mayer’s stupid mouth was really for me: an apology

Sometimes you get too fond of people that you forget that you just “know” them. I did know who Cha is, who Tyron is, who Ron is, who Gelo is, and the rest of my acquaintances. I can never say, “You know my friend Ron was this and that…,” because I can’t call them friends. I just happened to know them.

Lean doesn’t only know me. He understands me (I hope). In the same way that Kath does, Paula does, Fred does, and so on. Fred won’t be offended (given the right context) if I ask, “tanga ka ba?” Or if I tell Kath things like, “I wanted you to grow and learn.” I chose to know them, understand them in the process, and treated them as friends. The effort was reciprocated. That’s the reason why I can talk about them starting with, “You know my friend [insert name]…”

Sometimes the classification of those people who I know just “knows” me versus those who I know who “understands” me fades to quick to be noticed. People get offended with the way I talk, when I share what I think, when I get to aggressive with ideas, and the like. They always think I was flaunting “it”, which was never the case. I get too excited. I assume they understand me, and I end up receiving cold treatments.

It always bothers me when people say I’m arrogant, or when they think I treat them lowly. I don’t befriend others just to bully. I befriend others because, just because. I don’t even need a reason. I don’t talk to those who I don’t even want to get close to (not like some people I know).

That’s why if I ever crossed the line, offended you, and felt like I was looking down on you. Believe me that it was not, in any way, intentional. That I’m serious when I say, “I’m sorry,” because I am really sorry, JC.

to manifest rejection.

Rejection is ordinary. You can repulse it or embrace it, but rejection would always be ordinary. And yet the sensation it leaves us, the emotion that we draw will always be alien, foreign, not ordinary.

Rejection is the body’s desire to sleep and the mind’s choice to stay awake. Rejection is being able to pull the blanket and still ending up being cold. Rejection is choosing to get out of the bed to feed a starving body. Rejection is the concoction of soda, mangoes, and an aching tummy. Rejection is the experience of choking. Rejection is the impulse to press letters on the keyboard and choosing not to sleep. Rejection is choosing not to sleep because pain haunts when eyes are shut. Rejection is the inability to drown pain in silence, in darkness, in peace. Rejection is believing that this is no longer about you, but the internal rejection to process and place everything in right slots to fill gaps, to understand.

And so my thought stops and gags just to say I feel rejected in ways I can’t explain. In the same way that you can’t probably understand the point of this text because this, in itself, is a form of rejection.

in need of friend(s).

I think I need a new friend. I’m thinking of someone like Lean, the only person who can occupy the first spot in my friends list. Someone supportive, has the same brain frequency that I have, easy to make laugh, loves clothes, loves to go out and have fun, can give time when he’s free, has no issues with staying up late, and a fellow fan of food. Someone who seems to be myself, except that he’s in a different mould, a different body. Someone near. I wouldn’t ask for a new one if Lean was just around. Don’t worry, I don’t like comparing friends. You don’t need to be him. Just be there when I need you and I’ll do the same. Let’s be friends, can we?

***

This won’t make me less of a man. But I really miss old friends. Obviously, Lean. And for the sake of being fair, Kath too.

enough of banapple.

They went to Banapple again, for the nth time. They wanted to eat the same pasta dish on the menu, the same cake on display, the same food all over again, for the nth time. I think.

I’ve been there twice. I think I can afford to not visit again for the next couple of weeks or maybe for the next month. Not that the food sucks. I bet you’ll love their menu. And their cakes are just heavenly. I swear. It’s their pasta dishes that I’m getting sick of.

A friend said, “Maybe because you haven’t tried all of them.” But I think I don’t need to try everything to conclude that that taste of sautéed onion and/or garlic that lingers on my tongue makes me decide to skip pasta every visit. The only pasta dish that doesn’t leave that taste is their lasagna. For an obvious reason, it is tomato based. The sweet and sour taste dominates.

I wish they’d find a new place to hang out and eat. I wish that new place serves little, if not zero, Italian food. My body is developing an aversion for food that tastes that way. Let’s go to Banapple for the cakes. Of course I can always order sandwiches, but I can make my own sandwich at home. Thank you very much. Enough pasta, please.

I’m positive. This fad will die…soon.

i have emo friends.

We always know what hurts. But still we haven’t learned to stay away from those things. Because as painful as it is, if that’s the only way to feel their presence, we always give in.

We still check them every now and then just to see what’s been happening since they left. That even if sometimes we say, “we just want to see them happy”, deep in our hearts we want their happiness to be us.

From Mae.

***

Not that I’m stuck, but what happened yesterday will stay part of yesterday. Bow.

eng'g, magpakatotoo ka.

When one hears the word “engineering”, these are the things that come into mind: men, gears, engines, bolts, steel, cement, wires, hard labor, ground, okay maybe chemicals, and the list goes on. Inasmuch as I wanted to be gender fair, the idea of women doesn’t really figure in the picture. Don’t ask why, because I don’t know either.

But that’s not the point of this entry. I was thinking that if I share this perception with the rest of the people around me, then maybe there is enough reason to believe that male engineering students are afraid to assert their gender, even if they’re so sure with it or even admit to themselves that they’re confused, because the nature of the college and its courses is so alpha-male. After that sentence, you probably know where this entry is going.

Let’s talk about engineering students and their fear to not be straight.

I know someone. He’s gay. I don’t know if a lot of people know it. But he’s not my friend. He just happened to be an ex-boyfriend of a friend that’s how I came to know his nature. He doesn’t look gay. Nowadays, that’s a good thing. Because if you do, chances are, you’ll be getting loads of judgments. But anyways, he’s never shy to be gay. When he and my friend was still together, they took a lot of pictures. And you’ll know that they were a couple. He is from the College of Engineering. He is gay, never ashamed of it.

I know someone. I know within him he’s having doubts about his gender. Or maybe he’s sure and just tries to hide it. He tries so hard, as in sooo hard, to act straight. But the thing is, the more you try, the more you expose yourself. I mean, you don’t need to talk about porn like “putang ina, ang laki nung boobs nung blah blah blah” Like, riiiigght. I don’t know about other people, but I sure know if one is faking it. He is from the College of Engineering. He’s afraid to admit (even to himself) because he’s from the freaking College of Engineering.

I’m not expecting engineering student #2 to confirm to me his gender. All I’m asking is for him to be himself. If you like watching men doing it on film, then so what? You don’t need to tell me you do. Just watch what you like and stop telling me how big were the boobs of the woman from the last porn you saw. You know for a fact that you were more interested in guys. Stop the game of pretense, pare. I’m getting sick of it.

The mistake of those who reached epiphany is that they always feel the need to announce to the public that they’re not straight. As if they are looking for a form of validation, but are afraid to be judged. Who said they needed validation? Who liked judgments, anyways?

Maybe I’m being unfair. Maybe he’s sure of his gender. Maybe he’s really straight. But that’s not even the point.

Let’s assume that engineering student #2 is really straight. Then why act macho in front of the engineering crowd, just to slip and hint clues of your true self once they all go away? Let’s just repeat. Stop the game of pretense, pare. Kadiri na, eh.

Engineering student #2 you don’t need to be engineering student #1. Cliché, be yourself. I think that’s better. You’ll probably be happier. Who knows? Maybe you’ll be the next Bebe Gandanghari. Or are you just waiting for your mariposa to come? I’ll bring one, just tell me. Just stop the game of pretense, pare.

the final set that was.

Ely said in an interview that as far as Eraserheads as a band is concerned, The Final Set would be the last time that they’ll be playing together. After their breakup in 2002 and after their supposed-to-be August 30 final concert last year, this is it. As in, this is it. It was Eheads once more. Somebody turned on the time machine. It was 90s all over again.

It must be luck. Mama was project head of some chever for Fit & Right. Meaning, FOH passes for The Final Set. Confetti, confetti! Mama was VIP, Me and Yeng was Gold (but Yeng chose something else over this concert), and Michael was Bronze (because he dragged with him 2 friends).

We were in the venue during the setup. As in noon level, we were already roaming inside the concert grounds. That’s why to the guy who said that Ely’s mic “malfunctioned” in the middle of a song, know that you are so wrong. He just wanted the crowd to sing. That’s also why my t-shirt tan evened out a bit. The sun, oh the sun, was just so bright and hot.

Gates were opened at around 4pm. Heat level was consistent. The concert started at around 8:30 pm. Imagine the long wait.

Ticking sounds of a countdown. Lights out. A shower of sparks. Lights on. Then a familiar tune. Whoo oooh ooh whoo oh oooh oooh… The crowd went wild, arms in the air and voices cheering. Nakita kita sa isang magasin... Then voices went down. Everyone was awed. It was Ely, Raymund, Buddy, and Marcus in the flesh…playing together once again…as Eraserheads.

It was one of those times when people from different classes meet in one place (though still segregated). Please don’t expect me to list everything they sang. But I remember Pare Ko, Maling Akala, Maskara, Huwag Mo ng Itanong, Alapaap, etc etc etc.

As you know by now, Francis M was supposed to be the band’s surprise guest. But, Francis M died a day before the concert. Despite the incident, they still sang Kaleidoscope World as a tribute. It was one of the most magical moments of the concert. Francis M, rest in peace.

Michael’s phone got stolen during the concert. I think his last text to Mama was a SOS asking if they can be moved to a better place. And yes, Mama was able to do it. Silver? No. Gold? No. Read: VIP. But it’s fine. He missed Pare Ko (one of his favorites) because he was waiting for Mama outside the concert grounds for the passes. The look on his face was disappointment. And the good brother that I am told him, “Dito lang kayo, ha? Antayin n’yo si Mama. Pasok lang ako.” But to be fair, I was calling Mama when I was inside. Promise.

The Final Set ended with Ang Huling El Bimbo, with confetti and fireworks increasing the magic/drama of the moment. Here is my version of the moment. Of course, you can always check YouTube for better videos. I have converted this for posting purposes.

But minutes after the concert “ended”, Ely, Raymund, Buddy, and Marcus went on stage again and played three more songs for the road. When they sang Toyang, the ground started moving. Literally. Simple explanation, the whole crowd started jumping. This ain’t no exagg, but it did felt like an earthquake from where I was standing.

When it really ended, I was like, “Ay? Bitiiin!” Maybe because I knew that was it. There will be no Eraserheads playing together in the future. We’ll all have to be contented with old records and gigs by former members playing Eheads hits once in a while.

I laid on my bed with things still running in my mind. Will MTV hire me in the future? Why did we have to go home at 5 am? Why did the drinks dispenser in 7eleven had buttons for cup sizes and yet it doesn’t know when to stop? Why was I too shy to ask for the personnel-from-Enervon’s name slash number? Will I ever find true love? Joke. And yes, something related to this post: Can we just clone the four band members, immortalize them, hire ghost composers or train them to make really good songs, just so to avoid Eheads from dying? Or should I just end here?

the number 5 key.

2 a.m, today. I woke up just to find out that my phone’s number 5 key stopped working. Of all keys, it really has to be number 5. And the mystical thing about it is that before I accidentally fell asleep, all of my keys were perfectly working.

What happened? I. Don’t. Know. How do you feel? Pretty. Fucked. Up. How can I help? Give. Me. Money.

When my mom woke up, I told her the bad news. I said, “Ma, press 5.” And she said, “Ano? Meron naman ah.” Then I said, “’Wag mo kasi diinan!” And she went, “Eh syempre kailangan yun!” Then she pressed every key as hard as she can, and said, “Okay na yan. At least, meron.” Obviously, she missed the point.

Yes, number 5 will work if you, like, pound it with your finger. But if this incident happened to her, I bet she’ll nag everybody to swap phones with her. Or bring it to some repair shop as soon as she can. But for me, well, “at least, meron.”

I need money. I want to buy a new one. It doesn’t have to be packed with all of the fancy features. I just need a phone that can create and send SMS and MMS, a phone that rings, and a phone that has a decent camera (for you know, camwhoring). Or, I can just bring it to the nearest repair shop and get it fixed. But either way, I need money.

My phone is about four years old. And it was begging to be replaced months ago. Case in point: When I receive messages, my phone will never make a sound. Activate vibrate, and it won’t. But it rings for phone calls. Choosy? It needs to retire. I want it to retire.

Imagine, without the number 5 key, I won’t be able to send the almost classic reply to all messages: the infamous “k”. When a contact says, “I’ll meet you in McDo.” You reply, “K.” When your mom says, “I left my phone charging. Unplug it before you leave.” You reply, “K.” And when your lover says, “It’s not you, it’s me.” You say, “K.”

Be a Good Samaritan. Let’s make this world a better place. Donate, contribute to Give Marc a New Phone Program. K? K, thanks.

friend.

It was late. A friend asked where I was, I replied “In a coffee shop with a friend.” Friend asked again, “Is your friend a guy? What’s his name?” I replied, “My friend is a friend. The friend doesn’t have a name.” Friend asked for a follow-up, “Is your friend your significant other?” I replied, “Significant other? The friend is a friend.”

The friend is a friend. The friend doesn’t have a name. The friend is not the significant other, but equally significant. The friend can be anybody. How many times do I go to a coffee shop in a week? Exactly. Who would know except me.

The problem with all of you is that when I drop a name, you start teasing, the friend feels awkward, and digresses from me because the friend isn’t comfortable with the setup anymore. When things turned hazy, and y’all know it’s your fault, everybody eventually steps back and leaves the problem for me to solve. Right? Right. Another friend should know. Another friend was your victim, though you’ll never know friend blamed and hated all of you for a while.

So when I say I was with a friend, even though how late it was, you don’t ask if my friend is guy or a girl. It’s a not issue who I went out with. The friend doesn’t have a name. The friend is equally significant like all friends. And the friend is a friend. Besides, can you remember what I called you? I called you “friend”.

NASA and the mind.

During nighttime I also look at the sky, watch the stars, drool at their beauty, think of Government’s proposition, imagine NASA operating in a small room because they want to slash off their budget, and yet they expect NASA to function efficiently. That was my opening line from my latest debate. Part of it is true. Of course, “think of Government’s proposition, imagine NASA blah blah blah” isn’t.

It’s not that the emo have developed a liking for star gazing (I’m not even emo), but because I’ve been coming home late enough for the sky to be clear and the stars to be defined. I might as well enjoy the moment. But more than that, as Jacques would put it, I’ve been connecting dots. I’ve been creating form from scattered points to forcefully see something I wanted to see for all this time. I’ve been intellectualizing the senseless, rationalizing the irrational, imposing logic to a complex idea beyond human comprehension. And I wanted a new answer to the old question of why.

I am getting tired of it too, believe me. But the mind is made to make sense out of this world. So, let the mind do its job and hope the sense it creates is sensible enough to approximate truth.

That’s all I have to share. Good night.