Passing through | |
Death by Statistics November 4, 2009 8:52 AM Figaro Cafe IT Park Lahug, Cebu City My friend's having an affair. She says the sex is great and that her lover makes her feel pretty. I think the word -- the precise adjective is -- wanted. Perhaps that's it. Her boyfriend makes her feel needed, her lover makes her feel wanted. My second made me feel needed, my third, wanted. But even then, both ended up neither wanting nor needing me. So I guess neither the needing nor the wanting matters. Relatioships are very complicated. We'd like to believe it's all about love and that love will carry us through, but love has become the catch all phrase for just about any idiotic feeling or act of ours which we believe we have no need to defend. In the end, when I think about the few relationships know that actually work, I think it's more a matter of choice. People should say, "I choose you," instead of "I love you." I choose you despite the occasional lousy sex -- or maybe even the decade of non-orgasm. I choose you despite your nasty teeth, your over-sized toe, the annoying way you bicker about the unevenness of a mowed lawn, the way you always need to be right even when it's so obvious you're wrong, the way you are always wrong and how I need to feign defeat every now and then, your incessant need to feed your ego, or your compulsion to flirt and cross reference your marketability with every tom, dick, and harry, or sam, anicka, and sally. I choose you even if you turn into a monster overnight -- both physically and spiritually. I'll choose you when gravity has won over your flawless skin and your supple breasts. I'll choose you despite your many lies and the lies that are to come. I'll choose you even when you drop the baby or refuse to have a baby. This is what marriage I guess is precisely all about -- or ever afters at the least (Let's just all together let go of the happy there, shall we?). When we choose to be with someone, the choice has to be made once the oxytocin has stopped kicking in, once we've realized that we aren't just committing to the person in the here and now, but the countless permutations he/she could become coupled with the million probabilities of experiences that person will have. Humans are capable of the most abominable acts. Let's factor that in, shall we, before we say I do. Granted, they can also become the epitome of perfection, which is something I'm writing just to prove I'm unbiased to either side of the coin. So in the end, "loving" is a fight against statistics, a constant struggle to win over that .ooooo1 alpha. statistically speaking, it's a futile cause. You gotta be crazy to join the band wagon. I end this entry with a snicker. Because I know which dot in the bell curve I belong to. Here's to hoping you're in it, too. ;) To the half of my 11 and the co-bearer of an 808I have never met anyone who liked the same sort of trees as I.Gorecki, by Lamb If I should die this very moment I wouldnt fear For Ive never known completeness Like being here Wrapped in the warmth of you Loving every breath of you Still in my heart this moment Or it might burst Could we stay right here Until the end of time until the earth stops turning Wanna love you until the seas run dry Ive found the one Ive waited for All this time Ive loved you And never known your face All this time Ive missed you And searched this human race Here is true peace Here my heart knows calm Safe in your soul Bathed in your sighs Wanna stay right here Until the end of time til the earth stops turning Gonna love you until the seas run dry Ive found the one Ive waited for The one Ive waited for All Ive known All Ive done All Ive felt was leading to this All Ive known All Ive done All Ive felt was leading to this Wanna stay right here til the end of time till the earth stops turning Im gonna love you till the seas run dry Ive found the one Ive waited for The one Ive waited for The one Ive waited for Wanna stay right here til the end of time till the earth stops turning Im gonna love you till the seas run dry Ive found the one Ive waited for The one Ive waited for The one Ive waited for Finally...Anger.
Courage came to me first. Anger second. The order does not matter because Hope came just in time. There is still pain. It comes out in sporadic bursts -- while driving to work, in the middle of class, while conversing with the closest of friends, or stepping out of the shower. The pain, however, is no longer brought about by loneliness or hurt or sadness. It is an offshoot of anger -- of the realization that even the worst of my actions did not entitle me to the cruelty served. I, like any human being, deserved gentleness, compassion, and respect. I may not have been worthy of love, but I certainly was valuable enough for its rubrics. A few weeks ago, a friend of mine was served a slice of pizza with a big bite. She showed it to her daughter and said: "This is not love. Love is not a pizza slice with a big bite." To which I continued: "Love is the entire pizza box. Never settle for anything less." Driving home that night this thought occurred to me: To the very hungry, that pizza slice with a big bite would have sufficed. As God is my witness, I shall never go hungry again. May Anger and Courage always be on my side. An Invitation by Oriah Mountain Dreamer It doesn't interest me what you do for a living I want to know what you ache for and if you dare to dream of meeting your heart's longing. It doesn't interest me how old you are I want to know if you will risk looking like a fool for love for your dreams for the adventure of being alive. It doesn't interest me what planets are squaring your moon... I want to know if you have touched the center of your own sorrow if you have been opened by life's betrayals or have become shrivelled and closed from fear of further pain. I want to know if you can sit with pain mine or your own without moving to hide it or fade it or fix it. I want to know if you can be with joy mine or your own if you can dance with wildness and let the ecstasy fill you to the tips of your fingers and toes without cautioning us to be careful be realistic to remember the limitations of being human. It doesn't interest me if the story you are telling me is true. I want to know if you can disappoint another to be true to yourself. If you can bear the accusation of betrayal and not betray your own soul. If you can be faithless and therefore trustworthy. I want to know if you can see Beauty even when it is not pretty every day. And if you can source your own life from its presence. I want to know if you can live with failure yours and mine and still stand on the edge of the lake and shout to the silver of the full moon, "Yes." It doesn't interest me to know where you live or how much money you have. I want to know if you can get up after a night of grief and despair weary and bruised to the bone and do what needs to be done to feed the children. It doesn't interest me who you know or how you came to be here. I want to know if you will stand in the center of the fire with me and not shrink back. It doesn't interest me where or what or with whom you have studied. I want to know what sustains you from the inside when all else falls away. I want to know if you can be alone with yourself and if you truly like the company you keep in the empty moments. Watcher of Watchers
What is it with humans and their fascination with each other? Anyplace where there are more than 10 of them, you'll find them muddle through the invisible space of hope and fear, angle through the unnameable boundaries that demarcate strangers from acquaintances from friends from lovers from enemies. All of them seemingly wanting to see and be seen. Or maybe "see" is too strong a word. It connotes wisdom. No... People (unless I can prove otherwise) merely watch. And they do so for various reasons. The vain watches to validate their perceived beauty. They check if others are checking them out -- "Ah, 10 people looked at me in a span of 10 seconds, I must be hot! Granted, some of them are really ugly, but you do not need to be beautiful to recognize beauty. I take the uglies' admiration as well. I am hot." The lonely searches very timidly, sometimes rather solemnly. They, after all, are out there awaiting the most basic of contact -- that of the eyes. It isn't surprising, therefore, that the lonely are more likely to fall in love. Loneliness makes us susceptible to love's disease. The sad do not really watch. The sad are tired. Always tired. People watching is their soul's television. It is there, the never-ending scenes of movement, the noise of life as children play, someone trips, sneezes, laughs, etc, to distract them. It is as though bombarding themselves with a barage of visuals and sounds will result to reverse osmosis -- all that pains them will seep out until none is left so they can finally turn the television off, lie in bed, and sleep to rest. The restless do not watch either. The restless are antsy about being alone. They live through their mobile phones. They would die in solitaire. It is through their mobile phones that they remain in contact with someone else. They text. Chat. Surf the Net. They constantly run away from their very selves. People watching is that which they do when their tiny boxes of connection fail them. And then there are people like me who watches only those who watch other people. Now what do you suppose that makes of me? Tonight (written 13February2009) For ten minutes today, I felt like my mother would've many years ago: helpless, belittled, discounted. I don't know how or what it is that blinds the heart and mind to love and good intentions. I know in the past it has blinded me, too, and that I have inflicted the very feeling I am feeling now onto someone else. We're a silly bunch, us, people. We hurt those who love us. My sister explained this phenomenon once. She said we do so because we know, come what may, they who love us will still be there tomorrow and the day after that. Apologies can be said, some perhaps even meant, and eventually all will be forgotten. Perhaps it is true. Perhaps in a few days, I will have forgotten the sting of utter disregard. But not tonight. Tonight, I lie awake, staring at a television that fails to distract, oh so mindful of every pore that suffocates from questions I cannot even word. Tonight I lie a little tender from the blow, a little hurt from the silence, and a little shaken from the tremor of contempt. Sleep will come tonight, as sleep eventually always do. But not rest. No, rest is a hope that I save for tomorrow. May the hours dash to bring me solace. Where is my troubadour? *painting by Stephen Mackey tag-lagas Lagas na ang talulot, pati na ang mga dahon. Kung nang minsa'y tangan pa ang pag-asang nakapagbibigay lakas upang tumingala at kagalakan ang pamalas ng mga dahong nagsisidaus-os, ngayo'y namamaluktot na lamang--nagmamasid sa lupang hindi kailanman mag-iinit sa mga yapak mong kay lamig. Nagbabadya ang paalam. The petals have fallen, so have the leaves. Whence once I held the hope which strengthens me to look up and marvel at the leaves' freefall display, I now only the strength to wilt, wither, and stare at the pavement which will never warm from the cold steps of your feet. A farewell is imminent. of dalis, van goghs, enjambments, and prose (written 31 January 2009) albeit beset with similar wails.We grieve, you and me, but the songs we sing to ease the sadness are not the same. I grieve for the lost of an actual; you grieve for the death of potential. I do not know which hole that gapes in our separate rooms stings more. I only know that it hurts. You say goodbyes hurt you, henceforth I say, until we meet again. Be well, my new old friend. 
Taragis (Written on 29 January 2009) "Ma'amst, hindi pinagagalitan ang vending machine." was Cash' quick reproach. (Ma'amst, you don't pick fight with vending machines.") She caught me staring at the vendo, saying, "You had better take my 20 pesos or your dead." I am not one to pick fights with inanimate objects, at least not on a good day. I do not like snapping at people either, and I try not to, on a good day. I don't see the point of talking my friends' ears off with my littany of why-the-fuck-will-anyone-with-enough-brain-cells-do-this-or-that when I can instead remind them of how amazing life is, on a good day. STRESS is a bad bad enemy. It sucks all your insecurities out of you and spits it right back so you feel the sliminess of your inadequacies. You fall prey to instant gratifications, the type you regret immediately after. But everyone understands stress. Books have been written, studies have been made, about how you can overcome stress. People under stress know they'll eventually snap out of it, what with the solutions mapped in every hallmark card: hugs from friends, how are you's from loved ones, green lights all the way home... What no one, I feel, has written about, is that THING beyond stress. It probably is so horrible no one dares name it. That thing is what consumes you when the hugs don't work, the how are yous become annoying, and green lights all the way home simply remind you of the excess hours you spent at work. You look at everyone, including your friends, and you are only made incredibly aware of the number of people who take away the oxygen YOU should be breathing. That THING turns you into a MONSTER. I feel myself morphing. So while I haven't quite metamorphosed yet, let me give you the tell-tale signs of my transformation. Stay away from me, for on really bad days when that THING stalks me, I am not a happy trooper. 1. I pace. I walk quicklier. And no, that's not a spring in my walk you see, that's my skin keeping the rest of my body from running amok. 2. I run my fingers through my hair -- A LOT. No, it isn't so I could wow you with my tresses. It's because I become all too aware of what my doctor calls stress-related psoriasis--which is really some bullshit name for GROSSLY OUT OF THIS WORLD DANDRUFF. You remember that Guard commercial Let It Snow? This isn't snow, ladies and effing gentlemen, this is a hailstorm. 3. My only ear ceases to hear. When you call out to me, or when you talk to me, and I completely disregard you, it's because you've become so intolerably annoying my ear simply refuses to hear you out. 4. In the likely chance that I am forced to converse with you, my eyes shift sporadically from one direction to another. I utter acknowledgement statements two seconds too soon. It's my polite way of saying, shut the fuck up. 5. I sport the stare. It's the stare that looks at nothing in particular. Because nothing in particular can make me feel better. 6. I itch. to skin someone alive. 7. I no longer smile. that THING, however, never stays in one person for too long. So please, just stay away from me, and it will manage to leave on its own. I hate seeing the devastation that THING does through me. I know I could be better, more patient, more understanding, kinder, but I wouldn't be, and it just adds to my inadequacies. Hence, that THING is often followed by a debilitating remorse. So please. Read the signs and beware. Beware because I CARE. P.S. Pray I get a vacation leave soon. P.P.S. I apologize to the people I've snapped at. My Ultimate WishlistMy friends often tell me how difficult it is to get me a gift. Ewan ko, madali lang naman akong paligayahin. When asked what I want though, I'd always say: "Kahit ano." ("Anything.") Kasi kahit ano naman talaga! Hello??? Basta't libre, the best! :) (Because I'd really appreciate anything. Duh. As long as it's free, it's fantastic!)But if you insist on asking... Here is my ultimate wishlist. Papangarapin niyong nakuntento kayo sa "Kahit ano." (You'd wish you were content with "Anything.")  1. Rhapsody Bed by Tempur-pedic. Ako na bahala sa unan. :) I'll take care of the pillow. (Sigh...restful sleep...priceless!)2. Celestron 11 Inch CPC Schmidt-Cassegrain and a well-unilluminated tropical island to go along with it. Pwede na rin ang quaint house on top of a hill. 3. Cup Bs that does not reduce sensation. Gusto ko lang namang maalalang babae ako sa tuwing dumaraan ako sa humps. I just want every ride over humps to remind me of my womanhood. 4. OSIM uSpace. I am not about the I's (iPhone, iTouch, iWhateverthehellthenewthingis.) I'm all about the u. U had me at hellowwwwww. 5. My personal troubadour. Yes. Someone who'd show up with perfect timing to sing my heart out...especially when I couldn't find my voice. Gusto ko simple lang. Boses lang at gitara. Nothing too fancy, nothing too loud, just the simplicity of a voice and the strumming of a guitar. 6. Five paid vacation leaves every month. Need I explain? 7. Ford Escape Hybrid that never runs out of power. Because I want to make the most out of my vacation leaves. 8. Traffic Jam Reducer. What? There isn't any? Then effing invent one! :) 9. Forgiveness Capsules. So I'd learn to forgive the unforgiveable. So my unforgiveable acts can be forgiven. 10. Fully booked. Give me Fully booked. ALL OF FULLY BOOKED. ALL THE FULLYBOOKEDS!!!! In Case of EmergencyWhoyou gonna call ???  No one wants to lose their ID, especially not a PS ID, not even when your mugshot is the perfect example of the worst you. Well, I did. And as though to make sure you repent for your sins and amend your ways, the company mandates you get an affidavit of loss before they even issue you a new one. So I did. I was finally given a form to fill out. It asked for the usual -- my name, address, and telephone number, which probably took me all but 1 brain cell to answer. Then it said this: In case of emergency, please contact: ____________________________ And I was stumped. Once upon a time, I would've written my mother's name without batting an eye. But my mom's going back to GenSan soon to support her husband. Last I checked, pipe warpzones only worked for Italian plumbers. My sister, on the other hand, is a resident doctor in Medical City who will probably be stuck in NICU in the event that I get toyed with by the universe and meet one of those freak accidents. Noel, what I otherwise call the 200-pounds of goodness that Mommy bore after me, will also be just as busy. I don't know if they'll drop everything and rush to my need. And even if they would, I would hate to inconvenience them. And just like that, requesting for a replacement ID made salient the importance of growing old with someone. My mom's my dad's. My sister's her boyfriend's (soon her husband's). My brother's his girlfriend's. While I... I am my own. Ofcourse I wrote down a name -- my Mom's, but it occurred to me that the In-Case-of-Emergency Person is special. This is the person whom you trust will be there should something happen to you, and at the same time, you feel you have a right to call out to, in case something happens to you. I do not have an In-Case-of-Emergency-Person. Oh, Ging. Now's a good time to trust in the goodness of perfect strangers and the kindness of good samaritans. Especially since the company just downgraded your health care benefits... GatekeepersI amthe last gatekeeper  I am the third gatekeeper.
It was absurd for me to have kept watch. I didn't even know what I was fighting or waiting for. What I had thought to be the onslaught of a stampede was nothing but the echoes of my hopes. I could've rotten in vain.
And so I choose to walk away, bearing in mind what Chris had said:
"Let's throw away our rear view mirrors, Ging, and just drive forward."
What have I to gain with looking back but just a pillar of salt? finally...In the year that just passed, someone I love told me I do not follow through; that it would be better for me to keep my good intentions to myself because I only disappoint. And to drive the point across, numbers were thrown out. I disappoint 70-80% of the time. And so I took it upon myself to think long and hard about my new year's resolution. The old year was spattered with irreparable mistakes, habits that leave a bad after taste on the mouths of those I love, and intentions both cruel and good-naturedly misplaced, that I find it necessary to have a resolution. I went through lists and lists and lists in my head, panning and planning out how I was going to make them happen. After speaking with my mother today. I realized I only have ONE resolution for this year: In 2009, I will be my mother's daughter. I will talk to and listen to my mother. God knows 2008 would have been better with her around. Make a Wish Tossed a penny, in the well And I closed my eyes I had forgotten how it is to gasp at a sight of the fountain. I almost couldn't remember why this structure coupled with a single coin could mean the possibility of heaven. I was a 26 year old who was about to end a year strung cohesively by a series of unfortunate events (both imagined and real), how was I to remember the sheer joy of making a wish? Machu made me remember. Tita Ging! Tita Ging! Fountain! Wish! Penge coin. I gave him several coins. He handed one back to me, and pointed at the fountain saying: Wish! Wish! Several seconds before I threw that coin, I had a distinct wish in my head, but by the time I let that peso out of my hand, I realized I had not made a wish at all. But it did not matter because in that slither of time, I have reclaimed the joy of tossing a coin for absolutely no reason at all. It was enough to learn that I, in all my 26 years, can turn my back against a fountain, close my eyes, throw my hard-earned money, turn around, watch the collision and listen to the plop, and laugh! No wishes. No hopes. No expectations. I asked Matthew what he wished for, he simply shrugged as if to say he didn't make a wish himself. We laughed. How could I have forgotten? Talking to Cigarettes (2) Winston Lights Cause I got one hand in my pocket
while the other one is flicking a cigarette I remember the first time we talked. You just sat beside me at my station and I found myself talking and crying at the same time. And then we went on with business. Just like that. "Aww, Ging. I know how you feel. Uy, pero we need to make sure our classes are aligned, or else patay tayo kay dragon..."
That was how our friendship started. Nothing heavy. No demands. There'd be the occasional talk over coffee (while you puffed your yos) but that was that. Even when we spent time in another island, it was all pretty light. (In my head I hear you say, bitaw...) And yet some of our topics were as heavy as heavy can be. But you have this way, see, of making everything seem bearable. You have a way with you. I don't know if you realize it. You are to me, my Filipino Drew Barrymore. (And I'm all about Drew Barrymore lately.) Let me tell you why. 1. You're no drag You have gone through a lot. But unlike me, you do not carry the denseness of life with you. You may have taken a lot of drags, but you don't drag people down. Nope, nope, that would be me. I wish I were a little bit like you. Because when I'm with you, I smile and laugh and life's alright. Life's about music and beer and good conversations. Life's about bitaws and ganis and maolagis and rakenrol. Life feels great. 2. You're gusto embodied You eat with gusto. You laugh with gusto. You scream with gusto. You panic with gusto. You manage to act inappropriately on the operations floor with gusto. But most importantly, you love with gusto. You give it your all and although you listen to what other people say, you ultimately let your heart decide. I don't think I know anyone who understands her heart like you do. You tell me I process very quickly but that's because I'm a cheat. I skip through processes and borrow someone else's answers. You process honestly. I should learn from you. 3. You're not afraid of messing up Let's face it, your work station's A MESS, even with the Trainer's Immunity Act. Your life, to some people, is a mess as well. But so what? It's yours and you own up to it. You don't throw your crap at others, and you most certainly don't use your crap as an excuse for pissing on other people. In fact, you're very careful about that. Even if it meant letting go of opportunities. 4. You're clueless You have no idea how good a person you are, and I guess that's what keeps you grounded. I've heard you deprecate yourself one too many times. I feel you don't give yourself due credit. I hope you would. I wish you all the best, Winston Lights. You barely gave me an advice this year , but I want you to know that you living your life the way you do was the best advice I ever got. And trust me when I tell you, a lot of people have given me advice. A Lot. Sana sa bagong taon, huwag kang kulangin ng mga singkong duling. ;P Drift ta! :) Talking to Cigarettes (1)Need a Light? My life has been blessed and plagued by smokers. Only a handful of my friends (especially those in the office) don't smoke, and even they find this great need to visit the smoking area. I love the cigarette. I don't smoke, but I love it. I have had many a beautiful conversations in the presence of the cigarette. It allows any scene to be romantic with a little bit of light and the billowing of smokes. But I love yosi most because it does what I cannot do -- comfort, pacify, and (I must admit) listen without judgement. In my most desperate attempt, I cannot seem to talk to you. It comes out wrong. Let me talk to your cigarette instead. So that the next time you puff that less than magical dragon, I can imagine you're puffing in my words, my thoughts, and my feelings. You see... You are my cigarettes. Gatekeepers I watched the gatekeeper die from poison. There is but one more left. She trembles as she musters the courage to finish the fight. Sa Smoking Area... (In the Smoking Area...) ...kahit pa may makalanghap ng buga mo, hindi sila nagrereklamo, kasi alam nilang nilalanghap mo rin ang buga nila. Kaya quits lang.
...no one complains about taking in someone else's crap because they are fully aware you're puffing in theirs. All's fair in blows and puffs. ...Ke ayaw mo sa bading, tomboy, amerikano, indian, manager, agent, babae, kay (ilagay ang pangalan ng taong pinakamumuhian mo rito), trainer, maitim, maputi, sa hindi nag dedeodorant, sa hindi nagtu-toothbrush, dun sa lecheng agent na nag-invalid transfer kaya 2 hours later ka pa nakapaglunch eh ang tindi-tindi na ng gastritis mo, sa sup na mali ang binigay na advise, etc, panandalian mo tong makakalimutan, lalo na kung kailangan mo ang LIGHTER nila. At sa saglit na makayosi ka, umo-okay sila sa yo ng kaunti. Aminin. ...You momentarily forget your prejudices. You forget you're against gays, americans, indians, managers, agents, girls; that you totally loathe (place name here); that you despise trainers, whites, blacks, that incredibly stupid agent who invalidly transferred a call to you--the reason for your 2-hour delayed lunch break and instigator of your already terrible gastritis, the supervisor who gave you a wrong advise, that stranger you hate because...you don't know why...you just do. All these wrath is forgotten in the interest of borrowing their lighter. And the moment they give you a light, a little bit of your loathing eases away. ...pinagninilaynilayan mo ang buhay mo habang unti-unti mong pinapatay ang sarili mo. ...You ruminate about your life while you slowly kill yourself. ...lalo pa't kung ipinangako mo sa sarili mong hindi ka na muli magyoyosi, tinatanggap mo ang pagkatao mo, nabubuwag ang kayabangan mo dahil sa bawat hithit mo, hindi maipagkakaila na mahina ka. ...You accept your humanity, especially if you have vowed to quit. You arrogance is crushed. Every puff you take makes it difficult to think otherwise. ...madalas mo akong matatagpuan. Ewan ko ba, hindi naman ako nagyoyosi. Siguro, kung sila--sila na naninigarilyo--ad adik sa vitamin C, ako naman ay adik sa mga nagyoyosi. ...I am often found. I don't know why--I don't smoke. Perhaps if they, those who smoke, are addicted to nicotine, I on the other hand, am addicted to them. Surreal I saw Anya* a few days back as I was walking towards the office' Starbucks. My ex-boyfriend dated her shortly after we had broken up. She, apparently, works in the very nearby hospital. I was happy to see her. She was one of the few people in college that I liked, having a penchant for children's books herself. I said hello with a tone that hinted the salutation is more than obligatory, and she went on in a startled, staggered, monologue. "Oh my God. I barely see anyone from Psych. Oh my God. So you work here? I had no idea. Oh my God. I had no idea. Oh my God. Who would have thought. Hey. Gosh, this is so surreal." This is the second time this year that someone's used that word to describe an interaction or interactions with me. I realize that despite an entire semester studying Surrealism, I do not have a full understanding of it. *name has been changed Pusoy I should have gone to the Pride March, shouted "Diskriminasyon! Diskriminasyon! Kaya ba yan? Kaya ba yan ng shampoo lang!" and had what could have been a very interesting time of my life, but I stayed at home instead. The attic was aglow for a 2 o'clock in the afternoon, the bed felt surprisingly cozy, and even through the locked door of the room, noise that can only have come from a full house was seeping through. They were home, see, everyone of them. Everyone including me. Tatay. Mommy. Ate. Noel. Their voices scratching against each other. Tatay bellows an instruction. Noel counters. Ate puts up a fight. Mommy screeches frustrations. They were setting up the Christmas Tree like they were launching a rocketship. My family's noise is always tense and intense, but only she who belongs understands that these voices are the calmest they've been in months. After months of suffering in the violence of silence, the noise has finally put the the house at rest. So I was stuck there, in the attic, marinating in the change. I know I should have put on my clothes and joined them to fix the tree. I know I should have added my own noise and cheered the house to victory. But I couldn't. Because I knew the game was not won by a full house, but by a quadro (four of a kind plus one). Mine is the muted happiness of belonging though and/or because I am of another suit. 
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