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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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

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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.