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.

three males on a jeepney ride.

I twisted my wrist and checked the time. 10:03 p.m. says the watch. I secretly looked at everybody. I don’t know why. Every passenger exuded an aura of desire to lie in their beds to rest. I sat still with the intrusive light shining just above my face. The only thing keeping me awake is that song whispering from my earphones. I also desire rest. The kid in front of me demanded attention without doing anything. So I tried to watch him move or should I say sit still for a while.

I am not good with guessing age. He looks young enough to be in elementary. And yet, he was like a miniature man. He wore a seemingly oversized pair of pants, a white shirt, and a pair of dirty slippers. A small towel was adorning his shoulder. He didn’t allow his back to relax. He sat with his arms leaning on his legs, with both arms clasping each other. His glance was fixed on the jeepney’s floor, but I caught it inspecting the kid beside me a couple of times. He was serious and detached from his mother. The features of his face tried hard to look innocent, but his eyes were trying to tell a different story. He was tired. I don’t know why.

Beside the kid was a man who brags a huge frame. He is larger than my father, or any average sized father I know. But he wasn’t fat. He looked like as if he just finished jogging or finished a session in the gym. He is brawny. He wore a black shirt, a pair of shorts, and a pair of running shoes. He carries three bags: a big black backpack, a white bag from a grocery, and a red and white striped bag with a variety of things in it. He looks strong. But he didn’t sit still. His head kept on swinging as he slept. I don’t know why.

At the far end of the jeepney was a guy. He was still wearing a uniform. It looks familiar. He looked like he’s from Marist. He carries with him a beige back pack. His hair was the typical two by three slash high school haircut. He was wearing glasses and never kept his cellphone even for a moment. He kept on texting. I saw myself in him. A version of me not too long ago. It felt weird. Should I know why?

the boy abunda technique.

Sa totoo lang, ang entry na ‘to ay isinulat gamit ang English. Pero na-feel ko na hindi parehas ang dating at bigat ng salita kaya eto, Taglish mode muna tayo. Here it goes:

Ganito lang naman ang point ko: Naisip ko lang na kahit gaano katindi ang pagpipigil ng isang tao na hindi maging mayabang, na hindi maging hambog, darating ang panahon na ang konsepto ng lehitimong kapangyarihan at impluwensya ay aabot sa rurok ng pagkasidhi na hindi mo na maiiwasan maging mayabang at hambog kinalaunan.

Kung dati lahat pinapansin mo at ‘di kinakalimutan, ngayon ikaw na ang “leader”, not for the day, but forever. Pwede ka na magdikta kung sino ang pwedeng iwanan, sino ang pwedeng ‘wag kibuin, sino ang pwedeng pagdamutan, sino ang pa-plastikin dahil kailangan mo ngayon, sino ang functional, sino ang hindi. And take note, ang basis and standard of everything that needs to be assessed ay ikaw at ikaw lamang – wala ng iba, period, no erase.

And to make things worse, merong mga tao na nakapaligid sayo na walang humpay ang pag-ihip sa ulo mo para lumaki at lumobo. Napapaligiran ka ng mga taong akala mo kung sinong garapata na nakiki-angkas sa balahibo at balat mo, pero malaman-laman mo nalang, sinisip-sip na pala ang dugo mo – leading you to your fatal death. Pero eto ang catch, ang moment of epiphany ay halos parating nasa huli.

Kaya nga dapat lahat ng tao kilala ang sarili nila kung kaya ba nila magpigil. Kung sa pagkain lang, ‘di mo na kaya, anong assurance mo na sa abstract concepts of power and influence kaya mo magtimpi? Alam ko na pwede kang makipagtalo na since abstract s’ya, then dapat mas acceptable ang pagiging uncontrollable nito, but then again, wish ko lang gets mo yung point ko.

Lahat dapat merong self-assessment period everyday. Kahit gasgas na ang konsepto ng reflection and meditation, eh kung yun lang ang paraan kung paano mo maiiwasan ang pagiging hambog at mayabang, then why not? Friend, eto ang salamin, sino ang nakikita mo? Ikaw pa ba yan?

the birthday post: late edition.

This is really, as in really, really late. But still, I’d like to thank everybody who remembered – from my high school friends, to some of my orgmates in Debsoc, to Epistaxis, to my college friends, down to my friends who just happened to be my friends. Your greetings were the only things that made my birthday feel like a birthday. And for that, thank you, thank you very much.

I’d also like to say sorry if I thanked you hours after, and even days after you greeted me, especially to those who greeted me online. That was because I wasn’t able to check your messages for the past few days. My sister and my mom celebrate their birthday days before and after mine, so I wasn’t able to find time. Plus, all of the academic stuff that I had to fulfill in between.

I’d also like to say sorry to those who were supposed to party in my house. I had to fulfill other responsibilities. And inasmuch as I wanted to get wasted, I can’t. I already explained why, and even if you still barrage me with all of the bad things y’all say to make me feel guilty, I know you love me enough to understand. Right? I don’t know how to make it up to you guys except for receiving my prayers that you will all be well and blessed forever and ever.

Again to all, thank you very much and sorry. You are all loved!

***

February 19: This was a hectic day. I was sleepless because we had to cram a report on the Language of Advertising at Joy’s place. Then, I had a workshop for my Nonfiction class, which by the way, most of the comments confused me. Then, there was the interclass Sociology debate that I voluntarily adjudicated with some Debsoc members (one of the few things that made me feel good that day, don’t know why). Then, there was the class where I had to be alert and well read because the professor has the habit of surprising students with questions and quizzes. And there was the class where I had to be alert because the professor doesn’t know anything but to say and ask, “You, Mr. Siapno. What can you say about [insert topic]?”

All of these, happened from the night before (which is not even February 19) to 4 pm straight, hardcore, nonstop. So I had people saying, “Happy Birthday, Marc! Ba’t ang haggard mo?” And people texting me their greetings, who I felt, felt ignored in a way. Again, sorry.

After class, I went out with some friends. Two of them went shopping for scrapbook materials – Ara and Annel. And I was with Ronn who had some pictures printed. I didn’t treat any of them. I just went out for the sake of going out. God knows how sleepy I was the whole time. I even had my huge, heavy bag with me, plus the books for the report all the time, until I realized that I can leave everything at the baggage counter. I didn’t do anything else but to be with them and at times, window shop. So good thing I had people greeting me the whole day because that constantly reminded me that it was my birthday, and I had to appear happy for the people around.

Of course, some just deserves a paragraph to be thanked for their effort that day. For remembering like nobody, for being unexpected, for making me realize that even at the littlest fraction, you still care, for that simple gesture that was extraordinary even how ordinary it appears, thank you very much. I really appreciated it.

***

It’ll be school for me again tomorrow. Hope the week ahead will be fine. Much love everyone!

flirting or not?

A classmate from another college, who seems to be always around wherever you are, always greets you and asks if you’re done with a requirement and even asks if you’re coming to class, is flirting or not?

A guy in a nursing uniform sits beside you in a jeepney, even if a more comfortable space is available on the other side, and keeps on leaning even if the driver didn’t hit the brakes abrupt enough to lose balance, is flirting or not?

A girl/guy across the CAL atrium, who is also part of larger group, keeps on looking even if s/he is doing something and/or talking to a friend; also gives you a final glance when s/he decides to leave for class or I don’t know what, is flirting or not?

The group in a coffee shop who traces your path, and follows you wherever you go through sight, then shares whispers, is flirting or not?

A guy in bar who throws a quick glance once and gets lost in the crowd, is again seen in a different spot and then throws another glance, but then again gets lost in the crowd, is flirting or not?

A girl who studies in another university allows her hair to be blown to your face, is flirting or not?

A person who always texts you with your name in the message, proving that it's personal, not a GM, in the morning, in the afternoon, and before sleeping, is flirting or not?

The person, who asks if you’re still a virgin, is flirting or not?

The mysterious cellphone number who texts once in a while, sometimes asking if you’re still up, is flirting or not?

The friend, who always insists on paying your fare whenever you chance upon each other, is flirting or not?

The person who takes time to stare whenever you cross against each other in AS, in FC, or in CAL, is flirting or not?

Me, noticing all of this, is flirting back or not?

why valentine's is synonymous to death.

Case in point number 1: Loverage 3 which was like the event you should have attended if you expected anarchy caused by the black, filthy fellows in tight pants, patched vests, and costume-like clothes, we call the JJs, at its best. You should have attended it if you had plans on being spilt with beer compliments of a flying can from the group of drunken guys in front of the line. You should have attended it if you find the parade of victims –with head bleeding, wrapped in bandages and all – taken out from the fair grounds one by one, amusing. You should have attended it if you had plans of standing for roughly 4 hours just to hear 3 songs from Bamboo and then call it a night. You should have attended it if you were expecting a romantic fireworks display, while the Enchanted Kingdom theme song was playing on the background. And finally, you should have attended it just to share this moment of epiphany that I’m having now. Looking back, it seemed unworthy of all the shit. Condemn the chaotic nature of the JJs.

Case in point number 2: If you have a debate tournament the next day, with a call time of 8 am, and a venue located at the other end of your world, never go home by 4 am. If you still choose to sleep, be sure not to overdo it. If you choose to force yourself into trains, be sure that the alighting passengers are not strong enough to endanger your life. Read: body between the train’s closing doors. Remember that the LRT line with the Doroteo Jose and Pedro Gil station is the deadliest of all because of the creaky, overused trains and some barbaric people who can’t even show the slightest concern for the guy who was running late. Mental note: LRT = trains of death.

Case in point number 3: You are only human, sleep is necessary. Sir Maximo already warned the class about the death of your brain cells when you skip sleep, you should have listened. If you choose to be stupid, don’t ask questions about the things that seems “trivial” to the one whose level of intelligence (and did I mention ego?) is way above the Earth’s atmosphere. You were instantly judged when you asked. You should have chosen death instead.

Case in point number 4: Don’t go to places or even attend events, fooling yourself that there is a negative one percent that that person will come. Don’t act as if you don’t realize that that person is not there. Don’t act as if it was just cosmic coincidence. Control, do not text. It will be too obvious. Avoid self-judgment of being a cheapo. You should have died in the train.

Case in point number 5: To eat is to live. More money, more food. More food, more life. More life, more love. Chos.

***

Valentine’s Day was tiring. It was one of the busiest days I ever had. I had fun. I spent it with good friends. After, I needed all the sleep I could get – making the next day very, very unproductive.

sa isang munting harana para sa akin?

Sa lahat ng nakakita sa akin sa corridor ng AS, hindi kayo nililinlang ng mga mata n'yo. Hinarana ako ng mga tao mula sa UP Circle of Entrepreneurs dahil sa request ni Anonymous. Thanks Anonymous, you're the best! I was able to record it, pero yung last 30 seconds nalang. I feel loved.

PIDC 2009 early bird promo.

message for the day.

tumutula ng wala.

Paumanhin kung ang salita na
uusbong mula sa mga
titik na naglalaro dito ay 'di
akma sa batayan mo
ng kung ano ang matino at kung ano ang
garapal na panitikan.

Isipin mo nalang bahagi ka
ng isang proseso na nawa
ay maintindihan pagdating mo sa puntong ito.

Madali bang malaman ang mensaheng nakaukit?
o kailangan pang basahin ang unang letra ng bawat linya?

sa totoo lang.

Sa totoo lang, hirap na hirap na ako. Hindi ko na alam ang susunod na titik na ilalapat sa bakanteng espasyo sa harap ng mga mata ko, sa kung anong saliw ng mga tiklado ng titik iimbay ang mga daliri upang ang diwa ay magkaroon ng buhay. Pagkatapos nito, ano na? Isang imbentong diwa na lilikha ng kasinungalingan upang masaid ang pagnanais mong humugot ng saysay sa panitikang ito?

Sa totoo lang, hirap na hirap na ako. Hindi ko na alam kung saan huhugot ng emosyon upang iakma ang panitikan na nabuo mula sa ibang estado ng diwa, ibang estado ng emosyon, ibang-ibang iba.

Sa totoo lang, hirap na hirap na ako. Hindi ko na alam kung paano makakamit ang pinakaaasam na ligaya mula sa panitikan na pilit kong hinuhubog gamit ang alaala mong pilit kong linilimot at pilit kong tinatandaan.

Sa totoo lang, hirap na hirap na ako. Hindi dahil sa’yo. Aba, putang ina mo kung hanggang ngayon yun ang iniisip mo. Pero, putang ina mo pa rin kasi ikaw ang sanhi ng lahat na ‘to.

Putang ina. Sa totoo lang, hirap na hirap na ako. Bow.

ku mowt.

Masaya ako dahil meron akong bagong kumot. Hindi man siya ganun kaganda, pero nandun siya nung nilalamig ako ng sobra-sobra. Hindi man siya ganun kakapal tulad nung luma, inialay pa rin niya ang sarili niya kahit alam n’yang hindi niya ako kayang panatiliing kumportable buong gabi.

Ang importante sa akin, nandun siya nung nangailangan ako. ‘Di tulad nung luma kong kumot, minahal ko ngunit nawala nalang ng bigla. Nakalimutan yata niya na kumot siya at hindi bula.

Kung meron man akong ikinalulungkot, eh yun yung katotohanan na hindi pa sa akin nang tuluyan yung kumot ko ngayon. Bago dahil bago ko itong ginagamit. Pero hanggang hindi ito ipinagkakaloob sa akin ng tuluyan, darating ang panahon na kukunin din ‘to, aalis at lilisan – isa sa mga dahilan kung bakit hindi ko ito kayang mahalin ng tuluyan. Pero masaya ako dahil meron akong kumot sa ngayon. Basta, iyon ang mahalaga.

today is friday.

I just want to say that today was the push, or more of like the kick, that I needed to pump my happiness level up. Good food at Bigoli, fun moments at Timezone, laugh trips in TriNoma, good coffee at Starbucks, talks inside cars, and so much more. I don’t need to name names because you know how things work in this society. I just want to say that I’m happy, and that’s the bulk of the things that you need to know. And oh, thanks.

naisip ko lang.

Kahit gaano mo pa pagnasaan 'yang sapatos sa harap mo, eh kung size 6 lang yan at size 10 ka, hindi tugma.

Kahit pa pagnasaan din ng sapatos 'yang paa mo, wala ka nang magagawa, hindi kasi tugma.

Dahil kung mapilit mo mang suotin yan, dadating ang panahon na isa sa inyo ang susuko - kung hindi yung sapatos ang bibigay at masisira, ikaw na mismo ang aalis dahil sobrang liit, sobrang sikip, sobrang 'di tugma.

jumping realities.

Writing was never a way to ease your mind. The act itself is disturbance of the things that wants to be left alone. Remembering things, people, emotions, and all of the things that come with all of these shakes settled memories. It won’t ease the mind.

I woke up today. Thinking about. You, again. I hated it. Because I can’t. Answer why, again. God, this is torture. When will this stop?

Hit the pause button. Let’s stop first and continue when I can.

There was a time that my phone never stopped receiving messages. I loved how it trivializes the effort of those who remembers you. Now, I hate how every message received bears a silent wish for it to be you, again.

Everyday I pray to gain whatever was lost. Not for us, but for my own sake. Amen.

Emphasis on the urge to be processed. Be refined. Control.

These are the people who are in my mind today: Nicole, Kris, Tyron, Lean, Kath and Jeremy, Nicole, Jacques, Fred, Bea, Mae and her ex-boyfriend, Carmina, Joseph, Albert, Nicole, Bea, Ronn, Somebody, Nicole, Kris, Somebody, Rois, Albert, Nicole, Somebody, Nicole, Somebody, Nicole, Somebody, the other Ronn, Nicole, Somebody, the other Ronn, Bea, Nicole, Somebody and Marc, Nicole with Marc, and Marc who is alone.

I’ve been asking questions. I’ve been getting more questions every answer. I’ve been getting nothing but disturbance. Should I stop asking instead?

I think I need a new pair of slippers to walk and move somewhere else.

People should be sensitive enough to understand that everything that they do will affect other people beyond what is expected every stare that slips like a cut every bite on one’s lips every word of admiration every finger that brushes through one’s arm every cheek to cheek connection every hug every arm clutched on one’s back every air shared every people should be sensitive enough to understand.

I need an entity to guide me through this labyrinth. The labyrinth is somebody’s mind.

If one day you’ll hear that I died prematurely and people are disturbed why. Tell them this: all he was asking is for you to understand. But unless it’s suicide, remember to hush.

In an effort for zaniness that turned out to be zilch.

February starts today. That means, January ended tomorrow and I'll be forced to be happy, again.

Conversations are made to ease the mind. The act itself is also a disturbance of the things that wants to be left alone. But it requires trust that the hearer is the entity that you need.

Gaps, holes, bowls, pores, hollow, space, empty, marc. All of these words denote something unoccupied, which can either be filled or left alone.People think I’m sad. But in reality, I’m just not happy.

Are you also in search for your own entity?

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.

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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.

*ikaw ay...

*para pa rin kay b, kay f, o kay p.

then the smile for men.

You told me once
about the entities of the space
that smiled with suspicion
for the world, then
for its men, then
for its women, then
for its children, then
for us, men,

Then

I am now in
no position to tell you
about the entity of space
that smiled with pain
for the world, then
for its men, then
for its women, then
for its children, then
for the man

Because everything was,
then.

ending con tricks.

To you, at whatever state you are now
Spare me the gesture
Of your being having known.
Avoid the trick of pretense,
Of enrapturing specs turning poison
As each beats the ears
Or touches these eyes.

To you, huckster who once
Knocked on my door,
Selling one’s self for affection. Die
In my memory.

To you, the entity who
Continuously resides in me,
Dance in harmony with absence
And loosen me from the ties
Of hokum lies.

To you, who made me forget
The things that I deserve
Must end en bloc, until I can
No longer memorize.

from mulino, or.

Joseph woke me up in my house today. He was dressed for the warm weather, looking good and very laid back. I, on the other hand, was sporting my fresh-out-of-bed style, but still dashing if you ask me.

I haven’t washed my face and brushed my teeth yet. That explains why I was too coy to talk. That’s what he gets for the surprise.

I asked him how is he enjoying things, he showed me his mosquito bites – those tiny red spots – in response. I said I thought he has plans of playing basketball with Harvey today. He showed me his feet, he forgot his shoes.

I asked about Carmina, he smiled with punctuations of e sounds. Nice blue braces. He left me with a handful of dark chocolates packed in his bag. And ate one for breakfast.

Too bad, I forgot to welcome him back.

weekend barbeque.

I'd rather tell you about
The burnt, charred meat
Over aggressive coals paired
With little dancing fires;
Cooking as time stands
By and flies;
Suddenly turning dark and
Barren. You tell yourself what a
Waste. You should have never
learned to wait.

lately...

I’ve been sleeping a lot – trying to devise ways to prevent memory from coming back. And because I tend to sleep all day, I end up being wide awake in the wee hours of the morning. There are those nights that I just can’t fall back into sleep, so I developed the habit of keeping a pad and pen beside my bed ready. From the faint ray of the night lamp, I’d sit up and would try to write doodles and words and phrases and sentences and then paragraphs or stanzas even. I would weave words and try to channel out negativity. I end up having fake journal entries, including bitter sounding poems in Filipino and English that reminds me of Anne Sexton and Sylvia Plath. To my advantage, at least it prepares me for my poetry class next year. It bothers me though that those poems rendered in Filipino sounds bitterer (or is it more bitter?) – making me sound more pathetic knowing that Christmas is just hours away. Kebs.

When writing fails to put me back to sleep, I’d grab a book and would read under the light that comes from the end of a lighter. It’s a lighter with a flash light. I bought it because it’s cool in its own right. And because I’m inherently lazy when it comes to reading texts unless it’s my own, it fails. Roosters are already crowing and yet my eyes won’t shut.

If that happens, I’d get out of bed and would go out. I’d sneak out of the house and would bribe Chilo not to bark. I’d walk around the subdivision and sometimes even run. I’d pretend that I’m a fitness buff trying to jog before sunrise. Neighborhood dogs don’t bark that much. I wonder why. I’d sneak back into the house and would bury myself in pillows after pillows then would finish the pile with my blanket. Sometimes it works, sometimes.

I’d be surprise if I fell asleep and would wake up around six in the morning. I would hear my parents talking. Mag-kape ka muna, Papa would say. And mom would give out her generic answer, Tara na. Late na ako – with matching sounds that would replicate African clicks. Then I’d fall back into sleep.

I’d wake up again because Michael and Mariel would be both awake. It’s either they would watch a film with massive explosions on the background, volume turned high for full effect, or would flaunt their playlist of growling and screaming bands talking about lost love. A song would go: that’s what you get for letting your heart win oh ohh ohhh ohhh, then a few more stanzas then growls and screams. Michael would be accommodating. He’d play his guitar, which I have told him before is utterly out of tune. He got mad for that. I’d be forced to get out of bed and surprise, surprise it’s already lunch time. Of course, I’d eat my lunch alone.

I’d sit on the couch and would feel the gravitational force pulling down my head, then neck, then my back. Poof! I was lying again and would fall asleep. There was a time that I woke up just to realize that Michael and Mariel left the house and forgot to turn on the lights. Perhaps they were assuming that I’d wake up before night time. My leg brushed against the cactus that was a souvenir from the UPDS homecoming and didn’t mind the pain. It was nothing compared to what I was having. I checked the spike after waking up and decided to pull it because it’s a bit annoying.

If I’m not sleeping, I’d also play Monopoly with virtual friends who reside in the motherboard. I won once. That was after being able to buy all the properties on the other side of the board, including Water Works, B. & O. Railroad, and Marvin Gardens! Losing by bankruptcy is depressing.

I’d also go out once in a while, traversing malls and halls. I’d watch people in coffee shops and restaurants. Where people would fake their sosyal-ness and would speak in English with troubled verbs and tenses, grammar included. Some would exhibit fancy suprasegmentals – pitch, tone, intonation, whatever.

I watched The Day the Earth Stood Still alone, featuring the seeming botox-ed face of Keanu Reeves. It was a stupid movie and that’s subjective. I bet environmentalists would love it. Bolt, on the other hand, is nice. Go watch it! I’d go home penniless.

Sometimes, I’d think about the pieces that I have to write for school and would break the thought immediately. I’d tell myself that I’m on vacation.

Special shoutout to Fred, who never fails to forward quotes on love, losing it and moving on. I forgive him. Thanks to Kath for talking to me the other night. Thanks to Lean for sending me this inspirational message: n_n. Joseph Alfonso from Oregon is back. That translates to a potentially kick-ass partey before this year ends. To Ara, who just bought a hundred peso worth of IDD credit for nothing. To Alyssa, who was complaining on how Jericho Rosales played in Pilipinas Game knb? To Ronn, who forwards quotes on bees and aerodynamics, quotes from F.Sionil Jose, from Holly Golightly, Oscar Wilde, and so on. To Ericka, who gave the latest samochi that ABS-CBN JUST BOUGHT THE RIGHTS TO TURN TWILIGHT INTO A MINI-SERIES. IT COSTS MORE THAN A MILLION DOLLARS DAW. RAYVER CRUZ WILL PLAY EDWARD AND SHAINA AS BELLA. Wazzup?!

I was feeling good the other night, so I did a Christmas wish list. It includes a lot of things, namely: skater boy cap (not necessarily a net cap; in gray, black, red, or white), a new pair of sunglasses on black frame, a new set of immaculately white shirts, 3 long sleeves (in red, white, and black), a full printed shirt (read: Penshoppe), also a set of plain shirts in all colors, a black pair of skinny jeans, a tailored slacks, more denims, a pair of black slippers (decent enough to be worn in public places), a new pair of white sneakers, a pair of running shoes, a pair of RED LOAFERS, a 3g phone to try Red Mobile, a nifty media player (not necessarily iPod), a laptop equipped with tons and tons of memory, a DSLR camera, and maybe a pair of contacts.

Thanks to Chel, I am also trying to learn a new choreo by G-Force, in tune of Forget About Me by Little Bit. Lyrical Jazz, oh yeah. After this, I want to learn a Street routine ala UP Streetdance. Wololong.

Currently addicted to Hershey’s & More Choco Mallow Pie. You have to try it. Seriously. You’ll love it.

I just checked my Frienster account and a certain person is inviting me to be part of Friendster group. And it’s for HRM students. Yessss, talk about retrograding memories. ROFL.

By some stroke of luck, Gia and me started texting again. After eons and eons, we shall meet each other again soon. I’m expecting skin deep pinches. I miss you, G!

I’ve been singing a lot. Thanks to practice, I can already reach No matter how hard it is, I’ll be fine without you. Yes I will . It’s attainable, right? Naman.

Lately, I’ve been doing nonsense stuff, something to keep me busy while waiting for things to start, things to end, things to continue. I want to make new friends. I want to have a new friend whose name starts with J. I don’t know, maybe another Jeff. I want to have a friend whose name starts with K, maybe another Karl or even Kurt. I want to have a friend whose name starts with T, maybe a Tim. Maybe another Marc or Mark or Marko. Or maybe, an E. I remember Elizabeth from the Lantern Parade (Patrick, Annel you should be able to get this one). I want another friend whose name starts with Y, like Yu (Hi Yu or Epi! I don’t know what to call you!) But I’d like to call him Cinnamon because it’s cool that way.

Lately, I’ve been trying to put myself back on track, trying to harbor back positive vibes. I’m doing a good job. Pat on the back. I think I’m better now. Just trying to put my spirit up because there’s no point in grieving. I have decided to be your boyfriend ON RESERVE. Grin. Pathetically funny.

***

Have a gastronomic Noche Buena! Merry Christmas, everyone. That’s a greeting oozing with love.

Text me people! I’d love to hear how y’all doing.

I love you all.

Cheers!

not moving on.

There is no use in talking or writing something if one wouldn’t make a point. In the same way that there is no use in saying that you’re hoping for something to happen and yet at the back of your mind, you don’t believe.

That’s why when I said I’ll be waiting, I waited for you. There was no reason not to. And the most important thing is that I trusted that you’ll be back. I believe. In the battle of words and silences, I’ll still believe.

A friend said, tanga na kung tanga. But in the absence to prove that something was lost, I’ll be firm. I’ll be strong.

Silences don’t end anything ‘cause the thing we shared continues to linger and creep. It haunts me in sleep, in my own silence, and everything that I do.

Space, on the other hand, can disable many things, leading to a fatal stop.

Every call unanswered, every text ignored, every drop of messages here and there is an attempt to rip space and to continue to believe that that wall you’re trying to build will crash eventually.

I need to make a decision.

I don’t want to say that I’m moving on. Because the idea behind moving on is that something already ended. I’ll be silent and firm as you are. Not because you died in me, but because the pain I’m in right now makes me realize how I much I value you.

I won’t let you go, never. I’ll just let you see what you need to see and if at any point you found what you needed, when you already found yourself and learned where I belong in your life, come back and tell me. I’ll appreciate it.

Think of me once in while. When our thoughts touch, I’ll know. It will remind me that in time, you’ll be back and it’ll give me another reason to believe.

You still have me.

All the best,
Marc

death by silence.

Phone ringing
empty lines
calls end with a silent
drop

Take the pill
of love and hate
and then you
die awake

Lying on the floor
senses bare
breathing comes to
a halt

Cease to die
to do it again
the death not of body
but of love

A ghoul stands
with a smile
flaunting a dangling
heart

Shattered pieces
learn to echo life
of quiet words
singing lies

Waiting
waiting
waiting
none

An unended end
is what you have


***

Phone ringing
empty lines
calls end with a silent
drop

Take the pill
of love and hate
and then you
die awake

Lying on the floor
senses bare
breathing comes to
a halt

Cease to die
to do it again
the death not of body
but of love

A ghoul stands
with a smile
flaunting a dangling
heart

Shattered pieces
learn to echo life
of quiet words
singing lies

Waiting
waiting
waiting
none

An unended end
is what you have

pangungulila III.

Mga luhang tutulo
para sa iyo
ngunit di makikita
didilig
sa hapis
dulot ng pangungulila
pagmamakaawa
na dati 'di
nagagawa
paulit-ulit na aawit
ng himig
ng pagluluksa
sapagkat iniwang
mag-isa
umaasa

pangungulila II.

Gigisingin ng gabing
naglalambing
upang gambalain
ng diwa
ng alaala
ng nag-iisang tao
na daglit rin ang paglisan
upang ipaalala
na ika'y iniwang
mag-isa
nangungulila

pangungulila I.

Hayaang tatwain
ng mga sinag araw
ang tunay na diwa
ng damdamin
upang tulad ng
bukas na sugat
tubog
sa lalim ng tubig dagat
madama ang dalisay
na poot
na pait
na hapdi
at rurok ng purong
pagmamahal
nang ika'y iniwang
mag-isa
nagmamahal

postmodern kebs.

Life is a bitch when you're so amazed with the new book that you just bought, and you decide to scribble onto in. It's yellow. Black ink will give that good contrast. Never mind that it has a huge & on it's face. I am wearing a yellow shirt. Kule attacked my book. Black blotches. Scratched &.

Life is a bitch when you're already late and no transportation to warp you to the other side of the world is available. Ergo, drivers will pound each other in the head to be Fate's wing men. And there was heavy traffic. Marc, you're late by 40 minutes. Do you even care? Professor smiles politely while sitting on top of the table. Of course, I care. Missed the Anna Oposa discussion, darn. I am wearing a yellow shirt.

Life is bitch when you read Lambert Varias' Ss and realized you were once all of the above: a side kick, a wing man, and a yes man. Then you realized, I am Lambert Varias. No you're not.

Life is a bitch when people do check you out. And you're not even single by virtue of YM and text messages.

***

Advise column:

Dear Marc,

I feel that I'm being ignored by my (insert gender)friend what will I do?

Respectfully yours,

Marc


Reply.

Dear Marc,

You wait, breathe and stop. Faith lang (Ano 'to sakit? Milagro? Faith?!) And say:



Hope it helps,

Marc

***

I missed two classes today:
1.Maximo
2.Cruz


I'm fucking up as a student. Tanghena lang.



I need a new life.

para kay b.

Kung tutuusin, maraming bagay akong dapat gawin kaysa isipin ka. Tulad nalang ng 800-1200 salitang artikulo para sa klase ko sa peryodismo. Artikulong inaantay ng isang Encanto. Tulad ng 500 salitang sanaysay tungkol sa isang tao – ang tatay ko – na tumatalakay sa buhay n’ya at ang epekto nito sa buhay ko. Tulad ng pagbabasa ng iilang paksa sa libro upang kumpetensyahin ang mga masasamang elemento sa klase ni Maximo. Tulad ng pagtulog. Tulad ng pag-iisip kung papaano ko mababago ang mundo.

Pero bakit ba sa kabila ng lahat ng ito, nariyan ka at nanggugulo? Pinatay ko na ang cellphone ko dahil nababaliw ako kahihintay sayo. Sira na ang dalawang charger ko, pero kahit na may bago, magmamatigas pa rin ako. Hindi dahil wala na akong pakialam sayo. Kundi dahil sa tuwing titignan ko ang screen nito, papawiin ang screen saver sa pamamagitan ng mga tiklado, wala akong mensahe mula sa iyo.

Minsan na kitang tinanong kung bakit may mga pagkakataon na hindi mo ako binibigyan ng paliwanag. Sabi mo, “Ganun lang talaga ako.” Taliwas sa pagkakaintindi mo, uulitin ko, hindi kita hinihingan ng paumanhin dahil ganyan ka lang talaga. Sa tinggin ko, hindi mo nabasa yung parte kung saan sinasabi ko na intindihin mo naman ako. Hindi na ako nagtataka kung nawaglit ang mga katagang iyon pagkabasa mo. Binura ko, mag-away pa tayo.

Maraming pagkakataon mo na ring ginamit ang rason na ito: napapraning lang ako. Sa totoo lang, hindi ko naiintindihan kung ano ang konteksto nito. Dahil kahit ako, sa tuwing sasakay sa tricycle papuntang kanto, sa tuwing bababa ng jeep habang umaandar pa ito, sa tuwing tatawid sa isang malawak at malapad na kalsada kung saan ang mga sasakyan ay tila parating nagkakarera, napapraning din naman ako. Pero sa tuwing magpapadala ako sayo ng mensahe na paalis na ako at uuwi na ako, hindi ko naman sinasama ang mga katagang napapraning ako.

Tulad ng sinasabi ko tuwing darating tayo sa puntong ganito, naiintindihan ko. Hindi sa bigla akong nabiyayaan ng linaw ng kaisipan o biglang bumaba ang espiritu ng langit upang gabayan ako, pero naiiintindihan ko na sa puntong ito, hindi ko pa pwedeng maintindihan dahil na rin siguro ayaw mo.

Minsan iniisip ko kung bakit pa kasi ako pumasok sa bagay na ito. Pero tulad rin ng minsan ko ng sinabi sa iyo, wala akong pinagsisisihan. Dahil sa pagkakataong ito, nahulog ako sa ilusyon, sa isang panaginip na sa isang sulok sa Pilipinas, sa isang sulok ng Lungsod ng Quezon, may nag-iisip kung kumain na ba ako, kung umuwi na ba ako, kung sino ang kausap ko, at kung anu-ano pa. Isang tao na hanggang ngayon pinaniniwalaan kong nag-aalala bukod sa kung sinumang kaibigan, kamag-anak, at mga magulang.

Kung nakilala mo ako ayon sa pananaw ng mga pinakamalalapit kong kaibigan, isa lang ang masasabi nila sa’yo: hindi ako pasensyoso. Hindi ako marunong umupo sa iisang tabi para maghintay na maganap ang lahat ng bagay na wala akong kinalaman. Ako’y kikilos, mag-iingay, mangungulit, magpapatawa, bibili ng merienda, magsasalita. Ako’y kikilos.

Sa ngayon, ang mga kamay ko’y nakatabing pa rin sa aking mga mata dahil hindi ako makapaniwala na ako’y nagbago para sa iyo. Ako ay nagtitiis, naghihintay. Nagpapaka-gago.

Alam ko naman na pinangangalagaan mo rin ako. Binubura mo ang mga “I love you” ng mga taong hindi mo naman kaano-ano, mga taong parte na ng nakaraan mo. Nagkakandaugaga ka rin naman kahit papaano nung nagtampo ako dahil sa SM at sa sapatos. Nagalit ka noong sinabi ko sayo na umalis ako ng bahay sa kalaliman ng gabi dahil bagot na bagot na talaga ako, kung saan pupunta, hindi ko sinabi sayo – dahil rin talagang wala akong pupuntahan noon kundi sa kawalan ng mga makikipot at madidilim na kalye; nag-aabang lambingin ng hangin, at bumulong na tumahan ang nilalang na gumugulo sa kalooban ko. Sana tama ako, sana totoo. Pinangangalagaan mo ako.

Kung tungkol lamang sa iyo ang mga bagay na ipapasa ko sa bawat klase sa pagsulat, sa tinggin ko kanina pa ako tapos. Makatutulog ng maaga, umaasa na sa pagmulat ko, sa pagkabuhay ng cellphone, ito’y magliliwanag at tutunog bilang hudyat sa mensaheng nagsasabing naalala mo ako.

Isang panunuya sa sarili ang pagtago ng mga bagay na gusto kong sabihin sa iyo. Maguluhan man sila sa pagkatao ng kausap ko sa sanaysay na ito, mag-imbento man sila kung sino ka, magturo ng ibang tao, isa lang ang totoo. Ito at ang laman nito.

May magbago man pagkatapos mong basahin ang lathala na ito, hindi ako magsisinungaling na magsisisi ako. Dahil ngayon importante kang tao sa buhay ko. Pero hindi ko rin itatanggi na sa puntong ito, naghahanap ako ng isang matibay na patunay upang ipagpatuloy ang paniniwala sa iyo. Dahil marami akong naiisip na dahilan upang bumitaw, bigyan mo ako ng isang dahilan, ang dahilang hinihintay ko para ‘di ako magbago. Dalian mo, habang balot pa rin ako sa ilusyon, sa emosyon na ito.

up debate society alumni homecoming.

quick update.

Tonight. Teatro Hermogenes Ylagan.
Faculty Center. CAL. UP Diliman.

7:00 p.m. Writer's Night.
Fashion Show. Theme: Fantasy.

Marc Siapno and Joy Salvio will be there.
Personal Theme: Nationalistic/Pilipinas.

Apex of Meh.

***

I miss someone. I missed someone.
Because of this.

Epic fail.

top reasons why i don’t receive your replies.

1. You have a class (something that I insisted).
2. You fell asleep (something that I can’t control).
3. You don’t have load (something that I consider valid).
4. You are busy (something I have to understand).
5. You just want to keep silent (something that I continue to doubt and ponder).

And just so you know, 5 pisses me the most.

daphne talk.

daphne: halow!
marc: halloo daphne dear!
daphne: musta?
marc: eto parang tanga.. uma-ay ay saridumay, saridumay diway.
daphne: ano yun? hindi ko gets shoutout mo
marc: tanga ka?
daphne: i'm sorreee
marc: ahahaha that's why i love you
daphne: joke ba yan? wala akong pera
marc: m sorreee din
marc: ahahaha
daphne: you're forgiven
marc: ay? god. istatue?
daphne: eh ano na? kamusta?
marc: wala. ganun pa rin. nagpa-gupit pala ulit ako. short.
daphne: ewwww.
marc: gagu
daphne: hahaha
marc: ang hot ko kaya
daphne: ay.
daphne: self-appreciation?
marc: kebs. i'm a loving person that way.
daphne: wazzup? seryoso na kasi
marc: eto nga. ganun pa rin
marc: may tanong pala ako sayo. ok lang?
daphne: go
marc: tapos na
daphne: anong tapos na???
marc: tapos na ako magtanong
daphne: waw
marc: iknowright
daphne: marc ang gago mo
marc: i love you
daphne: wala akong pera
marc: ahahaha
marc: oh cge postcards nalang
marc: i need postcards for my cw class
daphne: cw?
marc: amp. creative writing
daphne: bakit anong meron?
marc: bibigyan mo ba ako ng postcards o hindi?
daphne: hindi
marc: edi iba nalang pag-usapan natin
daphne: eto naman
marc: batopkors, joke lang
daphne: ang gulo mo kausap ah
daphne: anong gumugulo sayo
marc: ikaw
daphne: weh
marc: seryoso! nananahimik ako dito eh
daphne: wow thanks ha
marc: joke lang. alam mo na yun
daphne: sabi na nga ba eh
marc: bengga!
daphne: ano nanaman yun?
marc: bengga, parang bingo. tumpak. you got it. tagumpay! gets?
daphne: gets. pero sino yan?
marc: sinong sino?
daphne: yan
daphne: magulo ka nanaman kausap eh
marc: haaaay dapat ko pb ikwento?
daphne: bago? o luma?
marc: ano 'to tinapay?
daphne: hahaha
marc: cge tawa
daphne: aw seryoso si marc oh
marc: hindi to seryoso
daphne: ows
marc: sabi nya eh
daphne: eh bakit nandyan ka pa?
marc: ewan
daphne: yun yun
marc: ano nanaman yan daph
daphne: mahal?
marc: hindi ko yun alam
marc: wala akong puso
marc: yung puso ko lalagyan ng pencil, profs, at kung ano2 pa
daphne: mahal nga?
marc: oo. wala naman kasing limang pisong postcard eh
marc: libre mo na ako
daphne: mahal nga
marc: oo noh. isipin mo P20+ cguro isa. 5 kailangan ko eh
daphne: meron akong luma dito
daphne: ok lang ba yun?
marc: nanakawin mo nanaman ba yan?
daphne: hahaha para sayo
marc: knikilig ako
daphne: kipitap marc
marc: i know
daphne: pero ok ka naman?
marc: hindi
daphne: bakit?
marc: feeling ko kasi dapat hindi ko na pinasok pa to eh
daphne: eh bakit mo tinuloy?!
marc: ewan ko. feeling ko kasalan mo rin to
daphne: pinag-usapan na natin to diba?
marc: oo nga. pero sadyang matigas ang ulo ng isang marc
daphne: sabi na nga ba
daphne: anong bago
marc: kailangan pa bang sabihin
daphne: eh kasi
marc: shatap
daphne: ganon?
marc: joke lang
daphne: kaya mo pa?
marc: oo naman
marc: kilala mo naman ako
marc: never say die
daphne: pero kung di mo na kaya iwan mo na
marc: hindi pwede. bago palang eh
marc: sayang
daphne: anong sayang dun?
marc: yung 900
daphne: 900 lang?
daphne: iwan mo na yan. bigay ko sayo yung 900 kahit bukas
marc: tanga ka?
marc: ahahaha
daphne: seryoso
marc: tanga. kaya ko to
daphne: hanggang kailan?
marc: hanggang matapos ang sem na to
daphne: if you say so
marc: pero daphne
marc: sana kayanin ko
marc: bago lang ako sa ganito eh
daphne: ganun din yun
daphne: iba nga lang dynamics
marc: wow dynamics
daphne: hahaha
marc: pero sana kayanin ko talaga
daphne: seryoso ba
marc: hindi ko nga alam db
marc: sabi nya hindi
daphne: eh ano yan gaguhan
marc: oo saya nga eh
daphne: masokista!
marc: iknowright
daphne: umayaw ka na
marc: ayoko
marc: paninindigan ko to hanggang kaya
marc: love you daph!

Daphne has signed out.

ay, may manok?

A chicken went berserk today. That was after Chilo the Dog chased the chicken from God-knows-where. They went around and around the garage until they found the back door leading to the dirty kitchen. By that time, Sean Potter the Cat already found himself teaming up with the Dog. Chilo knew that she can’t pass beyond the dirty kitchen. The Cat took over the chase. Sean Potter the Cat, being the bibo feline that he is, managed to create fiasco within seconds. Sean ran and so the chicken. The chicken found solace in the bathroom. With a snap, Sean Potter the Cat decided not to chase it anymore, and Chilo the Dog was still waiting for the chicken to come out.

Everything went back to normal, except that a chicken was stuck in the bathroom, behind the toilet bowl to be exact.

I pushed Sean inside the bathroom and he showed no interest. So we decided to … chill. It’ll come out eventually, we thought. And it did. But I guess the sight of an unfamiliar terrain agitated the animal again. It flew indiscriminately. We feared that it’ll hit the ceiling fan and die. Fortunately, it landed on the printer and. Poop. 

I got agitated.

I took a long stick and pushed it with care. The chicken cooperated for a while. And then it flew, and flew, and flew. And I was frantic. So I had to think for a new plan. Ting!

I took an old blanket and threw it over the chicken.

I did it for more than once because it kept on flying before the blanket could land on its feathers. At last, I cornered it. So with a final throw, it was beneath the sheet.

I didn’t want to release it. Don’t ask why. 

I took a box. Placed the chicken in it. Secured the flaps. Threw a handful of rice. And kept it there. I was thinking of The Little Prince and the lamb.

Sana buhay pa s’ya bukas.


RATED: Wolo long.

cool shitnitz: nike metallic windrunner 2008.

Kicking off the the Holiday season, Nike hits us with a set of metallic two-tone windrunners. The collection features 16 different colorways in their timeless windbreaker silhouette. Along with the hooded platform, the jackets combines Nike’s top notch technical details including a water-resistant shell.

The fusion of form and function.

Nike tipped draw cords and Nike zipper pull meet super-breathable mesh lining for unparalleled ventilation and comfort.

Stay suitably dry even when Nature turns ugly.

A full Polyester get up with auto-lock slider zip makes this jacket completely water repellant. I repeat, water repellant.

The evolution of an icon.

The Windrunner drew inspiration from the woven cedar bark rain capes worn by the Pacific Coast Native Americans, specifically the Nootkas of the North coast. Not only did this humble apparel protect its wearer from the harsh winds and wet condtions of the Pacific Northwest winters, but its silhouette embodied a fundamental simplicity born out of its sheer functionality. That same garment inspired Nike's founder, Geoff Hollister. And what began as an observation turned into a global sensation. The rest is history.

Source.
Another Source.


BOTTOM LINE: I WANT A GOLD AND SILVER WINDRUNNER FOR CHRISTMAS!

Retailing each at P2,995, the collection will be made available for a limited time at Nike Park The Fort & Trinoma and Nike Stadium Greenbelt 5 from October 31st onwards.

BUY ME ONE ... please.

not a judy ann santos, ryan agoncillo post.

I remember Ryan Agoncillo saying in an interview, that he had to separate himself from Judy Ann Santos for a while. Something that he had to do to find out if they were really in love or if their feelings were borne out of proximity.

Many relationships fail because, as sad as it may sound, couples only had pseudo-love. The kind of feeling you acquire for being too close and for being used to each others company. Since you see each other everyday and you bond almost everyday, you thought that you were bit by the love bug.

This kind of delusion creates pseudo-special relationships. The kind of relationship you’ll enjoy for a while and will turn out to be boring once time gets by. The longer you stay, the weaker your feeling for each other gets. Maybe because once couples decide to level-up, a certain element that can only be found in non-commitment is lost.

Certain elements change, the dynamics change, feelings change, relationships change.

But what if, feelings were borne out of distance? A typical story of girl-meets-boy, or boy-meets-girl, or boy-meets-boy, or girl-meets-girl over the Internet/YM/social networking sites/whatever. Will things fall apart once they meet? Will something change if the tattered cloak of anonymity and pretentious identities were taken off? Will the relationship exist after goodbyes?

One of my professors said that everything is a matter of mimesis. If that’s the case, can we trace the genealogy of such types of relationships and can we ever pin down results of what happened anchored in real life?

It is easy to say yes or no. Until you realize that everything is just a blur and you’ll end up thinking forever.

the day he cried.

Michael, my brother, cried today. That was after he was sent home for being late. Actually, they

Rescue came in the form of an agitated mother and a father ready to back her up. Her hair was still damp when she readied herself to make way for his son and daughter. Which is very unusual because she’ll spend 30 minutes (or maybe this is an exaggeration) just to make her hair look right. The term “right” being problematic because I’m not really sure what she wants to happen with it.

It all ended up well, I think. The two got to attend classes and after the fiasco, I still had enough time to go back to sleep and dream.


P.S.: I was once late…and been barred to enter the school premises. I didn’t go home even if the stupid guard told me so. I knew better. I always knew the “secret” passageway in the chapel that would lead me inside the school. And because everybody else found out about it, more gates had to be built and more students were left with no choice but to be forced to go home - like Michael and Mariel. were sent home. Mariel, on the other hand, stayed in school. Maybe she knew her brother will fetch rescue.

of being frighteningly lonely.

I have questions.

If we can love someone so much, how will we be able to handle it if one day we get separated?

And if being separated is part of life, and you know separation well, is it possible that we can love someone and never be afraid of losing them?

At the same time, I am also wondering, is it possible that we can live our entire life without loving anyone at all?

- Mew, The Love of Siam.

***

To make something special, you have to believe that it is special.

- Mr. Ping, Kung Fu Panda.

***

Lean and Kath leaves at 10 a.m. and will be off to Baguio by 12. They’ll be back soon. They will.

lean, kath, and fred.

I think I’m drunk. Or maybe this is genuine happiness as Kath would say. I can’t sleep and I don’t feel the need to. I want to remember everything that happened, every sweet smack on the shoulder, every loving pound on the back, every laughter, every giggle, every smile, everything. Damn this feels good. I wish you were just here. Always.


I can call Lean, Kath, and Fred as my inner circle, my closest friends. There is something in the seven or eight years that we’ve all been through. I can open my mouth and say the stupidest thing and I know they’ll understand (or will always try to).

Fred was once my fiercest competition. Talk about high school rankings. I admit that I misjudged him. Good thing I was enlightened right on time. Now we compete in being the bangka - the one who talks the most and opens up the bulk of the topics to be talked about. We have to make people laugh.

Kath was/is an epal. I don’t know how and why we became friends. But she was always the one who understood. She stepped aside and watched me in my most fucking state. She allowed me to be me. She came back as if nothing happened. She’s the sweetest epal I have now.

Lean is and will always be THE friend. Seven years is already something to be proud of. Seven years of highs and lows. Seven years of amazing shitnitz. Like what I told him, I think I know why we remain friends. It’s because I found me in him. He usually likes the things that I like and usually hates the things that I hate. We share the same wavelength. The only difference is that he’s more reserved and calmer than I am. He always understands and is willing to wait.


Today was the thing I needed to make my semestral break complete. I feel loved. I feel happy. I feel light. And yet I feel sad. Kath and Lean will be leaving me again soon. I once again feel afraid. But I know they’ll be back.

Until then, I’ll be missing all of you.

randomizing the things i want.

There are so many things rumbling in my head right now. That even at this point, I’m doubtful if I can really render what’s happening. I want to scream, not because I’m in rage. I want to scream because something heavy is pulling my chest down. I’m feeling too much pressure inside that I just want to burst, pop, explode into bits and bits of pieces.

I want to breathe. I want to let it out. I want to know how.

I want to rant because I wasn’t able to buy ice cream earlier. I had to buy something else. I want to eat something cold despite the pouring rain. I want to indulge. I want chocolates, the bitter-sweet kind. Dark.

I want to talk about Yu. I want to say why Cinnamon is interesting.

I want to shout because I had one class today. The professor didn’t show up. I want to share how I found out that I’ll be having an emo classmate this semester. I also want to share that I’ll be having a classmate who reminds me of Lord from Project Runway Philippines.

I want to feel better. I’m getting woozy with Camille’s invitation. The scent clung inside my bag. So whenever I’ll open it, the scent rushes through my nose. Not to mention that it smells like car scent. Don’t worry Camille, I’ll try to attend.

I want to share how excited I am for TriNoma’s mall-wide sale. And at the same time, how it disappoints me because I won’t be able to exploit this opportunity for an obvious reason: money.

I want to solve the mystery of the disappearing undies.

I believe that…

1. People who are angry at each other about silly things are usually the ones who care about each other the most.
2. Most people think that nobody cares for them.
3. There is nothing such as “too much love”.
4. It’s better to commit mistakes than not to love and be loved.
5. As long as you love, you still have hope.

These things that I believe in are from The Love of Siam. The movie made me happy even if my insides are crushed. You can download it somewhere if you have an extra 1G in your hard drive. Go watch it!

Well, that was something random.

paulit-ulit.

Maraming hindi nakakaintindi kasi marami rin ang ayaw umintindi. Maraming hindi nakakaintindi kasi marami rin ang hirap umintindi. At maraming hindi nakakaintindi kasi marami rin ang nagkukunwaring nakakaintindi.

Isang sistema, proseso na patindi na ng patindi. Isang sistema, proseso na paulit-ulit nating ginagawa. Isang sistema, proseso na palala ng palala.

Isang sigaw. Lahat lilingon. Putang Ina.

Sigaw na tahimik na dalisay na kinikimkim. Sigaw na tahimik na marahan kang guguluhin. Sigaw na tahimik na sa harap mo ay nagtatagong mahinhin.

Mga matang mapanghusga dahil walang ibang mundo kundi ang sarili. Mga matang mapaghusga dahil sa tayog ng posisyon na ang nagluklok ay ang sarili. Mga matang mapanghusga na nakatingin, tumitingin, at habang buhay na titingin at susulyap sa sarili.

Magpumilit man ang iyong diwa sa pagyakap sa mga bagay na ipinararating, hindi mo magagawa. Yapusin ang katotohanan na ang balakid ay ang mukha. Wala kang magagawa.

Maraming hindi nakakaintindi kasi marami rin ang ayaw umintindi. Maraming hindi nakakaintindi kasi marami rin ang hirap umintindi. At maraming hindi nakakaintindi kasi marami rin ang nagkukunwaring nakakaintindi.

Mga nagkukunwaring nakakaintindi.

beyond mindoro and puerto galera.

You can spell F-U-N with M-I-N-D-O-R-O or with P-U-E-R-T-O-G-A-L-E-R-A. You can choose one of them or use them both for emphasis and the meaning wont change. They’re synonymous, I think. Issa, Chel, and Annel can attest to that. And that’s something I’ve learned in three days.

Mindoro got its name from Mina de Oro, meaning “gold mine.” It is the seventh-largest island in the Philippines. It is located southwest of Luzon and northeast of Palawan. And since 1950, the province was divided into two – Occidental Mindoro and Oriental Mindoro.

Puerto Galera, on the other hand, is part of Oriental Mindoro. It’s not the name of the beach, it’s the name of a municipality within the province. White Beach and Sabang Beach are among the famous beaches in the municipality. The former being popular with the local tourists and the latter with foreigners.

I thank the heavens for granting my prayers. Even though I had nervous breakdowns in between, at least it came just right on time. My mom said I could go at around 10 a.m. of October 25. Never mind that we were supposed to meet by 12 at Taft and my traveling bag had nothing in it but air of hopes.

Let’s skip the things that happened during the bus ride going to Batangas Port. I was late. It was also traffic on the way and that’s why we didn’t catch the 3:30 p.m. trip to Calapan.

We boarded on this huge RoRo ship (roll-on, roll-off ship) instead. It took us roughly 2 hours to get to the next port. Upon boarding, we realized that most of the seats were occupied. But I was lucky because the girls I was with had natural charms. We got in the “Authorized Persons Only” area – somewhere near the captain’s cabin – while everybody else was standing against the ship’s railings due to the lack of seats. It was the captain himself who invited us, I think. The bitch passengers were silently screaming in loathe. The place was perfect for taking pictures – pictures of us and the sea. And I was policing those bastards who were throwing trash to the sea, silently.

The port in Calapan welcomed us with a Jollibee billboard. A huge photo of Chicken Joy against the red and yellow background, not of a Jolly Hotdog and not of Jolly Spaghetti. I just have to mention this. It was one of the debates before we boarded off the ship.

Before going to Daisy’s loving home in Bayanan Dos, we paid her adorable lola a short visit. Her lola’s house was right beside the sea. It was so close to the sea that when you peek down the balcony, you’ll realize that there is nothing else but deep water.

From there, we were fetched by Daisy’s parents. On the way, we paid Jollibee-Calapan a courtesy call. It was a branch where service crews are far more competitive than the Manila-trained crews. Everyone was on standby. Imagine them standing allover the place, ready to serve with a slightest call of attention.

Daisy’s home was a different story altogether. When we arrived, we saw huge cauldrons placed at the house’s façade and suspected that we were going to be offered anytime from Saturday till the time we leave. We half-seriously believed that it was a plan Daisy and the whole barrio concocted fit for some grotesque celebration. Not to mention that we were fed all the time and the night of our arrival, the whole place was enveloped with intensifying smoke from charred wood.

The next day, we borrowed their family car and drove around the city in pajamas. Annel was supposed to be our driver. A test to see how much she learned from driving a manual transmission car from driving school. But since the car kept on dying while she reverses it, Issa had to take the wheel. Issa who, by the way, drives an automatic back in Manila. What happened? Go figure. But I’m glad to be back in one piece. I guess Annel’s coaching worked. Tapakan mo yung clutch. Todo. Then changes gear for Issa. The car went beserk! And dies. Annel then sends another tirade of instructions. Clutch, change gear, gas. Mantra: Confidence!

Then all of a sudden Mr. De Guzman texted Daisy to go back as soon as possible. Daisy’s dad had to go somewhere daw. After that, the car’s key was lost forever.

Mrs. De Guzman (or Tita as we called her during our stay) makes the best empanadas in the Philippines. I swear. You can forget about its fillings because the crusty bread is delightful in itself. We were also fed with this huge, huge fish that they call ‘musko’. It was steamed, glazed with mayonnaise, and then topped with minced tomatoes, garlic, onion, pepper, and pickes among others.

We also met Ate Camille’s French “friend” Serile, who rarely talks, and Serile’s friend Jacques, who talked beyond any conversationist could talk. They insisted on bringing us to Anahaw, a restaurant/bar beside the beach, on the night of Daisy’s birthday. There we were made to drink bottles and bottles of beer that Jacques kept on ordering. We all wanted to go home, so we had to do something. In Ara’s word: konspirasyon. Enough said.

After all the good things in Bayanan Dos, we readied ourselves to push the fun level a notch higher. It was time to go to Puerto Galera.

We took a jeepney ride which lasted for an hour or so. Bayanan Dos to Puerto Galera. We had to pass through a mountain just to reach the other end. It was rough because there wasn’t really a road, but a make-shift road meant for a concrete one.

That ride was special because I wasn’t seated inside the jeepney, but instead on its door. It’s hard to explain. But just imagine a jeep with a door at its end, the door having a thicker portion where you can sit. There, I sat patiently despite annoying passengers (who, by the way, kept on staring) and bumpy roads that kept on hurting my arse.

We stayed in Bangera Inn. We just love the place. Our room was super cozy. They even provided extra pillows and a mattress for free. Arman Alviz, the inn’s manager, was also lovable. He pops out of nowhere whenever you need him. Promise.

I don’t know why, but Puerto Galera exuded a different kind of charm that time. It must be the rain and the low count of tourists. Not to mention, neighbors from a different inn who constantly showed off skin – as in constantly showed of skin. Hell Good heavens, I enjoyed our stay.

As Chel's shoutout shouts (?), Mindoro and Puerto Galera are just beyond words.

We took so many pictures. And now we’re having a hard time sharing it among ourselves. I’ve uploaded some of them and more are coming soon.

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This is a long entry. I just have to say it. If you reached this point, receive my congratulations. Cheers!