Christmas 2007

Spent Christmas Eve with Jay and his family. Had a salo-salo. The kids (Sam, Nicole, including Jay ehehehe) couldn't wait until 12 mn so they opened their gifts thirty minutes earlier.

Sam got lots of kikay stuff including a necklace maker while Nicole got the artsy-activity stuff like Clay-do. Jay got a really nice shirt with a skeleton with a heart print from Sar. His nieces (Nanah and KC) and Paula gave a me a nice hat.

Chatted with Mama and Jay until around 4 a.m. Jay and I nearly finished a bottle of red wine. Was late for work today. Hehehehhe.

We celebrated Christmas four days ago. I got my "Mac Book" from Jay with some of our twosome photos with matching CD drive with an actual CD in it. 'Twas really nice and thoughtful. Will post the pic here how it looks. I love it.

Gave him a French language instructional CD and book. Hehehehe. He wants to go to France so I'm giving him a headstart. Either that or he could curse me in French. Hehehehehe. Joke.

Bought two identical red coffee cups - how Christmasy. Hehehehe.

I'm looking forward to spending the holidays back in Lucena. Now if I could convince Jay to go with him. Had asked Mama's permission already. Jay says he's shy. Hehehehe.

Bought my godchildren their presents -- boy, they're growing big both in numbers and in size. The gifts are getting more expensive. Hehehehe.

But that I guess is the essence of giving -- the actual gift-giving a symbol of one's selfless love.

GMA Christmas Party 2007

Tina and I during the spectacular fireworks display. Hehehehe

Have A Bunny Christmas Everyone

Last night, we had an early Christmas get-together- a triple celebration to usher in the holidays: Kara's award as one of the Ten Outstanding Young Men for Broadcast Journalism for 2007, Nelson's despedida and the Elida party.

Pictures tell a thousand stories. Check out the photos in the photos section of this site.

Have a Wonderful Holiday Season everyone!

Joseph Thaddeus Means ... :)

What Your Name Means

You entered: joseph thaddeus estrella morong There are 28 letters in your name. Those 28 letters total to 122 There are 10 vowels and 18 consonants in your name. What your first name means: Hebrew Male May Jehovah add/give increase. St Joseph of Arimathea undertook the burial of Jesus (in Holy Grail lore). In the bible Joseph was sold by his brothers into slavery and later rose to become a supreme power in Egypt. Also Jesus' legal father.. Biblical Male Increase; addition Your number is: 5 The characteristics of #5 are: Expansiveness, visionary, adventure, the constructive use of freedom. The expression or destiny for #5: The number 5 Expression endows with the wonderful characteristic of multi-talents and versatility. You can do so many things well. The tone of the number 5 is constructive freedom, and in your drive to attain this freedom, you will likely be the master of adaptability and change. You are good at presenting ideas and knowing how to approach people to get what you want. Naturally, this gives you an edge in any sort of selling game and spells easy success when it comes to working with people in most jobs. Your popularity may lead you toward some form of entertainment or amusement. Whatever you do, you are clever, analytical, and a very quick thinker. If there is too much of the 5 energy in your makeup, you may express some the negative attitudes of the number. Your restless and impatient attitude may keep you from staying with any project for too long. Sometimes you can be rather erratic and scatter yourself and your energies. You have a hard time keeping regular office hours and maintaining any sort of a routine. You tend to react strongly if you sense that your freedom of speech or action is being impaired or restricted in any way. As clever as you are, you may have a tendency to make the same mistakes over and over again because much of your response is glib reaction rather that thoughtful application. You are in a continuous state of flux brought by constantly changing interests. Your Soul Urge number is: 7 A Soul Urge number of 7 means: With a number 7 Soul Urge you are very fond of reading, and retreating to periods of being alone and away from the disruptions of the outer world. You like to dream and develop you idealistic understandings, to study and analyze, to gain knowledge and wisdom. You may be too laid back and withdrawn to really succeed in the business world, and you will be much more comfortable in circumstances that are tolerant of your reserve, your analytical approach, and your desire to use your mind rather than your physical being. You are very timid around people that you don't know very well, so much so at times that casual conversation and social situations can be strained. You tend to repress your emotions to the extend that some people have a good bit of difficult understanding you. You tend to be very selective with friends and you don't easily adapt to new environments or to new people very quickly. The negative traits of the 7 include becoming too much the introvert and isolated from others. Your Inner Dream number is: 7 An Inner Dream number of 7 means: You dream of having the opportunity to read, study, and shut yourself off from worldly distractions. You can see yourself as a teacher, mystic, or ecclesiastic, spending your life in the pursuit of knowledge and learning.

from http://www.paulsadowski.com/Numbers.asp

Joseph Thaddeus Means ... :)

What Your Name Means

You entered: joseph thaddeus estrella morong There are 28 letters in your name. Those 28 letters total to 122 There are 10 vowels and 18 consonants in your name. What your first name means: Hebrew Male May Jehovah add/give increase. St Joseph of Arimathea undertook the burial of Jesus (in Holy Grail lore). In the bible Joseph was sold by his brothers into slavery and later rose to become a supreme power in Egypt. Also Jesus' legal father.. Biblical Male Increase; addition Your number is: 5 The characteristics of #5 are: Expansiveness, visionary, adventure, the constructive use of freedom. The expression or destiny for #5: The number 5 Expression endows with the wonderful characteristic of multi-talents and versatility. You can do so many things well. The tone of the number 5 is constructive freedom, and in your drive to attain this freedom, you will likely be the master of adaptability and change. You are good at presenting ideas and knowing how to approach people to get what you want. Naturally, this gives you an edge in any sort of selling game and spells easy success when it comes to working with people in most jobs. Your popularity may lead you toward some form of entertainment or amusement. Whatever you do, you are clever, analytical, and a very quick thinker. If there is too much of the 5 energy in your makeup, you may express some the negative attitudes of the number. Your restless and impatient attitude may keep you from staying with any project for too long. Sometimes you can be rather erratic and scatter yourself and your energies. You have a hard time keeping regular office hours and maintaining any sort of a routine. You tend to react strongly if you sense that your freedom of speech or action is being impaired or restricted in any way. As clever as you are, you may have a tendency to make the same mistakes over and over again because much of your response is glib reaction rather that thoughtful application. You are in a continuous state of flux brought by constantly changing interests. Your Soul Urge number is: 7 A Soul Urge number of 7 means: With a number 7 Soul Urge you are very fond of reading, and retreating to periods of being alone and away from the disruptions of the outer world. You like to dream and develop you idealistic understandings, to study and analyze, to gain knowledge and wisdom. You may be too laid back and withdrawn to really succeed in the business world, and you will be much more comfortable in circumstances that are tolerant of your reserve, your analytical approach, and your desire to use your mind rather than your physical being. You are very timid around people that you don't know very well, so much so at times that casual conversation and social situations can be strained. You tend to repress your emotions to the extend that some people have a good bit of difficult understanding you. You tend to be very selective with friends and you don't easily adapt to new environments or to new people very quickly. The negative traits of the 7 include becoming too much the introvert and isolated from others. Your Inner Dream number is: 7 An Inner Dream number of 7 means: You dream of having the opportunity to read, study, and shut yourself off from worldly distractions. You can see yourself as a teacher, mystic, or ecclesiastic, spending your life in the pursuit of knowledge and learning.

from http://www.paulsadowski.com/Numbers.asp

Neruda

If You Forget Me

I want you to know one thing. You know how this is: if I look at the crystal moon, at the red branch of the slow autumn at my window, if I touch near the fire the impalpable ash or the wrinkled body of the log, everything carries me to you, as if everything that exists, aromas, light, metals, were little boats that sail toward those isles of yours that wait for me. Well, now, if little by little you stop loving me I shall stop loving you little by little. If suddenly you forget me do not look for me, for I shall already have forgotten you. If you think it long and mad, the wind of banners that passes through my life, and you decide to leave me at the shore of the heart where I have roots, remember that on that day, at that hour, I shall lift my arms and my roots will set off to seek another land. But if each day, each hour, you feel that you are destined for me with implacable sweetness, if each day a flower climbs up to your lips to seek me, ah my love, ah my own, in me all that fire is repeated, in me nothing is extinguished or forgotten, my love feeds on your love, beloved, and as long as you live it will be in your arms without leaving mine.

Bangenge Bertday

Matagal ko nang wish yun, yung mabangag sa lasing hahahahaha. I think the last time I felt like that was in 2004 in Bora, yung tipong bangag ka na, tatakbo ka sa beachfront tapos dun ka susuka. Tapos babalik ka ulit sa bar, sasayaw, parang walang suka hahahaha.

Pero hindi beachfront ang sinukahan ko noong Friday: ang dingding, ang CR ng boys at CR ng girls (god m confused hwahahhahahahhaha). Pero happiness.

Salamat sa mga pumunta. Sana'y maging masaya tayo palagi!

Thank You

Thanks to all those who greeted me a "Happy Birthday" today. It was really overwhelming. Pasensiya na kung hindi kilala nung fone ko yung mga numbers nung iba, kasi nagka-amnesia siya at kinalimutan lahat ng numbers ko (pati ng nanay, kapatid at mga kaibigan ko ehehehe). Pero nakakalimot man ang cellphone ko, hindi naman ako. Maraming salamat ulit! :)

* postcript

me konting salo-salo nga pala ngayong biyernes. samahan nyo kong magpakalango sa beer hahaha. la na ako practice, nung last time ako uminom, bangag na ako sa tatlong beer. hahahaha. tanders!

Wish

If you want something from the Universe, you have to ask for it. Wahahahaha. So here it is, for my birthday: a MacBook! Last night, I had to burn some songs for P. but since Pyesky's desktop conked out, I had to borrow her MacBook. I super want that!

Last time, I kidded my Mom that I wanted a MacBook. Ever the thoughtful mom that she is, she texted back asking: "Ano bang klaseng book ang gusto mo?" Hehehehehe. Sweet mom, sweet. It's called generation gap. And endearing reminder of the space between that must be filled in. The space is the bond.

No One

No one, bico. :)

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http://www.metrolyrics.com/noone-lyrics-alicia-keys.html" title="Alicia Keys No One Lyrics">Alicia Keys No One Lyrics

Birthday

My birthday is around the corner wohoooo! Less than a month away. Muy excitado! There's reason to celebrate. Life. Love. And everything in between that makes both worthwhile. Thinking of going to the beach. Or drinking blind-drunk hehehehe.

Phoenix Rises

What Form Would Your Patronus Take? (With 10 Excellent Results & Pictures)

Your Patronus would be a Phoenix!
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Faith

How far one goes depends on how much one believes.

When I was younger, I remember, my extended family would go to the beach for some RnR. It was fairly regular, most of the times, the trips were a product of the spur of the moment decisions. I loved it as a kid and I love it still.

During one such occasion, I remember seeing my Mom walk my Dad to the beachfront. My Dad had suffered a heartstroke but survived. But the stroke impaired his walking and hence needed my Mom to be at his side most of the times.

But Mom was walking my Dad not only because he had difficulty walking. She was walking my Dad because they were reliving the days when they were much younger; when there were less gray hair on their head, their sights much clearer, their bodies more agile.

I secretly liked those moments of sweetness between my parents. (Another such display was during the holidays - Dad, obviously drunk, sang to my Mom in front of everybody in the compound. There is still a sepia photograph in our albums to remind me of such).

As I was watching them frolick in the sea, I heard one of Tito say: "Bakit kaya hindi pa iwanan ni Thelma (my Mom) si Morie (my Dad)?"

I acted like I didn't hear him actually say it. But I knew where he was coming from. My Dad being an "outsider" in the family, meaning he was the addition to the family, they sometimes see it as too taxing for my Mom to take care of him.

Years later, I would realise, and then later on learn as one of life's lessons, why my Mom stuck it out with Dad.

Because love is also about commitment. The road to forever is not always smooth, the vision not always rosy-colored. There are a few bumpy turns, unexpected detours and blind curves. But what is important, when things like these occur, is to always hold the hand of the one you love. It's hard sometimes but when you think of that other person and you think you still love him. Start with that. Maybe that's a good place to start to pursue the journey.

Back in Manila

Had some photos up already. There's a lot more in my camera, wanted to post everything except that the internet connection is slow and I got all crazy and lost track of what folders I placed what photos. Hehehehe. Anyway, some photos are in the Thailand folder.

I Meant Khao San

I just about spilled SanMig Light on the computer keyboard, hahahhaha, so that goes without saying, someone is really drunk.

On the subject of being drunk, I want to correct something. When I wrote Patpong in the previous entry, I was actually referring to Khao San where I was yesterday and today.

I was too drunk but I still remember asking "June," this Thai waitress what the spelling of Patpong was not mindful of the fact that I was asking how they spell Khao San actually.

This is the second night here in KHAO SAN. A very hip and very young. PJ was right on the spot when he asked what I was doing in Patpong which is a red light district.

Prior to going to this same place that we went to yesterday, we were with the participants of the workshop. But the rest had to go back to the hotel and we, meaning Rodel and I (the two Filipinos, him being with the Philippine Star) hung out with two Thais: Bes, and the other Thai whose name was too hard to pronounce.

We had a blast. Oriented them with San Miguel Beer (shouldn't we be getting a talent fee for promoting Filipino products?). At one point, one girl was looking at me and she seemed interested enough to leave her calling card with us. The other Thai guy was egging me on so I thought I had to come out to them and tell them I was gay.

I was gay, I told them but they didn't mind. Which brings to mind an assumption that honesty is always appreciated.

"It's better that way than people hiding under the cover," Bes tells us.

Regardless of one's culture, or language, certain values remain important.

P

In Patpong now in Thailand. Known as the backpackers' area, I feel a little bit overdressed for wearng a collared shirt, pants and rubber shoes. The people here, mostly foreigners are wearing just sandals, shorts and shirts. But I came from a seminar, so that should count as a good excuse.

Anyway, I'm writing this from an internet shop in a bar that has a map of the Philippines on its walls and big San Miguel names. We initially thought the owner might be Filipino so we went in (discount? ehheehe).

"Many Filipino, here, visit," the lady said in broken English. The menu didn't sound foreign enough, I had pork with garlic. Back in the Philippines, we call it "adobo." hahhahaa.

Another interesting thing here is a really big San Miguel Light beer, maybe roughly equivalent to two and a half of the regular size SanMig Light back home. I had one giant bottle and it was enough to give me a buzz. No make that buzz buzz buzz buzz. Hehehe.

Picked up a few things for pasalubong, some fancily cute cellphone tags and kikay shirts (for guys, sounds like an oxymoron, not to our kind hehehehe).

There's also a tattoo shop where I'm planning to get one -- as a perpetual reminder of my being here.

Would be back in the Philippines on Saturday.

Painting No. 2

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Originally uploaded by josephthaddeus

Love, immortalised. Ahihihihi

Finally getting the hang of it, the acrylic and the canvass. Not scary at all, in hindsight. Hehehehe. I'm thinking of buying a bigger easel for bigger paintings. Hehehe.

I Will Hold Your Hand

No need to fear.

If You Knew

(Nina Simone)

If you knew how I missed you
You would not stay away today
Dont you know I need you
Stay here my dear with me

I need you here my darling
Together for a day a day
Together never parting
Just you just me my love

I cant go on without you
Your love is all Im living for
I love all things about you
Your heart your soul my love

I need you here beside me
Forever and a day a day
I know whatever betides me
I love you I love you I do

August 7, 2007

When one is scared, it's always nice to have someone's hand to hold. :) One month after, and the feeling is stronger.

Courage

final painting
Originally uploaded by josephthaddeus

I've conquered my fear.

For years, I was scared of the brush and paint thinking I was better off pencil sketches. The last time I painted was in elementary when we joined this competition open to Asian children. I think it was the Unicef which sponsored it. But I soon forgot about it. In high school, I joined several on-the-spot painting competitions but I limited myself with an easier medium which was the cray-pas.

Years moved on and adult responsibilities set in and I was farther away from my passion.

Until one time an opportunity came.

I was covering the Subic rape case last year and since court trials were off limits to camera -- I doodled, loose sketches actually, scenes from the trial. I showed it to Johnray who is Saksi's executive producer and floated the possibility of using it as video support. He liked the idea and that was when I was reunited with my long-ignored talent.

I remember feeling very balanced after that, that kind when you feel so peaceful you'd think you've subdued a tempest.

And so the passion was rekindled.

I remember the elation I bought my first set of acrylic paint, easel and brushes.

I remember how scared and at the same time thrilled to draw the outline. I almost turned back and nearly told myself I couldn't do it.

But even with a little trepidation -- I drew the first outlines of what would be my first self-portrait. I could almost hear the sound of the yellow color pencil touch the white canvass. And as with everything else in life, I risked, and with still incomplete abandon, I drew. I drew once again. Soon I filled up the outlines with ink, very tentative at first, until I've become familiar with the medium's behavior.

And so the first painting is done, a painting that waited for years to be born has finally been born, with it a fear has died. And I am reborn.

As with every thing in life, we shouldn't anticipate what would happen. Anticipating is a silly exercise. It is hopeless as it is tiring. And so we tread carefully, sometimes, carelessly, in the sometimes dark abyss that is our fear. We hold on - to the promise of a goal, or if not of at least becoming a better person after the journey.

Life, I guess, should be lived as a series of wonderful surprises, of conquering little demons in our heads, of breaking free of the fear.

Life is beautiful, they say, and it is, because we can make it so.

Work In Progress

work in progress
Originally uploaded by josephthaddeus

Making progress in my painting shit hahahahaha. Texted Mom I finally started with it (after much dilly-dallying for a couple of years hhehhehe). Can't wait to finish this one and start with a lot more, now that I've finally conquered the fear of the canvass (like fear of blank page hehehe). Wohoooooooo!

Painting

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Started painting again. No, make that started with painting at last. Hehehe. Finally weaned myself out of my sketchpad and mustered courage to buy myself a canvass, some brushes and acrylic paint. Yey! I'm starting with a self-portrait (selfish hehehe). There's nothing like going back to one's passions. Ah, some life lesson.

Where Is Tracy Chapman?

The obsession started when I chanced upon Tracy's "For You" in T.P.'s ipod. After that, the spell was on me.

For two weeks now, I have been hunting down Tracy, any album would do, I thought, but her debut album from several decades ago would be better.

I had thought it would be an easy search but it is turning out to be very difficult.

I first tried looking for it in Robinson's Ermita. First stop, Odyssey. To save myself time, I asked the saleslady if they had Tracy's album, assuming of course that being the music salesperson that she was, she would know.

She replied with a "no" coupled with a certain duh look that said she probably didn't know who I was talking about (uhm, how about Yeng Constantino's album, perhaps? Or the Kris compilation?).

I was not amused and I didn't believe her.

I went to Astrovision at the first floor. The saleslady there was considerate enough to provide an explanation: Tracy is under Warner which has pulled out all of its artists from the shelves pending the change of distributor (?).

Still I was hopeful, I asked if there was any other music outlet. She said there was, an Odyssey outlet inside the department store. Having gone to a similar outlet, that would have been enough to douse my hopes but I was not about to give up.

And so I went and scoured the mini-outlet: there's the requisite OPM artists, some dance compilation by OPM artists, a sprinkling of DVDs, but no sign of Tracy.

That was my first defeat.

Yesterday, I checked with Music1 along Quezon Avenue thinking they'd have a wider selection of artists. Straight to the listening bar again. There was none. I ended up with Nina Simone. And a canvass and a new set of acrylic paint to jumpstart my painting sapi (but this is for another entry.)

Today, I hoped against hope that I would find one in Shangri-La. I remember going to Music1 there before and I expected I would find her there. But Tracy was not only there, the store had transferred to a still-buing-built nook in Mercury Drugstore.

I went to Touch Music and Video in Shang, a very high-tech record store I thought it was a cellphone store. Instead of rackful of CDs, what they have were listening stations where you could type the artists you're looking for and once you find it, you could listen to it right off the whatever that is.

Being new it, I didn't dare tinker with the device myself and instead asked the salesboy if they had Tracy.

"Tracy?" he asked.

"Yeah," I replied.

He started typing. "C...R...A...Z...Y..." "Uh," I interrupted, "I meant TTTracy." We had a good laugh about it. But still the only sign of Tracy was her "Fast Car" stuck in an acoustic compilation. And the album was unavailable.

Being in the area already, I decided to go to Megamall but was told that the last time Music1 had a stock of Tracy Chapman was five years ago.

I scoured Odyssey after that. Asked the saleslady again. I was pissed around this time so I didn't have much patience for non-chalance.

"Miss, would you have Tracy Chapman?" I asked.

The girl pretended she was asking another saleslady who told me they didn't have her. She didn't even look at whatever catalogue they should be having and she had the nerve to tell me, as a matter of fact, that they don't have her.

Where is Tracy Chapman?

"Kasi naman antagal na niyang nabubuhay, ngayon mo lang siya napansin," P. texted.

He had a point. And I don't blame Tracy if she hides from me forever. But I hope she doesn't. And some day soon she will spring out from nowhere and remind me that in this world, sometimes beautiful things come to those who wait.

Within

Our inner demons are the fiercest kinds. They know and exploit our weaknesses. Sometimes, we call them fear. Other times, we just don't have a name.

Luckily, we have an antidote, like perhaps, wisdom of experience. Or hope. Or love. Or faith.

How fortunate it is to find, within ourselves at the same time: both the weapon and its enemy.

I Am Not "Kuya"

Blogs may be the new tool for dissent, in as much the same way as underground papers collectively known as the 'mosquito press' were during the Martial Law years, but it is not an excuse to be a coward.

An anonymously written blog has caused quite a stir lately not so much for its outstanding writing style (it's not well-written) but for its controversial content. I will deliberately refuse to divulge the URL, afraid that doing so will give it the attention it does not deserve. But I will tell you instead, in general terms, that it attacked two individuals: a boss and an executive producer. Now, technically, the blog did not actually say who they were but the description led some people to believe it was them.

Whoever wrote it has some issues with (his/her) stories not being aired. This fact alone gives a clue as to who wrote it. This is not a desk person's issue but a reporter's. But it is not mine. My issue was favoritism. I don't care if my stories don't air because I know when at least they have a fighting chance to see the light of day. I don't throw my things in the newsroom and pretend I'm a nice person (at this point, don't you think it's rather too late for the pretend?). I argue the editorial merits of my story with my desk handler. In other instances I lobby with the producer or senior desk. If it's a lost cause,I scamper home. Or I go to the gym. Or I drink myself to death until the next coverage day.

But I don't blog, at least not that issue.

But the subject person did and he was too cowardly to at least own up to it. Now the usual suspects are being watched and that includes me. And that's why I'm writing this entry.

I did not want to, initially but I got tired of the suspicions that it was me. I am actually somewhat insulted that such a writing style could be attributed to me. And the color and design of template! I know I have a better sense of style than that.

Let's deal with some other facts. As journalists, we are trained to rely on facts to uncover the truth.

Here are the facts that I know: personally, I knew of the blog when someone from the other channel told me about it. This was after the elections. Because I don't remember reading it when I was in Masbate so definitely I was told about it after my tour of duty. This person who told me about it had also been told about the existence of the blog by someone from an online newspaper. I'm interested in knowing how that online news person knew about it.

Someone I know was told about it by someone from the newsroom much earlier. Weeks, or at the very least, a week, before the elections. Now, this is important. Blogs by their nature, don't just spring out of nowhere to have notoriety. Someone has to know about it. The internet is home to millions of blogs, you just don't google and viola, you'll find a specific blog. My point is someone has to have a knowledge about a certain blog. Then you can start advertising it. She came to know about it, this person who was told, long before the news of the blog broke, and broke big time if I may add. Interesting. From my experience as a crime reporter in my earlier years, it was not very unusual to be suspicious of the person who reports a discovery of the crime. Most of the times, it's done in a vain attempt to divert the focus of the investigation. But usually, the person who reports it, did it, or has some knowledge about the crime.

I would like to know who the person behind the blog is, and expose him for the coward that he/she is.

I don't enjoy being suspected especially if I did not do it. "I own up to my actions/mistakes naman" I told someone. And after being charged for posting an entry without permission and being identified as a "rebel blogger", do you think at this point, I would go underground? And besides, I've been there, done that. All I talk about in my blog nowadays, is my non-existent lovelife, as if anyone really cares about that sh*t I'm talking about. Mostly, it's for my personal catharsis.

I'm actually starting to feel like Gringo who was suspected to be behind every destabilization plot in this country. Now I know that's pretty annoying.

I may be gay, but I'm man enough to own up to my actions.

Life Lessons No.3,I've Seen The Light

SanMig Light that is. And here are my drunken epiphanies: if someone tells you he loves you but you don't feel it,he probably does not. The tongue can betray what the heart really feels. Call a spade a spade and see things for what they actually are. Forget standards. I used to want someone who was stable, has his own career and goodlooking. I actually met him but turned out, I wasn't really looking for those qualities. Now I'm stuck with H. who satisfies only the goodlooking part. And finally, stop thinking. Don't bother with the variables that you can't control, the scenarios that may not happen but upon which you can make a decision. What will happen will happen. Or as Cheska would say 'burn the bridge when you get there.'

Page 161

Page 161 of the book "Youngblood 3", that's where my first published work appeared. Entitled "Lonely People", I wrote it using the pseudonym "Matthias" (the reason for such will be best understood after reading the essay). Read it when you have the time.

Matilda, I was told had a boyfriend. But I will not elaborate on the matter considering the gap of both time and space between me and her.

Reading the essay now, almost four years after, had me feeling nostalgic. Nostalgic of the old times and the old me. Wrote it several months before my first same-sex relationship in 2003. And before a lot of other things that have happened in my life. It's nice to have somewhat of a marker in time, tucked in between the essays of other youths, published in a book, preserved in print forever.

Ma'am Letty

She was our big momma before "Big Momma's House" came along. A sweet loving mother figure for all of us from Quezon High ever since we met her on our third year.

Back in our younger years, respect was something we accord to people who have earned it because it was the kind that stems from love and not just because of authority. She was one of those we truly respected because we loved her.

When I was in Lucena last week, I suddenly remembered Ma'am Letty Salagoste. I asked my Mom how she was but Mom didn't know.

Today she texted me to inform me that she had passed on, on April 10th, several days before I went back to Lucena.

I was shocked. I hoped I had gone back to Lucena a couple of days earlier and paid her a visit in Sariaya where she lived.

In our lives, we have people who affirmed us, who believed us, and showed us what we were capable of. She was one of those in my life. In my third year, she gave me, what I consider now, as a break, via a hosting stint of the school's annual pageant. Before that I never thought I could speak to a thousand people (although back in elementary I joined oratorical and declamation contests, but the size of the crowd was definitely smaller) but she knew better. Looking back, myself in this present job, I smile at the fact that somehow she was part of the whole grand plan to bring me to where I am right now.

When my classmates were then rebellious, little pranksters in high school, she, with her loving care, showed us that it was okay to stand-up for ourselves, but do so only out of love and loyalty, a little compassion wouldn't hurt either.

When we were afraid to go beyond our boundaries, she gave us wings. Because of her we saw a world that was and is limitless.

If we have the confidence that we have now, it was because she was generous with compliments, even our mistakes, she saw not for what they were, but for the lessons we were about to learn.

If we knew love and fraternity amongst ourselves, it was she who showed us that. That high school would last only for four years but the friendships that we could build would last a lifetime.
Even after graduating from college and getting jobs, if we went to Quezon High, she was one who we would fondly look for. If only to remind us of where we have come from.

But now she is gone. Without a single goodbye from either parties. And this I regret. How could someone, who have given you so much, go away unnoticed?

I hope that before her final days, she had seen me in one of my reports on TV. I would have loved to see her be proud of me. I would not be where I am right now, if it weren't for her (and of course, the many others like her).

I hope too, that she had seen, somehow, how successful many of my batchmates have become in their chosen fields.

Ma'am Letty would dearly be missed and fondly remembered: the big mommy with a big heart who never married. We were her family as she was ours.

The World According To Cheska

Some words of wisdom from our resident philosopher Cheska (use when appropriate):

"Lookatisthisway... (insert advice here)"
"The nerd!" (say it with dripping sarcasm)
"At's if!" (say the same way as "the nerd.")
"Connect me if I'm wrong ...."
"Life is what make ...."
"I hope you don't mine.... (no typographical errors here hehehe).
"This is getting our hand ...."
"I want to portrait that role ...."
"I'll burn the bridge when I get there."

Don't Feed An Emptiness

"Your loved ones across that ocean
Will sit at breakfast and try not to gaze
Where you would sit at the table.
Meals now divided by five
Instead of six, don’t feed an emptiness."

Stumbled upon this beautiful piece of poetry from a New York Times Sunday Magazine article on Filipino OFWs.

Longing

It always makes me cry, those shows on TV where people get reunited.

One such case was this 9-year old kid "Hadi" who was intentionally left by her mother in a mall. When concerned citizens found him, he was clean, and had a backpack filled with clothes. The poor little boy was led to believe that they were out to shop.

Hadi barely even able to talk except for short phrases was lucky enough to have been found and brought to a shelter.

Hadi's grandmother, meanwhile, has been looking for him for days (or was it months). She was inconsolable when the program interviewed her. You could see the pain of losing someone and not knowing where they were and how they were doing.

Luckily, one of their relatives saw the program and got a glimpse of "Hadi's" photo. They were sure it was their "Adie" though his name was spelled differently.

So off they went to the station to check.

Once they saw Hadi's photo, they were definite it was him. So they proceeded to the shelter where Hadi was staying.

There, they were reunited.

Adie looked at her grandmother's eyes deeply, as though reconnecting again. She asked him: "Sino ako?"

"Mama," he responded, still looking at her eyes.

"Sino siya?" his grandmother asked as he pointed to a nephew.

"Tito," he said, smiling.

A hug sealed the bond that was once lost. And all those days and months of longing vanished. Adie hugged his grandmother tightly like a shipwreck survivor would a lifeboat. Her grandmother, silently embraced her, silently with a solemn assurance that she would never lose him again.

Each time, when scenes like this are repeated, I'm powerless against the emotion. The tight embrace, the longing looks, and the sweet smile all say: "I have found you, finally."

Each time, when scenes like this are repeated, I am reminded. Aren't we all, like Adie, just lonely souls wanting to be found?

Summer Nights

Though shall not make decisions when drunk.

He should have listened to that tiny voice inside him. But drunk men just won't listen.

He spotted the target: semi-bald, a little shorter than he was, girating alone but for the crowd, tiny beads of sweat glisten upon kisses of the disco light.

Tired of pretending to enjoy the company of a rather ordinary looking guy, he left, and walked towards the semi-bald guy. Courage was not a factor, fear was non-existent. He came up and introduced himself. He told him his name.

"You dance pretty well," he said, as a matter of introduction. "I like it. Are you alone?" he asked.
"I was with my friends. They're sleeping by now," he said.

He came close. His lips nearly kissed his neck. He memorized how long it seemed, like an arch of one of those subjects of Leonardo's paintings. How it seemed to look like from someone he once knew.

He came closer, stared at him, and grabbed his butt. For minutes, they were one with the crowd, like an army, possessed by the pulsating music.

"Let's go somewhere else," the man told him.

He did not protest. The man held him by his hands and scurried away, like a vulture that has just grabbed a prey. But he didn't mind.

"So what do you do," he asked the man as they walk on the beach. He asked so he could look at his face, dimly lit by the moonlight, just to check if he looked good.

"I'm a customs broker," he replied.

He seemed to like his strong jaw. And how his thick eyebrows arched like a man's in combat.
They stopped near the man's resort and sat by the stairs. He leaned towards the man, inviting a kiss. He reciprocated. And their tongues locked. For minutes, they were entangled, like long lost lovers.

Then the man moved away.

"Baka hanggang dito lang 'to," the man said, wryly.

"Huh? What do you mean?" he asked, puzzled.

"Are you serious about this?" he said.

For an acquiantence, the man pretty much had a lot of expectations, he thought to himself.

"I dunno. It's too early to tell," he answered, refusing to elaborate.

"Wait a second," the man said and ran towards their room. When he returned he was carrying a black shawl. "Let's go to the beach," he said.

He followed suit. They sat on the beach. The man talked about how he loved him and how he feared he might lose him.

He didn't say anything else. He held him tight in response. But he was not there. His mind wandered to a scene once before when his former boyfriend had just left for abroad. He went to the beach that time, feeling an emotional nearness to wherever his boyfriend was. One wade at the sea and it would send ripples to his ship.

Or how he hoped the moon would mirror him.

The moon shone brightly that night. He looked at it like he did before but this time he knew there was no one else looking on the other side of the world. The full moon stared blankly at him.

And the man he barely knew.

Tattoo

The battlescar is carved like two waves and new moon engaged, in between, there is a sail. It is red.

The tattoo artist said it was a moon sign of my astrological sign, Libra.

For three years now since I came out, I have always wanted to get a tattoo, something that could mark the stage to represent the decision.

I finally had it during my tour of duty in Puerto Galera for the Holy Week.

First, Ivan, the tattoo artist, put on a stencil of what would be a lifelong reminder of a decision. Then he had me prepare for the pain.

"Huwag mong labanan ang sakit, breathe in and out ka lang," he told. (Some life advice).
I had earlier told him to ink it red, not the regular black, and he chose a Ferrari red ink.

As he begun, the initial "drilling" of the needle was not as painful as anticipated. After a while, it had a numbing effect that I almost didn't notice, the tattoo was finished.

Ivan covered the tattoo with tissue which he taped unto my skin.

Later that night, intoxicated with vodka, I texted R. and T.P. the real reason why I got the tattoo.

"It's he-who-doesn't-have-a-name," I texted. "I wanted something to represent him, of the memory. I don't want him inside my head," I continued.

R., and later on N., didn't like the reason behind my getting it.

"Why would you want to remember it forever?" R. asked.

Because I probably would, with or without the tattoo.

When I'm old and gray, with a mind too frail to remember, the battlescar will remain amidst the growing unfamiliarity with what once were familiar: people, places, incidents. It's stark redness will bring me back to a place, where once I had loved (and failed as all endeavors in this life are indisposed). Like an oracle, it would speak of the tales of the conqueror and the conquered, however indistinguishable both could be sometimes.

And the warrior would look back, his skin dry and sagging. His eyes, wary but full of wisdom. He would close his eyes and ride with the wind, with dried leaves flying in his wake -- and the tale would be repeated.

Wanted Circa '86-'87

wanted
Originally uploaded by josephthaddeus.

This photo is some twenty years old. From my ID when I was in elementary. It looks like a mug shot hehehe. A reminder of the past. Innocent days. Harharhar.

Don't Let The Sun Catch You Cryin

Don't Let The Sun Catch You Cryin'

Don't let the sun catch you cryin'
Tonight's the time for all your tears
Your heart may be broken tonight
But tomorrow in the mornin' light
Don't let the sun catch you cryin'

The night time shadows disappear
And with them go all your tears
For sunshine will bring joy
For every girl and boy so
Don't let the sun catch you cryin'

We know that cryin's not a bad thing
But stop your cryin' when the birds sing

It may be hard to discover
That you been left for another
And don't forget that love's a game
And it can always come again so
Don't let the sun catch you cryin'
Don't let the sun catch you cryin' oh no

This is a very special song that came from the '60s. Heard it in American Idol courtesy of Chris Richardson. Beautiful. Beautiful.

Re-energized

It never fails, if I'm low-batt, a sure cure is a trip to the beach.

Back from a three day furlough in Galera. It was my first time to travel alone, as in me-myself-and-Joseph alone. It could be boring admittedly. Although it has its ups and downs.

First day, I nearly fell sick because I don't know why. Perhaps it was seasickness. The boatride to the island was rocky. Had a terrible, terrible headache but I mustered enough courage to bring myself to the nearest bar to get my cure: a glass of vodka. While it did the trick, my tolerance to alcohol went down to something like 300 meters below sea level. I barely made it to my room without vomiting.

The second day was better. Although it began damp from the night's downpour, it turned out okay later on. Sunbathed for the most part in the morning. This was the part that was boring. I could've died from heatstroke and no one would even notice. Good thing I had my cigarettes to keep me company.

I hung out at Mendeluke's resort where I had previously stayed in November. Babylyn was still there and so were her other friends whom I've met last year. There were kind enough to entertain a lonely soul like me. hehehehe. Turned out, it has become a favorite spot for the loners, according to the barbecue lady.

During the night, I stayed in Aki's bar. Chatted a bit with Aki who owns the bar (obviously). Found out that their contract with the land owner wouldn't be renewed so it was their last night.
I was happy to drink by my lonesome and I just contented myself with looking at people: the man-peacocks as I would like to call them, those guys who are buff and would like the rest of the world to marvel at their works of arts which were their bodies; the kikay girls, the counterparts of the peacocks, both involved in the display of their bodies which I think was near to becoming a sport; and then of course, the spectators like me.

But as the night grew deeper, it turned out that I was being watched. A decent looking girl would steal glances (and unfortunately I would catch her) at me but did not progress so much as to come forward and ask my name.

A second girl did wave at me, all-smiles, and drunk (I think). And that's the part that confused me that night, and has been confusing me for the most part: do I exude a straight guys aura? And should I wear a loud pink shirt that says, "I'm gay, okay?"

I just nodded in acknowledgment of her courage, drank my last bottle of beer for the night, and left for my room to sleep.

The night was getting more confusing.

The Child Re-Emerges

There's a bitch in all of us. Term it "evil" if you like. I've always acknowledge that part of me: it's the me with reckless abandon, the stubborn child that could never be quite satisfied, or the spirit that cannot be contained.

Sometimes I try. Maybe that's why I discovered the joys of writing or sought refuge in drawing when I was little. I write or draw to free it, to give it form, so I can come face to face with it. It's hard to battle something which is abstract. If contained, I manifest it.

Some people may argue that the child is one's true nature. Over time, it is forced to be hidden, or tempered by things that adults call "responsibility" or "maturity" or "prudence."

But every time the child/bitch/evil in me surface (in any form) it always felt good to indulge it. Maybe I am Peter Pan who never grows old because he doesn't.

Over time, I discovered that there's no escaping the child. It gravitates towards the things it really wants.

This weekend I was in Baguio with ALL of my housemates for Randy's exhibit. I've always wanted to be in that kind of world, where expressing one's self is one's profession; not tempering it and hiding it in terms like "objectivity" or "responsibility" or "maturity."

The child has been quiet in recent months, happy to hibernate in seclusion wherever it finds it within myself.

But not today.

Today the child is enraged. It wants to escape. It wants to swim in dark waters only to remind itself that there is comfort in unfamiliar things. It wants to stare into the sun directly as though it has eyes and wants to communicate. If he finds that opportunity, the child has a lot of things to tell him. It has been a while since the last conversation.

It also wants to play creator and its hands shall be the paintbrushes, the canvas, and the acrylic. It has been a while too since his hands have been stained with color. It looks forward to a rendezvous because it will be both lovely and bittersweet. Lovely because it's good to be finally be doing what it ought to be doing. Bittesweet because it took a long time and the child regrets it.

A fortuneteller once told me that I should pay attention to the things around me. A fortune cookie told me that too and told me that it's where I will find the path to the journey that I should be taking.

There could be happier times in happier places. Sometimes they are hidden. Sometimes they are exposed but we just don't see them. Because we don't want to see them.

Lately, there are signs. I've ignored them before and now they are resurfacing. Sooner, I shall confront them.

And then concede.

Letter To The Wind

"Profound disorientation," was how the movie "Little Children" described the first encounter between the two protagonists of the films.

"... like being abducted by aliens and returned a few hours after," the movie continued to describe Kate Winslet's character.

I remember feeling the same thing with you. It all happened so fast it felt like a dream sequence, it was unreal. But waking up beside you told me otherwise. Or so I remember.

Like a dream sequence, too, it was over. And soon I discovered, though accidental (but aren't all discoveries?), that it was impossible for us to have anything beyond and more than what happened.

Or so I thought.

But right now I don't know. Truth to tell is, I still haven't figured despite very categorical statements uttered. But words are merely words and actions more often than not, contradict them.

And so I wonder now, like I wondered before, what that last hand-kiss meant. Or the stare during the longest taxi ride of my life to never-land. I was so caught up with the questions then that I wasn't able to act appropriately (defined as not having to do anything considering the factors).

And so I am left with the questions.

Sometimes, I try to forget them. Sometimes, I even try to discourage them. But nothing I guess will make them go away. Even the conviction that it is not right, will not make things right.

If I could, I would tell you of these things I keep inside. Of how that last letter meant only a fraction of the original that I didn't send. That I was, and am, perhaps still enamored by your character, like a piece of art which I would like to make mine just because it is beautiful.

"I was prepared to fall in love with him," I recall having told Ruth, like I have come to a decision but was holding back.

If I could, I would tell you that I think of you at night. Fondly. No pun intended. Of that night you slammed against the gate because you tried to run but was too drunk. Of that kiss. That kiss that put all my past memories of the same kind to shame. Or of how we just slept, side by side, unmindful of the world.

If I could, I would ask you, was there something I should have said or did, that could put your questions to rest. I would ask you too if I am not alone in all these misery of missing you and wishing I don't.

If I could, I would.

But I know, I couldn't.

A Parable of Truths and A Lesson Learned

To an eagle, a forest can look like a vast expanse of greenery from above. A tree is indistinguishable from the other. In other parts, the foliage may rise or subside but it remains that, each one a part of the other.

To a snake, the forest is refuge, where there is a tree that presents an opportunity to hide in, a patch of dried leaves to camouflage in, while it waits in the wings until it launches an attack.

A hare sees it differently, it is an endless maze where one must avoid danger at every turn.

To each of them, a forest is different: distant to one, an enemy's ally to another, or the enemy itself to someone else.

Our truths are what we accept and deny. And one must be careful when presented with a truth. It is quite ironically, not always truthful.

Valentine's Love

I didn't know Mom sent me a little something for Valentine's Day until she texted and asked if I had received it.

Not yet, I said. But I had a hunch she sent it to my former address so I told her I had transferred already.

But she said she addressed it to my office ... (ok...) in Diliman, Quezon City. Ayayayay! My office is along EDSA.

So goodluck to the gift but nevertheless, I appreaciated the act and the thought.

Talking about Valentine's, some of my friends and I spent it partner-less but not loveless.

Had dinner and then went to a bar to listen to some love songs. We were basking in a different kind of love: the platonic, almost holy love, amongst friends, which to my mind is longer-lasting than romantic love.

And hence, my Valentine's was still about love but of a different kind: the kind that enriches ... after which, all my succeeding love(s?) shall be patterned after.

Happy Valentine's

Not Even Death Can Separate Them. The pair, buried between 5,000 and 6,000 years ago in the late Neolithic period, was unearthed by archeologists on the outskirts of Mantua during construction work. The site is located just 25 miles south of Verona, the city where Shakespeare set the story of "Romeo and Juliet".

Happy Valentine's Day to most of you.

Tomorrow has different meanings for each of us. For me, it's my Dad's 2nd death anniversary. So celebrating romantic love is totally out of the question, pretty much for the rest of my life. Hehehehe. But I have 364 other days to choose from. For tomorrow, for the meantime, I have a convenient excuse to forget. Hehehe.

Fragments

The glistening glitters

are shattered glass falling

each one reflecting

a singular memory:

a night at the dome,

a glass of vodka,

a thousand hundred dreams.



I shall watch each one fall

as though they are leaves

at the bottom until

each one is indistinguishable from the other

a mirror will be left of what once

were glass shattered.



And I will look

and I will see

not each memory

nor dream

but myself looking back;

I have become each part

each memory, each dream.



I am whole because of

and not despite

the fractures.

Gym For Better Times

I enrolled in a gym, again. This is the 3rd time I'm attempting it. But maybe this time I'd be able to sustain it. I hope. There's a 1-year contract that binds me to it, which is good.

I think that's what I need, healthier lungs and heart for more beer and yosi. Wahaahaha.

A Gift Of A Festival

There's something about festivals that I like: maybe it's the spirit of revelry, of reckless abandon in the name of fun, or being able to touch, feel, and taste culture.

Dinagyang in Iloilo was no exception. I didn't mind being sunburned from around 7 in the morning 'til after lunch.

The costumes were fantastic. And the choreography, too. Each troop dressed to the nines so to speak, in all their ethnic revelry. They were like fully-made up armies, each troop surging forward accompanied by what sounded like a hundred drums. And then, each of the dancers would shout on the top of their lungs, or raise their arms in devotion, pirouette, or jump, and run forward; all of these, each one did, with so much power and synchronicity with the others, but each one like a troop unto itself.

And to think Dinagyang started with a simple birthday gift from a Cebu priest to a parish priest in Iloilo. There's nothing metaphysical or mysterious with its beginnings but something somehow tells you, God intervened, to have it reach this magnitude of a celebration.

In 1968, Father Sulpicio Enderes of Cebu gave then San Jose, Iloilo Parish priest Ambrocio Galindez an image of the Sto. Niño. I had the fortunate chance to interview Father Galindez, now 76 years old and is now based in Bohol.

It was during the Fluvial procession which ushered in the start of the religious festival that I finally encountered the man who started it all.

"Were you surprised that it has gotten this big, father?" I asked him, with me being more amused that he was.

"All for the Niño," he smiled.

"Why did you ask for an image of the Sto. Niño?" I inquired.

"I was asked what gift I wanted, so I said an image of the Niño, because at the time, I was thinking of starting a confradia de Santo Niño in Iloilo," Father Galindez said.

Dominador Rivera, was one of those who organized the first-ever Dinagyang Festival. They held it in the town of San Jose, a couple of minutes ride from the city proper.

The reception then was of ridicule.

"We only had bottles to provide us sounds, we didn't even have costumes like they do now. They thought we were crazy," Rivera recalled with amusement.

I first met Rivera at the Sto. Nino parish where they keep the 1968 image of the Sto. Nino. Met him again during the Ati Competition, Sunday.

"This is beautiful," I told him, referring to the tribes performing.

He simply nodded. Already aware of the obvious fact.

In front of the stage, sitted amongst a crowd of VIPs, Father Galindez sat inconspicuously. If I had not known prior the relevance of this man, I would not have noticed him.

"Thank you, Father Galindez, for giving us such a gift," the emcee announced after she had introduced him.

Indeed.

GMA-7's Panata Plug

For the latest Philippine news stories and videos, visit GMANews.TV

The Truth About Truth

Truth shall, and it did, set both of us free.

There's nothing more to say, for now. I always knew it somehow. I cannot afford another of G.'s experience. We enjoy going to places together. And we seemed to have a lot in common, too.
Except that G's married.

I always had that connection with G., but nothing more.

And so I've learned to let go what is not mine. I told a friend once, half-jokingly, that I'm a very jealous "wife" (the term to denote a sense-belongingness, of ownership if you may). Maybe I'm really like that.

I no longer want to share. Because loving, is a currency I sparingly use. And when I decide to do so, it will belong solely to a person.

Contrary to what I thought and hoped, it wasn't you.

Goodbye, I guess. But thank you for the honesty.

James Morrison 'You Give Me Something'

Song To Memorize

You Give Me Something
James Morrison


You want to stay with me in the morning
You only hold me when I sleep,
I was meant to tread the water
Now I've gotten in too deep,
For every piece of me that wants you
Another piece backs away.

'Cause you give me something
That makes me scared, alright,
This could be nothing
But I'm willing to give it a try,
Please give me something
'Cause someday I might know my heart.

You already waited up for hours
Just to spend a little time alone with me,
And I can say I've never bought you flowers
I can't work out what the mean,
I never thought that I'd love someone,
That was someone else's dream.

'Cause you give me something
That makes me scared, alright,
This could be nothing
But I'm willing to give it a try,
Please give me something,'
Cause someday I might call you from my heart,
But it might me a second too late,
And the words I could never say
Gonna come out anyway.

'Cause you give me something
That makes me scared, alright,
This could be nothing
But I'm willing to give it a try,
Please give me something,

'Cause you give me something
That makes me scared, alright,
This could be nothing
But I'm willing to give it a try,
Please give me something

'Cause someday I might know my heart.
Know my heart, know my heart, know my heart.

--
postscript: I will allow this song to say what I can't. :P

Life Lessons No. 2

I guess those questions come when you see someone leave for something better. Makes you question your own motivation for staying.

Had an eye-opening talk with someone today. Made me wonder, really. But I guess, there's no point allowing the issue to continue, to linger in my mind, without arriving at a decision (well, a pseudo-decision, something that will do for the meantime).

It's easy, I guess to find yourself in a rut. To be stuck, in what one may call, a plateau. The dilemma is nothing new, it's prevalent. Makes you wonder what is wrong. If people look elsewhere for inspiration, maybe something is lacking. Can't blame those who made the decision. P., for example, grabbed that opportunity in the embassy. Looks like he's happy. He's got a car now. And less stress (and politics? hehehe) I'm assuming.

When you see people who are walking representations of something you'd rather look away from (like injustice, partiality, or whatever; I just saw one), sometimes, I find myself asking: why I haven't made the same decision?

But the question is not easy to answer. There are way lot of factors to consider. Sometimes, you place yourself in the context of idealism, or fighting for what is right. Sometimes, admittedly, you just want to be practical.

Life is not fair, someone has said. And it is true. People who work less sometimes get more. Those who deserve more, are ignored. Maybe that's why they're leaving.

I've come to this maybe once before. Maybe the solution I adopted will still work. Tough choices are not made, they just come about I guess.

Familiar

This is familiar terrain. It's scary to be treading the same pathways and alleys. One has to be careful. Wise.

Happy New Year

It's looking up a like a good year, that is if my first day of 2007 is any indication.

Haven't drunk that much in my whole life. Usually, I don't survive nine or ten bottles of beer (usually, I'm talking out of head, calling people from the past, laughing hard hehehe - being drunk is a convenient excuse harhar!) but that day was something else.

Went to a cousin's place for lunch. Had videoke and beer, of course. It's not very often that I get to display my singing prowess to my family hahahahha, since I don't go to Lucena frequently so I sang to my heart's content and to the entertainment of the clan. Hehehehe.

That was round one. Round two was dinner at still another cousin's place. Now, this was when I lost count of the beers I was drinking. It didn't help that barbeque was flowing. We had all the pamangkins there so it was fun. Kinda exposing them to adult world. We were dancing, laughing, having a good time.

Round 3 was at a bar where my cousins and I escaped to, as if we haven't had enough? Hehehe. I tried, but failed, to avoid alcohol. I ordered iced tea, but since the waiter took too long to deliver it, I saw myself (hehehe, like an out of the body experience) grabbing a bottle again. And again, then again, and again.

I swear I was numb from all the beer. But I don't mind. It's only once a year that you re-connect with your family. Doing it drunk is not so bad, is it?