H O R I Z O N T A L D E A D E N D S

The Present Tense

Gerard M. Santiago — Thu, 01 Dec 2011 05:22:23 +0000

When I was younger, I was always told by my mother that I was lucky to have what I had. I’m sure that many of your parents have argued the same way, but my mother always took it one step further. “When I grew up”, she would say, “we would have to work as kids so that we would have food on the table. You should be grateful. Stop complaining, and eat your vegetables.” My mother would always refer to her experiences growing up in the Philippines to the point where I had come to look down on my place of ethnicity. I couldn’t help but think when I grew up that all Filipino people lived in such poverty. My ethnicity became something that I wasn’t proud of and that, eventually, I came to look down upon.
In one of my high school history classes, we were discussing the history of Filipino colonization. My classmates would ask me about what was being taught, assuming that I knew more about the subject because I was Filipino. But I was quick to renounce that fact. I would tell them about how much I hated the language and the food and how glad I was that I had chosen to never be a part of the culture. After all, I reasoned, I am what I myself choose to be, and never did I make the choice to be Filipino. My friends were appalled, and criticized me as a discriminator against my own race. This discrimination stuck with me and continued to stick with me when my mother planned my first trip to the Philippines. At first, I didn’t even want to go and begged my mother to not buy the ticket. But she did.
Foreigners who have been to the Philippines will always be quick to point out the country’s poverty. And when I was taken from the airport to my great aunt’s house, I could see why. People go to the arcades in malls because they can’t afford the actual gaming systems, and those same malls are overemployed to the point that there’s a sales assistant for every brand of merchandise in every department.
However the family that I was surrounded with in the Philippines was much more well off, and they tried to make sure that my experience there would feel like a vacation. We visited the mountains, the beaches, and an orphanage, and the time I spent with these relatives that I had only heard of before coming made the strange become familiar. Yet that feeling wasn’t exclusive to them. When I visited the orphanage, the kids were prepared for us and greeted us warmly in English. I knew that I would feel sympathy for them as human beings and would view them as such. But to say only that would be incomplete. Beyond that I felt an anonymous feeling of a more profound sympathy: a sympathy where I felt that these were my people.
When the trip ended, I was happy to have met my relatives who I had never met before, and I had a newfound appreciation for the Philippines itself by virtue of the same anonymous bond that I felt attached me to the children at the orphanage.
During the following months, I had stumbled upon a Harvard lecture course taught by Michael Sandel called Justice: What’s the Right Thing to Do? on Youtube. Several different philosophers were discussed to try and make sense of what Justice actually is. However one in particular that Dr. Sandel highlighted is Alasdair MacIntyre. MacIntyre argues for the powerful concept that we are storytelling beings. He claims that we live our lives as narrative quests. “I can only answer the question ‘What am I to do?’ if I can answer the prior question ‘Of what story or stories do I find myself a part”, he says. “For the story of my life is always embedded in the story of those communities from which I derive my identity. I am born with a past and to try and cut myself off from my past is to deform my present relationships.” And so by considering MacIntyre’s idea of the narrative self, the anonymous bond I felt for the Philippines and the orphans wasn’t anonymous any longer. When I expressed prejudice against my own culture, what was ultimately at stake in my rejection was the culture and the story from which I derive myself. Yet what I understand now is that I cannot understand my life, I cannot answer the question of who I am, unless I recognize my obligation to my family, my community, and my country.

Bent

Gerard M. Santiago — Fri, 03 Jun 2011 22:35:48 +0000

She had dark brown hair tied up. Once-over and I noticed her high school t-shirt, her short athletic shorts, and her running shoes. She drove first because she did as she was told. We drove the usual route that others took according to the man up front. I think a part of the test was responsibility because he wouldn’t stop speaking. Questions about her, what she wanted to do for a living, why she wanted to do it. He loved speaking. I just liked company.

She wanted to be a trainer–to help injured athletes in rehab and recovery. Money was a factor for her, but I would never blame anyone for that. He asked her what she usually drove for practice, and she replied by telling him that she drives her family’s truck which she likes because she can see over everything. He asked her something else about her family and that’s how I learned that her parents were separated.

We stopped for my turn. I was nervous because I didn’t want to embarrass myself in front of her. We had stopped in a parking lot alongside a service road, and the sun had completely disappeared. I needed to get on the highway, is what he told me. My first time on the highway. He began to talk to me when I started driving. There was a moment when the driver in front of us began to drive slower than us, and he made me switch lanes. We were almost there, almost back to the mall. I had gotten off the highway and was on another service road when he told me to make a right. Which right? There were two roads coming up, and he never told me which one. Just “that one”. I veered to try to get into the closest right turn, but missed it too late. I jerked the steering wheel and the car looked up with its headlights and almost hit one of the small newspaper vending machines that you usually find in front of restaurants. We ended up on the grass, and my foot would not move from the brake. I turned back to make sure that she was okay, and she was. He gave me an earful, though. Why would I make that turn? He told me to turn on “that one” not “this one”. I looked back again, and her eyes were so in shock that they wouldn’t close. I could only stop. His directions could never get to me and so he told me to switch places with him. We could feel that at least one of the tires was flat because the car wouldn’t accelerate normally. We stopped at a place where we could park, and he forced us both out. I turned back to see how she was in the back. Looking into her eyes was like looking into a window with the light behind you and the darkness on the other side so that you saw yourself more than what was on that darker side. A couple who saw what had happened came up to us to ask if we were okay. The boyfriend had tattoos, and the woman had on sunglasses even though it was dark. When we told them that we were just fine, they went to talk to the instructor. He was upset. He said that he would probably lose his job–this was his third accident allowed in a month. I felt sick for them all. I tried to meet her eyes again and mouthed the words “I’m sorry”. She stared at me, straight through me so that I couldn’t see my reflection anymore.

EOT

Gerard M. Santiago — Sat, 26 Mar 2011 01:09:29 +0000

As if there were no other I see you,
And dogs rage forward to proclaim the lark.
Tamed by tongue the phone lurks to renew
The fair spoken word that carried its spark:
Let it be known the blessings of today!
And return the star’s golden warmth with yours;
And make Time’s small gift eternally stay,
For by nature does He turn beds to shores.
But where in title meant to see and reach;
Heaven’s eye, the gloaming arrives sooner–
Not for the gleam of what man does beseech,
Nor for the weak pendulum in lunar.
Grateful should the bird be with wings to soar,
Yet consciousness dwells in debt’s shadow more.

Regimenting Down

Gerard M. Santiago — Fri, 18 Feb 2011 04:07:24 +0000

So after watching the 300 trailer (and yes, I’ve already seen the movie), I felt amped to kick my ass into gear. Because of this, I went ahead and ran about two miles after which I felt exhausted. But you know what? It felt great. With all of this in mind, this is my attempt to catch lightning in a bottle and render a schedule and diet out of it.

Weekdays
7:00 AM
Wake up and get ready for school (shower, dress, eat breakfast*)
8:00 AM
Leave for school
8:15 AM-3:25 PM
School (includes snack and lunch**)
3:25 PM-5:30 PM
Downtime and snack**
5:30 PM-6:00 PM
Dinner***
6:00-9:00 PM
Homework/studying time
9:00 PM-9:45 PM
Workout****
9:45 PM-10:30 PM
Read, get ready for bed, and then sleep

*Breakfast will consist of at least one bowl of oatmeal and if possible two eggs
**Snack will consist of fruit, nuts, or a granola bar while lunch will contain a small serving of meat, vegetables, and complex carbohydrates
***Dinner will have meat and vegetables
****Workout will vary by day:
Monday-Cardio/Circuit workout
Tuesday-Arms/Chest
Wednesday-Legs
Thursday-Stretch exercises
Friday-Cardio

Saturday
8:00 AM-9:00 AM
Get ready for omelet time
9:00 AM-9:45 AM
Omelet time
9:45 AM-11:30 AM
Workout–Arms/Chest with a snack in between
11:30 AM-12:00 PM
Lunch
12:00 PM-2:00 PM
Siesta
2:00 PM-4:00 PM
Studying/Homework with snack
4:00 PM-6:00 PM
Downtime
6:00 PM-6:30 PM
Dinner
6:30 PM-7:30 PM
Studying/Homework
7:30 PM-12:00 AM
Downtime
12:00 AM-12:30 AM
Get ready for bed, then sleep

Sunday
9:30 AM-10:00
Breakfast
10:00 AM-11:30 AM
Read with snack
11:30 AM-12:00 PM
Get ready for church
12:00 PM-1:30 PM
Church
1:30 PM-3:00 PM
Siesta
3:00 PM- 5:00 PM
Downtime with snack
5:00 PM-6:00 PM
Read
6:00 PM-7:00 PM
Dinner
7:00 PM-8:30 PM
Dinner
8:30 PM-9:30 PM
Cardio/Circuit training
9:30 PM-10:00 PM
Get ready for bed and read
10:00 PM
Sleep

Foreign Exchange Rate

Gerard M. Santiago — Tue, 01 Feb 2011 05:34:01 +0000

Sometimes I’ll catch myself thinking along the same lines as I did as a kid. I’ll always think it’s not fair, that’s only natural, and I like to think the whole thing’s less petty than it was back then. I’m just like everyone else who wants a return and gets upset when they don’t get it. Of course that doesn’t make it any better, though. You shouldn’t view everything in the first-person. They’ve probably got their reasons. She’s probably got her reasons. But not knowing is what makes you bitter. Maybe you don’t always get something in return, but it must be true that in order to get you have to give something of value up. It’s like economics. Behavioral incentive and all of that stuff.

Once I stood there waiting for her to come when mostly everyone had left. I remember things were still green then, so it was before fall which came late when it did. She was squinting because it was sunny and the soft wind blew her hair to the left. She stopped in front of me and we passed along some small talk. It was nice and I liked her company. I would try to make us better by trying to talk to her more and she always appeared to be happier for it with the exception of the times when she didn’t reply. That seemed alright but it was probably too much. You were such an idiot always looking for what you could get out of it.

Things like these remind me of how this whole concept of equality, of equivalent exchange, doesn’t exist so straight-forwardly. The world isn’t so perfect that way. But even though it doesn’t encompass all things, I know that when I see it that there is an ebb, a flow, a cycle put in place so that there is a reward for all the struggle. And anyone who is determined will get something of value in return–even if it’s not what they expected. I still choose to believe in equivalent exchange not because I think of it as a universal truth, but a personal truth that I can govern myself with.

Words

Gerard M. Santiago — Fri, 03 Dec 2010 04:21:05 +0000

No flies on me
The open road
Free market
Faintly amused
Already sunk
Skin cancer
Shredded words
Land-grabbing
Dead ends
Black hole
Packaging
Sympathy
Traffic Jam
Will call later
Jitter
Begging bowl
Misunderstanding
Cobwebs
Your humble servant
Will you please explain
Fight amongst yourselves
Not being cool
Little by little
Repossess
Vacuum
Miracle or mistake
Cul de sac
Hearse
Moshi moshi
Trouble Focussing?
Nobody visits
Nobody comes
Music is not your friend

To Whom It May Concern

Gerard M. Santiago — Fri, 03 Dec 2010 03:18:51 +0000

I give up.

Singularity

Gerard M. Santiago — Tue, 16 Nov 2010 03:54:37 +0000

I was doing my routine check across the internet, reading my favorite blogs and looking at their tweets. I had also found some short prose bits which I found to be really interesting pieces of writing on slowlydownward.com. My selfish tendencies sorted out the sentences which I felt applied most to my life, and I found myself in a discouraging state of mind. Almost everybody I know is insane. They have been concealing it with degrees of success for a long time. They are calm during explosions and I can tell that they don’t want to be. There appeared to be a flare for the melodramatic generalization. We are bringing the plague. I look down at our city. Everything looks strange and perspective doesn’t work any more. I don’t like it when I do this type of thing because it fosters cynicism and isolation. Isolation isn’t necessarily bad, but like all good things it must be taken in moderation. I had what I thought was a good idea. I was thoroughly sick of myself; I was bored, angry and irritated with the person I had become. My early years had seemed quite promising, but when I realised exactly what that promise entailed, my enthusiasm for who I was died, as if introduced to a vacuum. It’s frustrating. It’s like playing pong in your head where you control both paddles. Your tone. It says it all. I had my literary fix for a bit, then I was referred to a blog post on focus. I thought: “Well I don’t fucking have a lot of that.” A wandering mind is an unhappy one. How many times had I heard that? Never like that explicitly, but yes, implied. Simplicity! I believe in that. I’m not a very good practitioner, though. I withdrew from society, and spent many stretched and wretched hours alone. Bitter, bitter-tasting. So I thought I should place an end to it, and I attempted to drown all of it in music. I’m nothing but a selfish man; I’m nothing but a privileged peddler.

Big Boots

Gerard M. Santiago — Sat, 06 Nov 2010 04:27:53 +0000

A fitting unreleased Radiohead song for the sneering bastard staring back in the mirror. I get chills when Thom sings: “It all comes flooding back”

The End

Gerard M. Santiago — Tue, 02 Nov 2010 19:42:45 +0000

The Texas Rangers pushed the envelope of history, venturing farther into the postseason than the franchise ever had. They made it to the World Series, and I couldn’t be more proud of that fact than I am now.

Usually it’s not a good idea for me to write things after intensely emotional experiences because my thoughts aren’t always coherent and are often clouded by irrational hatred or affection. But it’s tough for me to group this post under that category. Without a doubt the Rangers are one of the things in this world I have invested a lot of emotion into, and this marathon season, from winter meetings till Game 5, have been unforgettable. I can already foresee myself years down the line reminiscing with fellow fans nostalgically exclaiming, “Do you remember that one time when Nelson Cruz hit that walk-off home run?!” It’s truly been an emotional roller coaster from the outset, and I can’t complain with the thrilling ride regardless of how it ended.

It’s really odd to be honest. This morning a lot of people approached me asking for my thoughts on what potentially could be the final game of the season. Someone asked me what I was going to do if the Rangers were to lose to which I immediately responded, “Cry.” That’s how I thought I should have felt. In all honesty, however, I had come to terms with the severely diminished chance the Rangers had of coming back in the series. The reason was clear and should be for anyone who watched Games 1, 2, and 4. The Giants’ starting rotation was superior to the Rangers’, plain and simple. In my eyes, it was obvious to me early that they were the superior team (unarguably throughout the World Series). Good pitching always beats good hitting, and anyone who would disagree can look to the Texas Rangers this year in comparison to last year as an example. I’m not saying this as a justification for pessimism, but as a justification for my understanding. And I think it’s because of this that I’m not especially angry or sad.

Thus, I can happily hang my hat on this wildly spectacular past couple of months. I can rejoice in being able to watch someone whom I truly idolize in many aspects of life, Cliff Lee, play in a Ranger uniform. I’m glad I can communicate with a fellow Rangers fan by giving a claw and antlers gesture that would otherwise make me look silly. I appreciate the walk-off victories, the heartbreaking defeats, and the so-so moments in between. I’m happy, and I can’t pout with how things have ended, in part because they haven’t actually ended but more because of how fantastic this season has been. And I’ll sit back and enjoy that until next season starts.*

[*Yes, I really did decide to be that cheesy. Don't expect it to happen again]