Hedonism and Digital Karma

I've been listening to Skunk Anansie's "Hedonism" for a long time now but I haven't really brought myself to googling the meaning of the word. With karma asking for my dues last night, I finally came across Hedonism in a thick Ethics book.

Epicurus was the Greek dude who came up with this concept of Hedonism--the pursuit of pleasure or happiness (spelled with an "i"). Like other philosophies, this Thought also became hotly contested by the ancient and even modern nerds. Meanwhile, some pervs today cling to the idea and put fun twists in it like Sadism or Masochism and Suicide. Hey, whatever gives you pleasure, right? But knowing all these gave the song a whole new meaning and I find the lyrics brilliant even in its simplicity because of Skin's affecting interpretation of the concept and haunting rendition of the song. (The one below is the acoustic version).

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Anyway, back in college, I passed my Ethics class without attending it. My Ethics professor was Van's family friend and he agreed to give me a free ride. Now, after two years, I'm learning Ethics again. This time, it's for real. Van always says that nowadays, Karma is digital. Mine must be on a 386 computer cause it took two years before it caught up with me. Looks like I'll be earning the 85 grade the professor gave me after all.

I only have a week to read all five hundred pages of boring college textbook and write a comprehensive book review. Whoever reviews textbooks? Well I guess Qatari colejialas do. A certain Maryam called me up and asked if I can write a book report for her. I charged her QR200. Alright, I admit, I prostituted myself. I need the money, OK?

I should get back to my reading. So far it's interesting. And Karma, if you're listening, "I hope you're feeling happy now."

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Random Resignation?

Mothers' Day. 10PM. I find myself at Coffee Beanery, reading Love and Other Near Death Experiences, a novel about life's randomness and how the simplest action can lead to major life-changing events or death. On the table is my White Cafe Mocha, and one whole chocolate cake for the boss' wife. I have been reading the same sentence for the past ten minutes. I finally stopped reading the book. I bookmarked the page using my folded-up resignation letter.

After half an hour, I was already inside Lee's room and he's reading the three-page letter. For those who have already filed this kind of letter, you'd know that a three-pager is quite long for a simple resignation. Yes, it was a personal letter and that's why I went to the boss' house instead of at the office.

I told Lee to give it to his father. I didn't want to be there when he arrives. I'm not a coward. It's just that I don't want the boss to speak right away after reading my sentiments. I want to give him the chance to formulate his reply.

I left the cake for Lee's mom. I find it disturbing to be giving a good news and a bad news to my employers at the same night. At the back of my mind, I thought it was a cunning idea (if I had planned it anyway) to have the boss' wife root for me as he weighs my demands.

I'm ready to leave Qatar though. I have set my mind when I put my name on that letter that I will accept whatever the outcome. Honestly, I expect that he wouldn't give in to my requests. The only thing that's sure is that there will be a major change, and such change may be sooner than I would expect.

Lee walked with me out of the house. We saw his mom turn at the street's corner so we dodged out of sight. He couldn't go far though so I went alone. "Good luck, man. And enjoy the shuffle," Lee shouted as I trodded out of the compound. He has been reading my blog, my big fan (so he said).

Ah, the purely random shuffle. I have forgotten about that. OW has been in the shuffle mode for more than a week already. Is life really random?

I took out OW, selected the "Doha Nyts" playlist and played Vienna Teng's "Gravity"--the first on the list. I haven't played this playlist for almost four months now, I thought. Then, I pressed "More Options" on OW, selected the shuffle option and turned shuffle off. I've had enough randomness for six months. It's time to regain control of my life.

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The Shuffle

Tonight I got out of the office at 9:30. Before, I would've felt guilty leaving my post while the boss is still around. But now, I don't care. The office has been a crazy place since the very start. Its lack of organization or even the simplest system results to disgruntled employees (yes, including me--surprise surprise ey?) who can't wait to get away permanently or temporarily. That's why it was a good decision to walk to a distant cake shop to get sapid sweets while listening to Orange W (for future reference, this is what I'm calling the Walkman phone from now on or better yet, OW). OW was on shuffle mode and it got me thinking, how does shuffle work? What brilliant technology is behind it? Is its randomness an act of fate or simple mathematics? Then, back to reality where our own shuffle in the office has happened yet again.

I've been a victim of the famous iBoss Shuffle a few times and I know how it feels. Without any advance notice he'd just tell me to go to the internet cafe and take the shift there. His employees are just songs on an iPod, play, pause, skip, stop. Tonight though it was somebody else. And I feel sorry for this Nepali guy, our office boy, because he gets shuffled just cause some smart a$5 at the internet cafe needed some detention.

Yep, the office also doubles as a boot camp. Got some staff that needs spanking? Send them to us, free of charge. We'll even send our best office boy in place of your man while he cleans toilets in our office. The shuffle lasts for a week or a month depending on the damage done by said staff. And while the boss thinks he's got it all figured out by taking disciplinary action, we get our schedules disturbed and tasks doubled because we need to "train" the piss-offs.

When I got back to the office, the boss had left and I found the next-door PC guy (guy who works at the computer shop next door) lounging on our side of the court. Two nights straight now I would find him sitting in my comfort zone so I had to ask. "I'm working here now" he said. See? The office's "system" is so random that you never expect what's going to happen next--a secretary goes AWOL, a PC guy gets recruited--and the boss doesn't even bother to explain the turn of events. We figure it out for ourselves.

Then PC guy told me the whole story, from his whole miserable year under PC Boss to how my boss saved his career two days ago by offering him a job here in our office. "So how's your boss as a boss?" he asked me finally. I had a lot to say but didn't. I didn't want to spoil his fantasy job. And besides, my story needs a case of beer and sizzling sisig and PC guy, being Muslim, won't even tolerate a Non-Alcoholic Bud much more a minced pig's head on a hot plate.

"I noticed that you like to read, yani, so what do you like to read in, yani, particular?" PC guy said nodding at the book I was holding. I know where it's headed, he's going to convert me, he wants me to read the Quran instead, I thought. But I'm glad I was holding the right book, one that has a deceivingly friendly title but with an attitude: Love and Other Near Death Experiences. I almost laughed when I showed and read the title to him.

He talked a little bit more but in my mind I already pressed the mute button and spaced out. If the boss can do it, so can I. I watched PC guy's mouth move but there was no sound or maybe I refused to accept any sound. Tonight, it's my shuffle working. Stop, play, pause, skip.

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WB, Dad, Tyler's Been Looking for You

As if disconnected from YM and signing back again, my dad, whom I haven't seen since New Year 2000, suddenly emails me again after a five-month silence. Everytime my dad comes into view, I could only think of this passage from Fight Club, and boy, isn't Tyler Durden right?!

"This is the first generation of men raised by women. Me, I knew my dad for
about six years, but I don't remember anything. My dad, he starts a new family
in a new town for about every six years. This isn't so much like a family as
it's like he sets up a franchise."

[My dad, in a nutshell. Welcome back, dad. Tyler's been looking for you.]

Exactly a week before graduating from high school, our Christian Living teacher thought it would be nice to write a letter to our parents. Since my mom was in Hong Kong at that time, I had to write one for my dad. I didn't see the point because my dad did not live with us anymore. But I wrote the letter anyway thinking it would be only for God to read. The next day, I was surprised to see my dad at our class' year-end retreat. And when we were instructed to read to our parents the letter we wrote, I knew I was in deep trouble. I only made it past the second sentence, after that, I broke down. My dad ended up reading the letter by himself. I almost felt ashamed I wrote it. He explained to me his side of the story and after that, for the first time in my troubled teen life, everything was clear. Nothing changed between me and my dad after that letter except that I have found respect for him and finally understood his actions. A year later I moved from Bacolod to Davao without him knowing. And three years more, my dad flew to the US without me knowing.

December 31, 1999. I was standing on the vacant lot beside my dad's duplex in a low-class housing community, observing that in the city outskirts, the stars seemed brighter. My dad found me in the dark, and before I could throw the cigarette I was holding, he asked for a light. He puffed and told me to quit smoking already (insert laugh track here). He thanked me for buying two cases of San Miguel Beer. We talked for a bit. He apologized for not being the ideal father for me and my brother. I thought it was the alcohol talking but I told him everything was cool anyway. He hugged me and just like a good TV moment, my two younger half brothers came running toward us and said that we're counting down to the new year in a few minutes. After three days, I flew back to Davao and didn't have the chance to see my father again.

For the past few years my dad has been emailing once in a while, mostly to greet us during birthdays or holidays. He would call once in a while, mostly to give Western Union details, and each telephone conversation would always end with "thank you" and "I love you"-- heartfelt, believe it or not.

But five months ago he stopped communicating with us. And in his recent email he said that he just got his internet connection back, but that does not explain why he hasn't called. I wrote him back and told him that what his almost-thirty-year-old son wanted from him, more than anything, was a father-figure (in terms he would understand, of course). It was quite a long email, a feeling of deja vu while I was writing it. I told him that I am now based in Qatar. I told him updates about my brother. I told him to give me a call, Western Union or no Western Union.

His reply was two lines long with three periods and a question mark. My mention of Qatar did not even seem to matter to him. I gave up analyzing his reply and decided to look on the bright side. At least he's still alive. [I heard his franchise has gone global.]

Basically this entry explains why I love Fight Club. Or maybe I'm just saying that I'm glad I finally heard from my dad. Whichever the reason, I'm still closing this post with another passage from Chuck Palahniuk's debut novel:

The mechanic says, "If you're male and you're Christian and living in America,
your father is your model for God. And if you never know your father, if your
father bails out or dies or is never at home, what do you belive about God?"

I found out that this doesn't apply to American males alone. Whatever, at least He's still alive.

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Like a Perfect Day for Bananafish and Clockwork Orange: The Blogger Crossover

The phone rang four times before I heard a strange panting and moaning on the other end. "Ahhh, ahhh, uhhhhhm, haaaa, wheeeew, Hello?! Haaaaaaa, whooooh," the small voice spoke in between heavy doses of air. My mind began picturing her in bed, covered in sweat and with a charming French man from whom she most certainly attributed each pant and moan. Her one hand probably handcuffed. She did, after all, txt me earlier that she has a story to tell about a pair of cuffs. I hesitated for a bit, afraid that I might have interrupted a very private event. "Kala?" I finally asked. But I had to know so I asked "Kala, are you having sex?"

She laughed and still panting said "I just got off the treadmill!" Right, like anyone was ever going to buy that! We set an eyeball for the next day and I told her to continue what she was doing.

That was my first phone conversation with Kala, the blogger who stumbled upon Like Clockwork Orange while searching for info about Qatar. Naturally, after she posted comments on my blog, I read her posts. I suddenly felt unworthy of her presence in my sphere, but I wanted so much to be rubbing elbows with such a great writer.

So you can imagine how excited I was last Sunday. I braved the sandstorm and headed for City Center. In my head I can hear Spongebob chanting over and over again `I have a new friend, I have a new friend'.

I arrived late and for a moment I was worried that she got tired of waiting and left. But there she was, sitting on the green Starbucks chair, cuddling a book, Lolita, like it was a fragile baby. I walked up to her and waited for her to look up and stand before I hugged her. "Human touch!" I exclaimed. I haven't been hugged for a long time and I forgot how warm and comforting it feels. A little longer and I would have broken down but it was just a quick friendly hug, a gesture that, for me, means 'welcome to my world'.

The world outside the blog, of course. Bloggers are not just persons chatting on the net. They are well-formed characters and with depth. When I read a blog, I view it as a series, a sitcom or a drama, depending on the theme, and the blogger leads the cast.

Thus when Kala and I met, I can't help but think of a crossover episode between two shows. Think about Ally McBeal appearing on the set of The Practice. Or Angel kicking vampire ass alongside Buffy. You get the drift. But whether she writes about this crossover or not is entirely up to her. I'm milking it as much as I can! [ LoL]

We exchanged gifts the instant we met. She gave me a Haruki Murakami book called Kafka on the Shore and I gave her some divx movies and a dirty comic strip that Martin forwarded to my email.

Anyway, we talked. A lot. She paid for lunch, I paid for coffee and dessert. Then we went to her apartment and talked some more. It was an interesting talk because most of the time we picked up from where we left off from the blog posts so the narrative was easy to follow.

She, of course, detailed the handcuff incident that happened at the airport when she arrived in Doha. And she introduced me to Mahmoud the [male] robot. Mahmoud has his own passport. I told Kala that I think Mahmoud needs a sexbuddy more than a passport.

Then, Kala showed me brilliant French comic books, Bande Dessinée or BDs, and I mentally shot myself for giving her that dirty comic strip earlier that afternoon.

Soon the light outside the building faded and it was time to go back to our tasks. Kala had to cook and I had to go back to the office. The crossover episode ends.

While I was waiting for a taxi, I told Kala that we should take a picture of our first meeting.

The start of a beautiful friendship?

In any case, somehow I know that there will be more crossover episodes. And I have yet to meet the entire cast on her show.

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Holden on to a Catcher

Doha is starting to be livable after all! Virgin ultracoolmegamusicbookstore has opened and it's one of the oases in this culture-thirsty land. I bought three books, and two of these are the same because I'm giving one to my foster brother Lee just because he can write kick-a$& stories on RPG wrestling forums. Anyway, why this book is special…it started with a book report.

I stood at the library counter holding a small thin tattered red book. I didn’t even read the author's name. At sixteen, my mind was focused on movies and music and the only books I ever read were Archie Double Digests and the Choose Your Own Adventure series. When the librarian finally stamped the date on, I threw the book inside my bag, zipped it and rushed to the other rebels-slash-outcasts flocked under one of the cafeteria gazebos where we always convened for after-school guitar sessions. A week later, I found myself digging in my waste-filled backpack searching for the little red book and cramming for a book report deadline for our Grade 10 English class.

Despite the deadline, I can't seem to get past the first page. I kept on reading the same paragraph over and over. I was so preoccupied. I wanted to be with my friends instead of at home reading. I wanted to go to the sea side with my best friend and talk till dawn. I wanted to escape from our depressing house and go home only when I was ready to sleep. You have to understand; without cable or a computer or a telephone, and being around people with mounting problems, home is the last place on my mind.

So I went out, rode a jeepney to Dunkin Donuts and began again with "To My Mother", the dedication. By the time I had my third cup of coffee and fourth coco strawberry doughnut I was already holding the last page of The Catcher in the Rye, careful not to completely tear it from the piece of tape that was holding it into place. A few moments later, I closed the book and read the name of the author: JD Salinger. Then I took another sip of my coffee and noticed a different bolder taste.

The following week I passed my report on time and got a high mark because I cheated using Barron's Booknotes. When clearance signing came, the librarian asked for an unreturned small thin tattered red book. I told her I lost it and she made me pay forty bucks. I got out of the library and saw my friends singing to a three-chord strumming. I sang with them for a while, but I can't wait to get back home. I wanted to be home. I wanted to get that red book from under my pillow and read The Catcher in the Rye again. OUT.

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Nostalgia on the Second Month Part Two

I was already reminiscing when my mom caught me on YM. She told me to expect my cousin Roni online. Wow, I thought, I ordered for a plate of nostalgia and the gods gave me a bucket.

I haven't heard from Roni for quite some time now. She (and her family) is one of the best relatives that I have.

In no time I found myself chatting with my cuz. We exchanged blasts from the past as if we haven't seen each other for decades (which is, by the way, true). I told her that my greatest influence for my chosen career was her family and their video shop biz White House.

I remember spending summers or Christmases at their house when I was not more than ten or twelve. One Christmas they let me taste wine. It was my first time and boy was it a classy selection, Dom Pérignon! Back then I would envy my cousins' rather rich lifestyle. I also wanted to have a house with a lawn so I can also raise a golden labrador. I also wanted to have a swimming pool so I can swim all day long, heck, all week if I wanted to. Most of all, I wanted to have a brand new Betamax Player and a color television so I can borrow movies for free and watch to my heart's content.

My early exposure to movies probably stirred my imagination and I owe it all to Roni and Mylo who bumped the Looney Tunes for Zapped! But it wasn't just the movies. They also introduced me to fiction. Thanks to them I discovered the Choose Your Own Adventure series. The pocket books blew me away because of their unique structure, you get to decide which path in the story to take thus giving you control of the turn of events because after all, it's your own adventure. Soon after, I bought my own CYOA books and found out that even with the freedom to choose I still found it limiting. And that's how I was inspired to really write. I think.

I miss my cuz and I miss the innocence of our youth (I can remember though we were little devils really!) In any case, I'm glad that even if I haven't seen her for ages I can still feel the warmth. It must be because Roni, Mylo and I just clicked. Or it could be because of a special bond.

Until now I still wish to own a house with a pool and a lawn where I can teach my golden retriever new tricks. And every Christmas or New Year, family and relatives will all get together as our parents did when we were small and this time, we will not just taste the Dom Pérignon but we will get drunk on it.

I can still taste the wine. It was my first. Bitter but sweet, a kiss from an angel. I can still taste it on my lips. OUT.

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