Just as Childish

It’s all fine and dandy until someone gets hurt. No one really wants to stop because they’re all having fun too. When an accident does happen, fingers look for somewhere to point. All too often, it’s the guy enjoying it the most. Of course, whether it was his fault or not is immaterial. And everyone will lie their asses off just to save their own.

Hypocrisy is disgusting. Worse yet if it comes from those you thought you could look up to.

And when the medical bill arrives, naturally the kid can’t pay up. And suddenly, he’s grounded for life, doomed to pay a debt he can’t even begin to understand.

What hurts is that no one took the time to explain to the children any of the dangers. “All children are angels,” they say. “I told you so” will echo from seemingly no origin.

That’s how children grow up — forced to deal with problems they couldn’t help but fall into — because no one was watching them play.

Grown ups — that's the only difference — growth.

They’re just as childish and reckless as children. The only thing that’s improved is their skill at escaping blame. Survival of the ‘fibbest’, I suppose. All they care about is covering their asses and looking good in front of the children. It’s what they don’t say that causes trauma, insecurity, and confusion.

So much for nurturing the future.

Got to be my Favorite Sin

I feel like I’ve sold my soul to the devil. Vanity indeed must be his favorite sin. Narcissus’ downfall, it’s quite easy to get favors when dangling mirrors. And I foolishly played along.

Just a couple of weeks ago, I was contemplating what it would be like in another person’s shoes. Fate has a funny way of turning events.

Perhaps it was my competitiveness. I wanted to stand out just as much as those around me. I got it, but it’s beginning to cost me.

I hadn’t thought of the sacrifices involved, and now they seem so much more than the price tag of foolish dreams.

At least now, I’m in a more favorable position to bargain. Although I’m not too sure if they devil is in the mood to argue with me. Or maybe he’s already got me leashed. One year already seems like a long time to go.

To Kaufman and Pope

I may have reasoned it all out in my heard before I even figured it out for myself. Hindsight, as they say, is 20-20.

Perhaps I’d had known it all along and have left myself clues to figure it out in the future. Maybe I’m reasoning too much, chasing an illusion that was never there to begin with.

We can’t travel back in time, but we can certainly change the past. I was always good with temporality. That, at least, I understand.

And memory, or lack thereof, might very well be our greatest ally.

We’re damned either way then.

Oh, how ignorance is bliss!

“How happy is the blameless vestal's lot! The world forgetting, by the world forgot. Eternal sunshine of the spotless mind! Each pray'r accepted, and each wish resign'd.”
- Alexander Pope

Palpitations and Thinking Clearly

In driving, recovering from an error, say oversteer, requires stepping on the gas and countersteering. While countersteering might come in naturally, stepping on the gas when you’re about to lose it is contrary to self-preservation instincts. A lot of escape plans are, or anything that gets your blood pumping for that matter.

The difficulty is overriding your natural instincts for self-preservation. How do you keep your sanity when panic is setting in? Many self help books always preach about keeping your cool, staying calm and composed in order to think clearly. It always reads like it’s so easy, after all, this written from an objective and distant point of view. Not once is there any consideration mentioned for phobia, trauma or anything that can inhibit proper judgment.

There’s no real textbook for these kinds of things. Not like they could help.

A couple of weeks ago, I was on a race track, all by myself in a car, fraught with pressures of beating a more experienced pro’s time. I could have played Gran Turismo all I wanted to get the feel of the car, but when it comes down to the reality of it, nothing really prepares you for dealing with the fear that sets in. “It’s all about experience,” the pro told me, “the more time you spend doing it, the more comfortable and confident you become, the better your performance.”

They always say the best way to overcome phobias is to face them head on. Maybe you build a tolerance for adrenaline. Maybe you just stop waiting or worrying about the high and start enjoying it for a change.

If La Vida Were Sueño

I dreamt of her last night. And as much as I vehemently deny it when conscious, the opposite is the truth.

I might have seen the venue somewhere before. Perhaps Taguig or a scenic abandoned barracks from Corregidor. Walls were snaked with cracks, meandering, fractaling from floor to ceiling. The wooden staircases rattled and shook under the slightest weight. Sunlight turned amber through the cracks and shone a faint glow in twisted shapes on the lower walls and floors. And outside, peeping through the cracks, tall grasses surrounded, lush and green and alive in the wind.

Amidst the impropriety, the sheer recklessness of it all, we appeared to be having fun. Paranoia and fear was alive in everyone except us, who seemed to laugh at the issue. Perhaps we thought it’d be funny if we tugged at their fears and cried wolf a couple of times.

She almost had me, leading me down the stairs as we trailed the group, eager to investigate the reason behind the alleged hauntings. Then, halfway through the staircase, she turned around with a stern face and slowly lifted her hand. I watched her, pointing to first to where I was standing, then slowly up my body, till it came to rest slightly above my forehead. I was still and slowly turned to look behind me. I squinted to see what had stirred her, but there was nothing. As soon as I turned around, she broke into laughter, giggling like a schoolgirl and proceeding to run down the steps for another chase. Feigning my own laughter I followed down, oblivious to the others who found our actions disturbing.

We didn’t find anything. Not that I expected to. I’d usually let the circumstances get the best of me, but for this one moment, I was oblivious to it all. For once, I was secure and trusting. I let go of my own restraints.

The higher powers have a sadistic sense of humor, because at that moment, running down the precarious steps, apathetic to all the risk around me, I woke up.

Awkward Transitions

I’ve a newfound admiration for race drivers. Dedication, discipline, and a lot of passion aside, what really draws my veneration is their sheer testicular fortitude. Having your balls at your throat, can really cloud your judgement and confidence.

Fresh from a round of GT4, guys would talk about how they made a killer pass during braking into a hard chicane, or a Lotus they recently drifted, or a pumped up compact sedan that could take on a Pagani. They’d talk about racing technicalities: how Takuma Sato could greatly improve if he drove a slightly more conservative line. All this of course, derived from experience gained from Gran Turismo: The Real Driving Simulator. They had always remained theories, lofty dreams, leaving guys to ponder soon after if such was really possible. Pixel prowess, to steal a metaphor.

Just how accurate was Gran Turismo? Could skills gained from the game translate to real driving talent?

That was a question I had to answer. If there’s one thing Gran Turismo doesn’t prepare you for, it’s the fact that you could lose it at any moment. And unlike the game, you won’t just feel a slight shake when you hit the barriers.

All those lines and braking points crammed in at practice all go out the window once the fear of damaging the car pops in your head. It’s like looking down from a high building. You psych yourself out and lose it. That same thought tells you the car has reached its limits. Feel tells you otherwise. The wheel is still at the same angle and it’s still light enough for you to either turn a bit more or sneak in a little more power. It’s head over heart and ignoring one of them is an inevitable choice.