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.

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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?

Ode To The Unknown

You darted into my heart and I am helpless. I never could quite remember another time when someone looked at me like you did. Like a shotgun and I was lying there helpless. Ashamed that you were able to see my desires I try so hard to conceal.

I was not wrong to root for you in that show you're in, where dreams are only as far as one's fears. Goodluck. The fire is in your eyes. And it lit up mine.

I Wish For You

R., to find what you have been looking for. The love of your life (your body clock is tick-tick-ticking ahahhaha) and lotsa "coins" to go with it ....

T.P., more wealth, more love, and a bright future for both Alex and Gabby.

N., to also find what is hopefully there between you and M.: respect that stems from genuine love.

K., more success, the kind that you want, defined by the desires of your heart.

A., more success too, for finding what you've been dreaming of, and the knowledge that you are more than equipped for it.

P., love ... of both the self and the capacity to love others because of it.

L., light, to know that our fears sometimes are monstrous only because we allow them to be. Courage, too, to know what your heart beats and to go for it.

G., love, too because that's the best gift this world has to offer.

H., self-confidence because you have what it takes to make good out of this world. You are not defined by the fates of your parents nor by the circumstances you are born into. Our destinies are shaped by our hands and that of the Supreme Being who believes in us. Remember, too that I love you.

To my friends in Lucena, more years of togetherness, in a way that distance defines togetherness because that's what we can afford for the meantime. When we're old and grey, I hope that the tequila wouldn't wreck disaster to our dialysis machines and that our lungs could still afford some puffs, and that our laser-cured eyes would be clear enough to recognize company.

To my family, more years of togetherness too because I'm just starting to know how to love.

Merry Christmas to all of you. Happy New Start for the New Year too!

To paraphrase a poem in Pablo Neruda's "Fully Empowered": Go on because you go on, because you go on. ( The original line goes something like: I go on, because I go on, because I go on).

Around The Bend

Doing some last minute shopping. Christmas is just around the corner and although I wouldn't be going home to Lucena 'til the 30th, I don't think I would have enough time to buy all the things I need to.

It's the thought that counts, they say. Sometimes, the thought could really cost you. Hehehehehe!

BAMBOO - MUCH HAS BEEN SAID

"...start over again ...."

Vodka Season

Seems like the vodka therapy is working. Been nursing a cold for three days now, and I've been treating myself with glasses and glasses of vodka. Hit off the week with a "one-rounder" (our definition by the way is more like 3 rounds ehehehe) of vodka with R. and we drank again last night, this time with TP, J., and R.

So far so good. I don't know if there's a medical reason for it or if it's really medically plausible to cure colds with vodka.

Or maybe, having a cold is my body's way of telling me I haven't been having alcohol lately. Hahahaha!

But well, no fear, Christmas is just around the corner and it's inuman time already. There are scheduled Christmas parties left and right starting next week. Couldn't wait. Hehe.

Change

Tina convinced me to change my layout and try the new and improved blogger beta. So here it is. It's cooler. I conceded because I thought I needed a change. Not just in my blog but elsewhere. I'm definitely transitioning. Slowly but surely. I hope.

Why Mau Is An Idol

That last shot, before the CBB (closing billboard) was glorious. After Mau had sung her record producer song choice, Reymond Sajor went on stage and hugged a victorious kababayan.

It was glorious for two things:one, both of them are Lucenahins (like myself) and I couldn't be prouder of the two of them. That tiny spot of ours in that part of the Philippines called Quezon Province produced not just one, but two, idols.

That thing about being regionalistic has some virtues: for every dream achieved, another person is told that it is okay to aim for the sky. Mau and Reymond showed us that. I could only hope for better things for Lucena and my province. (Another Lucenahin, Jenny Miller a.k.a. Jennifer Rances is also making a name for herself in the entertainment industry).

And that's the second reason why the victory was glorious. My Mom, who's not used to staying up late (unless I told her to catch "Reporter's Notebook" which airs late at night) texted me after Mau was announced the first-ever winner. To paraphrase her, she said she was happy that Mau had won. Mom told me Mau did not manage to finish high school (subject to confirmation) and her life was really hard-up. She was from the same high school where I came from and was a year younger. "Buti na lang, milyonarya na s'ya ngayon," Mom said.

I couldn't agree more. I guess we all could relate to the struggle that one has to go through to reach and realise a dream. Mau was a veteran of singing contests and it is but fitting to have this crown on her head before she shifts into a full-pledged artist.

I've seen her sing in our Glee Club and several other school events in high school and I knew she was going to go somewhere. Talent is what God gives to people to aid them in fulfilling their dreams.

Somehow it seems, it is her destiny. Maybe that's why she had lost to Sarah Geronimo in the "Stars For A Night" several years back. She was destined to be an Idol for a lifetime.

Luck

There are intangible concepts that can be felt. Like love for example. Or friendship. Or trust.

Or God.

The trip to Tokyo nearly didn't push through because of the then impending promulgation on the Subic Rape Case on the 27th. We were to leave the day after, the 28th, and the office couldn't afford to let me off.

The next day, I learned, the promulgation was reset to December 4.

While in Tokyo, R. and I wanted so much to extend because we thought three days wouldn't be enough to see the sights and enjoy the sounds of Tokyo.

On our second day, we inquired about how much the rebooking fee would be. Japan Airlines said it would cost nothing. The three day trip soon became a five day hiatus.

The trip to begin with, was a product of luck. When I downloaded the U2 ringtone, I was not aware that there was an all-expense paid trip to Tokyo to watch the band. I downloaded it and when I was asked to register, I did.

God works in mysterious ways. Sometimes, He chooses to disguise himself as, luck.

Tokyo Tokyo

Bono in an interlude during the U2 concert in Tokyo, said: "Thank you for a good life. It's just beginning!"

Back

Back in the Philippines already. Got back Saturday night. I think I must've enjoyed my bed again that I got a stiff neck (hmmm, from where? Or how?) But anyway, I only had Sunday to rest and I'm back to work today to cover the promulgation of the Subic rape case. Tired. Will post photos soon.

Tokyo!

Try

All we need to know. photo taken from the john lennon museum

U2 Tokyo!

Drunk In Tokyo

November 31, 2006

Just got back from Shibuya, Tokyo where we met up Isao's Got drunk with Hobgoblin drink which was only available from this British pub. Martyn, who was from a Tokyo News Agency, paid for the first glass, which was great cuz it saved us a thousand yen.

Dada was also there, which was the first time I saw her in six years. We were together in Kule.

Staying at Ruth's cousin in Ikabukuru. Been to Shibuya twice. Going to Harajuku for the anime thingie. People there dress up in anime as regular clothes we were told. Hehehe. Going there!


Sunset in Tokyo


OFWs in Tokyo wehehehe


Dada and I


Same faces, different place ehhehee


At the Tokyo Bayview Park. Sa Roxas hahahhaa


At the John Lennon Museum in Saitama

Japan Here We Come

Now it can be told. We're flying to Tokyo to watch the U2 vertigo tour in Saitama. Won this raffle by Smart and it's a trip for two, all expense paid trip to Japan. We're leaving on the 28th and will stay there until the 30th wohooo.

Got our visas today. There were the jitters, we thought we lacked the requirements but Jojit pulled the charm card and convinced the embassy that we didn't need the ITR because it's their company which is shouldering the cost of the trip. Wohoooooo!

I'm assembling my three-day wardrobe (read: really thick jackets and nothing more hekhek).

Hay, muy excitado!

With Or Without You

See the stone set in your eyes
See the thorn twist in your side
I wait for you
Sleight of hand and twist of fate
On a bed of nails she makes me wait

And I wait without you
With or without you
With or without you
Through the storm we reach the shore
You give it all but I want more

And Im waiting for you
With or without you
With or without you
I cant live
With or without you

And you give yourself away
And you give yourself away
And you give
And you give
And you give yourself away

My hands are tied
My body bruised, shes got me with
Nothing to win and
Nothing left to lose

And you give yourself away
And you give yourself away
And you give
And you give
And you give yourself away

With or without you
With or without you
I cant live
With or without you
With or without you
With or without you
I cant live

With or without you
With or without you

Fingers-Crossed

Soon. Soon.

Never Be Lonely

The Feeling

People in love they're fast and foolish
People in love get everything wrong
People in love get scared and stupid
People in love get everything wrong
At least they're not lonely
At least they're not lonely
They'll never be lonely
B-b-b-baby
I think I'm going c-c-c-crazy
Why should I be sane without you (hahh)
They tell me to fight it
They can bloody well just try it
[ these lyrics found on www.completealbumlyrics.com ]
I'll never be the same without you (hahh)
People in love get special treatment
People in love get everything wrong
People in love their hearts get eaten
People in love get everything wrong
At least they're not lonely
At least they're not lonely
They'll never be lonely
B-b-b-baby
I think I'm going c-c-c-crazy
And why should I be sane without you (hahh)
They tell me to fight it

Old Life

I left my former life in my old room.

I didn't know packing up would be that symbolic. But it was time to write finis to the past. "What is lost is lost," a French film said once.

Amongst the rubbish I unearthed a letter I had written in October 14th and 16th, 2004. They were my letters to P., where I wrote goodbye. (It really was a day before my birthday as I recalled).

But the words are dead now. Writing that, I remembered was the most difficult I ever had to do. I was torn between continuing and ending the relationship, then. But I had made the ultimate decision of leaving, which, in hindsight, would leave me with a little regret.

But the words have no meaning now, as probably the relationship does, right now. It was somehow a relief to have felt being so far removed from the memory when I saw the letters. I have made progress after all.

And the dead words must be burned. From ashes to ashes. From nothingness to nothingness. So I crumpled the letters, after reading them for the last time. I read every word, every sentence, every period and comma as though they were parts of an old map of a city I suddendly found myself in. But which I soon, too, must leave.

Outside, I burned those letters. Remembering all that was and had been, wishfully thinking that the memories would go up in smoke as well.

The past has held me hostage for too long. And I had thought I was ready.

I wished for someone very opposite to P. but ended up looking for someone like him.

"You broke his heart," PJ told me. At the back of my head I knew I did. I had explained it to M. why I did what I did, carefully not causing more pain that I had already.

I thought I knew what I wanted, now I don't know what it is I'm looking for.

"I've learned not to wish for anyone anymore," I texted PJ.

At 27, it is as if I'm just starting to discover who I am.

A Series of Fortunate Events

Me, third from left. Rova and her buddies were kind enough to invite us to a banana boat ride and a digital camera. Shot in Galera before one of those plunges hehehe.


So this is how crashing into the sea feels like.

I finally fulfilled my wish of going to the beach. A much-delayed birthday gift Went to Gale with G. and spent two days starting Monday.

Sunday, I was bone-tired from all the packing I did when I transferred homes. Didn't want to push through with the plan but thought I might not have another opportunity in the next few weeks. So despite nursing a backpain and being sleep-deprived, I hauled myself to the bus station at 8 a.m.

You could tell I was a little brain-dead (it was early, so don't blame me hehehe) because I boarded the bus to Lipa instead of Batangas Pier. But it wasn't my fault, the security guard told me the bus would go straight to the Pier. But I didn't want to get off the bus. The pier is some 30 minutes away to the Pier anyway.

There was some tall guy who was sitting two seats away on the opposite side who was kind enough to remind the driver that I would be getting off in Lipa where a bus to the pier would be available.

"Baba ka ng Lipa, 'no?" he asked me smiling.

"Yeah. Thanks," I said half-smiling. But I was wearing my shades so I didn't know if he saw I was happy that he helped somehow.

So that more than compensated for the snaffu.

But there was another one.

The boat we rode was supposed to bring us straight to White Beach but there were a few tourist on the trip we were on. Actually, two. Just me and G., and another local. So instead of getting off at White Beach we found ourselves on Muelle (pronounced Muyle by the locals).

The place looked like Olongapo because there were a lot of old, fat Caucasians.

"Dito pala nagbabakasyon si Santa Claus," G. said.

"Yeah. Before he distributes the gifts on Christmas," I retorted.

So from Muelle, we rode a tricycle to White Beach. Found a place at Mendeluke. Got a reasonably priced two-bed room. And hit the beach immediately.

I bought one of those tie-dyed shawls and laid it on the beach. Got two beers and dozed off. Yeah, I did. Like a power nap. If I had not woken, I would have been literally burned.

G., said there was a nicer beachfront at the bend, so we walked there. True the place was more serene but the problem was the sea was deep considering it was just a few meters away from the shoreline. So we ditched it and went back to the main beach.

I'll abbreviate this entry:
We tried snorkling from which I got jellyfish stings (shit, they still itch right now as I'm writing this) and banana-boat otherwise known as torture-yourself-and-paying-for-it-for-P130. Hehehehe. Made new friends (Rova et. al.). I hope she emails the pictures soon. Tehehee.

Eyes

The eyes are the windows to the soul. To me, they are my doom.

I've always said that the body part to which I'm attracted the most are the eyes. Sometimes, they're the only requirement. Look me into the eyes, and I shall be willing to forget everything.

They are, as though, doors to my prison.

Hang-Over

"Trust your instincts," a colleague advised me today after a rather rough day at work today.

I initially had advised the office that I wouldn't be going to work but I changed my mind because there were things I needed to do (interview Gonzalez, write the story I pitched, etc. etc. .. life).

I was nursing an aching stomach (because of last night's binge) and had thought it would be better if I just rested at home.

But I did go to work and was, as expected, a little short on energy. I tried exercising (the way I understand it, which was to go to the mall to walk ehehehee) but that just left me a little more exhausted.

And now for the killer:
I did what I shouldn't have been doing since two years ago. Wouldn't be very specific about it here, suffice it to say that I've been warned.

And so, I'm back where I used to be. It's as if two years were only yesterday. But I guess, that's how I know how to learn my lesson, inflict the same pain over and over again until I am numb.

Until I am able to forget.

But then again, I may already have, and this is just a hang-over, in more ways than one.
POSTSCRIPT

I will be transferring to a new house in November. I will be sharing it with two other officemates. The prospect of a new environment and a sembleance of being in a home (actually living with other people) excite me. Planning to buy a new bed. Scouting for one already. I should find the best affordable one I could get. It's where new memories are made.

Time Will Reveal

I always told R., to get what you want, first, you have to know what want. Then you ask and with your fingers-crossed, you pray that God will be kind enough to grant it.

I thought I knew what I was talking about. But now, I don't know. I thought finding a significant other would be easy as finding a good shirt, the style grabs you, and you instantly know it's what you want.

But it's more difficult now. And the I don't know why.

Low Batt

I need some serious recharging. Every where I look I see the sea. Problem is I don't know when I'll be able to take a short vacation (2 days will do) because I have tons of things to do: look for a new house, then proceed to packing and transferring, some phonebill accounting etc. etc.

All I want to do right now is get drunk and get tanned.

Birthday

It's always nice to wake up to loving text messages from friends.

Today is my birthday and I'd like to thank those who remembered. I felt like a kid again though ironically I'm a year older. But age, they say, is all in the mind. Hehehe. Some wisdom from people who are getting old.

Noises

You know who you are:

The loudest noises, it seems, are those which are inside your head.
The biggest fears, are those you thought are hidden but are well-known to others.

Welcome Back

Been a long time since I wrote here. And frankly, I don't have anything to say, yet. I just miss the sound of keyboard. And nothingness.

Mau!

I'm so happy Mau got into the Top 12. I was in Guimaras when we saw her get in. Pye and I thought she wouldn't because of the whole-looks-sell-thing in the music business. Good thing, talent prevailed. Planning to watch the show in Megamall.

Cupid Without Wings

I finally saw you sleep. Like a little baby. No, like a cupid without his wings. I love your curly hair. Your almond eyes. Your eyebrows. And those pink lips.

You asked when we woke up how was my last relationship, whether we were happy. (You saw his picture and wanted to spill beer on it).

Ask not the details of my past. I tried so hard to forget. Now that you're here, none of those matters.

Here's A Real Talent

(photo from Philippine Idol)

Please vote for Maureen in this year's Philippine Idol.

Maureen is from the same high school, Quezon National High School, as I am. She was a batch lower. I remember she was some sort of a protege of Ma'am Pionilla (of the QNHS Glee Club). She'd be asked to sing during special events in school and she'd pack the grandstand like no one could.

My friends and I were elated to learn that she made it to the top 24 of Philippine Idol.

She's one talented girl and we couldn't wait to see her be the IDOL!

Last Night

She was walking away, as though we've come from the same destination and were parting ways.

Hazel was giggly, wearing a red scarf and a white top. As she was walking away, she was heartily laughing saying: "Alam ko lahat 'yun. Ako nga 'yun ...."

And then my alarm clock set off.

If it was Hazel's way of saying goodbye, then I appreciate it. At least, even if it was in a dream, I saw her walk away ....

Godspeed ....

Last Night

She was walking away, as though we've come from the same destination and were parting ways.

Hazel was giggly, wearing a red scarf and a white top. As she was walking away, she was heartily laughing saying: "Alam ko lahat 'yun. Ako nga 'yun ...."

And then my alarm clock set off.

Goodbye, Hazel

Josie described it best, that feeling after knowing what had happened to Haze: crushed. Last Saturday, I knew what Josie had meant.

It was my first time to see Arlene (Farol) who were there in Bicol when the accident happened and who attended to Hazel and her crew's remain.

One of Hazel's friends was speaking about their group's memories of Hazel. "Marami kami memories ni Hazel," she said.

At that point, Arlene turned to me and said, crying: "Tayo rin naman, 'di ba?"

I could no longer hold back the tears, I sat beside her and we both wept uncontrollably. I felt being orphaned.

Before the necrological services ended, I presented a gift to Sacha (Hazel's baby) and her family on behalf of the Justice and Courts Reporters Association (JUCRA): a scrapbook we lovingly fashioned into a big diary. We named it the "Dear Sacha (stories about Mommy) album."

I couldn't contain myself, sitting before her friends and family. We were one in grief and longing for Hazel.

"Mommy," I turned to Hazel's mom, "this is our gift to Sacha. In it, we've written stories about Hazel and included photos of her. So when Sacha grows up, she'll have stories about her Mom, who had loved her so much, to live by."

It was our small gesture of immortalizing Hazel and making tangible which could only be felt, like love.

Words are a writer's currency. That has always been a secret source of joy for me.

And with words, Hazel shall live immortal, both in our hearts and our collective memories.

Goodbye, Hazel, however unacceptable, death always is.

You will not be forgotten.

Hazel, To You Who Showed How To Live Life

Last night came the inevitable.

Hazel's picture in a corner stood in stark contrast to the dead body in the coffin. It was impossible. It couldn't be her. She's still young, only 37 and full of dreams.

"I need this, Jiji," I told a friend when I convinced her that we should stay longer and wait for the body to be brought in.

I needed a closure; a point where reality shatters disbelief. She lay there, lifeless, and a tidal wave of memories came crashing in: that day when a saleslady mistook us for a couple; the spur-of-the-moment coffee trips, the singing, the banter, the fond dreams.

She was one of the first few trusted friends I came out to, long before the incidental coming out. She was there when I first fell in love with a boy. She was there to listen to my ramblings about my insecurity about my long-distance relationship. She was there when I broke up with him and long after the break-up. In all of these, she never judged me but always listened and comforted me.

Maybe that was why I was always excited to go to the beat knowing I would see her. After phoning in my summaries, we would cap our "days" with a short trip to the mall to share coffee, or perhaps to argue which shade of foundation would look good on her (was it the yellow-based foundation? Or the nude?) and what shade of lipstick would be camera-friendly.

If we didn't go to the mall, we would spend our days singing. Just singing. From her cubicle she would burst into a song, a classic preferably, that showed her talent. Or maybe Kenny Lattimore's "For You" and how we related to the message of self-less giving and loving. Or maybe Broadway songs and how it mirrored life's tragedies and mysteries.

We would dream of things we thought we still could accomplish: life in Paris for her, life in Spain for me. With her, nothing was impossible.

I remembered how proud she was of Sacha and how slowly she's taking after her: the temperament and the boisterous laughter when she's happy.

She was, very much, like a junior Hazel.

I told her, during the send-off party JUCRA held for those leaving the beat (Philip for Congress, Hazel for the General Assignment and Josie for Canada) that I resented her replacement (not the person but the idea) because a friend was taken away from me.

But now death has robbed me again.

It is hard writing about her in the past tense because I thought we would grow old to see our dreams come true. See Sacha blossom into a young lady and marry. And later on, much later on, die fulfilled in a faraway land carved out of our dreams.

But her life was cut off. God, they say, has his own time. But it would take time for me to comprehend this and accept. Maybe, I will never.

Looking at her last night, I wondered, if she liked the way the embalmer had set her hair. Or if the foundation and lipstick were the right shade. Or if the barong suited her (or would she have preferred a more lady-like garb?).

Looking at her, I tried but failed to reconcile my memories of her with the lifeless body in a coffin.

The reality I am looking at says Hazel is gone. But I guess I can never accept her passing away.

The tragedy of death, is that it is a tiny punctuation: someone you know will die, but the rest of the world will soon move on.

But for us who loved Hazel, our lives have taken a jolt, and its course are forever changed.

If there were lessons Hazel has taught us: it is to love, unconditionally, to treasure your friends and nurture them, to always dream, and dream big -- to live in the nowness of the moment, to burst into a song because that is the language of the heart that is alive in loving and to pause, once in a while, to make those near you, feel that they are loved.

Yes, sooner or later, the world will move on for all of us. But it will be a different kind of revolution, made beautiful and worthwhile because of Hazel.

August 13, 2006

Back when death was an alien idea. Hazel (front row, second from right) still pregnant with Sacha at the steps of the Department of Justice with other reporters covering the beat.

Tanda ko pa, Hazel, nung dumating 'yung pinakamagandang balita na dumating sa buhay mo. Noong una, duda ka pa, nasa mall tayo 'nun, sabi mo lately nahihilo ka. Sabi ko, "neng, baka buntis ka!" Nagtawanan tayo 'nun.

Isang linggo pagkalipas, totoo pala. Napakaswerte ko na kasama mo ako 'nung unang pumintig ang isang nilalang sa 'yong tiyan.

Mula noon binawasan na natin ang pagkakape sa San Francisco Coffee. Trip natin dun, kasi parang nasa Amerika tayo sa tunog ng coffee shop. Ambabaw minsan talaga ng kaligayahan natin. Pero ang pinakamababaw minsan, siya ang nagbibigay ng pinakamatinding saya.

Mahilig tayo mag-mall at hindi naman natin itinatanggi 'yun. 'Dun tayo nagbo-bonding. Nag-aangasan. Nagpapalitan ng pangarap (ang plano mong sundan si Josie kahit maging mga DH tayo sa mansion ng lola mo). Ang mga sapatos na ilang beses nating susukatin. Ang mga pangdekorasyon sa bahay (hanggang ngayon hindi ko pa nabibili 'yung sabi kong bolang bilog na magandang lampara sa bahay ko).

Mami-miss ka namin. Ikaw ang nagturo sa amin kung paano maging totoong tao at totoong kaibigan. Para kitang nanay dito sa Maynila. Pero aminin, minsan napagkamalan tayong mag-jowa sa Black Shop. Habang ipinapakita mo ang sinuot mong damit, tanong nung saleslady (salesman?), kung boyfriend mo ako. Isinumpa mo ang shop na 'yun dahil akala nila matrona ka. Hindi lang matrona, lesbiyanang matrona pa.

Kung wala rin lang tayong ginagawa sa JUCRA, ginagawa natin itong music school.Sa sobrang hilig nating kumanta, nagdala na si Kuya Roy ng electric guitar para naman may accompaniment tayo.

Magkatabi tayo ng manalo si Fantasia Barrino sa American Idol. Mangiyak-ngiyak tayo sa kanyang panalo. Parang sinasabing, tinuruan tayo ng estrangherong ito na mangarap at abutin ito.

Mga pangarap. Kung siguro pera ang pangarap, tayo na ang pinakamayamang bilyonaryo sa buong mundo. Gusto mong pumunta sa Europa, sa Paris (para makapagkape tayo at ako naman mag-yosi).

Marami kang pangarap para kay Sacha. Nakakatuwa nang minsang ipakita mo ang picture n'ya. Wala pang dalawang taon, pero naka-one length na ang inaanak ko. Tanong ko, "wala pa bang boyfriend 'yan?"

Pero sa kasamaang palad, ipinagkait ng pagkakataon na makita mo pang lumaki si Sacha. Anim o pitong taon n'yo na hinintay, pero wala pang dalawang taon mong nakasama. Wala na sigurong mas lulungkot pa sa pagnakaw sa 'yo ng pinakamaliligaya sanang sandali mo bilang ina.

At iyon ang nakakagagalit. Sa isang saglit, bigla na lang ganun. Wala na.

Pero hindi namin papayagan na ang ninakaw na sandali ay sadyang mawawala na lang basta. Lalaban kami.

Pangako, Hazel, bubuuin namin, sa bawat larawan na meron ka namin, sa bawat ala-ala na meron kami, sa bawat kanta na alam naming kantahin kasama ka, sa bawat kwento ... Hazel, sisiguruduhin naming makikilala ni Sacha ang mommy n'ya na alam namin na mahal na mahal siya.



Si Hazel kasama si Arnel. Kapwa sila nasawi kasama si Maeng nang banggain ng isang bus sa Pamplona, Camarines Sur, August 13, 2006, bandang alas-kwatro ng hapon. (larawan galing sa phlog ni Jove Francisco)

RELATED NEWS
Bus driver in ABC-5 accident released August 15, 2006
ABC 5 crew dies in Bicol road crashAugust 13, 2006
3 ABC-5 crew members die in road accidentAugust 13, 2006

Bilog Na Buwan

Bilog ang buwan. Noong February 1, 1814 sumabog ang Mt. Mayon, alas-tres ng umaga. Bilog ang buwan noong February 4, 1814.

Hinatak na naman ng bilog na buwan ang lamang-loob ng Mayon noong February 2, 1993. Apat na araw pagkatapos, full moon.

Mamaya, August 9, 6:54 pm, magiging bilog na bilog ang buwan. Nangangamba ang mga taga-Bicol na muli na namang sasambulat ang bulkan sa mga panahong ito.

May siyentipikong basehan ang relasyon ng bilog na buwan at nag-aalburotong bulkan. Earth tide ang tawag ng PHILVOCS dito. Umaangat ang lupa sa tuwing may full moon, parang dagat, nahihila ng gravitation pull ng buwan ang kalaparan ng dagat.

Bilog ang buwan.

Pero may siyentipiko kayang basehan ang aking pagkabalisa/kalungkutan/katarayan sa mga panahong ito.

Nagising ako kanina dahil sa talak ng landlady ko. Naisip ko, hindi ko na pala dapat binili ang alarm clock na nagsasalita.

Pero ayokong bumangon. Dalawang beses akong nagigising sa umaga: isang bandang alas-siete at bandang alas-nueve y media. 'Yung una, sinanay ko ang sarili para sa maagang call time. 'Yung ikalawa, sa normal na pag-inog ng mundo.

Buong araw badtrip ako. Kung badtrip ko, hindi ako nagsasalita. Isinasara ko ang lagusan ng aking angas. Hindi rin ako nakikisalamuha sa mga taong araw araw ngang nakikita pero wala pa ring mga pangalan. Kawawa naman sila 'pag nagkataon.

Kaututang dila ko ang yosi. Tahimik siyang kasama. Maikli nga lang ang aming pagdadaupang palad.

Hindi ko alam, hanggang sa dumating ako sa newsroom na bilog pala ang buwan. Kaya pala, nasabi ko sa sarili.

Bilog ang buwan. Kung kaya niyang higitin ang tubig at lupa, bakit hindi akong taga-lupa?Hinihila niya ang lamang-loob ko. Hinahalukay niya ang matagal nang nakalibing na lungkot. Ginigising ang mga dati nang kinatakutan at hindi kasiguruduhan (naaalala ko si H. at P.). Binubuhay ang matagal nang namayapang pag-ibig, pag-asa, at pagkahumaling.

Tunay na nakakagambala ang napipintong pagsambulat.

Birthday Ti-Par ni Meyor

Mga kuha sa birthday party ni Meyor (Seymour Barros Sanchez) ang aming Editor-in-Chief sa Kule 03-04. Hehehehe. Pinakamarami na ito, ayon kay Meyor na natipon niya para sa mini-reunion. Kaya lang nung mag-email siya at nagbilang at naglista ng mga pangalan ng mga tao, dalawa ang bilang niya kay Verk, ako wala. Muy bad. Hehehehehe.

Okay Na Sana

Okay na sana. Kinagat ko ang gusto niyang mag-date kami kahit inabutan na kami ng umaga noong Linggo. Galing ako sa mga dati kong kasama sa Kule noong Sabado at dumerecho ako para sa almusal ng beer at longganisa sa isang bar.

Kasama ko siya at 'yung kasama niya sa trabaho.

Okay na sana. Maganda ang kanyang mata. Dark-brown. Parang masarap ang labi, mapusyaw na pink ito. Pagupitan ko na lang ang buhok, mas okay na.

Sabi niya sa bahay siya matutulog.

Hmmmm, nagmamadali.

Okay na sana hanggang sa marinig ko yung babaeng kasama niya sa trabaho na nasa kabilang table.

Sa kanya: "Kaw talaga, namamakla ka na naman,".

Hindi pa ako lasing dahil narinig ko at nabwisit ako.

Naisip ko, tangna, may term pa lang ganun. Parang nambabae. O nanlalaki. Parang commodity. Nangisda. Nangahoy. Namangka. Nambaboy ka na naman.

Tinext ko sya: "shempre, narinig ko yung sinabi noong babae. Ano 'yun?"

"San ka sasakay?" tanong ko sa kanya.

"Ibaba mo na lang ako sa may SM. Doon ako sasakay pa-Caloocan," sabi niya.

Mukhang na-gets niya ang galit ko.

Sa loob ng cab.

"Nabasa mo text ko?" tanong niya.

Tiningnan ko ang XDA. Sabi niya sa text: "may gusto lang sa akin 'yun. tingin niya sa akin pokpok ako porke't maraming nagtatanong ng number ko."

Tumingin ako sa kanya. Tinaasan ko kilay.

Hindi ko na lang siya pinababa ng taxi. Malapit na rin lang naman ang kanyang uuwian. "Manong i-derecho n'yo na tapos balik na lang tayo Q.C."

Kinalabit ako. Sabi ko "Ano?" (Gusto yatang magpahalik, maghalikan kami.) Lumayo ako. Sumiksik sa kabilang side ng taxi.

Kumalabit ulit. "Ano?" (Gusto ko nang halikan. Tangna ang kulit!) Pero nagpigil ako.

Bumaba siya. Sa labas ng cab, nagba-bye. Feeling ko yung tipong babay ng mga sundalo na walang katiyakan kung buhay pang babalik galing sa giyera. O ng OFW na papunta ng Saudi (pwede ring Lebanon) na hindi alam kung kailan ang balik. Basta ganun ang feeling na nakuha ko noon.

Pag-uwi ko sa bahay, ibang araw na simula nang lumabas ako kahapon. Tinext ko sya na gusto ko sana siyang sa bahay na rin lang matulog. Pero nabad-trip ako sa narinig ko. (Nainsulto ang mas tamang term). Sabi ko pa sa kanya, pumasok ako sa relasyon dahil gusto ko siya. (Akala ko, ito na ang kasunod na taong mamahalin ko). Sana, kako, ganun din siya. Sabi ko kaya siguro naiinis ako na nagpapabili siya ng cap (ano'ng kasunod? t-shirt, pantalon, sapatos, bahay, lupa, sasakyan, bukirin, byahe sa abroad, scholarship grant, kabuhayan showcase?) dahil 'yun na lang ba ang magiging basehan ng relasyon.

Text ko sa kanya: "Bata pa ako para maging matrona."

Sabi ni R., talagang ganyan minsan raw natatanso tayo. Pero ayoko namang maging judgmental. Ang pinaka-test ay kung magti-text sya ulit pagkatapos ng text na 'yun.

"Obvious ba, hindi pa siya nagti-text," sabi ni M. na taga-kabilang istasyon.

Parang tama silang dalawa. Hanggang ngayon, hindi pa siya nagpaparamdam.

Naisip ko, baka walang load. Pwes, pasensiyahan, dahil hindi ako ang magbibigay nun.

Sabong

Kagabi nagsabong na naman ang kunsensiya.

Nagreklamo ang una, "Tangna, ngayon ko na lang ulit narinig na sambitin 'yun na parang sakit," sabi niya.

"Ha?" tanong ko.

"Nagsisigaw ba naman: "*******! *******! *******" nanggagalaiti pa rin siya.

"Me nag-react ba naman?" tanong ko.

"Wala. Para siyang asong ulol 'dun na nagsisisigaw!" kwento niya.

"Mabuti na 'yun ganun ka ..." sabi ko sa kanya.

Tumitig siya akin, parang hind niya alam kung kakampi ba n'ya ako.

"Kesa naman SINUNGALING!," ismid ko sa kanya.

"Oo nga," sabi niya sabay sindi ng yosi.

Regime

From the Philippine Collegian editorial, "Into the Battlefront": This regime's deadliest weapon is twisted logic. Its concept of peace is total silence. Justice, conversely, is butchering people into submission. Read more.

Faith

I almost touched faith today.

At the Court of Appeals, during the hearing of B/Gen. Danilo Lim's wife petition for habeas corpus, there were relatives who witnessed the proceeding. One lady caught my attention: she was holding a rosary and was praying incessantly but silently.

Let's see if her prayers would work, I thought to myself: testing, admittedly, my own faith and challenging hers.

I don't know if it was just me but if you juxtapose the repartee between Associate Justice Eleazar de los Santos and Asst. Solicitor General Amparo Tang, you could surmise that perhaps there was some miracle somewhere.

Justice de los Santos was hostile from the beginning, challenging the position of the government that a charge sheet in the military context constituted a formal filing of charges in the context of civilian courts.

"We want the truth!" de los Santos demanded from Tang after a rather unclear explanation as to whether a charge has been filed or was prepared. Tang explained that there already was a charge sheet finding probable cause that B/Gen. Lim violated the Articles of War.

"But has it been filed?" de los Santos wanted to know.

The OSG countered, in essence, that there was no concept of "filing" in the military court, the way civilian courts have it. Meaning, a soldier can be detained based on that charge sheet.

I glanced at the lady with the rosary. Her eyes were closed, holding, more tightly now her beaded rosary.

"So you were fast in detaining Gen. Lim," de los Santos continued.

The justice asked since when has the charge been pending before the office of Chief of Staff of the Armed Forces of the Philippines.

"Since March of this year," Tang said.

"For how long will you be detaining Gen. Lim. For two years? For five years?" an apparently irked de los Santos asked.

"Until the investigation on Marine Col. Ariel Querubin is finished. Then the pre-trial investigation can commence," Tang answered.

The lady continued with her prayers, sensing, I surmise the leaning of the justice.

At one point, de los Santos said: "Perhaps, the reason why the charge sheet has been pending is still pending, is that the Chief of Staff is not convinced that Gen. Lim committed any crime."

The lady with the rosary, nearly rose in her seat. She closed her eyes and summoned the heavens.

It was as if, with every bead of prayer, the answers slowly came.

"If you will be returned to your quarters," de los Santos turned to Lim, "you will not have any complaints?"

"That'll be better," the general asked.

The lady with the rosary opened her eyes excitedly, as though the news she was awaiting had come.

But instead the court did not release Lim. Not yet anyway. It asked both parties to submit their respective memoranda in three days, after which the petition is deemed submitted for resolution.

The court may not have released or returned Lim to his quarters but I know a miracle took place in that courtroom this morning.

Epiphanies

"I'm definitely at a crosscroads," I told R., and J., over our second round of beers last night.

The two-week suspension, as correctly foreseen, gave birth to several epiphanies. There were un-relationships severed or modified based on certain realities. The one with M. couldn't go beyond what it actually was. Status quo is the mode to go. The one with G., on the other hand is a different matter. Roles were defined according to circumstance and I simply thought it unacceptable.

At one point during that two-week hiatus, I realised that all these things that I'm doing can be done again, like a recurring theme, or wishes that can be made possible in a whim. But there are certain things that, if neglected or ignored, have no chance of returning. Being a son for example.

A while ago, an officemate asked me to sketch for us in a lecture by a pastor. Here's the storyline: A king accidentally drops his ring in a dry well. But the well has a small opening only a child can go in and pick up the ring. The king finally finds a child who agreed to go into the well and the king offers his strongest knight to hold the rope that will help the child descend into the well. But the child declines and instead insists that his father, an old and weary man, hold the rope for him.

"The point of the story," my officemate texts me, "is that we should hold on to and trust God as we would our fathers."

God has way of reaching out.

Homecoming

For something I thought I had wanted so badly, I am suddenly uncertain.

"On Saturday, I will be with you na," he texts me today.

"With me" -- as though in a homecoming. I like the idea but I'm not quite sure if I want it.

All the old issues that surfaced in my past relationship with P. which I thought have been buried are in full view again. They have not been conquered. And now whatever I do with this opportunity will dictate how I will be in the future.

I will take it in stride. Cross my fingers. And hope that the constellations above smile upon us with favor.

Rumors

I heard a rumor today.

"He might be, you know," M. said when I chanced upon her unexpectedly in the office.

"Really?" I asked in disbelief. But I'm a bit excited. Though, if I have to be pragmatic about it, nothing will come out of the newly-discovered "fact."

Then I saw him. Increasingly, as if fate had finally given in, I have been seeing him. And within earshot, I finally heard him speak.

The man finally has a voice: soft, with a hint of strength, in staccato, fast, as though the mouth couldn't keep up with the mind.

It is music. As all fantasies have some sort of theme to them.

------

I'm still waiting for G.'s text. He was supposed to arrive in Manila today, stay in my house for a month until he finishes his training.

But I guess he's too proud to ask. And I'm as proud not to give what is not asked.

Proud Dead Man Walking

It's the kind of smug-face only the defeated can wear. After all, he can't afford to wear his loss on his sleeve. That would have been twice the defeat.

But inside his head, the monsters are alive and could not be silenced: "How could you have done it?" "Do you still have a face to show?" "You let us down."

He will try not to listen, however glaring the mistake is.

"I am protected. I am safe. They will take the cudgels for me" he tells himself, thinking of his friends.

He walks on. But there is no shadow.

Dead men don't have them.

Weakest Link

Sun Tzu comes forward with full wisdom with this: "You can be sure of succeeding in your attacks if you only attack places which are undefended."

The enemy has so far identified the weakest point. And it's hitting hard. Three times so far.

Where's Grandma?

Grandma apologizes. She meant no harm.

Mom's Advice

After my two-week hiatus, my mom gives her two cents worth: "Maging mabait ka na."

The rebel in me automatically retorted, "I won't. And I can't. What they see is what they get."

But somehow my mother knew I was built that way.

Well, the only other option is to be "plastic" about the whole situation. Smile and hack them at the back (which is the strategy of choice, I realised).

But I'd rather that I give them the chance of fighting back.

(Watching Cherie Gil on CinemeOne's "Profiles" and the "Simple Life" didn't do me good eh? hehehe)

Re-dux

It's like going to college all over again.

My two-week vacation has come to a close and I'm psyching myself up to return to Manila tomorrow. Apparently, I'm unsuccessful. I texted my boss if she could allow me to absent from work on Monday and report instead on Tuesday. No replies so far but I'm keeping my fingers crossed.

"Don't you miss the tension?," someone has asked. Well, to be honest? No. Not that I don't love my work. Of course, I love it, make no mistake about it. Otherwise, I would've gotten out of it already especially when confronted with certain realities about office life. But I'm digressing.

I remember that first time when I had to go to Manila (Quezon City actually, but for us promdis, the term "Manila" encompasses everything. More than another location, it represented another life, a new life, if one wants to call it such). I didn't want to go but I had to because I was about to start my first year in the university.

That's the reason why I didn't want to stay long here in Lucena. I would be reminded of how much fun it is just to be here. Been watching TV most of the times (if I wasn't drinking or malling wehehehe. Or "beaching" as in spending time in the beach. The alternative meaning, that one thing it sounds like is also acceptable) and I've taken to liking AXN, the travel and living channel, CNN, BBC, discovery channel, FTV, and a lot more. I'd wake up a little before 12 nn to eat my overdue breakfast, TV the whole day, and then sleep some more, and then out every possible night.

But beneath this, I've reconnected to my long-term passions such as drawing. I made a vow to myself to pursue it whenever I can. It is a gift that I wouldn't want to go to waste.

In "Oprah" the other day, Elie Weisel, author of the book "Night" about the stories of the survivors of the Holocaust was featured. Weisel said that he decided to write this book so that people would remember that dark age. Otherwise, the Holocaust would just be a tiny footnote in the world's history. But more than that, he wanted to give voice to the voiceless.

And I am reminded of my reason for going into journalism.

During the lecture last week, I asked the students the reasons why some people go into journalism and what role it plays in the society.

"To be famous," someone answered.

I couldn't contain myself and told him flat out that no, that's not what you're here for. As a student journalist, I told him, you should remember that this is not a job for the selfish. If you want to be famous, then be a movie star.

Admittedly, still, and I conceded, that some people do go into this craft for the fame factor. Met some of them. Despise most of them.

But for as long as you could, I advised, remember that this journalism is about giving voice to the voiceless. It's shedding light into the tiny crevices of social ills. I for one, have been thinking of channeling this calling into helping children: victims of physical abuse and emotional abuse, the minority, children in war-torn areas.

And this what keeps me in line.

I told a colleague once that maybe this job was given for her (and for me) for some reason. True, life may not always be fair. GOD, IT'S NOT! But maybe, I advised her, try to look the other way. For as long as they're not taking anything away from you, carry on.

It's the same advise I'm giving myself.

Photography Naman

I'm getting myself used to color pencils which I plan to use when I come back and cover the Subic rape case. Another passion is photography. This one, of me, hehehhe, vain me with a little manipulation on the color.

Piktyur Piktyur

Jorge, Obel and Me at a Lucban resort Monday.



I was once like these students who are members of the staff of "The Coconut." Taught them newswriting for two days since yesterday. Tomorrow, it's a Friday so I asked some students to play the guitar. We're going to have some serious fun. Hehehehe.

Anyway, today was a little tiring than yesterday. Never been this exhausted the past couple of days. Taugh them the basic concepts in newswriting and certain structures that they can follow in writing the news.

I was worried they'd be bored to death by the lecture but was surprised and delighted to find out they were interested and were actually participating in the discussion.

Yesterday, through the diagnostics test, I found out that they have very little knowledge about newswriting. This was totally expected, half of the "class" were new third year students while the other half were fourth year students who had a year's experience in the craft. The third year students were learning from scratch so to speak.

But after a while, and after a heavy dose of concepts and tips, they were getting the drift. I asked them to group themselves and as though they were the board of the paper, come up with a news story of their choice with the headline and the lead.

In the critique (they were the ones, critiquing a group's output), I was relieved to find out that at least they knew what areas of the news story should be improved o what was good in te story.

The lecture was a good three hour session, thankfully, no one walked out because of information overload. Hehehehe. Tomorrow is going to be fun I hope.

Teaching and then Some

Two days of drinking and a day (and two more of teaching), I think with these, the two-week "mandatory vacation" as T.P. puts it might be too short.

Monday I went to a resort in Lucban with George and Obel for some updating. Of course, that wasn't without drinking hehehehe. Afterwards, we ate at a local pizza station which serves gourmet pizza, "Ground Zero".

Yesterday, I met up with a high school bestfriend, Mervin, and drank 'til the wee hours of the morning. I thought I felt my kidney ached from so much alcohol, hehehhehe.

Today was the heaviest day, by heavy I mean, work-wise. My former advisers at the high school paper where I served as an editor in my third and fourth years were happy to hear I was "vacationing". So they seized the chance to get me to teach the new hirees of the paper. I was just happy to oblige.

I thought I would be teaching some 10 or 12 students. That was my idea of how big the staff was for a high school paper. I wrote a diagnostics test to determine the level of awareness of the students as far as newswriting was concerned. It's a three-page document with six items that would introduce them to the concept of leads, headlines, straight news, featurized news, inverted pyramid style and the pyramid style, and of course, newswriting.

Before I went to my former high school I asked Ms. Vinnie, one of my former adviser, how many copies I would need for how many students.

"53," she replied.

"Are you serious? Dalawang section na ng students 'yun," I told her jokingly.

She was. When I went there, I was an hour late for my "training/seminar." A roomful of students had been there since 5:30. I thought I was scheduled for 6:30 p.m.

On the board, "Welcome back, Kuya Joseph," were written.

It was indeed a homecoming. After almost 10 years, I was back to my former newspaper. The first ever serious experience at journalism.

Tomorrow, I will be teaching them the basics of newswriting. Hopefully, after this, one or two souls will be inspired to pursue journalism as a course and being a journalist as a way of life.

It was said, that the worth of a man's life is not measured by wealth, or fame, or connections. The measure of one's life, is the number of people who you managed to touch, inspire, guide.

I am a product of those who have touched my life, former schoolpaper advisers, former professors at U.P., kindred souls who in some way were sent for me to guide me in my path.

When they beckon, I will not hesitate to heed their call.

Hiatus

It is becoming a trend that a shift occurs at this period. In 2003, I climbed Mt. Pulag, a personal feat that signalled a paradigm shift. Walking back to the office, I remember then, after I had come from the trip, I felt like a different person. During that period, I was transferred to the day shift and handled special reports until I was entrusted with the justice beat.

That time of the year, has come again. This time, I will attempt to disappear. It would be nice to pause, to halt, to stop. Or to take a breather, a break, a hiatus.

I will be gone for two weeks, two weeks that could offer me a myriad of possibilities and an opportunity to try the impossibilities. I can take a chance if I want to, risk if I can. Or I can evade, escape, hide. Whatever, I shall welcome it with glee, as though it is a natural, logical consequence, not of the act that caused this, or the overall plan of the One who sees.

I will miss writing stories. But I will, this time, enrich my personal story with new memories. I shall miss the sketches I do for the trial I am covering. But this time will give me an opportunity to assess a bigger picture which is my life.

"Enjoy the (imposed) break," someone has said.

"Don't take this negatively," someone advised.

I will and I'm not. Don't worry. I am at this point in my life where even I, have noticed is several steps from where I used to be. True, I'm a different person now. "Reformed" was the word used. I agree.

I shall drink and get merry. In this kind of job that I chose, a pause is a halt that refreshes. And renews.

Independence Day

Loneliness is an addiction.

The early dawn was awakened by the news of your arrival. "We saw P. last week," Philip told me, matter of factly, unaware of its impact.

"Oh yeah?" I said, trying to feign disinterest.

I tried to immerse in the music blaring in the bar.

"Where? And when?" I finally turned to Philip. I couldn't help myself.

"Last Tuesday, at Starbucks. With his boyfriend I think," he answered.

"How did he look like?" I asked.

"The same," Philip said.

"How about his boyfriend?"

"I couldn't remember how he looked like. He's that forgettable," Philip said.

Does it matter if P.'s boy is ugly. Truth of the matter is that he's with him now.

Does it matter, conversely, who P.'s with at this point?

None of this matter.

It's been a year since I sent him the independence day email. In it, I attached a photo of the burning teddy bear I had given December 2003.

One year, thence, I am still colonized by my past which is my master.

Birthdate

Your Birthdate: October 17

You tend to find yourself lucky - both in business and in life.And while being wealthy is nice, you enjoy sharing your abundance with others.You put your luck to good use: you are very ambitious and goal oriented.Often times, you get over excited and take on more than you can manage. Your strength: Your ability to make your own luck Your weakness: Thinking you can do it all Your power color: Bronze Your power symbol: Half Moon Your power month: August

What Does Your Birth Date Mean?

Garbage In Garbage Out

I'm at Nelson's place where he's sorting out his old stuff for his upcoming garage sale. Norah Jones' is complementing this weekend chill-out.

Going back to the subject of garage sales, I can't help but wish purging (it's the second time I used the word this week ehehhehe) emotional baggages was that easy: an old t-shirt from a previous coverage flies into the carton box; an short-sleeved polo that looks outdated joins the future ex-properties.

There was even an old, and I mean old framed photo of his ex (can't tell who for privacy considerations). "You shouldn't sell this, you should BURN it!," I admonished him.

"I'm selling the frame for fifty bucks," he said.

And just like that, all that the pictures represented before amounted to nothing. Or maybe, P50 pesos.

Shortage

One way to "solve" a problem is to look away.

Department of Education Officer-in-Charge Fe Hidalgo shouldn't "feel sorry for herself" (as she had said) for divulging the reality that there is classroom shortage (I wonder if we lack teachers, too. Oh I bet we do).

I am a product of the public school system. I am a graduate of Quezon National High School and I saw for myself, back in 1992 until 1996 that there's a shortage (aside from classrooms, books). My classmates and I were a bit lucky, and also those in the "higher" section, because we were provided with rooms and there were only around 30-45 students per classroom. But just the same, that would not erase the fact that most of the other students didn't have classrooms. And even our section was not spared from holding some of our classes in the school's grandstand. And the pergola.

Both my parents are teachers and I could tell it wasn't easy teaching students under the shade of trees. Focus was a problem. And for the teachers, it was quite stressful because they had to speak in a louder voice and all.

I remember my father being exasperated about the disinterest in education of some of his students. He was handling the lower section and he wouldn't simply buy the reasoning that education wouldn't mean a thing to their lives. So why study?

But I guess you really can't blame the students if they'd rather work early and skip school. Work gives the instant bread. Add to that the school environment. I don't know how you could convince students to study hard and focus on the lessons while they're nearly drenched in rain (Kara David had a report last week about a school where students bring umbrellas inside their classrooms because the roof was leaking) or toasted under the sun.

I got a chance to interview Ms. Hidalgo today at the Palace after the roundtable discussion at the Kalayaan Hall with the President herself. I would have wanted to tell her that she should have stood her ground. She's from the Dep-Ed and at that time the President accosted her for revealing the classroom shortage, she should have said that was simply the reality. She has the authority to speak on the subject anyway.

Turning a blind eye to the problem, won't make it go away.

It's called delusion.

Shift

"He marked a shift," I told Ruth about what had happened in Lucena with U.

"I think I'm ready," I was surprised as much as she was that I said it.

I was ready to risk it again. Only that time I knew it wasn't a game. U's married now and I can't have him. But I was fine with it.

I was merely rehearsing.

Rehearsing again how to abandon my fears and spiral into that wonderful feeling of loving someone and being loved back.

In the process I was purging all of P's memories. I'm no longer his. And I shall love again, like I loved him.

It was like him cradling me. Sometimes, I would wrap my arms around his waist while we were seating. Gently, I would kiss his neck and he would lean. I would meet his cheeks with the softest kisses.

I was merely rehearsing.

But epiphany dawned on me. I know I am ready.

Ten Years After

Fireworks light up the sky and the Quezon Provincial Capitol in Lucena City during the run-up to the town fiesta.

Went back to Lucena for a get-together reunion with my batchmates. It's a good thing it coincided with the town fiesta. Here are some photos of my friends over there. :)