Insomnia

I cannot sleep. I'm tired, my body is lost and my spirit is broken. I want to rest. My thoughts are keeping me up late. The soul is wandering again. No anchor to hold me down. No chains to keep me. No home to return to. My shadow welcomes me back. It misses me so much that it hugs me until I cannot breathe.

There are some wounds that do not heal

I once wrote about the pain of losing love. I wrote it in response for a good friend of mine who asked if I ever did get over past loves. And it would have been easier to say 'no'. Really. I wouldn't have to explain everything. But in all honesty, the only answer that I could give was, "No, you'll never know until you love again and you are hurt once more." I realized that it was an answer that no one wanted to hear and I would be lying if I said, "Yes, I've gotten over it," or "Yes, I'll get over it soon enough."

Some would retreat from the front lines and remain as far away as possible from the threat of having their heart torn open and broken into tiny little pieces. I can hear them crying over their loss as they crouch and hide in their secret places. I understand how much love they have given, how much of themselves they have sacrificed and how far they were willing to go. And for it to end nowhere - I can imagine the pain they have to bear. Fruitless. Thankless. Hopeless. To receive nothing in return.

I, too, have felt the same thing like many others have felt. It would be easier to retreat and save myself the trouble, but I am stronger than that. I move on, picking up the pieces that has been broken too many times - they no longer fit where they used to be. I count the days, hours, minutes and seconds - trying to forget a wound that never heals. Cutting it off wouldn't do any good either. Have you heard about phantom pain? Yes, even if it's no longer there, the pain remains.

There are some things that do not heal. Some wounds cannot be forgotten. The only thing we can do is become stronger.

Black and White: Creation and Destruction

After working for more than 10 years in the business of creativity, I've learned my share of doing good work and work I'd rather not talk about. In both cases, one has to be ready and willing to do whatever it takes to deliver. This is, after all, a business venture.

My mom used to say to me that having the mind of an artist does contradict the coldness precision of the business minded individual. And while I love my mother, she really doesn't know what she's talking about. It's all the same thing really - in a matter of perspective and when you look through a different set of eyes. A spreadsheet is a canvass to a person of numbers and a calculator is his brush. I don't need to explain that anymore, now to business.

So let's begin. Lesson number 1: Creation and Destruction. Whatever it is you're doing, to you it is a work of art - whether you deal with numbers, binary codes or marketing strategies. It's all the same. And when you've spent more than half of your lifetime thinking about it and how good it sounds, all it takes is a critic from the powers that be to send your piece of work down in the dumps. And since you don't want to waste any more time on it, you salvage whatever is left and try to make gold out of the trash.

My suggestion to you, if you truly value your work - don't. Trash it. It has served its purpose and it failed - miserably. Whatever you've learned in making it, use it to create the next brilliant thing. But never resurrect the dead back to life.

I've learned that the hard way. After writing the piece that I've been writing for so long, I realized that I was never happy with it. I did spend so many months, coffee and cigarettes on it and felt that it was all a waste. So, I did try to get some bits and pieces off it and tried to rewrite my second piece. A couple of months later, I was still unhappy.

Why, you ask? Because I was working with trash.

While we consider ourselves to be creators, bringing things to life from nothingness, I think we all should learn how to destroy. Remove everything that reminds us of the past work and start with a clean sheet. Some of those thoughts that we have put on paper are still there anyway in our head. But once we have cleared the table of all the mess, then the thinking process will be much more fluid than before.

That is the one and only thing we can salvage from the past. To learn from it. So, if you have a bad idea, throw it. If it had any value you would remember it and use it on the day it is needed. But at the present, it is nothing but trash. It could be of use to someone else, but at that point it is nothing. Better to destroy any evidence of it, shred it to pieces and forget it. Something better is waiting to be created.

And if it doesn't work: destroy.

Looking for a Smile

There was once a man who was looking for a smile. And it's not like he was unhappy with the one he had - he just didn't have one. And so he began his search for a smile, meeting people and looking at their faces - examining their smiles and thinking which one would suit him best.

He had chanced upon a girl whose smile was warm and friendly. When she saw him, the smile was gone. No, this wasn't the smile he was looking for. He wanted a smile that lasted longer.

He had met another girl whose smile remained when he looked. He had asked for the smile on her face. Sadly, she admits that she smiles to hide the sadness inside. He didn't want that kind of smile. He wanted one that was genuine and lasted longer than a moment.

Another girl came by with a smile that looked genuine and when he looked, the smile had not disappeared from her face. The man became envious of it and had asked for it. The girl approved of it and both of them kissed. But the smile would not go to him, because it belonged to the girl. Sadly, he went away still looking for a smile he would call his own.

He looked far and wide, crossed rivers and mountains, traveled to the moon and back - but there was no smile for him. And as he sat down at the edge of the river one day to rest, a girl came up to him. Why are you resting, she asked. I'm looking for a smile, the man answered. Have you found one yet, she asked. Yes, he replied. But the smiles I found were not for me, he added.

Would you like to try on my smile, she asked. The man looked up at her and examined the smile on her face. It did not disappear when he looked. And it was as genuine as it appeared. Would you allow me, he asked. Of course, she replied. And they both kissed each other. The man looked at his reflection on the water's edge and saw the smile on his face. He was happy. He had found his smile.

I'd thought that I'd never find my smile, he said to himself. And when he turned to the girl who offered her smile to him, he found her face without the smile. Where is your smile now, he asked. It's with you, she replied. You are unhappy, he said. You don't need to see my smile to know I am happy, she said. I am happy inside to my smile on your face, she replied.

The man soon became unhappy. He looked at his reflection and quickly saw how the smile was slowly disappearing. And he tried to fake it, but the smile was genuine. I cannot take this, he said. Why, she asked. Because I have been selfish looking for the smile on other people's faces, he replied. And while I love your smile I cannot take it from you, he added. So he approached her and kissed her, bringing the smile back on her lips.

I would rather see the smile on your face than on mine, he said. Why, she asked. Because you offered it to me and loved it, he said. But it does not belong to me, he added. So how will I know if you're happy, she asked. I will be smiling inside, he replied finally.

President, Anti-Social Society

Ironic, isn't it - to find a society presided by an individual, whose members and board of directors are one and the same person? You won't find them hiding behind the group whose collective thoughts become one. You won't find them huddled within the masses whose voice is lost in the midst of a thousand others. No. In fact, their voices, thoughts and strengths become weaker that way. You'll find them stronger, more powerful when they are alone. And they're the ones that retreat in their solitude finding the one true voice to listen to: their own.

I am that kind. I am an individual. And I am alone. I stand alone. I live alone. And I will die, alone. While this journey provides us with other individuals as companions, eventually, we all have to walk the road alone, like they do, too.

It's rather sarcastic to talk about being alone and an individual during this time of year when people get together. People from work, friends and relatives get together and sit around talking about their lives and how the year has been kind to them. And while I sit among them, I find myself alone.

I am alone when my best friend and his wife have coffee with me. And while I enjoy their company and love seeing them together, I am alone, listening to their joy and envying their two distinct energies woven into one.

I am alone when old friends decide to meet. And while I laugh with them, my voice is drowned by the sea of thoughts. It is to my benefit perhaps that I decide to swim back to shore and walk alone.

I am alone when the people at work celebrate the end of another year. And while I mindlessly throw myself in the sea of cheers, taunts and grins, my voice is lost and I return home, alone. Celebrating the year that has been unkind to me.

I dread going home to my family now. I know, I will feel the loneliness that tears my heart in two. And even when I enjoy the warmth that they provide, I would rather have the cold nights spent alone. It is the one and only thing that I look to, these days. Longing for the night of solitude, where my thoughts are clearer and my voice, more distinct than any of the other voices that make their way into my head.

Although, I did have a moment when I enjoyed the company of another individual. One who has allowed me to remain the individual that I wanted to be. And even if I was with her, she allowed me to be alone with her. We no longer see each other. We no longer talk the way we used to. We no longer enjoy each other's individuality. We are both, back to being alone. Alone, the way it used to be, for me.

And the Anti-Social Society has welcomed me back with open arms. They have given me a seat with the other board of directors and a membership for life. A new head has been elected and the votes are in my favor. I become President, uncontested. Again, I am alone.

Buzzed

It's been awhile since I've been drunk. Yes, ladies and gentlemen (especially the ladies) I am an alcoholic. If there ever was an Alcoholics Anonymous in the Legazpi Village Area, I would be president. In fact, I am writing this under the influence. Ha ha ha. Can I just laugh now? Alright, enough of that. So, tell me, when was the last time you were buzzed? If you're asking me, a few hours ago with the Ace Saatchi & Saatchi creatives and a couple of visitors from the departments we work with. It was the fun-nest time I've ever had. Of course, there was a time I had so much fun drinking, I almost slept with someone. But that is another story. I know, I can hear you call me bastardly names. Mind you, as much as I am the scum of the earth when I am under the influence, I happen to be a gentleman. Okay, I can hear you laughing, too. Yes, I am a gentleman. I open doors, shift to the danger side when crossing the street and then some. I belong to a club only a few men would dare enter. But when men get drunk, they just lose it. Yes, we are not perfect. Ha ha. Who ever thought that men are perfect, were as imperfect as they are. No one is. And I am losing my thoughts already. Good night and Merry Christmas. Thank the gods I am not that drunk. I might have done something I wouldn't regret. Cheers!

Christmas Morning

I was watching Mr. and Mrs. Smith in cable last night and when Mr. Smith already discovered the real identity of Mrs. Smith, he told her how it felt like when he first saw her: it was like Christmas morning. Quite an interesting way of putting things and all throughout our lives we get that feeling like when we get to see the one person standing out amidst the crowd. Or finally getting that promotion that you deserved. We pray the hardest, so that we can get what we wish for on Christmas morning. I wish that were the same for me. Unfortunately, I haven't been on Santa's list. The boxes I've opened so far have been surprisingly disappointing. But that's that. There are some boxes that do open with amazing results, like the one that I opened last Saturday: a new MacBookPro! 15 inch wide screen. 2.16 GHz Intel Core 2 Duo processor. And the rest is a bunch of geeky stuff that should remain on Apple's website. Oh yeah, feels like Christmas morning. I wish, that all of my presents would feel the same way. But that is another story.

The Fountainhead

Only a week while I was cleaning my home office that I discovered and old that my late father possessed. It was one of Ayn Rand's books called The Fountainhead. It was obvious that my father would have read it because the protagonist in the novel was an architect named Howard Roark. That profession has escaped me when I decided to become an adman, but it didn't change my mind about reading it.

I promise that this wouldn't be a review of that material, after all, I call myself no critic. But the spirit of the book calls on all individuals to stand out from the rest. Not just to voice their opinion but to champion themselves. Uncompromisingly. The life of Howard Roark was difficult and he stood against the world because he was an individual. He never believed in the voice of the masses nor the collective. Alone, he was all that.

There was a statement by Howard Roark, "I don't work with collectives. I don't consult. I don't cooperate. I don't collaborate." Struck me like a spear through the heart. I had heard someone say that to me a long time ago and it seemed only fitting that I listened to myself saying it when I went through the book.

I think it's time for me to become what my father wanted me to be. There was a reason why he left the book. I believe, he left it for me to read. The Fountainhead is not something I'd give for people to read. A book this potent should be offered instead. And leave the decision to the one who you're giving it to.

Nameless Fear

Let me tell you the difference between bravery and cowardice. Both know of the nameless fear in their lives. Some have managed to live with it, some ignore it and there are a few brave enough to acknowledge it. It is the brave who know the nameless fear and give it shape, a mind of its own and name to call it. That is the difference. While there are those who have fought countless battles against the nameless fear - calling themselves brave and courageous, they are actually no better than the cowards that choose to run from it.

It is the ones that know who or what the nameless fear is are those who are much braver than them whether they decide to face it or run from it. I make no exception when I say that. I have many nameless fears - most of which I have run away from, because I was not equipped to deal with them during that time. God only knows how long I will have to endure to wait for that time when I will be ready to face all of nameless fears. But even before that happens, I must at least give some of these nameless fears a name, a face, a date, an event, a situation and even an identity. In doing so, I hope achieve that I will have the advantage over it.

"Why do it," you may want to ask. I'll tell you why: because once you attach an identity over the nameless fear, it won't be as intangible as a ghost. It will take shape, it will have a body to inhibit and a mind of its own. Once that happens, you can now see it with your own eyes and not be afraid of something that you cannot even see. It's futile to fight something that you cannot comprehend. Why should you be scared of something you cannot see? I'd rather be scared of something that exists in this reality. At least now, you may have more chances of hitting it back than blindly striking the air.

I have named so many nameless fears and I have fought so much, lost a lot in the process, but also gained strength that I've never had. So many scars written in my eyes, my shoulders tired and my hands battle-weary - I have no time to rest when I realized that I have named of my nameless fears only recently. Again, I pick up what's left of my courage and don the armor of my spirit. I know who I'm fighting and my sword would at least be of much greater use than hitting something incorporeal.

Hello

Let me be intimately polite so as not to scare you or make you take a step back even for an inch. 'Hello' is a very powerful word. It can immediately disarm strangers and allow them to do what you ask for. It can turn a bitter enemy into a reasonable person. It can make or break a relationship and it can soften hardened hearts.

Now, why do you think I want to do this? Read on. While some truths are harder to swallow, it becomes easier when the one talking to you has only asked for you to listen with an open mind. And that's why the word 'hello' is such a powerful word. Now that I have that out of the way and your attention, let us begin.

Hello.