Writing in invisible ink.(Part 2)

When I restarted this blog, I pretty much did it with much prodding from a particular lady friend. I didn't put much hope in it, truth be told. I had tried previously and those attempts proved unsuccessful and short-lived. While I have not kept up as regular as I had hoped, I've kept at it longer than I thought or even hoped. Previous tries had faltered, mostly because I lost interest or kept leaving things off.

Actually, that would be a lie. I just really didn't have the heart to write.

To be honest, I never grew up wanting to be a writer. It just wasn't my thing, growing up I was always more of a reader. From a young age, my parent pressed upon my bother and I the importance of reading. Actually, out whole family are avid readers. Ma is a thriller and romance reader. Dad is a non-fiction and DIY devotee. My brother is more off the beaten track sort. And myself?

I grew up with Enid Blyton, Roald Dahl and Hans Christian Anderson. I suppose that's a strange mix of authors. Blyton's "The Adventures of the Wishing Chair" was the first book I read repeatedly. It was a collection of tales  of two kids who find a magical chair that grew wings. The chair would the take them off to strange lands and  meet magical people. I guess the idea of travelling to strange new places was exciting to a young boy growing up in Greenwich, England. Funny enough, when I finally left for the Philippines, reading the book was my only connection to England. The familiar humour, the odd English eccentricities and the fact they always had tea time, made it so comforting.

As I entered, primary/elementary school, The Hardy Boys detective series was my drug of choice. Frank and Joe Hardy would enthral me with their adventures. It seems almost corny now. That fact is I could probably breakdown their plots and the flow of each story. It's actually predictable! The brother's stumble on to a case. Frank uses his nerdy detective savvy. Joe would pull off some athletic feat. Chet Morton (their best Friend) would bumble about. And Chief Collig would pretty much overlook their meddling in police business.

But I didn't care.

I must have read every book in the Elementary Library, even the encyclopaedia! All of that, just for kicks. While other kids would be running around the playground, I would sneak off to read. I think I must have gotten into trouble, dozens of times for reading a book during class.

I guess, it started then. I would scribble down small stories about me and my friends at school. We would be super heroes, flying around the world, dressed in ridiculous costumes. We would be complete Japanese Anime rip-offs, fighting in our mecha. Later, we would clamber around in our armour, fighting every dragon we meet.

Small tales, that I would scribble down in my awful handwriting. I wish I kept those stories. They could have been the great stories I would be telling my future grand children. Shame that they are lost to time and memory.

Plus I could have sold them for the Kindle.

The beds we choose to lay in...

Waitin', watchin' the clock, it's four o'clock, it's got to stop
Tell him, take no more, she practices her speech
As he opens the door, she rolls over...
Pretends to sleep as he looks her over

She lies and says she's in love with him, can't find a better man...
She dreams in color, she dreams in red, can't find a better man...
Can't find a better man
Can't find a better man
Ohh...

(Better Man by Eddie Vedder [Pearl Jam])

When Eddie Vedder first wrote this song, he was in high school. He actually performed it with one of his earlier bands. Strangely enough, this song was initially rejected when Pearl Jam  were planning on recording the “Vs” album. He wasn’t even comfortable with releasing this as part of the “Vitalogy” album. The song lyrics are full of sadness, sarcasm and an air of resignation. It also helps that there is a fantastic tune to go along with it.  To those unfamiliar with it, the song recounts the conflict face by a woman who is in an abusive relationship. Tired of the abuse, she plans to confront her partner and finally makes a stand for herself. But when the moment comes, she backs down, pretends to be asleep and decides to let the status quo remain. To add to this, she decides to stick to the relationship, saying that she can’t find anyone better.

When I first heard this song, I never really listened to the lyrics. I just dug the tune. But as time passed, I really began to listen to the song and realised just how dark the song really was. The subject matter is just so desperate and dire, which makes the ending resignation all the sadder. It makes me always wonder why people sing it so gleefully when it is performed live. I know it is a fantastic sounding song, but the dark nature of the song always makes me feel uncomfortable.


This song made me think very carefully about every relationship I had and chose to be in. It scared me that anyone could use love as tool, even manipulate a loved one in such a manner. Such abuse is not limited by creed, gender, religion or nationality. It can exist in relationships familial, romantic and even platonic.

This is not a happy song. It’s a song of sad resignation to being trapped an abusive relationship and ultimately choosing to remain in it. Why? Because they can't find anyone better. In this case, there isn't a better man. Now that is a terrible reason to stay. A love most... "meh."

Abusive relationships are something I have never been able to understand. The idea of someone trapping someone else into a relationship my pure manipulation and at times violence, has repulsed and scared the living daylights out of me. I must admit, I used to have very simple ideas regarding the nature of abusive relationships.I used to believe that it was merely a violent tendency that drove the relationship of the abuser and the abused. To which I used to scratch my head at why anyone would let anyone themselves be hurt so much. In my naivete, I even thought the victims as cowardly. After all, anyone that subjects themselves to such only ends up that way if they allow it to be.

In an effort to understand, I took to reading up on the subject and was even more disturbed by what I learned about the subject. There is a whole cycle that can emerge between the abuser and the abused. There is the grace period, where everything is fine, pleasant, even good. Then there are the small outburst of anger, and threats of violence. This can simmer until there is ultimately a burst of abuse. Now I often thought abuse was purely in violent action, physical pain. But abuse can be manipulative, psychological. There is the chess game of denial, even restricting the victim, leaving them completely dependent on the abuser. Then this is where it gets hazy. The abuser can then switch it around either by begging forgiveness for their actions.

" I can change, "
" It was a one time mistake"
 " It won't happen again."

And that is if you are lucky. Other times the abuser will switch it around an put the blame on the victim. Everything is therefore, the fault of the victim. They caused this to happen, by their own actions or inaction, they are the person responsible. Which fills the victim with guilt, ultimately wishing to make amends. Creating the period of grace. After all, they have made their bed. Time they lay in it, right?

And the cycle begins again.

There are many critics of this model, saying it is too simplistic and they may be right. It may never apply to all cases, but it does hold many truths.

The sadder fact is to see it unfold before your very eyes. You see the abuser and you see the victim. You see it happening before you. You realise what is going on, but you can't do anything. It's your word against theirs. And when the victim refuses to admit they are are a victim, either out of fear, ignorance or denial, you have no case.

Sometimes, even if you try, you become the bad guy.

What then?

Eddie Vedder famously dedicated one particular performance of this song to, what he said was "the b**t**d who married his mother." I guess he did not  like his step-father very much. While the nature of that particular relationship is subject to speculation, the intensity of the song is undeniable.

I sometimes find myself listening to this song quietly in my room. I have seen people trapped in these relationships before. It has been my regret that I have never been able to help anyone, successfully. And it breaks my heart living with that fact. I don't ever want to be the person that Vedder wrote about. I don't want to be the person trapped and more so, I never ever want to be the person who hurts another person that way.  

We all deserve to be happy, truly happy.

I pray I can be a better man.

And someday, be found.

(P.S. Thanks to Wikipedia. I had remember reading about the song's history before, but it had been a while.)

"Tagay muna!" One for the road... now one for the sky! (Part 1)

A couple of weeks ago, some of my high school friends met up in Bacolod, Philippines for the annual MassKara Festival...

Oh, finished that line of thought last time.

But it does lead me into something that came to mind. Three of my old high school friends met up for the weekend to catch up on old times and to simply enjoy the festivities. Of course they had to make me jealous as I could not be there by giving me a run down of what they were up to, but that was fine. The thing was I was comparing notes with my best friend Paul and he was joking about how little alcohol was consumed. It was mostly a foodfest. When I raised a virtual eyebrow over this fact, he just joked that we were probably getting old.

Looking back, there does seem to be a huge trend with my peers, drinking wise. Growing up, drinking alcohol was pretty much a given in Filipino culture, especially amongst males. Even at a young age we pretty much accepted the smell of booze. My mother to this day refuses to be in the same room as my dad if he decides to drink "tuba" (palm wine). On the other hand, she does agree it makes great vinegar.

Like all teens we decided to sneak a drink in our high school days. I guess it was a bit of a evolution. We used to play basketball and cool down to the odd carbonated drink. Later that would evolve to a bottle or two of beer. Later on days would end with all of us splitting a crate of beer.

My parents had a practical solution to my evolution into early adulthood and subsequent drinking prowess. They would teach me the ins and outs of drinking alcohol, socially. Unfortunately, they forgot to discuss the matter between them. This would lead to my mother introducing me to the intricacies wine drinking and my father on beer and spirits. And they did this separately. Who was I to complain? They were picking up the tab.

My father would put me to the ultimate test. Freshman year, Christmas break, New Years Eve. This would be the first time my dad and I would drink together properly. I was excited, obviously as this was going to be my way of proving my manhood, earn my spot on the grown ups table.

So, amidst the fireworks displays in the sky and the cooked dishes on the table, me and Pa went at it. One crate of Gold Eagle Mucho (I doubt they make this anymore) each , a box of Tanduay Rhum 5 years (Got to love the extra Filipino "h". Guess it makes it more "H"ardcore.)  and a bottle of Napoleon brandy.

The rules were simple. Match him drink for drink, but we could eat as much as we wanted. But no one stops until all the alcohol is consumed. We started off pretty well. The beer went down easy, helped by my dad roast chicken and lechon kawali (deep fried pork). I have to admit, Gold Eagle was a pretty light beer, but the volume of a couple of Muchos (500 mls) does catch up. The "Rhum" was a different matter. Back then, they never really put the alcohol volume on the bottles. This wasn't for lack of trying, just that they never really measured it.

It must have been nearly two in the morning by then. The food was pretty much near done, all that was left was the brandy. I decided to kill off the bottle. I got a tall glass, filled it with the remainder of the brandy and topped off the rest with  Coke.

I raised the glass, toasted to my father's health...

Then I down the glass.

Straight.

My father cheered.
I put down the glass, beaming triumphantly.
Smiled.

And then promptly passed out.

I woke the next day, opening my eyes to the smell of coffee. My dad was holding it up to my nose.

"So," he asked, "Still want to drink?."

I just groaned my response.