A detour to a wake which got me unbelievably depressed and a dizzy spell over dishes

A sister-in-law of a good friend passed away last week. W and I went to the wake last Saturday. We already knew she died from cancer and that, I imagined, she had time time to say her goodbyes like with most terminal cases. But apparently, it wasn't just the goodbyes that she had time to prepare for: She actually planned her funeral. She gave instructions on the dress (she wanted a white dress, not a top and pants), the venue (Nacional), and made a list of who to call up immediately after she passed away.

We stayed for an hour, W was chatting about work with the friend while I was quietly eating lemon squares and biko. Before we left, an elderly relative arrived in a wheelchair. She had a hard time recognizing people and her body looked like crumpled paper. Our friend's brother wheeled her near the coffin. She stood up with little help and took a few painful steps to look at the body. That was when her knees buckled and she had to be almost carried back to her chair. She approached the other brothers and sisters and said: Isa isa na.

One by one. We all fall down.

I realized that death didn't scare me that much and it was the growing old that really frightened me. The forgetfulness. The burden of crumpled limbs. And the goodbyes to people you love.

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I ran out of cigarettes that same day, and didn't really crave for any. Woke up Sunday afternoon dizzy. Made lunch, still dizzy. I was washing the dishes when it crashed against me like a wave, an invisible slap across my face. High blood pressure? Withdrawal symptoms (that early)? Or just plain dastardly chores?

Loyalty Lies

Some days I think we have too many choices. There's always a better band to follow, a better tv show to get addicted to, a better (and lower-fat) brand of ice cream to devour, a better mix of a remix, and so on. No wonder marketing strategists are going mad. What ever happened to target markets? I think there are no particulars anymore: no specific age group, no rationale ratio of supply and demand. There are just too many choices. And as consumers, addicts, geeks, we never stop wanting, and we want it all.

After a failed relationship, there will always be someone who'll get fishy on you: There are other fish in the sea, sweetie. Yes, more choices. Infinite options. In a relationship, the sea is equally vast. Though in deeper water, there is still the (slim) chance that you or your partner will wander off to a better school of thought, the what-if-I-were-with-you notion. The better you or the (possibly) better partner just around the the third coral reef to your right.

In this life of too many choices, we are either selecting or swimming, around or away. Still, a few of us choose to stay. Loyalty lies here. Even when we are aware that there's something, someone better, because there definitely is always a better choice, we stay.

I stay.

Models and Geeks

It’s infuriating to dissect beauty with words. My words wouldn’t really matter. I could write until my fingers bled and I still wouldn’t be able to match the high, the exhilaration of seeing physical perfection walk through and around the revolving doors of the heart. I can feign eloquence; I could be great with the conversation, funny with the jokes, but in the end, heads will turn not for wit, but beauty.

Yes, yes, it's the insecurity that's killing me. I don't have model-envy. I can't be better looking than what I am right now. But what do I do, what can I offer when the boyfriend is obssessing over a model who works in his house? My Buffy DVDs? ST Voyager's Prime Directive dilemma? The new Tanya Donelly CD?

As a geek I obsess and collect. Books. Comic books. Music. Concert tickets. Fish. A nerd studies things, memorizes dates and skeletal parts. A geek studies with passion.

In the American Heritage Dictionary, a geek is defined as "a carnival performer whose show consists of bizarre acts, such as biting the head off a live chicken.

Or "a person who is single-minded or accomplished in scientific or technical pursuits but is felt to be socially inept."

But people, we have moved on from eating chickens and being socially inept (it would be quite difficult to carry on a normal conversation with someone who is chewing on raw poultry and feathers, thus the inept-ness) to stylish, funny, socially-ept individuals who are single-minded in the pursuit of useless knowledge.

Who can question the loyalty of a geek to his favorite TV show? If I can be loyal to seven years of Whedon-myth, then surely I can give equal devotion, or maybe more, to love. If I cannot eat over dead-resurrecting nanoprobes, then surely I can eat less to be more 7 of 9-ish or Spike-like in body yummy-ness. If I get sad over the lyrics of District Sleeps Alone Tonight, then surely I can be a highly sensitive empath of a lover.

I guess, this is just not easy to see, not easy to appreciate.