On Faith, Take 1

I find it almost remarkable how a singular "tragic" incident can seem to marred the plethora of good ones. It becomes a harbinger of progressively worst events. Or is it the other way around, that our lives are ultimately tragic, that those little glitter of goodness are made more endearing and radiant simply because they are rare and contrasted to the sheer destitute about it. I don't know, it is just so arbitrary. Ultimately, I like to believe that each event has equal and inherent potential of goodness and evilness in it. Or, maybe they have neither but mere reflection of our whims at the moment of encounter.

Regardless, we oscillate in the medium of life. Sometimes it is sinusoidal, and all is well in the world. Simple harmonic motion unhindered by any form of friction. Other times, it becomes irratic, forced even. The phenomenon in of itself is meaningless however, until someone steps in to decide. Someone who is removed enough to observe with clarity each instance in time; and yet close enough to be an agent of change.

To the particle that vibrates within the stream, there is nothing it can do but be subject to the flow of things. Yet, to the supreme observer there is a precise science to predicting where the particle will be from one time frame to another. There is a sacred knowledge of where the nodes and anti-nodes are located, and an acceptance that these are just mere facts of life, cosmic vibration which are in of themselves random but governed by laws of physics.

To deem ourselves such a being is laughable. No longer is it a matter of being conscious, but a matter of ego. Perhaps therein lies our problem as sentinent beings, our internal struggles to be Human and Children of G-d. We are made in His likeness, but likeness is where it stops. We may master our humanity, but never should we see ourselves as judge of nature, supreme decider of good and evil.

Faith is such a vehicle. It is the coefficient that remains changeless in times of turbulence and disturbance. It is that which anchors us, even as we scale the height of a peak, or drop to the depths of a valley. It is the one constant that we must hold on, because we as particle moves in place, it is the wave of life that changes.

On Dating

The topic of dating keeps coming up.. so I figure I may as well say something about it. I am not good at this dating thing. Chiefly because I suck at initiating things. Show me a girl who is broken-hearted, messed up, in need of moral support, and I am your man. I will make her whole, and prepare her for the world of men, or relationships and such again. But show me a perfect girl, who is beautiful, and whole in every way, and I shut up; I dare not approach her, because inevitably I have formed this perfect notion of her that I cannot overcome. The thing is, I am always going to be that nice guy; the sweet, corny guy with the self deprecating humor who can bring a smile to any damsel in distress without fail. I am good at that kind of stuff. But if you want me to chat up a girl, forget it.

In the end, I value being a friend too much. The moment I let go and charmed a girl, then chances are we will have a good time, and she would like me and mistake her tenderness for me as some sex drive. Then, I am just another asshole who wants to get in her pants... I don't want that. I don't want to be the smooth guys whom I envy from time to time. I want something more than that. I like to believe that most girls are out of my league... what is wrong with that? That I admire women, I adore them, I cherish them. I feel great knowing that despite their perfection, they still need people like me to remind them just how awesome they are, and that they are the best. Do I feel some form of sadness knowing that they will never see me in similar light. Sometimes... but what is that compared to being the one who can help them actualize their potentials for a greater relationship with someone better. The reality is I believed even more dearly that the one for me is out there. That if I work hard at helping others actualize their romance, then my time will come too.

I know I may appear the lesser male, because males are supposed to be confident beings who bang their own drums and sing their own praises. But screw that... I may not be the manliest of men... but I know what I will be good at, and that is all those things that comes after courtship. I know I will be a great dad and husband. Just for now, this dating thing is not working for me. Least of all the casual thing. It isn't me. If some hypothetical girl would bear with me through the roses and corny phase of dating, I know I will not fail her. Oh, I will be the sappiest man alive, but I think I will be the happiest one too because I will have fun making her happy. But for now, I am just going to be me... despite how pathetic it may sound. I suck at being single, but I am learning about myself, and I am ok with it.

Me

The topic of dating keeps coming up.. so I figure I may as well say something about it. I am not good at this dating thing. Chiefly because I suck at initiating things. Show me a girl who is broken-hearted, messed up, in need of moral support, and I am your man. I will make her whole, and prepare her for the world of men, or relationships and such again. But show me a perfect girl, who is beautiful, and whole in every way, and I shut up; I dare not approach her, because inevitably I have formed this perfect notion of her that I cannot overcome. The thing is, I am always going to be that nice guy; the sweet, corny guy with the self deprecating humor who can bring a smile to any damsel in distress without fail. I am good at that kind of stuff. But if you want me to chat up a girl, forget it.

In the end, I value being a friend too much. The moment I let go and charmed a girl, then chances are we will have a good time, and she would like me and mistake her tenderness for me as some sex drive. Then, I am just another asshole who wants to get in her pants... I don't want that. I don't want to be the smooth guys whom I envy from time to time. I want something more than that. I like to believe that most girls are out of my league... what is wrong with that? That I admire women, I adore them, I cherish them. I feel great knowing that despite their perfection, they still need people like me to remind them just how awesome they are, and that they are the best. Do I feel some form of sadness knowing that they will never see me in similar light. Sometimes... but what is that compared to being the one who can help them actualize their potentials for a greater relationship with someone better. The reality is I believed even more dearly that the one for me is out there. That if I work hard at helping others actualize their romance, then my time will come too.

I know I may appear the lesser male, because males are supposed to be confident beings who bang their own drums and sing their own praises. But screw that... I may not be the manliest of men... but I know what I will be good at, and that is all those things that comes after courtship. I know I will be a great dad and husband. Just for now, this dating thing is not working for me. Least of all the casual thing. It isn't me. If some hypothetical girl would bear with me through the roses and corny phase of dating, I know I will not fail her. Oh, I will be the sappiest man alive, but I think I will be the happiest one too because I will have fun making her happy. But for now, I am just going to be me... despite how pathetic it may sound.I suck at being single, but I am learning about myself, and I am ok with it.

In memory of Kate Puzey

All seems futile in the face of a tragedy- the words of comfort, a note of sympathy, attempts to extend one’s condolences to the family of the deceased; it all sound so trite.

It is almost surreal, the world keeps on going at a blurry pace, but there you are halted abruptly, ensconced in your own individual reminiscence. Little things becomes salient, things that were before trivial, are now triggers to memories. Each memory tearing at your heartstrings, unraveling until raw emotions lay bare for all to see, vulnerable, weakened, disheartened. It's like you are sitting there playing a game of Jenga against yourself. With each reminder, the extraction of a memory, the world threatens to crumble.

Perhaps it has already crumbled and you find yourself at ground zero. How do you go from there? What words of wisdom, what acts of comfort can lift you from the rubble of having suffered the lost of someone so special? The candle snuffed out prematurely in its prime, you are left to stumble about blindly in the dark.

Maybe it's true we mourn selfishly for our lost, for if we are to believe what we believe, than the dead is in a far far better place than what we can provide on this transitory earth. Yet, what of us, what of the beauty the departed has instilled within us. It hurts to look at it, but we can not let it fade. It is a plant passed on to us to nurture.

For now, we cry, but we will rejoice that such a radiance was once in our midst. Her presence a firework of stardusts, and we each carry within us a bit of her dreams, her hopes; just as she carried a bit of ours when she soared to new heights. She dared us to aspire to higher places when she herself went for the stars. When we fell short, she lifted us by her example, telling us it is possible.

Dear Kate, you will be missed...

My friends

I am no poet, far from it. To consider me a poet would be an insult to the true poets out there, the Neruda, Gibran and Hughes of our times. What I am is a fortunate individual who exists in the presence of inspirational people. People whose very lives are a never ending source of brilliance. People whose fond regards of me, despite their esteemed stations, raised me upon a pedestal that I never dared myself to scale.

You may perceive the wonders of an eclipse in the pond, but that is nothing compared to the real one happening in the sky. Such is the greatness of those who surrounds me, that by mere proximity alone, you mistake me for their awesomeness.

I am no poet, but a mere sounding board resonating their beauty. I am a prism to their light. A bystander may mistake me for the origins of a rainbow; but in truth, that spectrum is inspiration amplified. I am nothing and my aspirations delusional in their absence. So you see, all these imagery, all the poetry, they are but mere reflections of true greatness emitted by those around me.I am just fortunate to be close by to grasp a few crumbs; the residual of their grace is sufficient.

Heart and Mind

Have you ever listen to the conversations between the heart and mind? I find they bear striking resemblance to those shared between a concerned parent and his/her teenage child. 

One day, the heart would sidle up shyly to the mind and say, "I think I might have met someone."

The mind, alarmed, would reply, "What do you mean you may have met someone? Who is it? How did you two meet? How do you know if this is the right person?"

The heart shrugs and mumbles, "Well, you know, you just do, gut feeling sort of thing. I can't give you the details, not just yet. I just want your support in this. "

"I don't know dear, I think you are still too young, and I worried that you might get hurt."

"You worry too much, it's not like we are going to get married or anything. We are barely seeing each other as it is, it's nothing serious yet."

An impasse would then be reached, with the "why not"s and "so what"s being thrown back and forth. The mind worrying that the heart would get hurt; the heart upset that the mind could be right. It's an age old tale, the protective parent versus the free willed teenager. One day though, these two will come to an understanding of sorts. 

A prayer

From a far I hear you calling, in the recess of my mind I felt your gentle prodding.
In some remote corners of my heart there lingers a sense of yearning, a tinge of longing. Oh, my dream, my hope, be far not far from me as I have strayed from you. Do not forget me, even though I have been preoccupied with things less significant. Oh, I know of your presence, bubbling beneath the turbulent waters that is my life. I breathe each breath only because I know I am destined to achieve you, but how or when I know not. Only time can reveal. I only wish I can have the courage to pursue you, the wisdom to discern how and the will to endure the chase. Yea, would I love to feel once more the adrenaline course in me as I rediscover my purpose. I pray that I can pick up your scent and follow it with alacrity. Be not vague, be not far from me this day forth. Oh, have clemency upon this wayfarer's weary soul, and lead him home to you. Let him wander not in the wilderness too long, let not thorns prick his side and the thistles tear upon his flesh. Retrieve me, receive me from this wasteland that I have blundered into. Wait for me and wait upon me that I may attain the greatness that you have set for me. Forgive me of my mortal weaknesses, my feeble attempts, and my seemingly ephemeral memory of you. Remind me of you, ensconce me once more in your awesome radiance. 

Misere Mei. In spiritu humilitatis, et in animo contrito suscipiamur a te, Domine: et sic fiat sacrificum nostrum in conspectu tuo hodie, ut placeat tibi, Domine Deus.

Tired

I missed the days when I would wake up early on my own volition. When I would greet each new day with an unfettered ebullience. I was a morning person without any assistance from caffeine. Gosh, I miss those days when nothing carries over, it is a blank slate. I could have gone to bed the night before crying (usually because I was punished for something), comes morning all is forgotten, I am happy again, ready for new adventures that await. 

Those days are ancient history. Now, waking up early becomes a chore. I have become dependent on the steady beep of the alarm clock to guide me out of my slumber. And even when I am up and seemingly functional, the reality is I am not. My soul barely clinging to my being like a shirt half-dressed- unbuttoned, untucked, ruffled, wrinkled and flailing in the wind.  

They say it takes more muscles to frown than to smile, I don't know if there is scientific proof to that, but I can tell you that I consciously feel my face sag as the day progress. So much so that I may began the day with a plastic smile (yes, plastic, because it stops just below the eyes, and the cheeks twitched with the effort), and as the day progresses, it will slowly melt to a grimace and eventually a frown by the end of the day. That is unless I reactivate the facial muscles again with the aid of some coffee or red bull. No joke.

It is quite unbecoming to be honest. Everyone should be entitled a fresh start, to be free from previous day's burden. Yet, that is not the case. As we grow older, we seem to take on more; the residuals of yesteryears weighing us down. Accumulating, sedimenting like an unchanged baby's diaper- ready to burst and spew all nearby with Class A toxic human waste. There has got to be a way to regain that youthful zest. 

I am searching for it, if you have found the method, let me know.   

Porcelain goddess

We sat across from each other. Me just down to my pants; dazed, a touch of vertigo, completely inebriated. She, sitting there seductively, intoxicating with a come-hither look upon her face. It took every ounce of my will power not to succumb to her alluring power, what with her porcelain skin and wide smile. So there we were, on the verge of something wonderful. How the heck did we end up here…

It started out just like any night, happy hour following a long day’s work, just me and the guys. The bar was crowded as usual, people all about, each trying to chatter above the din, each raising their voices until it all clashes into a cacophony of “what?”s and “I said…”s. I, sitting there with my drink, looking all dorky and nerdy as befitting my role.

Let me back up a little bit. Ladies, you know sometimes when you go to the bar, you go in a posse of sorts. Most of the time, it is a harmless gathering, ladies night out. Other times, it serves a defensive purpose – a buffer to prevent the wrong guys from hitting on one or two amongst you. Just on a side note, it’s a very effective system because it ensures that only the most qualified can get through. Those who breached that line of defense are usually individuals of great personal charisma, or have amazing wingmen who are in of themselves positive reinforcements of the guy’s image. I digress.

For guys, there is an alternative to the wingman. There is the bring-a-sap method. Let's pause for a second, you go to a bar, you see a nice looking guy who looks kind of cool and detached. He can be sitting alone drinking a Bud, or he could be surrounded by other guys. What goes through your mind? If you are like most girls, you probably think he is kind of cute, but possibly inaccessible, his friends are probably vulgar, and as a result the guy himself could possibly be a total jerk, just like any other guy. Now, what if it's the same guy, but this time he is drinking with this timid, soft-spoken, average-looking geek, someone who looks like that little brother everybody is compelled to look out for. Now, I am willing to bet he is coming across as much nicer because he is hanging out with a lesser being. "Aw, how nice of him to be hanging out with average people."

Enters me, I am that average bozo. I am homely enough to make any guy I sit next to a male model. I am dumb enough looking to make him look the man-of-the-world type. When I am there, he becomes the nice older brother who is out showing his kid brother a good time; the kid brother who inherited none of the looks and literally or figuratively hit the books a little bit too hard.I am the cute baby or pet equivalent. I am better though because I am disposable, you don't need to change my diapers or pick up my "uh-oh"s.  I can get you in, break the ice and extract myself without making  a scene. 

Suddenly, that same guy we talked about earlier is approachable, charming, and nice. He could walk over to the female posse, dragging me along, play the "Have you met my friend" game. The girls would laugh, they start a good rapport, he winks at me. Insertion complete, mission accomplished. Me being actually shy and all would slip away quietly unnoticed. I would go and drink by myself. I keep drinking until I get a slight buzzed, and realize it is time to go home.

Which brings us back to where I am now, sitting across from her, the one constant in my life. As wild a night and as late it gets, I know she will be up waiting for me, ready to embrace me. To her I go, ready to pour out all the loneliness that I try to drown out by downing one too many. Yet, in the back of my mind I know this is not healthy. I can't just throw myself at her mercy everytime I don't score elsewhere. So here I sit, trying to hold it all back, unwilling to pounce myself upon her.

Alas, my flesh betrays me... and everything comes hurling out. The two beers, one cocktail, five shots of tequila plus whatever it is that I have chewed and churned on the past 24 hours. She awallows it all, taking it all in with a chortle until I can vomit no more. Spent, I collapse at her feet, shivering, feeling dirty, hating myself. Yet my porcelain goddess, she is my sole comforter, I worship at her altar. She clears my head, cleanse my system, and because of her I am ready to face a new dawn with no hangovers.

Waiting

I find myself constantly waiting. Just waiting; waiting for people, waiting on people. It never bothered me before, the whole game of waiting. I can wait; I have no where else to be, I have nothing better to do. Waiting is good for me; it builds character I am told, it teaches patience, it strengthens compassion. Yet, as of late, I seem to have lost my capacity to wait.

What changed? What has changed that I have become impatient? What has changed that I am now hesitant to wait on people? From whence came this sense of urgency; from what spawn my reluctance? It troubles me, this knowledge that I am no longer as willing to wait and serve with alacrity. It feels very unbecoming of who I am, deviating greatly from the person that I envision myself to be, ultimately going against my instincts. Yet, here I am a lesser waiter in all sense of the word.

It's me, isn't it. I have changed. More importantly I have become first person singular. That's it... isn't it? Before it was just about waiting, there was no notion of "I" in there. Waiting was waiting, just a verb, an action to be completed. It was neutral, business as usual. But then "I" came along, and all of a sudden the dynamics changed. No longer is it about completing a task or helping someone out. No, suddenly there is a matter of self-preservation, an avoidance to becoming subservient. The question "What about me?" comes up, and I am stop dead in my tracks. I have allowed doubt to seep in.

It has been said that there is only a fine line between serving and being a servant. As Eliseo so eloquently puts it in the movie Life is Beautiful:

"Think of a sunflower, they bow to the sun. But if you see some that are bowed too far down, it means they're dead. You're here serving, you're not a servant. Serving is the supreme art. God is the first of servants. God serves men, but he's not a servant to men." I find that I have lost sight of where I stand in relation to that line. I have become a servant, servile to extrinsic factors. No longer can I claim that I am master of my own faculties. No longer is there altruism.

Once upon a time, I waited because I can, because it is within me to wait. Now, I feel I wait because I must. I did not choose whether or not to wait, rather the wait is thrust upon me... and I suppose I feel frustrated at the helplessness it induces in me - to wait, to wait on others, to wait for others when I am not ready.

I feel I have abased myself, and debased the art of waiting. Ironically, I have done so by placing myself before others. That should never have happened... never should I have allowed my sense of self grow so prominent that I place my own happiness before others. It is a false sense of entitlement. Who am I to be impatient? Who am I to think others should wait? I am disgusted.

I see where I have strayed. From this time forth, I shall wait, not out of a sense of inferiority nor superiority, but rather because I am graced with the gift to wait. I shall cherish my ability to wait.

Wait for me.

Why some love can never be

I wish I could tell you how much I look forward to our conversations, however brief they might be. I wish I could compliment you to your face without fear of making things awkward for the two of us. But I can't, I mustn't. We can talk of anything and everything beneath the skies, but never are we allowed to broach the topic of "us". To do so would mean risking everything. The comfort zone which we have built around each other, the pedestals that have been raised, they would all come tumbling down, crumbling into pieces. It could mean the betrayal of a trust, the shattering of a sacred friendship.

Dare I risk what we have now, an easy flow of dialogues beyond time and space? Dare I face the possibility of being decimated should you find my advances unbecoming between two friends? You probably would find it so overwhelming that you need to withdraw yourself far away from it. That will crush me. Indeed, I value our friendship as I do to the last drop of water on this earth. I cannot allow myself to feel more for you. I shall be destroyed should you reject, as I know you will. No, I rather savor each moment we have together. I rather be disappointed that you never saw me as the one, than to live without your wit and your kindness.

I am honour bound to put aside my personal agenda. Friendship first and foremost. Perhaps my ardor will subside over time.





p.s. This is a fictional piece, not applicable to anything actual in the author's life. If there is, it is purely coincidential.

Salsa tips (written May 2006)

Being a beginner, it is always nice to have some friendly advice from experienced dancers. The other night I went dancing at this new place up in Rockville MD. It was a relatively new dance studio, spacious with nice wooden floors ( I suppose you would fine my fascination with the floor a bit strange, but having spacious wooden floor to dance on is kind of hard to come by in DC). The crowd there was really friendly, mostly middle age couples who truly enjoyed what they were doing, and were most willing to share their experiences. There wasn't a whole lot of "fancy" salsa going on like at some of the clubs I have been to, just people who were there to have a good time. It made the salsa they danced seem so much more rustic and fun to watch, possibly because it felt feasible, comprehendable by a beginner like me. 

Anyway, I had the chance to dance with a really nice lady there. She was very patient, and didn't mind at all that I was a beginner. Throughout the couple of dances that we were partnered, she taught me a lot of the little details that I have not noticed before. For instance, she pointed out that one of the most common mistakes that guys make is taking big steps. She said that what makes salsa so special is not the amount of space you cover, nor the wide turns, but in being subtle and sexy at the same time. One of the ways to achieve this is to do small steps, and move the hips more. When a guy takes rather huge steps, he invertedly restricts his hips from swaying as much because a lot of the movement is spent covering length. If he steps closer, smaller steps, he lets his knee bend more, and his hips can sway more. She said it is important to master the step-in-place, because when you take small steps, you don't waste time and effort covering area, thus you can spend more time focusing on rhythm. 

Also, the key is not in turning girls here and there. she said that girls actually don't like being turned that much, nor do they enjoy being maneuver around like a doll. There is no room for Latin machismo on the salsa floor, it is all about subtle, slow and yet deliberate touch. She said that salsa is like Zen at times, you want to make the most impact by doing the least. You don't need tobe flashy to be sexy. Like wearing a tiny black dress, it is not what is exposed that make the wearer sexy, but rather what is hidden underneath. Sexiness is not measured by how much a woman reveals, but rather by how much she covers. A scantily clad woman is not as attractive as a woman in a long flowing dress. The mystery is the alluring factor in salsa. When one dances salsa, one is exploring. If you show all, then there is nothing else to explore, the mystery is gone, and the tension is gone.  Paraphasing the instructor, salsa has a whole to do with flirting and teasing. The girl says "you are not getting any, but you can dance close to me". One of the false assumption is that the guys are leading - they are not. They are loving admirers, and they are admiring the woman in their hands by gently turning her every which way so that he can fully appraise her beauty.  

Tracing or slow fluid movements is key. Despite being a fast dance, salsa occurs in slow motion, and you want to produce the most effect with the slightest touch. Like a dragonfly touching on the pond. If a guy wants to be a better dancer, he needs to know the right spots to push rather than which hand to pull. 

Another thing she pointed out was communication. A lot of guys don't seem to know how to communicate with their partners. One of the key thing that a guy should remember is to look at his partner and smile. Often times, guys tend to look away from their partners, and try to steer their partners with the hands only. She pointed out that salsa, like sex, should be something that is done eyes wide open. Only in looking into your partner's eyes can you communicate at a higher level. The eyes, and the smile convey to your partner that you are having a good time. Interestly enough, she also pointed out that when a guy is practicing, he should close his eyes. She said this way, the guy can become more familiar with the right touch. 

There is no need to rush into doing turns and all, the quality of a good dance is not measured by how fancy you can get, but how much meaning you can convey as partners. It is an art, and art requires much preparation. Dancing salsa with a partner requires much patience, constantly looking for the right timing to execute a move such that it reachest its fullest artistic potential. If all one does are turns, then their effects become dull, the dancers and obervers alike would become numb. Instead, when dancing, be sure to look for tension and communication with your partner. Constantly re-adjust the tension in the hands so that when you feel it, you can do a move in all its glory.