THE (MIS)ADVENTURES OF THE LONELY BARD

During coffee breaks since I started working, I always daydreamed of renting a small flat on my own. As the effect of the caffeine surged up to my brain, I would conceive the perfect picture of how an apartment should look like for a typical young, restless and working bourgeois: A messy space with a small television set, a loud stereo component, a shelf with dilapidated books of Kafka, Camus, Nietzche, Sartre, Neruda and other obscure writers, an acoustic guitar hanging in a corner, a surrealist painting prominently displayed on a wall, a refrigerator stuffed with junk food and a twin-sized bed with large soft pillows. The shrieking voice of our petite boss echoing through the pantry area, announcing that the cigarette break was over, would zap me back to reality. My dream of an imaginary castle and solitary existence would then be buried subliminally deep down in my consciousness only to reassert its compelling presence again in the following coffee break the next day. There were times, I must admit, that I would be lost momentarily between these two planes (dream and reality), reminding me of an ancient Chinese couplet:

Am I a man dreaming of becoming a butterfly?

Or am I a butterfly dreaming of becoming a man?

Finally, I just stepped out of my parents’ roof one day and ventured on the path of adulthood in pursuit of the so-called yuppie’s dream. I moved out of my comfort zone and created my rightful spot under the sun. The reason? To break the chain of monotony? Or was it to explore my cat-like curiosity? Or probably, a foreshadowing of things to come. Of marriage, perhaps? Or maybe, this grouchy bard is just plain crazy. The decision was painstakingly mixed with an insurmountable thrill like a kid going to school for the first time.

Moving out and finding the right apartment for a free-spirited soul was tricky. More than passion and impulse, this act underwent some cognitive contemplation. It was like walking a total stranger down the wedding aisle for convenience. In a metaphorical sense, you would be married to your place. But your personal whims would take the backseat because of your humungous house expenses.

A Yuppie’s Dream Come True

My castle has a floor area of roughly 20 sq.ms. including bedroom space. Painted in an outrageous dark pink, the apartment seems like a hole intended for Winnie the Pooh, Piglet and the rest of their gang. Nevertheless, I took the space not for its aesthetic appeal but rather for monetary reasons. This is a lousy-colored apartment in the heart of the city. The colors of my furniture would have to be restricted to colors brown and red in order to complement the contemptible shade of the wall. The only consolation I’ve got is my neighbors, being old folks, never cared about my queer existence. As in my recurring daydreams years ago, there’s the TV set and the earsplitting stereo player with a diverse set of CDs ranging from the mushy songs of Josh Groban to the acerbic lyricism of Kurt Cobain.

Believe it or not, the first furniture I hauled in after moving into this place was a tall bookshelf. My rare possession of second-hand books from Recto Avenue, friends and other hand-me-down bookstores all over Metro Manila had been packed in three large cartons for almost a decade now. These are priceless gems of great thoughts beginning from the Greek playwright Euripides to computer nerd and icon Bill Gates. Too precious are these writings to be eaten away only by dust mites.

At night, when my neighbors are glued to the idiot box watching those predictable telenovelas and the moon set against the pitch black heavens stares on my humble abode like a lover, only two things could ease my boredom: A pen and a blank paper. This is the time when my soul treks to the far and uncharted universe of my mind. It is through this long and tedious mind journey that I would have to confront my fears and exorcise my "demons." I would stretch my imagination, documenting every ranting and angst – sometimes poetic, sometimes prosy – in an attempt to arrive at a masterpiece which would be read hopefully by my son’s sons to their children.

The Consequence Of Being An Urban Recluse

The downside of being an urban recluse is you have to do it all on your own. For instance, after a day of sweating for a meager amount of pay and being kicked in the butt by the corporate gods and muses, you have to drop by the wet market for a fresh decent meal at night.

A wet market is a microcosm of our country. The undisciplined crowd, the crooks, the begging buyers, the heartless capitalists, the illegal vendors, the loan sharks, the drifters, the underpaid workers, the stench are squeezed in one place. This scenario mirrors our decaying society, though in a smaller proportion. To wiggle through this crowd unscathed epitomizes our own struggles for survival in the real world.

Then, there’s the art of washing clothes. A chore often delegated to our martyr mothers or house helpers. Twice a week, you ought to wash your business suits. Ideally, Wednesdays and Saturdays. This is just not throwing all the dirty linens in a machine and letting the gadget perform the task. Rather, you have to separate the white ones from the colored ones before soaking them in water with the right detergent powder. You have to do this before leaving for work in the morning. While cooking dinner, you can turn on the washing machine. Gobble as a lion during supper because you will be burning lots of calories in the scrub-and-wash exercise. Make sure the bar detergent soap is not too strong for your working hands. The spinning of the machine is not sufficient in removing stains. After the spinning, put the clothes in a large washing container. Apply the necessary detergent to each piece of clothing before brushing. The two areas of concern are the collars and the armpits. Make sure these areas are thoroughly scrubbed and brushed. It is advisable to put fabric conditioner on the second rinsing. The longevity of your clothes highly depend on the quality of your fabric conditioner. Never attempt to shortcut the process by washing the white ones with the colored ones.

The ironing of pants and shirts is as excruciating as washing them. If you wash clothes on a Wednesday and a Saturday, your ironing days should be on a Thursday and a Sunday. Just apply enough heat and pressure on your clothes to make them neat. Make the pleats and lines of your long pants defined. For gusot-mayaman barongs and other similar clothing, spray water first before pressing the hot iron. Repetition is the mother of all learning. In time, you will perfect this skill.

These are only few things to consider before breaking away from your parents’ arms. Budgeting and bills is the real two-headed monster. Knowing your monthly cash flow determines how long you can survive in life. You fail in this area, you sleep in the gutter the next month. That’s life. Period.

But if you are as stubborn as a poet, then take this path of solitary existence. At night, when your body and mind have taken too much from the day’s beatings in the office and in your own home, you will discover, like never before, the immense pleasure of a cold malt beverage gushing down your throat. Or slouching and purring like a huge cat in the couch. Or laughing your heart out while reading the eccentric ideas of Woody Allen. Or by just mere resting your busy feet on a footstool. Sometimes, the simple pleasures in life are dumb and priceless.