Escape To Carpathia

fever

2011-11-29T14:57:00.002+08:00

feverish. these red eyes need not stare

apart from what is already seen.

brooding. thou art more lovely

and more temperate.

it is not affection, a toilsome task.

not love, which even blood

embarrasses. the heart, traipsing

on what perhaps could be illegal.

turbulence. it is magnetic, and sharp

like a knife, with its obsession with idiosyncrasy.

only here i bare

for i will not be caught.

The Wolves

2005-12-07T02:45:00.000+08:00

A pack of wolves, they had said
affronting the demise of attractiveness.
She pursued, determined and deaf
to the advice she didn't seek to find
that beyond the sulking forest life
hid the death of her curious ills.
She had nothing to protect herself with
except her nagging persistence,
a red riding hood that made her
invisible to her own wounds.

With each little step, the forest grew darker,
the bark and skins became hardened amber,
the leaves became green and jaded.
There was a frightening howl from the inside
she heard this from across the path
like ghosts circumventing the heart of graveyards.
Her way forked into not just two paths, but four,
each way representing the call to elements --
life, money, career, and love --
split before her like four suits to a deck of cards,
where, to pick one card would mean
to deal with the whole pack.

And on this nook she had been
affronted by a pack of wolves.
They had said too much
to the ill demise of her naivete.

In a room without stars

2005-08-15T01:26:00.000+08:00

In a room without stars, without
the time telling us when to go ...
this had become my home.
I had no right to stay, never
knowing when to say farewell
to the close of our agreement.
Perhaps it had been clearer to you.
.

.
I could only hear the moaning of rain
outside the hallway, where the sun thrusts its rays.
Not here, not where I thought
the void had been filled with hope.
Your scent rubbing off on me
like the pretense of breathing
enthralled with the death of my egregiousness.
.

.
I remember myself grazing the plains,
slender like your abdomen, the hint
of shrubbery where seeds were sown in daylight.
Don't you miss this thing of beauty
this heart beating ostensibly?
I could not find any other dedication
as mild as the untamed beast, yet milder
than its incorrigible tamer.
I had your arms to shelter me
the foundations of the house, or were they my own
holding on the gutters of the roof?
I had only me to shelter from myself.
.

.
The first and the last thoughts, the compromises,
took only two days to forget.
Would it be the dark sky
or merely the intimacy of stars
that I miss so badly?
I'd continue to walk the road alone,
still trapped in your room, or me,
trapped inside my own disillusionment?
.

.
I had no right to stay and all the reasons to leave
here I am feeling shame for my lack of guilt.
And now that I'm in my own room
I realize it hasn't been the stars that guide me.

It’s the nth time of the month

2005-06-04T14:48:00.000+08:00

The last time we saw each other was last Sunday and I was particularly observant of how much of the moodiness pervaded what should’ve been an enjoyable farewell. My good friend from high school was leaving for Canada the next day and that was the last night we were to have together in what could be another 2 or 3 years till he visits again. Right while I was dressing up, the rain began to pour in buckets, and soon enough, our street was already flooded. Only in our street, only because all the adjacent streets had upped their concrete pavements by at least a foot higher, ours became the receiving basin for the soily water. I had to hitch a ride toward the train station just so that I can get to dry land and get to the rendezvous on time. I was more than willing to go and brave the brown river because I knew my friends would go the distance for me had they been in my shoes.
.
We ate dinner in a fancy Italian place inside the mall, and already, I had been told to never do that again, the translation, to never have people meet without their knowing. To my defense, it wasn’t as if I was introducing them to criminals on parole or Hannibal Lecter, I was having my friends meet my other friends. For crissakes, just the night before, I met up with my former officemate in this reggae bar with her other officemates and I was fine with that. I mean, can you lighten up please?! It’s a f*cking weekend, can’t we just unload and not have to be so freakin’ moody?
.
Anyway, it was still raining outside while I smoked, raining while unknown performers sang hip-hop songs and promoted the newest HP products I could never afford to buy. There had been a comment on how my friend and I should try to control our need to smoke especially since it’s been very humid lately. Fine. I didn’t force you to join me outside to smoke. It was nice of you to accompany me, but I could’ve done it myself and got back inside and we still could’ve talked and had a blast. Geez …
.
And when my friend left because he had to go pack up his stuff for the trip, both of them teased me about my friend high school friend. Hello??? It just so happens that I had been most open with him about stuff I can never talk about with other people, stuff I consider to be personal. It was a sad thing he had to leave 2 years ago when we were just starting to open up to each other. It’s a real close friendship I have with him and it’s sad that things happened the way they did, but to fucking put malice into it just pisses me off.
.
So today, my cellular still cut off, I really wanted to cancel going out even when I felt like going out. I didn’t because I didn’t want to be that kind of person who would put something off just because it’s more convenient for me. My other friend had prior engagements, so she decided we just hang out around the area. I ate pizza courtesy of our supervisors, so that had become dinner for me. It pissed her off that I already ate dinner and she was starving, having followed the cabbage soup diet and it pissed her off that she was unable to contact me while my mobile was on silent mode. I couldn’t help it, I am honestly EMBARRASSED when my phone rings in public. I have a wonderful phone but it’s just hate it when I have to talk in an enclosed public area. It’s non-negotiable for me. I’ll call you back when I can (if and when my phone isn’t cut off).
.
I can go on and on … the goatee, the asking if it’s only gonna be the both of us tomorrow night, why I choose to sit away from a person I saw (who I also saw the previous weekend) despite being beside the speakers, the not wanting to wear something daring for a change (like wearing a tank top or going “commando” to the bar), how my need to be in a relationship would not solve my problems (as if I know what my problems are), and I fear the list would continue to rant itself away tomorrow night.
.
Inside the cab, we were staring at different directions, didn’t even talk to each other. I was thinking about where I’m headed to again, and how she means well, and how I value her honesty, and how I’d probably cancel tomorrow night because I would’ve hated having to adjust to these mood swings again … thinking, thinking, thinking. Again, it’s the weekend and I’d hate to be burdened by these negative thoughts. It was clear we were two very different people, I admit being naïve and stubborn, but that’s who I am. However desperate I am to want to feel grown up, I don’t want to fall into that fit of depression again simply because I’m enjoying what I have now. It can be better of course, but as I’ve learned the hard way, too much of idealism is not healthy. Having such high expectations leads to more disappointments. The impatient already lose by the mere act of waiting.
.
Right before she got out of the cab, she told me she’d prefer not to meet with me tomorrow night. Too much bitchiness during this time of the month.
.
.
And here I thought of blaming familiarity breeding its contempt.
.
.
.

Regarding the Horror Story

2005-04-20T23:24:00.000+08:00

Why did the driver have to die? A college friend posted in egroup:

"But all stories, I believe, must give in to an ending for another to begin. And the beauty of the human character is such that no matter what the ending, giving up is never part of the plot."

The story is more a psychological analysis for me than it is a literary piece. Whenever we write or tell stories, there are unfiltered, unintentional biases that form out of the subconscious. I wrote this story more as a means to learn more about myself and as a means of release. If turned out to be a good read, then that's the bonus.

I plan to write a sequel. Ü

I'm not sick, but I'm not well

2005-04-12T00:15:00.000+08:00

"You look so fine

I want to break your heart

And give you mine

You're taking me over."

-- Garbage 2.0

And just now, I realized, I am attracted to sad people. I don’t know if I’m attracted to the person itself or if my infatuation draws its prehensibility from the existence of the emotional state they’re in. I hardly see myself as a rescuer, since I myself need the rescuing most of the time. I dunno. It’s all fucked up really.

.
.

I have this officemate who is totally not my type. The person is skinny, gangly even, sloppy and moves like a sloth. Although I admire the sense of rebelliousness in the way the person dresses – ordinary long sleeve shirt with slim-legged pants that are too long and unfolded, worn out leather boots close to being the cowboy kind, gelled up hair but still unruly, broken eyeglasses, and either a burnt sienna leather jacket or a brown corduroy blazer to withstand the cold -- everything still seems so unpolished. Often quiet, the only thing I know about this person is that there is fondness for art films like the one lent to my friend, El Crimen del Padre Amaró and The Virgin Suicides. Aside from that, I don’t even know how old the person is.

.
.

Last week though, the person attempted to hang out with my group more often even when that meant extending lunch hour by nearly 30 minutes. I feel there was something the person wanted to say, something about a bad breakup, something about not being able to deal with the job well. I notice these things. I know there’s something amiss, especially when the person left for home during lunch break today on account of illness.

.
.

I want to know more. I am inadvertently drawn.

Spent

2005-03-22T00:37:00.000+08:00

.
.
.
“I got to fold 'cause these hands are too shaky to hold
Hunger hurts, but starving works, when it costs too much to love”
-- Paper Bag by Fiona Apple
.
.
.
I spent the evening with 2 friends – one from elementary and the other someone introduced to me by a college friend. I didn’t expect my night to end like this. Tired.
.
I wasn’t even supposed to go out. I need to tighten my hold on money till the next paycheck. Another test of my self-control.
.
On regular days I keep looking at myself in the mirror, seeing how much of me has changed the last time I lost a pound or two. I haven’t changed. It’s still me but with different clothes, me but with a jaw line, me seeing parts of my sternum, me seeing more of the veins in my arms that stretch out forever in despair.
.
Perhaps I should’ve started the diet with my soul. As I examine the looking glass, I find that I’m still lost, still considering these imperfections as warps on the mirror and not who I really am now.
.
I thought I could never be anorexic. Let’s see where this all ends.
.
I want to forget feeling. I want to forget how it is to hold hands, to kiss, to think of someone and to think that I’m being thought about. I want to forget affection altogether. I need to focus on work and nothing else.
.
Apparently I’m not playing the game correctly. I was told outright. Apparently I forget doing something and I don’t know what it is I was supposed to do. It is true, I am pigheaded.
.
I want to play more with these ideas, but I’m tired.
.
.
.

The Unfinished Story

2005-01-08T11:01:00.000+08:00

As two of you already know, I still keep this blog and find the time to write in here sometimes. Although I know there are people out there who still visit from time to time, I'd like to think that with this blog I can totally be myself and just type away on everything my non-ennui persona would want to express. Don't get me wrong, I'll still be my encryptic self because I don't want to risk being caught escaping to Carpathia without my clothes on. I have to be decent all the time. That's just the way it is.

(I have another blog though that comes integrated with an exclusive Friendster-like network. That's where I'm just running around naked with a basket of fruits on my head, as one friend quipped in a testimonial a long time ago)

DISCLAIMER: Before going further, I'd like to warn you, dear reader, that the next few lines are gonna get really sappy and ridiculous so I'm preparing you right now should you wish to pursue. I just needed to write about it in hopes of getting it out of my system and maybe help me move on with my life.

(Samuel Barber's Adagio for Strings is playing in the background while I type this. Beautifully melancholic. It's close to being a spiritual experience when I listen to it)

For this entry, I'd just like to say that although there are a lot of fish out there in the ocean, I always thought I was willing to wait to find "the one," the big fish to beat them all in the competition. I always thought I had an invincibly Hitlerian (if there's such a term) approach to relationships -- choose one and kill the others. But like that freakin' EBTG song goes ... "I didn't know I was looking for love till I found you ..."

Not really. I wasn't consciously looking for it, but she found me. Somewhere in the deep recesses of my psyche, she was able to cut through the impervious armor of an exclusive Catholic school boy. She was able to melt the heart of this scarred and tortured little creature and turned it into a human being. She taught me how to feel, how there are a million possible meanings to a single statement, how there are always exceptions to every rule the way I was one of them.

And I have been thankful. It has been another world that had been opened up to me and I willingly embraced the upflow not knowing how I could've drowned entirely in it. Even if I knew, I still wouldn't have hesitated.

(Now Tchaikovsky's Elegy in G is playing in the air, reminding me of a Shakespearean tragedy)

When we met up last night, me, her, and our new "couples therapist," I never realized how fucked up we both ended up to be. I always thought I was pretty screwed up, but not really her. I always thought she had it figured out so easily and moved on. I never regret having gone through what I had gone through. It has become a part of me to never dwell on regretting. I can say I truly imbibed this no-looking back attitude already. But man, when she opened up last night, I got to thinking ... what a bloody mess. I don't want to go into specifics because there's no point in enumerating the number of casualties or the amount of damage the "tsunami" had brought out. What's past is past and we've already moved on (or so I'd like to think). Besides, maybe we were pretty fucked up to start with anyway. It was probably a trainwreck waiting to happen. It was probably for the best.

But my point in pondering over this encounter is to somehow find some sort of reason or explanation as to how we've become what we've become, because from our long discussion last night, it seems to me that we're both looking for the same thing now. Not that we've become dysfunctional, no. I'd say we're still pretty normal and capable of carrying out relationships like regular people, it's just that there will always be this thirst for passion, this need to explore the depth of the rabbit hole, the desire to reach the limit and traipse on the borders of anything we'd do. It's nice to feel secure and safe once in a while, nice to have a hand to hold when everything becomes unsettled. However, I believe (and I speak for the both of us) that we are the source of that chaos, we WANT to cause that chaos. We're the revelers who go out of our way to test each others' threshold just for us to know what to expect. We hold in our hands the kind of passion one can only imagine in mythology. It was something only people can imagine in dreams. We could've handled the conflagration, knowing fully well how dangerous and perfect it was at the same time. We had it in our grasp.

The only problem was that we were too real. We had flaws.

And so the story never reached full climax and we were both left as individuals again, back as mortals looking for a way to end our own side of the story in any way we could. We were forced to reacknowledge our frailties and to be reacquainted with humanity, that we may possibly live the rest of our lives as pieces to a long lost tale or hope to fit the shards into a new story with the attempt at reviving, reliving even just the faint notion of what once was.

The question is, are we each ready to risk everything in hopes of a vainglorious conclusion? How would the story end now that there are two separate books being written?

In my book, the main character makes his own fire and burns.

Forgetting by the world forgot

2004-12-18T13:52:00.000+08:00

"How happy is the blameless vestal's lot?
The world forgetting, by the world forgot.
Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind.
Each prayer accepted and each wish resigned."

-- Alexander Pope, taken from its eponymn

I watched Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind on dvd yesterday. I haven't seen it and it was an attempt on my part to forget something that badly required selective amnesia.

The movie was great, the quotes were memorable, the acting superb, the shots and sequences were to die for, the music very ponderous. I'm a huge fan of Michel Gondry, the Kauffman brothers, KATE WINSLET, and Beck. Almost everything about the film was applaudable, except that I forgot I was trying to forget.

I'm in the exact same situation as Jim Carrey's character. In an emotional rut, an existential vacuum, a slow torturous decay through unreasonable longing. Although the story had a happy ending, I ended up wanting to look for mine.

And all this time, I had been drowing myself in caffeine, suffocating myself in smoke, locking myself in my room like before, mellowing out with a vast selection of CDs.

So now I'm trying to analyze -- would I have survived without my music, my smokes, my coffee, my room? Or are these the things that make me hold on, make me remember what I don't have? Do I hold on because I have these things to hold on to? Are these plain addictions or are they therapeutic means of catharses?

I took it as a sign on a Friday night, that I had to stay disconnected from everything. Two plans I had made were cancelled, I wasn't able to reply to my new friend because my mobile's dead, both our telephone lines are dead too so I couldn't connect to the internet even if I wanted to so badly.

... but when the door closes but a window opens -- I got invited to make a catalogue for a shirt store my friend owns, I received a 22-minute phone call from my a very close female friend, and I got to suggest stuff for our college group's christmas meet-up the same night.

I fell asleep at around 9:30pm listening to good chillout music.

The Edge of Reason

2004-12-17T13:49:00.000+08:00

My old busmate invited me to watch a movie in a nearby mall, a pleasant segue for the real reason he wanted to go there -- to have his bluetooth fixed. We met at the train station and he told me how much thinner I am now. I told him, "It came with a price. I lost a friend because of this."

The repair shop was closed because the employees had a company-wide Christmas party that day. We went on to watch Bridget Jones 2. It was simply hilarious in some parts, but like what other people have told me, and to which I had agreed, the first one was still better. Jacinda Barrett was effortlessly beautiful.

Rather than become a good distraction, the movie reminded me of what it was I had been escaping from. My friend had similar concerns.

We sat down for coffee at Seattle's after I bought a new pack of lights: It had officially become an addiction for me, smoking. I let him rant about his long distance relationship. It was ok for me, seeing as how I'm soooo used to hearing personal issues. It's not a bad thing really, just as long as I don't over-empathize. I mean, I'm a very good listener it's therapeutic for most.

At 5pm, I was already sleepy. We went home and I instantly fell asleep on the bed sheets.

This is fast becoming a compensation mechanism.

Four Friends and a Funeral

2004-12-16T13:37:00.000+08:00

"Life is not measured by the number of breaths we take, but by the moments that take our breath away."
-- George Carlin

Four Friends

I met up with college friends last Tuesday at Dôme in Shangri-La. I already ate dinner before going to save myself any uneccessary expenses besides a pack of lights. I tried my best to feel good, to be in manic mode again, but I haven't been good at convincing myself lately.

With a raspberry ice tea at hand, I pretty much remember what our conversations were about but I don't have the mood to go elaborate on them right now. I told someone how I was hurt by her comment. The last thing I needed to see online was the truth being shoved in my face. It was a very short comment but the thought lasted for hours. I thought of posting a retort on my behalf, but I'm not one to lash out, not anymore.

I was there but my head was somewhere else. It had been flying through with the faint music, with the smoke coming from other people, with the slight glances strangers make at other people, with the ticking away of the minutes.

The Funeral

It was hell trying to get a ride from that area. My friend and I resolved never to go to Ortigas again. Both victims of street crime, we were so paranoid that night, cautious as if all the people surrounding us were timing in for the kill. We rode the bus and then a cab to Arlington where her close friend's grandmother was on wake.

It was a pleasant change being there. Quiet, cool, well-lighted. Once again I was around new people and the simple conversations got my mind off a lot of things. I'm not in the mood to elaborate on them right now.

We rode the cab home. I slept through my exhaustion.

Bi-Polar Express

2004-12-15T13:53:00.000+08:00

I've had a conversation with a busmate from elementary the night I was mugged. After catching up with each other's lives, he came to tell me how I may be slightly bi-polar.

That's just great really. It means I'm not only spotting 1 train, I'm trainspotting for 2. Of course, it could all be a faulty hypothesis on his part, being a junior med student and all. The implications however ...

... which train am I on? Am I on BOTH trains or am I in the middle of an impending collision between both? Is it ambivalence or merely indecisiveness?

Anyway, I refuse to ask any more questions because I've stopped asking them a long time ago. A peaceful existence comes from killing off certain curiosities. Also, the reason why I'm trying to escape to Carpathia once more is because I don't feel like talking about myself lately and blogging is essentially an eloquent means of exhibitive self-absorption. It's a good cathartic instrument though.

I'm still thankful that with my fcuked up circadian rhythm and bouts with insomnia (and recently, hypersomnia) someone up there still listens and finds ways for people to call me up in the wee hours of the morning. I am here in the middle of disconnection not having sms handy on my handyphone and being on a self-imposed strike against hooking up to the internet. I am here trying to be on middle ground between 2 trains -- a joyride to euphoric optimism and a ride to the center of the Maleborge, Dante's 8th hell, as the fancy quiz once told me.

I am here trying to be indifferent to my differences.

I didn't mean to

2004-12-11T06:03:00.000+08:00

Isn't this love?

I didn't mean to
visit you again.
I had already sealed
my bleeding mind.
I don't recognize myself
sometimes
when our minds mix up.
The imbalance
is sometimes complementary,
mostly imaginary.
I thought I was rescued
but it was my own hand
that resuscitated me.
I feel for yousometimes
but I don't know you.
I feel for you
but you don't know me.
My mind bleeds more
when I let it.
I let it stop
sometimes.
This isn't good for me.
You're not really nice.
You're not troubled.
It was my thinking,
a form of my ideas.
Your words mean to me.
My empathy doesn't mean
you love me.

The adventure continues ...

2004-09-26T14:49:00.000+08:00

"Well, I'm just a modern guy
Of course, I've had it in my ear before
'Cause I've a lust for life
'Cause I've a lust for life."

-- Lust for Life by Iggy Pop

You may have already read about my suicide and how I've come to be resurrected the week after. The demons that used to coerce ^©^ ennui towards an Escape To Carpathia have found new adventures in a new blog address:

http://prothiadenadventure.blogspot.com

PS - To Carolvs, I'm adding you up in my blog list too Ü

Silly Selma ...

2004-09-22T01:07:00.000+08:00

I need not post the new blog address. Apparently, it appears on my profile page. Silly me ... :P

"But don't ask me
What's gonna happen next
I know the future
I'd love to lead you the way
(Just to make it easier on you)
You are gonna have to find out for yourself ... "

-- Scatterheart by Bjork (Selma Songs)

Postscript

2004-09-19T23:36:00.000+08:00

I just had the best week of my life the day after I died. I promised myself to keep this Promethean impetus for as long as I can hold on with both my hands. It's not perfect ... yet, but it's a different feeling now that I've shed my old skin. This 25-year old is gonna kick some existential ass!

Then comes the inevitable truth that this perhaps is the 2nd to the last entry to appear in this blog. I have already made a new one with a different address. I'll think about things thoroughly and maybe post the link here if I feel like it. I'm not sure when.

For those of you who've patiently read the sheight I wrote about, I sincerely hope you've learned a thing or two about cruelty and neglect. For others, thank you for your comments. Ü

When everything around you does not make sense anymore, the only thing left to do is to let go.

Dreams (1979 - 2004)

2004-09-13T01:38:00.000+08:00

It is official. I am putting an end to my idealistic dreaming and I will start acting my age. I will treat myself like a responsible adult, one who is afraid of debt, not ghosts, who looks under the bed for his pair of slippers and not some boogeyman monster from the netherworld. I will start to dispose of all the stuff I've been keeping in my stale closet, and replace them with empty space. I will not cry for myself; I will learn to be more selfless.

I've always believed I would never have children or possibly have a family of my own, but that doesn't excuse me from my responsibilities as a son, as a brother, as someone who should be thankful for being born to a respectable family. I will never say this out loud, but I will have to force myself not to dream big anymore. I've always feared becoming jaded and calloused because I always treasured my so-called innocence and child-like curiosity about the world. That fear has to die. It will not take hold of me again, it will not cripple me like it has for the past 2 unproductive years of my life. I am 25, intelligent, energetic, and willing to learn. I am beautiful inside and out and no one can tell me otherwise. No one. It's high time I put myself out there and show some aggression. My maternal passiveness has to die.

And here I have discovered ... I do not hate my mother because of what she has not been. I hate MYSELF for having followed suit. I am the enemy and I killed myself today. Starting tomorrow, you'll be seeing a different person.

Tossing Salads

2004-09-12T01:48:00.001+08:00

I just realized now while I was waiting for the awfully slow internet connection to load up the webpage, that I would not do good as a director. In fact, I would not do good in any field that would give me too much time to think and rethink, too much time to plan, too much freedom to decide. It would not be good, no, because I'm not skilled at planning efficiently and god knows how indecisive I am. I would need a regular office job, one that would force me to report everyday day at a specified time sched, finish all the work according to deadlines and enjoy the weekend like normal yuppies and corporate slaves do. I would need a certain someone, perhaps, to balance me out and keep me inspired when I can't seem to inspire myself. I would need those, yes, I would.

I'm banking on only 2 possible sources of employment at present, 1 offered by my alma mater's department chairperson, the other a PR writing stint referred to me by my wonderful friend Bismuth. Let's face it, I'm not at all prepared to deal with employment competition, not at this stage where I'm literally just starting out again (hopefully the last time I'll be back to square 1). I've accepted the fact that I'm a high-risk applicant, someone with all the necessary background but with no refined skills when it comes to occupational specificity. While all my relatives tell me to apply in multinational companies like Nestle and PNG, it would be like paper-cutting my own throat with somebody else's resume. They don't understand that it's not as easy as it seems even if I graduated with honors in a highly reputable university and I am fluent in English, with diction far better than most applicants who haven't worked in a call center. But the thing is, even if I'd have impressed them with my educational background, it wouldn't be so easy to speak my way to employment. Then again maybe it is. Maybe I didn't learn anything in college. I don't know. Maybe I just lack confidence in myself. Maybe my view of corporate reality is distorted and always negative. I really don't know.

This is the reason why while I'm still in somewhat optimistic spirits about my future, I wanna be really gung-ho with my attempts. I pray to be fearless because I'm not so good in dealing with frustration anymore.

And this is where I came to thinking about getting a job as soon as possible. I'm starting to drench myself into overanalysis mode once again, now that the sobriety has sort of subsided and Bailey's Original Irish blend liqueur is just around the corner of my thoughts. I need a job that'll keep me busy. Something that'll add more meat into my skills market besides customer service. Of course, the conversational topic of coin. Me need moolah. I wanna shop til I drop with my "first" paycheck. I've deprived myself of so many material things, I need a break from my subversive anti-commercialist self and just enjoy having NEW! stuff.

It's realistic to think that my salary's not gonna be like Umberta's and I won't still be able to migrate into my own art-deco dream apartment, but I made it clear to m' Mum tonight how inconvenienced I am with people sharing my room, even if those people happen to share my blood. Blood curdles regardless of its origins. It is definitely time to move out, yes, it is.

And what about my dream job? It wil remain a dream, I guess. My transparent dangling carrot. Unless of course my carrot salad is tossed yet again and I have to make do with eating it without dressing. Who knows, it could be healthier in the longrun.

Blow Up Space

2004-09-11T23:42:00.000+08:00

I need space!!! I can't breathe in this sh*t hole!!! The longer I stay here, I more I want to kill. Not myself though. With my newfound empowerment, I'm not gonna take this lying down. Everyone is so edgy, everyone so f*cking arrogant. I'm tired of absorbing all these hang-ups. Geeeez...

Coincidence Part Deux

2004-09-11T05:53:00.000+08:00

I've checked the first few posts I made on this blog, particularly those in February. To my surprise, the article "Coincidences" will be 7 months old in 2 days. It doesn't really mean anything to anyone but me. After all, I'm the one who colors my perceptions regarding phenomena. For now, I consider myself truly on the road, sick of dwelling, sick of motion sickness, all too ready to reach the destination I promised myself I'd get to.

This is my second take on life and I won't lose grip on my passenger ticket again.

Infantile

2004-09-11T04:02:00.000+08:00

"If living is seeing
I'm holding my breath
In wonder, I wonder
What happens next
A new world
A new day to see"

-- A New World by Bjork

It used to be cute, what people called me. I often thought it meant I looked younger than 16 and that wasn't such a bad thing. But as you grow older physically, though the heart remains a child, the mind finds the juvenile appeal more absurd than novel. In fact, at this moment, I'm downright resentful of that label. I want a change. A drastic change. And I want it soon.

Not that I'm not willing to work for it. I am. And with everything good that has been happening to me ever since I've sobered up from quitting a lucrative career in *ss-wiping, I feel that even if everything's still uncertain, in some cosmically impalpable way, I'm being tuned up towards a new world order. A new world OF order, i meant to say.

If Dan Brown was stating a mathematical fact with the number PHI as the key to universal proportionality, maybe I am about 1.618 units closer to enthalpy. Enough with Pi and the consequences of going around in circles. I mean, Da Vinci certainly made something of himself.

The question now, would it be in the PHIlippines or in PIlipinas?

A Closed Deal

2004-09-10T02:46:00.000+08:00

And so I have concluded for myself what my friends have been telling me all this time -- I have a tendency to close the deal before it even begins. Theoretically commonly known as pessimism, but overshadowed by the feelings of denial that come when I convince myself that I have a bright outlook and I look at the glass as half full. As if there was a glass in the first place. Maybe I'm denying the glass' existence for myself so that I won't be expecting anything from it. Like what my soon-to-be lawyer friend tells me, it's a conspiracy to hoodwink us into believing there's something there that wasn't there before. What if the glass is actually a fruit? A banana perhaps, that however you look at it from many different angles, it'll remain a banana, only that it's given a variety of names depending on whatever a priori concepts you've inherited, a posteriori concepts you have imbibed post-natal. Then, the only logical thing expected of me to do is to eat the banana and hope that it's sweet, hope that it was worth it.

In my case maybe, I see the banana, I think it's an altogether different fruit, like a papaya or a stinky durian. Then I figure the only way to eat such a fruit is to crack it open by throwing it to the ground and gather all the broken pieces on the floor with my bare hands. That's fine I guess, but I'd also have to consider my survival. I would probably need to plant the papaya or durian seeds in loam soil and wait till my next feeding. By harvest time, there would have been at least 10 times more fruit than before. It would be difficult to crack the fruits open, but at least 1 out of 10 would probably be sweet had the tree enough water and sunlight during the course of the year. If I calculate the growth potentials and seasonal changes correctly, I would have at least 1 fruit per meal and I would never go hungry again even if the papaya weren't sweet. (Hey, this metaphor is starting to make some sense about my reality ...)

I spoke too soon. From the part of doing the expected, I'd probably overanalyze and conclude that I won't be satisfied with just a banana, and how it takes bananas forever to grow, how I'd eventually get sick of eating them without something so much as peanut butter, how the tree would eventually die ahead of me. I'd get depressed and then I'd think I wouldn't choke on the banana even if I tried. The sun would cast its heavy light on me and I'd have realize the banana would be my last meal. If I finish eating the whole thing, I wouldn't have anything to plant. If I decide to plant it, I'd die waiting for the tree to grow. There would be no compromise. It would be a closed deal.

And then I'd prove to myself time and time again, I'm not the type of person who'd see the glass in any other way. There is no water. Water is what I was looking for in the first place.

Frivolité

2004-09-09T01:00:00.000+08:00

Yesterday I had a sort of quasi-dilemma regarding the path to career kingdom. I was debating whether to take on an office job type of career or a more frivolous yet potentially creative job which I feel would not be boring. Like I told my friend ABS, for me boredom's bad. In a work setting, I'd rather be busy than bored, disappointed than bored, underpaid than bored. To me, boredom is death, yet in French, it has the sweetest sound to it ... ennui. But don't be deceived with boredom! One can be bored even when busy, bored even when disppointed, the kind of boredom that stems from an excruciatingly dull existence. We'll steer clear of this ... for heaven's sake.

I sent an sms to my rational advice giver friend Risso and he told me exactly what I needed to hear. Going for a creative job, or more specifically, going for the career of your passion, is very risky. It may be fun for the first 2 years, but then after, it'll become like any normal office job and the thrill of creativity may wear itself out eventually. I had to agree. It's like this film thing. It takes on the role of a drug. When I first started out conceptualizing the storylines and scenes in my head, it was an inexplicable rush! All those ideas came flooding out. The only thing that held the waters within control were the floodgates of budget. Otherwise, I could've done something in the tradition of Spike Jonze or the Kauffman Brothers with the story. The possibilities were endless. And once again, I felt very much alive.

But we're talking about addictions. Mine wore off gradually and the need for that emotional high begged to be satisfied yet again, so I unintentionally looked for loopholes in the 1st storyline, probably just so I can find a valid reason to create a 2nd one. And when the 2nd high wore off again, I came up with a 3rd. If it weren't for the deadline (and my impending indecisiveness) I could've gone on and on creating new storylines, new problems, new excuses. Up until I submitted the synopsis, I was still thinking of ways to improve the story.

I admit I do have some sort of addictive tendency. Like what ABS told me, it's a subversive type of addiction. Nothing people see from the outside. And I'm good at hiding ... until I start losing it and everything just gushes out like floodwaters of good and bad ideas, positive and negative options, excuses and benevolence. Maybe there's nothing wrong with settling for an office job, Monday to Friday (or Saturday too), 9am-6pm, unpaid overtimes, leave credits, losing holidays.

Maybe it's much better than settling for ennui.

In the Mood for Movies

2004-09-08T01:56:00.000+08:00

POTANGINAH!!!! I found the one and only copy of Wong Kar Wai's In the Mood for Love dvd that has deleted scenes!!! I'm so fucking delirious in movie heaven right now and I can't believe I'm wasting my time typing this blog down when I could be in front of the tv set with my earphones, ponderously watching those scenes and finally linking the broken pieces together. Of course, I owe it to my "fans" who read me up during their free time, the knowledge of this important bootleg discovery.

I mentioned the other night how I'd be writing on Prescriptive Pile 3 & 4, but I'm just too darn lazy for that now. One thing I discovered in Quiapo is that the place is about to explode. It's not just the building that's overflowing with converts and Muslim smokers, the area has been invaded steadily in the many months since a major raid was last executed. The streets litter with pirated movies and audio cds, vcds and vendors selling barbecue. It's arguably a virtual paradise for movie enthusiasts, the penny-pinching proletariat, and the people who get to earn from all the illegal hoopla including cops and robbers.

After the "artistic" rush (and 4 hours of semi-salivating later), I decided to walk my way home, not because I didn't have money left, but because again, I chose an alternative form of exercise besides the gastronomic/hibernative varieties. It took me 25 minutes of fast-paced ambulation to get home. I was exhausted and my underwear was totally riding my butt crack.

For that one dvd though, it's all worth it.

Queer Invasion

2004-09-07T09:18:00.000+08:00

Last Sunday I visited my good friend ABS, at long last after a string of invitations from him that I cancelled because of my lazy self in the mornings. We were supposed to meet Saturday, but he was in the office and I fell asleep while waiting for him to call up and confirm. he he he

He had me listen to a lot of stuff, re-introducing me to the pop scene, as well as those non-mainstream finds, and had me read on 2 blogsites that cater to tv shows and the UK music scene -- popjustice.com and televisionwithoutpity.com. I forget most of the names of those musicmakers we listened to. It was all a breeze really. I remember Rez, who kinda sounds like a funkier Erykah Badu, Danni Minogue (Kylie's Oz sister) and her "Into the Groove" dance remix, ex-Steps Lisa Scott Lee, All Saints' Shaznay Lewis, Aurora, an alternative to Dido or Bjork, Girls Aloud and Bellefire (need I say more about these girly groups?), that transvestite duo in the Eurovision contest, that new replacement to Steps, Ace of Base's new album unreleased in the Philippines, the talented Madonna of Japan, Ayumi Hamasaki, Emma Bunton's new album also unreleased here, Tuesday Vargas (*gasp* *cough* *pant*) .... among a bevy from his sprawling collection.

After snacking with his rentals, we proceeded to watch recordings of Tyra's show America's Next Top Model, and 2 recordings of QEFTSG (Queer Eye for the Straight Guy). Sheesh... I never knew what the hrrrrnnnnk hell I was missing! hahahaha It's such a drag not having cable tv at home and now I'm starting to hate my free dial-up simply because I can only access it at night. And it's freakin' SLOW (Chemical Brothers remix a al QEFTSG OST). The other night, I was able to download Season 1 episode 10 featuring the 40-something married guy having his family over with a potential date. It was interesting how the fab five (the way they're called in the website) just picked everything up and threw everything away! Maybe I should do the same to my room if and when I have the money to squander. Just yesterday though, I started ransacking my drawers (cabinet drawers that is...) and picked out clothes I've never worn in years. I took out those ill-fitting pleated pants and misleading size L (like ludicrous) polo shirts that are actually size S (as in shit) for me and threw them all on the bed for disposal. Maybe I can have them consigned to a UK-UK store or something. LOL If my soon-to-be-lawyer friend is earning from refurbished used bags, why can't I sell pseudo-refurbished clothes? ha ha ha Honestly, there were some clothes I've NEVER used. Around 4 or 5 articles I think. A pity really.

In ABS' house, we were able to watch the QEFTSG episodes about the stage musical guy wanting a push in his career. They did a great job with his little apartment. Then the other was about this scruffy-looking guy in gasoline station uniform wanting to find the perfect time to propose to his Polish lolita girlfriend of 5 years. They made his room into this fabulous "boom-boom" retro lounge. Funtastastick! My eyes welled-up when I saw his girlfriend's reaction to his proposal by the staircase behind Caroline's standup comic bar. She was soooo happy. Awwww.... sniff sniff

I rode the cab home. He toured me around Manila, that jerk. I told him to go straight ahead but he turned right and brought me somewhere unfamiliar so I didn't have much to contribute regarding directions. I could've used up a whole vial of pepperspray on his face if I had one.

Last night I planned to download another episode of QEFTSG but after sorting out clothes the whole afternoon, compounded by post-dinner carb loading, I fell asleep at 10pm after talking to my nursing classmate Twee-tay. She was asking for help about her Ethics homework regarding homosexuality, which I now realize, has been the topic of coin the past 2 days. She said she needed help with her English so I told her a simple trick would be to write the essay in Filipino first, and then transliterate. She said she was nearly done, just having trouble rewording her sentences to make them sound correct. They were given 2 questions: 1) Are you sure about your sexuality? and 2) What are your opinions regarding homosexuality? I told her the first question was rather "bent" on suggesting homosexuals aren't sure of their sexuality. To influence her into the proper politically & culturally sensitive way of thinking, I asked her the same questions and asked her how our good friend Btrfly would answer these. That kinda gave her something to think about. Bwahahaha-ha-ha

Thank god I'm not in that school anymore. Just helping her out with her assignment gave me a headache on how professors still miseducate their students unintentionally. I will not have survived Nursing school even if they gave me a million for a make-over. The problem lies with the educational system, not anything else. My problem, on the other hand, is I can't be put anywhere that makes me complain too much. I will never be quiet.

The next issue of Prescriptive Pile will be talking more of this....heaven forbid...

Prescriptive Pile 1 & 2

2004-09-05T03:05:00.000+08:00

I had a lengthy conversation with my good friend Jolens RN since the last time I saw her at Dôme early August. She's doing well I suppose despite the fact that she's knee-deep in academic and social work in Nursing Psychiatry. I don't know why but weirdly enough, I don't feel envious of her. I mean, Psychology has always been one of my first choices in a career, but lately (as I might have already mentioned) I'm not so sure anymore. Were my relatives right? Was I just in a common adolescent phase of self-exploration during college that I wanted to take up Psych for the sake of knowing myself better, rather than the notion that I wanted to make a career out of it? Again, I'm not sure anymore. Maybe it's like the story of my dreams, I've held on to them for so long with so many attempts denied, perhaps I simply gave up on ever achieving them then settled for something more within my reach. I think may have settled for a second-rate goal (or maybe I still have my goals intact but settled for a second-rate place to sink my knees deep into). Is this kind of inevitable compromise a bad thing? Or was it really ridiculous of me to want to have it all (because I felt I can)? And is this failure-slash-compromise the thing that really depressed me a couple of months ago? .... I can't help but wonder.

Anyway, after all that talk about stormy weather and bright skies and sh*t, I feel I'm in a better place right now. Not perfect or super-fantastic, just better. There was one night while I was staring out the window towards a wall with maya droppings on the window sill that I realized, maybe it IS all just a matter of perspective. Maybe it's true that all we need is to be flipped over from our bellies and we'd be able to breathe all right. I mean, it may be difficult to do that at the lowest point in your life, but maybe if one just hangs on and pulls through the trial by fire, just maybe, one would be able to see the light of day. Call me a hypocrite (or Jean D' Arc incarnate) and read me out my previous postings on death and existential chastisement, but this is how I feel right now. This gently appreciating my waking life did not happen overnight like the last time (when I posted that Bob Marley song and was all perky). This new found "sobriety" came to me gradually, like say, growing up. I had to deal with it somehow and tried to see everything the way it really was. It wasn't anything profound or earth-shattering a realization, more of simply stating out facts, wallowing in them a little bit (or maybe a lot), and then getting tired of these facts then continue on searching for the truth with renewed vigor. This I realized at a night when everything was so peaceful, so dark, that when I turned my head to look back inside my room, everything was undisturbed. Everything was a mess anyhow, but it was my mess and from now on, I made an informed decision to try to throw away the garbage I don't need, to try to eliminate the emotional luggage I keep holding on to. My room may be quaint and undisturbed at night, but I don't want to be trapped and undisturbed like that forever.
I cannot be as complacent as my parents. No, not at my age, 16.

Going Back

2004-09-03T04:54:00.000+08:00

Hu hu hu I bought myself another SET of bootleg cds. Hu hu hu

Here they are in ascending order of popularity (somebody kill me now) :

1. Asia Lounge Flavoured Club Tunes, 2cd
2. Playboy Lounge, 2cd
3. Ministry of Sound Annual 2004, 2cd
4. Champs Elysees Cafe 2 - Finest Electro Tunes from Paris
5. Suite Royal Vol. 2
6. Fashion Beat, Music for Stylish People -- because I am a stylish person, period.
7. Rumors - Dance hits of the 80's - includes Propaganda's Heaven Give Me Words
8. Room 5 - with the hit Make Luv -- surprisingly good!
9. Moony's Life Stories - with the hits Acrobats and Dove -- surprisingly so-so
10. Alanis Morissette's So-Called Chaos - I have .ogg files but can't convert them to cd audio. This one's enhanced with an acoustic take on This Grudge and 2 videos from sessions@aol

The kind lady at University Mall let me have 4 free pirated cds. hehehehe Two mainstream compilations, 1 pop-rap cd and Julia Fordham's Masterpiece album. NOT BAD considering I'm already broke ;>

REM Cycle

2004-09-02T03:29:00.000+08:00

Did I ever tell you the story about how I almost lost my head? Oh right, that happened today.

You can say I'm a typical procrastinator who seeks the challenge of postponing what I can do today when I can do it tomorrow. I believe this is what pseudo-philosophers mean by living on the edge.

Well, I got my taste of that aldosterone rush today, somewhat unintentionally I should say. The good news was that I'm pretty happy with the new working script and the storyline in general, maybe needing a little tweaking here and there. So I thought, how hard would it be to write a synopsis? Again, it wasn't intention to delay writing the synopsis down to the last possible minute, it was all rather consequential. Up until yesterday, I was waiting for my Mister Formico's opinion regarding the new script, but everytime I'd call him at home, he'd come in late and not return my calls. I'm quite embarrassed at having to disturb their household at 10 or 11 in the evening just to ask if he's already arrived from work. (His shift is 12nn to 8pm you see.) I tried calling him up on his celfone but he wouldn't answer or text back. Finally, he sent me an sms to push through with the story (I'm thinking that means the just-get-it-over-and-done-with-be-atch story) and make the synopsis on whatever. So this morning, I sent my 2 dear friends copies of the new script and then my synopsis around 10:30am. I got their replies around 12nn because they were busy at work. My first synopsis got rejected, editor-style. I have to admit, it was very dry. I just laid out the details of the story rousing the least bit of emotion from the reader. I was thinking kase how I didn't want to reveal too much in the summary, to make an underpromise-over deliver sorta thing. Up until this afternoon when I submitted the requirements, I didn't know that there were around 190 entries!!! Holy shimoli! Thank god I revised it at the very LAST minute. hehehe Version 2.0, as I called it, is much more thought-provoking I surmise. And as my now-employed friend mentioned, it was very "Hollywod-ish :)"

I took the train to Quirino then rode a cab to CCP. It was pretty quick. I calculated the time x distance ratio before hand. I had my stinky folder of requirements: application form, biodata (which I had to accomplish twice because I messed up with my signature -- it was absurd), 1-page synopsis, and my last minute 2x2 photos. Thank god for 20-minute developing technology. I would've settled for those 5-minute digital photo-copiers, but I don't have any existing pictures left to recopy. Kodak takes a WHOLE HOUR to redevlop the pictures, so I went to the other side of the street to do it the "instant" way, kinda like sodium-saturated Korean noodles -- more expensive, but definitely HOT! tee hee

CCP was very dark. It's got the mildew smell going on. I got lost. The application form said 4th floor, but the media arts office was in the third floor. Finally, after much milling about in my head, I was able to submit the stuff and decided to take a tour of the building. It was nice being alone there. After the brain-busting tension I had the whole afternoon, the walk was refreshing. It also helped that it was slightly drizzling outside. *sigh*

I rode the CCP Complex jitney going home, then I went to University Mall to check out cds. I actually had around 4 pieces I was supposed buy, then I remembered I didn't have any money. It was absurd. But being the collected person that I think I am, I kindly told the lady to reserve the cds so I can go back the next day and claim them. She was ok with that and put the cds in a thin, white plastic bag. After that, I rode the train home. Fell asleep around the last 4 stations ... standing up. You'd find it cute if you were my certain someone. tee hee

Oh did I mention the movie I saw last night? It was hilarious. Bridal Shower. Watch it. You'll pee in your pants laughing. pee hee

My soon-to-be-lawyer friend posted in the group today how there's this medical condition called Hypergrafia or something like that. Compulsively writing like someone in a trance. They claimed Dostoyevsky had it. I believe. Whoever can write that much and not feel bereft of vocabulary or a plot point must be more than just a literary genius. He must be a literary god. Korni ...

I don't think I'm Hypergraffic though. Maybe Victor Hugo or Cervantes or Merriam-Webster. I'm ... I'm ... porno-graffic.

If REM lost their religion, I've lost REM cycles.

Whereabouts

2004-09-01T00:11:00.000+08:00

Where is everybody? I have been texting and calling people up but they're not home. It's a freakin' Tuesday night fer crissakes!

Oh right ... it's payday today. Sheeesh ....

Delaying Gratification

2004-08-30T01:02:00.000+08:00

They say the mark of a successful person is this thing called delayed gratification. The ability of a person to work towards a goal with perseverance and hard work, knowing he/she will get a much-deserved reward in the end.

I thought I'd been doing that. But maybe I was just deluding myself. I had been patient, but like I've said a thousand times in this blog, my patience has become thinner than air. I don't know about the perseverance and hard work part. Maybe it was the empty promises from everyone that's kept me going. Maybe that's what got me going nowhere. I really don't know.

I am trying to put the pieces back together (and you all should know how HARD that is when you've reached the lowest of lows mentally). I'm also trying to forget asking help from other people. I mean, what's the point right? People always say, "Only you can help yourself. Only God can help you."

So there...I refuse to give in to this negative sheight once more. And during my evening conversation with Chovendra (Portuguese for "rainbow"), a certain someone not reading this post, I've noticed again how the record keeps playing the same whiny tunes. I tried not to call but I couldn't find anyone else to talk to. He/she called tonight so, being the bored person that I was, I felt I had no choice but to talk about the long playing whiny tunes on the record yet again. I've realized my "friendship" with this person isn't helping me move on, and I promised myself to try to avoid further damaging my fledgling wings by diverting my attention to more important stuff (which I thought I had been doing all along). I'm trying to break up the relationship pattern I have with whiny people, people who make me feel they understand what I'm going through, who make me feel better when they tell me stories of their "good" lives, and the things I don't have right now ... who make me feel I *gasp* *cough* *pant* "belong".

SO now, who do I talk to? Where do I find these people who'll be in-charge of positive reinforcement? How long will it take to find them?

When it comes to relationships, when does delayed gratification simply become unascertainable masochism?

Yeah ... just like that

2004-08-27T23:45:00.000+08:00

I dunno if it was the rain or the music I was listening to (or both), but sometime the other day I was forcing myself to come up with a new storyline for my shortfilm, dangerously within 4 days of the deadline for submission of requirements. Although I was already at peace with the 1st storyline, its simplicity and sensuality, I felt it was the kind of story made for feature films, not for short films. I realized this during my discussions with my good friend Mister Formiko who lent me his David Lynch vcd. The latter is a very talented avante-garde director when it comes to short films. I was able to watch Grandmother, 6 People Getting Sick 6 Times, and Alphabet, among others. Somewhat frightening considering I watched them at 2:30 in the morning while hearing the intense rain pour out in the background. I especially liked Alphabet though. Reminds me of Nightmare on Elm Street where the children were playing jump rope and singing the "1-2 tie my shoe" song. Creepy.

Anyway, I had to break a promise I made to myself earlier about the film, that I wasn't gonna end it with *bleep* because the new storyline I formulated makes the pieces fit better. You can say it's inspired by David Lynch, but not really. I walked around the sala in circles while sipping brewed coffee, like, every 5 minutes, trying to come up with a new premise to work with. In the background I kept playing Virgin Suicides OST by Air, Tango Apasionado by Astor Piazzola from the movie Happy Together by Wong Kar-Wai, Yumenji's Theme from the movie In The Mood For Love also by Wong Kar-Wai, American Beauty OST by Thomas Newman, Bjork's Selma Songs from the movie Dancer In The Dark, and in my head, I was playing the sensual violin waltz from an unknown composer for Sex and the City's season 2 episode La Doleur Exquise! (The Exquisite Pain!), the final scene where Carrie realizes her relationship with Mr. Big is over and she's peering out the window, post-coital, in sexy black satin lingerie. The violin arrangement was superb.

Then, like the opening sentence from a Tagalog poem, I started to write the first faint line, faint, without substance, pure nonsense, pure wisdom of someone who knows nothing (borrowed from Neruda's "Poetry" hehehehe) From there the new storyline practically wrote itself out from the sound of rain, the bitter cup of coffee, Air's "Dirty Trip" song, and Thomas Newman's "Angela Undress."

The story still needs reworking but I hope it'll hold up better Ü

4 days! 4 freakin days!!!

Family Sh*t Happens

2004-08-25T00:06:00.000+08:00

A good friend of mine texted me this afternoon how family sh*t happens and how they can take care of themselves so I shouldn't worry about them. It's true. It's a natural instinct for people to want to survive whatever the conditions are. I worry though for when people lose their will to live.

Maybe I don't have that much belief in them as I don't have the same with myself. But the point is, I have realized lately the things that I can do (and have done) if I put my mind to accomplishing them and if I don't let others get in the way of my thinking. Like last night, for example. Not that I don't see how good a poet my critic is but I would rather take the opinion of a seasoned writer or academician (whom I respect) over a person who's as old as I am, who hasn't any published works, and who writes with highfalutin words to mask amateurism. Not to mention using MSWord thesaurus ...

Poetry is not about heavy words. It's the interweaving of these words that matters the most. When what you're saying just comes together and makes sense, like the formation of the cosmos from a chaotic breeding of gases. In fact, the best loved poems are usually those that are very simple and uncontrived. This is why I prefer freewriting poems and not editing them in the end, than painstakingly thinking of the next word that best fits the puzzle. It sorta destroys the freedom in your moment of inspiration.

Then again, who am I to come out like an expert on poetry when I only have 1 poem published, coincidentally the 1st prize in a school contest, and like, 200+ amateur poems kept in my tattered folder like a buried treasure chest. At worst I can be an Emily Dickinson who dies and people discover my works and say it is brilliant. Or maybe that should be "at best."

Who cares. I'm gonna be a fluke like my cousin. Family sh*t happens.

I just had to post this!

2004-08-24T04:13:00.000+08:00

The critic was online and replied to my reply. I just had to post it here.

"item 2. i know about life having the capacity for disconnection. so don't tell me. you sound like you are talking to a child in your reply."

WAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA

Umm... okay, you shouldn't have written those long comments in the first place. Bollocks :P

First Taste

2004-08-24T03:49:00.000+08:00

I've spent most of the night reading thru the things posted in the yahoogroup. I was checking out on what other quasi-poets like me thought about my daughter Melinda. Mostly good reviews. There was one though who commented on how there were no clear connections between the stanzas. Like how the father's hand wasn't connected to eating tuyo or that Melinda took her clothes off and got wet under the rain. I just replied saying how in life things aren't always connected yet we are forced to deal with these things. When we make choices, it's either we swallow or spit. There was another comment on how the word tinik sounded "collegiala," and how ampalaya was bitter gourd. I replied and said how when Filipinos go to the market, we don't ask manang, "Pabili po ng bitter gourd" or "Meron ba kayong crown daisy?" We simply say, "Amplaya magkano?"

Tinik may sound collegiala-ish, but using "fish bones" makes it too elitist, methinks. And the goal of the poem is to evoke the plight of the Filipino people in general, not just your everyday bout with child molestation, but with the Philippines' struggle with stronger countries. We experience the same amount of exploitation.

So there ... I got my first taste of poetic deconstruction outside the realm of friends. How do I find it?

I find that it ruins the whole essence of poetry when you scrutinize something so much. Was it that I disliked the critique and entered into a defensive mode? Or am I merely hard on myself?

Whatever. I'll continue posting. One member wanted mo to comment on other works. That'll be cool.

Melinda

2004-08-23T07:33:00.000+08:00

I recently joined this yahoo group for *cough* *gasp* *pant* ... poets. At first I had my reservations about the kind of stuff that I thought I'd be reading (poems that rhyme amont other things), but I was completely surprised to find a good number of works openly posted (without copyright), all for the general purpose of sharing artistic work (and maybe hope to find a little bit of connection with other people).

So I decided to write one myself which is eponymous to this blog title. Nothing fancy. Here it is:

Melinda

The light of the kerosene lamp flickered
with the immense winds blowing inside the cardboard walls.
Dinner was early tonight because the typhoon
had scared away the customers at the talipapa,
her parents had to wade through groin-high flood
carefully avoiding the floating garbage and carcasses, manholes.

The fried tuyo tasted like her father's hands
having taken out the meaty portion from the mangled flesh.
Melinda and her mother had the head and the tail, some ampalaya
for which they tossed in more rice unto their empty plates,
spitting out the tinik that can't be swallowed.

Melinda took her clothes off and went outside.
Her neighbors were watching from poke holes, the fury of winds,
the drops of water washing off her scars and swollen fingers,
her wet hair partly covering what remained of her youth.

Inside the thin cardboard walls, the winds blew more immensely
and the light of the kerosene lamp flickered then blew off.
Melinda went in to relight the wick, the cold would consume them.

There she continued chewing on ampalaya
swallowing down the pain into her embittered esophagus

drying herself up with her torn daster.

Track 8 - Can't Not

2004-08-23T01:48:00.000+08:00

It had been a typical boring day that I tried to lighten up with 80's hits like Martika's "Love Thy Will Be Done" and "Coloured Kisses" and *cough* *gasp* *pant* ... Wilson Phillips hits. LOL

I'm sorta in the 90's now with Alanis Morissette's sophomore album, Supposed Former Infatuation Junkie. I really like this set and can't figure out why people didn't respond positively to it. It has most of the angst characteristic of her 1st album. Maybe it's just because it's not Jagged Little Pill Vol. 2.

People are hard to please. Old complicated people that is ...

Dimensions

2004-08-22T05:03:00.000+08:00

Today's a mixture of bittersweet emotions. On one hand, it was my cousin's 35th birthday and most my cousins were here. One word ... CORNUCOPIA! I had to trigger my gag reflex after 2 meals just to barf and not get fat. Tee hee

On the other, we learned, hard it was to accept, that our 97 year old grandmother's already showing signs of acute dimentia. It's not so funny as when you hear senility in jokes. When it's your loved one on the line (and how we all LOVE our grandmother!) it's a totally different story.

She hasn't been eating much and is no longer able to differentiate day from night. Her body clock's ticking at the wrong intervals and her memory's a little bit incoherent. It's an inevitable reality for the elders. My cousin says it'll get worse, she won't be able to identify each one of us as before. It's really sad and it makes you take on another view of your life and all your priorities in general. Suddenly, I'm spending more time with her than the past few days. I feel guilty somehow.

An ecstasy of fumbling ...

2004-08-21T02:59:00.000+08:00

I'm not asleep. I can't sleep. Although a huge weight had been taken away at precisely 5:28pm, a new one had settled just now.

I have to say I was pretty happy with the way the article came out. Even if it was redundant of me to mention all the albums more than twice, I still feel that given the resources - 15 pages of internet information and the cdr of the latest eponymous album - I had written down 2,200 words (right on the dot!) in 2 days. I hope it gets published, not just for the little cash fix but for the publishing ... resume material.

Disclaimer:

You have to excuse my poor sentence structure and other unintentional grammatical blunders. After a whole day of writing extolling material, my mind's already shut off. Again, I can not sleep because I'm helping my cousin out for another deadline. While some people are probably partying right now or blowing their fcuking brains out on ecstasy or pot, or maybe sleeping tightly in their beds warmly embracing a very soft, smooth pillow covered in pure Egyptian cotton, I'm forcing myself to stay awake for charity work. Fcuk, I'm not getting paid for this ...

Carpathia ...

2004-08-20T03:09:00.000+08:00

Is there such a thing as a clean escape? For me at least? I'm trying to find ways to rid myself of guilt, of hiding in the shadows. I may never reach Carpathia in time. FOr when the time comes I indeed get my hyped-up arguably deserved means to get where my heart told me to go, I may not want to proceed anymore. If it was meant to be mine, I feel it should've come much sooner. I understand the value of working for something to appreciate reaping the benefits, and I understand the concept of compounded interest like it was a simple and logical postulate for delayed gratification.

My patience has run thin but I discover it's ductility. It becomes pointless to separate all the strands when you're tieing up a noose for yourself.

Distress Stress

2004-08-19T00:45:00.000+08:00

I always believed that one of the best ways to make friends is through a point of distress on either side of both parties concerned. However, before I go any further with my so-called philosophies, let me just say that the definition of "friends" is different from "acquaintances." THe latter can come sprawling on a person's Friendster list. Just by saying "hi" or "hello" and/or by exchanging names and occupations, 2 or more people can automatically become acquaintances. When I say "friend," he/she/it is essentially an entity worthy of your trust, not necessarily in reciprocating terms. He or she may be your bestfriend, your boy/girl/gay/dyke friend, your parents or relatives, your nerdy professor, your anonymous f*ckbuddies showing only pictures of their torso ... and the list goes on, ascertaining that they have a substantial degree of familiarity or intimacy with you. When I mean "it," I'm referring to objects like this blog that has become my friend or a box of Hershey's Dark chocolates or the book I'm reading or a Sex and the City episode that made me feel I can relate to certain degrees of disillusionment. It may not be intimacy, but most definitely, it points to familiarity without reciprocation. Just like sometimes, we don't need our feelings to be validated, we just need to vent out the restless emotions bothering us or twisting our insides into knots. It's a different matter when one opens up to complete strangers with ease by virtue of the absence of any expected responsibilities attached to the data one had shared. It's different because you would most probably not have given your real name, age, weight, or occupation with him or her, and even if you had given yourself away so easily, there's a false yet promising reassurance that you will never see each other again, hence voiding the concept of an acquaintance.

Back to my original statement, one of the best ways to make friends is through a point of distress ...

Like in a call center, new hires are at a level of anxiety, being beginners exposed to the stressful situation called customer service. All of them may not really be close and may know each other only by name, college, and degree, yet subjected to the same stressor, inevitably, all of them become the tortured kindred. A point of singular familiarity, instantly at some level of emotional intimacy needing trust. THe same happens for calamity victims, accident victims, Rapunzels and their blinded prince charmings, delinquent students in group study bingeing on pizza, cheaters in an exam, sinners and priests, foreigners and prostitutes, puliticos y puliticas, priests and sacritans, sisters and cloister cookie baking, the armed forces cadets ..... the beat goes on.

Of course this is all subjective and I'm merely typing away like the Marquis de Sade with a keyboard. Who cares if I'm writing this down with my own blood or with my dejecta fresca on the dungeon walls? This is the greatest sh*t that hit the fan.

Anyway, going into confirmatio (from Cicero. I'm pushing the luck on my rhetorical Ethos), when a person in distress approaches you, you have the choice to win over their trust if you choose to set aside the risk of a con. As Filipinos, we are mostly bound by a transcendental tendency towards utang na loob, a social phenomenon of entrapment. It's like a debt, the bigger the favor, the bigger the "interest" or return, which grows over time and continues as a legacy to one's children and grandchildren if one lives to see the day. It increases geometrically with one's pedigree. It's a different story though when YOU are the one in distress and asking for help. It totally sucks. Again, it's a debt, sealed with usually undisclosed verbal agreements. You may have sold your soul without you knowing it, then regret it if ever you live to see the day and feel a certain emptiness of being. It's all a matter of power really. The lessor is usually perceived as the one who keeps control, while the lessee, the one in debt. But in reality, it's all just perception. The damsel in distress can decide to let the rescuer fornicate with her as reward for her freedom. The rescuer would be at the mercy of the damsel's loins, hence a reversal of fortunes.

WHo has the power now?

There are people who dole out assistance precisely for the value of their returns and the extension of linkages that occurs with every transaction. These people form the mafia.

There are people who always ask for assistance precisely to reverse their fortunes and make others believe that they are the underdogs, then when they cease power through their new found luck, they dole out assistance quid pro quo and forget those who helped them rise to the top. They are called electoral candidates.

WHo has the power now?

Sometimes it ain't easy to pick out the b*tch in heat.

Isko Moreno

2004-08-17T23:22:00.000+08:00

I saw him today at SM Manila. He's short and he was wearing a barong being the public servant that he's become.

Phooey.

My Mom and I were supposed to go to Greenhills today because she had to visit people for business. My uncle rode off to Bulacan this morning and brought with him the driver and one of the shop's keepers. Hence, my Mom got stuck in the office for the rest of the day.

I decided to have a breath of fresh air because I've been staring too long out my window, usually after meals when I feel 10 pounds heavier. Deciding to go to SM, I took my butts from the gutter for disposal. Then, my sales friend called to follow up on the article he had me write. I was supposed to get the stuff this morning so that I can start listening to the Liz Phair cdr he made for me and read through 15 pages of Liz Phair clippings for the article. I dunno why I didn't go. Maybe it's because I had a lot of things planned for today that going to their house was definitely out of the way.

I went to SM Manila and went directly to the grocery to buy toiletries and to their cellar where I bought a magazine that I hoped would inspire me with my story. I went walking around the shops and bought an internet card, which I'm using right now, and then proceeded to National Bookstore to buy nice resume paper, long white envelopes for my recommendation, and 10pcs of biodata forms. After National, I found some cds on sale so I bought a couple of albums, pretty satisfied with the one mixed by Dmitri from Paris, it's called After the Playboy Mansion, which is a collection of inspired beats, an homage to 70's swing a la Hugh Hefner.

My feet were dead by that time. I had to bury them after waiting for 15mins for a seat in Seattle's Best Coffee Shop. There I sat down to write other possible plots for the short. My mind was a blank. I couldn't come up with brilliant stuff. It was frustrating at first, but then I thought what I was doing was a cantakerously difficult task, exacerbated by my unceasing perfectionism. Tell you something though, it was more stressful for me to find a decent FM radio station to listen to while brainstorming, than it was thinking of a replacement plot. There's nothing good on radio I swear to god. It's a good thing I can always depend on classical music to keep me calm. They were playing Vivaldi.

Home, I got pissed because 2 friends ditched me to watch HBO. Is Sex all they can think about??

What's the point?

2004-08-17T11:09:00.000+08:00

I so wanted to write last night but I couldn't access my blog. So now, I've typed this down on notepad and the one you're reading now is the copy&paste version of it. I just wanted to say ...

I'm going mad. Like it is beyond me to keep my sanity.

It wasn't like this when I woke up at 11 in the morning, getting all that sunshine during breakfast. I checked the net for the latest in accumulating email and whoever's on YM. I was able to chat with my shoe friend during working hours. THere was another person online, but FUCK him. I so hate him right now. If you know me personally, I rarely hate people. Even if I'm this bitter with the human race and overpopulation, I'm not one to feel remorse unless inexorably provoked. I mad at my friend right now. I really am.

Anyway, my shoe friend commented how I had been a little more "sensitive" the past few days. It's true. I have been more sensitive. It's sheighty I tell you. It makes this infinite sadness more deeply felt, more lingering for someone without skin. How many times have I imagined killing myself in many different painless ways, then somebody would just come into my room and see me the way I intended. Contrary to how I thought of suicide before, it never ran in my mind how people would react to my death or who would weep at my funeral. There was none of that. I wasn't even thinking of the afterlife or how I would stay in this world as a wandering spirit with unfinished business. It was nothing like that. It was simply just the dying part. I mean, inside I'm already dead. Something in me has to die.

WHich makes it such a tremendous task for me to find ways in which to spice up my storyline with things that are opposite of who I am right now. Infusing images of life or happiness in an artform devoid of my emotional or political expression. The tremendous task of creating a happy ending when it's not so happy for me right now.
I wish I had the confidence level my friend has in me. Even if I push through most of the time, I sorely believe this reclusive boat I'm traveling in wishes to capsize into the water when the boatman forgot to lend me his lifejacket before I embarked on my journey.

Even if I tread and stay afloat, where am I going? Clearly, it has been impressed on me that only I can save myself. Only God can save me. That I alone will get myself out of the mess I'm in.

I can only wade in water for so long. And honestly, not having a coast guard patrol to rely on, what's the point of keeping afloat or swimming without direction? What's the point of waiting for something that would never come? What's the point to going back to shore when the people who live there are useless and apathetic?

Rockewell ...

2004-08-16T13:51:00.000+08:00

is sad.

I met up with my friend who's a film major to consult with my impending deadline. I left copies of my drafts with him and ended up talking about a lot of other stuff. My two other friends caught up with us in the conversation after buying shoes as a birthday present for one of them. We then went to Seattle's Best where there were no people.

Rockwell is sad...

By the way, I had another bad dream but I couldn't quite remember anything, just that it was a bunch of bad experiences. Who cares. I'm on an optimistic rampage.

Dreaming with the Fishes

2004-08-14T23:43:00.000+08:00

I haven't mentioned how for the past few weeks, all my dreams consisted of fishes. There was one dream I vividly remember. I was sorta wading through a deep pond and suddenly I felt some sort of danger because it was dark and cloudy. The next thing you know, this water snake comes hurling in from one of the trees and of course, I was petrified! (Grasp your mandrake...) The next thing you know, I was on top of the pond, walking thru a thin filmy layer covering the water, sorta like animal fat on cold soup. Below me were hundreds of fish of different sizes, some dark, some silvery, some eel-like, some as huge as sharks! The weird thing about it is that right below the thin film I was walking on, there were tree branches. I was walking on the branches so that in case the film would break, I wouldn't fall off and be fish fodder.

The other day, I didn't dream about fish, but I dreamt that I was in a house in Baguio with people I'm not familiar with. From the 2nd floor, I saw this man "gearing up," loading guns with ammo getting ready for, yes, a shooting rampage. Naturally I was terrified, but instead of running outside the house, I decided to stay upstairs (while he was blasting away outside) and hide underneath the bed. There was a woman with me, she simply jumped on top of the bed. I was lying face down with my shoulders on the wooden floor. I couldn't hide under the bed because the space was too small (or I was too fat) and soon enough, the killer with guns came in. I knew he was gonna shoot me. There was no reason not to.

The weird thing was, I prayed for my life to be spared. I didn't want to die.

Then he shot me with a pistol. Twice. It hit me on my right side. It didn't hurt but I knew I was bleeding. I pretended to be dead so he won't shoot me again. He walked toward the woman on the bed. Then I woke up.

Today, I dreamt I was with people I don't know. I was in a couch, sandwiched between 2 female friends. They were talking about her new cellfone, how loaded it was with features, and how she got it at a very low price because it was buy 1 take 1 promo or something. I just nodded in agreement (the way I usually am when I have nothing significant to say). The next scene, I was with my elementary classmates and we were lining up to get water. We were given these plastic bottles (absolut) where the top parts were cut off so that you don't actually have a nozzle and it resembled a tall plastic glass than a bottle for water. The water came from a garden hose and we were filling up our glasses and drinking like we were so thirsty. I dunno why. And then each person would sit in his place in the classroom, and I guess lessons would begin. On my turn to get seated, I woke up.

Pretty senseless. Fish, water, branches, film, getting shot, twice, pretending to be dead, classmates ...

God, the fishballs must be getting to my head.

Down With the Marshes

2004-08-14T01:17:00.000+08:00

As I was about to sleep this morning, I received a phone call from my dear friends from HumanReinforcement, my former employer. It came as a surprise and after asking me some questions, I felt they had disturbed my embittered world. In a good way. In a merry way, typical "Marshe" style. We talked on the cellfone for 10minutes and 10seconds. I checked. I got to speak to all 4 of them. They were inviting me to the eldest's birthday party at the end of the month. Surely I was gonna come, just have to finish the synopsis and MA requirements first.

I texted the "mother" of our group. I texted how I wanted to be "scolded" for having done what I've done (or haven't done) and we're supposed to meet during the weekend (call center weekend that is ... which is like, any day of the week...) Mother said it's not too late to start over, that I just have to find something that I really like doing para hindi ako mainip.

"Manong, ito pa ang piso. Mahaba-habang usapan 'to."

Out of the blue

2004-08-13T01:49:00.000+08:00

No, this is not a Michael Learns To Rock song. (Heaven forbid)

First of all, I'd like to thank my friend Malik for spending the entire stretch of the hours of ungodliness with me in YM. Somehow, although I felt our conversation didn't necessarily end in finding solutions for my so-called problems, I believe I had set the bomb off from it's time clock. I felt so relieved, finally being able to deject some of the emotional feces from my constipated self. I let out a huge can of whoop-ass (in American slang).

I texted my friend Umberta D. (as I named her in my cellfone) a couple of strange sentences. I apologize profusely for having to disturb your morning peace. I just had to let it out.

For the depressed, reticence is never good. A depressed person should keep talking, keep writing, keep expressing. It's the only therapy that works. One should find company with talkative friends and get out of the house instead of spending the whole day hibernating from the harsh winter of existence and solitude. Everyone should be noisy, everyone should be picking on each other to reveal what's under the embittering snow.

My new favorite word .... embittered.

Needless to say, right after the chat, I found my second wind, a warm tropical one, and magically, I was able to formulate a new story. Not just that, I wrote the entire 1st draft of the master scene screenplay! It all just came out while I was eating fishballs for breakfast.

See, even junk food has its merits!

Going blind

2004-08-12T00:52:00.000+08:00

Somewhere between the flank and folderol of my fleeting follies, I've lost a few fegrees of furfle fision in my fight eye. When I try looking at something toward my left using my right eye, I inevitably see a blurred spot. In fact I think my left eye is beginning to exhibit the same symptoms too. I must be going blind. I've had my eyes checked by my uncle but I think he prescribed an incorrect set of lenses for me because everytime I try using my metallic Reebok spectacles, I end up having a more difficult time seeing. The thing is, when I was in the clinic reading the D-E-F-P-O-T-E-C letters, they were pretty readable, not that I've memorized it or anything. Also, I'm not getting headaches or nauseated in any way, except of course when I try reading a book inside a moving vehicle, but that's a different story.

Sheesh .... talk about Dancer in the Dark ....

I've seen what I chose

And I've seen what I need

And that is enough

To want more would be greed

I've seen what I was

And I know what I'll be

I've seen it all

There is no more to see

what is there to see?

I was not

2004-08-11T06:21:00.000+08:00

supposed to write this blog. Quite honestly I don't feel good about anything right now, but I'm pulling myself through thanks to all those bootleg cds I bought yesterday. I would've gone mad if I didn't have anything to chauffer my declining mental health with.

I'm going mad. Mad but still beautiful.

I need not discuss the merits of death because I had done that some time ago when similar ghosts had haunted my puny world the way it's doing again today. There was one time last night I just stared at my celfone and questioned why I even had one. I clearly can't call on anyone on my phonebook to console me at 3 in the morning. That is MY job. I'M the one they call in the wee hours of the day. It sucks more because my partner-in-crime against existentialism is somewhere south of civilization probably studying for her exams or something.

I'm bereft again. Bereft but still beautiful ... CRAZY beautiful.

Morning Cup

2004-08-10T01:34:00.000+08:00

I couldn't sleep the whole night because I drank 2 cups of strong brewed coffee to keep me awake while I worked on finishing the scriptwriting book I'd been reading for the past week. I felt I had to finish it at once so I can make some notes and start writing my screenplay. I decided to join my sisters who were going to school/office at 7am. It was terrible. My sister was all panicky when the little light on her meter started to blink. We were nearly out of gas on a Monday morning. While most of Manila's probably half-asleep in their jeeps/car/FXs/trains/pedicabs/calesas, my sister was drivin' like a madwoman. She roared and she rampaged amidst traffic in her pussywagon. I kept scolding her for not knowing any better. The fact is, they went to some wagwagan place in Navotas yesterday and she didn't even bother checking her gas. And now, she and my sister were running against time with an empty fuel tank. It's like being in an action movie. Except it wasn't funny. The streets were wet with precipitation and getting into an accident on a flyover passing through Pasig river would've been the most tragic form of death aside from dying in a Siegfried and Roy magic show mishap. Okay lang sana kung beach in Boracay ang lulunuran ko.

She dropped me off at Starbucks Vito Cruz, around 7:30am where I spent the rest of the morning finishing the book amongst half-wits conversing in, like, you know, Kris Aquino accent. I couldn't stand it so I listened to classical music on the radio where they were featuring Franz Schubert on the Master's Touch 98.7. I watched people walk through the streets in the quasi-London weather. Beautiful calming music...Ü

At around 10:15am, I was done with the book, just in time to shop in one of my favorite bootleg cd places ... the University Mall! hehehe I felt I needed to hear new stuff on my old cd player. It has become increasingly difficult for me to find anything suitable in my prescriptive collection, something between acid jazz, lounge and Brazilian, to a bit of house-club rhythm. I was also hoping to find the soundtrack of Dancer In The Dark. Of course, I should've known better, nobody really listens to Bjork except maybe me and my now-employed ABS-CBN audiophile friend. Sadly, the owners of that bootleg place aren't maintaining the store like they used to. Most of the new stuff are pop and compilations of hiphop. I dislike hiphop I really do. Bling-bling! Ya feel me?!

Since I couldn't find 1 album that suited my "needs," I bought several. For that price, I could've crapped out of my low-waist hip-huggin' undy-exposed trousers and I wouldn't have cared if I had to wipe the sheight off with a glazed donut.

Here're the damages:

1. Chemical Brothers 93-03, 2CD - "Star Guitar" is just superb. What I'm looking for in a song Ü
2. Kill Bill Vol. 1 OST - "Run Fay Run" by Isaac Hayes est tres fabuleux.
3. Erykah Badu's Worlwide Underground
4. Joss Stone's The Soul Sessions - Recommended by friends. Ok naman.
5. Chillout Classical, 2CD - residue from my morning coffee trippin'
6. Chicane's Easy to Assemble - sorry substitute for Moony. Out of stock. Sheight...
7. Bar Grooves Al Fresco, 2CD - Great for Saturday party nights, or for narcoleptic Monday afternoons
8. Miguel Migs Colorful You and Nude Tempo Vol1 - Nice house music for our stagnating household
9. Viva Jazzanova - kewl latin jazz in the original Brazilian style
10. Saint German's Des Pres Cafe 4 - Fantastic lounge for coffee evenings

Now I realize how much I spent.... sheeeesh it's depressing..... I'll go listen to a cd and make myself feel better Ü

My mourning cup runneth over....

House of Weapons

2004-08-08T00:42:00.000+08:00

Today I met up with my highschool friends in Podium. It's my good friend Risso's birthday. I call him "Risso" because he has a huge crush on model and PMAP president Rissa Samson. He treated us out to lunch in Casa Armas. It was delicious! He ordered Seafood Paella, Callos, Potato Omelet, and Garlic Chicken in Olive Oil (I think.) There were 5 of us there (the regulars) and I enjoyed great conversation aside from the hearty meal. They're one of a few people who make me choose to talk over the urge to eat. I really miss them and we swore to meet up once a month more often.

Two had to leave early because they were kinda ill and had to go to the doctor for an appointment. The remaining 3 of us went to Starbucks to pass the time. Risso had to meet this guy who wanted his shirts consigned in his store in Astoria. In the shop, we checked out the latest t-shirt designs. Pretty cool though too costly for me. Actually, everything is costly for me, even a simple jeepney ride. I gotta get me a job soon. *Sigh* After the consigner left, the 3 of us went to Shangri-La Plaza to get Risso's tailored suit from Bergamo and to have his white shirt altered at Hommes et Femmes. They were supposed to play Warcraft but it was already 6pm so we decided it was time to go home. I went back to Greenhills to meet up with my sister and her friend. We went home shortly. Dinner was served at 8pm. We had grilled squid. Yummy! I drank some instant coffee and ice cold water, went upstairs to continue reading the scriptwriting book by Ricky Lee, almost fell asleep, woke up to a knock on my door, my sister wanted to go online, we talked a bit with my Mom, they watched Dogville and didn't like it (as I expected Ü), munched on the last serving of Kirkland Signature Crunchy Snack Mix, went online m'self, read email and did other routine online stuff, and now I'm listening to Alanis' new album while typing this blog for ye all to read.

Variety of Bodies

2004-08-06T07:11:00.000+08:00

No, I did not lose my morals over the past few days. I had not been able to access the computer lately because people had been occupying my room and I don't get my regular share of the space like on non-working holidays. A variety of bodies had been to this convention center and I was in no shape to deal with it. In the meantime, I've been pretty busy modifying my story being constantly wraught by panic for assuming the story would ramble on for more than its alloted time. You see, I'm not really aiming at winning the grand prize (though the money would be a fantastic way to regain everything I've lost to unemployment, that and some I lost to a stupid networking scam) and I'm not even aiming to producing a kick-ass film according to my own set of preposterously rigid standards. No. My first short film would have a particularly simple plot, the least amount of characters as possible, the least amount of venues needed for the shoot if possible, and everything else I can attribute to downsizing on a time of economic crisis. (Yup, I'm awfully sleepy so quit minding the useless metaphors... hehehe)

For this contest, I'm simply aiming to be recognized. If I get into the list of the chosen 10 short films, I'd be pretty content that my first work shall have been deemed "good enough" among the existing ranks of amateur indie Filipino filmmakers. However, if among the 10 films showing in February (I think), I feel that mine is the most streamlined, most understandable, most limpid work (still according to my own set of preposterously rigid standards that is), then I'd be proud of myself for not looking too amateurish or inexperienced on a first try. If I can make my work as professional as possible, maybe some bigshot producer or director or production company would want to hire me under their wing as the hottest thing since KFC Zingers TM.

Then again, I'm jumping WAY AHEAD OF MYSELF. I need sleep (and maybe I also need to stop drinking coffee more than once in a day even if it's instant) because at this moment, I have 2 zits that are almost bilaterally symmetrical, my nose bridge being the prime meridian of my face. It's like, if I can fold my face in half and open it up again to the way it was, like butterfly spots my 2 bilaterally symmetrical zits would look like something from a Rorschach smear. It's hilarious in a way, but still annoying nonetheless.

Mini-break

2004-08-04T02:15:00.000+08:00

The storyline for the shortfilm I'm planning to produce is coming in quite well. It's not audacious or anything overtly experimental as I earlier planned, rather, something very subtle, very contained -- the world I have lived in for the past 2 years. As I mentioned earlier, I don't (in fact, never) want to be apologetic for my work in terms of independent and non-commissioned films (for commercial films however, what the heck! I'm pretty adaptable anyway). For now, there are elements in my upcoming short that may be a bit unnerving (especially to my friends! wehehehehe) and probably downright shocking (for my relatives, if ever they get to see it), but I promise to myself that the 1st time will be in good taste (though it may hurt a little) and it would be in the tradition of being a truly artistic endeavor.

This is a NO BUDGET film, which means you won't be seeing any burning cars or cool Matrix-inspired karate scenes, no surreal lighting (oh how I wish....), not even the musical scoring of my choice because I can't pay for licenses and stuff. I hope my main actors won't be charging me for their acting. I'd only be able to promise them an amount if I WIN the contest. Who knows... In the meantime, steamed okra lang kaya ko.

Anyway, I've been at the storyline picking at all the crevices and asking second opinions from my now-employed friend. I wanted the sequences to be acceptably clean-cut before I start writing the script, at least to be able to see a satisfactory overview of the events before I go work on the nitty-gritty of Taglish conversation. I'm reading Ricky Lee's TRIP TO QUIAPO scriptwriting manual while at the same time I'm thinking of the concepts and characters. So far so good! I'm right on schedule Ü

I had a panic attack though when I talked to my friend yesterday. He asked me what the MESSAGE of the film was. I was dumbfounded. My mind just stopped working. It pretended to be in deep thought via the falsely suggestive reticence on my part on the phone. My mind went blank. There WAS no message and I never really intended for it to have one.

I went to Malik's computer shop today to try to sort things out. I felt I've become overly critical of the story and wanted to cut the story short becuase I feared it would exceed 20 minutes. Go down to the quintessence of the human experience alighting my idea and focus on the dialogue between the characters instead of focusing on the scenes and exposition via imagery (which I thought I was doing too much of). I was outside the shop sitting on the front steps beside the open parking lot of the building, checking out people playing tennis and people passing by trying to get a jeepney ride for their trip to Quiapo. I discussed with Malik the ins and outs of my plot and its treatment. He said it was ok, and that some parts can be modified through dialogue. I also realized during our conversation that like a painting, a film is an artform and as such, it doesn't necessarily have to have a message all the time. Like a painting, it is a representation of life as interpreted by the artist, by the director. It is up to the audience to either appreciate or abhor, the form in which creativity wished to express a facet of the world.

With this realization, I concluded that I am ready to start embarking on a writing trip. Wherever the journey brings me, may it be the birth of my firstborn.

Pre-emptive of me

2004-07-31T23:47:00.000+08:00

The anniversary dinner was great. We were late and my Dad was a bit pissed off, but it was great nonetheless.

Our college barkada reunion was better. I wasn't late and everyone was in such a terrific mood, spending 5 hours with people j'adore was not enough. We met at Café Provençal instead of Via Maré where my friends were already cozily seated amidst the faux terracotta walls and pseudo-French country ambience. We didn't order yet because the celebrant, Le Madame Transience was not there yet. We exchanged movies during the wait. I gave my Trainspotting dvd and borrowed Comrades, a foreign film I haven't heard of. I returned Dogville and lent One Take Only, a Pang Brothers movie (creator of Thailand's THE EYE). My future lawyer friend lent me her Pi dvd, for which I am extremely grateful.

When the Albuyah arrived, we had already ordered a lot of stuff, ate with pure delight, took countless pictures of each other, exchanged stories, and then waited some more for the other people to come. Unfortunately, two weren't able to make it, and the guest of honor, Ms. Jolens RN, joined us at Dôme café. We walked around the mall to check out Nine West and Naturalizer shoes just to pass the time. In the coffee shop, we met with the future lawyer's s.p. and the celebrant's kwee (his Alfa Romeo too). Our copy editor friend and her lovey-dovey soon-to-be hubby left after maybe an hour of dessert and drinks. We shared stories and boredom till around 8pm and decided to go home.

Countless ideas flooded my head on the trip home. Ideas for my baby short film-to-be were coming in and edited in my brain as if I was sitting in front of an editing machine cutting and pasting stuff already. It was exhilarating. I felt alive once more. I just hope this thing pulls through and I'd be able to tell my non-existent grandchildren that once upon a quarterlife, I was able to make a short film for the sake of making one. And they would say...

.....that'll do grampa, that'll do.

A Grand Reunion of Sorts

2004-07-30T17:36:00.000+08:00

My family's going out tonight because it's my parents' 26th anniversary. My Dad's come all the way to Manila from Baguio and my Mom doesn't know about it. She thinks me and my sister are just treating her out but the truth is, we're meeting my Dad at President's Restaurant in Ongpin. Yes, chinese food again, but who am I to complain? I'll be ordering all the tofu they can serve in prepared dishes! The only thing I fear now is that my Dad will be grating me about my recent decision to quit the possibility of a lucrative career in *ss-wiping. He won't be mad that I quit it, he'll be mad because I think to him it seems like I'll be leeching out again instead of earning my own pay and establishing a future for myself. I really hate explaining, I really do, especially when I'm not in the mood to be eloquent about myself. I'd rather we talk about maintaining a marriage for 26 years, or about making ends meet in a foolishly sluggish economy, or about establishing contacts with the rich and famous and make them come to you instead of you going to them, and maybe all other sheight (my new favorite expression!) related to world chagrin or the politics of Imelda preferring to have been struck by a bolo with a yellow ribbon tied on it. Everything else to be the topic of conversation, besides me and my seeming lack of interest.

Actually, my Dad's somewhere in Ongpin right now waiting for me while my sister and Mom left an hour ago to fetch my younger sister from school, where they'll be going straight to the church and celebrate parental anniversary through the Holy Eucharist. Don't worry, I'm a quick groom and I'll get to the restaurant just in time. I love writing like this, "under pressure."

Tomorrow, I'll be meeting up with my wonderful college friends to celebrate the 287th birthday of my close girl friend (and "ex" hehehehehe *wink*), La Madame Transience in Via Mare, Shangri-La Plaza by popular vote. Everyone's going! Yipee! I'll bring my camera because that'll be a celestial event... all my tragically intellectual friends together eating lavish seafood (for free!)

I told you yesterday about my meeting up with my soon-to-be-employed friend and my good director friend in Greenbelt. Maybe on Sunday I'll be meeting up with my techy/tekkie/tech-ky friend to celebrate his birthday too. Another one of those people who I admire and am proud to be friends with because he's so atuned with himself. Regardless of what other people think of him, I think he's great and he's always been there for me. Happy birthday Julian!

So..... I'll pretty much be meeting up with all the important people in my life (and got to talk on the phone with my practicum employers moments ago to catch up) and I'm feeling quite content. All I need now is to feel secure with how I'm gonna move on with my life and maybe I'll be all set. The struggles will surely be there, but at least I know all these people I've come to love are here to support me and to tell me exactly what I need to hear....

".....Here lies love...."

Sunburnt During the Rainy Season

2004-07-30T02:26:00.000+08:00

Today had been one of those "better" days (which is a good thing). I woke up to perky text messages and emails from my fabulous group of friends, who, in some strange way, were also perky like me. We attributed it to protein. I ate a plateful of pork tausi with beancurd last night, tofu being one of my favorite "extenders" in prepared dishes.

[Yield! Before we go any further I'd just like to say I'm quite sleepy now and that you'll have to excuse my grammar and spelling for the remainder of the entry. If you must know, I kept revising the 1st paragraph about 4-5 times. What a dork...]

I had brunch and proceeded to meet my soon-to-be-employed friend and his close friend from UST. I was already in a bus in front of HSBC-Enterprise Tower when they texted me to meet them in Seattle's Best. I first went toward Landmark to withdraw money in case we'd eat dinner some place. Looking at the receipt, I felt I needed to get a job soon. Not that I've used up all my savings, but just the fear that I might need a large amount of cash and won't know where to get it. I went up the stairs toward Powerbooks. For some reason, I went inside the store. At first it was curiosity over what new books have been released or what the bestsellers are. But I realized it was a different kind of force that's drawn me into the shop. It was a strange coincidence I met a good director friend of mine inside the Powerbooks coffeeshop. We talked about his professorship and day jobs and he encouraged me to join this short film contest sponsored by CCP. In a way it was pretty interesting because I've been re-evaluating my priorities (for the Nth time...) and more or less focusing on easier targets than those long-term goals and other such gobbledy-gook. At this point in my young life at 16 years of age, I want to focus on what my life would be now that I'm not migrating any time soon (ouch! ouch!). Like I emailed my designer friend, I used to think taking up Psychology would make me happy. Maybe it would, but somehow I've been getting second thoughts now that the opportunity to take up masters this coming sem had become open. Would this make me happy or fulfilled? My friend tells me even if you pursue the career of your dreams, setbacks and failure are inevitable but you'd find more motivation to work.

I told Malik yesterday that it would probably have benefited us a lot more if we weren't so smart or thought the way we have. Instead of thinking about self-fulfillment, we would be satisfied with just earning a living and getting the things money can buy, being happy with a high-paying job even if it meant not attaining our standard for self-respect (with regard to career). Certainly other people have made their compromises, other people have completely given up on their childhood dreams and have settled for something more tangible, more practical. Why weren't we born like those people? Maybe we'd be happier, or at least, not mentally tortured.

Going back to the story, that meeting with my director friend must have been fate speaking to me, trying to open a new window from which I could peer out of and see the bigger (motion) picture.

My soon-to-be-employed friend was very supportive of this endeavor. The only thing I offered him in the conversation were my apprehensions. I don't have my own videocam, I don't know the basics about filmmaking or lighting. What I do have is attention to detail, perseverance, and the ability to comment intelligently on existing works. But the one thing I'm weakest at is STARTING FROM SCRATCH. I have the recent events as good enough evidence of this weakness. For instance, it's simpler and easier to write a poem from a waft of fragrant air than to come up with a whole movie as a result of that waft of inspiration, writing down the screenplay, and coordinating everything under the constraints of budget and time. For poetry, I'd just sit down and type away my misconceptions and arrange them to sound "believable" hehehehe

Just tonight, I've already been having these fantastic ideas! Like Aba Ginoong Maria and Nanay Ko. I'm trying to limit the plot with my existing resources. I wouldn't want to spend so much for a debut film. I also didn't want to appear too dramatic and constipated about my debut work, if ever that day comes and I'd be defending my ideas in front of a firing squad panel of film experts. I wouldn't want to be apologetic of my work.

We stayed at Malik's computer shop till around 11pm when we both got sleepy.

It's 3:01am and I'm still awake, but I'd prefer being awake and with some sort of a positive light bulb illuminating my dingy head, than the light at the end of a tunnel that seems to be getting more and more reachable the more my dreams are stalled. I'm going to bask under this light of inspiration I've found for myself. Get sunburned if I must.

La Tragédie Du Alésé

2004-07-28T02:14:00.000+08:00

(You can use GOOGLE language tools to translate this entry. We apologize for any inconvenience. Ü)

Je m'ennuie très. J'ai voulu écrire ceci en anglais mais j'ai pensé à le traduire dans le Français de sorte que mon ennui semble romantique.

Je suis allé à Quiapo cet après-midi parce que j'ai voulu faire un tour du côté "plus sauvage" des choses. J'ai acheté un certain DVDs pendant mon voyage passionnant. La décision principale que j'ai dû faire face a considéré le choix pour marcher toute la manière à la maison pour un exercice lourd, ou pour monter la jeep allant à la maison puisqu'il y avait spaceous attendant déjà devant moi. J'ai choisi le tour. C'aurait été une promenade éloignée de Quiapo et je suis un étranger à la marche de nos jours.

Je suis allé à la boutique informatique de Malik pour une certaine conversation intéressante et suis resté là jusqu'au minuit 12. Nous avons ri au sujet du film IMELDA (que je suggère pour vous tout d'observer) et essais médicaux dans un camp de formation de police. Nous ne pourrions pas trouver notre professeur anglais de highschool dans Friendster. Trop mauvais. Malik a déjà approuvé mon dernier testimonial pour lui. Quelle explosion! Ü

Ainsi, comment trouvez-vous ma grammaire sous la forme traduite? LOL Ü

dear god

2004-07-26T23:50:00.000+08:00

Today was too slow for me. It was like being stuck in school again and wanting to jump off the wretched building on a rainy day for the sake of a macabre folly. I decided to go with my Mom to the mall to buy stuff for the house. We didn't have airconditioning in the crummy car so where I was standing on the sidewalk, I would have imploded and no one wouldn't have been able to distinguish the rain from broken up spleen or kidneys.

In the mall I would read amusing email thru GPRS and interject quasi-hilarity into my anemic existence. It helps to have funny friends on days like this you'd love to drag the dullest part of a spoon on your skin and hope to spell the word "D-R-Y" like in the Vaseline commercial circa 80's. At least there would have been an obvious physical manifestation of le état de folie.

The only highlight of the day was when I bought a 2CD compilation of UNDERWORLD's greatest hits for P375.  As usual, the quality of the merchandise was abhorrent. You would've been better off buying the pirated version in the streets (if there were any). There were other compilations to die for too. "BRAZILUTION" contains modern Brazilian lounge-bossanova artists like Zuco, sold at P1550 for 2CDs.  I was looking for the original vcd of Waking Life, an animated feature my friend convinced me to look for in Astrovision or Video City. Sadly, I found none.

Back home I felt ill again after dinner and took a healthy and informed resolution to get off the skag (aka FOOD & carbonated BEVERAGE) and eat moderately when the mind and body are in their "normal" states. god help ...

excerpt from Sarah McLachlan's "Dear God"

"I won't believe in heaven and hell.No saints, no sinners, no devil as well.No pearly gates, no thorny crown.You're always letting us humans down.The wars you bring, the babes you drown.Those lost at sea and never found,And it's the same the whole world 'round.The hurt I see helps to compoundThat Father, Son and Holy GhostIs just somebody's unholy hoaxAnd if you're up there you'd perceiveThat my heart's here upon my sleeve.If there's one thing I don't believe in.....It's you.....Dear God."

If you had one wish

2004-07-23T01:54:00.000+08:00

Unlike most employed and seemingly successful people of my age, 16, I woke up at 7pm, just in time for a festive dinner. No, there wasn't the usual roster of relatives, although what my Mom had prepared was fit for such an occasion. We had roasted chicken marinated in brown sugar and soy sauce, and some pasta, the tubular kind, along with this rich sweet tomato sauce with mushrooms and a small bottle of Bravo pesto sauce my sister brought home from work. However, instead of feeling good about everything delicious I ate, I felt sick. I think I may have become a bit hypertensive again, compounded by my slight hyperropia and acute astigmatism; my head started to pound and my neck became stiff. Indeed, my lifestyle is that of an emperor, an under-achieving one, trapped in a kingdom of a house. To make matters worse, the phone rang and I answered it (something I don't normally do because nobody calls me before 9pm) and to my luck(!), it was my aunt from the US. She asked me all these questions and sorta lectured me on what I should/could be doing since I'm supposed to have "the time of my life" being at my age, 16, and that I should have an incentive to go to the gym or to be busy being happy turning down a lucarative career in *ss-wiping. She asked me who my friends are and what they do and why I heed their advice and allow myself to be influenced, etc. etc. etc. I just kept saying "yes" and nodding my head even if she wouldn't have been able to see me in my striped gray shorts and tattered white Hawaii shirt. She may sound pretty controlling but you wouldn't notice it because she comes on with a tone of redolence, full of suggestions and that feeling of guilt all in one package. I'm not mad or anything and most of what she had said is/are/was/were/has/have/had been true, it's just that it's the trouble of finding that "incentive" that's the hardest thing for me right now. There's nothing to live for and I'm going stale with my so-called talent.

I thought I wanted to take up Masters and try my luck going abroad with another course I'm not too keen on, but now, I'm having doubts I'll get through it. My friend with the computer shop (let's name him Malik) was right all along. For every thing I do that's the exact opposite of what I'd really want to do, he would make a corresponding bet that I'd quit the first few weeks alone. It may sound evil but he didn't word it that way. I'm not mad at him or anything because it is/are/was/were/has/have/had been all true. It goes against human nature to tread the path of greatest resistance. I can't fool anyone, I really don't like children. Some are cute, and that's it. I can't imagine myself teaching mentally-challenged children at the intermediate level, when they're all grown up and able to start talking sh*t....

Moving on, I decided to go to Malik's shop to vent out and maybe have a few minutes walk/exercise along the way. The shop was packed so we spent most of the time outside. Among the many things we had talked about, there was one thing he said that struck me the most. He said, "If I had the chance to have my wish granted, I wouldn't wish to be rich. I'd wish for my parents to be rich." He explained to me how if your parents are rich, you will be spared of a lot of responsibility and if ever things don't work out, you'll always have people to go back to. I was a bit appalled because Malik had never been close with his father even before his mother passed away years ago, and now he would wish for his father to be rich so that he could take care of him? Anyway, other than that, what he said was pretty logical if you think about it. If you were living on your own you would have more needs and wants, and along with these come bills and taxes. When you're making ends meet or getting through with flying colors, your family would become your responsibility -- sharing bills at home, offering to pay for your other siblings' tuition and expenses, taking charge of insurance and investment plans, paying for your car and gas, debts and installments, and everything else that comes with being a grown up in a nuclear family. It's not all that bad if you're the "family type" who would love to give back what graces the Lord had showered upon you. Everyone has to go through this grown up sh*t eventually. But if you're not the type and plan to be single without dependents, it's a whole lot of responsibility you're not prepared to deal with, especially since you'd have so much hang-ups to solve first before being able to take on the new challenges. Independence is a difficult thing to pursue (no wonder I don't know anyone my age, 16, who's successfully moved out.) It seems practically impossible in these sad economic times. That's why if there's one advice I can give to anyone out there who's wanting to move out, as soon as you've saved up and can live for 6 months without a job, go be independent. If you don't force yourself (like young Americans do), it would be too difficult to separate yourselves from the convenience of living with your family and being able to depend on helpers. If you don't sacrifice these conveniences now, you might never be able to give those up (unless of course you get married and move out .... where? To your spouse's family?)

Whatever. I was only a bit appalled but I don't really have any opinion about wishing for your parents to be rich and feasting on the gains. Everything's off tangent.

Computer Shops

2004-07-20T22:14:00.000+08:00

I got so bored to death at home I decided to go to my friend's computer shop near the tennis court. God I miss playing tennis...

Anyway, I'm at the counter being the "big boss" who knows nothing about the shop except maybe using the internet for free hehehe. I'm soooooooo bored....

I'm playing naughty songs on winamp right now trying to piss my friend off who's crush is sitting beside him at this moment. I talked to him in Mandarin, joking around like an idiot, like a "big boss" who knows absolutely nothing.

Sheeesh... I keep repeating my sentences. They say repetition is the sign of a mentally unstable person. If such is true, my Prothiaden's probably not working. Just kidding... it's all a natural "high" hehehe

I was hoping to get some cds ripped and burned as mp3, but my friend tells me the network has a virus, a nasty one. He would copy files unto a diskette (upon request of customers) and once the file would be copied, he'd immediately take out the diskette so that the virus won't penetrate through the magnetic ribbon. Talk about coitus interruptus... hehehe

I'm soooooo bored....

I'll be goin' home in a bit. Maybe watch a movie or something. Last night I watched interMISSION, a scottish film starring Colin Farrell, Kelly MacDonald (the young girl from Trainspotting), and this girl who played Moaning Myrtle in Harry Potter Chamber of Secrets, among a great cast of actors. In a way, it's like Trainspotting where the 1st scene features a chase between Colin and the cops. The scene before that was pretty surprising though. I wouldn't tell you because it'll spoil the suspense. There were parts that were hilarious and some parts had a bit of drama to them. All in all, I would recommend it for people who like crude British humor, whose morals verge on .... oh freak morals! It's for people who don't have morals! hehehehe

If you're reading this, you're wasting your internet time. Go back to work corporate slaves!

.... computer shops .... sanctuary of the bored .....

PS - My friend's closing shop. The crush left a moment ago. He's asking, "What's the point of staying open diba?!"

Escape to Quiapo

2004-07-20T00:31:00.000+08:00

There was one time my nurse friend and I met up in Dunkin' Donuts beside the crowded church of Quiapo. She had this huge bag to her side while she was eating a croissan'wich (tuna flavor I think). She told me she stormed out of the house because of all the higgledy-piggledy going on with its inhabitants. My painter friend joined us an hour later.

Rather than feel sorry for her, I got very curious and asked her what she had in her bag. I mean, what does a person bring with him/her when he/she storms out of the house and thinks of running away? I took a slightly tattered piece of Dunkin' Donuts tissue and borrowed her pen to jot down, item per item, the things to bring when leaving home.

(But before that, we first admired the wonderful craftsmanship and sturdy feel of her imported Nine West bag.)
Going back, here's what we discovered:

Thirteen Things One Can't Leave Home Without

1. Acne Drying Plus Solution (strike 1)
2. Anti-bacterial RS Solution (strike 2)
3. Céleteque "special" facial wash (strike 3 yer out!!!)
4. Cellphone with ethnic-inspired knitted pouch (to call friends with; for solace and possible financial support)
5. Old salmon pink polka-dot shirt with hole near the nipples (her security blanket)
6. Boxer shorts with tiger paw prints ("hold that tiger! hold that tiger!")
7. Semi-formal long sleeve shirt for potential job interviews (one can never be unemployed when moving out)
8. Dental floss (who needs a toothbrush anyway?)
9. "Kikay Bag" (Vanity/Make-up kit)
10. Big Wallet with ID (why do women put their wallets in their bags, never in their pockets?)
11. 3 pieces of clean underwear, 1 bra (including the one she was wearing) = 5 articles of undergarment
Note: 1 brassiere must last for 1 week before washing, using only bath soap not laundry bars or detergents. Also, my friend suggests to apply some loose powder on the chest area to minimize perspiration, thus extending the brassiere's wearability.
12. Burkedoria - n. an airborne communicable disease she caught working in the charity ward
13. Rick Warren's book, The Purpose-Driven Life (for the poor directionless runaway)

..... How about you? What would YOU have brought? .....

Alters when it alteration finds

2004-07-18T06:35:00.000+08:00

Voila! A new look for my old blog!
The previous design was too boring. I tried sprucing this one up but I couldn't get the correct commands to change certain fonts and colors. A pity really.

Sometime last night, the brownout 23 minutes ago, and the phone line that's been cut a moment ago (I've typed this via notepad, saved, reprocessed, and posted for your reading pleasure), I've given up on coming up with a blog design I deem satisfactory. For now I'd have to settle for the regular template, Rounders 3.

Note: I hate the profile picture to the right of this blog. I uploaded that picture on my yahoo site and tried to link it to my profile in blogspot but it just wouldn't load correctly for some reason. For Windows users, try right-clicking within the lilac border and choose "Show Picture." It's a pathetic attempt at reloading the image. Sometimes it works, sometimes it doesn't. The picture's called "The Singing Butler." I forget who painted it, if it's Rene Magritt or Jack Vettriano as it says on the picture. It was sent to me by a close painter friend of mine. At the moment it kinda represents my state of mind. Being caught in the rain isn't so bad when you have personal assistants, but while you're stuck, you might as well dance (according to my supposedly bitchy future lawyer friend).

Where two go tangoing and the swingers go boogieing, I go marching in.

Uncertainty Avoidance

2004-07-13T22:06:00.000+08:00

On the subject of emotions, I'm at a leveled plane right now. I hope it lasts because rationality has always been one of my strengths and at the moment, I feel it's by my side again. I've quit most of the drama, unintentionally, when I wrote my Mom a letter about everything. Unwittingly, I've written certain stuff too that I've buried in the depths of my unconscious. Now revealed, I feel emancipated.

I haven't given her the letter because there were certain things I don't think she has to know anymore. The important thing is we've moved on and I do feel that she's genuinely supportive of my next endeavor yet. It may not be as certain as my previous track, in terms of travel, but there's a feeling of stability, of peace, in my new decision. Hope it works...

On the topic of avoidance, I've been avoiding a certain someone, trying to cut down on negative emotions as possible because I am extremely volatile by myself, I can't possibly fit someone else's rants and raves into my unsettled emotional satiety. I want to be a best friend, but I fear I won't be able to resume those duties when I'm not at my sanest. Anyway, that person doesn't know yet.

Executing changes is absolutely a pain in the arse.

I went to the hospital yesterday to drop all of my subjects on account of my being a changed man. I got to talk to my dear classmate Lin-Lin. (It's such a pleasure talking with her. I'll miss her the most.) She told me the registrar will not favor me a refund because it's already been a month since classes. I told her it's unfair because we started classes June 21 and I stopped going to class on the 2nd day of the 2nd week, that there must be some way to convince them that it's terribly unfair for people who pay the full amount of tuition on the day of enrollment compared to those who choose Plan B or Plan C. My Mom personally went to the hospital today to talk to the Dean and persuade her on the account of my going to the States because my aunt wishes to finance my studies there and that I would need to leave asap.

F*CK. If only THAT were true. CUNT. Excuse my language but I can't help but feel frustrated.

To make the long story short, the Dean told my Mom to tell my aunt to let me study here in Manila since many "balikbayans" from abroad study here because the tuition fee is less expensive. Ugh... the politics of protecting one's interests. I mean, it's OUR MONEY dammit!

Oh well, as they say, life goes on. You win some, you lose some.

I'm losing my head.

Freaked Out

2004-07-11T10:15:00.000+08:00

Just this morning I had the most disturbing dream yet. I actually had a series of dreams but I only remember the last one coz I woke up immediately after.

I dreamt that a late 20's early 30's African woman was tied to a tree. She was naked and her abdomen was swollen, she was probably pregnant. She was all sweaty and she was being raped by an African man. The most terrifying image was that of her face. It was full of fear and pain. The next thing I saw, her face was on close up and hundreds of black worms were coming out of her mouth like blood rushing out from a severed aorta. It was unsettling.

the sun shines yet again ... Ü

2004-07-04T08:03:00.000+08:00

"Sun is shining, the weather is sweet.
Makes you wanna move, your dancing feet.
When the morning gathers the rainbow,
Want you to know, I'm a rainbow too."

- Sun is Shining by Bob Marley
(remixed by Funkstar Deluxe)

The past few days have been turbulent indeed. On the outside we have been visited by the tropical monsoon "Igme," and on the inside, I've been visited by familiar emotional hurricanes from the past year. Needless to say, I'm quite lucky to be alive and writing down my thoughts on virtual paper, revealing what is necessary from me as a means of affirming that I still exist.

A few days ago at the height of the heavy winds and rain, I was at the 12th floor of our building, bored to death and numb to the sprawling life (represented by the quasi-dynamism of my classmates and subjects). In several empty classrooms on that floor, I observed the buildings and people covering most of the metropolis, an ironic imagery with the "Concept of Man" collage presentation we were to have 30 minutes later. During the most dull moments in the sky, my hair blown by the wind in many different directions (as were my demons), the only lucid thought that eclipsed my mind was that of death.

Like the tragically talented Filipino-Chinese poet who lept from the FEU building, I too contemplated an easy, albeit massively deforming, jump to flight. Maningning Miclat had her boyfriend's picture clutched to her chest, I had my plastic nameplate, my virginal white uniform, and a tangled scapular in my breast pocket. All I needed was an immediate cause, a spark plug ignition, and I would have been on my way 6 feet under.

Luckily, the windows were too small for me to fit through and the floor with the open space from the hospital parking lots were in the other building, soaking in rain. Luckily my professor for the last subject at 5-7pm had discussed the topic of my weakness -- psychological development. Quite odd for a Health Care Lecture I have to say. Nevertheless, I felt alive for the succeeding 1 hour and 30 minutes that remained.

I did not go to school for the next 4 days, including yesterday, Saturday. I feared I might get the urge to fly again, and this time I would pick the spaceous platform from which to catapult myself into the next world.

My mother never noticed how I slept like a fetus those 4 days. She was too busy entertaining my cousin and his girlfriend from New York. I still love her though.

Once again I have become the eldest middle child. Once again I pissed my friends off with my whinnying. (Note: "whinnying" was used throughout Coehlo's O Alquimista national bestseller. I figured using it myself.) I love my friends, I really do, but it's difficult to give something to others when you have nothing of it yourself. It defies the Law of Conservation.

After a very long and disarming conversation with my good friend "Julian," I was able to puncture holes in the barrier of denial and realized so many things, foremost that I cannot go on existing without taking good care of my body. I have to admit I have been both excessive and frugal of my physiological attention, being dream-centered and wish-filled like a young boy in search of his Personal Legend. But I'm okay now and the emotional turmoil felt like an ablution of those barriers, those programmed responses accumulated through many years of school and work and television and movies and fatty foods. There is indeed sunshine after any rainfall, and the rainbow, in the midst of air pollution and smog, still exists even if we don't see it.

Carpathia may still be within my reach after all.

(Disclaimer: Though I have to say I appreciated reading THE ALCHEMIST at this most mordant adventure of my existence, I cannot help but DETEST the CHEEZINESS and often simplistic approach of its text. Paulo Coehlo is the Pied Piper of Brazil, able to play the flute to sway the sound of people's collective consciousness. In his book lies his very own Philosopher's Stone, able to turn a sliver of words into a golden rule, a global mantra of the races. In my opinion, he had it mixed up. The world's GREATEST TRUTHS should read: 1)... at a certain point in our lives, we lose control of what's happening to us, and our lives become controlled by fate; 2) ... in money there ws magic; whoever has money is never really alone. And the world's GREATEST LIE should read: ...when you really want something, the universe ALWAYS conspires in your favor.

SHepherd's dung. Just had to let you guys know before its too late and you end up endorsing this reading material to human beings with weakened emotional-intellectual constitutions.)

PS: Julian, Lance, Audiophile-Free Radical, Ms. Adducul, K_Transience, Bankero, Pokijul, Umberta, SubZero, Netskilanarch --- I appreciate everything! Ü

physical manifestation of distress

2004-06-30T23:50:00.000+08:00

This is where I was firmly planted.
Like a tree I stood
my arms raised toward the skies.
I was begging to be saved,
the impending storm
would strip me naked, that
only my fingertips would have leaves.

Bending to the direction of the seasonal wind,
I bore the different colors of time,
that when these people took a taste of my fruits,
they knew not, that these
were fruits of my sorrow.

copyright 063004

making up my mind

2004-06-08T01:58:00.000+08:00

i've actually written a very long discussion on karma, the universe, newton's law on action-reaction, but i just can't make up my mind on how to end it. as a result, i just saved it and maybe post on another day when i indeed have an terminating truth to write about.

if you've read yesterday's post, i was supposed to delete it right after, but i couldn't make up my mind so i kept it instead. i don't really know if anyone's reading the sh*te i write down here, so i couldn't care less.

yesterday wasn't such a bad day, though i've had better days. i guess it was the result of being bored (again) and having so much time to think about my life right now and regret being at my age and still not accomplishing anything at all. it IS very loserly, i have to admit, but i AM doing something about it by going back to school and trying to live my life somewhere else where there's more promise for people like me who don't think like the average person. i'm not necessarily a rebel, but i couldn't help being open-minded about a lot of things.... which brings me to the problem that i live in a place where people are conservative and so I'm influenced to think like them especially since i see them most of the time. i would LOVE to move out and be on my own, but i'm afraid i've missed that the last time i resigned from work. i used to think i'm in the middle of nowhere, stuck on being a bum and choosing another job, or continuing studies and pursue an occupation with a brighter future. i used to think i'm at the crossroads (over and over again for a year), but lately, i realized i've already chosen a path. at the time i started school last semester in November, it was already a sealed deal that i would have to finish the course in 3 years and try my luck abroad. there was no turning back because at my present state, i would not be able to find a job better than the call center work i did before, i may not get the same pay as before as well, and i'm getting older and older to be starting life from square 1 as if nothing happened. i'm getting tired of it all and this is my last chance. all i need to do is to sacrifice my freedom for the next 5 years or so, and when i'm completely earning i can proceed to claiming my long-awaited independence.

again, it all sounds so easy, and maybe inside i'm banking on an empty promise made by my relatives, but then there are no other reasonable alternatives that can offer me the future i desire. NONE. the only help i can get from anyone is genuine support and encouragement, besides tuition fee and *gasp* a meager allowance (not that i'm asking for more, but the mere ASKING for it kills me everytime. it's embarrassing really).

hence the point where i reached my discussion on karmic retribution and the universe (as i was supposed to discuss): if everything DOES balance out in the end, i inexorably wish to have my retribution within this lifetime, if possible within the next 3-5 years because i'm not getting any younger, and there's just too much i want to offer this world that i don't think God would want to waste such talent from a decaying world. As my good friend texted me, "To hope even after the dice has been cast. Tragedy is giving up when there's still hope. I mean, when it's really important I don't think God is cruel not to let us have it." (Spelling modified)

When it's really important ....

The question is WHY NOW?

2004-06-07T03:34:00.000+08:00

In a matter of days, classes will be starting again for me. Good, because right at the moment of my being unprepared, I am again smitten with an unfathomable degree of loneliness. I know I'm all to blame because I've never put the effort to search for anything more meaningful besides having a dream to work on. It's not easy to be strong, not easy to be misconstrued as being strong. Sooner or later, the entire structure collapses and flood waters go raging out of control. The sad part is that when the water goes out, there's no way to gather all of it back in.

I have to admit, I'm a stranger to loneliness because all my life, I've always had great friends who've been there whenever I needed some consolation. This house I live in is the converging point of the entire clan, so much so i often find myself without personal space, yet I have to deal with it for the time being because it has been like this for 15 years. In truth, I have always been the one people find solace in, the rational, dogmatic one. However now, it's very different. I still have my friends and they're all very open and willing to help me, but it's just not getting through. I know what I'm looking for, but I refuse to accept that I am looking for it. Not right now, not when everything's f*cked up, not when I'm just starting to put the pieces together and move on.

June 14. My day of salvation ...

Everybody's Free To Wear Sunscreen

2004-05-25T03:35:00.000+08:00

I tried writing a couple of hours ago but I couldn't find any truth to write about. I have been under some stress regarding my life and my future, and I have learned many things on how to deal with the stresses and move on. However, at this point in time, my mind's a blank at 3:37am in a computer shop. SO, to compensate for my lack of eloquent philosophizing, here's a song I like for its simple honesty.

Baz Luhrmann - Everybody's Free (To Wear SUNSCREEN)
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Ladies and gentlemen, of the class of '99.
Wear Sunscreen.
If I could offer you only one tip for the future, sunscreen would be it.
The long-term benefits of sunscreen have been proved by scientists, whereas the rest of my advice has no basis more reliable than my own meandering experience.
I will dispense this advice now.

Enjoy the power and beauty of your youth.
Oh, never mind.
You will not understand the power and beauty of your youth until they've faded.
But trust me, in 20 years, you'll look back at photos of yourself and recall in a way you can't grasp now how much possibility lay before you and how fabulous you really looked.
You are not as fat as you imagine.

Don't worry about the future.
Or worry, but know that worrying is as effective as trying to solve an algebra equation by chewing bubble gum.
The real troubles in your life are apt to be things that never crossed your worried mind.
The kind that blindside you at 4 p.m. on some idle Tuesday.

Do one thing every day that scares you.

Sing.

Don't be reckless with other people's hearts.
Don't put up with people who are reckless with yours.

Floss.

Don't waste your time on jealousy.
Sometimes you're ahead, sometimes you're behind.
The race is long and, in the end, it's only with yourself.

Remember compliments you receive.
Forget the insults.
If you succeed in doing this, tell me how.

Keep your old love letters.
Throw away your old bank statements.

Stretch.

Don't feel guilty if you don't know what you want to do with your life.
The most interesting people I know didn't know at 22 what they wanted to do with their lives.
Some of the most interesting 40-year-olds I know still don't.

Get plenty of calcium.
Be kind to your knees.
You'll miss them when they're gone.

Maybe you'll marry, maybe you won't.
Maybe you'll have children, maybe you won't.
Maybe you'll divorce at 40, maybe you'll dance the funky chicken on your 75th wedding anniversary.
Whatever you do, don't congratulate yourself too much, or berate yourself either.
Your choices are half chance.
So are everybody else's.

Enjoy your body.
Use it every way you can.
Don't be afraid of it or of what other people think of it.
It's the greatest instrument you'll ever own.

Dance, even if you have nowhere to do it but your living room.

Read the directions, even if you don't follow them.

Do not read beauty magazines.
They will only make you feel ugly.

Get to know your parents.
You never know when they'll be gone for good.
Be nice to your siblings.
They're your best link to your past and the people most likely to stick with you in the future.

Understand that friends come and go, but with a precious few you should hold on.
Work hard to bridge the gaps in geography and lifestyle, because the older you get, the more you need the people who knew you when you were young.

Live in New York City once, but leave before it makes you hard.
Live in Northern California once, but leave before it makes you soft.
Travel.

Accept certain inalienable truths:
Prices will rise.
Politicians will philander.
You, too, will get old.
And when you do, you'll fantasize that when you were young, prices were reasonable, politicians were noble and children respected their elders.

Respect your elders.

Don't expect anyone else to support you.
Maybe you have a trust fund.
Maybe you'll have a wealthy spouse.
But you never know when either one might run out.

Don't mess too much with your hair or by the time you're 40 it will look 85.

Be careful whose advice you buy, but be patient with those who supply it.
Advice is a form of nostalgia.
Dispensing it is a way of fishing the past from the disposal, wiping it off, painting over the ugly parts and recycling it for more than it's worth.

But trust me on the sunscreen.

Bird friends

2004-05-18T03:16:00.000+08:00

I've written this a long time ago, maybe my 4th or 5th post-to-be, but I've never been able to publish it, only today. Read on ...

There's these two maya birds outside my room window. They're on the window sill opposite the building I'm in, and since no one lives in that other building, nobody goes there to clean up or do any maintenance. I think those two birds have been there since before November, if I'm not mistaken, and it seems like they're here to stay. They are marvelously precise. I've been checking up on them (like they were people) and they never fail to nest at 6:14pm on my watch. Just about the time the sky turns dark orange during sunset and it's dark enough for them to feel secure "going home". In the morning, while I type my journal entries, they leave their nest at precisely 6:14am. Biologists would call this a circadian rhythm. All living things follow it or experience it, like you and me. It's all the events that happen to an organism within 24 hours and the observable patterns that form from observing succeeding 24-hour cycles.

In my case, I eat, sleep, go online, talk on the phone, run some errands, and sleep. In a nutshell that is.

In the case of the birds, they leave their home at 6:14 in the morning. I have no idea what they do for the 12 hours during the day. They probably go find food or join other birds at "work" or merely chirp each other songs to get the day by. Afterwhich they return to their nest at 6:14pm on the dot, and start sleeping through the night. If you check the window sill, it's already collecting loads of oxidized maya droppings forming a trickling pattern of white residue from the sill down to the bottom of the wall. The weird thing is, there are no "homy touches" to their tiny nook, no sign that they consider that part of the building their house. On the same building, I observed up on the 3rd floor, there's an old air-conditioner without it's metal casing, so much so that you can see the "innards" of the mechanism. A family of maya birds have been living in it for quite some time now, and you can see that the cavities are lined with little mounds of grass and soil. I bet they've even laid and hatched fledglings there. But with the one opposite my window, there seems to be no trace of "settling down." Which brings me to a conclusion formulated about 3 days now ... the birds opposite my window are having an elicit affair. That's the only plausible explanation I have. They only meet up precisely at 6:14pm and leave as early as 6:14am. What they do on that window sill within the 12 hours they're together is probably a secret from all the other birds. And who knows, maybe during the nights when I'm burning the midnight oil, it is likely that they do their little bird dance and other maya mating rituals that I'm not aware of. If so, how come they don't have children yet? Is there some sort of natural avian birth control method? Are maya birds firm believers in safe sex? Or are they merely barren?

Whatever the ethological reasons there are, I probably won't know or understand at this point. But somehow I'm glad they're beside my window. I don't feel so alone when I work at night.

Damn. Those birds lead more interesting lives.

NOTE: The birds have since been gone after the cold months. They were replaced by the aircon that used to be in my room, only now I have a newer air-conditioner in my room. It's all just crap over there.

Potent Potables

2004-05-02T01:13:00.000+08:00

As I'm typing this, I'm also downing a bottle of crisp, cold Miller genuine draft beer. Don't mistake me to be an alcoholic because I'm not, though right now I feel I desperately need something to make me fall asleep faster than trying to count sheep in the middle of the night. I'm a couple of centimeters to finishing up, and even if this is only the first bottle for the night, my face is starting to feel tight and somehow, instinctively, I feel my blood pressure rising gradually. I fear looking at a mirror for I know exactly what to expect of myself -- all flushed, my face pinkish red like an Eskimo's and my eyes bloodshot like a day-old fish's. According to my friend, the tolerance to alcohol is a mental thing. He says that it really doesn't matter how much beers you take in to get you drunk, as the amount YOU feel you can take in before losing it in a brawl or ejecting your dinner in a fountain-like vomitus projectile. I'm not much of a drinker so I don't really know if this is true or not. I think it's both. There's a certain limit to "toxicity" for each individual but a bit of an attitude may also influence being "under the influence".

(I've just finished the last shot)

Believe me, I'm not one to spend nights unsobering and wasting my money away, bottle after bottle, over cold beer. LIke most of the young crowds herding up in malls, I'm more of a coffee person. Most of the time, coffee's a lot more expensive, especially if you get those icy cold mochaccinos that come with ice cream or jelly. Don't get me wrong, they're delish, but sipping house blends from each shop is more my thing. So far, I find Manila Hotel fresh coffee still the best at P50. Freshly ground then cooked up right after, the aroma is incomparable, the taste very easy on the throat, and the bitter aftertaste is very minimal since it's medium roast. Annoyingly, the refill comes as the WORST brewed coffee in my list. I'd rather take those instant ones they have in sachets. The refill is over-cooked and bitter, kept dripping and reheated for hours in open air. There's also the expected sour aftertaste when coffee's been heated for too long. It totally destroys the whole 1st cup experience. I'm not much of an expert in deriving taste and texture though, but in the Philippines, most blends consist of arabica. Seattle's Best house blend is okay (in Tomas Morato) because it's also smooth and slightly nutty. In other branches though, the house blend tastes like that of other mainstream coffee houses as Starbucks or Coffee Republic. Everything's too diluted. The flavor's lost in all that water, and when I try to find creamers instead of milk to make the coffee more creamy, there aren't any available. The frappuccinos, I find, are too sweet. I'd prefer drinking those blue label, milk tea imports from China sold in 7-11. Perfect taste.

If you're a real coffee connoisseur though, you have to try my Dad's very own blend. It's a mixture of local and foreign blends that he combines himself. He buys the beans from many different places and grinds them himself. He uses a coffee expert's espresso percolator for full flavor and freshness. The taste is unprecedented. (Too bad I'm leaving Baguio in the day after tomorrow, though I'll take some with me back home.)

Tomorrow we'll be buying some longganisa and ube jam for my visiting aunt. It'll be a long day in the market.

Memories cannot fill an empty stomach

2004-04-29T23:32:00.000+08:00

For the first time in my life I learned stuff about my father I never knew before. He had so many interesting stories like in the movie Joy Luck Club, things you learn about your parents now that you're at an age of maturity. You feel like you're an adult, and in my case, I felt like he was pressed for time as his health has at an obvious gradual decline due to diabetes and heavy smoking. It's sad really, and if there was a way for me to collect his stories like he collected his antiques, to salvage what he's amassed over the years in a financially viable way, I would, but I fear that my other family members would never understand the value of these things, as I know he feels I don't understand the value of these things either. My mother and sisters would probably sell everything thinking it's all useless junk, not because they don't appreciate it's value, but because there's the inevitable need for survival that no sentiment can overcome.

Whinner, I mean, winner!

2004-04-20T01:51:00.000+08:00

You may have noticed that I haven't written a single thing for more than a month. That is to say, lightly, that I have tried not to complain as much, tried not to be my usual articulate self, since the summer has arrived. The tragic thing is I haven't been to the beach yet, contrary to what my previous postings suggest, and I have no concrete plans to pursuing such in the coming days, to my utter dismay. Instead, tomorrow I'll be going to the bummer, I mean, summer, capital of the Philippine Islands, BAGUIO CITY, to arrange the upcoming schedule of my life-to-be in a new and more temperate setting. I actually don't know what to bring. It's not like I'm gonna stay there for more than a week. I'll be back on Sunday or Monday, preferably, to follow-up on tasks I'll be leaving behind from today. I don't think it's gonna be as cold as December or January, especially in the day, but I'll be smart enough to bring thick sweaters and worsted socks for the chilly nights. (I'm sooo looking forward to it already!)

Life's been pretty kind to me so far, after a whole semester of semi-direction and whole-hearted prayer (Jabez is miraculous!), the only tangible thing I can rant on at the moment are my bluish, broken, bruised labials. It wasn't supposed to be like this at all. A week ago my lips were chapping slightly (yes, in spite of the summer heat) so I put on my vanilla-flavored Chapstick lipbalm on both my lips to try to prevent the thing from doing further damage. Lo! When I woke up the next morning, both my lips were swollen and in worse condition than the night before!!! I tried to think of the last time I ate squid adobo, because I had a similar "lip attack" the last time I ate the decaying contents inside one of those squirty pregnant squids. Now it's all become clear to me, my vanilla-flavored Chapstick lipbalm ......

...... is EXPIRED.

Holy shmoley! I never thought stuff like that expire, but I recall buying it years ago. It still tasted the same though.

Anyway, that's it. That's all for today, 2:14am HK/Taiwan time. I'm packing up now :)

Brooding

2004-03-16T07:08:00.000+08:00

I've just had a wonderful 7-hour phone conversation with my very good nurse friend. She's unemployed by choice, having fearfully discovered she dislikes working in a hospital setting. She prefers to become a social worker - mingling with indigent children and native Filipinos in the provinces. Although her intentions are very noble, these intentions aren't ones that will bring food to her own plate.

She and I were not born into wealthy families with Benzs or BMs. That's our dilemma. If ever we pursue the career of our dreams, we fear we may never be financially content. However, in doing the opposite, we may have enough money to live a comfortable existence, and lose sleep over regrets and unfulfillment.

In our world it seems, there is no such thing as COMPROMISE. It's either you go for it or not, but there is nothing comforting in being in the middle of it all.

One cannot have one's cake and eat it too.

Our marathon conversation breezed thru light-hearted topics like Kris Aquino's quivering insanity and Maricel Laxa and Anthony Pangilinan's intrusive interview by Boy Abunda to more serious and thought-provoking trifles as dreaming of beanstalks and stabbers to "What's Next?" questions and people working for National Geographic. She asked me who's one person I'd like to interview, dead or alive, (like a beauty pageant query), I told her NOSTRADAMUS. And we went on talking about predictions and predilections, stem cells and bovine nerve cell regeneration; how'd she'd like her organs to be donated if and when she dies and how this website told me how I find interest in things most people find boring. We talked about courses of action regarding our respective futures, and credited and discredited people giving us pieces of advice at times when we feel like we've lost the ability to decide on our own.

Depression stinks but it makes for very interesting conversation.

Resurrection

2004-03-11T05:05:00.000+08:00

I finally have my computer back home. The feeling's probably like waking up in a hospital bed, confused and ailing and being told I'm on the road to recovery after a transient ischemic attack (mild stroke). Like I don't know what hit me.

So here I am, scanning thru sites I've listed down in times of boredom and frustration. At this moment, I'm checking thru the Franck Muller website. My dad gave me a watch he bought at bargain. It's not too fancy, black leather with labeled buckle and semi-elliptical body, convex sapphire glass automatic 100m water resistant watch called Conquistador SC No.344. Apparently, the stainless steel versions are quite expensive.

I've also been at tabs with a blog of a particular person who doesn't know me, whom I know not personally either. I just came across the page and started reading and found the ranting quite entertaining for my part since I'm hideously attracted to whiny people like myself. It's the kind of therapy group I go to when I feel like relieving myself of angst. Sometimes it works, sometimes it doesn't. The truth is, I think there's no cure for existentialism (in the societal sense). It's either a person bears with it or gives an active heap to help someone move on. Surprisingly for some, one just has to learn to listen (or act as if listening). It's all just a matter of getting the stuff out methinks.

Anyway, to continue, I've felt oddly attracted to this person and the writings the past few days. He/she writes very well. I don't even know if the person's a he or a she. Gender is elusive in his/her writing. In any case, would it be weird for me to feel this certain attraction with only a vague idea of this person?

Haaay... I don't know and I don't care anymore. The last 2 entries written kinda dampened my spirits simply because I found the entries too self-righteous and egoistic (as if mine aren't!)

Who cares. I don't even know this person.

Prelude to Atheism

2004-02-26T19:01:00.000+08:00

Don't get me wrong, I'm not coming to be an atheist. My friend is.

He was banking on a scholarship he applied for in the papers that should've sent him off this year to Tokyo, but it would not come. We talked on the phone, reminiscent of all the past phone conversations we've been having the past few months. I'm no stranger to depression and the feeling of revolving around taking the first step and then stepping back down afterwards.

He said something like this, "Apparently, God doesn't grant what you wish for. He gives you something else, like a consolation. It all depends on how and if you accept the consolation prize that predicts if you get depressed or not."

I told him, "Maybe God just can't get through to you with all the politics."
And I gave out this hearty laugh.

It's kinda true though that whatever your heart desires or wishes for, you never really get. It's like infatuation. You get all worked up for this huge crush you have on someone and you pray to the gods of valentine's and romance to grant you even just one remote moment of pure, uninhibited conversation with them but it never happens for some reason, unless of course, they were your classmates or office friends. The emotions can become so intense, you start believing that what you feel is LOVE, when if fact, it's just the thrill of finding someone you actually like among all the losers you come across everyday or more importantly, the thrill of finding someone who might actually like you back.

In my opinion, we mustn't rely too much on prayer, especially if we pray because we want something for ourselves. It'll never happen. We will always be denied. It's sad, but it's the truth. Depending on prayer is like waiting for a promise God didn't make with you. It's merely a request and under His discretion to grant. This is the reason why for those truly acquainted with the powers of prayer, they always put a certain "clause" at the end to try to appease God by deceptively sounding humble and submitted. It goes something like this: "Please grant my wants and desires Lord, but only if it pleases Your will." In short, "Thine will be done."

So, fur ye bitter cynics out yonder, the question: WHY PRAY?

Beats me. I'm not all that faithful in the first place. Don't get me wrong. I pray every day during travel, thanking Him for all the good stuff and asking for enlightenment, nothing too tangible or fancy; just making prayer a conduit for communication. If he grants something, I thank Him. If he doesn't, tough luck, but I don't forget to thank Him anyway (or so I hope).

And to all those brainwashed by THE ALCHEMIST -- news flash!!! -- The universe DOES NOT and WILL NOT conspire to help you achieve your wants. The universe merely balances you out to maintain universal equilibrium (like karma). Some will get what they want, some will get what they deserve. It's really just you and your perceptions that either make you feel better about yourself and your situation, or make you feel like the cheap sh*t that you really are.

Bwahahahahahahahahahahaha

Memory-Resident

2004-02-23T20:59:00.000+08:00

As you all know, my computer's been invaded by electronic binary memory-resident elements and has suffered an infarction. As I checked with my friend's virus scanner, I had hidden system files in my temporary folders that accumulated and clogged my computer (like artheriosclerosis of circuitry), rendering all of my .exe files unusable. Since his original McAfee doesn't have the latest virus definitions, we have yet to determine the major disease spread in all of my files. Luckily, I've made back-ups already and we reformatted the harddisk to clean it up. However, I can't reinstall anything yet until I get an up-to-date version and scan my back-ups to make sure they're not infected. It's pretty annoying since I've come up with loads of ideas for a story I'd like to write (stories, actually). SO now, I'm here in an internet shop again with other thesis-enslaved students typing away like a madman to fill the unforgiving minutes that remind me I haven't eaten dinner yet.

I'll be purchasing the software maybe tomorrow or the day after and hopefully I can get the computer running by the end of the week. What really pisses me off is the fact that I'll have to re-install all the device drivers and software again, like starting from square one. Whatever. The computer is my life and if I have to resuscitate it (like mine) I will.

F*cker

2004-02-18T21:40:00.000+08:00

My computer's busted (again). I won't be posting anything online for god knows how long... I'm in some internet shop along SM Manila with a couple of friends. Haaayyyyy....

Toxique

2004-02-18T02:16:00.000+08:00

I can't stay online right now. Peter Meter if you're reading this, hello!

Don't judge me, I'm not a book.

R U Really Reading THis?

2004-02-17T04:30:00.001+08:00

I forgot to mention (caught up in the rapture of written composition) that my father's been interviewed by Tingting Cojuangco for her article this coming Sunday in The Philippine Star broadsheet. I dunno what it's about so I'm gonna get myself a copy of that newspaper too.

Beauty in Sadness

2004-02-17T02:33:00.000+08:00

To each a question: Why are people threatened by sadness?

I happen to think that sadness is the catalyst for progress. It is the cause for realization. When people are happy, they get too caught up in the emotional high to think deeply. The euphoria gets the best of logic and reason and frankly, is quite dangerous. It is fleeting, thus, can be addictive and tends to progress faster and faster the more the cause is felt. Unlike being happy, when people are sad, they see black and white. They tend to repeat the events that led to this emotion and the thoughts are mostly deep. It is more difficult to express sadness or the reasons for being sad, hence most of it is sublimated into other forms of expression like in words (poetry or prose) and art (painting or dance) or both (songs and compositions). It is more difficult to express sadness openly because nobody wants to be sad. Although it is not addictive, it can tend to be a repetitive cycle and each episode may last days or weeks. A person can only be so distracted so as to not see the bigger picture.

As Sarah McLachlan put it, "There is beauty in sadness". I believe what she had said in that we must learn to appreciate emotions as they are, not only because they are effects of something. Being sad does not necessarily mean being miserable or angsty. It doesn't always mean being mellow. These are normal manifestations of sadness when we sometimes feel alone or unloved. But there are other forms of this emotion, not so much as feeling a void inside us, but more on being on the border of happiness and sadness. This is quite vague, I do admit. Let me try to explain further....

There are some times when we can't necessarily qualify what we feel. It's not a void, it's not such a strong emotion that ripples in our conscious minds, it's not something that drives us to a course of action. It's just a subtle feeling inside that we just can't pin-point to any particular feeling, other than, maybe, feeling like you're in a transition toward an emotional phase. Like maybe, the feeling of transition toward being sad, or the feeling of excitement preluded by a sudden smile on your face without any particular reason at the time that you smiled. Transience, I think, is the best word to describe this feeling.

On the other hand, there are times when we feel strong emotions toward two opposing poles of thought. This, I think, is more familiar to everyone as ambivalence. Being caught up in a decision where you can't quite understand if you are to feel happy or sad toward a situation. Or maybe the indecision itself causes some anxiety or distress. In which case, ambivalence is "more convenient" for us because we can point out the emotion, but can't quite choose which direction to take.

Therefore, if happiness and sadness are two opposing emotions, for the ambivalent person, his/her problems would only be to decide on a course of action and get the desired emotion in a "package deal" and, to pick the right time to decide to get the best results. However, for the transient person it is much more difficult. Since he/she doesn't exactly know what the emotions involved are, he/she wouldn't also know the best results IF he/she even had to choose in the first place. It's like being in the middle of everything but not knowing what's happening all around. The only thing you know is that you're taking little steps toward some direction, hoping that the direction is the one best for you. The only good thing about transience is that it's not supposed to last long. Humans have the capability to change emotions as often as they'd change positions while sleeping. The change doesn't occur all the time and is non-periodic. It can happen in a series or in glitches, and may be intense or pretty minor. Think of waking up as your course of action -- you never really know if you're gonna wake up on the right or wrong side of the bed, but, the mood you had before you slept counts in how you'd feel when you wake up.

Doesn't make sense does it? :X

Perhaps Perhaps Perhaps

2004-02-16T02:53:00.000+08:00

I met up with my filmmaker friend in SM Centerpoint at around 8:30pm. He lent me some literary folios from Ateneo and UP while we were inside BookSale. The lady there scolded us that we should leave books with the guard before entering the shop. Sheesh, literary folios are free, woman!! Besides, there are no interesting poetry books sold in BookSale for crying out loud!

Anyway, I was supposed to ramble on about my highly interesting life, LA DOLCE VITA , and emotional highs and lows, peaks and valleys .... but I'm too exhausted as it is. To compensate for the lack of material today, I'm posting lyrics to a song remade by CAKE called "Perhaps Perhaps Perhaps". The version I'm singin' in my head though is Nat King Cole's "Quizas Quizas Quizas".

I dedicate this song to all those people mocked by the gods, to those who refuse to analyze coincidence like me, but secretly hopeful that the series of events mean more than just what they denote. :P

Perhaps Perhaps Perhaps
by Cake (Album: Fashion Nugget)

You won't admit you love me.
And so how am I ever to know?
You only tell me
Perhaps, perhaps, perhaps.

A million times I ask you,
And then I ask you over again.
You only answer
Perhaps, perhaps, perhaps.

If you can't make your mind up,
We'll never get started.
And I don't wanna wind up
Being parted, broken-hearted.

So if you really love me,
Say yes.
But if you don't, dear, confess.
And please don't tell me
Perhaps, perhaps, perhaps.
Perhaps, perhaps, perhaps,

Perhaps, perhaps, perhaps.

StarbUCKS

2004-02-15T02:51:00.000+08:00

I went to Greenbelt today with my good friend just to check out the sights of Valentine's Day. Nothing much, but infinitely better than last night! If only I lived near the place I'd definitely hangout more often. But as it is, I'm short of cash but in dire need of distraction. A cup of brewed coffee from Figaro (with matching heart-shaped cookie) and a little talking did the trick. The coffee wasn't good though. My dad makes a better blend. I haven't gotten to asking him what his secret ingredients are but I'm pretty sure we can make a killing if we put up a coffee shop. He cooks fantastic Chinese food too!

On the topic of coffees, I just wanted to say S tarbUCKS coffee SUCKS. Their house blends are soooo bland and diluted and cost so much! Their fraps are way too sweet and their bagels taste like cardboard. I once ordered an onion bagel and when I tried to take a bite from it, the thing crumbled. It was like munching on styrofoam. Frozen bagels from the mall taste much better, in fact. The only thing that keeps the shop's name famous is the cozy atmosphere and air-conditioning. The service is commendable too, I suppose. People go to Starbucks to get comfy seats and talk over coffee while listening to good blues music. The thing is, why pay for crappy coffee when you can get whole or nonfat milk for free?? Hahahahaha That's an old trick in the book.

Going to Greenbelt, I took the train (which is 3 bucks more expensive now) to Buendia and then rode the bus to Ayala. That trip alone cost me P24. I walked all the way from 6750 building to Greenbelt and met up with my friend. The coffee I got from Figaro was P45. Conversation was free, and so were the i-candies. We saw model Luke Jickain, who is a friend of my friend. I saw my call center trainers, and my cousin Aman (who's a painter) and his best buddy who both watched Haunted Mansion. We stayed near the automatic doors till around 11:30pm. My friend was awfully sleepy 'coz he woke up at 6am to work out. I actually didn't want to go home yet, but I figured it'll be easier to commute if we leave earlier. I rode an FX (P25) and got off in Dapitan. Walked all the way home. The stars were bright tonight. I could just imagine how Puerto Galera would be in a matter of 7 days.

So all in all, I spent 94 pesos tonight. Not bad, considering I splurged the night before. O god .... just get through March and I'll be able to start applying for a job already. I can't wait to check on my ATM :)

Five Poems

2004-02-14T03:43:00.000+08:00

I did it. I called up DLSU and UST to inquire about their summer creative writing workshops. The guy from DLSU who answered the phone at around 3:30pm didn't know anything. I hope it doesn't necessarily reflect anything about the other students there. I called UST up hoping for a good reply (being a call center representative eons ago). They told me to call the local number for their creative department. This guy answered and filled me in on the details. Five English poems, a letter of authentification from a professor or employer attesting the originality of the works, and bio-data. Five poems. Seems like an easy task but actually isn't. Imagine having to narrow down all your works into just 5 most essential ones to represent yourself. If I choose the "wrong" ones, I may not get the free workshop this summer. One thing's for sure though, I wouldn't be putting any of my "innuendo" poems. I wouldn't want to be interrogated in front of other poets I don't know and have my work vivisected of it's artistic value and technical soundness. For most, the anonymity would prove liberating. But for me, I just care that much to keep some things sacred for myself.

The afternoon was boooooooring. I just chatted on the phone with a dear friend to pass the time before we eventually met up tonight to rid ourselves of domestic lunacy. When I got to National Bookstore early, I decided to browse around a few books. I came across this novel/compilation of writer/poet Sylvia Plath. I forget the title but the content seems good. There's this other book by Jostein Gaarder called "Vita Brevis" that seemed interesting too. It's a letter of St. Augustine to a woman named Amelia Floris, narrating the changes experienced by Christian management back in his time. It starts with this traveler finding an old box of scrolls in an antiquated cafe or something. I read "Sophie's World" so I bet this one is similar in that it tackles Christian Dogma for dummies. I saw Jessica Hagedorn's book but again, I forget the title. It's this story about retracing Filipino roots from the time of the Spaniards, with an intro/excerpt from Antonio de Pigafetta's journal. Looks promising. The books' hardbound and cost more than P1k. Nevermind....

My friend and I met just at the entrance. We were both wearing black, as if to signify mourning. The other time we met (with another close friend), we were wearing gray. I don't believe it's coincidence. Maybe we were out of clothes. Maybe black and/or gray makes us look thinner. Go figure.

Since it's payday and Valentine's eve, the mall was flooded with people, not necessarily couples. We tried to wade through them toward shops as he was supposed to buy a gift for his "honey". We didn't see anything nice enough, so we went to sit down for coffee. We waited there for my other friend (who didn't come because he was with other friends). It was near death. We were talking all that time, but it was like my sensory cortex was atrophying. There was literally no eye candy in that side of the mall. Nada. Zilch. Null.

We went walking around Malate and decided to go home. At the jitney stop, we both agreed we didn't want to go home yet so we went walking back (carefully avoiding canine dejecta) to Starbucks. I decided I wanted to eat so we went to TGIF and I ordered chicken fingers, ocassionally filling my lungs up with fiery dirt. We talked about a lot of things. Mostly things we already talked about days and days before. Good thing the music was good enough to sway to. We decided to go home after paying the bill. I'm officially penniless.

At the jitney stop, my friend decides to go back to Malate. I decide to go home....

and kill myself by writing this journal.

If it's any consolation, I found a little bit of inspiration to write a series of children's books. I want to make a series that empowers the little adults of this country to be able to decide for themselves, speak up for themselves, and for heaven's sake, stop listening to STUPID music on the radio. I swear, something has to be done before it's too late!!!

Coincidences

2004-02-13T02:19:00.000+08:00

There's something strange in the way this year has been going so far. I don't know if it's the stars or the water, but lately, a lot has happened to my life (and the lives of other people I know too). I got really depressed a fortnight ago. After previously having decided to take the career with the better promise of travel and money, I suddenly had a change of heart and am now more inclined toward taking the dusty road again. I don't know if the snail pace of 3 years that I have to face and the succeeding years after that when I finally get to my promised land, Carpathia, or maybe the immediate environment that I was in where I felt suffocated with the lack of intellectual stimulation. Call me pedantic. Call me arrogant, but that's just the way I felt about my state-of-affairs (of which I'm still in). It's very awkward and disappointing, like knowing you're in a fishbowl with all the other fishes, and at the same time knowing that you belong somewhere else because the fishbowl is too crowded. It's not such a bad thing really. I could learn to swim along with the other fancy fish in the bowl, but I'd rather be in a school within the ocean or in a river. All the opportunities are there. You see, my goal in life is to migrate to another country. That's it. That's my goal. My friend commented a couple of nights ago (the height of all the mania) that for most people, an ultimate goal would mean achieving something or reaching a status that makes one feel proud of one's achievements. Well, that doesn't happen for me. I'm not a freak or anything. I dare say this ideal was typical of people in the Old Testament. They always dreamed of the promised land. Take as another instance the movie Lord of the Rings where Frodo and Gandalf were brought to the gray havens. That's my idea of a goal -- to reach a certain place. I just feel that once I'm put in that place, I'd know exactly what to do next. But while I'm here, there's absolutely no point.

O god....I'm straying off the topic. Right, big changes in 2 weeks....

Besides my depressive state and changing my mind about a previous course of action, I've also realized how lonely I was. (This is too cheezy for me to say but heck, it's the truth). Honestly, "I was alone thinking I was just fine and not looking for anyone to be mine" or as the song goes. But things happen and life is cruel, so when you put the two together, the victims of this tempest are usually those who have successfully dealt with life rationally because coincidence is generally not in their vocabulary. As my friend texted me, "coincidence is just a coincidence until you over-analyze it." I found a lot of sense in that statement. That is the rationalist point of view. My other friend texted me, "There are no accidents. What happens to you is part of a divine plan of some sort" or as how I remember it.

So, which should I believe in?

On one side, I'd love to think that whatever happens to me, good or bad, is part of a divine plan, that in the end, I'd become something other than myself right now and is not an accident or a result of any conscious effort on my part that I be derailed from that path. On the other, everything I do should be calculated because whatever I decide on right now leads me to a new series of paths and choices, good or bad, that I must face head-on or move on avoiding the issue, that whatever signs that go my way must be ignored because these don't mean anything until I overanalyze them, that there's little point to believing in prayer because ultimately, you're the one controlling your life not any other entity.

The question now: should I pick the more convenient theory? or should I be my usual pragmatic self? Furthermore, what should I risk?

(Again, I apologize for being too talkative for my own good.....)

Gist: Besides me, my sister's diagnosed with tiny little cysts near her thyroid (hence I call her cyster), my good friend's been in bad terms with her boyfriend, my close friend's been waiting for his scholarship but can't quite wait without being employed, my best friend's found a place to put up his business after weeks of searching, I've gone to Greenbelt for the first time in months, my mom and uncle are putting up a business beside the house, my friend wants to move out for good, my other friend found a new job after he resigned a few weeks ago, the whole clan (well, almost) reunited last weekend for a smorgasbord feast in the mango orchard, etc. etc. etc. etc.

Of course, these things don't seem coincidental at all. It just happened that the past fortnight has been wrought with events compared to other fortnights. And hark! The Ides of March is at hand! I wonder what lurks around the conspiracy of the universe for me.

I hate Coehlo. He puts bad ideas into good people's minds.

Unbirthday Party

2004-02-12T02:47:00.000+08:00

I cannot say much for the sudden turn or events in my life. It's not extrinsically drastic as one might observe as there are no plans for any announcement. The changes have occurred almost overnight where a group of friends, including myself, decided to meet up to celebrate the 10th day after my birthday, an Alice in Wonderland sort of unbirthday celebration, if I must define it. Like all good parties, pizza (Yellow Cab) was a staple last night and since most of us are penniless, it was but natural for us to imagine crystale in paper cups. I promised my good fellows not to spoil the night by talking about my problems and to just enjoy the prepared cuisine on our table with a few puffs of smoke now and then to maintain a light feeling ... but the course of conversation inevitably takes the path of entropy most of the time, hence since I was the post-birthday celebrant, it was my turn for truth-or-dare: for them to tell me the brutal truth, and that I would dare take the path less traveled (yet again) and face all the hardships with the genuine hopes of a cornucopic reward if I delayed my gratification.

You have to agree with me when I say that "the road not taken" sucks. Not only is it strangely wrought with undergrowth and potentially-lethal creatures, it's unsure and full of possibility for failure. Sometime ago I had wished that my goals were that of most people -- to get a good job, one in the field of business, communication, medicine, or accountancy. Not that these jobs are easy or simple, it's just that, well, a lot of people have taken this path and so to become a follower of this trodden road would mean less uncertainty. Lesser uncertainty would mean a higher probability of success. And of course, success should mean happiness for most people. However, being born a creative person with a penchant for sacrilegious writing and quasi-Tarantino humor, I found taking the regular path too boring. To deal with the pain means to sever my limbs and become totally crippled. My trainee friend pointed out to me that my biggest flaw is that I over-analyze opportunities by thinking of the worst-case scenario for each of the options I have, and then deciding not to choose from any of those available choices, thus making me become quadriplegic in the process. The thing is, I thank her for having pointed this out to me at the first quarter of my life. I feel blessed at being given aufklarung (Gr. enlightenment).

My life has been a wearing-a-shoe-till-it-fits kinda song since yesterday. Now it's more like ..... "It's My Life" remade by No Doubt.

Carpathía

2004-02-11T03:10:00.000+08:00

The question on everybody's minds: What is Escape To Carpathia? This is actually a movie that features two consenting adults, an American tourist and a Romanian princess in the city of Carpathia (or so I assume). The princess is in full bloom of her individuality forcibly repressed by an evil and controlling governess. With the aid of her handmaiden, they exchange clothes and the princess escapes the castle without anyone noticing. She walks thru the farmlands in search of herself and is drawn to the city where she meets up with a young American photographer. In the end, they fall in love. It's a painfully typical love story.

The corollary question: Why use it as the title then?

The answer is simple. Carpathia, for me, represents the city of opportunities, culture, new ideas, new people, new life. I feel that even at a ripe age, I still haven't found what I'm looking for. My bestfriend was correct in saying that the decisions I've been making in life are rather complicated. Like everything for me is transitive, a confounding syllogism. In order for me to get to A, I must go through B first, but B cannot go alone so C has to be included to get to A; If mice are men and men are ruts, then mice are ruts. It should all be pretty logical for most, but everything would require a very long explanation.

A person once said, "The simplest explanation is usually the most correct." Well, for me that doesn't quite happen. I am the exception to this rule where the complicated explanation is usually the truth. I'm not fond of lying. I may be the King of Denial but I don't affirm or rebuke allegations made in my name. I'm too honest for my own good.

Now what have all these got to do with Carpathia? Everything. The search for opportunities and the quintessential Coehlo definition of the "personal legend" remains elusive. I get caught up in the syllogisms of society which forms this bureaucratic web of causes, effects, and repetitive behaviors. Carpathia is my Jerusalem, my promised land. And I would need a plan of escape to get there before I reach 30.

Law of Inertía

2004-02-10T04:29:00.000+08:00

What controls a person? Is it really the mind .... or is he merely a product of emotions? I feel that there's only so much one can do to fend off unwanted experiences, uncomfortable reactions, hidden agendas, hidden desires, so much so that a person becomes demented in trying to keep everything underneath the skin. As the saying goes, "still waters run deep". To whoever said this, he/she must have been tormented with uncomfortable feelings.

As the little tv commercial kid says, "The heart is a hollow muscular organ located between the lungs ... etc.," as the camera moves about her making her look like she's rotating about an axis on a small chair. It is true. The heart is a hollow muscular organ. But it's function to humans goes beyond keeping life. It connotes love, as if blood itself is the human experience that brings life to love, that brings oxygen to the heart and the rest of the body and keeps it alive.

The size of a fist, your heart is involuntary. It runs on its own, undisturbed with its own inertia, it's own set of rules. All the events that take place in a single beat are run by a self-perpetuated pacemaker. It's autonomic. Hence, even if one wills it to stop beating, it will not. It will keep beating till you're too old to keep up or too drugged and delirious to notice the difference.

Funny how the brain controls everything in our bodies, but once the heart stops, everything else follows. Everything dies with it.