Frustration

A couple o' days ago, I was feeling frustration; the kind that doesn't let you think about anything else; the kind that crawls under your skin, without you knowing it; the kind that sinks deep into your gut, and, in a moment triggered by intense passion, explodes into tiny unmanageable bits that flash through your brain's nerve-endings, like New Year's fireworks 2 feet away from your irises. You try and close your eyes, and drown out the overwhelming sense of it all, but the visuals are just too strong, and you are bombarded again and again And again.

Two hours into my workday, I was nowhere near steering clear of the mess that was my mind. And so I went down for my usual smoke, with my usual companion. Once outside, we searched for Mr. 9-5 Yosi Manong to buy our sorry asses some cigs. He was not at his usual post. A little looking around and we finally saw him. He was sweeping the ground --- work that was normally done by the cleaners emplyed by the building. Apparently, there was some kind of deal struck between the guards and him that he would clean the cig butts left by yosi people, and he could continue to stay and sell cigs right in front of the building.

And I know it isn't heroic, likesay how a nobody saved a stranger's life during a hurricane, but it was life. Right there, in front of me, the reality of Reality struck a chord. Here was 'living', right in front of my eyes, leaving me feeling completely and utterly foolish. Here I was, completely engulfed by my own frustrations, while this man, not ten feet away from me, was quietly accepting his fate, while struggling to survive. And he was smiling. What reason did I have to not feel fortunate and happy where I was. Sure, the frustration was a killer, but I had my basic needs met for me. In that moment, I was slapped back into the arms of reality, caressed by its wonderful warmth on us all.

And as if that moment wasn't enough, the cosmos showed me something else while I took my cig break in the afternoon. This time I was alone, needing the silence and calm of just being with my invisible self for five minutes. A guy in red shirt was waiting for a cab. This was not unusual in itself, save for the fact that he was crippled. He was in a wheelchair, in fact. Now, this alone would not have made me single him out from the rest of the call center folks who just got off work and were waiting for cabs to get to whatever places they would go to next. However, there was slight rain, and cabs were scarce, and so people were literally running for cabs. Finders, keepers, of course. To those not in the know, the unwritten rule in Manila about the cab-shakedown is if you open the door first, you get first digs. So, it's survival of the fittest. You can be waiting for a cab for an hour, but if someone just got there, but was closer to the cab that suddenly appeared, as if on cue, that other lucky sonova*** got it. And I know this because I have been the not-so-lucky one more times than I care to recount.

So, anyways, looks like this guy has been here for a while, because he has that 'I'm trying to be go**dang patient' look in his eyes. So I move over to the far side of the driveway, light up, and start zoning out of the world, and tune into my own little zhinesade island. I am brought back to reality as i see a tinge of red not five feet away from me. It's Mr. Wheelchair call center dude. He swung over (wheeled over, really) to this side of the driveway. He must be so discomfited bynow, because he still hasn't gotten a cab, while the crowd of call center folks had thinned to less than ten people. And as I took my last drag, a cab came up the driveway, but stopped to his right, where two ladies and one not-so-gentleman were standing, and they just rushed the cab, opened the door, and climbed into the back. Mr. Wheelchair call center dude didn't stand a chance. I noticed that Mr. 9-5 Yosi Manong was looking at him too. He tilted his head in frustration, but kept a straight face, as if to say, 'Oh well. Such is life'. I wanted so much to go over to the three people and tell them to 'go back to your mommies and tell them to teach you some manners', but I just stood there. I was paralyzed by all the other times I was Mr. Wheelchair dude and all the other times when I was the lucky sonova*** (which is not often, I can tell you). Again, a snap back to reality. Small thing, big thing. Who knew, really?

***

On a totally unrelatd note, I think I may have broken two hearts in the last month, without me meaning to. I know it sucks for them because I've been in their shoes. Sucks for me, too, because they were those 'good-on-paper' types. But this just isn't the time. And they just weren't the one. I know it sounds pointless, but I'm sorry as hell.

Wala lang. Maybe if I wrote it down, it'd take away the guilt I feel.

Oh karma, please be kind.