jumbo siopao asado’y nas’an. kinutkot nang marahan, kakarampot ang natikman. mandurugas. akala ko ay sulit pero di pala, sayang lang nagtinapay na lang sana. ‘kala ko espesyal ngunit di pala pero panu ba malalaman kung di ko bubuksan. subalit huli na ‘di ba, bayad ko wala na. parang tao rin pala di mawari hagga’t di lubos kilala. siopao ang panlabas, hangin lang ang laman sayang lang, nagtinapay na lng sana. bulaan.
Friday, March 23, 2012
sio pao
June 26, 2009
paold
June 25, 2009
how are you paold? what’s with that blank stare? we barely talked the last time i rushed by and it had been just over a month ago. how was the arthritis? had been a pain in the ass i bet, i mean joints and all. i remember the brisk little baby steps that you’d do when walking. your hanky covering your forehead against the blinding noon light, i behind you, forced to walk in a relaxed, carefree manner careful not to outpace you while ton rushed ahead of us to the nearest shade and waited only to rush again to the next until we all reached home. you never fail to amuse me pa. you’re one heck of an old man. the smartest, wisest i’ve known. your thirst for knowledge was what i look up to, your love for numbers, general knowledge, literature. you were fond of humming classic bikol songs and declaiming poems as old as your white hair, reciting each line–spanish, english, bicol–word for word as vehemently as a theater artist. damn you knew them by heart. were you as romantic when you were young? your bicol poems, tigsik, were my favorite. you were also an expert on numbers. thing that kol nong, te lhers and dhen fell heir to, to my misfortune and mhie perhaps. you did act as my tutor for a brief week when i was in highschool, too bad i didnt share your fondness for numbers. what i did have is your humor, and ton and lab too, especially kol nong and many others. wish you could tell funny stories again, the ones abruptly paused by your loud hearty laugh. kol nong is fond of doing that too. remember your favorite dolphy show and how it summoned your thunderous belly laugh each thursday nights? that was crazy. that show and the daily news programs were shows you never wanted to miss. it was almost imperative that anyone who happened to be with you pay attention to the news too. you were hard on hearing and would oftentimes ask what the news was about all after the seemingly focused attention you give the TV. usually drew a laugh from us and a cuss from you when no one bothered to catch the news. it was amusing when you’re pissed, cursing out loud. well, you never really got angry as often and as loud as you’d curse. i like that about you. you’re as calm and as gentle as one could ever be, except when cursing. well, it was an expression, i know. i could count with fingers on one hand the number of times you had lost your temper. you always kept your cool and would rather face life in an easy, contented, comic way. almost childish even. showed a lot when you play dama, your favorite past time. i missed playing that game or at least seeing you and ton slugged it out. you really enjoyed playing it, especially each time you won–which was almost always–and then there came the all-time paold belly laugh after each match almost mocking. we also played billiards one time, it surprised me that you could pocket some balls, but then it includes angles and estimation, so why the hell did i wonder. aside from these pastimes, when not pre occupied, you would sleep. you sleep a lot sleepyhead. we used to be bedmates. as consistent as the sun’s setting were your power yawns which were half as loud as your sneeze and had about the same decibels as your belly laugh. then followed by your power snore moments later. equally bizarre were your activities like filing your finger nails with mere gillette, weekly visit to your favorite barber for your otherwise baldy head and the ceremonial application of pomada never a gel. you were also a good whistler, an extremely neat and organized person, you never stuttered, always relaxed, good conversationalist, bad listener–i mean bad on hearing, a one funny old man. not only were you an interesting person, you also possessed the gentlest of heart. never had i met someone with an ever cool temper and one who’s so thoughtful and caring. i saw how concerned you were when kol nong was sick, checking the forehead for temperature, constantly asking how he felt and all. exactly how a worried dad attends to his bunso. you showed and would show the same care and concern to any of us. i just hope you’d feel the same now that you need that same care more than ever. i was stunned when i saw you again, half the weight lost all in a month. as if something ripped your health away. our comic paold, our ever-gentle ever-loving paold. it was a shame we had to move your birthday celebration a day earlier, i mean we’re no Gloria, and your birthday was not a regular holiday or something. but then it made sense, today on your very special day, you could barely talk or recognize us anymore. it hurts rushing you now to the very place you dislike most. much more to see ton place his hand on your chest greeting you a happy birthday, the saddest greeting i’ve ever heard. nothing much i can do, holding your hand i don’t have the strength to utter even a single word. just staring at you and the cold presence of an emergency kit inside this moving vehicle. but the ominous siren is not wailing. perhaps it’s not that serious. i know. i’m fooling myself.
keeping the dream alive
June 11, 2009
“scientist, astronaut, police officer or engineer, what do you want to be when you grow up?”, ”scientist”, said i. the naivety of a child is amusing. i’m sure kids had been asked, at one point, this jaded question. it only shows how we, by culture or norm, are so driven by dreams and aspirations that it’s almost a requisite for kids to have one way before they learn the twinkle-twinkle song. the thing is, what most fail to realize is that dreams is something that is supposed to be pursued. can’t blame kids if no one bothers to explain that the question when answered doesn’t end there, that they need to work on it. of course we figure it out as we grow up. each of us has his dreams, ambitions, goals and desires, what’s interesting is that we were introduced to the concept of dreams and ambitions at so young an age that we have plenty of time–practically a lifetime–before us to achieve it, and achieving it is the hard part. involves tremendous will and determination peppered by challenges and sacrifices before one could live their dreams in the real world. sad how some settle for something less, when dreams stays as dreams and the will to achieve it dies along with their hope of ever realizing it.
i too have been struggling to reach what i want in life. in retrospect, it has been a fair attempt, though what i am now is nothing close to being a scientist, not that i wanted to be one. in any case, let this post serve as a reference as i take yet another shot at pursuing my dreams, and when everything is settled in the future when my dreams turns into reality, i sure am going to pay a visit and perhaps leave a personal comment saying “damn i made it”.
bless the drunks
June 10, 2009
when demon bless the booze and losers take some swigs, damn the greatest of blunder occurs. that which tops the chart for most pathetic. snafus are left in the wake of fools that had too much to drink and can’t take any sense of control over themselves. have they always been under the false assumption that heavy drinking makes license for stupid theatrics which they can always get away with? booze loosens the tongue, where one could say words his sober self could not as much as utter, much more yell while sobbing. pathetic. worse when the tongue turns into sharp uncontrollable butcher knife slashing and hacking anyone with mere offending words. it’s also funny how these bastards amp up their arsenal when drunk. to them alcohol is what spinach is to Popeye, a sudden upgrade on guts, bravery and–the one thing i could never stand–dauntlessness all for show. the kind that would never surface unless aided by toxicity. pathetic coward bastards. when will they ever realize that everything’s an illusion. nothing’s real except the disdain of the inconvenienced. the devil’s playing with their feeble minds. or is it even fair that we drag the devil into whatever fuck ups caused by these drunkards, even it would cry foul. it’s all about the drunkards, their boo boos and nothing else, blaming it to the booze is even lame. if they could only find what little inner strength they have to control this insanity, self destruction and self humiliation. i have nothing against drunks just the nasty unacceptable craps they do under the influence.
cee zees
May 5, 2009
comfort zones, i am amazed by how this concept influences so much a person’s actions and emotions. a mere human perception yet holds undeniable influence, if not control, over one’s life. not a psycho-freak (psychology that is) but i suppose one’s confidence is proportional to the expanse of one’s comfort zone. one’s ability to cope up with the changes surrounding him and the capability to face them head on is one way of expanding these so-called borders. easier said than done i guess. if only comforts zones are as flexible as adjusting the size of a circle in microsoft paint. i have my comfort zones too, and it’s a constant challenge of broadening them each time a new trial is faced, unfamiliar grounds reached or huge changes taking place that needs getting used to. i bet there’s a ton of books, papers, magazines, blogs, references that in one way or another offer tips and ways of addressing jitters brought about by these so-called comfort zones. but come to think of it, if these zones are mere perceptions, and if perceptions are but products of the human mind, why not just forget it as though it does not exist. so no more comfort zones bordering ones’ confidence and ones’ doubts. so there’s no more referencing as to how far a person’s ability could stretch when facing challenges or conquering fears. most importantly, there’s no telling how great one’s potential could be as there is no border, even imaginary, to consider. there’s no limit. of course it not that easy. if the concept of comfort zone is wiped out from the archive of human cognizance, another psychology nut will just step up and say “hey i feel an unexplainable kind of uneasiness today and i dont know what to call it…” and will later come up with another nifty term that is synonymous to comfort zones. comfort zones, although a mere perception, is as real, as tangible and acceptable as the human concept of change and undeniably a part of the daily hustle and bustle of human life.
comfort zones, i am amazed by how this concept influences so much a person’s actions and emotions. a mere human perception yet holds undeniable influence, if not control, over one’s life. not a psycho-freak (psychology that is) but i suppose one’s confidence is proportional to the expanse of one’s comfort zone. one’s ability to cope up with the changes surrounding him and the capability to face them head on is one way of expanding these so-called borders. easier said than done i guess. if only comforts zones are as flexible as adjusting the size of a circle in microsoft paint. i have my comfort zones too, and it’s a constant challenge of broadening them each time a new trial is faced, unfamiliar grounds reached or huge changes taking place that needs getting used to. i bet there’s a ton of books, papers, magazines, blogs, references that in one way or another offer tips and ways of addressing jitters brought about by these so-called comfort zones. but come to think of it, if these zones are mere perceptions, and if perceptions are but products of the human mind, why not just forget it as though it does not exist. so no more comfort zones bordering ones’ confidence and ones’ doubts. so there’s no more referencing as to how far a person’s ability could stretch when facing challenges or conquering fears. most importantly, there’s no telling how great one’s potential could be as there is no border, even imaginary, to consider. there’s no limit. of course it not that easy. if the concept of comfort zone is wiped out from the archive of human cognizance, another psychology nut will just step up and say “hey i feel an unexplainable kind of uneasiness today and i dont know what to call it…” and will later come up with another nifty term that is synonymous to comfort zones. comfort zones, although a mere perception, is as real, as tangible and acceptable as the human concept of change and undeniably a part of the daily hustle and bustle of human life.
like brothers
April 8, 2009
one of the strangest experiences i’ve had was when i spent a week’s off in Bicol. i saw my brother’s notebook laid open on a table. he was taking up law, out of curiosity i picked it up just to see how it compared to college notes. what happened next was, i would say, insane, i couldn’t even remember having been astounded like that before. my brother’s cursive handwriting was eerily identical to mine, i mean they were closely alike i almost believed i wrote it. the strokes, the curves, the slants, damn it was crazy! i even grabbed a pen and copied an entire sentence on another sheet and compared both hand writings. it was just crazy! it was like bumping into a stranger whose face a spitting image of you. it was insane, upon scrutiny i saw some minor differences but damn at first glance they looked exactly the same. i rushed the notebook and the sheet to my brother to share what i discovered. he was surprised but not as stupefied as i was. this is one of the sickest, weirdest, craziest experiences i’ve had. i wonder if i could file forgery.
the beast inside
April 4, 2009
tell you what, there’s a beast in me
i bet you’re not aware of
i’m silent yes i am
gets offended and violated just as most of us
silence does not always mean fine
especially when i’m not my silent self
the kind of silence you’re not used to
when that occurs
step back and cease whatever it is you’re doing
for this beast in me abhors you and what you fucking do
and it takes an enormous fuck up, yours, recurring faults
to piss the beast inside and i won’t feel sorry
we all have beasts in us, but mine is leashed rather tightly
you don’t even know it’s there
yet watch your words, your actions even closely
its straps as thick as patience
stretch the straps too far with your mindless exploitation
i’d free the leash myself
this beast in me, you don’t want pissed
i myself don’t like it either
one time you bumped into it, you stumbled
now you have a clue, when the beast is stirred
and the leash is loose, shut up
your fault i doubt within your grasp
you never seem to learn
dont fucking play the shithead
your every fuck up counted, the beast never forgets
just waiting for the time
for the sweetest retribution
silent sun
March 20, 2009
if life is a universe, i’d be the sun. within my solar system are the entities i care for and love. the rest are nameless heavenly bodies i treat with disregard. a descriptive essay about me says ‘he who walks in serenity and treats the world with nonchalance’ or something like that. i suck when it comes to direct quotation but that was the thought. so true. words and thoughts of those within my glalaxy are the only ones that matter, the rest, i couldn’t care less. half the fun are wasted for minding what others think or have to say. spontaneity. i love that word. follow the dictates of your heart and damn what others say or think. feels good to act and speak and think like the mischievous child, at some point, we all once were. of course you don’t see this part of me, i’m fun and exciting and spontaneous as hell. you’re not part of my system, are you? i’m the silent one to those existing outside my universe. i am a silent sun to you, not a dead star but a silent one whose thoughts and opinions and spontaneity stops right where the silence starts. right where you are. i am a silent sun, surrounded by the entities i love, respect and care for. the rest, i treat with silent disregard.
caution: privacy line, do not cross
January 9, 2010
i watch my own privacy as closely as a secret service securing POTUS (can’t use GMA without understating my point). i take it seriously, guard it as though my life’s on the line, value it more than one might a friendship, and will not allow anyone to cross the huge red line without my consent. doing so inadvertently is acceptable. could shoot one right between the eyes though should s/he utterly violate my highly valued personal privacy. no one messes with it, and nobody should in the first place. privacy owes its very existence to respect. however, respect in this case is just a one long flimsy yellow cordon deployed around one’s privacy telling anyone not to cross. and flimsy as it is, you could expect another person to simply ignore it and cut across, worst when others, with utmost disrespect, ravish one’s much valued privacy more sickening and despicable than a group of thieves wrecking and ransacking one’s own house right in front of its owner. unspoken rule is, never cross the line, respect the yellow cordon, wait until consented before even attempting to lift the damn yellow ribbon that is respect. deliberately doing otherwise is as despicable as grabbing one’s privacy by the collar, shoving it to the ground, stomping all over it and tossing it right into the bin. nobody does it on purpose, it is one of the many things you don’t take for shit, no gross intrusion, no invasion, no breach, nobody disrespects anybody’s privacy as easily as entering the men’s piss room, doing so is just off, below the belt, foul. so never barge into anyone’s privacy ever, as it warrants nothing less than losing another person’s respect, or worse.
i watch my own privacy as closely as a secret service securing POTUS (can’t use GMA without understating my point). i take it seriously, guard it as though my life’s on the line, value it more than one might a friendship, and will not allow anyone to cross the huge red line without my consent. doing so inadvertently is acceptable. could shoot one right between the eyes though should s/he utterly violate my highly valued personal privacy. no one messes with it, and nobody should in the first place. privacy owes its very existence to respect. however, respect in this case is just a one long flimsy yellow cordon deployed around one’s privacy telling anyone not to cross. and flimsy as it is, you could expect another person to simply ignore it and cut across, worst when others, with utmost disrespect, ravish one’s much valued privacy more sickening and despicable than a group of thieves wrecking and ransacking one’s own house right in front of its owner. unspoken rule is, never cross the line, respect the yellow cordon, wait until consented before even attempting to lift the damn yellow ribbon that is respect. deliberately doing otherwise is as despicable as grabbing one’s privacy by the collar, shoving it to the ground, stomping all over it and tossing it right into the bin. nobody does it on purpose, it is one of the many things you don’t take for shit, no gross intrusion, no invasion, no breach, nobody disrespects anybody’s privacy as easily as entering the men’s piss room, doing so is just off, below the belt, foul. so never barge into anyone’s privacy ever, as it warrants nothing less than losing another person’s respect, or worse.
boxed up
January 8, 2010
life is a huge box filled with challenges and surprises, there inside we exist frantically. the key, as they say, is to think outside the box in order to succeed. this line has been said and written many times over but for some reason only a number were able to grasp it fully, exploit it, harness its potentials, take great advantage of it. these people were the ones able to figure out the mystery of the box and undo it. everyone has the ability to crack and defeat the box enclosing him/her. the magic phrase is not giving up. many were able to successfully decipher their own personal box only to find themselves inside another one, a much bigger and more difficult to solve. those who give up and stay contented are left behind while those who persist work their way out and into a new one. Life is a box within another box inside another one and it never ends. It seems like a fact of life, the more box you unravel the tougher, the wiser, the better and the more successful you become. only question is, after clearing all those boxes, are you still the same humane person that you were starting out.
brip na madungis
November 10, 2009
naglalaba nakatanga brip na madungis nakakula nang bukas ay may magamit, sana umabot hanggang makalawa. naglalaba nagiisip nagkukusot nakatanga brip na madungis unti-unting umaayos na, di katulad ng isip na nananatiling may mantsa na sa bawat pagkusot lalo lang lumalala. masakit sa ulo lalo na kung pilit iisipin at sa bawat subok sa pagsisid ng mga sagot ay lalo lamang napapatunayan na sadyang malalim hanggang muntik malunod. tunay na may sagot na hindi lang basta-basta nakukuha at may tanong naman na mas mainam ay tanong na lamang at kung pilit mong aalamin mapipikon ka lang. dahil ibig mang arukin sadyang kusang mailap, ang sagot na hinahanap nakakubli sa mga ulap. tagu-taguan hanggang mahibang sa kakahanap ng sagot sa tanong na tila ba’y walang sagot, at kung meron man t’yak hindi mo malalaman. masmainam pa siguro kung pababayaan na lang at titigilan na ang pagisip at paghanap sa sagot. bumalik na lamang sa labahing pilit na kinukusot na ngayon ay malinis na, habang nakatanga, buti pa labahin ko di na gaya nung una na madungis. di tulad ng isip ko na sadya pa ring tuliro. kinusot piniga binalnawan na at lahat hindi pa rin nagbago ang estadong magulo.brip kong madungis sinampay ngayon malinis na subalit ang iniisip sinampay wala paring pinagiba–tuliro.
two simple questions
October 6, 2009
Have you found joy in life? Has your life brought joy to others? These are the questions one has to answer before being rewarded the afterlife. whether one attains it or not will depend on his/her answer. well, that’s according to the Egyptian beliefs. i came across that idea yesterday in the movie The Bucket List, and those lines were asked by Carter Chambers (M. Freeman) to the reluctant Edward Cole (J. Nicholson) . i was just blown away by the simplicity of the questions, by the entire idea of how one’s life could be judged just by raising those two rather simple questions. not that i believe in the Egyptian belief of afterlife, but if asked by Mr. Egyptian god, i’d quickly say yes to the first question. although for the second one, whether my life brought joy to others, just like Edward Cole, i’d hesitate and would answer “ask them”. perhaps Mr. Egyptian god would reply “i’m asking you”, and the stubborn me would shoot back “your second question is subjective, how would you know i’m telling the truth?”. on second thought, if they had developed some shrewd ancient tools and devised effective techniques for building their pyramids, pyramids that had baffled expert engineers, archeologists and scientists at its perfection for some decades, i’d assume a simple and precise lie detector gadget would be a no brainer. so yes, they might just have something with which to confirm if one lied or not. i’m being silly, i know. but seriously, the second question was a tough one, at least for me. in my life, what might those things be that would have brought joy to others? there must have been a number of them somewhere, i guess. but then, if my life brought joy to others, likewise it may have brought, uhm, i don’t want to use misery, let’s try unhappiness, to others. surely it had. and it was surprising how easy it was to answer the second question if only asked the other way around, “had your life brought unhappiness to others?” if asked that question, i’d answer a quick yes. although i may have done others wrong in the past, i would have easily and sincerely asked for their forgiveness too. of course there’s no way i’d remember each shortcomings and misdeeds i committed, only one thing i’m certain of. i tried as best as i could to always apologize or ask for forgiveness whenever i offended anyone, and for me it was as easy as saying thank you to anyone, without ever losing its sincerity. I’m not sure if i’d be granted the eternal life with this answer. there was this one event i could cite no doubt when my life brought real joy to others. Jan 23, 1984. the first time my parents saw their first-born, and my grandparents their first “apo”. other than that, anything else would have an “i’m not sure” answer. maybe if i look back on the first question, i may just find the answer to the second. joy and happiness enwrapped me whenever i touched another person’s life and knew that i somehow brought joy to them too. it could be anything from selfless act of helping, of sharing, for showing genuine concern, showing love, respect, care, understanding, compassion; uplifting the spirit, providing hope, light, inspiration; simple things like making others smile, or laugh or feel loved, appreciated. those simple things. those were the ones that brought joy to my life, and i guess, in a way, had too brought joy to others. collectively, these little things may just add up to something. something that would have somehow mattered. something that’s probably significant enough to allow me to answer the second question “has your life brought joy to others?” positively.
how about you, have you found joy in life? Has your life brought joy to others?
Have you found joy in life? Has your life brought joy to others? These are the questions one has to answer before being rewarded the afterlife. whether one attains it or not will depend on his/her answer. well, that’s according to the Egyptian beliefs. i came across that idea yesterday in the movie The Bucket List, and those lines were asked by Carter Chambers (M. Freeman) to the reluctant Edward Cole (J. Nicholson) . i was just blown away by the simplicity of the questions, by the entire idea of how one’s life could be judged just by raising those two rather simple questions. not that i believe in the Egyptian belief of afterlife, but if asked by Mr. Egyptian god, i’d quickly say yes to the first question. although for the second one, whether my life brought joy to others, just like Edward Cole, i’d hesitate and would answer “ask them”. perhaps Mr. Egyptian god would reply “i’m asking you”, and the stubborn me would shoot back “your second question is subjective, how would you know i’m telling the truth?”. on second thought, if they had developed some shrewd ancient tools and devised effective techniques for building their pyramids, pyramids that had baffled expert engineers, archeologists and scientists at its perfection for some decades, i’d assume a simple and precise lie detector gadget would be a no brainer. so yes, they might just have something with which to confirm if one lied or not. i’m being silly, i know. but seriously, the second question was a tough one, at least for me. in my life, what might those things be that would have brought joy to others? there must have been a number of them somewhere, i guess. but then, if my life brought joy to others, likewise it may have brought, uhm, i don’t want to use misery, let’s try unhappiness, to others. surely it had. and it was surprising how easy it was to answer the second question if only asked the other way around, “had your life brought unhappiness to others?” if asked that question, i’d answer a quick yes. although i may have done others wrong in the past, i would have easily and sincerely asked for their forgiveness too. of course there’s no way i’d remember each shortcomings and misdeeds i committed, only one thing i’m certain of. i tried as best as i could to always apologize or ask for forgiveness whenever i offended anyone, and for me it was as easy as saying thank you to anyone, without ever losing its sincerity. I’m not sure if i’d be granted the eternal life with this answer. there was this one event i could cite no doubt when my life brought real joy to others. Jan 23, 1984. the first time my parents saw their first-born, and my grandparents their first “apo”. other than that, anything else would have an “i’m not sure” answer. maybe if i look back on the first question, i may just find the answer to the second. joy and happiness enwrapped me whenever i touched another person’s life and knew that i somehow brought joy to them too. it could be anything from selfless act of helping, of sharing, for showing genuine concern, showing love, respect, care, understanding, compassion; uplifting the spirit, providing hope, light, inspiration; simple things like making others smile, or laugh or feel loved, appreciated. those simple things. those were the ones that brought joy to my life, and i guess, in a way, had too brought joy to others. collectively, these little things may just add up to something. something that would have somehow mattered. something that’s probably significant enough to allow me to answer the second question “has your life brought joy to others?” positively.how about you, have you found joy in life? Has your life brought joy to others?
and oh, do you know what’s next after afterlife?
boat ride (a childhood memory)
September 12, 2009
i fondly remember this one vacation at my mom’s humble barrio in Pilar back when i was a kid. the barrio was called Banuyo, then a classic set up of a community where bayanihan was still a common practice. houses were nipa huts built moslty out of bamboo, coco lumber, buri and anahaw leaves. life was simple and easy, there were no TVs or any gadgetries to pass the time, only komiks, chats and folklores. they had no refs, only “dulays”, a jar made out of clay, which kept the water cool. the food were delightful, the freshest you could get, fresh fish, “sugpo”, “gulays”, native chicken, and many more, they all tasted great. no preservatives, very healthy. after every major munching, the only thing i wished they had was something equivalent to a modern bowl, a toilet bowl. yup. and the real story begins here. i had eaten rather too many one morning that my stomach was demanding a quick release. that i told Malol, but was overheard by Paold, funny how young they were then. Malol asked me to wait as someone was still using the “comfort room”–more like a small, roofless enclosure made of woven anahaw. moments later, Paold approached and asked me to follow him, which i did. his one hand carrying a large white plastic container filled with water and the other his “sagwan”, a boat paddle. the latter triggered a sudden burst of excitement in me, an anticipation of yet another joyous boat-ride. as he prepped up the boat, a small one similar to a wooden canoe, i noticed two planks sitting infront of me. i had no idea what those were for. Paold asked me to refrain from moving too much or shifting weight to either side of the boat lest we capsize. young as i was, i quickly understood his instruction. i hadn’t learn how to swim yet then and capsizing, i recognized, was not a good idea. with a single stroke of his paddle, the boat slowly and smoothly eased forward. headed to a place i didn’t know. seating behind, Paold expertly navigated the narrow ways crowded by “bakawans”, mangroves, on each side. i was on the mid-part of the boat, moving as little as possible, just tilting head actually, enjoying the mid-morning view of the sea, the skies and the trees before me. the boat-ride lasted just ten minutes or less and we alighted to a nearby small island filled with mangroves and trees. paold took the water container and the planks with him. he then headed for, i guess, his familiar place and set the planks about a meter away from each other, satisfied at the position, he then put the container near one of the planks. he asked me to stand on one of it while he did the same on the other. then out of the blue he dropped his shorts, to my amusement, and started whistling. i did the same and we shared a moment of silence. and not so pleasant scent. after some minutes the ceremony was finished. he washed his, i washed mine and i looked at him and smiled, well, just my way of thanking him. we brought back the planks with us, the empty container and our empty and relieved selves. the boat-ride back was just as pleasant. after reaching home i quickly joined a gang of kids, mostly cousins and neighbors, that were playing. eased from a burden dispatched on a nearby island, i bet i was able to play better and ate even more after. this has been a childhood memory i never shared or told anyone. my very own quick trip to the shitter with my very own, beloved Paold. i miss you pa and thanks.
paold 2
September 5, 2009
it was like losing a father twice, only way painful the second time.
i and my aunt reached Albay a little over 4am. it was still dark, the air was cool, but nothing compared to the coldness we were feeling inside. the fear of not knowing what to expect was worst. we headed straight to the hospital. i texted my brother for the room number to which he replied moments after. made me assume he was the one attending to Paold that night. that one last night. we found the room after a couple of questions for direction from the nurse’s station. the smell was horrid. i never liked hospitals, it was the scent that made me feel sick. as if diseases and infections were somewhere behind huge two-way doors crouching ready for an ambush. we found the right room, philhealth mixed ward RM 21032. i immediatley saw Malol through the rectangular glass integrated into the door, common to all hospitals, perhaps to keep whatever allergens in without denying one a look from the outside, or the other way around. auntie opened the door and i trailed behind. i had not seen Paold since my last visit two months before, and i could only guess what he looked like a couple of months later. i greeted Malol, my other aunt and my cousin, i was surprised my brother was not there. then there was Paold, nothing prepared me for what i saw. a man who might as easily had been a stranger, on a hospital bed with the lower half of his body covered with printed blanket. either i did not recognize him or my eyes denied what it was seeing. he was nothing close to the Paold i knew and grew up with. pronounced chin, dry dark-grayish lips, sunken cheeks, high cheek bones, skin seemingly stretched to the forehead devoid of any skin folds. whatever body fats he’d had were gone, the whole of him reduced to skin supported by internal frame with little in a way of flesh. the momentary breathing, emphasized by the regular rising and falling of his chest, was the only indication of life. or what was left of it. his breathing was aided by a four-foot oxygen tank next to the bed, and his body was sustained by whatever nutrients pumped from a dextrose straight into his left arm, veins in particular. a couple of tubes led to two catheter bags, one for urine, the other, i would learn later, for liquid discharges from his operation wounds. i could only imagine the pains he’d gone through, operations and all, before reaching the state he was in. he was asleep. more technically, in stupor–a level of consciousness just short of coma. i had rather thought he was asleep. auntie greeted Paold, like anyone would a father one had not seen for a long time. only more fervent. she lowered her head to Paold’s left ear and whispered, rather loudly, “Papa si Bhie ini, kaiba ko si Kuya,” and started caressing Paold’s forehead, his cheeks, his lips. the surpise her face registered was nothing different to mine. it was stunning. the paold i was seeing before me was something my mind refused to accept as real . but for auntie, with every loving stroke her hand made, came some sort of acceptance. just about the only thing we could do at that moment against the number of things that we, with finality, could not for Paold. i came near Paold, placed my left hand over his chest, bony chest, and like auntie, spoke close to Paold’s ear. “si Kuy ini Pa. mauli na kita?” a sad rhetoric. the sight of him was itself pounding, almost too much to bear that i’d rather see him go. one thing that was bound to happen, only too soon. a little too soon than what i was prepared for. after giving Paold a dry bath, swabbing and wiping him with a damp towel, auntie fell asleep on the bed adjacent to Paold’s. apparently due to exhaustion from the long travel. i, with no place to rest my similarly tired body on, went home–the first time with mood in gloom. i reached home rather too early that it took me quite a number of loud knocks and calls before the door opened courtesy of my younger brother obviously disturbed from his sleep. i headed straight to the kitchen, set my own breakfast and ate, all by myself. i went upstairs after, greeted my mom good morning, changed clothes and joined my brother to sleep. i woke up in the afternoon realizing it had been a long eight-hour sleep, just enough for my personal task for the night. my last personal task for Paold. i took my late lunch and immediately prepared to return to the hospital. the corridor was a maze, poorly thought off for a place where time and life was of the essence. i reached Paold’s room taking a route different than what we took earlier. the room was filled with close relatives–Malol, my brother, my cousins, my uncle, auntie was still there, some more aunties and my sister. the room was filled with chats and small talks until dusk where most of them bade Paold, unbeknownst to us all, their last farewell. the last easy goodbyes which woul be ensued later on by similar melancholic ones. my other auntie, my uncle and i stayed for the rest of the night. we spent most to the night catching up with what each had been doing over the years. exchanging stories while attending to Paold or sometimes just sitting, left with our own thoughts to ourselves. we ate dinner at the hospital, something i surprisingly adapted quickly enough. i ate pancit and puto early that morning joining Malol before i left for home. nurses would regularly barge into the room, taking Paold’s temps, checking if the drips were right, getting his BP, sometimes switching his dextrose with a smaller one, antibacterial, and would switch back to dextrose once empty. they’d also inject anti-bacterial solution into his left arm through a narrow tube branching off the main tube of his dextrose. during all these, i never saw Paold react, not even a flinch. an hour past midnight, a prescription was handed over by a nurse to my aunt, which my aunt endorsed to me right after i came back from texting outside. signal was almost nil that you had to walk a good twenty or thirty meters outside just to send a single text. i rushed to the nearest pharmacy, which was about two blocks away, and purchased the prescription. i headed back to the hospital 25 mins after and endorsed the meds to the nurses’ station. i had to sign a form too proof of what meds where checked in at what time. moments later another nurse asked me to report to the nurses’ station, which i did, and spoke to what seemed like a chief nurse or someone superior, advising me to return one of the prescriptions–an anti-bacterial vial–in exchange of, what she explained, a more essential prescription. she clarified that what i purchased, although correct was less important than the one she recently prescribed. off i went, back to the pharmacy with the new prescription, the previous prescription, the vial to be returned, a wallet and 200php change from the initial purchase. i was expecting that the price of the new prescription was close, if not slightly higher, to the first anti-bacterial med. the pharmacist announced the price of the new prescription, it was three times the price of the initial purchase, 820php and I was over 400php short. i had to take a jeep to Legazpi to withdraw and return to the pharmacy, purchase the replacement and went back to the hospital which took me over an hour. after submitting the new medicine to the nurses’ station i returned to Paold’s room. we took a nap, it was uncle’s turn to watch Paold. nothing notable happened, just the oxygen running out and the nurse had to change it. morning broke and a doctor came in and greeted Paold with some odd enthusiasm. she was asking Paold how he was, there was no response, she knocked rather hardly on Paold’s chest, one which would surely warrant a wince had it been another person, still no response. she asked me what the family had decided over an emergency dialysis for Paold. i told her there won’t be any more dialysis, it had been decided by the family after a failed attempt at Paold’s dialysis two days before. his veins, they said collapsed and the insertion of dialysis needles were no longer possible, they proposed that a new entry point be made through a major vein in his neck. after all Paold had gone through, the family decided that that was just too much, he’d suffered enough and we just couldn’t allow any more pains. the family went for conservative medication–the saddest of medical terms i had learned. the doctor then asked that one of us write and sign a letter stating that we refused the dialysis despite the doctor’s advice. i texted my mom to come over explaining that the doctor demanded that one of us immediately sign the letter. i got a reply that she was headed to the market and wouldn’t make it until over an hour. that was the weakest alibi i had received. i decided to write the letter and affix my signature. i knew, and my mother knew, that that was as good as signing Paold’s death certificate. my mom also asked that i request for “pahulyo” or the last sacrament for Paold. after signing the waiver, requesting for the last sacrament was just too much for me. it seemed like the end for all of it, the final act of surrender. the acceptance of defeat. and it really hurt having to do all of it all by myself, as if serving Charon for Paold. i was able to request for the last sacrament with the help of a nurse. they too were saddened, first when i signed the waiver, more so when i requested for the last sacrament. all of it happening one grief-stricken Sunday morning, the saddest day of my life. amidst the sadness, i received a text message from my brother reminding me to bring Paold’s ID for discounts on whatever prescriptions we ought to purchase. i mentioned the prescription i bought over the night that was worth over a thousand. my brother, a nurse, replied frantically asking what the meds was for and why it cost too much. i had no idea, i told him, and forwarded the medicine prescribed. at once my brother rushed to the hospital warning me not to purchase any prescription until he arrived. thirty minutes and two more prescriptions later he entered the room, asked for the prescriptions right away and indignantly informed me that the initial prescription was wrong, thus the request for a swap and not because the new prescription was more essential than the first one. the nurse simply made a mistake of prescribing an entirely different medicine than what she was supposed to. my brother was as surprised at the price of the recent prescription and elected to visit the pharmacy where i purchased the item from. he learned that what i was given was a branded one, not the generic. he rushed back to the hospital, asked the nurse for the medicine, explaining he’ll return it, without much in a way of conversation. i had to admit then how matured and decisive my younger brother had become. he returned to the pharmacy, requested for a return and in a very polite manner pointed out how important the medicine was to us and the number of generic meds we could have purchased for the same amount. we got a full refund, my brother, my renewed respect. i was aware of the sacrifices my brother took for Paold, he and three of my cousins–two both nursing studes–were the ones looking after paold, doing almost everything a nurse should for him, with added care and affection of course, that even the hospital nurses had nothing much left to do, except when they were not around. i also saw the respect that the other hospital nurses regarded my brother. he decided to purchase the generic meds by himself, asked me to go home and take some rest and that he’d take it from there. i was just proud of him. i came home, ate my lunch, fell asleep and woke up half-past three in the afternoon, decided to take a shower moments after. in the bathroom, a sudden attack of sorrow dawned on me, with the sprinkle of the water from the shower came an invitation to weep. to cry. as a stream of tears would definitely camouflage itself among the seemingly similar liquid state of water. a perfect excuse. cover. but i did not. i had to pull myself together, towel-dry myself, gather some strength and head out. darting towards the stairs i saw my youngest brother holding mom by the arm. she was crying. a suspended needle suddenly pierced my heart. i asked my brother “wara na si Pa?”, a nod.
i and my aunt reached Albay a little over 4am. it was still dark, the air was cool, but nothing compared to the coldness we were feeling inside. the fear of not knowing what to expect was worst. we headed straight to the hospital. i texted my brother for the room number to which he replied moments after. made me assume he was the one attending to Paold that night. that one last night. we found the room after a couple of questions for direction from the nurse’s station. the smell was horrid. i never liked hospitals, it was the scent that made me feel sick. as if diseases and infections were somewhere behind huge two-way doors crouching ready for an ambush. we found the right room, philhealth mixed ward RM 21032. i immediatley saw Malol through the rectangular glass integrated into the door, common to all hospitals, perhaps to keep whatever allergens in without denying one a look from the outside, or the other way around. auntie opened the door and i trailed behind. i had not seen Paold since my last visit two months before, and i could only guess what he looked like a couple of months later. i greeted Malol, my other aunt and my cousin, i was surprised my brother was not there. then there was Paold, nothing prepared me for what i saw. a man who might as easily had been a stranger, on a hospital bed with the lower half of his body covered with printed blanket. either i did not recognize him or my eyes denied what it was seeing. he was nothing close to the Paold i knew and grew up with. pronounced chin, dry dark-grayish lips, sunken cheeks, high cheek bones, skin seemingly stretched to the forehead devoid of any skin folds. whatever body fats he’d had were gone, the whole of him reduced to skin supported by internal frame with little in a way of flesh. the momentary breathing, emphasized by the regular rising and falling of his chest, was the only indication of life. or what was left of it. his breathing was aided by a four-foot oxygen tank next to the bed, and his body was sustained by whatever nutrients pumped from a dextrose straight into his left arm, veins in particular. a couple of tubes led to two catheter bags, one for urine, the other, i would learn later, for liquid discharges from his operation wounds. i could only imagine the pains he’d gone through, operations and all, before reaching the state he was in. he was asleep. more technically, in stupor–a level of consciousness just short of coma. i had rather thought he was asleep. auntie greeted Paold, like anyone would a father one had not seen for a long time. only more fervent. she lowered her head to Paold’s left ear and whispered, rather loudly, “Papa si Bhie ini, kaiba ko si Kuya,” and started caressing Paold’s forehead, his cheeks, his lips. the surpise her face registered was nothing different to mine. it was stunning. the paold i was seeing before me was something my mind refused to accept as real . but for auntie, with every loving stroke her hand made, came some sort of acceptance. just about the only thing we could do at that moment against the number of things that we, with finality, could not for Paold. i came near Paold, placed my left hand over his chest, bony chest, and like auntie, spoke close to Paold’s ear. “si Kuy ini Pa. mauli na kita?” a sad rhetoric. the sight of him was itself pounding, almost too much to bear that i’d rather see him go. one thing that was bound to happen, only too soon. a little too soon than what i was prepared for. after giving Paold a dry bath, swabbing and wiping him with a damp towel, auntie fell asleep on the bed adjacent to Paold’s. apparently due to exhaustion from the long travel. i, with no place to rest my similarly tired body on, went home–the first time with mood in gloom. i reached home rather too early that it took me quite a number of loud knocks and calls before the door opened courtesy of my younger brother obviously disturbed from his sleep. i headed straight to the kitchen, set my own breakfast and ate, all by myself. i went upstairs after, greeted my mom good morning, changed clothes and joined my brother to sleep. i woke up in the afternoon realizing it had been a long eight-hour sleep, just enough for my personal task for the night. my last personal task for Paold. i took my late lunch and immediately prepared to return to the hospital. the corridor was a maze, poorly thought off for a place where time and life was of the essence. i reached Paold’s room taking a route different than what we took earlier. the room was filled with close relatives–Malol, my brother, my cousins, my uncle, auntie was still there, some more aunties and my sister. the room was filled with chats and small talks until dusk where most of them bade Paold, unbeknownst to us all, their last farewell. the last easy goodbyes which woul be ensued later on by similar melancholic ones. my other auntie, my uncle and i stayed for the rest of the night. we spent most to the night catching up with what each had been doing over the years. exchanging stories while attending to Paold or sometimes just sitting, left with our own thoughts to ourselves. we ate dinner at the hospital, something i surprisingly adapted quickly enough. i ate pancit and puto early that morning joining Malol before i left for home. nurses would regularly barge into the room, taking Paold’s temps, checking if the drips were right, getting his BP, sometimes switching his dextrose with a smaller one, antibacterial, and would switch back to dextrose once empty. they’d also inject anti-bacterial solution into his left arm through a narrow tube branching off the main tube of his dextrose. during all these, i never saw Paold react, not even a flinch. an hour past midnight, a prescription was handed over by a nurse to my aunt, which my aunt endorsed to me right after i came back from texting outside. signal was almost nil that you had to walk a good twenty or thirty meters outside just to send a single text. i rushed to the nearest pharmacy, which was about two blocks away, and purchased the prescription. i headed back to the hospital 25 mins after and endorsed the meds to the nurses’ station. i had to sign a form too proof of what meds where checked in at what time. moments later another nurse asked me to report to the nurses’ station, which i did, and spoke to what seemed like a chief nurse or someone superior, advising me to return one of the prescriptions–an anti-bacterial vial–in exchange of, what she explained, a more essential prescription. she clarified that what i purchased, although correct was less important than the one she recently prescribed. off i went, back to the pharmacy with the new prescription, the previous prescription, the vial to be returned, a wallet and 200php change from the initial purchase. i was expecting that the price of the new prescription was close, if not slightly higher, to the first anti-bacterial med. the pharmacist announced the price of the new prescription, it was three times the price of the initial purchase, 820php and I was over 400php short. i had to take a jeep to Legazpi to withdraw and return to the pharmacy, purchase the replacement and went back to the hospital which took me over an hour. after submitting the new medicine to the nurses’ station i returned to Paold’s room. we took a nap, it was uncle’s turn to watch Paold. nothing notable happened, just the oxygen running out and the nurse had to change it. morning broke and a doctor came in and greeted Paold with some odd enthusiasm. she was asking Paold how he was, there was no response, she knocked rather hardly on Paold’s chest, one which would surely warrant a wince had it been another person, still no response. she asked me what the family had decided over an emergency dialysis for Paold. i told her there won’t be any more dialysis, it had been decided by the family after a failed attempt at Paold’s dialysis two days before. his veins, they said collapsed and the insertion of dialysis needles were no longer possible, they proposed that a new entry point be made through a major vein in his neck. after all Paold had gone through, the family decided that that was just too much, he’d suffered enough and we just couldn’t allow any more pains. the family went for conservative medication–the saddest of medical terms i had learned. the doctor then asked that one of us write and sign a letter stating that we refused the dialysis despite the doctor’s advice. i texted my mom to come over explaining that the doctor demanded that one of us immediately sign the letter. i got a reply that she was headed to the market and wouldn’t make it until over an hour. that was the weakest alibi i had received. i decided to write the letter and affix my signature. i knew, and my mother knew, that that was as good as signing Paold’s death certificate. my mom also asked that i request for “pahulyo” or the last sacrament for Paold. after signing the waiver, requesting for the last sacrament was just too much for me. it seemed like the end for all of it, the final act of surrender. the acceptance of defeat. and it really hurt having to do all of it all by myself, as if serving Charon for Paold. i was able to request for the last sacrament with the help of a nurse. they too were saddened, first when i signed the waiver, more so when i requested for the last sacrament. all of it happening one grief-stricken Sunday morning, the saddest day of my life. amidst the sadness, i received a text message from my brother reminding me to bring Paold’s ID for discounts on whatever prescriptions we ought to purchase. i mentioned the prescription i bought over the night that was worth over a thousand. my brother, a nurse, replied frantically asking what the meds was for and why it cost too much. i had no idea, i told him, and forwarded the medicine prescribed. at once my brother rushed to the hospital warning me not to purchase any prescription until he arrived. thirty minutes and two more prescriptions later he entered the room, asked for the prescriptions right away and indignantly informed me that the initial prescription was wrong, thus the request for a swap and not because the new prescription was more essential than the first one. the nurse simply made a mistake of prescribing an entirely different medicine than what she was supposed to. my brother was as surprised at the price of the recent prescription and elected to visit the pharmacy where i purchased the item from. he learned that what i was given was a branded one, not the generic. he rushed back to the hospital, asked the nurse for the medicine, explaining he’ll return it, without much in a way of conversation. i had to admit then how matured and decisive my younger brother had become. he returned to the pharmacy, requested for a return and in a very polite manner pointed out how important the medicine was to us and the number of generic meds we could have purchased for the same amount. we got a full refund, my brother, my renewed respect. i was aware of the sacrifices my brother took for Paold, he and three of my cousins–two both nursing studes–were the ones looking after paold, doing almost everything a nurse should for him, with added care and affection of course, that even the hospital nurses had nothing much left to do, except when they were not around. i also saw the respect that the other hospital nurses regarded my brother. he decided to purchase the generic meds by himself, asked me to go home and take some rest and that he’d take it from there. i was just proud of him. i came home, ate my lunch, fell asleep and woke up half-past three in the afternoon, decided to take a shower moments after. in the bathroom, a sudden attack of sorrow dawned on me, with the sprinkle of the water from the shower came an invitation to weep. to cry. as a stream of tears would definitely camouflage itself among the seemingly similar liquid state of water. a perfect excuse. cover. but i did not. i had to pull myself together, towel-dry myself, gather some strength and head out. darting towards the stairs i saw my youngest brother holding mom by the arm. she was crying. a suspended needle suddenly pierced my heart. i asked my brother “wara na si Pa?”, a nod.
beast and wild bloom
August 8, 2009
i traversed the woods of life and there found i a blossom wild. all kinds arrayed yet one outstood to which a rogue beast like i was lured. what spell this bloom to me hath cast and what charm and magic it posessed. the beast that i was couldn’t grasp its warmth and tender infuence.
cops vs. cops
July 30, 2009
i was about to cross a street yesterday morning when i witnessed an exchange of words between two cops. it was an encounter i should say synonymous to phenomenon, rarely would you see a traffic police reprimanding a fellow police for violating a simple traffic rule. it was amusing that the attention some fellow pedestrians gave was one reserved for witnessing once in a lifetime occurrence. the “traffic officer” (both were cops but just to set one from the other) was in white gala long sleeves and brown pants which was a common police uniform and the other one was donning a blue long sleeved shirt with bold prints pronouncing his being cop, this paired with pants of the same color. the violation was a simple walking outside the designated traffic fense, fenses which in some areas clearly delineate, arrowed instructions included, areas where homo sapiens ought to stay. the officer would have just let it slide had the offender been a civilian. with terse reminder or even curt advice, he would surely have just easily let it pass. but not with this fellow cocky police, definitely one of the things that set the officer off too. it was obvious that the offender hadn’t seen it coming, he was surprised his fellow cop didn’t recognize the impunity that came with the uniform, one of the damn illusions some abusive cops had. the officer quickly called the attention of the offender, not employing his dangling whistle but a one similarly effective and rather rude psssst (whatever the hell the english term for it). condescendingly, he pointed out the other one’s violation, perhaps with pinch of satisfaction, emphasizing the offender’s being ignorant of simple traffic rules that even civilians, fingers pointed to us, were obeying. that was one hell of a virtual slap in the face. a cop reprimanding a fellow cop like a kid chastised for playing outside the yard, all in front of mix amused and surprised pedestrians. not every day you’d see such scene. the mere fact that the crowd, including me, were astounded was itself disturbing. meaning, what happened, unusual as it may seem, was but proper. cops ought to uphold the law and ensure that no one was above it, not even fellow cops. on the other hand, people in uniform were supposed to follow state laws, decrees, regulations including rules as negligible, and to some, insignificant as traffic rules. and i was referring to all people in uniforms including MMDA personnel who were so used to riding with their badges or rather sashes, funny ones, for fair exemption. now, if only the system worked that way where cops sought after the welfare of citizens making sure laws were observed and reprimanding anyone violating it regardless of status, of worn uniform or of position held. ever seen a traffic officer reproaching a congressman, a legislator who’s writing and enacting laws, for a simple traffic violation? hell of a scene it would surely create.
random thoughts
May 7, 2010
why are you putting your hands inside your pocket? people doing that are those who are busy doing nothing. Uhm, i’d rather keep my hands inside. you dont wanna see a couple of middle fingers stickn out, do you?
going to the office passing by edsa taft, i noticed a huge billboard ad of Binoy with a tag line, “bago mag aksyon, magproteksyon”. it rests atop the sogo hotel flanked by two fastfood chains chowking and mcdo. i easily found the ad terrible. i mean, who the hell needs a condom when eating.
i and tin were eating pasta and chicken when i realized that the word chicken-breast is a misnomer. been eating chicken all my life but i have never seen any chicken nipples before. haven’t caught a mama hen breast feed either. chicken chest is perhaps the more correct term, but i think it applies to papa roosters only. damn.
peacock is also a misnomer, no part of its body resembles a pea, more so a cock.
we watched ironman 2 last sat. tin noticed some flaws in the movie, in the race track scene ivan vanko was rammed against the wall repeatedly by stark’s chauffer but he survived without even breaking a bone. ironman’s armored knuckle failed to crush Ivan’s face either after some blows.
tin finds ironman’s circular chestbeam cooler than the triangular one. i would have to agree. throw in a red cape and he looks just like another superhero in a full body armor. not that superman needs an armor. this brings me back to my childhood superman curious question. is the man of steel even circumcised? well, kryptonite blades i guess.
change
April 6, 2010 i’ve never been a fan of change. huge drastic unexpected change especially. i’m more of a comfort-zone person who takes refuge in the comforts of my own familiar grounds. sudden change pisses me off. whether it’s a change for the better, or the other way. it’s just annoying. during my annual appraisal i got a 4 and 5 on everything, except adaptability. i faired 3 which is average. see, if someone were to toss me into the surging sea of change, i’d likely drown. except, perhaps, if given time to put a life vest on, if you get my drift. just like the next person, i would buy time before braving through whatever change is bound to come my way. it’s comforting to know that you’re prepared mentally and emotionally, even physically, right before tackling a huge change head on. i know it’s not always the case, it comes more like a shock and awe most of the time and damn if one could ever prepare for that. not just once, change has caught me with my pants down, grabbed me just when i least expect it. it’s inevitable and i can’t help it. hell, no one seems can. it turns mediocre people into exceptional and drills good people down the ground just as well–along with their inability to adapt or cope with change. change is either a friend or a foe, i dont welcome it with open arms. but hey, who says one has to embrace it or like it or get used to it? just like everyone else, there’s pretty much nothing i can do about it but to accept it and get the most out of it. how i managed to get by having this outlook in life is interesting. sudden change sucks and i do bitch about it a little but damn i give it my all afterwards. just remember, change could be a pain sometimes and it’s ok to grumble a bit, just dont forget to give it your best, you might just end up liking it, who knows.
FB post
March 12, 2010
hirap siguro maging sandwich. madalas may sagabal na palaman. sabagay mas mahirap maging burger, mas makapal kasi ang hadlang. pero ok na rin yun, kesa open-face sandwich, ala talagang kapartner.—————————————shit happens all the time. i say raise a finger! nope, not the middle, try the index. aim it at your goal and work your ass off no matter how deep the shit may seem. it’s all bout mindset and goal reaching. on second thought, mid-finger helps too, but not much.—————————————tindi rin ng mga magbu-buko noh. sang katok lang alam kung may laman sang buko o wala.—————————————trust me, it’s worth diving deep into the dark cold waters just to see one lovely clam freely open its shell.—————————————kapag hindi makasagot ng straight, hindi ibig sabihin nun may tinatago. minsan kc walang shortcut, kelangan kumaliwa’t kanan muna bago tumbukin yung daan. lulusot pa.—————————————feeling good about one’s self is always a delight. way better if one knows how to make others feel the same way.—————————————kapag ang panget ba at maganda umutot ng sabay, kaninong amoy mas maaapreciate mo?—————————————mahirap talagang magsalita nang tapos. kung walang simula. incomplete sentence eh.—————————————pagdumaan, wag mong lingunin. pagngumiti, tango ka lng. pagkinausap ka, steady lang mga sagot. higit sa lahat pagnapatingin sayo, wag mong titigan. baka mausog.—————————————don’t you damn crack under pressure. be a century egg. be an itlog maalat. tandaan mo hindi lahat ng itlog basta-basta nababate.—————————————why bother making your point when it’s through silence you leave a mark.
FB posts
February 25, 2010
lamo, malupit rin yung taong tahimik. una, hindi mo malaman kung ano iniisip. pangalawa, di mo mawari kung nkapag-mumug na o hindi.——————————————when it comes to sincerity, like in any good song, you’ve to hit the right notes to sound pleasant. bottom line is, always mean what you say.——————————————sa buhay, normal lng madulas paminsan-minsan. pero pag ikaw ay nadulas, sabay gumulong, di na ata normal yun. basta importante tumayo ka ng may ngiti sa mukha. at natatawang kasama sa likod =)) lupet anawangin trip!!——————————————heavy drinking and star-gazing is not a good idea, not when you lack any form of sleep. you’ll never know when and how the drinking session ended. not without asking. it all happens in a s-NAP.——————————————may mga tao talagang ibang klase rin mga hirit noh. parang kabayong lasing na nagwawala. di mo masakyan.——————————————ba’t maalat ang dagat? sabi raw luha dala ng lungkot ng mga manlalayag. kalokohan. huling pagkaalam ko ang disyerto lasang buhangin pa rin. unan ko ganun din.
petiks syndrome
January 16, 2010
it’s a fact, you can’t help but appreciate the things you frantically do and usually whine about especially when you’re desperately alone and left with absolutely nothing else to do.
silly self
January 14, 2010
got reaquainted with my old self earlier, “what the heck happened?!” he blurted out.
waking up to reality
January 13, 2010
we’re used to waking up simply by easing our eyes open. but you know what, sometimes a nice wallop in the face will help, not just to wake us up but to shoot us straight back to reality, in a shocking heartbeat.
not a fairytale love story
January 10, 2010
two years short of a decade, it had been an ideal romance. one that started out one unforgettable afternoon, before a huge flashing curtain, among the faceless crowd where the boy took the courage to say what his heart had been longing for and got a pleasant response from the girl he promised not to hurt, ever. eight years later, the boy for the most part, if not throughout, stayed true to his promise. he could never stand causing his girl even the slightest hurt or pain or ache. on the other hand, the girl loved him so much, so intense the boy never knew such deep a love could exist. they were so in love, each the reason for the other’s smile, and laughter. but theirs was a love that was not perfect. and fate had its cruel ways of bringing menace to any relationship. parting, a vicious and unforgiving saboteur even to love as strong and stable as theirs. and so it happened, the girl had to leave for a while. its effects could be troubling, the boy knew this and so acted on it. several months passed, the boy mindfully refused to accept he was missing the girl. he thought it would bring nothing but misery and solitude and hurting. he was wrong. that was the dumbest thing he did, the greatest mistake he made, the foolest action, or inaction, he ever took. but he was back to his senses, that after giving loneliness a shot. he gave in to the curse that befell their relationship, acknowledged the reality that he was missing her, all along. after all the holding back, restraining and denial he admitted finally that he terribly missed her, yet what happened next surprised him. he felt no solitude, no forlornness, not even hurting. all he found was, well, love. love that had always been there since that one afternoon before a huge flashing curtain, among the faceless crowd. love that made him feel special and had brought nothing but joy and happiness in his life.this is not a fairytale love story, but i’m pretty sure the boy and the girl will live happily ever after as soon as they’re back in each other’s waiting arms. i love you tin. damn i miss you so much. here waiting…
two years short of a decade, it had been an ideal romance. one that started out one unforgettable afternoon, before a huge flashing curtain, among the faceless crowd where the boy took the courage to say what his heart had been longing for and got a pleasant response from the girl he promised not to hurt, ever. eight years later, the boy for the most part, if not throughout, stayed true to his promise. he could never stand causing his girl even the slightest hurt or pain or ache. on the other hand, the girl loved him so much, so intense the boy never knew such deep a love could exist. they were so in love, each the reason for the other’s smile, and laughter. but theirs was a love that was not perfect. and fate had its cruel ways of bringing menace to any relationship. parting, a vicious and unforgiving saboteur even to love as strong and stable as theirs. and so it happened, the girl had to leave for a while. its effects could be troubling, the boy knew this and so acted on it. several months passed, the boy mindfully refused to accept he was missing the girl. he thought it would bring nothing but misery and solitude and hurting. he was wrong. that was the dumbest thing he did, the greatest mistake he made, the foolest action, or inaction, he ever took. but he was back to his senses, that after giving loneliness a shot. he gave in to the curse that befell their relationship, acknowledged the reality that he was missing her, all along. after all the holding back, restraining and denial he admitted finally that he terribly missed her, yet what happened next surprised him. he felt no solitude, no forlornness, not even hurting. all he found was, well, love. love that had always been there since that one afternoon before a huge flashing curtain, among the faceless crowd. love that made him feel special and had brought nothing but joy and happiness in his life.this is not a fairytale love story, but i’m pretty sure the boy and the girl will live happily ever after as soon as they’re back in each other’s waiting arms. i love you tin. damn i miss you so much. here waiting…
the incorrigibles
November 5, 2008
incorrigible are the people who are so rooted and have grown accustomed to their loathsome behaviors that even the concept of change do not apply to them. they attract despise like a magnet, wear their detestable manners like an old pair of jeans and are so comfortable with it that it lulls them to sleep. yes their abhorrent attitudes may mellow down a bit or grow less and less repugnant in time, but believe me if they could get away with it and if no one is there to remind them how greatly they have improved, from worst to just worse, they’ll be back to their own obnoxious self at the first instance. if it’s what rehabilitation is to addiction, repentance to the sinners, and reformation to those driven to change for the better, to an incorrigible person, it’s simply non-existent. there’s always hope to anyone who wants to change, except of course to incorrigibles, that’s why they are called incorrigibles and there’s pretty much nothing anyone can do about it except perhaps to show a huge amount of tolerance towards these people or a huge amount of odiousness whichever suits you.
genuine acts of kindness
always share whole-heartedly, or do not share at all. never think of how one could repay your kindness when helping or forget the whole thing. genuine acts of giving and of kindness are almost always carried out in a heartbeat, no reluctance, no apprehensions, just sheer will to reach out and help. only the ones who openly help and unconditionally give experience a different kind of happiness, of pride, of self-worth. a heartwarming experience that shuns people who hesitantly help or conditionally share, they are nothing but syndicators capitalizing on whatever help they could give while anticipating the gains and their takings out of it. what a shame to the real spirit of helping and sharing. to help is to do so without expecting anything in return, other than that is a false act of kindness that demands a payback, sometimes with interest.
taciturn
October 21, 2008
what’s with taciturn? perhaps you’re wondering why of all the catchy or cool or unique blog names one could ever come up with i chose taciturn. i got it from an activity i and some of my colleagues participated in from my previous company. it’s called back stabbing. eerie. but it’s actually cool, all of us scotch taped a sheet of paper on our backs and the idea is to write comments or impressions or whatever it is you want on each other’s back until all are able to write on each one’s paper. it’s fun ’cause you could write anything, from first impressions to criticisms to confessions of love, anything and it’s exciting because everyone could hardly trace who wrote which and who stabbed who. and when all are done you get to read what’s written, what other thinks of you. i got all sorts of comments but what baffled me is this one comment that writes “taciturn”, not because i find it hard to accept that one sees me as that but because i simply dont know the meaning of the damn word hehehe!
for those few who are as perplexed as i was with the word, it’s an adjective which means habitually untalkative. it’s a perfect definition of me, at least to those who dont know me so well. i’m a silent person, one who would choose to listen than to talk, an observer of character and personality. i believe all of us has his or her own defensive wall, a facade we readily flaunt for others to see. a front of traits and features, a projection of what we want others to see and perceive of us. first impressions will stay impressions unless you peek through these facades or breach the walls to see the genuine person hiding behind. one who’s real, without pretentions.
mostly, the more a person talks–particularly one who is eager to open up and readily share their life’s book–the easier it is to undo his facade and break the walls he put up. uninterestingly, however, after all the unraveling, sometimes you find nothing but an empty shell.
personally, i find someone who listens more than she talks more appealing. oftentimes, beneath one’s silence is an enigma waiting to surprise you. these people are the ones that impress me more, the ones that i would choose to talk with for long hours, at the end of the day, after all the talks and conversations, usually they are the ones that make the deeper sense.
taciturn, that’s my facade, my defensive wall and using a reserved and silent person as a basis, a more fortified wall to breach. so if you find me a silent, taciturn person, you are just but acquainted with the person i want you and all others to see. a front, superficial. if you stay and have the yearning to uncover the enigma that is me. if at all you succeed and see the real me dont be surprised if you find…an empty shell. gotcha! semi-truth, semi-bullsh*t he3!
for those few who are as perplexed as i was with the word, it’s an adjective which means habitually untalkative. it’s a perfect definition of me, at least to those who dont know me so well. i’m a silent person, one who would choose to listen than to talk, an observer of character and personality. i believe all of us has his or her own defensive wall, a facade we readily flaunt for others to see. a front of traits and features, a projection of what we want others to see and perceive of us. first impressions will stay impressions unless you peek through these facades or breach the walls to see the genuine person hiding behind. one who’s real, without pretentions.
mostly, the more a person talks–particularly one who is eager to open up and readily share their life’s book–the easier it is to undo his facade and break the walls he put up. uninterestingly, however, after all the unraveling, sometimes you find nothing but an empty shell.
personally, i find someone who listens more than she talks more appealing. oftentimes, beneath one’s silence is an enigma waiting to surprise you. these people are the ones that impress me more, the ones that i would choose to talk with for long hours, at the end of the day, after all the talks and conversations, usually they are the ones that make the deeper sense.
taciturn, that’s my facade, my defensive wall and using a reserved and silent person as a basis, a more fortified wall to breach. so if you find me a silent, taciturn person, you are just but acquainted with the person i want you and all others to see. a front, superficial. if you stay and have the yearning to uncover the enigma that is me. if at all you succeed and see the real me dont be surprised if you find…an empty shell. gotcha! semi-truth, semi-bullsh*t he3!
bus ride
i was on a bus reading a Diehl’s riding my way home when you stepped in, intruded on my solitude and sat next to me.
you–barrel chested, pot-bellied, dark mustachioed guy, looking through droopy eyes on a blue shirt two sizes too small–made us a snug fit into that two seater, but i’m cool man. until you started dozing off and your heavy shoulder picking up weight as your body slowly leaning dangerously towards me threatening to crush me without you even knowing.
and i jerked, and you tensed stunned by the sudden movement, looked around to find me semi-squashed. and you adjusted your seat almost apologetically but i’m cool man.
until you started doping off again and your huge body closing in, damn i swear it’s dejavu and i felt your weight again on my shoulder as if laboriously pulled by an unseen force and then there came the mischievous jerk. and you stiffened, almost panicky, pulled back to reality, immedialtely adjusting your seat as i was holding back a chuckle. damn you amuse me, we could do it all day. you droop, you lean, i jerk, you regidify, i chuckle and you doze off again. the cycle went on for five or six timesuntil play time is over and i had to step off the bus.
you–barrel chested, pot-bellied, dark mustachioed guy, looking through droopy eyes on a blue shirt two sizes too small–made us a snug fit into that two seater, but i’m cool man. until you started dozing off and your heavy shoulder picking up weight as your body slowly leaning dangerously towards me threatening to crush me without you even knowing.
and i jerked, and you tensed stunned by the sudden movement, looked around to find me semi-squashed. and you adjusted your seat almost apologetically but i’m cool man.
until you started doping off again and your huge body closing in, damn i swear it’s dejavu and i felt your weight again on my shoulder as if laboriously pulled by an unseen force and then there came the mischievous jerk. and you stiffened, almost panicky, pulled back to reality, immedialtely adjusting your seat as i was holding back a chuckle. damn you amuse me, we could do it all day. you droop, you lean, i jerk, you regidify, i chuckle and you doze off again. the cycle went on for five or six timesuntil play time is over and i had to step off the bus.
Vampire novels
October 11, 2008
i finished reading LA Bank’s The Awakening. it’s a story of a band vocalist Damali Richards, whose passion for light (inspirational) music is as intense as her desire to dust rogue vamps. she’s an invaluable asset to the side of light, a seasoned vampire huntress and a Neteru who is a personification of hope and faith to the believers. but the side of light gets apprehensive as her birthday nears, it’s when, literally, all hell threatens to break loose as a window of opportunity for a master vamp opens on Damali’s birthday where she, the Neteru, is most vulnerable as she loses her keen senses and her immunity to vamp nicks. all guardians and heads of Faith, and warrior angels aid to protect her from an unimaginable catastrophy that could happen at the dawn of her birthday concert. the side of light’s worst fear could come true, should the dark side succeed there is no stopping the Neteru from brooding the first of daywalkers.
new concepts were introduced, like the assembly of 12 heads of faith, the impressive depiction of 7 levels of hell and one thing that boldly defied a classic representation of a vampire feed–canibalistic eating of a dead body. but the book lacks “action”, superb fights expected of a vamp huntress. makes me want to choose Christine Feehan’s Dark Prince over it. i’ts another vampire book and a page turner, more sensous and exotic with heart pounding vamp actions to boot.
of course nothing beats Anne Rice’ classic vamp chronicles, the nasty lestat and all. i take it as the grand reference of other writers wanting to start their own attempt at a vamp story. still nothing compares to an Anne Rice.
i started reading William Diehls’s Primal fear, see how it compares to the film adaptation. nah, not a vamp story but a more interesting one.
i finished reading LA Bank’s The Awakening. it’s a story of a band vocalist Damali Richards, whose passion for light (inspirational) music is as intense as her desire to dust rogue vamps. she’s an invaluable asset to the side of light, a seasoned vampire huntress and a Neteru who is a personification of hope and faith to the believers. but the side of light gets apprehensive as her birthday nears, it’s when, literally, all hell threatens to break loose as a window of opportunity for a master vamp opens on Damali’s birthday where she, the Neteru, is most vulnerable as she loses her keen senses and her immunity to vamp nicks. all guardians and heads of Faith, and warrior angels aid to protect her from an unimaginable catastrophy that could happen at the dawn of her birthday concert. the side of light’s worst fear could come true, should the dark side succeed there is no stopping the Neteru from brooding the first of daywalkers.
new concepts were introduced, like the assembly of 12 heads of faith, the impressive depiction of 7 levels of hell and one thing that boldly defied a classic representation of a vampire feed–canibalistic eating of a dead body. but the book lacks “action”, superb fights expected of a vamp huntress. makes me want to choose Christine Feehan’s Dark Prince over it. i’ts another vampire book and a page turner, more sensous and exotic with heart pounding vamp actions to boot.
of course nothing beats Anne Rice’ classic vamp chronicles, the nasty lestat and all. i take it as the grand reference of other writers wanting to start their own attempt at a vamp story. still nothing compares to an Anne Rice.
i started reading William Diehls’s Primal fear, see how it compares to the film adaptation. nah, not a vamp story but a more interesting one.
how to screw a sales representative
October 9, 2008
how to screw a fellow sales person:
in my nineteen months stay in the company, i have never experienced getting screwed by another sales rep before. as i’ve said there’s always a first for everything. just today i’ve been tricked in a manner so creative and so unique and unheard of that i’m impressed. would even want to share it with you all.
how to screw a fellow sales person:
- first you scout for a huge account, huge accounts are buying accounts that are often than not booked and managed by another account executive–the rep to be screwed
- managed and booked, by that i mean any sales placed on the account by any person will automatically be credited to the one the account is booked under
- then you call the cust and try to come up with a deal and close it
- once successful and deal is almost closed, ask the credit and the account from the sales rep handling it claiming that the cust chooses to do business with you instead of him
- if the sales rep refuses to give up the account (anyone would) and transfer you the credit, which would likely be the case, then you screw him
- call the customer back and tell the customer you are shipping the items free of charge. of course it won’t be fun if you give out free shipping–your system won’t even allow it. so leave the shipping cost as is
- allow the order to ship out and be credited to the sales rep the account is booked to. and giggle like hell while anxiously waiting what’s going to happen
- now anticipate an email from the sale rep after finding out what you did. the cust will receive the package and will be surprised of the whopping shipping cost showing in the invoice which is not part of the deal
- cust will contact the other sales rep, his contact info showing in the packing slip, and will complain about the shipping cost demanding a refund. the other sales rep will be dumbfounded, obviously unaware of what transpired during the transaction and will email you to verify what happened
- you email back with a grin saying you dont know, the shipping cost was changed from free shipping. it’s as good as saying “yes. you’re screwed”
- the other rep, left with no choice, will refund the shipping cost back to the cust which happens to be more than what was earned out of the deal, a negative revenue. clever.
the other account rep happens to be me and the shrewed sales person happens to be the other one. impressive. when an account is booked, it means no one is allowed to place an order or even strike a deal with the cust other than the person the account is booked under, that’s how we mark and protect our accounts here. but as they say, there are ways, ways to snatch some sales and accounts from other sales reps and even greater ways to screw fellow sales persons. this is a unique one-of-a-kind feat pulled off by a one clever sales rep. instead of stealing revenues from me she willingly gave me the order, leaving a negative revenue and a not so happy customer behind. i’m so impressed it sucks.
picking up where he left off
October 7, 2008
i received a forwarded email originally sent by a colleague, he actually was my senior in high school back in Bicol. the email contains a message, a eulogy to his father who passed away due to cancer. he expressed how he misses his father, the pains and regrets of not having a chance to bond like the usual father-and-son would. honestly, i cant tell if i completely understand how he feels, i lost my father too. but my situation is in many ways different than his.
im not used to sharing experiences too personal as obvious in most of the entries on this blog. thought why not give it a try. this one though, i reckon, is too personal for a first time.
i lost my father when i was four years old. yeah, too young for a kid to experience such loss. much so were my siblings who were only three, one and eight months old when it happened. my dad, a policeman, died at an early age of 27 was battling against NPAs in a mountainous part somewhere in Bicol. no, he wasnt shotkilled. the morning after the encounter he was found dead, no autopsy done. i found out later from a father of a friend, who happened to be a colleague of my dad, that they speculated snake-bite as the COD, we declared “bangongot” as the cause.
although my dad’s demise was a tragic event so sudden and so painful to my mom and my dad’s relatives and friends, to us, his children, the pain and grief were not as intense. simply because we were just kids then. i, the eldest, could clearly recall how weird it was staring at my father whose lying perfectly still in an enclosed box. i even wondered how suffocating it could be for him inside that thing which i had no idea would last some days. my mom, my aunts, they tried to let us understand, young as we were, that our dad was gone. we cried, only because they were crying. honestly, it didnt make sense before just looking back now. i suppose my siblings were way oblivious of what was happening then. after all of it, i started to realize we’re missing someone home. my dad, due to the nature of his work, i remember, was almost always not home. he might have been going home late from work then for us to even notice. but eventually we noticed the presence that used to roam the house, the voice, the image, all of it slowly fading to memories. then came a child’s innocent realization, he’s gone.
it never crossed my mind that his loss would be a scary load i confidently shouldered having told my mom she need not find another dad, i told her i’ll stand as the father of the family and i’ll take care of her and my siblings. seriously, i promised that my mom. that being said by a four-year- old clueless of the enormous responsibility that came with it. well, i stood by that promise. i tried to mature twice or three times as fast a normal mature rate would allow a boy–i mean to try to think, comprehend and act as a grown up as much as i could then at such a young age. i even attended a PTA meeting along with my sibling’s parents. seriously. there were things i needed to explore, or most of the time dicover, all by myself what anyone’s father would gladly, willingly teach or show or tell their children, or son for that matter. these things–for the boys–, i deemed, i had to experience not for the sake of having to experience them, i needed to enjoy, suffer, regret, live through all of it good and bad just so i could responsibly impart them to my younger bros and somehow provide them right if not intelligent pieces of advice taking advantage of the “been there, done that” thing. it was not easy, believe me. no one was there standing as a father as i grew up, it never was easy, there were things that only a father could do. i thought why allow my younger bros to experience the same when they had me by their side. there were a lot of firsts that scared the hell out of me simply because no father was around, especially during the adolescent stage, and the “rite of passing to manhood” and the dating thing and drinking and the likes. i could tell it with pride, i’ve been there for my younger brothers to accompany them, guide them, give advice. been around when they needed someone to confide with or talk to or to answer awkward, embarassing, humiliating, flat out “man” questions. i was there.
my sister now holds a stable position in a bank now, both my bros just finished college, one taking up law and the other a certified nurse. we’ve gone a long way, i suppose. my mom is a proud parent who single-handedly carried us through. she’s a one-tough-hard-working woman with a will of steel yet could only do so much. there are just things only a dad can do, same way that only a mother can show that distinct motherly love and care. she did an astounding job bringing us up after our dad’s loss. i just hope i was able to fulfill the promise i made to her helping her out rearing her children, her sons in a way so discreet and mysterious only my bros and i, including all other man i guess, understand.
im not used to sharing experiences too personal as obvious in most of the entries on this blog. thought why not give it a try. this one though, i reckon, is too personal for a first time.
i lost my father when i was four years old. yeah, too young for a kid to experience such loss. much so were my siblings who were only three, one and eight months old when it happened. my dad, a policeman, died at an early age of 27 was battling against NPAs in a mountainous part somewhere in Bicol. no, he wasnt shotkilled. the morning after the encounter he was found dead, no autopsy done. i found out later from a father of a friend, who happened to be a colleague of my dad, that they speculated snake-bite as the COD, we declared “bangongot” as the cause.
although my dad’s demise was a tragic event so sudden and so painful to my mom and my dad’s relatives and friends, to us, his children, the pain and grief were not as intense. simply because we were just kids then. i, the eldest, could clearly recall how weird it was staring at my father whose lying perfectly still in an enclosed box. i even wondered how suffocating it could be for him inside that thing which i had no idea would last some days. my mom, my aunts, they tried to let us understand, young as we were, that our dad was gone. we cried, only because they were crying. honestly, it didnt make sense before just looking back now. i suppose my siblings were way oblivious of what was happening then. after all of it, i started to realize we’re missing someone home. my dad, due to the nature of his work, i remember, was almost always not home. he might have been going home late from work then for us to even notice. but eventually we noticed the presence that used to roam the house, the voice, the image, all of it slowly fading to memories. then came a child’s innocent realization, he’s gone.
it never crossed my mind that his loss would be a scary load i confidently shouldered having told my mom she need not find another dad, i told her i’ll stand as the father of the family and i’ll take care of her and my siblings. seriously, i promised that my mom. that being said by a four-year- old clueless of the enormous responsibility that came with it. well, i stood by that promise. i tried to mature twice or three times as fast a normal mature rate would allow a boy–i mean to try to think, comprehend and act as a grown up as much as i could then at such a young age. i even attended a PTA meeting along with my sibling’s parents. seriously. there were things i needed to explore, or most of the time dicover, all by myself what anyone’s father would gladly, willingly teach or show or tell their children, or son for that matter. these things–for the boys–, i deemed, i had to experience not for the sake of having to experience them, i needed to enjoy, suffer, regret, live through all of it good and bad just so i could responsibly impart them to my younger bros and somehow provide them right if not intelligent pieces of advice taking advantage of the “been there, done that” thing. it was not easy, believe me. no one was there standing as a father as i grew up, it never was easy, there were things that only a father could do. i thought why allow my younger bros to experience the same when they had me by their side. there were a lot of firsts that scared the hell out of me simply because no father was around, especially during the adolescent stage, and the “rite of passing to manhood” and the dating thing and drinking and the likes. i could tell it with pride, i’ve been there for my younger brothers to accompany them, guide them, give advice. been around when they needed someone to confide with or talk to or to answer awkward, embarassing, humiliating, flat out “man” questions. i was there.
my sister now holds a stable position in a bank now, both my bros just finished college, one taking up law and the other a certified nurse. we’ve gone a long way, i suppose. my mom is a proud parent who single-handedly carried us through. she’s a one-tough-hard-working woman with a will of steel yet could only do so much. there are just things only a dad can do, same way that only a mother can show that distinct motherly love and care. she did an astounding job bringing us up after our dad’s loss. i just hope i was able to fulfill the promise i made to her helping her out rearing her children, her sons in a way so discreet and mysterious only my bros and i, including all other man i guess, understand.
just hope i did a nice job filling in that gigantic combat shoe he left some twenty years ago.
pumupusta, talo ka
October 4, 2008
sino kang waring bungo
namamasyal sa utak ko
ang yong tapik, anong lamig
hinihimas aking puso
tigilan mo pagngisi mo
hindi mo makukuha
ang yong hiling mabibigo
hinding hindi tatangis
kalungkutan
iyong tanging libangan
ngunit talo ka
gago ka
hinding hindi tatangis
di padadaig
bakit padadala
sa laro ng pighati
ako ay pupusta
talo ka
sino kang waring bungo
namamasyal sa utak ko
ang yong tapik, anong lamig
hinihimas aking puso
tigilan mo pagngisi mo
hindi mo makukuha
ang yong hiling mabibigo
hinding hindi tatangis
kalungkutan
iyong tanging libangan
ngunit talo ka
gago ka
hinding hindi tatangis
di padadaig
bakit padadala
sa laro ng pighati
ako ay pupusta
talo ka
o aking prinsesa
nasan ka
naglalayag sa alon
ng kapanglawan
nagiisa
ihip ng taglamig
batid
dala’y sadyang
sidhing sakit
sa dinadanas
wag kang padadaig
ang kalungkutan
iwaglit
bungo ng kapalaran
ating lalabanan
handa ka na
sumama ka
sariwain
alaala
pawang masasaya
lintik na bungo
nasan ka
kami’y pumapalag
kumakasa
sayo’ng laro
kami’y pumupusta
talo ka
nasan ka
naglalayag sa alon
ng kapanglawan
nagiisa
ihip ng taglamig
batid
dala’y sadyang
sidhing sakit
sa dinadanas
wag kang padadaig
ang kalungkutan
iwaglit
bungo ng kapalaran
ating lalabanan
handa ka na
sumama ka
sariwain
alaala
pawang masasaya
lintik na bungo
nasan ka
kami’y pumapalag
kumakasa
sayo’ng laro
kami’y pumupusta
talo ka
pat on the back
celebrity crush
September 30, 2008
i went to sm bacoor last Sunday, this time to buy a deodorant, last week was for some hankies. you see, i find excuses, or for a better term, reasons just to go there, not that i need one. it just feels better having this purpose of going there instead of just passing the time. i’m a purpose driven person you know. he3! well, it will be no fun if i buy what i have to straight away so i usually go for a leisurely walk around the mall–takes about 4 hours–before fulfilling the ultimate purpose, which is buying the deo. that and passing the time is different ok. remember, there’s this purpose. ha3!
coming in to the mall, i was welcomed by a large banner overhead announcing the mall tour of the famous local acoustic band MYMP on that day. came in at 4pm, show will start 5:30pm so went about my usual weekend mall stroll while waiting. i like Juris, she sings well and i think she’s cute so i stayed, much to see how she looks in person than to hear how good she sings he3! while passing the time, before i fulfill the ultimate purpose–which is to buy the deo– my phone rang and it was tin who’s calling, i excitedly took the call. we talked for more than half an hour. she’s just waiting to install a driver on her laptop before we could communicate through ym. after the call, i eagerly waited for her text confirming she’s done before i find my way to an internet cafe to chat. it was 5:25 when i got her text saying the installation is almost done. i rushed to the nearest internet cafe 5mins before the MYMP show started, i could even hear the crowd screaming. at the internet cafe the glass panel muffled the music played outside, yet i could still hear the sweet voice of Juris. then came the text from tin saying despite the installation, she found out that the laptop still needs another configuration before it could fully connect to the web. it was frustrating, not because i missed the performance, the band was still playing, but because the damn laptop just won’t serve it’s fucking purpose. i stayed in the internet cafe browsing stuff, when i left i could no longer hear the band. i took a peek from the third floor and saw juris signing some CDs. i went down to take a closer look of her and to grab something to eat. she was bout 8 meters away and, with the pair of defective eyes i have, i couldn’t quite make out how good she looks. so off to the food court i ate. i bought the deo after, carrying out what i came to the mall for and indifferently walked my way to the exit. walking towards the escalator i didnt notice a lady heading towards my direction, when i looked up i saw this charming little lady looking straight at me, we even locked stares for some seconds before a man in white gently shoved me away. only then did i realize that he’s part of the security escorts of MYMP and the cute lady merely an arm stretched away happened to be Juris, perhaps wondering if she’s going to smile to a fan who obviously didnt recognize her. i smiled to myself, but damn she’s cute. he3! she really is. i txted tin what happened not to say “oops i accidentally find Juris cute, please dont be mad” ha3! she’s not the jealous type, told her my “close encounter” and how cute Juris is. she wouldn’t mind i know, she’s still way prettier than Juris, same way that i never mind each time she proclaims how perfect her celebrity crush is, who was that guy. Richard Guttierez. ahhh considering pure looks, we just break even. hahahahah! (i can see you chuckling tin ha3!). nah, of course he’s the more goodlooking one. just a bit. humirit pah!! he3!
i went to sm bacoor last Sunday, this time to buy a deodorant, last week was for some hankies. you see, i find excuses, or for a better term, reasons just to go there, not that i need one. it just feels better having this purpose of going there instead of just passing the time. i’m a purpose driven person you know. he3! well, it will be no fun if i buy what i have to straight away so i usually go for a leisurely walk around the mall–takes about 4 hours–before fulfilling the ultimate purpose, which is buying the deo. that and passing the time is different ok. remember, there’s this purpose. ha3!
coming in to the mall, i was welcomed by a large banner overhead announcing the mall tour of the famous local acoustic band MYMP on that day. came in at 4pm, show will start 5:30pm so went about my usual weekend mall stroll while waiting. i like Juris, she sings well and i think she’s cute so i stayed, much to see how she looks in person than to hear how good she sings he3! while passing the time, before i fulfill the ultimate purpose–which is to buy the deo– my phone rang and it was tin who’s calling, i excitedly took the call. we talked for more than half an hour. she’s just waiting to install a driver on her laptop before we could communicate through ym. after the call, i eagerly waited for her text confirming she’s done before i find my way to an internet cafe to chat. it was 5:25 when i got her text saying the installation is almost done. i rushed to the nearest internet cafe 5mins before the MYMP show started, i could even hear the crowd screaming. at the internet cafe the glass panel muffled the music played outside, yet i could still hear the sweet voice of Juris. then came the text from tin saying despite the installation, she found out that the laptop still needs another configuration before it could fully connect to the web. it was frustrating, not because i missed the performance, the band was still playing, but because the damn laptop just won’t serve it’s fucking purpose. i stayed in the internet cafe browsing stuff, when i left i could no longer hear the band. i took a peek from the third floor and saw juris signing some CDs. i went down to take a closer look of her and to grab something to eat. she was bout 8 meters away and, with the pair of defective eyes i have, i couldn’t quite make out how good she looks. so off to the food court i ate. i bought the deo after, carrying out what i came to the mall for and indifferently walked my way to the exit. walking towards the escalator i didnt notice a lady heading towards my direction, when i looked up i saw this charming little lady looking straight at me, we even locked stares for some seconds before a man in white gently shoved me away. only then did i realize that he’s part of the security escorts of MYMP and the cute lady merely an arm stretched away happened to be Juris, perhaps wondering if she’s going to smile to a fan who obviously didnt recognize her. i smiled to myself, but damn she’s cute. he3! she really is. i txted tin what happened not to say “oops i accidentally find Juris cute, please dont be mad” ha3! she’s not the jealous type, told her my “close encounter” and how cute Juris is. she wouldn’t mind i know, she’s still way prettier than Juris, same way that i never mind each time she proclaims how perfect her celebrity crush is, who was that guy. Richard Guttierez. ahhh considering pure looks, we just break even. hahahahah! (i can see you chuckling tin ha3!). nah, of course he’s the more goodlooking one. just a bit. humirit pah!! he3!
surviving the jungle
September 27, 2008
always thought before that in order to get recognized in a jungle of sales animals, one has to step up and prove himself worthy in the eyes of fellow cunning cutthroats, just like in the animal world where only alpha-males and females get to rule. thought it was a constant battle on top, a survival of the fittest where weaklings are stomped on and, worse, kicked out of the office.
always thought before that in order to get recognized in a jungle of sales animals, one has to step up and prove himself worthy in the eyes of fellow cunning cutthroats, just like in the animal world where only alpha-males and females get to rule. thought it was a constant battle on top, a survival of the fittest where weaklings are stomped on and, worse, kicked out of the office.
if killing or getting actively involved in a gang riot is the only way for a maximum security inmate to earn the respect of fellow prisoners, so is here in this jungle. just like the Survivor tag line, one has to outwit, outplay and outperform others, especially if it’s one’s position in the company at stake. thought one has to play dirty as well to ramp up the figures, to kiss ass if not lick to gain favors, to screw unsuspecting customers and the works. i was wrong.
the idea of outdoing others to be the better sales person, if not best, is the very thought that was eating me alive. had i not realize i simply have to toss out that stupid perception, i might still be stuck in what was a quagmire of despair that was slowly pulling me down to the bottom–as one executive after another stomps past my sales figures, my name, as they make their way to the top of the list. the key is to drop from the bloody competion. yes, to drop but not give up. by that i mean forget every damn sales persons around and focus on yourself and what your little self can do to be a bigger person, grow selfishly, i mean do it for yourself and put away the desire to outperform others, quit checking on who’s the person a notch better than you are or a level lower–you only have yourself to satisfy, no outside pressure.
it was where it all started, worked my ass off, checking where i was at but not minding the ordinal rank–just so i have an idea of how much work was needed to be done. the less conscious i became of other executives’ performance and the more i ignore other people’s figures the greater the rewards i was getting. i was oblivious of who’s getting up the ranks past me and who’s inching close to my standing, until after all the work done and sales closed, i found my self way above from where i first checked my standing was at. no haughty feeling stomping over others’ shoulders on the way up, nothing at all, the competition was long given up, just surprised to see myself up there, all of it paid off without screwing customers, no dirty works, no fellows stepped on, none outwitted, none outdone just me satisfying myself and succeeding. as for respect, i think getting close to the top without offending anyone is a much better way of earning it than having to kill someone, or screw for that matter.
kastigo tulisan
September 24, 2008
mga matang nakakubli sa dilim nagmamasid
nagaabang sa kung sinong sinakluban ng kamalasan
ang kamangmangan ng iba sya naman ‘yong biyaya
lintik na mapagsamantala pumarehas ka
pinaghirapan ng iba, hahablutin bigla
salot
nararapat sayo sukdulang kastigo
basbas sa taas o tulak ng ‘yong demonyo
sa oras na magkamali’t maliyo
wala kang ligtas sa himagsik ng agrabiado
aserong tubo ihataw nang todo-todo
kamay na walang saysay bayuhin ng mautas
sabay ngisi’t hagikhik sayong hapding dinadanas
patalim na ‘yong kinapitan ngayon iyong hagkan
sabay subasub ng ‘yong mukha sa nakausling lanseta
ilan na nga bang nasindak sa iyong biglang dakma
at ilan na nga ba ang tinapos, mga pumalag sa yong gawa
batugang tulisan
marami rami na rin
iyong pagbayaran mga buhay na kinupit
buong pusong damhin hinay-hinay na pag-gilit
lasapin ang sakit na iginawad sa iba
iyong mga mata, ngmamakaawa
gago
walang silbi sa mundo
kung pumarehas ka lamang, tinigil panlalamang
wala ka sana sa estadong si Hudas mas santo
pusakal
bakas ng awa ay wala, sidhing kastigo’y nararapat
humimlay ka magpahinga, nang matapos pagdurusa
at kastigo sa impyerno agad masimulan na
nagaabang sa kung sinong sinakluban ng kamalasan
ang kamangmangan ng iba sya naman ‘yong biyaya
lintik na mapagsamantala pumarehas ka
pinaghirapan ng iba, hahablutin bigla
salot
nararapat sayo sukdulang kastigo
basbas sa taas o tulak ng ‘yong demonyo
sa oras na magkamali’t maliyo
wala kang ligtas sa himagsik ng agrabiado
aserong tubo ihataw nang todo-todo
kamay na walang saysay bayuhin ng mautas
sabay ngisi’t hagikhik sayong hapding dinadanas
patalim na ‘yong kinapitan ngayon iyong hagkan
sabay subasub ng ‘yong mukha sa nakausling lanseta
ilan na nga bang nasindak sa iyong biglang dakma
at ilan na nga ba ang tinapos, mga pumalag sa yong gawa
batugang tulisan
marami rami na rin
iyong pagbayaran mga buhay na kinupit
buong pusong damhin hinay-hinay na pag-gilit
lasapin ang sakit na iginawad sa iba
iyong mga mata, ngmamakaawa
gago
walang silbi sa mundo
kung pumarehas ka lamang, tinigil panlalamang
wala ka sana sa estadong si Hudas mas santo
pusakal
bakas ng awa ay wala, sidhing kastigo’y nararapat
humimlay ka magpahinga, nang matapos pagdurusa
at kastigo sa impyerno agad masimulan na
digitized console
September 19, 2008
moments frozen in a seven-fifty
wire-walked to the waiting bucket
loads of memries in a bachelor’s pad
anxious for a visit from Amphitrite
chains unlocked at her command
to wash away the solitude
reminiscense of love, of joy and follies
all safe within electronic frames
the old, the recents flashing before her
kindling the coldness of the wintertime
a gamut of colors in millions of pixels
an odd pleasure out of digitized past
surreal, artificial, consoling, reassuring
distance and time their essence gone
non-existent, forgotten, inane, ignored,
looking straight to the cold eyes of technology
since when and how did you get this warm?
moments frozen in a seven-fifty
wire-walked to the waiting bucket
loads of memries in a bachelor’s pad
anxious for a visit from Amphitrite
chains unlocked at her command
to wash away the solitude
reminiscense of love, of joy and follies
all safe within electronic frames
the old, the recents flashing before her
kindling the coldness of the wintertime
a gamut of colors in millions of pixels
an odd pleasure out of digitized past
surreal, artificial, consoling, reassuring
distance and time their essence gone
non-existent, forgotten, inane, ignored,
looking straight to the cold eyes of technology
since when and how did you get this warm?
the sniper trickery and the bad-ass Damali
September 16, 2008
Dale Brown–where the hell is the sniper? why the heck put a sniper’s silhouette in the book cover when nothing of a sniping ghillie guy was even mentioned in your damn Tin Man Book! it’s fucking deception and it’s false advertising. i know, the back cover didn’t say anything about a sniper, but you see, no one writes a book about an ultimate “ONE”-man army, puts a sniper silhouette in the cover and tells a story of a USAF pilot turned vigilante for crissake!. put a plane, a USAF insignia, an eagle or something. not a fuckin sniper silhoutte! it’s misleading! but i finished your book. he3! would have grabbed a clancy or coonts if not for your trickery.
im reading LA Banks’ The Awakening–now that’s a perfect example of a kick-ass cover with a bad-ass story! you put a tough-looking yet sensous african-american vampire huntress that is Damali Richards and write about, what else, a vampire huntress. get my point? this book is so addicting, like freshly turned vamp out from a first kill, can’t wait to satisfy yet another craving.
day 10: spams
September 13, 2008
hey daba!
i was checking my yahoomail couple of days ago to see if i’ve had new messages, updates from friendster and to check if there were interesting positions available at jobstreet, i’m getting them periodically he3! not that i’m looking for a new job. we’ll perhaps it might come in handy in the future so i cared to check anyway.
personal messages, friendster updates, jobstreet emails were the usual stuff cluttering my yahoomail which is OK, until i had this mistake, i can’t even remember how it happened, when i started receiving annoying emails from Fanbox (this is different from the fraudster soliciting help for an easy money). at first i was getting messages with the subject “username” wants to be your loyal fan, i was intrigued i mean who the heck am i to have someone send me a message with that on subject line. then it kept on coming, was getting average of 5 per day, some asking absurd questions like “do you want to kiss a boy?” then there was an answer box saying yes or no, i knew right away they were spam messages and were not actually sent by live, just bored, human beings. same questions were even asked by different users time and again. then there were messages saying a user wanted to send me a kiss, or a hug, or wanted to say hi, or send pictures. it was annoying that i checked over the web, see if i could dig something about Fanbox. turned out that i was not alone. a lot were complaining asking how to stop the spam or get their accounts cancelled. i didnt bother to close mine, i didnt know my password (which was needed for cancellation) and i didnt have the time and the patience to find out.
so i just got used to getting messages from users proclaiming they wanted to be my loyal fan, or asking stupid questions or sending pics and flowers and chocolates, one even said BOB_BARR_08 wants to kiss you on Fanbox whatthaf*ck! ha3!
couple of days ago i opened my yahoomail, for the first time in million years i was thrilled getting a message from Fanbox with the subject: Ma. Christina is sending you a Delicious Drink. damn! like a 16-yr old boy who still believed in Santa Clause despite catching his father donning the ridiculous costume–i opened the link. well, same old non-sense shit. i remembered getting the same message several weeks ago. but i admit, i fell for that for a moment. next day i received another message, same user name, this time it says Ma. Christina wants to kiss you on Fanbox. i know, it was the same faggot message i got from a BOB_BARR, but it somehow felt good getting the same message with your name on it he3!
i’m still getting spam messages from that wicked Fanbox and i’ve developed enough tolerance not to get pissed or annoyed by it anymore. it was just funny that during those times when their messages are nothin but non-sense shit to me, there was this one message that swept me away and even fooled me into believing that it was real despite all logic and experience suggested it was not. made me wonder, was Fanbox a non-sense spammer or did you really send those drinks and kisses? hmmm, you tell me.
nah i’m not that naive, he3! i know its a spam but i’m not closing the account, i’d rather ignore it–just like i would so choose to exercise than to wake up early. if you know what i mean. he3!
it’s 8:47am saturday! yahoooo! dont know yet what my weekend trip would be. i’ll tell you on my next post. he3! juwalah su! Ciao!
personal messages, friendster updates, jobstreet emails were the usual stuff cluttering my yahoomail which is OK, until i had this mistake, i can’t even remember how it happened, when i started receiving annoying emails from Fanbox (this is different from the fraudster soliciting help for an easy money). at first i was getting messages with the subject “username” wants to be your loyal fan, i was intrigued i mean who the heck am i to have someone send me a message with that on subject line. then it kept on coming, was getting average of 5 per day, some asking absurd questions like “do you want to kiss a boy?” then there was an answer box saying yes or no, i knew right away they were spam messages and were not actually sent by live, just bored, human beings. same questions were even asked by different users time and again. then there were messages saying a user wanted to send me a kiss, or a hug, or wanted to say hi, or send pictures. it was annoying that i checked over the web, see if i could dig something about Fanbox. turned out that i was not alone. a lot were complaining asking how to stop the spam or get their accounts cancelled. i didnt bother to close mine, i didnt know my password (which was needed for cancellation) and i didnt have the time and the patience to find out.
so i just got used to getting messages from users proclaiming they wanted to be my loyal fan, or asking stupid questions or sending pics and flowers and chocolates, one even said BOB_BARR_08 wants to kiss you on Fanbox whatthaf*ck! ha3!
couple of days ago i opened my yahoomail, for the first time in million years i was thrilled getting a message from Fanbox with the subject: Ma. Christina is sending you a Delicious Drink. damn! like a 16-yr old boy who still believed in Santa Clause despite catching his father donning the ridiculous costume–i opened the link. well, same old non-sense shit. i remembered getting the same message several weeks ago. but i admit, i fell for that for a moment. next day i received another message, same user name, this time it says Ma. Christina wants to kiss you on Fanbox. i know, it was the same faggot message i got from a BOB_BARR, but it somehow felt good getting the same message with your name on it he3!
i’m still getting spam messages from that wicked Fanbox and i’ve developed enough tolerance not to get pissed or annoyed by it anymore. it was just funny that during those times when their messages are nothin but non-sense shit to me, there was this one message that swept me away and even fooled me into believing that it was real despite all logic and experience suggested it was not. made me wonder, was Fanbox a non-sense spammer or did you really send those drinks and kisses? hmmm, you tell me.
nah i’m not that naive, he3! i know its a spam but i’m not closing the account, i’d rather ignore it–just like i would so choose to exercise than to wake up early. if you know what i mean. he3!
it’s 8:47am saturday! yahoooo! dont know yet what my weekend trip would be. i’ll tell you on my next post. he3! juwalah su! Ciao!
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