Resigned.

Tinamad na kong mag-blog. Seryoso.

Kitams, tagalog na ang post na ito. Kasi nga, tinamad na ko.

Salamat sa mga links ko at sa mga commenters ko. Si Utakgago’y di mawawala, uhh, magpapalipas-oras lang. Lam nyo na, magmumuni-muni. Basta, bahala na si Batman. Sa mga kabarkada’t kaklase ko na nagbabasa ng blog na ‘to: mabuti’t nakilala nyo kung ano yung ‘deeper’ na katauhan ko! Amf. Parang ang lalim! Puta, parang di ako to.

Sa mga kapatid kong gurang (isang trenta’y tres at isang trenta’y uno – parehas babae at parehas na nasa US) – salamat sa patagong pagbabasa ng blog ko. Grabe, alam ko namang binabasa nyo to kahit na pinagbabawal ko kayo, diba!!

Sa kuya ko, bahala ka na sa buhay mo. HAHAHAHA. Joke!

At sa lahat ng bloggers, at mga Paulinians, at sa mga hindi ko kilalang nagbabasa ng blog na ‘to dahil trip lang: salamat. Naka-ilang visits din ako. 28,065 ang huli kong bilang. For almost 5 months, wow. Achievement. WordPress is really better than Blogger [anong konek nun, pare?]!

Anong balak ko sa mga pyutur na araw? Magbasa. Maghanap ng ibang mapagkaka-abalahan. Nakakatamad ring mag-blog no! Isipin mo, araw-araw mong ipapakilala sa madla kung sino ka. Nakakaburat talaga! Hahaha. Kaya eto, medyo lutang ata ako ngayon pero hindi na MUNA ako mag-bloblog. Pansamantala, baka matagalan. Kung mag-bloblog man ako, hindi nyo na ko kilala.

I mean, hindi ako magpapakilala.

Muli, salamat sa mga naging parte ng blog na to.

At kita-kits sa susunod na Blog Parteeh, promise – walang biguan! Tutal magkokolehiyo na naman, kaso sa LB. Hanglayooo. Laguna. Pero balita ko, kulang pa ang sampung tao para yumakap ng isang puno dun. Tsaka sagana ang night life! At frat! Wooohooo! At tambakan raw ng sandamakmak na chicks na makalaglag-brief.

Ewan ko ba kung totoo.

Kay Jun Mark at Brian, LB tayo ha! Hehe, sila yung mga tiga-St. Paul Bocaue na makaka-LB ko. Lolz, wala lang.

Ayun, sige. Tama na to.

Doctor.

Seatmate’s been cheating all the time, and I’ve had enough of her. Either she’d change her answers, or she’d multiply her score by two just to perfect a quiz. She’s smart, yet I can’t figure out why she does that all the time.

A professional doktor.

In terms of assignments (read page blah-blah and answer the activity sheet below); I cheat. I don’t have much patience just to munch a story and force it to materialize in my mind. With seatworks, quizzes, Unit or Periodic Tests; I’m not a cheater. The fact that the subject teacher roams around and might cause me a demerit wouldn’t be nice at all. Hehe.

I somehow wanted my seatmate to be guilty of what she’s doing, but I just can’t. Hindi ka ba natatauhan sa mga ginagawa mo? I asked her. Hinde. I’m not surprised. As graduating students, we’d do everything to pass a subject. Pretty soon, she’ll learn her lesson.

-

Last year, millions of the texting population switched their Sim carsds to Globe: thanks to their Unlimitext promo, it gave Ederlyn and everyone a chance to text all day long. Smart users dissipated; I haven’t heard someone using a Smart Sim nowadays.

Yesterday, Globe switched its 15 pesos a day to 20 pesos. 80 pesos for four days.

Will I switch to Sun or what?

Revivals.

Nowadays, the Filipino music scene’s been powered by local bands (and not to mention, those pop singers). They have their vocalists, their own style of expressing their lyrics, strumming guitars and the chords, implementing various genres to every piece of their songs: it became an addiction that influenced the youth of today. Nothing’s wrong with rock; except if you consider Cueshe and Shamrock a ‘rock’ band: then there’s something wrong. Wait, don’t tell me – Join The Club is a band!!

To commemorate those long-forgotten bands, the bands of today made revivals. But instead of reliving the natural essence of the song, the trying-hard bands end up destroying the song. A massacre.

6Cycle Mind’s Prinsesa, for me, is a total waste.

Well, I have no comment about those APO songs since I’ve never loved their songs.

The E-heads revivals? Baaad. Not only did it gave fuel to the fire with the issues regarding Ely Buendia and the good old bandmates, but it’s a total catastrophe to hear a song murdered. MYMP’s ‘Huwag Mo Nang Itanong’ is somewhat a two thumbs up for me (though I still hate the drama-ish effect). But Barbie’s revival? Tss. That girl’s totally busted.

Before doing revivals, are they asking the permission of the so-called ‘owners’ of the songs? And after they made their own rendition, are they asking the original maker with regards to the execution of the song? They must. I wonder what would ‘The Teeth’ say to 6Cycle Mind with their ‘Prinsesa’.

Talking To Thyself.

A year of blogging. After reading those past posts (April, or even February of last year) – I’ve gotta tell you those posts are irritably, and regrettably, depressing. I’m even ashamed to admit that it’s mine, but who the hell cares about it? Maybe this blog needs a lot of refurbishing; but hey – I don’t need to please the crowd at all since this is uhh – my blog. Yes! My sincerest apologies to readers who insists to change the way I write, somehow raise it to three or more notches. Yes, you are in pain and disappointed. I’d rather not comply with your request rather than to try hard writing a post that would contain delinquency, schloss, flustered or even priapic. Hehe.

I suck at verb tenses, with the subject and verb agreement, with the correct word usage (too tired to use a Thesaurus to find the precise word), and the list goes on. I don’t even know if I’d use were or are, is or was. It confuses me a lot, but I’d rather choose this as a hobby (or even a career) than logarithms and arc tangents.

I imagine you telling yourself, this guy’s fifteen and nuts. Cocaine? Possible.

Blogging is telling yourself that your life’s worth-recording, or the way you write could somehow change the world (feed the poor, world peace). Worth the time and money. But how can you think of something to blog if your life’s senseless? Or boring? The last poem I’ve written last year talks about a prostitute! See?

Another thing, sorry if this blog can’t talk about love. After my recent (?) break-up with my ex-girlfriend (that was last May 1, nagtalo kami  habang nag-rarally sa Labor Day), I told myself to lock my heart and throw the key. I’m also sorry for not giving comments with love posts, or love poems, or love quotes. But if you want to talk about me and you, then you should add me up at Y!M. Then, you’ll realize that I am a boring person.

Yes, I’m graduating! I wonder how my life would spin while I am studying in College; as of now, UP Los Banos would be my choice (it might change, but that’s roughly five percent). I wonder if I’d still blog at those days, imagining myself being kidnapped while carrying my laptop inside a bus travelling from Bulacan to Los Banos. So I need a second-hand car, driving lessons, a student’s license.

I’m spraying mucus over the laptop screen, sneezing. I’m sick. 

Anyway. Seniors rule the Intrams! Yehhh, and we won all ball games! Prom’s near! My birthday’s near! Graduation’s near!

(Still reading ‘The Good German’ by Joseph Kanon, chapter 13, page 326. I’m such a slow reader!)

The Book And The Cover.

For the nth time, I gave a wrong answer to a question who could test a man’s capability of loving someone. Yes, I know that loving a girl isn’t about physical appearances – on how she dresses herself, her twirly hair and the way she walks. But it’s about the deeper personality, right?

Ano ba ang hinahanap mo sa isang babae?

Ako? Maganda, chinita, makinis, blah.

Am I too materialistic to consider girls as if they were Barbie Dolls? No. I just made the wrong answer. As mind-readers would say, if a man happens to answer that question with the physicals, the man is either: a dimwit, or looks at the physical appearance first.

No, not the Melanie Marquez saying – his brother is not a book, so don’t judge him.

Everytime I’d go inside a jeep, I would look at the passengers thoroughly. The watch, the hairstyle, every single piece of material they wear at the moment. Like a baggage checker on those airports, scanning. And vice versa, of course. They would measure me with my looks.

Once, I’m wearing cargo shorts, a black t-shirt, a black cap that seemed like hiding my face, and slippers. I gave my payment to the girl sitting next to me, but she refused to. Deadma. The fact that we’re the two remaining passengers, why not help me? So I went all the way near the driver and gave my fee, and stared at her with disgust, noticing her pig-tailed hair; maybe a Cadet Officer. Maybe she thought I’m a kidnapper or something, since I’m wearing a cap yet it’s almost dark.

Sometimes, it might be helpful for a couple of instances. A snatcher might not follow you all the way to the carpark because of your beggar-like appearance.

Well, could you blame people for judging someone by its cover?

Or is it just natural?

-

Weather’s crazy. The temperature’s for December, yet it’s almost February. What’s happening?

Finger-combed Solitarian.

So the Blog-parteeeh’s victorious. And I didn’t join the occasion since Bulacan’s too far from Makati? Though I’m familiar with Makati and its mind-numbing west-to-east streets, I decided not to go. We had Saturday as an extension for our Intrams. High School students must have been banned there (kidding). Anyway, congrats to the bloggers who made it. Envy. I’m so jealous. The fact that Billycoy is there! (I don’t care about Hener, I’ve seen him months ago in UST.) And Bulitas, and Benj! All star-studded people. And Ade, and other uhh, bloggers. And the Krispy Kreme. Aww.

Anyway, we’ll see each other in the near future.

For now, I’m still depressed with the fact that I can’t finish a single Solitaire game. Though the game doesn’t have any connection with numbers (the way I see it), but the logic! I can’t just match the figures. Oftentimes, I overlook those cards. What’s happening? Maybe I’m just distracted with my cousin trying to pester me. You know, linking me with a girl. And blah-blah. But still, why can’t I finish a single game! I could finish a Sudoku for like, nine minutes (depends with the difficulty of the game) or less! But with this game, I’m always busted.

Another thought: I’ve asked myself, when was the last time I combed my hair with a real comb? Maybe years ago. I go to school with an unkempt hair – rugged, somehow disordered. I’d comb my hair with four fingers (without my thumb) and voila. Ulam na. [Haha, kidding] But really, I seldom use a comb to decorate my hair with a wax; oftentimes I use my bare hands. It’s more artistic, isn’t it?

And to think that my Dad’s bald, he actually hates seeing a comb in the house.

That’s it. I’m done with my post. Still on page 280-something with Kanon’s The Good German. I’m not yet sleeping, urghh.

Baygonlover.

After I filed my blog leave, my router had one of its irregular mood swings. For four days, the Internet connection’s gone: my blog leave upgraded itself into an Internet leave, causing me to sleep earlier than planned. Quite beneficial. I admit that I panicked like a father finding a lost child, yeah, that feeling of addiction, the surge, the loneliness without it. Well, the router needs rest so I turned it off (for the second time since we bought it) for a whole day. And it worked again.

Like what Arnel says, yes, I am preparing for a new post.

Intrams was fun, after my right hand swollen from pressing the ice cream scoop and scorching my skin in the heat of the sun. Dealing with those elementary students was nasty, since they’re the top buyers of our ice cream booth. We earned 7700 for three days. Half of it for the school, half is for our club fund. Servitude’s something without a salary. Too bad. But the Intrams, great. Except that the most-watched event – Baseball – the Juniors overthrown the Seniors. Mga bading kasi, asa ng asa sa walk. But since the fight’s a double-elimination, they’ll eat dust. Red scumbags.

The newest sport on town, the Basketball Girls. Violations are adjusted, such as the five-step travelling. The game’s actually boring; those girls pinning themselves as topnotchers in backcourt violation, yet their three-point shots were totally unexpected. Nice. Volleyball’s pretty cool. My classmate was actually screaming, not of winning, but inside the clinic: with the nurse cleaning her injured leg, as she defines it: putangina, mas gusto ko pang ma-operahan. She did a nice shove.

With the rides: the Octopus – definitely an appetite-destroyer pero sobrang astig. The way I put it, it’s like “the last ride of your life”, since it’s damn great. You spin and rotate like whirlwinds in the air, you bounce, and the speed’s great! Catterpillar’s too boring, and the flying elephant must be for kids: pretending they don’t fear heights but ending in a disaster of throwing up their lunch.

As the Paulinian Prism (our school paper) layout artist, I am assigned to plot those sports articles and publish three or more copies for the Intrams Issue and the Editor-in-Chief would paste them at the canteen, the lobby, the gymnasium, and so on. And once again, servitude’s for free. Without salary. Yet my almost-numb right hand and my brain clasping like cymbals, vibrating thoroughly inside my consciousness, stressed, and being worried and occupied with so much things: it’s worth it. I enjoyed the Intrams, of being a Senior wherein the Freshmen would tell, hoy, may dadaan. Privileges.

Uhh, the Sophomores won the Cheering Competition. We’re second. Why? We helped the Sophies just to lose those Juniors. We are so busted. All the while, I enjoyed eating nachos. Prom’s near (either Feb 5 or 9).

And I passed USTET. It’s Psychology. And I’m waiting list in Journalism. Sayang, Journ pa mandin gusto ko.

Blog Leave.

I deserve to be on a blog leave. With reasons, of course.

• This week’s hectic.
• Judgment weeks for Entrance exams.
• Merry-making.
• Something. That is, private.

I got a DPWAS course in UP Los Banos. It’s an unexpected case actually, since I just scanned a single reviewer last summer for the Entrance Exams. I got frustrated with the fact that I can’t even answer a single Math question, which my Dad tells me, is natural for our blood. At least, we’re better in English.

And to think that I got a single Merit Card for my whole High School life.

The letter of confirmation coming from the UST, well, it’s not yet arriving. A classmate’s been discouraging me that I haven’t passed the USTET. (Not to brag, but it’s easy compared to ACET and UPCAT.) And she’s been demoralizing me.

Hope she’d be somewhere in hell.

Good grief.

I have decided.

Inuman na! 

Distorted, Twisted.

We were sitting at the sixth pew from the altar. I am a towering five-foot-ten among those devouts. The humongous crucifix (with Jesus Christ) hangs at the center of a huge marble frame. Well, everything’s big and tall in an almost-cathedral. Trapped candles in glass holders, the dusty red carpet stretching up to the entrance. The choir loft singing behind us, almost twenty feet away. Chandeliers with spiderwebs swaying at its slowest pace, the speakers loud, electric fan humming.

Salmong tugunan, awitin po natin.

You happened to know my religious confusion, my instability as a Catholic, and my work in the church as a choir member (a requirement for Graduation: the so-called Parish Involvement). I am glad that you’ve respected my insights and opinions about the Church itself, about God’s authenticity, and my doubts and unanswered questions. Yet, I am still confused. I am searching for a truth with evidence. A powerful one. Not an innate truth (wherein you were baptized as a Catholic so you believe in God), not a Bible-based one, but a real one.

Awakened by the off-tune voice of the cantor singing the Responsorial Psalm, my mind was knocked out by thoughts of yesterday. My Mom would tell me that God made my meals. Diba, niluto mo yan? Yet, she insists that God cooked my meals when I was five. Curiosity killed my faith.

“Bakit nyo po ako hinahanap?” tanong ng Diyos. Ito ang pinakaunang salita na nasambit ni Hesus sa libro ni Lukas. At ito’y napakaimportante.” Says the priest.

The scripted sermon. At the left side of the altar, a big white tarpaulin that displayed the sermon of the priest. Decorated with the necessary pictures for an illustrative effect, made from MS PowerPoint, ran by mouse-clicks, and transmitted through a projector. It’s colored, and an eye-catcher for those sleepyheads.

I tried to read the Bible when I was in Grade Four. As usual, the story of Creation. The first few chapters of Genesis. By the time Eve ate the apple and gave it to Adam, I closed the book and quit reading. For me, it’s a pure myth. So I just listened to my Christian Living teachers until Third Year. Then, I lost my faith. And I have no time to find it.

Comparing with the 90’s, the population of church-goers dropped. I could see several rows vacant. Even the choir population, from thirty-something to ten or eleven. Somehow, I am bothered by the present situation of the Catholic church. People were busy nowadays, so they need rest on Saturdays and Sundays. Alibis were made, until it became their habit. Finally, they declare themselves as an inactive member of the Church.

I believed God not because I want to, but because I am forced. For my brain, believing something without a proof is an irrational thing.

Thank yourself that your brain functions well. Mine’s not.

After the communion, I headed straight to the entrance door and replied those silly text messages. We’re not yet dismissed by the priest, since he is currently dictating the statement of accounts made by the Church. Yes. It happens almost every week, or twice a month. The PowerPoint would display the salaping nakalabas and the salaping nakapasok (sorry, I suck at translation). The crowd, as usual, waits impatiently.

Dapat diyan sa mga statements na yan, pinapaskil na lang sa labas. Said by a man behind me. Pampatagal lang yan eh.

The latest gossip in the church is the Holy Water Fountain. I wonder if someone stupid would drop a coin there.

After the dismissal, I quickly stayed away from the church and told myself not to sit at the front rows. Ever. My curiosity cracks my head once again. Well, what I fear the most, is the afterlife.

Before you comment, the following statements above were based from my own opinions. I respect your opinion, so please do respect mine.

Weird Searches.

My site’s turning into a condom shop, or something like a porn site.

WordPress has informed me of these weird searches. The third search was weird. The fourth – is about cockroach. And those vulgar Filipino words! Condom. Condom flavors. Sex. Though, I am not disappointed. I even laughed at the search ‘how to delete friends in Friendster.’ Hahaha!

This is a proof, a living testimony, that the world is continuously exploited by forbidden languages: vulgarity, sex. As of today, youthful minds were exposed to Sam Milby and Anne Curtis. Somehow, it will urge children to do the french kiss with an ice cream, just to know how it tastes like. Teenagers engaging in pre-marital sex. Live-in couples. No, I am not against the act. Go on and indulge life to the fullest, it’s none of my business anyway.

Kung ano pa yung ipinagbabawal, yun pa ang ginagawa.

Cable operators spearheaded the creation of one of the newest channels in TV: Midnight Sessions. It features bold movies; Indian, Arabian, Pinoy. Anything under the sun. Friendster became a nesting ground for nude people, submitting dirty testimonials, displaying cellphone numbers, describing themselves as hot and luscious. Good thing, Yahoo Messenger implemented a strict age limit for chatrooms. But teenagers were too clever: they make new accounts, faking the age, and everything. FHM, Maxim, and other hair-raising magazines were available at bookstores. If below the age required, your Dad will buy for you. Cigarette sticks and liquor would always be available at sari-sari stores, nationwide. And I advise you to buy condoms at 7-11 for safe sex.

(I repeat: I am not against those actions. I myself do some of those things.) The generation today has freedom. And as the elders say, we abuse it.

 -

All of these were infestations of – what? Forbidding people to know something urges them to crave for it. They must know it. Why would it be forbidden, in the first place, if it’s not interesting? 

Blame who?

Not me. I’m just a blogger. And I admit, I belong with those teenagers who drink beer. Not smoking, though. All of these is purely opinionated – my point-of-view. Share your thoughts at the comment section.

Predicted Predictions.

I don’t blame DepEd for the stress, really.

I slept for ten hours before the day itself, bidding farewell to eyebags, cooking my own rice in the cooker, guzzling Swiss Miss with Marshmallows to enliven my feeling. I fried Spam and Egg for breakfast, and Spam for lunch. Syempre, may kanin. I filled a tupperware with Chips Ahoy – the chewy one, for recess.* Sharpened not one, but three Mongol pencils.** Took a bath, clothed myself with school uniform, sprayed, dabbed, fixed – the usual morning stuff.

It was quarter to six when I started to walk from our house to McArthur Highway. I refused to go with the school service since it would delay me for around twenty minutes. Winter solstice. Fog was there, and the frigid air loomed around me. The crescent moon basking as the orange atmosphere swallows the darkness. No revving engines, just the muted main street of the subdivision like Avril Lavigne’s – it’s a dark cold night. If you were keen enough, you could’ve remember the empty street around her. Identical with mine.

I hailed a jeep, gave six pesos, and sang All American Rejects’ It Ends Tonight. I’m such a nocturnal boy that I always sing ‘night’ songs.

During my speedy tricycle ride across the fields, my body shivered like what it was in Baguio. Fuckin’ cold. Dewdrops at the tip of every weed, the orange-blue transformation of the atmosphere, the sun rising. And I arrived early.

We started 7:35 and ended up at 2. I’m stuck in the air-conditioned classroom, almost frozen, numb feeling, head floating from the exam. The mock tests conducted by the school were even harder than the actual test, which is good for me. DepEd must be joking. Honestly, it’s easy, except the Scientific Ability part wherein I dived in a pool of experiments. To my astonishment, the Math part was easy. Anyway, the results were more important.

During the test, all I could remember was me humming Green Day’s deafening Wake Me Up When September Ends, Story of the Year’s And the Hero Will Drown, and Paramore’s Franklin, and Here We Go Again. We made fun of our teacher, who came from a nearby school – Sto. Nino.*** The room was filled with boisterous laughing that we were scolded by a supervisor for two times.

I want to thank the Faculty for torturing our youthful bodies into sin-cosine converters, when in fact, not even a trace of Trigonometry appeared in the NCAE. But at least, we are prepared. For their patience, in spite of our sleepiness while discussions were going on. For giving us almost a hundred brown papers as a reviewer, and for the compulsory fee of almost 600 pesos for the review. It was worth it. Better armed, than empty-handed.

After those bloody recap with shitloads of lessons, Intrams is coming!!! Freedom papers plastered at every corner, spilling students’ hate letters or warnings to someone they loathe the most. My organizations were still busy tweaking some wires for the incoming event. Glee Club would be having Dedication Booth, bringing in massive speakers, acting like DJs and playing CDs. Art Club would be working for a Tattoo Booth. YPS would be selling ice cream. Wonderful. Imagine myself riding in the Octopus and the Ferris Wheel, having a henna tattoo on one of my fingers, that’s corny.

But at least, notebooks were temporarily useless.

Hope there’s a Jail Booth. And hope that Seniors would win the Cheering Competition. Go Seniors!

-

* NCAE rules say that once you entered the room for the test, you are not allowed to go outside. We are obliged by the school to bring packed lunch and recess, and water. Unfortunately, I forgot to bring a bottle of water. Good thing, salivary glands are auto-built.

** Still complying with the NCAE rules, a student must use a Mongol #2 pencil. Bring extras in case of twisted fate.

*** Teachers to supervise the students should come from a nearby school. In that case, it’s Sto. Nino. I thought their teachers were extra-strict, and collegiate-looking (read: professor-like) single women with ages ranging from forty to sixty. Worse if wheelchaired or with crutches. I’m wrong. They’re more like twenty-something. Doubtful stability and loyalty when it comes to their job.

Description.

Describe me.

In your own point of view.

In your own words.

Kahit hindi nyo ko kilala, what do you think about me? What are your first impressions about me?

At the comments section. Negative, or positive - I don’t care.

Spirited Bicycles.

During a friend’s birthday bash yesterday, we hopped on his BMX outlined with rust. A slightly crooked handlebar, tattered pedals, rotten paint, and the chain left ungreased with a lubricant for years. I suppose, its size fits for an elementary student. All of us (out of six girls, two knew how to do it) were longing for a bike scene amidst the bushes and humps of the local roads. I hopped in first, and my childish spirit went back to life.

I could still remember my first bike. Four wheels; one at the front, one at the back, and two for both sides of the rear wheel. Since I was an inexperienced driver, I need those two little wheels at the back for maximum balance. After months of constant training, I could balance myself. The next bike would be the famous street bike ‘BMX’, for rocky roads, perfect for tropical terrain. The bike was splattered with green and black, with a handlebar, perfect brakes, and fat wheels.

Once, I tried to become a racer with my BMX. The result? Boom. I collided with a garage gate! The impact was nice and hard that the car behind it had scratches. With fear, I picked up my bike and went away. Until now, I still remember that house and it’s good that they failed to recognize my face as I sped away.

I also got my first and last taste of violence just because of the bike.

Due to my extreme generosity, I lent my bike to a stranger and went home walking. He borrowed it, and since I am raised as a kind-hearted boy (sweet), I complied with what he wants. He insisted, so I gave him the bike. I just told him to bring it back (as if he knew my house), and walked away. The next thing I remember, my Dad gripped his belt and smashed me in the butt (where else?). My Mom stopped my Dad and clarified the situation, redeemed the bike, and advised me not to be a Samaritan.

My fear with dogs (though not that intense since it’s not a phobia) increased since my weekly stroll over the neighborhood would always be pestered by stray dogs; mouth bubbling with rabies, hungry for human meat. Good thing, I haven’t lost a single race with those creatures since they end up tired or lost. Haha. With every unfortunate encounter, I make sure to mark those roads as dog-prone zones.

I entered High School and bought a mountain bike. Superb design, thin wheels, lightweight (aluminum alloy), stainless, Shimano brakes (and when you say it’s Shimano, the brake could kill somebody if gripped with maximum force. Either tumilapon ka at mauna ka sa bike or other worse-case scenarios), a gear shifter (whatever the name is), and a flashlight installed infront of it for night journeys.

I’ve enjoyed kicking those dogs who had the guts to follow and run after me (yeah, I kick their heads while biking and they’d stop from running). I buy monay every night for tomorrow’s recess – hamburger. I’ve enjoyed the company of nature: I’d go to Phase Five and look at the lake, and stare at the lighthouse and the sunset. A lovely sight, great for a postcard.

Enough with the story. Those nostalgic memories happened somewhere between 2003 and 2005. Now, the mountain bike has been kept at the basement. I lost my interest with biking. I slightly believe that bicycles have their spirits (sorry for my poor and weird imagination). And somehow, that mountain bike must be weeping for years since I never used it anymore.

One of these days, I promise to hop on it again and relive those days.

-

Just a thought: I’d choose bicycles over motorcycles. Pollution-free, safe, and a fat burner. Those motorcycles even killed a batchmate’s father, and injured a servicemate and a classmate’s brother. Plus, the gasoline. Yet, those street guys would flaunt their junk hoppers along the highway.

Bicycles could be out of place in today’s techno-showdown, but for me – it’s not just a one-of-a-kind invention. But a spirited object whom I treasured much.

The Argument.

Tell me, what are your plans for Nicole?

Do you think it’s injustice?

Heck, do you even think it’s true?

Of Being A Senior.

Lately, I’ve been hating lots of Juniors: those Third Year brats with gels on, axe-shaped numbers on their report card, chain smokers, and certified wannabes. I’d love to shave their heads and tell them – who the fuck are you? We’d meet them in a corridor, in a parking lot, at McDonalds, and would exchange looks with those hateful eyes – their insecurity towards us, their helplessness since for now: that’s the least they could do. Seniors would always be above the Juniors.

-

This week, out batch undergoes page-to-page reviews for the incoming NCAE. We were disappointed that of all batches, we were the unlucky ones to suffer those mind-numbing mock tests, those Saturday reviews, and their expectations. Since the school had garnered one of the highest rankings in the whole Philippines for the past years of NSAT (or NCAT, whatever) – they have been expecting us to do it again. So they pulverize our guts with those Doppler effects, Corpuscular Theory, wavelengths, sonic boom, etc. Well, no one can stop me from loving Physics!

But the Math tests? Those f of x is equals to three cube plus blah-blah? That sucks. But I still passed. [Weh.]

-

With all humility and pride, I got 92 percent in the Math Periodic Test. Yes! Me! Me! Ha-ha, and that was unexpected. Those Third Grading test results were wacky since I got high scores in Economics, Physics, Culinary Arts, PEH and Computer. Hehe, still happy.

-

St. Paul’s week is near. Annually held every fourth week of January, St. Paul’s week paves way to the Intramurals, the Field Demo, the Cheerleading competition, and the booths! Plus those fun rides like the Ferris wheel and such. No classes, pure fun. Last year, I played Monopoly with friends at the canteen and stayed with our Serenade booth! This year, I’d be selling Ice Cream! I hope that our booth proposal would be accepted.

-

What else. My McAfee VirusScan alarmed me with messages: VirusScan detects VBS/Psyme Trojan Horse, and is now deleted. As usual, I panicked since this laptop is my life. I do admit it. And for some reason, I deleted all those P2P and file-sharing programs like Azureus, and the upsilon Torrent. The aforementioned virus does great damage in an infected computer. It downloads more trojan horses. Total chaos.

-

Been addicted to Sims 2, though I find it boring.

-

And like every graduating student would say, I need to make the most out of my High School life. I plan to have inuman sessions and make the wackiest moments. I am proud of saying that soon, I’d see my face printed on the yearbook. Soon, I’d go to United States – not to study for college, though (see ‘My Sacrifice’ post) – but to celebrate my summer vacation with Mom and my sisters, and my Dad, of course.

-

Lastly, I want cookies. (1:59 AM – Friday, January 12) Belated Happy Birthday to Rina! Stay funny.

Insomaniac.

Flesh tablets and lipstick-red capsules were scattered across the floor, probably from a certain container that fell from the queen-sized bed. The bottle failed to put a label, but from what he had seen: it’s a combination of painkillers and sleeping pills. As the investigators analyze the attempted suicide, the man wasn’t breathing. Overdose. Probabilities evolve: the suspect (or victim) probably killed himself out of depression, of failed marriage, of life threats. All the while, they were overlooking the simple answer.

Insomnia.

It was me, but that paragraph was pure fiction. Yet the reality is here to stay.

The grief-stricken mixture of hassle and pressure was too powerful to knock out a fifteen year old. Skipping the normal sleeping time, establishing your own time zone, and going against all normal people – I say, is hard. I eat my breakfast, I go online, I post something in my blog, I do my assignments, I review lessons, I play the guitar and I even daydream during midnight. Adik talaga. Gising sa gabi, antukin sa umaga. Computing on how many hours have I slept for the past days: three, four, three. Weekends would be five, or six. Ten hours would be the maximum: that is – if I crossed out something on my planner.

Uhh, I don’t have a planner. It’s just on my mind.

Right now, my brain wants to tear apart. Like a nutshell emptying its juices in a Pyro-olympic form. I have felt its impact long ago: not seizures, but the constant migraine, spiral eyesight (take it literally, it’s like entering a humongous kaleidoscope – after two seconds, it’s gone.), blurred vision, lost of mind, and the swelling eyebags. But it makes me cute.

When you’re insomniac, everything’s a copy of a copy. I can’t sleep so long. And no, I am not visually impaired (vision is 50 : 0). Mine is parasomnia. Once in my childhood, I experienced sleep-walking. Paggising ko, nasa kusina na ko. So far, that was my last encounter. Another thing, I tend to move my body in response to some events within a dream. Kadalasan nga, dun pa ako nagigising eh.

My judgments are not yet concluded. I am uncertain about it.

They say that sleep, so far, is the most attainable luxury a man can simply indulge. It looks simple to you, but on the other way around, it’s one of the most complicated things I can’t do. I force myself to sleep, but I can’t. I force myself not to sleep during class, but I can’t stop my body from doing it.

I need to sleep. It’s 1:37 AM. January 11. And my class is 6:45 AM.

Gulping Chlorine.

Bubbles.

Coerced by my parents, I attended swimming classes back at Grade 3. In exchange of a twenty-peso daily allowance, I agreed. For a kid like me, it gives me a span of an hour playing at the computer shop. Though I know it was a silly decision. It disrupted my normal summer vacation, lost almost twenty pounds (thus morphing me into a walking stick), and tanned me bronze.

First day, I met Ms. Amy; a teacher for beginners. I joined in with those goggle-eyed kids (younger than me) diving their skulls like whales, gasping for breath as they touch surface. Bubbles; one of the basics of swimming. Breathe in with your mouth, and while underwater, breathe out with your nose.

After a day, she decided to include me with the advanced swimmers – Sir Dailo as our new coach. Tougher, and stricter. He defies fear, yet he wanted to see students to face their fears. Swimming, diving at seven feet, doing those suffocating tricks. After weeks of religious training, my feet became equipped with invisible flippers.

I appreciated every crest of wave that bathed my skin. With synchronization and harmony of leg and arm muscles, I began to sweep away and faced every brave current that was against me. The silence underwater – the pressure in my ears, made me deaf for seconds. Then, I breathe another round. And I’d splash my head back to the water, repeating the cycle.

I can’t swim with my head facing upwards. I need to hold my breath, and drown myself.

Harboring three weeks of existence with the swimming masters increased my self-esteem with water by ten or more notches.

And another life-related philosophy. Life is about facing currents and waves, of drowning yourself, and of touching the surface once again.

Need to hit the sack. It’s 1:14 AM, not yet sleeping. Tomorrow’s post is about the controversial Subic rape case, expecting less furious comments, and appreciating the respect you gave with my opinion with my previous post.

Brain Drain.

I could picture Philippines abandoned by Filipinos themselves, who have grown tired of protecting the country’s beauty and wealth. They have stepped away, leaving the archipelago desolated with rubbles of emptiness and despair. They thought that this nation is a piece of junk, that it has no chance of survival against bankruptcy and economic collapse. Nothing mattered. The future happened somewhere away from here.

I could picture those coconut trees swaying lazily as the sun sets, and millions of Filipinos would thrive everyday at airports. Showing their tickets, getting flights to the Middle East, to U.S. and Canada, to Europe. Philippines would soon run out of patriots. These so-called traitors (a shallow-minded point of view) would leave the country and dig for gold in other continents, looking for a nice virgin soil and be a slave of those foreign races.

-

Our school-service driver happened to talk about migration. His whole family planned to go with their relatives in Saskatoon, some mountainous place in Saskatchewan, Canada.

My former teachers were now teaching in Texas.

Our neighbor’s mother was still in Jordan, despite the past few years of terrorist attacks that scared the family she left – she remained tough.

A certain blogger plans to have his own job at Singapore, crossing his fingers for great offers, and a nice wife.

My Dad’s officemate resigned from his five-year job, and went straight to Dubai to hunt more sacks of wealth.

Mom and my two sisters were in New York, generating dollars for my education (and the luxury, I won’t deny that). And for the house, and for my future car and condo and stuff.

-

In a small-scale survey – almost everyone encountered someone who happened to be an OFW. They balance the peso-dollar exchange rate. They are the modern-day heroes of our country – enduring years of constant working just to send something to their loved one. For them, they’ve thrown all the cards. No options, no choice.

As of now, people are still craving for money. Practicality says it all; rather than to die a martyr begging for cents in a church sidewalk – use your talents, get buffed up, and proceed to the airport. Buy a ticket. Go away from the Philippines and find your luck in some uncharted place, as long as it’s not Philippines and that it’s a perfect spot to get a job. Most of the college students dream not of true service and loyalty to their motherland, but to work somewhere in Canada or Austria.

Over the next generations, I hope that Filipinos would soon go back to their tinubuang lupa.

Are you next in line?

The First Fist Fight.

We fought over empty Irish Spring soap boxes – does this sounds lame? Well, these soaps came from the Balikbayan box shipped last Christmas. Theoretically, when used on Asian skin, it would give you red spots like little birthmarks. As the brand names it Irish, so definitely it’s not for Asians. I swore myself not to use it again.

–

This was our first major fight ever, like rookies on a boxing match who didn’t even know how to punch each other. Foul reasons were explained, and we end up shouting at each other like what happened years ago with my ditse and my kuya. Though a warfreak son, I hate word fights. I’d rather taste blood dripping from my bleeding nose, or feel the weight of someone’s fist in my face. Words are for cowards. (That is an opinion. With girls, words are their only weapons – other than the bitch-slapping and the sabunutan.)

So I sound like Tyler Durden from Fight Club.

Debates, word wars, or muscle-to-muscle fights uses the same law of ethics: to fight for goodness and rationality. Don’t even care if he’s Bill Gates or some sick old puppy, or a fifty-year old father. Even if you’re just a kid, if you know the right thing – you should fight for it. Prove them wrong if you think you’re right. There goes my battling philosophy.

In this situation, Dad questioned my Economics project – which took me six hours to finish. The project is about using indigenous materials to create something new, to promote recycling and waste management: turning useless shits into something useful. I made a mini-cabinet from cartons. And I’ve used Irish Spring soap boxes for my three drawers.

Where are the soaps? Simple. I stacked them at the bathroom cabinet for future use. Ziplocked.

He suddenly shouted at me like some furious demon from the underworld, nose steaming with anger. I don’t know why my father forbid me to use soap boxes for a project, unless they contain some gold from its embossed cover. Or maybe the soaps are sentimental for my Dad since it was shipped by Mom. Either way, being my father, I obediently removed the drawers of my mini-cabinet. I am pissed off. (I even whispered loud for him to hear: Sayang naman. Anim na oras kong pinaghirapan tapos ipapatanggal lang.)

So I called our maid and asked her to buy four soaps at the nearby sari-sari store. Overhearing our conversation, my Dad went mad once again. This time, I fought back. My tongue’s getting irritated from his blabbermouth.

Ba’t magpapabili ka pa? Sayang lang pera mo!

Ano ba talaga gusto mo?

Huwag ka nang magpabili!

Eh anong gagamitin ko para sa drawers?

For the first time, my father and I fought. It felt odd at first, since we got along well – despite 40 years of age gap. Oh well, there’s a first time for everything.

I went straight to my room and delivered all the anger from my fists at my punching bag: my cabinet. For years, it served me as an honest friend, a weight-receiver, and an imaginary face to pour anger. (I even shouted p.i while pounding my fists on it)

–

Before he goes to work, he went to my room and apologized. I happened to be sleeping at my laptop, fists swelling, tired of my father’s irrationality over my six-hour work. The funny thing is, he toppled me with my four drawers and my allowance. By the time I woke up, I installed the drawers.

It happened last Thursday and until today, we haven’t spoken yet. (January 6 – 4:14 AM)

The Bookstore Chronicles.

The asphalt could fry a fresh egg by the time I arrived at the mall, just to buy the required things for my project. I started hating bookstores when I stepped up in High School, swearing myself not to read a single book and let my demented mind last forever. And a while ago, I swore not to step at that same bookstore.

Well, yesterday – I helped this lady who looks for a tracing paper. Boy, alam mo ba yung tracing paper? I paused for a moment and examined my neurons, screening, and manipulating data. Tracing paper is used in wedding gowns, right? And in architectural plans, I suppose. I do remember our neighbor tracing something in that almost-transparent paper. Is that a tracing paper, anyway? Hindi ko po alam eh. Rather than spilling my uncertain answer to somebody else, I’d rather shut up

Later, I summoned her and gave her ten pieces of tracing paper. I’m such a good ‘boy’ – my new name.

On my way to the counter, I got this bad mood over the cashier. She told me that the Faber-Castell color pencils I got has no bar code in it, and got problematic. And if you happened to know me, I’m a brat customer. I hate waiting for something unnecessary. So I made a face just after she gave me the color pencils, and told me - sir, hindi ko pa po napapunch yan.

I ended up going home at around 6:20 PM – experiencing traffic jam. Good thing I bought myself a book – Youngblood 3.

-

Today’s ignorance was at its height when I went back to the same bookstore and searched for a plastic cover. We have this Math project and it’s needed, badly needed. I almost fell dizzy searching for it – staring at those white erasers, whiteboard markers, special paper, ribbons, short folders (I bought some of it), and those students finding a handful of linen paper. (What’s linen paper, by the way?)

I’ve seen this abandoned cutter and at last! A fat roll of what they call ‘plastic cover’. My heart leapt with joy and satisfaction, as I stood still and examined the area. Is this a self-service thing, wherein I need to get a long plastic cover and cut it with a cutter and fold it and proceed to the cashier? That seems wrong, but I did it. Yeah, it was nasty!

Then this young lady from the bookstore asked me: Sir, san po kayo nakakuha nyan?

Uhh, nakalagay lang dun. Kinuha ko na. I lied. My reputation in the bookstore must not vanish just because of this act of foolishness!

Uhh, sir. Ilang meters po yan?

Uhh, kinuha ko lang dyan. I lied. Oh, please stop asking me. Alam ko namang nakita mo ko na ginupit ko nang walang pakundangan diba! Grrrr.

Sir, kuha na lang po kayo dun sa may cashier – naka-roll na po yun tsaka exact na one meter.

MALAY KO BANG MERON SA HARAPAN! Sa susunod, pwede lagyan nyo ng sign yan!

And right now, I’m feeling so embarrassed. According to Jhed, TANGA daw ako. Tanga. Oh, how I hate the word. But it’s true. I’m so stupid! I promise, this whole year, I’ll never ever come back to that bookstore. Ever. Ever! (2:51 AM – January 4)

Starbucks I.

A solemn morning of drinking iced coffee was a great starter.

Just after I stood up was a girl I barely noticed, or let’s say – a girl I forced not to notice. She was sexy, she had the curves. I know her, and it’s positive. The friction dragged me back to my seat, as she fired a glance at me. Now, I’m helpless. The sun is up, yet my world started to crash in humiliation. As she drew nearer, I bowed my head like an elementary student feeling sorry for cheating. I just played with my cellphone, fingers crossed that this would be a short chit-chat.

The twirls of her hair have melted my knees once again.

I held her once again, not with a hug but with hello. At least, rather than fooling ourselves as if nothing had happened.

Probably, I was her worst boyfriend. That self-centered dickhead who would walk with her inside the mall without talking, was me. The television in mute. The bland coffee. The tasteless, the inconsistent, the die-hard rocker yet the strictest boyfriend. Worse, the flirt-boy who knows no boundaries.

We have fought over simple things: over her father’s problem, over a misleading text message, over a band member. Over anything that includes the two of us. From the start of our newly-built relationship, things were in a whirlpool. Spinning faster, getting dizzy, until all’s a blur. Until we fought, spitting cuss words, blaming and cursing each other for our (generally, mine) faults. With my sadistic personality, I haven’t realized that I would always give her a weekly bruise: not a physical bruise, but an emotional imprint in her heart.

Soon, the story ends. The final night happened in an open carpark, with the orange lights on. We argued about my instability as a boyfriend, with my irrational mood swings, and my numbness as a man. I stare blankly as she cried and mumbled her angst as my girlfriend. Her regrets, her pains. She walked nearer and finally, delivered a slap on my face. The disgust. Revenge.

My eyes went bloodshot, as tears fell to my face. I was awakened by the impact of her angry slap. Shocked by her move, like a resuscitated coma victim.

She hugged me for the last time, and I whispered my truthful sorry for what I’ve done. I hugged her tighter and told her that I’d let her go. You didn’t deserve me as a boyfriend.

So I broke up with her. I’ve wounded a precious jewel. I won’t let her be crushed.

I know she needed a break from hell. Hell, happened to be me.

The mocha frappucino plastic bottle fell off from my hands, crushing it with my shoes, telling myself: I’m the blandest coffee ever made. The ice was dominant, and when it melts, the flavor disappears. Indeed, it was true. I am numb, and my whole personality became a stuffed toy. A body without a soul.

-

And the short chit-chat? It was the closure. Not all rock songs end with a bitter story.

The Sacrifice.

Both of us wanted the opportunity.

She won, I lost. I’m the youngest, therefore, I need to fit in a square in a circle. 

While fountains and Luces splash its fiery tongue, while hundreds of festive colors fill the sky, the night failed to captivate me. The earbleeding noise diminished. The winds of change whirled away from me. My plans have been ruined. She wanted to study Nursing, despite her degree in BS Nutrition. My mom chose her. After two years, she could be a family asset – generating income for my studies.

I’ve been a well-bred bunso. I have learned the fact that I must respect their decision.

My plans are totally in pain. Blocks of dreams came rushing down, somehow blaming me for thinking about things that are not to come true. After four weeks, entrance exam results would soon flood my consciousness. With those results, I need to choose one.

I want to study in U.S.!

But then, I have to stay here, and study four more years in College.

My eyes were shrink-wrapped in tears, though I forced myself not to cry. I am slowly learning the fact that the wheel turns upside-down in a swish of a moment. The bloody realizations in life comes hand-in-hand with me last night. My world crumbles as the legendary New Year celebration unfolds. And the countdown begins:

Five. Five more years to spend studying in the Philippines. Of being an independent teenager, of making decisions. To buy a car, to rent a dorm, to choose between this and that. Five more years would be freedom from notebooks, and joining the workforce.

And, five more projects to do before school starts once again.

Four. Senior life, so far: is a one-of-a-kind achievement. Fourth year is the happiest, the most memorable, the kick-ass year of my High School life. I’m looking forward to enjoy the Intrams, the last Prom of my life, the Finals. The judgment day.

Three. Three more months before tossing myself to the skies, screaming and being proud of myself for getting my High School diploma. Three more months to cherish every face, every moment, every teacher I met in my four years of existence in High School. Three more months to reconstruct broken friendships, wasted time, and heal wounds of betrayal and anger.

Two. Two years and I’d be voting, getting a driver’s license, undergoing interviews and filling up forms to renew my Visa once again. Two more years.

One. One chance, one opportunity. Yet, I missed it. I am not destined to get it. I guess, I’ll just let it slip away like a paper swaying away from me. “Swim against the current, let it slip away.”

Boom.

Now, what’s happy in my New Year?

The Parable of The Little Prince.

This New Year, I’d start to make reviews from movies, books, or anything. Uhh, read at your own risk. There are lots of details in this post which you can’t really relate (except if you read the book).

At first, I thought that The Little Prince of Antoine De Saint-Exupery would simply lull me to sleep while unravelling its first page. For one, the book cover illustrates an unprofessional drawing by the author himself: a kid standing in a gray planet with three volcanoes. (Heck, one of it is even used by the Prince for cooking!) Another would be the appearance of the book: the glossy pages, the informal approach of the author to its reader. The drawings inside somehow induced me to consider it a children’s book to be donated elsewhere.

But then, I remember a chatmate last December (her name was Gale) throwing me a quote of this French aviator and author: Saint-Exupery, a name still unknown for me.

“What’s essential is invisible to the eye.”

It could have been derived in this book, so I bought it.

Sure, you find the book weird. (A volcano as a gas stove?) But the content was really heart-warming. I threw away Joseph Kanon’s The Good German for this book, since I could easily digest its content. (As for Kanon, his words were too collegiate.) The first four chapters compelled me to wake up and read more. It’s not the usual book wherein you’d stare in the ceiling for moments and tell yourself that you’re giving up and sleep right away.

The conversation between the pilot in the Sahara Desert (whom I believe, depicts Antoine) and the Little Prince, I thought, would be corny. Similar to those fairytale stories wherein you have no choice but to read the first sentence: once upon a time. But this one’s different.

–

Somehow, children see things we do not see.

In the book, the Little Prince was begging for the pilot to draw a sheep for him. The pilot have tried to, but he sucks at drawing. Instead, he drew a box with holes. With his amazement, the Little Prince bursted with laughter and contentment because inside the box was a sheep, sleeping. They see what’s invisible.

“Grown-ups love figures. When you tell them that you have made a new friend, they never ask you any questions about essential matters like what does his voice like? What games does he love best? Does he collect butterflies? Instead, they demand: how old is he? How much does he weigh? How much money does his father make?” Only from those figures do they think they have learned anything about your friend.”

The concept of the book (though I’m not yet finished reading it) includes the difference between grown-ups and children. And so on.

A must read for me.

As Of Now.

Saddam’s dead. And I finished John Grisham’s King Of Torts for four months (September 4 – December 30): the result of endless procrastinating and my tight schedules. At least, before the year ends. Haven’t I mentioned that my Dad gave me a book before Christmas, entitled ‘The Good German’, which according to him – would soon be a movie.

For days of being squeezed in my room, I haven’t heard much about the earthquake in Taiwan. I’ve been playing the strategic game I’ve mentioned before, chatting and joining conferences and voice chats until 5 am. And it helped a little with my health, adding up another layer of eyebag.

For this Christmas vacation, I need to do six projects. And I’ve started none of it. At least, I’m done with my Term Paper. Well, I could finish all of the projects except the Economics project: we are required to make a handicraft – made of indigenous materials. May it be a wooden condom, a plastic pencil holder, or anything.

Any suggestions? I’m running out of ideas.

Recently, I went to an optical shop and the result: may grado daw akong 50 sa kaliwang mata, sa kabila naman – 0. Pano kaya nangyari yun? Either I watch movies with my left eye open, or have been reading a book with my left eye only? Huh?

And I’ve been thinking, bakit tumitilamsik ang baboy kapag pinirito?

Okay. Answer my questions, and much thanks to Tina for providing me the answer with regards to the hotdog thing. Now I know.

The Sphere of Influence.

It’s nice to swallow words of persuasion, of creative ideas, and of funny experiences from bloggers. The ever-constant varieties of posts written by people with different lives; a striving mother, a college drop-out guy, a journalist, a High School student. These people I met before.  It has been one year of blogging and the way I see my blog before and after, I somehow enjoyed every single day of my Internet life; the life wherein you turn on your computer after school and rant about the things that pissed you off, or even share your Hittite lessons, or even copy-paste the lyrics of your favorite song!

Yes, I shamefully admit that I did that in the past (maybe once or twice).

I have read Jamaela’s post about ignorance, and Still’s post about being a roughed-up lady (in a slight way). And somehow, their posts ignited my sense of theoretical thinking. And my theory is that we, bloggers, evolve. We depend on other blogposts: we read – learning from their experiences, adapting their writing skills, or even getting ideas for a new post. We influence each other, and day by day – we grow better. We write better.

Wala lang! Nagmamarunong lang.

With regards to my past blog, I’ve read it a while ago. I’ve read my December 27, 2005 post and it was about me and my friends going to Alex’s (a guy, not a girl) house – I could still remember their Mazda 3, their house full of condiments but no food, his offline Ragnarok installed in his laptop, and his bathroom-sized bedroom that only 5 or 6 people could fit in. And that was also the day where I splurged our Greenwich pizza with hot sauce!

The way I see it, it’s not a year ago. It’s like yesterday, but according to the calendar – it was one year ago. And it was. [Haha, ang kulet.] Well, I couldn’t blame humans for deriving a calendar. Though I’ve been asking myself today the question – why is a hotdog shaped like a phallus? Uhh, not a phallus. More decent.

Uhh, why is a hotdog shaped like that? And it’s red! I just wished it was blue. Or orange. Why red? And why that shape? They should’ve made square-shaped hotdogs, or star-shaped. Or free-form, like those hamburgers.

Forgive my curiosity. Just please answer my question.

Wait, is that ringing sound from our phone downstairs?

The Superstar.

To my surprise, the glass cabinet has been unlocked.

This glass cabinet has been locked by my Mom years ago, before she left Philippines for New York. I could see figurines  of angels and souvenirs from weddings and baptismal ceremonies arranged in each shelf, below would be shoe boxes. I thought it contains my Matchbox collection, but I was wrong. It was more than I expect.

A Christmas gift for myself.

Comparing the statistics from the previous seasons of gift-giving, I drown myself with gift-wrapped boxes and pile them like a mountain. Then I’d go to the center of my mountain and would have been feeling great. There would be new toys to play, to throw away, and to destroy. Though, of ten gifts – only one or two survive the test of time. These things, not money – because I do not know how to use money back then – is my contentment.

With my present situation, the place below the Christmas tree is desolated. Vacant, not even a single greeting card or a present. And when I remember those days of being the Superstar of their lives, I want to crumble. I want to face down with knees bent, hoping to relive back those days of tearing down those glorious gifts.

I went to the glass cabinet and it was unlocked. Not just unlocked, there’s not even a single padlock. I scanned through those figurines and have finally seen the shoe boxes. When I opened it, it was my baby pictures. I brought the big box of memorabilias in our sala and flashed those pictures at my face like a humongous projector, wanting more memories. I’ve seen my baptismal pictures, my 2nd birthday cake, me and my brother with the ‘peace’ sign, me posing with my brief in Waikiki Beach – Honolulu, me tossing a coin in some fountain in San Francisco, me blowing on my 4th birthday cake, me with my Tito Ady, me hugging my sister, me sleeping, me.

It was me.

The joyous me. I thought it was impossible to keep these old pictures! These pictures aren’t even scathed, not even destroyed or disfigured.

At that Christmas Eve, I have enjoyed my fifteen years of existence here in this world. Those pictures says it all. (To be uploaded on my multiply site, for now – you may visit it to see my Hyatt pictures.)

At least, this Christmas – I met happiness.

The Driver-Preacher.

Hailing a jeep to Bocaue gave me ten minutes of constant waiting, cursing packs of commuters who filled in every jeep I see. After occupying a seat and paying for the fare – an unexpected traffic jammed jeeps going to and from Bocaue crossing. I am so busted.

Twenty blocks away would be the crossing, yet – the jeeps turned off their engines to save oil. Light bulbs were off, and the darkness was evident. Stranded with a wallet in my pocket, I have no idea what to do to fight boredom. At this point of time, I should’ve brought my cellphone (the cheap one, not the expensive one). I’d rather play Bantumi or Snake.

The jeepney driver told us that he’s going home. Time is gold, and more expensive than oil. If he’d continue this long journey of waiting, he’s dead. And his only choice? Abandon the passengers. Give them their corresponding payments and go home. In this way, you fought fair with regards to time and money.

I planned to walk until the crossing, but it may take 15 minutes for me to swallow dust and carbon monoxide. What an uncomfortable feeling.

The driver gave 18 pesos to three of us. Yes. A father wearing a black polo-shirt carrying an SM plastic (maybe he enjoyed shopping less), a College student, and me. We all went to another jeep and gave the money: isang Bunlo, isang Sta. Maria, at isang Bocaue. Too bad for the college student, the jeep is headed to Malolos – Sta. Maria is out of the itinerary. But he chose Malolos, anyway.

For ten minutes, I’m swallowing my saliva. Though it was cold, the baby inside the jeep cried louder than the raging horns of other jeepneys. Hunger, and impatience. People began talking about the traffic – why was it happening? I pursed my lips, silent. McArthur Highway’s Sin City became alive. The glimmering lights of Villa Veronica, Sargie’s, and other famous clubs started to serenade the bored passengers. Including me, of course.

The driver then laughed hilariously with regards to the prostitution in this certain part of McArthur Highway. We found it absurd, he found those almost-naked women a disgust towards his religion / belief. He began his speech and thought nobody was listening with his speech, but everybody listened carefully.

Hindi ba alam ng mga ‘yan na kasalanan yan? Dapat dyan eh – parusahan! Aba, ganyan ang ginawa ng Diyos sa Sodom at Gomorrah, pinarusahan niya yung mga masasamang loob doon. Nako naman.

It’s ironic that the humble classes of our society knows the story of Sodom and Gomorrah.

Afterwards, the jeep collided with another jeep – resulting to a broken side mirror. After the traffic, we found that four lanes were swallowed up by the southbound vehicles (and only the sidewalks were left for the northbound vehicles) – thus creating a mile-long traffic. There are no traffic enforcers, only those concerned street people.

Who to blame?

Entropy.

How will I start this post? Fuck. I’d make a sentence, then I’ll delete it. Then make another one, then I’ve changed my mind. Then why am I making a sentence if I’d be deleting it soon?

Ha-ha! Physics’ Law of Entropy could be applied in so many things. Combing your hair inside a speeding tricycle, or maybe applying anti-pimple solutions in your face when you know that soon – you’d still end up with big, red pimples. Or ironing your clothes, or taking a bath, or putting some gel in your hair.

Enough.

These days of Christmas vacation, I’m really meditating on some ideas. I’m really serious. I tend to think upon random statements or imposing my own weird questions that only soothsayers could answer. The following includes:

1. Plantains. They’re like bananas, but they’re not.

2. Why my Mom sucks in terms of style? The Balikbayan boxes were delivered two days ago. She gave me an orange (or brown) checkered polo. I just hate checkered polos! It transforms me into a 50-year old grandfather abandoned in the Home for the Aged.

3. Why my Dad bought three packs of assorted sausages, including Kielbasas, Frankfurters, and other German words?

4. Carbonara. I’ll be cooking Carbonara tomorrow for Christmas Eve. I’m imagining the firm pasta with white sauce and crisp, toasted bacon! Wow. Nyam nyam!

5. You know Steve from Blue’s Clues? I am wondering (though wala na si Steve) why they get all the answers! I also wonder why they tend to see all the pawprint marks of Blue! And they get the answer!

Yung tipong – glass, fish, tsaka sand: ang sagot – aquarium. Pwede namang iba diba? Pwede namang beach, o kaya swimming pool! Nako.

6. Why kids sing songs even if they don’t know the lyrics. They tend to produce their own words, thus nullifying the lyricist’s work. Poor lyricists.

7. I had a conference yesterday at YM and we discovered that there are fifty-four (yes, 54!) holes in a single cracker of Sky Flakes! Yeah! That’s lame!

That’s it. I’m done.

The Columnist.

Ten blocks away from our house would be me, walking and longing for sleep in a couch eating self-made Mojos dipped in mayonnaise and mustard. It was then that I’ve heard one of the coolest drunkards ever to sing Laklak. Only, his version goes like ~ kabilin-bilinan ng lola, huwag uminom ng serbisa…

I gave him a great laugh. He deserves it, anyway. 

-

I want to be different. Not too weird. Isn’t it irritating to look at yourself and look outside and see that you and him were almost the same? Same haircut, same brand of T-Shirt, same shades, same hair color, same chinita girlfriend, same cellphone unit. Same, same, same. It’s just humiliating, as if my conscience would laugh and tell me that I belong with those trying hards.

What’s with stereotyping nowadays?

Well, I prefer wearing a plain T-Shirt with a shout-out like these ones.

1. “It’s hard to show I care SINCE I DON’T.”

2. “I won’t lower my standards just to raise yours!”

3. “Are you looking for Mr. Right, or Mr. Right Now?”

4. “Your girlfriend was my biggest fan.”

5. “My PenIs Big.”

My apologies for number five if it contains explicit nudity or something. In the T-Shirt I’ve seen at SM – there’s a BIG ballpen separating the words PEN and IS. Get it?

I adore those companies [designers] who made these significant t-shirts. No matter how plain the color is, no matter how lousy you are – you’d still captivate the eyes of many. May angas. May dating. Ayos!

-

I’m done. Finally, a random post. Ha-ha! I’m currently occupied with playing Heroes III of Might and Magic. Yeah, if you guys know that game! Released last 2000! or 1999! Haha, but still loving the poor graphics.

Wire-twitching.

Forgive me for not updating, but this may go for days. I’m compiling all my blog posts and I’m fixing it. That’s all. He-he. I’d be back just after I fix this problem.

Metamphetamine.

I’d rather go with my friends back when I was fourteen. My old man’s in Honolulu, San Francisco, Tokyo, Dubai, those out-of-the-blue cities I’ve heard from his sermons. Mom would either go to nearby towns and get busy with her rice business – calculating ledger books, cooking food and driving away to her office. My sisters were studying in Manila, going home late, catching up for some sleep. I am the warm little center of life in the house. Blemished with boredom, and always out of place with the females.

My barkada hugged me like a brother.

There goes Marlboro who once soothed my chilling body for minutes. Then it became a habit. Mouth to nostrils. Let that nicotine harm me. The warmth it gives me is exceptional, I just can’t stop it. From two to three sticks, it continues and grows up to a case emptied by my chain-smoking.

Fifteen, I was kicked out in our school for my bloody marks. If it meant disappointment to my family, it became the very start of enjoying life and diving into something real and wild. Burned my book, tore down my notes. I’m sick of studying Theology or Geometry or any school work. I’m tired of dealing with white, veiled women mouth-fed by biblical spoonfuls of beliefs. I’m over with their sanctimonious ways of discussing what is good and bad.

Sixteen was when I dropped all my subjects in another school, thus telling myself that education is shit. Schools are cemeteries for fun. My parents gave up, realizing that their enrollment fees are going down the drain without any benefits for me. For normal students, being incubated in a room full of discussions and writing lectures means an honorary job. But I want to explore out of those walls. I want to break free from rules. I want to have my life with my own rules.

I met San Miguel when I was eighteen. Nineteen, I’m head over heels for Mary Jane. I spend my nights away from home, inhaling this addictive herb that somehow gives me comfort and numbness to pain and depression. Twenty was when my Mom discovered that I’m doing a terrible mistake. Bloodshot eyes surrounded with stress, burned lips. Pierced my left ear. Got a tattoo at my left hand for my nickname. Scars all over my body – bruises, contusions, blackened spots. I was rehabilitated in a rehab center. My family wanted me to be clean; pure from wrongful ideas and addiction, and stop me from abusing freedom. Abundant food, lots of friends whom I could cope up with.

Months after, I went out. Father wanted me to be free.

Twenty-one was when I met Lovely, dated her for some unknown reasons, and had sex with her. Eight months have passed, my parents blamed me for the kid. Minor birth defects, but still a healthy man of dreams. Named after me. Twenty-two, I went to US with my Dad for a nice vacation – leaving my son and my illegal wife. After I went back, wife was pregnant.

Three years after, my kids were four. I’ve experienced another rehab. Then, I was jailed thrice. I fell in-love with Shabu so much, I stole my younger brother’s belongings and sold it to the pawnshop for some money. For three years, the list goes on. The Playstation, the G-Shock, his branded wardrobe, tons of cellphones with different units and SIM cards, two wallets, MP3 player, and all his luxuries.

Here I am now, having my third rehabilitation. Wife went away with two kids and left the other two in our house. Father took charge of it, as he always do with my hearings, with pawnshop deals, with diapers of my kids. The last item I stole from my younger brother was his white-gold bracelet.

The next thing I know, I’m in this place. In a place with electrocuted barbed wire, high walls, and a fake freedom. Today’s our Christmas party. Dad, Brother and my eldest son visited me. For my long stay in this center, conscience knocked me out.

Tears flowed while I saw my brother growing up without me. I hugged him and told him, I’m sorry sa lahat. He hugged back, harder, and sobbed. I felt his anger, he felt my remorse. I want to reconcile. I want him to forgive me for I destroyed our family, I made his life incomplete.

Then, this jolt of brotherly love came in. 

I don’t think he deserve me as a brother. So far, it was one of my biggest mistakes. I let him grow up without a brother who would teach him how to be a young man, how to shoot some hoops, how to love a girl.

Time is over. He said goodbye, I told him to take care. I just hope he knew the right thing to do, and not to follow my footsteps.

Exorcising Money.

WARNING: Materialistic post ahead. Please bear with me. 

Given the opportunity to have my personal money this Christmas (and believe it or not, this is my first time to obtain such Christmas bonus), my mind was completely hanging in long wire-like threads; wherein I need to balance my insights and search for the wisest decision. A bag, or a wallet, or a cap, or maybe a polo shirt, or a perfume?

Of four siblings, three of us are gastador.

When I have money in my hands, there’s this instinct of spending it away with the blink of an eye. Hindi ganong tumatagal ang pera sakin. I hate Math, and I definitely hate budgeting. Come what may. I hate computing how much money have I spent in a day.

Yesterday, I went to the mall and treat myself with material things to somehow suffice my temptations. This would be the first time I’d buy my own clothes. I always depend on annual Balikbayan boxes. Plain t-shirts, and the boring designs.

Well, I still appreciate it. Iba pa rin kapag ako ang pumili.

So I bought a T-Shirt, a perfume for me. Another perfume and a wooden bracelet would be for the exchange gifts this December 19 – the last class day of year 2006. I realize that my mind is too focused with materialistic ideas. I’m as crazy as hell in picking the right shirt or smelling the perfume testers and sense what’s right for me.

It’s as if I’m in an episode of an all-time wish-granting show (maybe Wish Ko Lang would be better)! Though they say that money earned is sweeter. Good thing that at present, I’m not yet working for money.

I just hope that this epidemic would stop.

Anyway, the title is from ’The Exorcism of Emily Rose’ (which I’ve watched a while ago). It’s not horror. It’s comedy! The way the character was possessed – it’s funny! I’m actually imagining myself screaming at a public place like Emily Rose! And with the epileptic moves and the retina shaking! Haha.

It was a nice movie, though. The court scenes were great.

My Kind Of Myx.

After four or five days of not posting, I’m back. What kept me so long? Simple. My eyes refused to get laid in a Mozilla Firefox window to feast WordPress’ blue theme, proudly proclaiming: Hey, I’m blogging again! That simple disorder lasted for four days, so now I’m back. Feeling busier, wanting to slip the school days away.

I picked up Embrace (Urbandub’s album that was released long ago, yet their current) besides the radio in our classroom. (Yes, we have this radio that provides us enough music during breaktime.) The drums made me admire Urbandub. From Alert the Armory, up to Frailty - they wanted decent rock music. I just hope these guys wouldn’t be commercialized like what happened to Orange and Lemons (enough of the PBB theme songs), or super popular like those bands who had lost its luster as months go by. I thought this rock band would just avail a dusty place in my CD shelf, but they proved me wrong.

Now, I admire their drummer. So much.

Itchyworms’ new single, Love Team (thanks Karla for the title) made me love their music again. I thought that Beer would be my first and last with them, since I’m disappointed with their Salapi.

And my ears were bleeding a while ago with Fergalicious whatever.

Uhh, I’m loving Jeopardy. Yeah, that game show wherein you answer questions with a question. It’s a trivial game better than Wowowee or Game Ka Na Ba, I suppose? And I’m gonna fix the school paper’s layout tomorrow, while reading John Grisham’s King Of Torts, solving bits of Stone puzzles, and chatting with nudgers online.

So that’s it. I didn’t mean to disappoint you guys for this lame post.

First.

One year of blogging. Three hundred something posts.

Boredom made me do this. Boredom gave me the reason to exist in this imaginary world of bloggers. And yes, it helped me a lot. A therapy, a pacifier, a boredom-killer, and the melting pot of different personalities. My chatmates and my online friends increased rapidly, as well as my intelligence over certain things (from other blogs, of course), and enhanced my capability to write stupidity.

And the MAIN reason: to release shits and problems of life. To express feelingd, and not to impress people.

Leave your messages, comments, or good lucks, or violent reactions.

Anything. At the comment section.

Cords Of Deprivation.

Spam and Heinz never fail to captivate my taste buds. It seems like they made a secret pact at each other to transform a plain evening into a dinner meal I can’t forget. It’s a damn cold night. Woo, Avril Lavigne’s singing in my player. Perfect. Won’t you take me by the hand.

Hold on if you feel like letting go. Good Charlotte rocks with their first single: Hold on.

The dusty guitar, the mirror with cracks of anger from my fists, the dim lampshade, and the electric cords of this laptop: the extension, the AC adapter, the Internet extension cord, the cellphone charger. The smell of Spam fried and toasted to perfection. I still enjoy the company of my room, no matter how messy it is. This completely describes the way I live my life: the way I arrange my clothes in the closet (which is a complete turn-off for girls), the way I alphabetize books, the way I wax my hair. This is me.

High School forced me to do things I don’t want to do.

Host programs. Be an emcee for a Marian Youth Camp, which I consider the worst offer ever. Make a school paper layout. Join Glee Club. Sing religious songs at church. Illustrate Da Vinci’s works. List down the dynasties of China. Dissect a frog. Make a stupid garnishing for Culinary Artds. Teachers were the boss. I am a student. I, for one, am obliged to do these things. (50 Cent – In Da Club, woohoo.)

I just hate doing things which opposes my persona. It’s like, my identity’s lost.

Yesterday, I should be hosting the Marian Youth Camp. But then, I quit. I told myself not to fool myself by telling them how great Mary is. That she conceived Jesus without sin. That she willingly accept Angel Gabriel’s invitation to bear the Son of Man in the womb. If I could remember, the script goes like: Yes. Mother Mary truly serves as a servant for all of us, Christians.

I don’t want to do that. And besides, I didn’t attend since our maid forgot to iron my P.E Uniform – the prescribed costume for the Marian Youth Camp. The fear of disappointing Ms. Espejo (the teacher who hired me), and my partner (Ysabel) slowly diminished. I guess, I’m tired of doing things I don’t want to do.

Konting tiis. Malapit na naman ang graduation.

Tomorrow, I’d be Superman with a silly red sheet. I’d be going to a 6:30 AM mass, followed by an emergency meeting of our school paper at 8. At 11, my partner and I would be making our Investigatory Project finale about Muscovado Sugar – which is, making the products. And lastly, at 2 – would be our inter-class Belen Making contest.

Ipinagkait na naman sakin ang weekend.

Hay. Next Thursday would be our 3rd Periodic Test. Then, Christmas vacation!

‘Kiddistic’ Sadism.

I have to say that my brain works in a weird way.

Sadista, as my barkada would brand me. I enjoy the view of my nephews crying, and really, I love the sight of it. I throw pillows on them, I watch them cry, I spoil their cakes, I eat their favorite foods, they cry. At the back of my brain, I am very pleased to do these things.

Just please, don’t sue me for child abuse.

Everynow and then, I would tease my nephews and nieces with their inability to do something, or their obnoxious smell (though it’s natural to toddlers to wear that stinking smell of soil). They would cry, and I would laugh at them. I would get their toys, and they would cry louder. Trip ko lang. It’s such a job for weird guys, you know.

I’m a one weird guy when my sadistic features strike.

According to my childhood, I have no background of violence or whatsoever. My father once used a belt to whip my ass since I let a stranger borrow my bicycle (see, I’m such a goody boy way back 90’s). But that’s the first and last. No other memories of explicit slapping or harsh words. So, where does this sadism came from? I don’t know.

I just love to see tears flowing from the eyes of a kid. I love to piss off my classmates since they look like shits or craps of hell. I want to tell everyone that they look like decaying matter. But then, I sometimes tell myself, that I myself look like one piece of shit.

Nobody’s perfect anyway.

Sadism is an addictive scent to me. Wait, I’d like to clarify that my sadism goes with the kids, and only with the kids. Not with the impoverished people. Not with people who have nothing to eat. No way. My heart still has its feelings.

But everyday, my heart gets number. I am still hoping for my softer side to arise when excessive violence had been implemented.

To Dance Or Not To Dance?

Is Cha-Cha a vital key towards economic, or let’s say – over-all progression of our country?

Or is it just to retain and extend the term of her Presidency?

Wishlist, not for Christmas.

1. I want to be a Math wizard. Since Elementary, numbers are the very reason of my occasional headaches. Words are my only weapons, but then it can’t satisfy me. Once, I ask my ex-classmate who recently got 98 in his card for Math. Pano ka nag-aaral ng Math? Well, his neurons are capable of calculating the missing variable by using synthetic division, thus computing the lowerbound and the upperbound and graphing it in his own virtual dimension.

While I, couldn’t even catch up with what they are saying. Pano ba yung Piecewise Function? Diba yung F (x) = 2x^2-3x+2 ay Cubic Function? Pano nga ba yung Remainder Theorem? Ang formula ba para sa y,x ordered pair ay negative b over 2a?

Nevermind. Advanced Algebra sucks, and I recently concluded that it can never help my life. Its catastrophic effects within my brain forced me to make my conclusion, so forgive me.

2. Ever since my brother-in-law installed our Smart Wi-Fi connection, I’ve wasted hundreds of hours for Internet every month. And I would like to complain that the Internet disconnects twice in thirty minutes. I’ve never had an hour of playing Gunbound without any interruptions. I want a DSL, or this gadget that could be plugged to a laptop and would transmit Internet Connection. You know that? I’d love to have that.

3. I am impatiently waiting for two boxes. Those boxes came from my sisters and my mother from New York. Oh, sorry for being materialistic.

4. Lastly, I wanted to sleep. I just want to make a post for this day, and that’s that. I’d continue this wishlist for the next days to come.

By the way, this wishlist is not intended for Santa Claus. He doesn’t like bad boys, ya’ know.

Yuletide.

Christmas air is here. The advent’s open, and like what Jessica Zafra said; this is the time for fake (styrofoam) snow to come out. This is December.

Years ago before I reached adolescence, all of us (barkada) would sing Christmas carols from house to house armed with our bikes. Our voices were still immature. Our intentions were still shallow. We wanted to earn money to play Playstation in the rental house. Silly reason, yet it fuels our mission. We’ll sing songs and, like beggars, would reach our palms before them and wait for their charity to come out. When the door opens, our hearts were at sky high.

Sa wakas, may panlaro na rin kami ng Playstation. Bente – isang oras.

Corruption? Ah-huh. The biggest sum of money we ever had was 140 pesos, if I could still recall. There’s this guy who gave us one hundred pesos. Then, we divided it into eight that makes it – nevermind. I hate Math.

Like I’ve said from my past blog, Christmas is for kids. They’ll be waiting into chimneys when in fact, its their parents who fool them as if there’s a real Santa or what. (And that there’s no chimney around here except in cold places like Baguio.) For me, that’s the biggest joke I’ve ever seen. And knowing that my sister believes in Santa made me cringe for a while. Kevin, totoo yun! Binigyan pa nga ako ng manika dati nun eh.

Not that I don’t believe in the essence of Christmas. I’ve grown tired of it. I wonder why ‘Santa’ refuse to give teens like me. Ooh, I remember the song!

“He sees you when you’re sleeping, he knows when you’re awake. He knows if you’ve been bad or good so be good for goodness sake.”

Too bad, I’m not the good boy anymore. So much for Santa’s authenticity, I’ve had the loneliest Christmas last year. Yes, and I don’t know why. All I remember was that I was chatting a DJ from LSFM by the time we were eating Noche Buena. Last year’s Christmas was lonely because I’ve received three or four gifts back then – it includes 10 briefs (from my stupid sister, thanks for the prank anyway), and some personal things.

For the past Christmas days, I am the star of the house. I would go beneath the Christmas tree and would happily look at the mound of gifts coming from known persons who touched my life. Being a kid is fun especially when Christmas. I could still remember the feeling of tearing off those wrappers, inch-by-inch I feast my eyes with gifts…

It’s not gonna happen anymore.

And I am disappointed.

For now, I won’t be wishing anything at all. Expecting something far-from-reality isn’t nice at all. And for the radio stations, I hope there would be no Christmas in Our Hearts by Jose Mari Chan. Please, don’t ruin my day.

The Question.

Opportunies arise once the cameraman signals. The searing lights of stardom, of fame, of being aired in the television. No matter how much efforts it will take you, you’d still go that way. Money is the prime reason for your visit, fame could be your second. Third would be your greetings, and finally, there goes the experience you wanted to taste from some noontime show.

I’ve watched you yesterday at a classmate’s house. I’ve seen how you exaggerated your moves, your dance, plus with the nonsense lyrics. You wanted to be praised, to be ridiculed, but you don’t care.

This would be an opinion of an average citizen, a citizen concerned.

Enlighten me. Expound the arrays of reason behind Wowowee. There are certain things I cannot understand. One, why people go to that show and dance as if there’s no one watching? Two, is it because the present economy of our country stimulated them to join a noontime show rather than choosing alternatives for a better life? Three, have they reached their limits, and told themselves that their lives were miserable enough to have options? Four, am I saying this because somehow, I still have money to use?

Maybe. I think the third question is correct. Nasasabi ko ito dahil hindi ko pa nararanasan ang naranasan nila. Yung hirap, yung kawalan ng pag-asa sa buhay. 

But well, not all contestants were there for money. They want to enjoy life by singing Boom Tarat Tarat, and dance. There are others who dance for Willie to recognize them. Fun is there. Entertainment is there. And that’s all that matters. That show serves to entertain them and us, viewers. So why am I meddling with their affairs?

No, I have nothing against the show. You may hate this post, or hate me for this post. But before you hate me, let me feel your reasons. Explain, in the comment section. Thanks a lot.

And oh, I’m feeling normal with the song. Neutral. Not good, though not bad at all. But I’m still deciphering the meaning of the lyrics.

One Huge Snob.

It was midnight when I chatted a blogger, and this was our first meeting. As she laid down her first impressions to me, I laughed and paused for a moment. Well, I’m expecting her answer. I’ve heard thousands of people, of testimonials, of rumors, and of letters telling me that I’m a big snob. Suplado. I’m used to it.

But being snobbish in the blogosphere made me cringe for moments. Am I? Really?

-

And my utmost apologies to all the blogs affiliated in this blog, for not being a responsible reader to your blogs. I myself cannot comprehend with the reason of my actions. Sometimes, the posts are too long. Oftentimes, I’m busy. Moreover, it’s STILL my fault.

-

Arriving at 6:00 in the morning at school would be my routine. The dull days of studying, of tension with quizzes, of reviewing and of listening to some boring teachers (namely; Physics, English, Religious Education) lull me to sleep. But I have found a classmate that would deplete boredom and quench my thirst for fun.

Her name is Mhadel. She is my clown. I suspected that she has an autism, a slight one. An only child. She narrated me that she was actually the last baby of her Mom; two others died of miscarriage. I am thinking about the possibility of abnormal (or worse, paranormal) diseases with this girl. There are lots of instances, actually, where her autism is very evident.

• One. She sings Atlantika (you know, the ooooh-ing sound) while the teachers discuss. And worse, she’s even off-tune.
• Two. She once performed an unexpected exhibition of gymnastic talent by sitting in a chair’s armchair. Unsurprisingly, the armchair went unbalanced and tossed her – and her legs splitted. The next thing I know, she was cursing me since her butt hurts.
• Three. During the Unit Test, she asked me the answer for Question # 10 (English Test) – Test III: Anagrams. The word is ‘Enroll a Toy Scheme’ – then make this into a place where you learn the basics. I whispered the answer: Elementary School. She doubted and asked me – HINDI BA NURSERY RHYME? I laughed at her, and she was laughing at her mistake.
• Four. She told me and my seatmates that all her suitors died in a collision with either a truck or a bike.
• Five. Kapag naiisip ko siya, it’s either matatawa ako or matatae sa mukha niya.
• Six, she made a prayer in Christian Living and invented the words ‘providor’ and ’savier’.
• Seven, I asked her: pano mo gustong mamatay? She wanted to be murdered. Sucks for her, huh? It’s not impossible to happen, since her existence in this world pesters everybody.
• And lastly, her award-winning piece. It’s actually displayed in her chair (but I tore it off).

Presenting, Mhadel’s Boutique!

Regrettably, three teachers have seen her work and laughed so hard.

Today’s Vindication’s (this blog) 4TH Monthsary! Woot. And I’d be posting here irregularly since I have my personal site na. Hehe, so that’s all.

The News: Hot and Sizzling

I thought the freezing water I used for taking a bath would be normal for a November morning. It’s cold ice.

Blame me for my illiteracy towards our television. I haven’t known earlier that Bulacan is experiencing Signal #2, ergo, Elementary and High School would have no classes for today. All the while, I thought it is a class day – the last day of our Third Grading Unit Test. Thanks for my textmates who sent me messages from our adviser confirming the news. Still not contented with the text message, I decided to turn on the TV and be informed.

It was yesterday when I watched National Geographic Channel, and it tackled about a supertyphoon that would hit the island-city of Hong Kong. It features their security measures, the predicted effects of the unusual phenomenon, and a lot more. Today, I am about to experience it.

Typhoon Reming expects to have its landfall this morning at Virac, Catanduanes. Alert signals were given to provinces, and safety measures were checked by every family. Ports closed, flights cancelled, travelling would be dangerous, water shortages and minor blackouts (crossing my fingers) were evident. This is the second time we’ll experience a massive typhoon, prior to Milenyo: which uprooted trees, destroyed few billboards, and left Philippines with 230 dead last September. With winds of 195 kilometers per hour, it’s far destructive from Milenyo. Metro Manila, along with the neighboring provinces, prepared for the worst-case scenarios.

News from the Senate and the Congress, or other political places and issues, were disregarded from this post. I myself don’t know what’s happening ‘in’ there. Two guys fell down from a deep well, and then I’ve seen Miriam Defensor-Santiago’s face. And oh, Bono of U2 received a gift from Japan’s Prime Minister. Shades! I don’t know why, but it’s all up to them.

So I changed my clothes.

Less death tolls? Hope so. For now, I’ll enjoy the boredom of my four-day weekend. (Happy 16th birthday to my bestfriend!)

The Marian Youth Fuck.

A guy and a girl entered the library and the guy pulled the chair for the girl.

Grabe, ang gentleman naman niya… says a classmate with intentions to hit my consciousness and thought that I would react in a sudden spur of words. I gladly accepted the fact that she has been telling me to be gentle with girls, and that she recognizes my angst with the world. And that I am the cutest boyfriend material ever.

Then, I told her. I don’t need to do that just to be a gentleman infront of the crowd. And perhaps, I don’t do that usual thing with common girls or classmates. Though my past girlfriends are an exception since I really do those stuff for the girls I love. Well, I am gentle with girls but I am choosy with girls to flirt and girls to laugh at.

I am cordially invited by Mrs. Espejo to be in the library at dismissal time, which tells me that a meeting would take place. What meeting? No idea. But I know that my service would soon leave me. And when the blabbermouth teacher entered the library and told me to sit down together with other seniors, she told us that we were chosen to host the Marian Youth Vigil. Formally known as the Marian Youth Camp.

Marian Youth Fuck, I say.

I coughed silently and swallowed the truth. You, Kevin, and Ysabel are suggested by the teachers to be one of the host of the YMV… Okay. This means that I couldn’t back out and I won’t let those teachers to be disappointed since they are expecting something from me. The Marian Youth Camp is held annually to commemorate the Immaculate Conception of Mary. It is an over-prepared, highly religious event and a guy with a slight atheism inside him would host the said event. Me. At least, I do have a partner but the idea still made me dumbfounded.

Why me?

Why not the mustached Erick Castillo who looks like a priest when wearing the uniform itself. A plus points for priesthood, and another plus points for emceeing. (Okay, you guys don’t know him). Why me, of all students? I wanted to curse the heavens for appointing me to do the job. I am still in my religion crisis. [opinionated] Religion is an innate truth; we are only told to believe a God because we are born with that religion.

Not that I don’t believe in Him. I revere him, and I don’t hate him. I’m just doubting his authenticity. [end of opinion]

Anyway, the said event would happen this December. I am not tensed, though I want to bang my head to my wooden cabinet and know the reason behind the teachers’ decision to hire me as a host. I’m not religious, either.

30 Minutes of Misadventure and Kissing.

I’ve waited for thirty minutes infront of a certain bakery in Bocaue just to wait for my service ride. First, I told myself not to go with the ‘First Trip’ (the earlier trip for Marilao students) of my service ride since I am enjoying the mystery game I mentioned before. (I refer this site to explain the mystery game.) Yes, I am addicted to it like a street child sniffing rugby. Early in the morning, I’d go searching clues and nudges and solve a puzzle.

I planned to go with the second trip (the 6:30 trip for Bocaue students). Few minutes of riding in a jeepney, and off I go to the Bocaue crossing and wait for my service. Engulfing the morning smog, mufflers pumping and emitting deadly carbon monoxide, and the heat of the sun tells me to make a decision.

After fifteen minutes of boredom and irritation, I decided to hail a jeep and go straight to school (not that I couldn’t afford going to school all by myself, but it’s worth thirty pesos: pretty expensive for a mile-long travel.) but abandoned the thought when I’ve seen a single 500 peso bill in my wallet. As what I recall from the stickers posted inside a jeep’s cockpit, barya lang po sa umaga.

I went straight to a mini-mart nearby, then to a street vendor, a newspaper vendor, a bakery, and even a hamburger stall. They all said, No. It’s the first day of the week so expect them to use the money for weekends. Completely frustrated and enraged, I waited in a shed.

After another fifteen minutes and the FX appeared.

And there goes my great morning. All because of the mystery game. No regrets, though.

-

The story goes like this: she and her boyfriend (with braces, and please don’t even think it’s me) kissed for thirty minutes. Really. Thirty minutes of convection, of exchanging body heat, of playing tongues. Wow, I mused. Her story was amusing, yet I know she was telling the truth.

The next thing she knew, her lips were red for three days.

Unfortunately, a wound was made by the braces installed in her boyfriend’s teeth.

In a desperate attempt to find the 8th girlfriend, uhh. No. I just don’t involve myself in a thirty-minute kiss (and swallowing and err) with a girlfriend. Maybe my classmate and her boyfriend (a college boy, and an alumnus of our school) considered it a hobby. But really, aren’t they exhausted or sweating with that lip-service?

My girl classmate was even happy to narrate her experience with the long kiss. ‘Di ba niya napapansin na hindi na siya nirerespeto (at binabastos) na siya ng syota niya? Tsk.

-

Additional infos: I went yesterday to celebrate Christ the King since it’s needed for my Parish Involvement. Very religious, huh? If it wasn’t for my friends in that choir, the bonding, the experience, and the grade: I’ll never fool myself in terms of my philosophy towards ‘God’. Still undecided.

And tomorrow’s post would be about a classmate.

And that tomorrow would be our Third Grading Unit Test! Time flies.

The Nerd in Me.

Memorizing the National Anthem while your sister cooks breakfast and the lyrics is written in a thin sheet of paper on top of the fridge (so that I couldn’t reach it) is a normal way of learning. But when My Dad bought atlases and almanacs and told me to read it, while my Mom obliged me to read the newspaper every morning and pronounce the words with proper diction – these stuffs might look abnormal to you.

The whole clan branded me as ‘Ernie Baron’. Their whiz kid.

Nursery was when I’ll sing, read a short story, or even spell ‘daughter’ at the top of the teacher’s table. When I transferred to St. Paul for Kinder (or Prep, which is which?), the principal told me that I need not to study Prep (or Kinder. Whatever.) with my test results and convincing speeches of the administration. So I’m accelerated.

After Grade School, all’s a blur. Except that I’ve been reading novels and conceptualizing the world and its cities and the nations and the capitals, that’s it. I’m not a nerd anymore. I’ve been influenced by the media (thanks to Ghost Fighter, I learned how to use my ray gun to kill the sister teaching Religion III – Grade Three) and by my peers (who taught me the dirtiest of all facts). Deep in my brain, the neurons enjoyed their deep slumber. Resting in peace from being over-used.

A recent breakthrough (though it’s been established long ago) came out when Benj told me about the Stone. It is an Internet-mystery game about Enigma (no, not the decoding machine of the Nazis), about code-breaking, about history stuffs. To my surprise, my brain functions well! Yey, I’m not Utakgago in terms of academics! I’m just that guy when it comes to manners.

So I’m loving the game. Addicted to the point wherein I think of the puzzle no matter where I go. (Wooo.)

Sometimes, it’s better to relive who you are way back from childhood. Though I know it’s damn hard to let the thing materialize once again, but who knows? It may give better days to you.

PS: I just miss those days of constant reviewing. And, uhh, the nerd stuffs. Though wala talaga sa itsura ko ang pagiging nerd. Hahaha!

Atlas and The Neighbors.

I don’t think cockroaches have souls; else I’d probably be dead by now.

I killed two cockroaches inside my room with the help of my school shoes (size 11, perfectly weighed to eradicate floor pests). Now, I’m learning to fight manually with those critters.

With my severe headache right now, I am the new Atlas. I carry the weight of the world not with my shoulders, but deep within my cranium. Plus my colds, I’m entering eternal boredom. I can’t sleep. I drink a cup of orange juice, there goes Decolgen Forte. Then I go downstairs and cook my breakfast: olive oil, two hotdogs, and an egg. And the taste is bland. I decided not to attend school yesterday, same with CAT today. If only I could afford a head spa.

I’m finished with my Gunbound download for two hours yesterday. Two hours isn’t bad.

With my current status for the past two days, I can’t help but lie in my bed and play the kiddie game.

Today, our neighbors served as an alarm clock. I suppose, every morning – they warm themselves with lukewarm water and sing Christian songs. Don’t get me wrong, I don’t despise them. I even envy them with their determination to be closer to God. Neighbor’s a community of purpose-driven Christians living in one big house, and really, they offer life-changing results. They changed the blank soil with a garden, they have Bible readings everyday, they have their own badminton tourney, and I vote all of them to Pinoy Big Brother.

Once, they knocked at our gate and invited us to their community – just a tour. I then ask, what would a fifteen-year old sicko offer to their community? They told me that it was just a tour. Eh kasi, ako lang mag-isa dito eh. Lame excuse, though I can’t afford to leave our maids here, and I can’t afford to go to their house either. Nakakahiya.

Now, I realized how snobbish I am. 

The house infront of us would be a friend of our family. Mang Jun once helped my sister look for her earrings, and they found it along the sidewalk. Few years ago, Mang Jun died while watching TV with her daughter. Stroke. He’s longing with her wife who happened to be an OFW in Lebanon. All of us were shocked with what happened to him. Every October, his daughter Cecille (still a kid) would celebrate her birthday and give us spaghetti, chicken, and the usual stuffs.

One lot beside us, is the Bigcas family; a great story of rags to riches, which is now enjoying their wealth with Aqua America, their water refilling station. It’s also a Globe Prepaid Shop and a barbecue stall during summer.

A street adjacent to us is the Tolentino family. No doubt they are closely tied with our family, since I’m a frequent tambay in their computer shop and that my mother once fetched their stranded son in Manila. They happened to be my second family, since I thrice ate lunch in their house and munched the wedding cake of their married son.

Wow. I can’t imagine that my post evolved from cockroaches to a wedding cake! So I’m bored. Gunbound mode.

The Currents.

I won over three cockroaches this morning! I watched them fly, spin around, lie on the floor until they suddenly give up on me. It’s such a great feeling while looking intently over their bodies, but then, the truth is that it’s still disgusting. Imagine life without Baygon, and I’d be using slippers to smash their bodies. Ugh, I’m not really good at spotting.

So my morning was ruined with three cockroaches. Well, I was about to hit a light switch when a cockroach blocked the switch, so I went straight to the bodega and searched for my Baygon.

-

Yesterday was when we stood up on our chairs because we have no book in Music. Yes, we stood up in our chairs and waved our hands with one foot raised. We’re all laughing while doing those things; though embarassing, it’s fun!

Then, Mrs. Legaspi asked me to write a long lecture on the blackboard.

And that I have no plans of finishing my Electronics project since there’s no soldering iron here. And that I went with Patty since her boyfriend’s not around. Tsk.

Quick post, quick read. Naubos kasi yung oras ko kakahintay na mawala yung effect nung baygon sa sala. So that’s that. Friday would be our Student Mass! Grrr.

As of the Present.

It has been approved by my medulla oblongata that my regular sleeptime would be seven o’clock in the evening. I have been refraining from stress, and from sleep deprivation nowadays. But then, the result of its implementation is that I’d wake up at 2 o’clock in the morning. I sleep early, and I wake up early.

Then I’d look at the mirror and would tell to myself mentally, Okay, I’ll go and live with this day studying Divine Comedy in English and Calculus in Math. And that this Saturday would be a review class for NCAE. More or less, there are 32 days to go and it’s Christmas. Our Christmas tree had been assembled and placed at the sala last week, instead of the usual first week of September. Now, there’s a difference of having 5 people in the house rather than 2.

To my surprise, school’s not boring.

Last Saturday was our Card Day. My father arrived sooner so I asked first our service driver to claim my card, and much to my surprise – all grades went up (96 in Music, imagine!).

I want to watch The Covenant, to buy things and stuff, to eat Asian Salad, and to feel Christmas.

How could I feel Christmas? As I’ve said months ago, Christmas is for children who would lay down stripes of paper with wishes along the chimney. Worse if they would hang socks besides their chimney. Much worse if they believe in Santa Claus, since I never believed in his sleigh. And in the first place, chimneys are definitely an alienated device for houses in the Philippines. It would also be the very reason for akyat-bahay gangs to go inside your house, or a mangkukulam, or even flood your house when typhoon comes.

And the Third Grading Unit Test would be next week.

And it’s November 22 today, though this post is for yesterday. Okay, I’m off to school.

The Ink Spitter.

Getting mad.

My G-Tech ballpen, with a radius of .3 – wherein I told myself that it would be an achievement if I could finish it off, was gone last Tuesday and I am very pissed off that my ears emitted an obnoxious smoke that must detoxify the classmate who lost it in the Electronics lab by her constant clumsiness and short-term amnesia. It’s sixty-eight pesos, but its priceless value occupied a space in my High School Life.

One of my finest luxury in life, a G-Tech ballpen (always remember that it should be .3) serves as a stimulus for me to write lectures. It gives me the feeling wherein I’m urged to write notes just because I am madly infatuated with the way I write. Its ink-spitter tip was finely-made and very suitable for me. Thrice did I assumed that the ballpen has its own gleaming spirits within, that motivates me to listen to the teacher and write well and complete.

Using that ballpen, I defeated our valedictorian in the Essay Writing Championship match. I have embraced it as a lucky charm, though recently, I lost the Sanaysay Eliminations. Well, it’s Tagalog.

The art of writing, since Grade Three, is one of my expertise. Writing notes alternately in red and black (red for important notes) seems great to look at. And it’s nice to review when the notebook is very clean and in order and attractive to look at.

I bought a new G-Tech last Saturday, yet it wasn’t used for USTET. This week, I’m using it and nothing could ever borrow it from me. Not anymore, since people don’t really give a damn with sentimental prices.

-

My seatmate (Halsey, if you guys know her) asked me one of the weirdest questions I’ve ever heard. It’s not weird, but it is unusual for a girl to ask it. To augment her curiosity, I answered her question honestly and the next thing I know – she’s considering me a bad influence in her life.

Ba’t ang mga lalake, ang gusto nila yung boobs tsaka yung pwet – malaki?

Simple lang yan. Nilalaro kasi yun.

And she went berserk. I suggested to ask her suitor about the aforementioned question. Still, she asked me.

Pano nilalaro yun?

I’d better not tell my answer.

Good News, and Wanting Some More.

Pacquiao hit Morales with an electrifying third-round knockout.

Once again, nationalistic fervor at its height.

I arrived at McDonalds and to my surprise, the crew installed a television, scanned the channels. The next thing I know, the customers were barely eating their lunch. Watching intently with every swoosh of Manny’s fists that served to be their meal for the meantime. It was in Mercury Drug when I knew that Manny won. The tellers, together with the guard and the janitor joyfully proclaimed that Pacman was victorious. There goes their pustahan.

The Battle of Download Engines.

Ever since my unregistered Limewire (according to international treaties, mine is illegal. My heartfelt thanks to democracy in the Philippines, I am not yet jailed) was installed in our computer, I stare at the progress bar for hours – waiting with patience to finish an MP3 download. Combined with the rate of my Internet Connection (Smart Wi-Fi), downloading is much worse.

The fact that Limewire is a virus-prone program (fortunately, I haven’t bumped any of those viruses) and its built-in search engine designed for Video, Audio, Programs, and the like – would be displaying more irrelevant or unknown files; there is no doubt about its inconveniency (though my Limewire is free and illegal). Whenever I am disconnected from the Internet server or the router, the download will stop and there goes the catastrophe of downloading it once again and so on.

Limewire is not just about downloading. It’s about being pestered.

On the burial of my uncle last July, my cousin (I could estimate that his age is 26 or something) and I conversed about Internet stuff and gadgets until he referred Torrent as a download engine. He was using it to download videos, and music albums. Back then, I’m still using our family-oriented computer so I don’t have the full privilege and authority to download or install games in that computer. As my brother-in-law says it: refrain from downloading any software since viruses might be there.

I then informed my brother-in-law to download the Torrent thing. As always, he would do things that would oppose my
wishes and told me that it could be a nest for worms, Trojan horses, and even mice. There goes his alibis.

It was about three in the morning when I woke up and had my Limewire session. An early morning download, as always, is blazing fast (or as Limewire says it, turbo-charged). I decided (with Benj’s friendly advice) not to subsist with Limewire and instead, download Torrent. Anyway, I have my personal laptop.

Torrent, in my personal opinion, is way better than Limewire. Downloading is more of a wholesale than retail. No disconnection, faster than Limewire and it can manage huge downloads (may it be MB or GB). Only that the software lacks design, but the substance is there.

Currently addicted to Saosin’s Finding Home, and Tool’s Lateralus.

Huge Rock Spinning Faster.

The NCAE (or National College Assessment Examination) would be taking place this December 12, 2006. The Department of Education revived the former NCEE and NCAT and formulated their own theory of adapting the modern educational standards. For the past years, the aforementioned exams took place to be a basis for College. Now, it’s back again. And we were informed a month before the exams so definitely, I, for one, am not prepared with the test. As usual, it will cover lessons from First Year to Fourth Year; including logarithmic equations, trigonometric figures and functions, the sine-cosine shits, geometric assumptions including theorems and postulates and proving those terms, and the simplest algebraic expressions. I expect that Math, as usual, will paralyze my neurons and scorch my illogical gray matter.

For now, the NCAE is final, but its effects were still pending.

If I were in His Shoes.

I’d probably be a volleyball superstar.

I’d probably be an individual who is morally upright, who respects God’s existence, and of course, a good boy. Like every parent wanted their children to be.

I could have not known my girlfriend(s). I could have not known blogging, or Spongecola.

Choices are choices. There’s no turning back. We have the options, we have the power to choose between democracy and communism, between shoes of different price and of different labels, between the seminary and the normal teenage life. But once I made my decision and it was final, I can’t use an eraser to undo my move. I need to stick with it.

But what if – I chose the other way around?

If Only Webcams were Teleport Pads.

Irrational, but I always go online in Yahoo Messenger even if sleeping. It is definitely wasting for electricity, and cross my fingers that my Dad can still afford our bills. But Sunday midnight, it happened. I was about to display my status as ’sleeping’, when my ditse in New Jersey buzzed me, wanting to have a little conversation in the wee hours of nighttime. I scolded her.

May pasok ako bukas, matutulog na ko!

Nandito si Mommy, gusto kang makita. Mag-webcam ka nga.

Ayoko! Matutulog na ko!

I am the Law.

[Ako ang batas. I am to be followed in this blog. Letters, parentheses, commas, and every byte of text that you see here follows me. They will never break any rule. In every stroke of my hand in this soundless keyboard, I implement my ideas and put it in this online website. And for now, this post is quite personal. Crappy.]

Saturday was when my bestfriend (apparently and ironically, a girl) walked out because of something. It’s over.

I think it was Thursday when I am reading Jessica Zafra’s Twisted 6 during my service ride to the school when I’ve seen a dog fucking another dog along the streets – I think along McArthur Highway. And man, it’s faster than a bullet. Bizarre. I pity the girl dog for being fucked so hard. (Parental Guidance, advised.)

The Site of the Nation.

I came across one of the ever-popular Internet sites on Philippines. I have to admit that once, I favored its environment and have embraced its pros and disembarked the cons of it. Friendster ranked as one of the top three sites (if I am not mistaken) that Filipinos visit everyday, beat that. The main objective of the site is to expand your friend-o-meter, by declaring fellow users as friends. The term ‘friends’ (either genetically or electronically connected) is a collective term in Friendster, a term that measures your addiction with the site and how cool you are. As of last year, I have been approving random friend invites: these people were seeking not friendship, but to consider me as an asset to be displayed in their museum of friends.

If your friends are below 100, it means that you are uncool: a social outcast, an ill-mannered alien who barely have the time to use the Internet and invite friends. 500 below is a pretty good figure; it indicates your starting progress within the site as you put your pictures almost daily to update your watchers. When you don’t have a single Friendster account, better drown yourself in cooking oil.

I’ve had my Friendster philosophy last year and it was so immature. I must have 1000 friends on or before New Year. Did it happen? No. I’d rather be crucified than to inform others that I am a former Friendster addict. Sue my girlfriend for telling me to do the oath of making this promise. She did make it. I didn’t.

Of helping.

The flyover’s three steps away, and I’m making it home. My inability to hear a small voice from a bunch of farting mufflers from jeeps built the child’s persistence. It was nine in the evening, yet these street children linger across McArthur Highway – waiting for someone who would answer their call.

He was begging for a peso. A single peso coin.

My mind was hectic, writing in itself some scraps and ramblings and thoughts of the day. My stomach was absurd as it roars with hunger, and with my state of mind at that time – I could smash streetlights. And with this little critter bugging me, I am disturbed; enraged to the point that I just want to tell him to go away from me.

I used to hate kids, you know. They are stubborn, attention-seeking culprits of my life. They would cry over a shallow reason, maybe a delicious Haagen Dazs or a Pidrito shirt hanging along the outskirts of a big mall (it’s me). Well, in this case – the child needs attention. With my social skills, I interviewed the child first.

Aba, gabing-gabi na ha. Ba’t di ka pa umuuwi? San ka nakatira?

Sa Sulucan po.

Magkano ba gusto mo?

Piso po.

Teka lang ha. *gets the wallet* Gusto mo dalawang piso na?

Opo!

Ayoko nga. Hahaha!

Sige na po…

Ip Da Incam Op Da Pader.

With her pointed high-heels that may have served her for a weapon, our Economics teacher has more to say than her killer shoes. Fake eyebrows, three layers of foundation, Vilma-ish hair, and the aforementioned shoes together with those little steps she create against the tiled floor; she was definitely a terror teacher at the first glance. With her fifteen fucking years of teaching experience in St. Paul, no wonder – she had mastered her subject so much. She is also the Year-Level Coordinator for the Seniors; handling all Fourth Year sections and grasping them under her creepy hands.

She almost caught me counting the number of ‘K’ she have said while discussing. For the next days, I would spend my time with her subject listening carefully not to the sense of her words, but with the K’s.

Callous.

Depending on my mood, my writing is against my persona.

I am tall, and messy when it comes to my things. I always end up cursing a ballpen, shouting its name (that is, if the ballpen knows how to walk), or even blaming a maligno over a lost ballpen.

My writing would be the neatest thing I’ve ever had in my life. Small. Red-and-black. Clean.

I started to enjoy writing when I was in the sixth grade. School taught me the Paulinian writing, the cursive ones. Those loopy figures of g and y and the curly f or something. It taught me to follow the guide lines. Over months, I mastered the light and heavy strokes. I managed to control my hand, to apply the right force.

If People Missed the Chance to Evolve.

Hearing a lamb’s plea while being tied in a nail burrowed into the soil along the cracked sidewalks would be one of the unlikely sights I’ve ever seen in my life. This morning, I’ve seen the lamb eating grass, still having the collar in its neck. As I walked home, I’ve heard the usual sound of the same lamb I’ve seen – this time, alone in the darkness, shrieking and shouting the mercy he wanted to address me. He (the lamb) wanted to quit. He was tired of being a slave herbivore who rips off grass every now and then. He was sick of viewing the same ground in the morning, watching same vehicles and same people pass him by. Yet, he couldn’t do anything.

He was in the dark. He had four legs but no hands at all. His neck grasped by a thick rope, how could he achieve the liberty he wanted? For other Homo Sapiens, he is a single unit of a herd; their livestock, their business, and the consumer’s soon-to-be lambchops. For him, humans are greedy animals who slaughter (according to their constitution – is called murder) his relatives just for food. For an animal lover like me, (except cockroaches. Oh, they’re pests, anyway) the lamb deserves a better caretaker like Heidi or Cedie or those cartoon characters who would talk to animals as if they are puppets.

Pirates.

In the never-updated movie scene here in the Philippines were the Hollywood movies which are aired long ago in U.S. I’ve seen The Covenant and its site; it was premiered in States last September. I’ve been loving its trailer when we watched Cake. DVDs, expectedly, would be selling the newest movies in America that would hit Philippines after two months.

I borrowed The Covenant DVD from a batchmate awhile ago. The fact that it was still labeled as COMING SOON in theatres, it’s affordable enough to watch it in the house earlier than what the public expects. So I turned on the television, plugged in the DVD player and on with my movie marathon.

The suspense didn’t kill me.

Oops. You Hit Me Again.

Midnight, yet I am doing my PEH Project. This is the result of constant procrastination through the years, and I’m living with that name. I always do the happy things first. But I am not guilty, nor I am blaming myself. I’m used to it.

From my three months of stay here in WordPress, I absorbed the words of bloggers that I made a good decision to be here. I’ve had more substantial posts, decreasing the so-called senselessness (though I admit that it’s still in here, somewhere) and the simple layout emblazoned within my name. Back then, my blog will always have a header every month: grungy, messy, teeny and angst-ridden or inspired with a song. Whatever. From those months, I’ve been wanting to attract readers to gaze upon the sweatdrops in my blog’s design and layout. Now, I am more inclined with the content rather than the reader’s impression with the overall look.

I’ve had a chatmate telling me that his officemates were reading this blog. Another classmate told me that her sister find its way here, while searching for collegiate informations or something. I also have a doubt about my sister reading this blog. My kabarkadas were visiting this blog, and also with my ex-girlfriend/s. My father would soon browse the Internet and stumble upon this blog, and that would be – regrettably, a humiliating pie of icing on my face.

Three months, 12,000 plus visitors. You’re making me happy.

For all the lurkers who read my blog, my sincerest thanks. In a world of contemporary people who didn’t have the patience to read stupid (according to them) blog-posts, these readers are rare. And for the commenters, thanks for sharing your thoughts – no matter how good or offensive as it may seem, I humbly respect your point of view.

On with my post.

In a porcelain plate goes my salad, my grilled liempo, rice and Mang Tomas for the liempo itself. This lunch, so far, is one of the sumptuous meals I would ever eat. Our kitchen is only capable of cooking a viand per day. Minsanan lang ako magkaroon ng napakasarap na ulam, so I’d better be proud of it.

Then, something gushed down from my nose. I thought I’m having colds. When I touched it, a pang of shock was there. The bloody red stain was on my fingers, and the iron-smelling fluid goes on. Blood. Not that I am scared of my own blood, but I am currently chewing my lunch! I went to the bathroom, straight to the faucet as the blood drips on and on. The next thing I know, it stopped after five fucking minutes. The faucet became more of a scene in a slaughterhouse, and my Dad’s towel looked more of a killer’s towel.

I predict that stress made this. I attended a 5 AM mass (blame my Parish Involvement Choir) awhile ago so I had lack of sleep. I’m having these unusual blood flow in my nose, twice last September and once this month.

Before I sleep:

WordPress detects users who searched for something in a Search Engine, and unfortunately – dropped at my blog. There it goes. And I wonder who the hell searched for malilibog na nurses, and what the hell is free vinks? Haha, I’m having so much fun. From now on, I’ll make posts regarding with this one!!!

Let Me Speak.

Not feeling well.

I need to do all those projects tomorrow. Yes, cramming and pressuring myself became the very tool for success.

I just attended a workshop seminar by the Parish Priest in Bocaue. Do I need to expound my lack of faith towards God and my religion? No. It will create too much controversy, so I’ll just keep it to myself. Right now, I’m neutral in my religion. I’m undecided, and I’m hunting for my lost soul.

We just opened our third eyes in the ruins of the old campus of St. Paul Bocaue.

And I blame myself for not seeing any hint of underlying matter beneath the air or something.

Need to sleep. School’s coming tomorrow, and I don’t care about comments today. I’m in a bad mood: degrading myself, and somehow noticing that my world is owned by others. Well, being good is great. Then I remember one of my mottos: life is not about doing good but it’s about being real. I am that person who wanted to be good (not a good boy) in terms of being a son, a student and so on.

I became a prisoner of others. I became their slave, who would follow the words they dictate. I just hate it.

You know, when you meet someone who had greater achievements than you – you would just tell yourself that you don’t deserve a fucking body and a space in this world so you’d better be wiped away from here. I find it hard to accept the fact that millions of people were far better than me. But does that mean I don’t have the cards to use? Does that mean that I’m hundred percent sure to lose?

Gotta hit the sack before this shit takes over me.

The Nasty Comment.

A moviehouse should definitely be your last choice if you are looking for me.

I am not fond of spending bucks to sit back in a comfortable chair, in the middle of a silent crowd concentrating, and splicing those motion pictures into their own words – interpreting it in their own way and, like a flash drive, would save them in their minds. And some of those folks would barely breathe, then would spurt chewed popcorns in your hair. Others would comment that the movie sucks, or that the movie touched their innermost veins and had strummed the deepest neurons of their brains.

Nako, nagkantutan na naman sila.

Knock. Knock.

There goes the knock-knock of our maid.

I realized that I’ve been craving for chocolates nowadays, that I cooked champorado just to control my obsession with sweets. I toppled India, Scandinavia, and the Hittites at my quest for World Domination in Civilization III: just another geek game. I got three things scheduled up tomorrow. Plus the five projects waving their hands to me. It’s my official one-week break, and the whole Philippine community knows that. But our maid proved me wrong when she knocked at my door and asked me one little question that made my fierce eyes alive, once again.

May pasok ka ba ngayon?

Wala. *closes the door*

All Souls.

Two candles were lit as our observance with All Souls’ Day. Two candles that would send its smoke to nowhere, yet they say that it is symbolical.

The bibingka hardens as I told myself not to eat anymore. It was the masterpiece of our maid, and unexpectedly – the bibingka tastes great, though the absence of the latik (the brownish substance at the top of a typical bibingka) made me sick for minutes. At least, the maids did something great and productive – unlike their usual television habits, or their short job hours.

Liquid Lover.

Darkness loomed on the atmosphere, as I float myself on top of the chlorinated waters of a classmate’s resort. It’s like building an imaginary carpet that clothes me as I sway with the rippling waves. Refreshing. Between the silence of the resort and the serenity of the stagnant waters were the swift engines dashing through the North Luzon Expressway. Within minutes of staring at the moon surrounded with wisps of clouds, I remember my Mom teaching me how to float myself in the water. While on my way with imagining myself in a fluffy water bed, she would support my backbone with her hands to straighten my stiff body.

With my first try, water seeped into my eyes and disturbed my lateral position. I then tried once more. With the second try, she removed her support and I went floating; my heart rejoicing with such achievement and wonder. I heard the gentle sounds of the water trying to tickle my ears.

Connection.

It’s funny that people connect through unexpected events.

I could have seen your sister at MRT’s Buendia station. You could have seen me in the mall searching through bookshelves, finding the latest FHM Magazine or those magazines that had my interest. Or maybe while walking through the streets of your university, or worse – you could have seen me dating with a girl at Starbucks Katipunan. These events were all unexpected, all random. And so the list goes on. You could have met my eyes while I’m furiously walking away from my girlfriend. Your family’s textile business could have made this bedsheet I’m currently using. Connecting with people is such a pre-destined job by our fate.

C’mon, this isn’t a Nokia commercial where you would soon see their catchy motto: Connecting people.

It’s a mere twist of fate. Well, these connections were established not just by seeing each other. By unintentionally watching the movie you watched yesterday at the same moviehouse is a connection between you and me. Or maybe, we shared a space in the same jeepney one foggy Saturday night. You might have borrowed the book I borrowed before at the library (but honestly speaking, I don’t borrow books at the library) and have seen a strand of hair; you wonder.

Who owns this shit?

The Blog.

We, bloggers are public speakers. We are ongoing novelists, writing draft pages just to complete a book of our life. We share our blog to the blogosphere, and worldwide. We risk our private personalities and let the public feast with their own eyes. Keeping an online diary is not in my attitude: those sentimental, or politically-inclined posts. It objects my real-life hard-rock material, and gave me a softer side.

I gave ten months to blogging. Though it seemed like I’ve been doing this for four years.

Seventies.

I’m not yet alive by the time that Lualhati Bautista was inspired to narrate the epic of Philippine modern-day heroes.

In our Filipino subject, we watched films that tackle about Dr. Jose Rizal, or his novels, or his word war with the Spaniards. Now, it’s Dekada ‘70 – reviving Marcos’ reign here in the Philippines. The movie was definitely made out of seventies: from the hairstyles, the music (the retro style or those good ol’ blues), the trends, the furnishings. A dusty, sepia picture tells me that my Dad once wore a not-so-long, fluffy hair (now, he’s bald). Mom’s wearing polka-dots, dimpled, carrying my one-year-old eldest sister.

I was taken aback by the film, recalling my father telling me that ‘violence’ is an understatement for Martial Law. There’s a strict curfew. The government is nonchalant when it comes to civilians. They arrest people caught in the streets, they torture people with the electric chair (and believe me – when I’ve seen Piolo Pascual lying in that electric chair then zapped with electricity, his body bounced like an electrocuted mummy writhing in pain, screaming. Almost all the ladies watching were terrified with the movie’s violence). The women at that time we’re not yet given so much freedom as to compare them today. Back then, they were housemaids: not allowed by their husbands to work. I pity Vilma Santos in the movie because she’s too silent for a mother; since she was always overwhelmed by the husband: Christopher De Leon.

I can’t really imagine how my parents went through those years of Martial Law.

The passion of Edsa Revolution will never come back, I say. The union with all the Filipinos, fighting for one goal – to let President Marcos surrender. It did succeed (though Ninoy died and the case is still hanging) but I know that this tactic will never be enough today. Maybe we need a greater Martial Law just to provoke ourselves to make this nation better. Well, the people were a lot more disciplined back then.

I still admire Marcos. Before he became a dictator, he did a great job in promoting agricultural reforms and those stuff.

Whatever.

Oh, Politics. What a cruel topic for a student like me.

Seniority, and the Caste System.

I was once a Freshman who would simply go to the canteen with a friend or two, and would escape the frightening eyes of a Senior. High School was just Elementary. Rules are rules, and I need not to break them. With my first year of staying in High School, I am one of the best guys ever in the classroom. Clean hair, complete lectures, outstanding performances, and average grades.

Yesterday, I’ve seen a bunch of Freshman looking up to me like I’m their Goliath. Please, I don’t deserve those scared eyes just because I am tall and I am a Senior. When they saw my shining blue ID, they would go berserk and would steer away from me. Am I a monster? Well, Seniors ARE monsters when it comes to year-level-domination!

-

Being a Sophomore is too fast for me. It’s like wind that passed through my life, and as it zoomed through me – I felt nothing. Except for the fact that I loved Geometry and got 94 as a grade (for me, 94 was heaven). Except for being an honor student, and predicting that by Third Year – I’d be a student in the cream section.

Third Year is not the hardest level for me, though my sister would insist her opinion that being a Junior is so hard. No, it’s just a piece of cake. Chemistry is never hard. What’s hard is Trigonometry, I never appreciated those Sine and Cosine then those parabolas and the pis. 2pi is equals to 360 degrees. Arghh.

I enjoyed World History back at Third Year; well, I’m a total History lover who would want to study over the Punic Wars or Hitler’s attack to England, or even the Vietnam War.

I consider my Third Year as the turning point of my High School Life. From good to evil, from a not-so-famous student to a Glee Club, Art Club and YPS Member. Messy hairstyle (which was not recommended by the school), incomplete lectures, more fun than studying, more girls *wink* and more.

I never joined the COCC, ha-ha. I don’t care about them, actually. When I’d see Juniors wearing their placard that would brand them as COCC, I can’t help but to laugh on them!

Fourth Year came. The height of my High School Life. I started to be busy. I hosted programs, I became an emcee in Buwan ng Wika, 19th Annual Marian Songfest, and even the First Friday Masses! I became a star. If I would compare my Sophomore life and my Senior life, it’s indecipherable. My friends would say – ang tahi-tahimik mo dati, ngayon may pa-emcee ka pa dyan. 

But four months to go and I’ll be leaving the campus. I’ll be retired with St. Paul College’s uniform. My plan is to thank each and everyone (not individually) who touched my life once and for all. I’d make a video! Yes. (Now, I’m crazy).

I thought, High School is creepy when I was in First Year.

It’s not creepy.

It’s worth crying. And they say that it is the happiest chapter of a teenager’s life.

One step, forward.

In any point of the present, I’ve been planning to embark on a flight to greater happiness.

I will fly from Manila to New York just to see my Mom, not in webcams, but live and personal. Not just my mother, even my two sisters and my niece is waiting for me there. I wonder, how’s America right now? I’ve been in California and Hawaii thrice, but that was in the late 90’s. Free tickets courtesy of my ever-dedicated father and Philippine Airlines.

But I don’t care about California or Hawaii.

New York is my primary target. The so-called Big Apple where everybody wants to take a bite.

Back then, all I remember with United States is the grocery. They use brown bags rather than plastics, to minimize waste and to promote recycling. Papers are easily recycled. And I also remember the squirrels I used to see, climbing up coniferous trees and eating acorn. I also remember the view of a snowy mountain, though I never had any chance of encountering some snow.

I could still remember the usual 6 o-clock train that would pass by the fenced backyard; the train’s sound serves as an alarm clock for me. And the wide, nicely-cemented, six-laned freeway (or expressway). I could remember myself drinking Starbucks: though my Mom warned me not to drink too much since its for elders.

The drive-thru system of KFC.

The morning routines of watching Blue’s Clues, eating waffles with syrup or Turkey hotdogs.

The sight of a hummingbird hovering its wings at the garden.

This summer vacation, after branding myself as a High School Graduate – I am prepared to go and pay a visit to my Mom and my older sisters. My Dad would come with me, but my brother chose to stay here for now. I know; that visit is a one-way ticket visit.

That would be April, of next year.

The Splak of a Cockroach.

What happened last Sunday?

• I attended to my Parish Involvement in Bocaue church; the choir is hired for singing in a wedding, so I attended. Later, we are invited to eat at the reception in OUR school’s gymnasium. Weird. A gymnasium filled with round tables and satin cloths and candles isn’t that nice. But I enjoyed their Tenderloin Steak, and Lechong Baboy.
• Then, after the reception – we attended to Theo’s birthday at Rock Castle. This medieval-ish place had a great atmosphere especially for a birthday bash. Well, Theo’s concept of his birthday is the movie First Day High. I don’t know what the movie suggests, but I wore black. I sang Jeepney (by Spongecola) with the hired band – The Silence. I just love my performance and I’m missing my good old days with my band.
• I’ve seen a cockroach along McArthur Highway. While it was crossing the road, it was dead on the spot by the tires of a jeepney. The sound ’splak’ was audible, like a fish cracker or something. Now, I’m loving the sound of a dead cockroach!

I’m reading Fight Club by Chuck Palahniuk over the Internet. It’s called an Ebook, if I am not mistaken. Though it disobeys laws of books: illegal distribution of copies, redistribution, and the stuff – I still think that these free-to-read books are advantageous especially for an allowance-deprived (am I?) student who lives in a Catholic country where Dan Brown and Chuch Palahniuk’s literary works were often kept or expelled to the masses.

Yesterday, I answered a Sudoku at the back page of our Math Magazine. Sudoku is a brain-twisting, migraine-inducing game that concerns with numbers, and you know how I hate numbers. I managed to answer it, and after finishing it (with help from other classmates) – my day was blurred. Thanks for the headache.

And I am forced to join the audition of our Extemporaneous Speech Inter-School contest. Fuck. Ms. Abadilla, our English Teacher voluntarily campaigned me over the faces of strict English teachers. And I am not prepared, since it was a suprise – read: extemporaneous.

Fuck my English Teacher! She made the worst decision of her life. And her worst mistake, ever. *Fingers crossed that I’ll not be qualified in the audition. Speeches are not my type.*

Are we blind?

Now, tell me.

What do you think of Paris Hilton?

Later. Time Flies.

Be back later. I am quite postless right now.

–

A while ago, I’m not feeling good. My body is heavy; completely terminated. There goes my suffering. Our CAT yesterday did this to my body – not bruises or fatigue, not even sleep deprivation. Just stressed out. Duck walks, push-ups, jogging, hand stretching for minutes gave me a reason to sleep in thirteen hours. I had lechon kawali with Mang Tomas for breakfast, and the spicy Caldereta for lunch. These hardcore foods restored my inner strength and defied pains from tired muscles. Wow, thirteen hours of sleep is unimaginable.

Now, I’m blogging.

I then recall those days of playing Playstation at home for all of my days. Crash Bandicoot, Army Men: Air Attack, Syphon Filter, Resident Evil, Final Fantasy IX, Twisted Metal II, Vigilante 8. These games brainwash my teenage attitude and forces me to imagine a childish world of play, eat, and sleep. Studying is of secondary importance. I somehow elevated myself and went back to those days of making kites and throwing it on the green pastures of the subdivision, mixed with singing my favorite songs back then. Those days of biking, playing with the rain, those tournaments my barkada and I promoted, those days of playing hide and seek. Those days of jumping and stepping over the dance pad just to play Dance Dance Revolution!

It sounds corny, but I once became shrink-wrapped in tears when I remember those hazy days.

Christmas is coming. Graduation is almost three months away. Sembreak is next, next week. Wow! I would sleep all day and I will show no fear of things that would disturb my rest days.

Once again, there’s this comment who gave me hundreds of TAE KA! in my comment box. You’re such a loser. But then, I admire you for your constant attendance in my blog; just please show your ass! Thank you.

Rapunzel.

Barber shops are losing so much since parlors swallowed their income, and their customers. Those barbers were idle for days, and would rejoice if long-hairs would avail their service. But unfortunately, parlors gain more profit than those shops with a red-blue-white motif.

I chose a parlor to groom my crowning glory, than to waste time finding a barber shop. These days, those barber shops own a fifth of a lot; while those parlors with gays eat up a lot of space. What I hate about parlors is the abhorring smell of that pink solution for the foot spa, and those hair products. Plus, the gay lingo! Grrr.

I sat wide enough in their sofa that serves as a waiting shed for customers waiting for their turn. The television is on, and strands of hair pollute their floors. The kingdom of gays, I mused.

Tomorrow’s our CAT and I am forced to follow their rules of having a not-that-short hair, but more of a decent one.

The time is running, and I need to go to the church at 7 pm for the Christmas Songs practice. It’s quarter to seven, yet I am the second on the waiting list. It’s irritating to know that these hairstylists cut slower than those barbers I’ve had back at Elementary. Though I admire the gays and their capability to trim hair and use the scissors and so on. It was seven o’clock when I sat at the soft parlor seat, and I am officially a customer.

Rapunzel.

Patty’s (my seatmate this Third Quarter) Mom own the parlor shop. But I need not to say Patty’s name for a discount. In a hot discussion in Economics, Patty blurted out to our teacher that their chief hairstylist (which was henceforth named Julie, though I name her Rapunzel with her hair) get a minimum profit of 30,000 a month. My teacher envied Julie since it’s more than her income.

Back to the hairstyle thing, I initiated to speak out to Rapunzel.

Layered. Maikli lang.

Kasing-ikli nung ginawa ko sayo dati?

Then, my world stopped. She recognized me even if that was ages ago? Oh well, not my business. I told her that it should be shorter than what she did last summer. Gays are accomodating but somehow, they pesters me with their questions which are irrevelant for the time being. Focus on the hair, not on the questions!

The interview started.

Girlfriend mo ba yung kasama mo dati?

Hinde. *still hesitant to talk*

Ows?

Hindi nga. *a bit mad*

Eh kaano-ano mo yun?

Wala lang.

San punta mo ngayon?

Sa simbahan.

Aba, naka-polo ka pa ha. Manliligaw ka lang ata eh.

Hinde.

Panganay ka ba?

Bunso.

Ilan kayong magkakapatid?

Apat.

May kuya ka?

Oo.

Ilang taon na?

25.

Ang layo naman ng agwat?

Oo eh.

Ilang taon na ba mga magulang mo?

Mga 53 siguro. *God, I want to finish this conversation*

Ahh, so mga 35 ang mommy mo nung ipinanganak ka?

Yup.

San nagtatrabaho kuya mo?

Sa Maynila.

Eh san ka ba nakatira?

Sa Town. *why ask?*

Town and Country?

Oo.

Sa Marilao?

Oo.

Aba, mayaman ka pala. Dun nakatira yung boy – yung kaibigan ko. *Laughs sheepishly*

Later, I am shocked with her revelation about the ex-boyfriend thing. Her description: a braced, College freshie of De La Salle University. His name was James. They met in Gio’s (the Libis of Bocaue). A fat lie. His name is not James; but John Paul. Kabarkada ko yung gagong yun! Imagine, pumatol siya dun sa bakla? Tsk.

It was 7:30, and I really need to go when she asked.

I-shampoo na kita.

Anong oras na ba?

Seven o’clock. *LIAR!*

I had the shampoo. My hair was great. I walked out and gave the clerk forty pesos for my payment in that long haircut sessions. I don’t think I have plans of going back at that parlor.

Dealing with Scotch Tapes and Son Gohan.

As students, we are required to cover our wooden armchairs with blue (that represents the Senior spirit) cartolina and plastic: it is added to our grade in EP (Edukasyong Pagpapahalaga). I’m not with the grades. I just hate our adviser’s sermons, so I’d rather do that thing. The deadline is today. I texted a classmate yesterday to buy me the materials I need (manila paper and blue cartolina). Thanks, Jenna.

I grew up dependent to my sisters and my parents, considering the fact that I am the youngest of four. And with that, I never had any lessons with regards to book-covering, or gift-wrapping. I suck at those things. And today, my main objective is to wrap my desk with blue cartolina. I don’t care if it’s not pretty, as long as I covered my armchair.

Danilo: Ano ba namang balot yan, tol!!!

Me: Ang yabang nito! Eh sa hindi ako marunong mag-balot ng ganyan eh!

I belittle myself with the inability to wrap things. If ever I have a gift for a special someone, I’ll ask my sister or National Bookstore to wrap it. I don’t have the lightweight arms, nor the patience in dealing with scotch tapes, not even my cutting skills are in the right direction. I hate scissors, you know.

Pang-blog ba?

That’s my million-worth cover. The limelight was my picture: my uniform and a black tie (that’s our costume for the Sabayang Pagbigkas last August!). I really wonder why my classmates would stop by at my chair and look at my picture. (Signal number 3, please.)

Oh, my name is revealed! It’s okay. (I hate my second name so I chose Kevin even if there are other Kevins in our classroom)

-

The maids once again enjoy watching Dragonball Z with buttered bread as their merienda. I kinda envy them. I had a glimpse of their conversation.

Maid 1: Sino yan?

Maid 2: Si Son Gokou yan. Tapos yung isa, si Vegeta.

Maid 1: Eh iyan?

Maid 2: Si Son Gohan ata iyan.

May Son Gohan ba sa Dragon Ball Z?

Without food.

Time Check: 4:06 AM.

I consider this post as yesterday’s. Watching Vidsomnia at MTV is cool; I recently compromised myself to watch MTV since I’m getting ignorant with the music scene. Radioactive Sago Project’s video for Alkohol is cool, but as usual – my ear bleeds when I hear their music. There’s no timing at all, basta kumakanta yung leads. I just really hate their music; the trumpets, more trumpets. (No offense meant) I’m liking Rihanna’s We Ride, and MCR’s The Black Parade.

The fridge was unoccupied today; pitchers of cold water, mustard and the condiments at the side, and greens at the chiller. Definitely none to eat. What’s my breakfast today? Dunno. I really drool for barbecue or for tapsilog; the steamy fried rice that smells with garlic, and the juicy fried beef plus the egg and the atchara. Heaven.

I do remember those foods that my sister cook; baked tahong grated with cheese and topped with garlic, roast beef, breaded porkchop with gravy and mashed potatoes, buttered asparagus, the spicy Caldereta, the yummy Carbonara sprinkled with bits of crispy bacon. All those foods were alive in our house back when my sister is here.

Now, we have thse canned goods: button mushrooms, Campbell’s cream of mushroom soup, Chili Con Carne (but we don’t have any hotdog to pair with it).

So I got no choice but to thaw a pack of hamburger from the freezer. Yesterday, my breakfast was this instant Nissin Yakisoba – Spicy Chicken flavor. While I’m surfing, there’s this pop-up with x-rated pictures of girls! Masuka-suka ako. Ang bastos ng computer!

So that’s it. I lost my appetite. Yuck.

Tomorrow (technically, it’s today) is our Third Grading Period! We got new seat plans, I got new seatmates: Halsey and Patty – both girls, once again. *Grins*. So that’s it. End of post.

The Life of a Cracker.

In a turn-of-a-moment pace, gravity pulled my crackers made by the imbalanced force from my hand. It fell with a thin, crisp thud. The thick layers of peanut butter and jelly was squashed. My merienda was gone. Frustration came, I stayed for seconds staring at the worthless cracker: stained by the sordid floor. That was the last Sky Flakes, yet I let it slip away.

Yet I let it slip away.

Away from the endless bullshits. I want myself to detach my flippers from the watery surface of teenage life; a short-lived part of my day-to-day life. I want to be a turtle who would slowly trod the sandy beaches to rest, and would swim once again in the perilous waters; brave enough to swallow the rippling waves of fate.

Fate brought me somewhere. I once flew a kite who swayed and danced with the winds of fortune. I want to follow the laws of my fathers. One became a superb editor-in-chief of a university school paper, the other one wrote books of aeronautical engineering. I want to be like them; successful men of wisdom and words. Not like my father who became a pilot and a hopeless writer; keeping pieces of poetry inside his drawers. Camouflaged drawers filled with emotions and memories.

Memories; those black-and-white excerpts faded by time. Those pictures flashing in my mind as time goes by. It is October. High School will end four months from now. Still, I’ve been contemplating everything my life had. I enjoyed the strength of liquor and the spice of life. I have been through the darkest caves and the asphyxiating feeling of being drowned in smoke or in water. I’ve been through the hoops.

The confusing hoops of truth and fallacy by Religion. I have been waiting for the call of God and I am still having my faith on him; faith withered by rumors and by Dan Brown. Faith empowered by the Jesuit priest who gave me the greatest confession ever. Faith strengthened by my Dad’s rosary, faith smelted by temptations around me.

Me. I. Will my life be thrown away without any hesitation at all? Will I accomplish the laws of my fathers? Will I be the turtle who will assure things before walking a full step towards the rocky road of life? Will my life be the cracker I once held in my hands so tight but then – I lost track of it until it fell down? My life is filled with luxuries and riches – the sweetest part of life, and with bits of struggles and pains – bitterness. My life which is as bitter as peanut butter and as sweet as marmalade.

As for now, I have trust in myself.

Misadventures of Utakgago: Part 1.

I’m so dumb; well, setting aside my arrogance which has been growing enormously – I’m the cutest dumb ever. At least. But still, I’m dumb and nothing can change this fucking attitude.

I forgot my clearance today!

And it is the most important thing above all things needed for an exam. By the time I arrived at the classroom, I checked the things I got and forgot the clearance. Plus, I also forgot my calculator which is needed for my Electronics exam – you know, converting ohms to currents and getting the voltage from the amperes and the watts.

I simply panicked by doing nothing; looking past the window and analyzing my very unfortunate morning. I didn’t expect this one.

Charmaine, a classmate asked me the very problem of my pouting (though I’m not pouting at all, just too lonely to accept my fate for this day). I’ve been relentlessly agonizing with my misfortune, but as I put it – there are solutions to this problem. I won’t let my day be ruined by a single clearance!

I walked so long from the High School Building to the Main Gate of our school to go home and look for my clearance, and also for my calculator. Though I’ve been saving money for my personal stuffs – this is urgently needed. I went outside without the guard noticing me; but then – there’s no tricycle to fetch me from the school to McArthur Highway. I went inside the school again and found a tricycle.

By the time that the tricycle is passing the Main Gate, the guard noticed me. The tricycle stopped. Damn! I then confronted the guard to let me out of this hell since I can’t get any test at all without my clearance. His relaxing tone made me feel very insulted. I can’t go out of the school once I’m in the school – except if I’d get a gate pass from one of my teachers.

That’s fucking 6:30 in the morning! Teachers are still sleeping back then.

Pano yan, hindi ako makakapag-test? Ganon?

Pinagbabawal po kasi ni Sister ang paglabas ng mga estudyante eh. Kumuha ka na lang ng gate pass kay Ma’am Pascual or sa adviser mo.

Eh wala pa ngang teacher sa loob!

Maghintay ka muna. Maaga lagi yung si Ma’am Pascual.

Ano naman sakin? (Sometimes, we need to break rules! Pakyu!)

I went back to the High School building, very depressed and a bit victorious over my argument with the guard; though I’m still stuck in the school. Another plan is to text my Dad to deliver my clearance to school; but he’s at work by then. The only refuge is the critters – err, the maids*. But, I dunno their cellphone number!

I went straight to a classmate who illegally brings cellphone at school. I texted my Dad to forward me the maid’s number but I’ve got no reply. Time is running. Then – the Flag Ceremony started.

I went with a friend to the Phone Booth and called our house: no answer. Maybe the maids are still sleeping, or eating their breakfast without even noticing their fone. Maybe they have their own eardrums plugged into a speaker. Whatever. With five attempts, there’s no response. Damn, where are the maids (there are only two maids here in our house; both are to cook, and to clean the house, the laundry, the ironing and the stuff)!

I texted my Dad once again using another number, and thank God – my Dad called the cellphone. I then told him to send the maid’s number. He forwarded it to me, then I texted our maid and told her to get the beige-colored folder inside a green paper bag together with a receipt *blahblah*.

She arrived at school during Recess. I skipped the PEHMA exams because of lack of clearance. (Skipping a test would mean to say – I need to take the special exams which has an additional payment of 50 pesos per test) At least.

MORAL STORY: Don’t fuck with me. (Watch Palahniuk’s Fight Club and you’ll get it) Ha-ha.

*Don’t get me wrong. I’m not belittling the maids, I’m just too pissed off with them because of certain reasons.

The Analytical Problem.

Brown papers irritate me. Its coma-inducing texture, and the abhorring smell of the ink present in its surface. The words there seemed indecipherable. My brain would then manipulate the words, amalgamate the manipulate words with my knowledge and common sense – then translate it to my handwriting; thus creating a single, risky answer.

I just hate examinations; who bothers to love it, anyway?

I only have a day of resting and of reviewing; Sunday – and I failed to attend mass. I cleaned my aircon’s filter and wiped its interior – then enjoyed the cold atmosphere. I ate Tinola and can’t get rid of its clear soup. My Dad woke up and ate his breakfast; this seems to be our first time to meet in this whole week. We live at the same house, though our schedule opposes each other.

Tomorrow’s our examinations, and the single trick Utakgago does before exams is to sleep in the afternoon – and wake up at midnight (the day of examination). In my own theory, the mind needs rest at first to vacate the gray matter with the usual human wastes: problems, mind-numbing dilemmas, etc. The first thing I do when I woke up, I’d go on reviewing. My mind would become easier to program with the necessary stuff, thus giving me convenience in memorizing and analyzing.

But then, nothing beats listening to teachers every now and then.

I have noticed that for four years of stay in High School; I never had any perfect score in a certain test in an exam. I am good with Identification, better with Matching Type and a chart-topper at Essays, but definitely not in Analysis (and Application; especially when it comes to Math).

An example: English Unit Test – 2nd Grading.

Analysis (15 points). Instructions: Choose A if letter A alone supports the given statement. B if letter B alone supports the given statement. C if letters A and B support the given statement. D if neither A nor B support the given statement. Write the letter of your answer on the blank before the number.

11. King Minos imprisoned Daedalus and his son.

A. Selfishness.

B. Secrecy.

With the question, I answered letter C because in my own point of view – King Minos imprisoned Daedalus and Icarus because they knew the secret of their cursed son, Minotaur; a half-bull and a half-human. Hence, King Minos punished them with imprisonment to obtain secrecy with their unwanted child. Selfishness, because – erm, I dunno. Ha-ha. (Just read Daedalus and Icarus) I just think Minos sounds selfish.

What’s your answer?

The correct answer is A. It’s weird in my perception. Sa tingin nyo ba – maiisip ko na LETTER A yung answer kung may naiisip akong iba? The thing here is that – all people have their own conception about a certain matter. It’s analysis, and I think students do have their own way of understanding a story.

Another thing; teachers have their own analytical skills. Every test means a new analytical strategy. Bawat teacher, bagong analysis at iba-iba ang sagot. So, you mean – we need to READ their minds? Grrr.

Anyway, I’m not aiming for a perfect score. I just want to somehow please myself by getting a high score at analysis. So much for the complaint, wish me luck tomorrow!

Zoom.

I’m planning to go back to Blogspot, since I’m a little bored here at WordPress. Though I really appreciate its comment sections, and special features like Akismet Spam, IP Detectors, and the stuff; the layout is not mine. In a blog-hoster like WordPress who specializes itself with business and professional blogs; why the hell am I here?

So I’ve made my decision.

I opt to go back there when I have time. Maybe November.

The Thirteenth Plague.

Within the limits of my imagination, I joyfully hugged my pillow and embraced the approaching weekend with plans; plans that are formed in bullets, ready to fire when the time comes. I formed clouds of futuristic ideas – ideas compressed inside my gray matter. Clouds that are identical with that of the comic strips.

Weekends for me were spent with long hours of sleep, nights spent under the influence of alcohol – or of pure teenage fun. Those are the days that played a significant role towards procrastination, kicking off some asses in basketball or hanging around in the terrace like a sick sloth murmuring his action plans in life.

I closed my eyes and let my body fall freely in my soft bed. My bed of roses, literally – since my new bedsheet is patterned with red roses.

At last, two days of sleeping.

I celebrated my evening with a dinner, then sat in my perpetual throne of anti-boredom. I’d do all the stressful activities today, and then procrastinate later.

With the constant pressure in the Semestral Clearance, plus my anticipation to the upcoming sem-break and the 2nd Grading Periodical Tests, I know I deserve a luxurious massage or foot spa, or a total eyebag makeover.

Then, the phone rang. And it spoiled my day, big time.

Kevin, kailangan ka dito sa school para sa layout ng Pauli-Prism. Pwede ka ba ngayon? Overnight tayo, kaya magdala ka ng gamit mo.

Hesitant but forced, I agreed. I always fail to grant myself my shallow luxuries (food, sleep, loong sleep) and instead – abuse my body like an overworked machine.

With the descent of my dreams, my mood came crashing down. And that’s how fortunate I am today. (Currently here in school’s Computer Lab – 2:33 AM, still typing)

Bullets of Self-Destruction.

I blame myself for being a faker.

A faker of faith.

I always tell myself that I am a Catholic. I believe in God. I would always believe in his doctrines, morals, and I worship him more than any other Gods in this materialistic world. I’m convincing myself. But then, I suck at faith. I cannot grasp the truths of God. I have so much doubts, lots of unanswered questions. As what they say, the logic of faith is one of the toughest things in the world to contemplate with. It’s like you’re having this blindfold in your eyes and you use all your senses except vision!

I convince myself that I have a God because it’s so shameful that I don’t have any. I know, I have a God. I am a Catholic. I do not despise God for anything at all. I do not blame him for the miseries of millions of people. I am just confused with truth and fallacy. Am I to accept the religious facets of my so-called religion? Am I to convince myself that Mary conceived Jesus without sin, that there is a Truine God?

It is unlawful to question God’s existence or authenticity.

Maybe I am too irrational today.

I still believe in Him. Though, like a normal teenager – I still have questions. I could see the resemblance of growth and faith. The older we are, the more faith we acquire. Elders carry rosaries in everywhere they walk; while teens would have their IPods plugged in their ears.

Faith. Am I still having it in my biological personality? Boogsh.

-

I’ve been suspended for a month from Glee Club since I (with other school paper staffers) failed to attend a Saturday mass. Yes, and we failed to attend because we’re not yet finished with the newspaper. We sacrificed Glee Club for PauliPrism. Watching the non-suspended Glee Club singing gloriously in front of my eyes sucks a lot. I should be there, but I’m not there. I’m here, stupidly insecure with them.

The hell I care. At least, I made the choice to finish the school paper’s layout.

Our section, St. Dominic – became the Champion of the 19th Annual Marian Songfest. (That contest was Last Friday, but since my mind was floating for the past days; I only mentioned it today) I am so thankful that our section won. Seniors dominated the Juniors as the three finalists were Senior sections. Yebbah.

It’s the semestral clearance day tomorrow. Next week’s our 2nd Periodic Exams, and in order to take the test; we need to fill in the blanks of the semestral clearance with signatures of different teachers. I am done with all the requirements except the Investigatory Project.

Fish fillet is great-tasting, coated with bread crumbs and all. The garlic sauce is damn great. What I hate here is the sauce since the garlic flavor sticks to my tongue! Thank God I’ve been brushing my mouth every night. Still, there’s a little hint of garlic left, and I dunno how to remove it.

I’m done with my USTET Application Form, and I’d be testing on November 17 in our school. I hope I’ll pass that exam.

Tomorrow’s Friday the 13th, and I definitely believe that tomorrow’s the day of mishaps and lost chances, and of unfortunate events. Much luck to me.

BBQ.

The bells are silent as the night goes. Voices of agony, of pain, of reconciliation were muted in the atmosphere.

At the age of five, my Mom and I goes to the church to pray and listen to the dull words in the sermon: salvation, forgiveness, love. At that age, I thought that the cruets in the offertory were fish sauce and vinegar – instead of water and wine.

But among those Saturday nights of fulfilling an obligatory task for Christians, I know one certain ritual while on our way home. A kid wouldn’t want to perform religious rituals that needs utmost contemplation of thoughts and deeds. A kid would always want food, and I myself admit that fact.

To go to church is to buy Barbecue for dinner.

With the narrow streets of the slums, all I remember is the cheapest yet great-tasting barbecue ever in my life. With the amount of five pesos each, you could enjoy the chunkiest barbecue ever. Not just chunky, her barbecue didn’t have the usual fat chunks but pure pork.

Every Saturday, expect me to buy at her barbecue stand. Until now, I could still remember the face of the vendor; a middle-aged widow who would religiously fan her grill to cook the finest barbecues ever. She would brush the barbecue continuously with her marinate.

On our way home, traces of charcoal and barbecue sticks would always be evident in my cheeks. A kid’s imperfection.

We left Lolomboy and lived at Marilao for a better living. With that sudden change, I missed the barbecues I buy at the stall. Now, my Mom and I would be dealing with mosquitoes in the village chapel. At that time, I’ve been longing for my delicious Saturday night dinner.

As I grew up, I forgot that ritual already.

Not until First Year High School. On the way home, our service ride would drop by in the filthy streets of Lolomboy to unload a passenger. My ritual started again. Her stall became bigger, but still – she subsists on selling barbecues for five pesos. That was 2004. Compare it with the price last 1996, it was still the same. With the backward economy and the economical regression of life in the Philippines – who wouldn’t buy a Barbecue for five pesos? (The usual value of Barbecue is ten pesos)

I’d always buy 4 or 5 sticks. I’d even ask for vinegar for a better taste.

The taste was definitely the same with that of 1996. The smell, the oil dripping from the barbecue stick, the juicy substance.

My ritual was revived.

Yesterday, while in the service ride – I suddenly remember the barbecue stall and planned to buy sticks of it for my dinner. Sadly, it was closed. Bankrupt, maybe. Rumors tell me that she went to another place in Bulacan; Guiguinto, to be specific.

I sighed with dismay. My rituals are gone forever.

The Misfit Mentor.

For a few days, I’ve been haunted by responsibilities. Unwinding back is a great feeling. I henceforth announce that Utakgago will post every night, instead of his usual 3 o-clock in the morning schedule. Anyway, I’d start to answer tags coming from Jhed and Bananas: it’s the same tag, anyway.

How often do you blog?
Everyday. No, not everyday since I had seven or five days of absence in blogging due to some misfits (like that of yesterday). I am somehow addicted to blogging, but then – it’s just a habit. If you guys think that my life depends on blogging, think again.

When I’d be in College, my everyday posting will surely stop. I hope so.

Online Alias:
In my first blog at Blogspot, I am *insert my real name*. Then, it became Vinkz. With the will and the urge to cover my real identity, I named myself Utakgago – and it is self-explanatory. Until today, I use the name Utakgago since so far; I’m the only one using it. And I live with the name.

Have you ever stood up for someone you hardly knew?
No. Not the usual angel-in-disguise dude. I could stand up for someone I know, but not with strangers or let’s say – with those people I barely know.

What do you do most often when you are bored?
Internet. Other stuffs I do when bored is Blogging, playing Basketball, or hanging out with the barkada. The rest would be the usual guy things. (Ask Jhed).

When bathing, which do you wash first?
I’d go to the lavatory first and wash my face.

Have you ever been awake for 48 hours straight?
Yup, and still standing.

What color looks best on you?
It’s black (I know, it’s a hue). And blue. White doesn’t seem to match with my persona, so rejoice everytime you see me wearing one. I wear those white polo shirts at church.

What’s your favorite alcoholic drink?
Anything. I’m not picky in terms of wine, or liquor, or beer.

Do you believe in heaven and hell as a real place that each of us will go to after death?
Uh-huh. All I know is that, we are to die.

Do you find that you have more online friends than offline friends?
Not really. I don’t usually talk to my YM chatmates (all I know is that I go online everyday and stare at the online people). In my opinion, I do have more offline friends.

What was your favorite subject in school?
I’m loving Physics now. I excel in English, but I hate the English subject in school.

Are you a perfectionist?
Nope. Though it seems hard for me to grasp human’s imperfections.

Do you spend more than you can afford?
I am not a man of shopping, therefore – I’d leave this blank. I only shop for my girlfriend (if I had one, but for now – still vacant and open for registration).

Is it better to have loved and lost than never to have loved before?
Yes. Being tough is being wounded.

Do you consider yourself creative?
Setting aside my Best in Arts award in my Elementary (Graduation – what’s the POINT?), I consider myself creating. Maybe in writing. Maybe in photography. Anything at all. I know myself, and I know that I suck at logic and more of the creative side of things.

Do you give yourself the credit you deserve?
No. Can you please ask things that I could say ‘YES’?

Do you donate time or money to charities?
At last. Yes. Even beggars outside McDonalds Bocaue, or the street children who would knock your window. I somehow have this kind heart for those who are in need.

Have you recently done something yourself that you’ve criticized others for doing?
Uh-huh. No idea.

What’s on your mind right now?
Girls. Girls. I’m thinking about this girl classmate with a nice ass, too bad my kabarkada is engaged with her. Err, what else? My projects. Fuck.

Say one nice thing about the person who tagged you and the five people that you are going to tag:

To Jhed, for being so open about masturbation and the stuff. You’re not that horny, by the way. (Ron is way too much horny than you, diba?)

And to Bananas, I appreciate your kind words about me. Yaha.

So my tag is finished. Tomorrow’s post would be about ‘Barbecue’.

Blurry.

My life’s currently in a mess.

All’s a blur.

Stuck between Hell and Hell.

I’ve been locked up in a cage of features, news, editorials, sports, and the uncanny fragments of words. For three days, I’ve been in the same air-conditioned room, swallowing the unpleasant smell of computers, suffering back pains. This abusive job is one of the toughest thing I have ever done. It was, coincidently, our Periodical Test next week.

I miss those boring days. With my three days of office work, I definitely miss those days wherein I’d stare blankly in the ceiling and gather up cobwebs that would lull me to sleep.

A typical Saturday for Utakgago would be a day of eating pandesal stuffed with an oven-toasted hotdog or mayo and cheese. I’d be wasting so much time with my friends, either playing Basketball or meditating upon my laptop’s screen. Total fun and peace of mind.

If only I could cheat millions of calendars and clocks to swivel back a day.

For the past three days, my eyes wanted to relax and stare away from articles and the monitor’s radiation. As a layout artist of The Paulinian Prism, my sworn duty is to document, plot, design, and check every inch of space written down in the paper. It has been said that layouting is yet the hardest, and a risky job to handle. Yet this is my first time to deal with these things: thank God, I had Melvin to assist me in those rules.

I’m almost hypnotized with my constant eye-blinking: words transform into a Martian Language. For the first time in History, I want to go away from the computer but I couldn’t. I really wanted to disappear into a form of mist or something. I somehow blame myself for getting nailed with these activities. My Senior Life, officially – became a mess.

When it turns out to be my lunch time with the other staffers, the canteen ran out of lunch. No rice. No fried chicken or caldereta or anything. I bought a bottled water and went straight to the third floor: to the Paulinian Prism Headquarters. I kicked off some dust with disgrace. I am an unfortunate fool who would, once again, go back to work without feeding myself.

Now, I am exhausted. I want to back out. I told Melvin to layout the page 3 (News) while I rest for a while. Good thing, our coordinator – Miss Carpio gave me a Lucky Me! Supreme, and a piece of Chocolate Mallows for my lunch. It wasn’t a nice combination, though.

At least, I’m still Lucky to eat my lunch.

I denied my Parish Involvement yesterday since I need to comply with the labor force needed for the school paper. I know, Mr. Manuel would soon be delivering his anger for me and for other staffers who didn’t attend Mr. Manuel’s Parish Involvement.

—

I had a perfect score in my Unit Test in Music! 80 over 80. Gaad, for years I’ve been wanting to get some perfect score. But why, for cripe’s sake – in Music?

Gotta sleep and earn lots of energy for the Hell Week next week. Four months more. Graduation.

Like Everyone Does: A Tribute to Blue Ribbon.

As the Responsorial Psalm of our First Friday Mass began, my world suddenly went to a stop. Everyone became stone. As the lyrics goes: In him alone is our hope, in him alone is our strength, in him alone are we justified; I suddenly gasped the reality. Yes, I am a Senior High School student – wearing a blue ID, 5′10 and a half, and currently single. As my eyes played within the sudden stop of events, I stared at hundreds of Elementary students singing their lungs out. Throaty, but who cares.

Then, I saw her sitting right next to her students.

Back at 4th Grade, she never smiled. A scary adviser for me. The naughtiest boy in class met the lion of his life. She was taller than any other teacher, and obviously, taller than me. She was only at her 20’s. Her words are so sharp, it could pierce everything in view. She would wait for me at the doorstep and when I came in late (until now, I always do) – I’d receive sanctimonious sermons. She was my Hekasi (Heograpiya, Kasaysayan at Sibika) and Filipino teacher. Two major subjects intertwined, then grasped in her hands until all juices came out. Sounds like hell for me.
She was my greatest fan. She would notice everything from me; my hairstyle, my constant tardiness, my lovable writing, and would laugh at me or insult me. ‘Nako, Kevin. Ang dami mong gel sa buhok. Tanggalin mo yan kasi nakakakalbo yan o kaya mamumuti ang buhok mo balang araw’.

Like every child does, dabbing a handful of gel seemed inadequate for their hair. But then, I followed her advice since she is a concrete example of it. She used to wear gel back then (her hairstyle is actually boyish), not until thin stripes of gray and white hair appeared in her crowning glory.

I remember back then, I brought two slices of cake for my recess. Like every child does, I asked her if she want some. Despite of my bad feelings for the lion, I still had the guts to give her some food. The irresistible chocolate cake would soon be the reason of our friendship.

Anong tatak nyan?
But then, like every child would do – I’d take this as an opportunity to give her some prank.
Blue Ribbon po.
She smirked. Siguraduhin mo lang ha. Kapag wala kang dalang Blue Ribbon cake bukas, lagot ka sa akin. Hindi kita papapasukin sa classroom. Tandaan mo yan ha!

My prank turns out to prank me. I just can’t win over her. Like every child does, I thought she wasn’t joking. So I went home and begged at my sister to bake a cake for her that would gladly shout – BLUE RIBBON. My ate was displeased. Like every sister would do, she condemned me for my naughtiness and told me to go to school without that fucking Blue Ribbon. Brave enough, I came in late and went straight to my seat. My teacher then growled at me.

Asan na yung Blue Ribbon ko?
Nakalimutan ko eh.
Diba, sabi ko – ipagdala mo ako ng Blue Ribbon cake ngayon? Labas!
Ano pa bang magagawa ko? Nakalimutan ko nga.

She was, and everyone – was laughing.
Her cellphone number back then is 09177906185; a 3310 unit of Nokia. Ms. Regina M. Cruz became my favorite teacher, though scary at times – I somehow uncovered her wackiness within. I enjoyed my Fourth Grade with her since I’m her favorite. I even had my project posted at the class bulletin board!

-

As the Responsorial Psalm ended, everyone came back to life. I am a Fourth Year Student, with a blue ID; 5′10 and a half and currently single. A graduating student. Yes, I am a lot taller than her. But I’d dare not to do any form of revenge. I’d love to embrace her and somehow tell her that I missed those days.

Guess the Lyrics.

I’d be posting lyrics out of boredom. All you need to do is guess the song title and the artist! Don’t use the internet for finding these songs. IT’S CHEATING! Haha. Forgive me for not being so considerate with this post, but I am so bored and have nothing to type in. (Sorry if there are wrong lyrics)

1. Ang puso mo ay itim. Halik ng buwan sa hangin, sabik sa mga salarain. Daliri – Kjwan (by Panghent)

2. Essential yet appealed, carry all your thoughts across an open field. Boston – Augustana (by Musikera)

3. That mistake was gold, I know that without you is something that I could never do. Seven Years – Saosin (by Cars)

4. Her feeling she hides, her dreams she can’t find, she’s losing her mind, she’s fallen behind. Nobody’s Home – Avril Lavigne (by Yna)

5. God has a master plan, and I guess I am in his demand. Not Now – Blink 182 (by Pen)

6. I will be pure and immaculately chaste, in the darkness I will shine; free from all disgrace. Complex – Dicta License (by Panghent)

7. I’m not sure which way to go, because all along we’ve been going in the same direction. Same Direction – Hoobastank (by Ian)

8. Sad excuses, and false hopes high. I saw this coming still I don’t know why I let you in. Predictable – Good Charlotte (by Juice)

9. I kept everything inside but even though I tried, it all fell apart. What it meant to me will eventually be a memory of a time. In The End – Linkin’ Park (by Yna)

10. It feels like something’s heating up, can I leave with you? And the ladies say – I don’t know what I’m thinkin’ bout, really leaving with you. Senorita – Justin Timberlake (by Reginne)

11. I don’t know what’s worth fighting for, or why I had to scream? Breaking the Habit – Linkin’ Park (by Panghent)

12. Swallow me then spit me out, for hating you I blame myself. Seeing you it kills me now. No, I don’t cry in the outside anymore. Behind These Hazel Eyes – Kelly Clarkson (by Reginne)

13. Fumblin’ through your dresser drawer, forgot what I was looking for. Trying to guide me in the right direction. Making use of all this time, keeping everything inside. Must Get Out – Maroon 5 (by Doreen)

14. Kumukupas ang kinang ng iyong bituwin. Mula sa lupa, di mapantayan. Sa kalangitan, tanging liwanag mo ang matatanaw. Tala – Paramita (by Billycoy)

15. Like eager angels falling from heaven, I’d give it all up to share the pain with you. Eager Angels – Session Road (by Panghent)

16. Losing half a year, waiting for you here; I’d be your anything. So get back to where we lasted. Just like I imagined. Memory – Sugarcult (by Anjouli)

17. Di ka na naniniwala sa mga himala. Sadya bang napakahirap tanawin ng nakaraan. Ikot – Stonefree (by Panghent)

18. Now I’m going to bed, and my stomach is sick, and its all in my head but she’s touching his chest now. Mr. Brightside – The Killers (by Juice)

19. Face down in the dirt, she said – this doesn’t hurt. She said, I finally had enough. Face Down – Red Jumpsuit Apparatus (by Juice)

20. You turn me on, you turn me around, you turn my whole world upside down. Upside Down – Two Minds Crack (by Bulitas)

21. Damn, near cried when I got that phone call. I’m so thrown. Confessions Part II – Usher (by Anjouli)

22. The cities grow, the rivers flow, the way you are I never know but I’m still here. If you were right and I was wrong, why were you the one who’s gone? Vertical Horizon – I’m Still Here (by Di-An)

23. We could end up saying things we’ve always needed to say so we could end up stringing. Now the story’s played out like this, just like a paperback novel. Let’s rewrite an ending that fits, instead of a Hollywood horror. Someday – Nickelback (by Ian)

24. Baby, I’m not always there when you call but I’m always on time and I gave you my own. Always on Time – Ashanti feat. Ja Rule (by Anjouli)

25. Please just don’t play with me, my paper heart with bleed. This wait for destiny won’t do be with me please I beseach you. Paper Heart – All American Rejects (by Pen)

26. In this world divided by fears, you’ve gotta believe that there’s a reason we’re here. Our Lives – The Calling (by Yna)

27. I used to hate to see you go. But this time it’s different, I don’t even feel the distance. I’m not Missing You – Stacie Orrico (by Reginne)

28. And I remember now, at the top of my lungs in my arms – she dies. She dies. Ghost of You – My Chemical Romance (by Panghent)

29. Break it down, now I’ll tell you what I feel from the moment that I met you it’s been so damn real. Goin’ Crazy – Natalie (by Juice)

30. You dream of colors that have never been made. You imagine the songs that have never been made. This Side – Nickel Creek (by Panghent)

31. You stood at your door with your hands on my waist and you kissed me like you meant it. And I knew, that you meant it. Hands Down – Dashboard Confessional (by Di-An)

HAVE FUN GUESSING! There are lyrics there which are totally absurd (since it’s rock). Others are dance songs, R and B, Pop, OPM and more. All of those songs are available in my playlist. Let’s see what you got with music intelligence.

Machismo.

In a certain day of riding in a jeepney, a man would always look at the incoming ladies who would show off their ass while on the way to their seats. The ass, or might as well – the panty.

As the lady goes in, the driver drools with the cleavage’s reflection in his rear view mirror. Who could resist temptation for free?

In an MRT station, a man would always look at the bumper of a lady. It would be a lot nicer if the girl wears tube, an off-shoulder, and the stuff. Those revealing cuts, and dirty looks would look great!

Backless girls are not that sexy, especially if it’s too hairy or dotted with small bumps. Who would wear those stuff if they know they have one of those?

I honestly confess that I’ve been looking forward every six in the afternoon at Sargie’s, a night club wherein girls would parade at the parking lot – wearing their oozing outfits. They even have their color of the day, side by side with their shortest shorts and their most revealing outfits. I only stare at them whenever my service would pass by the club (and when 6 strikes); but I never had any attempt to go there.

Well, that explains the traffic in McArthur. Jeepney drivers, tricycle drivers, motorcyclists, and any driver would slow down their speed as they stare at the prosti-mannequins posing at the entrance of Sargie’s.

I even consider it as one of the tourist spots of Bocaue.

At night, when I walk with my barkada along the McArthur Highway – we’d see bunch of these girls. We’d even see couples (in this case, they’re unofficial couples and their relationship is available only and within the night) kissing by the rocky sidewalks of the road. They even pose like what those pocketbooks portray in their cover.

By the way, forgive me for branding those girls as prostitutes. I know that they do have a clean motive; or I mean, some of them. Money is money, and they need it. They’d lick the sharpest swords, they don’t care if they’d bleed. As long as they earn money.

Unfortunately, I do not know the point of view of the girls. I am not a girl. But I want to know if the females also have these kind of fantasies. Share some.

(I’m in the Computer Lab, busy with the Layout of our School Paper. Sorry if the post wasn’t that nice!)

Prontera and the Blogosphere.

In a soft seat which was then considered as my portal, I sit and wander for long hours. In that seat I enter the world of virtual reality, amused with other people and entertained with the adventure I am enduring. I sacrificed saving money just to enter their world; the world where we grow altogether and cherish the bittersweet moments of killing the creatures we see. I was 14 when I started to witness the kiddie violence of it; the inexplicable concepts of that world, and the facts and opinions about that world.

Prontera, once became my home. Consider me as one of the avid players of Ragnarok back then, who would offer his evening as a symbol of devotion to the game. Treat me as one of the normal students who would refrain from eating their recess and lunch just to earn money for a night of imagination, of entertainment and of fun. Fun, maybe in killing or chatting with different people. Fun, maybe with boasting your items with other people. Fun in being superior to others.

It’s just today that I realized the story behind Chiksilog, honestly. This is the first time I heard the word Prontera in the lyrics (sue me for having so much fun with the chorus that I don’t mind the verses). I am surprised that it was inspired by Ragnarok! Yeah.

Sa dating tagpuan, sa bayan ng Prontera – sa tabi ng tindahan ng magic at sandata. Nung minsan nga ay nag-alay ka pa ng buhay mo nang kinalaban natin ang mga bagong dayo.

I definitely remember those hazy days of playing the very addictive game. I once became a stupid addict who would, during class discussions; talk about the game with his seatmates. Every night, we join ourselves in that world where we wear different costumes; we own various powers, with our shiny weapons. Killing in Ragnarok is a business, a gamble, a hobby.

The weird thing here is: all of us, even my kabarkadas are girls in the game. Chiksilog, for a more comical name. The philosophy behind using a girl in the game is that, we’d have lots of advantages. Free baps, free potions, free zeny, and the stuff. It’s also fun to be a girl in that game (though I have a separate male account, I still enjoy the company of my lady monk). 

I just miss the game. That’s that. I miss those nights of endless fun with the guild war, buying Elunium and Oridecon for better weapons and armor, trading, and the game concepts. By the way, my lady monk is level 55 and it stopped growing; or I should say – I stopped playing way back March due to my addiction with MU. The name of that character is DictaLicense, my fave band before. And, just so you know – hindi ako nakikipagkita sa mga online players ng Ragnarok.

Stress-bags.

I’ve been awake for 20 hours right now. Stress, is really killing me. Lack of sleep, hectic schedules, money problems (yeah, the inability to save money for personal stuff is the problem) and the normal complaints of a teenager. Before I went home, I met with my kabarkadas and Alex (an obnoxious four-eyed, maniac) gave his unusual compliment for me. Ba’t ganyan ang mata mo? Ang laki na ng eyebags mo ha?

Back when I was at Third Year High School, I was given enough love by my girlfriend; meaning – longer sleeping hours and the stuff. Eyebag-free face. I thought I was the envy of the world. I had this assumption that so far, in the four sides of the classroom; I am yet the guy without an eyebag. Now, it’s the end of my stress-free world. I am henceforth known as an addict with reddish stares. As what Neil told me, buy some eyebag treatment pads from Watsons.

My eyebag is not the usual violet bag-shaped one. Mine is thin – so at least.

Am I vain? Yes, since every guy would love to have a decent face. Am I so obsessed with myself? No. It’s me and my Dad’s self-relaxation.

–

Here’s the list of things I need to do. Sorry, I’m in a hurry since I need to go to school.

Things to do TOMORROW:

• Assignment in CL – heresy, kinds of heresy, apostacy, schism, ecumenical council, dissension.
• Index Cards also in CL.
• 500 pesos for USTE.
• Pass the UST Application Form.
• Parish Involvement Documentation – photograph pics this SUNDAY! Or Saturday.
• Review for the Upcoming Periodic Exams. Poogsh.
• Copy lectures of SS.
• Print the scripts of Damon and Pythias in English.
• Make outlines of Filipino stories and read ALL stories.
• TLE ALERT! Need to do the examples right now.
• Investigatory Project ahead. Ooh.
• That’s it for now. Goodluck for Songfest.

Boogsh!

The Glue-onnaise and E-VAT.

Last Sunday, I munched an Amazing Aloha at Jolibee Sta. Maria (if you could still remember, I was drunk that day: see my post entitled ‘Lango’). In an unusual and unknown reason, I checked the receipt and have seen 11 pesos added to my order; the fee corresponds to the not-so-political but controversial E-VAT. Eleven pesos, my foot.

Today, my Dad and I opted to eat at Burger King – SM Marilao since it is their 3-day SALE. I chose the long Chicken Sandwich oozing with cheese and lettuce; well, that’s what the picture in the counter illustrates. I doubt it’s edited, maybe added with some glitters and varnished with a maple sauce to make its shimmer – tempting and irresistable. Well, that’s not the way I see it. It’s just a weird long bun, halved, stuffed with the eeky mayonnaise, lettuce and squares of cheddar cheese.

Still, it looked so delicious. But I want to suggest them to put ketchup also inside the bun, for a logical, balanced, and great-tasting burgers. Though they give ketchups for fries; but putting ketchup inside the bun is different with the packets they give for fries. Besides, I normally spend two sachets for a small size of french fries. Another comment: the sandwich tastes like – glue. Or paste. The mayonnaise is sticky and off-taste, every person would make the worst face in the planet after tasting it.

Another comment: their so-called Sundae tastes like coffee to me. Is that chocolate syrup or melted coffee beans?

Plus, the E-VAT. Four pesos! But I cannot blame the government – oh, let’s not dive into the pool of socio-political affairs.

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While my Dad picks the right food for him, I’ve seen a batchmate that became my servicemate back at Elementary. His name was Fernando, (unknowingly nicknamed Ferdie, though it sounds birdie to me.) who was, apologetically – dropped out due to his climatical schedule of classes and let’s say he’s too bored to listen to teachers. Now, I’ve seen him (he’s studying at another school) with a nice chinita; probably his girlfriend. Nice choice for a dickhead like him *birdie, birdie*.

The problem is that, the chinita girlfriend looked at me from head to toe – body and soul. Maybe wearing some nightvision contact lens, or laser eyes that could see through things. I do not know whether I’d hate or love the stare, but it just irritates me.

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Then, we went to a sacred place for bookworms and porn readers who would crave for the latest, newest, and the fresh-from-the-press smell of FHM, Maxim, UNO, or other magazines. Then, my Dad gave me the freedom to scan piles and rows of books; as he finds his favorite – Outside Magazine. I’ve observed some books – the Hunt Club, the Good Fight, then I remembered The Fight Club. Chuck Palahniuk. Definitely my favorite movie with its Sylvia Plath sense of philosophy. If the movie is too great and highly addictive that I watched it four times (remove Brad Pitt from the scene, I love the alter-ego fighting and the underground fights) – then the book must be a good read.

Imagine, the movie was launched 1999. There would be a thin line of chance for me to locate a single book. C’mon, it’s 2006! I don’t even know what the book looks like! Gambling the time and chances, I went on searching for the book. The next thing I know, I’m reading a book about Michael Dell; founder of Dell Corporation. Dell, which is the brand of my Laptop and my Mp3 Player. I’ve read the front pages then I felt the tedium of the book, so I returned it into its full and upright position.

SM Marilao became more of a tiangge than a decent mall. It was tightly packed with toxic earthly smells, people blocking your way. It’s like attending a Rock Concert than shopping, and dude – I decided not to shop. Brr. So there I was, a robot plugged with earphones, programmed to follow my Dad in anywhere he goes.

Tomorrow is a class day. Five months more, I’d be graduating. Greetings to Christie, Zord, and Trisha.

Songs as Memory Cards.

Another weird title.

It has been a while since I updated, and I know that this is a late post. It’s 1:27 PM already. But I can’t blame myself since I refurbished my Desktop, and my Windows Media Player Skin. And I woke up at 9, then played Word Racer online with Heneroso (and sad to say, he lost). Bwahaha. I’ve been missing Milenyo since it’s so hot today!

Ever since I bought a music gadget (my first was a Discman: battery-operated, and big enough to bulge my pocket; and second would be my MP3 Player which I am using right now), I always bring it especially at special occasions. From burials, to Intrams, farewell parties, birthdays, gigs and so forth. I always savor my senses with my ‘ear-candy’ and tuning up with my favorite songs. I’ve been mumbling for an IPod since it was released, and very disappointed since my Mom would give it to me as a Graduation Gift. That would be – on March. Pfft.

I do not know if it is the ‘weirdness’ of me, but a single song for me serves as a memory card. In an instance, whenever I hear Beer by Itchyworms and Hands Down by Dashboard Confessional (the acoustic one, please), I would go sentimental and I’d remember the burial of my Tito Dindo who dies last July 15. He was shot by a gun along the roads of Obando, our hometown. The motive? Dunno. Until now, I’ve never heard any news regarding with the suspect.

When I hear the song When You’re Looking Like That by Westlife, (I couldn’t imagine myself being so obsessed with their songs) I could remember my Grade 5 days with my crush who is actually my seatmate back then! Imagine, I am always inspired in every quiz and exams and my days – ok. Shut up now, those days were over.

Am I the only one who had this sort-of-a conclusion?

Well, my theory is that – our brain records the music and the vision simultaneously. Then, maybe (as I’ve said – it is my theory) it will be saved somewhere in our gray matter. And I do remember that I was wearing my MP3 back then with the burial of my Tito Dindo; and the music would be my faves – Beer and Hands Down. The logic with the ‘When You’re Looking Like That’ thing, it’s me and my crush’s theme song – ang corny ko na!

Kung Wala Ka reminds me of Dunkin’ Donuts (see my post here entitled Sitting in a Table for Two). Hiling by Paramita reminds me, ouch. My most loved girlfriend, Rizza. And whenever I hear that fucking song, I have this tendency to drain some tears from my eyes and relive the past. The black-and-white past.

That’s it. I’m done. My Dad and I would buy some books (I’d ask him to buy me a Shirt, a Belt, and lotsa stuff since it’s SALE! in SM Marilao). Yebbah! Fingers crossed with Icarus’s game tomorrow, and greetings to Rob and Patty. Nothing special, really. And I’ve been wondering about Kuazee – where is he?

The Aphorism, Right or Wrong?

Our section won in the Eliminations of the 19th Annual Marian Songfest! The Finals would be next week, ha-ha. After doing this post, I might be busy with lectures and the blahs. Plus, I’ll rehearse myself with another song I made. Brilliant. I know, time management is the right thing to do; and I know I’ll break the rules once again.

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When we say might makes right, is it always right?

This morning, as I was strolling around with my barkada to the basketball court; I noticed this mother releasing all her anger to her stubborn 7-year old son. I suppose, they were buying pandesal and they’re on their way home. The mother spanked her son so much in the butt that the son cried out so loud. Of course, I am suprised with that action. But hey, I don’t need to mind with their business.

My philosophy is that, lahat ng bagay ay maidadaan sa usapang masinsinan. Yung tipong, hintayin mo munang humupa yung silakbo ng damdamin mo. (What the?) Then, that’s the right time you’d release your anger bit by bit.

I somehow compromised to myself that if I’d be a parent, my children would expect less violence. Less spanks, but more mind-numbing advices. Less threats. Less curfews. As long as they know their limits, it’s okay. I just hope that my children would be obedient like me *barfs*. And besides, I admire my dad for trusting me in all the things. Maybe, I’d be doing the same to my children.

Still, I can’t bear to see that mother hurting the child in a physical way. Though the mother has the right to discipline her son, but still – I don’t see the rightness in it. Back when I was young, my dad ONCE spanked my butt because I gave away my bicycle cause someone wanted to borrow it. (Masyado kasi akong mabait nung bata) That’s it. The rest of my childhood was spent with freedom, tainted not with violence but with love. Well, maybe that’s an advantage of a bunso. Being a spoiled brat. Bwahaha.

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Time flies so fast. In the next two weeks would be our Periodic Exam, 2nd Grading. Here comes 3rd Quarter. Shit, now I feel the world is spinning. Now I feel my Fourth Year life revolving stressfully; problems arising, another layer of eyebag, deadlines, reviews, USTET and the stuffs.

Songfest Finals, next week. Tactical Inspection of our PMT Unit would be, maybe – this February. Excited!

The Issue of the Steam-Powered Internet.

The lights flickered until it slowly wane. My laptop’s monitor became dim, a sign that it has already been using the charged battery and not the ac/dc power. The Internet connection is gone. My Dad failed to enjoy Anthony Bourdain’s lecture in the computer, just because of the brownout.

Or most likely, a blackout.

The night before, it was declared to have no classes. Another grace from God, as I translate its significance. But then, I had tons of work to do: assignments in Math, English, Electronics, and lectures in Filipino and Economics. So I’d be spending my day in a cramming manner, but hey – I am not used to these stuffs. Dawn came, and I rejoiced for a non-class day.

The blackout started at around 11 AM. All I know is the fact that Meralco are slow-paced workers like snails cuddling each other in a river bank. Their hotlines are unreachable, as what the telephone operator says so. That electric company is not worth every penny. Once a brownout strikes, expect that you’d have to sleep with mosquitoes feasting your flesh. What more if it is a blackout?

At around 1 PM, the winds grew stronger as it hits our house in a rage. As I’ve been doing my Series circuit examples, the background music would be the whistling wind. My windows were taken aback by the strong winds, making loud thuds. Then, it rained. Heavier. Heavier until it became a major disturbance in my mood of making assignments. I plugged my MP3 and continued my job. I have no idea of what to do since there’s no electricity.

Without it, there would be no Internet, no lights, no cold water from the fridge, no water (because the water stations here in the subdivision use electricity), no electric fans, no ac/dc power of my laptop, no television, no radio, no microwave and oven for heating my meals. Everything. It’s like going a step backward; a life without electricity.

As if I’d use steam-powered electric fans and televisions and all. Ha-ha!

Ironically, I am studying Electronics! Is electronics related with electricity? A bit. I’ve been converting voltage to ohms to amperes to watts for about three hours, but still; I can’t finish the assignment. The direction says that I need to make 5 series, 5 parallel, and 5 complex circuit examples. I need not to expound anymore, cause I know you’d not get any of it just like me.

The time struck 6 PM. I lit up a candle in my room until I decided to stop the assignment making. I quit. I’d do this by the next day.

I ate dinner, then watching the night to overshadow the day. Still, Meralco has been sleeping for hours now – or so I think. Maybe they’ve been so busy right now twisting wires, solving the distribution of power throughout the whole region of Luzon. The night came, and there you’ll see billboards blown and collapsed along the streets. Airports have closed and all flights are cancelled. Local ports are also closed; on the guard for missing fishermen or boats. In our house, I’d hear our mango tree (this mango tree doesn’t even have a single mango) whomping and knocking my window! Leaves scattered everywhere.

I crossed the street and went to a nearby sari-sari store to buy five packs of Pancit Canton, Kalamansi flavor. The winds are still strong and the chilly temperature was still alive. The streets were empty, with the absence of cars and everything. It was dark. Only my flashlight guides me.

I turned on my laptop and lamented for the absence of the Internet. If only I could go online.

I finally slept at around 10. The next thing I know, it was 12 and the electric fan was spinning. At last, the day ended.

By the way, the blogging world also stopped! Yes, I received 5 comments only from my past post. Boogsh. And I’ve captured pictures during the storm, haha. I even had 3 videos. Wala lang magawa.

From left to right, top to bottom:

• Enjoying the storm with Nissin Cup Noodles. Bwahaha!
• Assignments suck.
• The neatest handwriting ever, made by me. G-Tech yan, tsong!
• I pity that bird over the branch.

The Biblical Figure’s disgust with Dirty Menace and Christmas.

Imagine life without Baygon. Utakgago would be gritting his teeth, very scared of the fluttering cockroaches appearing in their house.

This should be about cockroaches, but elaborating those dirty menaces could make me throw up like a drunkard. Thank God, there’s Baygon; at least I could get rid of those creatures. I victoriously sprayed a flying cockroach in the bathroom, another in the kitchen, and a brown cockroach in my room (maybe the brown one is a male cockroach, or a drunk)! A total of three killings today. So much for our dirty house…

It’s almost October, and 89 days to go before Christmas. Imagine the radio playing up the silliest Christmas carols, News on TV showing us the countdown for Christmas as if it’s the end of the world. And the minty smell of September’s breeze is remarkable. Now, only the colds fail me to enjoy such wonderful days like these. Well, I am not waiting for Christmas; what would I expect with those days? Pure boredom, DOTA, and no gifts at all. Such teenagers like me, or you don’t really deserve any gift at all. Those are the days wherein I wish to be a six year old kid once again; stubborn and spoiled with everything I need. Wishing, in a hopeful sense, that somehow I could have new clothes and everything.

Excited for my last Prom Night in my High School Life! That must be fun, and romantic; I’d wear the finest suit that even David Beckham would make his jaw dropping. Just kidding.

I’d be hosting again, but this time – in our 19th Annual Marian Songfest 2006. Utakgago would be up on the stage, delivering his well-dictioned speeches (liar). The Songfest is an activity for Choral Singing done be every section in the High School Department. Obviously, it’s done every year and I am the chosen one to host the program and the favored one to read the Bible.

You know what? This is my nth time reading the Bible, believe me. From class reflections, retreats, First Friday Masses; I am always assigned to read the Bible! Setting aside the diction I have (lying again), do I look like a Biblical figure? No. Do I look like a prophet proclaiming the words of God in streets, in supermarkets or in bakeries? No.

That explains everything. I do not deserve to read the Bible because I am not holy enough to swallow its words. But well, I love God and I need to (not lying).

And by the way, to Heneroso and other readers of the famous AnimoRoxy; it has been said that it’s a hoax. AnimoRoxy is created by some sicko to destroy Benilde’s identity. So there you have it; just to clarify everything.

Just doing it.

With colds and flu, I am weak.

The poser that victimized Paula and Heneroso is on the loose again to find its third victim, I guess. I’ve searched for answers from websites since I got two identical IPs of the poser; which tells me that it’s from two different computer shops. But I won’t spill anything here.

I am careless enough not to go to school today, since I am tired of our singing in Hyatt, plus the stress of going home. It’s fun, but tiring. I enjoyed the night, imagining once again the grand halls of the hotel, and still can’t get over it. So I had my rest the whole day.

School pride is at its height these weeks, in relation with the UAAP Games. Though I can’t relate about them. Duh, as if I’m a college student.

And the next picture is the controversial videoke in our canteen. It’s irritating. I am eating my sacred lunch with my kabarkadas when I’ll hear a noise coming from the videoke; it’s not a voice actually. More like a mourning cow in 12 noon. Ha-ha. (I took that shot, so don’t find me there)

Oh snap. Have you heard of London Bridge? I’m not loving it. And I am addicted with Session Road’s Blanko.

Still loving Neil’s post about animes back when he was still young. Oh, I remember my childhood by the opening and/or closing music. Shitnitz. Love that word! Once again – shitnitz. Ha-ha, gotta use it over and over again. Shitnitz. (Halatang walang magawa?)

What else can I say? Hmmm.

Lately, I’ve been thinking about an eyeball with fellow bloggers. But I guess it’s far from reality. I’ll contact Cofibean for the details, haha! I guess I’d finish this crap talk before I commit more craps.

Hyatt.

The corporate world is comprised of suits and ties, of gowns and wholesome dresses and everything in between. It was his second night in Manila, and is apparently different with his first night – he was just strolling around the Manila Bay when it rained and destroyed his mood. Now, with modesty and pride – he stepped into the red carpet of a wow-worthy hotel. He checked in, and asked for directions. The hotel smelled fragrant, not with clothes or with body sprays; but this feeling of being at home. Yet he was not home, but in a hotel where businessmen and corporate tycoons clutter and meet. He wasn’t wearing a coat, but long sleeves with tie and slacks will do.

I happened to meet this old man today at Hyatt Hotel. We are about to perform choir pieces (since I am a Glee Club member) in an anniversary of an association of businessmen or something; oh well, I’d rather not make it specific since it’s irrelevant and useless. All of us, five boys were sitting in a round table flourished with green patterns of satin tablecloth, lit with a candle in the middle and intricately decorated with little flowers that seemed to be real. I sat uneasily in my chair, looking around for girls people who is at my age. But it seems like only my other choirmembers are the teenagers of the crowd.

Well, this is a business meeting. Why would I expect teenagers strutting around?

The large banner in the center of the stage says – Federation of Accredited Customs Brokers and Forwarders of the Philippines, Inc. 21st Founding Anniversary – Theme: Survival through the Winds of Change. Guests would be Finance Secretary Margarito B. Teves and Congressman Junie E. Cua. Monday, September 25 2006: 6:30 PM. Harana Ballroom, Hyatt Hotel – Roxas Boulevard, Manila. [Harana Ballroom - nice name huh.]

The next thing I know, I am bewildered by two forks, a big spoon, and a knife. Table manners, and rules of eating soups, of munching food, of sitting, of drinking and holding a goblet. All of these things, I have no idea. I am not born within a hotel, I suppose. I am not used to those utensils and their usage, and I am glad to humble myself as a probinsyano with these things.

I’d use my common sense. The big, wide-surfaced spoon is for soups. Scooping a soup is not an easy task; you need to heave your scoop away from you to avoid a mess. The direction of your ‘heave’ is opposite from your body. And I am not supposed to make strange sounds like sipping a Slurpee from 7-11 while enjoying the soup. The fork and the knife is for the main course; the fork has a bigger surface since it would serve also as your spoon. You’ll use the fork to pin down the meat (or whatever it is), then tear with a knife and cut it into swallowable pieces. Another fork is for the dessert. There is a tall cloth formed in a shape of spire – this is what I’ll put in my lap to avoid unwanted spots of food in my Barong Tagalog.

I asked myself; why are these people so particular in their moves? Kakainin na lang ang pagkain, may mga rules pa. But well, it’s for the betterment of the corporate world. They need to be organized and clean with eating, rather than they’d look like goats gnawing grass in a world-class hotel.

I’ve been dreaming to be one of those rich people back then, and I think – until now. I want to be a formal, well-respected and well-clothed man. (I wonder where Cofibean is?) I want to carry those PDAs, touching them with my fingers, holding my handy-dandy Internet Browser, and everything. But luxury ain’t my type. I still want a normal living: enjoying vacations in Baguio rather than fooling myself that hotels are artifically-made resorts for tycoons like them. I still want to be a normal person who is free to do anything; compared to them, who somehow cover their whole identities just to look good with people.

Come what may. Right now, I enjoyed the singing and my chance to somehow enter a luxurious hotel. The food is great. It’s so cold. The bathrooms are better than my room in the house. The ladies and waitresses are very beautiful and accomodating. The red wine is great-tasting. And, oh – about the bald man I’ve been telling you from my first and second paragraph? I talked to him and asked him (according to his name tag – he is Chris) his job. He’s from Inter-Island Resort, Boracay (he even pointed his fingers in streamers hanging around).

Cool. These are the pics I’ve taken (though marami talaga akong kinuha – iilan lang ang ididisplay ko for publicity).

At na-enjoy ko ang appetizer nila na mani. Ahehe.