Abandon

This is how it feels to be abandoned.

I mean literally left to my own devices, down and out, caught between a rock and a hard place sort of thing. I could picture in my mind Mick Jagger singing those lines.

Abandoned [adjective] {u’ban-dund}

1. Empty of people and unused, not maintained by the owner or inhabitants
2. Free from constraint

Nobody’s fault but mine, as Led Zeppelin so eloquently expressed. Because nowadays, the only comfort I can come by is the music and stories that run in my head. And the movies I watch over and over, even doing marathons whenever the opportunity arose.

My recent move from one place to another, the nomadic form of existence which I have come to know intimately for several years now, is tiring and costly. And Papa Was  A Roling Stone , from a more recent cover by George Michael comes to mind. But it’s not that all poetic nor romantic. I n real life, the line “wherever I lay my hat is home” is not something nobody can appreciate. Moving from one place to another means it didn’t work out. And quite frankly, depressing up to a point, because I don’t normally give in to wallowing on failures and pitfalls. And living off of friends and family is something I am loathe to do, but swallowing that bitter pride has made me succumb to anyway. For my defense, I don’t really feel good about having to borrow, and ask, leach whatever morsel that comes off my friendship or from my kin. It’s a sad  state. All because in the middle of all these I still believe in me making it with my art and stories.

Abandon [verb] {u’ban-dun}

1. Forsake, leave behind
2. Give up with the intent of never claiming again
3. Leave behind empty; move out of
4. Stop maintaining or insisting on ideas or claims
5. Leave someone who needs or counts on you; leave in the lurch

And this is how it feels to be abandoned. Castaway but without the shipwreck.

And Wilson.

In my times of near-drowning, I was able to create some good designs, works that could have earned me enough to get by for several weeks, but no, I gave them away for free. A previous employer, whom I thought was cool and eccentric turned out to be just another employer, with weird thoughts of altruism. Doing everything in the workplace on minimum wage is okay, but to take the blame for things I don’t even know about just doesn’t make it right. Water under the bridge and all that crap but the memory do smart and leave a mark, like a rash you can’t help but scratch till the skin is red.  So don’t tread on me.

My Desolation

Desolation [noun] {de-su’ley-shun}

1. The state of being decayed or destoyed
2. A bleak and desolate atmosphere
3. Sadness resulting from being forsaken or abandoned
4. An event that results in total destruction

Synonyms

• Bareness
• Bleakness
• Devastation
• Forlorness
• Loneliness
• Nakedness

In the 20 odd years I have been eking a living in the city, this is probably the time and place that will require my most inert survival skills to come out and then dig deeper for more.  Compared to the semi permanent habitations this body has occupied over the years, specially during college when my preconceptions of urban living has been shattered, a veritable culture shock, thankfully came early in life, today is something like Mark Watney went through on Mars, but with less resources and even fewer funding.

So I did what he did – science the shit out of this gig – to paraphrase his point.

Oh yes, to digress a bit. I was watching The Martian last night and it came to me that being left on a planet without someone to turn to but yourself bears the analogs of where I am today. Though I could have wished for a HAB and some prepacked food, among other provisions, my family and a few real good friends serves as my HAB. Don’t believe the hype, city living is not glamorous. Nor is it even fulfilling. I may fallen in love with Metro Manila, but the relationship has gone sour and all the effort today is to make it through the next payday, earn enough and get back to the country side. This transient life may have been my own for quite sometime, but all I want to do now is go home.

Kinda like Watney? You bet.

Now, while I am still on the lookout for freelance jobs and other projects, I have found myself in this charming place, but with a few roadblocks. The room is affordable enough (read that dirt-cheap) and I am eternally gratefull for my new landlord. But the room is actually a storeroom for unused cloth and garment from her dressmaking shop. Ample ventilation is from three windows, one glass louvered window faces the East, which is what I prefer, overlooking an empty lot with some trees and lots of fighting cocks, a tin roof with rotting wood and cat poop, and some empty plastic gallons, stringed together by my neighbour , who’s obviously looking to sell. The other window faces directly to that neighbour’s concrete wall, and the last one, well is my own personal picture window, bare and open, that serves as my clothes drier when I have laundry to do. Also, as my default spot to throw out used water, early morning garglings and the rare spittle.

Back In Town

 

I found a new place to live in the city!

Okay, let’s back up a bit. I said new, because I have to move out of one place and into another. The place is actually somewhere in the area where I used to rent when I was working in Makati at the time, from 2004 to 2008 if I recall correctly. New, because it was entirely abrupt and well, I practically am a starnger to this part of San Isidro.

It’s a steal really. I just happen to ask an acquaintance and just about time because the one I was renting in Quezon City has issues with the caretaker and the owner. Claim issues that nearly went full tabloid headlines, if things did went south.

But hey, I got me new digs.

Check it out!

Really a bargain for the location, righ smack in Makati, access to most major thoroughfares and with a subdued urban charm. This is an old house, probably built around mid-60’s, needs a bit more upkeep but just right for the price. It’s a studio flat, all 6×3 sqm, the wood floors have that sort of  classic give, as most old houses tend to have, glass louvered windows. What’s good about the place is the environment. People here are creative and musical. Just after moving in, I spotted a room with a guitar hanging by the neck, like a criminal hanged for his atrocities. And there’s a child just below my room (I live on the posh upper floor) whose parents may have dreams of nurturing into a full blooming crooner. I could tell by the way the child screams and brays like a wounded mule all day long, and when I say all day long, there’s probably just a couple of hours lull in between braying and screaming, even at 11pm at night. Good training though, builds the lungs, the vocal chords are getting the right amount of stretch. And boy, could that child scream. Astonishingly good sustain. And I say musical people, because there’s acouple who does rehearse regularly a two part harmony that always ends up in a crescendo. And some flowery words that would leave Any poet with envy.

But I digress.