I just want to cry. My spirit is going down the drain. Almost like being flushed from the toilet. It is like being sucked into a black hole. My whole body shivers and I can’t breathe. This is how I felt since. And every single strand of hair is not unaffected thereafter. I am afraid I might be sick; I have to face the greatest fear in my life. I am afraid I might lose everything.

When one sits on the bus, there is little you can do to change what’s happening. You can’t change the scenes that passes you by. You can’t even slow or speed up the vehicle. You just sit there and let things take its course. When Shio finally said goodbye, my heart just dropped. What else can I do? It is not my life. Nor is it my vocation. Maybe it is for the best. But who knows. I’ll know in the future. Perhaps in some destination we will see each other again; the world as we all know is small. Or maybe, he will suddenly ride on the same bus with me. But this I am sure: we will see each other in many of the stopovers in the greatest journey of my life.

As in all of my journeys, I take my earphones and plug it into my iPod. The reason is simple: I have to claim my world. I have to be in this world so that I take a hold of my life. Apart from my companions riding on the same bus with me. I decide on what playlist fits my mood, that would provide the soundtrack of the movie in my mind. I would play some scenes which are never premiers; they are like old movies. I repeat the same scenes where I imagine the dialogue with someone else, saying goodbye too but never making it a reality. Never got the chance. Or perhaps, in reality, I do not want it to happen: I still hope that I would hear what I wanted to hear. If it does not happen, perhaps the dialogues I have rehearsed for so long will be my fallback. It would save my face; or honestly, it would shield me from an embarrassment, which I know, will soon become a pain much harder to bear when alone. There, in the confinement of my own little world, I would secretly fan my hurt, try to make heads and tails over certain events, though I know to ask why is never an easy question. Many of my why-questions never got an answer. But at least, my life becomes ever unique: because as the soundtrack plays, my life like a movie, becomes dramatic and intense. It is sometimes comforting to believe that my life is different from others. And it is worth watching. This illusion at least for me is pragmatic. It is a necessary illusion. It keeps me, in many ways, on the bus. And whenever some seductive destination wiles my imagination, I would still return to the same bus, riding with the same companions like tourists on group tours.

I feel that there are a lot of issues that I have to process; but I don’t have enough time. There is hardly an opportunity to be alone in the office; it is always filled by students and visitors even in the wee hours of the morning.

I worry about my youngest brother whose girlfriend is on the initial stages of pregnancy. I worry about my mother who might not take the news lightly. I worry about my health because my memory is not anymore as sharp that I even forget the very names of friends; or the pain in my leg and pelvis that may be gout or arthritis.

I resent the way the dormitories are run or the attitude of the committees who run it. I loathe the bureaucracy in school that often slows down creativity, initiative and the speedy approval of activities. My work has become taxing and heavy; especially when calamities and power outages disrupts schedules that would push the deadlines to a later period.

Am I on the brink of a burn-out?

Maybe I am.

Maybe it’s time to go.

This is one of those days when things are just as ordinary. My physiological countenance detects sources of stress from some tasks undone, though not as urgent. I wanted to write about what’s really happening to me, but I begin to think: what’s really going on with me?

At present I am worried about my youngest brother. At 30, he is still unstable, if it means having a high paying job to support a family. At present, he has a job that makes him happy, but just enough to feed himself. He gets into relationships, but nothing is permanent, if not fleeting. Our family thought that one girlfriend was good enough, but after some years, it did not work out solely because he was caught with another — who in my opinion is not worth it. But the crux of the matter is that his girlfriend is a single mother, and now at the brink of finding whether she is pregnant with his. This will surely devastate my mother — and of course, us — but what can I do? Sometimes I feel that I should spend more time with him, but at 30, he isn’t a little child anymore.

I am also worried about my former student who called me. He is in bad shape because of his girlfriend whom I know, who had a turbulent past. He said that it would be better to talk when I fly there next week. So I am anticipating a long chat with him as soon as my plane lands on the tarmac. The thing is: I came to give two talks for public school teachers and student leaders.

I am also worried about a colleague who is presently deciding to leave. I would miss him. That is the truth. He is a very close friend who loves to eat.

At the end of the day, I find myself thinking about one more. I would imagine how to end whatever we have, but couldn’t find the right time. And when opportunities to bump into each other come, I could not do it.

Often I wish everything is just about work. But no, all these things are more important to me. If not, I would not worry.

Organizing big events are becoming second nature to me. Milestones, reunions, centennials, or sesquicentennials: been there; done that. Networking and fundraising, being with bigwigs and the who’s who constitute a part of my life. Surrounded by people all my days have become my comfort zone. I am used to the public eye. A friend corrected another once: “He doesn’t bask in the limelight. He is the limelight!”

It is often good to hear all these. For many, it is their dream. To me, it is just my world. And I dream to be more. More than organizing events. More than being liked. There are so many things in my mind that need expression and articulation. My head feels like a balloon that is about to burst. I have used twitter and facebook updates. But because people know me, they comment on some of these updates — I should not say this because it is unbecoming. The thing is, I am tired of saying what other people want to hear. I am tired of being stereotyped. I am tired of being controlled by the opinion of others. I am tired of being watched every single step, every single word.

But in the end, I know that I used tweets because I dream of being with someone who could listen to what I say, whatever it is, whenever I can. Of course, not right away, but some time or some immediate day. Not “see you around” and you don’t know when that will be. Not texting and waiting for a reply that takes forever. Admittedly, some friendships are not real, despite desperately denying it. They are, in reality, virtual friends. Like textmates or facebook contacts. They are friends in the second best category, because nothing beats face-to-face relationships.

What I am saying is simple. The guy that basks in the limelight dreams of having some private and intimate life. But would also like to introduce that person to the whole world.

I don’t know what is going on with me. It’s like a raging fire, an unquenchable thirst. And you can’t imagine how challenging it is to control it. And it is difficult. Why is it that these things are happening to me? When you give up something, they return and keep haunting you.

But I want to write not what I feel but how much I regret someone being so emotionally distant; someone I need right now, in this place, at this time.

I feel like shattered glass; all over; purposeless, directionless; spread thinly. I feel that I am already being left behind. The younger batches are already studying abroad while I haven’t finished my MA because of the numerous jobs given to me. But the jobs I have are here and there; odds and ends; stop-gaps. I know that those assigning me to this and that work are aware of my numerous abilities and talents; I have delivered every time I have been given a big responsibility, many of these are big events. But still I feel that despite these various responsibilities, my life has no focus. I have never been assigned to serious work where I called the shots.

After some time, I feel inadequate. Like a city whose walls have fallen. I am beginning to feel insecure and vulnerable: and this is alarming! I have always been confident of myself and what I can do.

This are all speculations: a friend who might not believe in me but would listen to what other people say; a click of the same feather whose members seem not too interested in me, probably thinking I am not as academically competent as they are; or people taking me for granted. Or that there are jobs I know I can do well better than others who have been assigned there.

I think I have to take control of my life and not just wait.

When God closes a door, He opens a window. But to me, the university was a window and the excitement of many things presenting to me now are doors. They are doors because they are to me uncharted fields. I have found a new ‘sound’ for an album series, and may be able to form a band. I have never been into sports, but I have been offered to help a soccer team and sports officials. I have bought Basketball for Dummies, and am foraging bookstores for the book, Soccer for Dummies and the positive psychology book called, Flow by Mihaly Csikszentmihaly. A sports psychologist told me I may have found a new calling. I feel being in demand again.

I thought giving up the car would be a struggle, and I did anticipate the pain of separation. But it was not as difficult as I thought it was. I anticipated a stab, only to discover it was just a needle prick.

But there is another uncharted course: a relationship. A possibility. But dangerous. And like the conquistadores who left familiar territory for the new world, adventure and risk are as seductive to me as the person I have opened my heart to.

James told me that I would find someone new. The Ox has it that Monkeys would find an exciting new love that would spice this year. I wondered whether who I would find is a renewal of an existing friendship or a totally different one. I have focused on one so elusive. And on another whose amiable expression is wanting, I withdrew affection. With much time spent on the difficult ones, I have neglected a close friend.

And we just had coffee tonight.

I don’t know if it was the caffeine. But I was talking effortlessly and spontaneously. I was like water from an overflowing dam. I got the listening ear I needed. I felt the connection I found wanting in previous friendships. We talked about each other’s family life, including secrets we would rather keep to ourselves. We just enjoyed each other’s company.

Sometimes, the person we need are right in front of us, but we would rather look elsewhere.

Here I am. Back home. Back to my roots. Seeing the old church were I was baptized. Looking at the paintings on the ceiling, gazing on the stations of the cross on its white walls, and marveling at the old chandeliers. Taking pictures of the choir area where I used to play for a whole congregation of townspeople. Many of them, my relatives. I took a close up of one of the angels that once guarded the blessed sacrament, now relegated to the sides of the walls, almost unnoticed. They still clung to the long bars that once had lamps. I took a closer look on old statues on the altar, remembering my childhood, reminding me where I came from, what little I had.

There were a few here whom I knew. Many of them left town to find their futures outside its streets. But there were those who remained. I saw some members of my old choir; one of them told me they just decided to return to singing at mass. I saw some people who were eager to see me: how the tide turned. They were once the snobbish, one I liked before but too far to reach. I walked the old street with my aunt whom I grew up with; and the old Spanish ancestral house still with the warm memory of my grandmother.

My mom, my brother and I visited those who passed away; not just praying for Dad but individually praying for specific relatives. We usually complete the prayer for eternal rest exclusively for Dad, and another for the rest. But now, we went into the town cemetery where many of my ancestors were buried. And then, I visited a cousin in her last days, who died a few hours ago.

I went down memory lane when I took pictures of my high school and the river that washed away many of the buildings. The university had changed. And Science Oriented High School was gone. It was transfered to another location after the typhoon, and when I visited, I hardly knew the teachers. They told me that my former teachers decided to stay at the university. They decided to grow old there.

And then, my grade school classmates gathered together. I was surprised to see some of them I last saw in grade six. We enjoyed each other’s company over beer and filipino fare. Some of them reminded me of my friends, whom I do not want to remember because it was not a pleasant memory. I guess, one couldn’t escape the past. I told one friend, whom I was too eager to share my travails in Manila, only to receive a lukewarm response. I wondered why many of those whom I wanted to talk to, whom I considered friends, were either too busy or would rather schedule, than having me rant right away.

The signs are clear. Being here and realizing that I began with nothing tells me that it is fine to say goodbye to UP, part with the car, and hope that I was meant for greater things. Here I have to decide on really greater involvement which would bring me straight to the limelight literally. The door that leads me to the sports world and its giants. The window that opened to the music industry and its stars. And perhaps, having friends with those who walk on the red carpet. Many of these thrust me into the spotlight.

There is that part in me that tells me to fight back and grab the opportunities. But there is that sign of old age when you say enough. And oh, I am not yet old.