Belligerent.Bliss at 30

Bakit nga?

2012-02-27T12:08:00.000+08:00

My vegan month

2012-02-24T20:39:00.001+08:00

The vegetable side dish at Tokyo, Tokyo.

More than two years ago, I decided to turn pescetarian. Atthat point, I was already off beef and pork (I wasn’t really fond of eitherone), and staying away from the former especially helped with my hyperacidity.My friend Nana was also one (although she didn’t label herself as such), and itjust seemed like a good idea, and a good challenge, to give up chicken and gofull pesco.

I decided on starting it after my scheduled tonsillectomylate 2009, a few days before the New Year. I was going to be off solid food fortwo weeks after the operation anyway, and I thought the transition would beeasier, and it was, since I was just dying to eat anything other than ice creamand yogurt. (It’s not as fun as it sounds. Try doing that for days and see howlong you’d last.) Pescetarianism worked for me, for the most part, and itbecame a handy explanation (and ice breaker) for me whenever I’m asked why Idon’t eat such-and-such dish. (Apparently, saying “just ‘cos” wasn’t anacceptable answer for most people.)

Crunchy Toasted Seaweed, I have learned to love thee.

But last year, I felt that I was becoming a littlecomplacent with my diet. Yes, I had a lot of seafood and an ample amount ofvegetables, but there was also a lot of junk going into my body. I rememberreading an article wherein the author, a nutritionist, talked about diets andthe categories people placed themselves in. “Don’t tell me what you are,” hewrote. “Tell me what you actually eat within the boundaries of what you say youare.” Sundaes, cupcakes, a lot of fried food—these were all technically acceptableunder this lifestyle, but they weren’t necessarily good for me. And it wasn’tjust about what I was eating, but how I was eating: bingeing before sleeping,skipping some meals and then turning into a glutton in others—I was apesce-veg, but I don’t feel that I was eating healthy or choosing right.

I discovered places like Cafeteria Verde in Promenade, which served vegetarian, vegan and su vegetarian (a diet that excluded onions, shallots, etc) dishes. Pretty good.

Stef talked to me about her decision to turn vegan/purevegetarian last year, and I thought it would be interesting to try it out formyself. I placed “turning vegan for a week” on my bucket list, but decided toextend it to a whole month (wala lang) and see at the end if I wanted to do itfor the rest of my life.

Green Tea Frap with soy milk. It's really not the same.

It was really hard, especially at the beginning. Since ourbodies process vegetables quickly, I was hungry for most of the day. And sinceit is very restrictive, buying food became a lot more complicated process. Iwas reduced to circling convenience store and supermarket aisles checkingingredient lists and investigating on how a certain dish was cooked. Breakfastbecame a bit depressing as I couldn’t have any eggs, bangus, or bagels, so Ihad pan de sal most mornings (the ones at Pan De Manila are made with no eggsor dairy). After volleyball dinners became sad affairs, gastronomy-wise, and Ibecame increasingly embarrassed and conscious about how I was torturing myselfin front of other people; I felt that people thought of me as pretentious.

But there are a lot of days when I felt really good aboutit. Basically, when I get to try something new. I shopped at Korean stores(crunchy toasted seaweed FTW), had the light and green bowl at Mongolian QuickStop every other day, had soy latte now and then and befriended the people whosold spicy tofu at the food court downstairs.

In that sense and in a weird way, setting those restrictionsallowed me to explore and try out other possibilities. I’m not a particularlyadventurous person and, before my vegexperiment, my opinion about tokwa andveggie meat, (actually tofu in general) wasn’t particularly high. This keptthings interesting.

How I've missed you, old fried friend.

At some point during the month, however, I realized that itwasn’t for me. That I still miss dairy and eggs, fish and shellfish and allthose things I enjoyed. So much so, I decided to even give up pescetarianismand start eating chicken again. I know that it’s such fat kid thing to say,but, KFC makes me happy, Wendy’s chicken breast fillet makes me happy. And I’mat that age when I know that there really is no real reason to deprive myselfof something that makes me happy, as long as it’s in moderation.

Sabi ko nga eh, “Life is short. Eat the damn cupcake.”

Pagod

2012-02-23T15:59:00.001+08:00

Lenten musings

2012-02-22T14:24:00.000+08:00

It’s Ash Wednesday, signifying the start of Lent. Although Idon’t really approach this season the same way as my Catholic friends, it wouldbe as good a time as any to pause and reflect.

Yesterday, I was on YouTube, and tried to search for thismovie I saw about a decade ago, during one of my first few months working at myfirst job. It was supernatural thriller titled Bless the Child, starring KimBassinger as a nurse, Maggie, who takes care of her niece, after beingabandoned by her sister (played by the ridiculously anorexic AngelaBettis). The film was a flop, andgained largely negative reviews; a poor follow-up to Bassinger’s Oscar-winningturn in L.A. Confidential.

But while it was a mess, I remember one or two scenes fromit. Maggie’s niece, Cody (Holliston Coleman), is a bit autistic but, from timeto time, exhibits extraordinary gifts (healing a bird, etc) that catches theeye of the church as well as the Satanist cult her mom (Maggie’s sister)suddenly belongs to. She is takenagainst her will by her mom and the cult leader Eric Stark (Rufus Sewell).Apparently, Cody is important in the battle between good and evilblah-blah-blah-fish cakes. Basta, the cult wants to turn her over to the darkside. Yun na yun.

Anyway, in one scene, Eric takes Cody to some ghetto andshows him a homeless man. He explains to Cody that God has deserted this man,and the only way he can find release is to curse Him and end his life (it’s allvery Book of Job. Ish). He hands the man a plastic container filled with gasoline,and urges him to pour it over and light himself. Eric takes a quick step back to enjoy the ‘show,’ but Codygoes forward gingerly. She slowly gets closer to the man, who fiddles nervouslywith the matchsticks before lighting one. She crouches and levels with the man,and then blows the light out of the matchstick. The man trembles, and Codyplaces a crucifix in his hand, hugs him and whispers, “he hasn’t forgottenyou.”

Something happened at that point that I didn’t expect: tearssuddenly welled up in my eyes, and I found myself crying in the middle of thehalf-empty theater in Glorietta. I very rarely cry as it is, more so in a roomfull of complete strangers but something about that line connected, and Ibecame a blubbering, embarrassed piece of garbage.

Today, as I (along with the other Christians the world over)try to remember him, what has happened, what He’s done and what I have orhaven’t done (considerable), I get hit with that realization. No matter how Ifeel I’ve moved away from “the lamp beneath my feet,” the actual distancedoesn’t really change, because He hasn’t.

He didn’t forget me; Because of the decisions I wanted tomake, I tried to forget Him. Oh well. As I wrote in my Christmas post, I canonly wake up the next day and try harder.

Good luck, guys.

Happy hitting

2012-02-20T08:42:00.001+08:00

With Jubi, Peach and Caloi at Philam for a TWC tournament in 2010.

Yesterday, I was at Philcoa waiting for Caloi to pick me up at the front of McDo. We were going to Acropolis to play with Henry's sunday group, and I was excited. It's been a while, you see, and saying that it's been a while feels kind of weird.

I mean, I used to be so addicted to this game. Just last year, it was not unusual for me to rush back to QC after work, lugging around my huge red Wilson bag (seriously, a pre-teen could fit in there) just to get in a game or two. Those days, I didn't mind playing under the noontime sun, and it was okay for me to spend entire days lounging around the clubhouse like a tennis bum.

Caloi's comically small (only because nagmumukha siyang clown car sa laki niyang tao) silver Hyundai finally swung by, and after throwing my bag in the back seat, I settled in shotgun.

"Kamusta naman?" I greeted, fiddling with my seat belt.

"Okay lang. Ikaw ang kamusta. Ano na nangyari sa 'yo," he replied. "Nagtataka nga kami sa 'yo."

"Well... naging busy. Tapos marami din nangyari," I said, and then changed the subject. "Uy, excited na ako! Ang tagal ko na hindi naglalaro. Hindi na ata ako marunong."

"May backhand na ako!" He boasted.

"Aba, aba. Sige subukan natin yang new backhand na yan."

Bumming at the clubhouse.

We caught up with each other on the way to the courts—work, our nonexistent love lives and the Pinyahan/Philam gang. I said, the group fizzled because everybody kind of went their own way for a bit. It was hard to get people to hit around with regularly.

When we got there, Henry and some of the players were already in the middle of a set. After waiting for a bit, I finally got to hit again, playing a set of doubles with Gonz, Poma and Caloi.

I absolutely loved it. Even when I was flubbing groundstrokes and throwing in a double fault every now and then I was enjoying myself. It's really different when you've played a game you love after depriving yourself of it for a while. Hindi ka nangigigil. You're just happy that you're playing again.

After the games (we ended up around 10, and I got in about three sets), Caloi and I had a late dinner at Jay-J's along Panay, and I told him the same thing.

"Ang saya. Ang sarap pumalo kapag matagal ka ng hindi nakakalaro," I said.

"Pansin ko rin yun sa sarili ko. Mahirap pag inaraw-araw mo. Parang naiinis ka lang. Burnout."

"Parang ganyan nangyayari sa 'kin ngayon sa volleyball. Nafru-frustrate ako 'pag pangit yung laro ko, which is madalas, and I just feel tired all the time," I said, in between bites of kangkong and sitaw. "Nawawala ng konti yung enjoyment. Siguro, kailangan ko magpa-miss ng konti."

"Baka nga," he chirped.

But for addicts like me, yun ay napakadaling sabihin, napakahirap gawin.

Follow the yellow brick road - The Wicked Trip part 2

2012-02-18T15:30:00.000+08:00

The morning of Wicked, Miggy and I went for a day trip to Johor Bahru in Malaysia. (Arvin decided to go around with a friend in Singapore since it was his first time there.) Can I just say that it’s crazy-awesome that you can take a P100 (roughly) bus ride to another country. Nuts.

We really didn't see anything special in JB, but the fact that we got there was interesting enough. Plus, I get to cross off one more thing on my bucket list. Oh, by the way, group of caucasian backpackers? You've made the hour-long line at Malaysian immigration extremely bearable. Gusto magpasalamat ng mga mata namin.

Nasa Johor Bahru lang pala ang Yellow Brick Road.

Eh sa gusto namin mag-lunch sa Malaysia, bakit ba.

Random sign by a random building. (Ang interesting ng caption!)

Tumu-Turista.

Pumu-pilit dumimples!

How many times will it take

2012-02-14T13:59:00.000+08:00

It’s V-day.

Today, more than normal and as much as in any real holiday,I remember.

I remember every single one of them. Of how things turn outwrong, how they become extended periods of faux drama and wretchedly wretchedirrational thinking. I see things and make connections, become paranoid, andcreate stupid scenarios in my head. Pretty soon after, we’ve reached “outpostmoment” level.

It sucks.

I always mishandle things somehow.

I either become too distant or too close to the point ofinappropriateness. I try to act normal, but I just end up behaving weirdly orfeeling like crap. I’ve tried being quiet and I’ve tried expressing things veryexplicitly. Parehong fail.

It’s like how Rachel Berry was during that song at lastyear’s regionals.

And o em gee, I better stop there. I just compared myself toa teenage girl.

At my age.

Hay.

I have a problem just being myself when I’m around thepeople I really like.

I just can’t have a decent conversation going.

I just can’t relax.

I have no game. Whatsoever.

And I’m really jealous of other people who have no problemin this department.

Really, really jealous.

I guess that’s a consequence of living inside your head toomuch.

I know, I know.

Keep things simple.

Stop living out past mistakes.

But I feel the need to vent.

And if I can’t do that here, where else can do it?

Anyway, a fab day to all couples out there.

And to all of us who are either willingly or reluctantlysingle on this crazy date, may you find clarity and contentment. Katulad ngtweet ko kanina, at the end of the day, hindi mo naman siya ikamamatay,

Hay. Teka, makapag-volleyball na nga lang.

One Short Day - The Wicked Trip part 1

2012-02-13T12:25:00.001+08:00

The pass to the Emerald City.

It began asinnocent postings of lyrics on Twitter. All “If you care to find me, look tothe Western skies” and “it’s not about aptitude, it’s the way you’re viewed”that continued for days on end. Then one day, Miggy sent out a Facebook messageto the Wicked faithful few talking about a run in Singapore with the Australiancast early this year. Months and hundreds of ironed out, knotted up and ironedout again details later, we (Miggy, Arvin and I) found ourselves on an AirphilExpress flight (one that we almost missed) to Merlion central, absolutely giddy(yes, giddy) with anticipation.

I don’t rememberwhat came first—me hearing Defying Gravity for the first time or me readingthrough Gregory Maguire’s fantastic novel about the life and times of ElphabaThropp. I just remember that they both hit home. (I mean, hello, it’s about amisunderstood, talented know-it-all misfit who had to contend with constantbullying from the popular kids who always tries to rise above it all.#pasoksabanga #ansabeh)

When Kat sent methe Wicked OST, I listened to it for days on end (hanggang ngayon actually.Denggit, I’m listening to it as I write this). They were fantastically writtensongs with nice melodies and hooks, and funny and emotional lyrics; I washooked.

Elphaba: My fatherhates me.

Glinda: (Gasp)

Elphaba: That’s notthe secret.

A few moments before the start.

The night of themusical, Miggy and I almost didn’t make it in time because we had a hard timecoming back from our day trip to Johor Bahru in Malaysia (more on that later).It was raining quite hard and we wondered how we were going to get to MarinaBay Sands from The Little Red Dot, our hostel. But, after a lot of running andscreaming (well, maybe that was just me), we managed to make it to the theaterjust as they were letting people in. Arvin, who spent the day exploringSingapore and just met us there, almost had a heart attack because we had thetickets.

Fiyero: You know,I’ve been thinking.

Elphaba: Yes, I’veheard.

After barelysettling into our seats (somewhere near the middle of the theater) and noticingthe humongous Time Dragon framing the stage, the announcer doled out a fewreminders and the lights dimmed. The all-too-familiar overture playedimmediately, the Time Dragon started to move and the Flying Monkeys shimmied upand down the stage. Eto na!

Glinda: You’restill riding that old thing?

Elphaba: Well, notall of us can come and go by bubble!

The Wicked faithful few

Maybe I’m just tooattached to this musical but I thought it was brilliant. The production andensemble were simply superb. After Glinda (played by Suzie Mathers) finished off“No One Mourns the Wicked” and as the opening chords of “Dear Old Shiz” startedplaying, we all whispered “ayan na!” anticipating Elphaba’s entrance. And entershe did, all bright-faced and excited to enter Shiz U. Jemma Rix as thegreen-skinned “beautifully-tragic” (hee) heroine ably handles the dramatic andvocal requirements of the character. She tackled “Wizard and I,” “As Long asYou’re Mine” and, of course, “Defying Gravity” pretty damn well.

Elphaba: “I mean,who takes a dead woman’s shoes anyway?!”

Mathers, for herpart, was just infectious; her perkiness wasn’t annoying due to the amount ofhumor she brings to Glinda. The ever, er, popular “Popular” scene washilarious, all “toss, toss, (girlish laugh)” and “And even in your case… (longintake of breath).” Her “Thank Goodness” was a teeny-weeny bit disappointing,but it’s forgivable because she handled everything else quite well. Thesupporting cast—Fiyero (although his tights were kind of distracting),Nessarose, The Wizard, Madame Morrible, Boq—were also good.

Glinda: I know youdon't want to hear this but someone has to say it! You are out of control! Imean they're just shoes...let it go!

At eto na nga: “I’mNot that Girl.” After Fiyero and Elphaba save the lion cub, and he leaves herto look for Glinda, she softly sings “Hands touch. Eyes meet. Sudden silence.Sudden heat,” the opening lines to the ultimate laslas song. The attack isbeautifully subtle and melancholic, and I am reduced to resting my head on myhands and just taking the scene in. The same goes for the duet near the end,“For good.” Just beautiful.

After Glinda singsthe final the notes to the finale, Fiyero and Elphaba (dressed in a nice blacknumber) walk off, and the whole cast give their final bows, we sit down for abit, wonderfully shell-shocked. An item off my bucket list happily checked out.

Elphaba: You're theonly friend I've ever had.

Glinda: And I'vehad so many friends... but only one that mattered.

It’s understandablehow Wicked hadn’t made its way to the Philippines. While we have a lot ofperformers who can take on the characters, it’s hard to pull off Wicked becauseof its production needs. The revolving stage, the flying bubble, the TimeDragon, the lights (awesome especially during the whole “Dancing Through Life”bit)—the resources needed to pull these off properly is a challenge, one I hopesomebody takes on in the near future.

Because? I want tosee this again.

And again.

Do get her started

2012-02-08T15:16:00.001+08:00

Aside from the bits I see on the net and hear on the radio, I haven’t really been following the Corona case. I think all the drama from the last hearing I followed—Erap’s, in all its envelope-waving-and-freaking-over-hidden-mics glory—more than a decade ago is enough to last me a lifetime.

Still, I hear that Sen. Miriam (always a bewildering, uncontained force) is absolutely golden at the trial, and YouTube and a smattering of E-mail forwards and social media posts seem to corroborate that. Oh Miriam. You may perpetually a couple of articles short (or over) of the whole Constitution, but your entertainment value is unmatched.

Anyway, I just read Lourd de Veyra’s most current entry in his “This is a Crazy Planets” on Spot.ph, where he recommends 15 things to spice up the proceedings.

Among his suggestions is a fliptop battle between Cuevas and Tupas, viewer interaction and ways to shorten tedious legal jargon.

It’s brilliant. Enjoy.

Easy listening, Catholic-style

2012-02-06T07:35:00.000+08:00

Yesterday, on the drive back to QC from Cavite, my brotherstuck his flash drive into the player and a familiar tune started humming fromthe speakers.

“Tayong lahat ay may pananagutan sa isa’t isa…"

“Uy, ano yan?” I asked.

“Hangad,” he replied.

“Parang high school lang. Natatandaan ko tuloy ang Bene,” Isaid, simultaneously tweeting about it. My brother and I started reminiscing, and tried to recall some of the songs we learned back then.

Having studied in a school run by Benedictinepriests for 13 years, I have become familiar to the Catholic faith. And, while I gripedabout a lot of things that stem from being one of the few non-Catholic kidsstudying there—I remember being made to feel the rarity of my… non-Catholicism.Repeatedly—there have been a lot of nice memories. The annual retreats weresometimes enlightening and almost always amusing. (I even became part of theclub of volunteers that help run them, though the name of the group escapes me right now.)There’s St. Benedict’s birthday and its subsequent fairs and activities, whichalmost always include art paper flags and thousands of copies of “The Life ofSaint Benedict” comic book.

And then there’s the music, the ones sung at every First FridayMass, religious occasion or student/teacher funeral (sadly, this happenedmore than one time during my stay there). Anima Christi (one of my favorites),Pananagutan, Magnificat and ang walang kamatayang Tanging Yaman—these songsalways make me think of soft lighting, people wearing white and a flute or somesort of wind instrument playing in the background.

I love my faith, but there is that facet of Catholicism thatremains appealing. While being Born Again and Pentecostal is all passion, energyand raw emotion, I find the Catholic ideal tends to go for calm and quiethappiness. And that is a very, very lovely thing.

Here are some of the songs I remember from my youth.

Enjoy the moment

2012-02-04T12:47:00.003+08:00

A nice post by a friend on Facebook.

What does it take to be completely happy?

Is it getting that dream job? Receiving that fat paycheck you've been waiting for since that fateful day when you finally decided not to be a bum and start laboring from nine to five?

Could it be driving your own sparkling set of wheels around town with all your friends in the back seat who, when they're not screaming for you to slow down and avoid colliding with a speeding truck or sideswiping the idiot who seems to think that pedestrian lanes are merely aesthetic, are all eagerly anticipating the next road trip stop where you can continue the endless storytelling in between binges of nicotine, alcohol, or caffeine, or anything and everything else that makes the hours seem longer and the worries of reality a mere distant speck in the pristinely immaculate cumulus clouds... of denial?

Maybe complete happiness is finally boarding the delayed flight to your chosen holiday destination, whether alone or in the company of a stranger to whom you offered your pre-chosen window seat in the exit row? Or landing your right foot into your upgraded hotel room after the long haul and an even longer commute from the suburban airport grounds to the busy metropolitan streets of an exotic Latin American city, or the capital of some former Soviet state-turned-center-of-underground-porn where the native language sounds, well, anything but native to you?

Is it your name being called at a raffle for being the lucky bastard who gets to take home the newly-bartered-state-of-the-art-and-yet-to-be-mass-produced high definition flat screen LED? Perhaps, it's receiving a well-deserved award for a life's work, getting televised like in the Oscars - tears streaming down your face while desperately gasping for air as you try even harder not to forget the many names in your rapidly disintegrating mental list?

Or maybe it's besting hundreds of other hopefuls in a talent competition, a bikini open (if you're the gym bunny type), a quiz bee, a debate (for which you won by a very clear margin because your dimwit opponents gave a truistic definition or squirreled a human rights debate into a globalization motion), or an essay-writing tilt about global hunger where you were finally able to use that piece of information about Burundi and Ethiopia that you've been hoarding since you read the 2001 World Almanac for yet another debate, which you unfortunately lost because your grandstanding teammate (who happened to be a rebuttal speaker) felt like giving new matter and knifing your arguments like a massacre victim?

Is it winning the heart of that one true love for whom you sacrificed a lot of things you hold dear, not least of which is your ego?

Is it helping those who are less fortunate, the less educated, the differently-abled, the clinically simple? Is it when you've mastered the art of selflessness, martyrdom, or maybe even masochism?

Perhaps it's when you're with your family after so many years of being away from each other, or throwing away a list longer than Earl's after finally making amends for item number 188?

Is it proving your biggest critic wrong? Making an ex, who broke up with you for someone else, fall in love with you over again and grovel as you reciprocate by displaying the patience of a flood?

Is it making peace with your mortal enemy for whom you've lit many a Liwanag candle and cursed like it was the last day for the world's most censorable insults and profanities? Is it finally telling a secret love about your feelings before running away with scissors?

Is it swapping an extra sticker with the only one that's missing in your prized Marvel, Care Bears, or Rainbow Brite sticker album? Or opening the door to a messenger holding a pre-approved gold credit card for which you never applied?

I can go on and on like a runny nose or make like a street whore during enrollment season but the list will never end. It's like testing the limits of infinity as there are countless permutations to being completely happy. Everyone has his or her own version of happiness. Every blissful moment counts. They might have a world of a difference when compared in scale and application, but it's that funny tingly feeling in the stomach, just when everything falls into place, that is common in every single episode of complete happiness.

Of course, it should never come to pass that I don't remind you of some immutable laws of happiness -- that one's happiness may be someone else's sadness. And that, as in rounds after rounds of rough, raw, unbridled sex where an orgasm lasts for a mere hundredth of the total time spent during fore and actual play, happiness - whether partial or complete - is never a lengthy visitor.

Enjoy it while it lasts. Savor the moment. Because even longer than your list of bliss are the other moments in your life that, you wish, could have been a lot happier.

Good one Mori.

GV music

2012-02-02T18:49:00.001+08:00

This song (and video) never fails to put me in a good mood. My default running music.

Just when you think that you're in control,
just when you think that you've got a hold,
just when you get on a roll,
here it goes, here it goes, here it goes again.
Oh, here it goes again.
I should have known,
should have known,
should have known again,
but here it goes again.
Oh, here it goes again.

Just listen

2012-01-27T12:34:00.000+08:00

Yesterday at lunch, she went to me in near tears and askedfor prayers.

What’s wrong, I asked. She said it’s official. She’sleaving. She sat down and I suddenly forgot about the many other people aroundus. She talked about the situation not being a good fit, and about recognizing that rightaway.

“That’s what I was trying to tell you yesterday when you were talkingover me,” she said, without accusation.

I was supposed to protest, but I stopped, thought about itand let her talk.

I felt guilty. I’ve always listened. I’ve always enjoyedlistening, even when preoccupied with my own (petty) drama. But lately I’vefound myself not doing that. I'm listening when I need to.

She talked about feeling like a failure. I told her shewasn’t, and she said she knows. She only felt like one. I wasn't listening again.

She talked about not knowing for sure what’s coming next,and I told her we would pray. I remember telling her recently that she wasbeing so negative. “That’s not how a child of God talks" I said. The wordsthat came out of my mouth would make anyone feel like their emotions,their fears don’t matter. I suddenly felt like a jerk.

Especiallybecause I understand it—that uncertainty at her age. At ours.

Cheno's last stand

2012-01-26T12:58:00.002+08:00

Still on a high from my Wicked experience, I looked through videos the other day of runs done by the original cast. I managed to see this series of Cheno's last performance as Galinda/Glinda. You can tell by the audience reaction that they were witnessing something special and bittersweet. The quality is kind of off and there were a lot of black screen moments (I think he might have been hiding his camera from an usher or something), but it's still worth watching.

Take a look particularly at the last video where Idina and Cheno share a nice moment. Hay, what would I give for a reunion run with Idina, Cheno and company? Oh well. Enjoy.

Part 1 - No One Mourns the Wicked

Part 2 - Dear Old Shiz, Wizard and I

Part 3 - What is this Feeling?, Something Bad

Part 4 - Dancing through life

Part 5 - Popular

Part 6 - I'm not that Girl

Part 7 - One Short Day

Part 8 - Sentimental Man

Part 9 - Defying Gravity

Part 10 - Thank Goodness

Part 11

Part 12

Part 13 - As long as You're Mine

Part 14

Part 15

Part 16

Habang kino-compose ang sarili

2012-01-22T12:59:00.001+08:00

Wicked. Was. Awesome.

It was totally worth all the heart-stopping stress that comes with impulsive spending and rushing around trying to make it to flights and bus rides.

*This deserves a proper post of course. But, I just needed to let it out.

**That's what he said.

Happy exhaustion

2012-01-20T14:18:00.002+08:00

At Penthouse, there was a distinct lack of breathable space.

Over the weekend, my volleyball team, the Azukals, flew toCebu for a tournament as well as enjoy the festivities and revelry associatedwith Sinulog. I didn’t think the trip would push through since it was born outof a whim. (Something to the effect of: “Oi, para gusto ko mag-Sinulog.” “Akorin!” “Sama tayong lahat” “Sige” and, like the bumps on the back of a wetGremlin, the yeses just multiplied from there. Or, to put in the words ofbeks/beks-sympathetic the world over: “nai-push siya.”)

I haven’t attended the festival in about four years, notsince I lived there. It was nice to get to see old friends again, particularly, of course, the Cebu-half of the Poveydans, Jewel and Ryan. Wecaught up with each other over heated arguments in Pinoy Henyo (I am surprisedthat some UP graduates still do not know the difference between a reptile andan amphibian. You make Oble cry, Navarro) and rounds of Truth or Truth at ITPark.

It was a fun although tiring trip, and I found myselfgoing to and fro the city between the tournament (we lost all our matches but,in line with Azukal ideals, we still had a blast. By the way, Mohawk dude,let’s just say maraming kang fans sa team. Also, si Maximo Oliveros? Magalingsiya mag-tres. Nahihiya kami lahat sa barrettes mo), lunches, dinners, nightouts and, of course, the parade on the 15th.

Sunday was particularly exhausting since we had to squeezeour way through the five million other people trying to follow the route. Ifelt that the crowd was a lot crazier, and the event a little lessorganized, this year for some reason. And after smelling myself at some point,I decided to drag Mato, Jem and Jewel to a spa to get a scrub.

The Sinulog Cup at Sacred Heart

After the scrub and upon changing into a fresh shirt, I felt alittle more human and we all coordinated through group chat (to wit 9GAG,awesome BlackBerry Messenger is awesome) and met up at Baseline near Mango. Onthe way there, music blared from all over and people of all ages moved asfrenetic lemmings, spraying passersby with alcohol and paint. A stage, several long tables and a truck bearing more wild kids blocked the entrance of the restaurant and I had to go around the place to get in. Most of the Azukals were already there, and my newly-scrubbed body was quickly assaulted with red paint. The team headed out to join in with the insanity, but suddenly feeling sluggish, I decided to stay and rest for a bit.

Apart from a spattering of a few drunken, shirtlessteenagers hunched over tables, there were mostly empty seats at the back ofBaseline, so I headed there with Jewel in tow. “I’ll just sit here for a bit,”I told the Ilongga as I propped my aching feet up on a chair and hunched overmy phone. I didn't want to be a party pooper, but I just felt really, really spent.

After a moment of two, Jewel rolled her eyes at me and letout an unrecognizable sound of frustration. (It was a cross between a “tsk,” asqueal and sucking in air.)

“You’re getting old,” she said before correcting herself,“No, you’re not getting old, you ARE old.”

Pure madness.

I was a bit sleepy, and made no real attempt at aprotest. Not to say that 30 is old, but maybe it’s something more than my age.Maybe I was born with the soul of that cantankerous dude in Up (the one withthe really big nose and surprising upper body strength). My friends assumethat I will turn into a version of him anyway. In about five years.

“Yeah,” I just said, massaging my ankles. I had nothing elseto say.

Minsan napapaisip

2012-01-17T16:39:00.002+08:00

From time to time, after almost three years, I wonder.

If I made the right decision or not.

I remember you asking me, during that whirlwind week, if it felt like being 17 again.

I really wouldn't know. You and me? At 17? Might be too different. I understand it as a concept, not as an experience.

And when I saw your page, I got it. I put two and two together, and got it.

I realize that you're happy.

And I wonder.

You could've been my own "me at 17."

In another life
I would make you stay
So I don't have to say
You were the one who got away

Swoon

2012-01-14T19:30:00.004+08:00

I. Love. This. Woman.

With You I can

2012-01-11T12:11:00.000+08:00

How do I end up in the same old place,
faced again with the same mistakes,
so stubborn thinking I know what is right,
but life proves me wrong every time,
taking roads that lead me nowhere,
how do I expect to get there,
but when will I learn to just put you first.
I come to you now when I need you,
but why do I wait to come see you,
I always try to do this on my own
but I was wrong cause only with you can I move on.
Can I move on.

Hay. I don't know about Bruno (close?), but this reminds me of something else entirely.

I am His, yes.

Balls of fury

2012-01-10T17:59:00.000+08:00

Hay. Lady Maroons. Why oh why?

Last Sunday, I managed to cross out an item off my 2012 bucket list when I joined the Azukals in watching the UAAP games over at The Arena in San Juan.

The last time I watched a high level volleyball match live was 10 years ago, when Russia (woohoo) played against Brazil at Araneta (incidentally, that was the very first thing I wrote about in this blog). I had forgotten the kind of rush it brought to actually follow a match and try to will the team you favored to win. I had been wanting to attend a game live ever since I started following collegiate volleyball, but I didn't really have anyone to watch it with until now.

The Azukals goes to the Arena.

I wanted this day in particular because it was one of the few matches left in the first round of eliminations, it featured two fantastic teams who play well against each other in the main match, and it presented a slight chance for the Lady Maroons to get finally one in the win column.

In contrast to the first game, a match where I heavily rooted for one side (leading to horrible disappointment; #laslasforteamup), I wasn't entirely sure who to cheer for in the second game: On one hand, I'm a huge fan of the UST setter Rhea Dimaculangan (she has fantastic variety and guile, she never panics, and she is both a really good blocker and server) and how their combination plays come together. But I also cannot deny just how great a team DLSU is, despite the rookies in their lineup. Both schools have great programs in place and, like I mentioned before, always seem to bring out the best in each other.

The Tigresses get ready.

Compared to the lackadaisical mood of the first game, the pace of this match was fast, and the hits were sometimes brutal. The Lady Spikers focused their defense too much on UST's main scorer, Maru Banaticla, which left them vunerable to the Tigresses' other attackers, particularly Maika Ortiz and Judy Caballejo. (At one point, Ortiz delivered a really powerful running attack right smack on DLSU's libero Melissa Gohing's shoulder. Napa-ooooh yung crowd.) The Tigresses' inspired game play, coupled with a lot of costly errors (particularly on serve; in one set DLSU had around 8) gave UST the upper hand going into the deciding set.

A lot of balls in the air: DLSU joins in.

At 12-8, with three points left to secure the victory for the yellow shirts, I turned to talk to our captain RJ and told him that this win would provide a huge boost to the Tigresses and complete a turnaround for them after a disappointing start to their season. It turns out that I spoke too soon. Shortly after that, the DLSU captain Cha Cruz, unchecked by the opposing team's net defense (seriously, they didn't even make an attempt to block her; yung totoo Gi Reyes), swooped in for a clean, open hit. That attack proved to be a game changer and allowed the archers to climb back and snatch the win from the (growling) jaws of defeat.

The final score of this thriller: 20-25 25-22 16-25 25-19 17-15. Player of the game: Cruz.

We're definitely coming back. Ateneo versus DLSU, anyone?

Pinoy pun

2012-01-06T13:25:00.001+08:00

The Department of Tourism, headed by Sec. Ramon Jimenez, unveiled the country's newest slogan to the public earlier today. "It's more fun in the Philippines," featuring a coloring banner and banig-based logo, was received positively by a lot of hard-to-please Pinoy netizens, an optimistic indication.

Of course, said netizens, quickly took to social media to spread the word (and hash tag) and get in a quick joke or two about the campaign.

Gabe Mercado: "Circucision. #itsmorefuninthephilippines with masticated bayabas leaves."

Stacy Rodriguez: "Beckinese. #itsmorefuninthephilippines"

Erwan Heusaff: "Because we still have Engelbert Humperdinck (what's his face) concerts. #itsmorefuninthephilippines"

Alessandra de Rossi: "There's glutathione everywhere! Charoz! #itsmorefuninthephilippines"

Manix Imperial: "You can't create create a sentence by repeating the same syllable 'bababa ba?' #itsmorefuninthephilippines"

Candice Lopez Quimpo: "It's more pun, I mean, fun in the Philippines! Let's go witty Pinoys! #itsmorefuninthephilippines"

Moks Gonzales: "KFC has gravy all you want. #itsmorefuninthephilippines"

Gab Tatad: "Bench body ad campaigns. Pagkatotoo na tayo. #itsmorefuninthephilippines"

Yvette Tan: "The actual chance of making the headlines because you've been eaten by a supernatural creature."

Bevs Dalton: "We have Piolo Pascual. #itsmorefuninthephilippines"

My mother whole-heartedly agrees with the last one.

It's a huge improvement from the last attempt, the visuals look pretty cool and Jimenez has impact in mind (think of going up from the London Underground and seeing 'Climbing stairs. It's more fun in the Philippines' with the picture of the Banaue Rice Terraces.) Ngayon pa lang, tume-trending topic na ang international slogan as well as its local version "#1 for fun") All in all, pretty good and only the most cynical would say this doesn't have a chance of working or shouldn't be given a shot.

As Ian tweeted, "Bawal ang nega. Because #ItsMoreFunInThePhilippines"

Pabalik-balik

2012-01-04T13:07:00.001+08:00

Years and years after I first heard this song, I am still completely moved by it. The lyrics may sound overly dramatic, but the effect is nonetheless genuine. From the opening chords up until the last note has been sung, it tugs at my heart and I am reduced to becoming that blubbering mess of a kid back in high school who's waiting for something in his life to happen.

And something did. Well, a lot actually. And whenever I stray (a very, very frequent occurrence), this song and that concept of "more than enough" helps remind me of that point in my life when things were much, much simpler.

A night na very light

2012-01-02T12:08:00.000+08:00

"Parang awa niyo na, mag-kuwento kayo."

"Fine. That was my last one since I slept. Bigyan mo naman ako ng credit."

"(Sucks in air repeatedly.)"

"Mainit ang ulo ko."

"Parang magastos 'tong resolution na ito. At nakakataba."

"(Bangs fist on table.)"

"Anong gagawin mo? Can you sit at the other table?"

"I don't have to do it everyday. Pero grabe ako kung may ka-kuwentuhan."

"(Bangs fist on table. Harder.)"

Went around the metro with some of the Azukals on the first night of the new year. We met in Mandaluyong and decided on a quick drive-through of an eventless Intramuros. Most had the same resolution/goal for 2012 (pretty easy to guess based on the quotes above) and it was kind of funny watching each other cope and complain about it.

We settled on Silya in Malate where some of us drank (nang "very light"), and others picked on cheese sticks, boiled peanuts and chicharong bulaklak. Mato sang Michael Bubble, Moks arrived and we all did several rounds of Truth or... Truth.

"Motto for the year: keep things simple."

"Dahil friends na tayo can I just say: can you tone it down a bit. 500 words per minute!"

"Sino ba huli mong iniyakan?"

"Huh? Resolution. For one day lang?"

"Alam mo, since friends na nga tayo, can I just say: may pagka-Miss Minchin ka minsan.

"At sino ang huli mong pinaiyak?"

"It's going to be a really good year. I can feel it."

Yup.

Another new start

2011-12-31T12:28:00.003+08:00

The Manila half of the Poveydans.

Two weeks ago, John, Ian and I decided to make good on our promise to hang out every month and had a Poveydan movie-dinner night. Because John had already seen Immortals and because I didn't want to pay for anything that involved Tom Cruise, we decided to see New Year's Eve.

The movie, directed by Gary Marshall, revolved around the handful of characters (and their subsequent subplots) that intersect during New Year's Eve day. It was predictable and all-in-all forgettable, and the truly amusing parts were few and far in between. But I guess it was alright. I was kind of disappointed with how Abigail Breslin turned out, there is something about Sarah Jessica Parker that's inherently off-putting and the musical bits were kinda awkward, but heck there were ample amounts of Sofia Vergara and Seth Meyers so I'm not really complaining.

What I do remember was this speech that Hillary Swank's character gave in the middle of the movie. She was supposed to be the vice-chairman of the New Year's Eve committee (or something), and was doing damage control because the Times Square ball was having technical problems. Her speech was supposed to appease the disgruntled crowd.

"To remember both our triumphs and our missteps—our promises made, and broken. The times we opened ourselves up to great adventures—or closed ourselves down, for fear of getting hurt. Because that's what New Year's is all about: getting another chance. A chance to forgive, to do better, to do more, to give more, to love more. And stop worrying about 'what if' and start embracing what would be. So when that ball drops at midnight—and it will drop—let's remember to be nice to each other, kind to each other. And not just tonight but all year long."

Cheesy, I know. But it makes sense.

After the movie, we caught up a little about ourselves over ensaymada and danish pastries. We talked about topics that were light and topics that were heavier, deeper and a little bit darker. It was as if it's 2007 again and we survived another BF work day, and we were off trying to console ourselves at Maribago or somewhere near the capitol.

We got to the headier topics and, at some point, somebody says: "You're still at that point where you are capable of making the right decision. This is it." (Oh wait, maybe that was me.)

Well, this IS it. This year, and every year for that matter, was defined by the choices I've made, for better or worse. There were some breakthroughs this year, and some missteps and "dog to vomit Proverbs" moments. Time I allotted to some things, and attention I took away from others—I would love to say that I have no regrets whatsoever, but that would be completely dishonest of me.

I do wish that I had gone about things much better that I have in the past year, but I'm just thankful that it's not to that level that makes me miserable. As I've said in a previous post, I can only try to do better (for real) and have a little more clarity the next day.

And, of course: fun. To find enjoyment in the things that I do (like writing in this blog, something I didn't know I was going to pick up again. So, a silent thank you to you for unwittingly pushing me towards it). To stop over thinking and over analyzing and not get so worked up when situations don't go as planned.

I saw this on Facebook the other day. It's a pretty good and straight-forward way to go about things.

From Facebook.

It's another new start, another set of chances to go for what we want and to find out what's good for us.

It's another year, our last one if the Mayans are right (haha).
Better to keep life simple.

Awesome 2012, guys.

Guidelines

2011-12-29T12:33:00.002+08:00

From Facebook

Bucket List 2012

2011-12-28T15:10:00.001+08:00

Dahil, katulad ng sipon, madaling makahawa si Jewel, I decided to follow along the lines of her "little things, happy life" blog and come up with my own bucket list for the next year. Some will, for sure, happen. Most need a bit more effort (and resources) on my part to pull off.

1. Watch Wicked.

Well, this one is definitely happening. I mean, I have the plane and theater tickets to prove it. What I don't have, though, is a place to stay. So... if there are any nice people out there who would be willing to take me in please. No? Not even one? Hey, come back here...

2. Finally go to Sagada. FORREALZ.

Mukhang posible din naman ito. Naudlot lang last time.

3. Travel to a country I've never been to.

This was supposed to be Indonesia (Bali with the Poveydans) in April. But then, my financial future looks bleak at the moment so... I don't know. Oh hey, there's now a direct flight to Cambodia from Manila. Hmmm...

4. Try turning vegan for a week.

Try lang naman. Just curious how that would work out for me. I always say that I can't live without seafood, eggs and dairy, but maybe I'm just overreacting. LEZDODIZ.

5. Couch surf or host.

I've been a member for quite some time now. I should actually start fulfilling the purpose of my membership. Wait, actually this can answer my problem with number one.

6. Learn how to surf, not just couches.

While the whole concept of me trying to balance on a board is hilarious, I... well, I have nothing more to add to do that. The concept is hilarious. But I still want to do it. Possible opportunity: Ailene is dragging me and Stef to Calaguas in February. Yay for making an ass of myself in front of strangers!

7. Do Bikram or some other form of yoga again.

It was just a bit too expensive for me to keep on doing, but I enjoyed myself when I practiced.

8. Participate in a 5K run.
Heck, if I can walk from Pioneer to Quezon City, I could probably do a 5k. Right?

9. Watch a UAAP volleyball game live.
Preferably the games on January 8–UP vs UE and UST vs DLSU.

10. Write one measly chapter in my book.

Just one, itty-bitty, friggin' chapter. Please lang.

Here we go. It's never too much as long as I'm enjoying myself. (Or so I think.) Okay medyo pilit yung connection with the 9GAG/John Lennon quote, but I wanted to post it up here. So there.

*Done!

From 9gag

Trenta (Part 2)

2011-12-26T08:18:00.000+08:00

When we got back to Baguio, it was still raining. We didn't know what were going to do, and we didn't know where were going to stay. Wet and exhausted, we decided to hang out at a KFC (torture, I miss chicken) near the station. After several calls to friends and relatives in the area, we later found ourselves in a taxi on the way to Ridgewood Hotel, which is near... actually I forgot. I first thought it was near Camp John Hay, but Stef said that that was on the other side of the city.

My willing accomplices.

After we all had a hot shower each and got into our sleepwear (a surprising subconscious consensus of white shirts and black jogging pants), we settled in our own beds, reading. Me with latest in Michael Scott's Secrets of the Immortal Nicholas Flammel series (hello, I am a geek), and Stef and Ailene with respective iPads and iPhones. Outside was a scary mixture of howling wind and wet dreariness so, realizing there was no way we're leaving the hotel, we decided on the lobby restaurant for dinner.

The lights went out at one point, and we dined by candlelight, as somebody continued to play the piano in the background. It would have been romantic if we weren't with each other. Instead, we found it hilarious, and spent the rest of evening doing what we did best together: talking. About our careers, the respective people and circumstances that have passed in and out of our lives, His grace (of course) and how we all are now at 30, as opposed to 10 years ago.

Wandering; Cafe by the Ruins

And the difference isn't really that your life changes, it's more that you yourself change. You realize just how much flexible and prepared you are, or need to be. You can't plan. Not really. There is so much that happens unexpectedly that you can only wing it. And just... try to be good at winging it.

That's exactly what we did the next day. After getting some sleep, we woke up, checked out and spent hours wandering and stepping around things that got knocked down by the storm. Breakfast at Cafe By The Ruins, photo shoot and a yet-to-be-posted vLog at Session Road, lunch at some restaurant with no electricity, a cab ride with a somewhat crazy driver, videoke at the open air SM Baguio (impractical, given the circumstances. The open air bit, not the videoke), some shopping, a lot of lining up for tickets and a lot more talking.

Stef and I headed back to Manila that night (Ailene stayed to do some sort of marketing plan), a full day earlier than expected. It certainly wasn't the trip I had in mind. The conditions weren't ideal, and I was so looking forward to all the things that I wanted to do in Sagada. But still, I think this whole (death-defying at one point) experience was worth it.

That restaurant without electricity; I think this was "Alone"

I remember a quote from the blog of a friend: "A place is only as good as the people you know in it." And man, and I may not just be talking about Baguio here (or any physical, literal location), but I was in a pretty steady place.

Here's to the next great adventure post-30.

Photographs by Stef Juan

Look to the stars

2011-12-24T23:37:00.000+08:00

I haven't been a good Christian this year.

Check that.

I don't think I've been a good Christian for quite a few years.

And that thought gets magnified during Christmas. Especially when I'm here at church during our annual Candlelight Communion with thousands of other people who aren't quite (it seems) in the same predicament. This year, I wasn't able to join the choir. I am such a genius that I forgot to pack my slacks in my overnight bag, and I didn't quite make it to the call time at the choir room.

So, I had to be content sitting with the congregation. As the opening chords played, you could feel the excitement in the room, the kind that never gets old. Everyone is just so... positive and happy. And then there's me, who feels kinda... guilty. I think about how far I've pushed the limits. And every effort I make for the better suddenly seems futile and insincere.

But then: His grace. (What else do I have in the matter anyway?) I think about how it's wonderfully encompassing and truly way, way beyond my capacity to comprehend.

Hope then overtakes and gets the better (worse?) of me. The kind of hope that Switchfoot sang of that was "the meaning of resistance," which was "beyond my own." I want to feel home with the infinite and the penitent.

We... I can only get up and try harder the next day.

And pray.

And look up.

Maybe I've been the problem,

maybe I'm the one to blame

But even when I turn it off

and blame myself,

the outcome feels the same

I've been thinking maybe

I've been partly cloudy,

maybe I'm the chance of rain

Maybe I'm overcast,

and maybe all my lucks

washed down the drain

I've been thinking 'bout everyone,

everyone you look so lonely

But when I look at the stars,

When I look at the stars,

When I look at the stars

I see someone else

When I look at the stars

The stars I feel like myself

Pukulin

2011-12-22T17:31:00.000+08:00

In What.The.Frack news of the day, the CBCP warned people against buying "violent" toys such as the Angry Birds as gifts this Christmas. Beevs.

Someone commented on a friend's page somewhat defending the church saying that we should take a look at how the environment is affecting kids today. This was my response:

"I think we should give kids and their upbringing a little more credit than that. If they can't distinguish between playing a game and real-life well into adulthood, I think we should focus on that kid's mental capacity and how he is being taught at home. Nagbaril-baril rin naman ako nung bata ako and that didn't make me violent. So did millions of other kids. Exception to the rule na yung hindi ganun, at may problema na ako to begin with kung ang reaction ko is otherwise.

And, going back to the original point here, Angry Birds etong pinaguusapan natin. Animated na ibon na pinupukol sa animated na baboy. Jusme. How will that make me or anyone immoral?"

Say it with me, kids: May. Masabi. Lang.

Mga kataga ni Bob

2011-12-19T16:18:00.000+08:00

So, I switched to FB Timeline last night, and spent hours looking through all posts and comments. While some horrified me (yung mga photos), I mostly enjoyed looking through comments and trying to remember my frame of mind when I posted the status, links, etc.

One particular post I had two years ago was this collection of quotes from popular humorist Bob Ong. Uulitin ko lang sinabi ko then: Nakakainis si Bob Ong 'no? Parang jina-judge ka niya? Chos.

1. Maraming tao dito ang mas malungkot pa sa taong nakatira sa buwan. Saka hindi naman kailangan ng maraming tao para bumuo ng mundo e. Minsan isang tao lang ang kasama mo, buo na ang mundong kailangan mo habambuhay.

2. Makakabalik ka nga sa lugar pero hindi sa panahon. Makikita mo ulit ang taong minahal mo pero hindi na mauulit ang nararamdaman ninyo noon. Lahat ng nangyari noon ay isa ng lamang masayang gunita ngayon.Isang bintana sa kahapon, na paminsan minsan ay gusto mong masulyapang muli. Sabay bulong sa sarili sana pwedeng ibalik ang mga nangyari noon para magawa kong tama ang mga maling desisyon ng pagkakataon.

3. Ayokong nasasanay sa mga bagay na pwede namang wala sa buhay ko.

4. Hindi lahat ng kaya mong intindihin ay katotohanan, at hindi lahat ng hindi mo kayang intindihin ay kasinungalingan.

5. Bababa ba ang bill ko sa Internet pag nag-factor ako ng quadratic trinomial? Malulutas ba ng Laws of Exponent ang problema natin sa basura? Mababawasan ba ng Associative Law for Multiplication ang mga krimen sa bansa? Makakabuti ba sa mag-asawa kung malalaman nila ang sum and difference of two cubes? Maganda ba sa sirkulasyon ng dugo ang parallelogram, polynomial, at cotangent? Makatwiran bang pakisamahan ang mga irrational numbers? Anak ng scientific calculator!

6. Hindi dahil manhid ka ay wala ka nang kakayahang manakit.

7. Minsan, para ka palang nagmahal ng pader. Habang mas pinagdidiinan mo itulak ang sarili mo, mas nasasaktan ka. Pero siya, 'di pa rin natitinag.

8. Minsan pala kailangan rin ang lakas para sabihing mahina ka.

9. Ang tamang bagay saka tamang panahon, wala na rin saysay kapag wala na yung tamang tao. Ang tao pwede mag-adjust, pero ang bagay at panahon hindi.

10. Hindi lungkot o takot ang mahirap sa pag-iisa, kundi ang pangtanggap na sa bilyon-bilyong tao sa mundo, wala man lang nakipag laban upang makasama ka.

11. Walang taong manhid. Hindi n'ya lang talaga maintindihan kung ano ang gusto mong iparating dahil ayaw mo s'yang diretsuhin.

12. Nagiging malungkot ang tao dahil pinipilit n'yang maging masaya.

13. Kung tutuusin, hindi naman masarap ang alak. Yung kainuman mo lang ang nagpapasarap.

14. Paano mo makikita yung taong para sa'yo kung ayaw mo namang tantanan yung taong pinipilit mong maging para sa'yo.

15. Hinahanap mo nga ba ako o ang kawalan ko?

16. Pero hindi biro ang pagbabasa, rite of passage 'to pag natuto ka. Ibig sabihin nabinyagan ka bilang "literate." Kaya mong magbasa ng mga kasinungalingan sa dyaryo, ng mga subtitles sa foreign movies, at ng mga vandalism sa upuan ng bus gaya ng "Bobo ang bumasa nito."

17. Parang elevator lang yan eh, bakit mo pagsisiksikan ang sarili mo kung walang pwesto para sayo. Eh meron naman hagdan, ayaw mo lang pansinin.
(Pero ika nga ng kaibigan kong si Judai, "Hello, bumabalik ang elevator, kelangan mo lang intayin na palabasin nya after a while ang mga nasa loob nya."

Heartbreaking

2011-12-18T08:23:00.002+08:00

From Mindanaoan

News of the effects of Typhoon Sendong flooded social media yesterday. Shocked, I didn't know about it until yesterday when it came up repeatedly on my walls and feeds. The death toll was at 250 and rising when I turned in at midnight, even as Sendong moved towards Palawan.

Whether donating, volunteering or spreading the word, let's do our share. Here are ways how.

1. Move.ph's post on 10 ways to help.

2. Donate to the Philippine Red Cross for its relief efforts. Text REDAMOUNT to 2899 (Globe) or 4143 (Smart). The PRC accepts online donations as well. Their website is here.

3. Donate to the Xavier University Ateneo Relief Center. Food (e.g. instant noodles, canned goods), bottled water and clothing is greatly nee...ded. Volun...teers are also needed to repack and deliver the relief goods to the victims. For more information, contact (+6388) 858-3116 local 3210.

4. You may also send your donations to: Fr. Eric Garcia Velandria, S.J. Coordinator of Sendong Operation, KKP Office, Xavier University-Ateneo de Cagayan Cagayan, Corrales Avenue, 9000 Cagayan de Oro City, Philippines.

5. Cash and cheque donations may be sent to Xavier University's account at the Bank of the Philippine Islands-Divisoria Branch (account number 9331-0133-63).

Trenta (Part 1)

2011-12-16T20:09:00.000+08:00

We had a plan.

Or, at least, I had a plan. And two willing accomplices.

I've been curious about Sagada for a long time, and it only increased through the encouragement of friends like Jewel and Benj (who co-created Visit Sagada). Turning 30 this year, it seemed as good a time as any to go and finally satisfy it. I happened to mention my plan to Stef and Ailene to go on the long weekend in August. The three of us have been trying to go on a trip together since we became friends (a considerably long time), but for some reason or another (usually work, money or time, and a combination thereof), we haven't managed to.

But things worked out eventually, and we all found ourselves on a bus to Baguio late Friday night. I say "things worked out eventually" quite loosely. You see, that was one of those weekends when a typhoon (I think it was Falcon) decided to pass by Manila and North Luzon. I was determined, however, and I just tried to dismiss Stef's worried protestations. "It's going to be okay. It's going to be good," I kept on saying. My optimism must've freaked her out.

We wanted to catch the first trip (around 5 am) out of the Dangwa bus station, so we went straight there after arriving in Baguio at 4am. It was still closed when we got there, so we decided to wait at a cafeteria-type place beside it and have an early breakfast. We were served by the surliest waiter ever (kulang na lang sabihin niya, 'a, yan ang order niyo? Hehanongayon?"), fought a bit of drowsiness and caught up on each other's lives.

We rarely get to spend time together, but conversations with these two almost always end up meaningful and interesting. There is never any pretense because there is never any judgment, and, out of all my friends, they get the concept of "in but not of this world" the most. Stef talked about work. Ailene shared the joys and challenges of doing missionary work. I injected some things that have happened to me the past two years, since I last posted in this new-old blog (or old-new. Whatever).

A lot has happened since I stopped writing here. There's been a lot of movement—to and fro companies, to and fro apartments, to and fro responsibilities. My commitments reflect my general frame of mind, and that seems a bit, shall we say, fractured to say the least. From quiz night to volleyball and tennis and church, it's one activity after another, night after night, amounting to a very demanding, inflexible routine. "I'm always exhausted," I tell them. "But I can't let go of anything. I enjoy myself when I actually do them." They listen, and Stef, in between bites of her dried seaweed and rice, looks out the window.

Rain has been on and off throughout the bus ride, but it started to really come down when we were at the cafeteria. "It's going to be okay. It's going to be good," I continue to drone. Finally, despite evidence pointing to the contrary, the first bus to Sagada finally did arrive. The three of us boarded, prayed for a bit, and prepared ourselves for the very long trip. I shut my eyes, and was asleep shortly after.

I woke up a couple of hours later to the sound of people shouting. It was still raining and we were gingerly going around a steep mountain curve. A steady stream of mud and water was blocking traffic from both sides, and some people had gone down to help direct vehicles. Stef and Ailene were laughing (read: very nervously) through what would be the first part of the "Don't Tell Our Mothers" vLog series. "Jacs keeps on insisting that it's going to be good," Stef says to her camera phone. "It will be!" I chirp up from my seat behind them. "Uh. Right," Ailene replies.

We did manage to cross the mini-mudslide but the wind and the rain picked up considerably after. Later, we find ourselves stopping at some sort of electricity-less store/cafeteria for a bathroom break. We all go down to pee, look around the store and amuse ourselves by the fact that we can see our breaths. I point out a bag of pastries (they look like hopia) to Stef, its name spelled out on a thin white strip of paper inside: assurance bread. "I have to buy this! Let's eat this and be assured! It's going to be good!" I practically yell at her with enthusiasm.

I go back outside and survey the surroundings. We passengers could only stand around while wind and rain continued to beat our defenseless parked bus. Clutching my package of assurance bread, I try to banish any thought of the possibility that we won't reach Sagada. Thirty minutes later, I sat with Ailene inside the cafeteria drinking hot milo and sharing assurance bread while the waitresses gossiped in the dark. It felt like a scene from a Magandang Gabi special. We talk about her plans, about how she wants to go back to New York and things we go nuts over (which is family, basically). We talk about His Grace and what that means to us and where it's leading us, and I feel like we've had this conversation many, many times before. And she's one of the few people in which that's not a bad thing.

We go back to the bus and learn that, despite the potency of my newfound (blind, manic) positivity, the driver has decided to go back. It was too risky to continue. And, despite my whimpers of protests, all of the passengers piled in and the battered bus turned around and we went back to Baguio, leaving a trail of assurance bread in our wake.

(To be continued)

Photographs by Stef Juan

Cold hands

2011-12-15T18:43:00.001+08:00

I'm here waiting for something new to break my heart
So callous laden, I can't feel a thing at all
Will You catch my fall?

From lost and not found, to run and not hide
My hand inside... (Your hand)

Fear is keeping time with the beating of my heart
Doin' way too much thinkin'
And it's tearing me apart
But I, I feel You reach for me

From lost and not found, to run and not hide
My hand inside... (Your hand)
Losing my grip falling so far
My hand inside Your hand

I hear Your voice and follow
So hard to believe, and still I go

Bad choices. An overactive imagination. A tendency to overanalyze any and every situation. Too many compromises. Too soft of a conviction. Mismanaged priorities. A willingness to forget. More bad choices.

It's written that absolutely nothing can separate us from His love.

And I truly believe that.

And yet...

It doesn't prevent me from beating myself over it.

Oo nga naman

2011-12-14T13:34:00.000+08:00

"But if I tell the world, I'll never say enough,
'Cause it was not said to you..."

Improving the Silence

2011-12-13T18:20:00.001+08:00

A friend posted this article on FB. It's a reaction piece on what some contestant on Miss Earth said about the Philippines. After reading through the article, I felt strongly enough about it to post. I just thought of re-posting it here:

Here's the thing. The writer (I might just be getting old, but I don't see his or her name anywhere) has a point. We as a people do overreact to the point of looking cheap and ridiculous. Ignoring is one safe way to react to stupidity.

But by saying that, we've hit another poit. You know, tact goes both ways. The way you present the truth matters because it determines the amount of listening that will occur. The writer reasons that statements such as these will only allow us to be a better nation, but then does anyone really think that it was meant to be helpful commentary of another nation? Not really.

In simpler terms, don't be an asshole just for the sake of being an asshole. Unless you have something constructive to say, unless it can cause real, specific change, unless it won't come out as whiny first-world ramblings, better shut your pie hole. I remember a quote I read somewhere: "Don't speak unless you can improve the silence."

Ethnocentrism is rarely pretty.

Pag-amin

2011-12-12T07:49:00.001+08:00

Hmmm... I've always wanted to submit something to Post-Secret.

Laban

2011-12-08T11:20:00.001+08:00

Expectedly, I spent a big chunk of my Hong Kong trip watching movies on my laptop. One of which, was Zack Snyder's 2011 flick Sucker Punch.

The movie was okay. I think it suffers from a bit of repetitiveness, and I would appreciate the themes a lot more if it weren't doused in so much... dirty old man fetish. (I mean, anime school girls who fight and bounce around a lot in bras and panties? That about covers it.)

What I remember the most were the quotes, particularly Sweet Pea's. Sure, they're a bit preachy, but hey, I was all by myself in a foreign country. I needed the faux empowerment.

Here are a few of them.

A good story

2011-12-05T13:29:00.001+08:00

Somebody posted a link to this nice story in the New York Times website written by Sarah Healy on Twitter as a more eloquent answer/reaction to this other article on the Inquirer that has been circulating online.

Employing simple yet affecting language, the piece is quite well-written. I remember one other quote:

"My parents have now been married for almost 50 years. They have five children, eight grandchildren. They have hurt each other and tried to. They have saved each other’s lives. There have been loud, harrowing fights. There have been slammed doors and threats of leaving. I remember sitting on my bed and wondering whether my mother meant it this time, whether it was finally done. Sometimes I hoped it would be, that it would just end and that there would finally be quiet. But there have also been hushed reconciliations: apologies and remorse and kind words spoken when no one was around to hear. So it’s after the glass of orange juice that my parents’ story, that anyone’s story, becomes interesting. To me, anyway."

This caught my attention because I have similar memories of sitting on my bed, wondering, fretting over the same things. (Even recently; napapanahon kumbaga.) And I realize, my parents have quite an interesting story as well. Just not for other people's ears to hear.

Give the piece a go.

Hiling

2011-12-04T11:44:00.001+08:00

Via Kagey.

May point si kuya

2011-12-02T09:33:00.001+08:00

"In my 19 years, not once have I ever been confronted by an individual who realized independently that I was raised by a gay couple... And you know why? Because the sexual orientation of my parents has had zero affect on the content of my character."

- Zach Wahls

Tomoh.

Napapanahon

2011-11-29T19:40:00.001+08:00

Life/love advice from Andy Warhol by way of KC Concepcion. Forrealz.

A trip for one

2011-11-28T07:28:00.007+08:00

Don't get me wrong. I think it's good to get to travel alone.

You'd learn a lot about yourself by the kind of decisions you make, how good you are in budgeting your time, and what your priorities are. You learn not to panic when things don't go exactly your way (oh, say spending your first hour in the city being treated as a suspicious character.) You develop resourcefulness; There's something about getting lost or getting by without depending on someone else that builds character. And you become a little more open-minded and understand the difference between need and want. I remember a quote I saw in a T&C US article (uy, plugging):

"If you don't learn how to be alone, you will be lonely for the rest of your life."

But, while I wholeheartedly agree with that, I've realized at the same time—standing by the railing of the viewing deck of The Peak (gags, hindi ako tatalon)—that I much rather go with someone or a group. It was fantastic up there, but I think it would have been even more awesome had I been with friends, ones that I already have versus making new ones (I'm not the type to go up to a group of complete strangers and make small talk), although there is absolutely nothing wrong with the latter.

Still, I can just imagine trying to scrounge up coins for coffee up here with Stef and Ailene and talking about where our lives are at and how far Grace has taken us. Or taking photo after photo with the Poveydans around the MTR and playing spirited rounds of Top That. I can play poker with the Quiz Peeps. Have laugh trips with the Balahurs or the Pretentious Bitches. And the better part of Central or Kowloon probably won't be able to handle it if the Azukals decide to congregate here. (Napansin ko lang 'no. Andameng groups. Parang Facebook lang.) So many combinations can work here.

Yes, you may have the freedom to do whatever you want; you won't be encumbered by five million different opinions of where to go next, companions who walk too slow, get distracted easily or take too many toilet breaks. There would probably be less drama, less arguments. But you'd be missing out on a lot more.

There is a much better thrill of sharing the experience with somebody else. Whether it was a petty and irritating argument or the absolute best time of your life, it's a feeling you rehash every time you see each other.

And it never gets old.

Detained

2011-11-26T17:20:00.010+08:00

Not even a quarter of the way through my impromptu "Eat, Pray, Love" trip and I found myself in the immigration office of the Hong Kong airport, waiting for my fate to be decided. A lot of questions were running through my head: "What's happening? Did I do something wrong? Why am I being lumped together with all these people?And, more importantly, why are there so many denim jacket-wearing people in the world?"

We landed at around half past 10 in the morning, and after chatting briefly with my seatmates (two nice women who worked at PLDT and were here for a guided tour) and explaining to them than not all UP students/graduates are/were activists, I made my way through the airport, and stood in line at the windowed immigration officer, waiting for my documents to be deemed acceptable. Except, they weren't. After she confirmed that it was my first time in HK, that I was here by myself and that I only had P1,000 with me, she attached some form to my passport and waved for another officer to come and lead me to their dungeon. So, I was right. This was going to be an adventure, and the first challenge is getting out of this airport.

Apprehensive about questioning the requests-demands of such stern-looking people, I just followed quietly and hoped for something less grim than the possibility of having to buy a ticket home. When we entered the office, I saw that it was almost full of people: a black musician bored out of his wits, a group of Malaysians, a worried (and cute) German, a Singaporean couple and a smattering of pinays in the aforementioned denim jackets. I found a seat and waited. And waited. And waited some more, just as more denim jacked wearing pinays went in and out of the room.

One officer, a middle-aged woman so marmy that she should be brandishing a long ruler wherever she went, berated the (cute) German dude (who was wearing a hot-looking bomber jacket) for trying to get through with a "broken" passport. "You didn't know?!" she practically shrieked when he offered a weak explanation. "Do YOU think that they'd let ME in your country with a broken passport? I don't think so," she finished, thwacking that imaginary long ruler across the face of the (cute) German with aplomb. She shook her head a couple more times and dismissed the (cute) German and left him in the hands of her less marmy albeit mousier colleague. I turned away from the scene, and my eyes land on a large, brightly colored motivational poster extolling the "courteousness" of the agency. Go figure.

Behind me, the Malaysians faced a different officer (this one cute though a little bit soulless) and when asked how they were related, answered disastrously different. "We're friends," the guy said just as the girl said "he's my fiance." Oh, it's going to be an interesting trip for the both of you. A guy in a blue jacket approached the Singaporeans and informed them that the passport they presented was broken and was missing a page. "Did you drop this into water?" he asked gingerly, and one of the Singaporeans could only put his face into his hands in exasperation.

One more officer (who was nicer; she must be new) approached the denim-pinays and asked them why they were in the country and a little bit about their backgrounds. They said they were here as part of a three-country tour and that HK was the first stop, and proceeded to describe their occupations. One of them was a businesswoman, another was a sales representative for a vitamin company, and one confounded the officer by telling her that she "rents out stalls." "Stores?" the officer asked. "Yes, stalls. Rent out," the woman answered back. "Rent out stores?" the officer tried to confirm again. They went on like this for about five minutes. The denim-pinay to my left got a different officer and answered, "I'm visiting my friend" when asked why she was in HK. "Where is your friend?" the officer asked. "Oh. She's not here," she said. Silence. Um. Okay.

I have now been here for an hour. Finally, I was called and I was happy to see that I got the tall, cute, soulless one (actually, anyone but marmy-invisible ruler lady was fine). He asked me the same round of questions as the first officer did. "I'm here on a holiday," I said. "By yourself?" he asked. "Yep," I confirmed. A look of incredulity showed on his face. "Kung gusto mo, samahan mo ako..." (JOKE LANG.) He then asked me about my job, if I had any disposable income, and my plans for the next two days. "I haven't decided yet," I admitted. "Do you have any sort of guidebook," he asked, and I showed him the one my friend Gabby lent me (he was its editor), and he openly laughed at it with his fuglier colleague. Hay naku. Buti na lang cute ka at may redeeming quality ka.

He asked a couple more random questions ("do you have a camera? Do you have an iPhone?") and when he was finally satisfied about my complete lack of desire to be a TNT, he finally let me go. I fished my checked-in luggage, circling by its lonesome around carousel 3, and, relieved, finally stepped out of the airport.

And I live to play volleyball and listen to the Wicked soundtrack another day. Here I go.

Flying off

2011-11-25T16:12:00.004+08:00

“So… makakapunta na rin tayo ng Hongkong. Finally.”

“Yep.”

“But with no itinerary.”

“Yep.”

"At walang kasama."

"Yep."

“And no idea of what to do. Or even want to do.”

“Yep.”

“Or see.”

“Yep.”

“Or where to eat.”

“Yep.”

“Or how to fill two days with the right kind of activities.”

“Yep,”

“Hmmm… should be fun?”

“Yep.”

“Are you just going to say ‘yep’ to everything I say? Don’t you know any other word?”

“Oh. Yeah I do. Here’s another one: carefree.”

“Ah… ok. Oo nga pala. Tama.”

“Yep.”

He's not that girl

2011-11-24T15:07:00.003+08:00

Best male version I found on YouTube of this song. Well, granted, there weren't many choices to begin with and that's not much of a distinction. Still: hongalen-galeng nomon umemote ni ateh. Brava.

Disconnected

2011-11-23T20:42:00.005+08:00

I decided to go offline—that is, to deactivate my Facebook and Twitter—more than a week ago. I feel that I need a break; some time to think and clear my head. And, as I told Fremont last week, I really don’t want to be (or continue being) the guy who emo tweets (that’s what blogs are for. Joke lang).

But what has been clogging up my noggin to begin with, you (my imaginary readers) might ask. A whole lot, I must say.

Something has changed within me. Something is not the same…

Family, for one. What does that word, that concept really mean to me. Drama over at Bacoor has been high octane of late, and there are just too many communication problems. A lot of he said-she said. A lot of rash decision-making. Or, as Led Zeppelin by way of Haley Reinhart (more L’enfant Terrible than any of them put together) sang, “what is and what should never be.”

My mother has been complaining that I’m not the same kid she raised. (“Hindi na kita kilala!” she would wail at me, in her best dramarama sa hapon voice.) I agree, although I’m still trying to figure out if that’s good, bad or pointless. Which brings me to…

It’s time to trust my instincts, close my eyes, and leap…

The direction my life’s taking, which is, really, far away from where it was five years ago. And the high positives (a lot more experiences) and the low negatives (a lot more stress) of that last bit.

I always say that I don’t want any stress in my life, but they always seem to end up on my lap in structured little pockets of busy, adorableness, kind of like a bento box filled with pokemons sick with electric flu (uy, trivia).

What am I really accomplishing here? What have I set out to do? Is this where I’m supposed to be?

I really hope you get it. And don’t live to regret it.

Him and if there are any limitations to Grace. If there are, I’m in deep crap. Or maybe I’m screwed either way? I. Don’t. Know.

I trip too many times, daggumit, and over the same old pebbles and sticks. And I’m still hoping that a resolution will happen between two things that I know, deep down, will never be resolved.

But then, from a sermon weeks ago: Just because you failed, it doesn’t mean you’re a failure. I need to stop looking at where I’m at, who I am and what I have and start looking at where I’m going.

And if I’m flying solo. At least I’m flying free.

And… him. Which we will leave at that, because (if the five billion times I’ve said it aren’t enough) I really, really, really, if-you-bring-it-up-one-more-time-I-will-step-out-of-this-moving-vehicle levels of don’t want to talk about it.

And when I do want to talk about these things, I immediately feel petty, shallow and my-goodness-why-are-you-putting-up-with-my-childishness-for-more-than-five-seconds soon as the words leave my mouth. I much prefer if the other person does the talking.

No one is ever gonna bring me down…

After our brunchies session two Saturdays ago, I rode with John and we got to talking.

I admitted to needing a fresh start, a new mindset to get me back on track. He was mostly quiet (and I start feeling like an idiot again), but just before I got down at some corner near Taft, he turns to me and says, “can I give you some unsolicited advice? Try being more… carefree.”

“What do you mean?” I asked.

“Just stop trying to… plan things in your head,” he replied.

I paused, my hand on the seatbelt buckle ready to bolt. “Ang hirap ‘nun!” I whined. We both laughed.

But I thought about it.

And I thought about it some more.

And here we are now.

A change is gonna come

2011-11-22T11:51:00.003+08:00

... or has already come. In this blog lang naman, anoba. Thanks to Jewel for messing with my template.

Oh, and I changed my URL. "Spiteful spit" is so... 2002. Pagka-positive naman tayo mga kapatid. (Huwow, ako ba 'to?)

Always sleeping through the static

2011-11-21T06:41:00.002+08:00

I can't give you everything you want
But I could give you what you thought you need.
A map to keep beneath your seat, you've been to me in time I'll get you there.
I fold it up so we don't find our way back soon, nobody knows we're here.

We can park the van and walk to town
Find the cheapest bottle of wine that we could find
And talk about the road behind how getting lost is not a waste of time.

Happy Monday, guys.

Pucker up

2011-11-19T16:37:00.003+08:00

So... this happened last week...

Joke lang. Hindi naman talaga siya nangyari. This is part of an ad series by Benetton titled "unhate," which had world leaders, to use a term repeatedly mentioned at last night's volleyball game (?), naglalaplapan.

As expected, representatives of the photoshopped world leaders have cried foul. Actually, hindi naman lahat. Ang pinakavocal sa mga nagrereklamo ay, surprise, surprise, ang Vatican. (Hello, kung simpleng McDo ad nga lang papatulan, eto pa kaya.)

While the question of it being senseless exercise in shock value remains unanswered, it is certainly clear that these photos will make an impact. Depending on what people's opinions are about two grown men snogging (and even of Catholicism) or if the lines of sensationalism (or prudishness), you will either be angry or amused.

More information can be read in this Huffington Post article as well as the entire album.

A bunch of guys with guitars

2011-11-18T11:07:00.003+08:00

So I spent a big chunk of yesterday on YouTube, suddenly interested on how guys can do Adele songs. These are some of the best versions I stumbled upon. They're mostly acoustic versions (scruffy guys with guitars), but most of the voices are very cool, coffeehouse types (which I kinda love).

Chasing Pavements - Gabe Bondoc

Melt My Heart to Stone - GuitarGuy06885

My absolute favorite Adele song!

Make You Feel My Love - Sean Rumsey

Rolling in the Deep - Mike Tompkins

Pretty cool. (Although, I have a feeling that he's annoying in person.)

MattCB273 - Rumor Has It

Abraham Lim - Someone Like You

Impernez! Wattarange! (Although small tip: kindly pronounce the "h" please. Thankyousomuch.)

Ortopilot - Set Fire to the Rain

Happy Friday to all my imaginary readers out there.

Pak!

2011-11-17T08:41:00.006+08:00

OMG. Just finished watching the latest Glee episode. That was a fantastic mash-up by the troubletones, and I prefer it to New Directions'. (Or maybe I'm just partial to Adele. Especially when put up against... Hall and Oates.)

All of these words whispered in my ear,
Tell a story that I cannot bear to hear,
Just 'cause I said it, it don't mean that I meant it,
People say crazy things,
Just 'cause I said it, don't mean that I meant it,
Just 'cause you heard it...

And this new plot twist with Santana? Very intriguing.

I hate to turn up out of the blue uninvited
But I couldn't stay away, I couldn't fight it.
I had hoped you'd see my face and that you'd be reminded
That for me it isn't over...

Welcome back, Glee.

Paalala

2011-11-16T16:54:00.000+08:00

The church of the painfully uncool

2011-11-16T11:10:00.001+08:00

I will carry a cross
With a song where I don't belong
I don't belong here
I'm gonna set side
And set sail
For the kingdom come
Your kingdom come
Won't you let me down, yeah
Let my foolish pride forever let me down.

We are a beautiful letdown
Painfully uncool
The church of the dropouts
The losers, the sinners, the failures, and the fools
What a beautiful letdown
Are we salt in the wound
Hey, let us sing one true tune...

What gives?

2011-11-15T18:31:00.003+08:00

Seems like I've had an argument with just about everybody today. Oist, anong problema niyo? Yung totoo? Wala? Then drop the attitude.

I feel like crap

2011-11-13T16:12:00.005+08:00

Sometimes, it really hits me how being right doesn’t do me any good. And the blow—the truth that I am not the one, that it’s another disappointment—leaves me winded for days.

Truth?

2011-11-11T16:58:00.003+08:00

I don't know what to believe anymore.

Give me some of that

2011-11-10T12:35:00.008+08:00

AFTER DECIDING TO BE HAPPY:

1. Do things that make you happy.

2. Schedule pleasurable activities into your life.

3. Be a child again. Believe in the best outcome. Forgive easily. Children believe in make-believe.

Source: Facebook

Crumbling down

2011-11-09T12:19:00.001+08:00

Yung totoo

2011-11-04T15:52:00.005+08:00

There is no combination of words

I could put on the postcard
And no song that I could sing,

but I can try because

this is your heart and

this is our dreams and

they are made out of real things...

Yun o

2011-11-03T15:03:00.001+08:00

Eeeeeehhhhh...

ang hirap.

Not me

2011-11-03T14:15:00.002+08:00

For only by His grace
I am redeemed
And only His tender mercy
Could reach beyond my weakness
To my need...

Bad Gravity

2011-11-01T22:10:00.003+08:00

"Mas mabuti ng mahulog ka sa KANAL, Kesa Mahulog ka sa taong HINDI Ka Mahal."

Fly to Him

2011-11-01T19:52:00.003+08:00

Sometimes the way is lonely

And steep and filled with pain

So if your sky is dark and pours the rain

Then cry to Jesus

Cry to Jesus

Cry to Jesus and live...

Ang hirap magpalaki ng magulang

2011-11-01T17:28:00.003+08:00

Golden moments in traveling

2009-03-02T13:41:00.001+08:00

Things I learned from our trip to Cagayan de Oro and Camiguin:

- The amount asked for by your taxi driver is directly proportional to the amount of caucasians you have in the vehicle and/or how many times you say, "Pila... Wait, tama ba manong?"

- Apparently, eating chicharon (may laman man or wala) non-stop doesn't get old even after four days.

- There is something seriously... fey about CdO. Pink-colored accented jeepneys named Gerdell? Bakeries na may silent J? Public transportation endearingly called Motorellas?

- Speaking of which, kung mapadpad ang Tape, Inc. execs dito, puwede natin mahuhulaan ang next project nila—Daisy Siete season 30, Mila Motorella! (May echo.)

- Meron pa: Eat Bulaga presents its Holy Week Special: Nais kong tumayo at umeffort! (Subtitle: The life and times of Kapitana Kimberly)

- Wag i-smolin both and katangahan at suwerte ng isang tao sa billiards. ("Hindi, swear, I really meant for it to go down that hole.")

- Minimum requirements for me to look thin in a picture: at least a four-meter distance at pagtatabi sa isang vertical line katulad ng waterfalls.

- Effective na alarm during the wee hours: Ne-Yo's "Miss Independent," na naka-loop. (Hi Phi!)

- Wag i-underestimate ang amount ng juice sa loob ng buko.

- Marami puwede ipagpalit na friendship when faced with the possible threat of the Mummyand Mummy Returns-like gremlins. ("Balikan natin si Merrell, baka buto na lang natira sa kanya.")

- Diyahe sa bath and number two time: walang lock sa banyo.

- Isa pang diyahe sa bath and number two time: peekaboo window sa harap ng toilet.

- At isa pang diyahe sa bath and number two time: barado na bathroom floor.

- At talaga namang may isa pang diyahe sa bath and number two time: malalaking gaps sa CR door.

- Homaygash isa pang diyahe sa bath and number two time: isang horizontally-growing termite hill to the left of the toilet.

- Hindi masyadong nakaka-assure ang mosquito net if you take into consideration ilang beses naririnig ang mga tuko at ang aforementioned gremlins throughout the night.

- Some 16 year old girls take offense to being called "ate" and "guwapa."

- You know what doesn't help when your raft is rushing towards a very solid-looking wall? Ang pag-shu-shutdown at pagtitili.

- And one more thing (*cough* Jewel *cough), the guide said it at the very start, the first rule is to not panic. Hysterical screaming is not, not panicking.

- Other panic-inducing activities: jungle walkways, ziplines at general auditing.

- Una man at nag-fee-feeling, wala namang picture. Pwe.

- When being asked to shift your weight to one side of the raft, take Physics and the combined weight of the passengers into consideration. If not, hold your nose because it'll sting.

- Kapag nakakaamoy ng hindi kanais-nais sa may mini-falls, huwag ibuka ang bibig. Kung hindi mo napigilan, i-career na lang ang Loperamide.

- Not all contact lenses are created equal: may ibang na isang tira lang sa volleyball wala na, may ibang nasusurvive ang 19 to 20 rapids.

- Some things oft-times heard when our group is rafting: "book!" "i-book na yan!" "hindi na ako aarte!" and variations thereof.

- Actually, that fact is not mutually exclusive to rafting.

- There must be something to living beside a river that induces such proud acts of exhibitionism... in all ages. ("Sa isla, walang malisya!")

- Spotted and heard while out and about CdO: Winnie Cordero, ang nawawalang bisaya-speaking Eigenman brother and ang kuma-comeback na si Jethro Rivas.

- The term "candid shot" loses all meaning and functionality with our group. Hindi siya posible.

- Hindi commercially-viable ang isang artistang mahilig umemote sa may altar ng lansones kaya tigilan na ang pag-e-MTV.

- Dumadami ang incidence of the following kapag may naliligaw na british backpacker: topless photos, pagpo-pose ala Rosanna Roces circa Machete at mga one-on-one interviews.

- Wag mag-batuhan ng piyaya sa gitna ng isang nagtitiling ilongga. (Hi Prudence!)

- Mahilig mag-facilitate ng E-mail forward ang ibang mga restaurateurs sa CdO: "If you don't the standard of our cooking, lower your standards," "If you don't get your food in 15 minutes, wait longer," at kung anik-anik pa.

- Mga panalong exchanges in the continuing saga of the Jewel/Ryan Ryan/Jewel multi-act extravaganza:

"(At Jewel) Wala ng iitim pa dito."

"Excuse me—four bottles of Glutathione... and still dark!"

"Ikaw yung before. Ako yung after!"

- Grabe tumaga ng pasehero ang mga CdO taxi drivers. Siguro't ginagamit nila itong pambili ng isang katutak ng '80s to '90s senti medley albums, na mahilig nilang ipatugtog at 4 a.m.

- Ang sigaw ng bayan kapag hindi feel ang hitsura sa picture: i-pixelize yan!

Seeing and believing

2009-02-21T18:37:00.000+08:00

We were at the Pizza Hut in Blue Wave having our after church Saturday dinner. My father and brother were off to the nearby sports shop practicing their inner Ilocano and looking at discounted shoes. My mother and I were talking about the night's sermon, given by an energetic, petite woman with a twang, which placed her somewhere between "grew up in the States" and "call center agent." (She was quite good actually.) When:

Mother: "Oh, by the way, Dr. Chan said there isn't any hope for my right eye."

She said it in the same throw-away manner she usually adopted when talking about any of the gazillion illnesses she have had. I was looking out of the window at the half-empty Starbucks across us, and I swiveled my head back upon hearing it.

Me: "What? What do you mean?"

Mother: "Well, apparently, the operation I had before already left a scar in the retina. It can't be fixed anymore."

Me: "Is Dr. Chan sure?"

Mother: "Yup. She even told me: 'well, just accept it. You've accepted the others anyway.' (She chuckles.) I mean, I told myself that there's nothing I can do about it. But then I suddenly cried when I was talking to your father later that day so I guess it isn't that simple. (She chuckles again.)

I sat there frozen in the booth, and sunk into a familiar feeling of complete helplessness, a normal reaction I have when dealing with my mother's health. I am always reduced to the kid I was years ago with welled up tears in his eyes, who saw his mother being wheeled into her hospital room, bald from chemotherapy, exhausted and broken from an eight-hour operation so hard that she vomited repeatedly. I give out another automatic reply:

Me: "Let's pray later. Nothing's impossible with God."

Mother (almost offhandedly): "Of course, of course, I know. We were just taught that, right? Oh by the way, Tracy gave birth already..."

She went on about the news about my newborn niece, and I half-listened, still distracted. I am constantly amazed by how she handles these things. Even when she told me repeatedly that I was the strongest one in the family, I still thought she was a lot tougher than me. I guess having gone through everything from almost stage 4 breast cancer and bone problems to kidney and gallbladder stones the size of five-peso coins and diabetes and being able to still smile about it has taught her a thing or two about putting matters into perspective.

Time and time again, my family and I have to rely on faith for all the things that we go through, which are, believe me, more than my mother's medical condition and the randomly uneven state of our lower-middle class finances. Our prayers and pressing needs always get answered in the end (and more) so there's no real reason to doubt. But I guess there's a lesson there I'm not getting just yet.

People have asked me in the past why I shouldn't just give up on my beliefs when there are things about it that I do not understand, when I let it control my decisions and that I make it seem like a grudging obligation at times. I guess, part of it is that I recently realized that it is one of the few things that can truly give me happiness despite my glaring imperfections, contradictions and humanity. And another part is that it's for this moments when I don't feel particularly in control.

Mother: "I mean, you just have to look past the things that are happening to you to what God has in-store, right?"

She was talking about something else, but it reverberates all the same. I nod, smile and open up the menu and order something strawberry-ish, filing away that little tidbit in my mind.

Too hot (for my love) handles

2009-02-20T12:23:00.000+08:00

I've been wanting to try out Bikram Yoga since Mark, a tennis friend, suggested it and Bianca, a colleague, wrote about in our Papa P Rules the Universe/Fitness Issue. The idea appealed to me for some reason: trying to hold poses in a heated room, sweating those excess pounds off seemingly without trying. I thought that it would complete, salted, skinless peanuts for me, who, despite my girth, had a pretty good endurance level, who can walk miles without complaining, who routinely punishes himself with random things like, say, running up a gazillion steps to a mountain top groto when he even isn't Catholic. Bikram Yoga? Pfff.

Well, my "pffff"quickly became a "@#$%@#" about 10 minutes into the session. I trudged up to meet She at Bikram Yoga Manila's Tomas Morato studio one early Thursday morning armed with several bottles of water and misguidedly mild expectations. I took the one week unlimited package for beginners. After a very quick orientation with us newbies (it went something like: breathe-correctly-that's-not-how-you-breathe-correctly-don't-leave-the-room-unless-you're-like-dying-already-if-you-feel-dizzy-or-nauseated-just-kneel-down-and-stay-still-just-do-as-I-say-don't-close-your-eyes-keep-at-it-any-questions?), I stepped into the room (which didn't feel particularly stuffy at first) with my two somewhat-cold bottles of water and found the spare mat laidout for me just in front of She. I notice that the class was mostly composed of middle aged women or these fitness buffs/seemingly amazonian creatures that probably did crunches along with their morning cereal.

We started out with a couple of breathing exercises to warm our bodies up and, by the second set of that first position, I was already sweating. That's when I started to really notice the heat and humidity of the room. Ryan was giving instructions in, what I would find out later, a rapid pace typical of instructors. Just before the midway point, my clothes were soaked entirely through, I was exhausted and was feeling light-headed. Several times throughout the session, I did as Ryan suggested at the beginning and kneeled down and stayed still until I had reined in the vomit threatening to escape amidst all the flexible elderly women around me; I felt like such a complete, utter wuss.

From several difficult standing postures (some involving making your body mimic the letters of the alphabet and/or an animal or two, my own personal attempts of which were, needless to say and at best, comically lopsided), we moved onto the floor exercises, which concentrated a lot on the spine. After each posture, we were to have a 5-second rest period (the name of which escapes me, savanah or something?), and move back up to the next one by doing a quick sit up. By then, the towel covering my yoga mat was soaked as well, my clothes felt like dead weight and I was still soaking torrents. I finally heard the words I've been waiting to hear: "last posture." We finished off by doing the "breath of fire," were we knelt down and proceeded to inhale and exhale quickly, to the beat of the instructor; we sounded like a lamas class.

Ryan asked us to lie down once more, turned off the lights and told us to have our final rest period. I lay on top of my mat, not wanting to move at all, but finally had to when I noticed that three-quarters of the room were already showering. I mouthed a couple of oh-my-gaz-I've-never-been-so-tired-in-my-life to She, and said goodbye and promised to go back the next day.

I went into the shower room and sat directly under the ceiling fan to call off. And I realized something: despite being extremely tired and feeling as if I've been run over by a 10-wheeler made entirely of perspiration, I kinda felt great. I felt lighter, healthier and de-toxified. If this is what I can happen in one session, what more after a week's, or maybe a month's worth?

Maybe Kate Moss-hood (finally!), or my sudden, understandble demise or me going even nuttier, randomly shaking people around quezon city and demanding that they give me an ice cold liter of water.

Can't wait.

Boypren - Happy Slip

2009-01-06T00:34:00.000+08:00

Okay, throughout the boring, more-than-week-long break, I was Youtubing like crazy. There I came across videos by NigaHiga, KevJumba and that guy from the What The Buck show. These videos are mostly made up of shameless, complete ham, which, for one reason or another, seemed to have worked on my bored-out-of-my-mind state. And apparently, it works with a lot of people as well because their view and comment counts are ginormous.

(It seems that most of the youtube stars know each other also. They're all fighting it out to be number one or something, somewhat akin to tour rankings. Gee, I must be really bored if I'm correlating youtubing to professional sports.)

Anyway, I also came across Christine Gambito AKA Happy Slip, a a youtuber who happens to be Filipino American. She does these funny web videos wherein she impersonates various members of her (extended) family. She does everything in all her videos: writing, directing, producing and even editing.

She's brilliant, able to swing from character to character (much like Ja'ime King!), and, at the same time, take note of the dialogue transitions when shooting and editing. I also hear that she became a Filipino ambassador for tourism or something (hmmm).

Check out her other videos on youtube or at http://www.happyslip.com

The Story of Belligerent Bliss

2009-01-01T09:20:00.003+08:00

“The American short story writer Grace Paley produced little more than three volumes of stories—remarkable stories, to be sure—but never saw her way to finishing a novel, although she ‘tinkered with drafts.’ She had a wonderful way of explaining her predicament: ‘I’m extremely interruptible.’ She once told an interviewer. ‘Hey, that’s me!’ I wanted to scream—my life’s been nothing but a series of interruptions, but gleefully so, with Macs, VWs, fountain pens, cameras, oriental junkets and other people’s stories always getting in the way of the fiction.” — Butch Dalisay, "Pen Man"

As I’ve been telling people, it has to start somewhere.

I’m going to try and live out a dream I’ve had since, oh, forever. (Fine, it started sometime between finger math and Prosec. So: long time.)

When I was a wee bit (well, relatively speaking), a family friend (who also happened to be the English department head at my school. Oh yeah, I was down with the grammarians early on, y’all. And, yeah, you can just whack me upside the head for saying that) asked me what I wanted to do with my life. I answered, almost as a reflex, “I want to write a novel.” She chuckled and said, “Well, you don’t need a degree to do that.”

But then I did finish school, Tracy Flick-ed (watch Election, people) my way to a degree to the bemusement and/or chagrin of my professors. I became a writer, blogger, and a publishing geek, and wedged that little literary fantasy at the back corners of my tiny mind, between “studying abroad” and “six pack abs.”

Last September, during our college block’s reunion/birthday party for me and She, Ailene’s quirky dad (a writer himself) started ribbing me about the non-existence of my book. “Nabasa ko yung mga sinulat mo. (I’m not going to take it against you that you write in English, by the way.) Okay ‘to, walang takot. Bakit hindi ka magsulat ng libro?” he said. “Um, next year, promise,” I sputter. “Sus, narinig ko na yan. Magsulat ka na lang,” he finishes before reaching for another cold one. I sat down for about 30 minutes, half-listening to people, and pondering about what he said. Yeah, he’s right. There’s probably no reason for me not to write a book. I’ve let myself be “interrupted,” as what Paley and Dalisay said, for too damn long.

For just about any writer, being published, that is having text credited to you (even if it’s a pamphlet or whatever) and having any amount of people outside of your immediate family responding to it is a special, special thrill. But, a whole book? That’s something else. Producing one means you were patient, tough, coherent and creative enough for a long period of time on your own. Not to say that writers who don’t have a book are not as respectable on their own, and I say this without being completely self-serving: we are. It’s just that an ideal that most of us wish for, whether it gets sold or not. (Though, I’ll probably bitch about that if that happens. But I digress.)

So to help me along, I’m going to try and focus this whole year on that theme: stories. Being creative on the things and about the people that I know. You’ll get it when I write and tag my first entry about it.

But wait (there’s more!), you can help as well my future minions! Whenever you see, please nag me about it. Berate, prod me with a stick, get violent, do whatever so that I really start on it. Will you?

Happy 2009, y’all.

Confessional

2008-12-31T11:11:00.001+08:00

“Don’t let your special character and values-the secret that you know and no one else does, the truth-get swallowed by complacency.”- Meryl Streep

Or fear,
Or laziness,
Or too much drama.

Don’t you just love Meryl when she’s being all… Meryl? I saw this quote in one of my mother’s magazines while I have been zombie-ing around the house throughout the week-and-a-half long break, thinking about what to write in my annual final blog. Things do tend to be rammed into place when you’re utterly bored, don’t they?

Going back, 2008 was supposed to be about finding bliss by facing the truth and knowing how to deal with the million big or small lies that stowed itself with it. The universe did somehow cooperate: Stef’s Truth Thursdays (which I must remember to start doing again), Ian’s Confessions (which I must remember to remodel for) and the like. Let’s stop tiptoeing over it and let’s get it out of the way with the people who matter, shall we? Regardless if this was reflected here or not, this year has been awesome in more ways than one.

I’ve moved on and back. I was blessed with new things, made new friends, met a lot of people. I learned a lot about myself, and about what I wanted, and was quicker to say it out loud and, if the situation called for it, to the person who needed to hear it. It’s hard to even wrap my mind around the notion that I didn’t really want what I wanted, the thing I cried, binged and griped over for more than half of my life. And while that probably won’t be the last word on the matter, I’m glad (and surprised) to say that I am completely (and should be) fine.

And then there’s my faith. I have always had a problem with hypocrisy, at least in my mind. This year, one of my worst fears came through: that the carefully compartmentalized parts of my world would somehow collide, unravel and expose me as a spiritual fraud. I somehow moved on from that, but I’m still quite unsure if I survived. Did I become or feel better? Did I change? If truth be told, I probably didn’t. But I’m trying to work on that.

How, you might ask? Well, just by what Meryl said (the fact that I’m applying one of her quotes as my new mantra is completely fey, isn’t it? There you go): not being complacent, being proactive enough that I don’t whine and be depressed over the things I have or even don’t have control over. I should avoid being encased and having a false sense of security in my “la-la-la-I-like-strawberries” bubble primarily because they tend to pop when I least expect it. Just say it. Nine out of 10 times, it won’t kill you. And if it did, at least you didn’t live out a lie, right?

So, 2009? Yep.

The Realm of Possibility

2008-12-29T18:49:00.000+08:00

"There was this girl from Springfield who was asked to the prom by a guy who really, really hated her. He did it on a dare and the girl was unaware of it. She used all her money to buy a dress and a flower for his jacket. The dress was as white as a cloud in a dream and the flower was a red rose. She waited on prom night for him to pick her up. Instead he and his friends drove by over and over while she waited on the curb, holding the rose in her hand. Her dress billowed in the wind and sucked up all the dirt from the tires as the boys called her a ferret and honked so all the neighbors would see. She couldn’t take it and the next time they drove by she jumped out in front. She went crashing through the windshield and her dress fanned out in the impact, suffocating them all. The rose was not damaged."

- David Levithan, The Realm of Possibility

Several months back, while I was at SM Cebu browsing through the newly opened Power Books there (and pondering where the frack life will take me next), I chanced upon David Levithan’s The Realm of Possibility, which was forlornly wedged between half a dozen self-help books and gruesomely sappy paperbacks.

I read through the first few lines of the opening chapter (some boy named Daniel talking about smoking with the object of his affection), didn’t feel nauseated at what I saw and decided to buy it. Besides, I thought, you can’t really go wrong with a book that cost just about the same with a meal at McDonalds.

Turns out, the book was a steal. Set in a seemingly typical high school, the book revolves around 20 teenagers, each with his or her own first-person-POV and self-titled chapter, explaining their situation and issue.

The story lines connect and flow into the next: a girl (“Tinder Heart”) wracked with insecurities and verging on a psychosis cannot understand why anyone would care about her, especially her boyfriend, who in turn feels that he (“Strong”) needs to pump iron for the both of them; a white emo guy (“Suburban Myths”) prefers to spend his time in class writing about alligators who murder video store clerks and nuclear bombs being dropped into the school is defended by a bible thumping, choir singing black girl (“Gospel”); a girl (“Your Sister”) defends the reputation of an older sibling by lunch tray smacking another girl (“Comeuppance”), who is left to rue her damaged nose and ego.

The prose is mostly dramatic, sappy and self-absorbed, but then again we’re talking about high school here; Most of us, though in different shapes, sizes and cliques, all had some form of theatrics or pretension at that age (for which we’d like to kick ourselves over now). And there lies Levithan’s other strength: each voice is believable and distinct, blending well into 200 plus pages of hormonal soup.

That and the polished continuity of each section make it a great read. Especially when you’re lumbering about, thinking what the frack life will take you next.

Belligerent.Bliss at 30

Bakit nga?

My vegan month

Pagod

Lenten musings

Happy hitting

Follow the yellow brick road - The Wicked Trip part 2

How many times will it take

One Short Day - The Wicked Trip part 1

Do get her started

Easy listening, Catholic-style

Enjoy the moment

GV music

Just listen

Cheno's last stand

Habang kino-compose ang sarili

Happy exhaustion

Minsan napapaisip

*Swoon*

With You I can

Balls of fury

Pinoy pun

Pabalik-balik

A night na very light

Another new start

Guidelines

Bucket List 2012

Trenta (Part 2)

Look to the stars

Pukulin

Mga kataga ni Bob

Heartbreaking

Trenta (Part 1)

Cold hands

Oo nga naman

Improving the Silence

Pag-amin

Laban

A good story

Hiling

May point si kuya

Napapanahon

A trip for one

Detained

Flying off

He's not that girl

Disconnected

It’s time to trust my instincts, close my eyes, and leap…

The direction my life’s taking, which is, really, far away from where it was five years ago. And the high positives (a lot more experiences) and the low negatives (a lot more stress) of that last bit.

No one is ever gonna bring me down…

A change is gonna come

Always sleeping through the static

Pucker up

A bunch of guys with guitars

Pak!

Paalala

The church of the painfully uncool

What gives?

I feel like crap

Truth?

Give me some of that

Crumbling down

Yung totoo

Yun o

Not me

Bad Gravity

Fly to Him

Ang hirap magpalaki ng magulang

Golden moments in traveling

Seeing and believing

Too hot (for my love) handles

Boypren - Happy Slip

The Story of Belligerent Bliss

Confessional

The Realm of Possibility

Swoon