Confused-Shoes

I was sweaty and out of breath. The morning was calm, the demons in me subdued, my fantasies uneventful. Somehow, though, I couldn’t help but decry the state of my consciousness. I was unable to transcend beyond my petty frustrations, my ambiguous motives. I felt sick to the stomach.

The night before, she had sent me a letter. A letter which I couldnt bear to read one more time after I first read it. It was too painful, way too painful for me to bear. Of course, the thought hits me that I might have overlooked a few details, but what the hell. It came to me loud and clear. She was, once more, pushing me away.

What made me sad is despite my intentions of staying, she kept on telling me that why should I stay if pain is all that I’d get? Well, i said, I’m quite tired from it all, and so she said, ok, I understand you have to leave, fine, take care. To think that we had some sort of sex life? No, seriously, I mean, I mean, what the hell, what the hell. We have isolated love from its harmonious complexity to its most indistinct note: selfishness.

These things ran into my head as I walked, rather absent-mindedly, towards the main library. With my 9 am Gudang Garam, I sat down, legs spread far apart, elbows resting on my hips, and enjoyed the smoke. The cigarette was crackling up a bit, and I wished I had some maryjanes or a vodka and tonic or whatever to keep me with that funny feeling of melting away.

Was I guilty? Of course I was. Guilty because I was betraying my moral standards? Maybe, we could put it that way. But what the hell. The guilt only makes the hurting all the more sweeter. It is the follow through that completes the perfect 15-foot jumper.

Suddenly, a faint voice said ‘excuse me’. I looked up and I got so tense, the security guard was standing beside me. Oh man, I had it now, I thought, jail and all and expulsion and what about the freakin’ Magna cum laude? But He smiled and asked if he could have a light. I laughed a little bit and handed him my pink Cricket. He thanked me and walked away down the steps.

I felt so sick. I felt terrible. Miserable. Life was crumbling down and I was caught right in the middle of the ruins. I needed anyone and yet I marvelled at my capacity to enjoy failure. Like I was born for it.

I got up, feeling a little light in the head and went to the door of the Main Library. I breeezed through the security checks and wires and all. As I entered the Men’s room I quickly found my favorite urinal spot. The place was empty and I proceeded to pee.

I noticed that there was a little salagubang drowning in the pool of urine and phlegm and toilet water. It was trapped, its feet stuck somewhere. Barely alive, it responed by moving its feet as I dumped my load onto it. I took pity of it and wanted to pick it up but I realized that I didnt want to go into that much trouble, soiling my hands and all just to save a pathetic, dying insect without a soul.

The way it goes, the way it seems, the way it feels, everything suggests that sooner or later there will have to be a massive breakdown. Her heart is not mine and my heart belongs to her. It’s sad when I think of it, and it’s even sadder when I have to actually experience it. Day by day, day by day.

In the end, I’m sure I’d be left alone. I have left women just as women have left me. But in everything I have had so far I knew, to a certain extent, that there was an amount of love, an exclusive, secure kind of love between two people. A love that didnt include third parties or long-standing promises worth years in the making. But tonight I am sad because our breakdown would be unique, so refreshingly unique: that she did not love me. No, she never did.

The way I asked her to. The way I wanted her to.

So I guess I’m setting her free. Her kisses, her embraces, all the smiles and laughter really belonged for someone else. Someone else, someone else, a looming presence, a dreaded existence. She belongs to herself and to her love. What right do I have to force myself inside that already neat arrangement?

Tonight I am mediocre. Sophomoric and sentimental, cliched and irrelevant. My world collapses but it is no big deal. I am no big hero and the world does not weep for the demise of ordinary men.

The place was swarming with people. People from all walks of life. All opinionated people; most of them didnt give a damn about the world. Some of them gave a damn for the silliest things about the world. In any case, it was sheer exhaustion that has led me to the very heart of that chaos.

I was waiting for her under the old clock. I was so tired I just slumped on the space right underneath that clock, seemingly oblivious to the muddy boots and brand new havs and fake nikes and and janilyns and whatever anyone has to wear on their feet. I suppose I have kind of taken special notice of footwear that time. My head was already kissing the dirty marble. The shoes, naturally, did attract me, as I certainly did attract looks from passersby. I was almost asleep. I didn’t give a damn.

"Get up, shithead." I heard a voice say. I looked up, and there was some god, beckoning me. But I was so tired, I didnt give a damn. Then I cursed myself in my head and I felt sick of myself and I wanted to cry. Suddenly I wanted to cry.

I felt someone kick me in my tummy. It was quite painful. But it only strengthened my resolve to stay that way, fallen, tearful, wasted. I could still hear the sound of a million footsteps. I could not perceive or sense anything else by then.

"You should have died a million years ago. You should have died. But you should not die this way. This is too glorious for you." The voice said, and it was followed by a wild stab at my body. I felt the blade slice me, maybe in two, maybe in a million pieces; my body writhed and my mind felt the horrors of 600 centuries of evil and manipulation and deception and horror and death. In was like I was made to experience the cosmic feeling of eternal damnation. In that instant I was the personification of the ultimate horror of humanity - the sickness unto death.

I remained frozen for some time, tragic, desperate. I knew all the universal juices had flowed out of me. In that numbing pain I felt my soul for the first time - it was me, it existed, apart from me, it was there, it was real, it was undeniable, and it was in pain. My soul did exist and I shuddered at the thought of the pain my soul had felt. My body was used to pain but my sould wasn’t. The existence of my soul, the pain it has felt, made me feel so alive.

It seemed like forever but I was startled when after some time I could hear the sounds of footsteps, building in my ears, in my head, like the swarming of bees, the magical gathering of butterflies, the convocation of flies. Then the sounds of chaos came to me and I felt dead once more. The pain in my soul was gone, or maybe, I just ceased experiencing either my pain or my soul. But I knew I was back, existing in the chaos, present in some place, aware of countless footsteps. Then it became dead silent.

The silence was almost serene. Tranquil. But I did hear the ticking of the clock. Tic, toc, tic, toc, tic, toc, tic…

I opened my eyes and she was smiling at me. I looked up and she offered her hand. I reached for it and I felt like some force had pulled me up from a deep, dark pit. Then I felt sunshine. Warm and tender, it gave me enough strength to force a smile.

I looked at her, and realized that I was still in the same chaotic place, the same place full of people. But I knew I was with her now, she was with me, holding my hand. My heart never felt so happy.

"You’re drooling on your shirt." She said, with a sweet laugh. I laughed too, and I must have looked so clumsy searching my pockets for a handkerchief or tissue. She handed me her white face towel.

I met him just before 2 pm. He was smoking. As I approached him he threw his butt away and he then smiled at me. I offered him a stick from a freshly opened pack of Winston.

"I’m in love with someone who is in love with another guy." He said. "That’s so uncharacteristic of you…" I remarked. I already know the story - He was begging this girl not to leave him although the girl has already confessed to him that she loves him just as a friend. "My heart belongs to someone else whom I can’t be with at the moment…" She said to him once.

"The thing is, she’s not leaving me completely. We would be happy spending our times together as long as there is sunshine but at night she would kill me with these guilt trips and conscience pangs…" he said.

"Oh boy. This is quite a mess you are in. Leave her." I said to him. Mine was a sincere advice.

"It’s not that easy…"

"But you’ve done terribly hard things, made seemingly heart-rendering decisions in the past…"

"I guess I enjoy being a fool, being stupid. Or maybe right now I am delighted by the thought that I am being so benevolent and loving and understanding and all…"

We lit our cigarettes and for a moment we both blew out our smoke and stared off into the sky in silence. The clouds were gathering about now, and any moment God might send the waters from heaven to drown us all.

"But she doesn’t love you…" I reminded him, breaking the ice shelf.

"I know, buddy. I know."

It is actually very simple. You and me together. That is all that matters, that is all I need in life. It is sheer infidelity to ignore it.

Jealousy takes many forms. You see something in the eyes of your lover, you see it in her actions, you hear it in her words, you feel it in her kisses, then like a creepy brutal beast it devours you.

Somewhere in the shadows a minstrel sings. "Blessed are the tall for they make no sense at all"

The latero made a good job out of it. The fender brought back to its ideal form, the lights replaced, the paint fresh and clean. The car was rejuvenated, and, although it was a poor man’s ride, i felt like the proudest poor man indeed.

I guess I felt suddenly attached to my weakness, the beauty and power of it. The undying flames of juvenile intimacy, the longing embrace of commitment, the sweet dreams of a happy future full of warmth and sunshine; an assurance that the rainy days would be just as warm and lovely.

The car was ok and so was my heart. Not that there is any real connection behind them. I just found out that everything could be so connected and yet at the same time nothing, absolutely nothing, means anything to something whatsoever. The world did and did not run at the same time on logic and wisdom and infinite design. It was full of contradictions and these contradictions have given birth to love.

Kundera said that ‘metaphors should not be trifled with.’ I have, and it has given birth to that magic feeling. I am so delighted. Now, I could speed up along any avenues just as my heart could race to meet you at the road’s end. At the end of that long road we would end up kissing, loving each other.