Looking back

I had reason to go poking about for my online history. I stumbled back to this "blog", which now seems quaint when comparing it with the content creators of this day and age.

I had started two (2) blogs, one on the now defunct i.ph platform, and this one. I could have just folded both into one, seeing that both are unfocused. This prevented both from gaining any traction, and just dampened any desire on my end to write more. Without encouragement, I had simply stopped writing. It would seem that the stream of consciousness style (or random, uninteresting musings written pretentiously) does not have an audience large enough to live off of. 

I was younger then, and had dreams of creating multiple passive income streams, I wanted that sweet, sweet Adsense money. Unfortunately, I was younger and infinitely more foolish. Money, is a carrier of value, the previous owner parts with it in exchange for something that he or she views is of the same or similar value. People (or rather large corporations running online ad campaigns) will not part with their money if a) they see no value in your work, and b) if you have nothing to show in the first place. 

A family member and I recently spoke, the main take away of that discussion was that in certain societies, i.e., the US, you had to "put yourself out there". In our country, you have to not only be a "good" worker, but also someone who shies away from appearing too aggressive - I blame centuries of subjugation for that. The effect of this is  encourage an employee, rather than an entrepreneur's or creator's, mentality. Go to school, get a degree, find a good job, that was the path. It gave "security" but rarely satisfaction. 

My country is now entering half a year in lockdown. I had converted one corner of the house into an ersatz studio for videoconferencing, an old Samsung Galaxy into a webcam for Zoom, and a Pentium laptop into a productivity powerhouse. I had been using these to create value for my employer, but rarely to create for myself. 

I have had enough, I want to break free from this cycle of consumption, and transform into a creator. Even simply hammering out my thoughts, even if to others it makes no sense, is a form of artistry. Previously, I had written about catharsis in an old post. I hope to achieve that same feeling again by writing. 

And of course, get some of that sweet, sweet Adsense money.

Catharsis/Cathartic

A little over 8 years ago I met someone whom I consider a good friend. Somewhat morose, but otherwise level-headed. In perhaps the greatest adventure of our young lives, we set off to China.

Over the course of our stay in China we got to know the rest of the group better. This friend of mine told me, with his tongue loosened by alcohol, that he found it cathartic to run (in the rain, naked, or both I could not for the life of me recall which one). I, out of pride, and not wanting to appear ignorant quietly agreed. The rest of our stay was lively and eventful for we had seen and learned so much about ourselves and the world in so short a time. We had gotten drunk more times than we cared to admit, and usually from Tsing-Tao which was sold in the school cafeteria. We discovered what true friendship tasted like and it tasted like blood. I credit him for more than half a decade's consumption of cigarettes, as he, having drunken himself into a stupor, again managed to occupy one of our beds. Thus, I went out and lit one of his cigarettes in turn. Another friend of ours during that time remarked that we might no longer be friends upon our return to the homeland.

He was right.

We were a motley crew from varying age groups and backgrounds. We would find little to no time to see each other despite all of us going to the same school.

I gradually lost contact with all of them. Thankfully, facebook arrived and most of us were able to keep in touch with one another.

Fast forward to the present day, I decided to open my old e-mail account. As I sifted through spam e-mails, twitter and facebook notifications, e-newsletters, I felt a wave of relief passing over, flowing into, and pouring out of me. It was at that point I understood the meaning of catharsis. I felt, after ransacking the contents of my inbox for anything meaningful, as if a great burden had been lifted from me. I recalled all my blunders and victories, and how sweet it was to be alive.

A day in the life: Bro. James Dunne SJ

I entered high school in 1999. I went where the winds took me, I applied to, at least two schools. I guess the winds really weren't blowing that much then. Actually, I applied to three but the Philippine Science High School rejected me because I wasn't among the top 10% of my graduating class. The other science high school, QC, put me on a waiting list. The third, the Ateneo High School accepted me outright. I took the path of least resistance and went right into the AHS. I was amazed at how "big" the Loyola campus was. Big because I was 12 years old when I entered high school. My brother went there too, he was about 4 batches higher so we never really crossed paths in Ateneo.

Anyway, I was still very young when I had to meet him in school. I was along the corridor near Big Boy's desk (a huge man-mountain/gorilla-volcano, he was also smoldering like one with his cigarettes). Out of one of the random doors that dotted that corridor (they're all gone now) emerged this old white male. Beside the door was a small vehicle used for personal transport. He looked all wrinkly and mean, like Palpatine or something. I was shocked that he would appear out of nowhere like that. He was using a cane to walk to his small vehicle (his Rolls-Royce as we would call it). He unfortunately, dropped his cane and couldn't bend over to pick it up. He looked at me with those old eyes (I have really bad eyes and I can't see really well so I can't describe him) and said "could you please hand me my cane." I froze for about 5 seconds I was afraid that once I go near him to hand him his cane he'd drag me into the darkness that the door withheld. I nonetheless picked it up and handed it to him. "Thanks" "You're welcome" and then I ran off. That was my first encounter with Bro. James Dunne of the Society of Jesus.

As I entered high school in '99 I found out that it wasn't really his Rolls-Royce, the white 4 or so wheeled vehicle that moved him about, it was called the Bro-Mobile. He would always say bobo or stupid in Filipino. He being unaccustomed to how its pronounced would say "bow-bow" So it would be *some random question* *some stupid answer by a student* "It's Jesus bow-bow!"

He would honk at students who mill about aimlessly along EDSA walk (the huge corridor that used to link the Art Pavilion all the way to the cafeteria and science labs). His office was in a bat cave between the 1st year wing and 3rd year wing. It was called a bat cave because that space was unusually dark for such a sun-drenched high school campus. There was another area near the ITC I forgot if it was also called the bat cave.

I will never forget Bro. Dunne not because of his Bro-Mobile nor his Multiple Sclerosis nor his invigorating retorts of Bow-bow or idiot or whatever. I will always remember Bro. Dunne for Days With The Lord. Bro. Dunne used to run DWTL, after the year that I did Days he stopped I think for health reasons. And I don't know if he was able to go back to running Days before he died.

Out of my DWTL experience with him I recall one story of his. The story of his mom and bread rolls (or sticks) in a fancy restaurant. The premise of the story is that it all happened a long time ago. He was a young man, I think he got his paycheck or something then. He brought his mom to a fancy place in the city . After they ordered their dinner his mom got the free bread and started putting it in her bag. He felt so ashamed that he had to call his mom out on it. "Mom stop it!" "Why? we could eat it tomorrow for breakfast!" "Only poor people do that!"

Normally it would elicit laughs from the listeners. At first I got a few but after further reflection why did he really do that? Did he have to? Was his mom doing something that was out of place or so unmotherly? If your mom did that would you be ashamed? Should you? These were the questions that haunted me plagued my mind that night. Even to this day I sometimes find myself asking these questions. Why? Simply because I forgot how his story ended. I forgot if he ended up regretting it for the rest of his life.

I find it really hard to answer the questions I raised. What if my mom really did that? Was there something to be ashamed of? We'd just be eating the free bread that's all! She'd be doing something that would fit perfectly with her being a mom, she would be looking out for her family by preparing their food for tomorrow tonight.

Of course, what if I did that? Heck I do it all the time! Its part of what I paid for! So restaurants that offer delicious bread sticks or rolls don't stand a chance (unless of course I really really really have to behave).

There are several other Bro. Dunne stories out there. I think I have some more stored in my hardly used brain, I just have to find them. I am honored and happy that I was able to meet Bro. Dunne before he died. I was able to enjoy his guidance for the whole 4 years of my high school. I believe there was a section that he moderated (or was that Fr. Holscher?).