"End of the Day" Beck

I'm supposed to hear back about my stupid job tomorrow, wondering what kind of cockamamie plans about my new position and pay they've hatched. I've said no, and they've reconsidered their offer.

I will still say no.

The better part of my 8-hour workday was devoted to the careful selection of a Powerpoint template. I changed the colors around and then resourcefully parlayed copyrighted material into my very own, one-of-a-kind bullets. This is the kind of attention to detail that easily impresses the casual observer, and the average viewer of my presentation. It's the clean lines and cohesive identity of my visuals that will convince them of a material that is largely absent. In the battle between style and substance, style always wins. Substance without style is boring drivel that few are willing to interpret on their own. Style without substance is--at the very least--entertainment, and that's enough for most.

"Pink Bullets" The Shins

Two important conversations this past weekend have exposed the lopsidedness of my confidence. Tie my hands behind my back, hide my passport and stick me in a third world country and I'll be fine. Leave me in an interview wearing only tube socks and a wife-beater and I'll manage. It's putting my hand gently behind a girl's back, a subtle gesture of guidance and protection--I'm told; it's the awkward negotiation of personal space; it's the offering and the subsequent rubbing of cold hands; it's the steady pressure of my chest against her shoulder, as I hold the umbrella; it's saying, "No, you don't have to drive me home, my company will pay for a taxi." These are the things that make me sweat and stutter.

"Fix You" Coldplay

Earlier this week, I had dinner with somebody who--in a moment of clarity and reflection during yoga--realized something. At the age of 26, she had done much of the growing she was going to do. Her personality had gelled into its final shape. Beyond the incorporation of new slang, the appearance of some wrinkles, she saw in that wall-sized mirror, under those unforgiving gym lights, the woman she was going to be for the rest of her life.

"Baby Britain" Elliot Smith

Oh boy, what a mess, this stuff on my hands. I hope it wasn't premature when I said I had avoided all trauma that could've pushed me over the edge. Said that about a month and a half ago to a woman taking anti-depressants for four years.

According to the tests, I am in very good shape.

A friend drove by and said, "You're like digging at the sand and you think there's something 150 feet deep."

And I thought, "Why dig when I can just lay out?"

There was no traceable signs of parasites in my stool.

I never feel ready for shit, and yet here they come marching my way. I thought it was going to happen tonight, in the middle of a room, people sweating all over me, me breathing their nitrogen, and me in the corner, half-naked and chest heaving, the shape of my face narrowing and then I said to myself, "Who is this?" And I did not recognize the man in the mirror, the narrower face, the weirder right eye.

The last time this happened, I saw horns coming out of my brow, and my pupils elongated.

Before then, it was at my apartment and the shadows came and I found myself curled up into a ball in the corner of the room.

I don't have any STDs. I'm not diabetic, not hypoglycemic.

I said I'm not interested in distractions, but I fear what I may discover once I shake everything off. The instinct is to run, I've been told, to stop the system and evacuate. And if I could just be in that hut, on the bed, with a big bottle of water, some fruit and cigarettes and a thick book. The way I must cope with the factors in this world, those things I perceive threatening; I cannot do enough yoga, or drink enough water, or talk to my friends. I am continually having to improvise defenses and I don't know if I'm going to run out of ideas.

And I want to stop saying, "I'm OK, I'm OK, I'm OK."

I want to believe, truly believe that I am a man worthy of love, not as a reward for my goodwill, or for my successes as an employee, a traveler, a son, a friend. Love is not a consequence, it is a right.

And they said my heart is slow. My strong, strong heart that beats 60 bpm.

"Fix You" Coldplay

When you get what you want but not what you need.

"Olsen Olsen" Sigur Ros

I've known for quite some time now that everything I've always wanted to know I've known from birth. It's that thing that I feel in the stomach. It leads me down lit paths and some dark ones. It allows me to trust some strangers but not others. But as I got older, it was also this sense that experience and supposed wisdom began to challenge. The answer is to unlearn what we know, to strip away the fears and assumptions that eventually weighed down and muffled this guiding force.

Jared was a barista at Diedrich's. I've known him for two years but we've exchanged less than a hundred words to each other. My earphones and menacing I'm-working-right-now glare has precluded a more involved rapport. He got another job, I think at a Vans store somewhere south but tonight I saw him again behind the counter.

"What are you doing here? I thought you left."

"I did, but I'm back."

"Since when?"

"December."

I keep fighting for what I don't have. Keep wanting the unattainable. And it seems a bit silly now that in the presense of so many obstacles, I continue to choose self-deprivation.

"Where have you been? Haven't seen you around 'til recently."

"Yeah, I work downtown, in LA, so it's hard to get over here."

What I wanted to say, but what the established boundaries of our relationship could not allow was, "I'm sure it's nice to be where it's comfortable."

I will be turning down an opportunity to make more money, to increase my profile, to be in charge of something important. And in weighing out the pros and cons, it was the intangible gut feeling that tipped the scales. I am turning down a challenge and this is not in my nature. I am backing down and this hurts my pride. I am declining an offer and those around me won't understand. And in a way, I also don't understand it, but understanding is not always necessary for knowing.

"Love Vigilantes" New Order

Love Vigilantes, Love Vigilantes, Love Vigilantes, Love Vigilantes, Love Vigilantes (this is when "Vigilantes" began to look wrong), Love Vigilantes, Love Vigilantes, Love Vigilantes, Love Vigilantes, Love Vigilantes, Love Vigilantes, Love Vigilantes, Love Vigilantes, Love Vigilantes, Love Vigilantes, Love Vigilantes, Love Vigilantes, Love Vigilantes, Love Vigilantes, Love Vigilantes, Love Vigilantes, Love Vigilantes, Love Vigilantes, Love Vigilantes, Love Vigilantes (this is when "Love" began to look suspicious).

There are so many things running in my head.

Yes, it's time to own your past. This time, it's up to you. How a person like me, saved from a dumpster in Metro Manila (thanks to my mother's keen hearing and ready detection of children in distress) ends up where I am today. I'm smiling inside and I feel so 1989. And I say, "Coachella for the weekend with me! And, "I do not need this job. You see, I am a smart man, not a desperate one!" And "No thanks, Mr. Koo Koo Roo, I only want one side dish today, not two. You see, today's the day I choose how my life goes."

"Your Cloud" Tori Amos

What cannot kill you makes you stronger.
There's a lesson in here waiting to be learned.
God won't ever give you anything you can't handle.

I always had problems with these concepts because they seem like the rationalizations of the poor and oppressed; of people who keep finding themselves in the means of an end that may never come.

I'm thinking heaven was created because there really is no justice.

"Ceremony" Joy Division

Thoughts are those flashes between the synapses. It's the reaction between the chemicals, between the crap in my skull that defines me. That's a reductive conclusion; I've long suspected and now firmly believe that there is no difference between mind and body.

My camel pose was strained last night. I could not lift my hip as high as I normally do during rabbit and I could not manage the usually proud arc of my half-moon pose. Anxiety is stored in the mind, I once believed, but it slides down into the lower back, into the shoulders. Because I keep falling short of coping with the emotional counterpart, I dealt with the physical head on.

I was the last one out of the room, and if it weren't for the next class coming in, I could've stayed longer. The teacher took her shower then came back in. I said, "It's amazing how a tough week can really show up in your body."

"Don't worry about it Jose, you did great. Just don't be a stranger."

A professor once took me aside and talked to me. "It will never be easy, Jose, but it does get easier."

Wanting to solve all the problems is a noble goal, but one that may be too lofty to reach within one lifetime. I guess that's why we get several tries. In the meantime, I chip away at what I can.

And I'm fine now.