Café Predatoria

Haitus

2007-10-03T21:01:00.001+08:00

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

2007-05-06T09:23:00.000+08:00

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

2007-05-05T09:19:00.000+08:00

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

2007-05-01T09:28:00.000+08:00

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

2007-04-22T09:12:00.000+08:00

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

2007-04-21T09:03:00.000+08:00

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!

2007-04-12T11:37:00.000+08:00

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

2007-04-11T11:07:00.000+08:00

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

2007-03-03T11:47:00.000+08:00

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

2007-02-24T23:28:00.000+08:00

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

2007-02-20T22:13:00.000+08:00

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

2007-02-17T22:03:00.000+08:00

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

2007-02-15T21:55:00.000+08:00

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

2007-02-14T21:48:00.000+08:00

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

2007-02-13T21:26:00.000+08:00

(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

2007-02-12T00:55:00.000+08:00

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

2007-02-09T00:51:00.000+08:00

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

2007-02-08T00:49:00.000+08:00

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

2007-02-07T23:47:00.000+08:00

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

2007-02-06T01:49:00.000+08:00

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

2007-02-05T22:43:00.000+08:00

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

2007-02-04T19:38:00.000+08:00

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

2007-02-03T21:35:00.000+08:00

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

2007-02-02T02:28:00.000+08:00

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

2007-02-01T23:18:00.000+08:00

"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

2007-01-29T21:48:00.000+08:00

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

2007-01-28T22:38:00.000+08:00

“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

2007-01-27T19:10:00.000+08:00

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

2007-01-26T22:06:00.000+08:00

"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

2007-01-24T23:56:00.000+08:00

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

2007-01-23T03:57:00.000+08:00

“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

2007-01-21T03:54:00.000+08:00

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…)

Sinking in Bottomless Mush, 2

2007-01-19T03:47:00.000+08:00

Strike 3: I queued up again; this time at the tail end. After three hell-like minutes, my turn arrived. “Shaw Station,” I ordered the cabbie. I clutched the papers closer this time for fear I might loose it again. Nothing happened, except when I crawled out of the cab, I tripped and almost spilled my coffee. 4:30pm.

Strike 4: This time I was beginning to doubt my existence; had I been placed in this world as a proof of man’s misfortune? Since I was already 30 minutes late, I decided not to panic and … well … move slowly and carefully. The faster my pace was, the more delay-opportunities I got myself entangled with.

So I went up the ticket booth and although I was dismayed by the long queue, I still remained calm. I got my ticket, went though the guard’s electronic black palo-palo and the usual kapkap-up-to-the-crotch and descended to the platform.

Amazingly, after only a minute of waiting, the train arrived. It went smoothly, thank god; until I realized I was on the wrong train! I was supposed to be headed southward, the train I boarded was North bound. Worse, I only realized this after four stations. 4:45pm.

Strike 5: What was supposed to be just four stops from the office, now became a whooping nine stops! I’m 9 stations away from my destination, four cities away and a couple of Php’s poorer. I still kept on reassuring myself that it’s way better than to be ran over by the train. It was alright, I thought; even though half of me was screaming “Are you kidding me!? You’re almost an hour late, dummy! It’s not friggin’ alright!"

The usual protocol / chain of useless procedures (Side note: How do they know kung bomb nga yung nag-eep-eep na yun?) I got out, fed my plastic ticket into the machines, made another purchase, went down the platform, waited for another ten minutes, and got on the train. 4:55pm.

Strike 6: The train arrived. There were tons of people trying to get in and an equal number of human bodies trying to get out. People were pushing each other. I, on the other hand, desperately tried to shove my small frame, pitting myself against the mass of people pushing in every direction.

Pushing, shoving, yanking, pulling, shouting when – Bam! – a King kong ran into me, spilling my coffee into my shirt … and the documents! The friggin’ documents! The same documents I was guarding with my life the whole time.

A sudden urge engulfed me; an impulse that even a serial killer or a nymphomaniac wouldn’t be able to contain. I wanted to spit on everyone’s faces, kick everyone’s teeth in, smash everyone’s heads like watermelons, grind their testicles and feed them to the pigs. I wanted to massacre everybody.

(to be concluded…)

Sinking in Bottomless Mush, 1

2007-01-18T03:39:00.000+08:00

Now people, let’s first set aside those broken bottles and acid; this entry's fuelled not just with sunshine and lemonade, but teddy bears and cute bunnies as well. Well, not entirely. And now, get ready for something so mushy you’ll die of diabetes just by reading it.

Ever wondered how simple words brighten up your day? (I told you this is pretty mushy!) How a simple “Thank You” from total strangers is more than enough to make up for the day’s stress. (Okay, now barf!) And how a simple smile goes with it compensates for everything. (Geez-sus!)

(Brace yourself!)

My parents taught us that when you take public transport and there’s an old lady standing, whatever her social status might be, you have to willingly give out your seat. And not just ancient folks, but the handicapped, too.

I was on my way to a meeting one day, hurrying. Since it was rush hour, it’s a gimme that traffic would be unbearable. From the office at the Ortigas Center, I took a cab to the Shaw Boulevard station, which is just a ten-minute ride, and from there, I hopped aboard the train to the Ayala station.

For those who are regular visitors of this blog, I’m sure you know for a fact that I hate trains – my theatres of war!

But that day was different; it was an exception. I was thirty minutes late for an appointment, so I had to avoid whatever delay. The meeting was at 4pm and I arrived at the MRT station at 4:35. I’d rather be dead inside that string-of-boxes-that-runs than be murdered by my client … and my boss.

Strike 1: On my way down the elevator, halfway through, I realized that I’ve forgotten the papers which were very crucial for my deliverance. I came out on the sixth floor and took another elevator to the nineteenth – the office. I checked my time; it was 4:10pm.

Strike 2: Grabbed my coffee at the Seattle’s Best ground floor. I was so much in a hurry that I forgot my change … and the sugar! But no biggie, I don’t have any problems drinking sugar-less brew. I lined up at the taxi bay outside, and when my turn for the next cab arrived, I realized that yet again I forgot the friggin’ papers! T’was 4:20.

(to be concluded…)

Homelessness and Wet Shoes, 3

2007-01-17T03:32:00.000+08:00

So I walked around the mall, looking at the displays in the windows when this nice shirt caught my attention. I stopped dead in my tracks and looked at it for awhile, salivating.

And the next moment I found myself queuing up for the fitting room with the shirt, I was looking at a few seconds ago, dangling in one hand. “Well” I shrugged. “I’ll just try it on, and if it fits, I’ll just come back for it."

Since the fitting room was so tiny, and the mirror just above my knees, I got out to have a better look, to see if it goes well with my shoes.

“Sir, bagay na bagay po.” A sales person came into view.

“Huh?” I said, looking behind me.

“Parang tumangkad po kayo, at parang mas pumuputi kayo Sir."

“Well … I dunno …” I said painfully, letting out a heavy sigh.

“Last na ho yan Sir, small."

"I'll take it!!!" Swipe!

Then when I came out, I saw a very familiar shirt at the window of the shop across. I approached it to have a better look, and let out a gasp. It’s … it’s the shirt I have been looking for all this month! And … and now it’s on sale! “Just one, please… please, just last one."

Swipe!

(to be concluded...)

Homelessness and Wet Shoes, 2

2007-01-16T03:25:00.000+08:00

Armed with only my wits and charm, and a few hundred bucks in my pocket, I began my journey down the road to Tophet, oblivious to the catastrophe that lies ahead.

I arrived at the Megamall after a ten-minute walk from my place. It was uneventful except that I was stopped by an old little lady asking me to open her bottle of mineral water. But the damn bottle was so tightly sealed I couldn’t open it.

I handed it back to the old lady saying I was sorry. She just nodded, and I walked away.

When my back was turned, I heard her mumble stuff in a dialect I could not understand, Ifugao probably. I spun around to ask what it was but the old lady already disappeared.

Was it a sign? Was she cursing me for failing to open her bottle?

Seattle’s best, at last. I ordered my usual Grande Drip and waited for the barista to fill my cup. I looked around and realized that the place was jam-packed with humans. Every table was taken, so I told myself, “Okay, I’ll just take this home."

But by some twist of fate, as soon as I came out, a table was emptied; and my favorite spot at that! Another sign? Maybe. But my mind was just a blur I couldn’t think of anything else aside from having my coffee “right here, right now.” Besides I’ve just arrived and I want to rest my feet for awhile.

After 30 minutes or so, boredom struck yet again. “Alright!” I said. “Just ten minutes and then I’ll head for home.” I stood up, grabbed my coffee cup and proceeded to the nearest entrance to the mall.

SALE! The Sale! signs welcomed me. Boutiques and shops screaming with SALE SALE SALE signs. I’m not so much of a shopping person, in fact I detest shopping. It’s a waste of time; I’d rather watch stupid movies than go shopping and get varicose veins. “But I have a lot of time to kill. So,” I muttered, “I’ll just window-shop."

(to be concluded...)

Homelessness and Wet Shoes, 1

2007-01-14T03:21:00.000+08:00

Everyday we get bombarded with life’s atrocities: impossible deadlines, intense traffic, annoying pimples, cheap movies, stupid people, and stuff.

We go through our daily existence like robots that have been programmed to do what the people tell us to do. We are like guppies swimming the impossible currents of life, that we fail to appreciate the littlest, most trivial things like … a warm bed … or … or some clean, dry shoes.

People say that no matter how fast your life is, or how tight your schedule gets, you have to, once in a while, stop and smell the flowers. But in my case, stop and smell the shoes-es. I have never fully appreciated the value of a warm cozy bed and a pair of dry sneakers … until last night.

The rain was violent that morning, hammering on the roof like a bunch of elephants doing the samba. Good thing it was a Sunday; no work, no classes. I decided to just stay hole up for the rest of the day. But you know, boredom strikes at the most unopportuned time.

I said “Alright, I’ll just go get some coffee and come back after an hour or two."

So I dressed up and waited for the rain to cease-fire. But boredom never ceased boinking me in the head, screaming “Get out! GET OUT!"

I succumbed to the evil ennui’s demand and decided to brave the rain; oblivious to this poor creature – me – that two other devils were lurking outside, waiting to snatch him. Their names were Poverty and Homelessness.

Funny how, when I stepped outside, the rain suddenly stopped. Everything was so serene like the world’s just been created. I looked up and I saw Noah waving from his ark atop one of the buildings. I said, Thank God for the blessing. Or was it?

(to be concluded…)

Bibliophiliac Misadventures, 3

2007-01-12T03:01:00.000+08:00

“I mean, are you taking the book?” Emphasizing the last word and looking rather sarcastic, he pointed to the book I was still embracing.

“Oh? Oh the book!” I loosened my grip and held it up for everyone to see. “Yes, I’m taking it.” And without saying anything, he snatched the book from my clutches and gestured me to the cashier.

For a second there, I had an impulse to pounce at him and rip his living heart out! And hold the throbbing, bloody mess aloft for the nosy customers to see, sending a message to everyone not to mess with the dog’s book! However I restrained myself.

“But I think I can manage. Besides, the book doesn’t weigh a ton and I promise I won’t be lost on the way to the cashier. Thanks for the concern, though.” I grabbed the book back, flashed my best smile, and walked away. “How rude!” I muttered. “How dare you deal with The Melancholic Mutt like that!?"

And I read happily ever after. The end.

* * *

It’s actually a very long story, with several episodes.

Such as “Back and Forth: My Journey to the Cashier” and “To Buy Or Not to Buy … Or Not to Eat for a Week”, and includes the critically-acclaimed drama “Alms, Spare Me Piece of Bread” which tells the tale of a young man desperately scavenging for food, for he spent his whole week’s allowance on a book that, rationally, is not worth its price tag.

Inspired by a true story, this book chronicles the adventures of the Melancholic Mutt in the kingdom called National Bookstore at the Empire of Shangri-la. Critics say “A must-read!”, “Better than ‘Jack & Jill Sat on the Wall!’”, and “Same caliber as ‘The Faggot Spider: Insie Winsie And his Yellow Polka Dot Bikini.'"

Grab a copy NOW! Proceeds will be donated to the newly-established and UN-recognized Coffeeteria International Co.

Bibliophiliac Misadventures, 2

2007-01-11T02:55:00.000+08:00

As soon as I crossed the threshold of the bookstore, I repeated my battlecry, “OH MY GAAAAD!”

I ran towards the book stacks and hugged the book I've been desperately searching for!

“Oh My God! Oh My God! Oh My God!"

It took me more than 10 minutes to calm myself down. And when my Oh-My-God’s subsided, I began shrieking again, “OH MY GAAAAD!"

People stared at me as if I were a raving lunatic. Some made hurried phone calls and spoke in hush tones. I surmised they were calling the mental hospital to repost a patient-on-the-loose.

“The hell!” I muttered, under my breath.

* * *

Once again, I felt a tap. “Huh?” I groaned. Then came another one, a much harder one. As if on cue, my eyes fluttered open.

Silhouettes, which I thought were outlines of angels, transformed into faint images of people. The blinding light, which I assumed was the portal to eternity, changed into – gasp! – fluorescent bulbs!

For several seconds I didn’t have any idea where I was, or how I got there. It was scary. “Am I in … the underworld?! Then my vision became clear. “Flying F*ck!” The realization smacked me right on the head, I almost passed out.

“Sir!" With the book still pressed tightly against my body, I turned around to see who h been slapping my shoulder. Shoot! It was not God, but an irate employee of the bookstore, glowering at me with that fierce glint in his eyes.

“Sir!? Is there anything I can help you with?” he spoke with a harsh tone in his voice. Clearly he was not pleased. “Huh? … Oh! … Ah … No, thank you, I’m alright.” I said, still befuddled over what had transpired.

(to be concluded…)

Bibliophiliac Misadventures, 1

2007-01-10T02:46:00.000+08:00

I was sweating all over.

Tears threatened to spill at the sides of my eyes while I grinned from ear to ear. My heart was thumping so hard it almost jumped out of my chest. I felt my veins exploding all over me, “Pop! Pop! Pop!” And at that very moment, I thought I was going to face my Creator. “Take me Lord”, I said, “My journey’s over."

With the book pressed tightly against my chest, I heaved a sigh and closed my eyes. Then I heard a voice and felt a tap on my shoulder. “Sir?"

“God, is that you?” I answered. “Am I in heaven? Lord, don’t call me Sir. I am not worthy."

“Sir,” the voice called out to me once more, the tap seemingly harder. I opened my eyes, but my vision was hazy, all I can see were shades of red, and silhouettes of people encircling me. I rubbed my eyes and saw a very bright light. “This is it!” I said. “The light at the end of the tunnel!"

* * *

OH MY GAAAAD!

I screamed as I passed by National Bookstore. I hurriedly went inside, thrusting my small frame against the mass of people also trooping in the same direction. I shoved them aside, left and right, leaving them trading baffled looks at each other in my wake.

“Walang tolakan!” the guard exclaimed causing a young girl, drinking Coke, to laugh so hard, Coke shot right out of her nose. “Ay Bisaya si Manong…"

(to be concluded…)

Delusions of a Guppie, Part 2

2006-12-31T02:35:00.000+08:00

"Yurr ivan worlds apart mowr hensum than Bekum, Brad Pitt, Tom Cruise put tah-gethurr!" (Your even worlds apart more handsome than Beckham, Brad Pitt and Tom Cruise put together!)

"Enough! I know that already! Now if you don't have anything else to say, I have a three o'clock with Armani and Versace"

"Well yaah.. I'm writing a feacchurr abew you, I wonder if you could pose for us, for GQ." (Well yeah. I'm writing a feature about you, I wonder if you could pose for us, for GQ.)

"Again!? For the past 10 months, I've been your coverboy! Every issue I'm on the cover!"

"Oh pleeease, like you can do mankind a favor, you're an inspiration. You could save the world and bring world peace just by posing."

"I don't know..."

"The countries of Bulagaria and

Guatemala

have just established a new religion, they're worshipping you!"

"Check with my assistant."

"Oh, here's my card, your Gorgeousness."

"I'll just have my people call your people ... uh ... what's that buzzing sound?"

My alarm clock buzzed off, and Carson Kresley faded into non-existence. Happy New Year everyone... :D

Delusions of a Guppie, Part 1

2006-12-30T03:57:00.000+08:00

"Oh hulew Mistur Adriah-dikow! I've been daayh-ying ta mee' yaw foh tha langist taahym.." (Oh hello Mister Adriatico! I've been dying to meet you for the longest time!)

"Uh... Do I know you?"

"Ooh.. I dun think seow.. I'm jisanavid faahn'ah yurrs. I'm Carseen..." (Ooh.. I don't think so.. I'm just an avid fan of yours. I'm Carson.)

"You're ... who?"

"Kresley. Carson Kresley?"

"Oh, the TRL guy!"

"Oh no, nooh, Gawd no! The Queer Eye for the Staright Guy guy... The fash'n divaah.."

"Uh..."

"Well yaah, its TV, I mean I forgot that you're rackin' up billions of dollars every nano-second. Well, we transform a disgusing towwd into a million bucks!"

"So I'm a disgusting toad!? Guards! Get this ... thing ... out of my face!"

"Wait! No, oh no, Hevans no! With that purfec town, byuti-faahl gorjis baahdi, classe fash'nbl clozz, no o'cors no!" (Wait! No, oh no, Heavens no! With that perfect tone, beautiful gorgoues body, classy fashionable clothes, no of course no?)

"So what do you want!?"

(to be concluded…)

Made and Unmade: Equi (Part 2)

2006-12-23T01:19:00.000+08:00

Now the things that un-made my morning:

1. I sneezed so hard that I banged my face in the mirror … with some little bubbles forming at the nose.

2. I realized that Mina’s pregnant … and her boyfriend left her.

3. I realized that my ‘other’ miniature Wile E figurine was inside my stolen knapsack … with my phone and my wallet in it.

4. I forgot to pluck the tissues off my chin … and realized it when the cabbie gave me this weird look when I boarded the taxi.

5. I dropped my half-filled mug of coffee … and realized that I've ran out of beans for another cup.

6. I got a call from my Californian friend Tyler … informing me that the client had backed out.

7. I got another text from another high school classmate informing me that Joey, another classmate … met an accident last night. (But he's okay now.)

8. I found a hundred bucks in my laundry bin … and found out that the other half of the bill was missing.

9. I got another email from another friend informing me that she’s getting married … to a guy twenty years her senior.

10. I remembered my Rotary Youth club friends … and realized that I’m no longer friends with them.

Isn’t life sweet? The perfect life, I’d like to call it. the balance of everything; good and bad, amusing and embarrassing, exciting and disappointing … equilibrium! I just hope that next time, bad things come first before the good ones.

Made and Unmade: Equi (Part 1)

2006-12-22T01:08:00.000+08:00

Things that made my morning:

1. Watching myself sneeze in front of the mirror. It amazes me how the human face contorts to make its wearer so repulsively cute. “huuuh … hu … hu … uh.a … a … ah-ts!”

2. Remembering the once famous expression “Anong petsa na!?” and realizing what it “really” meant now that I can speak tagalong. I recall with so much amusement how, when I was an hour late, my ‘babaeng-bakla’ friend Mina growled at me with both her hands on her hips, “Nung phe-chah na!?”

3. Catching the Road Runner Show on the tube and seeing my favorite cartoon character Wile E. Coyote in action. It’s been like forever that I haven’t seen his ingenuity. Ton, you have my minature Wile E, do take care of him while I’m away.

4. Cutting my chin with the razor and remembering my old roommate Anthony. He taught me to tear a bit of tissue paper and stick it on the lacerated area to absorb the blood. One time he forgot to pluck it all off and went to school with his face dotted with “small square-ish white thingys.”

5. Accidentally dropping my mug of coffee and shouting “Yati!” It’s a Cebuano cussword for … I don’t know … I don’t think it has a Tagalong or an English equivalent. And I realized that I haven’t uttered that since I moved here in the capital.

6. Getting a call from my Californian friend who tries so desperately to speak the Filipino language. “Pow-tah perey, di kow ah-lam, mukah ekong gegow!” (Son of a bitch dude, I didn’t know, I feel like a complete jerk!) One more year Tyler, one more year and you’re getting there.

7. Receiving a text message from my high school classmate informing me that James, our classmate, been recovering from his paralysis.

8. Finding the hundred bucks in my laundry. A hundred bucks may not seem that big, but hey, it’s enough for my Cappuccino.

9. Getting an email from one of my bestfriends, Joyce, announcing that she’s having her second baby within the week. Whoa! That’s two babies in less than a year. I can sense a basketball team coming out of her. Or a cheering squad if it’ll be all girls.

10. Hearing the words “Layshus,” “Charmus,” “Chuvaness,” and “Chenelyn” on the tube, making me reminisce my Rotary Youth club days. To Mark and Princess “Layshus mirasol chasmus!” To Joseph and Vanessa “Been there … been that!”

(to be concluded...)

The World is My Pigsty (Part 2)

2006-12-20T01:03:00.000+08:00

Then something I have noticed
Whilst I was gliding by;
Oh what is this!? Aak! A Stinking rock!
The stench was awful; it made me cry.

Chaos, turmoil, mayhem.
In that world they all abound,
Apathetic, indifferent to anything,
If one farts, will they hear a sound?

So absorbed with trivialities,
Of cars, parties, and their cavities,
Of how many girls they banged last night,
And how they made their underwear white!

The metalmouths are approaching!
With fangs of steel, and saliva dripping,
Take cover! Hide! Run for your life!
They maybe rich, but they also bite!

First prize in stupidity, wow!
Congrats! Now, take a bow.

Humans, Oh humans!
When will you even learn?
Appalling, horrendous, disgraceful,
Oh shut your lips, you big fat fool!

Third rock from the fiery orb,
Dirty, foul, depressing, yet big,
The world is my pigsty;
And mankind is my pig.

The World is My Pigsty (Part 1)

2006-12-19T02:57:00.000+08:00

I want to share with you this trash-of-a-poetry that I wrote (in 10 minutes flat!), driven by the inspiration I got from this group of young urbanite professionals, armed with laptops, and killer shoes, and all.

Okay, so there I was, sitting on my favorite chair at Seattle’s Best, sipping my coffee, puffing my smoke, reading my beloved Zafra book, when this adorable flock of cultivated metropolitan creatures came barging in, with voices so soft, windows were breaking.

I lay my book down to find out what the hullabaloo was all about. But before the book came into contact with the table, my eardrums were whacked with Oh-My-Gawds, Totallys, E’-was-soo-kewls, As-ifs, Like like likes, etcetera, etc. They were so cute, I want to smash their heads.

“Shut uuuup! You People are Pathetic! I Don’t Give a Rat’s Ass! I Don’t F**KIN Care!” I screamed. In my mind. Being the civilized person that I was, I slowly picked up my book and hoped the earth would open up and swallow them. I resumed my reading. Tried.

But thanks to the angels from the kingdom underneath, I forgot the page number where I left off.

But the best is yet to transpire. While I was desperately leafing through pages to locate where I stopped, I sensed the melodious voices become louder and louder. It seems they’re getting … nearer? And much to my delight, they occupied the umbrella beside mine. Oh joy!

Grabbed my pen, some tissue and began writing. After 10 minutes and a nano-second, I finished this labor of love especially dedicated to the pigs of society. Thank you guys, you made my day! *kiss, kiss*

(to be concluded...)

To My Dansel in Shining Armor

2006-12-18T08:24:00.000+08:00

To my cousin, my sister, my best friend, my worst enemy, my dansel in shining armor, my warrior, my conscience, my Cokee, Happy Birthday Cookiday! Kuya loves you so so much much! Although we're now distant to each other, I'm just around the bend. Just call or text or email me when you need me; I'd fly there pronto. I miss our talks, our bondings, our everything. Most of all, I miss YOU loads, see you this Christmas! Can't wait to see you! As what Atsie always say "You're made for greater things!" Stay pretty, stay sweet, stay maldita, stay as Cokee are you are!

The Kite Runner (Hosseini)

2006-12-17T22:07:00.000+08:00

The Kite Runner (Khaled Hosseini)

"In his debut novel, The Kite Runner, Khaled Hosseini accomplishes what very few contemporary novelists are able to do. He manages to provide an educational and eye-opening account of a country's political turmoil--in this case, Afghanistan--while also developing characters whose heartbreaking struggles and emotional triumphs resonate with readers long after the last page has been turned over. And he does this on his first try.

"The Kite Runner follows the story of Amir, the privileged son of a wealthy businessman in Kabul, and Hassan, the son of Amir's father's servant. As children in the relatively stable Afghanistan of the early 1970s, the boys are inseparable. They spend idyllic days running kites and telling stories of mystical places and powerful warriors until an unspeakable event changes the nature of their relationship forever, and eventually cements their bond in ways neither boy could have ever predicted.

Even after Amir and his father flee to America, Amir remains haunted by his cowardly actions and disloyalty. In part, it is these demons and the sometimes impossible quest for forgiveness that bring him back to his war-torn native land after it comes under Taliban rule. ("...I wondered if that was how forgiveness budded, not with the fanfare of epiphany, but with pain gathering its things, packing up, and slipping away unannounced in the middle of the night.")

"Some of the plot's turns and twists may be somewhat implausible, but Hosseini has created characters that seem so real that one almost forgets that The Kite Runner is a novel and not a memoir. At a time when Afghanistan has been thrust into the forefront of America's collective consciousness ("people sipping lattes at Starbucks were talking about the battle for Kunduz"), Hosseini offers an honest, sometimes tragic, sometimes funny, but always heartfelt view of a fascinating land. Perhaps the only true flaw in this extraordinary novel is that it ends all too soon. --Gisele Toueg --This text refers to the Hardcover edition."

(Review By Amazon.com, Photo By Reading Group Guides)

The Perpetual Undergrad, Part 3

2006-12-16T01:49:00.000+08:00

“Can someone recite the Expanded Accounting Theory?” asked the professor.

“Ser!” one student shot her left hand up in the air.

“Hmp…” the professor looked t the girl for a moment, knitted his eyebrows, pushed his spectacles up the ridge of his nose, and called out again. “Anyone?”

This time, the girl held her hand higher, determined to be called by the teacher. Sensing that no one wants to answer, aside from the girl whose left hand is now higher up in the air than ever, he heaved a sigh and pointed to the girl, “Alright, you there, Miss Rexona Model! Recite the Expanded Accounting Theory…”

“Okay Ser,” she stood up, and began reciting. “Assets equals LiabElities plus Owner’s Iq…”

“Wait, wait!” the professor interrupted. “Ano nga ulit yun, hija?"
“Owner’s…”

“No, the word before that.”
“Plus…”

“Before that, hija.”
“LiabElities…”

“That’s it!” he was so amused, he seemed so triumphant. The students started to laugh, medium laughter. The poor girl, on the other hand, just scratched her head in confusion, looked at her classmates and … well … smiled, no idea what’s going on around her.

“Ser, hindi pa po tapos yun…”
“Sige … please … continue!” the professor uttered between gurgles.

“Assets equals LiabElities plus …”
Humongous laughter. “No hija, say LiabIlities…”

“Oh, sorry ser.” She became aware of the situation. “I’m sorry classmates…” she smiled.
“LiabElities…” she repeated. Hysterical laughter.

“LiabILIties…” reiterated the professor.
“LiaBILETis…” some students fell down laughing, and so did the teacher.

The poor girl turned scarlet. Tears threaten to trickle from her eyes. She was still standing, while everyone around her busted their lungs out laughing.

“LyaBILITis!”

* * *

Wait!

Oh, where was I? … Uhm … Ahh … Was I writing about my previous schools? I was!? Man! This wasn’t supposed to be about discrimination towards Visayan people! Darn it! … Guess I’ll just finish this next time. I’m tired. Besides, my train (of thought) had gone astray.

To be continued (the story), will tell you how this author stood up for all the promdi’s (read: prom di prabins / from the province) of the world; and how the poor probinsyana almost strangled her seatmate to death (You go, Bisaya guurl!). And also, about the universities. For now, I really tired, and I need to rest.

The Perpetual Undergrad, Part 2

2006-12-15T00:35:00.000+08:00

University # 2: Campus Beside the Sea
Location: Dumaguete City, Negros Oriental

The province is not only renowned because of the famed Apo Island (which, by the way, is one of the best dive sites in the world), the Dolphins, the Sand Bar, etc., but also because of its universities. Dumaguete City, the capital of Negros Oriental, is dubbed as the University Town. Why? Because of the many universities in the city. Duh!

Furthermore, with the random killings that have happened in recent years and the infamous Dumaguete Scandal, the city could not carry on with its previous moniker (i.e. City of Gentle People). Hence the change. Not sure though, that’s just my hypothesis.

Course: Psychology (for 4 semesters), then Political Science (for 1 semester).

Fact: The University is one of the best schools in the Philippines, though it’s unfamiliar to some Luzon-ians (What dyo call people from Luzon? Tagalog? Nah. Not everyone’s Tagalog.) Yahoogle it up if you want, Silliman University.

Prominence cannot be equated with excellence, you know! If a school’s well-known, it doesn’t necessarily follow that it’s a good school. Take for example the case of this particular university in Manila (I deleted the name of the school, I don’t want to receive hate mails. Haha!). Famous, yes, but just look at the licensure exams results. Talo! And they keep on brandishing that they’re this and that (Again, scrapped). I know, licensure exam result's not the sole determinant on whether the school's good or not, but it's one of the-. Say, we take two schools, one prominent but produces lesser graduates, while the other an anonym to many but spanks the exams real good; who's better? Need I answer my own question? (/me resisting the urge to say 'Duh'.)

Fiction: Visayan people are poor in English. *snap fingers above the head* Excuse me!?

I don’t know why some people are prejudiced and discriminatory towards us, Bisaya. Can it be attributed to their (not referring to anyone, ang tamaan wag magalit) *gasp* superiority complex? Or maybe it’s the ‘defense mechanism’ talking? Uh… because they’re threatened? *suck air violently and cover the mouth with one hand as if expressing disbelief*

Why do people snigger when they hear Bisaya people talk? Perhaps they find the accent funny. Or maybe … I don’t know.

One more thing, though. In the movies, Bisaya maids are always portrayed as stiff-tongued, ridiculous characters. “Ati, Ati, tapus ku na pu patologin si Junatan, po-ponta na pu aku sa palingki.” What the heeeeell was that all about!? When do Bisaya people get to be leads? I can count only a few. But that’s beside the point, I know.

*Photo: Silliman University Website*
(to be concluded…)

The Perpetual Undergrad, Part 1

2006-12-14T00:41:00.000+08:00

All in all, I have attended 4 universities; two in Mindanao, one in the Visayas, and one in Luzon. I have already bypassed two commencement ceremonies.

And I’m still on my second year in college. Cool, isn’t it?

It’s always been an adventure being a student. Loads fun, trust me.

University # 1: University at the Mountain Top
Location: Marawi City, Lanao del Norte

A friend once remarked that studying at MSU is like joining “Survivor” for four years. Voting off is held at the end of the semester, and your reward is not a million dollars, but a diploma. Here, it’s survival of the fittest. Guess, I’m not one of the fittest.

Course: International Relations, Major in Asian Studies

Fact: It’s a very peaceful campus. Fog as early as 2 o’clock in the afternoon. Cool (literally and figuratively)!

Fiction: People just open fire at each other, carnage in the streets, Muslims are evil. (What the--!? Certainly NOT true! Do you want to debate? Makes me want to write about this.)

Amazing bits of info:

Picturesque and beautiful campus, overlooking Lake Lanao.
When feel like “emote-ing,” just go to the golf-course and cry yourself dry. Plus, the very thick fog adds up to the drama.
At about 5 to 6 in the afternoon, when the sun is ready to set, the “Sleeping Lady” emerges. It’s the I-don’t-know-the-name” mountain ranges, that when seen from afar (especially at the MSU golf course) resembles, well, a lady sleeping, curves and all. It’s so breathtaking. Plus orangey tint of the sky, and the gentle sun rays, Oh, so beautiful!
Gastronomy’s delish! Pater and Beef Randang, especially. And oh, the art of eating straight from the cellophane, with no utensils, how to tear the plastic in order not to make a mess, and the “rituals” that goes with it.
With only 50 pesos in you pocket, you can survive for a day. Honest. But that was before, about 4 years ago, I don’t know at this time if the prices are still the same.
Unless you own a car, the only way to go in and around the campus is through walking. It’s good for the heart, you know. Plus no pollution.
The campus is also tagged as a mini-U.P. because of its size, and a mini-Baguio because of the climate. Cold in the morning and afternoon, freezing at night. Very thick fog, especially at night, about 5-10 feet visibility only, sometimes, 3-5. And I’m not exaggerating.
We have our own SM (not Shoe Mart), where we watch the latest movie months ahead its release.
More to come about Mindanao State University – Main Campus…

*Photo: MSU-Main Website*
(to be concluded...)

As The Night Fades

2006-12-13T03:28:00.000+08:00

Gazing at the moon, I'm wondering;
Is she happy? Or like me, weeping?
Can she feel my pain, and sympathize?
I wonder what's behind those pretty eyes.

Flick the lighter, puff on the stick and exhale,
The earth is damp, and the air smells stale.
Breeze getting colder, the moon is fading
Soon, pretty soon, it will be morning.

Siete Marias (Ken, Yeng, Glo)

2006-12-12T00:01:00.000+08:00

American Ambassador Kenney

Just when I thought the much-celebrated Subic Rape Case finally over, another issue sprang up. This time, it’s about the custody of Lance Smith. The Philippine government and the American Embassy are now in a tug-of-war as to where the

Officer should be detained: the US Embassy or Smith temporary residence, the Makati City Jail.

The American camp anchored their claim on a particular Visiting Forces Agreement (VFA) provision, saying that Smith should be in their custody because the court decision’s not yet final. I’m sorry for my inadequate knowledge, I cannot give further details about the issue for as I’ve said I haven’t been following the case closely.

Enter the American Ambassador. She went the Department of Foreign Affairs (DFA) to appeal. So she was met by the press and was interviewed.

She emphasized on how the

troops extended its assistance to the Bagyo Reming people, and how “our forefathers fought alongside each other to liberate THIS country” and blah blah. Her point was perhaps “We’ve been helping you out for the past bazillion years, so we need you to give us back the favor. You ingrates!” Yes, it was more like a ‘sumbat.'

I don’t know. I like Francis Ricciardonne more than her.

Yeng Constantino (of PDA fame)

I could not believe she just turned 18. Like she’s very very talented for her age. She sings, write songs, everything. The hit “Hawak Kamay” was sung AND composed by her. Wala lang. Ang babaw ko talaga. He-he.

Gloria Macapagal-Arroyo (La Presidenta)

Mole, be gone! ‘Nuf said.

(Photo From: Wikipedia)

Siete Marias (Dinky & Nicole)

2006-12-11T02:59:00.000+08:00

Dinky Soliman (former DSWD Secretary)

The Lower House convened to pass an amendment to their house rules. They needed to make the change to hasten the submission of the proposal for the Constituent Assembly (Con Ass). And eventually fuel the Cha Cha Train. It was a no-sleep session of the Congress, which lasted until the wee hours of the morning. Halfway through the proceedings and the heated arguments, Dinky made her presence felt.

To refresh everyone’s memory, Dinky Soliman once served the government as a Cabinet Secretary of the Department of Social Welfare and Development (DSWD). And when the Jose Pidal controversy broke out, Soliman turned her back on the President. Her other ‘achievements’ include co-organizing the Hyatt 10, attacking her former master with such abrasive words, etc. A balimbing, in other words.

So Dinky was there; she was seated in the audience gallery wearing her signature silly strip of colored hairpiece. Being the epal that she still is, she held aloft a puppy stuffed toy and waved it as if to say that the majority members are tuta’s of GMA and JDV. Gimme a friggin' break!

Reality check Miss Dinky: How many years had you been the slobbering tuta and lickspittle of GMA, huh? A day before you stabbed her on the back, you even led the singing of “If We Hold On Together”, and while singing you were even holding up the hand that fed you. Enough already. Wala ka nang kredibilidad. By continuing your pa-epal, you’re only reinforcing the public's perception of you being a balimbing. Enough Dinky, enough.

I’m not really a GMA supporter but sour grapes like Dinky make me green about the gills.

Nicole (Subic Rape Case plaintiff)

I just want to congratulate their camp for winning the case. Though not all of the accused were sent to jail, at least the primary suspect, Lance Corporal Smith, will not be able to escape the life behind bars. I haven’t been closely monitoring the case so I can’t say much. This is a triumph of the Philippine justice system against the Americans. Or is it?

(Photo From: DSWD Soliman)

(to be concluded…)

Siete Marias (Dustin & Kandice)

2006-12-10T02:39:00.000+08:00

Dustin and Kandice (Amazing Race team)

(Everyone, please put down those rocks. Don't stone me to death because I'm so babaw. Please bare with my ka-babawan. I'm grieving.)

There’s no point watching Amazing Race, now that my favorite team (the beauty queens) had been given the elbow. They’re out of the competition. My heart still bleeds for Dustin and Kandice.

Every time the camera showed them, my world would then be on a standstill. Not because of their good looks (I don’t find them that striking), but because they’re fun to watch. They’re not your stereotypical prima donna of beauty queens. They’ve got brains, they’ve got brawns, they’re not afraid to get down and dirty, and they’re what you call ‘team.'

When the other teams shouted at each other and constantly argued, the two blondes never quarreled. They helped each other out and they know how to remain calm. I think that’s their strength; giggling their way to the top. No one wanted to forge an alliance with them. No one wanted them, everyone hated the “f*ckin’ blondes.” In fact, the teams even connived to kick them out of the competition. They didn’t succeed, however, until there were four teams left (the male models, the dating pair, the single moms, and the beauty queens).

My brother asked me who I am rooting for, now that the girls are out. Honestly I don’t know. I’ve always disliked Rob and Kimberly, they’re always shouting at each other, especially this Rob guy who can’t seem to handle frustrations and setbacks. I don’t like the male models either. Much more than the Alabama team. They don’t know what I means to work as a team, to work together. Urgh!

Now that the beauty queen are no longer in the running, my fanaticism with Amazing Race ends. The girls have proven that, after all, it’s possible to maintain your “poise under pressure.” I guess I’ll just have to emulate them, shrug my shoulders and say “we can’t all be first."

"It's not in our blood to give up until it's done. If there was a stereotype of us just playing with our tiaras all day, I'm hoping it's broken now." Kandice (Amazing Race 10)

(Photo from: About Reality TV Website)

(to be concluded…)

Siete Marias (Miriam Defensor)

2006-12-09T02:06:00.000+08:00

Here’s a list of seven of the women who made headlines, the women who made the political landscape quiver, and (generally) the women who stood out (for me) last week.

Sen. Miriam Defensor Santiago

Again, Miriam stole the spotlight. She took to the lectern her signature fiery rhetoric and called some Supreme Court Justices ‘earthworms.' Man, Miriam is definitely stronger than Typhoon Reming!

As I vegetated on my couch half-drunk, I knew I had to put down the remote control and observe her being Miriam-ness. Miriam yelled. Miriam screamed. Miriam went berserk. I had the urge to stand up and applaud.

The issue: she had been removed from the official list of candidates for the next Chief Justice post. She suspected conspiracy and sabotage among them ‘earthworms’ to boot her out of the list. She said she wasn’t angry, but “irate, furious, ballistic, fuming, foaming at the mouth, hitting the roof, homicidal” and basically she enumerated every word synonymous with ‘angry.’ That’s my girl!

"I am humiliated! Debased! Degraded! And not only that, I feel like throwing up to be living my middle years in a country of this nature!"

With her powerful voice, feisty façade, florid verbiage, and Harvard-meets-Iloilo accent, she pointed a finger at an imaginary someone and screamed “I am nauseated! I spit in the face of Chief Justice Artemio Panganiban and his cohorts in the Supreme Court!” (multiple exclamation points here)

What is there not to love about a woman who looks straight into the camera and utters “gusto kong mangagat ng tao”? Although I find some of her views absurd and out of this world, I love her still. She’s amazing, she takes my breath away every time she opens that mouth.

I love you Miriam, I’m with you all the way. We’re destined for each other.

(Photo from: Biography of Miriam Defensor Santiago Website)

(to be concluded…)

Be A Grinch, Avoid Christmas, 3

2006-12-08T05:04:00.000+08:00

I retired myself to a nearby coffee shop, grabbed a Venti and made my exit. But as I was heading towards the taxi bay, I noticed this thin old lady selling miniature ‘desktop’ Christmas trees. The ones that are just about 8 inches tall with a round piece of wood as its base. Yeah, that.

I bought three trees of varying sizes, and placed it on top of my bedside table beside the ashtray. After about 30 minutes of arranging and rearranging and rearranging and rearranging (read: OC) the miniature trees, I phoned my mom.

I said I was sorry for not remembering. “Remembering, what?” she asked. I made references to the star since I couldn’t say it directly. “You know, my annual assignment. Christmas. You know, tree. Stuff.”

“Oh the star?"

"Uh... yeah. So... who planted it?"

“Ah, that would have to wait until you come home.”

Man…

I told my mom I miss her, and we hung up.

Merry Christmas everyone.

(referring to the photo: Oh man! Those friggin' wires! Oh well, Pilipinas.)

Be A Grinch, Avoid Christmas, 2

2006-12-07T04:57:00.000+08:00

So I boarded a taxi and went to the mall, in hopes of finding solitude. Yes, I achieve a good amount of alone-ness in the company of anonyms. I’m weird, I know. But in this time and age, who isn’t?

And boy was I dead wrong. So wrong. Going to the mall to escape Christmas-induced homesickness is one hell of a trap! Like I fell into a manhole in a tux. Uh… what the hell did I just say?

So...

As soon as the guards eep-ed me with their electronic black palo-palo, my eyes were bombarded with greens and reds. Oh so Christmas-y. The sound boxes blared with music from my Santa-Clause-blah childhood, demanding me to “deck the hall with hollies and whatnot” and that I should “better not pout and better not cry” because “Santa clause is coming to town."

(Sidenote: When I was little, I had this weird obsession with snowballs. I used to think that Santa’s coming to our house to pelt me with those. So hours before the noche buena, when everyone’s getting ready for the feast, I scrape the freezer for ice and formed it into jagged little ‘snow’ orbs.)

I asked the Pizza Hut girl with a Santa hat “Since when lang kayo nag decorate for Christmas?” She told me about a month ago, and proceeded to recite their latest promos… Lady, I only asked about the decors, and no I don’t want to buy your Cheesy Hawaiian Volcano Iceberg Titanic Ultra-Magnetic Super-adhesive Maximum Cavity Protection Anti-Bacterial pizza.

I visit that mall almost everyday for my coffee, for the last bazillion years! And that’s the only time I noticed the ornamentation. I thought to myself “I must’ve been working like a cow.” (variation: “like a prostitute.”)

As my friend Erin would say “This is sooo not helping…! That is sooo going into my hate list!"

(to be concluded...)

Be A Grinch, Avoid Christmas, 1

2006-12-06T02:44:00.000+08:00

As I was heading for home one evening, a disheartening albeit unfamiliar feeling overwhelmed me. I wracked my brains out in search of an answer, for this had never happened to me.

I stopped from my hike and looked up. Yes, I recognized it finally. The village’s lampposts abloom with Christmas décor. It's ... (sing with me) It's beginning to look a lot like Christmas!

Na-ah. It’s … it’s … it’s this homesickness thing again! Urgh!

Earlier that day, I was in my usual frenetic self. Waking up, dodging traffic, inciting office wars, coffee, coffee, coffee, yosi, yosi, yosi, scream, get frustrated, tad bit of alcohol, wham, bam, alakazam! And the series starts all over again when the sun floats back up the following day.

Two words to describe my everyday existence in the metro: same-old.

I checked my phone for the calendar, November 21st, and there I bumped into a realization – two days ago last year, I planted the star on top of the family tree.

Being the prodigal son, I have been given the honor (?) of my family of installing that precious star for ten years (ten Christmases) now. And this the first instance that I wouldn't be able to carry out my duty as the “star trooper."

The realization produced a sinking feeling that made me want to purchase tickets for home and back. However that’s close to being impossible. Well, unless I want to get fired and whore myself for a living.

I quickly ran towards my building and hurriedly get dressed. I didn’t know why or where to go but I figured I don’t want to get stuck alone. I have to surround myself with people to, hopefully, get my mind off this melancholia.

(to be concluded…)

So Freakin' What!? (Part 4)

2006-12-05T23:51:00.000+08:00

People tell me that I am a walking contradiction, perhaps they’re right. Some even commented that I may have an acute case of bipolar disorder, since they can hardly place a finger on whether I’m introverted or an extrovert.

One moment I’m this beer-guzzling dude who refuses to leave the bar not until he falls flat and wipes the floor with my face, and the next moment I’m a bibliophile whom you can lock up at PowerBooks for over a century and not get bored.

I’m noisy and silent, shy and outgoing, candid and guarded, loud and gentle, restrained and extreme, good and evil. Ooh, and the smell of coffee excites me.

I used to be accident-prone, cheated death 4 times, the last being self-perpetrated. I cannot function without alcohol in my system, keeping tequila and rum bottles in my locker before. My basic food groups are … Oh, I don’t eat, I only drink! Before!

Whoever invented the lighter was a genius, it’s the greatest invention of all time. I used to write, I used to sing, I used to debate, and I used to know the basics of 5 languages. I know I’m being incoherent but my favorite motto is: So What!?

I consider my life interesting, and the details that I have just shared to you is just one-sixteenth of my entire story.

I am me and be settled with it! Love me, hate me; I couldn’t care less.

(end of speech)

So Freakin' What!? (Part 3)

2006-12-04T23:44:00.000+08:00

Second speech: freshmen orientation
State of mind: annoyed; combative and eager to annihilate everyone

Wardrobe: a Ramones t-shirt, tattered pants, and a pair of old-school shoes
Title: So What!?

I am Dan Adriatico, ** years old, raised in a rather dysfunctional family, and have attended 4 universities.

I headed three organizations in my previous school, so maybe people liked me and I would like to think that I am friendly. I am a proud Bisaya and am not yet comfortable and fluent with Tagalog. Yes it’s shameful but I’m slowly learning.

I have acknowledged the idea that some people are prejudice and discriminatory towards us provincial folks, nonetheless I don’t really care for I know that in certain domains, we are better.

Our household is, to a certain extent, unusual. My dad sustains four families, including ours; but we’re the original. My mom’s a guidance counselor and a social worker, not your ordinary day job. My sister earns more than my mom. My brother doesn’t look like the rest of us. And I, on the other hand, am the black sheep.

Like most teenagers, I have past, a dismal one. I was a troubled youth, an alcoholic, rebellious and disturbed. I even made an attempt to take my own life, four times!

Many people thought that I live a wonderful life because I never leave my room without my smile properly in place. I was an achiever; have a loving family, had tons of friends; I am not intellectually inferior, my family is not underprivileged, I live in comfort, it was almost perfect.

But they didn’t know, I was not happy. Kurt Cobain murdered himself not because nobody loved him, but because everyone did. No, I’m not saying everyone loved me, I just thought the line’s cool.

(to be concluded...)

So Freakin' What!? (Part 2)

2006-12-03T01:37:00.000+08:00

First speech: literature class
State of mind: philosophical; excited; eager to make a good impression

Wardrobe: a polo shirt, khaki pants, and a pair of clean, white sneakers
Title: Gladiators

Life's never fair, cliché yes, but true. It never stop s pelting us with rocks, boulders even. Its waters treacherous, its waves fatal. And plunging into it, without the necessary defenses, chances are, you will just sink.

And before you know it, society’s piranhas have already ripped you apart. In the long run you will be swept onto dry land defeated, broken, bloody, even lifeless.

In this day and age, it is imperative for an individual to toughen his nerves, sharpen his claws and thicken his face for him to get through. In a society where life is so fast-paced and competition seems to get bloodier, one must know how to play life’s games, attacks should either be aggressive or subtle; and a person must know when to hang on and when to let go.

Otherwise, you will be lumped with other outcasts of the society. I was one of them; angry, bitter, depressed.

Just like in ancient Rome, we are the gladiators, problems are the lions and life is the arena. Some are doomed to fail as a consequence of their weaknesses, while others succeed because of sheer steadfastness to triumph.

That was the story of my life, the description of my existence. But that was then. With the crises that I have surmounted and the predicaments that I have hurdled, I emerged triumphant. Better, in every sense of the word.

(Sidenote: Dang! It sucked bazillion times more sucking power than a vacuum cleaner! Gawd, and oh so mushy!)

(to be concluded…)

So Freakin' What!? (Part 1)

2006-12-02T01:33:00.000+08:00

One of my weird obsessions is listening to my voice, not the singing voice but the normal voice. I admit I do not own the most pleasant voice in the entire macrocosm, but it’s a compulsion I can’t do without.

Recording it and playing it back all over again gives me some sort of “pleasant disgust.” When it comes to my voice, I am my number fan, and also the one who hurls tomatoes towards the face.

I’m currently attending two schools at the moment; and you know the drill when you’re the “fresh meat” in class, they would demand an introduction from you as if it would kill them if you wouldn’t. So I conceded.

I have the worst case of stage-fright; I would shiver in front of people, slurring and all. I would let out words so fast, it would leave the audience wondering if it was Russian or Chinese.

But thankfully, my stage-fright didn’t manifest in the two occasions where I hogged the lectern. Since it was my first time to speak before an unfamiliar audience (Luzonians) I didn’t bother picking the right words, or tweaking what needs to be tweaked. I thought, “This isn’t Visayas or Mindanao, I don’t an image yet to protect." So I channeled my sour-self and proceeded to the podium.

Since it was extemporaneous, I set my phone to its recording mode and recorded my two speeches to find out how well or how bad I performed.

The first one that I delivered was for a literature class, so I thought mushy and flowery words would come in handy. But when I reviewed it, I realized I sucked big-time.

The second one, I presented in a freshmen orientation class. I didn’t know they have this also. It was rather spontaneous, the professor kept signaling me to wrap it up.

(This is the transcribed-unedited copy of the impromptu performance so forgive the errors. But of course I've already deleted my usual fillers of ‘like’, ‘uh’, ‘y’know’, etc.)

(to be concluded…)

Scream, Weep, Free (Part 3)

2006-12-01T01:27:00.000+08:00

I reached into my pocket and drew out a box of cigarette. I took out a stick, and put it between my lips.

Without looking, I handed him the box. Again I sunk my hand into my pocket and fished out my lighter. I looked at it for awhile, wondered if it was really my lighter, or if I picked up a wrong one at the bar. Mine was green; the one I was holding was red. Oh well, I mumbled, and flicked it.

I aimed hard, and managed to light the wrong end of the stick.

“Ai, punieta!” I moaned. We laughed. “Beh (Let me)!” He said, snatching the lighter and lighting my cigarette. Puffing away, we sat down quietly.

“Grabe no? So depressing, life.” I said, breaking the silence.

“Know what Lyle, you’re better than that, you don’t deserve this. But, you know, shit happens. Di ba, you always tell me ‘it doesn’t fuckin’ matter how many fuckin’ times you fuckin’ fall, but rising after every fuckin’ stumble?” He responded;

I just smiled, and tapped his back.

“Let’s go?” I said. “The dorm will be closing in five minutes. I’m sure the penguin’s inside her office by now, waiting for the latecomers."

Impersonating the dorm matron, he croaked, “Asa na man pud ka gikan Lyle? Hubog na pud ka!? Imo na pud gi-impluwensiya si Alix!” (Where have you been Lyle? You’re drunk again!? And you even brought Alex with you!)

We laughed again.

“To infinity and beyond…” hoisting his left hand, he howled.
Curling my lips to a smile, I replied “Your friendly neighborhood Spiderman…”

Scream, Weep, Free (Part 2)

2006-11-30T01:21:00.000+08:00

Mopping my eyes again with my sleeve, I sat on the ridge; knees touching the chin, arms wrapping around my legs. I slowly rocked from side to side.

Alex sat down beside me, laid a palm on my back, and lightly rubbed it. “Just give me a minute Lex.” I said, this time a little sober. Slowly he drew his arm back.

I buried my face into my hands, and silently sobbed.

“Haay…” I let out a deep sigh after a minute or two. I looked at him with red, puffy eyes; and shrugged. He didn’t say anything; instead he just nodded, seemingly telling me “it’s alright".

“Lex, it’s so unfair. I don’t understand. Why, ngano ingon-ana sila?"

“Because you permit them. Know what, you are just too … kind, maski na you know that you’re being abused, you still let them. That’s your downfall eh, you make life easier for other people to the point of ignoring your own. I don’t know if you’re a masochist or you’re just plain stupid.

“But… they’re my friends. And I’m not asking for anything in return."

“Used to be your friends. And of course you’re asking for something, for them to reciprocate. If you’re not asking for anything, what’s the point of all the screaming and getting drunk, huh? You’re frustrated, why? Because you’ve found out that these so-called friends are unable to return your kindness. Lyle, you’ve been blind. From the start it’s obvious, but then you refuse to see it. Maybe you’re right; you’re stupid and a loser."

I didn’t budge. I remained silent, eyes still fixed to the ground. His voice rose with every word, he sounded very angry. But I wasn’t surprised; in fact I’ve been expecting this.

(to be concluded…)

Scream, Weep, Free (Part 1)

2006-11-29T01:16:00.000+08:00

“I’m a loser!” I screamed. “Yeah, that’s what I am! The sorest of losers! “Loser! Loser! Loser!!!” I screamed, my voice grew louder with each word. I was punched drunk, tears and snot mixing in my face. “Ah! The biggest loser!"

“Lyle, let’s go.” My friend Alex said, tugging my arm. “You’re drunk and it’s getting late."

“No!” I snatched my arm away. “If you want to go, then go! The hell! I’m so tired of people like you! Go! Leave me! You’re all the same! All of you!” I screamed, slurring. “I hate this! I so fuckin’ hate this!” Fresh tears managed to escape my eyes.

Clutching the books that I launched onto the street earlier, he just clucked his tongue and shook his head. I wiped my face with my sleeve. Tears continued to spill while I struggled to remain in a vertical position. He fished out a handkerchief in his left pocket, and offered it to me.

“I don’t need that!” I said, pushing his hand away. “In fact, I don’t need you people! You people need me! I don’t fucking need you!” I screamed again, pointing a forefinger directly to his face.

“And when you couldn’t find any use of Lyle anymore, you then ditch me! Just like that, you people always walk out on me! Lyle the dumpee! Yeah, that’s what I am! Poor Lyle, people say! Fuck them! Fuck them all!"

I swayed, almost fell down. “Shitty sidewalk.” I muttered.

(to be concluded…)

Attack of the Coffee Monster, 2

2006-11-28T23:36:00.000+08:00

“Grande Drip for here, please."
“Would there be anything else, Sir? Something to eat?” the male barista offered.

“No, thank you. Just coffee.”
“That’d be a hundred bucks, Sir.”

“Sir?” he continued. “Are you from the Ortigas area?”
“Yes, why?” I answered, a bit puzzled.

“Kaya pala hindi ka na pumupunta dun Sir, we wonder if you’ve already shifted na.” The female barista who was manning the other counter interjected.
Then I remembered them; they’re the baristas at the Megastrip branch.

“Oh. *soft laugh* Nag-transfer na pala kayo dito?”
“Borrowed lang Sir, kulang kasi dito sa Greenbelt. Balik-balik naman kayo dun.” he said smilingly.

“Oi, he’s our frequent costumer. Di ba Sir?” Another barista chimed in, speaking in a mock-angry tone.
“Hindi kaya, mas frequent kaya si Sir dun sa’min.” the second barista declared.

“Can I have my coffee now? Or pupunta na lang akong Starbucks?” I said. They laughed. I was serious.

Then the second barista produced me a humongous mug of boiling coffee, filled to the brim. Honestly, I was a bit flattered. I’ve never seen anyone being served with that huge mug before, only with those paper cups.

“Whoa! Laki naman,” I said embarrassed, it was more than what I’ve paid for.
“Thank you.” I smiled.
“Anything for our valued customers. Enjoy your coffee.”

I went outside and settled myself into one of their rather uncomfortable chairs. As I was reveling in my semi-celebrity-ness among the barista circle, white urbanite monkeys were yakking behind me.

“Akshally, it’s like this kase, you know, like, I made para this taxi, and when I made sakay, Oh my gosh, the driver was like, sooo mabaho.” Then a collective expression of disgust ensued, endless annoying “ewww-ing” filled the air.

I had this sudden overwhelming urge to make buhos my coffee over their like swollen heads, but I made pigil my sarili. Why? Bekuz, like you know, its so sayang naman this coffee.

Authors Note: I’ve just learned that they serve it in a mug upon request. But I didn’t make a request, in fact I was a bit cranky at that time since my blood-to-coffee ratio not stable yet. Still, I was grateful. Thanks Starbucks! Uh, I mean, Seattle’s Bucks. Oh, Seattle’s Best.

Attack of The Coffee Monster, 1

2006-11-27T02:25:00.000+08:00

Shelling out a few hundred bucks of your hard-earned moolah for black powder and water is utterly insane. Venti, Macchiato, Frappuccino; daggummit!? To hell with these words! I roll my eyes on people who utter them. But that was then.

Little did I know; I was unaware that little by little these words slowly crept into my daily vocabulary.

I live for coffee; black, strong, no-nonsense coffee. Aside from helping millions of coffee farmers, it sets everything in harmony and maintains world peace (around me, at least). Guzzling tons and tons of this bitter juice has been my life for more than half a decade now. And I couldn’t be any happier (my concept of happiness, that is).

I am somewhat a peaceful human being, which to say that I am a pacifist. I try to keep things balanced, and am usually the conciliator between my combating friends. But, denying me of a caffeine fix and I’m off to a killing rampage. Did I mention coffee preserves peace and order? I mean just that.

Every morning when I wake up, the first thing that pops up into my mind is … well … coffee. Getting up, crawling to the dispenser, stirring black powder into the mug of boiling water, taking a sip and eventually scalding my tongue; the first set of chore I perform every waking moment.

And after killing all my taste buds, that’s the time I dart towards the bathroom to relieve my close-to-exploding bladder. Coffee comes before pee.

When people ask me why I’m hooked, I don’t reply with the usual “It keeps me awake” or “I like the taste” or (and this is true with some people) “It’s fashionable!” (and stress on the last statement)

In fact I don’t reply at all. Coffee is way beyond human comprehension; it’s the same as asking birds “Ya got feet, why fly?” Just because.

That coffee keeps you awake. True. But soda keeps you awake also, because of its sugar content. And apples too, which according to studies (and this is true), have a higher I-forgot-the-name-of-the-wakefulness-chemical content than coffee.

So why go for the bitter-tasting, sewage-water-looking, nerbiyos-inducing liquid? Not reason enough, unless you’re ignorant with the soda and apple scientific researches.

That the taste is pleasant. Are you kidding me!? It’s no less than drinking amplaya juice. Well, unless you find the idea of grinding amplaya, sieving the pulp, and downing slowly the green substance pleasant, then … But still, are you kidding me!?

That drinking coffee is fashionable. Fashionable my gluteus maximus! Need I say more?

(to be concluded…)

Discrimination: A Fairy Tale (P.2)

2006-11-24T01:57:00.000+08:00

Facts: (based on my observation)

1. People would shudder when they hear the word “Mindanao”.

2. People would back off at once when they know you're from Mindanao. (and this is a good thing, in some cases.)

3. When people know you’re from Mindanao, the bold ones would always ask if you’re Muslim.

4. If you say you are, they’d think you’re dirty, backward and barbaric.

5. If you say you’re not, they’d think you’re not really from Mindanao.

6. When people know you’re from Mindanao, the bolder ones would always ask if you’re an Abu Sayaf.

7. If you say you are, they’d think you will kidnap them for ransom.

8. If you say you’re not, they’d think of you as a bogus Mindanaoan.

9. When people know you’re from Mindanao, they’d always inquire if “nagpuputukan ba dun?”

10. If you say Oo, they’d go, “Ows? Talaga? Di nga…"

11. If you say Hindi, they'd go, "Eh sabi sa news palaging blahblahblah..."

12. When people know you’re from Mindanao, they’d ask if “nagpapatayan ba mga tao dun?”

13. If you say Oo, they’d go, “Kaya pala nandito ka sa Manila…”

14. If you say Hindi, they’d go, “Hindi mo alam!? Oo, maraming patayan dun. Alam mo ba blah blah blah…"

15. When you say that Mindanao is in fact a very nice, beautiful, peaceful place, they'd just roll their eyes on you and sarcastically say "yeah right"; worse, they'd brand you as 'sinungaling' and stone you to death. (I just made up the last phrase.)

To set the records straight:

1. I’m from Mindanao (Bisayang taga-Mindanao, loud and proud!), and I’m not a Muslim.

2. I’ve lived almost all my life in Mindanao, and (emphasis here) spent 2 years in Marawi City (The Islamic City), a predominantly Muslim area. I didn’t get injured whatsoever, nor did I get killed (which makes no sense, I know).

3. Muslims are not Abu Sayaf. The latter is a terrorist group, while the former are the followers of Islam. Like Christians, followers of Christ.

4. Islam is a religion, which literally means “Peace (Salam).” Muslims are the followers of Islam, and cannot be labeled as one unless they (rigidly) adhere to the teachings of Islam.

5. This I have to point out: We always hear news (supposing that you read and watch the news) about “Muslim pinatay ang kapitbahay” or “Muslim nagnakaw.” But we’ve never heard of “Kristyano ni-rape ang sariling anak” or “Katoliko binugbog ang asawa” or “Mormon nasangkot sa multi-level networking scam” or “Pulis na INC member natutulog sa trabaho.” Nothing of those sort, wala, di ba? So why ine-emphasize ang pagiging Muslim nila?

6. Like what I’ve said, Abu Sayaf is a terrorist group; in fact some Muslim folks disown them.

7. We all have our individual differences. Never take it against another person if he has a different culture, belief or religion. Just like Christianity, they also have their share of the “odd-ones”. Lahat naman yata meron.

8. Kindly examine the newspapers, and try to find out the ratio of Muslims and Christians na gumagawa ng krimen araw-araw, and let’s see who’s more “barbaric” (if that’s an apt term to use.)

9. Wag tayo masyadong magmalinis. Kristyano ka nga, ipokrito(a) naman.

10. If you categorize Muslims as lesser people, then you my friend are lesser-er. You’re definitely misguided, not to mention narrow.

Discrimination: A Fairy Tale (P.1)

2006-11-23T13:50:00.000+08:00

Are you familiar with the story about the three little pigs and the big bad wolf? Do you know why they were eaten by the big bad wolf? No, not because they built pathetic houses out of hay or something. They were eaten, because? Anyone?

Because instead of heading for home and preparing for the wolf’s arrival, they side-tripped to Starbucks, sat there for hours and got busy blowing their own horns off. Read on. (Real encounter with the real pigs.)

“When we went to like New Zealand last summer dude, I tried bungee-jumping!” one pig boasted. “I freaked out paah-re! Like, my whole life flashed before me! I thought I was gonna die dude, graa-beh!”

“Ugh! That’s nothing!” another pig dismissed, waving a paw. “You know naman that I you know, drive so bilis di ba? I used to be a drag racer kase paah-re. I even got into an aksidente once. Really! And I was hospitalized for one linggo!”

He then showed them a puny scar on this temple, sending the first pig flinching. “Marami pa yan, pare dude!"

“Wha-? It doesn’t even spell death!” the third pig remarked. “Me? I went to Mindanao last month paah-re! Mindanao, Imagine!?”

I laughed so hard, coffee almost shot right out of my left nostril.

(to be concluded...)

Tears of Summer

2006-11-22T01:33:00.000+08:00

In my self-excavated pit, I seek refuge,
Consoling myself, this is for everyone’s good.
But even with solitude, still I feel agony;
Is there no other way of breaking free?

Tuck away with only my self as company,
Here, I thought, they would never reach me.
With memories, I fill my days of emptiness
Clinging unto them, tightly, my only solace.

I recall the memories of how it used to be;
Of people and me, and how we used to be happy;
How I looked forward to every waking day;
And how they abandoned me; the price I have to pay.

The sun shines brightly; the sea is so calm,
The waves slapping them, yet the shore keeps mum.
To the wind’s music, the palm trees are swaying.
A beautiful day, but why is my soul wailing?

Hovering high above me, the birds they fly
And tiny sand insects as they scuttle by
They seem peaceful, oblivious to what I’m feeling
But can they empathize? Can they feel my hurting?

I watch them; alone in my nook, I sit.
If I scream, will they be able to hear a bit?
I try to talk to them, I may be insane,
For the world never slows down to feel your pain.

Sitting cross-legged against the sand so white,
Wondering how long I could keep up the fight
I close my eyes, as the wind blows in my ear
Seemingly telling me, “Be strong, I’m here.”

They seem so merry. Ah! How dare them mock me!
While everything’s pretty, I’m gripped with melancholy.
Aggravating the pain; tears threaten to spill,
But I let them stream for I am alone, still.

Looking out into the distant horizon,
Peeking into the hole of my tiny dungeon.
Contemplating about the world I see.
Will there be any life ahead of me?

Wheeling off, slowly I am drifting away.
Like a ship, caught in a storm, gone astray.
In this oh so vast ocean of uncertainty;
Helplessly floating; drifting aimlessly.

Of Peanuts and Mementos, Part 2

2006-11-21T03:07:00.000+08:00

Nostalgic rush! Oh my stars! I tried to stifle my screams of delight.

“Yes! I mean, no! Yes, I’m from Dumaguete, no, I’m not a barista! It’s Cafe Memento, by the way."

“But I’m positive! You served me with that Orange Smoothie, and you even gave us packets of peanuts! That was, I think, late last Feb when we visited Dumaguete!"

Then it hit me, the dam just broke. “OH MY GAAAD! YEAH! I remembered!” Humongous laughter. “Yeah, that was me! I sometimes do the waiter-ing when I was still there; I’m not a waiter though. Just a frequent customer."

“Hahaha! You’re name’s Lai, isn’t it? You were always bickering with one of the waiters, heard him scream your name a couple of times.” Omigod! She remembered. I always squabble with Richard, and he shouts my nickname every time we argue!

“Oh! Yes, it’s Lyle with an “L” at the end. This is odd! Hahaha! Hi! I’m sorry but you’re name is?”

“Michelle…” we shook hands. “I remembered you because you were so sweet (again, according to her) when we were there, giving us peanuts and entertaining us and all. (Actually, I recalled, I was a bit tipsy during that time, hence the confidence.)

“Tina!” she called out to her gal-pal who was sitting two tables away. “Tina, look! The small guy from Momento… Memento!” Small guy!?

Tina gave her a puzzled look. “What? Huh?” she mouthed, raising both her eyebrows and crinkling her temple.

“The peanut guy! Memento? Peanuts? Don’t you remember?” Peanut guy!?

“Oh hi!” Tina waved. I waved back.

“Do you want to join us?” Michelle offered.

“Nah, I’m off to work in a sec, next time na lang.”

I escorted her back to her table where we chatted for a minute or two. I was introduced to Tina, who told me she loved the complimentary “Dumaguete Peanuts.” Actually, those weren’t exactly “complementary”. I bought them from the Kuya-Allan-Mani-Beh! kids. Decided to give them away since I had plenty. Those kids, every time they go to Memento, I feel obliged to buy their peanuts!

Anyway. I soon learned they’re call center agents, and we promised to hang out one of these days. We exchanged numbers, and then I set off for work.

* * *

Small world, isn’t it? Who would’ve thought that a simple encounter, a simple gesture of thoughtfulness and my being a sweet, adorable, small, peanut guy would set the stage for new friendships!? I may have lost a lighter, but I certainly found some new friends.

* * *

To the Cafe Memento Crew & the Peanut Squad: I miss you guys so darn much!

Of Peanuts and Mementos, Part 1

2006-11-20T01:07:00.000+08:00

One sun-drenched afternoon at the Megastrip’s Seattle’s Best, while I was reading a Coelho book (The Devil and Miss Prym);

“Uh, excuse me? Can I have a light?” a female voice rang.

“Sure.” I replied feebly, my eyes still glued to the pages of my book.

Sensing that the lady has not yet touched the lighter, I picked it up and handed it to her.

“Here…” I offered and looked up from my book. Take it, you’re bothering me!

She let out a gasp upon seeing my face, knitted her perfectly-plucked eyebrows, and flashed a perplexed grin.

“Yes?” I queried. What now, lady!?

“I know you!” she exclaimed. Oh yeah? Finally, I thought, someone noticed my hidden handsome-ness! Do you want to have my autograph or something?

“I know you!” Obviously! Duh! What do you want lady!? Can’t you see I’m trying to read here!? If you want to have my autograph, just say so and get on with it!

“I know you!” You don’t have to repeat it. I’m not deaf!

“Excuse me?” (Honestly, I was astonished!)

“I know you! I’ve seen you somewhere before!” Of course you did (sarcastic tone), before you so crudely interrupted my reading!

She rolled her eyes heavenwards, like a student being asked to explain Einstein’s Law of Relativity. Know what, you can just take the lighter. I have loads of ‘em. You don’t have to pretend to know me to just borrow my lighter!”

"Oh yeah!" she shrieked exultantly, as if she discovered the antidote to some incurable disease.

“Momento, isn’t it? You were that adorable (according to her) barista at Momento!” in a tone that could only be employed when showing affection to kitties and little doggies. “Nice kitty-kitty...”

“I’m sorry Miss, you’re mistaken. I’m not from Caloocan (Monumento).”

“No, Momento Dumaguete! You’re the barista, right?”

(to be concluded..) cafe memento

The Bleached & The Burnt Part 2

2006-11-19T12:54:00.000+08:00

The scrawny boy picked up his spectacles and touched his nose. Blood gushed out of his pale snout, prompting him to hurl expletives in some foreign language (Korean, possibly).

He was about to throw a punch when the enraged internet café attendant barked. “Hoi! Stop that! Out you kids! Out! Out! Guard, palabasin mo nga tong mga batang ‘to! You kids, you out now!”

“Halina kayo, sa labas nyo ipagpatuloy bakbakan nyo!” said the guard, seizing the kids by their arms.

“Hey, don’t touch me, dumbass!” little mister four-eyed cotton bud snarled, trying to escape from Mamang Guard’s clutches.

“Hoy Jang-Geum! Don’t damas-damas me ha!? Don’t you reclaim! Let’s go!” snapped the guard, tightening his grip.

“Nognog… nognog… nognog…” the idiot beside me chanted again.

“Ikaw! Ang ingay mo!” the attendant growled, turning her attention towards him. “Tumahimik ka kung away mong palabasin din kita! Nognog nognog ka dyan!” That shut him up.

I went back to what I was doing and hammered away. Everyone was happy; well, except for the idiot.

* * *

Moral of the story: When people wrestle inside an internet café, don’t utter anything idiotic. Otherwise, the attendant will skin you alive.

Things I discovered:

Never annoy an already infuriated internet café attendant, or else you will be mud.
“Reclaim” is the English translation for the Tagalog term “reklamo” (for real!).
Never wear eyeglasses if you have a gigantic head atop a bony body, you will only resemble an overgrown cotton-bud with goggles.
Dorky skeletal kids are also capable of being bullies.
Guards watch the Koreanovela “Jewel in the Palace”.
If you’re a tubby black kid, no one would want to play with you. You will just get into a fight.
Jang-Geum is the collective name of Koreans.
Kids can be so violent, especially when they no longer want to play with their playmates.
Korean children speak better English (with American accent. beat that!) than most Filipinos.
Never push your opponents to the wall, you’ll get punched first.

The Bleached & The Burnt Part 1

2006-11-18T23:13:00.000+08:00

You're a jerk!" one boy screamed. "I don't want to play with you anymore!"

“Oh yeah!?” Another tot retorted. “Then don't play with me, stupid!"

"Who are you calling stupid? You're stupid! Stupid! STUPEEED!"

I peaked out of my cubicle and stopped my keyboard-hammering to find out what the commotion was all about. Two little boys, one Korean (How do I know his Korean? I don’t know. Instincts, perhaps.) and one nognog, yelling at each other. They have the shrillest of voices, it’s like scraping a fork across a chalkboard.

One was fairly bursting with good health (read: fat), while the Korean kid was like an overgrown cotton bud with eyeglasses. He was so skinny that I could actually hear his bones creak.

“Just punch him and shut up!” One person bellowed, while the idiot seated beside me chanted, “Suntukan na. Suntukan na. Suntukan na.” He was so irritating that I want to give him what he wanted, I want to punch his lips and make it bleed.

As if on cue, the skinny boy pushed his inversely-proportional antagonist to the wall. Bang! The portly nognog slammed. Gago ka ah! Bakla!” He’s Filipino? Yeah, an overcooked Pinoy.

He gathered himself up, dusted off, went to the other kid, and without a warning, punched the cotton-bud to the nose. Bang! (I’m so poor with sound effects.) The blubber knuckles collided with the bony mug. Togsh! (Said I’m not good at “sound-effect-ing.”)

His eyeglasses fell. I thought, for a moment there, the skeletal kid’s nose was shattered.

(to be concluded...)

Fading Away

2006-11-17T22:15:00.000+08:00

No matter how hard I shake it,
But I just could not ignore it.
Shadows of the dismal past,
Catching up with me, at last.

In my own secluded sanctuary,
I have to escape, I ought to flee.
To isolate myself, I went into hiding.
It’s futile, after all, for they’re re-emerging.

Memories that have been confined,
Locked away in the recesses of my mind.
Little by little, they are now resurfacing.
In my consciousness, they’re permeating.

Running off, constantly running away.
My life has always been this way.
This is me, unhappy in perpetuity.
Tell me, should I let it be?

Took flight, I tried to break away;
Made up my mind, I just can’t stay.
Though friends tell me “Just hang in there buddy!”
I’m sorry guys, but for once, I want to be happy.

And now it’s all coming back to me,
Reliving the days that afforded me misery,
But I’m hoping and praying that I will be okay.
Eventually, these memories will fade away.

The Picture of Dorian Gray

2006-11-16T01:00:00.000+08:00

The Picture of Dorian Gray (Oscar Wilde)

"A lush, cautionary tale of a life of vileness and deception or a loving portrait of the aesthetic impulse run rampant? Why not both? After Basil Hallward paints a beautiful, young man's portrait, his subject's frivolous wish that the picture change and he remain the same comes true. Dorian Gray's picture grows aged and corrupt while he continues to appear fresh and innocent.

"After he kills a young woman, "as surely as if I had cut her little throat with a knife," Dorian Gray is surprised to find no difference in his vision or surroundings. "The roses are not less lovely for all that. The birds sing just as happily in my garden." As Hallward tries to make sense of his creation, his epigram-happy friend Lord Henry Wotton encourages Dorian in his sensual quest with any number of Wildean paradoxes, including the delightful "When we are happy we are always good, but when we are good we are not always happy." But despite its many languorous pleasures, The Picture of Dorian Gray is an imperfect work.

"Compared to the two (voyeuristic) older men, Dorian is a bore, and his search for ever new sensations far less fun than the novel's drawing-room discussions. Even more oddly, the moral message of the novel contradicts many of Wilde's supposed aims, not least "no artist has ethical sympathies. An ethical sympathy in an artist is an unpardonable mannerism of style." Nonetheless, the glamour boy gets his just deserts.

And Wilde, defending Dorian Gray, had it both ways: "All excess, as well as all renunciation, brings its own punishment." --This text refers to an out of print or unavailable edition of this title.

(Review By Amazon.com, Photo by Authorama.com)

So, You're .. uh .. Filipino? (P.4)

2006-11-15T23:43:00.000+08:00

Earlier this evening, after school, I went to this Korean - Chinese - Japanese internet café. The place was nice; the workers were polite, giving me three Good-Evenings in less than ten seconds; and best of all, you can smoke inside. It’s in Ortigas, along Pearl Drive, fronting the University of Asia and the Pacific.

Anyway… as soon as I entered the shop, the guard warmly greeted me with a smile. “Gohd debneeng Ser!” I just nodded. That’s odd, I thought. After a second or two, one of the attendants approached me.

“Good evening, Sir! Internet or gaming?” he inquired.
“Internet…” I answered.
“This way Sir.” he said, ushering me to the cashier.

“Hi Sir! Good evening!” the plump cashier greeted me. She welcomed me so energetically as if greeting customers makes her horny. I was frightened with her up-to-the-ceiling enthusiasm. I reciprocated the greeting with a faint “Hello”.

“English? Korean? Or Chinese?” she asked, words rapidly spewed forth from her mouth.
“I’m sorry?”

“We have Korean and Chinese language-ready computer stations. So … English, Korean or Chinese?” the flab under her chin jiggled with every word. She’s still smiling, flashing me her toothy grin.

“Tagalog, meron?” I asked jokingly. I chuckled, she did not. This time her smile disappeared; her thick eyebrows converged at the middle. She stared at me for awhile, like a student staring at a very complicated mathematical equation. From me, she shifted her eyes to another attendant.

She called out, “Bobby! Station twelb!”

So, You're .. uh .. Filipino? (P.3)

2006-11-14T16:04:00.000+08:00

When I was still in Silliman U, I had this report on Japanese literature. Halfway through my presentation, I noticed these two giggling girls in the front row. When one girl says “jiyehp-niiis” the other would reply “li-ri-chr” and they’d burst into quiet laughter again.

I wondered what the commotion was all about. So being the semi-chismoso that I was, I pranced around the room while giving my lecture in hopes of uncovering the mystery behind the giggles.

The first girl would go, “The JIYEHP-niis LI-ri-chr is the blah-blah-blah. The blah-blah is one of most important blah-blah of JIYEHP-niis LI-ri-chr. JIYEHP-niis LI-ri-chr.” propelling the second girl to snigger. They were unaware of my presence, that I was near, that I could hear them. And then at the exact moment the first girl said, “Taga-asa diay na cya!? OA pud!” our eyes connected.

I was looking at her, she was looking at me. Then I realized they were mimicking (and making fun of) me. JIYEHP-niis LI-ri-chr = Japanese Literature. Who was more embarrassed? I don’t know, I think Miss Jiyehp-niis, because she lowered her eyes first.

But I didn’t want to embarrass her so I just pretended I didn’t understand what she said and continued with my lecture. “The Jiyep-neez end thu Cha-neez went ta Astraya ta kill sum Bri-ish chi-kuhns!” (The Japanese and the Chinese went to Australia to kill some British chickens!)

(to be concluded...)

So, You're .. uh .. Filipino? (P.2)

2006-11-13T16:00:00.000+08:00

People always come up to me (sometimes they stop me, like in the aforementioned story) to inquire if I’m Burmese, Malaysian, Indonesian, Singaporean, or Thai. The first time I encountered the question, I just laughed at it and coolly said “Dili (No)”.

So I can pass for a foreigner huh. Then came the second, still I was fascinated. Then came the third, dismissing it as mere coincidence; having three different people, on three different occasions, in three different cities.

When the fourth came, I began to wonder if these people were blind, or just nuts. Fifth time, I was beginning to suspect that I was on Just For Laughs (or its Filipino equivalent, Wow Mali.) Five times, it’s alright. But more than 10 times!? (Yes, I keep track.)

More than ten times; more than ten different individuals on more than ten different occasions in more or less 4 different cities, I’m beginning to wonder if I’m really Filipino, or some clumsy nurse switched me in the nursery when I was an infant.

(to be concluded...)

So, You're .. uh .. Filipino? (P.1)

2006-11-12T15:49:00.000+08:00

“Hey! Wait up!”
“Huh?”

“So… You’re new here?”
“Uh…”

“Freshman. You’re freshman?”
“Yeah…”

“Me too. So… What are you taking up?”
“Psychology.”

“Me too! So… How do you like the Philippines?”
“Excuse me?”

“Hasn’t been around yet, huh? Where are you from?”
“Wha—?”

“Heard you’re Burmese. Our classmates ... they talked about you. Here in the Philippines, we talk a lot ... especially about other people. But its okay ... I mean you know you’ll get used to it. Besides, we have a lot of foreign students here, they can help you adapt. Know what, for a Burmese guy, you speak good English.”
“I’m not Burmese.”

“Oh I’m sorry. Indonesian?”
“No! I’m…”

“Malaysian?”
“Filipino!”

"You're Filipino!? (pronounced as "Fu-La-Pee-Now")
"Uhh ... yeah?"

“Really? Cool!”
“Uhm..”

*awkward silence*

*crickets chirping in the background*

"So..."
"Uh-uh?"

“Which side?"
"Which ... side ... of what?"

"Mother’s or Father’s side? Or both?”
“Bisaya! (stress on the last syllable) Budlat! Itom!

(to be concluded...)

The Infernal Regions: Part 3

2006-11-11T13:50:00.000+08:00

Oh, and when I finally planted my bony posterior into what could be one of the most uncomfortable chairs, I decided to check on whether Mr. Numbskull’s still alive; I was half-hoping though he got swept up by an asteroid. And goodness was I shocked with what I beheld.

A throng of passing Korean tourists requested for a photo-op with him!

I cringed as I watched the excited Koreans pose beside him. The arrangement was like this: 2 Koreanas on his left side making “peace” signs with their pallid fingers, 2 Koreanos on the other side while our hero dunked one hand into the water (the other wagging), smiling before the camera! Geezzzzuusss!

They must be very amused with the jerk. They must be thinking, “These Filipino people sure are a ridiculous bunch! Full-grown people making a total fool out of themselves!”

Anyway…

The neon-clad, Mafia-lord-slash-lost golfer-slash-waiter approached my table and handed me the menu. “Good afternoon, Sir!” he croaked. I glanced at the menu for awhile, and handed it back to him.

“Coffee, please…”

“Ai Sir!” he said, scratching his head. “We're really sorry, sira po kasi yung brewing machine namin…”

“What!? No Coffee!? Do you have any idea how much hell I went through just to have coffee!? Do you want me to kick your behind all the way to Havana Cuba!? Hah!? Hah!?” I screamed, in my head.

I, then, pulled down my pennon, and heaved a sigh of defeat. Just my luck, I thought.

Now the last retort, having coffee while beret-donning waitresses scamper about. I marched towards the French coffee shop, held my breath and walked in. Bonjour Monsieur!

Good, there’s coffee! Now, if I could just find some Visine.

The Infernal Regions: Part 2

2006-11-10T20:22:00.000+08:00

Yet again, another quandary, that of the two remaining coffee shops. (There are only 5 shops at this side of the mall, but EBUN doesn't fall under my coffee shop category.) Think, think.

Aside from the quality of coffee, I also take into careful consideration the ambiance of the place. I mulled over the situation, the pros and cons as I stood there under the shade of palm trees in the middle of the piazza, looking like a complete idiot.

Coffee Shop # 1: Café Havana

Pros: I love Cuba. I admire Fidel Castro. And I am a sucker for Latinas, especially when they get into those snuggly-fit, skimpy bikinis. Adrianna Lima! Ooh and, and. Enough!

Cons: The waiters! They looked like those antediluvian Mafia lords from The Godfather trilogy, who resigned from their kingdoms for some career growth, that is of becoming a waiter. Or some lost golfer who couldn’t find their way to the country club.

Coffee Shop # 2: Café Breton

Pros: I am obsessed with France, and everything that’s got to do with the place. I detest Napoleon though, but that’s a different story. The shop’s interior design’s classy, so … err … French! C'est parfait! Nah, not really.

Cons: Man, those red and blue berets! Outta here! The waiters look like displaced Nazi soldiers from centuries back. Those berets! Those berets! Man, they’re so … I’m lost for words!

So there I was, chewing over my plight when I noticed some dork playing with the fountain in the middle of the square. He appears to be a little over 30, was wearing a pair of denim shorts and was clasping a bag in one of his armpits.

I observed him for a couple of seconds; he seemed to enjoy what he’s doing for he was grinning while the water jets splashed unto his hands. What a strange guy, I thought.

Then he became aware that someone’s looking at him. He looked at me with the What-Are-You-Looking-At (!?) look. I responded with the Aren’t-You-A-Bit-Too-Old-To-Be-Playing-With-The-Fountain (?) look. He, then, countered with the So-What (!?) look. He looked away subsequently, I also did the same.

I noticed that the people were looking at me, because I look like a jerk standing there under the blistering heat of the sun looking at the pathetic person who’s looking at the lookie-look. I looked, he looked, and everyone looked! Look look look! Oh look, lots of looks! Where was I, look?

Nah, I'm just testing if you're still with me.

Back to the issue-at-hand: Cuba or France?

After thorough consideration, I picked the Mafia lords over the Nazi soldiers and made my way towards Café Havana. While I despised the garbs of the two aforesaid coffee shops maître d's, I opted for the less laughable one. Those berets were just eyesores. They gotta go!

(to be concluded...)

The Infernal Regions: Part 1

2006-11-09T20:03:00.000+08:00

Buzz.

I awoke at the sound of the alarm clock. Wha-!? I wondered. 8 o’clock!? (Man!)

I forced myself into a vertical position and went to the bathroom. I took a bath at lightning-speed, skipped breakfast (as usual), and dashed out of the gate. I’m late for school!

Sprinted towards Shaw Boulevard, and waited for a cab. I waited, and waited, and waited. Arg! Ever wonder why taxi cabs suddenly vanish when you’re in a hurry and are in abundance when you don’t need them?

Hmp, I can smell some whacked-up conspiracy going on. I opted to take the jeepney instead. Heavy traffic, naturally, it’s a Monday.

In the PM. Holiday! Yay! No work! I have plenty of time to kill. But where would I do the killing? A flashbulb, then, went off inside my brain. Ting! Greenbelt.

I boarded the train, and prayed I would be able to walk out intact. The MRT is my theatre of war, and riding in it has always been my war story, but that’s beside the point.

The sun was high-up as I climbed down the Ayala Station stairs. I entered and exited Glorietta (4, then 2), and scaled the pedestrian overpass connecting the two malls.

Reaching Greenbelt 3, the dilemma as to whether I should go to Starbucks or Seattle’s Best, introduced itself to me. Hmp. Starbest? Or Seattle’s Bucks?

Starbucks it is! And as soon as I crossed the doorsill, a strange feeling engulfed me. I gazed at my surroundings and … and … Aak! I am inside the lair of the yuppies!

Coño people rocking the place with Oh-My-Goshes! An army of killer boots! Swarm of XDAs! Piles and piles of laptops! Braces! Eek! This isn’t the Starbucks that I knoow-wa! I quickly ran towards the exit screaming.

Alright, Plan B then. I strode towards Seattle’s Best, with my hopes up. But I stopped dead on my tracks. Alas, another flock of spoiled young metropolitan elites had taken camp at Seattle’s Best. This is one of the many unfortunate situations where I just want to bring out my WCD’s (Weapons of Coño Destruction) and blast these crazy-tizens to smithereens.

(to be concluded...)

Sophie's World (Gaarder)

2006-11-05T22:19:00.000+08:00

Sophie's World (Jostein Gaarder)

"This long, dense novel, a bestseller in the author's native Norway, offers a summary history of philosophy embedded in a philosophical mystery disguised as a children's book-but only sophisticated young adults would be remotely interested.

"Sophie Amundsen is about to turn 15 when she receives a letter from one Alberto Knox, a philosopher who undertakes to educate her in his craft. Sections in which we read the text of Knox's lessons to Sophie about the pre-Socratics, Plato and St. Augustine alternate with those in which we find out about Sophie's life with her well-meaning mother. Soon, though, Sophie begins receiving other, stranger missives addressed to one Hilde Moller Knag from her absent father, Albert.

"As Alberto Knox's lessons approach this century, he and Sophie come to suspect that they are merely characters in a novel written by Albert for his daughter. Teacher and pupil hatch a plot to understand and possibly escape from their situation; and from there, matters get only weirder.

"Norwegian philosophy professor Gaarder's notion of making a history of philosophy accessible is a good one. Unfortunately, it's occasionally undermined by the dry language he uses to describe the works of various thinkers and by an idiosyncratic bias that gives one paragraph to Nietzsche but dozens to Sartre, breezing right by Wittgenstein and the most influential philosophy of this century, logical positivism.

"Many readers, regardless of their age, may be tempted to skip over the lessons, which aren't well integrated with the more interesting and unusual metafictional story line." Author tour. Copyright 1994 Reed Business Information, Inc. --This text refers to an out of print or unavailable edition of this title.

(Review by Amazon.com, Photo by Wikipedia)

Rhum and Ladder .. & Carwash

2006-11-03T10:26:00.000+08:00

Ever heard of a board game named Rum and Ladder? No? Just as I thought.

Well basically this game is similar to the well-known board game Snakes and Ladders. The same set of rules, the same playing board, practically everything’s the same. Except for the penalty.

In SnL (not Saturday Night Live!) when a player gets bitten by the snake, he merely places his token to where the snake’s tail’s at. The same with RnL, except you have to guzzle half-glass full of the “Burgundy Juice” as a consequence. And without any chaser. Fair enough huh!? But…

Given that it is an alcohol-ingesting fête (disguised as an innocent game of SnL), there usually sits two glasses for the “tuyok” ['ikot'] (supposing that you employ the Round-Robin method). One serves as the regular tuyok glass, while the other as the penalty glass.

And what normally happens as soon as you’ve gulped down the contents of the penalty glass, your turn for the tuyok glass arrives. Thus explains the facial contortions in the photograph.

Do you want to reduce your chaser expenses and save money (for the next round of Tanduay)? Do you want to get smashed quickly? If you answered Yes, then this is the game for you and your friends. Rum and Ladder is the only sport where every contender is both a winner … and a winner pa rin!

RnL A.M. P.M. Olympics Team: Lyle, Krisan, Princess, Bunot & Cathy. Theme song: “Para sa Iyo ang Cawrash na ‘to!" Why? Secret! Nya-ha-haa! I miss you guys so darn much! “Laaaiinnn kaaaayuuu kaaa Kriii aaaii! Siii Jaaaan Reeex baayaaa kooohh… Aha ha haa…”

Death on an Afternoon: Part 5

2006-11-01T18:29:00.000+08:00

Then the air thickened, the lights flickered, a number of heads turned as a flock of attention-grabbing, good-looking, aesthetically-superior humanoids glided through. They seemed as if they just leapt out of the covers of Vogue and GQ.

I suddenly felt like a repulsive platypus amidst a drove of graceful swans. Two members of the “gorgeous-ness squad” caught me looking at them and flashed me the you-can-never-look-as-good-as-me stare, I spontaneously turned into mud.

Consoling myself, I began chanting my mantra: “Had God made me gwapo, I would’ve been perfect. But no one’s perfect, so He instead stuffed a little extra gray matter to compensate for the lack of aesthetic appeal.”

Then, a group of old Indian women, the “dot” kind, not the “feather” kind of Indians, walked past me. Wearing the traditional Sari, they looked so beautiful despite the age. One even looked like Aishwarya Rai (the supermodel). A 350-pound Aishwarya Rai, that is.

The world suddenly turned black-and-white. I spotted a couple ever so publicly displayed their affections, smacking every five seconds. Get a room people! I almost screamed. Tightly clinging on to each other, they reminded me of two leeches sucking each other dry.

Or were they just conjoined twins? Perhaps not, the lady was Caucasian, while the guy was … well … overcooked. (What do you call “tutong” in English? No, not overcooked or burnt rice. A trivia I always forget.) I wondered what they’re offsprings would be like. Dalmatians?

(to be concluded…)

Death on an Afternoon: Part 4

2006-10-30T18:24:00.000+08:00

Then, a Goth/punk couple. Of course being Goths, they wore black everything; black garb, black nails, black mascara, black bling-blings (Hmm… I like the sound of it, black bling bling), black everything. The guy, taking Goth-ness to a new level, even had black stains on his teeth. Honestly, I’m not sure if it was an accessory/fashion or he’s teeth were just … bad.

But I’m inclined with a second theory since the stains were all over the place; it’s not pantay (evenly distributed). Well, I dunno, I could be wrong. Or maybe he ate really runny chocolates and forgot to floss.

The gothic chick was rather pretty; black wardrobe against her colorless skin, very soft facial features yet a grim expression plastered across her pixie-like visage, her manananggal-inspired hairstyle framed her small, melanin-deprived face. Just think of Snow White not washing her hair for ten years and you’ll get the picture.

She was wearing very thick mascara; so heavy it was almost impossible to tell whether her eyes were closed or she didn’t have any whites on her eyeballs. But she was attractive nonetheless, she looked like Hilary Duck, I mean Duff, with a neck.

But the guy’s a different story, and far more interesting than the girl. He’s so goddam worthy of note, I’m afraid words cannot suffice. How should I put this? He’s so challenging to describe.

Think of a small featherless chicken dipped in black paint; short legs, stretched upper body, small head, round face, bulging eyes, slightly curved back. I’m lost for words, told you he’s a challenge. Look now, I’m not ridiculing anyone here; in fact, I’m intrigued by his appearance. Besides, I’m in no position to lambaste anyone for their looks because I’m no GQ material either.

Around his thin neck dangled a humongous inverted crucifix that must weigh at least a kilo. No wonder his back seemed bent. Also, he’s sporting a mo-hawk so tall (?) you could easily mistake it for a giant black pamaypay. I thought it was cool, really! I remembered my Goth friend, Paulo, and wondered what he’d look like sporting that look. I chuckled at the idea.

Plus, the lower lip ring, hundreds upon hundreds of bangles that reached all the way to his elbows, that black matte lipstick, that black aura; I wondered what else’s black.

As usual, the conios, and the pa-conios. I thought Florita already drowned these vermins into non-existence. With their huge, bloated heads, I had to walk sidewalks like a crab in order to pass through.

(to be concluded...)

Death on an Afternoon: Part 3

2006-10-28T17:20:00.000+08:00

There weren't that much people inside, for a Saturday afternoon. Perhaps the people were scared off by Florita, who according to the news, claimed at least eight lives and caused a landslide in Baguio. Bad Florita, bad. On the other hand, okay lang, at least the odds of me getting smashed into by clumsy insects were slim.

As I have mentioned, not that much mallrats that day. But most of the people I crossed paths with were … how should I put this? … Full of character? Interesting? Out of the ordinary? Worthy of note?

First, I passed by a mother-daughter tandem. They wore identical shirts, they both had pigtails, and both were rather bursting with corpulence. They were the perfect definition of cute-ness!

Mommy was carrying tons and tons of shopping bags, while her equally fleshy daughter was screaming “Mommeee! Ais Kriiim! Mommeee!!” to which Mommy retorted, “Anong ice cream!? Eh kakakain mo lang! Tumigil ka! Sipain kita diyan eh!” The round girl fell silent. For some reason, I remembered the corny joke, Bakit nahihiya ang mga biik? (Ans: Eh kasi yung nanay nila, baboy.)

(to be concluded…)

Death on an Afternoon: Part 2

2006-10-26T17:15:00.000+08:00

I flagged down a cab but it just zoomed past me. Then came another one; flagged and zoomed. Was I invisible or were the cabbies just blind? I stood by the curb for the next five minutes, waiting. I lit a cigarette and slowly puffed on the stick, arms interweaving with each other; getting cold now.

As soon as I took my second puff, a cab materialized before me. I found myself trapped in a dilemma of great magnitude: the taxi or the freshly-lit cigarette. After a nano-second of thorough deliberation, I crushed my cigarette and got into the cab.“Sayang…” I muttered.

“Ano ho yun?” the cabbie inquired.
“Ah, wala."
"Makati tayo manong.” I ordered the cabbie.
“Singkwenta po, traffic po kasi sa Edsa.” The meter-calculated fare plus fifty bucks, he meant. Under normal circumstances, I could’ve threatened to hurl the cabbie’s butt to court.

But I wasn’t in a combative mood, so I said “Fire!”

True, traffic’s so severe along Edsa that you actually see the air, diesel fumes painting it brownish-gray. And except for the cabbie’s striking resemblance to Tado on steroids, the drive was long yet uneventful.

I reached my destination with the same expression plastered on my face, the same look as the skeletal guy in my bathroom mirror. Slamming the door behind me, I headed toward the escalator. The guard ran his black electronic palo-palo through my body. Beep! Oh, did I forget to leave the grenade at home? But the guard just nodded and said “Welcome to Greenbelt, Sir!"

Boy was that close!

(to be concluded...)

Death on an Afternoon: Part 1

2006-10-24T17:07:00.000+08:00

Being stuck in heavy traffic for several hours is agonizing. Having your molar extracted without an anesthesia is excruciating. But having coffee alone, on a cold Saturday afternoon and being surrounded by a thick mob of cheery people, happy friends and schmaltzy couples, is just painful; pure, unadulterated pain.

One balmy afternoon… Since I have just recovered from a psychosomatic illness, I decided not to go to work, and phoned in sick. Also, I didn’t go to school in the morning. I just stayed in the comforts of my own cave, reading the whole day. Besides, it rained an hour ago and I don’t want to wet the seams of my newly-purchased pants.

So there I was, cuddling under the sheets, reading my Hosseini book, while music from MTV filled the background. And while I lost myself in 1980

Afghanistan

, boredom clobbered me in the head. I waved it off like an obnoxious fly; it bounced off the walls and boomeranged towards me again.

Alright, I said, heaving a sigh of defeat. Besides, I’ve wasted almost the entire day chasing kites with Amir and Hassan. Maybe it’s time for me to crawl out from my cave, and let the world behold the biggest loser there is — me.

I dragged my bored-stiff carcass inside this small, white-tiled, four walled box they call the bathroom. Sluggishly, I washed my deflated-balloon-like face and limply ran the toothbrush across my teeth. I looked at myself in the mirror and tried to smile. But the reflection didn’t budge. Smile, I said, smile! Show me those goddam pearly whites! To no avail.

After what seemed like a century and a half desperately coaxing the skeletal guy in the mirror, I emerged from the bathroom; chopstick-legs dragging underneath me. I undressed and re-dressed, grabbed my jacket and cellphone and slipped on my running shoes.

Twisting the doorknob, I walked two paces, hesitated, turned back, paused, reconsidered, turned towards the door, opened it, and at a snail’s pace, crossed the threshold. Still holding the doorjamb, I admired the overcast skies and the lovely scent of the after-rain, when – Bam! – the friggin’ door bit my friggin’ fingers! “Fffff*ck!”

I screamed, and for the first time that day I heard my voice. Massaging my fingers, I realized that I’m still alive. My heart beat for the first time, palpitating so hard it almost leapt out of my chest. I didn’t know shouting expletives could be so therapeutic. F*ck, being the day’s first word. Hurling curses can be so liberating. Try it.

(to be concluded...)

Veronika Decides to Die

2006-10-23T21:36:00.000+08:00

Veronika Decides to Die (Paulo Coelho)

"The bestselling Brazilian author of The Alchemist delicately etches this morose but ultimately uplifting story of the suicidal Veronika, who creeps along the boundary between life and death, sanity and madness, happiness and despair. Veronika, 24, works in a library in Ljubljana, Slovenia, and rents a room in a convent; she is an attractive woman with friends and family, but feelings of powerlessness and apathy tempt her to find "freedom" in an overdose of sleeping pills.

"When Veronika awakens in the purgatory of Villete, the country's famous lunatic asylum, she is told her suicide attempt weakened her heart and she has only days to live. At this point, Coelho takes a role in the novel; he describes the circumstances under which he discovered Veronika's story and then recounts his own youthful incarceration in a Brazilian sanatorium, consigned there by parents who couldn't understand his "unusual behavior."

"As quickly as he drops in, however, he drops out again, relying on interior monologues to set scenes. In a sedative-induced haze, Veronika finds companionship in white-haired Mari, who suffers from panic attacks, and Eduard, an ambassador's son who has been diagnosed as schizophrenic, and she begins to question the definition of insanity. It is her supposed death sentence from the devious Dr. Igor, who is trying to shock her back into reality, that allows Veronika to reacquire the will to live and love. Employing his trademark blend of religious and philosophical overtones, Coelho focuses on his central question: why do people go on when life seems unfair and fate indifferent?

"The simple, often banal prose contrasts Veronika's bleak inner landscape with the beautiful contours of Slovenia, gradually culminating in an upbeat ending with the message that each day of life is a miracle. Coelho's latest will appeal to readers who enjoy animated homilies about the worth of human existence." Copyright 2000 Reed Business Information, Inc. --This text refers to an out of print or unavailable edition of this title.

(Review by Amazon.com, Photo by Reading Group Guide)

Caribbean Blues with Santaria, 2

2006-10-22T15:43:00.000+08:00

“Coming…” my voice shifted from irritated to melodious. Quickly, I jumped out of my bed and scoured my face with a tissue so intensely my nose almost fell to the floor. I sprinted towards the door nearly smashing into my mountain of filthy laundry.

“Coming…” slamming the door behind me, I darted towards the sala.

And before I reached the opening of the passageway, I saw her. She was standing in the middle of the foyer, with arms interweaving with one another. With a harsh look on her face, she just stared at me with those piercing chinita eyes; the world suddenly stood still.

I panted as I reached my destination. She’s still motionless and did not utter a word. Instead, she flashed me that You-Jerk (!) look, with which I reciprocated with an embarrassed smile.

I stretched out my arms to give her a good-morning-hug. “Goooood Mooooor…”

“Dayon!? (And so!?)” She interjected with so much sarcasm, not letting me finish my greeting. Speedily I drew my arms back. Clearly she was not delighted.

“Unsa man? (What now?)” She asked in a very cold tone, I just froze.
“Aaahh…” my voice quivered. No words came out, my throat clogged up.
I cleared my gullet, “Ahem” and feigned a cough “Cough, cough!”
Her right eyebrow instantly went through the ceiling; she hated it whenever I go cough-cough.

“Soooohhhriiiiihhhh…” in a sing-song voice, I managed to croak nervously.
“Abre nang Memento! Kaligo! Pagdali! (Memento’s already open! Take a bath! And fast!)” She snapped back. And at lightning speed, I ran back in.

* * *

To My Santaria, one of my few reasons why waking up every morning is still worthwhile. Thanks for adding brightness into my otherwise desolate life. We may be miles apart, but you are still here … deep inside my *points to chest* Keep singing, keep writing songs. I miss you. I’m coming back, soon. Wait for me… (3:52 a.m., awake and reminiscing…)

Caribbean Blues with Santaria, 1

2006-10-20T15:36:00.000+08:00

Knock... Knock... Knock...

I awoke with a jolt. As if an elephant landed on top of me, my eyes flew open. I glanced groggily at the door and lifted my cell phone from the headboard. I checked the time, 9:05 am, scratched my head, groaned “Uhm, hangover, and shut my eyes again.

KNOCK… KNOCK… KNOCK…

Again, I opened my eyes, checked my phone which s now resting on my chest. 9:32 am. I went back to dreamland.

KNOCK! KNOCK! KNOCK!

Once more, I was awakened by the barrage of knocks at my door. I picked up my cell phone, which is now lying on the floor, and checked the time, 9:46 am. “Man! It’s still early.” I muttered to myself.

I closed my eyes again, and hoped the knocks would just go away. But before Mr. Sandman could sprinkle the dust, I was again bombarded with louder knocks.

“What do you want!?” I yelled in a very exasperated tone.
“Lyle!? Naa ka dinha? (Are you there?)” a dorm mate’s voice inquired.

“Of course you jerk! It’s room Sp1a! Now go away! Trying to sleep here!” I shot back. “Someone’s looking for you! And she’s been sitting in the sala for almost an hour now!” he replied. “Tell her I’m still asleep! Away nakog tuktuka balik ha!” I said. irritably.

“LYLE!!!” another voice exclaimed, sending reverberations down the hallway. I’m certain it was a female voice. And it’s coming from the visitor’s lounge. “Gawas na dinha! (Get outta there!)" My eyes swiftly fluttered open. It was her. She must’ve heard me.

Oh man! I thought. I’m dead! We were supposed to meet at the Luce Lobby an hour ago. I totally forgot.

(to be concluded...)

Cousins at the Wharf

2006-10-09T17:01:00.000+08:00

It’s good to have cousins; it’s good to have bestfriends. But when you have your cousins as your best friends… who needs other people?

To Anthony and Gayle ... I'm just nearby ... Miss you guys...

Shot August 2005,Dumaguete Wharf, 2:30 in the afternoon. Waiting for Mom, sun’s high up, sweltering! Lyle’s drunk as usual and inebriated due to the Pop-o-pill Mania.

Niña...

2006-10-03T15:17:00.000+08:00

There goes another one...

You never fail to surprise us Nins. You surprised everyone when you straightened you hair, when you posed ala-FHM in your Friendster pics ... and now your biggest surprise yet.

Remember 2007? Remember our deal, that we have to graduate together in 07? Hmm, guess that wouldn't be possible now would it? You graduated WAY ahead of time, way ahead of us.

For so little a time, you had touched a lot of lives, Nins, especially mine. Remember History-something? The only subject I passed during that semester. Thanks to your 'stare-that-bites', I was really obliged to come to class. Kung dili, imo nakong gi-iruk.

I'm still in denial Nins. It's so hard to believe that someone so full of life and radiates beauty, now ... gone. I guess I'll just have to comfort myself that your in a much much better place now. Pain is temporary; memories live on.

The world will never be the same without you Nins. You'll be sorely missed. See you next class, Big Momma!

(to the Estacio Family, my heartfelt condolences..)

Monsieur Antoine of Doltz

2006-09-28T10:31:00.000+08:00

Stunning, gorgeous, this dashing man leaves everyone totally breathless as he glides through hallways. Uh. Hold on! Was I supposed to make an entry for Anthony Lood? I though I was writing my autobiography. Oh well.

Ton's my roommate and my cousin (nephew actually). Had I known that he’s nice, we would’ve been friends ages ago. We used to dislike, no, loathe each other. Really! Like, wave been dorm mates for a year and he gets into my nerves, every time! Vain-ceited! But he proved me otherwise, not until we became roommates.

This guys so concerned with his looks, spends so much on his hair, and wastes so much time in front of the mirror. Vain, vain, vain! (Now look who’s talking!) He’s very much aware of the latest trends in everything. Ironic, however, coz know what, after like 2 hours of fixing himself, he would just turn to me with those paawa-puppy-eyed look and ask, Lyle Am I ugly?

Arrgh! Why can’t physically-gifted people be contented with what they have?! Damn it! Despite the myriad testimonies of his being easy-on-the-eyes, he still regards himself as unsightly. Ton, you’re not ugly okay! It’s just that, I’m more gwapo. I know it’s hard, but that’s life.

This guy has so much life in him that he can actually wear someone out. To say that he’s a good friend is an understatement. Kind of at home coz of the atmosphere he makes for the people around him.

We compliment each other; a typical Lyle-Ton tandem would include tons and tons of barbaric criticisms, not towards other people but towards each other. That’s right! We love making fun of each other. And I think that’s what makes our friendship special.

He may not seem like a very serious person but I have learned a number of things from this guy. One helluva friend. Thanks for everything man!

Author's Note: I wrote this entry more than a year ago. March 3, 2005 to be exact, and was intended as a Friendster testimonial.

Mister Pan De Monium

2006-09-26T10:19:00.000+08:00

And you are a big-time pain in the (posterior)! Kevin! Oh yeah, he doesn’t want to be called Kevin, he insists it’s Adrian. Kevin, Adrian, it doesn’t matter. You’re still KIBINTOY to us! or KIBOL! Bwahaha!

So you think you know Kevin (or Adrian for that matter) huh!? This is just my partial list of juicy info about Kev.

When kev’s around, expect pandemonium, chaos, mayhem, BLOOD!

He’s not a trouble-maker. He just gets himself into trouble. Constantly.

Behind that toughie-toughie exterior sits the softer side of kev.

He’s a member of the XMEN. He has the power to drive people nuts! Without even trying.

He loves Science so much that when he joined this Quiz Bee back in grade school, he studied Science so enthusiastically the day before the competition. And then he lost. Why? Because it was a History Quiz Bee, for crying out loud!

He tosses English words with such panache, excellent command of the words.

If you’re not comfortable with English, dare not speak in front of Kevin.

But if you really want to speak with him, you have to have a dictionary in tow. Or just get out of the way.

He has so much energy in him that he can actually wear someone out!

He puts the “A” in Annoying. The personification of the word. But we love him just the same. Just tone in down Kev, you don’t want bloodshed, do you?

He has a quick wit, eloquent, and well-versed on different subjects.

He can sometimes be known as Mr. Know-It-All. Oh yeah, not sometimes, most of the time!

He loves to debate especially with me. But sorry Kev, long way to go before you can triumph over me! ;)

How to shut Kevin’s chops? Only we, cousins, know the craft on how to put an end to his blabbing. It’s an art that you have to master.

He can be mature at times. But every so often, he acts as if he’s more immature than his younger bros.

Kevin + Kuya Lyle = Tons of barbaric criticisms towards each other. You can actually see the sparks fly.

Og ang isa sa pinka-importante sa tanan: kelangan paspas kag “pick-up.” Ngano? Ginawong-nawong nakag insulto ni Kevin, wa japun ka ka-gets na giinsulto naka! Stealth Bomber!

People might judge him for being this and that, but what the heck! We know better than you people. Just ignore them Kev. Like the tip of the iceberg, there’s more to Kevin than meets the eye.

BUT when WE (your family) start talking, keep an open mind and open ears. Whatever we say, do not equate it as a personal attack, but take it as a challenge. When we say harsh words (it can’t be avoided), that’s because we care. Don’t misinterpret it okay. Listen. Because most of the time, you get the wrong end of the stick, and conclude that “gitabangan kag away sa tanan.” We want you to be better because we see and we know that you can!

Its either you love him or you hate him. Nothing in the middle. Kevin will be Kevin, and we love every bit of his Kevin-ness. Be it the Annoying Kevin, the Devil Incarnate Kevin, the “Suwa-il” Kevin, we love him to pieces. One word though buddy, GROW!