To Fall. Lucky I get to see Brutal Truth as well.

Thanks to my friend Hayato, he kindly reserved a ticket for me so I don't have to run around desperately trying to obtain it myself. Besides, it's my first time to watch a huge event.

It's going to be in Shibuya O-East after all. The venue can accommodate around 1,300 people and Converge is quite popular here in Japan. I'm sure the tickets are going to be sold out.

Thank God I already had my ticket reservation taken care of!

I'll post updates for this.

Will Attempt To...

I haven't written anything at all after I moved here in Japan. It's been what, almost four months, I guess? I know one thing that 'caused this writing hiatus might be the fast paced life that I have to keep up with in here, but I don't really think that entirely wraps it all up.

I believe I just got too tired of writing personal stuff. I'm not exactly the type who likes to update about what I ate for breakfast, things I recently bought, nor the latest places I have been to. I mean, I try, but I do it sparingly.

However though some friends are actually asking me to write again in my blog and well, I thought it's about time for me to put my adventures/misadventures into writing again. After all, I think I have more stories to tell here in Japan.

So friends, please standby 'cause I'm ready to roll...yet again. :)

An Inconvinient Paradox

Last Monday back in my cousin-in-law's wake, I saw one of my nephews, the eldest one among my nephews and nieces. He's the eldest son of my eldest first cousin on my mother's side.

His name is Jason, or "Titong" as we affectionately call him. He's a fragile-looking boy, 12 years of age, going 13 this coming September. His father was cuckolded, hence his parents separated when he was still in kindergarten. So his grandma (my aunt) took care of him while his dad was busy with work.

I once lived with that kid when I was in 6th grade. I was under the care of my aunt (mom's older sister) since my parents left for Japan for their jobs. I think he was still three or four around that time. It seems like it was just yesterday that I saw him trying to complete and piece words together to make up barely coherent sentences, and now he's in first year high school. Right, and I already graduated from college for that matter.

And my he's changed a lot. Well, who doesn't? Especially when you're setting up a leverage in adolescence. Seriously, he's not the baby that I used to think he was. His voice, his attitude. He used to be a brat for crying out loud! I'm really not quite sure if he's still one but he's definitely quieter and well-behaved than the last time I've seen him.

One major change that I've seen in him is well, guess what? HIS HAIR.

First glance and I knew what he was all about. He's EMO! Flabbergasted with my nephew's sissy hair swoop, I tried to corner him and talked to him and I just really wanted to catch up with him for the most part. I now have an adolescent nephew to look out for.

My worst nightmare has been confirmed. He's indeed one of THEM. The "budots" kind at that. Like one of those kids exuding plague-like auras, hanging around most of the time outside everytime we play in our regular hardcore shows. He said he likes being "emo," because he likes skulls, stars, and stripes. He likes "emotional" music too. Oh God. I hope he won't turn any gayer than that. A little bit higher in the "emo-lution" ladder and he's going to be a full-pledged emofag.

I've also been told that he's becoming more and more of a problem child since he's not so into his academic work, he's starting to try out smoking, and all that identity crisis that most adolescents go through. Thanks to my NGO volunteer works catering for children and youth, I managed to get through him. Just minutes of talking to him, I earned his trust and he confided and confirmed all of these tell tales about him. I told him that what he's going through is pretty much what other teens like him go through too. And subliminally I injected ideas to him that would make him less interested in the mall emo pandemonium.

And little did he know that his aunt screams for a hardcore punk band, a completely polar opposite with the ideologies he's dabbling into right now. It's not even called an ideology since the emo fashion/movement doesn't have any to begin with. Just a bunch of patches sewn together, void of originality and imagination. Imagine my mortification. An elitist philo-skramo with an emo kid for a nephew. The irony of it all.
Good thing I brought my lappy with me and I made him listen to some of the legit bands that I have in my stash. Also, he can't believe with his eyes (I made him watch some of our gig videos) that his aunt can scream like crazy on stage and still manage to graduate Cum Laude.

I promised to burn him some CD's of the stuff that I have. I still believe it's still not too late for that kid. The emo cancer cells still haven't infected his entire system yet. He must undergo a persistent chemotherapy with my SKRAMZ.

Children's Crucible

I went to my cousin's husband's wake last night. I didn't feel like looking at the dead body because I still cannot believe he's already gone. But after much milling about, I did anyway. What's really frustrating is that it seemed like he's just fast asleep, as if he can still be roused up from that deep slumber. But of course, of course, he won't wake up. Never more.

And I just can't stand seeing his children wide-eyed and still able to shed some smile on their faces when they saw me. Their innocent heart-warming smiles tear me apart bit by bit. I asked them, particularly the eldest son, about what he thinks about seeing his father's coffin. With a curt nod, he replied, "Pa is no more." Not knowing what to do, I just gave him a genial pat on the back, trying to fight back my tears from falling. I just had to hold it in so as to not confuse the kid with my random emotional outburst. As if their mother isn't enough of an emotional wreck already. I don't want to add everybody's devastation.
Thinking about their reactions; the kids were still smiling even with their father's death. They were still chasing each other, playing tag with other kids, and having fun. Unlike their mother, it didn't seem like their world stopped revolving a bit. Life goes on for the young and innocent.

It's because they still haven't had a grasp of their situation. They still haven't realized yet that they will never see their father ever again until they become parents themselves. Not a chance. But their innocence kept them safe from all of these sad realities. They still haven't reached that level of understanding yet. I don't know if it's actually a good thing. I mean, I guess innocence is necessary to fill in the kids' underdeveloped mentality. But eventually when they grow up, they will still be confronted with these harrowing issues in life. So I guess it would be better that young as they are right now, they should understand their circumstance, or at least have someone to make them understand why they had to go through all of these.

Then again maybe not. I wouldn't want to take part in breaking up the shell of innocence where they've been hidden safely. I don't know anymore. Time can only tell.

It's just sad that my nieces and nephews had to start it out young. With no father to assist their mother in raising them all up, they had to grow up twice as fast to compensate for that loss. They have no other choice but to grow up earlier than they're supposed to. They had to help their mother help them.

I plan to extend my hand out to them should they have financial difficulties. It's the least thing I could do for these kids.

Touched by An Angel...of Death

"No one can confidently say that he will still be living tomorrow."

- Euripides

This morning, I was awakened by our house helper's (who's also my childhood friend) sobs. Thinking there must be something terrible that has happened, I quickly went down stairs, while tracking down the sobs. My heart raced, I couldn't find my parents. They were not there when I woke up. Dammit, I wonder what could've happened. Is God punishing me for being a terrible night owl? I just couldn't wake up earlier than everybody does in the house.

And then I saw our helper, she was outside by the dirty kitchen, clutching her mobile phone. With a puzzled and quite annoyed tone in my voice I asked, "What happened?" She said, "Ate, Kuya Archie just died."

For a moment there I thought my heart just stopped. Asking again for a confirmation of what I just heard I said, "Huh?What?!"

"Kuya Archie, Ate Bing's husband died in his sleep," she weakly replied as she couldn't stop sobbing. (She's also close to the folks in my mother's side.)

"What the hell? And the kids?! What about the kids?! There are SIX of them right?" I blurted out in a surge of panic; my feet started to get numb and cold. I love those kids. They're adorable. Some of them even went to our house for a vacation last summer. I had fun baby sitting them. But now, they had to go on living without a father. What a cruel fate these kids have. It's just so difficult to register everything and make sense of it at the moment.

I just stood there in an awkward, deafening, and irritating silence. I have never felt so irritated with silence my entire life. My gut started to churn and I was feeling nauseous just thinking about what's going to happen to all SIX of the kids. And their mother. Their mother has a heart condition. That cousin of mine has a congenital heart disease, it was said that she had some perforations in her heart. And now with her husband's sudden death those perforations won't get any better literally and figuratively speaking. I just hope she won't have any ideas on following the footsteps of her husband. I wouldn't know what to do anymore should she decide to take that path. But knock on wood, I hope she would think more about her kids and stand firm.

I sent mom a text message, aking her about what happened. And so she confirmed that Kuya Archie was dead on arrival. It was a case of aneurism. He vomitted blood and was beyond help when he arrived at the hospital. He died at a young age of 29.

I just can't believe this is the morning news that I'm going to receive now that I only have less than a month before I leave for Japan. These certainly aren't the memories that I was hoping to take with me. A cousin of mine already died last May. He too left two kids behind and a regretful wife. Regretful because they had a fight and they never reconciled.

But I think it's a lesson learned for all of us. A harsh one at that. I just hope it wouldn't be as harsh the next time when God has something to point out to us. I'm not even blaming God. What I mean to say is that sometimes, we humans just don't really want to learn the lessons of life so we had to experience the touch of death once in a while to remind us we have to live it rightly. Especially giving importance to the ones we love.

Because the touch of death is a vicious one.

Life is uncertain, death is so sure. It never misses an opportunity to take lives. And never mind if the ones left behind are poor little kids and a fragile mother.