Phillip Retuta's Blog

The Life and Times of a Filipino-American

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California Dreamin’

I’ll admit that the stress of work (and maybe life, in general) has led to some bad sleeping habits: I spend a lot of my nights worrying and getting only 4 to 5 hours of sleep. As a result, I can’t even recall the last time I had any sort of dream. Luckily, however, I’ve been on vacation and spending time in California with my family; I’ve been able get some proper reprieve from any and all responsibilities and having a full night’s sleep for the past week and a half. With my mind at rest, I’ve finally been able to dream again. Here’s what I’ve vividly remember:

  • Consultants completely took over the office and took each of us on one-on-one meetings. They complimented my work, and with a smile on their faces, I got laid off.
  • I became a substitute drummer for the indie artist, Phosphorescent. I don’t even know how to play drums.
  • I was a production assistant for the cooking magazine, Bon Appetit. They were filming videos for their YouTube channel, and I was tasked of running errands around their test kitchen.
  • I was approached by a refugee from the Middle East, and I helped him and his family find a home in the US.
  • I was on the subway, sitting next to a bookish office worker wearing glasses and a polo shirt. A zombie attack soon broke out in the next car over (the horde looked like bad, 90’s-Resident Evil CGI), and they were trying to enter the door to our car. I reassured the guy that it’ll be okay, and I recommended that his pen would be an adequate weapon to ward off the approaching zombie onslaught.
  • I caught a shiny Kabuto Pokemon in Pokemon Go.
  • I was watching a television show on veterinary students in the field. The chief vet doctor (do those exist?) was played by Brian Cox.
  • I was attending one of those high school pep rallies held inside an auditorium. For some reason, this high school pep rally also sat a bunch of classmates from grad school. There was a circus performance, fire breathers, and a hypnotist who’d bring participants on stage. The hypnotist needed more people, so the school administrators randomly selected me. I couldn’t recall if I was acting or was actually in a trance, but I fell asleep. The hypnotist whispered to me to play along and literally grabbed my limp body by the neck to put me on stage.

So, what kind of messed up dream logic is this?

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Nico, Always and Forever.

On Friday, April 12th, at 4:31pm, I said goodbye to my dog Nico. She’s been my best friend, my companion, my muse, and my emotional support for the past 13 years. She was with me throughout my senior year of undergrad in Central Illinois, to the suburbs of Chicago, to my time as a grad student in New York City. From the forest preserves of DuPage County to the wild rooftop parties in Brooklyn, through times of unemployment and family issues, through a girlfriend, through friends who come and go — Nico has always been by my side. Nico was my constant.

The vets from Franklin Avenue Animal Hospital were kind enough to come to my apartment on her last day; I wanted her to be euthanized in the comforts of her own home, instead of an unfamiliar veterinary clinic. They gave her two injections, and she passed away in my arms as Nico’s (the singer) “Chelsea Girl” played in the background. Her ashes and a cast of her paw print arrived on my birthday.

The last photo I took of her.

I couldn’t stand to see Nico suffer anymore: she was barely eating, she stopped greeting me at the door each day after work, and she had trouble walking or even getting up. I told myself once she couldn’t walk and/or once she stopped eating, it was time. I dreaded those signs very much, but I knew it was inevitable. Beginning in the summer of 2018 when she was first cleared of cancer, I counted every month she was alive with me as a miracle. When her cancer re-emerged and progressively got worse, I felt every week with her alive was a miracle. Since December, I’d clean and change the bandages around her tumor, spending anywhere from $200 to $300 a week on medication, painkillers, and medical supplies. I did my damnedest to keep her alive and relatively healthy and happy. Coupled with the stress at work, with money, with my brother, worrying about my beloved dog led to too many sleepless nights and bouts of depression. I was exhausted. She was in pain. She and I both knew it was the end. Deciding she had to die and setting a date when she was going to die was the hardest choice I ever had to make — next to possibly pulling the plug on a parent or something. It’s the cruelest yet most merciful act I gave to Nico, and I remember repeatedly whispering to her “I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I love you,” into her ear as the procedure was done.

Nico’s collar, leash, and bandana immediately after the vets took her away.

By the time I’m writing this, it’s been over a month since I let her go. The pain and the tears over her death have definitely subsided, but I miss her so much everyday. It’s odd to come home to an empty apartment each night, and I’ve been attempting to preoccupy myself by gardening or hanging out with friends. Still, when night rolls around and there is nothing left to do, I feel so alone and so uncreative. I figured writing again would help cope with that creative void and whatever emotions I have left with Nico’s passing, but there’s no mistake how much I miss having that companionship. I know it’s way too early to adopt another dog, and I enjoy the freedom from pet-ownership responsibility. I know I can never replace Nico herself, but a part of me wishes I could have that unconditional companion again. It’ll take time to readjust and fill that void — both the loss of Nico and the creative endeavors she inspired — but I still have the good memories of her: the walks to the dog park on beautiful afternoons, the way she’d stick her head out the window on car rides, the time she ate an entire pizza from the countertop when I went downstairs to get the mail. Those memories will outlast the painful ones leading up to her death.

Nico lived her life for me (and I for her). Her existence was meant to please her owner, to make me happy. As sad as I am about her death, how can I betray her fundamental intentions as a dog if she were alive to see me today? I can’t wallow in it, but I’ll fucking miss her everyday for the rest of my life.

Her memorial on my wall.

So if you’re reading this and you have a special pet in your life, remember to always love and spoil them. Hug and cuddle with them each day. Take stupid pictures and videos. Never be vicious. Never abandon them. Show them the unconditional love they show you each moment they come to the door, because one day — since time and health are so cruel and absolute — they won’t.

Always and forever, Nico.

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Finding Balance and Creativity While Being Alone.

I think I’m beginning to find a sense of balance in my life. Ever since moving into the new place and settling down, I’ve found that I’ve appropriately managed my time between work, my personal well-being, and my social life. When you’re on your own and living by yourself, you don’t have to worry about cleaning after yourself or roommates and can easily ignore a call or text from a friend or family member. You can sit in absolute silence, blast Broken Social Scene on your speakers, or constantly watch The Simpsons without any concern that your preferences or actions or words have any consequence to someone else. The space (both physical space and personal space) is entirely yours, and your use of your time is unrestricted. You can eat when you want to eat, wash the dishes whenever (but it also helps to have a dishwasher), and you can clean whenever you damn well please — midnight, a few minutes after dinner, only on weekends, never? Anytime! It’s up to me!

After the move, I’ve found myself working on my personal projects a lot more — writing in this blog, for instance, or improving my photography skills. Sure, I’m living a solitary life of routine by going to work, coming home, sleeping and then going back to work, but I’ve managed to squeeze in a few hours each day devoted to a creative project: cook something new, storyboard a short video, read a book. As one of those fucking creative types, when you’re alone and there’s no one to talk to (yes, there’s my dog, but she doesn’t speak English), you find yourself focusing on an activity. You’re not distracted by anything or anyone, and on my endless quest for self-improvement, I always want to make something new. This time, however, I can do it anywhere or at anytime; I have a large enough space in my new apartment to set up a photo shoot. I don’t have to worry about interrupting a tennis game on TV while I record a video. I can smoke up the entire apartment with bacon — freedom like that.

Believe me, I enjoy the company of roommates — especially my last ones with Brian and Morgan — but if there’s one thing I cherish more, it’s me-time. It’s being alone. It’s that moment of selfishness of being who you are — all your follies, eccentricities, talents, and desires — out in the open without worry or hesitation. I lived my entire life under the expectations of other people, but as a functioning, independent adult with a sense of creativity I need that me-time.

I remember my senior year of undergrad, where I was finally living by myself in Urbana-Champaign. I solely concentrated on my studies, and I managed to return onto the Dean’s List after my grades faltered my sophomore year. I pulled myself out of the dark place I was at — even when I was constantly surrounded by friends and family — and graduated with honors all by myself. No distractions, no drinking at weird house parties, no family member nagging me.

Now, at 34, I got a good job, a good dog, and a desire to produce visuals. Yes, I’m alone now, but I finally think I’m happy with the direction of my life is heading towards. It feels balanced.

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Liz and Carolina’s Wedding.

Yesterday was the official wedding of my friends, Liz and Carolina. They’ve been together long before I met them in 2011, and I wondered when the hell they were going to get married. And they’ve been through a lot: the launching of their respective art careers, the terrace barbecues at Gino and Monica’s, the sudden loss of Carolina’s son, and even the opening of their very own gallery in Bushwick. Those two were destined to be together through thick and thin.

The wedding itself was ideal: a ceremony outside, a procession accompanied by an a cappella version of The Chemical Brothers’ “Snow,” Carolina’s daughter Acacia singing Bruno Mars during their vows, personalized crystals and artwork to each guest, no seating arrangements (a perk to having to be forced to sit with people you don’t know, and a perk to any couple not worrying about grouping their guests), and a taco buffet catered by Dos Toros — Liz and Carolina’s nuptials was something that I’d only to aspire to imitate. Seriously, there was so much heart and carefree-ness to the entire affair, their wedding was one of the best weddings I’ve been to. It was a fucking party.

And now for the photos:

Congrats Liz and Lina!