Just Because I'm Gwapo, 4

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Just Because I'm Gwapo, 3

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

(to be concluded…)

Just Because I'm Gwapo, 2

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Ha! I know, I’m brilliant.

(to be concluded…)

Just Because I'm Gwapo, 1

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

(to be concluded…)

Of Mutts and Waifs, Part 5

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Of Mutts and Waifs, Part 4

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

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

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

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

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

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

(to be concluded…)

Of Mutts and Waifs, Part 3

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

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

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

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

… pause …

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

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

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

(to be concluded…)

Of Mutts and Waifs, Part 2

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

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

… pause …

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

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

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

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

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

(to be concluded…)

Of Mutts and Waifs, Part 1

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

(to be concluded…)

The World According to Garp

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

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

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

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

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

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

Horses Need Haircuts Too, 2

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Mama? Mama…”

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

Horses Need Haircuts Too, 1

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

(to be concluded…)

The Address of Greatness, 3

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The Address of Greatness, 2

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

(to be concluded…)

The Address of Greatness, 1

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

(to be concluded…)