Compersion, Or Why Partying Outside a Club's VIP Room Isn't So Bad

In a yacht somewhere in Subic Bay

The story goes of a guy who wanted to spend the night out with some friends at a fancy club. It’s the weekend and he just wanted to let loose. So he goes to the club, gets a table, and orders drinks. He and his friends hit the packed dance floor a few times and orders more drinks. Life’s good and they’re having fun.

But later the guy notices a room on the other side of the club behind black velvet drapes and guarded by a couple of beefy bouncers. When the curtains part each time somebody walks in—usually a well-dressed gentleman surrounded by tall, modelesque women wearing glittery, low-cut dresses—he could just make out the people partying inside. They were holding up champagne flutes and even had their own celebrity DJ blasting loud party music that was different from what he was hearing in the club’s main room. It looked like everyone in the VIP room was having more fun than he was.

Evening in a beach in Bohol

Outside the historic church of Paoay in Ilocos Norte

The guy is then filled with jealousy and rage. He wants to go inside the private room and party with the beautiful people. Why does he have to stay here in the main room where everyone else is? There’s nothing special about mingling with the hoi polloi. It’s not fair, he thinks. He wants to be a VIP, too. 

But soon he realizes how irrational he was being. He was having a perfectly good time with his friends before he became aware of the private room. He had been content and happy doing exactly what he wanted to do that night, which was to drink, dance, and spend time with his friends. But he forgot all about that and became bitter and resentful just because he saw something that he thought was better than his current situation.

Loboc River in Bohol

Hanging out with Abby at my friends' farm in Cavite

I wish I could take credit for this story and tell you that I came up with it on my own. But I actually read a version of it online a few years ago, in an essay that I can’t seem to find now. I guess that just tells you how much the story has stuck with me. 

For much of my adult life I’ve wrestled with the idea of contentment versus complacency: to choose to be happy with what I have or to search for something more. And this year, for some reason, I couldn’t stop thinking about that guy in the club. 

Often I forget how incredibly lucky I am I get to live this pretty good life because I fixate on stuff that I don’t have that seems personally out of reach, on the wildly hopeful chance that whatever it is will make me happy—or, at the very least, happier. That private room behind velvet curtains could be anything: the promise of professional advancement, a romantic interest, a better car, better skin, a roomier apartment. (Not saying all of these things apply to me; I’m just citing some specific examples). 

Working on a yacht somewhere off the coast of Cebu

Happy place in Boracay

It could also just be what others have that I might want for myself. I see people my age having get-togethers in the grassy lawn of their suburban homes; I scroll past friends showing off a brand-new business or car; or posting photos of their kids that are old enough to drive or grow a mustache; or posing before a landmark in a city that I’ve always wanted to visit. Yes, sometimes, there is a split-second of why-can’t-I-have-that envy, but—and this is true—it’s always quickly replaced by genuine happiness (for the most part). Because these are people that I know, and it gives me pleasure knowing that something gives them great joy, enough for them to want to share it with the world. 

It’s a peek behind the velvet curtains into a world that, yes, might possibly elicit feelings of resentment, but that also ultimately leads to me saying, “Wow, good for them!” This feeling apparently has a word, and it’s called compersion (look it up!).

Peace and quiet in Tagaytay

A photo break while on an ATV adventure in the shadow of the Chocolate Hills in Bohol

Like the guy in the club, eventually I reach that level of self-awareness where I know I’m being petty and unreasonable, especially to myself. Choosing to be happy for someone else’s new pair of kicks, fancy lunch, trip to the beach, quiet moments with their children or parents or significant other, or yes, chance to party inside a fancy club’s private room, is easier and much simpler than wallowing in feelings of bitterness and indignation. That’s probably my biggest reckoning this year. 

Of course, those instances of jealousy at things other people have or get to experience can’t be helped sometimes. Social media is designed to highlight—and actually encourages—"winners,” which often incites covetousness and contempt, whether we admit to it or not. But what I’ve learned this year is that you just can’t spend too much time obsessing over what you don’t have, because that way leads to anger and frustration. 

Besides, while you’re looking longingly inside the VIP room, you can’t lose sight of everyone else stuck in the line outside and can’t even get inside the fancy club in the first place. The lives of the fortunate and the “blessed” might be all over social media, but we should spare a thought for the luckless and the “cursed,” which, of course doesn't get as much screen time, so to speak.

(That said, a night at the club certainly isn't everybody's idea of having a good time. Some people just want to kick back at home, fire up Netflix, and sit back on the couch with popcorn and some Coke. And that's perfectly fine, too).

Outside an old church in Pampanga

Good memories at this resort in Boracay

And so, in the end, I'm like that guy and just choose to live in the moment. It doesn’t take me long to realize that, hey, I’m partying, too. It may not be with champagne and a superstar DJ behind velvet drapes, but the important thing is that I’m with my friends, there are drinks, and there’s definitely dancing.

Moonlight over Boracay

See you next year, from Abby and me

Run and Find or Sit and Wait

First time in Boracay since 2015

The trip to Boracay finally happened a few weeks ago after months of planning and waiting. I was originally supposed to go last April with, er, someone, but certain status changes, not to mention adjustments in quarantine pronouncements, pushed it back to July. The original plan morphed into a work-from-beach situation with my friend Tanya. I also managed to convince Pedi and Arnie to come and hang out there with me for a few days. 

I’ve lost count how many times I’ve been to the island over the years. More than once I’ve said that a trip there is always a good idea. This time was different, though, for a few reasons. I was there for 10 days, which is probably the longest I’ve ever traveled anywhere here in the country (overseas trips are another matter); I was actually working for a huge chunk of the time I was there, which is only possible because of the extraordinary circumstances we’re in now; and, perhaps most importantly, I’ve come to a fairly interesting realization about why I travel relative to the reasons of other people.

Me, Tanya, Arnie, and Pedi on Puka Beach

See, to me, going to a new place has always been about enriching my own personal experiences. Specifically, a vacation to the beach like this one was always about rest and relaxation; a chance to leave the stresses of work and the city for a few days and think about little else but where to have dinner that night or what drinks to order from the bartender as you lie back on the lounge chair, plant your feet on the sand, and gaze out into the ocean.

That—or some variation of it—is probably the default response for a lot of people when asked why they go to the beach. But on this trip, as I spent it both with friends I’ve known for years and newer ones that I’ve essentially only just met, I understood that some people take these trips as an opportunity to expand their social circles, establish connections with a few people with similar motivations, and possibly consummate those relationships through physical interactions of the carnal kind. 

In short, to hook up. 

Me and Tanya hanging out at Movenpick

What's better than reading a book at the beach?

Not that there’s anything wrong with that, as Seinfeld would say. I’ve absolutely no judgments about those who choose to spend their vacation this way. In fact, if anything, I’ve started to think that maybe these people have the right idea. I realize that’s not exactly kosher these days when a deadly virus is flying around looking for a host to attach itself to, but it’s the idea at least, that’s got me thinking.

It’s not as if the thought hadn’t entered my mind, and, to go even further, not like I hadn’t dipped my toes in these waters in the past. But the point is that any attempt to go out there and hook up with someone when I travel was always a distant second to the other, more wholesome aspects of travel itself. 

Pedi, me, Tanya, and Jelo after a dip in the ocean at Station Zero

Which is perhaps why I’ve been having these thoughts now. I’ve been traveling a lot since my late 20s and maybe I should be making up for lost time. Maybe there’s nothing wrong with actively pursuing new relationships when I’m out there instead of staying passive. Maybe there’s value in looking for something else beyond the expected and the mundane when I travel. 

Alone again, naturally

On the other hand, maybe the reason I don’t do as my other friends do is that I’m just not built that way. You can run and find or you can sit and wait, but you can’t do both. And maybe I’m just more of the latter. It’s tough to force yourself to do anything if you’re just not into it. And maybe that’s okay, too. 

Anyway, Boracay was fun and I’d definitely do this kind of trip again.

Will see you again soon

Unending Quest

Sunset in San Juan, La Union

In 2005, I wrote a personal essay that got published in the Philippine Daily Inquirer’s Youngblood section. I wasn’t yet a full-time writer or editor, so it was a pretty big deal back then, seeing your name in a newspaper read by thousands of people. 

It wasn’t actually the first time I got published on Youngblood. A few years earlier, the PDI ran an essay I did about my tummy, specifically, how concerned I was about developing a pot belly like my dad's. (Who knows what was going on in the editor’s head). The internet wasn’t a thing yet, though, and I never saved a clipping of that essay, so I guess that’s lost to history.  

Thankfully, I saved this one in my old blog. For some reason I suddenly thought about it today and have decided to publish it here. It’s interesting to look back at the stuff I wrote when I was still pretty much a kid who had no clue about life, especially now that I’m a full-fledged adult who, well, probably still has no clue. 

Anyway I’m reposting it here, complete with the preface I wrote in the old blog entry, in case the old blog gets taken down (you never know with the internet when things can get wiped out of existence). 

I did some very minor edits in the original essay because, well, I’m an editor and if you can’t edit yourself, then you have no business editing other people. And I just added some photos because, well, I wanted to. Otherwise, it's pretty much the same thing that was published in PDI.

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Just the stirring in my soul

I wrote this essay more than two months ago, soon after some personal, erm, "distractions." It came out in the Youngblood section of the Philippine Daily Inquirer today. I originally entitled it "Quarter-life Crisis," but the editors changed it, apparently because that phrase has been used to death by countless souls like me determined to put a label on what we're going through.

Might as well post it here.

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Abby living her best life in Elyu

Unending Quest

Posted 00:59am (Mla time) Mar 31, 2005
By Paul John Caña
Inquirer News Service

WHO was it that said youth is wasted on the young? It's hard to disagree with him.

I turned 25 a few weeks ago and, for the life of me, I don't know what to answer if I'm asked what the biggest achievement of my life is so far. I suppose I can say that I graduated from college a couple of years earlier than most people and I now work in the news department of one of the biggest media companies in the country, and, yes, I write articles from time to time for a top music magazine. But somehow, I have never really felt that these qualify as a “huge” accomplishment. To put it another way, I can't really say I'm living my life “to the fullest,” whatever that means.

I would love to say that at this point I'm close to finding out what it is I am meant to do—and to be—for the rest of my life. But the truth is, I'm not. (Or maybe I am, but I'm not ready to acknowledge it yet and let it course through my veins.)

Whether or not they care to admit it, I believe most people my age have no idea either. Many of us wander aimlessly about in the vast wasteland after college (for those of us lucky enough to even get to college), living on our never-high-enough salaries from our never-good-enough jobs. I'm sure there is a tiny percentage of young people out there who seem to have it all: a clear understanding of their place in the world and all the material blessings needed to achieve their goals. But for the rest of us, the search for meaning and purpose continues.

In the movie Dead Poets Society, maverick English professor John Keating (played by Robin Williams) implores his students: Carpe diem. That oft-repeated phrase and cursory advice given to young people by their elders, who most likely had never been able to “seize the day” themselves and merely want to impart stock wisdom on impressionable minds, is also one of the easiest to digest and to dismiss. All too often, young people live as though they would be young forever and procrastination becomes a habit. Before we know it, our 20s have passed us by and we tell ourselves, “Hey, this isn't so bad. I could do a lot worse with my life.” Thus, the dream of finally doing what we want to do (as opposed to doing what essentially amounts to a “meantime” thing) remains just that—a dream.

The problem sometimes isn't so much our willingness to finally start living the lives we want as trying to find the balance between what is attainable and what is simply beyond our capabilities.

In the same movie, a fellow professor, quoting Tennyson, tells Keating: “Show me the heart unfettered by foolish dreams, and I'll show you a happy man.” To which Keating replies, “But it is only in their dreams can men be truly free. T'was always thus and always thus will be.”

The kind of person we are, and possibly, who and what we turn out to be, depends on which of these two concepts more closely defines our attitude toward our deepest aspirations. Realists, by nature, are confident of their own abilities and very much aware of their limitations. These people are only as ambitious as they are pragmatic and so they are rarely ever disappointed.

On the other hand, those who subscribe to the Keating school of thought are bound only by their imagination and limited only by what they dare to dream. They are undaunted by the possibility of failure and are not afraid to take on any challenge. Life is the canvas on which they can paint any picture.

Whichever way we lean, the bottom line is that we all are working toward the same goal: happiness and personal satisfaction. But it doesn't have to end there. In fact, I don't think our struggle to find happiness should ever end, even after we get whatever it is we want in life. Personal fulfillment (of whatever kind) should be an unending quest. I've never believed that “people should be satisfied with what they have.” That's like saying those who have nothing should just abandon the desire to improve their lives and simply accept their fate. Similarly, it shouldn't keep people who have achieved what may seem to be enough for others from setting new goals and continuing to work on improving themselves. Contentment should never be confused with complacency.

Balicasag Island in Bohol

At this point in my life, while I may not be 100-percent certain of what I really want to do, what my purpose in life is and what I hope to achieve, it helps to be aware of that fact rather than blindly trudging on, without giving any thought to workable objectives and visible goals. At the very least, I'm trying to iron out the kinks in my life and starting to establish closer personal relationships with the people who mean much to me. I would like to think I have learned from the mistakes of the past, but as with many others, I anticipate making more of them in the days ahead. I have also noticed that I'm becoming much more vocal about my feelings, my need to let out how I feel taking precedence over my concern over how others will react. I realize that this can be a bad thing, but hey, carpe diem, right?

Paul John Caña, 25, works as a newsdesk administrator in one of the country's top broadcast networks.

Beef Or Chicken

San Juan, La Union

The problem with being an overthinker is that, sometimes, you start second-guessing even the feelings that you’re supposed to be having given a certain situation. When you lose something or someone, the knee-jerk reaction is perhaps one of sadness, rage or self-pity, or any combination of the three. But then you start weighing your predicament against what others are experiencing and you tell yourself to be grateful that things aren’t much worse. Then of course you go back to indulging your initial emotions because, damn it, you’re allowed to feel bad, and what others are going through shouldn’t impact how you feel about what happens in your own life. And then you feel guilty again because, let’s face it, it's really not that bad and you should learn to stay positive and appreciate what you have. And on and on the cycle goes.   

Some people say the initial hours and days after a sudden and significant life event are the worst because the battle scars are still fresh, but I’d argue that it’s after a certain period of time passes—when you’re far enough removed from the event itself and start viewing the situation a bit more critically—that’s more frustrating and exhausting.   

In my case, after said episodes, it’s almost frightening how much I vacillate between giving in to surface emotions and acting like it’s NBD. One minute I keep replaying specific sequences in my head and wondering where I went wrong, then I talk myself out of it and convince myself that obsessing over things doesn’t lead anywhere. I’m like that guy who can’t decide between the beef or chicken at a restaurant and end up not being completely satisfied with whatever's served on my plate.  

I get it. There is so much suffering and strife in the world right now. People are literally dying and the incompetence of this government seems to be limitless. If you’re not hooked up to a ventilator or worrying about where your next meal is coming from, you’re already ahead of lots of other people. And that’s great. Consider yourself lucky.  

But I don’t want to brush aside other issues people are going through. It’s true that there are those who sometimes invent problems or imagine personal crises when, overall, things aren’t so bad. But there are also those who just aren’t equipped to handle difficulties the way others can. And so something that might seem especially serious to someone—like a quarrel with a co-worker, or a car breaking down, or a romantic split—can be trivial to somebody else.   

Right now, I am extremely grateful that I have a roof over my head, food on my table, and a job that I love. For a lot of people, I’ve hit the essentials trifecta. But I hope that doesn’t mean my license to experience pain and suffering has been revoked. I can still have issues, and while I might drive myself crazy while I figure things out, these emotional upheavals are significant because they’re mine and they’re happening to me.   

At least one good thing about experiencing these things at my age is that the rate of recovery seems to be much faster. In the past, I was ill-equipped to process and took longer to bounce back from personal, erm, calamities. But now it seems all it takes is a quiet weekend to get myself sorted. I guess it helps that—yet again—I can’t escape the reality that the world is facing much bigger problems right now. (Which sort of contradicts what I said one paragraph earlier, but it’s 12:47 a.m. while I’m writing this and I don’t know anymore).    

TL;DR: The pandemic is still raging, the country is a hot mess, I’m going through some personal issues, but overall, I’m fine. And I realize how incredibly lucky I am I get to say that.