on disappearing acts.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

on being broke.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Why Love? Wala nalang pakialaman, please?!

***

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

***

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

***

Anna O.,

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

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

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

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

CHOS!

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

***

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

***

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

nevermind.

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

***

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

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

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

***

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

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

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

***

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

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

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

***

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

misunderstood.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Oh ‘Im never speaking up again.
Starting now.

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

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

Oh Im never speaking up again
Starting now.


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

***

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

not that I'm liking boyfriends back.

***

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

***

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

sept 9 is a special day.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Late post.

post-UAAP cheerdance compet thoughts.

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

***

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

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

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

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

***

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

Thanks again.

***

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

***

UP crowd doing the wave***

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

***

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

***

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

koko crunch.

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

Hello shaving! Hello lotions! Hello … whitening products!

***

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

***

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

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

***

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

kevjumba got that right.

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

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

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

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

While this one, tells everybody to be happy.

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

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

First GA later. How exciting.

sean's major strike.

In the wee hours of the morning, Sean had the luxury to break the punchbowl into gazillion pieces. It was a statement, in a way, because the rest of the plates, soup bowls, and glasses broke with it. The plan was to let the punchbowl plunge, let it smash indiscriminately, and create a loud bang as an aftereffect. It was perfect, I must admit.

We now have nine plates left of different sizes, color, and design, a tall glass, a short glass, two small coffee cups, a couple of mini soup bowls, and a saucer. Spoons, forks, and knives don’t break so there still there. The best thing: Sean got away with it.

The morning after, Sean went to my room and slept on my bed. Gago lang. The poor thing felt something was utterly wrong. And for us, shopping for dining implements tops our weekend to-do list.

surviving something quickie.

I am not claustrophobic. There is a certain kind of pleasure that one can exhaust from anything that’s tight. Spare me your own interpretations. But, sometimes I enjoy places that force you to be intimate. Well, except for the men’s CR.

Rather than waiting in the open streets of Cubao, QC, me and my friends decided to wait inside a fastfood chain (codename: Bida ang Saya!). Frankly, we have no plans in ordering food. The Treehouse made us poor. The afternoon rain made the breeze cool ‘til night so urinary bladders tend to get a little busy filling up and emptying fluid. Ergo, we just needed pee bowls.

First shot at comfort failed because when I tried to get into the fastfood chain’s CR, a man was like holding the door against me. Did I mention there were three men inside? I wasn’t welcome so I waited. Minutes later, one man went out and I tried to force myself in. And guess what? Masikip pa rin sa loob. The CR was like connected to the Floo Network. There was an addition inside. Where did he came from, I do not know. I had to sit again.

For a CR with a size of four decent cubicles combined and a threat of a soon to drip pee, this time, I know I have to assert my right. Two men were left and I was successful. The new problem: a middle aged man was standing immediately behind me. The other one was standing in front of the mirror for … 30 minutes (this man never went out from the moment I tried getting in). You can feel the greenness in their bloods. It’s so strong you can’t miss it.

Fuck. I was so afraid to be butt-grabbed while letting the pain flow. I had to rush things, washed my hands with soft water, and I was out.

The man who stood behind me went out after 30 minutes or so (or am I exaggerating?). The other man followed shortly after with his shirt a little messed up, shoulder tensed, and pants … not that well fixed. Carlos knew what I was thinking. Things happened fast. What do they call that? Ah! A quickie, I suppose.

And so I was right. He was waiting for voluntary preys. They were waiting for voluntary preys. Or better yet, they were both predators consuming on each other – own goods to be consumed for their own tastes.

Disgusting, I know. For such practice that’s too associated with their kind, they should have been more discreet. Let’s avoid terms but quote Carlos in the end, “ang masama at pangit d’yan, ganon na nga sila, ganon pa ginagawa nila.”

Feed on you whims, feed for as long as you like. But never go over the bounds of respect – for self, for others, for the belief, for the world. We are forms of discourse. We are reflections of what we do. Do things a little more respectful – even not in quickies – but on things as a whole.

Yes Marko. I saw you yester night. Too abashed to say hi. Next time, promise.

Rachel this was the night of your birthday.

I survived the predators because I avoided the eyes. Don’t look, if you want to be spared.

kapag ibig.

I’m never bothered with the fact that I haven’t committed myself in a formal, lasting relationship. For one, I never liked the idea of them taking total control over me. I don’t want to be stalked. I don’t want to be asked every morning, noon, night (excluding in betweens) if I’m ok or I have eaten already. My parents raised me to be independent. I have learned to take care of myself and I think I can do it better than everybody else (parents do it best, of course). But since a lot of people started bugging me about this idea, let’s talk about it.

I am not afraid of commitments. What I am afraid of is not being able to fulfill what I signed up for. When things get closer, I know it’s time to let go. I find it weird that I hate the idea of my affection being reciprocated equally – imbalance must exist for us to achieve balance. I give more, you give less and vice versa. When one can’t give more than the other, then it’s also the time to let go.

It’s funny (and a little grotesque) that my email inbox is joining the bandwagon to stimulate the idea of romantic relationships.

And of course, expect friends who will send you quotes like these:

totoo naman di ba?

One more thing, the idea of courting. Well, I know that some people think it’s important but, can we cut ourselves some slack? Let’s get to know each other minus the cheesy, chummy thingy that comes with the package. It’s better, I think, trust me.

But when you’re surrounded with people that are committed, one can’t help but to contemplate (notice the choice of words) on the things that might have happened if you gave in. I know a romantic relationship also comes with perks. Sabi ko nga, for the sake of experience, the first one to court me or the first one to tell me that they’re willing to try a relationship with me would get me easily. But, I know! How … creative and imaginative of me. A friend also sent me a quote about this one. It says:

Indeed, love is not a status. I’m always in love and I don’t need a label for it to be affirmed. That’s my reality. Pag-ibig nga eh. Gets? ‘Pag … ibig. Kapag ibig. Therefore, it’s a choice. Besides, my throat hurts enough to cause a diversion on such issues. Ang labo.

THANKS: we all played the game, let's all hope for the best.

The UPDS application period is a lot like drag racing. It was fast, exhilarating, and fulfilling. The past two months made me realize the higher value of friends more than their value that I already know – they made me faster, higher, stronger (tieback to Olympics since it’s closing as of typing time). Anyways, I’m taking this chance to thank everybody.

TO MY UPDS CO-APP 2008
I love you all. You made hard things enjoyable. You’re all stimulating and refreshing. I wish us all good luck!


Maan: Partner. Thank you so much for staying by my side. I know I’ve been bitchy at times. Sorry. We can do this. Think positive.

Angelo: For some odd reasons, your message on my sigsheet was a memorable one. It says: Thisizit. I hope it is. Thanks!

Katherine Calderon: Math major ka ba talaga? Kidding. Thank you talaga. You were always there when I needed someone to tolerate my crazy moments.

Pearl: You’re a great driver! I’m awed with your generosity and OCness. I enjoyed our chitchats while driving around and around and around. Two thumbs up!

Nica: You’re great! Your future is so bright. Don’t be hard on yourself. Believe in THE SECRET and good things will happen. Always think positive.

Trix: I believe that you can be a great accountant. You’re great as a debater, but more importantly as a person. Stay humble and nice.

Ayze: Mini-mock best speaker! Stay perky and you must realize that at some point you need to eat pork. Try Monterey! Their pigs doesn’t eat poop.

Joy: Thanks for the pictures. Take care of your heart (as in the heart that pumps blood). I envy your violin. You’re one of the nicest people in the batch.

Kat: Same goes to you. Stay kind, humble, and nice. You’re great. Believe in yourself.

Alex Cao: You’re classic. I love your soft smile and bright spirit. Deep inside I know how competitive you are. Stay safe and try to look stronger (especially at night).

Bea: I wish I had the chance to bond with you more. I find you interesting (walang malisya) Hahaha.

Jacques: YOU TOO! I know you’re a fun guy to be with. I remember the time you supported my jokes (remember Jabu and Ateng?). You don clothes in a sleek kind of way. I just realized that we always win when we’re together – boycott Beijing and unisex CRs debate. Stay good.

JC: You’ve been always strong. Keep it up and send me chocolates. Joke lang.

Riley: You never failed to make a scene. You’re a good person. You’re competitive. You always make tambay interesting.

Aman the Third: Isa ka pa! Thanks for always laughing at my jokes. I enjoy every smile you share. Competitive ka rin eh! Parati nga kayong my coaching moments ni Alex F eh.

Elferbitch: I believe that you’re a good guy. I appreciate the frankness – it makes you bitchier. [Riley] Palanca Awardee? Kidding. Thanks.

Mikee: THANK YOU THANK YOU THANK YOU for being a suki. Benta parati jokes ko sayo. Never fails. Hope to joke around you more.

Migz: Migz high five! I appreciate the fact that you always keep a high spirit. Stay good and happy.

MarkSolis: [bows] You’re a good friend. You’re always fun to be with. You’re a good guy. You’re the best, simply the best. Speechless. MARKSOLIS!

To the rest: Michael, Tranz, Franz, Laura, Tina, Alex F, and to you that I unintentionally forgot, Thanks to the wonderful moment. Good luck to all of us.


TO RAYMUND
Thank you for infecting us with your competitiveness. Thanks for being a good buddy. Again, it’s not that we didn’t have a choice. We had and it’s really you.


TO THE UPDS MEMS
Walang halong ka-plastikan. You’re one of the best groups I knew and I hope will continue to know more. Thanks to everybody! You’re all loved.


TO EPISTAXIS
My dear friends you’ve been always there for me. I just love you. Thank you so much for understanding me especially when I had to opt out during our usual food trips, gimiks, or whatever. Thanks for supporting me in your own little ways. You’re the support system that I needed. You kept me burning and positive. Thank you. I’ll remember all of this. Thank you.

We’re all waiting for Tuesday. The best of luck guys! Remember that it is not whether we win or lose. It is how we played the game.


Much love. Thanks.

ten conyommandments.

1. Thou shall make gamit "make+pandiwa".
ex. "Let's make pasok na to our class!"
"Wait lang! I'm making kain pa!"
"Come on na, we can't make hintay anymore! It's in Andrew pa, you know?"

2. Thou shall make kalat "noh", "diba" and "eh" in your pangungusap.
ex. "I don't like to make lakad in the baha nga, no? Eh diba it's like, so eew, diba?"
"What ba: stop nga being maarte noh?"
"Eh as if you want naman also, diba?"

3. When making describe a whatever, always say "It's SO pang-uri!"
ex. "It's so malaki, you know, and so mainit!"
"I know right? So sarap nga, eh!"
"You're making me inggit naman.. I'll make bili nga my own burger."

4. When you are lalaki, make parang punctuation "dude", 'tsong" or "pare".
ex. "Dude, ENGANAL is so hirap, pare."
"I know, tsong, I got bagsak nga in quiz one, eh"

5. Thou shall know you know? I know right!
ex. "My bag is so bigat today, you know"
"I know, right! We have to make dala pa kasi the jumbo Physics book eh!"

6. Make gawa the plural of pangngalans like in English or Spanish.
ex. "I have so many tigyawats, oh!"

7. Like, when you can make kaya, always use like. Like, I know right?
ex. "Like, it's so init naman!"
"Yah! The aircon, it's, like sira!"

8. Make yourself feel so galing by translating the last word of your sentence, you know, your pangungusap?
ex. "Kakainis naman in the LRT! How plenty tao, you know, people?"
"It's so tight nga there, eh, you know, masikip?"

9. Make gamit of plenty abbreviations, you know, daglat?"
ex. "Like, OMG! It's like traffic sa LRT"
"I know right? It's so kaka!"
"Kaka?"
"Kakaasar!"

10. Make gamit the pinakamaarte voice and pronunciation you have para full effect!
ex. "I'm, like, making aral at the Arrhneo!"
"Me naman, I'm from Lazzahl!"



c/o Krisbert
but got this from Angelo.

canker sores, jigs, and today.

Last week, I just had the largest mouth sore I ever had. I think it’s the size of two sores combined into one to make a huge annoyance in your mouth. I decided to stop using a brand of toothpaste that’s too menthol-y and so, amazingly, the sore healed. Makes sense? Anyways…

This week, I had the good fortune of having another sore – canker type, lower lip, right side (inside the mouth, of course). I hate it because I can’t eat properly. I was munching my late dinner a while ago, when all of a sudden the sauce touched the sore! Gahd, you can’t imagine how much I wanted to get the knife and cut the sore out. I can’t even yawn without feeling its pain.

Aside from using the traditional tawas and the ever realiable Bactidol, I don’t know how to “cure” this thing. But ideally, it should heal within 7-10 days. So that means I still have to wait a little longer. I’ve also googled the causes of such sores. And guess what? Some experts say that [canker] sores are caused by immune system problems, bacteria, or viruses. Factors such as stress, trauma, allergies, cigarette smoking, and iron or other vitamin deficiencies may also be involved. The best thing about it: sores can recur again and again and again. Good life.

***

Remember the day I saw Jigs Mayuga? Want to know what happened days after? Well, here it is:

oh yeah! moment.

***

Earlier this day, I had fun and I got tired. I got stinky and got to lose my sanity temporarily. I went home and slept on the way; dropped my wallet and woke up just in time to pick it up. I slept on the couch with my bag on my lap; woke up to eat dinner by 11; visited the World behind the monitor; saw Sean sleeping and so I’m also going to sleep now.

‘Til the blades of the sun cut our skins, good night.

light.

There is a certain quality in the nighttime that I lust. It is that feature that can only be achieved when the dark clouds cup the land and paints our world black. It is the mystery it concocts that excites and scares me most, for reasons I do not know.

I go home to the dark streets that warrant me danger; the same streets that I enjoy for its bareness and shadows; the shadows that never fails to bathe me with cold water while I play; the kind of game that requires solitude but above all, darkness.

I ride home to the dark empty road; the road that allows me to fly and counter flow; the feature of the road that freezes the air; the cool air that pierces the pores; I play the game; the game that requires above all, darkness.

I live in the dark day; the day created by the lunar ray; the ray that arouses passion; the passion that blinds you more; the more you give in, the more you die; the more you die, the nearer you are to, darkness.

You breathe in. out. in. out. in. out. out to, darkness.

wrong egg.

After googillion years, my father brought home baluts (is that how you pluralize ‘balut’?) again. What’s more amazing is that he brought home baluts for no apparent reason. What amazes me the most is that he wants me to eat one! I was like … why?!

A balut (Trứng vịt lộn or Hột vịt lộn in Vietnamese, Pong tea khon in Cambodian) is a fertilized duck egg with a nearly-developed embryo inside that is boiled and eaten in the shell. It’s usually sold in the wee hours of the morning by street vendors carrying baskets with dangling chicharons. You start eating it by making a relatively small hole to sip the amniotic fluid (or broth, if you want a euphemism) out.

And to fulfill what my father wanted me to do, that’s what I did. I took the egg, got a spoon, then gave the egg a bash. The only problem is I cracked the wrong egg, so unfortunately this happened:

that’s the balut with the chicken-egg-in-a-cup.

Good job. What will I do with the raw egg? Stupid.

to j.

Hey J!

I like you. Was that too blunt? Well, I think you know that already. Or if I’m that assuming, at least now you know. But don’t worry, I wont do anything about it. I know my boundaries and I don’t want to lose what we have (to think we still haven’t got to know each other that much yet). Plus, I know you still have commitments.

Probably by now, you’re telling yourself how pathetic I am for writing this rather than telling you. But that’s me. Call me torpe. And besides, I don’t have any plans in telling you this. I like it this way. Direct yet indirect. You’re smart, you know what it means.

This is a relief. That even if they don’t really know who you are, at least I got this out of my system. You knowing this or you having hunches that maybe you’re the one I’m talking to is a relief. People who know me that well know that I don’t really share what I feel. So good for me and you.

Just keep greeting me when you see me, keep smiling, keep laughing, be happy (this sounds like Jollibee), don’t change, I like who you are. Don’t build that wall for me. I’ll always be here (for now, as a friend).

Marc

08.08.08 (for the lack of a better title).

I don’t really know if there is something to celebrate in 08/08/08. Aside from Sharon Cuneta having her anniversary concert and the Beijing Olympics opening, what’s so special about this date of 8s?

Two things happened today. First, that would be my 5-second claim to fame at the Philcoa overpass. Well, nothing really grand. I just tripped over one step going up. My hand landed first on the step before totally kissing the dirty ground; saving my face and dignity. No one really noticed it (or so I thought) so after that I kept walking with my head up high.

Second, I saw Jigs Mayuga in FC. My friends were really clueless who he was. So for one, I looked stupid for staring at him. I wanted to tell everyone that Jigs is in the house, but he was just another guy passing through to everybody else.

Ladies and gentlemen, this is Jigs Mayuga.

***
Contrary to the belief of the majority, Chel told me that this day is unlucky. Because apparently this 08/08/08 happened in a particular lunar thingy that was believed as the time when spirits from hell (or somewhere deep, dark, and evil) would visit Earth and cause bad luck. Ergo, we should avoid celebrating any occasions today. Sharon, Vicky (Belo), People of China are you all reading this?

***

This week was so stressful. I feel so tired and, above all, unappreciated.

pare.

pare [noun] – masculine; a word usually used to connote a relationship; can be used for male friends or male colleagues; shortened form of kumpare, referring to your child’s godfather in Philippine context; from the Spanish compadre; with emerging popularity among the not-so-straight-guys to pretend to be oh-so-straight.

It’s funny how some guys (let’s deter using the term ‘men/man’ for ambiguity’s sake) exploit the term during social functions, i.e., during simple parties and human interaction. It wouldn’t be so funny if the guy who’s using it can hide their not-so-straightness very well. But if you wear the invisible sign all over you body, well, that’s the time it becomes weird and annoying.

I don’t have a problem in having friends belonging to the various classifications of gender. My problem comes when one is in deep denial that he himself feels awkward. It’s like Pare , s’an na kayo, pare ? Pero, teka pare pa-Manila ako eh. Ok lang ba pare kung blah blah blah pare . Putang ina.

I say pare if you’re more comfortable with your affricate words – those that starts with ‘ch-‘ like choz, chorva, chuchu, churibells, chever, etc – then by all means use it. You can even use ‘bonggang-bongga’ every now and then. Keri lang. It’s not like we’re going to crucify you for being real pare .