Trust

There was never a time when I thought you'd do it. More so under those circumstances -- those circumstances when our ropes and our holds had suddenly thinned out, had become ripping threads and had clipped tremblingly.

It might have been a petty act of child's play, a misdemeanor, a lapse of reason -- but it was not. To you, it was nothing -- but to me, it was everything.

The pact we had forged wallowed in despair -- slowly, slowly, slowly -- until the cries had turned to whispers so helpless against the screaming silence.

For many hours and for random long seconds of every day after, glimpses of what happened haunt me. Though I tried not to think of it, suppression caused more wounds. The scars, though as brown as the drought of the soil, watered occasionally: dropping, stopping, and scattering again and again. The thirst could not be quenched.

But like the sun that continuously fainted with the advancing hours but always and unfailingly came up with dawns, I chose -- or have chosen -- to be reborn in your womb where the persistence of my breathing lingered.

I had to untangle the spins of the threads.
I had to tame the trembling of my hand that had once so peacefully rested on your palm.
I had to be convinced again that we had to live -- together.
I had to.
I had to.

Then, you looked in my eyes. I was sitting there, a meter away from where you were. The facade of a strong and fearless lover were the pretense of your eyes while mine were of a retreating and discouraged one's.

Our ground was shaking... then it stopped.

I looked again into your eyes which hours ago screamed waters of regret. They were now peaceful. There was just the muted plea, the implication too obvious for words.

I tried to speak but the air was full.

I was too weak to let go for I was too strong to stay.

1: 57 AM

At this very moment, I may not be as sober as any man who hasn't had the inkling of the wonders of intoxication, but I still know -- completely and doubtlessly -- that I have what I have for you even if the vigilance and the discipline of the mind have tentatively gone astray.

You are that fragment of air that whispers into my oblivion and then turns into a mass of wind that blows me away and makes me fly -- highly, oh so highly. :)

Always

5 months ago, the life I once -- or infinitely -- thought I'd always have unexpectedly took a turn. It was a detour I exceedingly longed to take for almost three years but frustratingly failed to commence. Indeed, so suddenly and unbelievably, I felt I was no longer petrified. It was as if an incantation that turned me to stone had lost its curse and made me human again.

Without anticipation, the seeming sanctuary of numbness I inhabited for many months had foregone its meaning: I was moving. My eyes were not shuttering anymore; they were awakening. My lips began shedding the thirst that once plagued their surfaces and conspicuously revealed the movement of their innate purpose: to smile. I was smiling -- finally and once again.

I was happy and I knew I was not lying.

For many days, I knew I was in a different world. It was so deviant from that place I forcibly introduced myself to almost three years ago that there were days I thought I was afloat, swimming in an illusion I myself insanely crafted, such as that one mirror mentioned in the first Harry Potter installment which deceivingly showed one's desires.

"This isn't real, this isn't real, " I told myself, as if pinching my skin persistently.

But it was... and it still is.

Now, despite everything that I -- we -- have gone through, our world remains real.

With the 5 we've got in hand, I can say without any fragment of a quiver that we've remarkably and gratefully passed through hurdles that almost stopped us from getting this far.

There was the definitive revelation that almost struck us with a beating too strong for pacifying but which -- after months of uneasy struggle-- we managed to tame. Then, came the constant criticisms or gossip allegedly from varied and countless sources, throwing us words and intents like rocks wounding us without fail.

Yet and so blessedly, we persevered. We're still here, still breathing and beaming.

Today again adds another mark to that pact we have forged. It is an agreement with neither any express or implied obligation, nor any stipulation innately compulsory, nor any clause dutifully coercive -- for there is no space for such; there is only the desire, the want and the need for you... for I love you.

Always. :)

Us and Them

One by one, they came like lightning, supremely illuminated at the outset. Then, after petrified seconds -- the light withering and the veil sifting through the founded dimness -- sounds deafening hounded the now dead stillness of our ears.

The persistence of sound echoed.

Still, one by one, waters went running down against us.

Running, scampering and panicking.

Forcing, aiming, hurling and persisting.

Drenching.

The waters seemed like rocks.

They were throwing rocks at us.

One, two, three... there were too many.

But we didn't mind.

We don't mind.

We won't mind.

They're just rocks -- we're steel.

Bizarre Cardiac Triad

Today, my world has started to whisper anew.

With the awakening silence, voices have begun to scramble, threatening and pointing auditory knives on my skin.

A love from someone I haven't thought existed has finally come out of its velvet cover and mercilessly pounded like stones on my veiled complacency. Though with no intention of injury, my easy words and worldly stares at him have drawn bruises on his face and eroded the bumps on his lips. He has been there, waiting and anticipating nothing. No plea of reciprocity, no yeas, no nothing. He knows I am with someone I have been loving, yearning and keeping -- Potter, my Potter...

Yet, he's still there. Still him, still there -- with nothing but vulnerability and the burden of imminence of defeat.

I'm sorry.

For H. Potter

for many days, i waited. the clock didn't stop moving.

tick, tick, tick.

my eyes, once falling, gradually dried and were then cracking.
my feet were stuck on the ground, with neither ropes nor chains.
and, my hands -- my hands -- were just mine, just mine.

days then turned into mornings -- hundreds of them.
with the settling of the sun, the mornings died and the days grew.
there were then years and nights -- now, in thousands.
with the black and the gray, the crickets sang their songs...
and the dew from the fog dropped their tears into lullabies -- but i couldn't sleep still.

drop, drop, drop.

yet, i still waited.
waited, waited and waited.
nothing still.

... then i got tired.
no, i got weary, but i wasn't tired.
i never could be.

tick, tick, tick.

my eyes were still there -- dismal, desolate, bleak, but still unhesitating.
i looked at my feet and my hands. they were motionless.
the veins that etched their surfaces still throbbed but I felt they were just playing dead sounds.
i was starting to unease my struggle and to finally give up the wait.

drop, drop, drop.

without warning, holes started appearing out of nowhere, piercing the darkness that seemed to have dwelt on the void for ages, like sirens shrieking, as if announcing the demise of the once lingering and persistent dormancy.

it was morning.
a new backdrop was set.
but, i was still in my pajamas...
and the milk, which had been on the table for years, was still warm.

what was happening?
although the morn had with it the prevalence of light,
the familiarity of solace,
the smell of yellow,
and the imminence of beginnings,
there was something different this time.
there was more.
i knew there was.

finally, i opened my eyes. now, fully.
i moved my feet and stood up.
and my hands -- my hands -- were no longer mine alone anymore.

The standstill was over
-- because in front of me, you were there.

Ladies & Gents, Another Ranting Post

It's already April. In fact, it's the 20th. I'm late.

I've been stuck at home since October last year and I think my leash has only been tightened more. I can't even get an effing cheap green tea at a coffee shop (ironically) without having myself assassinated by my parents.

Uhm, wait, that was my problem months ago. Now, I've got far bigger problems at hand.

I don't want to be too specific anymore about such because I may just end up being a shrink's stupid dustbin (yes, reader, you're the psychologist).

To give you just a blind eagle's eye view, here are the rants: 1) I want a room -- a sanctuary -- to tentatively take me away from anything familial or distracting; 2) I've got to regain even a quarter of my eager beaver self as soon as possible; 3) I need to graduate and get these pre-graduation activities over with so that I can finally place my focus in its proper dwelling; and 4) I need a 24-hour body aircon! ("Ineeeet!!!" is an understatement!)

Very unfortunately, I've got to do STILL what I had been doing since the time I discovered where babies came from: WAIT. In a nutshell: a week at most for my room and for graduation; and God-knows-when for my personification-inspired revival -- and for my body refrigerator.

Boohoo.

The Problem With Being Myself

I'm pissed.

Actually, I've got no plans of blogging until the coming exams this September are over... but circumstances do come up with not so funny jokes once in a while. And those "once in a while crack-ups" have just reappeared on the dining table earlier.

Around 1:30 this afternoon. It was hot. In fact, everything was, from the crimson ceiling to the simmering fish soup.

Unexpectedly, it would get hotter.

Right after sipping the last teaspoon of the inconveniently semi-boiling stock, my father asked me for the nth time (he had been doing so since the last 3 months) where I'd be lodging in Manila for my review. I told him ALSO for the nth time that I'd be finding one as soon as next week when I get back to Manila. In addition, I'd be living alone since none of my friends pushed through with the plan of us staying together for the review.

To give you a background (just pretend you're interested) : the apartment me and my sister leased in Sta. Mesa when we were still in law school had already been given up (so to speak) by my way too stingy father days after the last final exam of my last semester in masochist's, er, law school. Friends told me that leaving the apartment was a bad choice since the leasing fee only amounted to 4, 500/month and the access to almost everything was undeniable. (A church, a market, a laundry shop and an internet cafe were just steps away. Not to mention the fact that only a lonesome jeepney ride was needed for one to be taken to the LRT station and to Mendiola/Quiapo.) But fate -- or my father -- had other plans. Conclusively, when the review starts this April I'll be homeless unless I find a new place to live in.

So I thought the conversation would end with my way too rehearsed response. But, alas, it didn't end there. My father then said that maybe I have "PLANS" in Manila that's why I'd be living alone.

It was more than a plain, harmless statement -- it was a banter more than suggesting that I'd be spending months in a place far away from home just to have my booty slammed against someone else's. My father suggested -- or suggests -- that his son is a tramp!

The afternoon got hotter. It boiled. I couldn't believe that he said that.

So I retaliated, "Anong plano po?" I asked this with an obvious opposition and an almost awakening monstrosity.

He paused, sensing that I didn't like what he said. "Baka mag-lamyerda ka lang," he responded.

Every person surrounding the table knew that wasn't what my father really wanted to answer. Everyone there, including me specially, knew that what he meant was that I'd be inviting promiscuity or "dirt" in my prospective boarding house/apartment.

I was really pissed. I wanted to shout, to scream, to take my lungs out and to just get the hell away from him.

But I couldn't. So here I am, blogging my stupid heart out.

Not too long ago, I swore to myself that I would not let any person, any society or even any Theological principle dictate what I should do with my life, how I should schedule it, who the people I should be making friends with and where I should place myself in every circumstance. Though no man is an island, I am still an individual. I can't let anyone carry me in his palm -- or his cage -- forever.

I've had only two relationships in my whole 25-year existence. I didn't cheat and I tried my hardest to love them fully. (Obviously, it wasn't enough.) Now, I'm already nearing 3 years of "singlehood" and I haven't had any sexual relationships with anyone. But still my father thinks I'm a prostitute?!

Maybe I just couldn't blame him. After all, many people think of me the same way. To put it in another way, many people think of OTHER PEOPLE LIKE ME the same way.

Can't change that. No matter how hard I try. People are people.

A law professor once told me that God has many faces, and such vary from person to person. He believed that his God -- although deviant of the Church's notion -- is sympathetic, indiscriminatory, unconditional and always receptive of every person, regardless of the latter's "social and/or biblical" imperfections.

He is my God, too. I know He loves me.

Leaving Neverland

I was in AdNU these past two days. The University Choir had its post-Valentine's concert on a solitary February 24 evening and the English major students had the pilot staging last night of their play entitled "Kapa." (The last "a" of the word has a stress -- whatever it's called -- when pronounced but since I'm a techie dummy and haven't got an idea how to display such letter in the monitor, a simple "a" has to suffice.) Both events had their share of highlights, loops and what-have-you. Generally, however, my reviews had raves written all over them and the reasons weren't limited to the circumstance that I was invited to these events by friends. Anyhow, my thumbs up or 5 stars (whatever could be their worth) didn't matter that much.

What really got me into writing this stuff was the sudden re-appearance of the ghosts I thought had long transformed themselves into permanent bygones. More on them later.

After the play, we threw our drunkard asses once again to the pub of our intoxicated dreams, MudBugs, to resurrect our bubbling livers. Haha. Since the time Buboy, one of my best friends, decided to bid adieu to his "lengthy" life of loitering in the academe and to finally wreak havoc in a far less tolerating environment -- the work place (good grief) -- the chances of my friends' get-togethers had likewise bade goodbye to high counts of daily sessions, with or without San Miguel. In other words, a once-a-week-table-talk-with-a-bucket-whipping-our-organs would be a great relief to our now withering social calendars. Buboy currently had been given Tuesdays and Wednesdays as off days. Consequently, Fridays and Saturdays were morphed into boring weekdays, er, weekends. It was a cool change (I'm quoting Little River Band here) since I and Che, my other best friend, have got BIG exams coming up.

So there we were: Buboy and me, without Che, who had had enough of putting her reviewing on a standstill. However, we had Paul and Grace. The former was the actor-cum-playwright and the latter was his "biatch." Usually, on an ordinary Wednesday night, the table would find me, Buboy and Che (other friends are already in places we also dream of reaching one sweet and financially privileged day! :D) Last night obviously was different. After a week or 2 of hiatus, we had Paul and Grace as co-beer guzzlers. Paul used to be a habitue of our drunken table but since Buboy's unfortunate shift and our academic preoccupations, we had seen no Saturdays in MudBugs (or BeanBag -- and/or Molino) and Paul, the weekened-er, would instead litter his disco ball in Jaq.

We spent almost 2 hours talking about almost anything under the sun (or under the smoky ceiling), from the play to the little hairs surrounding one's a-hole. Haha. Then Paul, Grace and one friend of Grace's who arrived later, left to visit a friend confined at St. John's, leaving Buboy and yours truly to guzzle on the lonesome beer bottle (1/4 of it, that is). After 10 minutes of melodramatic talk (it was the beer talking!) and a chat with Joyce -- the cashier and fresh member of "It's a World Made for Singles, Too!" -- we left our favorite semi-sanctuary and prepped for the trip back to reality.

On my way home, while seated, er, slumped on a busted tricycle chair, with 20 bucks readied for presentment (parang negotiable instrument), I couldn't help but get flashbacks from the day that was (it was already past midnight). Either it was the splurging on bottles of Red Horse or my plain inclination to the dramatics, but the condensed moments came like thunders on a supposedly clear day: first, the lunch I had with Jane, who was contemplating her future, from the academic to the familial; second, the coffee talk with Zhulai with I whom I shared high hopes for the coming big event that would dictate our places in the professional sphere; third, the merienda I had with my college friends, who already had their share of ups and downs in their own worlds, from family to work; fourth, the Ash Wednesday mass I attended with one of my girl friends, who had already set sight on a plan to take her away from this sinking country; fifth, the play I'd mentioned wherein I got as a seatmate a former SRA supervisor and as co-viewers a swarm of very, very young people -- tweenies -- with raging, centipede-like hormones that painfully got me into recalling the person I was trying to hold on to but whom fate wouldn't forever allow; and finally, the drinking spree wherein the beauty of love, life and youth -- or whatever was left of such -- served as intangible sisig and mixed nuts.

Then, the tricycle stopped its shrieking. I was home. Or was I really?

After giving the fare, I opened the gate, walked disconcertedly, paused and then stared at the cemented walk that led to the garage.

Where was I going?

I pulled out a cigarette from its crushed mini-box and sat on a nearby stair. For almost 10 minutes, I sat there -- silent, silenced and mute. Three tricycles, 2 motorcycles and a pedicab passed by. With the sound of distant screeches, I felt a year or so of my life also did the same. I buried my face while the crickets sang their lullaby.

When I entered the house, my sister was doing her YM/Facebook/Friendster exploitation, uhm, exploration -- as usual. Seemingly sober, she told me Daddy was again mad at me for coming home this late. (I left before noon -- a once in a blue moon personal move --- and told him I'd be home before 5 in the afternoon.) Thankfully, he was already loudly snoring upstairs.

Attempting to act indifferently, I snatched my cellphone charger and turned my phone on. (It died while I was watching the play and while I was painstakingly trying to make out understandable phrases from a friend who was calling.)

"Wru? Pumuli ka na!" was the first message that came in. It was Daddy's. He was really pissed off. A Bicol word in a text message coming from him meant only that. Oh, well. I had to sleep; tomorrow -- or later -- would be a new day for cooler heads and a more empathic child.

That (very early) morning, I couldn't sleep though I was sure I had a ton of rocks plastered on my head... Dammit... Finally, after an hour of aping an "Aurora," I was able to put myself to sleep.

Then I was in another tricycle.

I was again on my way home. Or was I -- yet again? As the roads became more smoggy, so did the face of the driver. I started to gaze, then to look at this almost headless motorman, who a few seconds ago was just a dormant voice with an overshadowed silhouette for a face. Now, he was a real monster. The houses were also turning into unfamiliar, hollow structures like manors built on forgotten cliffs by the sea. It was worse than Sleepy Hollow.

More than terrified, I asked -- demanded -- from the driver to tell me where he was taking me. He neither answered nor looked at me. He only smiled and released what seemed like a growing laughter. I was already f*cking scared and I felt I was slowly being annihilated, stabbed in multiple by every crack of his unbelievably white teeth.

Then the vehicle stopped.

I wasn't home. This wasn't home in any way. In front of my trembling eyes was a high and illuminated silver Gothic gate. Behind it was nothing but the haunting and too complex sight of darkness -- still. The last thing I could recollect was that I was breathing -- heavily.

Then I woke up.

I looked at my cellphone. It was 9:30 a.m. I sat on my bed and looked at my slippers.

What was that?!

Then I remembered the day I had yesterday. Were -- or are -- the developments of my adulthood finally taking over -- immediately and mercilessly? Are the days of naivete or innocence in near scarcity (at least in my so-called life)? Am I leaving a place I have always treasured and made as a parcel of my presence, which ironically, has molded itself unconventionally that it has become my complete identity? Am I leaving Neverland, the place of my personal permanent childhood, or the thought of it? Were all the people I shared my atypical Wednesday with telling me, through their mirrors, to let go and to get a grip of something other than what I have been persistently and stubbornly anchored in? Am I "destined" for something worse than Hook's devoured arm?

Am I one of the Lost Boys or am I just lost? Or am I just a boy?

Hungry, insatiable and wanting.

The dream was really strange and scary. In fact, my shivering has not waned up to this very moment.

And why was there only darkness behind that silver gate?

Friendster Finally Got Its Overhaul... And?

For the past weeks or so, I had a morning ritual: to wake from my usually dreamless sleep, to drink my overly caffeine-ated coffee and to check updates on my social networks. Miraculously, that so-called ritual finally ended its streak when I tried to access my Friendster account this morning. I painstakingly had two tries and an almost broken keyboard before I managed to get a full view of my profile, which hadn't changed a bit since the last time I checked. Poor me.

It wasn't about a minute later when I discovered that my account did change after all. Technically, such wasn't limited to my now seemingly stagnant Friendster site. Everyone in fact had it and every Friendster habitue would surely notice that his/her friends' updates box had just gone through a makeover. Yes, Victoria, a makeover -- the one that Oprah arguably invented and the same thing that Tyra arguably tried to emulate in vain.

Tragically, the term "makeover" wasn't that appropriate -- at all. "Overhaul" was more like it. (At least an overhaul would either mean better or worse, depending on which side of the beauty salon or vulcanizing shop you're sitting... or inflating.)

To give you a bigger picture -- just in case 1) you have no Friendster account; 2) you have one but don't log in too much because Friendster is so 2004; or 3) you just don't care -- here's the overhaul: the friends' updates box, which is the second thing you check upon accessing your Friendster account (after your OWN updates), has been divided into 4 brackets, from the "24 hours ago" to the "4 days ago." Quite relieving and more informative, if you'd ask me... BUT... here's the catch: your friends' pictures weren't there! There were just names and the what-have-yous they just did. Good grief.

Personally, the box sort of looked cluttered, like panties scattered on the floor of a museum. The backdrop looked neat but the words -- or letters -- just appeared "shabby" or disorganized though they weren't. (Some of my friends have hearts, wingdings or whatever teenybopper scrapbookish churva associated with their names!) And they just confused you more. Your eyes would get distorted just looking at the small fonts and figuring out who this person who just received a comment or added a photo was.

I, for example, had to freak my brain out just to know who among my friends named MARK had updated his profile. I have 4 friends with MARK as their user names in my account so I had to look further just to discover who among these 4 had ticked his profile though I didn't really care! Haha.

Worse, it would really get complicated if you accessed one's profile just to stupidly find out who was who. If your settings allowed you to know who were those who viewed your profile and their settings were the same, that person would find out you'd been doing some snooping though you weren't really. Sheesh. It used to be so simple but now it isn't. Like d'oh.

Kelly Clarkson had a word for it: beautiful mess. I have one for it, too: messy beautiful or just plain mess.

Poor Friendster. I think the "regression" started when other social networks, like MySpace, Multiply and most recently, Facebook, got into the social networking scene and seized Friendster's moolah. Well, at least in the Philippines... or Naga City. Haha.

Now, Friendster just looks like one granddaddy who had his better days. Its team just couldn't get it quite right recently. With all the hype Facebook is receiving, the Friendster road is getting bulldozed by the minute. Keeping up through the new (and tragic) layout may just be too little, too late -- or too big, too early.

Sadly, I used to be a Friendster supporter (see my past article about Facebook and my initial pissed off moments with it). I still am but no longer that spirited (for the lack of a better adjective). I think the table has turned and Facebook has become my new loitering zone. Must be the applications.

Anyway, it's just an opinion, especially if you're a Friendster die-hard. To be even redundant about it, it's just my PERSONAL opinion. So don't kill me. :)

Losing Cupid

Wanted.
Asked.
Hoped.
Longed.
Needed.

Opened.
Stared.
Gazed.
Looked.

Petrified.
Frozen.

Moved.
Opened.
Stared.
Gazed.
Looked.
Stopped.

Moved.
Stopped.
Looked.
Stopped.
Moved.
Stopped.

Stopped.

Far.
Farther.
Further.

Lost.
Gone.
Gone.

(One of my very few attempts at "poetry." I initially planned to do something long but idleness had taken over my "ranting" again tonight. Oh well.)

The Love of Siam: Bad Ending?

Just when I thought that I had seen enough of sad, bad, frustrating or just plain depressing endings (every adjective is different, mind you), there I was again at almost 3 this morning digging for clues in the IMDB website fora. But unlike the rage I had when I watched "Billy's Hollywood Screen Kiss," where the protagonist was unexpectedly dumped for a more attractive man, the ending of "The Love of Siam" somewhat had me torn between taking the movie to my "Hall of All-Time Movie Favorites" or to my "Hall of All-Time Movie Downers."

Quite ironically, the first time I saw the ending of "The Love of Siam" I was extremely happy (this is an understatement) with how the director depicted the scene. I did not even think of it as sad or devastating. In fact, I was surprised - pleasantly - by how the movie was concluded. But you know that all changed (though slightly) when I got brainwashed by the reactions flooded in the fora. More on that later.

For those who haven't seen the movie - and for your enlightenment - here's a summary (I may not be good at doing nutshells. Just read my previous post, which was a very amateurish attempt in doing a summary of "Billy's Hollywood Screen Kiss." It turned into a novel-cum-critique. Haha. But do I have choice here?) :

Mew and Tong (played brilliantly by Witwisit Hiranyawongkul and Mario Maurer, respectively) were childhood friends. They were neighbors. At the outset, Mew didn't like Tong because of the latter's mischievousness. Tong, on the other hand, was more receptive of Mew. One day, Mew got into a fight with some of his schoolmates because of his "sissiness." Quite expectedly, Tong was there to the rescue. Resultingly, he was the one who got mobbed. That was how the friendship of the two was forged. In one scene, Tong gave Mew a gift through a game where the latter had to find scattered pieces of the toy gift (think of Mr. Potato Head, but wooden) through maps the former made. When the two got into the place where the last piece was hidden - a tree - the same was already cut and being taken away. So Mew got his toy, without its last piece: the nose.

Then the plot thickened. Tong's sister, Tang, "got lost in the jungle" during a hiking trip. Tong's family - because of their devastation - had to move to relieve them somehow of their pain.

Years later, Tong and Mew met again - in Siam Square. Tong was already dating a girl and Mew was a vocalist in a boy band (August Band). The boy band's assistant, June, had a very arresting resemblance with Tang. The similarity was so striking that even Tong's mother hired her to pretend to be Tang in order to salvage Tong's father who was then addicted to alcoholism because of Tang's loss.

As the movie progressed, it could be seen that Mew had more than a friendly thing going on for Tong. Mew even composed several "love" songs specially dedicated to his childhood friend. Tong, on the other hand, seemed "complicated" at first. But in several scenes, Tong revealed that he had the same thing going on for Mew, too. (Just a note: both of them were straight-acting. Mew's girl neighbor even had an obsession for him. Arguably, both of the boys were still confused with their sexual preferences.) But after a party in Tong's house (to celebrate the supposed return of Tang), the two kissed. This was all seen by Tong's mother, who, the next day, confronted Mew, asking him to end the relationship he had with Tong. Being the young, gullible man that he was (both him and Tong were still in high school), he succumbed to the request of the oh-so-typically-conservative mother. Tong soon found out and sought Mew. But for days, the latter gave the former the cold shoulder... until the concert in the square.
As the movie approached its end, Tong gave up his snotty girlfriend; Mew's neighbor found out about the boys' relationship but handled it with respect; and June/Tang quit her job and left for somewhere else, leaving the audience wondering whether she was really Tang or not.

Finally, the ending. After the concert, when Mew and his co-band members were leaving, Tong approached Mew. At this stage of the movie, the viewers presumably were anticipating that Tong will affirm his love for Mew and they'd live happily ever after. After all, in a brilliantly depicted scene, with a girl and a boy ornament used as metaphors, Tong asked what his mother would like to be placed in the Christmas tree. First, he placed the girl figure, then the boy. Later, he paired the two. Tong's mother, obviously unaware that her son was trying to tell her something, candidly told him to do whatever. Then Tong managed a reply, which undoubtedly sent shivers to my bones, "What if I choose one and you don't like it? You'll be upset again." Tong's mother, tentatively petrified and conspicuously overcome by the sudden impact of the query, told him, "Choose what you think is best for yourself." Tong chose the boy puppet, while his mother looked on sympathetically as if telling him that though his son's choice wasn't exactly what she would have hoped, she knew that it was what Tong thought was best for him - and that was enough. That was probably one of the best movie scenes I've seen.
So there were the two boys seemingly caught in all the events that led to this scene: after the concert, as the two stood in front of each other, waiting for the culmination of the decision they had to make for each other... while Mew's friends stood behind them, watching, listening, hoping... so was I. My excitement was already way beyond boiling at this point, but of course, I had to contain myself... Then it happened: Mew asked Tong what he thought of the song his band sang at the concert (a cheesy but quite nice song about meeting someone and making a beautiful destiny - a dream - out of their lives)... There was an awkward, silent moment first as if telling the viewers to prepare themselves for the unforgiving gravity of Tong's words... He replied, with his puppy eyes directed to Mew's wondering ones, "I can't be with you as your boyfriend..." Mew's smile suddenly faded, like a petal hiding away from the sun's rays, but he managed to smile again, attempting to hide the disappointment... Tong continued, "But that doesn't mean that I don't love you."

Awww. I was already blushing then but I didn't care. Haha. At that time, I didn't know yet the true import of Tong's words. All I knew was that Tong finally had the courage to embrace who he was and to reciprocate expressly Mew's love for him - though not in the best way there was. After all, if one loved another, shouldn't they be together? But who am I to meddle with this? Haha.

After those powerful words, Tong gave Mew a Christmas gift. Later, Tong went back home and confirmed to the audience once and for all that family had to be first in his priorities. In the end, Mew was shown with Tong's Christmas gift, the missing piece of the wooden toy Tong gave him when they were little (remember the game?). It was the nose. After finally putting the piece in its place, he stared at it and began to cry while saying the words, "Thank you." It was one of the most fragile yet brilliantly acted outbursts I'd seen for a while in a movie. Very heartbreaking, especially when Mew had to open his mouth to contain his tears. The movie finally ended with the toy staring blankly at the viewer - haunting, asking, hoping.
When I turned off the screen, I had no doubt that "The Love of Siam" would be one of my favorites, maybe next to "American Beauty," "Brokeback Mountain" or "Shelter."

I was so taken by the movie that I immediately got into the IMDB website just to have a view of what other people thought of it. But disappointingly, many of them didn't like the ending. Some even questioned why the two couldn't end up together. Some had very rational views on the matter, alleging that Asian families are still stuck in the tradition of a heterosexual setting, thus, making hesitant followers out of their children. But most - if not all - of them liked the movie in general. I did, too, but in its entirety. I thought it wasn't concluded as worse as some people put it. In fact, I viewed the ending with a very big possibility for Tong and Mew. Just because Tong decided that he and Mew couldn't be boyfriends didn't mean that they couldn't be together at all. (People, Tong didn't say he'd marry a girl or be straight at once!) I even thought the arrangement Tong offered Mew entailed a bigger space for optimism and love for the two of them. They could still end up together because what they had was sufficient to hold them together.

Even though it was obvious, I still had to get the idea from some of the bloggers that what the director offered was an open-ended ending. Hence, any conclusion that suited the viewer would suffice. In other words, Tong and Mew's love story could either be a tragedy or otherwise, depending on the individual's perspective. Personally, either it was a bad thing or not, the two protagonists were still very young and worldly. But they had shown very strong oppositions against the norms, so be positive. Anyhow, a presumably "happier" ending could have pushed the movie to infinity, but a hint of reality couldn't hurt a little, if at all.

So thankfully, I wasn't brainwashed totally by the comments. (Inevitably, only a sequel can end all the debates over the ending. "The Love of Siam 2" please!)

I also didn't construe Mew's "thank you" in the end of the film as an utter piece of sarcasm. When I first saw that scene (which I've repeated countless of times), I thought what was being acknowledged by Mew wasn't the bitterness engulfing the just transpired conversation he had with Tong - but the affirmation of the love, of the possibility that he wouldn't be lonely anymore because of Tong. They weren't tears of regret, of frustration - but of gratefulness and of hope. As that part was running, I remembered the scene in Mew's room where Tong asked Mew if he was feeling lonely, Mew had a part of his answer which went like this, "Is it possible that we can live our entire life without loving anyone at all? That's my loneliness." I thought with Mew's "thank you" came the answer to his question. And he couldn't be lonely anymore.

Mew's favorite verse couldn't say it better, "As long as you love, you still have hope." Indeed.

So, to answer conclusively the question: was the ending bad? NO. Not at all. In fact, it was excellent.

Roger Federer Lost It

Heartbreaking. That's the word.

Minutes after Rafael Nadal broke Roger Federer's serve to be the victor in the nail-biting 5-set Australian Open Finals and, thus, finally crashing into the ranks of tennis superstar-dom (and history: he had just become one of the very few tennis players to ever win in all grand slam surfaces, i.e., hard court, clay and grass, and the first Spaniard to ever snatch the Australian Open trophy), the world witnessed the hard beating of a torn Roger Federer. Seconds into his speech - amidst the jeers from the passionate, fanaticism-inclined crowd (one MAN even shouted, "I love you, Federer!") - the once seemingly invincible Swiss champion finally revealed his vulnerability. From a tear to a visibly uncontrollable outburst of emotions, Federer stood on the stage, with the crowd looking down on him, shocked and sympathetic.

Even I was caught in the moment. Mentally exhausted after reading pages from a Civil Procedure textbook (Mandamus and Quo Waranto were twins I had no intention of ever adopting), I never thought I could be more drained... until that moment.

From the 1st round of the 1st grand slam of the year, I rooted for Rafa over Roger. After all, Roger already has enough trophies (he has 13 and that night, he was attempting to equal Pete Sampras' record of 14 grand slams) and Rafa is more dynamic and entertaining in the court. And I've always admired him since the time he first had his Wimbledon men's singles appearance. He reached the 3rd round in that year, I guess. Not bad for a first appearance. Even a sportscaster exclaimed that he had no doubt the world would be seeing more of this youngster. I thought so, too, and both of us were - and still are - right. And, yes, I liked the Nike ensemble he had on last night. He looked like a warrior from the future with that lime gree, white and black mix. Haha.

Don't get me wrong but I like Federer, too. Roger plays elegantly. Clean. Polished. There is an indefinite beauty in the way he does his forehands and backhands. Pizzaz, I think. In scrutiny, when Rafa chases the balls, it kind of looks messy and all over the place. Roger, on the other hand, scores with precision and clarity, like making a draft look like a finished work.

But a match pitting the two against each other always has me going for Rafa.

It all changed last night.

So there was Roger, sobbing, yet trying his hardest not to. Then the screen turned to Rafa, who was sober and undoubtedly feeling for Roger. Surely, Rafa's Mardi Gras had been stalled.

There was suddenly a very uncomfortable silence - or whisper - in the Rod Laver arena (note: Rod Laver was even there to present the trophy!). Then, Roger finally ended his struggle. After the host asked the Swiss if he wanted to continue with his speech (which could have been coined as an "eulogy" - a farewell to his title of "master" in all surfaces in the modern era - for now), the latter asked that he be allowed to compose himself. The crowd could be heard sighing in relief. I did, too. At that moment, I was already wishing I did not cheer as much as I did for Rafa (as if I was a factor in Roger's loss. Haha!).

The host then introduced Rafa: that his victory in the Aussie Open Final is the first for a Spaniard, blah, blah, blah... Before Rafa took the mic, Roger finally decided to say his piece. After all, he claimed, Rafa must have the final word because "he deserves it." He was saying that still with his eyes flooded. (Sigh.)

He thanked the sponsors, the tennis legends (yes, they were there!) and the fans. It was truly heartbreaking. There were the alternate moments when he had to slow down because of the surge of emotions and had to hasten again because he knew he had to end the struggle once and for all. (The speech was a requirement to say the least.) Though he didn't say it, it was clear that he was extremely disappointed with his loss - and with the failed attempt to match Sampras record-breaking 14 grand slam titles. Add to that the realization that an attempt of the same feat will be met by yet another colossal battle with the now (presumably) reigning "master of all court surfaces." Roger was truly devastated that he was not able to thank his team - the Swiss, his coach, his parents, and even his wife, who was crushed as well.

I am not saying that we should pity Roger; that his supremacy has already ended; or that Rafa is unbeatable. The fact still remains that Roger is arguably the best player out there. Either last night was Rafa's night (he is younger after all though the odds were against him because he just dispatched Verdasco in a very exhausting 5-hr.+ semi-final epic) or Roger's overdue wake-up call has finally rung (I think his defeat in the French Open against Rafa was the outset).

Conclusively, I still believe Roger has the guns to match or even surpass Sampras' record. Just give him time to recover - fast.

Damn... Just give Roger that trophy!

The "Billy's Hollywood Screen Kiss" Ending

okay, i am not supposed to be writing this not only because doing so will surely ruin my reading schedule but also for the sake of this almost busted pc, which has been running overtime. it's almost 3 a.m., for the love of sleep! but tragically, i can't contain myself after watching this movie i've downloaded through the web (infringer may be the word). yes, "Billy's Hollywood Screen Kiss." surprise!

you may ask, "why - of all the movies being circulated by pirates on the web - did I choose to have this movie downloaded?" it's a very long story actually. to cut to the chase, i did so because it has one of the actors who has also starred in my current favorite film, "Shelter." maybe my fascination for the latter film has gone far beyond obsession that: 1) i've already seen it 6 times maybe in the past two weeks; 2) i have flooded my iTunes with its soundtrack; and 3) i have made a review of it knowing it won't be read by even a bored bummer. it was way over obsession that i even extended my near insanity to other films whose similarities may be too vague but weirdly conspicuous to "Shelter." so that's how "Billy's Hollywood Screen Kiss" came up. yes, both have Brad Rowe in them.

okay, after 2 days of continuously shifting my attention from a law book (which i was supposed to finish a week ago) to the monitor to check on the progress of my download (1.3 GB is no joke!), i finally found myself on my bed earlier this evening, watching the first minutes of this movie in my iPod.

you may find it eccentric or plain weird, but maybe for the lack of any alternative to "mush," i deviated recently my attention to a more appeasing yet less physically real medium: film. so you could just imagine my excitement... the anticipation that the next 1.5 hrs. or so would be another trip to movie bliss - or to the closeness of quasi-romance of the imaginary kind. (seemed redundant.)

but... damn you, Brad.

3 minutes before the end credits, i was in movie hell. i never thought that 5 seconds of a movie scene could bring me that close to attempted self-annihilation... until that time. panicking, i got out of my room, went straight to the pc, grabbed the keyboard, typed the words "imdb," searched for the movie, checked the fora, and confirmed if what i saw was really what i saw but wished i didn't.

but, damn you, Brad, i did see it. what you did in the beach really was a total downer... a perfect disappointment... an ending fit for the guillotine. not even the movie's last few minutes - which were presumably meant to uplift even the tiniest fragment of the viewer's soul - saved me from feeling worse than Billy, who was played brilliantly by Sean Hayes (of the "Will and Grace" fame).

okay, for the enlightenment of those who haven't had the chance to watch the film (it was shown in the 90's and it was a pink film, for Cher's sake!), here's a nutshell: Billy was a homosexual photographer who just broke up with his Latino lover/bigamy follower. one day, he met this waiter, Gabe (Brad Rowe), and instantly had a crush on him. Billy offered him a modeling stint in a photo shoot where the latter would be reenacting scenes from classic romance movies. Gabe agreed. as the movie progressed, the two sort of bonded (for the lack of a better phrase). maybe because of the circumstances and Billy's psychological misgivings - projection, as one of the characters put such - he began doubting Gabe's sexual preference and even thought that he could have a shot with the hotshot model. (btw, Gabe had a girlfriend and was "apparently" straight. note: 1st 40 mins. of the film.)

then it happened: when Gabe spent the night at Billy's. at first, Gabe decided to sleep on the couch. Billy was already being overcome by a nervous breakdown then since his doubts were almost - ALMOST - being confirmed (from Gabe's gestures to the words well endowed with twin interpretations. just see the movie and you'll know what i mean). so, after going to his room, he scurried back to the sala and offered Gabe to sleep with him on his bed since Gabe's legs were "too long" for the couch. he declined. Billy went back to his room, frustrated.

then - viola! - Gabe entered the room and got on the bed. after a sentence or two, they said goodnight. Gabe turned his back on Billy... then tried to sleep (or pretended to), took off his shirt after 5 seconds (with his back still turned), and tried to sleep again (or pretended to). Billy, who visibly almost could not control his testosterone anymore, had his arm touch Gabe's back. it could be seen then that Gabe wasn't asleep yet. suddenly feeling guilty or bothered, Billy removed his arm. then came the answer: Gabe pushed his back closer to Billy's arm and the foreplay was initiated. Billy was all over Gabe's body! it was almost a typical gay dream coming true but Billy made one fatal mistake: kissing Gabe - on the lips. it was a surprise, of course. the night was over all of a sudden. bummer.

then the movie continued: Gabe got a modeling break and left for Catalina (an island off the coast of L.A., i guess). Billy meanwhile was worse than confused. feeling he had to choose between risking or counting "what-could-haves," he decided to follow Gabe to settle the matter.

now the ending: Billy confronted Gabe in the beach. he told him that he was sorry for what happened the other night and that he was very willing to help him go through the process of "coming out," etc., etc., etc.

in sum , Billy was confessing his love and offering his advisory services - his soul - for free. it was already getting clear here that Gabe wasn't that straight after all. but geez, just tell him you love him, too, and just kiss him! (that's what every sane viewer wanted after all!)

but then... then... then the bringer of the sad ending appeared: Gabe's boyfriend! (also a model and a pretty face.) dammit. for the love of Lance Bass, the boyfriend had to come out from behind the rocks, shouting for Gabe, with that questioning look on his faggoty face! like Billy in the scene, my jaw dropped like it never dropped that low before in my life. worse, before slapping Billy with the sucking truth and then hugging the cheesecake boyfriend, Gabe stated, "i'm pretty sure what i'm supposed to want." in other words, "you're nice and all, Billy. i'm just not interested."

dammit.

technically, it wasn't the ending. it was more like this: Billy's career skyrocketed... his friend confessed a secret admiration... Billy had a very prospective love catch... blah... blah... blah.
but really, who would care if you already had guns targeted at Gabe's head, ready for firing, even before the credits rolled???

honestly, i've never been affected by a movie ending as extremely as this that i even have to post this blog at 4 in the morning! (already? agh!)

but for giving the movie a "realistic" spin, my commendations are generous. the movie still rocked - painfully though.

what's with the disappointment/mild rage, anyhow? maybe it was the anticipation of a very happy ending (that exploded like unwanted gas in a closed room) or the oh-so-circumstantial relevance of the ending in my oh-so-Shakespearean-tragedy stint in the game of sh-love (more like slob)...

or maybe the very medium, which i've relied upon for the realization of a happy ending even at least behind the spaces of real life, have decided to withhold such for the time being... well, until the next pink movie.

postscript: Brad Rowe still have the rocks in my book. more on "Shelter" later.

Starting Line (Again)

The following entries are blog posts i have made through the years and have been published in a different site (which i'd rather not mention, thank you very much). Maybe for lack of coverage, push, eager beavers or plain lack of readership interest (that other profile is in private mode and i've got no choice!), i have decided to give my blogging life a new lease on life (recuperation is the word) by doing just this. At least i won't have to worry about privacy settings here. :)

Facebook My Arse: The History of Jologs

January 13th, 2009 by martingeneral

finally, after a verrry torturous signing up process (they thought my surname was definitive of a product or whatever!) and a not-so-short loitering behind the dull pc monitor for a snail confirmation, i can already declare myself an official facebook member.

at first, i was quite hesitant to go through the signing up mill again. yes, i had my 1st try, which was in early 2008, and it wasn’t pretty. the facebook team initially had to bombard me with their so-called surname verification. it sucked that i swore not to enter the word “facebook” in the url line again.

being the stubborn “spinster” that i was, i even thought, hey, i was no advocate of social network fanaticism that i had to have more than three of these networks to satisfy me.

at that time i even got 4: friendster, hi5, tagged and multiply (excluding those i intentionally scrapped).

it was that mind-boggling that i even had a stupid debate with my sister, who apparently was the world’s biggest facebook defender. it was a celebrated battle between the then facebook newbie (her) and the then friendster loyalist (me).

my argument 1: who cares if friendster is now becoming (or has become) a haven of people with poor taste (for the lack of a more appropriate phrase)? it’s just like valentine’s. everybody joins in but just because of the surge of people from the less fortunate classes of society on the 14th, the ones from the upper ranks do it on the 15th, 16th or earlier just to evade the oh-so-dreadful possibilities of association. but for the love of havaianas or havanas, everbody still celebrates it! do the analogy.

my argument 2: the fact (or presumed fact) that facebook has not yet reached the conscious level of those people with poor taste is not enough guarantee of facebook’s permanent place in the kingdom of cool.

it’s just like norah jones, rihanna or sean kingston… or america’s next top model, rhythm ‘n’ blues or those good ole baller IDs… once you (your “FEELING COOL” self) encounter, say, a pedicab driver donning, humming, aping or just plainy knowing these stuff, you cringe because what you thought were “cool” were now suddenly a property also of this “uncool, jologish” person. and you don’t want to be “uncool or jologish” so you end up hating gradually those things which once upon a time you could easily exchange for your soul. ain’t that stupid? just like friendster and facebook after 2 years maybe.

i just find it quite weird that people foster eliticism out of social networks.

but, viola! i am now a facebook member… officially. ain’t that ironic? it only proves i am still a member of this judgmental and influential (or easily influenced) society… and being social requires social networks to survive.

stupid…

i know. :p

postscript: those with facebook accounts, add me up! that’ll be so cool. hahaha. oh, yes, i still think i’ve won that debate.

The Quarter-of-a-Century Syndrome

December 20th, 2008 by martingeneral

one question: is everybody getting married/having a child nowadays or am i just a 25-year old hermit who has no one to get hitched with or to have a tryst with? my gut tells me it’s the latter. boohoo.

minutes ago, i was looking at the pictures of a college friend’s newly born baby girl. days ago, i was chatting with an ex and the conversation had marriage all over it (too bad, it wasn’t between the two of us. ouch.) weeks ago, i was invited to a friend’s bridal shower (yes, doofus, not a stag party!) and my ass was just too horrified to take the 9-hour ride to the big city. months ago, i was uploading photos of my first nephew and the captions were all screaming “uncle” martin! i never felt older.

yes, i did. argh. not to mention that my sister was crafting this video presentation of hers for days and the slides had images of pretty faces (the “before”) and just, uhm, enhanced ones (the “after”)… though the word “enhanced” wouldn’t be appropriate if i were to consider the fact that some of those pretty faces weren’t technically enhanced, but uglified. i never thought tara reid had wrinkled abs!

looking at those pictures made me realize that in a few years or decades (i just so hope!), i’ll be looking like one of those pictures - only less enhanced. i can’t afford a plastic surgery, financially and psychologically. but that’s just my 25-year old self talking… or blogging.

now, back to pregnancies and matrimonies. like i said, seems like everybody is throwing bridal showers or sharing cakes in a reception hall or having anxiety attacks in emergency rooms or just giving birth… while i am giving birth to a beer belly and an eruption of cigarette rashes. welcome to the world, belly and rash.

last night i was even reprimanded - or nearly banished - by my father for being a lost teenybopper trapped in an aging man’s body (that’s my favorite “thought for the decade” from him).

8 sets of christmas lights all plastered on the garden plants were stolen and he was blaming me for such loss. i was the only man in the house and i should have been more vigilant, he was saying as i was trying my hardest to swallow barbecued meat and atchara at 9:30 in the evening. never tasted that bitter. and let me add: i wasn’t the only man in the house! not to be outdone, he also lambasted my ears for being addicted to loud music and brokendown ipod earphones instead of soft music from law books and brokendown codals. happy, happy, joy, joy, indeed.

thinking that i was being again bullied to be the scapegoat (the dogs didn’t bark and the house isn’t that small for my senses to detect everything that was happening at least in the garden!), i grabbed my chucks and dressed as fast as i could remember. i hurried past the front gate, panted, and made my escape… but not that easy, dork. my beloved father was there, still investigating and apparently still boiling. i braced myself for more ranting - and, boy, was that ranting really a ranting…

to cut the story short, i made it to mudbugs still in one piece but i felt like a whole box of billiard balls just hit my scrotum. aray.

so there: for two hours i was a bitter ass who just drank and smoked. my friends listened to my story and just laughed as if my loser episode was worth as much as inday garutay’s. i was pissed off but i later realized that i was only being an hole in the ass. (just a quickie: i only discovered recently that you need an “an” for an “h”).

as i was making my way home i realized that maybe it was just me, a man who treasures his childhood - and irresponsiblity - in a world that tolerates childishness only until one’s circumcission….and, oh, yes, there are also marriages and child rearing to do.

i’m going there… just give me 25 more years.

Single

December 18th, 2008 by martingeneral

yes, world, i am - for almost 3 years. 3 long, bitter and impatient years.

(okay, you can stop laughing now. even i can’t decode this fact with a straight face.)

3 years… there were days when i longed for even the slightest of touches but had to settle for an over-sized feather pillow. no touches there, thank you very much. and how could i not forget the seconds i found myself in… just staring at a couple in the corner of a coffee shop… the grin, the flicker, then the spark? but i had none of those, i thought, as i slowly retreated to my meltdown and my also melting java frost.

i was okay for a while. uhm, “a while” means weeks after i finally got over the reality that my last partner (yes, for the lack of a better word) just found something better or livelier to do or to be with (depending on which side of the spectrum you’re looking at).

it took me almost 4 months (or 6… but who’s counting?) to get over such shakespeare-an tragedy. it was that loooooooong. friends tell me that the average time one dumpee has to go through to get over the dumping is 1/2 the number of months or years the parties have been together. so mathematically, i should have been having my mardi gras 2 months and 3 days after that break-up. but then again, who’s counting?

what mattered to me were really the reasons why i had to be dumped and why so sudden. but frankly, those were the days when my bitterness level was way beyond the limits. i don’t care now anymore… okay, maybe a little. haha. but really, i don’t care anymore.

now, you may ask, why - in the name of gloria gaynor’s surviving skills - am i blogging this? wala lang, mau lang, nada, nothing. maybe it’s the siberian cold or the lack of something better to do at 11 in the morning or just maybe i’ve finally figured out that i’ve been a semi-virgin for almost a quarter of a decade! hallelujah!

but i ain’t proud of that. there were times, uhm, plenty of times, when i insanely imagined myself being humped again against the bed and being devoured by an insatiable predator. oooh. wahaha. joke.

for months, i’ve been contemplating the reasons behind my status quo. how did i ever reach this place? my friends had answers. i had some, too. but the mirror had the most convincing. wahaha. but seriously, i was just too damn afraid to take the risk again of falling in someone else’s pit and just keep on falling, falling and falling… and not to be seen again… until that thunderous stab telling me i’m a moron.

yes, victoria, i don’t want to be a moron again. i just want to be who i am: an arrogant, frustrated, skeptical, pessimistic, paranoid chicken-shit. joke.

but frankly, being single is not that bad. after all, there are not so stupid reasons: 1) i can have the whole basket of fries without asking for an extra sachet of catsup; 2) i can go through a day without an unlimited text service; 3) i can reach 25 without the idea of having or adopting kids lingering in my not-so-complacent mind for more than 5 minutes; and 4) i can take my feet anywhere without worrying about anybody playing with paranoia. that doesn’t make sense, does it?

conclusively, that thing you call “single-blessedness” could not have been invented if such wasn’t a blessing… and i’m sticking to that - for now.

So Gay

just watched “crash” last night and i got nothing but praises for the movie… well, at least until 5 minutes after the credits stopped rolling and ludacris’ urban rants had been, uhm, pacified.

i liked the film’s rawness and fast-paced presentation. it was as if i ordered spaghetti with meatballs and what i got was hardly boiled pasta, sliced tomatoes and fresh-from-the-butcher-shop meat, with no cheese, in 30 seconds!

the acting was superb. i think the black guy, who played thandie newton’s husband, was nominated for a supporting role in the oscars but lost to an old guy… wait, let me google that…

i’m back! my mistake. it was matt dillon who got nominated and he’s not even black. stupid me.

anyway, the black guy’s name is terrence howard. he only got a nomination from the chicago film critics association… but he was still good, if you’d ask me. if i were an award-giving body, i would have even given him three trophies. the two would be for his brawling skills (he was the only guy i’d seen having an undertaker vs. shawn michaels reenactment with ludacris!) and, uhm, for his crying expertise (if there’s such an allusion or phrase!). his tears were like semi-invisible orgasms - seemingly inconspicuous and unconsummated but you knew they were there. brilliant. haha.

going back to my first few sentences of this blog entry (i always tend to be disorganized, thank you very much): yes, my raves did end after the credits and the ludacris’ parental advisory-infested record.

in a second, i was transported to the kodak theater (in 2005!). i was in a chinese man’s… wait, taiwanese man’s body huddled on the front seat and my name was ANG LEE! (yes, the one who turned eric bana into a green piece of temperamental dodgeball and, yes again, the very sane guy who made zhang ziyi a stripper from the tang dynasty! hen hao! haha!)

i was in the oscars! good grief!

then, like thunderbolts zapped from zeus’ armpits, the best picture award was announced and it was handed to “crash,” shocking the gay-unfriendly (or very gay-friendly) crowd and even enlightening the blind!

wtf?! brokeback mountain didn’t get the trophy? in the name of gloria gaynor and lilo (that’s lindsay lohan)! and i even thought oscar was gay!

crash! i was back in my room… in naga city… yes, in the philippines. crash! i felt like i was hit by gloria macapagal-arroyo’s garapata wart and mike arrroyo’s brokeback, er, broken ass. ouch… and what was that stench?

“brokeback mountain” should have won! and now heath ledger is dead! after all, the mountains are way better than the urban slums of los angeles! there are no sheep, nude bathing and gay cowboys in that city (of course, that was an exaggeration.. an utter lie. steven seagal is a los angeles resident, you know. haha.)! and i’ve got to shout it out after 3 damn years!!!

frankly, i was not saying that for personal reasons… only for the empowerment of individualistic standpoint. i would be so gay had i been blogging those words, uhm, on a personal level. now, stop laughing… and… where’s my tutu?

toink.

Law School Hellfire: Part III

October 16th, 2008 by martingeneral

this week is killing me. piece after piece, my organs are dropping like crazy…

first, there was the memorandum i almost failed to mail on the day of the deadline (after being stupidly reprimanded by the supervising lawyer and made to wait for almost 3 hours of utter desperation on a lowly bench in ust). second, the loss of a quasi-prospective cardiac future (but that’s another story and what am i talking about, anyway???) then came the news that had me completely shattered and almost out of hope’s circulation: my commercial law review midterms result! ****** **a! score ba ‘un?! waaaaaah…

now, it seems like i’m half-dead: lying like a rotten radish on a hospital bed, dependent on a lonesome tube and droplets of fading life. where’s my miracle?

Law School Hellfire: Part II

October 13th, 2008 by martingeneral

first things first: so there is something hotter than hell and the apartment room at 1 in the afternoon of a regular, blazing Manila setting.

what is it, you may ask? it isn’t your ass when such is plastered on a seat for 5 hours non-stop while vainly listening non-stop (again… and, uhm, are you really listening?) to your nonsensical executor/professor from the school of cradle rock (read: lullaby). it isn’t Jolie or Pitt either. (though you can easily cook and even burn eggs on their thick lips and chiseled buttocks - for the love of carcinogen and perversion!)

so what is it then?

if you were me, i’d say it’s the ipod phone which i’ll tragically never have… except maybe if some stupid benefactor gives me one. (please? )

kidding aside, it’s law school and the inferno it brings to my now overly melted and withered self-esteem. (wow, i had those pala, in fairness to my eternally confident skeptics. )

aaarrrgh! why do i have to try again, again, again and again? and why do i have to stress myself over supposed “nothings” again, again, again, again and again?

there i was: still, pacified, optimistic and hopeful. it was as if i had my fingers already tickling the knob corner of the doors that led to my vague yet easily anticipated so-called purpose-driven future. but in an instant, a comet almost as big as Apollo’s testicles came crashing down, catching me off guard, stabbing me infinitely in a slow-like motion and leaving me helplessly crawling with nothing but a simple, ridiculous rub against my hemorrhaging forehead. ****** **a!

so here iam: crashed, mauled over, bloodied and almost annihilated by a parcel of a reproductive organ. toink.

i just need to graduate for the love of Raul Gonzales’ barbecued larynx and Gloria Arroyo’s garapata wart!

it’s just frustrating. but do i have a choice? of course! i can pack my bags, board the earliest bus to take me out of this nightmarish hullabaloo (what the???), kill myself to sleep, go straight home after an almost 9-hour trip and get myself slaughtered by my father. that’s option Z most probably. haha.

but option A? uhm… go to school and get fired - literally and repeatedly!

waaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh!!!!!!!!!!!

i need more than a pack of cigarettes and a bucket of pale now but REALLY… i just need my sanity back.

Buffer

August 11th, 2008 by martingeneral

days, weeks and months. stare, stare and stare. again, again and again.

the meters weren’t close enough. even the inches were as far as the distance between the spaces that feed the longing and the lingering.

you spoke, with your eyes and smile numbly directed to my uneasiness. i smiled, too. then, the daily and unilaterally friendly exchange was over. there was nothing. again.

you didn’t know anything, anyway. someone was and still is waiting for you. i had to go. move, move and move. then, i’d stop to stare from afar… again, again and again.

Under the Nimbus Cloud

February 26th, 2008 by martingeneral

8 weeks and still counting. 3 more weeks and still crumbling.

back to december 31st: hours prior to the end of another uneventful year and minutes after the first crashes of its last rain… hunched against the front door, lonesome and flushed, i lighted my supposed last stick before hundreds would be bloodied again in the new year.

puff. puff. but only air and smog. puff. nothing. the embers collected from yestersummer and mister frustration were stubborn enough not to be extinguished. so i got an admission ticket to 2008, nicotine-fresh and dryness-free.

now, i’m still counting…

she’s been robbed. he is leaving. and i’m gradually fading.

i haven’t got the slightest idea until now… that the rain hasn’t stopped.

Walang Kwentang Post

January 23rd, 2008 by martingeneral

what do you do when you’ve got 2 exams 2 days from now, and a 5-unit subject, which has a 5-hour and almost non-stop recitation spearheaded by an unstoppable revolver-like professor, the following day? … (pretends to ponder)… sirit na? well, post a stupid and lifeless blog just for your own stupid and lifeless sake while your ears are being bombarded by the sounds of cracked vocals and overly pixelated video! the glory of hangovers and idleness. hallelujah (yawn)…

not to be outdone, click on youtube and just type the words "heath ledger" on the search box and, presto, you’ve got the leftovers from november and break-up days. such a waste - and i’m not referring solely to the aussie and on-screen gay cowboy. ennis must have missed jack that much. pfft.

anyway, the clock’s ticking fast (why can’t it stop doing that just for once? punyeta. haha.) and the reviewer is still stuck for ages on the lowly study table. time to remove the cobwebs. ’til next ranting session. (get a grip, as if someone’s reading this. meron ba? maawa naman kayo. haha.) hasta la vista.

The Waiting

November 5th, 2007 by martingeneral

not so long ago, i finally dared to cut the self-tied leash that i thought had kept me away from the indifference i perceived would eat me up alive if i were free.

unleashed, i saw a world vaguely apart from the one where i willingly succumbed to my fears. my new found freedom brought me to new places and, consequently, to that person who initially paved the way to my fated role in this arena of placement and segregation. but he, too, had some unleashing to do… so i let him.

unexpectedly, i found myself in the middle of nowhere - seemingly in a grayscale ambiance of deafening stillness and unintentianal solitude. overshadowed by a backdrop of a torn bright wallpaper, i was free; yet, i wanted to be leashed again. freedom could strangle you after all. but i could no longer bring myself back to another self-exile because the leash had already been cut. i was out, and still am.

so now, i’ve got to wait, wait and wait - wait for that someone to reteach me why freedom is still a beautiful thing to have.

Ampalaya Mix

October 11th, 2007 by martingeneral

at last, after almost 1 1/2 years, i’ve finally uncovered - for one’s questionably curious consumption - one of my most fragile denials ever: that i’ve never been acrid nor sour, and i’ve never had the hangover of an after-taste; that i’ve had it easily and apathetically since the unilateral conclusion of yet another of my life’s tragically - or ridiculously - short-term "in-a-relationship" status… to put it simply, for the sake of erasing the self-scattered traces of speculation and putting into non-existence the semi-boy abunda critters: yes, i’ve been bitter.

hoy, ‘di ‘yan joke, though it seems like it is. haha. just in case: yes, you’re still reading the right blog, not pops’ (‘san galing ‘un?) or jessica’s.

actually, without the persistence of my colleagues (whose skepticism beats the hell out of my "social adaptation" and camouflaging skills) and their downright flawless construction of the "word," i would have never stepped into the status quo: the obtainment of self-acceptance as regards the depletion of my emotions.

yup, for almost two years, i’ve filled myself with anger and frustration - mostly without intention, believe it or not. gradually, i’ve crafted queries that even i haven’t bothered to answer because in my mind, i’ve been the aggrieved party (any clueless and dumbo dumpees here?) and i’ve got to have my recompense - without weighing the circumstances and my possible lapses. (plain reason has to be tolled sometimes, and those have been the times.)

i’ve been full of silent rage. for some reason, i haven’t figured out why some people - in your most fragile stage - enter your life just to break it or just to make it suck more… and they do this just to make theirs "more lively or exciting." sheesh. why can’t some people just proffer you - in plainly understandable language - their intentions (like, can you do me the favor of being my over-the-counter tester? or, better yet, my easily disposable boyfriend?) instead of making you believe in things that aren’t worth the crap in the first instance? why can’t they just play with their kind, the stuff "players" are made of - the ones who can’t do anything sensible but just to keep on bouncing and bouncing and bouncing… in court or elsewhere. (no pun intended - or is there???)

now, surely, the taste of bitter melon can’t be denied. ang pait. haha. but since that night at captain’s, i’ve finally come to my senses (thanks to ria and rizza. at ang malamig na carbonara. haha.). at loooooong last I’ve found my resolve: i’ve got to move on and somehow obliterate my arrogance or that "no-one-trespasses-me" mindset, which has somehow led me to being engrossed with all that self-inflicted f*cked-up cardiac after-effects. apparently, i have to take my deflated ass out of the stagnance and the dormancy of my philosophy.

after all, i, too, had my share of lapses i’ve got to feel sorry for… and everyone gets hurt at least at one point in their lives. it just sucks that no one is exempted. so that includes me. thanks for reminding me, martin. haha. (’di pa po ako nababaliw.)

parting words: as the idiom goes, "to err is human, but to forgive is divine."

i would have said, "i’m no god," (haha) but, i could be if i had to… and this time, I have to.

I Broke the Glass Slipper!

September 22nd, 2007 by martingeneral

tomorrow is another off day. for the 2nd time, i will be spared from the hypnotic paralysis that old domeng infects me whenever he states - or even whispers - my surname and then commands me to make a mockery of my gradually withering self-respect and grammatical-cum-legal prowess. (as if i have those.)

think of a professor you had - one who didn’t hesitate to terrorize you all the way from afghanistan to pakistan - and you have old domeng. so imagine the relief i’ve had 3 hours ago when 2 classmates, like the evangelists, delivered the good news. dapat talaga biblical (!): with the skies illuminating, and the angels descending and singing songs of praise, the good news was indeed fit for the scriptures: "absent si dean navarro bukas. yahoo!" yahoo, indeed. hallelujah!

i was in overwhelming bliss that i almost choked to death (okay, coma na lang) the guy beside me although i didn’t know who he was or why he was humming that tune strangely familiar with mariposa’s dancing regimen.

needless to say (but i’ve got to say it, damn it), old domeng’s 2nd absence (the first was 2 weeks ago, i think) means a lot because of the following reasons - sensible or utterly stupid:

1) i do not have to retransform myself into a hesitant and caffeine-filled early riser at least for tomorrow morning (teka, ano’ng oras na ba?);

2) i do not have to plague myself with paranoia and to force myself not to endlessly vomit in front of old domeng who’d most probably pick me as the lucky recitation master as a consequence of my absence last meeting ("uhm… sir, sorry, i was in naga last week… because, er, i had to be with the fiesta crowd and i was hungry, sir… *twinkling doggy eyes* ha2… the horror!);

3) of course, i’ll have once again the not so rare means of pampering my idle self. yawn; and,

4) i’ll have the time to contemplate on the products and miseries of my boredom and the fastly increasing days of my being a pseudo-bachelor nearing extreme desperation… (the question marks must be placed here! ha2.)

okay, where did that come from? actually, i, for one, don’t even know what that means! sheesh… kidding aside, i have the nerve to blurt out such inanities because of a stimulating conversation i’ve had with one of my closest friends, del, this afternoon. no, it wasn’t about sex or the perversion brought by it though i bet it could have been about it. ha2.

our conversation started with these current text chain messages relating to inday, the now famous - or infamous - houshelp(er) who has caused her employers countless nosebleeds because of her surprising, breakthrough-ish and anti-stereotypical command of the english language. presently, as the chain messages put it, inday’s employers have forbidden her to speak even a word of english (they must have run out of cotton); otherwise, her employment termination. as a result, inday now speaks pure tagalog. punchline: her tagalog is beyond the provisions of your usual bokabularyo - it’s deeper than your backyard well or your most painful hurting (yes, whatever) that even balagtas will have his share of nosebleeding. ha2.

okay, it was funny for a while but we’ve had enough of inday and her charades that we shooed her away. del then asked me if ****t (i’ll call him doc for secrecy purposes) texted me the other night. he didn’t; so i asked why. del told me doc was conducting a survey focusing on, among other things, his status quo: the never-had-a-single-partner-or-fling-since-coming-out-from-my-mother’s-toot-syndrome.

this is no overstatement: honestly, i was petrified for seconds. i was surprised because until that conversation i thought of doc having a number of partners because after all, he has all the qualifications good enough to ace the pairing scene, if you know what i mean. but, for the sake of tina turner’s peacock hairdress, i was damn wrong.

del concluded that maybe it’s idealism or the plain lack of partners to choose from (frankly, when one has a checklist of requirements or "standards," it’s painfully hard to even scribble a check when no one even qualifies as a subject of such list. in other words, the choices out there aren’t worth an ink. joke!)… or maybe, for the lack of alternative, it’s serendipity or destiny or fate or what-have-you???

i was dazed and eerily moved because, years ago, i was also in a similar - not exactly the same (for the record!) - dilemma.

not too long ago, i was an idealist, a believer in fairy tales converting themselves into real stories that will, in turn, engulf my own life. (no, not that type where cinderella leaves her glass slipper and waits for her prince charming to fit it into her lusty foot. ‘di naman ako gano’n ka-weirdo or that queer! ha2.) what i always had faith in was that pseudo-moment when i’d meet that someone who had all the makings of a fairy tale protagonist, one who will make even snow white cringe and turn to ebony. ha2. so, for many cold and lonely winters (dapat dramatic!), i waited in the middle of the snowstorm believing that out of nowhere a sled will come crashing, carrying the embodiment of my illusions, er, dreams. in my waiting, i ignored all the uneasy and possibly very competent passers-by - or samaritans (i needed help and i had no clue!) - who didn’t quite make the cut for the fictitious but seemingly all-too-real role. yes, victoria, i was too pre-occupied with my misconceptions (or was it arrogance?) and i had the leanings of a goddamn son of a bitch.

unfortunately and imminently, there was no fairy tale… or sled. the delusional and worldly me realized that there were only dungeons caging frogs-who-will-never-turn-to-princes, foxes, hounds, wolves, and, of course, the very human fairy tale characters… and i’ve met two of them, both of different genres (holy manure, did i just type that? ha2.)

far from the pages of hans christian andersen or the grimm brothers, both of them didn’t quite fulfill their promises of giving me the dreamy, perfect and surreal story (at least not all the time) i was longing for. though i excruciatingly hoped that they did, i now understand why they didn’t: because even i cannot proffer them the fairy tale they were praying for. i am also a part of that factual failure that pulls the pages of princes and princesses behind for the favor of what is and should be real.

i’ve realized that i was a die-hard fan of idealism and of perfection that were and still are non-existent in this downright and overly real reality. one single deviation from the fairy tale and i’ll be off running, afraid of my own illusions. i was a dumbo, a doofus, one totally clueless of the fact that even i had something to do with why there is no such nonesense as a fairy tale or a perfect love story. now, as fables go, the moral lesson: fairy tales tell of dreamers… and i’m no dreamer because i cannot be one (notwithstanding my adversity), and no one is (though close; but, technically, still isn’t).

now, i’m a convert. i’ve been excommunicated from the old religion i once offered my martyrdom to. even though there are still times when i find myself in desperation, questioning why all things have to stick to what is the limit, i’ve come to the conclusion that amidst my disappointments, i still have the chance to own what i thought i didn’t want to have: a story that tells of imperfection that is almost too perfect, it’s perfect for imperfects like everybody. and that everybody includes me.

it doesn’t hurt if i still long for what i believed was ideal. after all, idealism is one of man’s many ways to aiming for betterment. but, idealism over reality just doesn’t work, at least not in this lifetime and as far as cardiac matters are concerned.

no one’s perfect and only people - supreme examples of imperfection - can create a utopia of perfection that doesn’t strictly fit the definition of perfect(ion) but comes too close to it that it is perfect enough. and that i’ve realized because of the two imperfect people responsible for my deviations - my "formerlies." (fine, exes.) kudos smoochoes. ha2.

just an afterthought: idealism may keep me floating - or dreaming - but reality, too, doesn’t hinder me from doing so.

doc may or may not agree with me. after all, this is just a blog entry from another moron who has been single and semi-virginal for more than a year. poor me. ha2. come to think of it, he won’t be reading this anyway. but if ever he does, he won’t know what hit him. he2.

uhm, do i still make sense? or did i ever? ha2. inaantok na’ko. yawn… ’til next time maybe. hasta la vista! now, where’s that stupid glass slipper?

(originally posted: september 21, ‘O7)

Drift

June 29th, 2007 by martingeneral

Hangover

June 15th, 2007 by martingeneral

i’ve just arrived home. the scent of stale tobacco and the moist of spilled beer on my cracked lips still linger despite the minutes of exposing myself in nocturnal and speeding air on my way back here. indeed, nature has no clear lineage in dealing with human wastage. nostalgic, but i’ve adapted well with the familiarity and the tentative dimness these circumstances consistently proffer.

i’m petrified, frozen in a time frame i’ve created and unknowing of the faith i’ve associated myself with.

i don’t know if what i’m blurting out is anywhere near sensible, but i’m just plain skeptical, even horrified of the thought that i’m composing this piece of sheer crap… [blurry]… i’m sleepy. haha. even dr. phil has to be spared. maybe the words will come out perfectly next time.

Sheesh…

June 14th, 2007 by martingeneral

the long vacation is not that long after all. actually, it’s almost over: 3 more days and i’ll be off to the terminal to get my uneasy ass out of my 2-month sanctuary. sheesh.

i’m not totally sorry though. yes, regardless of the fact that i haven’t rekindled my so-called summer romance (ew. where did that come from?) and failed to refuel my productivity that has long been in forced hibernation that a new term has to be invented for it.

the vacation was (ok, i should be using the present tense here) way too long for my "pseudo-nocturnal and sloth-inspired" self. i should start digging out and re-familiarizing myself with my "early riser and eager beaver" self. that is, if i haven’t forgotten where i buried that other (hesitant) persona. haha. i gotta graduate soon for justice’s sake! … wait, that wasn’t an earthqauke, was it? haha.

Init!

April 18th, 2007 by martingeneral

init!!! i was perspiring so hard at past eight this morning on my way to class that my light green shirt already had traces of blue green (or were they black? haha.)

speaking of class, yes, i am back in college because of that stupid so-called deficiency my current school says i have. apparently, i am 3 units of english behind the required 18 units. when i was in beda, the circumstances were worse: i had to complete 9 units of english and 3 of filipino. luckily (for the absence of a better word), my admission ineligibilty in the latter institution led me to taking the lesser number of units - and subjects. sigh.

so here i am hesitantly loitering in this net cafe, sunburn-free blogging and cooling my ass off from that big, enraged sun. my youthful, youthful classmates must also be semi-dehydrated but at least they’ve got lesser wrinkles. haha. looking at them inevitably makes me feel the same way as my late grandfather did when he saw me graduate from primary school. haha. okay, that is a joke.

anyway, the clouds are getting friendlier. continue blocking that sun so i’ve got to go without worrying too much from fainting due to vanity, er, dehydration. hasta la vista.

Solicited

February 11th, 2007 by martingeneral

your so-called honesty never told words far beyond lies. it never did, but i thought otherwise way, way back. almost a year ago, i remolded you in my eyes as if i was the only person who saw your potential towards becoming the person i had always believed you were. but now, i only have thoughts worthy of your misrepresentations. sad and unfortunate, but it really is…

okay, get your balls and resume your play.

Not Again

January 23rd, 2007 by martingeneral

i’m back home. i could have stayed in lito atienza’s brokendown city and tried immersing with the foundation week crowd but i insisted for fresher air instead. classes were suspended anyway so for four days i prematurely brought back the glory days of my beloved breaks and holidays. summer can’t wait.

but the good things never last (oh, why?). tonight i’ll be leaving again to make the trip back to my so-called reality. this time my stay there will no longer be prone to tentative stops - good grief - unless circumstances will be brotherly enough to let me attend my youngest sister’s highschool graduation. for now though i guess i’ll be hibernating with my textbooks and professors, who oftentimes look like bears anyhow, until the first setting of the summer sun.

but before i pack my clothes that still missed the laundry bin like last time, let me make these not-so-solicited shout-outs to the following beautiful people (no pun intended): boy, bes, dhen, archie, (’yan tinupad ko na request mo!:p), jhie (congrats in advance. i’ll also try to make it on your day.:)), poi, and everybody. i’ll see you this summer - or earlier.

*once again, this entry should have been posted 2 days ago. the firefox browser must hate blogs.

Oink*

January 9th, 2007 by martingeneral

The break is over. Almost.

I’ve just got home and the countdown to my trip back to to the most polluted city in the country has started. (City and air are just one of the many nouns you can validly associate with the p word and this is an understatement). For three months, I’ll again oftentimes forcibly get myself sliced in the slaughterhouses of the so-called legalese-cum-masochist butchers. The mere crumb of thought of setting once again to full power my persistence against my taxation professor already petrifies me.

It was the end of the third week of December last year. Three weeks for the holidays seemed short enough for a hard-to-get-over hangover but I was dead wrong. Now, I’ve come to realize such was too lenghty for nightly cigarette smoke and light beer. But aside form such health matters, there was a need for me to put an end to my extended christmas break. Sure, there’s school and the familial bounty being spent for my semi-independent living but maybe - just maybe - my nocturnal activities (these have nothing to do with anything shabby - I wish!) have been overstirred that such have to stabilize and breathe until at least the break of summer.

Once again, I have turned on my post-school break mode: having had enough of 1) genuinely-effeminate-fairies-yet-posing-as-[lousily]-sophisticated-gladiator-replicas people flirting with words and personas subjectively perceived as facades and aphrodisiac (according to them and their hollow humor apparently) and 2) the daily doses of nicotine and commercialized zero-calorie beverages over semi-colored textbooks and standardized yellow pads. In short, I’ve finally thought of ways of taking myself away anew from this sick, sick environment. But, hey, the place I’ll be going back to is sicker. Good grief, I don’t make sense all of a sudden.

Anyhow, aside from the aforecited grounds for my pack-up-and-get-a-battering-from-the-butchers-again-syndrome, my stay for the holidays in my most loved place in the whole world (yes, regardless of all the things i have written) has been fairly well. For these three weeks, I’ve had my biggest moments with the people I cherish the most. Though 2006’s christmas and new year welcome weren’t the best I had (reming was a slut!), I’m too damn thankful for the time and the love. cheezy, but who cares? it’s new year anyway: everyone’s stocked with cheese - and fat. it’s the pig’s year!

*this entry should have been posted on the 7th but the pc had its problems.:)

Reklamador Extraordinaire

October 21st, 2006 by martingeneral

it’s sunday, the 22nd of the month. if two of my professors opted not to postpone the supposedly scheduled exams, i should be home by now dozing off on the just emptied hangers from the finals week, or busying myself with the keyboard, with visuals of snow patrol on. but expectedly, what had been planned on didn’t push through. so i’m again putting myself into temporary detention in this dark, RPG owls-infested pc shop, rethinking of means whether to study for tomorrow’s exam later or much, much later - more like tomorrow morning. haha.

lately, i haven’t had the so-called self-shoving that has helped me through "masochist’s school" for almost three years now (though for some reason i have to exclude the first year). it seems i always have worms dancing inside my fingers when i’m answering those plagiarized, hypothetical exam questions that i can’t make myself not to write like the physician i had in third grade. worse, there are even words more legal basic than overly legal basic (i know, i don’t make sense) that i can’t manage to muster come those pesky exams.

these things have become such valid forms of personal anxiety, if not annoyance, that i’ve thought of possible causes why these keep on happening, especially at a time when i don’t need dancing worms and lack of fondness for novice words. so such causes i’ve come up with may be the excitement i have to prematurely put an end to this extended semester, or maybe i’m plain tired, or just maybe it’s the wax i’ve been messing my hair with. the hair enhancer must have something in it that is slowly terminating my already dying brain cells… fine, that’s manifestly baseless and stupid.

okay, i’ve had enough (and you too, i believe). whatever may be the reason behind this (if there is at all) has to be ignored for now. i should shut up and get my life back. stop whining, you bratty pig. you still have two more exams to mess up on… (er, that was me i was talking to) so wish me whatever i may really need.

btw, i’ve just seen the latest video from hale - "waltz" - through youtube. the lyrics are great though the video isn’t that good (okay, this is an overstatement), which reminds me of all saints, particulary their video for never ever, with the thrown plates, exploding bananas and all that litter. haha. nasabi ko lang.

Anger Management

September 10th, 2006 by martingeneral

the stars have spoken yet again: "if you are angry with someone right now, the silent treatment isn’t wise. talk! xxx if you’re angry or frustrated with someone right now, giving them the silent treatment isn’t going to do any good. if you want justice, you have to speak up and let them know how you expect things to change. don’t wait for them to approach you — they’re content with the way things are right now, so there’s no reason for them to rock the boat. it’s up to you to establish communications and reopen the discussion. shape the argument, and don’t give up until you hear the answers you need."

what the astrologer said. well, if it wasn’t wise spending all that (or this) time being mum, there would have been no more curses left to be scrambled because i must have thrown all of them to that bent, just-out-of-deprivation midget. but this time, i’ll take a pass from the astrologer and his stars. no need to rock the midget’s cream puff boat and the untamed unicorns devouring not-exactly-hay inside it; otherwise, i’ll just be wasting a lot of my time, which i regrettably did eons ago.

thanks to the cerebral fairy, it’s over. my boat needs its own rocking and, as an added measure, the stowed away passenger has been thrown overboard (to swim with the mermaids - or mermen).

Another One Bites the Dust

September 8th, 2006 by martingeneral

another drizzling night. my sandals almost got totally drenched because of the scattered puddles on the streets. yet, getting rained on a little is better than having another semi-crackup if i had stayed longer in the apartment. i can’t have corners enclosing on me tonight at least. i’ve had enough of the familiar walls i had as company for the past two days all because of the epal professor who assigned more than 250 pages for reading, er, memorization.

obviously, in my almost three years in "masochist’s school," i’ve never tried finishing such a number in two days though i tried once a year ago (shorter time pa) - the night before my midterms in property. i still had 300+ pages unread that night and the egoistic me thought i could finish such in 8 hours. ambisyoso. it turned out i was already dying at 4 in the morning and i had only covered more or less 80 pages. ngek. consequently, an hour before the exam, i had my dropping form ready for filing. haha.

so was i a proud nicotine ball when i conquered the 250-page assignment this early afternoon. such achievement was a huge one. too huge in many ways: a huge first for a novice speed reader (apologies to bookworms) but also a huge possibilty of a brain meltdown and amnesia. nonetheless, i assumed i was ready for the class later.

but asumptions are assumptions, some are not meant to be converted into realizations. this i’ve realized hours ago when i was in class, frozen on my seat, with eyes almost shut, praying my classcard was somewhere behind everyone else’s. putik, the hugeness factor was indeed a huge success: i’ve forgotten most of the details i’ve read sa dami ba naman, and my head was rolling like the pendulum that was my epal professor-cum-hypnotist. fortunately, before i finished cursing the times i spent listening to the cds i had burned rather than concentrating on the the stupid textbook, the beadle saved my night. the class - and my misery - was over. well, another blooper for the slowly increasing archives.

anyhow, tomorrow’s gonna be saturday. another free day, if i got lucky again. i’ve been one for the past two weeks. i was hoping to get the third of the streak - the turkey, as bowlers say - come tomorrow afternoon, but most probably my professor won’t grant another request for a ceasefire. all the excuses have been exhausted - from the midterms hangover to the supposed participation in the bar operations - and the former justice has to have his days sometimes. wish me luck. lots.

Unsent

July 27th, 2006 by martingeneral

it was one of those summer nights when you finally decided to turn your back. half-expecting, i didn’t make a move - only a whisper - thinking a word or two more could do nothing to make you stop or even come back for the shortest while. inevitable was your term for it. for weeks, i persistently wandered away from you because distance and reality then were our only common friends but somehow something made me come back despite the obvious odds. once again, i slaughtered my rational self. i thought i would see your shadow and eventually, you - but nothing. there were only messages from nearby saying that you’ve gone a long, long way in the shortest incomprehensible span of time, far from the place i thought we both built and knew.

you are now living the life you had long been obsessed about - a life without the walls and facades you yourself created, and the depth that you’ve silently abhorred, only shallow waters and false gaiety. you’ve joined the rest of them in the playing field, like a brute indiscriminately pigging out on grubs that have been either stepped on or spit out by the insatiable others. knowingly, you’re proud of such. indeed, you’ve become a stranger or just maybe i am the stranger, a stupid one. but, it’s your life and, yes, i’ve got mine.

now, i carry myself with the wind’s course, still without my wings, trying to mend through ways even i know are in vain. but i’ll get through. i know i will. everyone does…

SUGAR DADDY

July 22nd, 2006 by martingeneral

i feel exhausted and i’m sure i’ve got a lot of scrap inside me persistently trying to come out. i’ve just consumed lots of sugar (though i’m not sure if calories or calories from fat are worse than the former) and my head’s spinning like a launched cannonball, but, thank the need for escape from sudden solitude, i’m making this pc my company tonight. never mind radiation and sore eyes, or the aggravation of the unwellness i’m presently burdened with, i just need to have this breather.

anyhow, this blog entry is in anticipated memory of this day, which is another stupid near conclusion of my life’s moderation. kumbaga parang walang nangyayari kahit sobrang dami naman. it’s as if i’m living a day because i’ve got to or need to, but never want to.

everyday it’s the same: on weekdays, i’ve got to wake up (syempre naman); force myself to study for four straight hours (though most are spent listening to the vcd player than focusing on the stupid law book); eat; study again for hours; get dressed; go to school; and expect another dose of embarrassment (if i don’t prepare well enough for recitation, which is the usual case, and the professor gives me a look tantamount to a world declaration of my being a moron), or receive a miracle from the heavens or from the angels’ whispers beside me (my seatmates’. he2). thereafter, i go home if my friends don’t invite me for dinner. pagbalik sa apartment, pareho pa din: eat, bathe, brush, and sleep. then after 6 or so hours, i wake up again to face the outset of another routinary day.

it’s tiring but ultimately i’ve got to deal with such. people say i’m far luckier than most people they know on grounds of familial and other social relations: i’ve got a good and stable family to back me up (though i’m not really in good terms with some of them for years now. he2.) and a set of friends for keeps. though i suck big time in some pertinent aspects (my so-called cardiac affairs - but this is another story), i’m still far more fortunate than others, they say, that i better cease whining about things that are allegedly not worth complaining about. but there are just times, like tonight, when the whining surfaces without reason.

‘di pa naman ako 40 so this isn’t surely a middle-age crisis. maybe i’m just a master of complications or maybe the past (the must-be-bygones) has caught up with me or maybe i just need a SERIOUS makeover (if such is feasible at all). malay ko bang ako pala ang susunod sa yapak ni FPJ o ni Pokwang o ni Inno Sotto, hindi ni Hilario Davide. ngek.

whatever. this may just be an effect of sugar overdose. blame the donuts.

FOUR SEASONS (HINDI ‘YONG JUICE)

July 13th, 2006 by martingeneral

SPRING. the sun was visible again. leaves started growing anew. a branch saw a new leaf being gently blown by the wind. she was graceful and her yellow green body shone with the sun rays. she was beautiful. the branch fell in love with the leaf.

SUMMER. the branch extended his reach and at last made contact with the leaf. the branch was resolute and strong despite his lack of solidity and thickness while the leaf was gentle and vulnerable. perfect. the branch held the leaf and provided her with his arms to stick up for. they were in love.

AUTUMN. the sun had weakened. change was apparent. the leaf had lost her brightness and had grown pale. she had now the color of rust and and her hold with the branch was getting weaker despite the latter’s struggle and prayer. then, with a sudden whisper of the wind, the leaf fell. she floated tentatively in the air and helplessly touched the ground with a silence that seemed like thunder. the branch was petrified. just like that. ironically, it was the wind, the same element that attracted the branch to the leaf, that separated them. and the first snowflake dropped on the branch. d speck of ice, though a mere dot, felt like an avalanche, a devastation. it was winter.

WINTER. the ground was buried by snow and lying beneath was the leaf - dry, dead and hopeless like the love that was her and the branch above who was drenched, seemingly revived and falsely hoping. the snowflakes kept on falling, but still no miracle or leaf rising out of the cold pile.

ANOTHER SPRING. another new growth - of leaves and of life. but someone refused to notice nor to live. for the branch, there was only one leaf to notice and to live for. one. and she was gone…

xxx

this is one story i came up with last night. ‘la pasok dahil sa bagyo so i had the time to retrace my interets, one of which is composing bummed out pieces. hehe. but come to think of it, sometimes we have to let go of things eventhough we don’t want or never intend to, no matter how we force ourselves not to. so just cherish the moments when such things are still within reach. treasure and hold them deeply as if spring and summer are just a day for we’ll never know when autumn and winter are coming. life is unfortunately a fanatic of change, of seasons… but who knows? spring and summer may indeed be forever. the sun is always up there after all…

BLUNT

July 7th, 2006 by martingeneral

Did I disappoint you or let you down?
Should I be feeling guilty or let the judges frown?
‘Cause I saw the end before we’d begun.
Yes, I saw you were blinded and I knew I had won.

XXX

Above are just plain words that have hit me big time after the second play. James Blunt’s voice cracks and sounds like a peacock whose feathers are being burned but nonetheless the words are too strong just not to be left hanging in the post-summer air.

Apparently, the title of Blunt’s latest piece is cheesy (that it better be withheld). Extremely full of cheddar that I thought it was just meant to be blasted in full volume to tearjerkers who haven’t had enough of liquid and bitterness (the so-called bitter melon syndrome has been more than a pandemic. have mercy on the dumpees). But surprisingly, the first sung lines hastlily retaliated and told me that they aren’t just a part of a stupid, lonely love song revised by numerous boyband-rooted composers or Nazareth’s "Love Hurts" devotees. There are sensiblity and screaming familiarity (or just maybe Blunt has the works of timing or a reliable songwriter to back his animated voice up). Just what my deafness needed to hear. That simple. ‘la lang na naman.

Anyway, the lines aren’t for me to recollect on. Someone unknowingly owns them - the blunt, the one who had won…

BOOBOO

June 28th, 2006 by martingeneral

haha. now the stars are talking. with their permission and my rekindled admission of the recent daily superstition-turned-quasi-reality (those damn horoscopes), i can now brand myself as a former undecided flunkey. finally i can let go of these things that have tested my gullibilty and so-called unfounded persistence (against being stagnant with the so-called contempo cardiac affairs. sucks). the mystery has been solved. i’m finally boarding my imaginary jetplane and walking the post-bottom out walk, without the moronic hesitation caused by those smart-ass Nostradamus’ clones.

Why did i believe in such nonsense in the first place anyhow? (my past blog entries prove such dumbness. lagi kasing ’sakto! kaasar.)

for clueless ones like this writer, below is the sagittarian forecast (june 28th) that has caused this blog composition (believer pa pala ako):

The Bottom Line

Mysteries are finally starting to make sense to you; a decision will soon be clear.

In Detail

Keep your eyes peeled for a smoking gun — a missing clue will shed new light on a confusing personal situation. What you thought was the easy answer just may be the easy answer! Decisions will suddenly be crystal clear, so readdress the tough ones you’ve been putting off. Now that you’ve gained some distance, what you need to do next will become abundantly clear. Enjoy this new sense of power and celebrate your ability to solve a mystery.

xxx

conclusion: reading and sharing a little confidence with horoscopes are a waste of time and a reason for a blockhead to flood his blog with insensible entries (see my past blog entries, if you had a fascination with dumbos).

MADAM AURING 101

June 26th, 2006 by martingeneral

Sagittarian Forecast (June 26)

The Bottom Line

All signs may be pointing to go, but right now is not the time to move ahead.

In Detail

You are at an important intersection in life, and the light in front of you has been red for a very long time. It’s understandable if you’re getting antsy to get going, but before you do anything rash, take a long look at your surroundings. Things are going on around you that will easily explain the delay — and help your patience grow. It’s not time to move ahead right now in any type of relationship — legal, professional, romantic or otherwise.

XXX

Perfect timing. This has to come out days after i wrote my previous blog entry and just when i’m already beyond indecision. Worse, the preceding forecasts were consistently, personally appropriate. Creepy. This latest calculation is the one that has breached the supposed pseudo-coincidence. But who gives a damn? It’s astrology. Only stupid stars - and Madam Auring. (Ngek. Sabi ko lang ‘yon.)

Homer Shirt. $6.99.

STITCH

June 24th, 2006 by martingeneral

Finally i’m on my way. What’s ahead has grown wider and more illuminated (only leftover cigarette butts, empty bottles of stale beer and nocturnal hell littered behind my deflated arse. Haha.). Gotta walk away, run and break the leash. Homer has to have his days somehow.

THE STARS AREN’T STUPID

June 3rd, 2006 by martingeneral

Sagittarian Forecast (June 02):

The Bottom Line

Today brings a major turning point in a relationship. Certain truths become obvious.

In Detail

After months or even years of going back and forth in a relationship, you will reach a major turning point and a revelation. Sometimes things come to an abrupt ending, while other times they just slowly fade away. Certain truths are starting to become too obvious to ignore — so you will have to stop ignoring them. Until you see things as they truly are, you can’t move forward and give your full attention to someone who is much more deserving of your time.

XXX

Astrology has never been this interesting. Friendster’s own Madam Auring should be promoted.

DUNCE

March 14th, 2006 by martingeneral

my recitation tonight sucked like rotten rice again. of all the questions the judge had to ask me, he picked the single query that wasn’t in my stupid 10-page reviewer. good grief, i had no time - or patience - to read 200 pages of penal annotations just to secure a perfect preparation. the reviewer was good enough. was. argh. now i have to revise my supposed ironed out options. again.

worse, my cellphone finally got busted after weeks of persistence. first was the malfunctioning keypad (kudos to paksiw) then came the virus which devoured my load like cheesecake and randomly sent obscene messages to my contacts. waah. the phone is currently dead and i have nothing but this rented pc to save me from solitude.

less than three weeks to go and i’ll finally be out of this rubbish. i’ll be boarding the earliest bus to take me tentatively away from the lows of law school and the pollution that is manila(’s). haha. hopefully, it’ll be home i’m going to. i need the breather. thankfully, i’ll get to be with my people again, plus ____. :p

…

February 3rd, 2006 by martingeneral

AUGUST

February 3rd, 2006 by martingeneral

How can I find something that two can take
without stumbling as we walk into our future’s wake?
I’m like a broken record that you can play,
repeating as if it matters everything I want to say.

I’ll be all right as long as it matters,
as long as you’re here with me now.

Forget that time, it’s nothing. We touch and see.
All this is fine even as it crashes down on me.
I’m looking around, there’s nothing that I could want
more than to tell you there’s no more than we’ve already got.

I’ll be all right as long as it matters,
as long as you’re here with me now.
Forget that our time is almost up.

i’ve still got a few months to validly exploit this song. robin wilson surely will sound like a broken record when such time frame expires. and so will i.