the ultimate baduy experience

morning class

2008-07-06T23:45:00.005+08:00

there are people who will forever remain 16 years old no matter how many times they celebrate their birthdays. some of these people would find themselves in graduate school. they will try to earn a masters in creative writing and force the universe to put them under the tutelege of the best authors in this God Forsaken Side of the World.

carl is one such person. juggling time between school, career (which seems to be headed nowhere), friends, booze, vices and life in general, he would always sign up for morning saturday classes.

one particular early morning saturday class, which he atteneded practically straight from another nigh-out-about-town-i-don't-care-about-anything-give-me-more-booze kind of thing, he was confronted with a question. it went something like "someone who has everything, someone who has no problems, would that person be able to produce art?"

yes, he said. yes, he said with conviction. without batting an eyelash, he said "yes" - that single word sliding off his lips even before the imaginary question mark which rose from the proffessor's tongue and hovered about the conference room could evaporate. now, he may have said a lot of things to make his argument. that someone who had everything had so much at stake. that someone who does not have to worry about the next meal does have the time to ruminate. all these reasons were easy to refute. and so they were.

16 years old: not hungry, not naked, not homeless.

and then things happen.

(insert series of events here)

so it is only now that he realizes why his answer was right. because what he should have said was that in the end, it is all about feeling worthy of everything. it is about feeling deserving of anything, of nothing, or in some cases, of anyone.

Somewhere In The Middle

2008-01-24T16:45:00.001+08:00

I was out the other day
and I saw you in your big black car
and I was waving as you were passing
cause I know who you are
you had this look that of an angel
it was such a bad disguise
did you think for second I would not realize

tripping hard falling down onto the ground
cause I can't stand up
and I can't fall down
cause I'm somewhere in the middle of this

I was out the other night
and I saw you so we had a fight
it was late and I was lonely
and its such a long way home
so I asked you if you'd join me
for a single last call drink
so you turned and bought us 2
and you didn't even blink
you had this look that of an angel
it was such a bad disguise
when you drink it makes you angry
when I drink I want you more and more and more

tripping hard falling down onto the ground
cause I can't stand up
and I can't fall down
and I'm somewhere in the middle of this

well I find it hard
I always tried to find the sane life
but I don't like the way things are
and I keep falling to my knees
somewhere in the middle of this

(by Dishwalla)

my story.

2007-12-10T12:56:00.000+08:00

I feel the beginnings of a story. They are squeezed in the gaps between my nails and my skin. When I let the tips of my fingers touch, I feel faint jolts trying to push their way out of my body. I uncannily leave traces. Wisps of narrative glow, scratched off on the surface of my bed. Streaks. On the skin of my groin, dripping off from hair. Puddles. Uncollected sentiments and hints of feelings end up tucked under the dark creases of my sheets. When I get up, I pretend that they’re not there.

hey there emilio

2007-11-21T11:24:00.000+08:00

i swear! i saw emilio estevez in ocean's 16.

The Tenth Attempt Number Ten

2007-09-17T15:02:00.000+08:00

Let me try - let me try again, as i have been doing so over and over and over. For in this expedition to discover me, i have harvested nothing other than false hopes and traded everything else for regret. This is me typing, no, this is me ranting. To myself, to you, to no one, to everyone of us tired of hearing the thud that reverberates from a body slapping unto the ground.

Amen.

oh wow

2007-09-05T14:41:00.000+08:00

i should be writing about my cebu trip. how i had nasal decongestion in the middle of the stay and how it felt when all the the mucus went hello-hello when the freakin airplane landed.

but no.

i just have to stop and take few moments to coronate the undisputed Pasaway of the philippines, transcending all categories.

this award goes to wowowee for not even getting the "r" word (reformat) inspite of it causing the death of almost 100 poor fans, of its host being involved in scnadals mostly of the sexual sort (including wife beating, harassment of cohosts and dancers etc etc) and now, in spite of its booboo as it broadcasted live - cheating cheaters. technical flaw? nope, human error.

why am i not packing yet?

2007-08-30T20:44:00.000+08:00

in a few hours, i will be flying to cebu. i should be getting ready. but noooooo. im here in front of the computer (in the office) overanalyzing things.

like for one: why i haven't been writing lately.

another: why my career hasn't taken off yet. (the one that i've already started and the one i long to start)

yet another: why my writing hasn't been the sort i'd read. (why, why, why)

i just attended the agency of the year awards and this came up in two acceptance speeches: "It pays to wait."

up to when??? gah.

i'm probably just making an excuse to be dramatic again.

TUBE (or The Ultimate Baduy Experience)

2007-07-19T17:22:00.000+08:00

This is my biography summarized and then paraphrased. Me: chopped, processed, honeycured and hung on the www to drip and to dry. (shux, the drama!)

Been sick since Monday. I suspect that all the smoking and drinking and dancing done last week had very much to do with this.*

I spent Tuesday and Wednesday rolling in bed, only getting up to go to the comfort room or to eat. (Wait, yesterday, I popped in the salon to get shaved. Afterwards, I dillydallied in the convenience store out of sheer boredom. Must’ve passed through Row 3 a hundred times, picking up and then returning and then picking up again that same pack of chocolates over and over.)

Now, I’ve been walking in and out of the office, consuming all that pent up restlessness. The leftover nasal congestion (which I also feel in my ear canal – I know, ew) is making me sound like a Frenchman.

I haven’t been down on something this shitty for quite some time. I remember when I was a kid and getting sick was so cool. Met with so much enthusiasm, it meant taking a day off the front of the blackboard. Now, it’s just a drag. All the DVDs and crappy daytime TV cannot distract me from all the discomfort and headache and all the shit happening to my body. Now, it only means not being able to take a bath as often as I wish and this is icky in spite of the insipid aircon blasting its chilly breath against me 24/7. (which may have helped cause the ailment in the first place.)

Lying there, on bed, alone, lent me some time to think.

Tuesday night, the gang** showed up and in between ler and glen’s battle over the tv remote control, ag noticed the stuff scribbled on my ceiling, just above my bed. It said:

FOR 2007:
1. ‘Wag na umasa… (Hope no more)
2 Finish M.A.
3 Forward with career
4 Car
5 (drawing of a heart)

2007 is half done. So far, the only thing halfway done in the list is number one. Shall we drink to that?

*Wednesday, Thursday and Friday nights were spent gobbling up beer and “smoking like a chimney” (as a block at school collectively described me—gosh, every time we see you, you have a cigarette in between your fingers.) I am capable of finishing one bucket of beer all by myself and feel unsatisfied. Saturday night was wild as usual. Wild.

And Monday was the start of the downfall. I left work 30 minutes too early because I was really feeling out of it. ‘Went straight to Katipunan, to this poetry night thingie and proceeded to drink some more.

**It is no secret that when it comes to personal finance management, I have the skill of a second-grader. (Wait, what finance?) That’s why I am now relying on some friends to guide me through these dark times, two of them being bankers and one being just really smart and really really rich.

Today, I asked Glen if I should get a credit card and open an account in another bank, the bank where Ag works. Well he expressed no disapproval though warned me heavily about the credit card angle. Knowing that I have the self control skills of a toddler.

“I’m getting HSBC ‘cos I use Caltex,” I said.

some realities

2007-07-16T15:57:00.000+08:00

i'm in my "i'm so ugly" phase.

i heard that we are all entitled to brew this kind of drama every once in a while. last night, met up with ler in select katipunan at 3am. i was feeling this shitty: "you know, if you tell me to meet you somewhere, i will." so i found myself driving through a very creepy commonwealth avenue and was reminded of a post-apocalyptic scenario. i had my windows down.

at select, just aftrer i ordered cold milo, i asked the cashier if i was ugly.

* * *

i'm also in a "it sucks to be poor" phase.

but really, i am. once, during dinner, my sister asked me which bank i had my money in. i didn't have any savings. she was apalled. the same sister told me that it would take me 3 months to earn what she would make just for one procedure.

no matter. i don't really want to compare because among the 2 of us, i am sure that i am the one who'se been around more. it's not how much you have but how you spend it, right? and at least i can say that i've really been enjoying life.

i was never taught both by my parents or by circumstances to spend wisely. a life of decadence. now, however too late it is, i'm trying to learn how it is to make oneself rich. i'm starting by budgeting.

someday, i will master this art.

* * *

i haven't been going to mass.

everything i hear in it just gets lost in me anyway. my father used to berate me for this. one time, during dinner, while the girls were still in the ladies room, i told him the truth. "i'm just not going to mass right now. there are a few things that i want to sort out."

that's when the cold cuts came. and he never forced me to go to mass again.

HP, and the E between S and X

2007-07-11T15:46:00.000+08:00

12 noon: the office was closed as the entire company trooped to the cinema to catch harry potter. yeah baby, free movie is the best thing in the world next to cigarettes with desert.

wala lang. just figured that everyone else will be talking about this anyway and i'm such a faddist.

so yes, this is my official harry potter order of the phoenix (movie) post. the film was okay. i mean i was not disapponted but unlike the earlier ones, this hp movie wouldn't have turned me into the fan that i am now. there are a few details though that made me happy, like the portrayal of dolores umbridge. she was sufficiently a bitch. well, enough for me to love her anyway. what i missed was umbridge and mcgonnagal's big duel, the one towards the end. yeah that would've been grannybitch vs. grannybitch action. 'kinda sad the movie decided to skip that part.

luna lovegood was strangely pretty. if i were a guy, i'd go for her and not that cho chang bimbo. (i expected cho to be much prettier, more delicate. the actress was just too...round. but i guess i'm too asian and my concept of asian beauty is not quite alligned with that of hollywood. then again, i find kelly hu hot.)

another thing i found delicious about the movie is the way it is peppered with innuendos. i don't really want to ruin the film for those who haven't seen it. but take this for instance:

harry: that's private!

snape: not for the dark lord!
(and proceeds to zap him.)

besides these suggestive lines, the movie was also interspersed with, um, very ambiguous images. imagine getting lines like those while your gaze runs up some taaaall and loooong tower, or while it enters some kind of an opening, like through a winding staircase.

i don't know. gelo (my officemate) kept on laughing. right before going inside the moviehouse, we were talking about semiotics. so maybe it's us, not the film.

what i'm really looking forward to is the seventh book installment.

pinoy paranoia

2007-07-11T11:08:00.000+08:00

the best way to lose the filipino people's trust and support is to get elected. whoever occupies the highest seat will surely get a taste of the nation's bitter sarcasm and antagonizing wrath, both painstakingly developped over so many years. because really, "she's out to bullshit us again."

and here, all those who won "cheated" while all those who lost were "cheated on." puhlease. grow up.

perhaps, instead of proclaiming those who got the most votes, we should instate the ones who had the least count into office.

truths and lies

2007-07-04T13:46:00.001+08:00

for my officemates, this is my "new look."
but really, it's my out-of-bed look.

on getting old

2007-07-03T16:24:00.000+08:00

a good part of last friday night was spent mulling over a fashion theme: retro futuristic. it should not have been hard since back in college, the heights super events team (honorary member em, next in line vittorio and i, et al) would always consider putting up events with similar motifs: industrial luau, oriental blizzard, intergalactic-hellinistic, etc. but then, i realized that the big difference lay in the fact that we were college kids who were simply having fun. last friday's ball was to be taken seriously.

i ended up going in what i had been wearing the whole day at work.

* * *

the preview ball was okay. we arrived just the right time, meaning we experienced the event when there was still space to flit about and the waiters couldn't stop giving you drinks. the photographers were anxious to take our pictures too. the trouble with this lies when they started to ask who we were and what we do. "i'm just me and no, i am not a designer; i'm in adverising." so if you are one of the photographers that night and you come across an image of this nobody in a red button down in your memory chip, i forgive you for deleting it.

* * *

the preview ball was also an opportunity to see andrea again after a long time, and to be with lawrence on a real gimik. these pictures are from his multiply site.

* * *
the truth is that the latter part of the party was kind of a doomsday simulation. the type that would prepare you just in case nazis came over and decided to round us up and stuff us into tiny trailers. but i choose not to complain about it anymore.

i decided that it's time to shed that heavy cloak of pessimism and angst i've been lugging around for the longest time. some things should have just stayed in high school, as i realize now. like my particular discomfort about being an atenean. being defined as simply that and being limited by it gets to you, you know. for example: new at work and i'd hear people refer to me as "yung atenista." the creative director notices that a coma is missing in my copy so then he says "atensita ka pa naman." officemates notice that i always go out for lunch-"atenista ka kasi."

to me, these don't make sense at all. i wouldn't even ask where people are from. those were merely secondary considerations. what became of them is on my priority list.

but then i think it's time to own up to the things that brought me to where i am. hating the world for everything it refuses to give me is simply not cool anymore. perhaps i should also stop underrating myself too and to just go for what i really want to pursue. as my dear friend said "dapat malakas loob mo."

i'm also sick of avoiding to be pretentious. because that's one fucking way of pretending and i just realized that those who love calling on other people's pretenses are the biggest goddam posseurs.

i also kinda think that i know who i am now. which could easier be explained by telling you who i am not. i am not a Writer. plainly, i am a person who does creative writing for fun. i do not wish to claim a spot in the literati landscape and this is not a defensive stance. i have friends who are in that certain circle and i am very much cool with them. at the same time, i have friends who always do drugs but i do not necessarily get high on a regular basis.

hell yeah, life is wonderful.

nomen clature

2007-06-29T08:47:00.000+08:00

forgive me for getting into a fit of contrived nostalgia.

i'm not sure if it was marge, but i remember having this ubergeeky discussion about names. i believe that one lives up to one's name. hearing it everyday, over and over, said with delight, love, hatred, urgency and the complete range of emtions must have an effect on the person, right.

well, in english, my name would translate to strong man, follower of christ, from the castle of mercy. i would think that i alone hold the prestige to being this. let me show you how wrong i am.

i present to you the carl-roll, or a partial list of those whom i share my name with from all over the world. (i'm sure there're more in mars.)

meet Carl Clemente, M.D.
all i know is that he's a doctor in europe and the rest of the stuff written about him is in a foreign langauge. (i suspect it to be german. incidentally, my parents tell me that i was made there. i know: ew)

there is another carl clemente existing in the www. he is a board memeber in some american provicial town. there are no pictures of him available.

and of course Carlo di Clemente, Professor and Chair
Department of Psychology
University of Maryland, Baltimore County. I cannot for the life of me paraphrase his write up so i decided to paste it as it is.

Carlo DiClemente received his M.A. in Psychology at the New School for Social Research and his Doctorate in Psychology at the University of Rhode Island.

Dr. DiClemente is the co-developer of the Transtheoretical Model of behavior change with Dr. James Prochaska. Dr. DiClemente is the author of numerous scientific articles and book chapters on motivation and behavior change and the application of this model to a variety of problem behaviors. Dr. DiClemente is a co-author of a self-help book based on this model of change, Changing for Good and several professional books, The Transtheoretical Model, Substance Abuse Treatment and the Stages of Change, and Group Treatment for Substance Abuse: A Stages of Change Therapy Manual. He has recently completed a new book, Addiction and Change: How Addictions Develop and Addicted People Recover published by Guilford Press. His current projects include brief interventions for problem drinking in medical settings, adolescent and adult dietary change and health risk reduction, and addiction prevention and treatment.

For the past 25 years he has conducted funded research in health and addictive behaviors. He has directed an outpatient alcoholism treatment program and serves as a consultant to private and public treatment and prevention programs. He was recently given the 2002 Distinguished Contribution to Scientific Psychology award by the Maryland Psychological Association and named to receive the Innovators Combating Substance Abuse award by the Robert Wood Johnson Foundation. He is the current president of the Division on Addictions (50) in the American Psychological Association.

besides him, there is also this other carlo clemente, an italian writer.

and now, homecourt.

this is carlo clemente, 24 years old and he is in a relationship. he is also from quezon city.

on the other hand, this is carlo clemente, 16 years old studying at la salle greenhills. incidentally, he says "i'm a guy who likes hanging out,vain,fun to be with but sometimes annoying." don't i have to die first before being reincarnated?

and yet another 24 year old carlo clemente, studying at mapua. besides his penchant for cars, the only thing he has to say about himself is that he's simple.

and this, my friends is carl clemente from mandaluyong city. he says he's 19 years old. i'm suspecting that he's also a fictionist.

there are mooooore from where those came from but i disregarded those without pictures. but noteworthy is this guy: i found the person in friendster who beat all of us to "carloclemente@yahoo.com." he's 24 years old, stilla college student abnd he loves playing basketball. he says he's "simple / suplado."

sic transit gloria 2

2007-06-26T14:17:00.000+08:00

in my post yesterday, i mentioned a website that collected the world's dumbest laws. i searched the www and found it. click here.

sic transit gloria

2007-06-25T13:48:00.000+08:00

some people might be wondering if there are stuff i take interest in other than myself. actually, there are quite a few things. alternative solutions to end poverty, the effect of fastfood on global warming, the philippine political scene and applied aerodynamics on philippine culinary arts are only a few things. but today, i want to share my two cents (fine, make it 2 grand) on traffic.

as a person who has to allot two hours of driving just to get to work everyday, i believe that i have earned the right to an opinion.

first of all, public transport system is nonexistent. what we have are torture chambers on wheels, picking people up right in the middle of the main avenue. these buses give way for nothing and as if they are ambulances, they will hit anything that dares to be in their way, especially when they decide to swerve. they will hold conventions right during rush hours, all parking side by side effectively clogging more than half of EDSA. here 'bottle neck' is not a phenomenon dictated by infrastracture.

and don't think that i only speak in behalf of the motorists who swim like guppies amongst these whales. i rode a public bus once from ayala avnenue to crossing ibabaw. it was like training for NASA. the whole time, i could only hope thet reciting the rosary over and over would make up for the fact that i didn't have a barf bag in tow and that i havent gotten insurance yet. i almost flew towards the windshield when the driver stepped on the breaks. and oh, to be expected to go down some lanes away from the sidewalk? i can't even begin to describe the fear. no wonder they are a menace to those who have to "share" the roads with them.

what about the train. what can i say. (yes, periods.) these operators know how much people depend on it yet they make too little trips. so we just have to live with the fact that unless you can fit yourself into an inch of space, the train is not for you. the platforms are the new warzones. and if you're a virgin (and if you are saving yourself up for someone you actually know), DON'T.

meanwhile, cabs will only take you in as long as your destination is on the way to theirs.

and THE COLOR CODING.

my friend marge once told me that there is a website out there devoted to stupid laws. if you look under philippines, this is what you'll find. it didn't surprise me because in the first place, the scheme doesn't have anything to do with colors.

the color coding scheme, my friends, is the government's solution to traffic. it forbids car owners from using their cars once a week. while these people enjoy their red plates and number "8" plates, we commoners have to live with this stupid ordinance. either one beats the 7'oclock implementation (or you provide the traffic enforcer's lunch) or one takes public transport, which as i've said, doesn't exist. hence, the filipino people were forced to adjust their life achievement plans. here, the dream is not just to own a car, but to own two cars. the other one is "pang-coding." what i'm trying to say is that this is not a solution. if anything, it merely gives the illusion that something is being done about it. simply because there are people being inconvenienced. a solution must make everyone happy.

so far, no one's happy.

* * *

this past month or so, i've been thinking about my career a lot. 'been thinking if working as a "creative" really is for me. thing is, besides acquired skills, one must have talent in order to make it in this kind of job. i have been thinking if i will somehow accomplish enough to be called successful. because really, we all want to succeed; otherwise, what would be the point in trying?

my point is, i'm trying to say that i'm at a crossroads. but then, as i drive around, i realize that what we have here in manila are designated u-turn slots.

so, as i've been saying...

2007-06-21T15:22:00.000+08:00

Ok so here i am in my workstation. Moments ago, my head was adrift in the Friendster universe when i realized that "wait, my fingers miss blogging--i have a blog!" Guess i stopped posting here since i started to feel that updating howbaduy was like sticking my head into that hole in the ozone layer and shouting the contents of brain into the deep deep blackness (and blahness) of space.

But hey, what's wrong with that, right?

So since I've been away and my blogging skills have reverted back to that of a 3 year old Amish, i decided to just type in stuff that i've said lately which i can't seem to forget. So here goes.

*Stickes head into the damn hole*

On love:
No game, no prize

On self:
I only want to be excellent when I'm with people who are better than me.

During a brainstorming session, my account manager asked "What usually breaks a lot?":
Hearts.

The Managing Director talks to me about my ability to turn in copy:
Want me to give you heads?

My officemate rants about his baon - hotdog and eggs:
Oh i also bring those, all the time.

When asked one lunch time where the hotdog and eggs are:
I don't have those during dayttime.

On my skills as an adman:
Oh you know, it's not about the ideas, it's how you bring what you have. Call me Vana White.

On my new office:
We have the lights out and my officemates usually play awsome sounds. (catches a glimpse of the beer resting in an officemate's hand) Oh my god, i'm working in a bar.

Call me “Station 4”

2007-06-12T11:15:00.001+08:00

In the local office network, that’s what I am identified as. “Station 4.” Everyone else go by some sappy and specific name like Niza or Gen or Gelo or Van. But if you want me, look for “Station 4.”

* * *

THEY SAY (stress on “they”) that as it is hard to get into U.P., it is also hard to get booted out. As a result, a lot of people actually overstay, shift courses too many times, and take up seven & plus-plus years just to finish BA Something.

I think I might have fallen into this pattern, me being the institution, not the overstayer. Because really, it is hard to become my friend. And those who become my friends, I value a lot. But perhaps it’s about time that I reevaluate some people.

* * *

We are all suckers for drama. Really, we all are. We are big fans of paranoia, self-induced suffering and unfounded humility. We sell ourselves short.

Because too often, it is just too damn hard and painful to feel worthy.

(And then there are those who suffer from the opposite, and to these people: i am not making you my problem anymore.)

nueva!

2007-04-10T19:21:00.000+08:00

perhaps the most ironic thing about nueva ecija can be found in its name, for there is nothing nueva about it. our ancestral house, for instance, is old, to some extent creepy, and creaky. yes, i think i have found the best word to describe it: creaky.

my mother's family came to and settled in manila when she was still very young, after her sister died. my cousins and i were all born here. every holy weekend, the family goes back to nueva ecija. we deck the carroza with fresh flowers (or, they deck and i watch) and we send the mater dolorosa to procession every good friday and easter sunday. between those two events, we just have to be creative in amusing ourselves.

this last weekend, i decided to take pictures of the place, perhaps before it crumbles down to mere memory. below you will find snapshots of the house, in its current state. it used to be grander and bigger. now, it's just...this. there's also an old family portrait. my mom is the one last on the right. i also took a picture of my youngest cousin, busy with his toy which i think was bought in a provincial mall; they all went there to keep themselves preoccupied last black saturday. they left me. i was sleeping. there's also a picture of the old church bell; there's a pair of them now muted, on display in front of the church. there's the detail of the carroza; an angel carrying lights. my mom and i had a debate about it. i know for a fact that the pair of angels are enhancements added to the caro some fifty years ago. she says otherwise. finally, pictures of the mater dolorosa. she's been with the family for at least five generations, and until now, she still brings the castelo clan together.

in my entire life, i've only missed going home there once. that was last year. that was going to be the last time i'm ever going to miss it. in spite all the complaints everyone gets from me every holy week. nueva ecija is literally an allergen to me. and that's the most ironic thing about this novo ecijano by extension.

the adformatix selection

2006-12-08T20:38:00.000+08:00

salcedo corner aguirre stands witness to our version of the ahensya life. here are a few pictures of the gang fooling around. tanya, junior producer extraordinaire, took most of the pics. my warmest regards to erik, giselle and to benjo, who have found homes in other ad agencies. i am confident that one, day, we will all share a spread in adobo magazine. and to us remaining here at adfor (tanya, pia, alphonse, tish, and the entire selection): let's continue to rock and may we make marketing history.

and we must always remember, gifted children get accelerated. ang mga batang may tibay at laban sa buhay, save the bliss for last. dapat, complete from a to zinc because any lower, and it would be obscene. and through lenses that see better, humahagod ang ginhawa. tires to power your life, ur business too--your secret hopes and dreams. dozen it make you gutom?

ano ka, mayaman?

yeah, i thought so too.

"to part of me i miss"

2006-11-16T20:11:00.000+08:00

Just because Celia Rodriguez once said on TV that pain never goes away.
Rather, one simply gets used to it.

Also, just because this week happened. Just as next week will.

It's funny how I've always judged sad people. But then I never stopped anyone from judging me anyway.

Just like every other vague pronouncements of pain and agony, there is a story behind this one. And one day, you will read about it. For now, here is the one song that gets me through these days.

"Drive by Kiss"
Dambuilders

i still see the two of us together
when the winter wind blows cold
you can't get lost as long as you remember
if you know where the highway goes

i may never find out where it is
but i might reach you with a drive-by kiss

and its wrong to think about forever
when you know it doesn't last
but if you try to run away from your memory
you can't ever drive too fast

you may never find out who it is
but i might reach you with a drive-by kiss

and it's a sad way
to say hello
but if you sleep it off,
will you let me know?

say good-bye
but don't let me go

i may never find out where it is
but i might reach you with a drive-by kiss
say good-bye to part of me i miss
with a drive-by kiss

i didn't know it would come to this
i hope i can say what i never did
with a drive-by kiss

King of Pain

2006-10-31T15:16:00.000+08:00

I really didn't bring any costume for the casual Holloween afternoon cocktails at the office. But during lunch break, I found this at National bookstore.

I therefore went to the party as myself.

2006-10-25T11:09:00.000+08:00

This weekend, if you find yourself looking for some good action (and/or clean fun), you should check this out. See you there.

riddles and walking away

2006-10-10T20:49:00.000+08:00

A couple of months ago, I had to write copy for a milk brand. According to my research, it is expected for children to challenge limits. They are trying to feel their way in the world; therefore, they must find out for themselves up to how far they are allowed, or able, to go.

If you ask a child to stay close, he will walk away.

* * *

It's been a long time since I've last posted. Much has happened since then. I find myself unable to reply to the comments anymore but all the same, thanks to those who had something to say.

Does this post mean that I'm back? Certainly, I have done some redecorating. Honestly, I don't know.

* * *

Last night at Cafe Ysabela, Margie, who was baffled by the riddles that envelope her own life, decided to play this game with me. She asked riddles that went like "A man goes inside the restaurant, orders soup, takes one spoonfull of it, goes out and shoots himself. Why did he do this?"

As sure as I was that Margie (and the person who invented this riddle) has a single answer in mind, I told her that I cannot give her THE correct answer. Besides me having low EQ and that there's just no way in hell I'm gona trouble myself with analyzing, I realized that there is no one answer. The world is full of possibilities, a single event has more than one reason for happening and he who was not in the middle of things could not ever know the whole truth. For that matter, no one could ever know the whole truth. No one.

In this case though, I could try all night and finally give her the answer she was waiting for but that won't mean that the other answers I come up with would be wrong. If I get THE answer, it would just mean that I had pursued the same trail of thought as she did. It was not going to be a correct answer. It was going to be the same answer as hers.

Well, I never found out why Margie thought the man freakin shot himself. But I hope she found a better answer to that riddle that's been bugging her all night. A reason that favors her. It is, after all, her answer, and not his.

the palms don't lie

2006-07-25T17:05:00.000+08:00

I dragged myself to the Rockwell tent two Sundays ago (where I also spent the night before tasting for the first time and falling in love with Retsina). I was there for the "broken time machine" fantasy convention, not to relieve any fantasy but to satisfy a certain curiosity. I heard it being plugged over at K-Lite on my way to work and the promise of holding "elvish weddings" captured my attention. Although of course, there isn't anyone for me to be weded with, is there?

So I was there taking long drags from my cigarette. I was with Larry who had already fulfilled his purpose for this trip--we just came from Fully Booked where he basqued in the glory of being surronded by books. So we stepped into the tent and did not find the elvish wedding booth. (Make no mistake, though. I aplaud thosle who put up the convention. There were those who even came in full regalia and truly, seeing asian elves and brown-skinned Hogwarts students was a delight. I was sorted into Ravenclaw which I resented. "I will not play a supporting character! I'm not even intelligent! Put me in Slytherin damnit," I protested.)

Well, to make a long story short, we chanced upon a fortune telling booth and decided to go with it. What was a hundred bucks anyway? Now, there was a cue which they remedied by having three fortune tellers. But I had my eyes set on a certain sear--his table spread was the best among the three and his showmanship amazed me. (Imagine a bald, thin man with a brass pestle which he pounded with a shiny mortar in between his readings.) Before I could even stand up, a girl sat in front of my chosen sear. I was about to slap her off the seat when thank goodness the folks at the Pinoy Charmed gracefully got rid of her.

This wasn't the first time I had my fortune told. Just as always, after telling me how I myself am a psychic of some sort, he went directly to the part that every fortune teller in town seems to think is most important to me: finances. He insisted that this year is my year as far as earning is concerned. Which merited a smirk from me, because truly, I am being paid peanuts. As Hans so eloquently put it, "you are paying just to work there." Which is true. What I receive is not enough to support the expenses of getting myself through work--meaning getting myself to and from the office and eating for survival's sake. So yes, I spend just to work. Not that I have a problem with this, but to tell me that this year is my year?! C'mon, I'd like to think that I can do better than this.

So The Great Fortune Teller and I had a discussion about this and he concluded that what I was saying was simply unacceptable for according to my birth year and birth month, 2006 should see the pinnacle of my monetary cycle. Since it was already the middle of the year, I should be already experiencing a momentum.

He grabbed my other hand.

"Yes, you earn money. But this other palm clearly shows how you spend it right away, making it seem as if you don't earn anything." I found that I hadn't the audacity to disagree. He looked at my face. I sensed him pay close attantion to me as I brushed some hair against my ear. "I know what you are doing. You spend so much because you're trying to buy your happiness. ...Don't worry, he will come very soon..."

i'm still here

2006-07-20T19:46:00.000+08:00

"i am a question to the world,
not an answer to be heard
or a moment
that's held in your arms..."

--i'm still here
googoo dolls

who am i--a question i keep on asking myself though i am fully aware that this can never be answered in any language i understand. i believe that living revolves upon the pursuit for the answer to that. what always becomes clear to me is who i am not. what i do not like, what i do not care about. whom i am not with.

pain and prejudice

2006-06-29T16:36:00.000+08:00

the most significant thing that happened to me within the week caused me to miss work last tuesday. it wasn't as glamorous as i had hoped any injury related to me would be.

i did not get into a fight in a club and a bitch did not slap me causing my back to hit the bar. crudely put, i slipped in the shower and hit my lower back on the slightly elevated portion that divides the bath area from the rest of the comfort room. a very eightees scene, i know. or very simone de bouvoir's a very easy death. yowza.

i managed to get my self up, with much moaning and screaming, and i even managed to put clothes on. i had every intention to drive myself to makati! when i lied down, i wasn't able to get up again. the family has not faced emergencies for a long time and this triggered my mother's favorite activity ever: paranoiafest. talks about having an ambulance come over to pick me up started to echo inside my room's walls and i was mortified to discover that she started to pack not an overnight bag but an entire suitcase. my second sister was also in on the fun, cancelling her appointments "to keep me company."

my dad arrived from the hospital (where he had his pm clinic) and was quite disapointed to find that i could still move my toes. i was whisked to the emergency room and there, in evita fashion, was hauled around in a wheel chair. don't cry for me...

my sister insisted on taking over the pushing duties and effectively hit the chair, and me, against everything that obstracted her chosen path.

* * *

when they finally decided that i will be brought to the hospital, i had to negotiate our rather tall stairs. my dad had me put my arm around his shoulder. we haven't gotten that close for a long time. it was quite weird, he knowing how much i needed him at that time and me trying to walk on my own. the pain was unbearable. i was trying to hide a smile all the while.

* * *

now i know how painkillers could be addictive. habit-forming does not even begin to describe it. it's that feel-good whoozy all my blood's in my head kind of hit. i love painkillers mainly because pain is not the only thing it kills. i'm on painkillers right now.

star carl (carl among stars)

2006-06-22T13:35:00.000+08:00

carl's confession number 2,876,596: i have always wanted to be a star.

i blame it on the media and hollywood and perhaps even bollywood (though i really haven't seen a bollywood film yet). to me, it was about glitz, glamor and sleaze--just some of the things stardom is associated with. the goddam skeletons in the closet, catfights at the bar, the trashtalking on sunday primetime tv and the partner-swapping--yes, i wanted it all. my face all over the papers, magazines, billboards along edsa and every songhits lining the sidewalk. when i step out of the car, i want people to call out my name, to faint, to create a stampede that the military is compelled to contain the situation.

i want stalkers.

but seriously, apart from the popularity and fame, my attraction towards acting is really all about the fact that i could be a different person in front of the camera. you see, i've always dreamt of being possesed. not by diabolical spirits, but by wacky characters. honestly, although everything mentioned before is very much welcome to happen, acting to me is a craft. just like my writing and sketching, it makes me feel dynamic. alive.

last monday, i had the chance to experience the real deal. (thanks to bobby bonifacio and his crew!) sure i've taken up classes in college but i've never really done a scene in front of rolling cameras before. most of all, i haven't seen my face blown up on the silverscreen.

"your hands are cold. you're nervous!" the staffer said while he was giving me a retouch. (i can't remember which one he is.)

sure, it was a very miniscule part and i only hade one scene. but of all the people in the world, i had to do that one scene with two of our greatest local actors. i had long lines but i think i managed to execute them well enough. all two thousand times the scene was shot. to tell the truth, i thought that it was going to be easy. one take and thanks. not that i was a real doofus and caused take 10's and shit. (in fact, i only had to have the scene repeated once--i started to say gibberish and i had to apologize profusely to mr. albert.) what i failed to realize is that the same scene has to be taken over and over--for angles, reaction shots and live sound recording--which took all afternoon.

i am not complaining. in fact, i am grateful and nostalgic. but now, i know--the glitz, the glamor and the psychotic fans don't come without a price.

come out come out wherever you are!

2006-06-21T09:10:00.000+08:00

a very reliable source (got this from vittorio) and i totally believe this.

IS SOME ONE IN LOVE WITH YOU
Name
DOB
Favourite Color
Is some one in love with you right now	yes, but they are too shy to admit it
are you in love right now	nope

This Quiz by therat429 - Taken 220069 Times.

New - Kwiz.Biz Astrology and Horoscopes

my current state, in bullet points (I)

2006-06-15T23:47:00.000+08:00

i've always wondered why i have low e.q. i easily get disapontment and people just do not know how i get so all fired up inside when i don't get what i want.

i have low e.q. but i am still an image freak. (a.k.a. tupperware) there you go.

* * *

i love incriminating myself. i overshare all these disgusting details about me. people say i write 'honestly.' when else could i be honest?

i love to incriminate myself. yet i feel sad when people think negatively of me.

* * *

came home (from work) at 2 am. set alarm at 8am--i have a meeting to attend to at 11am. slept. woke up at 10.50.

fuck.

* * *

for soemone with low e.q., i drive defensively. (a.k.a. not fast)

the battle for social security

2006-06-13T13:46:00.000+08:00

last week (or was it two weeks ago--it's so horrid i pushed the experience out of my memory bank), i had to go to sss or the social security system office at makati. in the first place, the prospect of me getting my sss i.d. was so terrifying. (was it really time to grow up? as in that much?)

second, they did not know where to put me. one man told me to go out and head over all the way to the next building. there, the cranky lady told me to go back and to line up at the cue just beside the man who told me to go to the other building. it felt like lining up for a lifeboat in freaking titanic. except that here, sadly, the first-class passengers were not given priority.

third, this middle-aged man (and you look like you're too old for this stunt. shame on you!) casually inserted himself into the cue and indicated through his lips that he knew the chimatic* beauty in front of me. i had no energy to do anything else other than to raise my right eyebrow in disgust. they, the middle-aged man in blue-grey office barong and the chimatic beauty, never said a word to each other the entire time.

i zero in on this disgusting duo (i'm still trying to analyze if they really knew each other) but the truth is, they were not the worst of their kind. i should not have been deceived by the already long line. filipinos are very organized, even if everything here seem chaotic. the principle of delegation is most of the time at play. here's the routine: one representative would wait patiently in line and when it is actually time for her (it's usually a girl) to transact in the window, her entire posse from kinder to post-grad studies, add to that her clan, her barangay and the entire purok and poblacion will all proceed before her. lovely display of unity. funny how we don't translate that to a national proportion. the philippine army will be the most feared in the entire galaxy, if not universe.

after around three million pesos worth of mobile phone calls (yeah, i had to find a distractuion lest i scream in the middle of the sss freakin lobby. i don't want to be dragged away in a straight jacket. well, not before i get what i came there for!), i finally got to transact my business. they told me to go back after three weeks not to pick up my card--to line up for my picture.

isn't SSS supposed to make life easier?

*chimatic: any person who looks like he/she is part of some master's household staff. in early american set-up, these people were called slaves. now, in the philippines where political correctness is the new protocol, they are called kasambahay--housemates, roughly translated.

* * *

i was at the university last friday to register for this semester. for three units and i was there shuffling the entire day. so starting this week, even my saturdays are no longer free. i am totally loving this life. the fast life--no time to rest.

the best part is that i chose this.

but then, these three units, plus the other three i should complete soon and another three, and i will be done with my coursework. after that, all i need is to take that foreign language test and to complete my thesis to be a certified MASTER. (lighting! thunder!) nyahahahaha

do not leave me holding a cleaver. it might end up wedged in my skull.

dates and nuts

2006-06-07T17:54:00.000+08:00

this has been a very busy week in my otherwise life of leisure--my excuse for posting only now. i cannot even write about my work because of all the confidentiality shit and as i have said in the last entry's comment box, an exciting blog is not worth serving time in jail for.

i was going to write about my date experience last saturday after which erik had a sighting of me (you should have just introduced yourself) walking off that icky feeling one gets from such er...occurances. i picked the place which is promenade and the first thing i ever said was "this is weird." the last statement i said: "you know how freaky it has been?" then i just stared at him. he laughed a bit. i didn't budge. i just stared at him for another ten seconds or so. "that's prety much what you've done the whole time."

so i said i was going to write about it. but then, as i began typing, i realized, what's there to write about?

* * *

last thursday, i was at this place in st. francis square where they practically give alcohol away. consider this: three bottles of local beer or certain cocktails for the price of one. and they have valet service. sweet. i want to stretch this but really, all i have to say about the night is that i had three pinacoladas and this is actually just an excuse to post the following:

the Q.C.

2006-05-29T11:10:00.000+08:00

nothing, NOTHING in my life had prepared me for what happened to me last wednesday.

before i continue, i must make the following clear:

i am not really one who grew up on the wrong side of the tracks. some cultures might even consider me to be a cold-hearted spoiled brat. i know what i want and i find ways get it, that is if it's not already there for the taking. i succeed most of the time.

you can't blame me for this. i have always believed that we have enough, if not more than what's necessary, and i kind of always knew that i looked the part. i don't really look foreign or anything and it is very easy to spell my last name, but i've always believed that i did not look like a charity case.

* * *
"welcome to the dark side."
--ryan atwood (The OC, pilot episode)

i tagged along with hans to an event--the launch of some coffeetable book published by Philippine Rattlet (not the real name). i wasn't really planning to go with him. in short, i was in my commonfolk attire.

when we got there, it was a black tie event. while everyone was in full regalia, i was wearing what i was wearing. (see picture.) fine. but then, since he was there in his capacity as official contributing photographer, he was supposed to, well, take pictrures of these people.

i was to get their names for the caption.
"whaaaat? you don't know jeanie goulbourne?!" (i'm not sure if i spelled that right and frankly, i don't care. i can spell myn own name right: carl clemente, and for me, that's enough to get me through life.)

enter the name game. thing is, nobody told me that i should have known who these people were. yes, they expected me to know them. well, not all of them but most of them. i wanted to tell them to just get over themselves and to just spare this young "reporter." i wasn't even there as one, i was merely helping someone. oh but hans, they didn't mind the atention he was giving them because he was there to take photos of them in all their prada and mac and belo glory. but here's a boy in blue and yellow stripes asking for their names. the boy was not even in leather shoes. ewe.

talk about ryan atwood in a newpsie party.

there was this big young lady with a totally un-spell-able family name who was wearing an...er... interesting facial expression the entire evening. at one point, i wanted to inch my way to their cocktail table and sniff her drink just to see if it's vinegar that's in her wine glass. hey, i just wanted to understand where she was coming from.

another is this "yacht maker." you see, he makes yachts and he expected me to be interested in that. suddenly, he reached into his pocket. at that point, i started to step back. as far back as time and space could allow. hans was left near the...the...the thing. when the thing brought out a wad of bills (the thing's friends taunted: go choose a bill) i didn't know if i should go back and whisk hans away from that animal or if i should just run away as fast as i could.

in the middle of everything, i told hans that i needed to have a cigarette. he chose to stay behind and asked for the notebook (on which i write the goddam names). without meaning to, i said in an audible volume "good luck with them." the girl in front of me laughed.

see! even they know of the absurdity.

* * *

in one of my earlier posts, i talked about being asleep in a bar. last friday, louis and co. said that the other gays in the table said that i was such a bitch for not talking to them. well, wouldn't i be a bitch to myself if i tried talking to them while i was sleeping?

anyway, i saw one of them again last friday. he looked fine. not the type i'd usually obsess over, but he was fine.

now, from palanca street, we went over to louis's place at magallanes. there, after some time, i lied down on the couch and fell asleep. i wasn't wasted or anything. i really just fell asleep. louis said that said gay guy was about to go over to where i was sleeping but saw that i was wearing white socks. said gay guy then made a crack (an alusion to michael jackson) and backed out.

* * *

let's stick to the o.c. reference.

last saturday, i finally was able to go to the spa. i indulged in delicious treatments and even had a nice swedish massage. afterwards, i had dinner with a couple of friends before going to javie's to hang out with a different set of people. (i love you all equally.) i brought my notebook computer and my sketchpad.

i just had a massage so they couldn't have expected me to jump into the pool, right. i was just there to wade, to provide good conversation, wity remarks and to look pretty BY the pool. when my friend iyay asked me what my computer was doing on the table, i simply said "well we're hanging out, right? so we're supposed to have fun. this is fun for me."

but then, i invited marge over and she was swayed by my line "this involves swimming and sangria." later on, after all that nefarious sangria (and trust me on this: never substitute pineapple juice for orange juice. it was just plain FUNKY), that was around 4 am, she pushed me into the swimming pool. now, here she is asking for forgiveness.

let's play this game

2006-05-24T16:21:00.000+08:00

this came from marge. it was fun, actually. well, it's always fun to daydream.

instructions:

1. The tagged victim has to come up with 8 different descriptions of their perfect lover.

2. He/she needs to mention the sex/gender of their perfect lover.

3. He/she must tag 8 more people to join this game and leave a comment on their respective sites anouncing that they've been tagged.

4. If tagged a second time, there's no need to post again.

here goes:

Gender:
homosexual male
i'm too old to aspire for a straight guy; i just don't have the energy to fool myself anymore. females are just out of the question.

Description

1. heartbreakingly gorgeous and he does not know it.
--he should be tisoy, lean and clean. no streaks please. if i am going to spend a lot of my time with someone, i should like what i am seeing lest i get a headache.

2. carries himself well
--not to be mistaken for "metrosexual" oh please i don't even agree with that term.
--the point in this is first: i don't want to suck in all the attention when we're in public. second, i don't like fashion bores because those...bore me. third, i am not really looking for a particular style, i just want him to be able to carry whatever clothes he chooses to wear. if he wants to go sporty, then he should look hot in sporty apparel.

3. NOT an artist
i've had it with theory and the creative process. i have "creative" work to deal with, my classmates to discuss those with and my wonderful friends to guide me through the dyslexic world of art. when i'm with him, i would like to be fascinated, to be swept away by knowledge and interesting facts i never knew existed, like cost accounting and thermodynamics.

4. good conversationalist
--do i need to explain this? well he definitely is not barok. definitely not. nor is he stupid. he is funny and at the same time, wise.

5. "steady"
i will be the dreamer in the relationship. he will bring in the sanity. in short, he should discipline me. make me quit smoking, that type. well, he loves to party too but he should always emerge from the scene still fit to drive.

6. fast driver
since i am always late, his speed behind the wheel should compensate for my slowness in choosing my clothes. we don't want to miss every screening time. (yes, i don't want to have to bring a car when we're together.)

7. food lover
if there's one thing that we should have in common, it's the love for good food because, hello, we don't eat just to survive, we eat to enjoy. it will turn me on too if he could whip me up super gourmet delights, plated, garnished and all.

8. hails from a good family and consequently, is stable.
hey, i want to make my mom proud of my man.

--see, i'm not really asking for much. if you think that you possess these qualities, just send your resume along with your photos. set an appointment . no walk-in applicants.

Tagging:

1. louis

2. hans

3. tanya

4. pia

5. brew

6. abby (yes cuz, YOU)

7. nika

8. momel

self-exorcising

2006-05-23T09:40:00.000+08:00

when i was a kid, there was a ghost in my cabinet.

i would not be left alone in my room. i was scared that i might see the ghost. i had no idea what the ghost might do to me but all the same, i did not want to see it. i never really encountered that ghost but i was damn sure it was just there waiting for the right time to bother me.

my yaya taught me a trick. she said that if the ghost showed itself to me, all i had to do was close my eyes and count to ten. (she wasn't really religious so she had me to rely on math instead of some prayer.)

when i was in sixth grade, we moved to another house, to casa clemente where we are still living. now, i lock myself in my room. i am not a kid anymore. i should be able to handle a ghost when it walks up to my face.

* * *

two of my closest friends, hans and mickey, are not as sentimental as i am; they do not really keep junk. specifically, and we've talked about this a lot in the past, they have no trouble dropping (former) friends like hot potatoes. i could actualy post a list here but that's not my list to post.

anyway, i admire them for having this superpower because in spite of me being me, i still place third in this particular event. a faaaaaaar third. hmmm..perhaps the doctors were right, i do have a heart.

* * *

i want to be a better person. i'm going to the spa on saturday to rid myself of all the stress and negative energy.

* * *

there is a contact in my mobile phone directory that keeps on disappearing and reappearing.

i had just deleted it when the owner of said detail, through ym, asked if he could hitch a ride. i had to ask for the number again (discretely) because i needed a means to tell him when i was already there at the meeting place.

i think it was genius, how i asked for the contact. i was like "which number should i call again, cos there are like three different numbers under your name here in my phone..."

now business is done, and i've decided to permanently erase this number. no more excuses. as a final statement concerning this doofus, i am announcing that he is henceforth banned from my shop. because that was what he always was anyway: a customer purchasing some sympathy. (and i can't believe that he misconstrued this act of kindness--just like everything else--and used it to bloat his sorry ego.)

as a policy, i don't give away freebies anymore.

* * *

1, 2, 3, 4 , 5, 6, 7, 8, 9...

riding in cars with carl

2006-05-19T15:01:00.000+08:00

a dear friend of mine, lotte the wise, told me that a real gorilla does not know that it's a gorilla.

* * *

he hitched a ride with me. i did not mind picking him up right at his doorstep. i made him ask for that.

on the way home, we talked about comic books and corporations. the new smart campaign. he told me about this new restaurant and how the owner gave him a frog origami when he first dined there alone.

the lights from the billboards along guadalupe bridge were bright--perfect contrast for his small eyes.

* * *

flashback.

sophomore high school-1998-music class. in the music room, instead of having individual tables, six boys shared one round table. we were listening to "also sprack zarathustra" (a.k.a. "space oddysey 2000") when i felt something sliding up my legs. and then to my thighs. i looked around. his smile stretched from ear to ear.

* * *

when i realized it, i had not known that it was coming. we were innocent boys, a group of catholic high school boys. colemans, tupperwares, sporks and knapsacks. dumplings with garlic rice at the cafeteria, projects at his house in xavierville. text messaging came to town when we were juniors. before that, (but none of us owned) pagers.

louis and the others would page their girl friends from poveda. he paged his "girl" too.

i don't remember the exact day or how it happened. i just remember one day talking to my best friend from another class. mickey had been his friend since grade school. and i told mickey that i think i was falling for him. i told mickey to slap me.

mickey slapped me. he slapped me hard on the cheek. this did not wake me up.

* * *

this goes out to all genders: it is trouble to fall for a friend. the movie and the tv industries live off on this fact. especially when the feeling is unrequited--in tv dramas, this makes for three seasons.

was it in a movie that i heard that once you love someone, you never stop loving that person?
i don't know if this is true.

* * *

christmas break 2000. i was at missy's place. missy is my tennis friend whom he doesn't know. missy and i were in front of the telephone. i fiddled with the elaborate ceramic flower on the table. my throat felt as if it was clogged. my other hand kept on wiping tears off my cheeks.

"what did he do this time," missy asked.

* * *

my first published short story is about two friends. i started writing it in high school, abandoned it, and continued it after three years. we were eating at martha's kitchen (an old restaurant in front of school). he had a bowl of rice toppings and the manuscript in front of him.

he smiled and shrugged as he put the story down, beside his iced tea.

* * *

"five years. five years of feeling this."

he said nothing. he kept on driving, gripping the steering wheel tightly. turning it slowly from time to time.

"do you realize that it has been one fourth of my life?"

he stretched his thin arm and reached across my chest. he lockd my door. i faced the other way and proceeded to enjoy my view of katipunan avenue. we both grew up in katipunan. i grew up in katipunan avenue too. not beacause i ever lived there.

* * *

i say bad things about him. i relish doing so. there's a certain pleasure in pointing out how stupid he is and how sad his life is--i don't have to lie and that's the easy part. seeing him again, and seeing how right i was--that's the hard part.

* * *

there we were. i rested my hands on the steering wheel. edsa was cramped with cars but the traffic was moving somehow, slight nudges at a time.

deathcabs

2006-05-16T18:57:00.000+08:00

Yes, cabbie, it's like, I kinda really love looking like this and all. I shop at my favourite stores and all to look nice and neat and cute. And then, like, I sound like this and like I kinda, you know, can't help it especially when I'm having fun with friends...get what i mean?

That aint mean i'm a fuckin idiot, you doofus.

* * *
fine, we are not located in the more dynamic part of makati, gourmet-wise, especially. my office posse and i have lately felt the need to transcend this. to widen our horizon, we use public transport, cabs particularly. in just minutes, we step into a land of bread and butter--not just any bread but focacia and not just any butter but er well, the real fattening ones, whatever it's called.

now, it would usually happen that i peer from the backseat to see the cab meter turned off. it's a very short ride and they all tell us that the fare's always sixty bucks. we didn't mind since this only meant twenty from each of us anyway.

once, we insisted for the driver to flag his meter down and in spite of a much more complicated route from our usual lunch spot, the fare only amounted to 40 bucks.

* * *

to decongest traffic in metro manila, they came up with the numbered traffic scheme. (yeah, as if it works.) this has been temporarily lifted for the summer but great ol' makati city refused to be one in this. suffice it to say that it's either i go to makati befor six (since i live in qc) or i risk being pulled over.

now, of all the days for me to be restricted from the road, it had to be on fridays. friday is the official wild day, to go sanctimonious at night, to go wild. and i don't have a car during that day.

anyway, i take a cab from my place, and it takes me an hour just to chance upon one that's willing to take me to work.

most cabdrivers refuse to take me in because my destination is out of their way. well, i'm not trying to hitch a ride, asshole; i intend to pay.

* * *

somebody in government do something. please.

fairy tale

2006-05-15T09:55:00.000+08:00

preamble: i haven't had a love interest for the looongest time and this i'm trying to get a masters degree-slash-i'm busy with my career excuse is getting tired. people without love lives tend to write long journal entries.

* * *

after a whole day of resting chin on palm in front of the office-issued computer, plus a few hours of waiting for louis and bonsai (i almost went insane doing the latter; i got this toy hammer and started to whack it against an officemate and for this, i am extremely sorry--"why don't you try doing that to yourself!"), we went to sake lab at palanca street to have beer under its red neon lights that make us look chicer than necessary. so the beer plus the red lights plus ordeal in the looong first sentence made for a very sleepy carl.

louis and his bro johan (both of whom, i should clarify, are more hetero than the term hetero) were meeting their cousin at grilla later that night because they were pimping some gay friends. this kind of unnerved me because i have been asking all my friends (and i have a lot of those) to set me up with someone for the looongest time. they always all say that they know no one who could possibly deal with my ...err... grade-a personality. seeing that i was in for some extremely-needed adventure, they decided to take me along, go shopping for prospective boys in case the pair don't hit it off. ah, to play spare tire--very flattering indeed.

the other bar wasn't very far but the trip felt like a cross country drive and the first thing i did when we got settled in the long table was not to ask for the drink list. to make a loooong meandering story short, i found myself, or rather, they found me slumped on the chair, legs spread open, snoozing. while i was asleep, louis claimed that the gay guy in front of me was checking me out. i had to correct him. since like me, gay guy was also on the chubby side, he could not possibly want me--he wanted to be me. chubs don't go for fellow chubs; chubs either bash or admire other chubs. i would like to think that the unsolicited stares were that of admiration.

* * *

the lucky fairy who caught my fancy, when i finally awoke that is, was not seated in our long table. rather, he was in the one across from ours, and he was engaged in conversation with what looked like a not so attractive hetero couple. i started flipping in my seat and louis again claimed something funny. he said that the guy looked like our former friend whom i obsessed for back in high school. this was impossible since former friend could fit a whole twin popsies in his mouth without difficulty. this is not an exaggeration; how i wish it was. talk about being swallowed by someone's smile--literally. well this guy did not remotely resemble that former friend; this guy must be the lost triplet of raymond and richard gutierrez.

after longing for like forever, i decided to bring out a pen and grabbed some tissue to write a cute message for him. under said provocative yet demure message ("i really find you cute") was my mobile number. please keep in mind that i have not fully recovered from intoxication yet.

as i drew lucky clovers on the tissue (for added touch), he conveniently decided to leave so i sent one of my friends to run after him to give him the goddam thing. its been days and no text message from a strange number has arrived.

* * *

i should learn the effective ways pick up beautiful strangers and i should learn how to stay awake to be able to do it in time. no more beer from now on, only coco-lychee-tinis. perhaps i should also consider going on a crash diet.

* * *

if you ask me and if you review every thing there is about relationships and love, "you complicate me" would be the more apropriate term, not "you complete me." just typing the latter gives me the shivers. this is not coming from a bitter, aging, loveless, lonely fool, mind you. complicated is not necessarily bad or undesireable. it's just...is. it's complex, meandering, filled with unnecessary twists and turns.

the following image is tired, but consider a roller coaster. riding it is your own prerogative, and you do hop in in spite of all the gravity-defying maneuvers. in fact, the value of a roller coaster is appraised according to how much and how many times it makes its riders feel that their lives are in peril. love, or any kind of relationship, is a roller coaster. at some points in our lives, we all fell in line.

well, i'm still here waiting to be seated.

hits

2006-05-11T19:15:00.000+08:00

i am a frustrated rockstar, or at least I really want to be an important member of a hardcore alternative band. i am an image whore and i must admit that i am no music lover. sonic waves do not sweep me to other dimensions, at least not the way literature and films do. but like in motion pictures, music has over the years served as a backdrop to my everyday activities. here's me driving, here's me ramming into a truck, here's me early in the morning choosing which clothes to put on; here's me sliding down against my locked door with tears streaming down my cheeks and in my head, cursing my father. all those times, an angry alternative band pumps attitude into the stale, humid air.

when i walked out of a top network's broadcast building for the very last time after slaving there for six months, i had the darkest pair of shades on, the clunkiest pair of leather shoes i owned, a velvet vest on top of crisp white shirt and i took ramp-worthy strides. "bittersweet symphony" was playing full blast in my head.

i'm bad with names and titles and when i was young, i had to sing the chorus of a hit song in a record bar because i cannot for the life of me specify to the sales clerk which album or which artist i was looking for. these dyas, i still go for the boyish angry sound--the low, pained voice, bitter lyrics and crying guitars; the snappy and passionate beating of the percussions. i may not know the titles or the artists of the songs (except for the real popular ones like stp, u2, franz ferdinand, pearl jam, etc.) but their art sure affects my mood so much.

so here's me recording my first hit:

* * *

http://www.avirginsplea.com

this is the digital age and here is a modern way to hit on a girl. follow the link to help the guy in the picture get laid for the first time. this really sounds funny, and the humor lies in the fact that i am serious. just click on it and bring the guy closer to that golden first screw. this might just be a dark marketing scheme, and one day he might decide to sell merchendise. but i still urge you brethren, hit on the link and make your good deed for the day. it is, after all, just one hit.

* * *

yesterday, alphonse my officemate exclaimed: it's raining! we all rushed to the windows and took a peep in between the slots of the vertical blinds. behind the sheet of glass, an amber colored sky sparkled with little beads of water. the thirsty concrete spread itself to receive grace. the stainless steel of the jollyjeepneys glimmered with gloss. i remember maryanne's beautiful short story entitled agua de mayo. it showed how the the monumental may showers ushered in a new era in a protagonist's life.

i just stepped back into the office now, reeking of beer, contemplating about things. drops of water are hitting the windows like angry fingers.

freaky monday (a semi-photoessay)

2006-05-08T15:12:00.001+08:00

the best thing about mondays is that they are only a few days away from the next weekend. yesterday was a monday but we couldn't wait so we hit friday's at glorietta for lunch. it was really funny. we didn't want to spend too much so we had a dealm to share two apetizers. well it turned out that the two appetrizers were more than enough. we had so much fun not because the place was fun but because we were ourselves.

here are pictures of tanya, pia and me still at the strong center:

and here we are at friday's either acting like tourists or as if it's the first time we ever went insde a fridays. hehe. and here we are on our way back to republic glass, in a cab:* * *

later that day, after spilling white wine all over my car's passenger seat ("please let's not act as if it's a big deal"), ler asked me if i missed being a bum. he then assured me that he wasn't going to judge me if i was to say that i like my job.

last week, a former friend told me to back off because he feels as if i have the wrong image of him. to make the absurd story short, he thought i was reaching out to him simply because he was working for the "better" agency. he further said that he was unhappy (i guess "up") there.

well of course, i miss being a bum--to wake up and worry about nothing but my workshop classes. or to wake up after noon. i miss those. but i have just realized that fun is wherever you make it fun. happiness is dependednt on your capacity to see the good in things and in people. and to add spunk to an otherwise drab day.

you've lost that loving feeling

2006-05-06T21:07:00.000+08:00

not that the movie experience was soooo smashing that i want to live it. or that my life is unbearably dull that i want to change it. don't get me wrong though, mission impossible iii was great and i may watch it again soon, and i am not living a party.

it's just that people who know me really really well must know by now how i get caught up in the movies i see. before, the minute we stepped out of the theaters after seeing narnia, i started speaking in a faux british accent without meaning to. movies, good ones, have that effect on me.

so, with that said, i watched mission impossibe 3 with ler and cathy last night and i thank god i did not bring a car lest i might have flown it off rosario flyover just for kicks. now, i am daydreaming that i am an agent undercover. this, my life, is just a mission. i still don't know what i'm trying to recover though. my sanity, perhaps?

* * *

what happened to you, tom cruise? i grew up in the eighties and i spent my childhood being confused over if i want to be you or if i want you. seeing you that in that bike in miIII made me wish you stayed rather conventional and cute, like you were during your topgun days. i don't want to judge you by your beliefs especially since i only know these through hearsays that came from across the pacific ocean.

queens of edsa

2006-05-04T13:52:00.000+08:00

i tried withdrawing money in the nearby atm. i only had a few bills in my wallet left and based on my big apetite and insatiable thirst for useless spending, this will not see me through. gasoline for one rountrip from quezon city to makati alone...enough to bring me to school for a week. no exaggeration there.

i used to do atm transaction before but eversince i exhausted the funds in my account during this half-day christmas shopping in 2004, i immediately threw away the goddam card. now, my salary is coursed through an atm account and i don't have a choice but to use one.

while my transaction was being processed, a text message arrived. when i lifted my face from the mobile phone's lcd screen, my sight dropped on this scene: the cash being eaten back by the atm machine.

* * *

the other morning, louis and i were patiently enduring the heavy traffic on the way to work. since i was behind the wheel, there was another option besides passing through c-5 road, the one parallel it generally known as EDSA. i had chosen to endeavor the latter and suffered the consequences. quezon city to makati should only take thirty minutes without traffic but since this is metro manila, a child could be born inside the car and learn how ro construct complex sentences while stuck on the way to the next municipality.

as i was trying to prevent a giant bus from overtaking, i noticed a new structure being built across megamall. "highway 54," its unlit neon sign said. "EDSA used to be called highway 54, right," i asked even if i was sure about it. when it was still called such, it was a popular belief that salvage victims were dumped on the grass fields along it, particularly in its northern part where quezon city is now.

louis confirmed that edsa used to be highway 54 and proceeded to tell me why EDSA was built in the first place. EDSA is semicircular because it was meant to go around manila. it is the supreme purpose of said highway for tanks and other war vehicles to pass through it in case manila was under siege.

i knew this all along. i think he was also the first one to tell me this a long time ago.

* * *

epifanio delos santos is a name of an actual person i do not know anything about. named after him is this important avenue that pierces metropolitan manila from north to south. like a nylon string in a lei, it binds the cities and municipalities together in one chaotic clump.

roughly translated, epifanio delos santos means "enlightenment of those blessed."

* * *

there is a religious shrine built along the intersetion of EDSA and ortigas avenue. this is called the edsa shrine. it is said that in 1986, troops were sent on helicopters to bomb the people protesting against former president marcos's regime. the soldiers looked down on the crowded interstion: two roads interseting at a right angle accomodating a huge crowd of angry filipinos. they then saw that from bird's eye view, that the said thing resembled a cross. they did not have the heart to unleash destruction upon it. it is extremely unfortunate that the flyovers crisscrossing above the said intersection have not been erected at that time yet.

the success of the people power catapulted president cory aquino to power. five years before that, her late husband's funeral procession drew a huge crowd to march on edsa--a crowd comparable to that in ghandi's own funeral parade.

now, a decade later, it is nightime and the neon signs and the headlights and all the glare burn colorfull holes into my windshield. no, i did not take acid, but staying in an imobile car for more than two hours may give off a similar effect. from here, i see the spawn of the union between pres. aquino and her hero husband--styled, made up, photographed and rendered as she endorses a foodsnack. beyond that, a gigantic picture of her with her husband endorsing underwear. further down, her, endorsing a mall. scattered on either side of the tunnel, her endorisng shampoo.

i only get to pass through one fourth of this avenue.

project: golden god

2006-05-02T10:28:00.000+08:00

even before i started with the masteral program in which i am endlessly being made to reflect about my creative process, i've already been aware of where my stories come from. their germs, the things that get me started in the first place, are simple "what ifs." i would just be driving, or sitting on the john and my mind would start wandering into the wonderful world of self-absorbed fantasy. "what if a homosexual is barren?" "what if the person whom i feel strongly for is about to get married?"

the rest of them, the rest of the stories, are brought forth by my spactacular talent in lying. the art of fiction, ladies and gentlemen.

* * *

this, my journal is creative nonfiction. familiar essays, mostly, so don't be deceived by the seemingly bogus twists. i try my best not to lie here, and this is what will actually immortalize my memoirs under suspense/science fiction/fantasy. or in the archives of the local asylum.

anyways, the may 1 holiday created a long weekend and while everyone was preparing for a grand getaway (i can't even begin telling about the pain of foregoing a boracay trip just because i cannot generate funds. grrr) i had to be contented with the prospect of having to achieve that tan i've always lusted for by checking in at Westin and lie down by the pool, the pool which is by manila bay. i figured that that would be the next best thing to a beach, the manila bay sun. (i just have to spray some air-freshener every so often.)

fortunately, this pathetic holiday idea was saved by the forever destination of bored kids who just have to get away from the city: subic bay. okay fine, it's not really the forever destination of bored kids in general, its our forever destination, or in this case fallback plan, as bored kids when we have to get away from the city. the other one, the farther destination, would be baguio but we can't get tans there, could we?

the beaches inside Subic Freeport were full. but if they weren't (we checked out two-miracle beach and all hands beach), i don't think we would have paid our ways inside anyway. i don't think the shore would have been able to accomodate me--to lie down on it would mean having my head hitting the foundation of the picnic pavilion while the crashing waves ate up to my thighs.

okay, it was a misnomer--there was no shore. just sea. and people. and more people. and smoke coming from the grill where some exotic sea creature were being cooked.

so we ended up in the yacht club poolside where, for almost three hours, i lied down under the sun. beside me were hot chicks with bodies inherited from aphrodite in the color of glazed pretzels. they were lounging about and talking about their tans. they were actually nice. and then their seven year old daughters came running by the bay chair area.

"they're superhuman. i admire them," said ler.

"those are prom babies," i said.

* * *

while i was using every fiber of patience and eq i had in me to keep myself under that sun, glen and ag were hiding under an umbrela. every so often, i would come up to ask them if i've tanned a bit yet. the answer would constantly be "no."

when we were walking, ag was scandalized by my color, or lack thereof. "you look like a foreigner." this startled me cos observations like these don't really come from fellow filipinos, right. "when you're under the sun," she qualified--something to do with glare and stuff. before that, she did not get why i had been obssessing over getting a tan. she just did not get why there are people who would kill themselves just to get dark. well, she had an epiphany and that's when she became supportive of my "project: golden god."

ler, on the other hand, just wanted to have his color evened out. so we had to endure hours under the sun for these endeavours. when we finally gave up--i wasn't able to flip anymore so my back is pale--we went back to the umbrella where our sun-o-phobic friends belittled our tans. they weren't exactly lying though when they said that my efforts yielded nothing more than a hint of rosiness.

of course, this was frustrating. so while they were wading--ten minutes tops--ler and i decided to play a prank on them. when they come back, we'd pretend to notice how "darker" they got. since my talent in "fiction" remains to be unchallenged in this group, i was tasked to set up the prank. so the minute they got back i just kinda squinted and acted hesitant. finally, i asked ag if she could remove her watch--for a little bit of drama. as it turned out, i did not need to practice my talent in lying anymore; behind that timegear was a very deep tanline.

talk about unfair--and ag agreed with this observation while she stomped around cursing the sun.

* * *

while under the umbrella, we observed people and have come to agreement that in the beach, or by a very exclusive pool, there are two kinds of people you would like to look at.

the first one is the very famous "ebi." ebi is japanese for shrimp, and when you eat shrimp, you throw the head. so to state the obvious, an ebi is a person with a breathtaking body and an unfortunate-looking visage. there was an ebi right beside our table and if he wasn't busy catching all the uv rays into his mighty mighty mighty form, he kept on posing while snow white, his girl friend, took his gross pictures.

the other type of person was the "kani," or crab. cos to us, crabs just look like walking heads. i'm sure you get this one.

the question, however: which of the two would you rather date?

i wish i had a witty answer for this.

* * *

before finally hitting the road, glen insited that we recreate an old picture that was taken there at the yacht club lobby some seven years ago, or when we were still fresh, or are still in freshman college. i'm only writing this because i would like to post two of these pics. i'm going to ask glen for a copy of that old picture and see how we've changed since then. notice how project: golden god failed.

runaway fashionista

2006-04-24T11:43:00.000+08:00

okay, i am not claiming to be fashionable--such things should come from the beholder, right? (now's your turn to say that i actually am fashionable. kidding!) i am simply fumafashion.

anyways, so i wrote and loaded the casa clemente entry, which i did in such a hurry because the sheer perfection of everyone inside the casa was overwhelming me and driving me away from it out of sheer shame. i proceeded to have coffee with missy and louis and eventually with ler. in seattle's best katipunan branch, i spilled the story behind this latest lash out. and then, right there, it was conceived that i was not going to sleep at casa clemente.

darkness fell. worlds crumbled and hearts broke. i was extremely hesitant to pursue said course of action. this tantativeness only lasted until i got back home, ate scandalous amount of kare-kare and talked to ler on the phone.

the gravity of the situation: i wanted to take out my stash of wine and whack them on the wall--the image of greenish shards of glass flying all over my room, all over me, excited me. the red wine splattering on my oversized shirt and my sheets and on the wall, dribbling down like blood offered relief. but wine is wine is wine and it was not something to be wasted.

so i settled on a very sturdy shoebox and started whacking it against the white wall by my bed while screaming and bawling like a kid.

ler was still trying to inject both humor and logic to our conversation. i was just losing my mind there, on the other end of the line. until i've realized that the box was leaving black marks on my wall. there a moment of silence.

black marks. on my wall. black marks on my wall.

i heard honking--louis had arrived to pick me up (we were supposed to play tennis). instead of scouring to get my racket, i began to pull out clothes from my closet--shirts, two pairs of pants, accessories and a pair of black shoes. i grabbed the bag i bring to work and stuffed random things into it--including my car keys. (if i am leaving, they should have a hard time moving my car.)

***

we were at the ayala heights park. since i was not in the right shape (or mind) to play tennis--which at the onset they were packaging to me as "stress reliever"--missy and louis settled on jogging around. i was left lying on the slide, totally indulging myself with drama, listening to my playlist--bring me down by rivermaya, interstate love song by stp, that theme of "one tree hill," tori amos's verion of landslide, googoo dolls's i'm still here.

the sobfest happened on the road and therefore i was already midly sedated. i was cradled on the slight incline, my arms limping on the side.

through the foliage, i saw a shooting star that disappeared before it even touched the horizon. the chilly wind blew against my face like a ghost trying to make physical contact. around, the playground rides squeaked in slow, forced motion.

***

after stuffing my face with delicious food at louis's, we drank bailey's in their balcony--the only place in his house where i was permited to smoke. perhaps because of the supposed meteor shower a couple of days prior, another shooting star appeared and it disappeared before i could come up with a wish. i stumbled for words--for things to ask for.

my mom asked me through text message if i was okay and if i was sure i wasn't coming home. "i forgot my razor," i replied. and then i realized that i did not really feel like wearing the clothes i had brought and that i did not want to go to work the following day in any of it.

so i didn't.

***

just now, ler, called me to tell about a harrowing experience he will probably write about in his own online journal. to me, to the person listening, it was actually a funny story. but then i remembered about yesterday and on hindsight, i realized that things are only funny after they've past. it's a real shame because i can only imagine how different the world could be if only humor assters itself sooner.

beyond the strong center

2006-04-23T13:29:00.000+08:00

makati life has its absurdities and cinematic moments. being the central business district, and the only city not to lift the stupid traffic scheme, it is one of those places wherein you just have to build a lifestyle around. like my father, it will not apologize for making your life harder than it should only be. for example, last friday's lunch was truly a banquet for me:

i had to live on that because before dinner (which i had at around eleven in the evening), the only other thing i took was a bottle of milk tea.

***
move over, alcatraz...

the picture below is generically known as number 60 amorsolo but to all of us who live here, it is the casa clemente:

i took this picture when i was in college for photography class. that was around three years ago. i was still a bitter and angst-ridden teenager then. everything was not going right because of me. or so i was made to think. today, i am a bitter, angst-ridden twenty something and now i know why.

the casa clemente has its secrets. it is built with stone and therefore it should take quite a force to bring it down. the clemente family always wonders why i don't like staying at the casa. they think that because i am a bad person.

i wake up, leave and come home just to sleep. the clemente mother and father always get mad at me for that. i am a "bad person." the dad does not really think and try to feel how i feel--i will not elaborate because the father and son tension is getting tired and if i cannot get him out of my life, i should at least try to keep him off this journal. the middle child is a loser--she thinks like a child even if she is already a "doctora." the youngest sister is just a bitch, no further explanation needed. and the mom, the mom is the sorry victim who has succumbed to this life.

the casa clemente is nothing more than a house of stone. no one wants to stay inside an empty house.

HOW TO LOSE A SUNDAY (the ultimate baduy easter special)

2006-04-17T17:56:00.000+08:00

San Isidro, freakin Nueva Ecija has been for the past xx years of my life the setting for my lenten adventures. It is a quaint and ignored town north of Gapan (which is not a destination spot either) and there my ancestors proceeded to live abundantly against the backdrop of colonial abuse and deprivation.

Now, we are facing a land reform case and is condemned to spend at least three days in a year inside a mad, almost decrepit stonehouse (bahay na bato) and the biggest irony about this and every bahay na bato is that its first floor is made of stone while the second floor--the floor which matters, where the rooms and the general living area is--is made of wood. So among creeking doors that lead to mysterious places, dust that has settled upon relics and fading black and white photographs of men in intimidating suits and tophats or ladies in yards upon yards of lace, I and my cousins endure both the heat from the awkwardness of not having spoken much before that faithful weekend, and the sunshine on central luzon.

Three years ago, i started going with the sons of our caretakers to these holes in the wall for beer. I would come back to the house crawling out of intoxication both from alcohol and ultimate baduy experiences. (The most important component of an ultimate baduy experience, something ever present in the bucholic night spot, is the videoke machine. this videoke machine looks like an arcade booth with a microphone attached to it. To accompany it, a filthy, yet thick book of songs is passed around.)

But last weekend was different. For the first time in my life, i spent the holy week(end) in Quezon City. Since my skin asthma was once again unleashing its ugly and destructive menace, and my uncle on the other side of the family is vactioning from the States, I volunteered to stay. To keep him company, primarily. Keeping him company meant driving him around and going shopping with him.

But then this was Quezon City, and i have never ever in my life seen it on a holy wekk. It could not be taken away from me to be curious and kind of indiffirent. I was curious and indifferent in my airconditioned room while my kin were melting like candles in a far-flung crevice of our rice granary. But it suddenly hit me on Sunday morning, while I was popping in the third disk of the OC season 2.

There was no band by my window blaring unchained melody, waking me up, beckoning us, to the church, forcing us to wear our best shoes and to trudge on the dusty dusty sidewalk. I was not blinded by our caroza's million lightbulbs and the "maidens of the virgin mary," or whatever they are called, who gathered around our gate to pick up the mater dolorosa.

I did not lack sleep. I was well-rested and spectacular. I hadn't the comfort of home to look forward to. Nor had I the cruelty of another home to go forth from.

Next year, I swear that I will never skip Easter.

***

San Isidro used to be the the capital of Nueva Ecija. During its heydays, it was called "Factoria" and the books say that it was dubbed as such because there was a huge mill which the natives refer to as, well, "paktorya." Modern interpreations could squeeze out rude and imaginative reasons why it was called paktorya. My grandparents, that ultra conservative pair, yielded ten children.

But then, this is an anchronism.

unworthy of a title

2006-04-12T13:56:00.000+08:00

it was just like having the curtains taken down. one morning, i just woke up and saw that it's gone. the sun, blinding, an illuminated spherical fuck, and i got so amazed at the sheer clarity of things. and then i got all abnornmal about the whole ordeal. five years and it was just...gone. what was i to do then?

junior college, second semester. (2003) i was in some japanese restaurant at robinsons galleria with ler, missy and crissy. i pointed my chopsticks up in the air as i announced that i wasn't in not in love with the jerk anymore.

just like that. that easy, or so it seemed at that point. all the stupid things really appeared to be stupid and futile and crazy. regret was quick to follow.

***

people just assume that he is gay. the best part is that nobody other than himself has anything to do with that. and when people ask me about it, they don't really ask because i usually throw the freakin question back at them and nine out ten would say that they think he is. the other 1/10 would play safe and say they don't know.

when people ask me if he's gay, i don't know what to answer. honestly. i would like to think that it's not my fault that he acts like a fairy. the thing is, people just expect me to know. well, honestly, it would be easier for me to answer a mathematical problem. and i'm a communication major.

knowing is half the battle, according to gi joe. well, knowing this is inhaling the contents of pandora's box into one nostril. that won't win the war, will it? i'd rather not know. and believe me, you'd rather not either.

***

"i'm over him. i'm over it," i insisted the other day. "i am soooooo over this." louis was driving while i was cringing on the deathseat. he had his own set of love issues which we were deconstructing with much scrutiny. in conversations like those, it seemed standard to bring up the other person's hang-ups to simulate some symmetry.

it's true, i am over the whole thing. i was gadzooks over that jerk back in high school and the fact that i cannot understand anymore why this was should mean that i've already somehow gotten past that rotten phase.

in retrospect, it was a rotten feeling but only because everything was inside my head. for example, i would interpret his attending to something else as him ignoring me. pathetic, right? there are a lot more situations of the same sort but the general, essential truth behind all those is that i was very unreasonable. not unreasonable towards him, because like i said, it had nothing to do with him. i was being too unreasonable on myself for actually getting bothered over something so whatever.

i don't even know what we could call the thing i had for him. was i merely seeking attention? was it attraction? is it like wanting this new pair of jeans but the brand does not manufacture it in your size so you end up obssessing over it?

***

even the word awkward is awkward. just look at it: AWKWARD. try saying it without meaning it. it sounds stupid, right.

well imagine feeling it every time you see a certain someone. it doesn't mean that i'm stupid, right?

THE ANGRY KID (I thought i've already grown. I spoke too soon.)

2006-04-10T11:47:00.000+08:00

APRIL 9, at three and I shout towards the general direction where my dad could be: I’m going somewhere. I hear a voice say: “you’re telling me? That’s new.”

I want to shout back that I wasn’t really intending on telling him; mom just forced me to do so. More of nagged me and hostaged my allowance. I don’t do this. Instead, I walk away. Walk straight to the car and turn on the ignition, the fanbelt screaming, shrieking--always the best signal that I’m going, my broken fanbelt. The best reply to a smart-alecky statement.

My dad and I really don’t get along. We just don’t. For one, I’m his eldest, his only son and I turned out to be gay. On one level, how do you tell someone who’s addicted to sports, who’s a reserve colonel and who bashes gays that his son is in fact gayer than the mardi gras? He already knows of this, of course, but he's not to be reminded. On a different level, how do you show acceptance for a gay son? How will you make it comfortable for him to be around you when it is second nature to you to laugh at those gays you see on TV. You can’t.

We both can’t.

We know this and we’re just waiting for the time when I can finally set out on my own, I think. But the freshest reason for our demise is that he came home from abroad with nothing but a souvenir shirt for me, which went straight to my mother’s dresser. If we are family, you don’t pick up something for me at the airport because god knows how I searched high and low a foreign city just to get you things that I knew you’d like. If you forgot about me, then don’t give me shit just for the sake of giving me something.

I prefer to receive nothing.

***

Alabang Town Center at four and I am smoking by the court. I used to hate smoking. I used to hate smokers. Dad smoked a lot and I hated it when he smoked around me.

The south is a far cry from the hustle and bustle of Quezon City and amidst their quiet, I set out to get a perfect gift for Lar. Lar is having a baby boy next month, her firstborn and I am on my way to her shower. I’ve no idea what to give a friend who’s bound to have her own boy--her own set of parental problems, a son who might in the future throw a spoon to the wall to make her shut up, like what I did last Saturday.

I am looking at mittens when I see the rack of baby books. My own baby book is blue with a really cute design. I used to look at it a lot and my mom would get mad at me because she feared that I’d destroy it or lose it. There were more pictures than what the lay out asked for and there were sappy captions I cannot read with a straight face. The invitation to my christening was stuck--custom made, mass produced white card with green letterings. Creepy.

I just found out recently that I came a little later than my parents wanted. At that time, it was considered that they got married late, the virgin bride being twenty eight years old and the groom being three years ahead. Since my mom would not get pregnant, they tried doing it in different places and finally, I was manufactured in Germany. The first story was that I was made in Singapore but recent computations yielded Germany as result.

I am standing by the counter with a babybook within the tasteful midrange. I wonder how lar's son would be twenty years from now. I go back to get the best one from the rack.

***

Starbucks at ten, and Ler is spearing the core, the yummiest part, of my cinnamon roll with a fork. And then he asks if I would have been dead by now if not for modern medicine.

When I was five years old, just a couple of weeks before my birthday, the hospital gave up on me. My aunt says that even my mom at some point was praying to the heavens that they take good care of me there. It was a bonanza and I am sure I had given my clan some excitement in their otherwise predictable, conservative lives. I got the biggest suite in the hospital but the only thing I got to see was the area where the hospital bed was. There were always people and I swear I vaguely remember a pray-over. You know, where a bunch of people speak in tongues as they put their hands above you. This, of course is not confirmed—I cannot get myself to ask if such thing really happened.

Some more reports: my sister who was at home saw me talking to an angel, as her nanny swore. The household staff started crying at that point. Simultaneously, over at the hospital, my own nanny insisted that I was talking to an angel, REM-eyes and spastic state and all. Me, I think this as delusion due to heavy medication. Maybe my sister was being medicated at that time too. Or our nannies were just high on something.

Still, I am here.

My dad transfused blood to me directly. I cannot imagine that: me and him lying side by side in the operating room connected by a tube in which blood flows from him to me. That was the best parting gift I’ve ever received thus far.

fumafashion manila

2006-04-05T15:48:00.000+08:00

in the first place, i didn't even know that we had a solid fashion scene, let alone a proper fashion week. here in manila, even the girl in the gaudiest attire, just as long as the supreme effort in putting it together is evident, is dubbed "fumafashion."

so when our caster said that he had tickets, i had to check it out. well, not really. when those tickets were offered to me, i did not really show interest. we were having lunch at greenbelt and i was facing that fountain on the second floor, the one that is iluminated by alternating colored lights at night. that fountain was legendary for a deeply profound, semi-fashion related reason: there was this super(?)model schoolmate and upon seeing the fountain (it was night), she exclaimed: "wow they change the water every so often." that was her take on the wonderful technology of the multicolored fountain. i think she graduated.

anyway, so i totally ignored the tickets. i was like, yeah i'd want to check that one out but who the hell's going to go with me. but then, as it happened, ler scored passes to the opening of fashion week--a total wine and whine experience which i missed only because i did not take the tickets when it was offered. he had fun shooting photographs and had every intention to go back to shoot more. so first thing i did on monday was to ask for passes and they came to me in a bundle.

tomorrow's going to be a bash at embassy: "come in your most imaginative tribal costume or dress up fabulously in your trendiest drag ensemble." if that doesn't excite me, i don't know what can. hmmm, booster shots? anti-rabis shots? i don't know. perhaps i shouldn't be too opinionated on this matter because i haven't even decided that i am not going, and that i am not going as either a tribal man or tribal woman.

but believe me, i'm willing to wear anything (or nothing) as long as i am going with this hot model (thanks ler, for the yummy pix):

the tango mariel

2006-04-04T10:24:00.000+08:00

the long wait finally ended. the last piece of the happy bench post-college life puzzle found its way on the board. after the long tango with the academe, life and love (and with me :P), mariel finally gets out of her schostastic life cattier than ever. (which makes me wonder, what did she even learn.)

in her "at last" party held last saturday, i found out that coke and kurant are actually, strangely compatible. not everyone there shared with this observation though, but you should try it. the sweetness and the spunk of the cola complimented the kurant's flavor.

just some sappy remiscence: when we were in college (or, before i graduated and left her there :P) we would venture out of gate 3 in her silver lynx. her legendary driving could only be outshined by our mysterious survival from it. imagine tracing a rectangle around a truck--that's how she overtook.

well, congratulations mariel and good luck. now that "you've gone down the hill," you have all the time in the world to find a boy in the flatlands. and don't believe that "welcome to the real world" shit--we've always been in the real world and getting out of college won't make life harder to handle.

five hundred twenty five throusand six hundred minutes

2006-03-31T17:45:00.000+08:00

after work, i headed to ayala center to watch "rent" with ler, ag and glen. we were supposed to catch the 8pm screening at g4 but apparently, we all ran late so we had to settle for the 9pm screening at greenbelt. we were very early for that yet, we got in the theatre after the first song "seasons of love." yes, my punctuality-deficiency syndrome is contagious.

partly because of rent, where a character died and another, true to catholic tradition, died and came back (but this time, only after three minutes instead of three days), we started to wonder which one of us will be the first to go. well, since this question is obviously unanswerable, we settled on making a deal. the first one to go shall receive a reward. in his/her wake, those remaining MUST break into song--a full production number of the favorite songs of the deceased. snaps, coreography and hums and all. me, i am requiring them to wear coordinated outfits. this should be very exciting.

since ler has already posted his choice of songs in his blog, here is mine:

it is totally necessary to dim the lights. bring out the spotlight and start with the least shocking of all: "farewell to you my friend" by raymond lauchengco. after that, proceed to "california" complete with the instrumental intro. "tanananan, tananan tanan-nan-nanan..." yes. california here we come, right back where we started from.

of course, the chorus of "mr. brightside" should not be left out to be followed by a short sample of "this fire" by franz ferdinand. i don't really want to make this too difficult for them so my second to the last song should be something taken from "evita," preferably "high flying adored." then back to "farewell to you my friend," for that perfect finish. they should all be in a very provocative tableau in front of my casket by the time the number ends.

and the race is on...

***

two weeks into the job and here i am sweating it out:

no, my dear friends, that picture was not orchestrated; i was really doing what it looks like. not that i'm complaining, but after revising the same thing for a million times, my head just conked out on me, very much just like what lorena beverly gil-bobbitt did to mundi. (lorena is mundi's car.) after taking this picture, my officemate tanya tapped me on the shoulder and told me in a very "conpiratorial" way that the vice president had just made rounds.

great.

on another note, i should accessorize my work station soon. it looks plain and very un-carl-y.

and now, this is me and tanya. our department is called the "strong center," so this is our interpretation of being strong, at the strong center.

feel the supreme strength of style. yeah babe.

***

another office matter. i finally have an officemate crush. he's so adorable, gentle and we haven't had susbstantial conversation. it's his last day today.

i don't make hollow threats

2006-03-28T15:05:00.002+08:00

i don't. when i say it, i probably will do it. so here's a ym conversation that might just change the world. but now that i'm thinking about it, this dialogue can put ellen degeneres to shame.

(note: i am "this." though i'm sure you'd figure it out almost immediately.)

marts_ac: bigay ka nga ng book(s) na you think helped change the world... bawal bible
BUZZ!!!
this: ano ba yan
this: the magna carta
this: yung book ni karl marx
marts_ac: ano pa?
this: catcher in the rye
this: hahahaha
marts_ac: hehehehe! world... hindi yung world lang natin
marts_ac: hehehe
this: sira international bestseller yun
marts_ac: onga
marts_ac: pero yung world shaking
marts_ac: hehehehe
marts_ac: alam ko lahat tayo dinaanan yung catcher nung bata tayo
marts_ac: hehehe
marts_ac: pero yung magnitude nun eh parang animal farm lang...
marts_ac: di ba?
marts_ac: gets mo?
marts_ac: di tulad ng da vinci na naquestion ang religion natin?
marts_ac: tama ba?
this: EXCUSE ME!!!
this: you deign tell me na mas may impact si dan brown kesa kay jd salinger
marts_ac: kit?
this: akala ko ba writer ka
this: anu ba basura si dan brown.
marts_ac: literary oo
marts_ac: mas ok si dan brown
this: fad lang yung da vinci
marts_ac: pero yung kailangan namin eh books na yung may malaking impact s amundo...
this: ano ba yung konteksto?
marts_ac: fad siya = it means malaki yung impact niya sa mundo?
this: no
marts_ac: unlike catcher, na iilan lang ang nakakaalam nito
marts_ac: i need books that helped changed the world...
this: well da vinci is not one of those.
marts_ac: where we can distinctly show the before and after
this: ang kulit walang nagbago sa mundo dahil sa davinci. wala.
marts_ac: not necessarily nagbago
marts_ac: more on made an impact
this: WALA nga
this: mas malaki pa ata impact ng mga sandman comics
this: or vampire chronicles ni anne rice
marts_ac: pano naging mas malaki? eh kaw na mismo ang nagsabi na fad lang angda vinci...
this: oo nga
this: pero series ang mga sinabi ko
this: sustained fad
marts_ac: the mere fact na inamin mo na fad ang da vinci...
marts_ac: sustained fad or whatever fad it is, it only means apektado ang mundo
this: hindi ko inamin na fad ang davinci. dineclare ko. its a known fact
marts_ac: and the reason na tinawag siyang fad kasi in a grander scale siya
this: no, the reason na tinawag syang fad, kasi uso sya
marts_ac: well the point na dineclare mo na its a known fact...
this: yeah
this: pero mali definition mo ng fad
marts_ac: ano ang tamang definition ng fad?
this: uso nga
this: it's in.
marts_ac: and sustained fad?
this: a fad doesnt change the world, martin
this: a sustained fad is a phrase i used to communicate a phenomenon but apparently it was lost on you
this: it's not an official term, it's 2 words that i combined to form a phrase
marts_ac: pero ilang beses ko nga sasabihin na not necessarily change the world. more on made an impact
marts_ac: hahahaha!!
this: message mo: marts_ac: bigay ka nga ng book(s) na you think helped change the world... bawal bible
marts_ac: miski na wala sa dictionary yun... ang sustained fad mo ay...
marts_ac: scroll down
this: sustained fad, its a fad that's been carried on for a long period of time
this: anu ba
this: it outlasted one book
this: the vampuire chronicles is a series, so're the sandman comics
this: these books sparked a renewed interest for their respective genre
marts_ac: kaya nga
this: i can CONSIDER them to have change the world because it shaped the imagination of a generation
marts_ac: kung uso man siya, at na-sustain siya must mean it made an impact one way or the other
this: that's my final answer
marts_ac: sparked a renewed interest = made an impact
marts_ac: oh carlo...
this: your twisting my words
this: bahala ka and good luck sa job order mo
marts_ac: i may have been stupid back in high school and college...
marts_ac: but now im less stupid
marts_ac: hehehehe
marts_ac: im not twisting it
marts_ac: im only stating the obvious
this: i can copy and paste this convo in my blog and people will laugh at you
marts_ac: go ahead
this: im having a smoke. bye
marts_ac: by all means
marts_ac: ur having smoke?

the best part about talking to intelligent people is that you always learn something fascinating. too bad that doesn't happen often enough.

back-broken

2006-03-26T15:22:00.000+08:00

you have never attended a social event in the good ol' 80's if you do not have a close up picture of yourself superimposed on a wineglass. not that i am tolerating the...um...artform, but here is an approximation rendered on our modern tool (aka photoshop). well, if you want one too, just leave a message on my comment box with a link to your picture. hahaha

***
on carl news:

well, in the first place, i did not really like it all that much. as i've told my friend lotte: i was not compelled; and i'm gay. this is my personal opinion, which i am entitled to not because i am a communication major, or gay, but because i am an individual with a functioning mind and a fairly developed sense of aesthetics. but this is not really the issue.

but don't get me wrong. "brokeback mountain" has its merits apart from it's artistry. it was a brave move on the part of everyone involved in the production (especially the producers) and that in itself demands respect. perhaps one reason why i was not able to enjoy the movie a lot was because the other people in the cinema kept on laughing and howling during intimate scenes. like, who forced them to go see the movie anyway? respect. if you can't respect the film and the part of society it longs to reflect, then respect the other people in the theater. do you want me to laugh when there's a girl being raped in some dumpsite because her panties don't match her bra?

but that's yesterday's news. the real issue regarding "brokeback mountain" in recent history happened last friday. i was with louis and we were in metrowalk waiting for ler so we decided to go up to the shops first. i really wanted to look for some wong kar wai films. i remembered that mundi once told me that they had some pretty rare stuff there at metrowalk. but when i went down the corridor, when those ratty salesmen saw me--i was in a good mood therefore jumpy and jolly and all--they suddenly started calling my attention shouting "brokeback! brokeback!"

that was just too low.

i as hell do not assume that they love watching "jologs" or "ang mga batang yagit" or if they're actually sophisticated enough (which they are not) "city of god."

and. if i really was a fan of the movie, they should have assumed that i already owned at least twenty copies of it goddamnit.

at republic glass

2006-03-21T20:49:00.000+08:00

you just gotta love how we adapt english words to our culture.

here in manila, fashion is a verb. all you have to do is insert the ever flexible "um" between f and the rest of the letters and viola, you have the past tense form. for the present form of this verb, you add "fuma" to fashion. accent always on the last syllable. here are girls who are fumafashion:

***
now, stuff about me. (i typed this yesterday. today, after arriving at the office an hour late, i decided that the first thing to attend to would have to be the blog.)

when i first entered the office of the creatives department, the head honcho said "so carl will stay in the middle first?" he was referring to one of the long tables in the middle where people put stuff and cut paper and eat and play and basically do anything they want that they wouldn't do in their workstations. i was about to bring out my pen and my notepad and a paperbag to put on my head.

however, randy, a former college blockmate and friend and now officemate, pointed out to the empty workstation. needless to say, I was assigned to said workstation but only after clearing it of betacam tapes and paper and random stuff; apparently, in my advent, the corner, the vacant workstation, moonlighted as dump site for the creatives team. so i was confused; did i get lucky, or did i not? i heard the ants on the table answer me but i wasn't able to understand what they said.

this was yesterday.

i spent the rest of yesterday wiping and cleaning the station. i spent the first half of today doing just that too. the computer did not have internet access. that was ok. however, i was trying to configure the settings when i realized that i was having a reunion with a long-lost os whim i haven't seen for a very long time; his name was windows 98. after hanging on me two times while i was in the middle of working on something, the computer had to be whisked away in a stretcher. i was hearing syrens as this was happening. meanwhile, my work was recovered and i realized that omg, i really am part of the working force now.

bringing home hongkong to north susana

2006-03-20T01:06:00.000+08:00

"hug the pole," ler said.

i hugged the friggin pole.

we were in kimberley road just a few meters down from our hotel. he just bought the 50mm f/1.4D nikkor lens and he was trying it out. so he attached it to his nikon d70. fancy gadgets, fancy location, and an even fancier subject. perfect. it was past midnight. before that, he asked me to sit on the road. as in on the friggin road right behind a parked cab, where a yellow handicap sign was painted. these are the images of hong kong i was going to bring home. me lying down on the road, me squatting by an iluminated heineken sign. on the other side of the road were local kids watching these two pinoys play with a camera. i wonder what baduy in cantonese is.

* * *

NORTH SUSANA (sung to the tune of "california")

earlier today, i took my mom outside because she had to buy a sack of rice. i live in a village within another village along commonwealth avenue. before i continue with my story, i have to stop and deconstruct that.

the village i live in is called "north susana." or "north susana executive village" to be precise. it is the most wonderful. lyrical-sounding and elegant name for a gated community and i am so glad the developers of this one was able to beat everyone else to it. (i hope they had patented it.) there are two things i want to know: where "south susana" is and who the hell this susana is.

anyway, we are along commonwealth avenue. commonwealth avenue is a fourteen-lane highway. cars and busses and trucks here are very fast so the pdestrians run extra faster when they cross it, just right under the designated pedestrian overpasses. the highway looks fine. the up diliman campus is right along it and on the other side is the big "castle" of the iglesia ni cristo. however, a good length of commonwealth is flanked by squatter colonies on both sides, just before you get to the entrance of the village right in front of mine. sorry, in front of north susana.

anyway, i took my mom there to buy rice. these ...er... poor people are also enterprising so they have like a market there and they sell vegetables, other raw stuff, and apparently rice.

i waited in the car. it was a very busy place and since the sidewalk was already occupied by stalls, people decided to walk on the highway itself. and these folks did not seem to mind that there were things along their path. things like passing cars, giant trucks and trikes.

anyway, so i smoked while waiting. when my mom suddenly appeared in the rearview mirror, i dropped the cigarette. (i know, it's like so high school but i just don't want her to see me smoking.) and the most shocking thing happened. i dropped the ciggie there on the dirty dirty pavement. the man who was passing by the side of my car bent down. next i saw, he had the ciggie i threw and he was smoking it.

i cannot inject any judgements in retelling the occurrence. i am still in shock.

2006-03-18T22:00:00.000+08:00

what is baduy?

baduy is often defined as corny, mushy or something heartbreakingly cheesy. baduy is when lover kneels down in front of beloved in the quadrangle during lunch break to profess undying love in front of the entire university. props like giant teddy bear and flowers involved. baduy is yellow patent leather baby doll shoes. baduy is hotdog in spaghetti.

there is nothing wrong with baduy. it's just...not the best option to take.

in reality, baduy is guilty pleasure. baduy is something we all are or do or have. the mind is too sophisticated to be all-conforming all the time.

blas from the past (sic): a mcpost

2006-03-15T02:26:00.000+08:00

is it ironic that i am bored even if i have a gazillion things to do? well mostly for school. that's my talent, i guess. i can get bored even if i should be busy. i heard that some would classify this as sloth.

***

i haven't been posting. that's another talent. actually, just like my work backlog, i’ve got a gazillion stories to tell. and i am not talking about the brilliant (i think) short story concepts that i have in my head (that all remain to be just that: concepts), but actual non-fiction. which is actually weird for somebody who's self absorbed. would you not expect the blog of someone like me to be full of entries, well about myself and how exciting my life is?

this past month or so, i've gotten myself into some "blog-worthy" situations like getting lost in mongkok in hk (and! i left my shopping bag in the counter and only realized it when i was back at the hotel, a couple of train stops away), had to go through a high school barkada get-together and a grade school friends dinner. and oh, i am looking for a job. i am actually looking for work. who would have thought. (yes, period, and not a question mark.)

prior to tonight, i'd actually deluded myself that i can go on without actually earning money and that getting paid to be my parents' son could actually cover too that little thing that spoiled brats usually ignore: fulfillment. i havent realized the importance of career fulfillment yet but it may come. what really irks me is that my well's so dried up i can't join my friends to boracay this summer. i must find a job and earn cash and go on sprees periodically.

the other night, i was talking to a friend lotte and i realized that i could easily spend 3,000 bucks a day without being capricious. i mean if i want to live my life the way i really want to. decent food, enough gas, parking, and all that stuff--then 3,000 a day is not a scandalous budget. so i computed it (i needed a calculator, im such a math loser) and found out that in order for this to happen, i must earn close to 100,000 a friggin month. and when will that happen? when im close to retirement age?

since this is a mcpost, and i am fooling myself by thinking that i shall soon be dragging my lazy ass in front of the computer to type down detailed narrations of these occurrences, i will just end this by saying that lazy as i may be, full of flaws and everything, i just realized that i have good friends.

all the get-together events have made me realize that:

1) i can rekindle MOST friendships from the past (yes, hans, i've finally found myself a case of full-depreciation, and you know what, the thing about those is that it's nothing to feel sorry for. i still am royalty, in a sick collegiate and fucked up way.)

2) the friendships i have--or more appropriately, enjoy--now are still intact not because i am a good friend but because i was blessed to have met people who accept me for who i am. because through all these years, god knows i've done the same for them. and if you are reading this and i call you a friend, then you should know that even if we talk and you find yourself hearing me wishing ill of all those losers out there, i want nothing but the best for you.

but then who am i kidding? most of my friends are lazy to pay attention to blogs that are not photoblogs.

***

lotte and i had dinner and the most important thing i've learned from the conversation we had was that: a real gorilla doesn't know that it's a gorilla.

so i should tell myself to stop analyzing life and to just fucking live it. and to try writing about it here.

and because she was asking about it since she hasn't seen it yet, i told her (re "Brokeback Mountain"): "i wasn't compelled. and i'm gay."

***

for the past weeks (actually ever since i got back from hk--and i went there mid feb) the music playing in my head's always from 'evita.' i do not know why. imagine: "santa santa evita... 'madre delos todos del ninos, delos trabajadores delos descamisados del Argentina [and then some more spanish shit]..."

another musically related nugget: i finally searched the lyrics of "mr. brightside" by the killers and was spectacularly mortified to find out that for the longest time now, the lyrics i have been singing (rather loudly in public) is fantastically screwed up. ignorance of this was bliss. at least now, i know the correct words.

***

The prime shift

2006-02-08T23:57:00.000+08:00

I have been crying the entire evening.

It is funny how I could get caught up in my own drama. Sure life kind of sucks and my future's one big blur and my present's not material for a happy story either. But these are not why I have been shedding tears.

My day was pretty eventful--it was a grueling day and the first half of which was spent in bed, sleeping. The other half was spent...er well in bed, um...reflecting, staring at the ceiling, stuffing myself with chocolate that I stashed and hid from the rest of my family in cases of emergencies such as this one. I started reading Twisted 7, the latest book by Jessica Zafra and although I highly enjoyed her humor and strong sense of the ironic, I started to pray that there would be irony when I deliver the report on it in front of very...serious people in partial completion of one of the most frustrating classes in my life as an MA student.

Last night (or early morning--around 1 am), I made a killer refrigerator cake which consists of crushed graham crackers, condensed milk, butter and loads and loads of all-purpose cream. (hmmm ALL-PURPOSE cream, is it just me or does that really sound kinky?) I topped it off with that yummy powdered mocha capuccino mix because I decided that it would be like a makeshift, fucked up tiramisu from cholesterol hell. I was too afraid to touch it before hitting the sack because I had every intention to wake up. Today, it was my constant companion and I held the Pyrex container everywhere I went.

Me, my robe, my stubble and an entire Pyrex of death. Promising.

So at sundown after changing from my robe to another robe, I wondered into the master bedroom. My parents lock their room when they are not at home but my mother always always always every freakin day tells me where she leaves her keys, a secret hiding place behind ceramic figurines, which leaves me wondering what the point of locking the room is. When my parents got rid of their beds (yeah, they had separate beds--weird but not really disturbing. you just get used to the idea that your parents are not the king-sized bed type of couple) and switched to a sofa bed, I started to think that perhaps they are cooler than me, the only son and eldest child who's supposed to bring in all the funk and teenage drama in the family. The walls are green and yellow. (Me, I stuck to very predictable blue and white and so Glen and Ler think my room looks like a chapel, or at least the door looks like it leads to a prayer room or something.) But still, this is not the catalyst of my sobfest.

I turned the TV on and channel surfing stopped when I stumbled upon "Entertainment Tonight" airing over RPN 9. The usual Hollywood drama never fails to make me sit there in an indian squat, eyes glued on the screen and a spoon hanging out of my mouth. Cream melting on my tongue like guilty pleasure worthy to be juxtaposed with celebrities baring their deepest, darkest secrets which basically do not compare with what we middle class kids from the third world have inside our closets.

And after that, "The Prime Shift."

The Prime shift is what RPN 9 calls their evening line-up which I just found out, is mostly made up of American shows. Like ninety percent, if not a hundred, is in that popular "reality" format. However, unlike those stupid ones that have a bunch of people staying inside a house for a hundred days in the hopes of catching them make out with each other, The Prime Shift's shows are those that appeal to people who loves the fact that they can think and feel. Tonight, "Iron Chef," "Three Wishes," and "Extreme Makeover Home Edition" were on.

"Iron Chef" is not an American Show but a Japanese show that had real issues in dubbing. But still, it proved to be entertaining, watching extremely skilled and experienced chefs scramble in a kitchen stadium as they prepare a magnificent meal within an hour. Today's theme was "truffle," some ingredient I don't think I have tasted yet, or if I had, I wasn't aware that I was eating it. If I was in fact aware, I would have dropped the spoon to run to the nearest bathroom because although a favorite French delicacy, it was still a kind of fungus--an expensive one but nonetheless.

"Three Wishes" is when my lacrimal glands started to go haywire. One wish was from a girl who wanted her sister to experience her high school graduation. I missed the cause of this but it was obvious that the sister was not able to march up the stage to get her diploma, well, because she cannot march. She even had a difficulty in speaking and perhaps she is paralyzed, or was paralyzed, or something. She had a team of therapists working on her and there was an events organizer sweating her butt off to gather all the high school classmates in order to recreate the commencement exercises.

The day of the "graduation," it started to rain and the hosts (or miracle workers) started to get upset for the graduation was set outdoors and the stadium was already decked. A large sign said "Believe" and apparently, this was the "powerful word" that held our paralyzed heroine together. (One of her therapy sessions had her in a swimming pool and her therapist was so hot with the tan and rippled abs so I started to think that being immobile had its perks after all.) But then, just before they totally resigned to postponing the evnt, a rainbow appeared in the sky. (God's talent in cinematography here.)

Needless to say, our heroine had her graduation. When her name was called, everyone froze as she stood up with much difficulty equivalent to single-handedly rebuilding the lost city of Troy. Everyone was crying and they cried even more when she, with the aid of her hot hot hot physical therapist who kind of looked like a young Tom Cruise, attempted to walk. He held her under her arms, and she started to take steps towards the principal. At this point, I had to call someone to mop the puddle of tears off the floor. "Believe."

"Extreme Makeover Home Edition" was supposed to be fun but perhaps I am too condescending to enjoy it for what it just was: a home makeover. The house, or the shack, belonged to a young Mexican couple with four kids. They lived in LA and when the husband's mom died from a stray bullet while she was vacationing in the couple's house, they took in his five very young brothers and sisters. Instantly, they became a family of eleven and since then, they had been struggling with the bills, the social workers scrutinizing their shack and not to mention keeping that "house" from crumbling to the ground.

Luckily, the "design team" came to save the day.

The family was hauled to Disneyworld for a week and during this period, the design team demolished the house and rebuilt a new one. (No exaggeration--what can I say, the wonders of the first world...) From a structure that only had one sort-of-functioning-but-not-really-working bathroom (one had to use pliers to turn on the shower), the new three-story house featured a two-story master suite, a dinosaur-themed boys bedroom complete with huge dinosaur bunk beds and toys, a spy-inspired bedroom complete with sophisticated surveillance equipment, a "Miss America" themed bedroom, a Mexico Heritage room, a music room, a study for the kids which had like four personal computers, a gourmet kitchen and a bathtub. The most touching scene is when the autistic kid's face lit up when he entered his new room which took a skilled interior designer and a pair of experts (psychiatrists, I think) to plan and put together.

The family kept on crying as they hopped from one room to the other and I myself was consuming my fourth roll of tissue when it got to the part where someone promised to pay their year's worth of utilities. And then I suddenly became sure that that's what I want to do. I want to help people like that, make a difference and somehow make it possible for the less fortunate to experience what growing up for me was like. (Er, well not the drama part, just in the economic sense.)

For this endeavor, a masters degree in creative writing will not help me. I shall need a devoted staff, a production crew, some state of the art equipment--one OB Van and at least eight cameras--the best make-up artist and wardrobe assistant as well as a slot in the primetime mainstream TV. But this won't be another one of those "helping out the masses" sort of gameshow that's gonna be responsible for a stampede and the death of close to a hundred. This will be pure class and I can't wait to behold the look on a takatak boy's face when I present him with his very first summer wardrobe.

So after crying over those shows, after being touched by real-life drama, I started sobbing out of fear for myself--Deus knows I need to find a new routine in my life before I get too soft.

deus ex machina

2006-02-06T05:12:00.000+08:00

god as machine.

being a communication major and lit minor, i would like to think that my opinions on movies and stories are informed. being someone who's had his taste of how life could get random, i used to think that i knew what was impossible. i watched stuff on tv, in the movies, and read short fiction or novels and I would be very particular when it comes to the plot's twists and turns. i was extremely privy to suspension of disbelief. "that doesn't happen in real life," I would say.

until deus himself sent me this message: "well guess what carl, they could happen in real life. in fact, they would happen in yours. you think you're screwed up, huh. wait till i'm done with you." thank you lord.

welcome to the season 2 of my post-college life. in the following episodes, you will understand through specific stories what the hell i am talking about. so far there's the career disaster, the beautiful boy who had no interest in riding on me but enjoyed riding my car, the curse of being the common close friend of a pair of lovers, and of course being "rich" in the third world.

god is watching us. i bet i am his favorite comedy series.