*Spoonfuls - n. articles/dispatches/scribbles by Larita Kutsarita
(Background photo by Aiess Alonso)
Wednesday, January 23, 2008
The Moon is in her most beautiful, almost perfect shape tonight…and I can’t even relish the sight of her on the deck (it’s like the dorm’s “secret” rooftop). You’re not at all deprived of significant people whom you love and who, fortunately, love you back…and you can’t even be with them when all you wanna do is give ‘em a hug tight enough to kill. Bamboo and a smorgasbord of other bands are coming on the UP Fair kickoff…and I can’t even be totally certain about seeing them (in cases like this, I usually don’t let anything get in the way), never mind that the ticket’s only P85, an eensy-weensy glitch in the wallet that’s worth all that real, face-melting music. Oh, and my roommate’s just told me about Heath Ledger’s death…and I can’t even feel sorry enough for the guy or Michelle or their little daughter. Nah…all because it’s February, and all the professors are chasing after time like a ravenous pack of wolves in search of Paradise (Wolf’s Rain, anyone?). Summer’s just round the corner…but kids are talking about “hell weeks” and “DEADlines” and “suicide” (yep). Life is beautiful…and yet, sometimes, you’re just too busy to actually live it. The “human blues,” I call ‘em…the inexplainable wretchedness caused by your lack of control (or entire bereavement thereof) of the things that happen to you…the same things that you have to deal with yourself. It’s when you’re reminded how utterly powerless you are, when all your life, your parents [and everybody else who has always wanted you to believe in yourself] have all been telling you that “it is you who charts your own destiny…it is you who decides your fate...it is you who makes something happen.” Well, not entirely, but thanks anyway. See, “making something happen” is one thing…“what happens next” is another, and how d’you cope? Well, I can almost hear God saying, “Maybe it’s your call, but it just ain’t your ball, man.” Me: *scowls *…goes back to work. Whoop-de-doo.