The world is a stage and all the men and women merely actors

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"You look so fine
I want to break your heart
And give you mine
You're taking me over."
-- Garbage 2.0

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April 12, 2005

And just now, I realized, I am attracted to sad people. I don’t know if I’m attracted to the person itself or if my infatuation draws its prehensibility from the existence of the emotional state they’re in. I hardly see myself as a rescuer, since I myself need the rescuing most of the time. I dunno. It’s all fucked up really.

I have this officemate who is totally not my type. The person is skinny, gangly even, sloppy and moves like a sloth. Although I admire the sense of rebelliousness in the way the person dresses – ordinary long sleeve shirt with slim-legged pants that are too long and unfolded, worn out leather boots close to being the cowboy kind, gelled up hair but still unruly, broken eyeglasses, and either a burnt sienna leather jacket or a brown corduroy blazer to withstand the cold -- everything still seems so unpolished. Often quiet, the only thing I know about this person is that there is fondness for unique films like the one lent to my friend, El Crimen del Padre Amaró and The Virgin Suicides. Aside from that, I don’t even know how old the person is.

Last week though, the person attempted to hang out with my group more often even when that meant extending lunch hour by nearly 30 minutes. I feel there was something the person wanted to say, something about a bad breakup, something about not being able to deal with the job well. I notice these things. I know there’s something amiss, especially when the person left for home during lunch break today on account of illness.

I want to know more. I am inadvertently drawn.

"Ye gods, how quick thine reply"

April 13, 2005

When I went to the office today, I didn't know that yesterday would be the last time I'd ever see the person again. Resignation can come so quick. And yet, in spite of this sudden departure, I had been left with pieces about a person I will never get to know.


I discovered about the debts, the aloofness, the sloth, the gangliness, the blank gazes -- these were all borne of an unfortunate addiction. A bad break up may have induced it weeks before, then again I'd never know.


Just as quickly as one leaves stage without any trace but whispers from the audience the dimming of lights, I am reminded of other acts, characters beginning to emerge with the flourish of applause, the focusing of new lights.

I caught glances again with that person I've never spoken to. There were two of them, friends they were, and although it would be self-conscious of me to assume they were talking about me, I honestly think they were. I hope they were. At least it would give me some parcel of reason to believe the play would end with an unforgettable finale.

I observed they're nonverbal movements like a spectator in a ballet performance. The spaces in between, the subtle eye contact, the balance of weight, the partial smile before leaving the stage. All the lights were at full intensity like the glaring sun at mid-day. I hope I have not presumed incorrectly.

I want to make a move. I want to start grafting the distance.