on disappearing acts.

The disappearing act can be considered as a staple in every magician’s repertoire. I remember growing up watching shows of people disappearing behind the cloth, while inside some minuscule boxes buried under the ground, and even against a thick fog. Not until Breaking the Magician’s Code came on Philippine TV that I realized that I was being fooled all along. It was a grand business of foolery I must say. And to date, many are still victimized (especially the young innocents).

As far as I know, my parents never ventured in the sphere of magic. They had normal jobs in the past and continue to have normal jobs until now. But even though their jobs are normal, I still find it amusing that they can perform their versions of the disappearing act.

About a week before this week, my mom went to Naga. The only information that I know is that it is work related and she went to … Naga. She spent her whole weekend there and came back Sunday night. The thing is, I wasn’t really informed beforehand that she was spending her weekend in that far away land. My father even got irritated when I asked him where Mama was.

When she came home, she had with her a bagful of pili nut delicacies in variations – there’s pili brittle sticks (I invented this term), pili tart, crunchy pili, and coco jam with shredded pili forced against the jar.

Then the next weekend, I was surprised by the fact that my father was asking me to do too much. After you do this, do this. I left something blah, blah, blah. I won’t be home by blah, so blah, blah, blah. All of this boiled down to one point: your mom is not going home this weekend. She went to Naga. I was like, huh?

Good thing I bond with the boob tube a lot so I figured that it is Peñafrancia. Credit the fact that we don’t have relatives there (as far as I know). So by the process of ethnomethology, I came to the conclusion that she went there for work. I know. The idea is so … profound.

Monday night I saw her again on the grounds of our humble home. She had with her again a bagful of pili nut delicacies in variations – there’s pili brittle sticks, pili tart, crunchy pili, but sans the coco jam with shredded pili forced against the jar. I don’t know what else she got from Bicol, but upon arrival, she was bibo enough to request for a collaborative effort to wash our clothes. (Just so everybody knows, we don’t have maid/s.).

My father, on the other hand, likes to disappear on weekdays. Last night he left for Dagupan to fix some unknown matters after his phone kept ringing earlier that day. Good thing my father likes to travel during the wee hours of the night (he says it’s faster) and so I was able to know that he was going to disappear. Of course my mom also knows.

Just like in a magic show, he reappeared on the same day in the most unlikely time – that time when he expects our home left in solitude. I decided to go home early. So the person who saw him disappear also saw him reappear. I was like the assistant of the magician.

When he came home, he had with him tupig(s). If you’re not familiar with it, I can say that you’re missing something in your life. Tupigs are made up of coconut shreds, sugar, and malagkit rice. They’re wrapped in banana leaves and then cooked on a hot plate with scorching coals below. For reference, these pictures below were taken from a trip almost a year ago.

Let’s also mention that with tupig comes, kilos of kalamansi, garlic, and some things I didn’t bother asking about.

To this point, I don’t know how to end this entry. Thoughts, apparently, also learned the trick to disappear suddenly. But before I officially end, let me share brilliance. Earlier this day I used the CR in FC (the one near DECL). I don’t know why people stood aside as I passed, but I was delighted they did. When I came out I heard someone ask, “CR ba yan?” Wow.

on being broke.

The truth is always a bitter pill to swallow. I am perpetually broke. And I don’t know what to do with it. In fairness to me, I had a plan towards better days: I promised to force myself to a financial hiatus. But, no. Spending money is one of life’s constants and I have to deal with it.

When I was younger, money was a lot easier to handle. I can even remember being able to save up P100 just in time for my brother’s birthday. I bought him a cheap remote controlled airplane that doesn’t fly. I was satisfied knowing that I was able to save, but spending it was more delightful.

High school was the advent of my life’s financial crisis. It was the time I learned responsibility. I stopped (or more of moderated) begging for extra allowances whenever I go out with friends or whatever. I realized that if I would like to feed on my whims, I have to pay for everything. Well, at least in spirit.

College, as I feel, is the peak of the crisis. Or maybe this is when the rising action towards the peak starts. I can really feel my pocket draining. With all the spending shitnitz that I have to fulfill, nothing is left for me. I am forced to rely on my parents for the basics – shirt, pants/jeans, shoes, etc. – which during these times, I find hard to ask for. As you may know, we’re not class A. We belong to class O, as in O-kay lang. My class readings are not included in the category of basics. So once in a while I force my parents to “subsidize” me.

Fortunately I can still manage to enjoy life in many ways, like eating out with friends and stuff. Which leads me to think, is my money enough or am I just spending too much?

I was talking to Alfha on our way home. She told me she wanted to get a part time job since her Wednesdays and Fridays can now be called free days – meaning she don’t have classes on these days anymore. I am always tempted with the idea to have a part time job too, but laziness prevails and so I remain broke.

The semester is about to end and Daisy’s birthday is approaching. I remember a promise to attend her debut in the far away land of Mindoro. Speaking of far away, let’s talk about the fare that I’ll need. Last time I checked, my savings wasn’t even enough for a one-way trip. So, good luck.

In fairness to me, I had a plan towards better days: I promised to force myself to a financial hiatus. But, no. Joy and I will watch Isang Panaginip na Fili this Thursday and I’m not even required.

christmas countdown [the title is irrelevant, i know].

I did an essay for my Creative Nonfiction class, which, by the way, was my fountain of stress for this week. At some point, I felt proud of it – another work done through the magical process of cramming. And that point of pride ended 15 minutes after I typed the last thought I can muster.

I talked about Love. I talked about how fart is luckier than Love. I talked about how Love is naturally displaced because it is diluted with notions of care, generosity, mercy, and the like. I talked about Love and how I dealt with it on the level of identity rather than identification (note: I just love these terms. It’s so postmodern). I talked about alienation with Love. I also talked about Love Añover.

Why Love? Wala nalang pakialaman, please?!

***

My Creative Nonfiction professor is so fun/lovable/adorable/insert term of admiration here. She asked me to create a Yahoo Group for the class and did it hours after she dismissed us. Come next meeting, she was still oblivious to the fact that the YG already exists. When she found it out, she was like, “ha? Marc, isali n’yo naman ako d’yan!”, with face bewildered. Ano ba mam?! Wag ba daw isali yung prof?! Of course, I invited her. Blame the UP Webmail.

***

My Italian class is also stressing me out. Pero, keri lang.

***

Anna O.,

The first day of your official leave from English 42 felt different. For one, Joy felt so alone. As a matter of fact, she was indeed alone on the left side. But since I wasn’t able to finish reading the story, I didn’t sit beside her because I know I won’t make sense in the recitation.

And this is one of the times I wished you were there. We talked about Africa!

I imagined how you’ll narrate the beauty of that country – on how it resembles paradise, on how tall the guys were (did you ever said they’re hot?), the way you rode and enjoyed the ostrich for seconds, and more.

As you go and venture to another exciting project in your life, may you always be blessed and guided with the idea that your friends are here praying for your success.

CHOS!

And the Best Actor Award for a blog entry scene goes to…

***

Question: Bakit halos lahat ng guys sa Survivor Philippines buff? Halos lahat may dalang washboards at may itsura kahit papaano. Ganun din sa mga babae, bakit parang pinaghandaan masyado yung bathing suits? Parang masyadong sexy para sa show na baragan ng mukha at patagalan ang labanan. At eto pa! Bakit binigyan yung mga castaways ng (Crocs-looking) shoes nung first day nila sa island? Masyado ata silang pampered? Plus, everything looks so polished. Ang synthetic ng vibe.

***

The countdown to Christmas already started. Seriously? I mean, seriously.

nevermind.

I can’t understand myself. I want to kill the next person who will mess with me. The next person who’ll dare to try will die. Because I’m sure, that person will live long enough when hell freezes over.

***

I usually ride the tricycle out of the subdivision. Walking would mean sweat and that sunny odor that everyone wants to avoid. Most of the drivers here are either naïve when you try to hail a ride or pa-importante (as in they pass by you first and tells you wait, goes around the subdivision to check for other potential passengers, and comes back at you with someone riding in the “most comfortable” seat, that forces you to ride where the wind is more violent – the seat behind the driver – or they come back at you without a passenger that would mean that your time was just wasted). So whatever the situation may be, I just look for another tricycle that will be more willing to give me a ride. When drivers coming from the left side miss me, those from the right are always available and vice versa.

Last Sunday, this tricycle crisis happened once again. And because I was running late again, I was more aggressive. What surprised me is that a driver was more aggressive than ever. I hailed Tricycle A, but he just waved back at me to fetch another passenger. Who knows how long it’ll take him? So when I saw Tricycle B, I tried to hail him instead. And it was a success. Apparently, Tricycle B was “concerned” with Tricycle A, so that when they met at an intersection Tricycle B told me to transfer to A. I was then forced to ride behind him. And this is what he told me: Di ba sabi ko sayo sandali lang?!

Pota. Gusto ko s’ya gawing Koko Crunch at that moment. Isang pukpok lang sa ulo, patay s’ya. But, NO. I realized that would also mean my potential death.

***

Sometimes I think that the Mass is an event when hypocrites come together. And in the forefront of hypocrite-Mass goers are the Mother Butlers, followed by old usherettes, then old women in general, and ranking last are the “critics” who judge other Mass goers. Spare me. I’m just stating an observation.

The reason behind the ascendancy is ascendancy. The fact that that they signed up to be Mother Butlers should mean that ideally they would be the least judgmental of all, they should serve as “models”, and should learn how to be humble. Being in uniform, being able to roam around and police Mass goers, and the feeling of absolute authority should not be abused. They need not to say what they think. The way they look at particular Catholics says it all. It’s the same with usherettes, with old women, and with “critics”. Some old women even share whispers during the Mass. As if the event is an ordinary occasion where being judgmental is normal.

Last Sunday an usherette was holding the signature campaign sheet against the Reproductive Health Bill. And by the aura that she shares, you’ll know she’s bragging it. With chin high and condescending stares, she roams to solicit signatures. That’s why I told myself that the moment she tries to get mine, I won’t sign it. Not only because I wanted to harm her in my little way, but also because I don’t believe in blocking the Reproductive Heath Bill. Sometimes I just wished that Logic should prevail when making decisions. People should follow because they know it is right and not because Faith blinded them altogether. During the final announcements in the church where I usually go, this is the logic they follow: the Reproductive Health Bill is once again pursued (check); it will desecrate the value of life (eeengk); it will give way to abortion (eeengk); it will promote same sex marriages (EEENGK. Wtf!); therefore, let’s not support the Bill (wow).

***

Mama didn’t go to work today. I guess it’s her free day for going to Naga back and forth last weekend. Whenever she’s here, she always polices the one who sits in front of the PC, especially when she wakes up with that somebody already seated surfing the net. Most the time, that somebody is me. So for today, I got multiple sermons on how I was wasting my day just sitting and staring in front of the computer. She doesn’t even know why I was spending most of my time facing this machine than facing them. Which, by the way, pisses me more. Sermons are okay, I can let it pass. But to tell me to clean the house again after I cleaned it last night, that’s too much.

Instead of brainstorming for the essay that I’m supposed to do, I now have extra responsibilities to fulfill. Never mind that I also have an Italian exam. Never mind that they forgot to feed me lunch (they always think I can manage). Therefore, I need to cook for myself. Never mind that I’m going to do all the chores since I'm home alone. Never mind me, never mind.

By the way, I still love her. Nevermind. Sabaw.

***

One of my professors heard me sing Ako ang Nagwagi while walking in FC. Of course, it didn't sound brilliant. Ang taas kaya. I wish she'll forget about it. Why was I singing it? I DO NOT KNOW.

misunderstood.

When I bought John Mayer’s first album (in the most grepa form of a cassette tape), I knew My Stupid Mouth was recorded for me. I felt that I was the epitome of the Stupid Mouth. Not that I’m incriminating myself, but it’s true. More often than not, I’m always caught in a situation when there’s always an urge to retract what I have just said. It sucks. Having the good, right intentions will not always mean soliciting the desired effect. Let’s not go into details because that would only mean soliciting clashing reactions.

My stupid mouth,
Has got me in trouble.
I said too much again.
To a date over dinner yesterday
And I could see she was offended.
She said well anyway...
Just dying for a subject change.

Oh, its another social casualty
Score one more for me
How could I forget?
Mama said think before speaking
No filter in my head.
Oh, whats a boy to do?
I guess he better find one soon.

We bit our lips. She looked out the window
Rolling tiny balls of napkin paper
I played a quick game of chess with the
salt and pepper shaker.
And I could see clearly
An indelible line was drawn
Between what was good, what just
Slipped out and what went wrong.

Oh, the way she feels about me has changed.
Thanks for playing, try again.

How could I forget?
Mama said think before speaking
No filter in my head.
Oh, whats a boy to do?
I guess he better find one.

Im never speaking up again. it only hurts me.
Id rather be a mystery than she desert me.

Oh ‘Im never speaking up again.
Starting now.

One more thing.
Why is it my fault?
So maybe I try too hard
But its all because of this desire
I just wanna be liked, I just wanna be funny.
Looks like the jokes on me
So call me captain backfire.

Im never speaking up again it only hurts me.
Id rather be a mystery than she desert me.

Oh Im never speaking up again
Starting now.


-John Mayer, My Stupid Mouth (Room for Squares, 2001)

***

I want this shirt. Designs by PUB COM, GET IN THE ZONE APPS. UP JMA. Imagine me wearing this. It's going to be a real statement because…

not that I'm liking boyfriends back.

***

It is important to know that I’m prone to confusion. So don’t get me confused – whatever the context is. Speaking of varying contexts, I’m still in great need of a guiding light for an essay I’m supposed to do for class. Note that in my class the term “essay” is not the essay that we know. We discuss poems evolving as essays, pieces that seems fiction but still considered as essays, compiled quotes that ends up being a fragmented piece (read: pointless) that is considered as essay. Therefore, I’m confused what to write anymore. I don’t even have a topic in mind.

***

AND YOU. You’re getting me confused. Pakshet.

sept 9 is a special day.

I feel that the day was cursed. Because even though how much I tried to uplift my spirit, circumstances pulled me down. The fact that the day was cursed made it special. Special not because it is Pom’s or Jacques’ birthday, special not because it was another fun day with DebSoc, special not because of the free cuts, but special because…

I woke up early feeling well. Credits to the generous sleeping time. Left the house by 9 a.m. hoping not to be late for my 10 o’clock class. Somebody is trying to change. But ended up being caught in traffic for [drumrolls] TWO HOURS. So I had my first absent for that class rather than being usually late. Thanks to the nonsensical fiesta called Kakanin Festival by the Municipality of San Mateo. The municipality doesn’t even produce a considerable about of rice delicacies to have a Kakanin Festival! The nerve to have a parade celebrating stupidity. I am always tempted to text Mayor through the equally nonsensical project in collaboration with Talk n’ Text called “Basta kay Mayor, Bida ka!”. I just want to applaud them for a job well done, for a decision well thought of. To overemphasize the stellar intellectual level of the San Mateo Admin, let me just say that for a two-lane road running within the municipality, they even allowed bazaars beside the road – leading to a total, major, freaking traffic.

Add the fact that things were more special because I was having a major headache. A headache made worse by the sight of light, abrupt changes in position, and noise. Interestingly enough, the same headache that goes away whenever I’m in front of the PC surfing the net.

Then come night time. Let the heavy rain pour down and piss me more. I had no choice but to force the transformation of my shoes to fit the rain. Instant rain boots sans the waterproof feature. I also felt that my pants turned into rug when rain water started creeping up and up. That was one of the times I wished I had a motorcycle so spare my jeepney seatmates from getting wet. The FX wasn’t even an option, unless I wanted to die cold.

I finally touched the grounds of home. I attempted to feel better by soliciting sympathize from my mother; telling her how unfortunate I am for the traffic and all the shitnitz. But, no. I had to be screamed at because I was charged of “slacking off” and I should have “anticipated” the horrible traffic because I “knew” it all along. Two words: not true. So as a good child with a good day and a throbbing head, I had to engage in a shout fest. Nobody won.

The day ended with a bitter sleep. Come the next day, I felt dumb during my Creative Nonfiction class. Actually, I felt dumb the whole day.

And oh, the day is also special because Philip from high school said so. Thanks for the free ride.

Late post.

post-UAAP cheerdance compet thoughts.

So by now I think everybody already knows that UP Pep Squad won this year’s UAAP Cheerdance Competition. I won’t be extending my congratulations anymore since everybody already did. It’s my little way of breaking conventions.

***

Objectively, there were glaring errors in the routine. But because the routine was unique and creative, the combinations of stunts, lifts, and tosses were amazingly complicated, the transitions were magical, and the UP crowd was so pumped up, there was no way to win against UP’s squad (unless, others cheat).

In these times when the trend for uniforms is to use metallics and geometrical patterns, UP chose to wear something skin-toned. I didn’t like it that much. It seemed more of like a costume. But I understand that they’re going for that overall tribo (tribal) effect. Imagine how silly they would look like if they wore something else.

I think that there is something about that Oblation guy at the end that made me feel queasy. He seemed … left out and perky in an odd way. I don’t know.

Before I forget, I also think some squads weren’t able to get much merit because some of the techniques were highly cheated, like the penche, arabesque, and even splits. Jumps are highly learnable, but it will boil down to the height and execution. Constant stretching for good extensions and count, count, count.

***

I had all the reasons to believe that God really loves me. Mind you, last Sunday, my mind was conditioned enough to accept that I won’t be going to Araneta just to try and buy that elusive ticket. But I guess that ticket isn’t that elusive especially when you have a generous friend and orgmate to help out – Bea.

Thanks again.

***

I realized that it is utterly yucky to feel an older woman’s boobs brush against your arm. I realized that it is easy to know when somebody yawns when you’re in a crowd – the smell of the air changes. I realized that some people can watch a high energy event, such as the cheerdance competition, and still end up with a face with no emotion. I realized that La Salle pompoms are soft, fluffy, and cuddly. No wonder the female La Salle cheerleaders never dropped it. I realized that times are changing. People bump you first, before the say “excuse me”. I realized that nothing can be cornier than umbrellas.

***

UP crowd doing the wave***

In terms of cheers, Adamson is the least advantaged. Notice that UP is just U-P. FEU is just F-E-U. NU is just N-U. UST is USTE. UE is just U-E. La Salle just rolls because of the dominance of laterals, say La Salle. We all know that Ateneo is usually pronounced as Atneo or Arneo. But Adamson is A-dam-son. Gets? It’s hard for their crowd to say it again and again.

***

By the way, the guy who was standing beside me was trying to figure out why Ateneo had this rolling “A”. He said maybe it means “A! A for effort”.

***

I’m in great need of a topic for my Creative Nonfiction class. Suggestions?

koko crunch.

Random stream of thought: I realized that ladies nowadays should take extra precautions when deciding on what to wear and how would they like to appear in public. Like earlier this day, I saw two girls on my ride to school. One was wearing a mini short. The other one was wearing a mini skirt. Not that I’m into legs, but when I saw theirs, it was hairy and … rough looking. It looked hideous, honestly. Read: both bordering to look like men’s legs in minis.

Hello shaving! Hello lotions! Hello … whitening products!

***

Can you believe I stood in front of the Office for Student Affairs for around 20 minutes? Why? Just because I thought and believed from the bottom of my heart that the doors were locked during office hours. Yes, believe it. I don’t know if Kuya Carebest was a blessing or a great insult when I asked him if there were employees inside. “Naka-lock ba?” he asked. “Uhmm… Oo… yata.” He walked towards the door, turned the knob, and poof! I became Koko Crunch. End of story.

***

I hate a classmate. Mas malabnaw pa s’ya sa tubig. Ang sabaw n’ya! She gives all of these irrelevant comments and questions almost every meeting. Like earlier in class, we were talking about the Diliman Commune in the 1970s. UP students had to create a barricade using chairs from the classroom to prevent MetroCom from taking over the campus. Apparently, one professor attempted to break in because he was still planning to give out a Math exam. To cut the story short: professor was carrying a gun that time, students refused to allow him to enter, professor shot a freshman, got away with it (?), and experienced a natural death.

You want to know what freaking classmate’s comment is? It was something like, “pero ‘di ba, when you kill somebody, you’re conscience will always hunt you.” I was like, “HA? Gusto mo isaksak ko ‘tong payong sa bunganga mo?” And poof! She became Koko Crunch!

***

I’ll be in a long line tomorrow. Good night, love.

kevjumba got that right.

The other night I was so tired that the moment my body touched the bed, I just fell asleep. Take note, still in my undershirt and slacks. Mama told me when I woke up in the afternoon that I was sleep talking. Something about a practice and some gibberish things on the side that I don’t remember dreaming about. I asked her what she did and she just blinked and smiled and continued eating. Well, if I saw someone sleep talking, I’ll hurry and call everybody. Why? I’ll tell them that that person is possessed and we can cure you! Whatever.

Moving on. Yesterday, I was happy to sit all day and enjoy the Internet. I thought I would be just drooling all the way due to intense boredom. I remember Customer Support telling my brother that they’ll fix something that would kill the influx of the much-loved and appreciated Internet connection. But no, fourth led light on the modem blinking. Tada!

Yesterday, I also met KevJumba through Christine Gambito also known as HappySlip from Youtube.com. You should watch their ‘Put it in Purse’ vid. I just can’t stop laughing. Then, I watched another one and another one and another. I got addicted an ended up subscribing. We can call him an Internet supahstar. Did I mention he challenged Jessica Alba to a staring contest? Little Miss Alba responded and won.

Let me just share the vids that I love watching. Because shared philosophy rocks and I want everybody to be enlightened. The first one is a short rant about how society is too focused on looks and being pretty.

While this one, tells everybody to be happy.

I was fortunate enough to have Jason Mraz’s new album the other day. It's called We Sing, We Dance, and We Steal Things. I have to thank Annel for this one. The new album is molten hot. Check it out dawg, check it out. I’m totally digging Butterfly. The lines are poetically dirty, the beat is so funky.

And oh. Maybe one of the reasons why Elfermin from the other side of the blogsphere isn’t getting any “dramaturgical emo blog posts lately” is because we all suddenly have turned into sloths. Besides, the day was so magical. We just can’t express it in words, friggin' hard. Cheers to the new UPDS mems!

First GA later. How exciting.