Haitus

Hey everyone!

As you might have noticed, it's been months already that I haven't posted anything here. Four months to be exact. I've been very busy with everything, it's been a rollercoaster ride for me this past months. I soared high, then hit rock bottom. And it sucks bigtime.

Thanks to everyone who's been visiting this blog regularly. You know who you are and I know who you are, I have Sitemeter! Haha. I miss visiting your blogs. And I also miss the 'epiphanic moments' I get when we exchange lines.

Of course, I've been writing still, even when I was on break from everything. I took a 2-week off, and well let's just I soul-searched again. I'm feeling better now, and some of my compositions are more, how should I say this, uplifting compared to the ones back then.

I'll just be having my regular fix, and after that I'll be back, perhaps after about a week or so. Ooh, there's a lot of things we need to talk about, and I cant wait for your responses.

Till then. Have a nice life everyone.

Lyle.

P.S. To those whose responses I have deleted, I'm sorry. My account was acting up, and all of the replies just went kaput. Tsk. Tsk. If I can just bring them back. Oh yeah, and for some weird reason, the "reply" option has been unabled. Hmm. I smell sabotage. Oh well, back to work. I'll catch up with y'all when I get back. Cheerio!

Starvation & Lavatory Rendezvous, 2

According to some, starvation is the route to eternal bliss (read: death). However, my friends who preach the Gospel of Sivo (Self-Induced Vomiting) counter by saying that TSR (not Technical Service Rep, but Toilet Sink Rendezvous) is the route to aesthetic bliss. I’m somewhat neutral on the subject of starvation. I’m not really against starvation-as-weight-loss-regimen per se, but taking it to the extreme can be fatal.

I am not one to say that starvation is bad since I, myself, am not living a healthy lifestyle; I’ve been unconsciously and inadvertently starving myself. If you choose to deprive yourself of food to maintain or hit a certain target weight, and when you finally reach it, stop there. Do not desire for more pounds to be shed, because ultimately that will backfire. Complications may arise later on, and may affect you psychologically.

So be wary. Depriving your body all the nutrients needed would guarantee you a slot in your local necropolis. There are still other ways to chuck off that flab, but I’m not going to talk about it, there’s just too much of them.

One more thing though: Remember to cut back on the carbs, protein-loading, and lots of water. (Oh, and exercise.) Since loss of essential nutrients and fluids dry up the gray matter and would definitely escort you to something worse than death: idiocy.

I’m not pretending to be a health guru here because I’m far from being one. I just want you people to be extra cautious with your chosen weight loss regimen. Like I always say, “Whatever suits you.” Just be responsible enough to take care of that bod.

Anyway, it’s gonna be Hello Sisig for me later! I’m going to Dencio’s! Yay! Okay, I’m going to eat now.

Starvation & Lavatory Rendezvous, 1

Save for a couple of cheeseburgers, copious amounts of black coffee and coke floats, and five KFC brownies (Man, they’re so heavenly I could eat 5 of ‘em in one sitting!), I have not eaten real food for like days (more or less 96 hours)! In my current weight, I cannot afford to loose any more pounds. Otherwise, the wind could just easily lift me up and blow me all the way to Annapurna.

I’m quite alarmed, honestly. Given the fact that I have an über-active lifestyle and my metabolism can be likened to a million-dash marathon sprinter, I don’t have problems loosing weight. At a snap of the finger *finger-snap* just like that.

My friends are terribly distressed also. Well just half of ‘em, as the other half’s envious. No, make that offensively envious. In a matter of weeks, my weight had dropped by an 8-pound difference. They, of the Anorexia-Bulimia school, were so green with envy, since I have their ideal weight. Without even breaking a sweat!

Meanwhile the other half of my friends threatened to force-feed me if I couldn’t gain it back or if my weight would go down pa. They’re suspecting depression – AND substance abuse! Geez people, I’m not depressed (okay, just mildly depressed), and I certainly am not snorting stuff nor popping pills. That is so like two years ago! Ha-ha.

The reason behind my tremendous weight loss is plain and simple: time. I don’t have time to eat! And oftentimes when the opportunity presents itself, my taste buds would then shut down, leading to loss of appetite. I don’t know why this is, but yeah, it happens to me all the time.

Maybe my friends’ depression speculation was anchored on the fact that one of the symptoms of depression is appetite loss. I don’t want to repeat it, but I’ll repeat it anyway: I’m not depressed. More appropriately though, I’m no longer depressed; recovering at least.

(to be concluded…)

Espresso Dreams: Back in the Dooms

In daydreams I go back to Negros Oriental – the hum of the waters in Valencia, the beaches of Siaton and Guihulngan, the vast foliage expanse of Bais and Tanjay, the rustic charm of Dumaguete City, the spectacular marine life of the famed Apo Island … and a whole lot more.

But what identifies a mere tourist from a true habitué is the je ne sais quoi of Doomsville, term of endearment for those who call Dumaguete City home, or at the very least, have an intense love affair with the city.

Doomsville is a pleasant brew of the old and the new, an intermingling of the quaint and the fashionable, a mélange of the naive and the urbane and once you enter its realm, you’ll forever be in its thrall. Another thing that made people silly about Dumaguete is the whole café culture.

The café landscape of Dumaguete runs along an age barrier. The high-end coffee shops, like Coco Amigos, Mamia’s and Don Atilano, have the older generation as clientele. Here, you can observe glamorous albeit near-senescent women sitting around chatting about their apo’s, their haciendas and generally, times past; and it caters to expats too.

The other café scene is for the younger set, and can be categorized into three. First you have coffee shops for the non-smoking and the less adventurous kind. Lee Cimballi, Dunkin’ Donuts and Cafe Antonio to name a few. Here you can see students studying hastily for their next-hour-exams, or just folks who fancy ‘people-sighting’.

Second is the daytime café, where college studes and young professionals trot busily in and out, drowning their somnolent carcasses with caffeine. They also use this chance to temporarily get their minds off academic stuff and deadlines, to sip barako’s, eat quesadillas, play cards, sit together to chat, or simply, just to chill out. (Sted’s and Dumaguete Travel among others)

The ritual continues throughout the day, and soon, even the observer, becomes an integral part of daily routine. And with the setting of the sun, the scene changes into the night café culture of bars and rum-mills, giving a boost to sundown fun in the city. By this time, coffee is usually accentuated by a dose of alcohol, and more often than not, with a pack of smokes. No, more packs of smokes. Thus begins a relaxing and extended night with friends.

My history as a coffee monster stems from this small, unpretentious coffee shop along Silliman Ave called Cafe Memento. And true to its name, wherever one goes, one carries with him the memories and the home-ness of Doomsville.

Beach Boy Strikes Again, 2

Bubba and I used to talk a lot, we share the same wavelengths. Our talks usually meander from serious, earth-shaking, peace-shattering topics, to more personal stuff, to trivial fluff. He never gets tired. If Oprah’s the queen of talk, Bubba’s the Energizer bunny of blab. (And flab? Kidding!)

Bubba (and this not-so-humble author) was a dreamer. He used to harbor the notion that ‘life is too short and the world is too small to be taken seriously.’ But when he was washed ashore in the island called ‘reality’ did he start to appreciate the value of ‘responsibility’. He learned to grasp the essence of swimming against the current (in the Doom’s perspective).

He may be arrogant at times but no one can accuse him of being misanthropic. He loves people. He is open to the idea of making friends more than he’s open to fights. In spite of his fiery words and intimidating façade, he wants people to feel good around him and makes an environment of at-home-ness. Wait, did I mention that his an antithesis of his own? I mean just that.

People may find it hard to place a finger on where to classify Bubba. He’s outgoing, sometimes solitary; gentle yet harsh; a guardian angel at the same time a prodding devil. That’s Bubba, extreme and unpredictable. And I daresay that’s the beauty of him. You’re on your way to becoming saint Ba. Not!

Author’s note: I miss you Ba. Let’s storm the Dooms together okay. Let’s relive the Memento-Hayahay days with the original Memento 5: you, me, Kim, Trina and Margo. Let’s go back to the Insular Hotel with Mommy Lech and fill the room with the putridity of bagoong and yosi smoke. Let’s trip on the pathetic Doomsvillagers with George, John (when he comes back from Singa), Julia and Monett. I don’t know when that’ll happen, 5 years or so? But I know it will happen. Miss you guys so darn much.

Okay, this is pretty sugary. I’m freaking myself out. I think I’m having diabetes or something.

À bientôt.

Beach Boy Strikes Again, 1

Nothing seems to faze Bruce Bautista. One word to describe Bubba: egoist. ‘Nuff said. But I’ll explain it anyway.

He divides his time between hunting for fresh meat, talking gibberish over the phone with nefarious international clients and smoking Marlboro Reds. Obviously, he needs a life. Oh yeah, and he is open to the idea of whoring himself for a living. Juust kidding Ba. Or am I?

The life of a party, Bubba’s a staple in the Doomsville party scene. But when he threw his chunky posterior over into the Say-Boo, beers tasted like sewage water, cigarettes became stale, parties suddenly became dull, and the bully Kim grew bullier. Until Bubba moves back in, it’s impossible for the hapless Doomsvillagers to see the city’s Risorgimento.

He spits fire on anyone who’d say he’s ‘average’ because he is by no means, ‘average’. Besides who would want to be called ‘average’ anyway? Dumb question.

A callboy by profession, psychologist by vocation, and ‘love hunter’ by preoccupation. Not a lot of people knew this side of Bubba. Yes, like all of us mortals, he’s been through the battlefields of l-o-v-e, hit by the brat Cupid’s arrow, and lost himself along the way. But his disability of finding his karmic partner is merely a footnote in the biography of this aloof, arrogant, albeit endearing homo-superior (He thinks his better than than your average homo-sapien. And yes.).

His mouth is in sync with his mental faculties, capable of bursts of rhetoric at a moment’s notice. Mind and mouth; lethal combination huh? For scathing words from a very poisonous mouth, go to Bubba and boy can he deliver the goodies!

He doesn’t appreciate degrading words hurl towards his direction. And if you dare cross him, he’d be more than willing to pummel you with one of the hundred-year-old acacia trees lining Hibbard Ave. But there’s someone whom Bubba can withstand a barrage of nuclear insults from. Me. That’s my only alas against Bubba. Tee Hee.

(to be concluded…)

Been There, Whacked That!

Hey there people of the world! I am back. Well, sort of. Updates on moi.

1. Weight loss. On the last count, I lost 8 pounds in one month. Everyone thinks I'm anorexic or something. Worse, they're speculating I'm into popping pills again. Nope. I'm just "adjusting". To what? That'd be in my next entry. Tee Hee.

2. Career shift. Let's just say I joined the bandwagon of callboys. Why? The story behind it is so funny, and very ironic. But yes, I'll be composing a separate entry for that too. I used to hate IT, I used to hate THEM, but now that I have a first-hand account, my pptv completely changed. I'll be with them for just a couple of months and then I'll go back to my previous preoccupation. Let's see.

3. New Cave. Yes, I moved again. Still in Ortigas, though. And Ben, stress on the second syllable, please. It's orTIgas, not ortiGAS! Cabron!

4. Wait, what else? That pic right there? That was taken 2 weeks ago, yes I look insanely thin in the photog , but wait til you see me now. Pathetic-ally thin! "You're so thin, pwede ka na umilag sa ulan!" said my officemate. Da fak! I don't know if he's trying to be funny, or.. or.. I don't know. Perhaps it's true. And by the way, I want to explain something about the neon jacket. First, that's not mine, honest. Not that it's horrendous, it's actually cute. It's my officemate's, and get this: It glows in the dark!

5. Gawd! Wait.. One moment.. Man.. Wait.. Oh crap! I'd have to cut this entry short, I have a meeting in 10 minutes! God I completely forgot! I'm currently on the phone while typing. Promise, I'll be back..

6. Special thanks to 4 J's and a K, for always reminding me. Jepoi, Jaja, JP (Twiggy Pong), Jon, and Kirsten. Be back. Mam Ja, ndi ko pa kaya magbayad ng 5 entries, pwede installment? Sir Jepoi, I'll be doing my regular rounds pretty soon so be ready. Pong, I'll text you later. Gusto ko muanha Dgte, but not this summer pa. Haay. Jon the man, please enough, your fan mails are flooding my inbox! Joke! Bro, text me inuman tayo. And yung tinext mo sa kin, dude there's a thing called KATANGAHAN! Kirsten, make your own. Ano ka!? Eh I don't have time na nga to breathe tapos gagawa pa kita. Haha. I'll try. And stress on the word TRY. Miss you Kirstipatuti!

Ciao!

LSS: I see you creepin' I can see you from my shadow.. Wanna jump up in my Lamborghini Gallardo.. Maybe go to my place and just kick it like Taebo.. And possibly bend you over.. Look back and watch me smack that..

Mental note: You're in a hurry, remember?

P.S. I don't remember who snap the picture (above) and how. I remember that was like two weeks ago because of the neon jacket. I was just shocked to find it in my inbox. An officemate forwarded it to me, and said it "circulated" (?) already. I have no idea what he meant by that. But the pic's okay, di ba? And the neon jacket's photogenic. But I could've done better!

Random Facts & All that Red Veins

Two Names You Go By:
1~ Lyle (Because that's my name)
2~ Dan (Because that's also my name. And not because I have multiple-personality disorder.)

2. Two Things You Are Wearing Right Now:
1~ Boredom is tightly wrapped around my body right now. It's so suffocating.
2~ And a pair of Insomia hoops dangling from my eyes. It's fash-nable!

Two Things You Want in a Relationship:
1~ Prozac
2~ Valium

Two of Your Favorite Things to do:
1~ Fighting villains. (It's tough when you're all alone.)
2~ Saving the day. (It's tough when the "day" doesn't want to be saved.)

Two Things You Want Very Badly At The Moment:
1~ Sleep. (And lots of it, please. With whip cream, and some choco-chip cookies.)
2~ A medical certificate (So that I can do #1.)

Two things you did last night:
1~ "Work it! I need a glass-o-wotah!" I worked. And worked. Oh, and did I mention that I did work last night. Really? Yeah, I did.
2~ I tried to stay awake. And stress on the word "tried". I think I dozed off for like 2 seconds straight! Imagine that! 2 freakin' seconds straight! My gawd, that's like an achievement, I closed my eyes for 2 seconds STRAIGHT!

Two things you ate today:
1~ Pride
2~ Prejudice (And all that jazz!)

Two people you Last Talked To:
1~ Amanda and Phoebe and Christopher
2~ So what if I spoke with 3 people!? Big deal!

Two Things You'll do tomorrow:
1~ Work (As if I have a choice.)
2~ Still thinking. Hmp. I'm actually contemplating on going awol.

Two favorite beverages:
1~ That ice cold Coco Amigos mug draft!
2~ That bottomless Cafe Memento barako!

Two of your least favorite things to do:
1~ Waking up and realizing your late for work.
2~ Waking up and realizing that people had moved on already.


You must answer every question
~~ I MUST? I refuse to answer this question. Because? Because! Its! Not! Even! A! Question!

[02] Have you ever received roses?
~~ Are you kidding me!? I invented roses!

[03] What is your all-time favorite romance movie?
~~ Alright! I admit! I have a lot! "Nothing beats the first kiss.." But on second thought, Nah.

[04] How many times have you honestly been in love
~~ Uhm. Lemme see.. One.. Two.. Three.. Wait! You know what, if I answer this question, I'd die of diabetes! Ooh so mushy! I'm freakin' myself out! Seriously, THAT four-letter word is such a strong one, I couldn't even utter it.

[05] Do you believe that everyone has a soul-mate?
~~ Yes, but only a handful end up together. Painful, yes, but what is life without pain!? Okay, so I AM mushy. Or just bitter.

[06] Do you think that you should put your friends first?
~~ Before? Before "anyone else"? If you're talking about friends and family, let's just say I'd die for my friends, but I would kill for my family. And the other way around. But if you mean, "someone", I don't know, I haven't met her yet. Or perhaps I already did. I'm clueless.

[07] Have you ever had your heart broken?
~~ If there's anyone who haven't had their poor hearts broken, either they're lying or they're not human. H-U-M-A-N, please look it up in the dictionary.

[8] Your thoughts on online relationships?
~~ J-O-K-E, another word for you. Now GO! Scram! But on second thought, I know a couple who met online and after months of being online bf/gf, they got married, and after months of marriage, they realized that they'd rather be chatmates. So they called it quits. Funny, huh?

[9] Have you ever seen a friend as more than a friend?
~~ What's the big idea asking me all these kinds of questions!? Ahm. Hmp. Let's just say I've been through the whole "I Never! Said! That I love you" thing.

[10] Do you believe the statement, "Once a cheater always a cheater."?
~~ I disagree. Not because I'm a guy and we're SUPPOSED to be A-Holes. But no. Really. We all have the capability to cheat, and sometimes we cheat for the right reasons (right reasons daw o!). Not that I'm a cheater. Well I was once, but it wasn't because I'm an A-hole and all that, but because I haven't found my match yet. Before you stone me to death, that's just half of the story. Let's put it this way: Infidelity begets infidelity. It's the 21st (?) century, kung kaya ng Pinoy, kaya din ng Pinay, ika nga.

[11] How many kids do you want to have?
~~ 3's enough. I think.

[12] What is your favorite color(s)
~~ As of the moment? Red! It complements my sleep-deprived eyes! Bloodshot! Ooh, and all that red veins!

[13] What are your views on gay marriages?
~~ To each his own. Love (that word again!) knows no bounds. It's just about tolerance.

[14] Do you believe you truly only love once?
~~ CoRRRRRRRecto! Sa Senado! Everything else is just playtime, or you know companionship, admiration, and all that crap!

[15] Imagine you're 79 & your spouse just died, would you re-marry?
~~ Well, if I'd be rich, handsome, lonely? Why not choknat! Kidding! By that time, Viagras woul be passe. So, I dunno. Maybe I'd just live with my dog, in a trailer, overlooking the ocean, sipping beer, waiting for twilight to claim me back..

[16] At what age did you start noticing the opposite sex?
~~ When THEY noticed me..

[17] What song do you want to hear at your wedding?
~~ Welcome to the Black Parade. Or Ang Cute ng Ina Mo.

[18] Do you Know someone who likes you?
~~ Oh, they're all after my body. It's soo sad.

(Thanks to my Yani for posing for me. Kuya misses you already.)

When No One's Watching, 2

Everything was present: the unbroken eye contact, the touch of the arm, the girl’s occasional twirling of her hair, the gentle seductive laugh, the guy’s constant raising of the eyebrows, the listener’s nods every now and then, and the focused interest in what the other was saying.

As he spoke, she kept on dipping her head nearer. He could smell the hint of shampoo on her hair despite the overpowering cigarette fumes and the fragrance of cologne floating through the room.

For a moment there, he lost control and reached out to touch her hair. It had been months that they haven’t touched; he was getting so excited. But he stopped himself as he observed the crowd.

He licked his lips and put on his signature winsome smile. As if she knew what he meant by the gesture, she reciprocated and smiled back. “So you wanna get out of here?”

“Sure” he blurted out almost instantly. Shocked by his own reply, he wanted to retract it. But too late. The girl has already stood up, gathered her lighter and the cigarette box. She was motioning for the door.

The guy was a bit hesitant; he knew this wasn’t part of the plan.

“Oh well” he said to himself, “I’ll be ending this affair … some other time.” An exciting night, this is going to be, he thought.

When No One's Watching, 1

In the thick of it all: the tumult of the crowd, the clinking of the glasses, the livid shadows caused by blinding lights, the loud, pulsating noise, the tear-inducing miasma of cigarette smoke: she was there.

Garbed in her favorite tiny red dress, she surveyed the room. Her eyes now fixed on a guy sitting at the bar.

For a moment, he seemed to smile – just a hint on the lips, really. Then she was beside the guy, speaking in a definite tone despite the deafening noise.

“Jay’s out of town.” She was referring to her boyfriend. “Ah okay.” The guy replied, showing a just a little interest to what she just said. But his eyes were saying otherwise.

She leaned over to mouth something to the guy directly in his ear, his breath tickling her breastbone.

At this point and almost carelessly, the guy slipped his hand to caress the girl’s elbow. She drew herself closer as she put her lips nearer his earlobe.

“Haven’t you broken up with her yet?” she asked, without batting an eyelash. He jerked a bit because of the question, looking a bit alarmed. “No, not yet.” He answered tentatively. “But I’m trying.”

Furtively studying the girl’s apparent disappointment, he elaborated. But really, it didn’t matter to the girl what the guy was saying. Though she wanted to probe further, but she didn’t. She knew it was best not to talk about the guy’s girlfriend. Or their respective partners, for that matter.

(to be concluded…)

You... Me... Once More

Sitting so close, I can almost taste her presence. I can feel the gentle gust of air from her mouth fondle the tiny hairs on my face.

Shattering the stillness, she uttered my name. “Lyle?” she said smoothly, like a whetted knife through a lump of butter. Smooth and easy.

Her throaty voice smothers my awareness with images of her ripened thin lips and cherry tongue, forming words in her mysterious moist darkness.

I asked her to sing. Syrupy notes and silky words spewed from her. With her rich, sensuous voice, it trickled on me like hot molasses. More than the sound, her resonance crawled down my body like finger nails gliding on the skin.

Despite the amber glow from the sculpted curve of the small of her back, the shimmer of her glossy pelvis, and the crescent of brightness the bay of her navel encapsulates, it’s all her that I see and hear.

And now that we’ve drifted apart, she’s now but a beautiful memory, a sweet dream, a lovely song of my soul. I close my eyes, listen, and see the luster of her legs, the light on her chest, the ember of her cheeks.

You, me. Once More.

Slowly, He Enters Her, 4

3. Bitiw (Spongecola)

“Ooh Yael! Yael! Yael!” the formulator of the “condom theory” yelped. “Who!?” I asked. “Yael! The vocalist! He’s sizzling!” she said. “That Spongebob person?” I muttered, in between puffing smoke. “Cola, SpongeCOLA."

Wag kang bibitiw bigla, wag ka bibitiw bigla-ha-haah. Pikit ang iyong mga mata-ha-haah. Higpitan lang ang iyong kapit. Maglalayag hanggang langit.

Heto na tayo, heto na tayo, Heto na tayo, heto na tayo. Wooh-hoooh!

Don’t let go, don’t let go (I know you have a more accurate translation in mind. Me too, but let’s just leave it at that, baka ma-report user tayo! Ha-ha!) Your eyes are closed. Tighten your grip. We’ll journey towards heaven together.

Here we come, we’re coming. We’re coming, here we come. Ooooh-aahhh!

Need it say more? Hmp?


2. Stars (Calla Lily)

I’m reminded of Paris Hilton’s “Stars are Blind.” So I turned to the same friend who shares the same promiscuity with Paris. “What the hell’s the connection between crazy gods and blind stars!?” I asked. “Shush! It doesn’t require anyone to think. It’s just her excuse to gyrate and crawl on the sand and shimmy and stuff.”

“Yeah, no issue. She’s just celebrating her being a “dumbelle.” Another friend interjected.


1. Doobidoo Heto Na (Kamikaze)

I personally feel that the lyrics were lacking, the words were chopped off maybe to conceal the real message. Doobidoo? It doesn’t make any sense, it doesn’t feel right.

Heto na! Heto na! Heto na! Waah! Doobidoobi doobidoobi doo Doobidoobi doobidoo wa.

(Robert Langdon mode) Now if we translate it to English and supply the missing words and syllables, we may be able to crack the code.

Here it comes! Here it comes! Here it comes! *moan*

Do (It) (Bey)Bi, Do (It) (Bey)Bi, Do (It) (Bey)Bi, Do (It) (Bey)Bi, Do (It)!
Do (It) (Bey)Bi, Do (It) (Bey)Bi, Do (It) (Bey)Bi, Do (It)!
Yeah *slurp*

Now tell me who else’s clean?

(Author’s note: This entry was written months ago, thus explains the obsolescence of the songs listed. I expected this entry to rate higher and to have more visitors than the other entries. And it did! You perverts!)

Slowly, He Enters Her, 3

7. She’s the One (Christian Bautista)

Now I don’t have that much problems with this one; the lyrics is … uhm … boyband-ish pop crap and all. But it’s the video I’m more concerned of.

So he’s watching the television, channel-surfing and all. And there's a girl, who pops up in every channel, and so he unleashed his perverted alter-ego and starts imagining that he’s with the girl. So she becomes every … uh … fantasy his sick mind can think of.

She transforms from a beauty queen, a rock chick, a skimpily-clad chambermaid (It’s soo internet porn!), to … a girl jumping rope … in slow motion! And then he says, “With bouncing jugs bigger than a Coleman freezer, She’s definitely The One!"

Top 6 and 5: I answered the door, some friends crashed into my place, so TV was so lewdly interrupted … I mean, rudely interrupted.


4. I Still Believe in Loving You (Sara Geronimo)

“Why’s she wearing a condom!?” my Tom-Cruise-sized-Nicole-Kidman-clone friend exclaimed. “What!?” I said, puzzled. My friend’s a pervert alright, but I couldn’t find anything sexually stimulating about Sarah.

“Her Prince Charming just, like, died for chrissakes! And the best she could wear is that abhorrent white condom-like cloaky cloaky thingie!?” she said. “And that’s a problem because?” I said, puzzled.

“How do we know she didn’t run off with his horse?”
“Huh? I don’t get it.”

“She’s wearing the horse’s condom!”

Rrrright.

(to be concluded…)

Slowly, He Enters Her, 2

10. Yakap sa Dilim (Orange and Lemons)

Now this is honest. The composer / singer (Jim Paredes) admitted that this is really an erotic song he wrote when the music-industry was filled with cutesy, sugary, un-poetic, bubblegum popcrap disguised as quality music. Now this is courageous … and literal.

But if you want to extract some political or philosophical sense from the song, Cuddling in the Dark, that’s also completely fine. If you can, that is.


9. Dale Candela (Poyake and Pimp Chicken)

This, I’m not sure of. My best guess would be; while we make kembot to the tune, pinagmumumura na pala tayo. “Dale dale candela, dale dale candela vame”

Dale is … I don’t know. Candela maybe a variation of Caliente which means Hot or Candela as in Candle, so suggests the shape of the … uhm … male reproductive weapon. And Vame may be a take from Vamos meaning “Let’s go” or “Bilis!” or maybe:

Pedro: Pare, na-DALE ko si Maria kagabi.
Juan: Pa’no yun? Eh di ba brown-out kagabi?
Pedro: Eh gumamit kami ng CANDELA.

Plus, if you’re using a nom de guerre like Pimp Chicken, it’s a dead giveaway. Pimp. Get it?


8. Taralets (Imago)

Seemingly harmless, isn’t it? But if we translate this slang into English, that would be “Let’s go” or “Come On” or “C’mon, let’s go … and hit the sack!”

Boy: Taralets! (With a naughty, knowing grin)
Girl: Saan? (Pa-demure effect, with matching pamaypay)
Boy: Alam mo na yun. (Winky wink wink!)

(to be concluded…)

Slowly, He Enters Her, 1

(Author's Note: I wrote this entry many moons ago, just forgot to post it. But anyway, I found the perfect opportunity. Since it's (Egad!) Valentine's season, I'm sure this is very fitting, save for the obsolence. So in line with the Season of Hormones, I give you this!)

Sex is everywhere; perversions abound. Wherever you look, we sex screaming in bold letters.

From commercials (Lahat ng hati na try na ni Heart, pati hating nangangati), campaign posters (Wow Dick!), public service TV programs (Kay Susan Tayo, try pinching your nose while saying it and you’ll get my point) to fishball stands (Harry Balls; Kiss My Balls).

Whenever I watch music channels (MTV, MYX, Ch.V, etc.) I just put on the television and let the music from the boob-tube fill my room as background while I go about my everyday existence. But this morning was different; I sat in front of the TV set watching stupid videos.

It amazes me how music-makers inject a little bit of subtle erotic stuff into their music in order to sell it. Sex sells, let's face it. Even though it’s very obvious that it has “explicit content”, the public still buys it, contending that it’s harmless.

Jumbo hotdog, Kaya mo ba to, Kaya mo ba to? (Jumbo Hotdog, Can you handle this? Can you handle this?) What do you mean you didn’t know that it was a hotdog-as-in-food song? What did you think it meant? Oh … you thought it meant THAT? Now why would you think of such a thing.

Ang kati ng bulaklak, mabaho ang bulaklak (the flower is itchy, the flower is smelly). No, this isn’t malaswa. Just because the song’s belted out by bountifully bosomed bouncy babes bursting out of their shirts?

Ugh. Give me a fuh-reaking break.

So I caught the Myx Daily Countdown on the tube that morning. Honestly I doubt the credibility of this countdown. But that’s beside the point.

(to be concluded...)

Just Because I'm Gwapo, 4

Homelessness is never a problem. Having spent almost all your life under a bridge or the streets; you should’ve been comfortable by now. Carton boards are way better than nothing, you know.

Don’t complain, you deserve that, you ingrates! Thank the government for making bridges and streets. Without them, you wouldn’t have a place you can call home.

That’s why people go to the States or United Kingdom because this country’s filthy and crawling with poor people. Most of my friend’s maids have already left for God-knows-where. And so are the millions of Filipinos.

Never mind if they die of homesickness, or they come home inside a wooden box, just as long as they can escape from this mud hole, and bring their kids imitation Oakley shades. Follow their example, especially you poor and ugly people. Leave … and never come back!

This drug addiction thing, I didn’t know they also have this. I thought it was only us, rich people, who can afford drugs. I wonder what kind of drugs they are into. Refined sugar? Or rock salt? Or maybe that crystal they make nudnod on their kili-kili?

If I were to become president, the first thing I would do is wipe out ugliness. Ugly streets, ugly buildings, ugly people, ugly economy, ugly politics, ugly everything. It’s easy to carry out that plan, I will rule by example (did I tell you that I’m the epitome of beautiful-ness?).

I will devise a law that will cater only to beautiful and rich people – us! I will make a decree that enforces people to marry people of the same financial and beauty bracket; rich people for rich people and beautiful people for beautiful people.

That way we can preserve our wealth and rid out society of these filthy ugly people. Survival of the prettiest, I will call it. And if they will not follow … well … uh … I’ll have them Botoxed to death!

Oh man! These talks about poor people and this country’s problems sure make my face oily. Better go to the salon and get a facial.

Just Because I'm Gwapo, 3

One time I went to my Dad’s building in Makati (the “right” side of Makati by the way and yeah (!) we own a lot of buildings), and there were like, a lot of poor people in the foyer, waiting. I can tell that they’re poor, they’re black, so itim. I have never seen so much poor people in one place, like there were 8 of them.

I asked my personal BG (bodyguard, dummy!) what they’re doing in a nice place such as my Dad’s building. He said they’re looking for a job. A job!? I said. They’re not qualified, they’re poor. And he was like ‘they’re smart people’. And I was like ‘But still!'

I mean, if they’re smart and all that, then why are they, like … poor? Can they, like, think of some ways to have money? I said. And my BG (bodyguard, dummy! How many times do I have to repeat it!?) said, “That’s why they’re here, to look for money."

Uhm? I mean, yeah, we’re rich and all that, in fact we are filthy rich but it’s not our obligation to give money to poor and ugly people. And if I were my Dad, I would post a “No Pretty Face, No Entry” policy like those at the clubs. (We have exclusive clubs by the way, so if you're RFB <Rich, Famous, Beautiful>, you are certainly not welcome!) I later learned from my secretary that sometimes the number of applicants even total to like over 30. My gaahd, like 30 poor ugly people in one place!? Man oh man! Stinkeeey!

They say that we, rich people, are superficial. To them I say, you’re just jealous. You’re jealous because you’re ugly; you’re jealous because you’re poor; you’re jealous because, well, we’re better off. Don’t hate us because we’re rich and famous and beautiful and all that.

So you say that you’re government hasn’t done anything to help you, I don’t care, they’re not my government. You know why? Because they’re rich and you’re poor, they’re beautiful and you’re ugly; and they wouldn’t want to waste their beautiful-ness on you, starving rats. They'd rather shove their heads in a microwave oven than attend to you!

The only time they would want to be with you (though it makes them sick) is during election time or some photo-ops. Take a hint, people. (Oh, and you should be rejoicing. Election time's coming, so that means, you know, like money!)

So your kids are starving huh? Simple. Bring your kids to restos and if you can’t afford to go resto-ing, bring them to, like, fast-foods. It’s that simple. Duh! And you people are a lucky bunch. Imagine you wouldn’t have to worry about, like, weight-loss and liposuction and all that.

(to be concluded…)

Just Because I'm Gwapo, 2

This “peso is 50 versus the dollar” stuff, I don’t get it. I mean, why do people fuss over such little amount? It’s not enough for a Macchiato, or a box of Cartier’s for pete’s sake! 50 pesos, so what? Even if it goes down to over a hundred … or even a thousand, big! freakin’! deal!

So they say like, a lot of people sink below the poverty line almost everyday. So, they’re like, poor people? Like broke? Like Martha Stewart broke?

My friends tell me that poor people are ugly people, and that poor people are criminals. No wonder criminals are so poorly-dressed. What can you expect from these people? That’s why I don’t mingle with them, I’m afraid I might get kidnapped or something, or worse get contaminated with their ugliness.

And what is politics? Like, police or something? Or maybe “ticks”? I’m sure they’re right in saying that Philippine politics is very dirty; it’s not even a beautiful word by the sound of it, politics. I should know. My dead dog, a Labrador Retriever named Gorgeous, had a city of ticks under her coat. And I’ll tell you, it’s not the most pleasant sight in the whole wide, like, world!

I’d rather eat Jollibee than look at them. Maybe “politics” means insect-contamination or something. I don’t know, told you I’m just gwapo.

You know last week I wrote a letter to the I-forgot-the-name-of-the-paper-because-I’m-so dumb magazine. Actually, I didn’t write the whole letter, my secretary did. But I helped, yeah, like, four big words: Dear Mister Editor Man.

Okay so we sent the letter to their office, demanding them not to publish such unpleasant stuff like Muslim people or poor people or garbage and stuff, or else my friends and I are gonna boycott their parties.

I mean, if we don’t show up at their parties, their camera-people (what do you call those?) wouldn’t have any pictures; and if they don’t have pictures, they wouldn’t have anything to put in their, like, lifestyle sections; and they’re gonna close the paper, and they become … like … poor!

Ha! I know, I’m brilliant.

(to be concluded…)

Just Because I'm Gwapo, 1

The Philippines is in shambles. The peso plummets further against the dollar. The Muslim extremists and the NPA terrorist acts intensify. The political situation is unredeemable with its players changing party allegiances more frequently than you change your clothes. More and more people sink below the poverty line. Carnage in the streets. Children sold to slavery and prostitution. Drug addiction escalating.

Yeah, I know how to read. I was just reading the headlines. I always see these in the headings whenever I pick up my morning papers. Oh yeah, I get all leading newspapers everyday, but I’m all for their health and lifestyle sections only.

Even in CNN or BBC, where I get my daily dose of inside stuff about celebrities (Man, Adrianna Lima is scorching! Is she even human?), I’m always bombarded with these unpleasant stuff. I only want to know if there’s a new Paris Hilton sex tape coming up.

I’m sorry but I’m just a handsome face. And rich, too.

Everyday when I go to the gym, I always see these families in the streets, begging and all. Man, they’re so disgusting. I mean, don’t they know how to take a bath or something? The kids are so dirty, with their filthy hands; I wonder how they could eat with those. Haven’t they heard of soap and alcohol? And they’re so skinny too. Well, yeah, I would want to be thin and all, but … y’know, without the flies.

And who is this Gloria person everyone’s been talking about? Is she the small woman with a big bad mole and a stupid hairstyle? Geez, haven’t she heard of Vogue? And that mole, outta here! I heard she’s the big boss. I don’t know about her being “big” but if she’s really that bigshot, she could’ve hired better stylists. Those outfits are so passé. And what’s this ConAss thing? My PA (personal assistant!) said some people are plotting to eradicate (big word, huh?) the president during the convention. Tell you what, the first people that’s gotta go are those ugly, disgusting … ugly people.

Like the ones in the streets, and those mediocre (I learned this word today, my secretary taught me) film stars. Can the police just round them all up and ship them to … uhm … Mindanao or something?

(to be concluded…)

Of Mutts and Waifs, Part 5

Melancholic Mutt: Well ... before in the dooms, being an alcoholic I was broke most of the time. So when I hear or get invited in singing contests, I made patol just to sustain my lifestyle. Last I joined, that was like December of last year I think, at Saint Mo? Can't remember. Anyway, so cheapo of me, so embarrassing! But still, I got cash! Fortunately I won most of the time. Hahaha. Shh, it's a secret that only 4 (including you) people know about. Haha.

Wonder Waif: Haha. We almost share the same sentiment! Ever wondered why I took the globe/scoobys thing?

Melancholic Mutt: Hahaha, oh yeah I remember that! You Miss Globe-Scoobys you! And every computer station at Scoobys had this like desktop wallpaper of you! I was like whoa!

Wonder Waif: And during that, I was dying of embarrassment! I had a measly pay of just a few thousand. Good enough. Hehe.

Melancholic Mutt: And Law, well it’s a childhood dream, my ancestors were lawyers. When kids were practicing their ABC's, little Lyle's learning to read with the aid of law books. When kids went to parks and playgrounds, little Lyle's in the courtroom with his Grappa. Kids love the see-saw, little Lyle loved the office swivel chair. Hehe.

Wonder Waif: Wow that story is like out of a novel! Hehe. Either your bound to be a lawyer or you are to make a difference. Translation: family's disgrace. Hehe.

Melancholic Mutt: Haha, looks like I'm doing the make-a-difference, tainted the family name and all. But pretty soon I will redeem myself.

Wonder Waif: I will bask in the glow of your redemption. Hehe.

Of Mutts and Waifs, Part 4

Melancholic Mutt: Tried ABC for a management course, but I couldn't stand accounting, so I dropped out. Went to DEF for some short course on Creative Writing because I was invited by a magazine, that lasted for two months. This sem, I plan to go to GHI for a 2-year computer programming course. God I need a diploma!

Wonder Waif: Haha. You keep on shifting schools. Good you have the luxury to switch constantly! If I told my parents I want to change school now, God forbid they'd faint for sure! Why do you need the diploma? To apply for jobs outside your power group? Hehe. If I were you I'd stick to it. Comfort zone. Familiar territory.

Melancholic Mutt: That's 8 schools on the last count. Haha. Nah, I wanna try something new, have a diploma, and be employed as a regular. I wanna sing, write, take pictures, build my own empire, go to Law school. God so little time so much to do. No wait scratch that, so much time wasted, so much stuff to do.

Wonder Waif: Why is law so big nowadays!? Everyone's taking law! It's not so appealing to me. What's the basis of its appeal? So you can deviate or sue more? Hehe wait here’s one more... You sing!? I NEVER KNEW THAT! Is this the you-wanna-know-how-to, or a you-already-know-how-to-but-I-just-don't-know?

Melencholic Mutt: Hahaha. Well yeah, it's a secret, I used to sing in high school and early part of college, but I was so darn shy! But now not anymore, nicotine's eating up my lungs and vocal chords; I cannot sustain a note long enough. I used to get invitations but nah, I'm so freakin' insecure! I wanna let you in on a little secret...

Wonder Waif: Okay, let me in on that little teeny weeny itty bitty secret...

(to be concluded…)

Of Mutts and Waifs, Part 3

Melancholic Mutt: Their new barista had this really snotty look on his face, like he was casting pearls among swine. So un-Starbucks-y!

Wonder Waif: Hahaha. That barista better be fired. I hate discrimination on un-bathed customers! Hehehe. Jeez Lyle you must be malodorous now! I hate it that they have to call your name and you have to go there. I gave up on the coffee thing. I'm all too lazy about it!

Melancholic Mutt: Hahaha! That cracked me up! Malodorous I certainly am not! Oh me, I refuse to go there when they scream my name, “Cappuccino for Grouchy”! And I would then retort with a “Here Please”! I'm paying more than my coffee so they'd better deliver it to me. Ooh yeah, my name's Grouchy so it's like a hint for them that I eat people, especially baristas that resemble cardboards.

Wonder Waif: Hahahaha. Grouchy? I can picture your Starbucks moment now! I know someone who tells them his name's GOD. Hehe. Let's trip on them when I get there. Let's give a very very unnerving and attention-grabbing name! Perfect! Something to tell our grandchildren.

… pause …

Wonder Waif: Okay so how do you offer yourself to these companies? I hope it's not the lift-and-flash-your-leg approach. Hehe. So where do you study again? Pardon me since I lost all brain cells containing these information during one sped-up night. Tsk, tsk.

Melancholic Mutt: Tried it, but the lift-and-flash my legs didn't work for me; they even threatened to sue me with alarm-and-scandal! Well, I have groups so when there's a proj, I just tag along. The power of connections, haha! That's why they let me join their groups.

Wonder Waif: Yeah, I understand the power and importance of connections. The only hope for salvation of my messy transcript is having a good connection. Oh stress the importance! Where do you go to school again? God you actually straighten up your life there! Hehe. From your wobbly life in dooms.

(to be concluded…)

Of Mutts and Waifs, Part 2

Melancholic Mutt: I was just picturing you out with a red flowing dress doing the flamenco in Europe. I think I'm drunk, guess I just need some person to text with, otherwise I would run amok and behead everyone with a bread knife.

Wonder Waif: Haha. You get all murderous when you’re drunk! Hey don't picture me doing those cultural dances! Club dancing is my thing! Where are you drinking? What an alcoholic!

… pause …

Wonder Waif: I have the most irregular sleeping habits I tell you! Now I just woke up again, and I know I'm gonna fall back to sleep again. Now how can you get a decent conversation out of me? It's like somnambulism. Hehe. My best hours are from late afternoon to late at night. I hope you nurse that hangover well!

Melancholic Mutt: Ooh man, I'm on my way to Starbucks ... without ligo! But who cares anyway? Like we'd be sniffing each other out! It's just a 3-minute walk, so. Yeah that's pretty irregular alright, are you like taking pills to ... uh ... make it regular?

Wonder Waif: Hahaha. Okay, what's with the unnecessary dots after the word pills? I'm too lazy to drink the melatonin pills, you have to drink it for one week before effects take place. Where do you live there ulit? That's so liberating, bathe-less and having a signature coffee shop nearby!

Melancholic Mutt: Ortigas, I live near UA&P and the Shangri-la and Megamall. So yeah quite liberating, and stressful too. Coffee shops are poppin' out like mushrooms so its kinda freaky! Melatonin, what is? Ooh, does that make you like, high? Wanna try it, save me some! Juuust kidding! Or am I?

Wonder Waif: Hehe. Melatonin is the hormone that regulates your body clock. Don't get all too perked-up there! I guess I burst your bubble, oh yeah? God, too much good looks in ua&p. I'd love to people-watch there. So refresh my memory. You have a job right? You're like a mystery superhero to me.

(to be concluded…)

Of Mutts and Waifs, Part 1

One night, while everyone was fast asleep, and there's not a lot of crime-fighting to do, two of the world's most gorgeous superheroes were texting each other...

Halfway through.. And after the "juicy" parts.. *wink, wink*

Wonder Waif: Oh jeez not that kind of dancer! Hehe. I meant the dancer in those high-end clubs which you can't sleep with nor touch. Well, not unless I'd allow them to. Haha! Adrianna Lima's hot hot hot! Is she even human? Gorgeous! Anyway, why don't you tend bars in Ibiza? That way you'll never be bored!

Melancholic Mutt: Well, thought about it. Figured I don't want to tend bars in Ibiza, I wanna be with the party crowd. Hmm, it's just an illusion though. I mean who would want to hire a bartender who falls short on the hot-ness department? Even in Vanuatu or Namibia! Ooh, so you wanna be a stripper?

Wonder Waif: I don't want to strip! Just gyrate and shimmy! Haha. Me stripping is not at all pleasing. Haha.

Melancholic Mutt: Says who!? A lotta chickas beat themselves up in the gym just to have a bod like yours, and guys, they deny their girls food and lock them up in the gym.

Wonder Waif: Haha. Jeez Lyle thanks for the dishonest flattery! Hahaha. Well, if its the only choice, then why not? What's in store for you tonight? I'm gonna read three sets of Sunday papers. My dad gets all 3 leading newspapers. It's his Sunday treat. Hehe. I'm all about the lifestyle pages!

Melancholic Mutt: Well I'm not saying that you should strip. But if you, well ... I have to ready my passport and buy tickets as early as now because I'm sure the whole world's gonna be there. I'm here at Jack's Loft, meet up with some friends. No, seriously, that wasn't flattery, not even close.

Wonder Waif: Still out drinking? I'm watching Saturday Night Live, its hilarious! Hahaha. If you're out with your colleagues, be wary! Hehe.

Melancholic Mutt: Nah, it’s not really a drinking binge, meet up with some high school friends, tonight was only time that our schedules surprisingly jived.

(to be concluded…)

The World According to Garp

"Garp was a natural storyteller," says the narrator of John Irving's incandescent novel, referring to the book's hero, the novelist Garp, who has much in common with Irving himself. "He could make things up one right after the other, and they seemed to fit."

Irving packs wild characters and weird events into his classic--officially recognized as such in a Modern Library edition with a new introduction by the author--while amazingly maintaining the rough feel of realism in every scene and the pulse of life in every heart. Many novelists of his time might have populated a novel with a novelist protagonist whose life and books comment on each other and the novel we're reading. Transsexual football players, ball turret gunners lobotomized in battle, multiple adultery, unicycling bears, mad feminists who amputate their tongues in sympathy with the celebrated victim of a horrifying rape--Irving made them all people. Even the bear is a fitting character.

In a crucial episode, Garp's wife's seduction of a young man coincidentally occurs at the moment when Garp is delighting their young sons with a reckless car trick (one of the few scenes beautifully, eerily, heartbreakingly captured in the film version as well). Many authors would have been content with the harsh comedy of the scene, but Irving respects its integrity, and he builds the rest of the book on the consequences of the event. How does he get away with his killer cocktail of slapstick and horror? Because it's simply what we all face daily, rearranged into soul-satisfying art. "Life is an X-rated soap opera," according to Garp, and who can contradict him?

Rereading Garp 20 years later, one is struck by how elegantly Irving structures his bizarre and complex story. Take the two most celebrated bits in the book, the Under Toad and Garp's story "The Pension Grillparzer," which shimmers like an exquisite Kafkaesque insect in the amber of the novel. When Garp warns his son about the "undertow" at the beach, the boy imagines a monster out of Beowulf who lurks beneath the waves to suck you under: the "Under Toad." It's funny at first, but we soon find that the Under Toad is a metaphor with teeth--he connects with a prophetic dream of death in "The Pension Grillparzer," set in Vienna. Garp's son's last words are, "It's like a dream!" And as Irving--who studied at the University of Vienna--can certainly tell you, the German word for "death" sounds precisely like the English word "toad."

All that death, and yet Garp is mainly exuberant. This story is, as Garp's stuttering writing teacher puts it, "rich with lu-lu-lunacy and sorrow." It enriches literature, and our lives. --Tim Appelo --This text refers to the Hardcover edition.

Review by: (Amazon.com), Photo by: (Reading Group Guides)

Horses Need Haircuts Too, 2

The next message came from my mom. Her phonebook name’s “Mom Jezebelle”; not because her name’s Jezebelle but because she has “Jez-pulgadas-bilbel” (ten inches of flab/love handles).

The message spoke of horses and whips and pains and winning and stuff (see first paragraph of the first part of this entry). I replied with “That’s highly debatable, besides I’m not a horse. Morning Mom.”

I proceeded to stir black power into my mug of boiling water. After performing the blow-and-sip ritual, I dragged my sleepy carcass to the bathroom to relieve my bladder. “There you go again, my sarcastic son. You’re over - intellectualizing things again. It’s a start of a new day, take it easy, will you? The world is already filled with sour people, don’t add up. Jerk!”

Of course she didn’t put the last word, I just made it up. Moms don’t just call their sons jerk; unless you really are one. But had I been my own parent, I would’ve called myself a jerk.

“I know Mom, a new day. So what’s in it for me? Kidding! God, I need a haircut. Could you spare me some dough there mother? Love yah.”

“Whatever happened to ‘independence’? And ‘it defeats the purpose ma’? You have a job, pay for it. Better yet, chop it off yourself. Haha. Mind the wrinkles son, loosen up. And easy on the smoking; million dead cells remember? Love you too, nak.”

“Mama? Mama…”

“Okay, collect it from the bank. God bless.” She is so charming.

Horses Need Haircuts Too, 1

“The winning horse doesn’t know why it runs a race. It runs because of the whip and pain. Life is a race; if you are in pain, then clearly God wants you to win. Keep running even in pain. Never give up, we’re about to finish the race. Good morning, winner!”

I woke up with a jolt. Still remaining horizontal, I surveyed the room with still bloodshot eyes. For a moment there, I didn't know whose bed I was on, then I realized, "Okay, it's mine. Been one hell of a party last night."

As if they have a life of their own, my hands began to crawl. The left tentacle crawled aimlessly across my body like a demented snake on crack. Itstopped where my left thigh was, feeling a small mound. I pressed the knoll unconsciously hard and let out a yelp. It stung! “Where the hell did I get that!?”

It wasn’t there the night before. Guess I drunk a bit too much that I totally forgot. The right hand, on the other … uhm … hand (So that makes three hands then! I must’ve mutated overnight!), managed its way to my bedside table and found my cellphone. I tried to lift it but it crashed to the floor. Holy dung beetle!

I quickly got up to retrieve the piece-of-garbage from the floor. But Holier Dung Beetle (!), hangover!

I checked the time, 10:53am. There were 3 missed calls and 14 text messages waiting to be read. I read the first message. It was a forwarded message from a friend who’s so hooked into this unlimited texting thing.

She’s not satisfied sending just one message so she sends 10 messages of the same content. I deleted the succeeding 9 messages without opening it for I’m dead sure it has the same content as the first.

(to be concluded…)

The Address of Greatness, 3

Your Silliman education will never be complete if you haven't experienced Doltz. In Doltz, I have experienced things I know I wouldn't be able to experience anywhere else. Now I thank my mother for plotting my murder.

From the ridiculous 10 pm curfew time to the movie marathons; the boring Thursday-night devotions; the overpriced Pancit Cantons with Mountain Dews, smoking under the Doltz tree, learning the art of climbing walls, sneaking in barrels and barrels of Tanduay and Tequila, the almost monthly brawls, the relatively unappetizing cafeteria food, the dorm outings, the jamming sessions, the bonding, everything! I wouldn't trade them for the moon!

If there's one place that I truly call home (aside from my Dipolog), that's gotta be Doltz Hall, Silliman University, Dumaguete City. “Lan, kung ma-senador naka, bisita biya dinhi ha? (Lan, if ever you become a Senator, pay us a visit okay?)” my dorm matron said, just before I left. “Dili diay ko! (Never!)” I replied jokingly.

And when I got out, tugging my maletas with me, I saw some of my “mats” (dorm mates) smoking under the revered Doltz tree. “Mats, saon na man ni, laya na man ko!” (author's note: I dunno how to translate this, its bisayan slang or idiosyncrasy or something but i'll try it in Tagalog, roughly it's: Mats, so ana na? Laya na kasi ako.)

“Laya gud!? Saba dinha! Sigarilyo ta mats!” (What's do you mean, laya? Tumigil ka nga, let's smoke instead!) Oliver said. “Bali! Mahawa na gali ko, pangayu-an pa jud kog cigarillo!” (Grabe naman kayo, aalis na nga, you’re asking for a smoke pa.) “Aw di ba, tinood ka?” (No seriously, are you sure?)

“Lagi,” (Yeah.) I took out a stick and gave them the box. I savored the moment, my last time of smoking under “the tree.”

“Sige mats, adto nako, mularga na ang fastcraft.” (So pano? I'm going na, the fastcraft will be departing any minute from now.) I bade them goodbye. “Di na jud ka kapugngan? Ayu-ayu na lang mats! Oi, imong yosi o!” (Hindi ka na talaga mapipigilan? Cge, ingat na lang. Oi, yosi mo!) said Samuel.

“Inyu-a na na!” (No, just keep it!) I gave them the cig box. Kleine uttered, "Salamat el presidente (The author was dorm president for a year. Sob, sob.) “Dili” I said, “Thank you!” (No, thank you!)

I turned around and I heard one of them shout, “Mats, remember Doltz!”

Author’s Note: I apologize for my deficient Tagalog.

The Address of Greatness, 2

"Ma?" I said with a begging tone. "I can't live here! It's impossible for me to live here! Do you want me dead!?"

"Ah stop it! You survived MSU unscathed, you'll survive here."
"But ... but ..."

"Here or home? You choose!"
"Let's find another dorm. I don't wanna stay here. It's ... it's ... old!"

"The dorms are already full. Had you not been a lazy bum, we could've booked you at New Men's It's your problem! Deal with it!"

"Put me in an apartment then. Or ... or put me in a boarding house, however tiny the room or however basic the bed, I can live with that. But not here ma, please!"

"You know very well that apartments and boarding houses are out of the question. Now quit it!"

I know what she meant. I don't deserve to have my own place; I screwed up my first two college years and now I'm paying the high price of my dumbassery.

"Alright," I said, defeated. I've been a debater since, but I cannot seem to win an argument with my mom. So the saying is true, "Mothers know (argue) best." That same morning we went to the Department of Housing. Mama signed me in, while I hang on for dear life.

"So is this goodbye Mama? Permanently?"
"You're being impertinente! Are you gonna stop this nonsense or what!?"
The voice inside my head was screaming "Or what! Or what!"

"Okay, but can I have Gary Valenciano to sing in my funeral?"
Mama glared at me, I knew I had to stop. Lest she kills me before the dorm does!

(to be concluded…)

The Address of Greatness, 1

Mention the words "Doltz Hall" in Silliman University, and you'd surely get a collective reaction of disapproval, with a slight hit of hostility.

With its dilapidated walls, older-than-Mampur structure, Superferry-like windows, a creepy gigantic Acacia tree in the front yard, hundreds of ghost stories, resident druggies, frat people, a penguin (!), secret societies of reinas and maias; the dorm certainly lives up to its name, Doltz Hell.

Here, you can meet and greet, and get acquainted with people from the extremes; frat men and geeks, druggies and Christian fanatics, reinas and maias, social climbers and silent millionaires, achievers and bums, humans and animals.

Aside from the haunted house reputation, it’s the people that make this dorm famous (or infamous!). However, if you put Doltz side by side with other dorms, hands down! Doltz gonna go for the kill, baby! And if you mix a Doltz haller amidst all kinds of dormers, no he's not gonna kill the other dormers, but he'd stand out as well. With the bad reputation and all ... kidding!

One can't help but wonder how these people, despite their Heaven-Hades differences, survive with each other and live harmoniously under the same roof. It's the same amazement you'd get upon seeing a snake and a frog sharing the same cage.

I lived (and mutated) in this dorm for about … three years. Three years of adventure, of fun, of brotherhood. I can even remember the time when my Mom dragged me to Doltz hall (since the first choice was the modern, concrete, relatively-welcoming New Men's Dorm), it was pure horror.

The same horror you used to get when you were 5 years old, and you accidentally swallowed a calamansi seed. Oooh, the branches will be sprouting out of your ears!

(to be concluded…)

Sinking in Bottomless Mush, 4

“Here, take my seat Ma’am.” I stood up.

“Oh no, I can’t. I’m alright. But thanks anyway.” She looked at me with her eyes seemingly saying ‘I know you’ve been through a lot today, you need the seat more than I do."

“But I insist.” I said.

She exhaled heavily through the nose, subtly shaking her head and curling her lips to a smile. “Sige na nga. Salamat ha."

I helped her gather her things from the floor to her lap. “Thank you, hijo.” She repeated. Then she smiled again, this time wider and ‘warmer.’ And at that very moment, I felt better, loads better. It surely took the world off my shoulders. For some weird reason I felt good, I felt I was reborn, that I’ve just started my day.

I got off the next station even though it wasn’t my stop yet. I got off the coach feeling much much better. Before the train sped off, I looked at the old lady again, she was waving at me. I just tipped my head and smiled.

From there I flagged a cab to my place and phoned my associate that I couldn’t make it, and asked him to reschedule the meeting with the client. Funny thing was, I wasn’t a bit worried.

“Shit happens” I said.

“What are you, nuts!? Better get your ass over here or you’ll be shit. The client’s been waiting for …” he said angrily, I interrupted.

“Uhm … Hello?” I made some noises; crackles and buzzes, and pretended not to hear him.

“Hello? Hello! Lyle!"

“Bro … I … can’t hea …ear … you! You’re … acking … up. Postpo … me … eeting."

Click.

Sinking in Bottomless Mush, 3

I spun around and looked at Mr. Steroids with a stare that could bring Hitler down to his knees. Or so I thought. It didn’t work for King kong; he was not a bit apologetic. “Watch where you’re going, little man!” he said to me and turned around.

Watch where I am going!? Little man!? Tell you what Neanderthaloid, the only thing that’d be little is your steroid-filled body once I beat you to a pulp! Lucky for him, I didn’t get the chance to beat him up! Poof, who was I kidding? The man could kill me with just a single punch!

I remained silent, nonetheless, still trying to push my way into the train. A middle-aged lady wearing a bandana behind me whispered in Filipino “That’s alright, you know there will always be jackasses.” I was sure she was well-intentioned, trying to comfort me and all that.

But still I wanted to rip her living heart out for that. It’s not friggin’ alright! And lady, that jackass just ruined my life! What the hell is alright about that!?

As soon as I entered the threshold of the train, I quickly ran towards the first vacant seat in sight and planted my bony posterior into it. Countless thoughts ran through my mind like how am I going to explain my being more than an hour late?

Or how would I explain to the client why the papers are now drenched in coffee? Or why am I wearing an army fatigue? I scratched my head in exasperation; searching for answers, realizing that I’ve managed to pull a couple of strands of my hair.

Well, I wasn’t wearing an army uniform. I was wearing a light green polo shirt. But because some klutzy dumb-dumb King kong so graciously bumped into me, bathing my shirt with coffee, it resembled a green and brown army fatigue or camouflage or whatever you call it.

That’s it! I thought. My alibi! I shall tell my client that I'm late because the sky train went off its tracks and ended up in Lebanon. The papers were of brownish color because we had to crawl our way out of the coaches to avoid that missiles; the mud thing’s mud.

And I’m wearing a camouflage because I was enlisted in the army for an hour. Good enough, I’m sure they’ll buy it.

I lost myself in alibi-land that I failed to notice a lady standing in front of me with her plastic bags between her feet. She was clutching a grocery bag in one hand while the other she used to cling onto the safety hand straps.

She was swaying as the train sped down its tracks. I looked up and realized that she was the woman who comforted me when my coffee was spilled; the same lady who I was planning to heart-rip minutes ago.

(to be concluded…)