this.

The main point of this entry is to inform you that I’m still alive. It’s just that I’ve been doing a lot of things lately and my social networking site accounts can’t keep up with everything that I’ve been doing.

School is very hectic. Courses are starting to be extra demanding. Exams are piling up. Deadlines never die.

Is it my fault that I’m sensitive?

Sleep is a luxury. I was convinced that I can live with it at the barest minimum, not until I almost fainted amid a sea of people. But still, I’m in constant struggle between rest and shortened time to finish things that needs to be done.

I’ve been meeting new friends.

I hate stupid classmates. People should know what “homogenous” means so that when I use it, they won’t distort their faces while using context clues to understand what I meant. I hate a freeloader classmate, who does nothing but to ask what to do next. I hate fake British accents.

I’m falling in love with UST. I’m not sure what to feel with San Beda yet. I’m trying not to hate MIT.

The small pink laptop is not mine.

Old friends can be irritating. But you can’t be irritated. Wish you can stab and slash their napes. But then again, remember the idea behind “old friends”.

I’d rather buy a Lenovo over a Dinovo.

I tend to over read. So please don’t look at me that way. Fix your smile. I see regret. And you are afraid.

I think large Chai Tea Lattes are ordered so you’ll have company in the absence of anything living; to have something warm to combat cold stares; to have something processed when everything is senseless.

Issues, issues, and more issues. For as long as I’m not directly affected, you can make all the issues you want. Cross my border and let’s see what can happen. Dare?

First phase is denial. Second phase is acceptance. Third phase is chasing after the things that will make you happy.

I really don’t like running.

A friend once approached me, stared for a while, and drew circles in the air near my eyes. I said, “uhmmm…eye bags?”

You can walk fast to chase something.

Chillz is bliss. Find me in the nearest Mini Stop.

Trying to avoid sting.

But everything is.

Death can’t be felt by the dead or the living. We can all be dead and not know it.

pidc 2009.

target="_blank" >src="http://i293.photobucket.com/albums/mm76/bojimenez/pa.gif"border="0"
alt="Photobucket">





It's the Philippine Inter-Collegiate Debating Championship 2009!

ang bagong version ng kwento ng pagong at ng kuneho.

Isang araw, may isang pagong na nakatira sa malayong lugar. Buti nalang medyo mataas yung lupa sa tirahan nila kaya ang tawag dun ng karamihan ay burol, hill sa English. Ngayon, yung pagong na yun kabilang sa isang malaking komunidad ng mga pagong. Kumbaga sa mga langgam, colony ang drama ng mga pagong na ito. Dahil langgam-langgaman silang lahat, bawat isa sa mga pagong dun sa burol ay may natatanging tungkulin. Ang bida nating pagong ay kabilang sa mga naghahanda ng pagkain para sa buong komunidad. Ang paniniwala ng mga pagong na ito, lahat ng bagay ay dapat pinag-iigihan. Kaya naman bilang isang pagong na nakatoka sa pagkain, pumapasok sa isang ekwelahan itong bida nating pagong. Ang tawag sa kanya ng buong komunidad ay Frog. Dati kasi sinubukan niyang tumalon mula sa tuktok ng burol. Kapos yung initial force, so hulaan mo nalang yung naging trajectory niya. Parang re-enactment lang ng Jack and Jill. So yun. Pero bawal ma-confuse kasi pagong pa rin s'ya, ah.

Sa kabilang lupalop naman, merong isang kuneho. Mas mababa yung lupa na tinitirahan nila kaysa dun sa mga pagong. Kaya naman ang tawag dun ng karamihan ay hill foot, walang direct translation sa Filipino. Ang kuneho na ito ay kabilang rin sa isang komunidad ng mga kuneho. Langgam-langgaman din ang moda nila, kaya naman ang lahat ay may tungkulin din. Sa ngayon, wala pang tiyak na trabaho itong bida nating kuneho. Ngunit pumapasok din s'ya sa isang eskwelahan upang linangin ang kanyang interes sa pagsusulat. Araw-araw nagsusulat itong bida nating kuneho ng samochi. As in for today magsusulat s'ya, S-A-M-O-C-H-I. Then kinabukasan magsusulat ulit s'ya ng S-A-M-O-C-H-I. Paulit-ulit lang yun, S-A-M-O-C-H-I. Pagkatapos n'ya magsulat, inilalagda n'ya ang pangalang Manoling.

Parehas na pala-kaibigan ang pagong at ang kuneho. Si pagong, halos puro guy pagongs yung friends n'ya. So pag nakikita niya yung mga kaibigan n'ya, ang bati ni Frog ay "Hey guys!" Meron din naman s'yang girl pagong friends. Mangilan-ngilan doon, tawag niya ay best friend. Si kuneho naman, halos equal ang dami ng guy kuneho at girl kuneho friends. Pero ang parating kasama ni kuneho ay yung girl kuneho friends n'ya. Wala kasing inatupag yung mga guy kunehos kundi maghanap ng girlfriends. Did I mention na may pagka-studious kasi itong si Manoling? Well, if I haven't, now you know. Minsan ng nagkaroon ng isang Grand Circumferential Area Get-Together Party sa buong kalupaan. Ibig sabihin lang nun, minsan ng nagkakilala itong si Frog at Manoling. Pero matagal na yun. Hindi sila close.

Isang gabi, may dinaramdam itong si Frog. Naisipan niyang umakyat sa tuktok ng burol upang magpahangin, tahimik rin kasi doon. 'Wag na natin pag-usapan kung bakit emo si Frog. Mahirap mag-expound, pero related ang puso. Hindi ako sure, pero barado ata yung isang ugat. Akala mo love life nanaman?! Anyways, nung gabi ring iyon nasa kalagitnaan ng pagsusulat itong si Manoling. S-A-M-O palang yung tapos. Hindi tiyak ang dahilan, ngunit namangha itong si Frog sa mga letra. Kung ikaw ba naman puro saluyot, kangkong, at kung anu-ano pang dahon kaharap mo halos araw-araw, hindi mo rin siguro maiiwasang mamangha. Oras na nun ng pagtulog, maaga pa kasi muling papasok itong si Frog. Kaya naman kahit hindi pa tapos magsulat si Manoling, iniwan na niya ito.

Naging tila adiksyon kay Frog ang mga letra. Naging habit na ang pag-akyat niya sa tuktok ng burol. Sinwerte siya dahil nung isang gabi na muli s'yang napadpad roon, nakita na niyang tapos ang sinulat ni Manoling. S-A-M-O-C-H-I. Pautal-utal niya iyong binasa. S-A-M-O-C-H-I. "Wow, that kuneho is great," wika niya sa sarili. Nabaling ang leeg ni Frog sa mga bagay na nakapaligid kay Manoling. Napansin n'yang matagal na nagsusulat ang kuneho, ang dami kasing samochi sa paligid. Nung oras ding iyon, may naganap sa puso ni Frog - bumilog iyon at tila naging bola.

Ilang araw nagmanman itong si Frog. Hanggang napag-desisyunan niyang kaibiganin na talaga si Manoling.

Malalim na ang gabi. Mula sa tuktok ng burol, kitang-kita ni Frog na nagsusulat pa rin itong si Manoling. "Perfect," wika ng pagong. Kaya bumaba siya sa tuktok ng burol at lumapit sa kuneho. "Hi!" ang unang salita na namutawi sa bibig ng pagong. Na-distract si Manoling, pero dahil friendly siya, nag-hi din s'ya. Hindi siya nag-e-expect ng follow-up, pero tumuloy pa rin sa pagsasalita itong si Frog. "Ang galing mo namang magsulat," sabi niya, "S-A-M-O-C-H-I." Nagitla ang kuneho. Hindi niya inaasahan na bukod sa mga kaibigan niya, may iba pang nagbabasa ng kanyang mga lathala. "Thanks," sagot ni Manoling. Nahiya ata muli itong si pagong, dahil pagkatapos niya marinig ang sagot ng kuneho, iniwan na niya ito at umuwi.

Hindi yun ang huling paguusap ng pagong at ng kuneho. Gabi-gabi bumibisita itong si Frog kay Manoling. Nung puntong iyon, matatawag mo na silang friends. Namutawi ang tuwa sa kuneho. Kasi naman may friend na siyang pagong. Would you believe it? Pero hindi pa rin sila close. Ngunit ang masama diyan, nakakahawa pala itong si Frog. Bumilog kasi bigla ang ulo ni kuneho. Sad, no?

Nauntog ata si Manoling sa tambak ng mga samochi sa paligid niya. Hindi siya makapaniwala na nung isang gabi lamang bumilog ang ulo niya. Ngayon, niyayaya na siya ng pagong na maging sila. Would you believe it? Even I can't. Pero since postmodern ang kwentong ito, we shall continue.

Ilang araw lang nanuyo si Frog. Ilang araw lang nakuha na niya ang gusto niya - ang kunehong si Manoling.

Masaya ang unang linggo ng pagsasama ng dalawa. Minsan lang sila magkita, dun pa parati sa hill foot. Medyo liberal kasi mga nilalang doon. Napakabihira rin kasi ng relasyong kuneho at pagong. Kahit pa sabihin mong sa past life ni Frog, siya ay isang kuneho, at sa past life ni Manoling, siya ay isang pagong, hindi pa rin swak ang pagsasama na iyon. Nabubuhay tayo sa present, remember?

Lumipas ang ikalawang linggo, steady lang sila. Pagdating ng ikatlong linggo, naging medyo marupok ang kanilang pagsasama. Paano ba naman, may nakita kasi itong si Manoling na "I love you" message para sa pagong mula sa isang kapwa kuneho. Amazing, right? Nagtanong ang kuneho sa pagong kung sino iyon. "Ex ko yun," sabi ni Frog. Ewan ko. Dahil na rin siguro, bilog na ang ulo ng kuneho, naniwala siya. Hindi na niya iyon pinansin, paano ba naman, "ex" na daw eh. Sabi nga sa eskwelahan ni Manoling, pag "ex" na ang tawag, ibig sabihin nun, parte na siya ng nakalipas. Nagtiwala ang kawawang kuneho. Nagtiwala si Manoling. Kaya tuloy pa rin ang kuneho-frog relationship.

Ikaapat na linggo na ng pagsasama ng dalawang nilalang nang magpaalam si Frog na 'di muna makikipag-usap. Paano ba naman kasi, busy daw sila sa eskwelahan nila sa paghahanda ng pagkain. Dumating na ang tone-toneladang suppy nila ng sayote, kangkong, at kung anu-ano pang dahon, at kailangan iyong ayusin. In short, sila ang naatasan maging in-charge sa lahat ng supply. Dahil naunawaan ng kuneho ang pangangailangan ng sitwasyon, pumayag siya. Nagtiis.

Dumating sa punto na di na nakapag-timpi pa si Manoling. Siya na mismo ang pumunta sa burol. Doon niya nakuha ang pangako ng pagong na sa susunod na linggo, maari na sila ulit makapag-usap. Nabuhayan muli ang kawawang kuneho.

Sumapit ang linggo na ipinangako ni Frog. Mamatay-matay na kahihintay si Manoling ng buong araw, pero wala. Ngunit dahil may tiwala pa rin siya sa pagong, naghintay siya muli. Umusad ang mga araw at ang bida nating kuneho ay naiwan pa ring nagaabang sa pagdating ng pagong, ngunit wala talaga. In other words, butata.

'Wag ka na magtaka kung ang susunod na mababasa mo ay tungkol sa hapis ng kuneho. Pero dahil medyo korni ang parte na iyon, at hindi naman ito Maalaala Mo Kaya, Aesop Fable Version. Lulundag na tayo sa yugto kung saan naranasan ng kuneho ang ultra sensible na Epiph - ang Epilogue.

Epilogue

Pagkatapos ng ilang linggo, napagtanto ni Manoling na ang gusto lang pala ng pagong ay makuha ang kanyang puso. Nakuha niya iyon. Alam na natin yan. Yun ay nangyari pagkatapos mabilog ang ulo ng kuneho. Mahina kasi yung kuneho. Hindi siya sanay sa ganyang bagay. Marahil kasalanan rin niya yan. Kung pinantay niya lang ang kanyang panahon para sa pag-aaral, pagsama sa mga girl kuneho friends niya, at pagsama sa mga guy kuneho friends niya na, as mentioned, halos walang alam gawin kundi maghanap ng girlfriends, hindi sana ito nangyari. Hindi rin pala ganun katalino ang kuneho. Tignan mo ngayon, emo ang moda ni Manoling. Nagmukha siyang tanga sa maraming pagkakataon. Alam niya 'yun. 'Wag mo na ulitin sa harap niya, baka the next thing you know, naglalaslas na sa isang sulok ang kuneho. Tulad ng kanyang mga kauri, kapag naiwan ng minamahal, nagpapakamatay. Pero naniniwala ako na hindi ganun ang bida nating si Manoling. Sabi ng mga matatabil ang dila, malakas siyang nilalang. Kahit durog na durog na siya sa loob, smile pa rin ng smile. Paano ba naman, may pagka-great pretender din ang drama niya. Tulad rin ng mga nawalan, magiging mabuti rin siya sa takdang panahon.

Habang nasasaktan itong kuneho, ang bida nating pagong ay hindi pa rin nagpaparamdam. Para sa kanya, ganun nalang kasi yun: Bumilog ang puso niya, kinailangan niya ng bagong puso, bumilog ang ulo ni kuneho, at nakuha ng pagong ang bago niyang puso. Yun ang hudyat ng pagkawala niya. Tila usok ng sigarilyo mong pinagkatuwaan; usok na biglang nawala; and the next thing you know, may lung cancer ka na, friend. Akala mo harmless, no? Akala rin nung kuneho.

Iwasan naman natin husgahan si Frog. 'Wag naman natin siyang tawaging user, manggagamit sa Filipino. Baka naman kasi natakot lang siya na matuklasan ng ibang pagong friends niya na may ka-relasyon siyang kuneho. Baka naman na-realize niya na iba pala magmahal ang kuneho, at 'di niya kayang tanggapin na hindi niya yun naranasan sa isang kapwa pagong. Baka naman confused si Frog, at hindi niya matanggap ang confusion. Baka naman kasi na-"fall out of love" lang ang pagong nung makakita siya ng starfish. O baka naman kahit mag-imbento tayo dito ng ilang milyong dahilan na pwedeng ng i-relate sa Global Financial Crisis, hindi natin malalaman ang tunay na motibo nung pagong, maliban sa gusto niya ng bagong puso at maliban rin kung magsasalita siya.

Nasa proseso pa rin ng paghihilom si kuneho. Si pagong naman, kasalukuyang nasa proseso ng pagdidiwang ng buhay. Whatever that means. Ipapaalala ko lang na postmodern ang kwentong ito, so dito na ito magtatapos. Iiwanan ko nalang kayo ng final words: Huwag ninyong gantihan ng masama ang masama. Sikapin ninyong mamuhay nang marangal sa lahat ng panahon. Hanggang maaari, makisama kayong mabuti sa lahat ng tao. Mga minamahal, huwag kayong maghihiganti. Ipaubaya ninyo iyon sa Diyos. Sapagkat nasusulat, "Akin ang paghihiganti, ako ang gaganti." Galing yan sa First Letter ni St. Paul to the Romans. Halata bang Catholic-school bred?

retrograding to the pits.

I have decided to construct a spot in my psyche to refer to that place where memories reside. I call it the pits. The word itself connotes something dark and deep. Ideally, it’s a place where you dump the memories you want to forget and yet, these are the same memories that you also want to remember. Sometimes, I don’t really want to remember anymore, because parts of these memories are the same emotions that I want to forget and yet, the same emotions that I also want to remember.

Happy memories don’t belong to the pits. I have yet to construct a special place for them. In Language studies, naming or ascribing labels is a matter of relevance. Meaning, if I have a name for the place for relatively bad memories, then it must really bear something in my everyday functions. Maybe because going back to the pits is the one of the definite things that can pull me down in so many ways.

The other day, I thought I was already fine without you. But guess what? I’m still not over it, not over you. I’ve always asked myself one of the most generic questions after things end: why can’t I get over it? And I blame how things ended for us. Nobody told me it was over. At some point, while I was waiting in vain for you, when your absence was too much for me tolerate, something told me that I lost you somewhere. I hated to believe it at first, but look, we’re over. We were punctuated with silence.

I can’t help but to blame myself. Maybe I did something, said something that pushed you away. If I did, I wished that you should have told me. You should have said something like, Fuck you Marc, the day you said this to me when I told you this, I was fucking offended. It made me realize how much of a shit you are, you’re a mistake. Screw you! We’re over. At least, I knew what happened.

When bubbles pop out of thin air, you can always blame the wind, or maybe the bubble wasn’t strong. When patients die under the hands of a doctor during surgery, the relatives can always file a medical malpractice suit. So that while grieving, then can push the blame to the whole medical staff even if the patient was really dying when they arrived in the hospital. But even despite the impending case, the doctors are still persistent in explaining what really happened. If all else fails, the suit pushes through – all for the sake of having something, someone to blame.

For us, I can’t. I wish I can, but I really can’t place the full burden on your shoulders. There is so much dignity in silence that I can’t demonize it. Maybe you left without saying a word because you didn’t want to hurt me. Maybe you remained silent because you don’t know how to break things to me. Maybe it’s too painful for you to say that you got tired of me. I don’t know. I can come up with a full-blown list of maybes but they won’t stand up and say, I am the real cause.

I remember when you told me that you hate people when they try to tell you things indirectly. Yung mga taong nagpaparinig. I have tried telling you that yes, I felt pain when you left just like that; that yes, leaving me in the height of my emotion makes it worse; and that yes, I wanted you to be back. I tried telling you. Hindi ako nagpaparining. But what was your response? Nothing. I was mad for a while, but what can madness do? Nothing. So I stopped being mad and started being pathetic.

I bet people who I’ve told I was okay would mock me right now. I concede. At this point, I’m really being pathetic. Because even if I know you belong to the pits, I still go back and scavenge for you, your memory. I feel pathetic that at this point, I’m still in trance with despair allowing words and words to frame what I really feel. Words that I know wont be able to scream; words that can’t cry; and words that are plain futile. I feel pathetic that in my effort to drown you in the pages of books, in long talks with friends, in parties, in whatever, I still experience a lag in the process of moving on. Because the pits have grown so big with you in it, that I continuously fall back into it.

Maybe it’s my fault too. Your photo still sits in my phone memory. Somewhere along my two thousand something messages in my inbox, there your texts still reside. Your number is still in my contacts – renamed, but nevertheless the same number that once greeted me the whole day, narrating pieces of romance that poisoned me well.

I texted you last Christmas, hoping that the season would grant me an affective mood for you to send a reply. I stopped calling you what I used to call you. I used your first name. I told you that I wanted to keep things simple. So I said: Merry Christmas, Thanks, and Sorry. I told you to be happy in your right. I told you to not be a stranger, and reach me when you need me. I texted you because I believed that there were no reason not to. Maybe that single reason to let you go exists, but unless it’s definite, then it doesn’t.

At some point, I wanted to call you. But being diverted hurts, and so having no one to talk to. So I had to stop wanting to talk to you, and began typing once again.

I told myself that I’ll start the year without you. But the past has this distinct way of reminding us that it exists – that you’re part of it inasmuch as it is part of you. Being in the present is not something to be proud of either. What you have is the definite past and unfathomable future.

Like these texts that I see on my monitor, I wanted to highlight everything and press Delete. Like that, everything will all be gone with a blink, even if there’s that Undo button sitting on the top of the screen. But behind the act of highlighting is a form of doubt to one’s self of letting it all go. Because once I changed my mind, hitting that Undo button will revive everything that were erased, compare that to laboriously hitting Backspace – erasing character after character.

Someone sent me a message the other day. It reads: You don’t have to forget someone you love, what you need to learn is how to accept the verdict of reality without being bitter or sorry for yourself. Then maybe, I was doing it wrong. Moving on has a requirement. It is acceptance. It is accepting that it’s over. It is accepting that you’ll never be back. It is accepting that it is the end of the line.

It is amazing how from being strangers, we became friends, and then more than friends. I just wished that we’ll both retrograde from being friends again. Because I entered the relationship not thinking that I’ll loose you somewhere in the future.

There are still so many things to say. This wont be the last time that I’ll be talking about you and how I feel, on how hard acceptance is, and how moving on seems so unattainable.

The future waits for us both. Probably we won’t be part of each other’s life as friends anymore or maybe yes. Life is a big trick. But I’ll be waiting for that future that even if I’ll continue to find myself back to the pits, remembering bits and pieces, I won’t hurt anymore; that even if impulse tells me to scavenge back, I wouldn’t feel pain, but would rather smile because you were part of it, part of that pit.

albert.

I spent the night at Albert’s place. Nothing fancy, no celebration of any sort. I just wanted to hang-out at some people’s house before classes start next week. We had plans of getting some booze, but what can you expect from a place near the mountains of Rizal, Rodriguez to be exact. Nada.

Good thing Albert can cook. He saw a bag of elbow macaroni and poof! there was Sopas. In fairness, it was really good. Perhaps, part of the credits goes to the garlic he used. He said that it is the secret for making a good one. It was so good, that my dad should be ashamed that he cooks a similar dish which he calls by the same name.

We talked all night. We spoke in English. But this is not to sound stupid or poser-ish in many ways. But the truth is we didn’t go to a school where people speak English everyday, not your high end, first-class high school. So it was weird, really.

The conversation was weirder. He asked things like, how can you make every second count with the person that you miss? Or things like, if there is one thing in your past that you want to change, what will it be? He specifically said that he didn’t want to talk about any other things, unless it sounds like a question made for pageants. Some questions came from song lyrics. When I couldn’t understand, he would sing the line. And sometimes, questions were really nonsense, but I answered anyways.

We talked while Sitti was singing on the background. There were those moments when he would sing while I answer his questions, and would say, sorry. He just couldn’t help it. It’s his favorite daw. It was Bossa nova the whole night. But I think it was just an excuse to sing more. That was after Karen stole his last karaoke song at Joseph’s despedida.

He asked me about the recent Lantern Parade. He reminded me that he went to the 2007 parade and saw me with a friend. When asked what that friend looked like, he said my friend was like Fred. (To that friend, you shouldn’t be that flattered. It’s not even a compliment. Peace Fred!) Right, Albert.

The next thing we knew, it was my time to go home. The sun’s already up. So I asked for his final words for me and I quote, “Lean not on your own understanding.” I asked what that meant because it was so out of context. He promised me the explanation when “our paths cross again in the future” (direct quote, promise). For the mean time, he wants me to think about it. Pa-Confucius effect?

He’ll visit UP this February for the Fair. It’s always nice to see old friends in a different place. But for next week, it’ll be UP for me once again.

***

That’s an old shot of Marc, Albert, and Lean.

***

I still disgust the Sunken Garden. Wala lang, just a thought.