Need for Speed

I was a kid the first and the last time I rode a go kart. It was at the Fiesta Carnival with my two boy cousins. It was such a thrill for me already then, though as far as I remember, the circuit was just plain circle (or square?) and I couldn’t speed up as much as I wanted to.

So the night at the Kart City in Tarlac was the second time I rode a cart. I was so excited and anxious that I was keenly watching all those people cart-driving who came before my turn. I could tell who just wanted to experience the kart and who wanted the real kart experience.

So, when I rode on the cart, I first tested the gas and the brake pedals, driving slowly to see if this cart of mine follows the command of my steering wheel. I guess I could drive this thing, I thought. So, I stepped on the gas and decided to test its speed. I didn’t remember that karts go that fast, considering I was just a kid when I first drove one. I wasn’t as fast or as good a driver as the experienced kart drivers, but I did the fastest that I could. I enjoyed the strong wind on my skin and the feeling that I might hit the boundaries anytime (they were rubber tires). I especially enjoyed the sharp turns without hitting the brakes! If I were on a real car, the car would have turtle-turned and perhaps I would die, with some cheap insurance to compensate for my death. But the kart design was a genius. I wondered how they built it in such a way that it never seemed to flip no matter how fast and wrong the turn I made. I remembered the thrill I had with some officemates years back, when we tried “playing” with the car in the Villamor area (remember, rico?). Whew! That was one of the carefree (more like careless) moves I did in my life, but I love it. What the heck? We all wanted to defy gravity some time. I, for one, want to fly.

In the last few laps, I removed my helmet. I wanted to feel the speed on my face.

(P.S. In this place, you can drink and drive.)

what’s happening, anyway?

In a month, I haven’t watched or listened to the news. This is abnormal, really. The first and last thing I do every day is listen to the news. I like talking about current events, both the funny and the annoying. I haven’t even checked newspapers to see the latest showbiz news or see philadelphia inquirer jobs. I suddenly lost my used-to-be insatiable interest on what’s happening around. Was it because I couldn’t even have a clear perspective on my own life? Or was it because I got tired of listening to the same old sh*t? Or was it because I no longer give a damn? Now that I think about it, I really don’t know what’s happening.

waiting/stalling

I have cousins and friends who love drinking. Since they started drinking beer, they haven’t stopped. It is a regular thing. I join them whenever I can, though it’s seldom. I also have friends who love smoking weed. And I don’t mind the smell, though I haven’t tried one. Some people mistake me for a ganja user, but I haven’t really smoked one. I am not judging people who use them; most of them I know are good people. They smoke for different reasons. Several nights ago, one friend insisted that I tried to smoke one. I have virgin lungs, he said. He was an intelligent man and tried talking me into it. He told me that cigarettes are worse because it has nicotine, that it isn’t really bad for the health (i.e., in case I didn’t have an NC health insurance yet), and that they would ensure that I am in good hands with them. I’ve already heard (and wrote a paper) the things he said, except the last of course. And I actually believe that he had good intentions on insisting. His real concern was that he wanted me to see things I’ve never seen before—-more like to open my mind on things I haven’t thought about. I believe him; I know that. While going home, he seriously asked me why I didn’t want to try. I said, I would, but not this time. He said, life is so short, and the universe as we know it may just end soon. I said, I’m just waiting for the right moment, and I’d just know it when it comes. Then I added, when I do this now, there’s nothing else to look forward to, there’s nothing else to try.

Casper’s Family

Casper was my first responsibility. He

was given to me by a friend when he was 2 months old when I was 17. I was so excited when I saw him; he was as white as snow and as quiet as a leaf on a tree, with a calm, watchful eyes. I took it upon myself to take care of him hands-on. I’ve already told the story of Casper & Me on this blog. Now, Casper has brown spots on his furs and as loud as a siren whenever he calls out to me, with a playful, watchful eyes. That we love each other so much is undeniable. And I wonder if I could get the chance to have that same bonding that I had with him with others.

After leaving them on their temporary home, with Nicci asleep on the metal tile covered with old carpet, from the time I was on the bus, to the time I got home last night, to the moment I woke up this morning, to now, I was thinking of how Nicci and Kate were doing. Worry? Maybe. Separation anxiety? Maybe. After Kate almost died while giving birth and after all Nicci’s siblings did not survive, I feel guilt that I had to leave them. I feel scared that I might lose them. I feel once again responsible for them. After all, they are Casper’s family, my family.

things i can write about

I’ve been up trying to think of things that I can write about, even xyphedrine side effects. I need to write them all now. What’s funny, though, is there are several things that had been on my head, and yet I cannot and do not want to write about them. One of them had been rehearsed on my head for several months now, but I haven’t written down a single word. There are things that I get too scared to write about, mostly because I do not want to relive the experience, to once again feel the pain. Maybe someday I can still write about them, or at least I can remember the feelings and the details. For now, I have to think of things that I can write about.

Visitor Status

It had been the longest stay I had in our home since I started working in 2004. I guess I gained several pounds, despite all the troubles in my mind and the lack of sleep. I have said this a thousand times, it feels good to be home. When I said goodbye to Lola and cousin Ian, I asked them if they would miss me. Ian said, “overstaying ka na nga dito e.” I laughed at the idea. It was true. I was just like a regular visitor in the house. I remembered back in my first year in college when I counted the number of days in a year when I was home (just like counting term life insurance quotes). I think it was about 4 months, including the summer vacation. When I started working, it decreased to just about a month. Now, I wondered if after several more years, when I look back, I would see that I missed much in their lives. Oftentimes, I enjoy the special treatment I get from Lola and my cousins, probably because I have this “visitor” status—that I am seldom home so they are nicer to me and that I seldom eat cooked food so they would prepare the meals I wanted. But of course, there are many birthdays that I missed because it fell on weekdays, there are many jokes that I didn’t hear because I wasn’t home, and there are many fights that I didn’t see because I was far. I wasn’t as much a part of their lives as they are to each other, and as much as I would have wanted to be involved. No, I’m not saying that they love me less. It’s just that sometimes I feel an “outsider” in their worlds. Probably this is like the dilemma of those working abroad, only I am just 4 hours away from home. Sometimes, I wish I could just shed out this visitor status.