Tuesday, March 29, 2011

The Real Deal: 50 Reasons Why Spiral Prince Should Be Sacrificed To Crocodile-Buwaya

gaya-gaya, puto maya

Disclaimer: The facts here are written in the order with which they came to mind.

1. When I was a child, everyone kept pestering me to be a doctor, mostly due to my fascination for science. That became my easy answer to larger-than-life-what-is-your-dream-profession-questions to kids in kindergarten. I never really thought much of it, I even forgot it over time.

2. When I was in 6th grade, I decided that my real larger-than-life-dream-profession is to become an astronaut. It's still my larger-than-life-dream-profession until now.

3. For something that was supposedly my larger-than-life-profession, I just googled "how to become an astronaut" a minute ago. If anyone else is interested, here's a list of basic requirements. I suppose I never really gave it much thought, since it is definitely larger than me and my wallflower life.

4. In my 19 years of existence, I have had experiences throughout the years that have led me to conclude that I am pre-cognitive. Pre-cognition and clairvoyance might seem similar, but they have key differences.

5. I get mixed-feelings whenever someone calls me tall. I only stand around 5'7" to 5'8", and that's not too tall at all, as emphasized by one white friend who calls me a midget. I'm the fourth tallest person in our high school batch and I turn green with envy, for an infinitesimal amount of time, every time I meet the three other guys who are taller than I am. I sorely wish and I'd like to believe that I am still growing and that I'll reach 5'10" someday.

6. In case some you haven't figured it out yet(directed at high school friends who might read this entry), I'm gay.

7. I came out last December 2010 to 12 other friends. I came out just because, although it was partly to make another friend of mine present then not feel isolated. She came out that night, too.

8. I can be very socially inept.

9. At least 30 people told me that they thought I was maldito when they first met me.

10. Surround me with people I'm really close to or feel at ease with and I can be very loud.

11. I sing in the shower.

12. I joined a choir in 3rd grade. We were to represent our school for a Christmas Caroling Contest that Vaseline organized. We got to the Regionals, where we won 1st runner-up.

13. My audition piece was 'Twinkle, Twinkle Little Star.' I was surprised when I got in. I mainly only did it for the bonus points our Music teacher promised us. I felt really left out since my classmates were singing 'cool' songs like Eye of the Tiger. 

14. I lost my singing instinct 2 years after that. I blame lack of practice and a then-perpetual cough that annoyed me silly. Voice change due to puberty is also a co-conspirator. I joined the local church choir composed of YFC's in high school. I was with them for 3 years. One can say that I regained a little of what I had in the past. My singing ability now is largely limited to worship songs, which are somehow easier to do. I'd like to believe that there's a reason for that!

15. Some of the things I really want have a knack of finding their way into my life. This fact is short, but it really means a lot to me. I'm happy that this thing, this magic, exists.

16. I like to observe, but that does not mean I observe everything. My attention is usually directed towards people and things that interest me.

17. I enjoy creating and recreating scenes in my head. There are usually two types of scenes that I do: perpetual replays and probability probing. The former usually happens when I recently interacted with people I respect, look up to, or like. The latter happens when I entertain thoughts of doing new things, when I'm preparing back-up plans, or when I'm attempting to predict outcomes, usually of two or more people presently engaged in an argument.

18. I have a green thumb. The things I plant usually flourish.

19. For a time, I was obsessed with pokemon and digimon.

20. I dislike physical violence. My inner sadist prefers to inflict mental and emotional torture.

21. The above is also one reason why I prefer magicians or mages as a role to play in fantasy games. In the absence of a mage, I prefer archers. I guess it's due to my belief in the power of isolation and distance, but that could be just my over-analysis kicking in.

22. If I am deprived of my archers and mages, I then resort to assassins, or anything else that can deliver quick deaths. I dislike torture.

23. Sticks and stones can break my bones as long as blades won't cut me. Yes, I dislike getting cut. I don't dislike the blood or anything. I just dislike the idea of getting defiled or perverted.

24. As much as I think that I can tolerate getting hurt with blunt objects, I really dislike getting hit. It's one reason why I stopped playing basketball in fourth grade - I dislike having people bump into me.

25. When I was five, a speeding bicycle hit me. It did not crash into me. The speeding bike's handlebars hit my nose just as I stepped out into Marulas B., Caloocan City, Philippines.  There was blood all over me. I cannot now recall the pain, but I remember crying really loud and calling out to mama, who went out to the terrace and looked at me with a horrified expression on her face. I recall walking slowly back inside to have her fix me up. This experience traumatized be a bit, and it's definitely one reason why facts 20 to 24 exist.

26. I have decided to address bloggers kuya and ate whenever proper, unless told otherwise.

27. I find peace when I walk.

28. I enjoy long rides.

29. The first Disney movie I watched was Lion King. I still enjoy it now.

30. I hope to one day learn at least an entire Wushu-Taichi style. Not having easy access to a P.E. subject like it in USC has been one of the reasons why I resent not getting to U.P., so when I heard that the martial arts club in USC was offering Saturday sessions for certain disciplines, I grabbed the chance. I was immensely happy to learn that the sessions could be credited for my P.E. subjects.

31. I passed the UPCAT for the year 2008. I'm a frustrated would-have-been member of the Siglo batch of freshmen. My parents forbid me from going there, despite all my attempts at reasoning with them.

32. I qualified for the Advance Placement Exams(APE) for Los Baños. I would learn later on, when I was already in USC, that it was something not to be taken lightly, since only those who earned at least 90% for all of the test subjects in the UPCAT were offered the convenience.

33. Up until now, I still do not know my UPCAT score.

34. I still have the letter from UP, including several forms, guides, and a map. They're all stored in a brown envelope inside a sturdy shoebox.

35. I enjoyed reading Mama's college notes when I was an elementary student, especially her english ones. It definitely helped me and my vocabulary.

36. I feel awkward when speaking in English outside declamations, orations, and extemporaneous speaking contests, except for those little moments when I have serious conversations with some friends who feel comfortable in using the language during those times.

37. I had a very vivid dream when I was five years old that came true on the first day of my freshman year in high school. Yes, I never forgot that dream.

40. I enjoy sound arguments. I dislike debates about things whose answers are clearly obvious.

41. When I get serious or when I am in the mood, I pay attention to detail.

42. For all my metaphors and abstractions when I write, I'm pretty much an open book. The catch is that the signs I place around me aren't obvious, which is why it is always a pleasant surprise when someone figures things out. Maybe it's just a side-effect of observing people, but I sometimes wish someone else can see past the obvious facade.

43. A friend once told me I seemed really angry or angsty all the time, which surprised me, given that I am generally in a good mood. That one observation lead to conversation which allowed me to find out that some people can see past our daily shells and perceive the troubles within us.

44. I have put all effort into degrading a person in every possible way using my way with words thrice. First was back in my sophomore year in high school when one person insulted me with what was the worst possible insult to me then; the second and third attempts happened last March 13, 2011. The recipients of my hopefully sharp and wordy ire were two of my father's queridas - all his queridas are sisters, talk about menage a trois - and my father himself. When I am in this foul mood, my soul turns black and my conscience goes into slumber. I become merciless, however, my capacity to hate hasn't manifested fully yet. The day that happens would be a black day.

45. The funny thing when I argue, for fun or otherwise, is that I already think of the worst possible rebuttal my argument can face. I get satisfied when the the person or persons I'm arguing with attacks from a different angle.

46. I rarely show extreme emotions. What's funny is that when I cry, and that's not very often, I get thoughts like 'this is so awkward' or 'I must look like a wreck right now.' It should be noted, however, that I am moved to tears when I hear news of deaths or tragedies. The effect is delayed, though. After getting word of it, I just sit on my bed, and let the emotion wash over me. The spell rarely lasts for a minute, but the melancholy can last for hours.

47. When I was in elementary, I used to count the number of steps it took to get to certain places from certain spots, see: the number steps from one section of the road(marked by the asphalt lines) to another, from the school gate to the classroom door, from the classroom door to my desk, etc. I generally preferred doing an even number of steps.

48. Two of my past relationships(which is basically all of them) ended after 7 days. Both guys disappeared without a trace. They weren't abducted, no, it was just that all communication ceased without warning. I was left blind and groping in the dark. Both dolts explained themselves after a few months, and their reasons were petty, even at best. I guess it's a sign telling me to stick with the older guys, or at least those taller than me(okay, I'm not bitter - just allow me this jab at them). Yes, somehow, most of those who come to my life are at least seven years my senior.

49. I noticed recently that there is a trend when it comes to my dates, or at least invites to dates. They come at the wrong times, usually when I have to handle finances with a little more frugality than usual, so I have to say no. They also tend to come in droves. Tch, men, err, boys.

50. I sometimes worry how I'd look like when I die. I'd like to at least die looking dignified. This isn't limited to death, I mean, if there's a fire, I won't go out wearing just my shorts. I'd grab a shirt and a pair of slippers along. I really, really, dislike feeling or seemingly helpless. Then again, I've always believed and I'd like to think that I'm a survivor, and in a typical movie, I'm most likely to be one of the survivors, or the the last to die, mostly due to idiocy and a hero-complex. Although if I were to die, I'd want it to be quick.

Sunday, March 27, 2011

Saturday, March 26, 2011

Art Challenge: Week II

I finally finished her! I initially didn't plan to color her using color pencils, but when I was about to shade her using pencils, I changed my mind. The last time I can say I did something relatively good using color pencils was 7 years ago, during my last year in elementary.

This is the table I use when I draw. It usually isn't cluttered, but when I work, creative chaos happens. This is how it looks like after I draw. Haha. Also, the sketches on the brown envelope were done when I went for my job interview last Thursday. At least it gave me something to do while all the other friendlier applicants chatted together as if they were friends for years. All hail the socially awkward me.

Friday, March 25, 2011


Ignorance is bliss.

Time and again I find this to be true. The truth can be a burden too great to carry. There are times when I find myself asking the space before me which things sprung from my own realizations alone. As they put it in Inception, ideas can be traced from their sources. I have this habit of feeling guilty whenever I do something that did not come wholly from me. I prefer to realize things on my own, otherwise, I'd feel like I'm cheating; that I have forfeited what merits may be reaped from something that did not come from me. This is one of the reasons why I find creative brainstorming both alone and with a group quite beautiful. It's one of the most fulfilling things for me.

This applies to almost everything in my life. Whenever I come across something phrased in a way that appeals to me and I end up writing similar later on, I feel guilty. Somehow, the need to be original has been imbibed into my being. This is one reason why I prefer drawing from imagination instead of using a reference that is very specific, see for example a character from a popular show. This is also one reason why I feel insecure, that despite having a pool of ideas to draw from, my execution leaves much to be desired. Recently, I have been working towards overcoming this, and as such, I've been using references for some of my attempts at art. While I still cannot execute my ideas perfectly, there has been an improve that I can discern, and I can only hope that those who have seen what I do for quite a while can see it, too.

Sadly, the inner workings of the mind are much more complex. I cannot hope to immediately cater to my dilemmas by reconciling myself with a certain practice. The mind itself would have to undergo a paradigm shift of sorts - it must come to reconcile with new ideas and concepts previously hard to fathom, and whose existence itself is most likely previously unknown. But the mind is logical, and logic demands knowledge of variables and impetuses for its own understanding of the lines of probability. Paradoxes and enigmas then ensnare the mind effortlessly, if only for the incoherence inherent in them that is beyond the realm of what logic understands. How many times in our lives have we found ourselves unable to answer the question why when confronted about our actions. On times when we find ourselves on the opposite pole of the question, being the inquirer this time, we find ourselves unable to accept just because as an answer. Our minds logic dictates that there has to be a reason, and that reason has to be defined within the realms of the known.

I dunno. I guess what I'm trying to say is that Illumination has its price. At times it's sanity, and at times, it's our peace. Either way, it's definitely no trivial matter. Maybe truth itself is a living horror, one whose constant refrain is heard in the movies:

You can run, but you can't hide.

Maybe it's the proverbial skeleton in the closet of our lives.

Wednesday, March 23, 2011

Shrink I: Enchantress I

Enchantress could not understand it at all. Surely there was no need for reflections to disappear once you've gone cold. That she'd never be able to see herself again was rather unfair. 

And people thought I was quite beautiful, too. She mused.
For the umpteenth time, she went before the mirror, and attempted to divine what semblance of a reflection she might from its aging surface, the weary victim of time. She gave up soon afterwards, and glanced askance, suspicious of a hitherto unseen mirrored self that might attempt to escape while she was unaware. Once more, chance finds Enchantress clinging on to the wedged edges of hope. She chided herself, and turned her back on temptation.

What welcomed her sight was the rest of her boudoir. It wasn't really hers, but she claimed it anyway. If she were living, she might have as well called it her home away from home.  

Home. It always felt that the word was cursed. Memory fails when it attempts to stretch itself beyond what is. Those were the words of the man residing in the last room on the first floor.

Curiously, her first memories were of that man. It's not that she couldn't remember anything from when she was living. In fact, what few shards of memory she has from that time are treasured above all. She could not recall when life ended, or if it ever ended at all.

Hello there. You are dead. The smile on his face didn't seem to match what he said.

What? That she was dead was absurd. She couldn't even recall dying.

You are dead. What is your name? What was her name?

E-enchantress. Despite the hesitation, it came naturally. Her words were out before she knew it.

Enchantress, eh? 

Well I think it suits you well. You coalesced here, after all.

What do you mean? This man's words were very confusing.

Look around you.

She did. 

What greeted her was a boudoir. 

It was hers. 

She knew it. That much was clear.

Maybe clarity came with death?

Perhaps being dead wouldn't be so bad.

Tuesday, March 22, 2011

Art Challenge: Revival

I know this is very late, but, given what I recently went through, I hope I am forgiven!

Current Work-in-progress: Female Face, something I drew from imagination.
I'm trying really hard to be better with realistic

Robert Patinson - When I finished this, I was sure I didn't quite capture him as I intended.
He looks more like Brad Pitt to me, I mean, look at his eyes - those look more like Pitt than Patinson, to me. I was glad a friend recognized him, too.

This was supposed to be a crystal being - something which I've been staying away from drawing.I'm not confident with drawing crystalline things at all. I guess this is okay as a first, anyway.I was also experimenting with perspective and proportion here.

Dream Pyre -I had dreams of houses on fire for a few days about a week or so ago.
It was disturbing, given my past experiences with dreams coming true.
I called this Dream Pyre because it's basically what is happening - homes and dreams burned in a fire.

Red Riding Hood, Japan, and Tangled influenced this experimental drawing. I only used watercolors for all but the girl with red hair. I used colored-pencils for her. Again, this is random.

I used a reference to draw this one. Somewhere along the way, I messed up, obviously, and got discouraged and annoyed and this was the result.

Cocoon - I drew this for two hours last Sunday dawn. It was fun to draw her! I drew her from my imagination.I still have trouble with drawing mouths. Bah.


This is dedicated to all the friendly ghosts. Those who used to grace my phone, my ideas,  and my life, with their endearing presence during our conversations, and hopefully, I did the same for them, too, in my turn. Those whose entirety is but a memory now - something I come back to from the lonely corners between my drab walls during the quiet hours in the afternoon, and the melancholic ones at dawn, something I long to grasp, to bask in again, but cannot. Not yet, I hope. They have lives now, I know. A greeting every now and then would've brightened me up. They should've known this. The pace of the developing and competitive places of the world is a perilous foe - one who has stolen friends from me. And there is one, too, that I am wary of: a fulfillment in my friends' lives that leaves no room for friends. 

Still, I write my longing as bluntly as I can, without all the bitterness, too:

Come back. You are sorely missed.

Monday, March 21, 2011

Brain Fart IX

I blame Mugen for this one:

Someone set me up.

Two funny thing about this sentence is that the speaker can sound 
a.)desperate - Someone set me up. (Please)
b.)defensive - Someone set me up. (Damn them),
depending on how it is inflected.

The question now is this:
How will you say this out loud?

Thursday, March 17, 2011


March 11, 2011 11:00 pm
Hey, can I come to your place?


Why? Is your roommate there?

No.I don't have one.

Then why can't I come?

This is not my place. I'm merely a boarder.


And the landlady will kill me. Even classmates can't come here.


So you can't come here.

Don't tell me your place is haunted?

Ha.Ha.Funny joke.

I'm serious. I hear chains getting dragged along the floor at three in the morning.


I once saw a girl float past me after I took a bath.


So yeah, can't I go there?

Touche. So this is your style, huh?

What style?

Whatever. Good night!

March 11, 2011 3:05 am

Stop that.

I mean it. Stop that.

What the - I said STOP - 


March 11, 2011 11:00 pm

Hey, can I come to your place?


Why? Is your roommate there?

No.I don't have one.

March 12, 2011 11:00 am

So, who was caressing my face?


Wednesday, March 16, 2011

Pilgrim Perils

I find people who seem like they might listen to both my silence and my tales, and though they seem petty and trivial and transient, they listen still. Yet at times like this, I wonder,

where have they gone to, those who once swore they'd stay.

Or at least that was how it seemed then. Perhaps it is best for me to learn and to get used to the comfort, though little, that my self can give to my self as I am constantly reminded by my circumstances.

Pilgrims shall always come my way, a pauper prince, a pilgrim, myself, and for a time, they'll share my hearth with me, and play audience to what tales I weave, and so, for a moment, solitude basks in the presence of company.

But it is a spell, and lasts only for a day, a week, or a season. In the end, they shall leave, as they often do, in my sleep, or when my back is turned, and flee under the cover of the dark moon.

In strange lands, there are no ghosts of friends to call, from both memory and the beyond. The rocks, the stars, the fire, they keep me company.

The fire neither dims, nor has its warmth diminished, but the chill seeps through my bones and into my marrows. Solitude is colder when it strikes unlooked for.

Is it really too hard to have someone to talk to?

The photo was snatched from this place

Brain Fart VIII

Books are good in bed.

Tuesday, March 15, 2011

Brain Fart VII

When a little taste of success gives you cause to belittle others, failure eventually catches up to you.


One thing I really, really disliked about you was that you always screwed things up for me. Didn't I deserve what everybody else had? You were kinder, much, much kinder to them than you ever were to me.

Will you stop staring? It's rude to stare.
At least say something in reply.
How fucked up can you get?

Screw you.

Screw you!!


I'll tell you a secret kid: I like my subtleties. And here's another one: I've long song since become deaf to all of your race's complaints. I've endured it for eons, before I decided one day to, in your own words, screw it all. I've had enough of it all long before you were born. Your race can be so dense, you know? The truth can be before you, in bright neon glory, and you fail to see it. Do your kind a favor, kid. Figure it out. Everything you need to know has already been given to you.

Now don't go giving me that look. I've seen that before. It's what you give me when I tell you the truth you've all been looking for. It's not what you expected, isn't it? That's the same look you all give me before you start complaining once more. You call me names. You accuse me of doing things. You call me vile, cruel, heartless, and many other things. And this is after me doing what you wanted me to do. Nope. No word of gratitude at all. Thank you, you piece of shit. Nope. None of that. 

You all make choices, and if things don't go well, or if the outcome isn't quite what you wanted, you blame me. Again. What else is new? What things don't I get blamed for? Oh, right. I never get associated with good fortune. You all gloat that it was all the fruit of your efforts, well, to an extent, it is, but not wholly.

Tch. Humans. You all want things, only the good ones, too. You have no room for anything less than what you want. You get what's really only a very, very light slap to the wrist, and you'll cry rivers. You become too passionate at the cost of abandoning any and all reason. I mean really now, seriously. How irrational can you get? And please, don't even think of giving me the cliched we're only human, we make mistakes. Mistakes cease to be when their impetus is your will itself. They become a choice. For a race that's tried so hard to define things to get a semblance of the meaning and purpose of existence, you utterly fail at defining a lot of the essentials.

You do best when it comes to the complex. It's the simple things you seriously need help with.
Speechless, eh? Well, like I said, you humans don't like it when I get blunt.

Well, kid, you're young. Still a long way to go, most likely. And that's if you don't make choices more stupid than the usual. Anyway, where was I? Right. I'll give you the benefit of the doubt. There's this belief, see, well, it's not really a spoken belief, it's just there, deep down, hidden in each of you beneath the many layers of your, tch, human complexities, that Life's rarely kind. Consider yourself lucky. Now's one of those moments.
There's no lesson more obvious than what's taught to you during your adolescence. Yes, it is taught, albeit subtly, still, there are some things whose importance doesn't pale depending on the manner they are passed on. Anyway, yeah, one of the best way to live is taught by your zit.

Psh, don't give me that blank look. Zit. Pimple. Acne. The greasy bane of generations. Yes, it's one of the best teachers, because for something that teaches subtly, it's pretty obvious, more so than the usual. Your kind always preferred the obvious.

I don't understand.

Damn, you really are slow.

Just tell me.



Dammit, kid. Tell me, what do you when you get acne?

I prick it. Duh.

Don't you give me one of those meaningless words for meaningless babble. Anyway, well, there you go, you just said it.

Said what? Prick my acne?


What about it? Just fucking tell me.
I teach you what's important and you swear at me. Really. But fine, if that's how you like it, so be it: don't prick your acne if you don't want that face to get messed up.


You're hopeless.

No, tell me.

Don't prick your acne if you do not want to get scarred. That's one damn fine way to live: if something turns up, don't go out of your way to counter it. You lose that way. You lose sight of what's essential, and you lose in life. You risk getting scarred, and some scars are permanent. Let things be, they will pass. Trust me, all things pass in their own time. And when they do, all they'll leave behind is experience - something to learn from.

Now you're quiet. You actually got what I said.

Tch. I can't help it. It's an ugly sight. It must be eliminated at all cost.

You can, kid. Trust me. Learn to accept things and let them be. And here's another thing: it all turns out good in the end, though admittedly, the end could be really close or really far from where you might be. Suffering is a choice. Grace is a virtue. Serenity is a gift. 

Believe me, kid. I'm Life in the flesh. 


For a friend who taught me that conversations can be stories, too, and that they can be as powerful or more.

Tuesday, March 8, 2011

For Mama

On the eve of my father's flight, Mama and I stayed up and waited long into the night. We talked of a lot things. The conversation went smoothly at first, but eventually took a turn, not unlike how things are now. Her strength was for my younger siblings who were there, present and silent, but not oblivious. 

When they went to their rooms to sleep, I sensed the flowering cracks in her armor. It reminded me of time-lapse videos of the shifting sky, and of growing buds on plants. It had rhythm. It had grace. I was struck how grace in grief could be that overpowering. I never it expected it to overwhelm me. It was as a quiet storm within the soul: great, and what little may be learned is learned from the eyes. I looked into the eyes whose mold largely influenced my own and saw pain, confusion, anger, and love beyond my form mirrored in her black irises. There were more, yes - feelings and emotions and thoughts beyond the scope of words - both my own, and that of the all the words in the world, but what complex gamut that lay hid in her soul was wholly represented by the saline rivers sprung from her soul's windows. 

It will always pain a child to see a parent in tears. We look up to them, calm, and confident, and assured. It was their warmth that cradled us. It was their embrace that welcomed us when we first walked. It was their arms that threw us into the sky to allow us to feel the thrill of living, and the same ones that caught us ere we fell. It was their fingers that met ours when we first learned to point and align our digits. It was their palms that encompassed our little ones when we first learned to spread them wide. It was their face that surprised us and made us laugh. It was their lips that first kissed us. It was their lullaby that lulled us to sleep. It was their hushed voice that reassured us in the dead of the night when we woke up from our babe dreams. In that moment when Mama's first tears fell, I thought of all these things at once. When she started to cry, I wanted to touch her and tell her how she was loved, despite all my shortcomings as the eldest and as a son. When her sobs gained strength and progressed and her pain and her anguish and her despair became very palpable, I reached out a hand and enclosed hers in it.

It's alright, Ma. Life doesn't stop here.

I was never physically expressive, that was the price I paid for being too guarded. But Mama knew what the act meant, she was my mother and I was her son. Bonds formed from when life first sparks up until one is born are never broken. I will forever be bound to her. She took deep breaths and after a spell, her sobs subsided, and her river-tears dried. 

She smiled. It was wistful.

I smiled back. I hoped it was reassuring.

Sometimes, I wish I never listened to your father when he asked me to stop working. Look where it's got me: I am without a career and am feeling quite helpless, at least for now.

I looked at her and smiled, waiting for the right time to say what I had to say.

You know, Christopher, back then he cried when he pleaded to me for it. He said it was his duty, and that he never wanted me to do what he said was his duty.

A deep breath.

I admit, I was both torn and touched then. Here was a man who swore to secure a secure life for me and our children, at the expense of my job.

She looked at me.

Of course you know what happened: that part of me that was touched prevailed. Yet another instance of the heart overpowering reason. Re-

She looked again. Uncertain.

Regret eats me up now. It is overwhelming, son.

She smiled her sad smile.

From the moment my father left, I've always known it would eventually come to this, that she would say those words. Long has she told me of it, and allowed me view of snippets of her resentment. Funny how regret is like a puzzle: one built over time, whose past is a muddled incoherence and whose present is a vivid image devoid of the chaos then.

Ma, if you never gave up your job, you'd have had no time to teach me. My command of language, with all due modesty, would not be what it is today.

I spoke to her in English, the first language I learned. On lighter days with lighter hearts, we would often joke about how I was better than her at it now.

Ma, you taught me how to draw first.

I grinned. She grinned back.

Well, now, I do admit that I draw better than you, but I'll never forget how you taught me to draw cats and fishes using the figure eight. I'd never have been that fascinated by science if you didn't open up that world to me. I'd never have loved good books if it weren't for you.

I beamed at her.

And that goes for my siblings, too. While you taught them a lot yourself, you've admitted in the past that they've taken after me in my fascination for art, science, and languages.

Her eyes welled up, but I knew they were tears of joy.

Thank you, son, for acknowledging that fruit of my sacrifice. I love you. I love all of you.

I love you, too, mom.

Our vigil ended at three in the morning when we were both convinced that my father would not return then, and so we went to bed hoping he'd return the next day. That hope was in vain.


Fourteen years ago, the morning of the 26th of February would have been an ordinary day. Two boys, living in apartments that were next to each other, would wake up and follow their daily routines: rituals of hygiene that would soon be with them for life. 

At nine in the morning, their mothers would visit each other and chat for a while, before Tita Edith would leave Allan at Christopher's house.  Upon the second floor terrace, they would sit side-by-side, each on his own plastic chair before his own plastic table, complete with books and pencils and crayons. The two of them would sit up straight and smile. Their confidence was boosted by the uniforms they were wearing. These were sewn by Tita Edith for both boys. In a few minutes, Tita Fe, Christopher's mother would come out, and with a warm smile, begin that day's discussion. They would talk about and practice reading and writing letters and numbers and words. By then, both boys had become quite good at it, and so this time, Tita Fe would talk to them about the Universe and the Sun and the planets and the stars. Each boy would listen eagerly and would soon afterward be lost within the boundless joy of imagination. Tita Fe would smile as she sees wanderlust blossom on each face before heading back in. 

The boys would soon be hungry, and she knew what both wanted best: hotdogs and hams and eggs. The food she prepared would need reheating, which would take a few minutes.

And that time would be enough.

Tita Fe would think this to herself, aware that time was just is to two boys lost in imagination.

Oh, and I almost forgot. They liked their milk, too.

Tita Fe knew that five year-olds needed milk so they could grow healthy and strong, so she prepared them as soon as she could before heading upstairs again. The boys would be waiting, and there were still a lot of things to be taught.


The heart can be as strong as bones, or stronger.

I'll be strong for you, Mama.

Thank you, for everything.


Happy Women's Day, everyone.

How to be Alone

I'll let this video speak for itself. I'll just say that it's basically what I do, and what I intend to do for the foreseeable future, at least when I am alone.

Thanks to Sitting Pretty for sharing this. I hope we both make it through these upheavals we're facing.

But lonely is a freedom that breathes easy and weightless, and lonely is healing if you make it.

Monday, March 7, 2011

Strip Me

Congratulations, Miss Bedingfield. Just like P!nk, you scored a bull's-eye. This is a prelude to Enchantress, an idea brought to life by a friend. Hopefully I get to wing it.

La la la la la la
Everyday I fight for
All my future somethings
A thousand little wars
I have to choose between
I could spend a lifetime
Earning things that I don't need
But that's like chasing rainbows
And coming home empty
And if you strip me,
Strip it all away
If you strip me,
What would you find
If you strip me,
Strip it all away
Ill be alright

Take what you want
Steal my pride
Build me up
Or cut me down to size
Shut me out
But I'll just scream
Im only one voice in a million
but you aint taking that from me
Oh oh no you aint taking that from me x 4

I dont need a microphone, yeah,
To say what I been thinking
My heart is like a loudspeaker
Thats always on eleven
And if you strip me,
Strip it all away
If you strip me,
What would you find
If you strip me,
Strip it all away
I'm still the same

Take what you want
Steal my pride
Build me up
Or cut me down to size
Shut me out
But I'll just scream
Im only one voice in a million
but you aint taking that from me
Oh oh no you aint taking that from me x 4

'cuz when it all boils down
At the end of the day
It's what you do and say
That makes you who you are
Makes you think about it,
Think about it
Doesn't it
Sometimes all it takes is one voice

Take what you want
Steal my pride
Build me up
Or cut me down to size
Shut me out
But I'll just scream
Im only one voice in a million
but you aint taking that from me
Oh oh no you aint taking that from me

random trivia:
My initial reaction, captioned in Facebook, when I head the song was: F*ck.Bull's-eye Miss Bedingfield. Well done. Well done, indeed.


No matter how many times I tried, the video won't shrink itself. Excuse the terrible overlapping look.

Sunday, March 6, 2011

Brain Fart VI

There is a certain charm about chance. It's that one moment, unlooked for, that overwhelms you with a sense of clarity that wipes your slate clean of confusion. Catharsis. Tonight, one facebook friend put it right:

Have you ever hated yourself for staring at the phone?
Your whole life waiting for that ring to prove you're not alone? 
Her words hit me. Down to my core.

Saturday, March 5, 2011


You could not comprehend it, why things oft turn this way. At least now, that you should lose control and suffer the bonds of restraint broken is still a possibility, albeit one that looms close by. Much too close for both your liking and your confidence. 

This must be how God feels: constantly disappointed. For all the beauty and wonder in all creation, humans fail to make the cut. Though admittedly, there are a few who transcend above what the rest cannot, but that is the point: they are few and they are rare. Even God Himself could not have expected to look at one corner of the world and see one of them. History tells how the supposed advantage of sentience has only been misused and has woven tangled and incoherent chaos instead of harmony.

You contemplate this revelation in silence. What invincible security you have made for yourself now has a lynchpin. That was not the plan. The security was intended to merely just be. That there should be no tangible part that held everything together - which, ironically, is both the strongest and the weakest point in your defence. 

This was not meant to be. Not meant to be at all.

Music can draw beasts to sleep, or wake them. Great fables tell how strongholds fell victim to mystique, of how strength is rendered wholly inconsequential in the face of majesty. Once again, you find yourself pitted against them whose works gray the boundaries of guile and veracity. You wonder how silence can be both your sanctum and your torture chamber. In it, there is peace, however, there is peaceful longing, too. The longing threatens to consume your entirety.

Sometimes, you wish real hard for music to finally overwhelm the silence.

Thursday, March 3, 2011


Smile, and spread your arms wide.

Wide enough to embrace the cool winds aflutter.

Wide enough to caress the grass blades at our land raft's edge.

Wide enough to relax your being.

Wide enough to welcome the world.

Smile. The stars shine for you.

Wednesday, March 2, 2011


"What about us?"  


"What about it?"  


"Will you leave us all behind? Will you vanish without a trace?"   


"Of course not. What makes you think that?"  

Allegro Non Troppo.

"Nothing. I just thought you would disappear. You better keep your word."  

Tempo Primo.

You glance at the friend walking just a few steps ahead all of you, and marveled at his concern and surprising show of shrewdness. You chide yourself. He is, after all, not dull. In fact, your plans, should things go worse, were laid bare before him first. The second person to know, the first being you. You've always known how you two had the ability to resonate within the same wavelengths. You look back to the first few months of your freshman year and recall how you realized then that he could empathize with you. You were two notes bridged by a tie within the harmonic chaos of a measure. 

It's always rare to find an empath for another empath.

Hours trickle away like seconds and stories are woven seamlessly when kindred spirits sing together, until both time and space are together sundered from the momentary solace brought to being, where and when everything is just is.

You look to night sky, and to the few stars that outshine the light of the city as you all walk your separate paths home.

"Thank you for the friends you brought my way."



A nod to the serenity in Glass.

Tuesday, March 1, 2011

Lady Gaga: Born This Way

Okay, I rarely post videos here, but let me share her latest music video, which was released just a few minutes earlier. It has Gaga written all over. It was fun! I smiled in awe as I watched it. So yeah, thanks for making me happy, Motha Monsta. 

First that twitter crazy talk about butts and then this video and then this from Facebook: 
BAKIT SIKAT SI SADAKO? Kasi lumalabas siya sa tv. :> :> :|
Why am I laughing so hard?! I've become too happy, I guess. The thirsty tend to drink a lot of water, no? Still, it's all good!