Naming and Remembering

This morning, I woke up with a start. After a long period of absence, he once again graced my sleep. I dreamt that I lived with a relative who owns a hacienda. For some reason, the little boy and his friends were also there, having fun while I watched them from afar. As the day progressed, his friends started to leave, perhaps because of the sun's blinding and exhausting effect. He decided to stay and take a dip in the pool.

When he was done, I approached him and we chatted a bit. He was almost naked, save for his checkered shorts. I couldn't help but shamelessly stare at his body: droplets of water were all over his smooth torso, his nipples were erect, and the color of his body -- beautiful and earthly.

Then it happened. With a smile on my face, I held his hand and led him to a secret place. We ran, crawled, met (and avoided) people we knew, and crossed a highway full of speeding vehicles. We didn't say anything to one another, but somehow, we both knew that it was finally going to happen.

It was a Friday morning. I woke up early for I couldn't sleep well the night before -- the idea of buying (unexpectedly) a return ticket was just too much for my mind. Perhaps it was because my fellow Filipinos have gone home ahead of me; I was alone with the other ASEAN fellows. Or perhaps it was the possibility of seeing him again -- he sent me a only single e-mail since I arrived in Singapore and, honestly, it wasn't much. Sixteen sentences, telling me about Kyoto and his future trip to the Netherlands, Singapore as a polly pocket place, and an art bridge that I shouldn't miss. Quite possibly, I was also excited to go home and save my ailing organization. Maybe it was all of these.

I got on a bus that would pass by Queenstown MRT station, unmindful of the bus' unfamiliarity. At Queenstown, I transferred to a train going to Changi airport. The trip lasted for about fifty minutes which I spent by thinking of the things that I would do the moment I get home. It was also during the train ride that I decided not to tell my mom about my upcoming trip. It was going to be a surprise, a big one.

Finding the ticket counter took me some time and when I finally did, I was a bit annoyed for there was a queue. I somehow expected that I'd be able to finish my transaction in no time at all but because there were clients ahead of me, I had to wait for a bit. While waiting for my turn, a couple of Filipina domestic workers queued behind me. Like me, they were also excited to go home. In a way, that could have been a basis for some "relationship of care," however fleeting. Yet, I chose to remain silent.

When it was my turn to transact with the ticketing agent, I made sure that my documents were in order. I just wanted to get out of that place in the soonest possible time. And yes, I spoke my English in the best way possible. It was, in so many ways, difference at work.

Every day, except on Sundays, I go to the University. I'd wake up at seven, eat breakfast (white bread with velveeta cheese; yakult or fruit juice), take a shower, and commute going to the university. During my first month here, I would walk until the bus stop in front of Alexandra Hospital and there I'd take Bus 33 until Kent Ridge terminal. From Kent Ridge terminal, I'd walk a bit and take an internal bus until the Computer Center which is just opposite the Central Lib and AS6 where I work most of the time. For the past two days though, I've chosen to take Bus 97 instead. From my building, I walk a bit until the bus stop (the one opposite Gillman Heights). I alight at the NUH stop and take an NUS internal bus. The travelling time is shorter and less stressful. Going home though, I prefer to walk from AS6/Central Lib until Kent Ridge Terminal. There, I'd catch a Bus 33. Although the travelling time is longer, I like taking that bus when I go home because it allows me to think (yes, to think!) and relax. Perhaps more importantly, it stops by the military training center opposite Normanton Park. Cute Chinese boys wearing military uniform pack (attack?) the bus. What a perfect way to end my day.

We -- Tina the Filipina linguist, Jojo the Cebuano archaeologist, Bibi the mother/scholar from Sarawak, and I -- were on our way home from the cinema. We watched MI3 (plotwise rich, but wanting in terms of story) at the Cathay cineplex along Orchard Road. It was fun, except that we had to pass by Lucky Plaza, where Indays congregate. It didn't help that it was a Sunday. As our group ran into indays after indays, it became quite clear how the boundaries between tourists, domestic helpers, students, and scholars are simultaneously permeable and unbridgeable. This became pronounced when the Chinese salesboys of Giordano started shouting "bilih na kayoh. limahng pisoh langh." Of course, the indays started flocking. And our group started to walk faster.

***

We took the MRT from Somerset to City Hall. From City Hall, we took another train going to Queenstown. The train that took us to Queenstown was quite full so we had to stand up. There I was, one hand on the railing, another holding my bag, eyes looking at the floor. Then I saw a pair of feet that instantly reminded me of him: clean nails, pinkish toes, and havaianas slippers. The difference, of course, is that his feet are less veiny and are more reddish/moreno. The trip from City Hall to Queenstown is, so far, the longest one I had here.

What can three minutes reveal?

A pair of eyes gazing upon the other's, skin touching another skin, almost but not quite. One hundred eighty seconds of bliss, with me devouring every detail of his presence, capturing details that would soon become mere memory, typified and dead.

Yet, while I enjoy his presence, I make sure that secrets are not revealed, that silences are preserved, that distances remain unbridged, and that emotions remain hidden, never to be named and exposed. What a terrible, terrible curse.

Three minutes may be a small speck in the vastness of time, yet things as big as love, suffering, and human fragility can occupy its intimate spaces.

It was a lazy day. At ten in the morning, I was still in bed, thinking about the books I have to read for school. My mom, in her post-shower glory, was busy applying cream on her face. With the door ajar, I could see her staring into the mirror. Suddenly, with no warning, and with all joy, she exclaimed "I know what I'll cook for breakfast tomorrow!"

Startled, I looked at her and asked "What?"

"Champorado. I'll buy malagkit, cocoa, and coconut from the grocery. What do you think?"

Upon hearing the word champorado, I smiled at her. However, memories of a not-so-distant past with an old woman cooking champorado for her favorite apo soon crossed my mind. In an instant, I closed my eyes.

"O? Ayaw mo?"

No response.

"Eh bakit kanina, ngumiti ka?"

Still no response.

"Hayyy. My son misses my mother."

Eyes shut, breathing heavy, I heard my mom's footsteps as she went out of our condo unit. To smoke, perhaps.

I spent the whole afternoon at McDonald's. Sat at the table where The Kid and I had dinner last week, ate a quarter pounder meal, and read two chapters of Alfred Schutz' Studies in Social Theory. I'd say that the whole experience was heavenly (in a nerdy-slash-romantic way, of course).

Oh yeah, a slight drizzle occured while I was busy marking the pages of Schutz' book with my reliable orange highlighting pen. Mmmm. Rain, rain, rain and the comfort of a not-so-busy afternoon.

***

Here's an interesting quote from Schutz' essay on "The Dimensions of the Social World." While reading it, I couldn't help but laugh, thinking that it could very well be the case that he was describing sexual encounters:

I do not experience partners in all We-relations with equal intensity, nor am I equally intimate with them. Furthermore, my partners appear to me in different perspectives which exercise a certain amount of constraint upon my experiences of the partner. Finally, in the We-relation, I may be turned attentively to my partner's experiences, i.e., to his conscious processes and subjective motivations, or I may be only remotely interested in these, concentrating instead on his overt acts and expressions.

Reading sexual encounters into Schutz' text is bad, I know. It only means that I need some boy meat SOON, preferrably from somewhere up north. *grin*

***

But let's get emotional.

I found the following passage significant, especially in the context of relationships. We like to think of relationships (romantic or otherwise) as continuous (i.e., occupies a contiguous portion of the temporal spectrum). Schutz however argues that a relationship is actually a series of face-to-face interactions. What binds such series of interactions (and hence enables the continued existence of a relationship even if both partners are not co-present in spatial terms) are notions of promise ('commitment', 'trust') and anticipation (that both parties will remain faithful to the terms of their relationship). In a way, Schutz anticipated Arendt who wrote on the promise as an antidote to the indeterminacy of human action. Seeing the connections among Schutz, Arendt, and Heidegger (Arendt's mentor) is simply beautiful! (I'm also seeing connections among Schutz, Foucault, and Derrida but I still have to verify my hunches/insights).

In the community of space and time we were attuned to one another; his Self reflected mine; his experiences and my experiences formed a common stream, our experience; we grew old together. As soon as my fellow-man leaves, however, my experience of him undergoes a transformation. I know that he is in some Here and Now of his own, and I know that his Now is contemporaneous with mine, but I do not participate in it, nor do I share his Here. I know that my fellow-man has grown older since he left me, and, upon reflection, I know that, strictly speaking, he has changed with each additional experience, with each new situation. But all this I fail to take into account in the routine of everyday life. I hold on to the familiar image I have of you. I take it for granted that you are as I have known you before. Until further notice I hold invariant that segment of my stock of knowledge which concerns you and which I have built up in face-to-face situations, that is, until I receive information to the contrary. But then this is information about a contemporary to whom I am oriented as a contemporary and not as a fellow-man. It is a contemporary, of course, whom I experienced directly before, about whom I have more specific knowledge, gained in the shared experiences of past We-relations [face-to-face interactions], than about others who are and always were mere contemporaries.

Painfully beautiful.

Tension gripped me yesterday as the hours passed by. Ish and I were supposed to have a formal, sit-down dinner somewhere along Katipunan. He simply wanted to talk, having been out of the Review circuit for some time now. Due to a number of circumstances (e.g., Sharms' "confrontation" with him in the de la Costa garden; his absence during the team's dinner; the simple fact that I really, really want to spend some time with him), the proposed talk eventually became a business date/dinner meeting.

As Stan, Jonas, and Brian know, I was quite scared (yet excited) about last night's dinner. On one level, I wanted everything to be "magical." Hence, I fretted about what I should wear, if I should get a haircut, etc etc. On another level, I had the burden of telling him the sentiments of the team while making sure that he stays on board to deliver on his tasks. I didn't want to be too soft on him (otherwise Sharms and Annette will surely kill me) but I also didn't want to be too harsh on him. I wasn't sure if I could do it (or if I actually wanted to do it). Stan had to convince me before I finally decided to push through with the dinner.

It was a good thing that he only had an hour to talk with me (he needed to go to the LHS for the relief goods operations) because we had to change our plans. Instead of going to a fancy place, we opted to go to McDonald's. There, amidst the noise of young people, I managed to tell him the things that needed to be said and to see the things that needed to be seen.

to be continued...