March 8, 2014
I sit inside my favourite Timmy’s branch on King St. West devouring some timbits and a hot French Vanilla while reading an article about Jake Gyllenhaal’s new movie which was shot in Toronto called Enemy. I think to myself finally, another movie that will show Toronto as Toronto and not New York, Chicago, or any other North American megalopolis. Toronto ought to play itself more often in movies, me thinks really. I also just came from watching the new Liam Neeson flick called Non-Stop which is about a US Air Marshall trying to save 150 passengers on board a flight to London from a possible terrorist attack. It is one of those very shallow but nonetheless entertaining storyline that most frequently is showcased in Liam Neeson’s rakets (Google: Taken and Taken 2 and 3 etc). And why I chose to watch such vapid, vapid form of artistic produce on a day that I should have been sensitive to the events of the day prior (Google: Malaysia Airline Missing) is because I had a rough past week and having to engulf myself in nothing but insipid plots in movies would somehow help me recover which I now realize is a completely false assumption. I feel bruised from the bouts of last week, still. And as I sit here right now, I end up glancing on the computer screen of the hipster at the next table. On it is what looks like a familiar website that I seem to have frequented in my days of travels past. He apparently is typing a blog post. In WordPress. I think to myself, that must be such a nice thing to do especially in my present state of lament. I wish I too can pour my feelings onto a blog post. I wish I too owned a blog. I wish I too am a blogger. Then I think again, wait a minute, I too have a blog! I too am a blogger! For a few minutes I actually forget that I too am that kind of a loser who’d rather write on a blog than talk to a human being. So then I quickly think, what must I write? What in the vast nothingness of the vacuum that I call my life should I pick to make a story out of? I need an idea. A plan of some sort. I get myself somewhat excited and hungry at the same time. So still without a topic, I head-out the door and walk my way to Goldstone in Chinatown.
After chowing down on a bowl of noodle soup with deep fried pork chop and a side of dimsum, I leave Goldstone with a satisfied stomach but still without an idea of what to write. I put on my Ipod and start listening to my playlist of fantastic Up Dharma Down songs. I think to myself, maybe Armie Millare’s beautiful voice will inspire me and help me find a topic. So while walking my way around Chinatown on this night that is starting to feel like spring, I start to feel good. Indeed Armie’s angelic voice is doing me some favour and I think I am getting closer to finding-out what my topic should be. I enjoy these loner weekend nights of mine, really. Just me and this city that I love. God bless Toronto for being such a walkable town even at almost midnight.
I hop on a streetcar heading towards Spadina Station on my way home. As expected, on a night like tonight, and from an area such as chinatown, the tram gets filled with partyphiles of all shapes and sizes. I end-up squished in-between a presumably drunk youngin’ and a woman holding a cat carrier. I groove my head a bit to the beat of the 4th track of UDD’s Capacities, and stare at my new buddha bead bracelet which I bought for a dollar this afternoon on my way to the cinema. I continue to think of ideas. I think of writing about my exciting plans of travel for this year. I mean, my blog is something that I’d like to refer to as a travel blog anyway. But then again, maybe I shouldn’t. I realize, I have given-up on wanting to become a real, true blue travel writer as it somehow sucks the fun out of traveling. Why this is so, I can’t explain. So I think again, travel is really not my priority anymore. This year I really am looking forward to having more and more adult oriented goals. Like buying my first ever big ticket purchase that will have my name on the registry ie. my first car in Canada or a piece of land in Laguna. Or a nice expensive leather watch. Or, sky diving. Sky diving is adult, no? Anyway, as I arrive at Spadina station and despite being hypnotized by Armie Millare’s singing, I still haven’t zeroed-in on a topic.
I reach Spadina Station and not wait a few minutes for the train to arrive. As I hop on the train, the music suddenly stops. The playlist had ran-out. And I do what any normal person would do in such situation. I set it back to track one and listen to the whole playlist again. This time with volume full blast. And repeat button pressed. And still no topic. Now I start being unable to think of anything except needing to force myself to wake-up early tomorrow so I can go to the varsity pool of the University of Toronto to swim some laps. And to check-out the Patagonia clothing store and the Mountain Equipment Co-op store on King St. West to see what items I can purchase that will make me look like a pretentious mountain junkie. Also, to have some Tapsilog at Kanto near Kensington Market. I am slowly losing hope and feeling a bit silly mostly. Why I am now feeling pressured to come-up with a topic is beyond me.
March 9, 2014
I catch my bus at Kipling Station. I fail to get on the express so I end-up waiting for a few minutes before the bus leaves. I think again, maybe I should write about what got me upset last week. It should be nice, no? Like cathartic of some sort. It is the main reason anyway why I have this sudden burst of a need to write and fill-up this semi-abandoned site that I claim as my own. So why not pour out exactly what I need to express in order for me to start feeling good again? I mean, how bad could it be? A couple of strangers will be in the know on the latest in my mostly unexciting existence doesn’t sound too bad. So give it a go, I say to myself. Well. Ah. Well. Ah. Nah. No way. No, no way. So off the bus goes and I still don’t know what I should write about.
Few stops before my stop, the driver decides he needs a coffee fix. Who can blame him. At this hour of the night still needing to work on full energy, I get it. He temporarily abandons us by the stop light and runs to the nearest Tim Hortons. Then suddenly I hear the lyrics. She finally speaks to me. She finally tells me what I have been needing to hear all this time. She says, “free your mind.” She says it again. And again. And again. Until chorus ends. Armie is absolutely correct. I should just free my mind. Free it of awful thoughts. Because deep in me I know the battles that I come face to face with in this North American life of mine will really not harm me in the end. It will only toughen me up even more. So freeing myself of the burden of fear and worry is the best thing for me to do. The only thing for me to do. Then driver arrives and off we go.
I arrive safe and sound at home. I put on my Uniqlo jammies sent by my loving parents from Manila recently and finally face what I have been terrified to face since the thought of writing came to me. But not before I turn-on the TV and catch the last few minutes of Lena Dunham’s episode of SNL. After the show ends, I turn-off the lights, lay in bed, turn-on my laptop and realize, I still have got nothing to write.