not so long ago... :p

Wii erm, wheee!

look what i just got in "celebration" of my early onset quarter-life crisis! Indecision by Benjamin Kunkel. It has been in our list of prizes for our walking weekend bonanza (WWB haha), and I'm so happy i finally have it. thanks to ate, who got an extremely distinctive "accomplice" (ms. lebron, hehe), for getting me this book while i am at the same bookstore with her. It is always good to be vocal about the things you like you know, hehe.

I hope to read this soon (if not tonight), for now, here's a peek of what the book is about:

amidst a midlife crisis, 28-year old dwight is afflicted with a "chronic inability to make up his mind". he comes across an experimental drug targeted to cure indecision and gets encouraged (not without much meditation on doing so) to take the pill. when suddenly, he gets fired from his job and gets invited for a getaway in an exotic place by his long time girl-fantasy, he finds himself on the edge of a new life. thing is, he can't decide if the pill is working and in the middle of his would-be romantic escape, comes a "hilarious journey into unbidden responsibility and unwelcome knowledge--and an unexpected reason for being". (whew)

heaven knows

07.22.2005

In the middle of another article, your most-anticipated song of late, Heaven Knows (by Orange and Lemons), plays on your Jurassic transistor radio. A smile instantaneously flashes across your face and there’s no denying, the song simply made your day. You leave an erstwhile impulse to write that particular article and veered off to this thing which made an otherwise clear day turn into a blast. (Yahoo! yahoo! wait up…you’re starting to sound irritatingly bouncy…) Okay, that was an enormous bit of exaggeration, but sometimes when things become so sorely desolate, hearing your song or any good music for that matter, is as refreshing as your favorite strawberry lemonade. As one friend puts it, waiting for your song on the radio gives a different thrill, even with the stream of ipods and mp3 players in tow. (Now, sure hope that doesn’t sound like sour graping eh?)

What makes the song so pleasurable anyway? Ahh, that’s quite a perfect modifier don’t you think? Perhaps, its rarity is one thing that makes it even more desired (if desired is once again too intense an adjective, let us change that to sough-after). As of this writing, this song is being aired by just one radio station (no, it’s not --- ---. -), and not as often as you can demand it aired. You see, people oftentimes have this unconscious yearning for things apparently beyond reach. Perhaps, getting hold of what seems unattainable makes everything sweeter, not to mention interesting and more energizing on the part of the one who hankers.

You might not exactly have the ear for musical genius, but you sure love the way the song soothes your deadbeat feeling. Certainly, you have your personal long-drive (where you picture yourself driving alone or with company, driving through a road lined with oak trees one auburn afternoon…), feel-good, wake-up, charge-up and, emote songs on your request/play list; even so, Heaven Knows can be simply singled out as your song—or anybody’s favorite, for several good reasons, and for the most part, the libretto.

This articulation may perfectly appear unsolicited, yet we pigeonhole the song into either the “songs-you-wish-were-sung-for-you” or “unfortunately-I’m-singing-this-song...are-you-happy-now?“ categories. It largely depends on which side of the fence you’re in. To those who think they belong to the former, shall we say, good for you? Where as to those coming from the other side, we are here to commiserate—for what can be a more cheerless story than that of the one who got away? (Thanks to that circulating email Re: the one who got away.)

To maintain an impartial view of the whole picture, let’s take a quick glance into these two categories if only to try and make both sides feel better and at least let them find consolation in the middle of whatever they have to put up with.

Friend, if you’re one among those who wish this song was for you, could we just say in jest—aren’t you one big lump of an egomaniac? All right, you’ve made your point, you were somebody’s loss, so quit being overwhelmed that you’re such a prized catch and the other party was an aching loser for letting you go. May you find the person who deserves you and hopefully you deserve him/her too. (Is it really a question of being worthy?) Jumping over to the other side of the fence: what happened? Why did you have to let your angel go? What did you do wrong? Whatever the reason, and if it makes you feel better, your gesture of “letting go” is very much appreciated, that is if you’re at fault for whatever went wrong, and probably more so if you’re not. Although a little introspection wouldn’t hurt, would it?

Meanwhile, we have some sound trip to get back to…

brevity

thermal paper

thought you were something special

amazingly smooth, reasonably pricey, but you can

never keep what’s written for eternity

**

obituary

sketches of a lifelong journey

can a few words really capture one being?
whose final quest –a memory

HAIKU

**

chocolate

your hugs and kisses

are better than calories

from a bar of Twix

**

fixation

stillness becomes you

as though ensnared, by unseen

forces around you

**

epicurean delight

refined at its best

but how can you satisfy

my hunger for real

**

leaf

falling off a tree

under the auburn sunlight

warming your sad eyes

**

words

soft utterances

disengage a raging storm

in your quiet mind

**

dung

they say, it happens

allow it not to ruin

a promising day

**

an epitaph

here lies a body

of crashed idealisms

your one passion –dead

**

song

invisible thread

sailing through oceans parting

you and your lost soul

**

words (II)

whose strength and power

lie largely in the meaning

liberating truth

**

hero

a revelation

of gallantry illusion

when false heroes die

**

beginnings

the end of a bend

commenced a straight path ahead

embarking anew

**

ikebana

heaven, earth and man

more than just an arrangement

life encompassing

**

silence

a double-edged sword

a flailing machinery

of misconceptions

**

rain

washed away and drenched

mem’ries of your bitterness

a parched spirit quenched

**

lies

cast a masquerade

steer clear from a stropped dagger

bless the blameless one

**

why people should not go to the malls...

09.21.2005

*****

After a rough day, your tired feet manage to carry you to a stop at the mall. As you amble your way inside, tired and quite exhausted, a Nemo-got-lost-feeling dawns on you while walking against the flow of the swarm of people. You wonder what these folks are up to, why do they even go to the mall. Quite a number of Filipinos are absolute mall rats. Rats! Hehe. Some go there just because—as though observing The Tao of Pooh: Pooh just is. Then, your antagonist persona thinks about the pretty interesting reasons for not going to the malls…

1. Paranoia leads you to believe that these shopping centers—havens to mall enthusiasts—could be easy targets for terrorist assaults.
2. Although you enjoy poring on books at National Bookstore and Powerbooks and Fully-booked, even finishing Kokology, on installment reading-trips (sheesh! next target: Ang Alamat ng Gubat), you wouldn’t like to visit the mall if you end up spending a HUGE part of your measly income on unplanned book-purchases.
3. A stop at the music store tells the same story as number two, only different, humming to a torment-yourself-tune, where in you find all the CDs (and tapes—yes cassette tapes still exist—yey!) you like, play that of your current favorite’s a while and decide to get a freeboot version instead. Are we hearing a confession? Or are we looking at heads nodding in unison? Waha!
4. Trying to relax yourself while taking pleasure in ambling, you almost crash into a lady. Now what’s interesting about that? Well, the lady looked fairly decent, but she seemed to have broken away from Mandaluyong (or must be trying to find her friends from ward seven), she was mumbling sharp words, and seemed really unstable. A couple of fellow ramblers give her a quick second-look, including yourself and you realize no one should’ve looked at her that way, but is there anyone to blame? Should anyone be blamed for people going nuts?
5. If you’re the queasy-easily-hate-sticky-floors-type, you shouldn’t go to ordinary malls. Darlings like you should keep yourself to the high-end establishments where shoes and stilettos treading their floors never walk on grimy cobbled sidewalks.
6. You shouldn’t go to the mall if you are this person who is Gagay-in-the-flesh-the brownout princess, they call her, when the entire mall had to put up with a major power interruption while she was simply having lunch with a friend. (HemHem!) She does that even in Cavite, go ask her relatives, where this person is, power failure follows.
7. You wouldn’t like to go to the mall when the mall leaves you walking with memories of friends minus the friends themselves, who are, at this point, busying themselves with work, med school, and who seem to be practically living in their own cosmos, very far away from your own.

Even then, with their accessibility—malls abound in every major city—SM and Robinson’s even put up adjacent stores—and the simple pleasure of window shopping, being with friends, or bumping into old friends, some people cannot simply do without the mall.

playing solitaire

Playing Solitaire

A lot of people are familiar with the game of solitaire. There are those who play the game for lack of more productive things to do, while others think it’s a welcome and well deserved retreat from their usual humdrum schedule. If you’re one of those who play solitaire for lack of better things to do, you must have found yourselves getting frustrated over not completing a game in a series of ten. (Especially when you lay a wager, that if you complete this particular game, yes, you will get the promotion you’ve been waiting for, or Ana will finally agree to go out with you…things like that…come on, don’t deny it…) The computer version is more, shall we say, bamboozle-proof, that is, when there are no remaining legal moves, the game is really over (but you can always start a new game). Unlike when you play it using the playing cards, you are often tempted to modify rules to your advantage, e.g. shuffling the remaining cards, suddenly drawing one card at a time when you started with three…so, who’d say I’m not guilty? Hmmm, okay there’s no need to say I’m sorry and that it was a lapse of judgment on your part, there’s nothing far-reaching in doing this little trick to complete a silly game anyway…But then, you do realize, that it is indeed, just a game.

However, some people do treat life as game. What do we know, perhaps, life is an all-important game of solitaire. If you try and see your life the way you engage in this game, a few significant realizations inevitably strikes you. First, you start the game by laying down your cards with the object of using all the cards in the deck to build up the four suit stacks in ascending order. Then you consider all available plays and turn over cards from the deck when you have exhausted all available moves. As you go about building row stacks and suit stacks, you are faced with different choices. You sometimes encounter a fix where in you have to choose which of the two stacks you should move to an empty space. Disappointment steps in when your choice turns out to arrest the all-important card that will let you complete the game. The same goes true for a lot of choices you have to make in your life. You have chosen to simply go with the flow for the longest time, but once the unavoidable knocks, you have to make a choice and be grown-up enough to live with this choice and the consequences that will ensue, because it is not always that you’re given the luxury of undo.

On an even more earnest note, you’d probably appreciate that so much about a person’s character can even be revealed with the way he or she plays his solitaire. It is not to presume one person as an inexorable loner, simply because he or she is so hooked on solitaire. By character, we’re talking of something else deeper—that thing called integrity, which is aptly put to a test even through a seemingly trivial thing as playing this game. Integrity, they say, is doing what is right even with nobody looking—something we all need to get reacquainted and identified with and once again be completely assimilated to.

In the end, whether the cards animatedly jump on your screen is a matter of how you play your cards. For some, it would not even be an issue of winning the game but trying to come out as better individuals, with an improved sense of value, every game of solitaire they play.

of roses and kalatsutsi

09.13.2005

A rose by any other name smells as sweet…--W. Shakespeare

It is most certainly not in your nature to compare thyself with a rose, or anything too girly for that matter. Then again, you thought, Shakespeare’s words captured the essence of your current ponderings… So you gave in to momentarily relating with a rose.

Some people believe that the name given to a person actually has some bearing on his/her personality. Others think it’s just a matter of a name sounding right.

With all due respect, you remember your grade school teacher. She was also your sister’s teacher so you’ve heard sister mention your teacher’s family name around the house even before you actually met the lady. She was called Ms. Bulala. Immediately, you imagined a big-boned, full-figured, stern looking lady in her mid-40s. When she became your class adviser in grade 6, you were only too surprised to find out the exact opposite of what you thought she looked like. She was thin, even svelte and far from the mean picture you had of her. Funny eh, you hear: don’t judge my brother, he’s not a book!—and you make that, don’t judge a book by how nice its title rings in your ear. That teacher as it turned out, was one of the best you ever had. In high school, as in elem, your sister already gave you bits and pieces of what your teachers were like. And there was Ms. Tequia. Her name sounded like Ms. Tapia, and you automatically thought of a strict-lanky-bespectacled-lonely-middle-aged gal who seemed to have turned away from smiling altogether and kept decanting all her frustrations (guess what?) to her juvenile students. Once again, you were mistaken, for Miss Tequia was not at all like that. She was strict yes, but very reasonable, and she was pretty chubby, so unlike Ms. Tapia.

Even as you’ve had your share of mistaken identities, so to speak, you still couldn’t help estimating what kind of person someone you know, just by the sound of his/her name. Perhaps you shouldn’t, come to think of it, your president doesn’t even come close to what her name stands for. What can you say? Life is packed with irony.

Call it the knack for making associations. Say, Bruno! and you suddenly find yourself sitting beside a burly physique, very mannish…until you hear him speak. Haha! Then there is Belle…what a beauty…Bianca…always with an air of sophistication…Jeri…for a girl, sounds really sporty…Earnest sounds rather, well, earnest…Petra, a supermodel is named Petra…Jimmy, you think of St. Jimmy…Alex sounds a cool name for a girl too…Noel…Robert…Marion…Mayumi…what do you think?

This chickabiddy-trying-hard-to-be-grown-up-but-comes-out-a-small-fry Mean, was supposed to be named Yvette or Ronette. If you knew her, nobody would stop you from laughing at the idea of Mean being named Ronette. Perhaps she would’ve been the sporty kid she always wished she was (major frustration attack!!!) had she been baptized Ronette Bautista. With Yvette, you’re thinking, it sounds too feminine for her. Haha!

So, the universe must have conspired with her lolo who insisted on naming her Mary Ann. The name is okay…at least she thinks it is. And her name is not without variations, her family and friends can tell. She’s Ann and Bunso to her mama, Mean to most of her friends, Ea to her family, Me or Meanbesh to other friends. An interesting variation is Meantot, interesting but not exactly pleasing eh? Just the same, no matter how you call any person…a rose by any other name, should smell as sweet, otherwise, you must be smelling kalatsutsi and not know it…

from Paulo Coehlo

Sept. 13, 2005

A Strange Entry from Someone Like Me

Here’s something worth sharing to people who are willing to take the risk of being foolish in love (whoa! do you realize the strangeness? It’s very odd to even find an entry like this in here) …excerpts from Paulo Coehlo’s Eleven Minutes, a book so unlike me to have read but nonetheless managed to come off stirring a plethora of emotions, always leaving willing readers rich with insight, almost like embracing a treasure-trove. Maria, the heroine is an amazing woman…

"all my life, i thought of love as some kind of voluntary enslavement. well, that's a lie: freedom only exists when love is present. the person who gives him or herself wholly, the person who feels the freest, is the person who loves most wholeheartedly."

"and the person who loves wholeheartedly feels free."

“that is why regardless of what i might experience, do or learn, nothing makes sense. i hope the time passes quickly, so that i can resume my search for myself- in the form of a person who understands me and does not make me suffer."

"but what am i saying? in love, no one can harm anyone else; we are responsible for our own feelings and cannot blame someone else for what we feel.

it hurt when i lost each of the various persons i fell in love with.. now, though i am convinced that no one loses anyone, because no one owns anyone."

"that is the true experience of freedom; having the most important thing in the world without owning it."

Baclaran Day and the Original Shaider

Note: Original post, july 2005

*****

“SHOT your garbage here.”

This sign seemed like it was shrieking at people’s faces over one of the flights leading to the LRT Baclaran station. You can’t help but become amused by such things can you? Just make sure it doesn’t get to your nerves and simply satisfy yourself that life goes on—with or without a sound syntax, even if you were itching to scratch the word off and correct the sentence structure, if only for the benefit of the young ones who might come to read such display of language know-how. This is just one of the many interesting things a dawdling traveler can discover in Baclaran.

If you go there on a Wednesday, off the train and as you find your way to the Church, you are suddenly swamped by a rush of people buying and selling every merchandise that you can possibly think of. A pair of socks sells for ten bucks; there are clothes, shoes, freeboot discs, kitchenware, guns (or toy guns?), cell phones and accessories, silver, etc. It’s very much like your department store only, in Baclaran, you can actually bargain and haggle your way through the purchases you make—very practical in these times when most people are financially-challenged. Of course, the environment is less secure and comfy than the malls you’re more accustomed to.

In the middle of the marketplace, you might even catch yourself with your imagination rolling, and suddenly remember Shaider. (Yes, that character, Alexis, who always had his blue and white pulis pangkalawakan uniform on and turns into an android, called Shaider, so much like Darna, when he shouts, Shaider! He has a friend associate, Annie who always wore this skimpy brown or yellow skirt with boots to match her outfit.)

What brings us back to Shaider-mania? Some vendors peddling repackaged powdered soaps somehow give an impression of a patently obvious Shaider episode. They keep hollering: “Mura ‘to…mura lang bilin niyo na…”. And when you are familiar with how a Shaider episode goes, you’d get the feeling that, the packs of powdered soap they’re selling are from the minions of Fuma Lay-ar—Shaider’s interminable adversary (Can you hear the shigishingshigishing?). Your paranoia gets the better of you and you can’t help getting suspicious when you are there by yourself. Your mind’s eye brings you to a Shaider scene which loosely transpires with the following acts: you buy their soap, smell the whiff of Fuma’s noxious concoctions and wake up in a totally different sphere, a whole new dimension. So you wait for Shaider to rescue you along with the other buyers, who were hoodwinked by Fuma Lay-ar. Then, Annie gives Alexis a buzz (development of text messaging was probably still underway then...) and he turns into Shaider. The minions of his opponent, set loose a monster which hatches from an egg and the lady with the silver hair who happens to be Fuma’s head gofer declares: “Time-space war! Time-space war, ngayon din!” Shaider ripostes with “Blue-Hawk!” and when he gets himself into more pressing trouble—it’s time for his laser-blaster and laser-sword. You wish he calls on his massive automaton (like Bioman’s), but his laser-sword already snagged the monster and did the job. Whew! You’re free as well as the rest of Fuma’s hostages! Your imagination bubble pops and, although the (mis)adventures were quite anti-climactic, you find yourself on your way back to the station, still itching to scratch off that signpost which read: “Shot your garbage here.”

astro-cigarette

i'm reposting most of my works from 2005, napakadaldal ko tlga, hehe, here's another one, originally written in august of that year.

****

Astro! chararan (that was an onomatopoeic attempt wehehe)…astro-cigarette…so goes the humming tune from R.S.P., which brings you back to your humble musings…

Did you ever have that childhood dream of becoming an astronaut? Probably not, and there is just cause for never dreaming to be one anyway, especially when you are the type of kid who never entertained wishful thinking. You must be one realistic baby when you never gave yourself false hopes that you can actually become an astronaut, for one thing, there is no school in the country offering that course, probably the closest you could get to something like it is taking Applied Physics (or we may just be uninformed…). If you happen to be lucky enough to afford schooling abroad (NB: schooling is different from education…aye, aye), well then good for you. Very good for you.

So if you’re the ordinary kid from a middle-class family, being an astronaut will simply remain a dream—an eternal fantasy—something certain things are destined to be. How you wish dreams could persist to the point of becoming real. <orange and lemons is playing, don’t get distracted, contain that itching worm of singing…waha! don’t ruin it…but you’re simply blown away…>

When you are young, dreaming seemed to be your world, people even tell you: just wait ‘til you get to the real world. When you are young, you think that you can make things happen and that making it is as easy as your first addition problem solved. When you are young, you always believed in people and that there will always be something good in every person you meet, no matter how wrongfully they treated you. When you are young, you believed that you could always wear that invisibility cloak when things get queasy and just strip it away when you feel comfortable enough to share a part of yourself. When you are young, you romanticize about every ideal you nurtured in your personhood, only to be disillusioned by too much optimism. When you are young, you take things as they come, never really thinking about the next step, only the here and now. When you are young, you feel sad when people go, when you’re older you feel happy when you see certain people go. When you are young you attach yourself with memories, never letting anything go, but then you realize the one thing anyone can never take from you is the actual experience—they can take your memory away but it doesn’t change the fact that it was you who experienced everything. When you are young, you love making lots of friends until you learn what friendships really mean and be content with the few real ones you’ve got.

When you are young, you choose to dream and then you wake up.

Did you really want to be an astronaut?

Nah.

ayd rudder ve a cosmonaut…

aSTIGMAtism

original post: july 2005

The ophthalmologist told me i have sever astigmatism I could die.

Nah.

Truth is (nobody would’ve cared, waha), I’ve had it for the longest time and it has remained a salient culprit to my faulty vision. They say it is caused by an irregularity in the frontal curvature of the eye. I knew it. So much about me is abnormal.

Having this condition can really prove to be the bane of your existence. The discomfort of having to wear your specs is just one small bite of the mammoth veggie pie you never really liked. The recurrent nausea and headache are the irreverent accomplices.

Why on earth are we garbling thoughts about astigmatism? I wonder.

Is it because I find it insufferable? Not really. It’s because when the doctor said my astigmatism was extremely high and there’s nothing much we can do about it, I somehow felt defenseless and I guess, nobody likes to be left devoid of any defense—even in the most trivial circumstances. I was staring at the astigmatism transforming into an idiosyncratic stigma.

So, I start to shift gears.

Stigma, whose plural form is stigmata/stigmas, is defined as a mark of reproach or disgrace. Consider the irony—as logic would dictate, stigmata, described as the marks resembling the wounds of the crucified body of Christ, could very well mean “marks of disgrace”. The reminder of the so-called marks of disgrace in turn, very well marks the pinnacle of the greatest story of redemption.

The society we call our home, is also home to vast forms of stigma. Ineffaceable marks are laid on people, which speak so much of what we value as humanity. Some are strangely unfounded but others are unfortunately warranted.

Poverty, corruption, disease, and a bad sense of loyalty are just few of society’s stigmas. Despite all these, I choose to believe that we can still live to experience a redeeming sense of value and self-worth as people. So much like me having to endure the rest of my life wearing these thick bespectacled frames, perhaps it’s better to have nothing more insufferable than that.

afternoon delight

This is another repost from my old blog, originally written in 2005.

*******

A mid-afternoon lunch out alone in a busy fast food chain doesn’t really make you a complete anti-social. Well, for one thing, it was your choice to enjoy a hearty meal without any company to speak of, but your pen (your precious retractable courtesy of tito), wallet (sadly clinking with more coins), a pack of facial tissue (for the impeccable timing of a runny nose) and a peevish tummy (on self-imposed starvation after trying to finish your morning load at work…you simply refused to go by mechanical time…). You thought about calling a friend to join you for lunch. Then again you thought, you’d manage without bothering your friend who might be catching some sleep from her night duty. And you remembered, you were having lunch late…way past the noon break, so you get the idea.

After 22 summers of being with your own self, you felt more secure about having lunch alone.

You’ve done it in your freshman year, although back then, you were entirely unwilling to be caught alone drenched in rain in a food chain across the university when a stream of upperclassmen happen to be at the same place passing time waiting for the heavy downpour to stop (hopefully before cars seemed icebergs afloat that infamous street). Perhaps that experience triggered something good, boosting your self-awareness that you can actually take care of yourself. Although you had to point out that it was the first few weeks of class and you’re not a total hermit for spending that afternoon alone.

Warp zone sent you back to that Friday lunch you were having (imagine Mario3 and his magic flute) and started to enjoy (?) your moment. Clutching your tray, you secured a spot and purposely parked your end near the glass panels so you could have a better view of passers-by. You sure have that penchant for observing people and surroundings, something you can’t really do as often and when you’ve got company.

The air-conditioning left you colder than what you would have preferred, having that low threshold for chilly temps. It didn’t help that you were having frosty with your cheeseburger and a large root beer loaded with ice: it was more like ice with root beer (they always do that, you feel like you’re shortchanged, thing is, you allow things like that to happen…too bad eh). Still, you didn’t let it ruin your solitary rendezvous, even if you noticed a 1.27% local tax charged on your bill and wondered where do people’s taxes go—and you answered your own question: everywhere but where taxes should be.

It would have helped if the featured artist at the makeshift concert-stage that afternoon was the band you’re dying to see perform, but no, as fate would have it, she was the last person you would have wanted to see perform. Worse, you felt indifference toward her and don’t you think that indifference is harsher than downbeat dislike? How often does life treat you as a funny story? You know, getting what you don’t really need and running after what you think is what you need when in fact you only want it… You sometimes sense a prowling enemy when life seems to play jokes on you that way.

Even then, you tried to put everything your senses grasped together. The crew over the counter attending to four Koreans, showing off the legendary Filipino hospitality…how the cost of your measly lunch would have fed three kids with a pretty decent meal, those kids who are actually more famished than your stomach forced to starve at will …that as you try to take pleasure in the economy of loneliness, you realize, you can only be grateful for so much.

Your attention is drawn to the sauntering people passing along the other side of your glass pane…young ones with their young ones, women with their men, friends with friends or pseudofriends: (how do they even know?)…that guy with his weighed down eyes mulling over a pending retrenchment… You discovered that you were not simply watching people, beyond each person you came across—no matter how hard you endured an annoying PDA or how silly one man wore his few remaining hairs over his spotless head, or how much rowdier the youngsters can get when they should have been attending class (as if you never did the same)—there were stories and lives who are awaiting to be revealed, perhaps not to you but to the people they choose to reveal themselves to. It suddenly struck you, people do seem to have that longing to be found—if you’ve seen Lost in Translation, you’d probably get the drift.

As you took the last bite of what you had yourself convinced was a lip-smacking-treat, you look forward to another one of these lunch outs alone, although you could always spare some company, it sure is healthier if you indulge in things like these in moderation. After all, you don’t really need to prove you’re a social creature anyway.

Then you remember that pesticide commercial…sky, rockets in flight…

Inspired by one of the X-men, Pyro, but not quite…

this post was originally a part of an inactive blog by the moonlighter written and posted sept 22, 2005

This morning, just before, daybreak, the gods of fire stumbled upon our neighborhood. One of the houses in our otherwise uneventful area went into flames. The casualty-house was two corners away from the block where our tiny apartment stood—and if you’re familiar with the area, ours is not your lengthy, stretching block, so you’re speaking of a little over ten houses separating our house and the fire.

More than the specters of the approaching misfortune itself, I was quite concerned with how I handled what was then an imminent brush with disaster. How I acted this morning certainly brought me to the land of strange ponderings…

I was roused from sleep by papa. Without looking at the time, I thought it was not really strange: papa rousing me from sleep. After all my futile attempts of getting back my typical early waking-up habit, I thought it was rather helpful. Still drowsy, I heard him say, may nasusunog anak bumangon kayo… Huh? I asked where exactly was the fire and they weren’t certain then. On-lookers must have started out of their homes around that time. I told mama and papa, it was okay. I actually wanted to finish the remainder of my dream (about? Haha!). Quite unlike me, at that very moment, I wanted to keep on with sleep. Even as I was starting to snuffle the smell of burning wood, I kept myself in bed, even snuggling my favorite worn-out pillow, and kept saying it’ll be okay…the firemen would come and soon douse the fire. I wasn’t sure if you would call that indifference but I thought, everything would be fine, there was nothing to worry about (it was nothing like me… I was starting to think, mamamatay na ba ko?)

Anak, wag ka matulog ano ka?

I got up, went to their room and took a look at the window. Mama, di tayo maano. The distress sirens were already closing in. Mama took hold of the attaché-case with important documents, preparing to get out of the house. I watched them, I was even smiling, and I was still not a meter near a state of panic. Why are you in panic? I wonder how Ate would have reacted had she been here (Ate, we no longer have the mahjong set, hehe…are you even reading this? Hehe). Ma and Papa were worried about the winds spreading fire. The winds moved towards the direction of our place.

Anak, ilabas mo na yung mga importanteng gamit mo.

That was strike one.

At that point, so early in the morning, I got a weird feeling that I actually had nothing to lose.

What gives? I thought, I could bring my CPU down (all my important research files are there, but I have backup copies, so perhaps I should have grabbed the CD copies on impulse), but I did not. Instead, I took my bag, the one I bring along every time I leave the house. That was it. In it were my wallet, cell phone, planner, rosary, brush and toothpaste, and the medical clearance I was due to submit tomorrow. Cousin Pao thought it was funny seeing me clutching my bag as though it was my life. Of course it wasn’t. But I never got of the house or even attempted. I only grabbed my bag to show my parents I was doing what I was told (Hehe…).

When it was over, we were obviously spared from the tragedy of a burned down house. Unfortunately an old lady died and his son was reported to be in serious condition, and the apparent cause of fire was a candle left burning inside the house.

Then Pao reminded me, you should have thought about your books Me. She was right. My precioussss! Why did I not care enough to salvage my books from the fangs of an approaching monster fire? Until now I wonder. Was it because, I never really thought we were in serious danger of having fire eat up our house? Or is it a matter of sorting out what really matters.

That was strike two.

What really matters?

We could continue with strike three, four, etc. Even if they tell you to strike whilst the iron is hot, let us end this entry with one last point: probably, the reason why I didn’t know which stuff to duck out incase of fire, is because I have an enormous affinity with anything outside a clutter-free life. Lesson learned, be more organized next time. (Hem!Hem!) Calling all OCOCs… teach me, I am not a hopeless case (U2).

requiem

originally written sept 09, 2005

A strange thought of never reaching the ripe old age of fifty—make that thirty, constantly knocks at your temporals (Yes, you do have temporals!). No matter how much you try to shove it out of your consciousness, it continues to ring at the back of your head. You must be tired of hearing: think and become, but if this is true, that ringing thought of never reaching your thirties must be underway. Say, that leaves you with 8 wonderful years before your time is up. Well, eight years would be too short if you have so much ahead of you. Otherwise, it could prove to be the longest winding trip you’d ever have to endure. Talk about relativity.

Often, people never realize the urgency of getting things done (and perhaps even enjoying life to the fullest, spelled as l-i-v--i-n-g) until they are given deadlines. Call it whatever you want to call it—cut-off date, closing date, deathday (well we have birthdays…), crossing-over and whatnots, but certainly, there is really something special about dying—let alone dying young.

Death has a lot of names. (If you’re in the mood for something corporeal, you can always imagine Brad Pitt in Meet Joe Black) Death can be a mere concept for most people. Still, others think it is just a phase in a continuing spiritual progression. Statisticians, epidemiologists and a throng of other scientists call it morbidity, fatality, often in relation with attrition. Medical doctors say, the patient expired at 12:30 am…Reporters write it off as casualties, killings, murders… Obituaries try to sound rather more sensitive with something like: Atty. Ebishi X. Waysse, RMT, PhD, MD, RN has peacefully joined his Creator… (As if they were certain about him joining his Creator…really?) People who empathize with a mourning family nice-Nelly their way with “we grieve for your loss… what an early demise… we will always find comfort in realizing that his passing away is just the beginning…” and loads of other euphemisms.

Perhaps we can all dispense with the sugarcoating. Let’s call it death—plainly, the end of mortal life, just another deadline (or is it?).

Zap. Game over. Finished or not, hand over your papers!

No one knows when it will strike, just like a thief in the night…But when you know that death is coming, sooner than later, everything changes.

Your priorities take a sweeping turn. What about busying yourself spending time with your mum or dad for an entire day doing things you two love doing together? You start living each day as if it were your first experience of being alive knowing too sure that it would be one among the last. You learn to take each day as it comes and you get neither scared nor sorry when it’s time to let go.

You come up with your list of things-to-do-before-the-big-day. And you’d probably find yourself scribbling things you never thought would even concern you.

You learn to become more appreciative of people and more thankful for precious moments. It wouldn’t hurt leaving that constraining force, that is your computer, and take a little time off with your kids, or a good ol’ friend, or your husband or wife who’s been missing you forever.

Why does it have to take death or the nearness of death, to nudge you back and realize that, in truth, you want to live long enough to be the best son or daughter you can be, or simply, the best person you could manage. You realize that you’re willing to do anything, just so you could add a few more years to your life doomed to last less than a decade? You realize things too late and acknowledge that you do need more time. Then again, that’s how things go. You learn by going where you have to go…Your being now seemed to transcend death itself. You see things differently. Beyond each death—perhaps your own, there are thousands of stories untold and the countless lives you’ve touched will never be the same again.

the mediocre brain

The Mediocre Brain—a Repeat (2003)

The following is a rerun for Public Health students who have seen the Brain Monologues (we also had the Superior and Lobotomized brains) some years back…

ACT 1

I just came from our analchem exam. As usual, I finished just before the long 2-hour period expired. The exam was really tough I found myself crying as I answered the questions. Where did all I reviewed weeks before the exam go? When the professor saw me in tears, he gave me an odd look then I started laughing…tears of joy? Naah, I cried and laughed at the same time, quite uncertain what I really felt. The other students in the room got the biggest scare of their lives as they witnessed this brain actually going nuts! Well, that’s just a day in the life of me…the mediocre brain.

ACT 2

’know what, I’m really feeling a bit off. I feel unusually bad these past few days…but I guess, you won’t even be half-interested to know why simply because I’m just a mediocre brain and obviously you’re not…or, it could be that you’re just one of those who refuse to believe you might in fact, be one. I’m not really like this, I mean, I don’t give a hoot about what other brains say about me being so ordinary, second-rate, middling, giftless...and they could go on with their offending slurs…You non-mediocre brains must be saying, “Sorry, ‘di tayo magkalevel.”

ACT 3

I remember seeing this film, which again, wasn’t something that would have fascinated you thinking that Mediocre Brain got to see it…e ano naman? For all I care! I may just be the mediocre brain, but this is my moment (full of pride), my share of 15-minutes of fame…I’ll say the things I want to say even if it bores the underworld out of you (hmph!). As I was saying—the movie I saw, it was called “Dream of an Insomniac” Silly title you must think. How can an insomniac have a dream, when he doesn’t even get a wink and manage to land first stage REM. Whew! Was that I? Who’s this mediocre brain talking about REM? Anyway, one line from this “uninteresting” film went—“Anything less than mad passion and extraordinary love is a waste of time…there are TOO MANY MEDIOCRE THINGS IN LIFE AND LOVE SHOULDN’T BE ONE OF THEM.”…(pause, stares audience blank) That did it! It was the last straw which broke the…how’s that again? Horse, camel? Cowhead? Basta, yun na yun, nagalit na ako! What insolence! (surprised by her choice of word) How could it DISSOCIATE mediocrity, that is, me, the mediocre brain, with the most beautiful (slightly lightens up…) thing called love (nyerks—author)…

ACT 4

Probably what this mediocre brain is trying to say is that, my mediocrity does not, in any way, give you the license to haul off my ability to love…yaak (this is not me, I’m not soppy, I’m not!) It was just hurtful that people think that mediocrity is all too bad. It wasn’t my fault if I was meant to be ordinary, but having me is better than having no brain at all…(starts to sound sinister) Without me, you…are…brain-dead! (mirthless nyahaha)I may be mediocre—ordinary, unexceptional, decently normal, but I am not faulty nor am I out of order…I’m capable of performing the same things superior brains do, they only do it with more brilliance and pizzazz. Now, I must be speaking on behalf of all brains when I say that—it must be unfair when people give credit to the heart for the wonderful emotions they experience when in truth, mediocre as I am, I know that it is us, brains, our hypothalamus in particular—the seat of emotions—which is really responsible for the breathtaking feeling of happiness, bliss, of loving and being loved (I can’t believe I wrote this—author)…Then there’s nothing wrong when someone claims…”I love thee with all of mine mediocre hypothalamee!) How unfair can things be then when someone falls for the wrong person and people say…”di mo kasi ginamit yang utak mo!” You heard them, you love with your brain, mediocre or not.

FINAL ACT

I am a brain and I may just be mediocre. I hope you do realize that we have our limitations. These are here not to hamper us, you see. Intellect doesn’t make you, there is more to you than proving your superior intellect to others. There’s such a thing called attitude—A-attitude! A great positive attitude may well compensate for what we mediocre brains lack in capacity and power. I realize you are students form the college of Public Health right? Don’t sweat when things don’t go your way acads-wise. Many are willing to die to get to number one: “Magpapakadiyosa ko and I will lord over the rings of PH!” However, not everyone’s destined for greatness. But try thinking about what tito Morrie once said—is there anything wrong with being number two?(LIGHTS dim)

-END-

smelling me

are you one of those people who occasionally finds oneself remembering a particular memory after smelling a particular scent? did you ever recall smelling a certain cologne or perfume that remind you of significant people in your life?

the smell of fallen blossoms during the summer reminds me of my grade school years where i usually find our school driveways covered with the yellow blossoms from acacia or ylang-ylang trees in school every time we had our end of year exercises.

experts have asserted that there is such a thing as odor-memory. olfaction, the sense of smell, has been known to become very useful in the learning process as well. if i remember it right, my sister told me that it olfaction is now included in the categories of multiple intelligences.(alas! i can claim, "you see, i have a bright nose", hehe. )

here are occasions which probably illustrate what the experts have to say about olfaction and memory. we can perhaps do away with the physiology part and take a look at the practical side of olfaction and memory. what do you remember?

1. the smell of your lunch box, the smell of sandwich and orange juice mingling in a box contained from the time you left home until you open it for recess. once opened, the whiff of your seat mate's baon mixes with yours and that was how simple life went when you were in kindergarten.
2. every time you need to sharpen your pencil (for your puzzle dose or for brainstorming at work), again you are reminded of kindergarten days.
3. the fragrance of calvin klein, bath and body, calgon, nenuco, johnson's baby cologne, evoke high school and college memories. there's this funny story when i was in a store trying out some scents with a friend who finished high school in san beda. i was telling him that one particular smell reminded me of my classmates in high school, and brings the bottle to his nose for him to smell. then he quips, ay oo, ganyan din ang amoy sa amin (see, there was no difference whether you went to an exclusive school for girls or for boys, high school kids smelled alike, hehe)
4. the aroma of freshly brewed coffee conjures memories of conversations with dearest friends and family whom you've shared not just cups of coffee but meaningful stories and moments of laughter and frustrations (ang drama naman!) hehe
5. the ambrosia of the christmas ham, and the chicken turbo, or the crispy pata; the smell of charred liempo or fish and the lusciousness of tita's karekare and mama's binagoongan.
6. the smell of cuddly babies. babies, no matter how filthy and grimy they get, will always smell like babies.
   
7. the smell of Ola panlaba (i think it's just me and ate who remember this smell)

if smell evokes certain memories, we better make sure we manage to smell good at all times. if not for our own sake, let us try to think about those who wish to remember us in a better way.

(yun nagpapabango lang ng pangalan, is another story ha? )

make you laugh

when you're literally down after a nerve-wrenching tooth extraction, or when you're simply having one of those blah moments, a funny thought somehow eases the pain or the displeasure of being blah.

what moves you to laughter? what are the things and ideas that put a smile across your face? who makes you laugh? what does it take to salvage you from the eternal/infernal nightmare of a grumpy boss?

on the other hand, how many people have you moved to smile today? how many little acts of caring and thoughtful gestures have you shared?

some people believe that happiness is not pursued. it finds its way to you. you just have to make sure that you make yourself aware of its presence when it comes, and hopefully you manage to let it stay however transitory things, people, and events oftentimes are. when you're too busy looking for it, you just might miss it altogether.

what are the things which make you laugh? who are the people that bring you happiness?

the ross syndrome

my sister is a huge follower of f.r.i.e.n.d.s. i think her addiction does a lot of good in giving her the de-stressing she needs, a well-deserved retreat when she comes home from work. so i end up watching episode after episodes of season 1 to 9 (i wish i can give you the tenth season for christmas, amen. hehe) with her every time she starts the marathon.

in one of the episodes (after chandler and monica's wedding i think), ross, always wanting to get his money's worth, won't check out of their suite until the last minute. in another episode, chandler tags ross along instead to spend a weekend in a room he reserved for him and monica (after chandler learns monica had to work and he can't get a refund). feeling short-changed. ross and chandler try to take enough hotel amenities to make the money back.

these two episodes demonstrate the ross-syndrome. how many occasions did you catch yourself doing the same? try checking your tukador, how many bottles of lotion from the different hotels you stayed in do you have? did you ever use them? how about the shampoos? the sugar packets and tea bags?(ahem)

how about when using the restrooms in certain establishments where you have to pay ten pesos? did you think about using all the hand soap, lotion and paper towel you can have to get your ten pesos' worth?

it is probably second-nature that we do not like the idea of being short-changed. during times when nothing comes easy for the ordinary man, every centavo counts. then again, we should learn to draw the line between taking one's fair share and being shameless and embarrassing altogether.

fido the mind reader

http://digicc.com/fido/

don't you miss the 7-up commercial?

pet peeves

who doesn't have one? monica's biggest pet peeve is seeing animals dressed as humans.(monica who? friends' monica, feeling close kasi, haha) no matter how agreeable you claim you are, you must have one or two things which simply spell annoyance. again, they range from the trivial to the colossal. which of the following are yours?

1. people who, although definitely classified as mammals, think and act like pincered crustaceans
2. troops of fictitious batman super villains, particularly two-face, suddenly becoming real
3. cigarette smoke, smokers smoking in non-smoking areas
   
4. unnecessary red tape
5. overly loud adolescents who could kill just to be the center of everybody's attention
6. good people not getting what they deserve for being good people
7. evil ones taking the reign
8. the culture of seniority prevailing in various institutions
9. an oversupply of self-centered know-it-alls
   
10. the smell of inadequately dried shirts
11. freshly mopped fast food floors reeking of amoy kulob
12. brats
13. parents tolerating brats
14. bad drivers
15. Filipino politics
16. women who wear revealing clothes but keep pulling up a plunging neckline or pulling down a high hemline
17. fault-finding co-workers who do not even do their job well, if they are even doing anything at all
18. when good seeds fall on bad soil
19. when your team is under a leader who is a tiny breath away from being spongebob
20. kids who wear clothes that are way too old for their age
    
21. chipped off nail polish in all fingernails
22. people growing one, just one fingernail, several inches long (you wouldn't even want to think what they are doing this for)
23. being lied to
    
24. getting LSS by a song you wouldn't even want anyone to catch you humming
25. running out of batteries on a shooting day
26. boyfriends carrying their girlfriends' apparently small clutch bags as though they weighed a ton
27. dishonesty
28. a bad haircut
29. rumor mongers
30. mga mahilig mag-Ingles para magmukhang matalino

well, that's a list good enough for a whole month, perhaps we'll never run out of the peeve.

the child of fear

Have you ever been afraid? (Scared. Frightened. Terrified.)



"Fear is the path to the dark side. Fear leads to anger. Anger leads to hate. Hate leads to suffering." -- Jedi Master Yoda. Star Wars Episode I

Even before Master Yoda admonished that fear brings a person suffering, people, being nothing more than ordinary human beings already knew about fear. Acknowledging fear gives it form and substance. It is one of those things whose existence, we ourselves nurture.

Whether a person admits it or not, and no matter how faithful one tries to be of Master Yoda's words of wisdom, fear seems to find its way and settle itself deep in each one of us. There may be a few fearless souls in various aspects of life; but having fears or owning up to these fears seems to be a universal thing which somehow defines and affirms that in fact, we are just human, we are mere mortals.

Our fears vary from the obscure to the well-founded, from the trivial to the more consequential. Fear may take the form of small worries and occasional jitters which could grow into useless anxieties and serious agitation. Whatever degree, fear causes disquiet and discomposure which can ultimately destroy one's good sense and alter an otherwise positive perspective.

While some fears are triggered by specific people, things, thoughts, memories, and experiences, there are those which seem to come from nowhere. When the cause of our fears and worries are unknown, we become more anxious. Sometimes, we know what causes our fears but we refuse to acknowledge that it is indeed causing our fear.

There are those who are afraid of spiders, roaches and pests. Some are scared of the dark, enclosed spaces, and high altitude areas. There are people who dare and overcome any physical challenge but are terrified by thoughts of losing a loved one, growing old, growing up, being alone or getting hurt; while others dread the idea of mediocrity, failure, and rejection.

There is the scientific, biochemical origins of our fears but no matter what causes these fears, it is comforting to know that we are not devoid of any defenses as far as dealing with these fears is concerned. When the inevitable strikes and we are face to face with our fears, we only have two choices, one is to look at fear straight in its eye and learn to master our fears. This leads us to the paths of courage. The other choice is to allow ourselves to be consumed by the fears we ourselves have allowed to thrive in our being. Taking this path only leads us to darkness. Master Yoda must really know what he was talking about.

Even as we continue to convince ourselves that we are the master of our own fears, some things are always easier said than done. What can mere mortals do? Perhaps we could all use a little help from each other. If self-assurance is in scarce supply, it would certainly help our lot if we learn to reach out and build each other's confidence and restore our faith in the goodness of people, and as cliche as it sounds, try to share a little more love.

Acceptance is also good in facing certain fears--the everything-happens-for-a-reason-mentality--accepting that some things are meant to be while others are not. Accepting that there are inescapable realities and truths which we cannot simply disregard. The more we fear about losing the people we love, the more time we waste in seizing every moment there is to express how much we value and love them. The more we worry about what other people would say and think about our actions and decisions, the less we learn to appreciate our own strengths and improve on our weaknesses.

Finally, if it helps our cause, majority of the things we fear, do not actually happen, so statistically, we have a good chance of finding ourselves on the brighter side sooner, and if not always, perhaps more often.