the freak is gone

something terrible has happened!!! oh no!!!

2010-01-04T04:00:00.001+08:00

just kidding.

i'm over here now.

_

do people ever change?

2010-01-01T17:05:00.000+08:00

They say despite our best efforts, we are doomed to repeat the same mistakes our fathers did. It’s crazy how I shudder at this thought. It’s New Year’s Day, a holiday most people spend with their families and yet here I am, alone in a café with my laptop and a Caramel Americano for company.

It started simply enough. My sister is home from Japan for the holidays and for weeks, we’ve been playing house ala Hallmark channel. There are several big elephants in the room, each one brighter and bigger than the last but no one wants to talk about them. No one ever wants to talk about them.

“Paalis na rin naman ate mo. Hayaan mo na,” my mom said just as I was about to leave. You see my sister and I don’t really get along that well but while I am a master of hiding this fact, my father is a completely different story. He’s been quiet since the day he picked her up at the airport.

My parents don’t really approve of my sister’s boyfriend. You could say it’s because he’s not very well educated. You could say it’s because he isn’t very well off and has a dead end job. You could blame it on five million different reasons but the truth is, my parents do not approve of him because of one simple reason- my father thinks my sister’s boyfriend is a pervert.

For the longest time, my sister kept him from my parents. I suppose at the back of her head, she knew what they would say. She knew that that man could never support her but what could she do? Love is anything but rational. For many months, she lied repetitively to my parents- a project here, a late night dinner there. Anything to spend a little time with him. She did it really well until she let her conscience get in the way. While I have no problems about lying to my parents, my sister does. She felt guilty that she was deceiving them and figured it had to end soon.

She arranged to meet with her boyfriend with the intention of breaking up with him. From Las Piñas, he commuted all the way to Mandaluyong not knowing that he was about to get his heart broken. My sister had been crying in her room all day. She did not want to say goodbye but the Christian in her told her that she had to. When her boyfriend arrived, the maid escorted him to my sister’s room. He was dizzy from the long commute and decided to sit on the bed for a little bit. That was their first mistake. My father was clear that visitors could only stay in the living room. I suppose because of the circumstances, my sister wasn’t really thinking straight.

“I can’t do this anymore. I can’t keep lying to my parents,” she began. “You know I love you but if that means I have to break a commandment, I just can’t do it anymore.” She was crying at this point and her boyfriend, realizing he went all that way to get his heart broken, began crying too.

When you’re young, you don’t realize how your actions affect other people. My sister soon realized this. I suppose she expected he would take it maturely but her boyfriend was practically inconsolable. Just as things went from bad to worse, my sister had a bright idea.

“Let’s pray,” she offered. “Let’s offer our relationship to God. He’ll tell us what to do.” Despite their differences in religion, her boyfriend agreed. Isn’t it funny how many things we agree to when love is challenged? With eyes closed, they began to pray- my sister, knees bent beside the bed and her boyfriend lying face up. It was very sweet and heartbreaking. How unfortunate that my father just happened to arrive.

He saw red. It didn’t matter that my sister’s boyfriend was on the bed because he was tired or that my sister was on her knees because they were praying. It didn’t matter that they were breaking up anyway. My father saw what he saw- a strange man on my sister’s bed and my sister on her knees with tears in her eyes. He nearly exploded with the millions of sexual positions he imagined to explain their circumstances. He nearly killed my sister’s boyfriend that day and within weeks, passport in hand, my sister was sent to a different country.

That’s how we deal with things in our house. If you can’t deal with it, send it away. As for my sister and her boyfriend, the shared trauma and the miles apart only strengthened their relationship. And though they were about to break up that fateful day, they are still together as I write this. With my sister coming home for the holidays, I actually thought my father had forgiven her and her imagined transgressions. I actually thought he could change.

As Shirley Templo* once said, you can’t teach an old dog some tricks. Apparently, my father is a better actor than I gave him credit for. He is a dormant volcano disguised as a mountain. This morning, my sister asked permission to leave the house. I don’t know why she did that. Most of us just leave but she wanted to do it properly. A firm believer in the concept of desensitization, she wanted him to know that she was going to spend the day with her boyfriend. At first, my father was quiet but just as my sister was about to leave, he released a litany of words that would put most rappers to shame. My father did not talk about the big elephant in the room. He just took a shotgun and blew it to pieces.

Elephant debris lay splattered in the house. It painted the curtains red and left the newly reupholstered sofa bloody. I got my things and was out the door posthaste. I figured I didn’t really want to pick up the pieces of their emotional a-bomb. I have my own shit to deal with and all this drama just wasn’t for me. Now that I have time to think though, I just can’t help but wonder- are we really capable of change? I really thought my father had forgiven my sister. I thought that in a few years’ time, we would all be one big happy family. I was wrong. Will my father ever forgive my sister’s boyfriend? Probably not. Will he ever forgive my sister? I really don’t know. It’s just ironic that on the day that the whole world is filled to the brim with the exciting prospect of change, my father showed me that no one ever changes. Most of us just pretend.

On the day that my father will learn of my transgressions, I wonder what fate awaits me. Right now, he sees me as the quiet, obedient son. When he learns I am anything but his idea of me, I don’t really know what will happen. I suppose I should take a hint from my sister and begin praying now. Lord, help my father understand what took me years to accept. Lord, help my father change.

	Pink Family Portrait M!ssundaztood

changing

2009-12-26T22:01:00.000+08:00

In a few days, the whole world will say goodbye to 2009. I don’t know about you but whenever the year ends, I drown in feelings of helplessness- especially if it’s been a good year like this one. 2008 was a pretty boring year for me, full of unfulfilled plans and failed attempts at flight. I knew I had to start 2009 with a different approach. This time last year, I sat down to write my New Year’s Resolutions. They had to be big, yes, but they also had to be manageable.

What is it about New Year’s Day that gives such hope to folks like us? It’s like with a pen and paper, you can wash away all the errors of the past 365 days. There is a massive hope for change for everyone. Problem is, change doesn’t really come easy for me. I’m quite the creature of habit, you see. In restaurants, I favor tried and tested dishes over the exciting and new. My hair has been revolving around two or three styles ever since high school and I still dress the same way I did two years ago.

It usually takes something huge for me to change and with 2008, it was a huge lot of nothing. It’s like my whole life stagnated that year and so I knew I had to shake things up for 2009. Last year, I set out to do a couple of things: expand my horizons, improve in my career, be stronger in faith and fall in love.

I met a ton of bloggers this year. If that’s not expanding my horizons, I don’t know what is. I’m usually very picky about who I let into my life but I must say everyone’s been really nice. I met people who made me feel like I was part of something. I met people who inspired me to take my writing to different heights. I met people who taught me valuable life lessons. Some people challenged me to use my head. Others challenged me to use my heart. This online universe we live in and the bloggers that I’ve met will always hold a special place in my heart.

Career wise, I’m still where I was a year ago. The only difference is I feel like the experiences I’ve had this year have made me stronger and wiser. As a facilitator, I am much more confident in what I do and say. I no longer let small things like office gossip or disagreements get in the way of my work. I’ve learned to develop a special bond with the people I train, some I’ve even come to call my closest friends. They too have carved a special place in my heart.

Of all the lessons and epiphanies I’ve had this year (and if you read this blog regularly, you would know that I am a sucker for lessons and epiphanies), I find my year-ender to be the most important- he who stops changing has stopped learning. All in all, this year has been very good to me. I feel very blessed that for once, everything is in its rightful place. There were many tears this year but there were also many, many laughs. And while change doesn’t really come easy for me, I know that I must go through it. It shows that I am still human. It shows that I am capable of learning.

I almost feel a little sad that the year’s about to end but there’s also a huge part of me that is very excited for 2010. I have many more things to accomplish next year and because of the lessons I picked up along the way, I know that whatever comes my way, I’ll be just fine.

As I am writing this, dawn is breaking and the sun is starting to warm the metropolis and its residents. I almost forgot one of the biggest changes I’ve made this year. I open the door and the room is freezing. I undress and crawl back into bed. Suddenly, your warmth is all I feel. I snuggle into a hole within your being. Thank you for crashing my walls. Thank you for sticking around. I know that the little victories I had this year would mean nothing if you weren’t there for me at the end of each day. You once asked me how much I love you and I told you I couldn’t give you an answer. All I know is more than anything and anyone, you have the biggest place in my heart.

	Jennifer Hudson I Am Changing Dreamgirls: Music From The Motion Picture

interlude: between the sheets

2009-12-17T18:45:00.000+08:00

there is nothing
but the sound of your voice
the scent of your skin
the warmth of your body
calling me home

i ball up like a cat
and pull up the sheets
wishing i could hold
those seconds in my hand

that's the thing about borrowing time*
you never know when you need to give it back

Original Photo Credit: Champ Inside

	Glee Cast Alone ft. Kristin Chenoweth Glee: The Music, Volume 1

on borrowed memories and expectations

2009-12-07T03:44:00.000+08:00

I woke up and I didn’t know what time it was. My first impulse was to reach for my phone under my pillow but it wasn’t there. That was when I realized I was in a different bed. I got up and looked around. Everything was bathed in light. The windows were open as the wind played hide and seek with the curtains. It was so beautiful. There weren’t any shadows where secrets or doubts could hide.

The bed shook a little and I realized I wasn’t alone. I turned around and the sight of you took my breath away. The sun shone on your face and your bare chest. Although you were asleep, I could’ve sworn you were smiling. I sat beside you and I kissed your cheek. Good morning.

Good things never last. Like an overexposed photograph, the room started to fade away. Everything was engulfed in a sea of white. I tried to hold on to you, to us and to everything we had in that room but I couldn’t. Suddenly, I was awake in my own bed in my own room. I became aware- a little too aware of my consciousness. In comparison, I felt like I had just lost everything. It pained me to know that you were not beside me.

The dream was a moment borrowed from a future memory- one that holds no certainty, I know. I closed my eyes again hoping that the dream would come back but it didn’t. And though I tried to keep them at bay, just like that an expectation is born.

	Plain White T's Hey There Delilah All That We Needed

trial and error

2009-11-29T20:00:00.000+08:00

Once upon a time, I was pretty good in Math. I studied in a Chinese school and my Math teacher taught us so many tricks. By the time I transitioned to a new school, I was way ahead of my classmates. I loved how you could solve any problem with a little bit of common sense and just a pinch of elbow grease. It felt good to know that all problems have a clear solution. For the first few years, I got pretty high marks in Math.

And then came the concept of factoring. Hate is such a strong word and I don’t really use it that often but I can honestly say with the utmost conviction that I hate factoring. I still remember that day we first discussed it. My teacher gave us rules and examples but at the end of the day, it all boiled down to a concept that I could not grasp- trial and error. Math is all about logic. If you willingly risk making a mistake to find an answer, that’s not being logical at all. There should be no room for errors, I remarked and this new concept was shaking my very ideals to the core.

I flunked many a test in factoring and that year spelled the end of my love story with Math. In high school, I cheated my way through Algebra and Calculus. In college, I had to retake Trigonometry in a different college just to pass. I no longer wanted to study Math knowing that there are some problems that could only be solved by trial and error. They say all the failures in your life happen for a purpose. Last night, I realized why I flunked factoring.

I was out with friends two hours after my new love* ended. I needed the distraction. I was quiet the whole time and they kept asking me about it but I didn’t say anything. I didn’t really feel like talking about it. Being the youngest, my friends are a little over-protective of me and I didn’t want to think about anything at that time except recuperating from my loss. When alcohol had lent us its strength a few hours later, they pushed me into talking and I managed to finish the story without a single tear. I was pretty proud of myself.

But then they started discussing it and one of my closest friends said that I “allowed the situation to happen.” She meant well. She always does but at that exact moment, all my fake strength evaporated. In a moment worthy of Maalala Mo Kaya cameras, I delivered my first emotional line of the night.

“So are you saying that it’s my fault I’m in this shit? Honestly, I just gave this whole thing a chance. You wouldn’t understand because you’ve never allowed yourself to fall in love,” I said (with matching tears). It was part defense, part offense. She pushed my buttons and I knew just which ones to push if I wanted to cross her. By then, our voices were raised and the people in the other tables were starting to stare. Our other friends, split by the conflicting points, could not do anything but try to calm us both down. I stood up and went to the restroom. People can be so irrational when they’re emotional.

She was quiet after that. When I came back from the restroom, I noticed she was stifling tears. Damn, I felt so guilty when I saw that. I cannot stand seeing women crying and knowing that I made a really good friend cry made me feel like such an asshole. I knew that words would not be enough so instead of going back to my seat, I went over to hers and gave her a really big hug.

“I’m sorry,” I whispered in between sobs. “I’m just very emotional right now.” She flinched. It was one of our most awkward hugs.

“I just don’t understand why you allow things like that to happen to you. You saw it coming. You told me all about it. I’m not the type of friend who would hold your hand and tell you everything’s gonna be alright. I’m sorry, I’m just not. You saw it coming but you didn’t do anything to stop it.”

“No, I didn’t but you can’t blame me for that. That’s what you do when you love someone. You exhaust all options because it’s worth it. But I have my limits too. Would it help if I told you I ended it?”

She looked at me and said nothing but in her eyes, I could hear what she wanted to say. You’re stronger now. I’m glad you used your head this time*.

“Everyone says I’m jaded. Everyone says I don’t allow myself to love but how can I knowing that it could really get hurt?” she explained. “You’re one of the smartest people I know and yet you’re so stupid when it comes to love. You keep allowing these things to happen to you. I just don’t understand.”

I told her my factoring story. At first, she looked at me like I was crazy to bring up such an inane topic in a moment of high emotional stress but when I got to my point, I felt like for the first time that night, we finally saw eye to eye.

“In math and life, the hardest problems can only be solved by trial and error. You think I was being stupid for allowing my heart to get stepped on again and again and again. What you’re not seeing is I learned so many things along the way. Yes, I’ve made a lot of stupid mistakes but they will all be worth it once I find that person- the one who loves me to death and never fails to let me know every single day. The one who can be proud of me and would never hide me behind walls of secrets*. Don’t you think that’s worth it?”

“I just don’t like seeing you get hurt,” she explained. “I know I have a weird way of showing it but you know I love you, right?”

“I know. I know. That’s why you should probably know this: I have a lot of mistakes to make before I find that person. There will be times when I will feel down and I need to know I can count on friends like you to be there for me.” We hugged and that was that. Good lovers are easy to find but I would trade a shitload of them for one really good friend.

Trial and error: an abomination to logic but if you think about it, when has love ever become logical?

Photo Credit: BCMath

	Alicia Keys Doesn't Mean Anything The Element of Freedom

secrets

2009-11-24T04:41:00.000+08:00

Do you know why secrets itch? It’s because it stings to be kept in the dark. They struggle in the darkness like a drunken man sneaking in at 4AM- fumbling through furniture for the light switch while trying to keep silent.

One of my earliest memories of secrets was with my father. Growing up, I saw him as a very mysterious and strict man. He had many rules for us. We could only play from 4 to 6. By 7, we should be bathed and ready for supper. We could never leave a speck of food on our plates. If we broke any of these rules, we would surely get the bitter end of his black leather belt.

Of all my father’s rules, the strictest was bedtime at 9 o’clock. This story is about the time I broke that particular rule. It was the night that I had a little too much soda and the caffeine just wouldn’t let me sleep. I snuck out of my bedroom and went to the living room to play video games. At around midnight, my father opened the door and found me on the couch wide-awake. He totally wigged out. I got the beating of my life and was sent to bed wounded and in tears.

You’d think that that would keep me from staying up but I was a pretty curious kid. I wanted to know why my father was awake. I could see from the little space beneath my bedroom door that the dining room light was still on. I opened the door a little and I could see my dad. I wondered what he was doing.

Upon closer inspection, I saw that he was swinging his hips. Was he dancing? What was he dancing? I had questions. So many questions. Why was he dancing? Was he joining a contest? Was my father a good dancer? I wanted to know. Dammit, I really wanted to know. When the curiosity was so intense I felt it would overflow, I mustered up enough courage to open the door.

It was then that I discovered my father’s secret. He wasn’t dancing the flamenco or the tango. He was practicing his golf swing.

There are some things you should know about my father. He grew up in a farm; the youngest of a large, primarily male family. Although the land was theirs, it seems there was never enough of anything for his entire family. Like most parents, he wanted his children to have the life he never had. He left the province to work in the big city and swore he would never return. He found a woman with a similar view to raise a family with. Together, they worked hard to raise my sisters and me. They’ve kept their promises. Growing up, we always had enough of the basics: food, clothing, shelter and love. (A little too much love if you ask me. We were a little socially retarded from the lack of interaction with people outside the family.)

Now because my father had spent most of his life making semi-riches out of rags, he did not have the same interests or skill sets as the men his age. To put it simply, he couldn’t afford any hobbies. I suddenly recalled a conversation he had with my mother when we were driving to church. A friend had invited my father to play golf in some posh country club. He tried to play it down, adding a scoff here and a few off-topic remarks there but I could still tell that he wanted to go. My mom told him to turn the offer down. We were barely getting by and a sport like golf would cost a lot of money. “Stick to what you know,” she told him and that was the end of that- or so we thought.

Suddenly, it all made sense- the weekend “meetings”, the late night practices. No wonder he was so cross when he caught me playing Mario! I interrupted his private tee time. He was trying to catch up with men who grew up affluently- who were able to master golf at an early age. My father didn’t have that same privilege and if he wanted to play with them, he had a lot of catching up to do.

I carried my father’s secret. I understood his reasons. That night, I saw my father’s human side- the one he hides from the family he kills himself for. Who was I to deny him of this outlet? Undetected, I went back to my room and never told a soul.

What would my father do if he learned my secrets? Sometimes, I imagine life would be better if nothing was kept in the dark. Although I keep most of them for our mutual protection, there are moments (like right now) where I wonder if he would accept me, his only son, for who I really am. I suppose some secrets are darker than others. The only similarity is that they are all in the dark. I understood you, father. Will you understand me? I saw your reasons and I loved you for them. Do you think you could find it in your heart to accept mine?

In saner moments, I realize that such questions are pointless. Some riddles don’t have answers. I have learned to never question. There are things you just accept.

Photo Credit: MHA

	Jewel Daddy Pieces of You

memory

2009-11-21T03:31:00.000+08:00

I grew up in a house full of music. Both my parents were such lovers of music, it was impossible to live a day without it. My mom loves Nat King Cole, The Platters and Matt Monroe. My dad loves ABBA, Simon & Garfunkel and of course, The Beatles. Growing up, there was no such thing as ‘good music’ or ‘bad music.’ Everything was just ‘music’ and it was so effing fantastic, I couldn’t get enough.

I remember this one time, I was about 5 or 6 years old and I had recently discovered my dad’s Peter, Paul & Mary tapes. I was listening to Reunion and there was a track there called The Unicorn Song. At that age, I spent most of my time alone with my imaginary friends so I could really relate. The man was singing about a unicorn who was his imaginary friend. Together, they would sing, dance and gallop or whatever it is children do with unicorns. I could totally relate to the song. I mastered the lyrics and the melody by listening to it again and again and again. I would play it and when the song was done, I would press rewind and play it again. I must’ve been listening to it for a good two hours when my sister (who was studying in the next room) decided to intervene.

She was very cross. Apparently, greatness is relative. She did not share the same view on the song. She took the tape out of the multiplex and stepped on it with her large Keroppi slipper. It took several stomps from her big, stubby foot before she was able to smash the cassette into pieces. By then I was wailing and screaming and begging her to stop but she continued anyway. After a few more seconds, she declared the intervention a success and went back to her algebra book.

I was as shattered as the cassette. If I were to send a letter to Maalaala Mo Kaya, that moment would probably be in the first 15 minutes. I felt like together with the record, my sister had ruined my dreams of finding my unicorn and in turn, my happiness.

I sort of got over it. I moved on as children often do but for the rest of my waking life, I had a yearning to hear that song one more time. During the hey day of Napster, it was one of my first searches. Alas! I couldn’t find a copy. I tried to find it in YouTube but all I could find were covers. I didn’t want to settle for a remake. I needed the same version I fell in love with. I tried searching for it in torrents but it seems my dear unicorn was not popular enough to be immortalized in seeds.

Years later (or a few weeks ago), I came across a forum about the Reunion album. There, someone posted a link to The Unicorn Song. I felt like a huge cloud had been lifted. It seems my unicorn and I were to be reunited after all! I clicked the link post-haste but to my dismay, it was no longer available.

After tracking, borderline stalking the poster, I finally found her email address. I politely told her my story and asked for the link again. She replied in a nice email with the song attached. I felt like I had just won the lottery.

So a few days ago, I finally got to listen to The Unicorn Song again. I uploaded it to my iPod and after updating the album art and lyrics, I prepared myself for the journey of rediscovery. I locked the door, put on my earphones and pressed play.

As the opening chords played, I felt I was six again. I smiled and let the music fill the room.

♫ When I was growing up my best friend was a unicorn. The others smiled at me and called me “crazy.” ♫

“Hmmm… this song is… different.”

♫ But I was not upset by knowing I did not conform. I always thought their seeing must be hazy. ♫

“It’s very… err… strange.”

♫ The unicorn and I would while away the hours. Playing, dancing and romancing in the wild flowers… ♫

“It’s not how I remember it.”

♫ …and we'd sing ‘Seeing is believing in the things you see. Loving is believing in the ones you love.’” ♫

“Fuck. These people were totally high when they wrote this song.”

I stopped the song and tried to process the situation. I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. I felt like all those years of searching and waiting were in vain. Why wasn’t it as good as the song I had in my memory?

Memories are funny things. With them, every strength is magnified and every flaw is forgotten. The song was not as good because I was young when I first heard it. It was before I had any grasp of good and bad. The song was indeed terrible and my sister had good reason to smash the cassette tape but back then, I didn’t really know what ‘terrible’ was. All those years of searching led up to that moment when I would be reunited with my precious song. It was the build-up of the decade. If you think about it, it almost seems like I was setting the song up for failure. It was then that I learned this simple truth: things are almost always perfect in our memory.

Memory is like the lover who leaves too soon- the one who got away. We always remember the good times. We always blame ourselves for not being able to hold on to them. But given a chance to reconnect with them, the situation is often lackluster and embarrassing. You start to remember more bad times than good. You remember more pain than pleasure. The things you argued about suddenly come to mind. You recall the strange memories that managed to keep itself hidden.

Memory is a traitor. To paraphrase (500) Days of Summer, next time you look back, you should look again. Time keeps moving, with or without you and there’s a special place in hell for people who look behind them as they speed through life.

Or maybe I’m just drunk. Haha

Photo Credit: Diana Peterfreund

	Peter, Paul & Mary The Unicorn Song Reunion

Layout#6. A few nights ago, I was playing with my template when I accidentally ruined it. I had to create a new one and I’m kinda glad I did. Although I miss my orange template, I believe it served its purpose well. I hope you guys like it as much as I enjoyed making it.

Banner Photo Credit: pbo31
True Type Font: gnuolane

interlude: love

2009-11-18T03:19:00.000+08:00

It is clear that I must find my other half. But is it a he or a she? What does this person look like? Identical to me or somehow complementary? Does my other half have what I don't? Did he get the looks? The luck? The love? Were we really separated forcibly or did he just run off with the good stuff? Or did I? Will this person embarrass me? What about sex? Is that how we put ourselves back together again? Or can two people actually become one again?

[Hedwig, Hedwig and the Angry Inch]

	John Cameron Mitchell The Origin of Love ► Hedwig and the Angry Inch: Original Motion Picture Soundtrack

mamatay ka na epes

2009-11-09T02:24:00.000+08:00

You gain strength, courage, and confidence by every experience in which you really stop to look fear in the face. You must do the thing which you think you cannot do.
- Eleanor Roosevelt

Nag-lakad akong gume-gewang gewang pauwi. Siguro kung nakita mo ko nun, iisipin mong lasing ako o di kaya eh inaantok. Pero gising na gising ako nun. Sa totoo lang, daig ko pa nag-tatlong Venti na Americano sa Starbucks. Bakit kamo ako gising na gising? At bakit ako gume-gewang gewang? Namimilipit ang lolo mo sa sakit. Sa edad kong ito, akalain mong nakuha ko pang madapa? Pakiramdam ko, bata ako ulit. Gusto ko sanang tumakbo pauwi pero nahiya naman ako. Gusto ko rin sanang umiyak sa nanay ko pero tulog na siya. At oo nga pala, bente-tres na ako.

Takot ako sa ipis. Ay wait, mali yan. Takot na takot as in p*tang ina takot ako sa ipis. Sabihin mo nang duwag ako o di kaya eh lalampa-lampa pero basta ipis na ang pinag-uusapan, kinikilabutan talaga ako. Dito magsisimula ang aking kwento. May oras ka ba? Kwento ko ha.

Pauwi na ako sana. Bumili lang ako ng maiinom sa 7-11. Habang naglalakad pauwi, napansin kong may lumilipad-lipad sa kalsada. Akala ko nung una eh paru-paro lang pero nang talasan ko ang mata ko, flying ipis pala. Eeeggh… Kinikilabutan parin ako ngayon pag naaalala ko.

Tumingin ako sa paligid ko. Walang ibang tao. Takbuhin ko na kaya? Pwede ko rin naman siyang iwasan kaso ang layo ng iikutan ko. Yung bang tipong iikot ako mula MOA hanggang Trinoma para lang makaiwas sa bwakananginang ipis na yan. Sabi ko sa sarili ko, Sige. Kaya natin to. Ipis lang yan. Ang laki-laki mo kumpara diyan. So ‘yun. Nagpaka-brave ako. Nung una, mabagal lang lakad ko. Naisip ko kasi na kung tumakbo ako, baka ma-excite si Kuya Ipis at maki-fun run sa akin. Kaso nung nakita ko na siya ng malapitan, napansin kong kumikinang-kinang yung pakpak niya sa ilaw ng buwan. Para akong binuhusan ng malamig na tubig bago nagbabad sa aircon. Binilisan ko na ang lakad ko.

Kaso, may surprise guest pa pala. May kapatid ang Kuya Ipis mo. Sa peripheral vision ko, nakita ko lumilipad si ipis #2 a.k.a. Ate Ipis papunta sakin. Tumakbo na ako! Medyo mababa nga takbo ko kasi feeling ko may malaking bulls eye lang yung ulo ko at dun trip lumanding ni ate. Si kuya naman, andun lang sa baba. Steady lang, parang inaantay na ako pa lumapit sa kanya. Di na ako nag-dalawang isip. Aaaaahhh!!! Takbo!!!

5’8” ako. Nasa 140 lbs narin siguro ang timbang ko. In short, di ako magaan. Sa baba at bilis ng takbo ko, di kinaya ng katawan ko. Umiral ang gravity. Ayun, sumemplang ako. Lumipad yung iced tea ko sa kahabaan ng Buendia. Pakiramdam ko, slow-mo lang lahat ng nangyayari. Si ate di-dive sakin. Si kuya nakangiti, nag-aantay. Ako naman parang dine-demolish na building. Kahit yung audio naka slow-mo. Noooooooooo!!! Pang-pelikula!

Sumalampak ako sa semento. Huli na ang lahat nang ma-realize kong ang dami kong sugat. Ang laki-laki ng galos ko sa kaliwang braso! Dahan-dahan akong bumangon, sabay sigaw ng fuuuuuck!!! (para maangas at sosyal parin!)

‘Yun na nga yung point na gusto kong magtata-takbo pauwi kay mama. Layo pa ng bahay nun pero tiniis ko. Pinagtitinginan ako ng mga tao kasi una, ang dumi ko. Pangalawa, duguan ako. Pangatlo, nangingilid yung luha ko. Siguro kung nakita mo ko nun, naawa ka sakin sabay bigay ng isang magabagdamdaming hug.

Pag-uwi ko, diretso ako sa banyo at nag-bonding kami nina Kuya Safeguard at Ate Betadine. Ang hapdi parin niya. Nagtutubig-tubig nga yung pinakamalaking galos ko eh. Aguuuuuy lagiiiii!!!

Sabi mo siguro, ano naman ngayon kung nadapa ka? Ikagaganda ko ba yan? Ikaliligaya ba yan ng madlang people? Wait lang. May point ‘to.

Na-realize ko ang stupid lang nung nangyari. Oo, nakaiwas nga ako sa ipis pero mukha naman akong inupakan. Buti kamo naiwas ko mukha ko. At least yung mga sugat ko ngayon, matatago ko naman sa damit ko. Eh kung may malaking galos ako sa mukha? Ang hirap nun ipaliwanag na di ako nagmu-mukhang engeng.

Minsan kasi, sa kagustuhan nating umiwas sa maliliit na problema, lumalaki sila lalo. Sana nung bata ako, sinanay ko na sarili ko sa ipis. Ngayon tuloy, ang tanda tanda ko na, takot parin ako sa kanila. Kung di mo malusutan yung problema mo (tulad ng di ko ma-get over ang fear ko sa ipis) edi humanap ka ng ibang paraan. Kahit mas mahirap. Kahit mas nakakapagod. Kung nag-long cut nalang sana ako edi sana di ako sugatan ngayon. Ang problema naman, di nawawala eh. Kung di mo kaya maging matapang, edi subukan mo nalang maging listo.

Ayun lang. Yun lang naman ang gusto ko sabihin. O sige na, tama na ‘to. Magbo-bonding pa kami ni Ate Betadine. Tandaan, mga bata! Pag may problema, wag umiwas! Wag din mag-shortcut! Sige ka, baka madapa ka.

	Fergie Clumsy The Dutchess

change of address

2009-11-07T04:46:00.000+08:00

or: of moving out and moving on

I got the shock of my life last Saturday. It was a little past 2PM when I finally decided to get out of bed. When I went downstairs to look for food, I saw that our entire first floor was missing. My first impulse was to shout MAGNANAKAAAAAW!!! at the top of my lungs but then I remembered that Saturday was moving day and there was no reason to cause a scene.

By 4 o’clock, I was well involved in the moving process. My first task: to ensure that my old room looked just like my new room. Problem is, while the two rooms had some similarities, there were a lot of differences you couldn’t ignore. One side of the wall was bigger. I tried to fit in my dresser, bed and a set of drawers in one side of the room. It wouldn’t fit. Hmmm… It fit so perfectly in the old room. With just a little stretch, I could get whatever I needed. I tried physics, brute force and whatnot but they wouldn’t fit. I didn’t know what to do. Something had to be done but I didn’t want to let go of the layout I had in my mind either- the layout from my last room.

First step was to accept that things had to change. I whipped out a pen and paper and started to sketch. It was hard at first (I did it Sims style) but after a few more moments of trial and error, I was able to find a suitable location for everything. Tired from moving furniture, I sat down on the floor and admired my work. Not bad. It actually looks better than my last room. With that, I breathed a sigh of relief and updated the score: New house – 1; Old house – 0.

New love. It’s funny how it feels just like moving. We may try to recreate moments we had with out past lovers. We want our moments with them to be just as happy as the moments with our exes (at least the ones that didn't involve violence, betrayal or tears). We ignore the fact that apart from loving us, these people often have nothing in common. No one loves the same way twice and once I accepted that, I was able to find a way for everything to fit.

By 10 o’clock, we were almost finished. The last of the boxes had been unpacked and we were slowly trying to piece the house together. I decided to take a little break and wash up. The new bathroom looked pretty harmless until I realized the sink was a little too small. When I sat down on the toilet, my hips (which don’t lie*) barely fit. Ang liit naman ng mga lintik na ‘to! Ano ba ‘to? Banyo ng duwende?! I was, of course, talking to myself. Sa kabila, sakto lang lahat. The sink was big enough. The toilet was wide enough. Because I spend a lot of time in the bathroom, it was the room I missed the most.

But then I got to thinking. The old house had pests and clogged sinks. The old house did not have as much closet space. The natural lighting in the new house was really, really nice. This house isn’t just different- it’s better. Sure, it isn’t perfect- we may need to change the toilet seat- but the good stuff definitely outweigh the bad stuff. New house – 2; Old house – 0.

No one will admit to it but there’s always that part of your mind that compares your current love with your exes. It’s human nature. We were born to distinguish, classify and categorize. My ex used to do this. Will my current love do that? Coming from a horrible relationship, I realized that the comparisons were not only pointless- they were downright unfair. My new love is sweet, understanding and is a lover of the arts. Of course, I traded up! I wouldn’t have it any other way.

At midnight, almost everyone retired to bed. I was still up trying to organize my clothes. I went down for a glass of water and stared at the living room in the darkness. It was a little disconcerting. The furniture was the same. The sofa was still white. The computer table leg was still broken. I don’t know what it was but even though everything screamed home, it didn’t feel like it. This new apartment was a house and not a home- at least not yet.

It starts with the little things. I looked through several boxes and found some paintings and a wall clock. I started hanging them around the house. After a few minutes of hooking and arranging, I stood back and admired my work. Suddenly, this little piece of wall began to look like home. Not the last home but specifically, my home. New house – 3; Old house – 0.

From the darkness, I heard my phone beep. I miss you :-*, said the message. It starts with the little things. Suddenly, the nights become a little warmer and who was once just a friend becomes so much more. New love – 1; old love – 0.

Hello world. I am not homeless anymore.

	Jewel Absence of Fear Spirit

spit

2009-10-24T23:50:00.000+08:00

“Why is it that you seem so miserable when you’re in love?” a friend asked in a blunt, monotonous tone. Her straightforwardness caught me off guard. I almost spit out the coffee I had in my mouth.

“What makes you think that?” I asked, ignoring the fact that it’s rude to answer a question with another question.

“It’s just… I don’t know how to say it. It seems like…”

“Just say it. There’s no point in beating around the bush.” I interrupted.

“Okay. Before this mess, you were so sane. And then this person comes and all of a sudden you’re forgetful and quiet and always distracted. I don’t know what to make of it. You say you’re serious this time; that you aren’t playing anymore. It seems to me like you’re playing a lot of games and neither of you really know the rules.”

“I don’t know. I’m not in love,” I said. “I, uh, I don’t believe in love anymore.” She raised an eyebrow as I struggled to explain.

I wanted to sound as witty as possible but I’m pretty sure it didn’t seem that way to her. I took another sip of my Americano and thought of a way to change the topic.

“As a generation, we have lost the capacity to love. We are all just mounds of flesh filled to the brim with lust, need and friskiness.”

“Don’t do that.”

“Do what?”

“Deny something’s existence because you failed at it. Of course, love exists. We’ve talked about that so many times before.”

“I’m sure decades ago, it still existed but nowadays, no one takes the time to fall in love anymore. We’ve become so honest and so comfortable with each other that it kills any chance for romance to bloom.”

“You’re twenty-three. How would you know how things were back then?”

“It’s clearly depicted in movies. Back then, scriptwriters and directors took the time to show how love begins and blossoms. These days, a man meets a woman, they do it and boom! They’re in love.”

“Okay but that doesn’t really tell me anything about love and honesty. How can you say that being honest and comfortable kills romance? Isn’t it good that people in this decade are more open to sex and intimacy?”

“There is no intimacy. Like I said, there is only lust…”

“Need and friskiness. Yes, I got that the first time.”

“We’re too honest. No one takes the time to pretend they’re okay anymore. All we ever do is whine and complain. Ask anyone and they’ll tell you that a boyfriend is someone who will listen when you’re having a bad day at work or whenever things don’t go your way. How can we ever fall in love when we spend most of the time complaining?”

“So are you saying that to fall in love, we need to pretend? I thought the whole point of falling in love was to share your life with someone, not censor it. How do you truly love when you’re not really being yourself?

Suddenly, a man walked by our table and let out a huge glob of spit. The afternoon sun reflected on the bubbles that formed on the surface.

“Think of it this way: no one spits on the street. It’s gross, it’s tactless and very rude. Think of love as a street and we are people with spit in our mouths. The polite thing to do would be to quietly suffer with spit in our mouths or swallow. Instead, because we have been too comfortable with each other, we spit on the street. He spits on the street. She spits on the street. You and I spit on the street. Sooner or later, that spit collects and now we’re drowning in a massive sea of saliva and phlegm and no one wants to take the blame.”

“That’s gross and doesn’t really stand to reason. Plus I don’t think you know too much about love to form a valid opinion,” she retorted.

“I don’t know everything about love but I think I know enough.”

“So where does that leave you? Are you going to pretend everything’s peachy for the rest of your life? Is that why you pull away the minute you feel like it’s starting to get serious? Does that mean you’re just going to spend the rest of your life playing with other people? Swallowing your spit while they drown you with theirs? That’s not very nice.”

“No, it isn’t.” We were quiet after that. Too many things said and unsaid, I guess.

“Can’t we talk about something else?” I asked, breaking the silence. “I swear, that man’s spit looks like it’s got a life of its own.”

“I know, right? So gross.” We carried on the rest of the afternoon talking about other things. A true friend knows when to stop prying.

I couldn’t sleep that night. I was still thinking about her question. Was I really miserable? After spending close to an hour twisting and turning in bed, I gave up and decided to spend the remaining hours of my night doing something else.

I sat in bed practically motionless. Questions. So many questions. What did my friend see in me that I couldn’t? Why do I pull away the moment things get serious? Did I mean the things I said or was I just feeding her bull to numb the ache of failure?

There, in the comfort of my solitude, I let down my walls and tried to be honest. If I can’t be honest with myself, who can I be honest with?

I went to the bathroom. The fluorescent light was harsh and it took my eyes some time to adjust. I inspected my face. The days have not been kind. I need a haircut. My face seemed rough and coffins of pimples laid to rest glared at me like some haunted audience. I turned on the tap and let it run for a few moments. I cupped the water in my hands and splashed it on my face.

In the mirror, I looked the enemy straight in the eye. I’m sorry I wasn’t honest. I know I said I don’t believe in love anymore. Truth is, I just stopped believing it could happen to me.

	The Killers Smile Like You Mean It Hot Fuss

molar support

2009-10-16T03:37:00.000+08:00

Sometimes, I wonder if I said goodbye to you too easily. Maybe there was a way for us to be together. Maybe I gave up on you too quickly. But I shouldn’t be thinking about that now. I should focus on healing, on making sure that after all is said and done I can be the person I was before I knew you existed.

It’s funny. When you’re hurting, you feel like your pain is so unique- as if you’re the only person in the whole world who could feel that way. I learned that it isn’t so. A lot of my friends have gone though the same thing. They met their own versions of you. Some of them suffered through the storm. Others (like me) bailed at the first sign of pain.

There was one friend in particular who told me she tried her best to live with the pain. She said it took years before she finally wised up and got rid of the problem. After the heartache and the healing, she wondered why she didn't get rid of it earlier. She said I was lucky that we parted ways before you had a chance to cause serious damage. I wondered if I was truly lucky. If it was for my own good, why does it hurt so much? Maybe I needed the years of pain. Maybe I needed to be hurt by you to know that I couldn’t be with you.

Maybe I should've thought twice before I made any rash decisions. Maybe I hit the brakes too soon.

Ice cream. You know how much I hate ice cream. Sometimes, you felt the pain I would feel whenever I eat this sweet, cold torture device disguised as dessert. Call it masochism. Call it obedience. Call it stupidity but after all this, this whatever-this-is, it’s the only thing that's kept me sane. I’ve eaten nothing but ice cream since you left. Chocolate, mango, ube, vanilla- it didn't matter. I couldn’t get enough of the sweet, icy pleasure it brought. Perhaps I’ve gone mad. Perhaps I was numbing the pain of being without you. All I know is it made the pain go away and for that I am forever grateful for this saccharine gift of God.

After you left, the pain was almost immediate. I couldn’t walk. I felt like I was going to die. Even breathing felt like such a chore. My daily routine felt like a death sentence. I just wanted to stay in bed all day, hiding from the sunlight and other things I imagined would hurt. I didn’t think I would find the strength to move on and live but I did.

Saying goodbye is never easy. As I wrap you in a small plastic bag and throw you in a box marked PERSONAL, I know that I'll be okay again soon. One day, we’ll meet again and hopefully when that time comes, it won’t hurt as much. Take care, dear ~~impakto~~ impacted molar. I’ll never forget you.

	Michelle Branch Goodbye To You The Spirit Room

BUDDUMP-BUMP TSSHHHH. So the Philippine Blog Awards in Luzon was held last week and in all the excitement, I completely forgot that my blog turned five years old! Even though I so wanted to go, I couldn’t because I had work and stuff. Good thing my friend YJ was there and he sent me these super cool pictures.

The collage idea was super cool. I must admit, seeing my screenshot on the wall made me tear up a little. I was a little sad at first when he called me to say that I lost but when I found out who won, I knew the judges totally knew what they were doing.

Congratulations to Writing on Air! Jim Paredes is an excellent writer. The inner paparazzo in me has been stalking his page ever since. To all the other finalists, congratulations too! It was a great honor to be in your company. Blog on!

interlude

2009-10-13T01:18:00.000+08:00

so for those of you falling in love
keep it kind, keep it good, keep it right
throw yourself in the midst of danger
but keep one eye open at night

	Rachael Yamagata Elephants (A cappella) Elephants...Teeth Sinking Into Heart

city

2009-10-08T04:11:00.000+08:00

BLEEP BLEEP BLOP. It seems that blog-wise, I have become constipated. It’s not that I can’t write. It’s just I can never seem to finish a thought. I have paragraphs to begin, a couple of middles and a few ones to end. Problem is they’re all about different things. So for this week’s post, I decided to call in a guest writer. I sent her everything and told her to go crazy. I really like how she was able to put my thoughts and her experiences together while maintaining the general way that my posts are written. Without further ado, here’s this weeks post.

Can we start over? It's a simple question but the inferred meaning opens up a world of opportunities. It's a barometer of hope- hope that within the ash and debris, an ember still exists.

Six weeks after I last saw L, he decided it was finally time for us to talk. Our friends, perhaps with the purest of intentions, figured we both needed this time to talk. I was acting so brave the whole time. I didn’t even look at him from across the table.

“I was hoping we could be friends,” he offered.

I took my time to respond. I needed to choose my words carefully. Up until that moment, I had acted so coolly. (I even surprised myself!) This despite the fact that emotionally, this evening had sent me back at least a month of recovery.

“I can’t give you that.” I began. “I’m not the same person I was. That person would’ve accepted. I can’t.” You don’t jump the same cliff twice. With pain comes experience and I was not really in the mood for masochism.

For weeks, I hoped for closure and when I realized he was not going to give that to me, I learned to move on alone. I sought answers to questions I couldn’t ask him. I learned how to walk without turning around every few seconds to see if he finally came back. I was breathing again. Living again. Why was he doing this now? Whatever happened to letting sleeping dogs lie?

“I’m not rushing you. I know it’s going to take some time. I just think that it’s time for us to be friends again.”

“You’re so unfair!” I snapped. So much for acting cool. “You decided when we started seeing each other. You decided that we were exclusively dating. You decided that we shouldn’t see each other again. And now, now you’re telling me you finally decided it’s ‘time for us to be friends again’? Sorry but I have no use for your friendship.”

“I’m sorry,” he said. It would’ve made a world of difference six weeks ago but now that the fire’s out, this cup of water seemed more like a cruel joke. We managed to end the night without too much drama. We settled the bill and carpool plans were made. I thought we both understood that we didn’t have anything left to rebuild a friendship. I was wrong.

“Can I hold you?” L asked. We were standing right at the corner of Makati Avenue and Pasay Road waiting for a cab.

“No.” I answered.

“Please? I missed you. Can I hug you?”

“Why are you doing this? Haven’t you hurt me enough?” I looked him straight in the eye just so he could see how angry I was.

“I’m sorry. I’m sorry.” he said over and over again. He threw his arms around me and started to cry. I tensed up. I could feel his warm tears on my shoulder. Suddenly, everything- from the time we met, the time we fell in love, to the time we fell apart came rushing in. It felt like a massive wind suddenly entered and left my body in such a rush that if I did not hold on to something, I would fly away. I hugged him back and he sobbed louder.

“I’m sorry, okay? I missed you. You say you’re not the same person because of what happened to us. I’m not the same person either. I’m sorry I hurt you but you hurt me too.” It was then that I realized this was not the same L I met nor was this the L I was arguing with mere minutes before. This was an honest L, a wounded L and I couldn’t help but feel guilty that I had somehow caused this change.

I once heard of a strange animal (whose name escapes me now) who poisons himself right after he is captured. Funny how I should conjure this memory right at that exact moment. Like poison running its course through my body, I killed myself with four simple words.

“Can we start over?”

I pulled away from our embrace and saw the indecision in his eyes. Despite all my best efforts, he still managed to do the one thing I swore I would never let him do again- deny me. I looked away, hailed a cab and swore I would never look back.

Can we start over? It's a stupid question. It disguises itself as a simple solution- the universal do-over. But once you peel away all the layers of things we keep and things we show, it exposes its ugly head.

Photo Credit: The Hungry Cyclist

	Sara Bareilles City Little Voice

shipwreck / unsent

2009-09-27T23:32:00.000+08:00

“Everybody needs a shipwreck once in a while.”

Temptation Island (1981)

Walking around Makati after the storm that shook us all to the core, I couldn’t help but feel so powerless. I ran into people who had lost everything in the flood, cashing in on the mercy of their wounded brethren, wielding bags of clothes previously rotting in the backs of closets. I saw snails clinging to the northern part of seven foot walls. I wondered what kept them hanging on and if they intended to come back to the earth any time soon.

I wondered how you were. I wondered if you were safe. I whipped out my phone and started drafting a message.

I hope you’re dry. I pray the flood didn’t cause your family any damage. I hope you’re taking care of yourself. I’m no longer there to do that. Don’t worry about me. I coped, as I always do. Just take care of yourself and don’t waste the chances that you’re given. No one wants to live a life full of regrets.

I looked around. A woman was sweeping leaves and a dead rat off her front porch. A man in skimpy, borrowed shorts walked by. Just like that, I knew I couldn’t send this message to you. What we had was so furious*, so self-consuming that when it ended, there was nothing left to rebuild.

There’s nothing like mass devastation to remind us that we are all so powerless despite our greatest efforts. Try as we might, we still abide by three basic truths: Life is precious but fleeting. Love, by default, hurts and at the end of a great storm, there is a peace that numbs us all into submission.

I join the nation in mourning for all our brothers lost in the flood. What a terrible, terrible waste of human life.

	Alanis Morissette Unsent Supposed Former Infatuation Junkie

pba

2009-09-26T01:25:00.000+08:00

A few weeks ago, I ran into an old trainee. She looked alarmed and asked me if I was okay.

“Oo naman!” I defensively replied, my voice seventeen decibels higher than normal.

“Wala lang. Mukha ka kasing sad. Or na-tipus.”

I dismissed that last comment and went on my way. I suppose the transition from being on leave to working nights again was not as easy as I had hoped. I overdosed on ascorbic acid, focused on getting a lot of sleep and apparently it paid off.

I was speaking to a friend earlier today and she said my aura looked a little different. I don’t really believe in auras and whatnot but it’s nice to receive a compliment every now and then. She said I looked healthier and I didn’t seem as emo as before. I thought the day couldn’t get any better when…

I was looking at some of my blog statistics when I noticed that I got a lot of hits last Wednesday and Thursday. Being slightly vain and curious, I wanted to know what caused it. I totally freaked out when I saw that I got a lot of traffic from a particular website- The Philippine Blog Awards.

Two years ago, I learned that I was nominated for a PBA*. I didn’t know who nominated me or how I even made it to that list but truly, I was ecstatic. It didn’t matter that I found out about it four months after the contest ended. The mere fact that I was nominated was enough. I’ve always seen this page as my own fortress of solitude and the fact that someone thought I had a shot at an award made me feel really nice.

Hemingways… Back in July, I submitted my blog for this year’s awards. To be honest, I just wanted to display the nice shiny badge. They sent me an email early this month to confirm that I was an official nominee and today (drum roll please) I learned that they’ve chosen this page as a finalist for the Best Personal Blog category. So happy! :D I didn’t think that lighting could strike the same place twice but apparently, it can and it has.

Back in ’07, I wasn’t very sociable in the blogging world so I didn’t know any of my co-nominees. This year, I’m proud to say I know, err read a couple of these blogs. Koji from Excuse My French and RZ from Room For Squares are also finalists for Best Personal Blog. My favorite movie reviewer Francis from Lessons From The School of Inattention is a finalist for Best Entertainment Blog.

Whatever happens, I’m just glad to be a part of all this. Everyone is so talented. I’m in such awe. Looking through the entire list of finalists (see it here!), all I can say is the judges are soooo going to have their hands full. Best of luck to everyone!

	Black Eyed Peas I Gotta Feeling The E.N.D.

bicycles

2009-09-24T02:38:00.000+08:00

When I was a kid, I would bug my parents to get me a bicycle. I really don’t know why I wanted a bike. All I know is it seemed like the right thing to want. All the kids in the neighborhood had a bike. All the kids on TV had a bike. I wanted one too.

My dad was excited. You see, I wasn’t a very athletic kid. I could stand about twenty minutes of Cops and Robbers but that’s basically it. I would retreat back to my room, gasping for air and sweating like a pig.

He bought me a really nice bike for my birthday. It had a red seat, a horn and multi-colored wheels. For weeks, I rode tirelessly. I liked the freedom I got from riding around the village. I couldn’t really go that fast because I still had my training wheels on but back then, I felt I was Evel Knievel. I would perform tricks in front of an imaginary audience. I would fearlessly evade big rocks and pieces of dog shit. I would ride downhill with my eyes closed. Look Pa! No hands!

Then one day, my dad said it was time to take the training wheels off. I was so scared. I didn’t want him to do that. I started crying and in between sobs, I told him to leave my bike alone. He sat me down and told me he would teach me how to ride a bike properly. I watched as he took his toolbox from the garage. He told me that while the training wheels made the bike safe, it also held me back. He asked if I wanted anything to hold me back. Knowing it was more of a rhetorical question, I bit my tongue. I wanted to tell him that I didn’t mind my slow bike. I just didn’t want to get hurt.

When he finished removing the training wheels, he called for me to begin our first lesson. He was at the garage with my (suddenly scary) bike and told me to sit down. Reluctantly, I did and he told me to ride slow. I could feel his hand on my shoulder so I wasn’t that scared. After a few times, I finally let him let me go. I was riding without my training wheels and without my father’s hand. I felt so free when suddenly, BLAGAG!!!

“Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaah!!! Araaaaaayyyyyyyyy!!!” I cried. My father came running. I had a big wound on my right knee. I was almost certain that I broke my leg. The bike was too heavy. The weight pressed down on me like a mother-effing bitch. I was crying and howling.

“Why did you let go?” I accused. My dad scooped me off the floor. He told me to be a man and try again.

Knowing how much pain it caused me the first time, I swore I would never ride my bike again. I didn’t want to risk getting hurt again. I stormed into the house and went straight to my mom. A couple of times, my dad tried to convince me to try again but even back then, I was pretty hard-headed. I didn’t want to try again and so I never learned.

Now, whenever people ask me why I never learned how to ride a bike, I would give different reasons. Sometimes I would tell them it was because I was very sickly as a child. Sometimes I would say my parents never bought me one. I didn’t want to tell them that it was fear that prevented me from learning.

My beautiful bicycle, abandoned, started to rust. When we moved out of the house I grew up in, I saw it in the backyard looking sad and old. Poor thing, I thought to myself. It’s not its fault it went to a wimpy kid like me.

I realize now that my fear, although not completely unfounded, was very irrational. Yes, my fall really hurt but I shouldn’t have let it stop me. If I really persisted, I’m sure I would’ve gotten the hang of it eventually. Now, I’m twenty-three and I cannot ride a bicycle. Don’t you think that’s a little depressing? Although riding a bike isn’t something you would normally put in your résumé, it would’ve been nice to know that if a bicycle-related emergency should ever present itself, I would know what to do.

Sometimes I wonder how different my life would be if I had learned how to ride a bike properly. It’s too late now so all I can get from this situation are lessons. What I learned is we should never let fear stand in the way of anything. Everything worth pursuing has a possibility to hurt you. Why else would you want it, right? If you fall and get hurt, just dust off the rubble and try again.

Tonight, as I finish writing this post, I wonder if I still have any bicycles left in my life. If so, I want to ride them sans training wheels and with the enthusiasm of an eight year old who just discovered the simple joys of riding a bike.

♫ It’s up to us to choose whether we win or lose and I choose to win. ♫

	Mary J. Blige No More Drama No More Drama

hello anger

2009-09-14T06:16:00.000+08:00

Hello Anger. It’s been a while. I know I said I would never come to you again but right now, just for this moment, allow me to break my promises. I don’t know who to trust anymore. I don’t know who I am anymore.

Hello Anger. I’ve been a good boy. Never stepped on anyone to get to where I am or nothing. I tried to stay out of trouble but it seems trouble always finds me. Just when I thought I was okay, that little monster took my last piece of hope and all the change in my pocket.

Hello Anger. Did you miss me? All the others couldn’t take me. I've tried Pride, Sorrow, Misery, even Intoxication. They all just let me down. I saw them ripping at the seams, cursing my name. They weren’t strong enough for me. They couldn’t hold me the way you held me. I'm sorry Anger. Will you take me back?

Hello Anger. Do you think I’m ugly too? Do you want me to be thinner? Taller? Smarter? More eloquent? Didn’t think so. You always take me for what I am, not what I can or should be. Thank you anger. You’re my new best friend.

Hello Anger. I tried Forgiveness. I tried everything to get the old me back and for a while, I was doing okay. I was laughing again. Life didn’t seem like such a chore. But I suppose they just had different plans for me.

Hello Anger. It's good to be in your arms again. Just when I thought I couldn’t hurt any more, I did. Just when I thought I had sunk to the deepest depths and there was nowhere else to go but up, the floor I was standing on crashed. I died a thousand deaths that day and just when I thought it was over, I realized it was only the beginning.

Hello Anger. Will you be my friend? I don’t know what that means anymore. Some friends have become my allies. Others have become my adversaries. I got tired of fighting this war. I got tired of asking for loyalty. I didn’t want to make them choose. So I shed my skin and came to you.

Hello Anger. I still remember the things that you said. Trust no one but yourself. Love no one but yourself. I’m sorry Anger. I should’ve listened.

Hello Anger. It’s been a while. After all these years, you’re still the cloak that fits me best.

	The Killers Mr. Brightside Hot Fuss

top ten things i learned from my two-week leave

2009-09-10T19:58:00.000+08:00

My work shirts are starting to smell like my closet. My leather shoes have been untouched for almost half a month. I’m starting to doubt if I can still teach English (Don’t English me very deep. I did not study very high!) I’ve been on vacation leave since the end of August- the first vacation leave I’ve taken, uhm ever. I have a few more days left until I have to go back to work. So far, it’s been a blast. I learned so many things and I’m sharing a few of them with you.

1. When going on leave, have a plan but be prepared to break it. I was supposed to go to the beach. I originally took this leave of absence to clear my thoughts and find myself yaddah yaddah yaddah. My ten precious days off work was supposed to invigorate me and all that. However…

2. Do not spend all your money within the first five days partying. While it may seem like a good idea at first, remember to pace yourself. My first week on leave was a sick cycle of sleeping, drinking and being hung over. Pa-ulit ulit lang. Your body can only take so much abuse and you wouldn’t want to be stuck broke and sick for the remainder of your leave. Oo, ako yun.

3. The strangest things resurface when you clean your room. Sometimes, it’s the timeliest of reminders. I found an old journal from right after my last, err… car crash. In between movie tickets, pictures and haphazard movie reviews, I found this:

02.23.08
I once said that one day, you too will lose your power over me. I no longer walk in pain. The stars no longer remind me of you. Even your face, the one I longed to see for the longest time, begins to fade in my mind’s eye. The arch of your nose, the squint in your eyes, even the taste of your lips- all these are slipping from ‘memories’ to ‘lessons learned’.

And as I walk away from the car crash that was my private heaven and hell, I pick up the pieces of my sanity which I scattered like confetti when I was yours. A piece to restore my mind, returning self-awareness and self sufficiency. Another for my heart, so that when the time comes, I could love again.

I survived then. That was ten times more powerful. I will survive this. Especially because…

4. Lose a lover, gain a few friends. It all works out in the end. You may think the world is ending but the age-old adage is true. When God closes a door, He opens a window. (Cue Joseph the Dreamer) I may have had my heart broken but the Big Guy upstairs didn’t want me to be alone. So He sent in a few friends- really good friends. People I didn’t expect na madadala ako. Seriously, thank you so much for putting up with me during my darkest hours. You guys taught me that…

5. Emo-ness subsides. Skeeter Davis is a liar. The sun goes on shining, yes but it’s not the end of the world. Kasi nga the world doesn’t stop turning. It only feels that way when love ends but every morning that you wake up is another opportunity to prove your worth to the world. Sulking doesn’t get you anywhere. The sooner you shake it off, the sooner you’ll be fine. Also…

6. There’s no such thing as an easy break-up. You may think you’re fine but then a single text message can totally throw you off*. Relapse is a bitch* but that’s not your only problem. After you’ve given everything to ensure a sane and mature break-up, magugulat ka nalang, may mag-rereply sa isang post na naka-all caps. Hamuna. Ganun lang talaga yun. Hindi naman yun aalisin ni God if makakabuti siya sakin, diba?

7. There’s nothing that a long walk cannot fix. Aside from my really good friends, these long walks in Salcedo really kept me sane. Umulan man o umaraw, it felt good to have a routine. When your mind’s heavy and your heart knows no reprieve, just take a long walk. No phones, no Twitter, no connection to the outside world. Just you, your iPod and the pavement. You’ll be surprised at how therapeutic it is.

8. Eating fifty butter and cheese sandwiches* with non-fat milk will give you diarrhea. Seriously. It may seem like a good idea to eat and eat and eat pero I learned that my body has limits pala. Haha Another lesson (although it didn’t make the top ten) is if you have diarrhea, don’t leave home. Otherwise, you may find yourself in the middle of Ayala fleeing a cab and running for the nearest toilet. Err, no. Di ako ‘yun. Uhm, friend ko yun. Haha

9. Sleep. While it seems like a good idea to spend all night bloghopping or watching Sex and the City reruns, sleeping at 6AM with the sun in your face is hardly relaxing. Ooh, naps are also the bomb. It’s like a mini vacation within a vacation! I used to sleep 10 hours a day. These past few months, I could survive on just four. I’ve forgotten how good it feels to wake up after a really, really long nap.

10. When all else fails, there’s always Facebook. My goodness. After years of avoiding Facebook, I finally gave in*. If you’re bored, there’s sooooo much to do. I haven’t given in to the whole farming and mob-building craze but I am having tons of fun reading status updates and links and whatnot. It’s like having a window into everyone’s lives. When you want to tune out of the world, escape is just a few clicks away. Plus, when there’s no one around, it’s the only one that will ask you ‘What’s on your mind?’

	Katy Perry Waking Up In Vegas One of the Boys

relapsus

2009-09-08T05:05:00.000+08:00

“You’ll never guess who’s downstairs.”

“Who?” asked my friend.

I looked at her with one eyebrow raised. “You know who I’m talking about.”

I watched as her expression changed. It was very subtle but I saw it. “He’s downstairs. Wants to see me. That okay with you?”

“Of course,” she said, sounding winded. “Why wouldn’t it be?”

A few minutes later, my phone beeped.

“SOS,” the message read.

“What’s wrong?” I replied.

“Can you come back? I need you.”

I said goodbye to the unwanted visitor. In the two minutes we spent together, we barely spoke. I’m still not altogether sure what he wanted or why he was there. At that time, all I could think of was my friend and how this whole thing left her wounded yet again.

“Are you okay?” I asked.

“Yeah, it’s just… wow… I didn’t expect that.”

“I thought you were fine. You’ve been going on and on about how you’re over him and all that. What’s this?”

“I thought I was. I don’t know. I really don’t know. I was perfectly fine up until a few minutes ago. My mind’s okay. My heart’s okay. It’s just my damn stomach.”

“Butterflies?” I offered.

“No. Not butterflies. More like wasps. What did he want?”

“I don’t know. I got here as soon as I could.”

“Did he ask about me?”

“No. Not really.”

“Did you say anything about me?”

“No. I’m not stupid, okay?” We were quiet for a little bit. She started to cry.

“Look, I’m sorry. I wouldn’t have said anything if I knew you were still…”

“How is he?” she asked, cutting me off.

“Fine. He says he found a job. He starts in a few days.”

“Finally.”

“Yeah. And uh…” I trailed off. I wasn’t sure if I was supposed to say anything. At times like this, I wish friends came with a manual.

“And what?”

“He’s seeing someone. Wants me to meet her next week”

“What?!” she shouted. Fighting back more tears, she let out a series of whimpers and other sounds.. “Whu.. How.. How is that even possible? It’s only been a week.”

“I don’t know. I didn’t want to ask too many questions. I’m not going, just so you know.”

“How could he have moved on so quickly? I mean, it’s only been a week. For Pete’s sake, the movies we saw together are still in theaters. How is that even possible?”

“I guess people move on at different paces.”

“Is it really that easy for him?” she asked, cutting me off once again. “Like fucking changing socks? One foot then the other? Dammit!”

“Don’t think of it that way. Just try to move on. He has. You should, too.”

“I wish it were that easy. It’s not fair!” she yelled, sounding like a four year old.

“Sulking’s not gonna help, you know. What happened? I thought you said you were fine. Didn’t you break up with him?” She was quiet. From the tears and all that hair, I could barely see her face.

“Just try not to think about him,” I added. I came a little closer to give her a hug. We both fell to the ground and she started weeping openly.

“How can I? How can I forget about him when he’s in the rain, in my morning coffee, in the paper? He’s everywhere. It’s like he’s haunting me or something. Everywhere I look, I see something that reminds me of him. And it’s not fair. It’s not fair.”

Relapse is a bitch. One minute you’re fine, the next minute you’re on the floor with wasps in your stomach.

	Alanis Morissette Flinch Under Rug Swept

untitled sticks story

2009-09-02T05:35:00.000+08:00

Disclaimer: I wrote this story really quickly and I'm posting it with little editing. It doesn't really read like the other stuff I've posted. The whole writing process felt organic and stuff. I just kept typing and typing and now I'm really tired. I'm so tired, I couldn't even think of a title. I don't know if I'll still like it in the morning. All I know is it goes really well with this Liz Phair song which I'm posting at the end of the story.

An old man came to me in my sleep. It’s funny because I didn’t even know I was asleep until I noticed I wasn’t in my room anymore. He wore one of those dirty looking robes that wise old people wear in the movies. He told me to come closer.

“Come. I have a story to tell.” I was scared at first but I guess you could say I’m pretty obedient. Even in my dreams, I take directions really well. I sort of levitated towards him. My legs did not move and there was no one around to tell me I had a funny way of walking (I do).

“Nowadays, people wear their hearts differently,” he began. “The romantic ones wear it on their sleeves. The jaded ones keep it hidden from plain sight. The bitter ones leave it at home. Back then, people had sticks with them. If you grew up in a nice home with a lot of love, your stick would look very nice. Those who didn’t have a lot of love would have little twigs that look like they just fell off a withered tree. No matter what your stick looked like, you had to bring it everywhere to show people just what kind of person you are.”

“If you found someone who had a stick that looked just like yours, it usually means you would hit it off,” he continued. “If you like the person, you would cut off a part of your stick and give it to her. If she liked you back, she would do the same thing. Your sticks, on the outside at least, would look exactly the same but you both knew that it wasn’t. Your stick would have a bit of hers and her stick would have a bit of yours.”

I looked at him with an expression of disbelief. What the hell was he talking about?

“I know you think I’m crazy but there’s something to be said here; a story to be told. A story you need to bring to the world. The ceremony of cutting and exchanging and bridging sticks was not exactly that common. Many people held on to their sticks, afraid to cut it because they knew it would hurt. It stings a little but I suppose it really hurts when the person doesn’t give you their part of the stick. It wasn’t uncommon to see people with little sticks- people who were so addicted to love that they had nothing left. There were also people who walked around with sticks as high as skyscrapers. They took and took and never gave their part to other people.”

“I’m sure that was pretty chaotic.”

“It was. People started crying out to the gods. ‘Why give us these sticks if they only cause us pain?’ they would say. The gods were quiet.”

“Something had to be done about these stick-hoggers.”

“Yes. The people with small sticks took matters into their own hands. They would climb up trees and break off other people’s sticks. The selfish ones with bigger sticks got hurt. You should know that the ceremony of breaking and bridging sticks stinged a little so it wasn’t a good idea to go breaking other people’s sticks.”

“Sounds familiar. I guess people just wear their sticks differently these days,” I said.

“The gods were mostly quiet but they knew something had to be done before people started getting seriously hurt. Their solution? Karma.”

“Karma? As in karmic retribution?”

“Yes. They said, “You must not break off other people’s sticks just because you unwisely cut yours. If you love someone and that person says he loves you back, then go ahead and exchange. But if that person does not give you part of their stick in return for yours, allow us to deal with him. We shall strike him down before he does it to someone else.”

“Did it work?”

“Somewhat. The gods would cause thunder to burn the sticks of the selfish people. But if the person had a legitimate reason for not giving his part of the stick, they would leave him alone.”

“That sounds fair. What’s the point?” I asked. I felt like I was about to wake up any moment now and I didn’t want the whole dream to go to waste.

“I was just about to get to that. Here’s the story that you need to tell. I once met a girl with a stick so small, you could put it in your pocket. She said she’s always played her cards right, never hurt anyone or nothing but her love almost always went to waste. She asked me about karma.”

“What did she ask you?”

“She was not alive when the gods introduced it to the people and no one really understood it well enough to explain it to her. She wondered- if karma was meant to punish stick-hoggers, what does that mean to people like her? Sticks don’t grow back, she said. The only way she could have her stick back was if she tricked people to give her parts of their sticks. She could no longer live life with a really small stick. Is it possible to take karma into our own hands?”

“It sounds like she wanted to justify hurting people. What did you say?”

“I told her that there are other ways to make your stick bigger. There was no need to trick people. Once you learn to love yourself, you won’t need to keep cutting your stick. Slowly and in time, the stick will grow back and when you’re ready, you can give it to someone who really deserves it.”

“That sounds fair. Why didn’t more people know about that?”

“Because they were so caught up in the game of bridging sticks. They forgot that love made the stick grow in the first place and if you didn’t have enough love, you run the risk of living the rest of your life with a twig instead of a stick.”

“So did she love herself?”

“Sadly, no. She died a few years later. Her stick had withered to the size of a splinter and in the end, that’s what killed her.”

I was silent. It was fucking depressing. Poor girl, I thought.

“She now serves as a precautionary tale.”

“What does that mean to me anyway? Sticks? Love? It means nothing to me.”

“Are you sure?” he asked. He reached into his pocket and took out a frail twig. From where I was standing, it almost looked like a reed-stalk.

“What’s that?”

“This is your stick.” His palm started to open and the reed fell to the ground.

“Take care of yourself. No one else will,” he said as his image started to dissipate. I woke up almost instantly, his words still ringing in my ear. Take care of yourself. No one else will.

Photo Credit: FreeStockImages.org

	Liz Phair Fuck and Run Exile in Guyville

fog you / i remember

2009-08-31T05:50:00.000+08:00

Four friends, two newly single, set out into the night.

“Tagaytay? Are you sure?”

It was spontaneous. It was crazy (and conveniently cliffy). We didn’t care. It made us happy and it seemed (to the four of us, at least) that happiness was in short supply these past few months.

Deep into the night, we traded stories. One by one, we cursed the cities that bore us- the cities that cradled our heartaches, our disappointments, our defeats. Off we went, 160 kilometers an hour on a half-tank of gas. We didn’t know where we were going exactly. All we knew was we had to flee.

“Just for tonight, let’s be happy!” I said as I popped my head out of the car. I let the cool breeze brush my face. I needed this, I thought to myself. It’s been so long since I last felt this… alive.

“Bakit pa eh pag-uwi naman natin, ganun din ‘yun. ‘Pag patay na lahat ng ilaw at wala ka nang ibang kaharap kundi sarili mo, ganun din ‘yun!” We laughed. Cynicism had become the fifth person in the car.

I fell asleep in the car for a little bit and when I woke up, we were already there. It was hard to see though as a thick fog had settled into the deepest corners of the night.

“San tayo?”

“Kahit saan!” We all agreed. A few minutes later, we were in a little restaurant that boasted of a fantastic view. We couldn't really appreciate it though because the whole place was so damn foggy. We could hardly see the menu.

“Ayan na yung overlooking niyo. Overlooking sa fog!”

We ate. We laughed. We danced. We took tons of pictures. We caught up. And when all was said and done, we also shed a couple of tears. Deep into the night, the conversation hit a serious note.

“What’s funny is despite everything, I could never bring myself to regret everything that happened.”

“Why should you? It made you happy. Be grateful for the rain. Just don’t be sad when the drought settles in.”

“It’s funny because people keep telling me that I’m better off. If I’m the winner in this game, then how come he moved on first? I’m still stuck here, hoping for some semblance of closure or something.”

“We make our own closures. Life has to go on. I remember when my heart broke. I was hurt. I cried. The next day, I cried again. The day after that, I cried a little more. But each day that passed, I shed less and less tears until one day I realized I had no tears left for him. That’s just how it is. Fix yourself first. Love yourself first before you love anyone else.”

“That’s the thing. People always say that you can’t love someone when you’re broken. I wasn’t broken when I met him. I was 100% solid before everything. But now, I’m completely shattered. I wasn’t broken when I met him. I guess I was just hollow.”

Four friends, two newly single, stared blankly into the night. There was no need for words to be said. Just the fact that we were there for each other at this point in time made all the difference in the world.

“Look. The fog’s starting to clear.”

I stood up and walked towards the balcony. Slowly, a plethora of lights and different sights came into view. I inhaled deeply, let the cool wind fill my lungs. If you wait long enough, everything becomes clear.

We shed our skins in the mountains and made our way back to our lives- back to deadlines and lesson plans and poker faces. As the car maneuvered through the mountain’s steep curves, we howled like wolves and screamed like crazy. It was spontaneous. It was crazy. If I closed my eyes, it felt just like old times.

“So this is how it feels.”

“How what feels?”

“Letting go.”

I smiled as I popped my hand out of the car, reaching for nothing in particular. I played with the wind, felt the tiny hairs at the back of my hand move with it. Something tells me happiness is just around the corner. Something tells me things will work out just fine.

	Keyshia Cole I Remember Just Like You

anatomy of a mistake (v4)

2009-08-26T17:01:00.000+08:00

This is my last emo post. After this, I swear I'll stop talking about what happened. Just let me tell our story because after I post this, all will be forgotten.

1. Don’t look at me like that. I can’t focus when you look at me like that.

2. I’m not sure if I should. Eh, maybe just a few bottles.

3. Are jokes really half meant?

4. Why can’t I stop thinking about you?

5. Holding you makes me feel a little less hollow.

6. I’m with friends. Where are you?

7. The minute I stepped into that bar, I knew I was making a big mistake.

8. You have a very beautiful voice. Please stop singing while I still have control over myself.

9. I think I’m ready now.

10. 3… 2… 1… sparks.

11. This is all I have but if you’ll take it, it’s yours.

12. Your friends hate me. My friends hate you. It’s a good thing we like each other.

13. I came here to say goodbye to you. (1)

14. I’m no good with these things. I always let my mind take over. I’ll be your mind if you’ll be my heart.

15. If you’re gonna hurt me then do it quickly. Dammit. (2)

16. You’re so broken. I think I can fix you. Don’t cry anymore. I’m right here.

17. Your promise: no matter what happens, whether or not we end up together, we’ll always be in each other’s lives.

18. B-- who?

19. Love is so painful. I wonder why people even bother. I need you.

20. I never knew the simple pleasure of watching a movie while holding your hand. It’s like before you, my hands were empty. I don’t want them to be empty anymore.

21. Too high. Can’t come down. Losing my head. Spinning ‘round and ‘round. This feels like loving for the first time again.

22. Who am I to you? What is this to you? I can’t do this anymore. It hurts too much. (3)

23. Running. Raining. Thinking you would come after me.

24. Should we talk? I’m sure there are things to be said.

25. I love you, too. I’ll fight while I still can. Even if it hurts. A lot.

26. It’s been three days. I’ve missed you. Why are we pretending like nothing happened? Yes, let’s talk tomorrow.

27. You’re not here. If you really love me, why aren’t you here? Don’t I deserve more than silence?

28. This hurts too much. Goodbye. (4)

29. There’s beauty in breaking down in front of friends.

30. My head is spinning. My eyes are swollen. Where is my heart? If you don’t want it, can I please have it back?

	Moonstar88 Migraine Todo Combo

dying / time

2009-08-23T02:44:00.000+08:00

I need time, you said and I didn’t want to give it to you. Time is all I have these days. I have spent countless hours and days staring at walls and ceilings, making friends and enemies with the strangers who pass me by at Starbucks.

My throat hurts. I’m a little sick. I walked five blocks in the rain last night, fleeing from you. I couldn't take it anymore. We were both too emotional and too irrational. So I ran. What’s funny is I actually thought you would run after me. I sat on the curb, my clothes soaking wet, squinting, and wondering if you were coming after me.

Now my phone’s broken. See I was trying to call you, too. Yeah. Right after I sulked off into the darkness and rain. There must be a few droplets of rainwater beneath the keypad because now my phone keeps calling you (whether or not I want it to is beside the point). But you never answer. Because you need time, you said. You need time. Well, time is all I have.

Time spent wishing I never met you. Time spent wishing my heart never left its cocoon. Time spent hoping I would get the old me back- the me I was before I met you. Everyone says I’ve changed although they really needn’t tell me. I already know. I’d give everything to be who I was before I met you.

But whatever. No regrets right? Or was I just saying that to make you feel better?

Hey, remember that time you cried because you felt so tired of everything and I held your hand and I told you things would be okay? Well now I’m crying because I’m tired and you’re not here to hold me and tell me things will be okay. Didn’t we promise we would stay together no matter what? But I can’t think of that now. Because you say you need time. Time is all I have.

Time spent wondering what could have been. Time spent wishing you were still here with me. Time spent worrying about how you are or who you’re with.

I asked you very simple questions. What is this to you? Who am I in your life? You never tell me anything and it’s driving me crazy. All you could say was I never saw the things that you did for me. I suppose now’s not the right time to remind you of all the crosses I bear because of my love for you. No, now’s not a good time. Because you need time. And time is all I have.

I didn’t need you to say you love me. I already know that. I wanted you to need me the way I need you, too. Remember when I said I wouldn’t know what to do if you left me? It’s true. You said if I leave you, you’d understand. Do you really or did you just say that to make me feel better?

I must admit I’ve been a little bitter over the past few years. Love has hurt me to the point where I feel I am lucky to be alive. I killed a part of me that believed in love. Then I met you and you made this stupid thing beat again. I realized it wasn’t love I killed two years ago. It was hope. Hope that I could be happy again. Hope that I would find someone like you who could make me sing again.

But hope is a cruel thing. Now that you’re gone, it’s the one dagger in my chest I cannot bear to remove.

It's the same old story of love and glory that broke before it bent. I’m dying to live without you again.

You need time. Time is all I have. When will we have our time?

	Five For Fighting Dying The Battle For Everything

look at me i'm twenty-three

2009-08-09T17:59:00.000+08:00

There are some songs that you just can’t help but fall in love with. Although Real was written in the female perspective, I found myself understanding each and every line. After having it on loop for a few centuries, I finally found the backbone to my birthday post.

August 8, 2009
4:32 AM

Look at me. I’m 23. Beautiful, a sight to see tonight.

It is almost morning but night won’t lend itself to sleep. I’ve been lying wide awake in my room trying to think about where I am, how far I’ve come and where I want to go. It’s my birthday and the early birds have all sent their greetings. I replied with a quick Thank you! and hoped that they wouldn’t sense my growing disappointment and anticipation.

Do you want me ‘cause I am hungry for something that will make me real.

Something is missing. I can’t seem to place my finger on it. I’ve got a loving family, really understanding friends, a great career- I should be happy. Why am I unhappy? It guess it just feels like everything has been anesthetized or something- like I’ve been enjoying everything through a really large pane of glass. I see my life, my friends, my love but I cannot touch them. I can only watch.

I close my eyes, imagine time will not forget my sacrifice.

I’ve done my time. I’ve paid my dues. I think it’s high time I find true happiness. I’ve been searching for it in all the wrong places, I know. But that’s what happens when you go through so many changes in such a short period of time. Last year, I was relatively young in this industry and already, I went through three jobs and a promotion. Now that everything’s slowing down, I can feel the wind catching up with me. I try to breathe but my own ambitions have choked the air out of me.

I numb the ache and decorate my emptiness, stand naked in the light.

I thought if I didn’t think about it, I wouldn’t feel too bad. The pain of stagnation has taken over all aspects of my life. I’ve taken to fill the void with different things. I am so blessed to have my family and friends. Without them, I know I would cease to exist. Thank you for remembering me on this day.

Well be pleased, world, if this is what you wanted. This young girl is everything that you've made.

I am no longer the boy I was three years ago. Maybe that’s not such a bad thing. Maybe this is what they call growing up.

The world goes home. The lights go down. My lipstick fades away.

I will have a happy birthday. I am determined to do just that. This is my one day in an entire year of emo possibilities. My one day to be happy. I should make the most out of it.

Postscript: I fell asleep right after I wrote this post so I never got to post it in time for my birthday. I went to work fully expecting that I would be all sulky and stuff but I actually had a great time. I am truly blessed to have such wonderful friends who can see through the bullshit and can make me really happy. Thank you for making me very, very happy on my birthday.

	Plumb Real Beautiful Lumps of Coal

paint it black

2009-07-26T15:05:00.000+08:00

I woke up feeling a bit disoriented. I looked around and through the darkness, I felt the wall for the light switch. Flick! It said and I got a full view of where I was. The room was in terrible shape. The furniture needed rearranging, stuff needed to be picked up off the floor and the walls needed a fresh coat of paint. What happened to this place? It used to be really nice. I’m going to work really hard to make this room nice again.

I bought a couple cans of paint. I wanted everything to be bright so I settled on a nice, warm shade of blue. I mopped the floor once and swept twice for good measure. I hauled everything outside so that I wouldn’t get any paint on them. I kept the door open so that I could keep an eye on my stuff while I painted.

The walls had become really ugly over the years- a few chips here and there, holes where pictures and paintings used to be. I painted everything white. It was a fresh start. I stood in the middle of the room, paint fumes in the air and just absorbed everything around me. It’s been years since these walls felt this peaceful. I said a little prayer, hoping this feeling wouldn’t go away.

When the white base was dry, it was finally ready for the blue coat. I carefully took the roller and with patience and precision, I started painting everything blue. After about an hour or so, I was finished. I stood in the middle of my blue room and reveled in the fact that everything was now so clean and so me.

I moved the bed near the window. I put the books back in the shelves. It was almost evening when I noticed that the front door was still open.

As I was closing the door, I could see a nameless, faceless stranger from the horizon. Wait! He shouted. Don’t close that!

I’m very tired. Come back some other time. I said.

Please. I won’t take up a lot of your time. I traveled far and wide to see this room and it would be pointless to give up now.

It’s really late and I’m very tired. Please come back some other time. By this time, the stranger was on the porch.

Please. You won't even know I’m there.

After much hesitation, I finally obliged. You’re sleeping on the couch. I said and he seemed fine with the idea. He looked around the room with a half-smile on his face.

I just painted it today. Do you like the new color? I asked.

I think it’s ugly. I think it’s too bright.

I looked at him, weighing the value of his statement and decided it was pointless to fight with a stranger. I lay down my arms in brittle hopes of compromise.

Someone once said this room had lots of paintings in it. Where are they?

Well, over the years, people just took them home with them. I think I gave the last one out a month ago.

Such a shame. He said, shaking his head in disapproval. Such a shame.

The next day, I woke up and saw that the stranger was still there. He was sitting, perched on top of the bookshelf like a glorious bird. He had a book in one hand and a cup of coffee in the other.

Good morning. I said but there was no answer. Several books lay scattered on the floor. Hey! I just fixed those yesterday. What are they doing on the floor?

They were ugly. I didn’t like how you arranged them.

But those were my books. I muttered, picking them up as I made my way across the room. I rearranged the books and magazines on the shelf.

Is this better? I asked.

I suppose so.

Do you still think the room is ugly?

I don’t know. It’s still a little too bright.

By evening, he was gone. I looked around the small room and wondered what it was that made him leave. Maybe it was how I arranged the books. Maybe it was the shape of the shelf. Maybe it was the color on the walls. Or maybe, just maybe, he found everything he couldn’t stand in this room.

I took some leftover cans of paint from the garage and mixed them all together in a big container. I could see the moon’s reflection bouncing off the dark liquid. Are you doing this for yourself? It asked. I ignored it and went to bed. Tomorrow, when the sun is up, I’ll paint my room black.

That night, just as I was about to go to sleep, I looked up at the heavens from the window near my bed. Is it true that You love everyone just as they are? Please love me just as I am.

	Alanis Morissette Uninvited City of Angels: Music from the Motion Picture

ribbons undone

2009-07-13T02:12:00.000+08:00

There are days when you question whether you’re in the right place or not. Like maybe someone somewhere is living your life- the losing half of a lottery scratch card. Lately, I’ve been dealing with so much negativity that nothing feels the same way anymore. My morning bath, once cold and refreshing seems tedious and boring. My coffee, once bitter and invigorating seems watered down and subdued. I’ve been inside a shell for so long that when it finally cracked, I didn’t know exactly how to react. (Goodness, I’ve resorted to rhyming.)

What shell, you ask? I’ve been crying uncontrollably. I feel like a preschooler. I saw quite a number of movies (and a play!) over the weekend and I couldn’t write any reviews about them because the only thing I remember was my tears. I cried during the wedding vows in Rachel Getting Married. I cried for the children in Freedom Writers. I cried with Sister Aloysius in Doubt. I cried three times in The 25th Annual Putnam County Spelling Bee. I even cried when McQueen pushed The King towards the finish line in Cars. I had to excuse myself so I missed the last part. What’s wrong with me?

It’s like I’m a child again. My favorite teacher (who ultimately inspired me to become one myself) once saw me crying behind the school chapel alone. I was maybe 7 or 8. Illuminated by the light from the stained glass window, I was crying because one of my classmates said something really horrible to me. I didn’t know how to fight back. Everyone was gone by that time. I should’ve been home, too but my mom’s secretary was running late. I just didn’t want to be there anymore. I felt so helpless. So I cried.

“I don’t want to cry anymore. My dad told me that real men don’t do that.” I told her between fits of tears.

“That’s not true. Crying is not the refuge of the weak. It’s okay to cry sometimes. Even the brave rest every now and then.”

“Do you cry, Teacher?” I asked.

“Sometimes. When I don’t know what to do. When I feel like I need His help. When I want to feel loved”

We prayed together and she held me as I wept. It’s been almost fifteen years since but I still remember her. I think she became a missionary or something. I wonder what she’s doing right now.

Fifteen years. A decade and a half. What’s with the major regression? I haven’t been so perpetually close to tears in such a long time. Is it stress? Is it exhaustion? Could it be a void that needs to be filled? Or perhaps deep inside me, the weepy little kid behind the parish is still there, crying because he’s helpless. I don’t want to be that kid anymore.

She said she cries when she wants to feel loved. Do I want to feel loved? Is that why I’ve been crying? Do I even know what love is anymore?

I thought about this a while ago while I was walking home. What is love to me? Every time I think of love, I can’t help but thinking of my parents. Yes, they’ve had their ups and downs but after all these years, they’re still crazy about each other. To put it in my father’s words, patay na patay parin siya sa akin.

Love is putting yellow stickers on the perfectly black keyboard so she can Facebook till the wee hours of the morning. Love is buying that bland unsalted butter (which no one likes and is twice the price of the brand you like) because she wants to eat healthy. Love is giving up the fatty part of your pork chop (the best part!) just to see him devour it with such gusto. Love is laughing at each other’s jokes even though you’ve heard them fifty million times before. Love is staying together not because of the kids but because deep down you know that despite them, you would never want to be in a world without each other. That’s what love is. I know it’s real because I am living proof that it exists.

Farck, I’m crying again. My major task this week is to find out what the bloody hell opened the friggin’ dam behind my eyes. Maybe after I fix this, I will finally know how Cars ends.

	Tori Amos Ribbons Undone (Live) The Beekeeper

osaka

2009-07-06T05:06:00.000+08:00

My sisters and I are pretty close. Growing up together does that to you. Lately, I'm starting to notice that we've become a little different. I share a room with one of my sisters but most of our conversations have either one of us half-awake in bed. The lawyer who works all day and the call center drone who works till the wee hours of the morning. Perfect combination.

Scene: Weekend. My sister in front of a laptop watching a movie. Chinese (or was it Japanese?) dialogue barely audible from the front speakers. Me, four hours of sleep, hair in fifteen different directions, unsure of the date and time.

Her: You wanna go to Osaka?
Me: Not really. I don't think that stuff's real.
Her: (pause) How can you not believe in Japan?
Me: (left eye opens and then strains. big pause) Oh you meant Osaka. Osaka, Japan!
Her: Yeah. What did you think?
Me: (sheepishly) Iridology?

I swear. One of these days, she's not going to recognize me anymore.

Photo Credit: Neon Lights in Osaka (jeffbl88)

	Ben Folds Golden Slumbers I Am Sam: Music From And Inspired By The Motion Picture

absolutely zero

2009-07-01T03:35:00.000+08:00

It’s funny how nights like this trigger the strangest memories. They play in front of my eyes like a movie. I strained my eyes as though the projected image was a little fuzzy.

Suddenly, I’m sitting in a café. A friend from too long ago is with me, drinking a latte. Moisture clings to my cup like sweat, each drop slowly working their way to the bottom.

“Would I make a good girlfriend?” she asked.

“I dunno. Would you?” I absentmindedly answered. I was still fixated on the drops of water and how they conveniently formed a large ring on the table.

“It’s just… something someone told me a long time ago. Sayang daw ako kasi he likes me and I wasn’t reciprocating. At that time, I was completely offended. I had half the mind to walk out. ‘Who does he think he is?’” She paused, probably to catch her breath but upon closer inspection, it was really for emphasis. “Lately I’ve been thinking… what if I misunderstood? Maybe he said that because he sensed something that I couldn’t see back then. But I see it now. Fuck, I see it now.”

“And what, pray tell, do you see?”

“That I have all this love to give. That I’m wasting my best years afraid to commit. That my indecision has become my decision. I’m the romantic equivalent of an atheist.”

“I don’t think that’s what atheism means.”

“Po-tay-to po-tah-to. You know what I mean.”

I didn’t know what to say so I struggled to string some words together. “That’s how you described him.”

“Who?”

“Your ex,” I said, immediately regretting my forced insight. “I’m sure he did his best but in the end, he couldn’t choose either one of you. His indecision ultimately became his decision.”

“The harem,” she finally said. I was a little relieved that she wasn’t offended by my frankness. If she was, she was putting on a pretty good show. She looked puzzled for a little while, inhaled as though she was about to say something but then decided against it. She exhaled a long sigh- equal parts frustration and submission.

“I’m sorry,” I said and I really was. “I shouldn’t have said anything. It’s not like I’m an expert on the topic. My best relationships have been with coffee, music and chocolate.”

She laughed politely, took a sip of her latte and looked away.

“You’re afraid. That’s understandable. You were hurt. You’re still broken.”

“What happens next?” she asked.

“I dunno. I wish I knew.”

I never saw much of her after that day. I guess there are some lines that you shouldn't cross- not even with your closest friends. Looking back, I should’ve bitten my tongue. What do I know about love and getting over loss?

I’m not entirely clueless. Most people will tell you that I’m just a little too careful. The slightest hint of friction and I bolt for the door. I’m not apologizing. It’s not like me to apologize. All I’m saying is I don’t like friction. I don’t like taking risks.

Walking home one night, it started to rain. I found shelter in a broken-down hardware store. I usually have an umbrella with me so you could imagine the look I had on my face when I realized it wasn’t it my bag. I didn’t want to catch a cold, not with all the things that I absolutely needed to do. I couldn’t stay there forever. I had tons of things waiting for me at home. I quickly weighed the pros and cons and decided to brave the storm.

I walked slowly as to not attract attention but my steps soon quickened (probably when I realized how cold the friggin’ water was). It was surreal, like my feet were carrying me or something. I was running and running and running and running then suddenly everything was a blur. The bakery, the internet café, even the friendly 7-11 were all reduced to lights that blurred past me. I didn’t even realize I was home until I saw my house go by.

My shoes slished and sloshed as I opened the front door. I was drenched and shivering. As I closed the door, the whole situation dawned on me and I started laughing. Like my running, it started really quietly but then within seconds I was gasping for air, holding onto the wall for support, laughing with all my heart. I remember thinking it’s been eons since I last laughed like that and how strange that my moment of carelessness bought me that moment. The maid, possibly awakened by my laughter took one look at my dripping person and walked away, muttering buang under her breath.

Sometimes it pays to be reckless. Sometimes. Maybe it's high time I stop being so darn cautious. I’m sorry if I’ve been too careful. I promise I’ll be better. I’m sorry for wasting your time.

The mind is a powerful thing. As quickly as the memories rushed in, they disappeared into the night.

The projector fan slows and then dies. I am once again in my room reading. Thank God for cold nights with nothing to do, for good books to curl up with and for chocolate to devour. Goodness me, thank You for chocolate.

Photo Credit: Sunshine Junior

	Jason Mraz Absolutely Zero Waiting For My Rocket To Come

happiness...

2009-06-28T16:20:00.000+08:00

...is a warm bun (nom nom chew chew).

	Joe Anderson & Salma Hayek Happiness Is A Warm Gun Across The Universe: Music From The Motion Picture

three dreams

2009-06-22T02:02:00.000+08:00

If you really want to know why I’ve been different lately, it’s because I haven’t been getting enough sleep. Everything seems dull. The skies, once bright and orange have become downcast. My coffee, once bitter and teeming with life now tastes stale. My nights, once peaceful are now riddled with aimless dreams of him.

It was a Tuesday when I first saw him. After a particularly long day at the office, my bed seemed to welcome me with open arms. As I let myself slip into slumber, my thoughts started to wither away. I suddenly found myself inside a theater. It was dark and I didn’t have my glasses on so I couldn’t see what was playing. It took me some time to notice that someone was holding my arm. I briefly glanced at my unnamed seatmate. There he was, as sullen as the day I first met him. He smiled- one of those wry half-smiles he was known for- and I felt him subtly squeeze my arm.

He got up to get something to drink. He said he would be back. As the end credits rolled, I sat motionless in my seat.

“The movie has ended”, the usher said.

“I noticed.” I looked around. I couldn’t find him. He was gone.

I woke up the next morning feeling breathless. I got up to get a glass of water and on the way to the kitchen, I kept holding on to my chest. The elders used to think that we left behind little bits of our souls when a photograph was taken. My whole dream played like a moving picture. Perhaps I left bits of my soul in it.

The next evening, he came to me again. We were at the supermarket. It was a scene straight out of The Stepford Wives. We looked like a happy family. A little boy was sitting in the cart with the rolls of tissue and tubes of toothpaste. Mundane suburban living, I recalled. He walked towards the third aisle and told me to meet him at the counter.

“Where’s daddy?” asked the child.

“He’s gone,” I answered. The lights started to flicker. The cart and the child disappeared. From the benign darkness, I called out. “Are you there? Please come back. Please. Are you there?” He wasn’t there. He never was.

The third night, my dreams found me in a nondescript restaurant. Over salads and steak, we started to recount our first few days together. Who could forget the confusion, the hesitation, the bliss that ensued after all the chaos? Our wine glasses were dry. We tried to call the waiter but neither of us could see him. Exasperated, he rose to look for the guy. I was a little wiser. I knew he wasn’t coming back. As the waiter finally arrived to announce the last call for alcohol, I asked for the bill and went home alone. It started to rain but I didn’t use my umbrella. I needed my skin to feel as cold as my heart.

So if I’ve been a little different, please forgive me. My bed has become a prison. You may think I’m crazy but I can’t wait to get home tonight. I can’t wait to close my eyes and dream of him. I can’t wait to go through all the usual feelings- elation, exasperation, expiration. Why? In waking life, he exists in a world apart from mine but in my dreams- even for a brief moment- he is there. He is happy and smiling. He holds my hand. He laughs with me. If he should leave me at the end of the dream, at least I know he will be there tomorrow night. If only in my dreams, I know he is there. And so I wait- a tall glass of water in one hand and my heart in the other.

	John Mayer Dreaming With A Broken Heart Continuum

24

2009-06-11T03:51:00.000+08:00

24 hours in a day. It’s funny how we manage to fit everything in. We spend an average of eight hours sleeping. Another eight at work. Where did the other eight go? It’s a question I’ve been asking myself lately. Perhaps the hours spent twittering and perusing the lolcat galleries have started taking their respective tolls. I’m still glued to my spot in front of my laptop trying to make sense of these darn hours.

I’m not who I thought I was 24 hours ago. Still I’m singing Spirit take me up in arms with You.

When life gives you lemons, don’t make lemonade. Bring out the tequila and some salt. I learned this the hard way. Squeezing lemons is way too tough plus it’s a bitch to your skin. Don’t bother fighting the odds. Just find a way to make it past the really big waves and watch your back because that undertow’s another bitch.

24 reasons to admit that I'm wrong. With all my excuses, still 24 strong.

I take comfort in the fact that one day all of this will make sense. It's all I have left.

I wanna see miracles. See the world change. Wrestle the angels for more than a name. For more than a feeling. For more than a cause. I'm singing Spirit take me up in arms with You.

24 hours in a day. I had 24 hours today. How did you spend yours?

	Switchfoot 24 The Beautiful Letdown

shhh...

2009-06-02T02:17:00.000+08:00

Over dinner, he calls.
You put on that face that you save for him.
I am as quiet as a mouse
Praying he won’t hear me.

All at once, I am
Your late night with the boys,
Your personal traffic jam,
Your surprise meeting with the boss.

In bed, I hear his key in your door.
You put on that face that you save for him.
I am as quiet as a mouse.
Praying he won’t see me.

I am under your bed
My clothes in a rumpled pile by my feet.
I listen for your footsteps
And his
So that I can weep hot tears in peace.

But not now. Not yet.
For right now, I need to be
As quiet as a mouse.

Photo Credit: Project 405

	Iron & Wine Flightless Bird, American Mouth The Shepherd's Dog

come back to me

2009-05-27T03:33:00.000+08:00

She couldn’t remember much about that day. They were driving in the desert and the road seemed to stretch out for miles. All she remembers is that it was very hot- scorching even- and she could barely think straight from all the heat. They were in his car. It was a beat up old Chevy- a mere shadow of what it was ten years ago. They could sense what was coming but perhaps out of fear, they both ignored it. The heat was unbearable but his gaze on her fevered neck burned even more.

“Do you believe in God?” she whispered. He held her hand, looked into her eyes and sighed.

“In moments like this, I know God exists.”

She looked at him, helpless in his car’s leather seat. Why this? Why now? Why me?

“Maybe one day… when you’re older or bigger or stronger… maybe we could start again.” It was a silent promise that she would keep in her heart forever. He opened the door- his personal way of letting her go. The desert was hot. She was unsure of what was to come. She looked at him as if to say please don’t leave me.

It is night time. A small blue car pulls up. The window rolls down and from the benign darkness, a shadow could be seen inside.

“Need a ride?” he asks.

“No. I’m waiting for someone.”

“Are you sure? It must be scorching out there. I can take you where you need to go.”

“I’m waiting for someone. He said he’ll come back for me.”

He looks in her eyes, so full of despair. I can’t help you, they seemed to say. He drove away, leaving only the dust to settle once again on the barren desert road.

In the morning, another car pulls up.

“Get in.” he says, confident of his next conquest.

“I’m waiting for someone. He’ll be here soon.”

“I won’t take no for an answer. I can give you a better life.”

“He’ll be here soon. You wouldn’t want him to see you. He’s coming back. I just know it.”

He drives away, the dust forming clouds in the air. She imagines faces and places in those clouds. That one looked like a rabbit caught mid-leap. Another one looks like a cat giving birth. This one looks a lot like him. Maybe he’s just circling around the block. Maybe he’s on his way back.

“Please don’t tell me you’re coming back...” she whispers. “…if you’re not.” It was a silent prayer. God knows if He heard her.

It’s been two years. She still walks the lonely road alone. She still thinks about him sometimes. The desert leaves no leaf unturned, no dirt unshaken.

Photo Credit: PBase

	David Cook Come Back To Me David Cook

sooner or later

2009-05-25T17:05:00.000+08:00

…everyone leaves.

I was a little sleepy when I checked my mail today. I swore I must’ve been still sleeping when I saw an annulment of sorts in my inbox.

From: Multiply <multiply@multiply.com>
Subject: Please confirm _____’s change to your relationship

_____ is requesting a change in the way your relationship is identified on Multiply - from Life Partner to Friend. Please visit your Home page to either accept or reject _____'s request. If you reject, then we will continue to recognize your relationship with _____ as Life Partner.

With a few mouse clicks, she was finally able to tell me everything she’s been holding back for months. Much as I would like to think that we would be partners for life, she needed to make some changes- note: not want to but had to. I can't blame her. She had every right to do this.

I’ve been moved to the Friends category (which is undoubtedly where I belong).

I guess I got what I deserved. “I’m sorry, I really tried.” I said six months ago*. I was sorry then. I’m still sorry now.

Sorry I wasn’t who you expected. Sorry I wasn't who I expected. Sorry we couldn’t get past certain things. Sorry I couldn’t even tell you to your face. Sorry. Sorry.

My hand slowly crept up the mouse. I closed my eyes, clicked the green button and let her go. Isn't it strange how technology has warped us all?

	The All-American Rejects It Ends Tonight Move Along

comfort of strangers

2009-05-24T17:58:00.000+08:00

Growing up, our parents would always tell us to never talk to strangers. Strangers must never be trusted. They could kidnap you if you talk to them long enough or they could get you hooked on drugs if you accept their candy. If you really think about it, it’s a little scary- the thought that this entire city is filled with strangers. Sometimes, they’re closer to us than we think.

In the age where technology exists to bring us together, it’s ironic how we’ve lost sight of intimacy. Sometimes, our best friends become strangers, too. But that’s not what I wanted to talk about.

Beep! My personal phone got a message. I was in the middle of class when I discreetly checked who it was.

For some time now, someone has been loading prepaid credits into my account. I first noticed it sometime in March. Someone loaded P100 into my account. I was very grateful and stuff but eventually dismissed it as some glitch in the system. Two weeks later, someone loaded P50. After a few more weeks, P30. I got a little curious. Who was loading money into my account? Maybe they jumbled a few numbers when they keyed it in and they’re still waiting for their prepaid credits. I felt bad for whoever that person was but I also felt grateful that I was somehow gaining from his stupidity.

For a few weeks, no one loaded into my account anymore. If that whole thing was a glitch, perhaps Globe finally fixed it. If the error was caused by a dyslexic loader, maybe he finally wised up. That’s why I was a little surprised when I saw that I got P30 again a few days ago. This could not be a glitch anymore. I decided to call Globe.

The woman I spoke with (I believe her name was Ella) was very nice. I basically told her that I’m not complaining or anything but someone’s been loading money into my account and I asked if there was a way to trace that. I told her I still had the message with me and I’d be happy to provide her with any information that she may need to trace this transaction. She placed me on hold while she checked on her resources and I couldn’t help but notice how professional she was. She spoke in broken English but she was very confident and she never made feel like my concern was really silly.

“Most people would just take the money and run.” I told her. “I’m really grateful for all the free stuff but I was hoping you could tell me who I have to thank.”

After several minutes, she told me she couldn’t find the transaction in the system. She gave me a couple of useless details, mostly things you could see from the message anyway. What I liked about my time with her is that she never made me feel like a stupid person for questioning something that was basically being given to me for free. I asked for her supervisor and gave her a commendation. I figured if a stranger was nice to me, I should be nice to strangers as well, starting with this one. She did an awesome job and I hope my glowing review of her customer service would help her get ahead.

Although I’m not about to eat their candy, I think I’m beginning to see the value in strangers. It’s an anonymous world out there and if one person would go out of his way to make someone like me smile, I think there’s hope for the rest of us. Although my commendation to Ella wasn’t much, it still felt good. It was the closest thing I could give to a hug. While she was thanking me, I could hear a smile in her voice. It was as if she hugged me back.

To the person who sends me load (even if my primary number is postpaid), thank you very much. I don’t know what I did to you or what moved you to start doing this but I want you to know I appreciate it very much.

Speaking of strangers, I got a really nice review from the people at Bloggy Award. Apparently, someone who reads this blog sent them my URL. It was very flattering to hear that a complete stranger took the time to nominate me. To whoever sent in the nomination, thank you very much. You just made blogging even more rewarding for me. You will always be welcome in this little piece of cyberspace I call home.

I got a nice review from one of their reviewers. I wanna thank Noemi for taking the time to read my blog (click here to read the full article) and for giving me a good review. I’m definitely going to take your comments into consideration the next time I update my template. Thank you once again!

	Beth Orton Comfort of Strangers Comfort of Strangers

secret

2009-05-22T03:48:00.000+08:00

I was fixing my room when I found an old notebook I used in college. As I was leafing through the pages, I noticed a story that I forgot about. It was one of the last things I wrote before my literary juices dried out. I was in the middle of Janet Fitch’s White Oleander when I suddenly felt inspired to write a little story. I wrote it hurriedly so my penmanship is barely legible and I noticed an apparent need for more punctuation marks. I did my best to understand what exactly I was saying and with a few minor edits, I think it’s finally ready for an online debut.

From a distance, I stared at him. He was dragging on a cigarette, naked as the day he was born as beads of sweat glistened on his brow.

Can he even see me with my clothes on? I began to wonder. Maybe this was it. This was all I was going to get. He seems so different when it’s like this- when I have him all to myself- when we don’t have to think about the people who lack the logic to comprehend our love.

It was an agreement I did not agree with, like absentmindedly scratching the scab off a healing wound, revealing the flesh yet again. He said, nay insisted that this could never see the light of day.

“Our little secret.” he said.

At school, I watched the prepubescent girls follow him, eating nothing so they could shed their bones.

“Where were you last night? I called you like fifty times!” they shrilled in monotonous voices. Even their voices could not hide their intelligence (or lack thereof). I listened as he told them he fell asleep watching his sick father. Funny, seeing as it was I who fell into slumber in his arms last night.

How would these girls even know how to touch him? Did they know how he grew with lust when I kiss the small of his back? Or how his eyes would burn with passion when I take him from behind? No, for it was a secret. “Our little secret.”

I listened as the girls retold his story to each other. It was the same story, told twice simultaneously, each one giving or taking a detail as she pleased. It was like the sea rearranging the sand with each wave, I could feel the weight of his gaze at the back of my neck, causing the tiny hairs to rise. I turned to face him and watched him act like he saw nothing. I looked down and saw I still had my clothes on. He could not see me with my clothes on.

That night, I listened as he climbed up my window. He propped it up, lit a cigarette and I could feel my gut wrenching at the sight of him. He put his hand on my waist. I closed me eyes and let him take me. There, beneath the pale moonlight, I knew my body has started reclaiming its rightful place.

Yes, he only sees me with my clothes off but it was better than him not seeing me at all.

“Do you love me?” he whispered to no one at all and I began to wonder if this was all there would ever be.

	Rachael Yamagata What If I Leave Elephants...Teeth Sinking Into Heart

i believe in love

2009-05-19T01:39:00.000+08:00

Scene: Close friends over a post-shift-slash-makeshift meeting. The question: if you were the person next to you, what would be the one thing you would change about yourself? When we’re with each other, we just let all our guards down so a question that would’ve crumbled the average Joe felt like nothing to us. I anxiously waited for my turn. I was more than a little curious with what my friend would say about me.

“Siguro yung pagka-jaded niya.” she finally said. My eyes grew wide with quasi-pain. I’ve always seen myself as an optimist. I thought it was just her who felt this way until another friend chimed in.

“Wag ka nang umalma kasi we all see it. Siguro di mo lang nakikita.” The second room in my Johari Window was become more and more apparent. Was I really as jaded as they say I am? *deep breath*

Well, I don’t believe in love anymore. Maybe that’s a good indicator. Maybe I am a little jaded. Just a little though.

Scene: New friends over coffee. We were all just buzzing from the energy emanating from our newfound brotherhood. I got into an interesting conversation with a particularly interesting character. Unjaded is in his late twenties, comes from a semi-broken home and shares a child with a woman he feels no love for. We were talking about how I didn’t think that love is a permanent thing. You would think that someone like him would share the same view but he proved me wrong.

"What is love? It’s when lust and convenience converge. If you think about the percentage of marriages that end in divorce, you would wonder why people even bother.” I said.

“It goes back to the glass being half-empty and half-full. You said that almost half of American marriages end in divorce. Did you ever consider that more than half of American marriages do not end in divorce?”

“Love is like a destination that only a few people reach. Most people who get there are either too busy being in love or too unsure if they really found it to give everyone else directions. If it’s real, it’s pretty darn elusive.”

“You’re too young to think that way. Call me in five years when you finally find someone to change your mind- and you will.”

I stared at him while I thought of a witty comeback. How could this man come home to a woman he feels no love for but still believe that love exists?

“You will find your soul mate.” he added.

Soul mate? He could not be serious. “Are you telling me that you still believe in soul mates? Even if your responsibilities prohibit you from finding that person, you’re actually telling me that you believe she’s out there?”

“Yes.” he answered, without batting an eyelash.

I was speechless. What right do I have- a person who grew up in a close Christian family and who does not even have half the scars he has- to question that? I’m not sure if it was the weather but all of a sudden, his optimism started rubbing off on me. I closed my eyes and tried to channel my thirteen year old self.

“I wonder what my soul mate is doing right now.” I wondered as I fiddled with my mother’s Nokia 3210. I was dressed in my usual sando and puruntong combo in the house I grew up in. When I was younger and more naïve, I even gave my soul mate a name- Lynne.

Something happened sometime between 1999 and 2009. Something changed me. I used to think Lynne was out there. Now I’ve lost sight of her. I wonder what she’s doing right now. Maybe she’s wondering what’s taking me so long. Maybe I’ve already met her but my cynicism somehow drove her away.

Do I believe in love? I have to. What right do I have to challenge its existence? Just because I haven’t seen it, doesn’t mean it’s not real. If only I could be more like myself when I was younger- before I lost sight of the things that really mattered- maybe the skies wouldn’t seem so gray.

It starts with the little things. I went upstairs and searched through the deepest corners of my closet. I took off my shirt and put on a tattered sando. It’s amazing that this thing actually still fits me. I sat in bed and looked hopefully at the moon. What is Lynne doing right now? Is she seeing the big ol’ moon as well? I wonder if she’s alright. I wonder if she thinks about me, too.

	Dixie Chicks I Believe In Love Home

sullen

2009-05-14T02:18:00.000+08:00

Today was a very tiring day. I barely made it to the front door. I was dead tired. I could feel that my mouth was agape. I wanted to brush it off and think that it was just one of those days but something inside me tells me there’s more to this feeling than meets the eye.

Drained and only partly conscious, I took my shoes off and began to undress. Everyone detoxifies in their own unique way. I listen to music to take things off my mind. For today’s soundtrack, I flipped through my dusty record collection. Fiona's Tidal would keep me company today.

Days like this, I don’t know what to do with myself… all day and all night. I wander the halls along the walls and under my breath I say to myself… I need fuel to take flight.

One of the lead trainers called in sick today and I took over her class. I was in her class all day. I even sent out the reports and stuff. It gave me a taste of things to come. If I play my cards right, I have a pretty good shot at a promotion but after today, I started wondering if I even wanted my own class. I’ve been here for a year and most days, I find myself wondering if this is all there will ever be. What am I doing here? Am I making a difference? It’s silly- to be disillusioned after working really hard to get to where I am now. As the finish line approaches, why do I feel the need to run in the other direction?

My feet, if they could talk, would probably have nothing nice to say to me. My job requires me to be on my feet 80% of the time. I slowly massaged each one. I’m sorry, I told them. It was all I could say. It’s not like I have a choice.

Or do I? I’ve been thinking about the difference between what I’m doing and what I set out to do. People teach because we do not want the youth to be ignorant. We want them to be responsible people in the future. We don’t want them to venture into the world unprepared. Along with their lessons, we hope that teachers would instill a level of morality in their students. We don’t just want them to be learned, we want them to be righteous. That’s a mouthful and we all know the pay rarely suits the job description but a lot of my bestest friends do this for a living and they actually enjoy it.

What am I doing? I’m contributing to a consumerist culture. People buy things. People avail of services. Sometimes, things don’t work. Sometimes, the services need a little nudging. They need to call people to get things fixed. Labor is expensive. Let’s ship these phones to the third world country that has the best English speakers. They can’t all be good. Someone needs to train them. Let’s get a couple of those, too. While teaching and training may appear to be similar, there’s something about the selflessness in education that I seem to be craving for. Back when I was still teaching, I felt a sense of pride that took away even the smallest bit of exhaustion.

There’s something about the greed and all that corporate stuff that leaves me a little dissatisfied. Before you label me a hypocrite, I must say that it was money that brought me to this path. My friends who went into teaching full time are pretty well off and they can afford to live comfortably with the help of their parents. I couldn’t do that. I wanted to be independent, if not physically then at least financially. The thing that brought me here has me chained to my desk. Gotta work if I wanna buy clothes. Gotta work if I wanna hang out with friends. Gotta work if I wanna get this and that. This line of thinking has me living from paycheck to paycheck. Thousands of pesos have been spent trying to pacify the feeling of guilt that comes with abandoning my passion and calling. So why do I even bother?

I was pondering this thought as I got ready for bed. I was just about to kill the lights when my phone started beeping. A message! It was an ex-trainee from about two months ago. After the usual hi’s and hello’s, I asked him how he was adjusting to his new account. What he told me blew me away at first but after it sunk in, it totally changed my mind. Suddenly, I didn’t have any doubts that I was in the right place.

He got terminated for exceeding the total number of allowable absences. Good job, I thought to myself. I must suck at what I do if my trainees can’t even survive the first two weeks on the job. I told him that that was sad news and that (standard line) I hope he could use what he learned from me and my colleagues wherever he chooses to go to next. He told me he applied at another call center. It was one of the big ones and prior to training with us, he wasn’t really that confident he could make it through the first screening. After nine excruciating weeks with us, he was able to pick up the skills he needed for his future. Not only did he get accepted, he's officially hired and will be taking calls soon. Although his future may not be with us, at least he is now able to support himself and his family. He never thanked me but he might as well have. I may not be changing the world or shaping the youth but talking to this person made me see the value in what I do. Screw consumerism. We live in a consumerist world. If I could help just one person survive in it, everything- every bad day or bad week or bad month- would be completely worth it.

Yes, I love my job and not in the way that Emily from The Devil Wears Prada loves hers. It’s funny how a simple SMS exchange could bring me to that conclusion. Not only will I run through the finish line. I’m going to grab that silly piece of tape like there’s no tomorrow. I love what I do and I hope to still be at it in the years to come.

	Fiona Apple Sullen Girl Tidal

closet

2009-05-11T21:19:00.000+08:00

I'm not exactly sure when I started writing this story. It's been a work in progress for several months now. I scribbled parts of it on coffee shop napkins, receipts and other pieces of paper I found in my bag. I finally had enough time to sit down and put the pieces together while maintaining the timeline and the mindset I had when I wrote it. So far, I like how it turned out. It doesn't sound like anything I wrote before- maybe because it's been a while since I seriously wrote anything. Anyway, here it is.

What does one wear when he’s about to break somebody’s heart? I pondered this question as I stepped out of the bathroom, freshly scrubbed but hardly invigorated. I didn’t know what words I could say. All I knew was this was the day that things would finally end.

Should I wear red? Should we celebrate what we had? We had a lot of good times. We certainly laughed enough, cried enough, fought enough, made up enough. The end doesn’t have to be any different. Let’s just say that we had a lot of good times and now it’s finally time to part ways.

Should I wear white? Like a silent flag raised in the middle of battle, would it get my message across? I don’t want to fight anymore. I don’t know if we even have enough left to become friends. Should I be the beacon of peace and serenity? Would that cushion the blow?

Should I wear nothing? Let you come to me. No. That wouldn’t solve anything and I just changed the sheets.

Should I wear purple? Wasn’t that your favorite color? Remember when we said we would someday rule the world? Maybe we should dress like kings and queens. No one would ever suspect that between the main course and dinner, we finally penned our story’s ending.

Should I wear black? It would go so much better with ‘it’s not you, it’s me.’ Maybe if you could see that I wasn’t right for you or that something about me just wasn’t right, you’d wise up and leave. It seems easier that way- to lay all the blame on my side of the bed.

My apprehension and indecision has got me so confused. I stood naked in front of a full closet for what felt like two years but was actually fifteen minutes. As I took out a green shirt (my favorite color), I realized I wasn’t breaking your heart. I was breaking my own. I’m going to miss you- our stupid conversations about God and politics, about suffrage and sloth. I looked in the mirror and didn’t know if I would ever be completely ready so I put on my pants, went out and hailed a cab. It was raining as the skies are wont to do when people break up. I sat antsy on the cool leather seats, expecting the best but bracing for the worst. One day, you’ll look back at all this the way a ten year old runs his hands through a healing scar. One day, you’ll forgive me.

sophia: ze ratteur

2009-05-08T02:23:00.000+08:00

One of the problems of living in the city is that in most of the metro's biggest cities, rats and cockroaches lurk relentlessly in the darkness. It's unavoidable. The houses are cramped together. No one has time to clean. Who has time to sweep the crumbs off the bed at 3AM? Voila! Our houses have become playgrounds for rats and other pests.

(Come to think of it, it doesn't even matter how pristine your house is. You can scrub the floors all you want but the ratties and roachies are here to stay.)

A few months ago*, my sister had a close (and expensive) encounter with Mickey Rat. Dear 'ol Mickey is really fat and really ugly and is said to be a far relative of the lovable Disney character. I haven't heard anything from Mickey lately and I finally understood the reason why.

I met Sophia on a day like today. It was slightly cloudy and every few hours, the heavens would shower the earth with immense amounts of (dirty, perhaps acidic) rain. She was really young and was meowing 'till kingdom come. We didn't let her in. We just ignored her. God knows where this strange creature came from. She could have a string of diseases we couldn't spell, let alone treat. She ignored the fact that we shut the door. She just kept meowing and meowing and meeeeeeeeeowing!

Segue to two days later. Sophia was seen with Mickey Rat. The latter was undeniably (not to mention disgustingly) deceased. I have no idea how this little kitten managed to take on a rat almost double her size. I suppose these are questions that are better left unanswered. I don't really want that visual in my head.

Because she saved us from leptospirosis and a plethora of other rat-related diseases, we decided to pseudo-keep her as a pet. It started with little bits of fish until one day, Sophie had her own bowl and everything. So far, things have been awesome. We don't keep a schedule. We just feed her when she comes. Lately though, she's been keeping track of my schedule. At 12:30 (which is the time I usually wake up), rain or shine, Sophia is always there- clawing at the screen door, meowing as loudly as the day she first came into our lives.

Last weekend, I decided to help Sophia exercise.

"Ratters need great upper body strength." I said to her. I lifted her tiny body off the floor and guided her up the screen door. I let her hang there for a few seconds just to see if she could take it. "Very good!" I added, convinced that she and I were succesful. I gave her the remainder of my brunch and played with her for a little while.

I should've seen this coming.

It was so cute. I just had to take a video. I was eating lunch this afternoon and on the dot, Sophia showed up. I was ignoring her because I was busy multi-tasking- eating lunch while checking my email. I noticed that the meows were getting louder and louder. When I looked behind me, I almost fell of my chair. See for yourself.

For your ratting and various extermination needs, call 1-800-SOFIRAT. Our representatives are available 24/7 and will be more than happy to assist you.

update: rain

2009-05-04T02:10:00.000+08:00

What is it about the quiet that comes after a storm that seems so beautiful? It's like everything that happened moments before becomes so minute. You start to appreciate the beauty of the little things- a small dog yapping a few miles away, the sound of bustling traffic slowly gaining pace and the precise shrieking of the neighbor's broom sweeping in a new day. I've never seen a morning quite like this before. How could it have been just there- hiding in plain sight?

When it rains for two whole years, one cannot help but appreciate the first spot of dry land.

confessions of a photo-shopaholic

2009-05-01T03:40:00.000+08:00

It's 3AM and I can't sleep.

I was having desert with a co-worker and in the middle of this delicious carrot-walnut cupcake, I realized I had the hugest zit on my forehead. Pimples are funny things. They can totally make or break you. At times, I feel so old and mature in my smart casual outfits and designer coffee and then my skin decides it has a different plan for me. It doesn't matter where it is. The point of the matter is it's there and it just screams for attention. I haven't had a huge pimple like this in months. I couldn't resist it. The minute I got home, I pricked it and now I'm practically bleeding. Damn it.

I remember what YJ from inyourarmsmanila said when I first met him. He was the third person I ever met through blogging despite the fact that I've been blogging since God knows when. "Sa picture, mukha kang tisoy." I do not have Spanish blood. Anyone who's seen me can attest to that. I'm one-fourth Chinese but one would never suspect that based on how I look. I realized that I've been Photoshop-ping myself too much.

In celebration of labor day, I decided to post one of the things I really work hard for. I guess you could also call it coming clean from all the hiding and airbrushing. The following are the befores and afters of some pictures I used for my blog.

Confessions of a Photo-shopaholic

Case # 1: Pout your lips. I used this one late last year. Despite looking really simple, I actually had to do a lot of editing. First, I used the Heal tool to remove a major pimple below my left eyebrow. I manipulated the Hue/Saturation to make me look less brown. I then colored my eyes but I purposely left some of the red-eye so that it wouldn't look so manufactured. I then airbrushed my forehead and eyebags. Finally I used Liquify to make my nose and lips smaller and to tuck in my flabby cheeks.

Case # 2: Feigning Nonchalance. First thing I did was I manipulated the colors. I was going for a vivid look and I wanted the blue to really pop out. I selected the background and made it bluer. I added a little white to make my cheekbones more visible. I blurred out and airbrushed some ugly shadows on my neck. Lastly, I used Liquify to make my nose smaller and to remove my double chin.

Case # 3: Kalbo! I said goodbye to my hair back in February* and everytime I saw my last avatar, I felt a little sad. It took me some time to get used to my new hair (or lack thereof) and when I felt a little more comfortable, I decided to show the (online) world what I had done. I selected the background, changed it to blue, and added a little glow/shadow using a duplicate of my outline. I then used the Heal tool for a pimple scar below my lip. After that, I airbrushed my forehead, cheeks and eyebags. Lastly, I liquified my cheeks and chin to make it look smaller.

Case # 4: Online Stalker. I didn't really have to change much for this one. I just blurred parts of my skin, liquified my nose a little and manipulated the Hue/Saturation to make it look more drab.

Case # 5: Spongebob Tattoo! The dilemma I had for this picture was that I already posted it* days before I decided it would be a good avatar. I couldn't drastically edit it without looking like a complete Photoshop whore so I just used some Auto Adjustments to get the color right. I decided my teeth looked too yellow (and I blame it on North Park's lighting bwahahahaha!!!) so I selected it and pasted it on a new layer. I then stripped it of its color and manipulated the brightness and contrast. This new layer became my false teeth and after fiddling with the opacity, I thought it was finally presentable. Looking at it now, i see that it's so obviously fake.

Case # 6: The Russ-Russ-Can-We-Leeezen? Portrait. I really liked the collages that a friend of mine made*. He used the better half of the millions of pictures we took on his birthday. This one was pretty simple because I didn't want to change it too much. I airbrushed my forehead, fixed my teeth a little and darkened the guy in the background. I then rearranged the picture so that it would look like it was in the middle of other pictures.

Case # 7: The Beach. I posted this picture last Tuesday and I'm glad to report that I mostly edited the beach and not myself. I fixed my teeth a little but that's basically it. I even left a mini zit on my forehead. The beach wasn''t exactly picture perfect but I wanted to share to the world that I finally saw the damn sea. I first manipulated the Hue/Saturation for the sea so that it would look really nice and deep. I realized the sea and the sky became the same color so I separated them by placing them on different layers. This allowed me to make the sky look a little brighter. If only it was that easy in real life.

I'll probably hate myself for posting these but honestly, who cares? Everyone does it. No one just wants to admit it. I'm not sure if I'm still making sense. Putting captions on those damn pictures was exhausting. Happy Labor Day everyone!

22

2009-04-28T01:47:00.000+08:00

One of my favorite English expressions is “stop and smell the roses.” It basically means you have to slow down and pay attention to the things around you. Another is “don’t rest on your laurels” which means you shouldn’t rely on past achievements to get along. What is it about the English language and idioms? It’s almost like it was meant to confuse people. After all, what good would smelling flowers do to someone who is very busy? If you really wanted to rest on something, wouldn’t you be more comfy in a fluffy chair?

Hold on. Before anyone reacts, I just want to make two things clear: (1) I know expressions are not meant to be taken literally and (2) I also know that laurels were these things used for recognition back in Ancient Greece. (I have a point here somewhere. I just need a little time to get to it.) If you think about it, these expressions are there for a reason. It got me a little confused. Which one should I follow? Should I keep running for that goal or should I take time to appreciate the things that I’ve accomplished so far?

I must say that today was a good day as far as Mondays go. The work load wasn’t as heavy as the past few weeks and they put me on the mid shift which means I can walk home without losing half the water in my body. Minutes before I logged out, something interesting happened. I was helping this friend of mine carry a couple of heavy workbooks to class when a trainee suddenly asked me a question.

“How old are you?” she asked.

Uh oh. Not again*, I gulped.

“That’s not a very polite question.” said their trainer.

“No. It’s just that I’ve seen you around and honestly, you look eighteen. How old are you?”

I was a little tired and I didn’t really care anymore about losing my credibility and stuff so I returned the question to her. “How old are you?”

“22.”

“We’re the same age then.”

When I got a moment alone, I looked in the mirror and wondered what exactly tipped me off this time. Most days, I feel like an imposter, trying to fit in with the rest of the world. Maybe it’s my hair or how I didn’t tuck my shirt in today. Maybe it’s all the sleep I got last night or the fact that I’m getting a little fat. Maybe (just maybe) it was the fact that yes, I am only 22.

I brushed it off, logged out and walked home. The street was dimly lit but not too dark to notice something moving, err leaping near my foot. It was a huge toad about the size of my fist and it was trying to get to this plant box where all the yummy flies were (or whatever it is toads leap for at midnight). The problem is it kept falling down because the plant box was pretty high. The poor thing just kept hitting the wall. If he had only paced a little further, he would’ve seen a little mound of cement that he could used to boost himself up. As I walked away, he was still at it- trying to get to higher ground but instead, falling flat on his face.

I was almost home when it suddenly hit me. I should stop fighting my youth. I know I’ve strongly expressed my desire to grow up immediately* but at the same time, I already am. Every day, I’m inching closer to 23. Years from now, when I look back to this part of my life, I don’t want to remember how I hated myself for being young. Hello world. I’m 22. Deal with it.

Being said that I am 22, I asked myself which expression I should imbibe. Should I rest on my laurels or stop and smell the roses? I realized that it should be a healthy mix of both. I need to acknowledge that yes, I do have laurels. It’s not as big or as plenty as the next guy’s but I still have them. I fully intend to smell the roses until I sneeze from all the pollen. The roses are oh so sweet and come to think of it, I worked hard for them. Hopefully, the toad in me will stop jumping at that damn wall in time to find that the cement mound is right around the corner. There’s no need to rush. Time is on my side.

Semi-update. I finally got to go to the beach and I’m happy to report that a little provincial air actually did me some good. The beach wasn’t exactly swim-mable but my work friends and I had fun in our pseudo-team building anyway. We took tons of pictures (this one was from my phone’s camera so the color’s aren’t that nice) which I’ll post real soon. The writing’s coming along pretty well, too and I’m going to post a story snippet just as soon as I get some outside perspective on it. This was definitely a gold star day!*

Review: Breakfast at Tiffany's

2009-04-27T01:37:00.000+08:00

Breakfast at Tiffany's
Released: October 5, 1961
Rating: ♥♥♥♥♥
[official website] [wiki] [imdb]

There’s a scene towards the end of Breakfast at Tiffany’s that almost made me dismiss the whole thing as a waste of time and money. I was thiiiiiis close to ripping the damn disc out of the player when I decided to endure the last five minutes. It’s raining (as most dramatic Hollywood scenes of this era are wont to do). Holly and Paul aka Fred are inside a cab and are debating whether or not she should go to Brazil- this despite the fact that Paul has moved mountains to be with this crazy woman. He has placed his entire life on hold to protect and care for a woman who does not even call him by his real name and who, let’s be honest, was very unladylike throughout the movie. He tells her he loves her, proposes marriage and delivers a heart-wrenching speech. She just sits there, indifferent, smoking a cigarette. I could say I’m pretty jaded but I still felt a little hurt for the guy. I wanted to hit her in the head with that damn cigarette holder but then she wises up, chases after him in the rain, and they lived happily ever after. As the end credits rolled, I sighed a breath of relief and finally understood why this movie has been a fan-favorite for all these years.

There are only four reasons why a person would not know even a little about Breakfast at Tiffany’s:

You’ve lived under a rock for the past fifty years or so.
You detest everything about American culture, including cinema, music and literature.
Your parents are wildly religious and are against movies that show any of the following: drinking, kissing, stealing and smoking.
You consider Krystala to be your entertainment benchmark.

If you agree with any of the statements above, I suggest you do yourself a favor and pick up a copy of this movie now. It’s a film full of iconic images that have come to shape the idea that most people have of love and of New York City. Everyone from Gossip Girl to Dmitri from Paris has paid some sort of homage to the film. I remember my mom used to sing the movie's Academy Award winning theme Moon River to me as a lullaby and that I wept openly when my sister sang it when my mom started working in the States. This movie has been embedded into my system despite the fact that I was 22 when I first saw it.

Audrey Hepburn plays Holly Golightly, a New York socialite who’s always made up regardless of the hour, has a thing for Tiffany’s and is hell-bent on marrying a millionaire. She meets Paul Varjak played by George Peppard, a struggling writer who hasn’t written anything in ages but still manages to live in a posh New York apartment. After a few minutes, it settles in. Holly is a modern-day geisha while Paul is a kept man. It has been said that because of ancient censorship, the producers had to downplay this a little. They go through all sorts of crap together, including a very public incarceration and a brief bout with shoplifting. Until the very end of the film, I still wasn't sure if they should be together or not and it's that kind of stress and confusion that makes this film really good.

Paul Varjak was the perfect leading man. He saw past the fact that Holly was either drunk or hung over and saw a woman worthy to be loved. He’s got that ancient machismo thing that films these days no longer have. Most romantic films these days show sensitive, artsy-fartsy types who would write you a poem or dedicate a sonata for you and it was refreshing to see one of the oldest and best known examples of the macho male archetype on film at work.

One thing that bears mentioning was how they got Mickey Rooney, a white man, to play the stereotypical annoying Asian neighbor with matching yellow make-up, prosthetic teeth and fake glasses. I thought the humor was very slapstick-y and the character, aside from being a long and elaborate racist joke, was quite unnecessary. The aging actor in a 2008 interview said that he was really heartbroken about all the criticism he got. Perhaps the film's producers wanted to gain a few laughs but in fact many Asians to this day still have not made peace with this movie. (But then again that’s just one little thing to look past and if I were to be honest, I'm not really that offended and so let’s continue.)

It’s funny how prior to seeing this film, I thought of Audrey Hepburn as this really posh woman. In the film’s opening and arguably most famous scene, she is seen walking in a black Givenchy dress, all made-up and stuff, eating a croissant in front of Tiffany’s. She was glamorous all up to this point. For the most parts of the remaining 110 minutes of the film, you get to see Ms. Hepburn's messier side. She’s a little tactless and annoying and drunk but then she turns around, kisses your boo boo and makes everything go away. There was a moment in the movie where I just wanted to shake her and scream schizo! but after some time, I realized that most female heroines have to be a little flawed to be really loved. Despite being rude and drunk all the time, you get the feeling that you want to save her and that brief glimmer of vulnerability makes Hepburn’s performance in this film so remarkable.

It’s a movie that all cinema lovers should see. I guess films back then were really different. There’s a sort of romanticism in the covert, a form of sexiness in the clothed. Back then, rain actually meant something and you could tell that people meant it when they said I love you. Three hours ago, I never understood what the fuss about this movie was all about. Now that I’ve seen it, allow me to borrow some words from Paul Varjak. These words were also heavily sampled in the Dmitri From Paris song, Une Very Stylish Fille. It’s from the scene where Holly and Paul first meet. Holly asks “How do I look?” and along with Paul, all I can say is “Very good. I must say I’m amazed.”

Review: La Mala Educación

2009-04-21T02:33:00.000+08:00

I know I'm supposed to be on a blogging hiatus and everything but because of the goals that I set for myself this year, I had to take a little break to talk about some movies I saw. In my idle time, I was counting how many films I've seen since my last review* and I realized I had to start writing or else I might have to post fifty reviews all at once. So anyway, here's me breaking away from my little hiatus to bring you a couple of movie reviews.

La Mala Educación (Bad Education)
Released: March 19, 2004 (Spain), September 5, 2004 (US)
Rating: ♥♥♥♥
[official website] [wiki] [imdb]

I first heard of Bad Education back in 2005* and I ultimately dismissed it as yet another gay European film. I posted a picture of the lead actor, Gael García Bernal, in drag and back then, I didn't feel like it was a serious movie so I didn't bother looking for it. Four years later, a friend lends me his copy and I finally get the chance to see it. I was surprised to see that there's more to the story than just gay Europeans flailing about. It tells the story of Enrique and Ignacio, two boys who met and fell in love in school only to be separated by a gay priest. Seems like a mouthful but considering that the movie was ambitious enough to include several controversial themes such as gay priests, drug abuse, transexuality, betrayal, blackmail, child abuse in the Catholic church and murder, the last statement barely scratched the surface.

Bernal is a great actor, that much is clear. Anyone who's seen Y Tu Mamá También, El Crimen del Padre Amaro or the Che Guevarra biopic Motorcycle Diaries can attest to that. I just never saw how brilliant he truly is until I saw this movie. He plays Juan, an ambitious actor who will stop at nothing to get what he wants. The character was actually patterned after Tom Ripley who was extremely evil but had an angelic face. He really stretches his acting muscles in this movie, proving to everyone just how flexible an actor he can be.

As my first Almodóvar film, I must admit I expected a lot. He is known as one of the most succesful Spanish filmmakers and just like Madonna, he's so cool he only needs one name. Many cinema freaks swear by him as much as I love Wong Kar Wai. I was amazed at how brilliantly he was able to execute the movie despite the fact that it was very complicated and that he usually works with a predominantly female cast (this movie was a first for him because most of the characters were men). He worked on this story for an entire decade and anyone who sees this movie can attest that those years were not spent in vain.

It's a story that will have you hooked from beginning to end. The film in itself is very suspenseful and thought-provoking. If you're a fan of foreign cinema or murder mysteries, this is definitely a worthy see. 4/5.

Monsters vs. Aliens. I saw this movie alone (because no one wants to watch cartoons anymore. Boo.) and I can honestly say I thoroughly enjoyed it. The characters were extremely adorable and the plot had me hooked from the first frame. My favorite monster has got to be B.O.B. (voiced by Seth Rogen of Knocked Up fame), a huge Jell-o figure that was created when a genetically-altered tomato was injected with this weird salad dressing. He was so adorable, I think I might just see this again when it comes out on DVD.

Forgetting Sarah Marshall. I'm not a huge fan of How I Met Your Mother but I must admit that whenever I catch it on TV, I find myself hooked. This movie was written and starred by Jason Segel (who plays Marshall in HIMYM) and tells the story of a guy who just lost his girlfriend of five years to an annoying British rock star. It was pretty funny although I was a bit disturbed by the large amount of male nudity in the film. It's almost like Segel flashed the audience every chance he got. There's a scene at the end of the film where authentic Muppets act and sing out Dracula's story. In the DVD's special features, it is revealed that Segel came up with the concept when he was in his early twenties. Talk about screwed up. That scene alone is well worth the price of admission.

Fast & Furious. This is the fourth movie of the Fast and the Furious franchise and supposedly takes place between the second and third movie. I was a little curious because it's pretty rare to see a movie's original cast all coming back to reprise their roles (especially when they weren't part of the other sequels). I remember I really liked the first movie. It was like this generation's version of The Godfather. The fourth installment was incredibly disappointing. The scenes seemed forced, the car scenes barely exhilarating and the plot mundane and a bit preposterous. You can't pay me to see this movie again.

Beauty Shop. Disclaimer: I did not set out to watch this movie. I was watching Velvet and it suddenly came on and before I knew it, the end credits were rolling. I actually sat through the whole thing! Queen Latifah is always a pleasure onscreen although it must be said that it wasn't the story that got me hooked. It was the fact that they were trying so hard to send out a message that African Americans are strong and hard-working and all that but at the same time, they engaged in racial stereotypes and at certain points seemed a little racist (to the white characters). The movie's not going to win any Oscars soon but seeing Alicia Silverstone with a fake southern accent dropping it like 'it's hot' is enough to keep you in stitches for weeks (for all the wrong reasons, of course).

The Amazing Truth About Queen Raquela. Carlo made me see this movie and I initially thought it was a quirky little indie film about a tranny (or a gay Ai-Ai film). Much to my surprise, the film was actually a documentary. They say the best movies are the ones that take you on a journey and this movie does that and more. You get to walk in the (fierce) shoes of Queen Raquela, a tranny from Cebu as she sees the world in search for her ever beloved Paris. The film won many awards and I must say they really deserved it. Not only did it show such a unique Filipino sub-culture, it also explored the economics and emotions that go into the webcam flesh trade.

So that's all for today. I'm quite tired. I'm currently stuck in the procrastination phase of my writing so once I finish cleaning my room and sorting my clothes, I'll probably post something fresh here.

do you remember

2009-04-09T20:42:00.000+08:00

I finally got to see my college friends eight months since we last hung out. We used to see each other monthly, exchanging updates and secrets. At times, if I closed my eyes it almost felt like I was back in college in my old rose barong hanging out at Coffee Bean in Gateway. Deadlines, schedule conflicts and other things that suck prevented us from our monthly dose of each other.

It’s been so long since we last saw each other. I started giving them updates – true and false – just to check how well they still knew me- I love my job (true), I loathe my job (true), I got a tattoo (techinically true), I started singing in a pop reggae band (false but they totally bought it), I shaved all my hair off (half-true). It was a nice way to catch up with each other as well as a good reminder of how far we’ve come. Gone are the days when I would scrimp on lunch just so we could all watch the latest Ai-Ai de las Alas movie. We were talking about something silly when we suddenly got serious. I looked around and realized it was that part of the night when we would question our intentions and evaluate each other’s accomplishments.

“Di mo ba nami-miss?” asked one of my first friends in the group.

“Ang alin?”

“Mag-turo. Sayang ka eh.”

“Nagtu-turo naman ako ah. Iba nga lang.”

“Hindi. Yung totoong pagtu-turo. Yung bang sa classroom tapos puro bata kaharap mo.”

“Di naman. Nakakatamad din kasi mag-gawa ng class records at lesson plans.”

“Sayang ka kasi eh.”

It was clear what she was implying. Out of everyone in our little group, I was the only one who did not pursue a full-time teaching career. I was the corporate sell-out. Was it worth it? I sipped my macchiato and remembered the days when I couldn’t even afford coffee. The answer was simple. I was tired of not being able to afford the things I wanted. Is it so wrong to want a better life?

I suppose they would never really understand why I chose this life instead of theirs. They’ve always had a clear idea of what they wanted in life and they did everything they could to find their happiness. Looking back, I had about a handful of events that changed my life- flunking the UPCAT, taking up Education, trading in my diploma for a headset, switching companies, applying for a promotion. If I had changed any of these variables, I would probably be in a different place right now. I could’ve been a teacher at a public school convincing myself that money is overrated. I could’ve been a starving artist, peddling stories for food or money. I could’ve been so many things. Why was I here? Am I happy?

I’m here because I made lemons out of lemonade. I’m here because I learned to accept the gap between what I want and what the world has for someone like me. I’m here because despite wanting to believe that I am a victim of my circumstances, I know that I chose this life. Am I happy? That’s debatable. Most days, I’m alright. Everyone has good and bad days. Sometimes people have good weeks, good months, even good years. I’ve had a good couple of months and I really have no reason to complain. Now that I’m finding more bad days than good, I gotta learn to suck it up and be a man about it. I’ve stopped sulking, in case you guys were wondering. I finally understood that I wouldn’t be so burnt out if I took better care of myself. Patience is a virtue, they say. I still have plenty of things to learn. Until I’ve learned all my lessons, I shouldn’t be in such a hurry for things to speed up.

“Di naman sayang. Masaya naman ako sa ginagawa ko eh. Siguro kung milyonaryo lang ako, nag-turo na ako sa totoong school. Eh kaso hindi eh.”

She nodded in agreement and decided that that was the end of that. That’s what I love about friends. They make you realize the strangest things at the strangest moments. I’m not really sure when we’ll see each other again. All I can do is just sit and wait in fervent anticipation for the conversations and epiphanies in our next night out.

BRB. In completely unrelated news, I’ve decided to take a break from heavy blogging. I’ve recently reacquainted with my first love- fiction. I finally finished writing a story (two years after I wrote my last story) plus I’ve got a few buns in the oven just waiting to be written. Like most infants, they need all the attention they can get and so to do that, I decided to limit my blogging. *hangs up Do Not Disturb sign* See you in a few weeks (hopefully with something good)!

Review: The Air I Breathe

2009-03-29T17:56:00.000+08:00

The Air I Breathe
Released: January 25, 2008 (US, Limited), April 2, 2008 (RP)
Rating: ♥♥♥♥
[official website] [wiki] [imdb]

There are some movies that you need to see at least twice before you can form a valid opinion. I remember when I first saw Y Tu Mamá También, I felt disgusted and I immediately dismissed it as soft-core porn disguised as a quirky Mexican movie. When I saw it about two or three more times, I understood the complexities of the storyline and saw that behind all the nudity there was indeed a story to be told.

I first saw The Air I Breathe about a week ago and as I sat in front of my laptop to write about it, I could not find the words to really say much about it. I just finished watching it again and I think I now have enough words to tell you why I liked it.

The Air I Breathe is the story of four people who seemingly live unrelated lives but are actually connected in some way. None of their real names are used throughout the movie. They are only known as the emotion that they portrayed. The movie is pretty graphic and I suppose that's why I had difficulties expressing myself after.

Forest Whitaker played Happiness- a black man caught in a rut from childhood to adulthood. He starts to question the meaning of his life. His search for happiness seems to have reached a dead end. He is told that there are times when risking everything is the only choice you have- and risk he does. He bets an insane amount of money for a horse he has barely seen. He loses- massively- and is forced to rob a bank to pay off his debt. Although a lot of the scenes in this movie may seem surreal, you should know that there is still a very precise idea of right and wrong and so Happiness, who has been unhappy for the most part of the movie finally finds bliss as he is shot down by the cops.

Brendan Fraser played Pleasure, a gangster with the ability to see into the future. Because of his special gift, he no longer feels pleasure in life. What’s the use of reading a book when you know how the story ends, right? When his visions finally fail him in the form of a woman whose future he cannot see, he finally experiences pleasure and life just as everybody else experiences it. I must say I have a newfound respect for this guy. I’m used to seeing him in such commercial roles and so once he is stripped of all the fanfare and hype, he’s actually a pretty good actor. Note to self- see Crash soon.

Sarah Michelle Gellar played Sorrow, a pop singer named “Trista” with a unique blood type. I’ve never been a fan of Sarah’s so I must say that the fact that I really liked her in this movie means a lot. As Trista, she is quite sheltered and has never really experienced sorrow. Her manager seriously screws up and is forced to pay off a gambling debt with her contract. In this new world of guns and violence, she meets Pleasure. Not until she loses him in a very emotionally charged scene does she experience sorrow. As he lay dying in her arms, his only request is to know her real name. She whispers it into his ear and he dies right there. It was a screwed up scene that would move even the thugliest thug.

Kevin Bacon played Love, the epitome of unrequited love. He is a doctor in love with his best friend’s wife (Julie Delpy). When the girl is bitten by a poisonous snake, he is forced to move heaven and hell to source her unique blood type. He stalks Trista and. after several complicated layers of the story, talks her out of commiting suicide. Everybody’s happy.

In the middle of the whole movie is Fingers played by Andy Garcia. He was in his element in this film as a gambling lord-slash-manager wannabe-slash-thug. He ties the whole story and all the characters together. Emile Hirsch (who was brilliant in The Girl Next Door and Sean Penn's Into The Wild) embraces stereotype as Tony, Fingers' annoying nephew who is in town to see the family business.

The movie is very well written. I was actually surprised that the writer and director (Jieho Lee) was relatively new in the business. There are a lot of good quotes from it. Here are a few:

"I always wondered, when a butterfly leaves the safety of its cocoon, does it realize how beautiful it has become? Or does it still just see itself as a caterpillar?"

"When I was a kid, I knew the secret to a happy life. Play by the rules, work hard in school. And if you work hard in school, then your reward is... more school. And after more school, then you're given the best life has to offer. A job, and money, and a future. Filled with unending, singular pursuit, for more."

"Sometimes the things you can't change end up changing you."

"When you can see the future, you think you're capable of changing it. But you're just a witness to coming moments, unable to help, even if you wanted to and maybe you don't. Sometimes you think you're supposed to learn something, about patience or distance, but in the end it's all about discipline."

"Sometimes being totally fucked can be a liberating experience."

Generally, the people who saw this film did not like it. There’s a lot of violence and the plot’s a little farfetched so I understand where they’re coming from. All I can say is the story was pretty unique and the actors were all in top form. I was surprised to see Sarah Michelle Gellar in a movie that I sincerely liked. It’s no wonder that despite hating the film, a lot of critics acknowledged her for her role in it.

My take-away from this movie: everyone’s connected and everyone’s looking for something. Just when you think you have someone figured out, life has a way of surprising you. All-in-all, it’s a huge emotional roller coaster that I thoroughly enjoyed. I’m looking forward to seeing it again sometime soon (once I’ve gotten over the last screening) just to see what new insights I can get. A solid 4/5.

hanging by a thread

2009-03-26T22:07:00.000+08:00

Subtitled: Confessions of a Burnout

I arrived at work today in an unironed shirt and unkempt hair (or as unkempt as possible with really short hair). This morning, I woke up to find a mountain standing between my bedroom and the bathroom. I had to climb up and rappel down just to get to work on time.

In between scrubbing and dreaming, I wondered when I started becoming just like everyone else. When did I go from loving my job and my life and everything in it* to equating my nine-hour shift to a slow and painful death. Surely, there must have been a time when I enjoyed going to work. Sadly, those days are gone. It's like I'm alive but I'm in a coma. I barely have the strength to find socks that match. Where would I find the strength to find happiness in my job?

This past week has been really stressful. I feel like I'm seriously starting to fray at the seams. I used to be really nice and polite and stuff until I realized I wasn't anymore. I had become Hitler in class. I wasn't smiling. I was putting noisy people on the spot. I was being sarcastic. I was being un-me.

This guy in my class came up to me and told me that I was being mean. He said it was a joke but I could tell that he meant it. I wanted to tell him that I wasn't doing it on purpose. That I was just tired. That I was stressed. That I need a vacation. I just pursed my lips and managed a fake smile. I couldn't tell him what was wrong. Truth is, I just don't have the same patience and passion I once had for this job. It means less now. Technically, I'm still doing my job. The trainees are still learning. I show up on time and I give it my all (or as much as I can). There's just one thing missing. I seem to have misplaced my heart.

I was surprised to find that I had nothing to do today. After two straight days of what felt like hand-to-hand combat, I was finally free. I wasn't scheduled for any classes so I took my time getting ready. It felt good not to rush. I got coffee, checked my email and chatted a little. Normally, I would look for some random class or ask if anyone needed me but like I said, I wasn't me anymore.

I got a little hungry so I went downstairs to get a snack. In the elevator, I smelled something really familiar. I once read that the human nose can recognize up to 10,000 unique scents. I struggled to trace the origins of this particular one. What is it and why is it so familiar?, I wondered. Somewhere between the seventh and fourth floor, I realized it was Woodspice- my father's aftershave. I closed my eyes and let the thick scent fill my head.

Suddenly, I was six years old in a Garfield t-shirt and shorts. I slowly opened the door to my parents' bedroom- just a crack small enough for me to see if they were still there. I could see my mother sitting in front of her dresser putting make-up on. I could smell my father's aftershave from their walk-in closet. In a few minutes, they would be off to work and I could watch TV in their room.

It's funny how work seems like such a magical place to a child. I used to think everybody who worked carried briefcases and smelled like Woodspice. I remember I couldn't wait to grow up and start working because I, too wanted to start carrying briefcases and wearing fancy aftershave. A couple of times, I even tried on my dad's ties and pretended I was late for this fancy meeting. I would address my stuffed animals and roll out complicated policies only I understood. I miss being naive like that.

As quickly as the memory rushed into my head, it suddenly evanesced. The elevator dinged, signaling my arrival at the ground floor. I got off, straightened my shirt and tried my hardest to blend in. I was no longer in my father's closet playing dress-up. This was for real. In lieu of a briefcase, I carried distrust and grudges. Instead of smelling like aftershave, I smelled like disloyalty and thoughts of flight. This was not my childish imagination anymore. I was at work and I was in hell.

It's getting late. I really should be getting some sleep. I pray for a good night's rest and hope that tomorrow, I would find the courage to click Apply Now.

the emancipation of miming este db

2009-03-23T15:59:00.000+08:00

everything's so random. setting aging plans into motion. new friends. blank cards (tabula rasa?). celebrating independence. getting (faux) inked. calorie-burning soup. dawson's crack err creek. dried mangoes at paseo. coffee and other highs. convergence of friendships. wonderful lighting at next door. emo moments at the park. finally getting lechon macau.

congratulations debbie! let's hang out at your new place soon! kahit na you would let me drown kasi buo na ang life ko. hmmph... kamon!

forgive the colors. everything was auto-adjusted. it's not my fault the sun wasn't up. fixed most of the colors but the quality got screwed up a bit. fughedaboutit.

tagged: handwriting

2009-03-22T16:41:00.000+08:00

I've been tagged (again) and this time, I really didn't have to think about it. It's pretty easy. Take a blank sheet of paper and jot down the following information:

1. Write down who tagged you.
2. Answer these:
- your name / username / pseudo
- right-handed or left-handed?
- your favorite letters to write?
- your least favorite letters to write?
- Write “The quick brown fox jumps over the lazy dog.”
3. Tag five persons.

I didn't want to start a tagging virus so I just tagged three people. Once again, these people are free to decline. Last I checked, the Philippines was still a free country.

I apologize for the red ink. It was the only pen I had in my bag when I took the test.

I am tagging Makmak, Carlo and Ria PM. Don't fail me, guys!

tagged: 15 different people

2009-03-20T21:04:00.000+08:00

Carlo tagged me. Honestly, I hate getting tagged. I usually ignore it (if you’ve ever tagged me, I’m sorry!) but after seeing how unique this is, I figured- why not? The rules are simple:

a. Write something about 15 different people.
b. You can NOT say who they are.
c. If someone asks you which one is about them, you can NOT tell.
d. Tag 15 people who you think would do this, too. You don't have to tag the people you wrote about.

I’m going to try my best to write about 15 people. Don’t blame me if the count’s a little short.

1. We don’t really get to talk much and so plenty is left unsaid. I want you to know that I’m grateful for everything you’ve done for me and that I’ll always be your little boy. I want you to know that I will stand by you through anything and everything. I will hold your hand when you’re older just like you’ve held mine through trying times. I want to tell you that we’ll weather this latest storm together and that I’ll help you in any way I can. I don’t tell you I love you as much as I should but I want you to know that I really, really love you.

2. In my head, you are the epitome of everything that’s wrong in the world. Talking to you is such a chore. Stop living in the past. Patience is a virtue. The grass is greener on the other side. You may want to try it some time.

3. We only met once but not a day goes by that I don’t regret it. I fucking hate you. Sometimes, I have dreams where I’m pulling out your fingers one by one. Each time I awake from that dream, I have such a huge smile on my face. The years will not be kind to people like you. I yearn (with every fiber of my being) for the day when the earth shall call your name and you will be nothing but a memory of lesser days.

4. We’ve shared so much drama, Shakespeare would’ve been intimidated. I love how you brighten my day just by being in it. You know almost everything there is to know about me. You respect my walls even when I shut you out. I can talk to you about anything and everything. You’ve seen my monsters and you’re still here and for that I thank you.

5. I didn’t think we’d get along. I remember how you practically snubbed me when we first met. If you told me that three years later we’d be this close, I would’ve laughed at your face. Thank you for being so open to all my craziness. Thank you for bringing your art into this world. Thank you for making me and our little circle so happy. And yes, one day I will email you the Coffee Bean pictures.

6. Mongie! I was a little scared when I found out I was going to be in your class. I didn’t think we’d get along. Little did I know that we had so much in common. I’m the type of person who values intimacy and the fact that we share such a unique form of it makes it even more special. You’re an original, baby. Don’t ever forget that.

7. You are stronger than you think. Sometimes, I worry that in the process of finding your happily ever after, you’re going to lose yourself. My words are never enough. That’s why I feel like I’m just standing on a soapbox when you confide in me. I am doing my best to be here for you and I mostly am. My words fail so let me borrow some from one of our favorite authors. Don't attach yourself to anyone who shows you the least bit of attention because you're lonely. Loneliness is the human condition. No one is ever going to fill that space. The best you can do is know yourself... know what you want.

8. We once said that cosmically, we were meant to be friends. Countless times, we’ve parted and reconnected and yet it still feels like we’ve never been apart. I’m so glad we’ve evolved. We’re not slaves to the idiotic Wolverine anymore. We’ve grown as writers, as people and as friends. I wouldn’t trade anything for the friendship I have with you and I’m looking forward to us hanging out when we’re both wrinkly and old.

9. You’re the closest thing I have to a brother and I know that you could say the same for me. I’m sorry. Two words that are so easy to say but for some strange reason, I couldn’t say that to you. You didn’t deserve the way I treated you and the fact that I ignored your cries for help makes me a bad person. Thank you for being there for me. Thank you for letting me be when I needed my space. I really am sorry and I hope that from all the things we left in the fire, we would still have a little something left to rebuild.

10. You’re a little pathetic and I suppose we could blame that on a lot of things. I never told you this but I caught you lying so many times, it’s not even funny. I hope this “man” of yours materializes soon or else you’ll be left with nothing but the sad pictures you showed me and the thing in your head that forces you to exaggerate. Truth is, in time you will understand everything. I just don’t know if I’ll still be there to walk you through the process.

11. Of all the friendships I’ve made, I think you surprised me most. I think we’re at the point where we can tell each other anything and it’s nice to know that you’re always just a holler away. Thank you for the hugs and for the advice and for figuratively holding my hair while I puked out my teenage drama. I just hope that I can one day repay you for all the times you’ve fixed me. Thank you for keeping me sane and for always knowing just what to say. You’re great at what you do and you may not know it but I really look up to you. Thank you. Thank you. A million times, thank you.

12. I’ve broken you so many times, I’m amazed you’re still here. Someday, I will get my karma and I know that you’ll hold my hand as I go through it. You never really understood the things that I felt but just so you know, I did that all for us. I wanted there to be an us after the chaos that was 2008. I miss our late night conversations, both of us watching TV- miles away but connected by the telephone. I miss doing things with you. I miss talking to you and if I would only allow myself to be honest, I know that I miss you. I know that you read my blog every now and then. I will always love you and I want to thank you for always being there.

13. I’ve never had a best friend before. I used to think that it wasn’t a necessity. Life would be just fine without a best friend. You proved me wrong. We’ve gone a long way from jogging around the park, trying to make sense of life and love. We grew up together and I’m glad you’re in my life. You said that you wouldn’t have made it this far in life if it weren’t for me. I want you to know that the feeling is mutual. I would be lost without you and our little weekly sessions.

14. Sometimes people have to part ways. Sometimes, I look at our pictures and I feel a little sad that we don’t talk anymore. I may have overreacted a little and I took advantage of the fact that you were never the confrontational type. You’re crazy and I miss you. I’m sorry.

15. As said in Grey’s Anatomy, if love were enough, I’d still be here. I struggle with the question if what we had was real or if it was just the season. I avoid certain places because of you. I am not the same person because of you. I still think about you every now and then even though I blame you for so many things. You’re one of the people that brought me to where I am right now. The coal doesn’t thank the fire but it’s grateful anyway.*

Phew. Well, what do you know- I actually made it to 15.

Wow. Whudabout I’m getting affected? It’s actually a little therapeutic. I was able to let go of some things I’ve been keeping inside. Can you say eeeemmmmooooo?

I am tagging the following people:

Blog buddies…
1. Victor
2. EJ
3. Mr. Scheez
4. Niel Camhalla
5. Gram Math

and actual buddies…
6. Belle
7. Apol
8. Juber
9. Derick
10. Kitch
11. Mitch
12. RG
13. Beans
14. Joel

Feel free to decline. Like I said, I completely ignored these kinds of things in the past. One thing I can say though: it may seem like a chore but trust me, it’s actually a lot of fun. I may even consider doing more in the future!

Jere, if you're reading this, I wanted to tag you but I'm pretty sure na-tag ka na ni Debbie or Carlo. This is a pseudo-tag. Do it now!

If I didn’t tag you and you want to answer, take the fifteenth spot. I warmed your seat for you. Take the damn test.

15. You

update: so tahrdy

2009-03-19T19:34:00.000+08:00

2007: All work and no play makes Jack a dull boy.

2008: Less work and a little play makes Jack a regular boy.

2009: More work and more play makes Jack a tahrdy* boy.

On most days I find myself slumped over my bed, too lazy to even change my clothes (or my bedsheets). Work has got me so drained physically and emotionally that it's beginning to take its toll. I waited all week for an epiphany to write about but nothing came. I was still tired. I was still in the city and not a single muse was there to guide the way.

I need a vacation. citybuoy needs to be provincebuoy for at least a week. I filed for a vacation leave and it got beautifully and ceremoniously rejected. Boo. I guess I'm not hitting the beach any time soon. Since then, work's become such a bitch. I've worn out my new shoes from dragging my heels to work. I need to come to terms with the fact that because of graduation season, work's going to be a little hectic. With more and more classes full of fresh trainees, dreams of running with sand at my feet have given way to speech drills and tall caramel macchiatos.

I tried psyching myself. Yes! I've got work in the morning! I am sooo excited! That didn't work.

I tried tricking my mind into thinking I was on vacation. Let's go to the grocery! I'm going to get some butter cookies! I'm sooo excited! Didn't work.

I even tried sleeping in my swim shorts hoping that I would dream of the ocean. Didn't work either.

Help me. I neeeeeeed a vacation. Burning out in 5... 4... 3... xxx

review[s]: 1234

2009-03-18T08:40:00.000+08:00

This year, I promised I would make a review for every movie I see. I've been neglecting that promise lately. I've never been a fan of Makro but I understand that sometimes, wholesale can be good for you. Without further adue, four compressed reviews.

Empire Records
Released: September 22, 1995 (US)
Rating: ♥♥♥♥
[official website] [wiki] [imdb]

Empire Records (when it first came out) was one of those movies that told the story of a certain generation. We've only had a few. (For my generation, it was Mean Girls). The plot is simple enough. A couple of record store employees clash here and there. The movie is ridiculed with stereotypes: the smart girl, the artist, the slut, the dork, the artist and the weirdo. After discovering that their nice little joint was about to be converted into the McDonald's of the music industry, one of them, in an idiotic act disguised as heroism, gambles the day's earnings in an effort to raise enough money to save the store. If things were that easy, life would be so uncomplicated. He loses everything.

It's funny because when this movie came out, I was 9 years old but watching it now, I kinda felt old. I felt like everything was this inside joke I wasn't privy to that I so wanted to know about. The writers and producers were able to cram in an entire culture in 2 hours of film. For people like me who didn't grow up in that era, it's a little difficult to relate.

The soundtrack was absolutely great. People have said that it's one of the 90's best soundtracks ever. All in all, the movie is a beautiful ode to youth, all its shapes and forms, our identities and all the things we try to prove before we get older. Definitely worth seeing again.

Yes Man

Released: December 19, 2008 (US), January 21, 2009 (RP)
Rating: ♥♥♥

[official website] [wiki] [imdb]

Yes Man is a feel good movie. I saw it when I was feeling a little down and it really brings out the dreamer in you. It tells the story of Carl Allen (Jim Carrey), a depressingly divorced pencil-pusher who, after a startling epiphany, tries a new philosophy on for size. He challenges himself to say "yes" to everything and anything.

You get to see Carrey in his element. Yes, at times it can a little slapstick but then again we all knew that when we saw the movie. In one scene, we see him peeking out a window, guitar in hand singing Third Eye Blind's Jumper. That scene alone (and the LSS that goes on for days ♪ i would understaaaaaaaaaaand!!! ♪) is worth the price of admission.

I especially enjoyed seeing Zooey Deschanel. I loved seeing her sing in Elf and so when I found out that she was going to sing again, I knew I had to see this film. You get to see her more quirky side ala Elf and Failure To Launch. Although I love serious-Zooey as well (Almost Famous, All The Real Girls), it's nice to see this side every once in a while.

All in all, it really is a feel good movie. The ending was a little predictable but the first part of the movie more than makes up for this. I think everyone who's seen this movie would probably think of saying "yes" a little more often. It appeals to the dreamer in everyone and if only for that, this movie is worth seeing.

Taken

Released: January 20, 2009 (US), March 11, 2009 (RP)

Rating: ♥♥♥♥

[official website] [wiki] [imdb]

I am convinced that Liam Neeson is made of steel. After years of being second-billed, it's nice to finally see him on top. In Love, Actually and Kinsey, you get the feeling that his macho days are finally over. He proves this wrong in Taken.

Taken is the story of an ex-military man who says goodbye to his life to be closer to his daughter. On a trip to Europe, his daughter gets kidnapped and is thrown into a world of drugs, human trafficking and prostitution.

I'm not a fan of action movies but I really liked Transporter. I've stood by the franchise through all the sequels and I must say I've become a fan. Taken is from the writer and producer of the franchise. In both films, the hand-to-hand combats feel more like a choreographed dance and less like violence. In one scene, an elevator opens to reveal a man brutally gunned down. A woman starts screaming and for the first time in the film, the audience finds a character they can all relate to.

Taken is the thrilling- albeit terrifying- precautionary tale that will surely be a staple in parental sermons worldwide. The scenes are thrilling, the fight scenes intense and the plot (for once) believable. If you've ever wanted to go backpacking across Europe in a fit of spontaneity, watch this movie first and think twice.

Watchmen

Released: January 20, 2009 (US), March 11, 2009 (RP)

Rating: ♥♥♥

[official website] [wiki] [imdb]

I've never been a comic book fan. I used to think Neil Gaiman was a folk singer. When I was a kid, my dad used to get me comics from Book Sale but I never really took a liking to them. I am, however, a fan of movies and so as a movie fan, I knew I had to see Watchmen.

While most superhero stories start with death-defying acts of bravery, this movie starts with the death of a famous hero, The Comedian. The remaining heroes pick up the pieces, years after they were forced into retirement.

It's funny because the film is full of little treasures. I've been a fan of Billy Crudup ever since I saw him in Almost Famous and Big Fish. I hardly recognized him in this movie. He's the blue guy with the CG appendage. Patrick Wilson who I absolutely loved in Little Children was really interesting, too. In Little Children, he played the unwilling antagonist. In Watchmen, he played the unwilling protagonist. I think he's pretty much got the whole market covered.

The movie was a little too long. The plot was a little too ambitious. I think they could've had enough material for two films. The story explored so many different themes: humanity, morality, love, hate, family issues and it left me feeling tired three-fourths into the movie. Comic book fans will appreciate the panel by panel translation to the silver screen but for us regular folks, it was a little too verbose. To sum it up in an equation, think NBC's Heroes + Before Sunrise + Before Sunset = Watchmen. If you're planning on seeing this movie, do yourself a favor by getting enough sleep and arming yourself with a latte and some popcorn.

update: reminder

2009-03-16T02:04:00.000+08:00

I was looking for this book that a friend of mine wanted to borrow. As I flipped through the pages in search of ATM receipts and other embarrassing makeshift bookmarks, a small piece of paper flew out. It was a little thing I wrote over a year ago at the back of a used schedule tracker.

Now that you’re gone, I find myself closer to God. I pray for strength and courage for each day that feels like my last. I pray for heavy rain to conceal my crying eyes. I pray for love to one day find its way back to me. But mostly, I find myself praying for slumber for it is what eludes me most.

I know what you’re thinking. It’s so melodramatic, it almost plays like a weepy country song. Seeing it now, it makes me cringe a little (conceal my crying eyes?). I guess I’ve forgotten how shattered I was back then. It’s nice to sit back and think about how I somehow pulled through. Although I still have a few missing pieces, I know that I’m almost whole again. Sometimes, all you need is a little reminder to show you how far you’ve come.

the boy's gone

2009-03-11T20:36:00.000+08:00

How old are you?, he finally asked. It was obvious the question had been bothering him for quite some time now. I was just about to ask him to spell Schenectady on the board when he finally got the guts to ask his question.

22, I replied abruptly. Now what’s your answer to number three? I wanted to get back to business as soon as possible. I learned early on that in my profession, being young wasn’t a good thing. I could risk my credibility. After all, who would listen to a 22 year old? I’ve always felt like I was old for my age but days like this, I feel I am once again pimply-faced and juvenile.

A simple question has once again thrown me. Admittedly, I couldn’t focus on the task at hand. I started wondering what this newfound knowledge was doing to my credibility. Were they still going to listen to me once they learn I’m practically half their age?

For a few minutes, my mind spaces out. The walls, tables and chairs start to blur. Suddenly, I am but a tiny tadpole in a lake full of frogs. Their croaks and ribbits fill the air while I try my hardest to make my legs stronger. I want to be as strong as them, I silently wished. I watched them leap and catch flies, their tongues dancing in the air. I feel envious. I am still. Will I ever be just like them?

There’s a ticking in my head that tells me if I don’t fit the mold soon, I’m going to have to leave the lake. It’s a slow breaking down of the body and mind. My legs are tired but they try to swim anyway. The water feels heavy. I can’t breathe. Damn it, I can’t breathe!

Be so happy with the way you are. Just be happy that you made it this far. Go on. Be happy now.

Over break, an elderly woman asked me the same question. 22, I once again replied. She started talking about her daughter and how she’s much older than me. I’m sure your mother’s very proud of you. Sarap mo sigurong ampunin. I managed a polite smile but in my head, I was practically screaming. My cover’s blown. They’re on to me. Pretty soon, they’ll have to stick me in the back office till I start growing facial hair.

Please be happy now. Because you say this is something else. This is something else.

I need a vacation. Nothing makes sense anymore. I search through the cabinets of my life. A few unpublished posts here, some unsorted memories there and a handful of people (myself included) left behind in pursuit of glory. Is this glory?, I wondered. It sure doesn’t feel like it. Most days, it feels more like a well choreographed dance. My mind knows the steps very well but my body refuses to cooperate. Turn left, turn right and pirouette. Disillusioned, I turn right, turn left and fall flat on my knees. The auditorium is silent. The curtain falls and so does my heart.

This is the price you pay for dreaming, I heard her say. I searched for her voice but I couldn’t find her. Where did she go? My tadpole legs struggle to swim to her but it’s too late. It’s too late. She’s wised up and left.

I lay in bed. It’s 24 minutes to lights out. In ten hours, the dance will start again. Turn left, turn right and pirouette. Turn left, turn right and pirouette.

update: grrrrr...

2009-03-09T22:42:00.000+08:00

Play with babies and you'll end up washing diapers!

[Luisa, Y Tu Mamá También]

on the other side

2009-03-05T00:24:00.000+08:00

It has often been said that the grass looks greener on the other side. The blades of grass look so appealing. Its bluish green tints shine brightly in the sun (from where I stand at least). In my corner, the shrubbery is anything but majestic. What was once a landscape of neat Bermuda grass is now infested with weeds and various bugs- a beautiful paradise giving way to a throng of convenience and mis-happenstance.

During moments of introspection, it’s only normal to hate our lives. I myself have thought about changing things drastically (hence the haircut) in an effort to become closer to my ideal self. Meet someone interesting enough and you start to wonder: what would it be like to be just like you?

I got home at about 2 in the morning to find my father smoking, looking helpless at the door. Apparently, my sister had another close encounter with Mickey Rat (Mickey Mouse’s fat, ugly cousin) and she fell down the stairs. City life is not all it’s perked up to be.

I asked my sister how she was and she said she felt fine. She was a little shaken but she wasn’t really in pain at all. I asked if she hit her head. Yes, she said. We fed each other's paranoia and in the end, I convinced her to go to the hospital.

So that’s how I got to spend my Sunday morning at the emergency room. I held my sister’s hand through the whole process. I didn’t expect that this would be where my next epiphany would find me.

As we were pulling up to the curb, I noticed a man in a white shirt running towards the ER. He had a panicked expression and was practically screaming at the nurses for help. He had a bottle of milk and a dirty white washcloth with him. About two minutes later, a woman with her infant came in. I tried my best not to eavesdrop but from the little I could surmise, the baby fell off the bed. The little girl’s green and white shirt had lots of dried blood. As the doctors rushed to her aid, I noticed that the man kept pacing around the room. It’s not everyday that something like this happens. I wanted to tell him that things were going to be fine but truth is I wasn’t so sure of that myself.

My sister and I looked at each other. I don’t think I’m supposed to be here, she said and I felt like she pulled the words right out of my mouth.

As the doctor examined my sister, I couldn’t help but stare at the man in the white shirt. He was talking to someone on his cellphone, possibly about an urgent loan. He didn’t have much money, this much was clear but he wasn’t going to let that stop him. Here was a man whose entire life was placed on hold for the one thing that he loved most. I thought about all my problems with money and I realized that despite all the times I felt I was depriving myself of things, I had no right to complain. Here was a man with a valid (and might I say urgent) financial problem. He looked like a good man. He must be wondering why this was happening to him. From what I could see, he didn’t let that get in the way. He just did what he had to do to save his daughter’s life.

A few moments later, a group of scantily clad women rushed into the ER. Mind you, this is a small hospital where hardly anything ever happens so getting three patients in one night was a big deal. Some of the nurses started waking up to attend to the new patients. Anong nangyari?, said one of the nurses. Inaapoy po siya ng lagnat. Di daw maka-ihi, said one of the women. The doctors and nurses all looked at each other.

One of the more sarcastic doctors was assigned to her case. Severe UTI yan. Bakit kasi pinagpa-bukas niyo pa? Hirap umihi, ibig sabihin may problema ang daluyan ng ihi. Ano ba ang daluyan ng ihi?, she managed to say in one breath.

Andun po kasi siya sa dressing room. Nangangatog. Di naman nahimatay pero inaapoy talaga ng lagnat, said a slightly bigger woman. It was crystal clear these women were prostitutes. I felt awful for the poor girl in pink pants and wooly black socks. She could not have been more than 19 years old. Whatever decisions led her to that hospital bed, I didn’t really want to know. I just realized that no matter how bad I feel about my career progress and some other work drama, at least these things will never lead me to a hospital bed with infected pink parts. At least I’m in a safe workplace where no one could really threaten my life.

No matter how shitty my life can be at times, it helps to know that I’m relatively fine. I’m not dead in some stranger’s home. I’m healthy. I’m not running a race against time and money to save my daughter’s life. I don’t have to sell my body to earn a living. I have all my limbs and original parts. Yes, I’m whiny but I’m grateful nonetheless.

My sister’s better now. After a series of x-rays, the doctor told us that her neck bones were really straight and that wasn’t a good thing. After the mandatory lecture, she sent us home with a prescription and specific instructions. Although the 30° pillow inclination isn’t helping her sleep one bit, with some rest, medication and support from family and friends, she’ll be back to her old self in no time.

We all have problems. No one goes through life without them. Every now and then, we need a reminder that for most people, the grass is never just green. Sometimes it’s brown-green, half alive and half dead. Sometimes it’s brown with the faint scent of dog shit. For some, there is no grass- only a mixture of mud and tears. That should never stop them. Grass, for all its elusiveness, is incredibly tenacious and sometimes all it needs is a little elbow grease and a shitload of contentment. I think Sheryl Crow said it best. The secret to happiness is not in having what you want. It’s in wanting what you’ve got.

Postscript: My dad bought about three of those old-school rat traps ala Tom and Jerry. Haven’t heard any snaps but I’m keeping my fingers crossed.

photo: green grass and blue sky [admin]

update: blood

2009-03-01T15:27:00.000+08:00

I’ve been having these really violent dreams lately. When I wake up, I feel breathless and I’m almost always sure I have a new scratch wound somewhere. Today, it’s right above my upper lip. Most of the blood’s clotted by now but I still don’t understand why my body becomes so violent once the lights go down.

In this particular dream, a faceless old man is choking me. I was begging him to let me breathe but the monster had different plans for me. He took his time to make me suffer. Each move was precise. I was not his first victim. He was just about to draw a gun when I woke up, gasping and grateful to be alive.

Forgiveness is easy. It’s acceptance and forgetting that’s a bitch.

Review: Sisterhood of the Traveling Pants 2

2009-02-28T18:00:00.000+08:00

Sisterhood of the Traveling Pants 2
Released: August 6, 2008 (US), September 24, 2008 (RP)
Rating: ♥♥
[official website] [wiki] [imdb]

Sisterhood of the Traveling Pants 2 picks up shortly after the first movie ended. I was a fan of the first movie so in all fairness, I reeeeally wanted to like this movie. It tells the story of Tibby (Amber Tamblyn), Lena (Alexis Bledel), Carmen (America Ferrera) and Bridget (Blake Lively) and the magical pair of pants that happens to fit them all.

The Good
I'll always remember Amber Tamblyn as the spunky and emotionally tortured Joan from Joan of Arcadia. Who could forget Alexis Bledel as Rory Gilmore from the Gilmore Girls? It's funny how a lot of the casting process for the first two films built on the actresses' stereotypes. The audience didn't really have to think hard because of the similarities between Joan & Tibby and Lena & Rory.

The Bad
Call me an unimaginative viewer but because we have all seen Blake Lively in Gossip Girl, I found it hard to separate Bridget from Serena. As an actress, she's not like other people who literally transform onscreen. I could say the same thing for America Ferrera. Because of the success of Ugly Betty, one can guess that it's hard to unlearn a character. Her plucked eyebrows and hyped wardrobe doesn't say Carmen anymore. It screams Betty.

The Ugly
This is one of the worst examples of book-to-movie conversions. They took most of the fourth book and added a few scenes from the second and third book and expected magic. Halfway through the movie, you get the feeling that it's a huge PMS ride and it's not something I would want to see again.

Final Say
I heard that in terms of revenue, this film did better than its predecessor. I just felt a little disappointed that they stretched the story until it broke. If you liked the first movie (or the book), you probably need to see this to know how the story continues. All-in-all, it failed to bring the magic that the first movie had and because of that the movie is entirely forgettable.

Review: Beaches

2009-02-28T17:35:00.000+08:00

Beaches
Released: December 21, 1988 (US)
Rating: ♥♥♥
[official website] [wiki] [imdb]

There are two songs that remind me of my grandmother. The first is the song about the bears from Full House because of her fondness for the show. The second would be Bette Middler's Wind Beneath My Wings. My aunt sang this for my grandmother during her wake and whenever I hear it, I start to miss my grandmother.

Over the years, a lot of my (mostly gay) friends told me that I just had to see this movie. I was trying to avoid it because I didn't want more emotions to be charged into that silly song. Anyway, one day I finally decided to see it and here are my thoughts.

Beaches is the story of an extraordinary friendship between CC Bloom (Bette Middler) and Hillary Whitney (Barbara Hershey). At first glance, they are so different. No one would've expected they would become friends. The former is an extrovert; a singer and performer. The latter is a shy little rich girl. Over the years, they exchanged letters and shared their lives despite the distance. They became best friends until the very end.

Don't get me wrong. I liked the casting in the movie. Despite my grievances, I don't think anybody else could've played these roles. It just seemed to me like the movie was a big excuse to have the Bette Middler show. Yes, she is very talented. In fact, she sang one of my favorite Beatles covers, In My Life. It's just that every ten seconds, you get a reminder of how wonderful her voice is or how fantastic her acting is. Forgive me if sarcasm doesn't translate well online. About 90% of the song is scored with a Middler song. I cringed every time they showed theater-actress-Bette. It seemed so pretentious and tried too hard to be artsy-fartsy.

Barbara Hershey was a very big star from the 60's to the late 80's. I suppose the role called for her to be very watered down. I just felt that at first, she was very boring on screen. I didn't know that that had some relevance. She does seem very interesting and genuine. You can almost feel for her whenever CC becomes a little too much for the less campy viewers. Maybe it's because the first time I saw her, she was so spunky. It also didn't help that she was 40 years old when the film was being made and they tried too hard to make her look young.

Over-all, it's a nice story. It's a beautiful ode to friendship and how it can be found in the strangest places. It's a typical chick-flick from the 80's in a sense that it appeals to the emotion a lot. It's an interesting movie (probably because I didn't expect to cry for my grandmother at the end) and it's a must-watch for fans of the genre.

300 / wise up

2009-02-26T01:55:00.000+08:00

And now, a few words from our sponsors. I’ve had a couple of reviews in my laptop that I couldn’t publish because I wanted my next post to be meaningful. I logged in to Blogger and saw that so far, I’ve written 299 posts. I wanted my 300^th to be at least a little substantial and so in the meantime, they’re staying in my hard drive. I’ll probably post them over the weekend. I feel like a proud father. My little baby has grown to 300! Gushing aside, here’s this week’s post.

My feet are killing me. If my right pinky toe could speak, I bet I would only hear profanities coming from its feeble little mouth. About a couple days ago, I tripped and ripped my work shoes. I’ve had that pair for about six months which is pretty good since I like to walk a lot and my feet are pretty big. I didn’t really think it was a bad thing until I realized that the average lifespan of a pair of shoes should at least be a year. Anyway, my situation has me wearing these Florsheim torture devices. It was a pair my uncle sent me from Jersey and to my horror it’s at least one size too small. So far, it’s been hell disguised as black leather shoes.

I’d get new shoes but here’s the thing: I’m broke. A lot of my friends think that I make a lot of money but lately, I find myself living from paycheck to paycheck. One time, I sat down and tried to make a budget. I set aside some money for my parents, some for “savings” (in quotes for pathetic reasons), some for hanging out with friends and the rest I divided into the total number of days I had to be at work. I probably stuck to the budget for about two days. After that, I gave up all efforts to manage my finances.

I can’t even talk to my friends because I’ve maxed out my phone. They disconnected my service about a week ago. I sent an email asking for my current charges and apparently I even went over my limit. Have I become such a spend-hog?

I know that recently, I’ve been quick to draw my little cash card. Sometimes, the machine won’t even take it because I’ve sorta worn out the magnetic strip. It’s just whenever I think of reducing my expenses, I feel so deprived and I end up buying more things to pacify my feelings. The things that I buy are not even things I can really use in everyday life. Mostly, I just get little snacks here and there. Back at home, I tallied my receipts and I realized than almost half of my paycheck goes to food- pathetic for someone who lives in a home that’s never without it.

It’s just that for the longest time, I never really felt the need to start wising up financially. I always had at least a couple hundred pesos by the time the next paycheck comes in. I guess when you feel secure, you get complacent. I always felt like I would never be totally without. All that changed this week when I had to bring packed lunch to work. I had to avert my eyes whenever the Starbucks siren beckoned me to order a Chai tea latte. They stuck me on the morning shift so I have all this idle time in my hands and I literally have to stop myself from thinking of ways to spend the last of my paycheck. This week, I’m surviving on the amount of money I would typically spend in just one day. I feel like cheap cigarettes in a fancy box. To the outside world, I look like I can afford things but underneath my long sleeved shirts and my undersized shoes, I’m effing broke. Excuse me while I wallow in self-pity.

I heard about this concept called 10-20-70 from this nice little family in church. Basically, you take the first 10% of your paycheck and set it aside for tithe. 20% goes to savings and you have to live on whatever you have left. It’s cute because even their kids do it. I once thought I could do it, too but ever since I started working, I probably tithed about two or three times. For savings, I have zilch. My only major expense is the money I give to my parents and that’s not even a lot considering how much my friends give their folks. I have a friend who gives P8,000 every payday. That’s basically 100 venti Chai tea lattes a month. I couldn’t believe it. How was he able to do it? Where the hell is my money?

I was staring at the walls (because I couldn’t afford to go out. Boo.) when I decided that I would do it. I would start wising up with my finances. How hard could it be? All it takes is a little discipline and I know that if I really set my mind to it, I can do it. I’m good at these things, I said to myself. For starters, I’m going to use my phone sparingly. I need to remind myself that my fingers don’t just dial, they also text. I’m also going to start tithing– not because I have to but because I seriously want to. God’s given me so much and what’s a tenth of all that to show my gratitude? I’m going to start saving because I know that nothing’s permanent. Not even my “permanent” tooth fillings are permanent. I won’t save just to get more things. I’m thinking of opening a bank account once I’ve saved enough. That way I have a strong umbrella when it rains. Right now, my biggest challenge would be living on the remaining 70% but considering that it’s still a lot compared to the amount of money people on the streets live on, it shouldn’t be that hard. All these things are easy. There’s nothing a determined mind and a starving wallet cannot accomplish.

Spontaneous Idealist

2009-02-20T03:58:00.000+08:00

I took the iPersonic test which is supposedly a modified version of the Jungian Typology Test and the Myers-Briggs Type Indicator. I'm not really sure if these two are different but I took the test years ago and back then I was an ESFP (Extrovert, Sensing, Feeling, Perceiving). The test I took today simplified the process and I learned that I am now an ENFP. It's basically the same except now I'm apparently more intuitive that sensing. Anyway, the test gave me about three pages of hoopla and I'm sharing it with you.

The iPersonic test took the 16 possible outcomes of the Myers-Briggs test and made elaborate interpretations. An ENFP is called a Spontaneous Idealist. It sounds like an oxymoron because from what I know, idealists aren't exactly the most spontaneous people but I figured I ought to at least give it a shot. The results were quite amusing.

Profile
Spontaneous Idealists are creative, lively and open-minded persons. They are humorous and dispose of a contagious zest for life. Their enthusiasm and sparkling energy inspires others and sweeps them along. They enjoy being together with other people and often have an uncanny intuition for their motivations and potential. Spontaneous Idealists are masters of communication and very amusing and gifted entertainers. Fun and variety are guaranteed when they are around. However, they are sometimes somewhat too impulsive in dealing with others and can hurt people without really meaning to do so, due to their direct and sometimes critical nature.

This personality type is a keen and alert observer; they miss nothing which is going on around them. In extreme cases, they tend to be oversensitive and exaggeratedly alert and are inwardly always ready to jump. Life for them is an exciting drama full of emotionality. However, they quickly become bored when things repeat themselves and too much detailed work and care is required. Their creativity, their imaginativeness and their originality become most noticeable when developing new projects and ideas - they then leave the meticulous implementation of the whole to others. On the whole, Spontaneous Idealists attach great value to their inner and outward independence and do not like accepting a subordinate role. They therefore have problems with hierarchies and authorities.

If you have a Spontaneous Idealist as your friend, you will never be bored; with them, you can enjoy life to the full and celebrate the best parties. At the same time, they are warm, sensitive, attentive and always willing to help. If Spontaneous Idealists have just fallen in love, the sky is full of violins and their new partners are showered with attention and affection. This type then bubbles over with charm, tenderness and imagination. But, unfortunately, it soon becomes boring for them once the novelty has worn off. Boring everyday life in a partnership is not for them so that many Spontaneous Idealists slip from one affair into another. However, should the partner manage to keep their curiosity alive and not let routine and familiarity gain the upper hand, Spontaneous Idealists can be inspiring and loving partners.

The Spontaneous Idealist at work
As a Spontaneous Idealist you are one of the extroverted personality types. You enjoy working in a colorfully diverse group of people who interest and inspire you. Working in a “secluded room” is not your thing. Your sense for the motivation of others is almost eerie. You constantly observe that which happens around you and have no problems noticing all sorts of things simultaneously or communicating with several people at the same time.

Your enthusiasm is contagious to others and that is why your colleagues and friends all appreciate you as an important member of your team. Your articulateness and your sensitive ear for nuances in conversations with others obviously play a role. For you, this team-oriented environment is very important because you need to receive positive feedback and recognition like other people need air to breathe. It would be practically impossible for you to contribute everything you need to maintain your high ideals, by yourself.

Variety, challenges and fun are important ingredients of your area of responsibility. You appreciate receiving new stimulation, meeting new people, and continuously collecting unique experiences. However, too much routine, too much detail work and the necessity to stick with one project for a very long time is not your thing. Your strength are creative problem solutions, discovering new ways and opportunities, the conceptualization of new ideas on one hand, but not so much their concrete implementation on the other. Ideally, you have a staff of capable colleagues that takes over your concepts and runs with them.

The Spontaneous Idealist in love
When you are in love, you easily outperform all other personality types in terms of enthusiasm and panache. Then your commitment knows no limits. You go out of your way in your eagerness to express your affection, and in your happiness, you are ready to embrace the entire world. When watching your attempts to flirt, one can’t help but think about a puppy dancing happily around its new playmate. Then for you simply nothing exists but your newfound love. „Hold your horses!“ - “Discretion is the better part of valor!” - “All that glitters is not gold!” - these worldly wisdoms are nothing but a waste of time.

With the entire spontaneity of your personality type, you instinctively immerse yourself in your emotions because you are sure that this time you have found the perfect partner. And you want everything here and now. You can probably go through as many divorces and separations as you want, but you are never going to learn from experience and at the age of 70 - and with shining eyes - you are still ready to walk down the aisle. Your friends may sometimes have a problem watching this, but they can only shake their heads in exasperation, and hope and pray, because in those moments you won’t accept advice from anyone. Then it would be easier to get in the way of a Tsunami.

In a long-term partnership you are a charming, affectionate, and unconventional partner, always good for a surprise, always there if you are needed, always ready for a loving compliment. As generous as you are with your feelings, so do you love to spend money and lavish your partner with gifts - sometimes even causing the very security minded and conservative types in the relationship to get a little weak in the knees. Should they now be happy that you abducted them to a luxury hotel for a romantic weekend, or should they be concerned whether there will be a problem when the next rent payment becomes due? Everyday things only interest you peripherally anyway; sometimes you walk with a downright childish confidence through life believing that the universe, fate or some other supreme powers are going to make sure that at the end everything will work out. So, why worry and save? It is interesting that this sometimes even works!

The test was a lot of fun and although a lot of it feels like the Barnum effect, I still think it's very interesting. It was quite spot on when it mentioned how I like starting projects but easily get bored. I hate monotony and when I sense a pattern, my first instinct is flight. Anyway, it's something to do when you're bored and maybe (just maybe) it could give you some insight on how other people see you (hello Johari?).

Postscript: I took a longer (and more reliable) typology test which confirmed that yes, I am now an ENFP (Extroverted, iNtuitive, Feeling, Perceiving). Also, I didn't just change from a sensing person to an intuitive person. My percentages have changed, too! As an extrovert, I went from 11% to 67%. As a feel-er, I went from 50% to 75%. As a perceive-r, I went from 56% to 33%. That means I'm more extroverted, I feel more but I don't perceive as much. Boo.

just like a pill

2009-02-17T11:34:00.000+08:00

I wrote this last night with the intention of posting it as soon as I got home. Apparently, my body had a completely different plan. With the fan broken, I don't know how I managed to fall asleep. All I know is, I haven't felt this rested in months.

I’ve got the worst headache ever. Let me try to explain it. Have you ever liked a song so much, you start playing it on loop? You listen to it so much, you sorta break it and all of a sudden it’s not good anymore. You’re about to change the song but then you realize your iPod’s broken. You want to stop listening but you can’t. Imagine the song’s been playing nonstop for over a year. That’s exactly how I feel.

It’s stupid because I know what’s wrong. I always get this way when I don’t get enough sleep. I should learn to get enough sleep but it seems I never learn my lesson. Yesterday, I got home at 6 in the morning. The day before, I got home at 5. I'm not even on the night shift! I’m overworking my body, I know. I just feel like I never see enough of my friends so when I’m not working, I try to squeeze them into my overloaded schedule.

Segue to Monday at the office. In a pathetic effort to stay awake, I had a big tumbler of coffee. When I finished it, I had another (and another). Lack of sleep + too much coffee = major headache.

And in murky caffeine-induced visions, I started seeing ghosts. Three months ago, I saw the exact same one. Let go, it said and I think I have. I’ve given up parts of me to live the life that I have now. I didn’t know why it was still there. Let me go. I can’t leave until you let me go, it said.

I have! I retorted. I don’t think about you anymore. I’ve let go so leave me alone! Why was this ghost bothering me?

My headache’s killing me. I just took a large pill the color of Ariel’s hair. Maybe the ghost will leave me alone once the meds kick in. In my medicated state, an epiphany crept up and demanded attention. I should learn that quick fixes never work. Coffee will wake you up (to the point of palpitation) but it will never match a good eight hours of sleep. Sometimes, we ignore certain issues to the point where you’ve convinced everyone (including yourself) that it’s been resolved but then all it takes is a vulnerable moment to realize it isn’t so.

And so tonight, I’m going to sleep really early. Despite the fact that I want to surf and bloghop, I don’t want tomorrow to be anything like today. I want to sleep. I need to sleep. I want to sleep so much, my eyes will hurt when I wake up. I want to sleep until I can’t even think of sleeping anymore. Yes. I think I’m going to sleep now.

update: spotted

2009-02-15T06:16:00.000+08:00

I got a strange message today.

Guess who got a VD makeover? Self-confessed DIET trainer-slash-diet breaker was spotted at Makati Avenue with something noticeably missing. Is it a sign of more changes to come or just a momentary lapse in judgment? Stay tuned. xoxo gg

Note to self: stop watching bad (but hideously addictive) TV shows. At about 2 in the morning on Valentine's Day, I realized my hair was a little boring. Sometimes you just need a little thing to change everything.

I’ve only been bald three times in my life: (1) when I was born, (2) on the eve of the new millennium and (3) today. I could give a million reasons to justify my lack of follicles. My friend’s going through chemo and I wanted to support her. I bet on the wrong team and I gambled my hair away. Summer’s coming and I despise the heat. Truth is, I was just bored and I felt like I needed a big change to start taking control of my life.

I’ve been epiphanizing to the hilt and I finally feel like I’m getting better on the inside. On the other hand, I’ve been completely ignoring my outward appearance. Like a phantom limb, I sometimes catch myself running my hands through my non-existent hair. I’m not really sure what the hell I did or if I’m going to regret it but so far, it’s been fun. If my scalp could talk, I bet it would thank me. I haven’t been this product-free in years. My friends tell me it looks fine. But then again, they’re not the ones who get shocked when they pass by a reflective surface.

Face of the Future

2009-02-13T02:18:00.000+08:00

If you've ever wanted to see yourself in a different light, you have to try this out.

This morning, the guy who took the picture for my new header left a comment on my blog. He thanked me for using his picture and left a link to his own blog. In one of his older posts, he talked about this really nifty website.

I was so amazed at Face of the Future and the technology they used. Just upload your picture, set it up and voila! Transformation! With a few clicks, you can change your age, gender, race and more.

[click here if you can't see the pictures]

Let me just say, it was such a blast to see me as an Indian man. The site's a little slow but it's bearable. Oh, and you need Java to start morphing. Here's a tip: choose a picture with no background. Based on the demos, I think a black background would be better. If you find yourself with a lot of time to kill, try it out for yourself. Don't forget to share the pictures when you're done!

beauty in ugly

2009-02-11T02:26:00.000+08:00

I got into a little argument with a friend of mine from work. He’s been like a brother to me ever since we started working together and it’s funny how one little thing ticked me off to the point where I stopped talking to him. Now don’t get me wrong. I’m usually a sport when it comes to my nose but for some strange reason, that day was just not my day. He made a little drawing of me with an exaggeratedly big nose and an even exaggeratedly bigger pimple and then suddenly all the months of brotherhood seemed irrelevant. In all my immaturity, I forgot that this person was and is a good friend to me and I shouldn’t have been so quick to write him off.

I don’t know what it is about my nose. Most days, I’m completely fine with it but there are just days like yesterday when it becomes my trigger. It’s the key to the vault that houses my insecurity. Suddenly, I feel so ugly and I just want to hide in a little corner. My senses heightened, I get a little paranoid and I start to think that maybe everyone’s talking about my nose. Why wouldn’t they? It sits there on my face just begging for attention. HEY THERE EVERYBODY! THIS IS CB AND I’M HIS NOSE!

I remember a few weeks back, some friends of mine were talking about rhinoplasty. A friend admitted to getting some work done and I asked him if he thought I should get some work done. He said if I thought it would make me feel better, why not? All of a sudden, a million questions started swimming in my head. Why the hell not? What was stopping me? Should I get a nose job? I’d have to move to Switzerland or somewhere really far and start over if I don’t want anybody to notice it but in the end, would it be worth it? Would I finally have that inner peace I feel was robbed from me when I inherited my mother’s nose?

My mother is not ugly. Far from it, I think she’s one of the most beautiful women ever. In old sepia pictures of her, I could see she was a knock-out. Talent scouts and boys with flowers and equally flowery words surrounded her and with bated breath, watched her with admiring eyes. Why was I so bothered by my nose when my mom went through life just fine with hers? I suddenly felt guilty. I felt like I was betraying my mother for wanting to erase a part of me that was distinctly hers.

So while I do feel a little insecure about how I look, I know that I wouldn’t really do anything drastic (borderline self-mutilating) about it. It’s who I am. It shows where I come from and if only for that reason, I don’t want to change anything. Just like when a really good friend made a comment about how “Filipino” I sound, instead of feeling bad I actually saw it as a compliment. While it may seem bad (especially coming from a communications trainer), I think it’s good that I’m grounded and that I know where I come from. Don’t get me wrong. I take my job seriously but just like what I said when I first got into this industry, I’m not about to say innernet or nuculer just to sound like an American. I’m not in the business of Americanizing Filipinos and I think a little heritage would do us all some good.

out with the old...

2009-02-09T01:15:00.000+08:00

... and in with the new.

I said goodbye to my old template today. It's not really old, considering most of my templates stay on for years at a time. I've had this one for four months. It wasn't the only thing I changed.

A friend of mine asked me why my online name is pugnosedfreakazoid (or PNF) and why my blog is called pugnosedbabblefest. The story dates back to 2003 when I started getting hooked on the interweb. I was a teenager and self-deprecation was one of my many arsenals. I realize now that (1) I am no longer a teenager, (2) you can't change your Multiply user ID. You either stick with it or delete your account, and (3) when you change your Blogger address, there's no easy way to redirect your readers. Major boo. And so with the concept of a permanent change of online address out of the way, I focused on taking steps to make my blog less self-deprecating (at least at the onset).

I was writing an introduction for my new blog when I realized how much of a city boy I was. I haven't been to the beach in about five years and it seems my whole life has revolved around one city. With a little bit of wordplay, I came up with citybuoy (or how I managed to stay afloat). My weekly posts have started to become sort of like a coping mechanism with the many things I want to change in my life. These little epiphanies have, in one way or another, helped me stay on top of all the chaos that is almost synonymous with the big city.

If you're reading this and I'm somehow linked to your page, don't forget to update your links! If you have a non-Multiply blog and you want to link up, just let me know.

THIS JUST IN!!! I didn't want my Multiply page to feel left out so I modded this nice little theme I found. I've never really done that before and so the only thing I changed is the main image. The design is very similar to my current layout. I just re-saturated and arranged a few things. Over-all, I really like the whole day and night feel to my two blogs.

Photo Credit: MCXL Photography
True Type Fonts: [bulldozer] [rabiohead]

Review: Revolutionary Road

2009-02-08T20:54:00.000+08:00

Revolutionary Road
Released: December 26, 2008 (US), January 23, 2009 (Wide)
Rating: ♥♥♥♥
[official website] [wiki] [imdb]

Everyone talks about how wonderful love is and how you have to go after your dreams. No one ever talks about what happens when love is no longer wonderful or if your dreams just don’t work out. In Revolutionary Road, Leonardo DiCaprio and Kate Winslet (their first pair-up since Titanic, also with Kathy Bates) explore the many complications of love and what happens when things just don’t work out.

Frank and April Wheeler seem to have it all. They’re attractive, young and in love. You could even say they’re living the American Dream. However, much like their home on the Revolutionary Road, they may seem perfect on the outside but all it takes is a little prying to see what’s really inside. They kinda remind me of this drawing I made when I was a kid of a traditional American family. They all had blonde hair, blue eyes and a big white house on a hill.

I wasn’t expecting much from this movie. Generally, the people who have seen it gave mixed reviews. In the end though, I was completely surprised. I didn’t expect I would be as affected as I was.

With Revolutionary Road, the hearts of dreamers all go out to Kate Winslet. Slowly, you see her dying and you start to reason with her. Paris had become so close to her. It wasn’t her way out, she said. It was her way in. In to a life away from monotony and play dates and the millions of mundane things she has to sit through. In Paris, they weren’t just going to be alive. They were going to live. It’s rare for an actress to pull off something that heavy and with this movie, Kate once again proves her worth. Aside from bagging a Golden Globe for her role in this film, she's also generating a lot of buzz for her performance in The Reader. Being one of today’s most underrated actresses, I’m glad she’s finally getting the recognition she deserves.

Leonardo DiCaprio was a bit over the top. His gesticulations bothered me and it took away from the other elements of the scene. In some of the more emotionally loaded scenes, he’s got this permanent grimace on and it felt slightly uncomfortable. There is no doubt that he and Kate have this strange chemistry. I just wish he toned it down a little so that the audience would appreciate it, too.

Kathy Bates also gave a unique performance in this film. She’s usually the uptight mother or the washed up comic but in Revolutionary Road, she has a strange brain-washed kind of calm. I didn’t even recognize her at first. She seems like she's a voluntary Stepford wife and I didn't know she had that in her. She’s a great actress and it’s such a shame Hollywood doesn’t have many options for actresses over 50.

Writing wise, I was really amazed. The story came from a book but since I haven’t read it, I’m not exactly sure how much of it was put into the screen. At any rate, the ironies and metaphors were so beautiful, I could cry. Paris as a dream, babies as a reality, houses as people and the fact that the realtor's insane son was the only sane voice in the whole movie.

From the first five minutes, the movie grabs you and it takes you for a ride in a powerful emotional roller coaster. It’s a sad, precautionary tale of how love could go wrong. It paints a picture of married life that we don’t really see too much of. In the end, does love give way to compromise? I’m left with a lot of questions and once I feel a little less affected, I’ll probably see this movie again just so I can answer them. I haven’t seen anything as thought provoking in ages and I can only hope to see more movies of this caliber in the near future.

Review: Cadillac Records

2009-02-07T22:51:00.000+08:00

Cadillac Records
Released: December 5, 2008 (US)
Rating: ♥♥
[official website] [wiki] [imdb]

Cadillac Records explores the music industry in the early 40's to the late 60's and the lives of the people who ruled the charts. In the movie, Leonard Chess (played by Adrien Brody) is the ringleader of a group of talented artists such as Willie Dixon (Cedric the Entertainer), Chuck Berry (Mos Def), Little Walter (Columbus Short), Muddy Waters (Jeffrey Wright), and Etta James (Beyoncé Knowles). The film chronicles the rise and fall of Chess Records, the Cadillac as a status symbol, and the lives of a talented group of music pioneers.

The Good
Beyoncé Knowles cannot act. This movie just cleared up any ambiguity left from Dreamgirls. However, her music is a whole ‘nother story. Beyoncé does a wonderful rendition of At Last, Etta James’ most famous song. At the end of the movie, I had to rewind to that part just to see (and hear) her sing it once again. When she sang All I Could Do Was Cry, her voice conveyed such emotion that I just couldn’t sit still in my chair. What she lacks in acting, she more than makes up for by singing and I suppose with a few more acting classes, she could potentially be a great actress.

Gabrielle Union is a star, a far cry from the woman best known as “the other girl from Bring It On.” She had a very small role in this movie but in my personal opinion, she stole the scene every single time. She plays Geneva Wade, Muddy Waters’ semi-wife and Little Walter’s semi-mother. In one scene, Walter tries to seduce her as he talks about Muddy’s many women. In another scene, she is forced to take care of a baby Muddy fathered with another woman. She is all at once angry, sad, merciful and loving and it’ll break your little heart just to see her go through what she’s going through. If her next projects could only be as emotionally stimulating, I cannot wait to see her next move.

The Bad
I’m not sure if it was just me but it seems like everybody in the movie was aging except for Adrien Brody. I think he is one of today’s greatest actors. I loved him in The Pianist and I sat through the painful Hollywoodland but I doubt if he’s going to gain any recognition for Cadillac Records. The story and the character itself is so flawed, no actor could’ve ever pulled it off.

Despite the fact that the characters in the movie go through a lot of things, I found it hard to sympathize with them. It’s not that the actors weren’t great. I just found the writing so blah and a tad pretentious that I couldn’t really focus on the story at hand. They tried to put in too many things: racism, paternity issues, infidelity, rock and roll, and even police brutality. The Dreamgirls parallelism isn't hard to draw. In some scenes, I felt like I was lost in the storm of three different movies.

The Ugly
It didn’t really help that the story was mostly narrated by Cedric the Entertainer and a really thick Southern accent. It was so thick, I had to stop and think if it was even Southern. It wasn’t just him though. I found myself blanking out in scenes with heavy dialogue because I couldn’t really process all the thick accents. It seemed a little forced and so for the simple fact that they wanted to be accurate to the race and diction of that time, I missed out on some potentially important details of the story.

Eight words: Adrien Brody and Beyoncé on crack making out. Harsh mental image, right? By the end of the scene, I wanted to literally gouge my eyes out. The story was so poorly set-up, I didn’t even realize they were supposed to be in love. In that scene, Beyoncé as Etta James was high as a kite, straddling the line between angry and horny. It wasn’t a pretty sight. I realized that although Beyoncé is undoubtedly a sexy woman, a lot of it has to do with her packaging. Stick her in a bad role and an equally bad wig and all her mojo goes down the drain.

Final Say
I suppose there are people who would enjoy Cadillac Records. I just don’t think I’m one of them. I think the movie dealt with too many real people with equally real fanbases that the writers were afraid to take any liberties. Personally, I thought it tried too hard to show a simple story of rising and falling, of fame and the many things that come along with the package. You walk away from the movie with nothing to show for yourself but the tears that come from yawning and a massive case of LSS (♪ at laaaaasstttt ♪). I think if they cut out about thirty minutes of unnecessary footage, condense the characters and place the spotlight on just one Chess Records star, this movie could’ve been saved from your local record bar’s bargain pile.

update: apples

2009-02-06T13:14:00.000+08:00

Sometimes the things we take for granted are good for us.

People warn you all the time to watch what comes out of your mouth. A less common warning: watch what you put in. After an unusually meh dinner of spicy fish fillet, I got really sick. I started puking and puking and puking (and puking) and it wouldn't stop. A few hours later, I was at the emergency room with an IV up my arm trying to hydrate me. I gotta watch what I eat.

I'm not a fan of apples. Mangoes are fine. Grapes and watermelons are all fair game but there's something about apples that fails to thrill me. I was ignoring the apples that the hospital gave me when the nice lady who served me food practically refused to leave until I ate the damn thing. I was munching on this huge Fuji apple when I realized it wasn't that bad. It was actually pretty good.

Boo to anything oily or spicy or even flavorful, said the doctor (although I could've paraphrased a little). Maybe I should eat only apples till I feel better.

falling in love

2009-02-03T18:32:00.000+08:00

Isn’t it strange how no one can escape Valentine’s Day? I figured I had at least a week before I would start feeling like a loser but I suppose the whole world’s got another thing going, specifically the people in my office. Typical Monday, I got to work disheveled and in need of coffee. At the lobby, a fuzzy bear in a basket with three pink heart-shaped balloons greeted me. It was for some recruitment gimmick but all it felt like was time was ticking and yet another holiday designed to make the rest of us feel like total losers has arrived.

What is it about the fourteenth of February that makes single people feel like total losers? Being a creature of habit, I thought about past Valentine’s Days. For some strange reason, I’ve written some of my best stories around that time. Two years ago, I joined this group called pedxing and for our February meeting (Lipad, Puso, Lipad), I wrote a story called Don’t Wear Those Shoes Out When It’s Raining. I was reading it this morning when I saw how different my concept of love has become.

Don’t Wear Those Shoes Out When It’s Raining [2.25.07]

Today, I looked at my shoe and I realized the sole was broken. I’ve been ignoring it these past few days but deep inside I knew something was wrong. It’s not how my foot should feel. I wasn’t meant to touch the ground with my sock. I traced the hole with my finger, checking the damage, recreating the scene with images in my mind when the rubber finally gave in to the floor. Maybe there is a heaven where shoes go to rest. Sadly though, this pair isn’t going anywhere but the shoe repair store.

Three weeks ago, I knew exactly how it felt. “If we were really meant to be together then I’m sure nothing will change in a couple of years” he wrote on a Post-it stuck on my door. When I went in, all of his things were gone- the records, the books, everything that vaguely resembled him. But I can’t say I didn’t see it coming. Deep down I knew it was bound to happen. I’m not exactly that naïve to ignore the signals he sent out when we were still together.

Who was it that once said that everyone has a wound to mend or a void to fill? As time went by, I’ve seen all the faces of love- some remotely forgettable, others harshly unforgivable. And these faces blur in front of me like a speeding train. I felt my feeble hands holding on to each one and wondering if this was the one who could heal that innate wound.

With Coltrane in the background, I started wondering what it was that that Post-it meant. I can imagine that he somehow believed in a force that exists in the world which binds two people together in the end, no matter what. And when the cosmos finally arranges for the two to meet, birds will sing, sonnets will be sung, and the clouds, well, they do whatever it is clouds do when it’s a wonderful day. And maybe, just maybe, a Band-aid begins to close the wound in their proverbial hearts.

But after spending time and effort to see the faces of love, I could feel my wound only growing deeper, wider and with each tear, I felt more and more of my flesh being exposed. This brought about a confusion of sorts for if finding the one could fill that void, how come it only grows deeper and darker with each person I let in?

As I walk up to the busy shop with my broken shoe, I see that many people have broken shoes and broken hearts- each one of us trying desperately to fill that void, to patch up that wound, haplessly like a chicken attempting flight. How easy it would be to just turn my back on everything! To leave the image of the speeding train behind and with any luck reclaim the peace that I felt was stolen from me.

I watch as the craftsman gently takes the old sole from my shoe. It’s time to let the past go.

I see him selecting which sole will fit perfectly. Maybe I should be more careful who I let into my life.

As he puts the shoe and the new sole together, a bead of sweat drops to the floor. When the right one comes, I’ll work hard to keep him there.

He wipes the debris off the side of the shoe and after careful inspection declares his job is done. When I’m whole again, my heart can fly.

He wraps the shoe in a plastic bag and after setting my account, hands them to me. With a smile, he said “It’s a good thing it isn’t raining. You wouldn’t want to be stuck with a broken sole and a wet foot.”

I smiled back and said “If only you knew.” If only he knew.

Lisa Loeb defines falling in love as “the time between meeting and finally leaving” and as a child, I didn’t think her definition fit the images of love I saw on TV. When I wrote this story, I thought of love as something that passed me by. All around me, everyone was hooking up and in fevered moments of self-pity, I felt like I was the last single person in the world. I used to always say that it didn’t bother me but in the quiet of my room, I knew that I wanted to be in love just as much as the next person.

Two years later, I feel like I know a little more about the topic. There have been a couple of hits and misses but over-all I think my concept of love has evolved into a more mature level of understanding. I no longer define love as two people coming together. Sometimes, it can be four. Right now, I see it in some people who have become my closest friends. I have a lot of people I can open up to but not in the level of comfort that I feel with them. We talk about the silliest things and we know each other’s deepest darkest secrets. I’ve shown them my demons (and they’ve shown me theirs) and yet they’re still there. Over coffee, we have found a love that’s so unique I didn’t think I’d experience it. At a time when it seems like the whole world has turned their back on single people, they are the safety net that I rest my head on.

“When the right one comes, I’ll work hard to keep him there.” There have been times when we don’t always see eye to eye but the things that should keep us apart are what bring us together. I know I don’t have to work too hard to keep them there but it doesn’t hurt to let them know how much I appreciate their company. So this Valentine’s, instead of feeling like a total singleton, I’m sending out three valentines to my dear, dear friends. In any other world, we’d probably hate each other and that’s why I’m glad we belong to this one.

Review: Slumdog Millionaire

2009-01-29T14:40:00.000+08:00

Disclaimer: I'm writing this in a less than well state. I'll probably see this movie again when I feel better. We'll see if anything changes then.

Slumdog Millionaire
Released: November 12, 2008 (US, Limited), RP: TBA
Rating: ♥♥♥♥♥

I expected a lot from this movie. I’ve heard such great reviews and it’s been hoarding awards left and right so I was sure that this would be the greatest movie ever. I wanted to see it but I never really knew what it was about until I finally saw it today.

This movie has got me so pleasantly surprised that I can’t even put my thoughts into words. The movie is a giant disguised as an elf. Just when you think you’ve got it all figured out, something wonderful happens. I feel like one of the extras from an elaborate Bollywood dance sequence. I’m left with nothing but stars in my eyes.

Slumdog Millionaire tells the story of Jamal Malik, an uneducated boy from India turned overnight celebrity as he lands a spot on “Who Wants To Be A Millionaire?” He does exceptionally well and after 10 million rupees, the show breaks for the night and he is arrested for suspicion of fraud. After all, how could a poor boy from the slums know things that most educated people do not?

In an effort to prove his innocence, he tells the story of his childhood and how each moment in his life has somehow contributed to his answers on the show. In the end you get an increasingly layered tale of dreams, violence, sacrifice, love, forgiveness and life in the slums. Each character breathes life into the picture and much like in the game show, the audience is left with no choice but to sit and wait with bated breath for what will happen next.

Dev Patel is no stranger to most people. You may recognize him as Anwar Kharral in the British teen drama series Skins. In this movie, he is nothing like Kharral. He exudes a boyish charm that is just impossible to ignore. You get the feeling that you want him to succeed, no matter how impossible his challenges may be. As the movie explores more complicated plot lines, he is constantly the sane voice- one that audiences everywhere can relate to.

The children were wonderful, too. At the Screen Actors Guild Awards, Freida Pinto thanked all the children in the movie. Ayush Mahesh Khedekar as young Jamal was absolutely adorable as were all the kids in the movie. They set up the characters in such a way that their adult counterparts didn’t have to act too hard to make the story believable.

I never really liked India. I’ve never really been there but based on the little stories and times I’ve seen it on TV, it doesn’t seem like such a nice place. After seeing this movie however, I’ve gotten to know the quirkier side of India. In Slumdog Millionaire, India is a character. It breathes, acts, and at times even sings to the rhythm of the story. This movie didn’t really feature India’s glamorous side. Instead, we see a more personal side, teeming with humanity. If only for that, I wouldn’t mind visiting this Asian country soon.

Over-all, it’s a beautiful movie. One I didn’t expect to enjoy but did nonetheless. At first glance, it just seems like another tale of rags to rajas but under the surface, there’s more. If you have ever believed in the power of dreams, this movie is for you.