Friday, December 31, 2010

Incoherent Chaos

2010 copy
 
In fifty short minutes, the 2010 calendars hanging on the walls and sitting on bedside tables will have outlived their purpose. They will be rendered obsolete. It’s inevitable.
 
And like a vulture feeding on the carcass of a dead animal, 2011 will feed on the vestiges of 2010. That, too, is inevitable. For as much as I would hate to admit, I cannot begin the New Year with an entirely clean slate. Much thanks to a retentive mind and that piece of blooding-pumping muscle they call heart.
 
I’ve never actually described a year in my life in one single word (and no, that’s not redundancy, you bloody idiot—I’m emphasizing). But Twenty-ten, all in all, was a year of incoherence—mental and emotional. Now I shan’t attempt to detail Twenty-ten for it will prove futile.
 
I walked through the year with a buzzing in my head, which made me restless. I couldn’t find the will to do things that I wanted to do. I’d start working on things, but couldn’t find the focus to finish them. I was like a child who had attention deficit disorder. Like, I’d read a book and stop a few chapters before the story concluded, or watch a film but hit the ‘stop’ button even before the story could progress.

My temperament could put the weather to shame, as I was as moody as I had never been. But I was no longer throwing things or screaming at people. I was made aware of the value of being angry without acting angry. But I guess it only pampered my grudge-holding skills because I’d remembered offences as I would songs.

Instant gratification from revenge fed my core. And I’ve become accustomed to seeking revenge that I would not sleep until I had a definite plan of getting even. Fortunately for people, though, I’ve reduced my vengeful acts into non-violent ones. Karma just couldn’t give the instant gratification that a well-thought out retaliation could give me. Of course, not all plans of retaliation worked; it proved how sometimes some things don’t work out no matter how hard we try.

Sarcasm has always been my gun. And in Twenty-ten, it didn’t fail me. Every time I’d pull the trigger, someone always got hit, which always put a devilish smile on my face. Sarcasm, I realized, is a mind game. It pleased me to the bones when someone couldn’t strike back at my sarcasm.

Losing my grandfather, after barely six months of losing a great-grandmother (which happened on November 2009) had me thinking about life. It is quite a mystery—and that is an understatement, I say. It didn’t make sense that all our lives we strive to work for happiness, and yet as we grow old, we are slowly being dragged through life instead of being allowed to walk through it—you know, in the vein of what Alanis Morissette said. But I thought about it and realized that maybe—just maybe—life truly isn’t about the past or the future, but about the present. Death has taught me one sad truth—that sometimes, even though you are kind to a fault, people will eventually forget you. And when you die, all you’re left with are your family and friends. But that’s not a bad thing.

Alcohol has been a constant and great company this year. It reminded me of some truths as well, like: sometimes, all one needs after a long, pain-in-the-ass day is a set of good friends and a table full of libation. Conversations over a few buckets or so of beer can really take conversations on a different level. Alcohol has also offered aid in my attempts at poetic experimentation.
 
Family, I was reminded, is a part of one’s self that could not be stripped away even with the darkest of deeds, secrets, and the bloodiest of furies. Family will always be there, whether we like it or not. And in life, each of us is given two kinds of families: one is that family we were born into and the other is the family we choose—friends. Meredith Grey has once said that in a more coherent and classy way. Friends—they constantly teach us throughout are lives. My friends are a constant reminder that no matter how dark and ugly life can be, it is still worth living.

And about that department in life that gets even the brawniest of boys giddy, well, this year hasn’t been a good one. Well, it hasn’t even been existent, technically. I have come to accept that it isn’t for everyone. I may have had hopes. But like a match whose flame flickers off as it reaches the other end of the stick, each hope I had flickered off into darkness. I am not a complete cynic about love, though. Romantic love, that is. But I am wise enough to know it is not certain. Neither is it a fairy tale.

And now, before my mind spirals into a state of incoherence, I must state my thanks, apologies, and bitchiness.
 
I am thankful for the people who remain in my life despite my being venomous without provocation, mildly phobic, bitch, scheming, manipulative, irascible, and all the ugly things that I am not ashamed of.
 
I am thankful for the chances that came my way—even those that I did not take. See, not all chances come with bounty. Needless to say, some chances come not to gift us but to let us fall.
 
I apologize for the times I did not make the best of what I was given with.
 
And for those who’ve been unfortunate enough to experience my being a bitch: You most probably deserved it. See, I am not a bitch without a cause. You’ve earned my ire and so you had to pay for it.
 
To my Hallowell family: I will be succinct—words are not enough to express how much I value us. I love you muchly, dearies. Blessed be!
 
To my friends and (at the same time) drinking buddies: Inebriation has never been about being succinct, you know that. So here’s to more buckets for us, more deprecating moments, more laughter, more pseudo-intellectual discourses on love, politics, life, sex, and every random thing under the sky.

To the digital ghost: Thank you for sharing a special, albeit odd, friendship. I will always have your back, but you won’t know it.
 
When I think about it, really, New Year is just a matter of replacing our old calendars and planners with new ones.
 
Now, excuse me, for I still have a bottle of vodka to share with certain people who vowed, time and again, never to drink again.
 
Here’s to hoping each of us gets what we deserve.
 
And here’s to hoping each of us finds reasons to smile every day.