I remembered heading to the busy, noisy Carbon Market where the cheapest fruits and veggies are sold. With my grocery bag, lists of what to buy and a well-appropriated amount for a week’s consumption, and of course a countenance ready to charm the vendor ‘just to cut off the price tags’, I think I’m all set.
When I jumped off the jeepney, two men instantaneously arrested my attention. I noticed in my peripheral vision, the very vision I was capable of looking at in, they carried pots of bonsai plants.
Isn’t it true that when you like, say a person, an animal and a thing so much, it’s way easier to notice it once it’s there? Though so obscured from view, you can still locate it, feel it. Or maybe it’s just me who think this way. Or blame it to my spatial and melancholic sensibilities.
They ‘the 6-inch trees’ not the men, have a kind of charm that freezes my feminine blood. Will it be crazy to fall-in-love with a picture and upon seeing it surreal, likes it even more? Great emotions rushed within my system.
Now, I no longer have to watch the shadows, no longer surf the photos and grope on wishful thinking. It’s a surety as I was now willing to upset my already stretched budget or even go hungry for days just to covet my all time favorite. If that’s the price I have to pay, I don’t give it a care. Of course I didn’t go hungry the next day’s fortunately, ‘thank God I don’t have to’ as I was left at the mercy of my landlady who graciously saved my meals.
I hurriedly placed the ‘tiny tree’ in a corner, easily seen the moment I rise in the morning. I was so amused. It’s oh so cute. But this ecstasy was fleeting. It didn’t last as I was unprepared for the enormity of its responsibility. I was blind as to how to take care of it. I thought it’s just that easy, as easy as ABC. Just water it, get some sunshine then that’s it. I didn’t know it was too complicated much more complex than my melancholic personality.
Much of my disappointment, few days later, I woke up with the image of death already in its leaves. It saddens me too see it dies every passing day and there’s nothing I can do to usher it to life. Paradoxical as it may seem, the more I save it, the more I lose it; the more I try to revive, the ‘amusing days’ are gone.
How could it be that a precious gift I wanted to have is to be lost before it bloomed? How could a delight be turned to a yoke so tight? I deserved this disgrace and much more. If only I know better. The best thing that could have done is to leave it un-sold. If only I could give it back to the seller it would do me the world of good.
Oftentimes I would stop and wonder what it is that I fear the most, what it is that would make my soul sadder. clearly it is not the lack of money, as most people shrink from, for its absence frees me. It’s not being isolated for I always dance the chance if it’s at the precipice.
I was afraid of myself. I was my own devil. I was afraid of life full of regrets because of my wrong choices. I’m afraid to know that the theories I learned are just ink and paper and proved me all at sea. Scared to be confronted when what matters most to me doesn’t matter anymore because of what it demands ‘which I’m not able to sustain, to give.’
Somehow, somewhere in this dungy heart, an innate desire to possess, regardless of the consequence. A stubborn soul, even if it may require too much to the object of my affection; even at the stake of its own life. And I think it isn’t lovely, it’s selfish. Love does not corrupt, being possessive does. Perhaps being possessive in love.
My desire and my fascination that reached a climax is not a question. I was so sincere and so true to my claims. And the bonsai might have felt it. The question lies on my ability to delay my desire until I am ready; until I’m equipped with mature stamina to meet most of the emergencies, until my emotions are no longer the basis of what makes me happy.
Here I’d come for a specific purpose, to put an end to this bonsai craze. I had better end it quick or I could lose my nerve.
Disappointment, so with my un-met expectations, so with my achy heart.
Yet instead of having an ending, here I am making all these new beginnings. New reminiscing. New founding.
If my statistical instinct is right, billions of people are filled with remorse, miserable even because of the inability to deny the cry of their emotions, ‘ready to be tossed at every whim.’ They smile and smile but in their hearts I think it’s filled with contempt.
They simply didn’t know how to handle the pot of gold. In fact, it vanished rather quickly, as easily as it appeared before their eyes. They think it’s all about having and never enabling. The result?
Sadder. Lonelier. Scarier. Guiltier.
In this race of love, speed is less important than stamina, so as feelings than principle.
Everybody in the world is un-stoppable, ever on the rush, jumping from different people to the next, depending on the course of a roller-coaster emotion. And at every move, they carried their past baggage. Their past is still present in every present. So there’s no shock value there anymore, no shame in better living through fake faces as laughter hides the realest tenor. To live like this isn’t a life worth living. And I don’t want to love for the sake of having, for the sake of filling, but because it’s the principle of existence and its only end or it is no virtue at all.
While it’s a joy to be with the right person, possessing the right person is no better than being the right person yourself. A person who does not discipline his ‘come and go emotions’ has actually narrowed his freedom. He is confined to what he feels. If it feels good, deal. If it isn’t, call it quits. Always starting and never reaching. A quitter isn’t as worse as someone who’s afraid to begin ‘as he is at the mercy of fairy-tale stories always wishing for a happy ending.’
Living happily ever after is after all consistent on what you’re after. Is it a decisive feeling or a decisive principle? Is it about possessing or freeing? Is it self-pleasing or self-sacrificing? And then I wonder how pitiful it would be if I should lose sight of my inheritance because I’m too fearful ‘my time and chance’ is stolen away. Should I grab it? Or should I wait a little bit more?
But then again, what if the feeling’s gone?
Will love abide when feelings subside?
And will pretending ends and truth begins?
Oh the world needs a cure.
I can tell.