Souljacker

Remember Us

2012-01-27T19:17:00.002+08:00

Rock Paintings, Tadart Acacus, Libya

Once upon a time, the Sahara was green and animals such as giraffes, elephants and wildebeests grazed in the savanna. Men lived in caves, others in thatched huts made of wood and reed. They fashioned tools with flint and bones and spent the day hunting animals for food.

At night, perhaps after their meals were eaten and they get tired of sitting by the camp fire, these people would gather around a strange rock. Those seen in the mountains of Tadart Acacus. Using oil they found on the ground. They would paint pictures telling their everyday life. To preserve a memory; to leave instructions for their children and grandchildren to follow.

Along the geologic timeline, rains stopped falling. Lakes dried up and rivers disappeared. Animals died and so were the early humans. Their drawings lived on. Their descendants who survived continue the tradition of painting their everyday life, until they too had left the desert for lands more receptive to life.

Today, what is left are these hand-drawn paintings of animals, of men hunting for food, of a tribe gathering around a camp fire to dance, for all of us, who have lived throughout the ages to remember.

I was putting words into the picture for the raketship when the image suddenly spoke to me. And I felt a tinge of sadness knowing the people behind these drawings had put so much effort to let their story outlive them.

Read more about the Tadart Acacus Rock Paintings here:

Sublimity Of Happiness #002

2012-01-27T03:54:00.000+08:00

Tragic Kingdom

2012-01-25T15:38:00.001+08:00

The little prince arrives at work at past 2 in the afternoon.

His first order of business is to barge into the Circulation and Dealers' Affairs Department. He looks for the manager to get the figures.

The little prince needs to know how the business fared the previous day:

35% returns.

135,355 copies.

P365,000 revenue.

Not bad for a Monday run.

To think the editor-in-chief gave the green light to use the same startlet on the front page a couple of times before.

He would then swing by the newsroom. More or less, word has already spread of his arrival. In a workplace where his presence is not really needed, (he was absorbed by the company a few months ago) the little prince's authority must still be reinforced.

He would find the newsroom empty. The small room, always packed before dusk still affords the uneasy silence. The proofreaders are just about to arrive and so are the layout artists.

The editors, who are already there to avail the free lunch are scouring the AM radio stations for news. With the company's reporters spread too thin, a breaking news or two would fill the empty pages.

Meanwhile, the in-house writers are putting the finishing touches to their sundry stories. Most are erotic in nature. Some are geared toward showbiz readers, while other articles lifted from stateside tabloids report bizarre facts (not to be taken seriously, if you have a college degree) yet, they still appeal to the masses.

"Space aliens: brains behind i-phones."

"Study shows menthol cigarettes are good for smokers."

It would not come as a surprise if these stories get published the next day.

The editor-in-chief arrives with the publisher. She is the undisputed queen, while her consort - the publisher - is the little prince's father.

Though there is no animosity between the queen and the little prince. Awkwardness pervades when they stay in the same room together.

After all, the little prince reminds her of the queen mother.

Intrigues aside, business goes on as the newsroom gears up to beat the deadline. The fax machines beep and spews news sent by reporters from their beats. The proofreaders review the copies, before they are delivered to the layout artists.

Between office gossips and small talks about the colorful life of the queen - who sits in her throne in the newsroom, the managing editor returns with the banner handpicked by the publisher:

"Prosecutors butata sa impeachment court. Magreresign na!"

At past 6, the paper is put to bed and the production staff leaves for the printing office. The little prince takes a breather by taking a detour to a nearby Internet cafe, or at DLSU's University Mall to scout the hottest club sounds sold there for P50 a disc.

In the evening, he would show up at the printing office to supervise. (more like hang out as the behemoth machines print the first copies of tomorrow's paper) But instead of staying where the machines are, one would find him snugged in the private quarters, making phone calls to his friends.

At past 10, the first batch of newspapers land in Port Area to be feasted upon by the waiting dealers. The image of Tracy Torres' pink nipples command everyone's attention. The business goes full throttle at past midnight as the dealers from Baguio to Bicol haul their orders. By 4 am, the people at the satellite office tabulate the papers returned so they may be included in the report, which the little prince will see when he comes to work the next day.

Such is the life the little prince had, in those days when he used to claim his father's throne. A year will pass, the empire collapses under its heavy weight. The queen will abandon the consort after so much in-fighting, to put up a rival paper. The publisher will then assign the prince as his hand, only to abandon him too, when it became apparent that their kingdom would soon come to an end.

Another year goes by, and the prince is already 24 years old. A sudden stroke of luck and the king passed away. He will sit in a crumbling throne his father left; live to run the paper he once thought was his playground; Endure a summer wondering if the business would live to see the first drops of rain. Before June, the paper he had set his eyes on when he was still in the academe will not be able to pay for its operations.

It has to be given up.

In his time, he saw an end of a dynasty, with all his loyal subjects scattered - never to be seen again.

Five years later.

"My meeting with Mr. Ant is set today." The queen mother said.

"Sige, ingat ka." The prince-in-exile walks out of the door without looking back. He's off to work to sit as a regent for another king.

"Wish me luck."

Mr. Ant took over the paper when its former queen, the editor-in-chief who stood beside the publisher, was captured. Pursued by authorities for her past sins, she is now locked in a dungeon and is bound to stay there for life.

With the old dominion now in shatters, the new lord reaches out to the queen mother to seek her blessing, grant her bounty that was denied to her, and hopefully, put an end to a cycle that has been going on for nearly a decade.

The presence of the prince-in-exile - the last remnant of the tragic kingdom has been expected since last year. It is he who hesitates to put back a torn-out chapter of his book, hoping the past remains undisturbed.

But he cannot turn his back on history forever, lest leave a wound festering throughout time.

And so on the fourth meeting between the queen mother and Mr. Ant, epiphany dawned on him.

"Sir, I need to rush to the hospital."

"Bakit, anong nangyari?"

"Yung sister ko po, manganganak na..."

"Ganun ba? Sino tao mo...?"

It would have been easy to speak the truth, but a last-minute decision to follow the queen mother is beyond the grasp of the company - even the present king. And so the exiled prince who is now the regent stood up from his chair, picked up his bag and hurriedly left his workplace.

To come face to face with a broken past.

To express his gratitude to Mr. Ant, who is now putting back the kingdom together. So that in his own reign, the publishing empire the little prince once saw, may finally be returned to its rightful place - even without his presence.

Unofficial

2012-01-22T04:21:00.000+08:00

At past 3 in the morning:

"Kanina ka pa dumating?" She asked.

"Kakarating-rating ko lang po..."

"May kasama kang umuwi?"

"Ako lang mag-isa..."

"Umuwi ka lang mag-isa?"

"Sinabay ako sa taxi..."

"Hindi mo kasama si JC?"

I was tempted to say that JC was with me the whole time. But to do so might put me in a quandary where a categorical answer would spawn more questions. Her five-word inquiry, despite its naivety, packs a clear undertone. It's essence, no matter unspoken points to a certain recognition.

"Hindi po mama..."

The conversation ended there, as the matriarch needed to pee. She immediately got out of bed and lumbered towards the bathroom. Meanwhile, I was left sitting on the edge of the mattress, watching baby Lenin sleep, with a big smiley drawn on my face.

The Treehugger

2012-01-20T19:05:00.001+08:00

In the pit of the city, I found sentience.

Every day, I wake up and open my eyes to the sight of a window shrouded with curtains.

A pallid landscape awaits outside.

There is not much to see.

Corrugated roofs and wooden walls of houses block the view. Sunlight hurts the eyes, as I am more accustomed to the ethereal beauty of darkness.

Dust floats in the air, carried over by the toxic wind from the nearby highway. The wail of a PNR train can be heard in the distance; the rumble of the LRT coaches usher in a new day, and when a dense neighbor decides to play crappy songs on full volume, pandemonium awaits.

Gone is the peace within my small quarters.

On paved ground, potted plants try to break the monotony of concrete. Neglected of attention, (the people look after their laundry first before their neighbors) they have turned hardy through the years. At the entrance of the driveway, there is a high wall separating the piles of rubble across.

On its summit, a small tree decides to grow long roots, sturdy branches and big leaves.

Someday, it will be cut down, or the high wall would crumble under its weight.

In the heart of the city often under a blanket of brown smoke and engine noises; where shrubs are forced to grow in dry plant boxes; where branches of trees are cut down to make way for telephone wires; and where trash reeks its putrid smell in street corners - and is feasted upon by stray creatures at past midnight, it is easy to see how my world turned me into a treehugger.

I cannot stand the steady corrosion of it all.

In the hidden realms of my daydreams, I long to hear the symphony of rustling leaves; I wish for burning leaves to waft under my nose, and the cool wind to brush my skin. I'd like to be shaded from the sun, not by a tenement housing but of canopies of evergreen. I'd like to see life - beyond this broken humanity, far from monolith buildings selling material excesses of the world, and away from gentle open spaces turned into hard pavements.

If only the ones with money realize what they are bound to lose - in the long run.

credit

Surely it would dawn on them that there is more to life than some silly "environment friendly" buildings.

Homo Politicus

2012-01-17T17:50:00.001+08:00

The student council election was just days away, and two Grade Six pupils were wrapping up their campaign to become the next council president.

One was a classmate. She was the president of our section. While the other, also a class president, was from a rival section, a room next to ours. Both had track record of being class presidents since Grade Two. There's no doubt, teachers saw their leadership qualities.

And so they made them run.

I remember during our Homeroom class, our adviser made a personal plea.

"Tomorrow will be your student council elections." She said. "And as a show of support, I urge you to vote for LJ." LJ was our class president.

Most said "opo" while others merely nodded their heads.

The next day, a special time period was set aside for the pupils to cast their vote. The teachers were there to guide the "electorate" but since my adviser had already showed her bias, I'm certain her guidance had vested interest. As I look back at our class president, I did my best to recall how she was to me:

She was a aloof - a little difficult to approach. I once caught her smirking while a group of boys bullied me in class. She made me feel that I don't exist and I'm not worthy of her time.

And these indifference weighted heavily while casting my vote.

Meanwhile, the other candidate was a class president when I was in Grade Three. Though I can't remember her legacy, (was she the one who broke my wooden ruler when she used it to hit the blackboard to order everyone to keep quiet?) but at least she remembered that I used to be her classmate. She even smiled at me, at times, when we saw each other at the corridor. And even though she had no idea yet that she's being groomed for the council leadership, I felt her sincerity.

Two decades later, I'd still remember her name.

Cristina Buendia.

And so without anyone looking, I checked the box next to her name, folded the piece of paper and then dropped it inside the ballot box. Heaven knows I voted out of conscience.

When everyone had cast their votes, the ballots were taken out to be counted by none other than our teacher. Of the 40 pupils who belonged to our section, two kids ignored the teacher's plea and voted for Miss Buendia.

It was a big slap in our teacher's face - who was there tallying the votes. But she managed to give a nervous smile. You know, the charade you put up when you feel a tinge of embarrassment but tries to hide it.

Fingers began pointing almost immediately and the usual suspects were the pain-in-the-ass classmates of ours. They denied the accusation of course, fearing for their grades I guess. But the damage has been done and the rival candidate won by a huge margin. She too turned aloof after becoming the council president.

LJ's failure to win the presidency wouldn't be her lost in the long run. Half a year later, she would sashay on the stage to receive a medal for being the batch's valedictorian.

As for me, nobody found out I was one of the two who voted for the rival candidate. I guess the other classmate also had gripes with the president. Maybe he's one of the outcast too, like me. But the seeds of my defiance would grow roots and branches and would bear fruits when I started playing politics later in life.

I would become a student political party member, a class president during my junior and senior year, and even the secretary general of the same political party I served throughout college. To top it off, I would always keep abreast of current events, even spewing my opinions especially on matters of governance. Simply because my major required us to think - critically and with an open mind.

And it shows on my Twitter account from time to time.

The snippet of memory came across while reading the Philippine Daily Inquirer one weekend afternoon. Lying flat on my stomach, I turned a page of the newspaper, and set my eyes on Randy David's column. Finishing the sociologist's last paragraph - his arguments as to why the impeachment trial is actually good for our Democracy - I remembered that elections in Grade Six, my decision to think for myself, and realized that it was the first of the many stirrings that would shape me to become.

A political man in my time.

Starstruck

2012-01-15T22:53:00.002+08:00

I remember the first time I shook hands with Risa Hontiveros. It was at the wake of a fallen comrade. I was awed, swept off my feet, and my head was telling me to sign up as a volunteer for her next candidacy. Within my stoic frame is a fan giggling. Had my basic needs been assured, I would love to work for her, for free. Lol.

It would have been the same jittery reaction should I get to meet luminaries such as Randy David, Jim Paredes and Gang Badoy. I was wired to be a groupie - of the idealists and world changers. After all, politics, history and social sciences are some of my passions.

The lack of interest in local entertainment shows have shielded me from getting to know the celebrities as well. Unlike the rest of my family. My mom, who is a sociologist, would spend the rest of the evening watching the soap operas on the Kapamilya network. Lately, my sister, who is a psychology teacher seems to be following the trend.

My partner keeps tabs of the lives of celebrities as well. Without him to feed me the latest showbiz happenings, I'd remain ignorant as to why people are talking about a certain celebrity and why his or her name trends on Twitter.

I would have remained a hermit all my life without my source.

This mindset has spared me from going crazy whenever a hot celebrity goes to the gym. With Eclipse swinging its doors day and night, an actor who badly needs to maintain his six packs and lean body could just drop by after a long day's shoot.

In the final months of last year, several stars were spotted working out at the gym. Jake Cuenca was one of them, and so was Dennis Trillo. I was told that Papa Jack works out in Mabini, but who cares. All of us are there to lift iron plates and not talk of showbiz. Save for several tweets (and some not-so-secret glances) directed at these hunks, I'd go straight to my workout routine without making these celebrities feel stellar.

The workout, a few nights ago would have been the same as last time. I'd arrive at Eclipse close to midnight; engage in a small chat with Blakedaddy about the latest upheavals at the gym; get my progress folder; tenderize my muscles using the foam roller; do a kettlebell exercise before saying hello to the power cage and olympic bars waiting at the free-weights area.

However, I've noticed that I'm sharing the same schedule with a prominent actor from the Kapuso channel. Let's call him Daddy T, so as not to make it sound too obvious. He has a trainer, and unlike most of us, he has his own routine that is designed to maintain his lean built.

Daddy T, like most celebrities is aloof to other members. Maybe it's his nature. Perhaps, it is his way of avoiding attention. But it doesn't rub off on me, so there are times I'd tell myself, "he's not that popular" or "there are members out there who are more good-looking than him."

Talk about sourgraping.

To be honest, if he's not a celebrity, his looks would put him - merely in the "above average" scale of cute boys there.

But a star is a star and even though he loves playing heavy metal songs to put him in the groove, nobody dares to touch his iPod music player and replace it someone else's gadget. Even the coaches won't lower down the music player's volume or risk Daddy T's ire.

Thus, these past few nights, I had to make do with Rammstein and Pearl Jam instead of samples from the Ministry of Sound.

Like I said, it would have been a typical work out night - except that I decided to do cardio on the treadmill. To prolong my stamina, (and keep myself upbeat) I asked one of the coaches if the Ipod plugged to the gym speakers had some club sounds we could play.

"Ah wala. Hindi naman sa akin to eh," the gym instructor revealed.

"Kanino ba yan?" I asked, while trying not to appear surprised.

"Kay Daddy T. Naiwan niya kanina." He chuckled. "I-plug na lang natin yung player mo."

"Ay ganun ba." The gym instructor unplugged Daddy T's 120 GB Apple gadget and replaced it with my music player.

The gym instructor was about to keep the iPod for himself when I came up with a silly idea.

"Wait lang coach." I ran to the table where my bag was. Rummaging its contents, I got hold of my camera.

"Minsan lang ito. Kelangan ng souvenir!"

Ipod: Grasshopper

*click*

And with a press of a button, I realized that behind the indifference lies the truth. The luminaries I spoke about earlier can sit in their Ivory towers for all I care. When I could hold with my hand a showbiz actor's personal item and brag about it to world, the facade of snobbery collapses like a deck of cards accidentally nudged by the star.

Resulting in a moment of genuine and undeniable feeling of being starstruck.

Sublimity Of Happiness #001

2012-01-13T18:50:00.000+08:00

I saw five stars
in the sky.

and smiled.

The "Millennium Falcon" building,
lower level rooftop, San Juan

Threat To Humanity

2012-01-13T04:08:00.000+08:00

And Pope Benedict XVI said:

'This is not a simple social convention, but rather the fundamental cell of every society.

'Consequently, policies which undermine the family threaten human dignity and the future of humanity itself. The family unit is fundamental for the educational process and for the development both of individuals and states.

'Hence there is a need for policies which promote the family and aid social cohesion and dialogue.'

I cannot help but ask, is it possible for faith in the Almighty endure, without the need to anchor it on religion. Jesus Christ, in all His greatness decrees only one commandment - love one another as I have loved you.

In a time of greater perils, (such as wars, climate change, poverty and overpopulation) I cannot understand why Joseph Ratzinger would say that gay marriage is a bigger threat to humanity.

To family.

When will these priests learn that gays - because of their solitary, almost drifting existence - actually provide more for the family by means of extra sources of revenue, emotional support - especially to the unloved, and by giving up their privilege to create another human life, lessens the burden of a dying planet.

I know, because this is what my existence means to the world.

Sadly, bigots in robes remain.

My respect for the church leaders is rapidly dissolving.

Changing My Bed Sheet

2012-01-12T02:00:00.000+08:00

Seven days have passed and it's time to change my bed sheet again:

Step One:

I shared a bed with my mom and dad when I was seven years old. My mom would use square sheets to cover the mattress - whose metal springs protrude and prick my skin. Not only was it horrid to lie on, (because the bed cover had a low thread count and was itchy to touch) every time it gets creased, we had to get out of bed to straighten it again.

Step Two:

That's because my mom and I used to straighten the sheets just before going to sleep. Forget that our room was cluttered with books. As long as the bed is neat - and clean, I can expect an express trip to dreamland. It so happened that my dad had decided to sleep in the same bed again after my sister was born, and apparently, enjoyed crumpling the bed cloth with his feet instead of covering them with a blanket.

Step Three:

Many years later, the habit prevailed and I would obsess about the smallest details that make up my slumber rituals:

A neat and spotlessly clean bed is the essence of my personal hygiene. Going into my bed with my work or gimik clothes is out of the question. Bedding include a soft thin blanket, four pillows which I use for my feet (a hard pillow that is three decades old), head (2 average-sized soft pillows) and a fluffy replacement when JC is not around (the cuddly Mr. Pillow) I sleep with my head opposite the headboard. (a force of habit from the time I slept on a mattress laid on the floor) and I am most at ease when the wind from the electric fan blows on my feet.

Step Four:

The weekly habit would have gone unnoticed if I didn't overhear my two barbarian agents brag about how filthy their bed sheets were.

"Basta lalaki, walang palitan ng kubre kama." Said one, a short, portly guy seated two work stations away from me.

"Honga, kung hindi masikmura ni misis, edi siya ang magpalit." Affirmed another.

"Naalala ko pre, pag angat ko nung unan, iba yung kulay ng parteng hinihigaan sa tinatabunan." Both of them laughed.

I didn't say a word. Not even the tiniest wince at how they neglect their places of slumber. But if one wants to see a soft spot somewhere within my brutish exterior. One look at the corner where I lie and sleep, and it's a give-away...

linen spray: new addition to my bedtime rituals

On The Day Of My Spawning

2012-01-08T02:00:00.000+08:00

It was one of those sleepless nights.

Me, face to face with the computer. Computer taking ages to load a page. Nobody complains. Twitter is yet to be coded, and when the slow web access pisses you off, you can easily ditch a service provider for another.

After all, there was a menagerie of Internet pre-paid cards to choose from.

In those days, social media, as a construct is yet to be conceived. People get hooked to the web to read - and perhaps take a peek at a porn image or two. There was one online forum though. I do not know how I came across its portal. But its power to allow hundreds of minds to speak, and share ideas would soon rub off on me. Within hours after my first stumble, I was browsing the threads and reading the posts of people who found themselves willingly parting their thoughts.

One of those threads would actually change my life.

I have always known the hollow strangeness: of why I seem to be drawn to boys more than girls; of why I feel terribly uncomfortable standing next to naked muscular guy of my age; of why, I'd put the palm of my hand over a flame, to let it get burned and return me to my proper state of mind.

All along there was denial, and I did my best to cover up the truth.

Hoping it would go away.

Once or twice, I did recognize this sleeping giant by means of confession. When the burden became increasingly heavy, I went to a priest for answers. Nothing came out of the revelation.

What I recall about what he said was the word "repent."

Everything else was simply blown away by the wind.

Next, I admitted my swinger side to a gay phone pal. I don't remember how he got my number, but we eventually got along pretty well. He was of the flamboyant kind, the one you would avoid in those days, if you fear being regarded as one. But because I'm used to hanging out with people like him, his nature didn't deter me to reach out,

and learn.

I told him one night, that I somehow liked boys; that I try not to think about the attraction too much. He told me, I must stop or suffer the consequence. "Ang hirap ng ganitong buhay," he said.

I would have understood his words of caution, if our warm ties didn't suddenly cool. It all ended when I showed up at the fast food chain where he worked. He did acknowledge my presence by waving his hand and saying "hi." Nothing more. That night, he didn't call.

Never again will I hear his falsetto voice.

Apparently, our friendship was anchored on looks alone.

Those two episodes of near-recognition got buried under piles of memories of me going out with girls, and at times, professing my love for them - even if only in the presence of friends.

But there's no denial that fate is catching up. That I am getting exposed in ways I would eventually embrace one day as life.

From the graphic novel "One Night in Purgatory," that I unearthed from the stacks of magazines at the Manila Times, (spent a quarter of the summer toiling in that place - for my on-the-job training) to the secret detours at the porn lane under the Carriedo LRT Station, there was an attempt to cross to the other side.

This growing consciousness was somehow suppressed by my close friendship with boys who bullied effeminate men for fun, and by the machismo culture pervading in my dad's smut tabloid business. I was also in a relationship at that time and I thought her presence would finally pull me out of my homosexual leanings.

But I was wrong. So very wrong.

There is one final turning point before the discovery of the bisexuals' thread on Pinoyexchange that changed the course of history. But that dark past deserves another entry.

So on the morning of January 7, 2002. After reading the stories of so many others who were still in the closet - their longing to find someone to relate, to express their hidden self, to assert their attraction towards same sex, without compromising an inch of their masculinity, their words somehow resonated with my own voice.

nanginginig ang mga daliri,

sinusunog ang balat, nilalagnat

diwang tuliro ngunit pilit kumakapa

puwersahan man ang pagtanggap

ngunit wala ng atrasan
nangangatal man ngunit kailangang aminin.

ngayon na joms.

I tapped on the keyboard the very words that would become my freedom piece.

"Damn it's hard to accept this but I really think (and have to admit despite how painful and how unacceptable it is) that I am bi.

I've been so lucky to stumble upon this thread because it's really very hard to have this personality - duo ba.

Definitely I'm not into that thing and I hope I will not** I've read your comments and I think it's one of the signs. It's so sad up here but you guys made the difference. At least, I've dared to become open right now.

I know that we're still considered one of those fags, but I hope that they'll understand that we're much more different. Hope that someday, we'll find our place and will not fall into that pit.

I hope you could support me guys... until then, I need to get really really quiet.

Thanks very much for being here."

You know the feeling of being set free; the elation that you found acceptance, and yet at the same time terrified that someone might spot your tracks and spread the word before you are able to reign in your revolution. So fearful I was that my friends were also on PEx that I changed my handle within a matter of days. The forum posters would get to know me as Endymionn.

And I would knock on so many closets and liberate their confused inhabitants.

Ten years in the making and here I am looking back at that moment of spawning. Now more confident albeit with victory scars to tell my journey.

And realizing that a decade later, I would learn that those bold steps I made would actually embolden so many others to abandon their hiding places and form brotherhoods within the secret layers of cyberspace. Like Garppp, I am one of the firstborns,

and this is my beginning.

** Man to man relationship. Gay sex. Less than a year after recognition. I will have a first serving of both.

Like I always do when I celebrate milestones. Went to Quattro Bar in Timog. Ordered a Macho Mug of San Mig Light and did a toast to my tenth year in fairyland - alone, and proud of who I have become.

Spaceship Adidas

2012-01-05T15:30:00.000+08:00

Boys and gays, I'd like to present my new bag. It was a Christmas present from JC.

A scrooge like me will never spend on something like this. I'd rather let my old mobile personal carrier get torn to shreds first before it gets replaced.

Now if you're wondering about its contents, on a regular work-out day, these are the stuff I keep inside my bag.

1. Jersey Shorts

2. Muscle Shirt

3. Small Towel

4. Driver's gloves

5. Rubber gloves

6. Wooden Rosary

7. Prayer book

8. New Testament Bible

9. Eyeglasses

10. Samsung Champ (Aquario)

11. Ipod Touch (Furion)

12. Kenneth Cole Reaction Wallet (Favorite Aunt's gift last Christmas)

13. LF&C Leather Coin Purse (Made in Bacolod City)

14. Polar Bear menthol inhaler

15. Oatmeal in a plastic container (for the weight-lose effort)

16. Umbrella

17. Polo black (Greatkid's present when he went to the country for some R&R last year)

18. Tote bag

Not included in the family picture:

19. Canon Powershot A495

20. Small plastic file case

Obviously, the plastic file case is for paper works, and the digicam, while seldom used for social occasions, hopes to find its place for my journalistic pursuits (we will never know when an event will happen)

With my tote bag, I will never have to use plastic pouches again for shopping. Besides, it's a souvenir from last year's International Book Fair at the Mall of Asia.

The rosary and the prayer book have been around since I started using the beads again for prayers. The New Testament Bible was a recent replacement. When on a pilgrimage at the monasterio some years back, I used to read passages between the mysteries. The old Book was handed over to a colleague when she was seriously ill.

She recovered after a month.

So these are the contents of my backpack. When a situation calls for it, even a 16-inch laptop, a blanket and two days worth of clothing and toiletries can fit inside its spacious belly. I'm not sure if the bag is weather proof, but the logo speaks of expectations.

Now that I have kept a promise to Miss Chuni, you may want to join the meme and show off the contents of your bag.

Killing Marquis De Sade

2012-01-04T01:46:00.000+08:00

It was perversion of epic proportions.

A young couple possessed with boundless lust had decided to videotape themselves in their moment of heat. For posterity perhaps, or even maybe to fulfill their juvenile fantasies of playing the role of adult entertainment celebrities.

The setting is in the bathroom. The pretty lady faces sideways in front of the mirror as her lover, her knight in shining armor mounted from behind.

The lady was obviously embarrassed as her man thrusts his raging cock inside her tight wet pussy. In a state of ecstasy etched on his face, it is obvious that he is savoring his sweet, sweet conquest.

I only saw snippets of the clip, in a social media portal whose design and purpose is to reach out and tell a story. It could have been your ordinary scandal. Of two careless public figures in their most erotic minutes.

But when you know the tragedy behind their story, of how the knight was brutally gunned down, and allegedly masterminded by his own siblings.

And how the lady survived the horror to tell her lover's twisted family's tale, you begin to ask, why is their porn video being feasted upon by the masses?

In all honesty, the Marquis de Sade in me commands - like a mistress in her Lycra suit - to save the link, and play it again and again in the dark cold corner of my room. Hell knows I'm bent on jerking off until I get tired of stroking my manhood, while looking at the knight's expression, and embracing it as my own.

Yet, upon securing the Vimeo link, after being seen - in part - together with my colleagues. I felt a moment of hesitation. Something is wrong with the picture. A repelling scandal like those should not be spreading, like virus in the Internet.

I may never know how it feels like for the girl to learn that her secret - their dirty little secret is out for the world to see. It doesn't matter how many men - and even women pleasured themselves while watching the clip. They don't see a dead man anyway. And I don't care how sick the person who uploaded it - apparently the mother of the knight - and what end does it serve.

But for once, I have refrained myself from watching the entire video and now forcefully erasing it from my thoughts. I do not know if these words mean anything, but something tells me, there is limit to one's voyeuristic tendencies.

May this act of self-censure be a saving grace for sensibilities gone mad.

Meanwhile, there are the xvideos and xtube clips I could indulge my senses over and over.

Donatien Alphonse François, Marquis de Sade (2 June 1740 – 2 December 1814) (French pronunciation: [maʁki də sad] Audio) was a French aristocrat, revolutionary politician, philosopher, and writer famous for his libertine sexuality and lifestyle. His works include novels, short stories, plays, dialogues, and political tracts; in his lifetime some were published under his own name, while others appeared anonymously and Sade denied being their author. He is best known for his erotic works, which combined philosophical discourse with pornography, depicting sexual fantasies with an emphasis on violence, criminality, and blasphemy against the Catholic Church. He was a proponent of extreme freedom, unrestrained by morality, religion, or law.

Una

2012-01-02T01:34:00.000+08:00

The idea for my first blog entry of the year was to write my twelve resolutions. But the plan was brushed aside when JC took this photo with his Panasonic Lumix G2 Camera.

My partner then uploaded it on Twitter.

The close-up of a weed with overcast skies in the background had left me spellbound. The subject conjures mixed feelings of tranquility and isolation. There is something about the vespertine image that I cannot put into words, but the subliminal message it attempts to convey somehow distills into a song.

When I look at the picture, Yoav's cover of the Pixies' "Where is my Mind" loops in my head.

Year Of The Trenches

2011-12-30T20:51:00.000+08:00

In warfare, trenches are dug-out depressions whose purpose is to deny the enemy ways of taking over fortified positions. One may never pass, until that section of an obstacle has been breached.

In life, trenches are like life stages when one appears to be in suspended animation. Gaining ground becomes an insurmountable feat, knowing too well that you have found your comfort zone, and that, to occupy positions beyond your line of control entails the risk of losing your past accomplishments.

Securing your holdings become the ultimate goal.

I'd like to sum up the year with this metaphor, to tell that I spent my waking days running along the trenches. Much as I would like to count with my fingers, the moments when I had actually stepped foot outside the gullies, memory could only spare a handful of moments. My fondest recollections remain the ones when I actually remain halfway below ground.

Take for example at work. The company had to let go its people when our ocean-side partners decided to close shop. I was supposed to join the ranks, but was held back - by a personal request, and uncertainty of going elsewhere. It could have been my perfect exit, yet I chose to stay at the belly of a sinking ship. Somehow I knew, this was my calling. I have to help find ways to make it float and reach port.

Meanwhile, the union with the significant other remains strong, despite the challenges brought by time, distance and familiarity. Who would have thought I'd live a monk's life while the pope was away. To think I was never a fan of remote arrangements. The bond endured because of our desire to make contact, by our heartfelt recollections of our good days, and by sheer faith alone, that love, like butterflies, emerges more beautifully from its cocoon.

It is getting more difficult to return to the vanity's temple, knowing that age, petty distractions and purpose are turning against you. Girth has expanded two-fold from the time I spoke of my grand plans 365 days ago. There were contemplations of retreat, especially when procrastination often gets ahead of plans. But once the renewal of ties had been sealed, belated the validation of plastic cards maybe, the tempering of physique remains a cornerstone of my rituals.

Last but not the least, the raketship stays a profitable venture. Thoughts of abandonment crossed my head, but when the commissions started pouring in, it was hard to let go of duties. Sure it takes a week to finish a travel guide, and the children's stories require communions with my lost childhood, but the sublime rewards, on top of my paycheck did thwart the trappings of secession.

I ended the year by going on a pilgrimage and see for myself the home of Bentusi, my work provider.

The gamut of trenches cover an entire battlefield, and while attempts to overwhelm these lines resulted in tactical defeats, some portions were left open for invasions. And so breach my armies did and the outcome exceeded beyond my last year's unsaid directives:

A bold assault brought my feet to the shores of Santa Ana. Fifteen hours by bus from home, nestled in the farthest corners of Cagayan, the trip re-awakened the sleeping backpacker in me.

Another breach and I found myself on a path of evolution from dial-up to broadband Internet connection. It was a revolution forthcoming. I only waited for my cable provider to wire our neighborhood. And when high-speed Internet plugged my house to the web, it took less than a year for the entire house to be liberated from entanglements wrought upon by Ethernet cable.

WiFi arrived at home.

From the family closeness centered around the bundle of joy, to the steady acceptance that I too might take up residence at the Home for the Golden Gays, the trench year will go down in my timeline not as an epoch of stalling, but a period of collision between the forces pushing for retreat and of those campaigning to hold out long enough, until I figure my wants in life.

Because when I look back and account for the things I did, the sum of my accomplishments shows that somehow, the hold out let me secure my gains from recent conquests. Short of returning to my academic roots in Diliman, the last twelve months could have been a Golden Age instead.

Only for the simple reason that I found myself back on track again.

And so we close the year along the lines. Trenches have always been tools of war. But when seen with eyes looking forward for blue skies and sunny days, the dug-out becomes pathways of peace. For when the smoke clears and the battles cease, the same trenches often become the permanent peripheries on earth of a sovereign ready to seek inward

and grow from within.

Sharing my hopes and dreams with everyone this 2012.
Happy New Year!

Tala

2011-12-29T17:38:00.000+08:00

Note: Growing up in the city has deprived me a window to the sky. With lights from street lamps, billboard signs and buildings constantly overwhelming the heavens, it's hard to spot even a single star at night.

They say, in remote towns and mountain hideaways, an explosion of lights still illuminates the great beyond. Once, I was treated to this spectacle while our car cruises an unlit highway. We were on our way to Isabela.

The light show only happened once, and such sight, I still long ten years later.

This story, intended for elementary school pupils gave Bentusi, my editor, goosebumps. I guess it must have awakened a consciousness she had long suppressed.

In remembering my first year as a children's magazine writer, I share this entry. Although slightly revised for older readers, it hopes to remind everyone that one can still find joy at the sight of stars.

Cheers!

A huge Balete stands next to a six-lane highway. At the base of the tree is a mound where old people say a duwende makes his home.

The mound and the tree were already there before the highway was built. The Balete watches over a valley, where factory complexes and acre-wide warehouses have now sprung.

One night, the duwende found himself sitting on top of his mound. He was looking at the sky, trying to find a star even with a lamp post overhead.

“The lights are too bright!” The duwende growled. “Where are the twinkling stars?”

“The bear, the archer and the eagle have all disappeared too.” He was talking about a bunch of bright stars known as constellations. These stars, when connected with an invisible line take the shape of animals. Some were even named after humans.

“I used to spot Venus there.” The duwende was pointing at an empty corner of the sky. “And Mars there, and even the faint blue dot which is Jupiter.” He pressed his hands above his eyebrows to shield himself away from the glaring light.

Alas! he couldn't find what he’s looking. The sky glow from all the lights in the valley kept the poor dwarf from seeing even the nearby planets.

“Now they are all gone.”

The duwende remembers a time when the hillside was full of trees. Everything was swallowed by the darkness. On some nights, the full moon looks down from above. Its silvery glow hides the heavenly bodies. And since its time for the diwatas and encantos to collect their moon dew, the forest hums to the sound of enchanting songs. Nowadays, only the roar of truck engines can be heard late a night.

“I should have left when the diwatas decided to go.” A tear rolled down the dwarf’s cheeks. “I should have listened when they said, ‘soon the stars will be no more.’”

Turning around to the Balete, the duwende spoke his wish to see the stars again.

“Just this once, please.” the dwarf whispered.

And as if it was magic, all the lights in the city went off. The hillside was dark again as it once was. Even the valley below, not a single light bulb flickered.

The duwende couldn’t believe his eyes. He was seeing constellations instead of blinking airplane lights. The red planet was pinned in the heavens. And even Venus, the second brightest object in the sky appeared just below a grinning moon.

The duwende was laughing and crying at the same time! His gleeful voice echoed across the valley. The blackout lasted only a few minutes but for the dwarf, it doesn’t matter. His wish came true and he could now return inside his mound.

Like the heavenly bodies, the still chuckling dwarf disappeared when the bright lights once again flooded the sky.

Meanwhile, in a faraway valley, where not a single human has ever set foot, one can still hear fairy songs at night. Without an artificial light to fend off the darkness, a billion stars light up the sky.

Credits:

Duwende
Stars

Cartography Of Veins

2011-12-27T00:53:00.002+08:00

It all started when JC sent an SMS asking for directions.

"Hala Baaaboo." The message read. "Yung friend ko di alam pano umuwi sa kanila. Haha. Pano ba magtaxi papunta jan sa area? Sanay kasi na may driver. Lol."

I sent a reply asking my partner where his friend will be coming from. As much as I would like to help, her whereabouts is needed so I can tell exactly the streets she must pass through.

"Alam na daw nya pag andun na sya sa area. She just needs to get there. Manggagaling siyang Rockwell. Let's say papunta na lang jan sa inyo pano?"

Instincts hint that something is odd about his statement. It seems like someone is cooking up a plan. But rather feel nosey about the hypothetical inquiry, I opened my desktop's Google Map to plot on the digital chart the taxi's swiftest trajectory.

"Tell your friend to cross the Rockwell bridge." I instructed. "Dire-diretsuhin lang nung driver yung Barangka drive until he reaches Nueve de Pebrero..."

As I traced with my fingers the streets on my computer's flat screen, I remember those late nights when I used the same passage to get to Makati from the gym in Shaw. Cheesy as it may sound, but those roads were my direct link to JC when he used to work in one of the office towers along Ayala Avenue.

Somehow, I felt the memory's distance. Like a footnote at the end of a page, the disused shortcut had become a mere reference for someone whose sense of direction require a little fine-tuning.

"Once you find Shaw Boulevard, turn right on the street across Puregold. There's a Shell gas station next to it. Dirediretso na yun going to Wilson."

JC asked several more questions that put my office within walking distance of his friend's residence. But gullible as I am, by then I was able to suppress whatever doubts still lingering in my head. Drowned with thoughts of the gym, and with my resolve further weakened by my inability to think clearly because of sleeplessness, I realized the ruse only when my phone started humming its melody to tell an incoming call.

It was a missed call from Baabaa. Immediately, I left my workstation to return his call.

"How's my baabaa, still in Greenbelt?"

"Wait... choppy ikaw, can you find an open spot where the signal is much clearer?" I left the narrow corridor to walk towards the building's lower-level rooftop. JC still grumbled about the phone's poor reception.

"Teka asan ka ba?" I asked.

"Andito sa baba ng office niyo..."

From a passing mention of a female ex-blockmate who lives within the vicinity, to finding my partner standing outside the building with a faint smile on his face, was beyond words. Even the poor reception was faked hoping I would show up in one of the building's balcony. Alas, our room faces the sunrise direction.

Heaven knows how difficult it is to find my office, especially for an outsider who doesn't know the maze of streets along the peripheries of Mandaluyong and San Juan.

The effort alone speaks of JC's wonderous intentions. But to receive something like this, as Christmas present:

Makes you see his triumphant arrival the fruit of his quiet journey, steady and straight to my heart.

Panahon Na Naman

2011-12-25T00:00:00.000+08:00

and on this day

a child was born

and he taught people

what love is all about.

words cease to tell my deeds

this time.

all I'm saying is that love

always return in kind.

Merry Christmas.

Guilt Pangs

2011-12-23T16:19:00.000+08:00

Where does this torrent of remorse come from?

As far as I can tell, the Mugen twitter account remains a conveyor of directions as to where to send relief goods bound for Mindanao.

Same with the blog, a satirized news article that includes a sexy photo of a naked rescuer piggy-backed the list of relief agencies accepting donations for flood victims.

I left scathing remarks against a leader who seemed ambivalent to his bosses' suffering. It became news the next morning. The president flew to the province to see for himself the damage wrought by Sendong to Cagayan De Oro and Iligan cities on the same day.

And using my postpaid number, I donated money to Red Cross. The family gave away five bags of used clothes to the Social Welfare Department. These too would reach Cagayan and Iligan in a week or two.

Blankets are to follow.

I guess this is what happens when you are being encircled by people who run relief operations day and night.

You couldn't help but feel that you could have done more.

And judging my response to Ondoy - the initiative, the passion and the energy to make it not only to the busy warehouses of Sagip Kapamilya but to the muddied streets of Calumpang, Marikina on the third day, my actions today shows a tinge of indifference.

They say it's the compassion that counts.

But that's not how I see it.

Maybe, the flood of guilt tumbles not from inaction. But from choosing to heed other preoccupations rather than staring right in the face the urgency of the day.

Relief

2011-12-19T15:56:00.002+08:00

YUMMY HOT KUYA, BAYANI NG CDO

Tinatayang hindi bababa sa isang libo katao ang namatay, karamihan mga bata, matapos ang magdamagang buhos ng ulan na nagdulot ng pagbaha sa Cagayan De Oro at Iligan City, Sabado ng madaling araw.

Bilyon bilyong pisong halaga ng ari-arian at pananim ang kasamang naanod nang umapaw ang Cagayan at Tubod rivers. Tinatayang aabutin pa ng susunod na taon bago makabangon sa delubyo ang mga residente ng nasabing bayan.

Sa kabila ng mapait na trahedya, nagawa pa rin ng pahayagang The Philippine Daily Inquirer mangiliti ng imahinasyon nang maglabas ito ng litrato ng isang makinis, artistahin at pagkasarap-sarap na binata sa kanilang front page kahapon.

Ang nasabing binata, na lumabas sa December 18 issue ng diyaryo ay nakuhaang nakahubad at karga-karga ang isang batang babae habang sila ay patawid sa rumaragasang baha.

Ayon kay Luningning Saqnioco, isang Gay Sociology expert, inaasahang magiging viral hit ang litrato ni kuya.

"Day, sa dami ba naman ng mga baklang sabik sa laman ngayong kapaskuhan, hindi malayong siya na ang bagong pantasya ng bayan."

Sinang-ayunan ito ng isang tabloid reporter na napabalitang suki ng mga sinehan sa Cubao at Avenida.

"Siney yung julakis? Bet ba niya lumabas sa bagong pelikula ni Manay Josie? (isang indie film producer) Kukunin ko shaa." Sabay walk-out para sundan at sutsutan ang isang matipunong security guard papasok sa loob ng pampublikong palikuran.

Iba-iba rin ang nakalap naming reaksyon sa kilalang social networking site na Twitter:

"Ay, para siyang tasty bread na lumulutang sa kape." Ayon kay @bekingeseako.

"Ayos! May bago na naman akong inspirasyon bago matulog!" Sabi naman ni @goldenboy75

"Para siyang isang basang sisiw na nangangailangan ng kalinga't aruga." Kumento naman ni @miss_cougar na kaagad ring ni-retweet (kinopya) ng isa pang twitter user na nagngangalang @missterioussgirl.

Pinilit naming kuhanin ang panig ng Inquirer, kasama na rin ang pangalan, tirahan at shoe size ni kuya. Ang mga detalyeng aming makakalap ang siya sanang magbibigay daan sa mabubuting loob na handang mag-abot ng tulong pinansyal, cellphone at pati na rin kabuhayan showcase sa binata.

Hanggang sa mga oras na ito ay wala pa ring reply sa aming text ang news editor ng nasabing pahayagan.

Insensitive

2011-12-18T23:15:00.000+08:00

Most certainly, the mood wouldn't be this festive
if the deluge happened in Imperial Manila.

For the first time,
I am beginning to question the leader
I voted into office.

Ascent

2011-12-17T05:17:00.000+08:00

hurled into heaven;
a star you have
become.

A Decade Later

2011-12-15T23:59:00.000+08:00

4:00 pm
LRT 2 Pureza Station

Hey Jay,

How does it feel like turning a decade older?

I'm off to Santa Clara to give thanks for a meaningful and blessed year. While waiting for the train to come, I thought of walking down the memory lane, hoping I could get in touch with you again. And you know what, I vaguely remember how your birthday was ten years ago. Was it the one you got so drunk and made mom and dad upset?

You caught them by surprise, kid. They don't know you already sleep with alcohol at such age.

Besides, you never had plans that day. Because a few days later, your class will hold a Christmas Party. You took great pains for it to happen.

You said, "kahit pa-birthday niyo na lang." Since its your last year in school, you want everyone to show up and enjoy.

I'm sure you had thoughts of how your life is ten years after turning twenty.

You ask:

Did you succeed your dad and became a tabloid publisher?

Did you run your family's security agency business and made it prosper?

Did you marry your girl and became a "trendy millionaire by 27" like what was written on your college yearbook.

Big plans eh?

You saw life through a rose-colored stained glass window. The future maybe unseen, but you know it will be good!

I remember even before, you don't throw a party on your birthday. Not even a tagayan session at home. A quick trip to the Santissimo Rosario parish with your girlfriend for a quiet reflection and your day is done.

But your tropa - the PGC - had insisted to have a drink after your class was dismissed. "Birthday mo naman eh," they cheered. "Minsan lang to," said another. You first turned down the idea, but eventually you gave in.

Now that I see it through the train window - as it crosses Edsa, you had a choice of stomping it down - and get on with your solitude. That moment of giving-in, somehow, put in front of the mirror your ways of coming up with decisions. You played passive as default. Seldom did you make choices and when you do, it is laced with doubts and hesitations.

But you made very good ones too!

Going back to the evening of December 15, 2002, your childhood friend gatecrashed your little drinking session. He presented himself as an expert tanggero and after countless shots of Ginebra San Miguel, you lost track of time and the next thing I remember, you were slumped on the ground.

After being carted off to Neverland, I'm sure you had twisted dreams of becoming the undisputed sovereign of your family business. Though you know within that you never like being surrounded with hot, sexy starlets, it doesn't hurt to know that your coffers never get empty.

Sadly kid, I'm afraid your fantasies never took place. In less than a year after leaving college, a series of tragedies struck your family. First was your dad going into hiding. He was accused of sending someone to his death. Next, the business had its computers and printing machines taken away by the authorities. It was too obscene for the prudish and was thought of corrupting the minors - when they get their hands on them. We will never able to rise up after that raid. And when dad was able to breathe new life into the newspaper, he said bye-bye to this world a week after it resumed operations.

He died just when your cold war was beginning to thaw.

There was no choice but to sit on his broken throne. You were plucked from another company (you abandoned your post at your dad's company after some disagreements made you realize you cannot work for free.) and found the once mighty tabloid now swimming in debt. All it took for the newspaper to sink was one summer, and then its over.

The tabloid may have had several comebacks, but never will it be yours again.

As for matters of the heart, you began crossing fences shortly after turning twenty. Blame the Internet for the Lavender Spring, but you saw it coming way way back. You will have three boy relationships. You will spend five years with one of them. The third will make a phone call and say "Happy Birthday" exactly a minute after you've turned thirty.

You will discover what contentment means with him.

Returning to that fateful night, as you tried to get up and meet your parents waiting at the dining table, the next ten years will be a replay the scenes of the struggle.

Your savings was almost wiped out during the first five years of the decade. You jumped from one job to another, only to settle in a career not far from the one you were groomed to take. You were accepted in UP Diliman, and was able to join their Creative Writing program.

Short of thesis, you decided to put your academics on hold while you sorted out the other realms of your life.

I remember, dad always tells us to stay healthy. We were blessed with faulty genes that no matter how we aspire for good health, heart ailments and diabetes trail not far behind.

It's a good thing you thought of enrolling in a gym at 26. More than reasons of vanity, the long and fruitful fitness tradition has allowed you to stay out of reach of our ancient maladies.

Even though you know, they are catching up.

Well Jay, these sums up your life. I could have said more, but this piece is getting lengthy. Besides, its getting more difficult to ruminate especially when you're walking at White Plains avenue with cars facing head on.

To be fair, the decade wasn't that bad. As I said earlier, though seldom did you make you own decisions, the ones you did are the finest. First, you may have inadvertently liberated so many other guys in the closet when you accepted your absolute attraction with boys. I will not go into details, but surely you know how sharp your pen is. (no pun intended)

You might not earn much (and you seem lagging behind the career race) but at least, you get to lead and look after a dozen people at work. You are also under the good graces of the boss.

Lastly, you may not have found a career in the newspaper industry. But at least, you have a very strong, quasi-anonymous online presence. And you get to write science articles for small children too!

I don't know any loftier accomplishment than that.

What I'm telling you Jay is that no matter how you see your last ten years as a glass half-full, it doesn't look that worse than showing up at the dining table drunk and wasted. Your mom and dad bought food pa naman for you to feast.

But let me stop reminding you of what happened that evening and focus on why there's a need to reach out.

I guess writing back is my way of telling, of telling my future self my state of mind on a breezy, late afternoon of December 15, 2011.

Sure, my accomplishments were modest and I got slightly piqued having to walk all the way from Santa Clara to Ortigas just to hear myself talk.

But this act of walking, of this silly writing to a boy who was intoxicated on his twentieth birthday, if it carries any weight, is my way of telling the future that I'm willing to take long journeys on foot to get there.

To my destination.

For when you sum our lives from that night of worthless abandon to where I stand today, the wind tells me, I'm back from where I started.

Only now, I'm fully aware of my senses.

I hope, the next time I will write this way, Jay, you will find yourself on top of a scenic vista overlooking a breathtaking landscape. Better if you remain alone, as long as you're well-accomplished in ways you have dreamed of.

I hope you will get to finish your masters, and stay fit. May you never give up the Olympic Bars and Steel plates all because you thought, you had enough of weightlifting.

And I sincerely wish that even though you never get to see your teenage dreams fulfilled, may your sublime aspirations of becoming a teacher, a crusader of the planet, a devoted and supportive partner be realized.

May you succeed in putting your house in order.

Just so you know, I kept the bottle as souvenir.

Because despite failing miserably in laying down and showing off your earthly feats, I can tell deep down that you have served your Creator well.

In the silence of Baaspace.

Happy Birthday... Joms.

Hoarder

2011-12-13T23:57:00.001+08:00

I will not deny that I sometimes see my house like this:

Yes, a little close to that.

Unfortunately, I am in a rush since it is time for my general cleaning tradition.

Stories can wait for another time.

I just want to tell that if there is one soul who has the audacity to draw the line, it's me. And the more trash the hoarders bring, they can expect a reaction so brutal that thoughts of sentimentality will be thrown out of the window.

If it is the only way to clean up the house and give-away stuff we never need in the first place.

Desperate times need desperate measures. Plans are set and they won't know what hit them. Meanwhile, all I can do at the moment is start the overhaul within the confines of my room. I may not be able to convince the rest to follow. At least, I live my own rule.

Bricked

2011-12-12T20:37:00.000+08:00

The self-controlled soul, who moves amongst sense objects, free from either attachment or repulsion, he wins eternal Peace.

Bhagavad Gita

All I ever wanted was to make all traces of its previous owner disappear: The one-hundred and one photos, the movies stolen from Torrent, even the text messages and mp3s that take so much space on the gadget's memory. The Apple is already mine. I can take a bite whenever my heart desires.

And so I swiped the touchscreen. Deleted the apps I will never use. Swiped again until I found the Settings icon. Selected the option "delete all data and restore factory settings." without checking on Google the consequence of my action. And then tapped the digital button to confirm it.

Only to realize - too late - that I should have pondered my moves over.

My mom warns me that I always get into trouble when I let impulse rule over. And this time, it reared its ugly head. By deliberately blocking any dissenting opinion over my purchase, over my overwhelming need to cover up the truth - that I bought something that was never mine in the first place, by letting my emotions and restlessness reign, I eventually ended up losing more than my stolen music player.

I returned home six hours later to find the gadget drained of power. I plugged it to a USB socket and waited for the device to come to life.

It's been two days after my historic acquisition. Furion would still turn on - only to remain in boot mode - but never to reveal its lovely square apps again.

Furion

2011-12-12T04:30:00.000+08:00

Hushed voices tell of a place where all electronic gadgets forcibly taken away from their hosts are sold.

There, pickpockets and robbers turn ambulant vendors. Their makeshift stalls line up a busy strip. It is where flies come together to inspect their wares; eager to get the best deal, knowing somehow, what are laid before them came from someone else.

But such words are never spoken.

This shitty truth was avowed to me by a colleague. Someone, who in his past life clawed out of the dregs. At the back of my head, going there is the closest I could exact as revenge. Maybe too, my Ipod Nano found itself peddled in one of the stalls there.

I would like to retrieve it with cash.

"Ingat ka papunta dun." It was from my agent.

So I went to Avenida in search of the blackest market. Dressed down to my house garments, I even left my phone and wallet to ensure my possessions are spared.

It was easy to fit in. The sidewalk was packed with people. Most were blue collar workers off to see if their wages could afford them a worn down phone. There were Nokias and Motorolas, I even spotted a touch-screen Samsung and a bunch of China-made Cherry phones.

A stall sells digital cameras. I wonder how it was snatched from its owner. A hold-up maybe? What if it was pawned? There were even laptops at drop down prices. Displayed for all to see, my heart wishes of amiable partings. But all I could hear are the cries and woes of their past owners.

I moved from one stall to the next with a heavy heart.

And then, like a silver lining at the tail of a cold front, I caught glimpse of sunshine. Square in shape, silver in color. It was the same Nano I lost.

I picked it up, hovered over the home button with my sweaty finger. I had to see what songs are kept in its repository. Rihanna, Goo Goo Dolls. Not a single Electronica. I think there was Eminem as well, and a slew of punk bands. Close enough, but those weren't my songs. The Nano was owned by someone else.

"Magkano po siya manong?"

"Two thousand."

"Wala na pong tawad?"

"Sige P1,900." I was ready to haggle some more, or even check the other stalls just a few steps away from my prospect.

But just when I was about to move on, I saw another gadget. an Ipod Touch lying beside the Nano.

"16 GB yan"

"Magkano?" I prefer to withhold the price.

"Kaya niyo pa ibaba ang presyo?"

"Sige..."

The bait was very tempting. Especially when I learned how the inferior Apple gadgets on the nearby stalls commanded a higher price. The one being offered had a defect. Yes, a major one now that I see it differently. But at that moment, I was easily swayed by a wagging finger. Leaving my phone behind denied me salvation from my own impulses.

"I will get it." It was too late to back off.

Drunk with the thought of having my first Apple, I went to the nearest ATM to withdraw some cash. It was worth half-a-month's pay. Something I could use to fund my holiday project. But my inner demons say otherwise.

"It's time you level up."

"Think of it as a reward."

"You can use WIFI instead of your service provider's snail-paced WAP. Imagine how it would revolutionize your Social Media usage."

No questions asked. The demons have a point.

And so I returned to the vendor to see the iPod Touch for a final inspection. Guiltless of my ways of acquisition. Fearless with my unilateral decision. I handed over the cash as the product exchanged hands. Sliding it inside my pocket, I left the strip a conqueror.

It was a Pyrrhic victory.

"From now on, you will be Furion." I said to myself, smiling, while looking at the side mirror of the jeep.

And the sweet taste of hubris

lingered in his mouth.

Only to learn, too late

it was the same fit of arrogance that would

lead to his downfall.

Less than a day later.

Incident Report

2011-12-09T21:50:00.001+08:00

Mga alas-otso po ng gabi iyon nangyari. Naghahanap po ako ng gift wrapper at kahon sa Carriedo. May buhat po akong malaking plastic bag ng National Bookstore, samantalang puno naman po ng mga pinamili ang backpack ko. Hindi ko po napapansin ang mga tao. Naka-earphones po kasi ako at naka-full volume ang MP3 player. Nakikinig po kasi ako ng Trance music. Mabilis po ang mga pangyayari. Biglang na lang pong nawala yung sounds malapit kung saan naroon yung stall na ang tinda ay mga boxer shorts. Tapos pagtingin ko sa baba, yung earphone jack nasa labas ng bulsa ko. Mahirap man tanggapin pero doon pa lang, alam ko pong wala na ang iPod Nano ko.

Cheap

2011-12-09T04:09:00.001+08:00

I was checking my Gmail account when I came across an e-mail from the Coffee Bean & Tea Leaf.

And you know what my first reaction was? "Shit, did CBTL came across my blog? Is that why they are offering me free coffee?"

You see, I use that Gmail address for online correspondence. I also do business with Bentusi using that account. While Nuffnang sometimes seed my inbox with their lame promotions, seldom do they offer freebies. To make sure the invitation came from someone else, I tried to look at the sender field.

What I found had put a big, big smile on my face.

I won't deny that I have this HD to become a social blogger. Yes, the ones who write glittery reviews of restaurants or creating a buzz on the Internet to endorse a certain product. I want to put my writing and SEO skills to good use - to the benefit of local entrepreneurs. Since the Souljacker generates quite a traffic I thought CBTL was subtly requesting me to spread their marketing campaign.

Who am I to put down their favor. After all, I don't recall a time staying in their coffee shop and sipping a warm cup of coffee.

This might be a good experience.

So I went to the Coffee Bean & Tea Leaf website to claim my free drink. There was the mandatory registration, of course. And you must also let them dig into your Google contacts for their system to send invites to your "friends."

"I will include you, you and you," I was telling myself while checking the box to pick among my contacts the ones to forward the offer.

"No you're just a fake account, erase. erase."

While in the process of selection, I figured how the announcement got into my email. Someone was exactly doing the same thing before he realized (if ever) how CBTL mines his online account for information.

"You dirty bastard! Anyway I got a freebie so who cares."

And with that, I gave away my closest friends' and colleagues' email addresses. They say I could claim my espresso at SM Megamall branch only.

No exceptions.

I can live through the thought that I was hoodwinked by CBTL's promotion. The data mining procedure already defies the goal of creating good impressions. Besides, a free coffee at a certain branch? Isn't it too inconvenient for its customers?

But you know what rubbed salt into the wound?

A few minutes after sending my registration, another e-mail came. This time, it was a confirmation that I have truly sold my soul and allowed Coffee Bean & Tea Leaf to use me as a springboard to reach out to more people. Included in the email are instructions on how to claim the prize:

1. Only one couple will be allowed per person.
4. Redemption period is from December 1 - December 31.
5. Please print out this e-mail and present your valid ID. Print-outs without the following fields will not be accepted: from, to, date, subject, name, store and code.

Swear! I was short of saying, "at namigay ka pa sa lagay na yan!" after reading the last item. At a time when using paper is being frowned for environment reasons, the nerve of the one who came up with this idea to require patrons for print-outs. If he had only used his brain to think - digitally - he could have sent the authentication through SMS to make the process easier.

Conventional wisdom say that when you wish to give something for free, and generate goodwill, you don't put the receiver at a disadvantage.

And so I tell you, I won't get caught going to Coffee Bean & Tea Leaf with the e-mail printout. I won't fall in line along with paying customers and show my ID to claim their giveaway. To hell with their coffee. I'm not too atat to taste it anyway.

Besides, I could afford a Venti at Starbucks anytime my cravings demand.

On Gay Marriage Last Pt.

2011-12-07T02:00:00.000+08:00

Previously on Souljacker

February 14, 2003

It was past 7 in the evening. Lovers were everywhere. Restaurants and hotels were fully booked for dates and other expressions of intimacy. While lonely singles banded together for group dates and bachelor parties.

Meanwhile, there I was in Dapitan. The street was empty. There was a girl using the phone booth and she was crying while talking to someone on the other line. I can't remember why I'd be using the phone after her. All I know is that I just had a fight, and had this urging to let go once the boyfriend call it quits.

I won't run after him.

"You know what, I'm willing to give up everything. I'm willing to shell out so you can make both ends meet. Because you are my partner. Pero tama ka, break na tayo." I cleared my throat before pressing the button to send the reply.

Barely four months after meeting the stranger, my first man to man relationship had ended.

The split was welcomed with more jubilation than grief. My friends were behind me, (they never liked him in the first place) I've suffered for far too long that I was already plotting my exit. During the first two months, a day won't last without him picking up a fight. He would accuse me of cheating - even when I report to him at 6 in the morning and before I go to sleep at night. I even used our landline to assure him I was already home. On weekdays, I had to pick him up at work - not because he wanted to, but to let him know how dead serious I was with the commitment.

Because I was living a dream, at 21, while he dwelt on jadedness at 28.

The guy after him was no different. We lasted five years but all I remember now is how I kept my growing world hidden while our point of convergence straddled along the lines of personal convenience. He showed up only to use my computer for school, or he needed extra money to jack up his finances.

There were good times. But these were buried under heaps of emotional baggage and dissolved under the bitter awakening of how tiny our relationship had become. The aftertaste served as the fuse that lead to the end of our relationship. Had you read my deleted blog, you would understand the struggle, and for this reason, I never saw a future - much less - a permanent union.

God knows I had loved those men. He knows how I had surrendered every inch of me not only for their happiness, but for mine as well. He knows how I tried to make the relationship work despite its slow crumble. While on television, on online forums and in the streets, gay people assert their right to marry. The debate went on in the halls of congress like a poorly-rated musical shown season after season.

The motion gets junk before its first reading simply because the bigots say gay marriage is an affront to the Almighty.

Did my maker say that?

I stand by my faith that not a single word is found in the Scriptures, where Christ condemned people like me to eternal damnation. I have never known Him forbidding a man to love another man when it is sincere, heartfelt and drawn out from selfless inspiration.

And I believe too that a covenant meant for life doesn't need a priest as a witness. Love is between two people. The less fanfare it has, the deeper the attachment is. I've heard stories of gay couples marrying in a Metropolitan Church complete with media coverage only to divorce a few years later. Besides, a commitment is a work in progress. The attachment wears off from time to time, so it must be renewed by new shared experiences, and sometimes, even common struggles.

There are moments when I still ask myself if I was meant to go through two failed relationships and six wasted years so I may become wiser with the present one. Surely the scars remain with the first, and I have been less susceptible to revolts, after waging a protracted rebellion in the time of the second lover. I have also ceased relying on forever and instead, have learned to place my faith in love at present. I guess these are their legacies.

As for gay marriage, the aspiration will be realized sooner than we think. There is no need to rush, or worse, display those trappings of travesty when a gay man wears a bridal gown during Pride events. Everything falls into place, including collective perception.

As for me, I can afford to wait, and surely JC too, as we are both partners whose union is shaped by age. And if the time comes we decide to live together. A government recognition and protection will do.

After all, I speak of our creator everytime his thoughts cross mine.

For we already share a journey.

The Star That Is Lilia Cuntapay

2011-12-04T22:32:00.001+08:00

Put yourself in the shoes of a bit player. Someone who spends her waking days waiting for that call - A phone call from her agent for a role so insignificant, not even the supporting actors notice her presence.

Imagine playing this role over and over for the next thirty years, and then one moment, in the dustbin of her career, a break comes. A role she has spent a lifetime of waiting to play. This time, not just an old hag in an r-rated film, or a ghost nanny in a horror flick.

What if that person has been given a chance to play a character, not just an extra but the lead actress herself?

In the film Six Degrees of Separation from Lilia Cuntapay, this question has been finally answered. Written and Directed by Antoinette Jadaone, the film explores the life of a bit player - someone whose perpetual movie role launches her to pop-icon status, but her name, hardly anyone knows - not even her co-stars.

The film is done in a Mockumentary style. The director follows the real Lilia Cuntapay around as she bares her life outside the movie industry. Here, we get to take a peek at how bit players are seen as celebrities in their low-income neighborhoods; how they take their roles very seriously, even practicing the few lines they have to deliver, and how frustrating it is to be stereotyped in a role until the people identify you as the character and not the person.

Interviewer: Kilala niyo po si Lilia Cuntapay?

Interviewee: Lilia who?!?

Interviewer: Yung matandang yaya na mahaba ang buhok sa Shake Rattle and Roll 3?

Interviewee: (after seeing the picture) Ahh siya ba? Yung mumu? Uu naman, napapanood ko siya nung bata pa ako eh!

Mona Lilia

We also get to learn that more than the White Lady and the Aswang in the Regal Films horror franchise. Lilia Cuntapay lent her expertise in movies such as Curacha and Brokedown Palace. She also claims to have worked with almost all the celebrities (including Kevin Bacon) by virtue of six degrees of separation.

The idea rests on the fact that Nanay Lilia has worked with someone who has collaborated with another actor in the same industry. Based on this premise, it is possible even for a lowly bit actor to find herself at the center of the movie universe.

More than the comic relief, the film brims with heartfelt moments that add depth to the story. We see Lilia Cuntapay arriving at the set at 4 in the morning (and was forbidden to use the VIP toilet) for a six-in-the morning call time. We also get to see her being interviewed in TV Patrol (for she was nominated for best supporting actress in a film) and throwing a viewing party for her neighbors. We also get to see her relationship with her adopted daughter, and how one seems to be in-denial of the other.

I do not know how much of the narrative is fiction, but I was convinced that Lilia Cuntapay's acting was drawn from the gut. It speaks of hardships in the industry she belongs, her perpetual dilemma whether to see herself as an actress and not just an extra, and how she was confined to playing minor roles for so long, when she could be the star herself. Between the lines of the acceptance speech she had continuously revised throughout the film, a keen observer can see the point of what the Mockumentary is all about; of how one's aspiration has been realized.

Six Degrees of Separation from Lilia Cuntapay is a film dedicated to all the nameless, stereotyped bit players out there. It's no wonder that for some reasons, I felt that justice has been served when I left the UP Film Center after the ending credits began to roll.

BabyTV

2011-12-03T14:07:00.001+08:00

I was channel surfing one morning when I came across a featured, free channel on Skycable. There were no syndicated shows like ANTM or Glee, not even grappling documentaries like Mythbusters or Deadliest Catch. Instead, it was playing instrumental music - a lullaby - the ones you hear on mobile cribs (the suspended contraption with revolving toys going around in circles) when someone puts a baby to sleep. Out of fascination (because I find it too odd that a TV channel for infants and toddlers would keep me hooked) I left my thoughts on Twitter.

Me: Is watching BabyTV Channel on Skycable at 2 in the morning.

Me: Teka, lipat ko nga yung TV sa Master's Bedroom to that channel. Nandun naman si Baby Lenin eh.

Me: (After eating Lugaw and Egg across the street) Now back to watching Babytv. strongly recommended for little girls who want to be put to sleep.

Nobody paid attention to my punchline, or maybe, I was the only one laughing at my joke. But to my surprise the next day, somebody sent a reply

Jess Abrera, Editorial Cartoon, Philippine Daily Inquirer

BabyTVChannel: Hope she fell asleep:-) RT @xxx now back to watching babytv. strongly recommended for little girls who want to be put to sleep.

I wonder what would Elena Bautista-Hor (née. Yee) say when she finds out that even the Baby Channel Network wants her boss to be put to sleep. As for me, I'll drop ESPN and Balls Channel in favor of BabyTV for my nephews.

The Champ

2011-12-01T21:44:00.000+08:00

To say that my fitness activity is faltering is an understatement. The truth is, I have lost much ground that people are starting to notice my expanding girth. The three-times-a-week work-out became two. In the last two weeks, the frequency of my presence - at Eclipse - has decreased to one.

I could raise a howl as to why the whimsy behavior is getting more obvious. It's the season to be glutton and everyone's busy preparing their tummies for the holiday feasts. The constant thighs-and-back pain would drive me to the comforts of my own mattress. And the dreaded metabolism has slowed to a standstill, even when I starve myself the way skinny stiletto-wearing models do, I gain more pounds than shed weight.

It would have been much, much easier to give up the gym. After all, it's over - the body is bloating unopposed. Who am I to turn against my genes when I am bound to become obese one day. In his thirties, my dad had the tummy of a pregnant lady. His arms and thighs were as big as logs and his big-nippled man-boobs sagged like a hundred babies suckled milk from his soft bosom.

But as far as my memory whispers, he didn't easily give up the fight. He might have been chubby to a fault, but he did his best to turn against the tide.

There were mornings when my dad would tell me to stay beside him so he could teach me how to use the dumb bells properly. He had just bought second-hand gym equipment and converted a room in our house into his personal gym.

Being a kid who loves to play with ~~his sister's dolls~~ my video games, the side trip proved to be a well-spring of annoyance than a source of learning. Soon, I caved in. I still keep that notebook where he had written a basic exercise program I once capriciously followed to make it appear that I am one with his pursuit.

For two summers, we would go to the Army and Navy club at Luneta. He would swim all morning, while my eyes moved around to spot other swimmers whose physique I would love to have as my own. I would learn to float in waters beyond the reach of my toes, eventually. But other than that, what I remember were the men (in their fifties) who walked around naked in the dressing room and the smooth, toned body of a tsinoy classmate in swimming class who I would ~~fantasize~~ think about all day.

In the home front, dad used to brag to his friends how firm his biceps and legs were, when all I could see are chicken legs and loose skin. The wall separating his room from the maid's quarters were plastered with torn-up posters of Arnold Schwarzenegger and Frank Zane. He too bought those huge plastic containers of weight-gain formulas. Had he known they would make him bigger, he would think twice of buying those supplements in the first place.

It was a life-long struggle that took the drive away from my dad. And it was the same uphill battle, I am facing now that lead me to remember his pursuits and learn, that all along, he was passing his greatest aspirations.

So that I won't end up becoming like him.

So goes another year of seeing my progress record

The old man didn't live to see my project. He would never know how I could easily lift a 120lbs Barbell for Benchpress or do 230lbs for Deadlift. He would never feel how relatively "flat" my tummy is - despite the wicked love handles I keep on my sides - when his was already rounded and protruding when he was at my age. I hardly swim anymore, and have never learned the Butterfly. But anytime someone would ask, I can go underwater without the fear of drowning.

Dad missed a lot. Had he known that not a single grain of effort was lost when he taught me to do free weights, maybe, just maybe, he would have pushed himself a little harder and accomplish the goal I decided to finish myself. And instead of having those posters as inspiration, those fitness magazine to guide him to do impossible tasks and supplements to aid his muscle building, he would have a son to remind him - in the future - that all it takes to be a champ is to keep going, no matter whether its a losing battle in the end.

Backpacker: Santa Ana, Cagayan

2011-11-29T14:00:00.000+08:00

Previously on Souljacker

Fourth Part: The Beach

The fiery orb continues to march unopposed across the sky, as the swollen, rain-clad clouds quietly assembles where the mountains break the plains. Thunder claps in the distance. Despite the putsch of a late-afternoon shower spoiling my quickie getaway, the landscape basks in some faint semblance of summer. It's like it never rained the whole week.

Cirrus patches scatter over the heavens forming a thin veil concealing the azure horizon, while below, the blue expanse invites sun worshippers to take a dip. It's been five years since I set foot in the beach and as my feet felt the grainy brown sands of Santa Ana's empty coastline, I was seduced to the open waters like a nymph was calling my name.

Slowly, I disappeared beneath the waves. Crushed corals lining the shore scrape the soles of my feet. I would like to walk further, to the place where even the tip of my toes would never touch the soft ground. But strong currents of the Babuyan Channel and the thought of a runaway jellyfish stinging me to unconsciousness kept me from closing the distance.

Instead, I stood at a spot where the water sloshes slightly below my chest. A person watching at the gazebo could have mistaken me for a monk in meditation. Slightly bent, with my eyes gazing at the emptiness, I would rather be seen as a sentry at a post. For what is unseen is my hand yanking clumsily underwater, like it was arming a cannon trying to fire at miniature submarines. But it cannot do so, because everything is just in my head.

It didn't matter if there were teen boys summersaulting nearby. They won't see and they were not the object of my fantasy. For my mind was lost elsewhere, assaulting the dirty demons who were suggesting lustful images since I arrived in paradise. Had I been a little younger, one would see me at the beach, building sand castles only to crumble as the foamy waves trample its feeble walls. Had I been with a tropa perhaps, one would see us racing across the water.

Had I been with my partner. Well... A shooting war would be happening elsewhere, not definitely at the beach.

None were available so I had to improvise.

I was in that crouched position for an hour or so, but the cannon won't shoot. Maybe there wasn't an ammo to begin with, or I had already emptied myself long before I thought of repeating the deed. What snapped me back to reality was my excuse at home. I would be hard-pressed to explain why on earth did I get sunburned in Isabela, unless I was half-naked the whole time while inspecting the fields.

Strong waves continue to pound my back, inching me closer and closer towards the shore. Sensing defeat, (the cannon not only refuses to fire, it had gone wimp) it was time to get out of the water.

After taking a long, hot shower, I returned to the bar-slash-restaurant with a coffee shop ambiance. As I send my tweet updates on my laptop and asking the receptionists for leads as to where I could find a public transpo leaving Santa Ana before noon,

a thought occurred to me.

Cagayan Sunshine

This is how short my stay is. In less than a day after I've arrived, here I am making arrangements for my hasty exit back to the city.

And the only reason for returning to the town center is not to take a stroll - it is to say goodbye.

- tobecontinued -

To Quote

2011-11-28T15:42:00.000+08:00

"May mga hinahanap ako na basic lang na hahanapin ng isang babae sa isang boyfriend, sa isang lalaki. Pero, masakit man sabihin, hindi ako yun. Siguro nag-fail din ako dahil hindi ako yung kailangan niya sa buhay niya. Or hindi ako yung hinahanap niya sa buhay niya. And hindi, hindi ko mabigay sa kanya yung kailangan niya."

KC Concepcion,
The Buzz

Ito ang dahilan kung bakit kahit napakadali sa akin ang tumanso ng babae, at paulit-ulit, taon-taon ay sinasabi sa akin ng mga tropang lalaki (straight) na kaya akong remedyuhan at gawing heterosexual muli ay ni-minsan hindi ko binalak tumawid ng bakod at magkunwaring attracted pa rin sa babae.

They say it is for your own survival. Para hindi ka nag-iisa sa pagtanda. Yung iba naman, to mask your hidden preference, upang walang mag-hihinala na burat at tamod rin pala ang hanap mo. It's my stand, but rather than become someone's source of misery, I'd rather be out in the open, or better yet, suspend all my pretensions of opposite sexual attraction to cover up

the real me.

Warp and Weft

2011-11-27T15:33:00.001+08:00

In a big city often covered in thick smog, there was once a family who owned a very large junkyard. The junkyard is full of rusted cars and trucks that were thrown away when their owners bought new automobiles. These cars will be then sold for scraps.

Alas! A time came when the junkyard hardly makes any money. The old cars that used to pile up in the vacant lot now directly goes to the factories that assembled them. Nobody wants to buy the land because of the ugliness of the place.

One day, Alfred, the owner of the junk yard called his 2 sons to talk.

“I am getting very old and weak.” Alfred said. “And the only treasure I will leave behind is this piece of land.” He paused, before looking at the dull landscape outside the window.

“I want you to tell me what do you plan to do with this junkyard when I’m gone?”

“Lets sell it,” Donnie, the older of Alfred’s two sons suggested. “And then when I get the money, I will start my own business!”

Donny is the older between the two brothers. He dreams of becoming a businessman someday. Since he was kid, he wanted to turn the junkyard into a toy factory.

“How about we plant trees instead, and let this junkyard turn into a small forest?” Miko said, shyly.

“Are you out of your mind?” Donny stared at Miko. “Selling this land means more money!”

“Look around you big brother. When was the last time you saw a bird fly, or butterflies come to this place?” Alfred seemed to agree with his younger son.

“I would like people to remember dad not as a junkyard man but someone who is friends with trees.” Donny laughed at his brother’s idea as if to mock him. Meanwhile, Alfred thought of dividing the land at once into two equal parts to keep the brothers from fighting it over.

“Have it your way Miko, but don’t come to me begging for money.” Donny said before storming out of the room.

The next week, Miko went to the mountains to buy saplings of trees that used to grow in his father’s land - before it became a junkyard. After all the remaining old cars were carted away, he planted Mahogany saplings, hoping it would grow despite the land being polluted with chemicals.

On some days, Alfred would watch as his younger son spend the whole day tending his growing garden, and smile. He can’t help but feel proud of his accomplishment. As a teacher, Miko would sometimes bring his students along to teach them the importance of taking care of the environment.

The students would also bring tree saplings with them. Some even set free small birds and frogs they caught in other parts of the city. Though they were not sure if the animals would stay, they pressed on making sure the land becomes home to these small creatures.

Meanwhile, Donny’s business isn’t growing. The factory he built stayed small, and the children didn’t like the toys he made. He would sometimes look at the window and see a caterpillar crawling at the sill. He would brush aside what Miko told him when they were young boys, but his little brother’s words stayed inside his head.

“When was the last time you saw a bird fly, or butterflies come to this place?”

Years went by and the patch of greens finally got a life of its own. Butterflies and dragonflies flutter over some wild grass, while frogs leap on some small pond filled with rainwater. Children would sometimes sneak past the gate to pick flowers while old men, breathe fresh air - something they can’t even enjoy in their own homes.

“You were right all along, little brother.” Donny’s hair has now turned grey. His toy factory long abandoned, even the trees had taken over his part of the old junkyard.

“And I’m glad you returned.” Miko said smiling. His face now creased with age. “You should meet my grandson one of these days.”

The two brothers spent the whole morning sharing stories about their father, while outside, a flock of Cattle Egrets decided to stop by before their long journey heading to their new nesting grounds in the south.

Task: Tells of a family who planted trees and allowed ecological succession to take its natural course

Personal Notes: I just can't get over with my previous children's article that I had to write a rejoinder. It aims to uplift the somber mood pervading in that story. Like many struggling writers, my well of ideas get empty, and I find it difficult to treat a specific topic as well. To counter this malaise, (and to keep myself challenged) I started writing articles of different subjects set on a single setting.

Unfortunately, the Grade One kids won't get to read the Smog rejoinder. This article is meant for the batch ahead of them.

A Sad Children's Story

2011-11-25T15:06:00.001+08:00

“Wake up my fledglings!” Eden said.

The graceful Cattle Egret stood up from her moist nest not far from a rice field to gather around her three babies.

The young Cattle Egrets had just learned to fly.

“Today we will go on a vacation.” The young birds started jumping upon hearing the news. It was the last day of November, and the breeze has become colder.

“Where are we going mom?” Tony, the eldest of the baby Egrets asked.

“As you know, these mornings have become colder.”

“Yes.”

“And its hard for us to find food.”

“Uh huh,” Bruno, the youngest of the birds nodded.

“So we will fly south to build a new nest.” The little birds looked surprised. Their wings are not used to flying great distances.

“Don’t be scared, we will make it.” Eden smiled nervously. “But first, you must listen.”

It was very cold that morning and warm air from the sun turns water vapor into liquid before it touches the ground. The birds, including Eden have no name for it, but humans call it fog.

The very low clouds make flying difficult because the Cattle Egrets could not see very far.

But if there’s something Eden and her chicks should avoid, it is flying over the big city to get to their new nesting ground.

“Remember what Uncle Fifi told you about the low clouds in the city?”

“The one he flew over and then he coughed so bad, he almost dove to the ground?”

“Yes.”

“Other birds have told me the low clouds got worse.”

Eden was talking about a kind of fog that covers the city in a curtain of brown clouds. When water vapor get mixed with dust and very small particles, it becomes a smog. It makes flying across very hard because the birds could not only see, they also cannot breathe.

“Your grandma once told me those clouds were not there when she was still a fledgling.” The three young Cattle Egrets panted while flapping their wings to climb a mountain.

“It is when people started burning black wood, and rode metal boxes with wheels did the brown cloud appear.”

The birds may not know about burning coal or black smoke from cars, but they can see that it makes people unwell, including the children whose parents drive those cars or burn those coals in their factories.

Sadly, unlike the Cattle Egrets who avoid flying over the city, the people simply wore masks when the smoke and fog got very bad.

“I feel sorry for them,” Mandy, the middle chick mumbled.

Eden and her three fledglings got past the big city covered in thick smog. It was hard for them to breathe, but it was the only way to get to their new nest. Below, there were no children in the playground, the windows in all the houses were closed, and only few people walked outside. The trees had shed their brown leaves, while in the distance, black smoke billows from big chimneys.

Task: Describes how smog forms and why it occurs more often during the cold months. Tells about the dangers of smog.

Personal Note: Some stories, no matter the reader must be told in a bleak manner to deliver the message. It was meant for Grade 1 children.

The story would be revised.

Saving Grace

2011-11-22T15:47:00.001+08:00

I was about to cross the street when I passed by an old lady selling garlands of Sampaguita at the corner of Kalentong and Shaw Boulevard. It's already past eleven and from the way she lumbered close to the sidewalk barrier, there's no denial that she's been selling flowers since that morning.

It was easy to close one's eyes and pretend not to see. Deluded by my own troubles, I could brush off the sight as one of the truths of everyday life. But a whisper in one's ear urged me look at the lady for a second glance. Instead of seeing a tired, exhausted woman, what I saw was my mom's gentle face.

In a flip of a switch, my compassion was ignited.

I won't deny the state of flux. I've been withdrawn from most people. I get easily annoyed by tiny mistakes, and the recent brawl between the lesbian driver and the helper has raised tensions at home. The house is always messy. I failed to return to the university. I still have to renew my membership at the gym and the bills keep on piling.

There's a talk of the maid being forced to leave before the year ends, which I somehow object (but the maid is pushing everyone to throw her out) and the sister has been nagging me to find her a sideline when I'm struggling to keep mine. There are so many things running in my head, without anyone, not even the closest ones knowing (for I choose to spare them from my own mess) and at times I am pushed in a corner, even I still question the way my life is going.

Like I said, it would have been easy to mind my own business rather than see the misery of others. But in drawing my wallet from my back pocket and pulling a twenty peso bill - to give to the old lady, I found my salvation.

"Pandagdag niyo po sa kita." I said in a hushed voice.

The old lady was astonished and when I left the scene after buying a stick of Marlboro Black, I caught her smiling at me. In leaving, I was taught two valuable lessons in humanity: That the world still cares, and that, despite my personal strife, I have not sunk yet.

Dense

2011-11-21T23:59:00.000+08:00

It was one of those early mornings when you're obsessed over some job assignment that not a single soul can take you away from your occupation.

Especially the people you have grown to brush off.

Spell d-e-a-d a-i-r?

punta ka lantern parade?

One of those classic situations where persistence rewards the stubborn.

labo ehmay work akoon that day

kelan tayo kulitan?

dunnowork muna ako cecile

supladahmmppbyeeee

Must gloss over your wicked, wicked nature.

pasensya na

Apparently, she is gifted with boundless forgiveness.

hi hi hi

joke lang

sige work ka napara may pang gatas si junior natin

mwa ha hahahaha

Now mugen, back to what you're doing...

A few hours later...

byeeee

oy mugs matulog ka naat dito matutulog nagud am:)

im at worksabi ko nga sayo diba?:D

Swear, she's getting on my nerves. Angkulit!

wala na akong crush/love interest

ung pinagtatyagaan ko landiin dito sa fbayoko na effort-inhmmpp

sleep na mebyeeeee:)

The barrage of replies would have resulted in a written altercation. But there and then, a flashback prevented me from sending a stabbing encore. A scene from my past life - when - I would confide to a best friend with a tinge of hesitation why a girl-friend would pay so much attention, (and sometimes sweetness) that it becomes a fodder for the ever-hungry campus-wide rumour mill.

"Hindi kaya..."

The male confidant would just smirk. Same unspeakable hunch that often leads to an awkward confrontation much, much later with the girl.

And then with a snap, I was back to the present, with my long lost self echoing the same reason.

"I'm really sorry..."

Wanting to extend my apology for the insensitivity, I sent a reply hoping it would suffice for the heartbreak I caused.

goodnight cecille. :D

But the damage has been done, and chances are, she would never speak to me again. Guilty of my transgressions, for not seeing what it was really all about, I deserve to recieve no reply.

T-3

2011-11-20T19:00:00.000+08:00

My partner had to go to the airport to catch the 4pm flight to Bacolod. His dear lolo passed away, and he booked a plane ticket on the very day the news broke out. As the boyfriend who doesn't know what to do with his rest day, I decided to go with him to the Ninoy Aquino International Airport.

Our stop was Terminal 3.

What started as a simple drop-off ended up as a grand tour of the airport. You see, all I ever wanted was to find the exit to the main road, but the guard on-duty said that in order to get out, one must get in.

Inside the ash-grey building.

NAIA Terminal 3

So there I was, rubbing elbows with the passengers in the departure hall. It helped that I bought my big backpack with me (for I was going to the gym after seeing that JC had already boarded the plane) because it was my convenient excuse to linger inside the terminal.

The problem with Terminal 3 is that there are no connecting stairs from the departure loading bay to the arrival area a few decks below. It is what separates T3 from T1 and the Centennial Terminal. A cheapskate like me would rather walk for miles to find a jeep than pay a hefty sum for a cab going back to the city. The airport designers might not have foreseen this, and it worked well in my favor.

I could easily, so easily, use the stairs so I could leave and see the Newport Mall instead. But like a stray cat in a new house, I could never let the chance to experience what it feels like to stay inside an international airport terminal slip by.

After all, I have never been into one.

Delta Columns

First thing I noticed was the cavernous interior. Skidmore, Owings and Merrill, the designers of T3 did well in using natural light instead of using too many lightbulbs to illuminate large sections of the building. The lack of chairs may have forced many to sit (and lie down) on the floor, but I won't find it a hassle as long as the airport provides free, fast and reliable Wi-Fi service.

JC told me that despite being the largest of the three NAIA terminals, putting all the international flights from the old terminal will only lead to chaos. This was evident when I saw Cebu Pacific and AirPhil Express already occupy half the space set for leaving passengers.

The frenzy I've seen - from people trying to check-in before the gate closes, to passengers whose flights were delayed, or those who came early to book their international trips surely double during days of long vacations, Imagine the stress of being there when everyone tries to flee the city.

Shops and restaurants - the mainstays of local malls also operate there. They are all bundled on the third floor of the glass-and-aluminum encased building. There's a Mister Donuts and Yellow Cab Pizza. I also passed by Pancake House on my way to a Mini-Stop Store where I bought my Cobra Energy Drink. I don't know if the other two terminals have these conveniences, but I'm glad the airport authorities have set aside a commercial space for the bored, weary and hungry to rest their feet.

Despite the pricey items, it makes you feel less abandoned.

The Marketplace: CebuPac Check-In Counter

There are two ways of seeing the NAIA Terminal 3 and it all depends on your point of view. If you are for maximum security - like turning our airports into fortresses than hubs for travel, you will find the guards too relaxed and scanty. Even the bomb-sniffing dog - the only one I've seen in the terminal showed off its other talents to the amusement of passengers

instead of checking personal belongings.

You can even use your camera to take pictures. No one would stop you from pointing your camera on sensitive places. It's a discovery that caught me by surprise knowing that I could be taken custody for my actions.

But there I was, exploring and weaving a story with photos.

The allure of natural light

I have never been to other airports other than NAIA. Fransisco Bangoy in Davao has been lost to memory and the old domestic terminal along Airport Road could be likened more to a bus station than a gateway to air travel.

So it would be unfair to judge a place without any comparison. T3 might be new and promising but improvements could still be added to make it truly world class.

A jetsetter exhausted

For starters, more benches, in bright colors mean less people sitting on cold floors. While the idea of having a sort of picnic at the airport grounds appear unconventional, authorities still have to put potted plants inside the departure hall. The place is literally dead if not fleeting. Besides, what use is the sunlight filtering through the overhead glass windows if it won't nourish any life?

Sources also tell that there is WiFi available but one has to pay for its use. Isn't it possible for airline companies to shoulder this burden, since passengers only get to use it when flights get delayed? Also, while it benefits only a selected few, having free and reliable access to the web means our airport is business friendly. At a time when work can be done even away from the office, a wired airport is essential.

broken escalators = bad service

Terminal 3 has its flaws. The broken escalators are glaring, and so are the dark unused spaces, which could have been used to accommodate stranded passengers.

Faults may be pointed and so are the praises. The people running the airport - from the security personnel to the maintenance workers are friendly and helpful. Even the bomb-sniffing, playing dead Black Retriever, gives warmth to a usually dull and monotonous edifice. The toilets are clean. There are even plants on the sink with a disclaimer that says "I'm real, don't pinch."

Visitors' Gallery

Sandwiched between the departure and arrival areas is a sub-level with a door that opens to a narrow passage. Hardly noticeable to visitors, the viewing gallery is where well-wishers and welcoming parties catch the first glimpse of arriving loved ones.

It is also where parting couples say their whispered goodbyes.

Standing there, alone in an almost meditative gaze, I checked below to spot if my partner was among the people standing in line. He was not there. Instead, what caught my attention were the throngs of arriving people, waiting for their bags to appear at the baggage carousel.

Airport Chapel

My tour was about to end for I have already covered the entire length of the gallery. On my way to the exit, I saw an overhead sign that says Airport Chapel.

"How nice," I mused.

If I were a pious passenger feeling some jitters about my plane ride, a trip to this small room would ease my doubts. So is the effect for those left behind by the passengers.

And so I went inside to say a little prayer. Upon leaving the room, my phone vibrated.

"Boo dito nako sa erplen.. I'll text u as soon as we land. Hope you're enjoying your airport tour hehehe. Thanks for accompanying me..."

With a faint smile, I pressed the call drop key and slid the phone back in my pocket.

Its time to leave as well.

Smooth Sketch

2011-11-19T01:20:00.001+08:00

"Julawww!! Julawww!!"

Mabilis kong tinawag si Smellycat na noon ay kasalukuyang patapos na sa pag-eempake ng gamit sa locker room.

"May papakita ako sa iyo sa Facebook, Daliii!!"

Kaagad namang itinigil ng binata ang kanyang ginagawa at mabilis itong pumunta sa aking kinaroroonan. Sigurado kong may alam ito sa kung ano ang ipapakita ko.

"Alam mo feeling ko siya si 7incher_hunktop..."

"Weeeh? May girlfriend o, tingnan mo nga!" Matagal na rin kaming magkatropa sa gym kaya naman pati mga updates ko sa Twitter ay nakakaabot sa kanya.

"Hinala ko lang naman, pero kung siya nga yun..." Isang matamis na ngiti ang iniwan ko bago bumalik sa pagbubuhat.

Si Smellycat

Earlier that night ay may bago kaming ka-miyembro. Kaya naman abala si Coach Magnus sa pagtuturo ng proper form at execution ng benchpress, squats at dips sa boylet. Dahil na rin siguro sa pangangailang kumita ng extra ay pasimple itong nagpapa-impress sa bagong dating. Sa pagkakataong iyon ay ako ang kanyang nakitang panabla.

"Mugs tingnan mo to." Lumapit naman ako sa computer station ng Eclipse. Doon kasi naka upload ang mga pictures.

"Student ko yan..." Paliwanag niya. "Hard workout ang binibigay ko sa kanya. Kaya naman after two months, yan na ang hitsura..." Pagmamalaki nito sa amin.

Infairness naman kay coach ay talagang nagkaroon ng result ang kanilang pagwowork-out. I-train mo ba naman hanggang mag-walk out ang mga taba, tapos mag-recommend ka pa ng diet, tingnan ko lang kung hindi maging balingkinitan ang katawan ng iyong alaga pagkaraan ng dalawang buwan.

At tunay na kahanga-hanga nga ang before and after pictures ng kanyang student. Kung dati rati ay may beer belly ito at sagging na dibdib, yung most recent picture niya ay zero body fat. May hitsura rin naman ang binata. Mestiso ito, twink na twink, at may hawig kay Coco Martin at Jake Cuenca sa unang tingin. Kamusta naman si Dennis Trillo na ka-gym mate ko na laging mukhang haggard kapag dumarating sa gabi?

"Ano oras ang work-out niyo coach?"

"Mga madaling araw." Yung newbie naman na kanyang tinuturuan ay halos mag-pass out na matapos ang unang subok ng squats.

"Student pa?"

"Oo sa La Salle nag-aaral." Biglang nagningning ang aking mga mata. Nagpatuloy ako sa pagtatanong.

"Mga ano oras siya dumarating?"

"Mga ganitong oras." Pasado hatinggabi na noon.

Sa sobrang excited ay dali-dali akong bumalik sa computer upang tingnan muli ang hitsura ng lalaki. At long last ay mukhang nag-pay off ang pag-iinarte ko sa pakikipagmeet-up kay 7incher_hunktop at sa halip ay siya mismo ang nagbigay ng detalye kung paano siya matatagpuan.

"so bro what's the plan of your mate? perhaps you could introduce me as a white la sallian guy. maybe you can introduce him to me since I am familiar with almost all of the people in the gym"

Isang recent private message yun sa akin. Inopen-up ko kasi ang idea na iba na lang ang ipapakilala kong gym buddy sa kanya.

"no. when is he usually go there? btw you can reach me at 09173X44X42. hope to meet you as well bro."

Hindi ako nag-iwan ng number. Sa halip, nilagay ko ang kanyang numero sa isang notepad para sakaling magtagpo kami ng isa pang ka-gym mate na umako sa aking dapat sanay pakikipagkita ay tuloy tuloy na ang kanilang pakikipag-usap.

Sa kasamaang palad ay yun na rin ang huling pagpapalitan namin ng private message ni 7incher_hunktop. Hindi na ito bumalik sa PEx, anumang pilit kong pag-angat sa work-out at fitness thread. At kung sakali man na tama ang aking hunch na si 7incher_hunktop at ang lalaking nasa FB ni coach ay iisa lang; Kung magtagumpay man ang stalking skills ko at mapatunayan na hindi sa lahat ng pagkakataon ay straight ang may girlfriend.

Tanging isang tao lang ang makakapagbigay liwanag sa tunay na pagkatao ng aking ~~tinataguan~~ hinahanap. Habang kami ni Smellycat at sampu sa aming mga kasama ay hanggang balita't sulyap na lang sa kung ano ang susunod na mga kabanata.

Ang binatang makakapag-confeeeerm nun ay walang iba kundi si Bentot

Ang aking proxy.

Pet Peeve #1

2011-11-17T17:52:00.001+08:00

"Hi Mugs... Wala lang, tawag lang."

It was a text message I already received twice in a row. The first one I got yesterday. It was from a friend from Diliman. I don't know what she's getting at, but the SMS left me slightly annoyed.

Maybe it meant nothing. It might be a "papansin" moment hoping to stir a response. Maybe the female classmate has all the time in the world to try to connect to long lost acquaintances. Perhaps, she might be experiencing some life turbulences and is trying to see if the world still cares.

Sadly, I chose not to reply.

Forgive me for the arrogance but it is hard to break a habit. I have always known that I'm not a fan of SMS messaging. And during the very rare occasions I engaged myself in exchanging text messages with someone - for more than an hour, expect it for reasons of self-interest.

I guess this is the sad part of growing up a loner. You're so used to creating imaginary worlds and friends that it is easy to stay withdrawn from those who try to see if you're still breathing.

But how can I be a loner when I was very sociable as a kid. In fact, if its possible to sleep in the streets on weekends, I might have done so. While my social circle at school was more fluid, I didn't lack the skills to find kids to hang out with. I was even happier when I go solo on my little expeditions. Same thing happened in high school and college, I may not be part of the A-Listers, but I always belong to a tight-knit group that is notoriously known for its exclusivity.

So why has it become a pet-peeve?

I guess it all boils down to being straight to the point. If someone wishes to speak with me, that person should already throw a topic. If the friend wanted to ask if I was able to enroll at the university, I would promptly reply to her inquiry. I guess this same line of thinking is what irked me when another friend asked "anong balita sa iyo?" on Facebook. Maybe I was expecting her to read my recently updated timeline as we chat, or maybe I just got tired after all her whining about the greatest love that got away.

I hope that revealing my pet peeves would not be used against me. It shows a crack in character, as well as my intolerance as to how other people conduct their affairs. I wish there is a way to feel, how its like to be helplessly dependent on other people's attention, like when begging someone for a walk, or texting someone to share your thoughts, which in my case, I tend to shrug.

But how can you do it Mugs, when you use your Twitter to blabber, Blog to ruminate and the Almighty to run to when your soul is being crushed?

Only then, will I truly understand and appreciate the need to reply.

Uprooted

2011-11-17T14:38:00.001+08:00

Arrived at work five minutes after the shift began. Late again for the nth time but I will get away with it. My delayed presence is a boon for others. In an office set-up where the highest officer is able to work on other pursuits (Bentusi) and watch video clips on YouTube, and blog about anything he fancies, nobody gives a damn. The people under me are busy updating their Facebook pages anyway. At the end of the day, all that matters is the numbers game:

That the agents must get past their quota.

But when you come to work to find that your workstation in suspended reformation, and that you are forced to find another computer that other agents use as their own, your performance gets a downgrade. It feels like being uprooted from your comfort zone and the sudden sea-change leaves you in a state of disrepair. You cannot perform your normal functions. You feel like losing your mind elsewhere. It didn't help that my menthol inhaler, that dildo-shaped apparatus I often shove on my nose had gone missing. And the only station available is the one with the slowest processing machine. But these little changes don't matter, what rubbed the most salt to my gaping wounds is to be shortchanged for my work

How can I stretch my budget at a time when the raketship is also being retrofitted.

And so a long day will pass, uneventful. Hopefully, just hopefully, my mood will make an upswing before the shift ends.

Authoritarian Rule | Lock Down

2011-11-13T16:41:00.001+08:00

At past 3 am, I received a text message and a missed call from my sister.

"Nag ha-hyperacidity si Mama. Umuwi ka na."

In an ordinary Saturday night out, I won't heed her SMS and still resume my drinking binge. But that morning, I felt something urgent about her plea. Two dance tracks later, I was saying goodbye to my friends to cut short my clubbing.

JC decided to tag along with me.

When I got home, I learned that it wasn't as bad as to rush my mom to the hospital - to my relief. She was in her room, calmly reciting a prayer, while Baby Lenin slept beside her. After taking turns watching the baby while the matriarch went to the bathroom, I gave her a Loperamide tablet to ease the pain.

"It must be the toxins," I thought. "Hopefully the poo-poo would flush them away.

An hour later and still, the pain didn't subside.

It was close to daybreak when I went out to walk to the nearest 7-Eleven store near my place. I had to buy soda crackers, as per Nubadi's suggestion and that ready-to-drink Wheat Grass in can, endorsed by Maginoong Bulakeno on his Twitter last week. Mom said she felt better after grabbing a bite.

I slept that morning with a troubled heart.

Ten hours later, I returned to her room to check her condition. Baby Lenin was still beside her, this time awake and grabbing things to throw them out of the bed, hoping it would make a sound. When asked about what she felt, mom said the pain remains but it was manageable. You can sense the hollowness in her words.

While having lunch, I convened the house-help to give orders.

"Meron yatang ulcer si Mama. Simula ngayon, kailangan na pakainin niyo siya sa oras." It was one of those moments when my words become the law.

"Si Ate naman kasi eh, Pepsi ng Pepsi... Ayan tuloy," One of the maids butted in.

"Simula ngayon wala ng Pepsi. Kapag nagpumilit, ako kamo ang nag-utos."

To make sure my words are supported by the higher powers, I sent a text message to the favorite aunt to seek a doctor's advice. She called thirty minutes later, while I was at Mercury Drug to see if they sell Wheat Grass Juice in bulk. They only offer the ones in sachet packs.

"Alisin na lahat ng soft drinks pati na rin kape." The favorite aunt's stern voice boomed over the headset. More than anyone else in the family, her strict instructions hardly get bent.

"Itetext ko na lang sa iyo kung ano yung gamot na ipapainom." At least she wasn't fuming this time. Si Mama naman kasi, habang tumatanda, nagiging pasaway.

I returned home with a new set of orders. Some of them were made-up to impose heavier sanctions meant to teach my mom the importance of good health. Fried and fatty dishes will be off the menu and so is coffee. The driver-slash-assistant will also prevent the matriarch from buying meals from fast food kiosks. I'm even thinking of letting my mom substitute on steamed banana for snacks. Since she will demand for anything sweet to maintain her "normal" sugar level, I have decided to experiment with these:

Pha-Max Wheat Grass

I'm hoping the juice's healing properties will do wonders before we have to resort to more serious and expensive medications.

Gang Badoy

2011-11-10T20:23:00.000+08:00

I don't know when, or how, or why I came across her Twitter account. But the moment I began following her timeline, I became an instant fan.

Her witty banters and personal thoughts about the issues of the day shape my own opinions. It was like meeting the cool teacher you never had. (or have, but decided not to make a run for social media) It was like returning to the university, except that learning happens, not in the four corners of the classroom, but in front of the computer while at work. I nod at her ideas and for that, I felt a little more engaged.

She is the founder of Rock Ed Philippines, an organization that aims to empower young people through alternative education. She used to host a radio talk show on NU-107 before the station had a crappy reformat last year. I wasn't able to tune in while she interviewed musicians, politicians and TV personalities, but I've heard she had a following. She pushes for youth participation, to make them more aware of the happenings in government, and believes that music lets young people get in touch with their world. Yada... yada... yada... So much for the cheesy talk. But I guess you get the drift.

Badoy's Twitter Account

The first time I saw her face was when she was interviewed for the National Geographic Channel's "Live Curious." campaign. When I told her about what I've seen, she merely replied, "Ayos ba, nahirapan pa akong mag-English niyan." Coolness to the nth level. It came straight from the gut. Before that, I used to think that Gang Badoy was a front man of a rock band. The disc jocks on NU were raving about the name, and now I know why.

But the entry is not about that. You see, I wouldn't pay this much attention, this much admiration, if not for this passage I came across on Wikipedia.

"Badoy is often noted as a hero for her actions during Typhoon Ondoy. Badoy took it upon herself to turn radio station Jam 88.3, which was hosting Rock Ed Radio at the time, into a venue for coordinating information about the situation in Metro Manila. The station had at first shifted to pre-recorded programming while its staff were unable to get to the station during the storm, but Badoy went there and insisted that it would be more useful for the station to do what it can to keep people connected and informed. Badoy insists to always include Lambert Cruz (a Jam 88.3 jock) in the narration of this story. After a few hours, several other friends and volunteers joined to assist in taking the urgent and numerous messages sent in by the many people stranded by the typhoon. Badoy believed that during the storm there's a high probability that only cell phones will have literal power and cell phones only have radios that connect to FM radio. So instead of keeping the news and information confined to AM airwaves, she took it upon herself to say FM radio should be directly involved in civic action, for once. "It just made sense." Is how she explains that revolutionary call she made during the first hours of Typhoon Ondoy."

To imagine her manning the DJ booth at a time of great need was enough to inspire. So awed I was that I became curious of her other accomplishments. Little did I know that my digging would lead to the organization she proudly represents.

Rock Ed.

And they are looking for volunteers.

I have always embraced the idea that greatness starts with selflessness, and in time of urgency, I have proven myself to answer the call.

Hoping that this little exercise to feature someone I look up to in Twitter would turn into something enriching, I signed up as a volunteer for Rock Ed Philippines. Gang Badoy may never come across this page dedicated to her, but in setting a clever example, perhaps, maybe, she has touched another soul.

7incher_hunkTop

2011-11-08T16:27:00.001+08:00

"Hey, what time do you work out in Eclipse? I'm eyeing for a buddy, if you don't mind."

It was a private message I received the other night. As part of the gym's aspiration to become more gay-friendly, I returned to Pinoyexchange AP Work Out Thread to help the forum posters there with their training concerns. My presence also aims to connect the gay people who are members of the gym.

Like the head coach, who is also the moderator of another forum, I try to project a stern, straight-as-a-ruler image. I engage only in no-nonesense talk. I urge people to work out, (better if its in our gym) and as far as I remember, I have never entertained the idea of meeting other people.

Not even when its about showing around the gym.

So imagine how I was caught off-guard when a user named 7incher_hunkTop sent me the private message. I won't sugarcoat my thoughts and just like everyone else, I'd be curious as to what he looks like. The way he writes, he seem self-assured, masculine, and a no-nonesense talker too, and I know some gays would bitch slap each other just to switch places with me.

I was on the defense so I replied:

"Erratic schedule ko pre eh. What time do you work out, baka puwede kita i-reto sa kasabayan mo."

I was serious in finding him a gym partner. Maybe I could introduce him to Smellycat and his beefcake boyfriend who are more capable and knowledgeable with free-weights. Perhaps @ossiepeaker who is a hunk himself (based from his DP) could become my proxy. Being single, and having the same bed preference, their arrangement would be less awkward.

Anyone, actually, but not me.

I do not know where this aversion comes from. Surely its not about personal policies anymore, or the polarities we have. I do not know even if I am being threatened by mere assumptions, or am I reinforcing my walls because instincts tell to keep some distance from someone who blatantly advertises the length of his manhood.

There is no doubt he approached me in good faith. But I guess, the fault lies with me: I am still a long way to go before I could finally make peace with my past .

And even though I've learned that we share a common timeline, ignoring his invitation would be the best course of action:

"I go there midnights. What time do you usually hit Eclipse?"

I know a couple of good-looking buff guys who work out at around midnight. Acknowledging my own frailty, I will keep struggling to hold back my expanding frame, and just sense the boy in the distance.

The (Blog) World According To Garp

2011-11-07T01:29:00.000+08:00

It took him just eleven words to convince me to move out of the PEx thread and into the realms of blogspot. Since the time I put up my first online journal, I never left.

A flashback:

February 16, 2004.

The Yahoo Groups

"Mej0 syrupy nga lang and s0brang dako at mahaba ang c0ntent." He was inviting us to take a peek into his world.

I have always been drawn to the written word long before I became a literary craftsman. Seldom do I read books, and for this reason, letters seem to elude me. But when a published work catches my fancy (or when an esteemed professor required a reading in class), I devour the sentences and paragraphs like a famished wanderer. Even scraps never go to waste.

I hardly enjoy made-up tales, unless the entire piece brushes the realms of fantasy. This aversion to real-life speculation reinforced my affection to Non-Fiction. So strong was my obsession with the genre that I went all the way to Diliman just to master the craft. Five years later and I'm still struggling to cross the final lap.

But the entry is not about me. This is a heads-up to that one person who stirred my consciousness so it would awaken in this world. For without his random (and nonchalant) blog plug, I would never find a place to lay down my broken quill.

Trust me when I say this: Back then, in the four corners of the classroom, boy I never write like this.

It was a juvenile attempt to spew out my thoughts and never feel bad about the puddle of word vomit I left as a trail. He on the other hand, was just refining his very sharp pen. And after all these years of surfacing and submerging into the pool of collective thought, he emerged once again to take his place as a precursor to what has become

me.

"Garp said that I'm a better writer here than in PEx. Probably because I am free to do a lot of stuffs here that I can't do there and the thing is, I'm gradually enjoying my existence here. But after reading Toinks' (another prolific writer-friend) blog again, I feel that I'm still hopeless. I shouldn't have taken journalism as a course. Sometimes I still feel that I'm not worthy... to be a writer. Maybe taking up psychology would be a better idea instead. I think that I'm better when understanding human behavior rather than expressing myself through words."

Afternoon Jazz

Fullmetal Dreams

February 26, 2004

His return, after so many years of absence tells us that bloggers do make a comeback. And with his arrival comes the strongest sign to pursue my academic plans. These past few days, that little voice inside my head has been telling me again and again and again not to get terrified of Fiction.

Who knows, I may find the balls to start writing that thesis as well.

I know Mr. Garp, you don't want your identity revealed. But like a fan to a celebrity, it was giddiness I felt when I learned it was you who came back. And just to let you know, after all these years of writing and writing and writing - including our shared journeys,

I always remember how it all began.

Backpacker: Santa Ana, Cagayan

2011-11-03T21:05:00.000+08:00

Previously on Souljacker:

Fourth Part: Country Inn by the Sea

The earthly trail evaporates where the sea meets the land, and once again, I am back to the same spot I had just left when the sun was about to reign over the sky.

This time, there is no thrill in a comeback. My legs are heavy, like a log, and my head, woozy not because of sleeplessness but of hunger.

The last morsels of noodles, meat and vegetables went down my gut at around 8 pm the night before, after the bus had crossed the highest pass between Sierra Madre and Caraballo. To stay more than 12 hours with an empty stomach is a feat no ordinary man could withstand.

Thank God for the skipped meals when I needed to lose weight, I never passed out.

The trike stopped in front of a two-story building that looks more like a motel, than a stately resort facing the sea. It has a narrow driveway leading to a courtyard which also serve as the parking lot. The lobby is found in a corner flanked by the conference room and the bar-slash-restaurant with a coffee-shop ambiance.

"At least the place doesn't reek of prostitutes." I thought. "Hope I found myself a much better place."

"Miss, may Wi-Fi kayo dito right?" I stopped asking about room rates and decided to just get to the point.

The receptionist confirmed what was advertised in Santa Ana's FB page. I then asked if I could try their Internet. Without asking questions, or even imposing conditions, she handed me a piece of paper with the password written on it.

This time, I was able to surf the web.

Putangina! Sa wakas, nagtagumpay rin!

I immediately asked the partner to show up on Skype. While waiting for him to go online, I set up my temporary command post in one of the coffee shop's round tables. At the same time, I began negotiating the terms of my stay. Once I am able to show JC the panoramic view of the beach, I wouldn't look for another resort. Country Inn will serve as my shelter.

"Ilan po kayo sa room?" The receptionist asked.

"Ako lang," I said proudly. "Ako lang mag-isa."

Before she was able to describe the features of the room, as well as the price for an overnight stay, the laptop suddenly chimed the familiar ringtone.

It was Baabaa calling.

Base Alpha (Country Inn Bar and Restaurant)

"Mainggit ka!! Mainggit ka!!" I was teasing my partner repeatedly.

I picked up the laptop and carried it to the courtyard. I heard the receptionist warning me about the distance covered by the Wi-Fi signal, but her caution was ignored. I tried walking as close to the gazebos overlooking the beach, but by then, the sound of JC's voice had become spotty.

I had to go back.

Nothing much has been said, except that Baabaa kept on urging me to enjoy the vacation. He did rebuke my claims that I had plans before embarking on a road trip, and told me that instead of spending the day slumped in front of the laptop, I should explore.

We could always talk on Skype on another day.

After saying our goodbyes, I returned to the receptionist to seal the deal.

"P1700 ba kamo?" I took out my wallet to start counting my money. I'd be 400 pesos poorer and since I didn't bring a lot of hard currency, there's a possibility I'd be short on cash.

"Wala na bang discount yun?" The receptionist smiled.

Another attendant whisked me off to the rooms along the driveway. Two were available, one of which I could occupy depending on my fancy. There was this room with two beds for travellers, while the other had a king-sized one. Perfect for couples. I picked the latter since it was nearer to the courtyard. Besides, I don't want to see an empty bed reminding me of my solitary trip.

After dropping my bag, I stripped off my clothes and turned on the AC. I was about to take a shower but decided to switch on the television instead. I wanted to see what channels were available on their cable. By then, I was too tired to get up (for I was already in bed,) and I was getting comfortable between the pillows. Feeling the heat, and the thought of JC beside me, I began stroking my hard on, while letting my imagination fill the hole...

...inside my head.

Shit ang sarap.

Fell asleep naked and with beads of cum drying on my tummy.

Samsara Station (Family Room Deluxe 1,700 @ night - off peak)

The sleep was a short-lived respite for I had been stirred by Tophe's phone call an hour later. I decided not to answer it. Before going back to bed, I checked the unread message on my inbox.

"Sir your room is ready, shall we go in?" Hah, if only it was worded that way. Instead he told me that the guest occupying the room reserved for me had left and he was asking if I'm still keen on renting it.

I didn't reply to his SMS. Only much later, did I send a text message telling him that I was able to get a room at Eastern Hawaii.

By then, dust, grime and the stains of my sticky manhood had accumulated on my body. Nakalimutan ko nga pala magshower bago makaidlip. Good thing, I was already naked. I tiptoed to the shower cubicle, adjusted the water heater so that hot water comes out, and took a leisurely bath. Suddenly, I found myself having a boner again and boy did I jack it off in front of the mirror until the sink was a mess.

It could have been a steamy honeymoon with the partner, but instead, I was making love with myself. Haha.

An hour before lunchtime and the pangs of hunger could no longer be set aside. I went back to the bar-slash-restaurant with a coffee-shop ambiance to order my first meal.

"Tocilog please," I told the waiter. I had to said bye-bye to my hundred pesos. To my surprise, P45 pesos made a comeback. Not bad for a hearty meal.

Between sending Tweet messages and waiting for the partner to go online again, a black cat wandered nearby and with the audacity of an in-house pet, rubbed its body against my legs. Being a cat lover, the pussy caught my attention but because I had no scraps of food on my plate, the poor feline had to make do with the endless cuddling and petting.

Twice, an attendant tried to shoo the cat away but I told her not to. I still want our picture taken.

Another waiter came back with a cup of coffee, complements of the group holding a seminar in the adjacent room.

It actually tasted good.

Mao (Darker Than Black)

The last Skype session happened at twelve noon, which is around midnight somewhere in the Atlantic. It was I who insisted the call, despite able to cover a dozen things to talk about the whole morning.

The partner and I had a brief and casual talk. Not the sing and dance he does in the confines of our own quarters at home. JC was more inclined to know what my plans are and at that time, I had none. In fact, had I failed to find a place to stay, I could simply put the laptop inside my backpack and board the same flower-hippie Florida Bus for a 15-hour return trip home.

Adik lang.

But instead, the partner's pragmatism prevailed.

"Huy ano na! Di ka pa yata nag-offline simula kanina, lumabas ka nga diyan at maghanap ng pupuntahan." Sungit much eh?

He was right.

The secret blueprint, which I carefully and secretly drafted just days before my departure only covered the distance from Manila to Cagayan. I knew what bus to ride, the clothes and electronic gadgets to bring and the amount of cash to put in my wallet.

The plan had its failings too - like not bringing the Nano charger, or not taking into account the fact that Santa Ana has only one ATM machine, which according to my sources at the Country Inn goes offline all the time. I don't even know if there's a bus bound for Manila leaving Centro before noon.

I was there just for the Skype sessions but after the goal has been fulfilled, the itinerary is a blank slate open to a myriad of experience.

Looking back, the shoddy planning had left me with a brilliant opportunity to get to know how tough I am when left to my own devices. I was a first-time backpacker, with limited cash and limited time to see the town. What I will do after turning off the laptop will tell much about the rest of the trip.

Will I stay inside the box, or set free the great ancient trekker in me?

Babuyan Channel, Country Inn By The Sea

After saying goodnight and sweet dreams to my partner, I went back to my room to change into my beach attire.

"It's time to live my own life," I would reflect much, much later.

And with the word thrill etched in my eyes, my heart hesitates, yet relents nonetheless,

this is where the real adventure begins.

- tobecontinued -
- final part -

Into The Matrix

2011-11-01T15:41:00.000+08:00

In front of the PC
I surf the web for any
human signs that may
hinder my continuous assimilation
with the inorganic machine.

Three years after writing the passages above, a friend who used to work at Smart Communications told me the future of the Internet:

Personal computers can access the web without the need of cables. Broadband would be useless and telecommunications companies, like the one he's working for will provide Internet service to its customers.

At a time when social media was still being developed as a platform for trash and profound opinions, and dial-up remained the main method of connecting to the web. I merely shrugged at his prophesy. I couldn't even afford a postpaid service so I relied on pre-paid cards to access my blog. I am not even a techie or someone who goes crazy with electronic gadgets so whatever he told me meant nothing.

As long as I could go online in a net cafe, then my worries were gone.

But then and now belong to different age. It is like comparing the renaissance with the landing on the moon even when both historic turning points share only the same vein. I knew there was no turning back after we have given up on dial-up last March. It's about time we catch up with technology. And with the appearance of the first laptop inside the house, the day when we will finally cut the cables and move around with a computer in our hands drew near.

But a catalyst is needed to start the change.

I remember telling the partner that within a year after getting my laptop, the entire house will be wired. Funny because a few months after we first met, I told him that I knew nothing about Wi-Fi and all those stuff. I don't even pay attention when tech people around me talk about their latest electronic toy.

Last summer, I told my sister to convince my brother-in-law to get a laptop. Tutal, it will come from his mom's wallet. Since he doesn't want to work in an office setup, maybe he could just find a freelance job that lets him work at home.

It so happened too that the organization where he moonlights lent him a Macbook. Ang sosyal lang diba, considering that what he does for a living has something to do with casting the government in a bad light and organizing "Occupy Mendiola" movements year round.

But when the favorite aunt decided to give away her old laptop, and it coincided with the thoughts of letting my mom talk to her sisters abroad using Skype, that's when the need to unhook ourselves from cables become an urgency. We cannot stay longer sharing a single Ethernet connection, especially now that the sister too has emerged from the Dark Ages.

It was when I went home one night and found my sister's husband working on a project in our living room did the final push happen. He could have done much work with the web around. The same morning, I asked the matriarch to fund my venture. A request I haven't done in a long time. Mom understood my points and handed me fifteen hundred bucks to buy this:

D-Link N-150. P1,950 Gilmore

A week has passed. The sister seldom stays in my room anymore to use my desktop. The brother-in-law stays more often in the sala with his Macbook. And the matriarch, the one who lent us the funds to complete this revolution, had her first taste of Facebook the night the entire house went online.

Sooner or later, when the helpers could finally afford a cheap smart phone from China. They too will be wired into the matrix.

The household will only then officially enters the Information Age.

Drained of humanity,

I was left in my chair

downloading my soul.

Cyber Sentience

Poem Book Six, The Dark Side of Light,

I-Third Year UST - 2001

Backpacker: Santa Ana, Cagayan

2011-10-29T11:59:00.000+08:00

Previously on Souljacker

Third Part: Royal Snub at the Eastern Hawaii

Backpacking presents two ways of learning from a road trip: One is to be immersed in the local setting and enjoy - first hand - the hospitality of ordinary folks. The other is to get the same kind of treatment most locals receive when entering a place strictly for tourists who have the influence, and money to spend.

Life isn't fair.

We learn, and in my case, I write my experience.

At a sari-sari store a few steps away from Jotay Resort:

"Manong, may mga alam ba kayong resort dito na okay?" I asked the storekeeper while lighting a stick of Marboro Lights. I couldn't tell exactly that I'm looking for a place with Internet connection.

"Diyan sa Jotay, ayos diyan." was his quick response.

I puffed my stick and then replied "Kagagaling ko lang po doon, wala daw silang available na room." His wife joined us to help me with my dilemma.

The storekeepers mentioned a number of jolog-sounding resorts, which I didn't bother to remember. After all, I did my homework back in the city and what I needed was a name recall. When he mentioned Eastern, I found my next option. Read from travel blogs that it is a high-end resort and I'm expecting they have my only requirement.

After getting instructions on how to reach the main road, I left the store with a flyer in hand.

A flyer listing all the expensive places a tourist should see in Santa Ana.

Main Highway, Santa Ana, Cagayan

Of all the things I immediately picked in town, it is that the locals are very helpful and deal situations in a leisurely manner. In another store along the highway, the lady storekeeper instructed me how to ride a trike going to my next resort, and pay the correct fare. I was duped the first time kasi.

Inside the trike, a passenger beside me forgot the keys to her house (for the nth time according to her) and the tricycle driver didn't even grumble when we had to turn around and get it from her house. I didn't rush either. For aside from receiving a very sincere apology, I was having fun seeing how such small gestures are common here. Good vibes are everywhere and I don't want to spoil it.

However, things began to sour after the trike dropped me off in front of the Eastern Hawaii Resort.

I didn't know that the resort villas are separated from the main hotel which is just across the street. It took me some ten minutes of walking to get from my drop-off point to the side gate where the guard told me to wait, while the front desk decides whether to let me in or not.

By then, I was running out of options and had to call JC to tell him my situation. It was past 8 in the morning and the partner has not heard from me since the night before. I had to reveal my surprise and I need to.

Because I am:

Exhausted from my 15-hour trip.

Frustrated because my idea is crumbling right before my eyes

And by being told to wait when all I ever wanted is to ask about the hotel's room rates.

I am pushed too far.

Really hate it when I snap.

And because I felt that I was receiving that kind of treatment simply because I walked from the main road to the gate, and because I was wearing jeans and shirt, with a huge backpack on my back doesn't mean I can't pay.

I fell victim to trial by first impression.

"Sampal ko sa kanila yung credit card ko eh," I was telling Baabaa while walking away. The guards didn't allow me in simply because I have no reservations.

Like the cool breeze from the mountain caressing my face and my partner's stern voice on the phone urging me not to make a scene, my temper dissipated the moment my eyes caught up with the open countryside. And like a flip of a switch, I changed topics with my partner and described instead the sights and sounds of the small town.

"Ay wait picturan ko yung cow!!" The cow was on the other side of the road, grazing in a patch of grass next to the highway.

Cow and Cattle Egret

"Hangkyut nung mga kambiiing!!!" I passed by a goat and behind her were her kids. I received a barrage of bleats, while trying to approach them.

The empty road stretches on to the horizon and instead of turning back towards the Centro, I took a hike going to that part of town where talahib grasses grew everywhere. I'm sure my intention was not to get raped. its almost 9 in the morning and the partner was still on the phone, checking on the Internet what other resorts were available.

I didn't know either what was going on in my head. Maybe I was trying to reach on foot that newly opened, glitzier resort the bus passed by on our way to the town center that morning. I think its called Avalon Beach Club, and as far as I know, no blogger has ever written yet about the place.

Maybe...

"Baaboo check mo ito," Suddenly my stream of thoughts were interrupted. "Country Inn by the Sea. I think its near your location."

Country Inn, yeah I think it was supposed to be my alternative lodging. It's not as expensive as Eastern and it has Internet connection too, like Jotay.

I walked a little further until I passed by a group of farmers heading towards the opposite direction. I asked if they knew where Country Inn was, but instead of giving me answers, all I received were smiles.

"Ask mo Baaboo saan sa Centro." Tamang tama naman a trike stopped in front of me.

"Manong Country Inn po tayo." I sat across an old lady who smiled at me. Maybe she knew I am an outsider and was lost.

The trike raced towards the town center while inside the passenger carriage, my eyes were fixed on the road to trace back my footsteps from Eastern to the very spot where I stopped. It was a half kilometer walk I think. I also caught glimpse of the snotty hotel and the villa across, where I learned that a cemetery sits nearby.

"So much for a night dip at the infinity pool." I thought.

"I don't want to have close encounters with the living dead.

- tobecontinued -

Backpacker: Santa Ana, Cagayan

2011-10-27T15:49:00.002+08:00

Previously on Souljacker

Second Part: The Jotay Boylet

It's past six thirty and Tophe was taking too long to arrive.

The bar where the guard at Jotay resort urged me to stay was filling up with people. The problem is, their get-up suggest that they are not stay-in guests. One was already well-groomed, and was wearing pants and collared shirt.

And while the other wore jersey shorts and sando, his very casual chat with the guard made me look like a total outsider. Either the guy lives outside the resort, or he must have booked himself for a week.

What kept me from snapping was my pre-occupation. Inside the bus on my way to Tuguegarao, I was able to compose the anniversary entry - on my phone. I copied the jumble of paragraphs on Word and by the time I was able to find a table overlooking the beach, finishing touches were already being done to my work.

As a plan B, I borrowed my neighbor's Sun Broadband USB in case there's no Internet. It didn't work in Santa Ana during my second attempt (I already tried it at home, but couldn't connect online) but stubbornness prevailed. On my third try, bytes of data finally trickled. But it wouldn't hold to a video chat.

Not even publishing a blog post.

Doon pa lang I knew that if the Wi-Fi didn't work, I will be in big trouble. A big, big trouble. To be able to video chat with my partner was the highlight of the trip, and I cannot afford to miss that chance. So either someone press the reset button of the router or I'm moving out.

While contemplating my next move, one of the attendants arrived.

It was Tophe.

I didn't try to paint a picture of Tophe when I spoke to him the day before. He appeared unsure of the answers when addressing my inquiries and besides, I felt a tinge of uncertainty that my reservation might not push through.

I was the one asserting my sure arrival.

With such lukewarm response, I didn't feel excited to meet him. I wouldn't mind if he just hand me the keys to my room, and off he goes to attend to the other guests. But the moment I stood up that morning to shake his hand, man, I was telling myself if he could be my personal attendant.

Imagine a six-footer, brown-skinned guy. Fit, curly hair, chiselled jaw, a slightly pointed nose. Just ignore the floral shirt, which reminded me of Lito Atienza and focus on his smile, his youthful, naughty smile that let my imagination fly into the realm of Brazilian porn clips I see on XVideos.

I told him the problem and immediately, he walked to where the router clings and reset it. I could have just tilted my head upwards to freeze at the sight of his sexy torso, but by then, my eyes were glued to the laptop to see if his tinkering worked.

It didn't.

"Baka naman sir, kaya hindi maka-connect sa Wi-Fi namin kasi nablo-block nung settings ng Sun Broadband niyo?" Tophe has a point.

So the next thing I did was to take out the Sun Broadband application and try connecting again to the resort's Internet. Again it didn't work.

After countless tries, reboots and even complaining again to the host that I could still not surf the web, thoughts of finding another resort had taken hold. It didn't help too that a couple of ladies, wearing heavy make up and colourful dresses passed by to hang out at the bar.

At seven in the morning.

I overheard them talking to the host about some matters I try not to be privy of. What happened after the ladies had left hints of some business between the attendants and the outsiders.

"Bigyan nila ako ng P500, papagamit ko yung banyo." Tophe was laughing his ass off while talking to a colleague about the ladies. Somehow the surreal sight reminded me of old Chinese men with young ladies in tow.

Truth or just plain fabrication it didn't matter. The fact that I could still not connect to the Internet and there's no one to help me, not even show a little sympathy that I came all the way from Manila was enough reason to leave.

To hell with the P1,300 room rate.

The sky's the limit, I can afford a much more expensive place.

After speaking to a nice Chinese lady (who is a guest) and learned that I was the only one having problems with my Wi-Fi, I told the guard that I would get some fresh air and just return after the one occupying my room had left.

- tobecontinued -

Fifteen Minutes | Dream Journal Twenty Four

2011-10-25T09:00:00.000+08:00

It was almost midnight and for some reasons, everyone at home was still up. I even remember asking the maid to get me Tortillos at a nearby store.

Checking my watch, the time was 11:45. Suddenly, like a snap of a finger, like blood rushing towards the head, I knew I had to buy something - a cake for my mom. All this time we followed tradition and here I am forgetting it.

Feeling the sense of urgency, I changed my clothes while letting my memory access its vaults to find the nearest Starbucks still open. I'm absolutely sure that all Red Ribbon bakeries were already closed. We were in Santa Mesa, in our old house, and I was thinking maybe there's a branch near UST. There was no time to think of other locations.

I was on the verge of panic.

The maid returned not with a Tortillos but with a plate of pretzels. The pretzels, thick in brown syrup and sprinkled with croutons was something I didn't expect. I hesitated to get a piece.

"Masarap yan!!" The maid insisted, She was right. The croutons turned out to be bits of cheese.

I left the house to start walking. I was about to make a turn to a narrow passage that leads to the main road when I saw a table at the middle of the alley in front of me. On the table were gifts stacked on top each other while party food were laid out around it.

"Someone's having a birthday party," I said to myself. What's surreal is that the table, and all those gifts were there but the celebrant and the guests were nowhere to be found. But there was no time to take a closer look. My surroundings began to dissipate and by then I knew the reason why.

I woke up in my bed with the sun high outside the windows. Feeling relieved that I still have fifteen hours to buy the cake, I got up, opened my laptop and started writing this entry.

A Taskmaster's Prayer

2011-10-23T22:23:00.000+08:00

Tonight is the start of my work week and I deliver my accomplishments to the Great Maker so that in the face of daunting tasks, I will never dare resign or surrender to the delightful temptations of defeat.

Backpacker: Santa Ana, Cagayan

2011-10-22T10:11:00.000+08:00

First Part: A Traveler's Tale

"Baabaa! I have something to tell you ..."

It's past 7 in the morning and I was standing outside the Eastern Hawaii Hotel in the town's Centro district. Robbed of sleep, I was waiting for the security guards to let me in so I could speak at the front desk and ask about their room rates.

"Balak sana kitang i-surprise at sabihing nasa Cagayan ako, kaso I'm in a bit of trouble."

"Cagayan what!?!" I am paraphrasing our conversation.

"Santa Ana, check it out on the map."

After a brief pause, JC blurted "Ang layooooooooo!!" My partner couldn't believe where my feet had carried me. "Grabe ka haaaaa!"

"Gusto ko sana mag Skype tayo habang iniingit kita na nasa tabing dagat ako, kaso the resort I booked the previous day has problems with their WiFi connection."

"Now I have to look for another place to stay."

There was no doubt that I am out of the city. Even the cool breeze suggest I am in a place never before touched by smog and fumes that I have grown accustomed everyday.

The Florida bus arrived at daybreak, and it stopped right in front of the town market. Unsure of where Jotay Resort is, a trike volunteered to take me there. Not knowing the place was only a few blocks away, I paid thirty pesos when it should have been fifteen. I could even walk if not for the stray dogs and the unlit unpaved roads along the way.

First thing in the morning and I was hoodwinked. Even the guard at the resort told me to come back because their rooms are fully occupied. Apparently my contact didn't tell him about my arrival, despite sending an SMS while in transit to confirm my reservation.

Talk about hassle. I couldn't imagine this is the treatment I would get after coming all the way from Manila.

15 Hours Earlier

"Pilyo punta akong Cagayan. Ikaw muna bahala sa kanila ha?" I was referring to the Encantos.

"Ay putanginamu, hindi nga?! Seryoso ka?" Even my closest friends wouldn't buy my story.

Kasi naman, never in Encantos history did I show up with a huge backpack before lunchtime. The guys couldn't even convince me to join their out of town trips. And here I am, telling Pilyo that I'm going solo and that, it would take an entire day (and night) to get to the tip of Luzon.

"Ano namang naisipan mo at bakit pupunta ka dun?" I had to explain the wisdom behind the pilgrimage. It was my heart leading the way. Lol.

"Ikaw na bahala magsabi kay Dadi ah. Hindi ito dapat malaman ni JC."

"Iba ka rin mag-trip no?" I know. For someone who climbs the ledge of a dance floor out on a whim, my mind is wired quite differently.

"Siyanga pala, I gave your number at home. In case lang magkaproblema ako dun." And with that, I disappeared from Pilyo's view.

Little Spot of Paradise (Ako lang ang nagkumot sa loob ng bus!)

The bus ride is a story in itself. Like a collection of tapestries adorning a wall, each piece tells a part of the journey.

It began in Espana shortly before 1. The bus lurched forward despite the disarray of cars along the road. A stow-away missionary preached the good news to ambivalent passengers. Her sympathetic voice eased the troubled spirit. Envelopes were passed after her soulful performance. Lacking spare change, guilt struck while returning my donation coupon with three pieces of silver coins.

I should have given her a twenty peso bill. But I had none.

"Babawi na lang po ako ate." I could not even look at her in the eye.

As the bus merged with the sojourners heading north, I put on my ear phones and listened to Jam 88.3. I forgot to bring my Nano's charger so I had to ration the use of the gadget. The two-lane expressway stretched on forever, with rice fields - some still under flood waters, while others appear like a giant green carpet - went as far as the eyes could see.

In Tarlac, mats of palay were laid along the sides of the national highway. They were left there to dry. The pink bus would occasionally overtake a kuliglig with sacks of rice stacked behind its trailer. It's harvest season and everyone in the plains made themselves useful. Even the year-long tambays. If only I paid more attention to the naked, ripped and sweaty laborers I caught glimpse at the warehouses, I would have lasted the entire night without dumping anything on my tummy.

But one thing I found truly amazing was Jollibee's long arm stretching out to the heartlands of the small towns. Who would have thought the fast food chain has branches in obscure places like Guimba and Talavera. Heck, I don't even know they appear on the map. For all my expectations of a rural poblacion, the signs of civilization are truly heartening.

Pitstop One, SCTEX Tarlac Exit

It was getting dark when the flower bus began its ascent towards the treacherous Dalton Pass. At 3,000 feet up in the mountains, this is the highest portion of the Maharlika Highway. Flanked by the Caraballo in the east and the Sierra Madre in the west, the road follows a brook that drains into the Manila Bay.

But this wasn't the stream the locals knew just a few weeks ago.

The mountains glisten under the low sun like pale emeralds in the distance. But as you go closer, only weeds and flimsy shrubs grow on some of its brown slopes. Gone are the massive trees cut down to build houses. Even newly planted seedlings are uprooted to make firewood.

No wonder, when strong rains come, mud slosh down instead of water. Even parts of the highway disappears as stones tumble from the peaks. The dry riverbed - once littered with boulders as big as dump trucks - are now covered with silt. With the river much shallower, the water that should have merged with the bay in days lingered in Bulacan for weeks.

The nerve of us to complain about the mess we made.

I felt sorry for the mountains, and the trees that used to hold the earth with their mighty roots. I felt sorry for the fields, inundated, with crops swept away instead of being harvested. I felt sorry for the rain, that began to fall and made the winding road more slippery. For instead of sprinkling life, the rains are feared for being the harbinger of death. I wish I could have done something to the destruction around me. But I was reduced to being a silent witness as the bus push back to the lowlands, on the other side of the mountains.

Hot, Spicy Mami and C2 Green, Dalton Pass, Nueva Vizcaya

By nightfall, everywhere I look, the roads are deserted. The poblacions themselves become ghost towns as the bus continues to roll towards the tip of the island. I dozed off in Nueva Vizcaya, and was stirred back to lucidness in Santiago, Isabela. I should have left the bus, according to my press release to my mom. But instead, a passenger who took a leak at a gas station almost got left behind.

Lucky for him, his wife alerted the bus driver.

At past eleven, habit follows that I should have arrived home. G-Talk should have recognized my name and Baabaa, who is busy at work should have received my hello message. But instead of following the routine, I was in the middle of nowhere, where even distant, lonely lights refuse to shine.

As the final ploy unfolds, a single SMS message covered my grand deception:

"Baabaa, hope u are doing okay. I'm having problems with my internet connection." Notice the absence of the word home. "Online na lang ako when my connection returns. Labyuu!" The partner didn't bother to reply.

It turns out, he would surprise me by calling my phone at the strike of midnight. Weasel. We agreed to follow the Atlantic time instead of mine. Siya rin pala magbre-break ng agreement.

Good thing, I was drowned in my own alternative music and the thoughts of the sea that I didn't hear my phone ring. He sent a text message which I refused to reply. Even the missed call with his number, I pretended not to see. Let JC think his Baaboo fell asleep. It would buy me some time.

Florida Bus Station, Tuguegarao, 2 am

The clock is ticking as my destination remains a full sleep away. In the cover of my own fabrication, the last leg of the trip would be best remembered with a lower back pain from staying in the same sitting position for hours; a male seatmate tossing over and over because of the cold air blasting from the overhead AC, a runaway tooth ache threatening to spoil my getaway, sleep or any semblance of it as the road signs tell that we are still more than a hundred kilometers away from Jollibee Aparri.

Like the very long blog entry you are reading right now, I was beginning to feel that I went on a road trip any sane person would refuse to go. Unless he got days to spare or is a travel writer by profession. I should have known better, it was different on the map. One look, and there you are in the coast, while in real earth, it took more than an hour from Aparri before we spotted the sea.

The hippie bus, that left Manila the day before accelerates like it was chasing darkness. The sky, while being lit by the moon hints that it was giving up the night. The fluorescent lights inside the bus were switched on, and the welcome arc outside says "Welcome, Santa Ana, Cagayan." Finally, we have arrived. A few more minutes and we would carry our bags, step out of the bus for the last time and embrace our destination.

Fifteen Minutes After Arrival:

"Sir kung gusto niyo, intayin niyo na lang muna si Topher dumating. Nandito na yun ng mga 6:30." I checked my phone and the clock tells its 5:20.

"Upo muna kayo dito," The guard lead me to the porch in front of the beach.

First thing I did was to open my laptop to see if the Wi-Fi really worked. I also got hold of my contact's personal number. It didn't matter if I had to wake him up an hour before the start of his shift.

A deal is a deal.

Having been initially denied entry to the place I sought refuge, I also learned that a password was required before I could access the resort's Internet connection. Tophe would still have to send me the access codes and I was growing really impatient.

Rather than get depressed, or let the feelings of exhaustion sink in, I left the resort to cross the street. The sound of waves lapping up against the shore was too hard to ignore. There, I let my sneakers feel the fine sands beneath my feet. As I look up in the sky, the horizon breaks revealing a crimson delight. While across the channel, the scenic Palaui Island emerges behind the mist like a curtain is being lifted to bring to view the town's main attraction.

"At the very least, I am standing on a beach, right at the beginning of the world." I consoled myself while taking my first picture of the sea.

After risking my mind and body to leap out of the box, my journey at long last, comes to an end.

- tobecontinued -

Backpacker: Secret Blueprint

2011-10-20T14:58:00.003+08:00

At first, it was a toss-up between Baler and Casiguran. Both towns nestle behind the humps known as the Sierra Madre, right at the eastern fringe of Luzon and whose balconies open to the Pacific Ocean, where the first rays of the sun cast its soft light over large swathes of mist-covered rain forests and remote white beaches.

It must have been the result of watching too many episodes of Lonely Planet on Discovery Channel, but my idea was to pick a place less flocked by tourists. The anniversary was fast approaching and to celebrate our milestone, I was bent on surprising my partner by greeting him "Happy Anniversary" with the ocean behind me.

I cannot recall when the first plan was conceived. All I know is that I was already checking the departure schedule of the Genesis bus when Quiel pounded the eastern coast. The province of Aurora was directly hit. Damage was minimal but it was enough reason to change my mind and step back from pursuing my expedition.

Except that instead of picking a spot closer to home, I was aiming for a destination far distant and inaccessible to city dwellers like me.

And so what I did was to look for a suitable location at the northern tip of Luzon. Tutal naman, my true intention was to be as close to my other half - who is in North America - as possible. It didn't matter if I have never seen the place or know anyone there. I am entitled to indulge myself in some kind of adventure once in a while.

There was no excuse to pick another point on the map after I spotted the jutted land on Google Map. Searching the web was my next step after identifying what town to make landfall. All it took was one hour to learn what bus to ride and what places to see during my stay. Had I gone further, I could have booked the resort before my web surfing was over.

However, Ramon threatened to spoil my weekend getaway. Much as I would like to transform my abstract plans into something tangible, weather became my biggest worry. It didn't help too that I was beginning to suffer from my anniversary jitters. Made-up nightmares consumed what should have been my fervent drive to learn much about my destination.

The blueprint began to take shape one week before my departure. The bus company was a mere block away from Pilyo's place. After Papa Tagay's birthday inuman that Saturday, I lumbered my way towards the station to check the schedule. The first bus leaves on Friday at 12:30 pm.

There was no time to go to work. I will have to sacrifice my leave credits.

Between the ceaseless rains that made the landscape duller, and the Larawan and Bentusi projects which kept me busy during my rest days, a series of deceptive maneuvers made the plan a reality:

"My mom told me this evening that a friend of my dad sent a text message informing her about a property he left in Cagayan." I wrote in a letter. "This property is unknown to us and it is possible that he indeed had left something there as my dad was secretive in nature.

Being the eldest, I was tasked to investigate the matter and report everything to my mom."

The boss didn't answer my email. After all he was out of the country busking for clients and was expecting me not to be absent at work. His non-response didn't stop me from putting a break on my plans.

By Wednesday, I already bought my bus ticket. The fare cost P600 pesos, one way, which was a bit cheap considering the distance of the province. By then, not even a bout of flu, muscle pains, or a typhoon could stop me from leaving the city. The next step would be to come up with a believable excuse I could tell at home.

Having the raketship immediately resolved my worries. I told my mom that a mayor in Isabela commissioned us to write an article about his town. You see, at this age, it is still difficult to secure a pass going to far places. Mom worries a lot, and though she hasn't turned down my vacation plans before (because I had none) instincts tell to shorten the distance to easily get her permission.

By Wednesday night, the issue was finally settled.

Between the constant weather monitoring at the Pag-Asa website (adik lang) and the frantic pursuit to finish writing the "Larawan" series on time, I was able to squeeze finding a place to stay before my "flight" out of Manila.

I only had two conditions for my accommodation. It doesn't matter if the place has an infinity pool, hot water coming out of the faucet, or even complementary meals to sweeten the deal. As long as the room rate never goes beyond my P1500 budget and that it has Wi-Fi connection, reservations could be done in an instant.

Besides, It was already Thursday and I'm running out of time.

The first resort to answer my text inquiry didn't have an Internet connection. The second, whose container-van inspired cottages that cost P250 a night was fully-booked until November. "Sun City" hit the ceiling. It was also too opulent for my taste. And while the other inn, which has rates slightly higher than my budget seemed a good choice, I settled with Jotay Resort, whose P1,300 room rate and free Wi-Fi connection already suited my requirement.

Advanced booking was done over the phone.

Once this final huddle had been crossed - to find a place to rest when I get there, it was easy to breathe slowly.

I was even able to put hundreds of new mp3s on my Nano without being rushed. Post the numbers of Pilyo, Rocco and Fox on my cork board in case I went missing, and write the pin of my ATM, which I also left inside my drawer in case of emergencies.

The next morning, I asked Baabaa to set our nightly (Atlantic Time) Skype session at an earlier time. I was all smiles and our casual talk masked whatever I was planning to do the next day. What he didn't know is that on my bed spread a pair of undies, a couple of shirts and shorts, and a small towel that would go inside my bag. On top of the heap was my blanket, the one I used that night to cover my body wherever I find myself in.

After saying goodnight, Dymion the laptop went inside my backpack. I took a long bath and slid my toiletries inside the backpack last.

Parting is a sweet sorrow and my mom was all tears (drama lang). Told her, I would be back before she feels my absence. Strict instructions to look after the matriarch was relayed to the household. They asked where I was heading and my happy answer has always been Santiago, Isabela.

Florida Bus Terminal, Espana

What they didn't know is that on my bus ticket, which was safely tucked in one of the small pockets of my bag showed my real destination. More than five hundred kilometres away from home, I was off to Santa Ana, Cagayan for my first solo, long-distance land trip ever.

Backpacker: Crawling Out Of The Bag

2011-10-19T09:02:00.000+08:00

When I was a kid, the favorite aunt would take me to places everytime she gets invited to attend a fellowship. I remember scooping my hands under the sea to catch blooms of jellyfishes in Zambales. Its because the annual gathering of surgeons was held at a beach resort there.

At Subic a few years later, I went home with a bag full of PX Goods. At a time when a dollar is equivalent to 25 pesos, I made sure everyone at home got a pasalubong. That's where all my pocket money went. More than the duty free shopping, I learned that Subic then had very strict traffic rules. One must stop at all times when crossing an intersection. Throwing trash on the street exacts a heavy price.

It was also the first time I had a face to face encounter with wild monkeys trooping at our cottage to scavenge for food. The big bats flew overhead at night making strange noises that made me scamper inside the house. Before we left, a guide taught us how to survive in the jungle. Up to now, the image of cooked rice inside a bamboo trunk remains as vivid as when I saw it during the actual presentation.

These events were always sponsored by drug companies. It's part of their promotion, I guess. And since these pharmaceuticals go to great lengths to wine, dine, and accommodate the doctors and their families, expect high-end lodging and entertainment once you arrive at the venue.

And so as I grew up, I was able to enjoy going around the country in style only kids with rich parents could afford. When I went to Davao after getting my high school diploma, I wasted no time keeping my belly full at the buffet table. We stayed at the Grand Meng Seng Hotel and toured the city to our heart's content. It was also the first time I rode an airplane. It would also be the last. For in the years to come, my mind grew weary of flying.

Blame it on the Cebu Pacific crash of 1998.

Same goes with my third visit to Baguio City. The first one was with my family (aunts, cousins and uncles, without my parents). The same group was there on our return. The third was an invitation from the favorite aunt a year before my graduation. We stayed at the Baguio Country Club for a weekend. My cousin was supposed to join but changed his mind at the last minute.

Since the favorite aunt would be busy attending the conference, I was left exploring the city with another kid. His mom too would be attending the conference so he was stuck in his room watching television. Eager to leave the confines of our hotel, it was easy to convince the boy to tag along even when the skies heaved with icy rain.

The afternoon stroll would become my first walking trip, a pursuit which would remain an essential part of my getaways every time I leave the city.

It was the turn of the new millennium. I'm done with college and with the family business in full swing, it was difficult to leave my post for a little rest and relaxation. However, there was this one occasion when my mom had to meet her community organizers in Isabela. Realizing the thrill of seeing the countryside, I volunteered to join even when she already got company.

Hopping into the back of a pick-up truck, we left Manila at past midnight. Partida, nagka-minor stroke pa yung dad ko hours before our departure. I didn't tell my mom about this and instead, let the mistress do the nursing. After all, I had instructions from my dad not to breathe a word. It was not life-threatening in the first place.

And I don't want him to spoil the fun.

It was an all-night, 10-hour drive to Santiago City. We hardly had any stopover along the highway, and my mom barely slept to keep the driver awake. Sitting behind the driver seat, I plugged my earphones and let Goo Goo Dolls and my assorted alternative tracks on my discman accompany me on the road. My butt ached from the bumpy ride. I couldn't even stretch my limbs, but my music and its soothing melodies carried me to our destination.

The cool crisp wind blowing from the Sierra Madre offered little to ease my discomfort. Yet for someone who breathes smog and fumes everyday, the fresh air was a welcome respite. What made the trip truly unforgettable was the sleeping landscape bathed in a silvery glow. I recall, it was full moon and the silhouette of Mt. Arayat loomed over the horizon. A handful of farmers were in their fields. Lit by gas lamps, they hunt for rats eating their crops.

Somewhere near the Caraballo, I rolled down the car windows to let more cool wind in. It was very dark outside with not a single house or lamp post in sight. I let my head out and after turning my sights into the sky, I saw the heavens lit with a billion suns. So moved was I with the spectacle, I still feel a pinch on my chest every time I look at the evening sky now and find only a handful of stars pinned in the heavens.

III

The cosmic parade would never happen again, and we, the travellers, would just stay in Isabela the next day long enough for the driver to get some sleep. Just before sundown we were on the road again - back to Manila. Same bumpy ride going home, with the same winding mountain passages and the same rice fields exuding an eerie white glow under the watchful eye of a full moon.

We would repeat the pattern when we went to Pangasinan that same summer. Stayed in Lingayen just to get a dip in its murky beach while my mom attended a meeting. We're back again on the road three hours after we arrived. Since then, I learned not to stay in one place for more than a night. I don't even find it strange or exhausting to have longer travel time than stay-over once I embark on a trip.

To immerse myself in two ways of travelling have shaped my ideal vacation when it was time to go solo. Knowing that I cannot uproot myself from home for too long, I learned to pack lightly. The very Spartan and sometimes unforgiving time on the road had suited me for long distance travel. And my earlier classy accommodations had nurtured my discriminate boarding choices. To keep my spending in check, I prefer to make an escape when nobody wants to leave the city.

These experiences I have to go through from all these past travels would eventually prepare me for my land journey all the way to the very tip of Luzon.

Alone.

Wandering Mugs

2011-10-17T13:08:00.000+08:00

The technological means may have changed. But as I have learned halfway through my roadtrip this weekend, the desire to take people with me as I cross the countryside remains an ever-present calling.

Pinoyexchange Wireless Journal.
circa 2002

Twitter
circa 2011

Consider this as the prelude of the story about my journey to the north.

Final Distance

2011-10-15T12:00:00.000+08:00

I wanna be with you
Someday even this distance
We'll be able to embrace

Utada Hikaru
Final Distance

It is half pastmidnight and I am on a bus heading to a place I have only seen in the front pageof a daily newspaper. As to why my feet lead me there, only the heart couldtell.

Beyond the glasswindow is a sea of darkness. Who would have thought that after living so longin the city, my soul would grow weary of the wilderness.

The mind is secondguessing whether to proceed.

But the sea is calling in words I cannot refuse. Not just the sea but that jut of land at the edge of the landmass. Myheart tells me to be there. I need to. There is a desire to shorten the oceanic distance.

A flash oflighting in the horizon, and then I remembered. A few days ago I washard-pressed to pick the last location for the Larawan set. Must I choose theairport, where partings and eventual reunions take place?

I was there whenJC left not just for abroad but at times when his presence was needed in his hometown.Two months ago, I was the last person he saw before boarding the plane. Come tothink of it, he may end up in my arms should his plane lands at odd ours of the morning.

Should I chooseContis instead, that fancy restaurant at Serendra? It is where Baabaa treated me for mybirthday. To this day, the sweetaftertaste of the Mango Bravo lingers in my mouth. Like that memory ofDecember when we strolled around The Fort, took pictures of big dogs and wentshopping for my Christmas presents.

But in the end,what I chose was the most inconspicuous of places. The very spot where my heartwas reborn and my words became one with the assembly of candles.

Monasterio De Santa Clara, Katipunan

“And I lit thissecond candle for the one who would come, so that in happiness and defeat, someone already cares.” And that onewould be the Notthewimpykid, two years later. My life has remained in blissful recluse eversince.

If there is onereason I am temptation proof, and whose near-infinite patience can rival thoseof a monk despite my suppressed madness, it is because I gave my word while I was there – at the monasterio –and for all the times it was broken, my union with JC is my atonement.

Seldom are wegiven third chances.

Kapagnangungulila si kabiyak at magkausap kami sa Skype, he would joke around and tell meto buy a plane ticket so I could go to Ottawa and meet him at the park. Hewould sneak me inside his room so we could be together.

What he didn’tknow is that I play with my imagination too. For someone who loves givingsurprises, I would like a replay of what I did the first time we met.

“Baabaa! Grabemamamatay na ako dito! Didn’t know the weather is a killer!”

“Huh asan kaba?”

“Go out of yourhouse, I’m trying to find a raccoon. Ayaw mo mag-take ng pictures eh.”

And then when heopens the door of his apartment building somewhere along Loretta Avenue, bigla ko nalang siya susurpresahin at sasabihing,

“Happy Anniversary!”

Yeah Mugen, inyour dreams.

But you knowwhat, I am not the kind who would settle for anything less. Especially on special occasions. Maybe it is in mynature: to spring out of the box when nobody thought I could jump. I really don’t know. I guess I’m just saying that love can make people fly.

Conceived withoutanyone knowing; drawn without revealing the artist's true blueprint;executed precisely, hopefully, to the last detail, this is my resoundingresponse to Baabaa’s wishful thinking:

Pacific Sunrise, Santa Ana, Cagayan

I know my feetwon’t get me there, across the vast ocean, but let these currents carry my heartfelt words; no matterwhere you are, I will always find a way to walk after you.

Larawan Last Part

2011-10-15T05:00:00.000+08:00

And so we have come to the last part of the Larawan series, where, in my attempts to trace back our footsteps, I have gathered my strength to return to the places that serve as milestones of my long and fruitful journey with JC.

Twelve images. Twelve places. Twelve months. Sino ang mag-aakala na sa nilayo-layo ng aming nilakbay, nandito pa rin kami at hindi napapagod.

The first four pictures tell the story of our beginnings, while the previous four became the crests of our union. For the final set, the photos whisper in hushed tones the sublimity of our relationship. For love cannot stand alone by going out and seeing places.

It is the simple things that let your bond take roots.

Paco, Manila

JC sometimes complain about our "uwian" arrangement. It is because he always leave the cab first. Kunsabagay, we always come from Makati and his place being nearer, it is natural for me to drop him off the cab before I do.

What he didn't know is that there is a reason for it. I often choose the hang-out spots closer to his place so that I could see to it that he leaves the cab right in front of his house. Siyempre, when the hang-out spot is nearer to my place, he insists on the opposite. Para nga naman equal kami.

Ang hindi niya alam, meron akong counter proposal. Instead of him travelling to his house - alone, at night - I see to it that he sleeps over. I'd rather have him by my side than let him off the streets.

Jomanian Homeworld

There was this one time I got so drunk that I had to take a detour to my partner's place to take a leak. Akala ko na hanggang sala lang ako makakaabot knowing the security risks once he get caught bringing a stranger inside the house. To my surprise, he allowed me to make weewee at his toilet for me to see his room. I was even able to lie in his bed, kaso sa sobrang hilo, I had to get up. Besides I couldn't stay long.

I wouldn't talk much about the great things that happen when he stays over my place. Besides, we all know what happens when two men share a single bed. But to see him leave after staying in for the night is a different story. For all my tough and independent posturing, at the end of the day, I am left hating the feeling of finding myself suddenly and abruptly disconnected.

Salcedo Park, Makati

I have already written scores of narratives about this patch of greens behind the towering monoliths of Ayala. The park was once our tagpuan, The open space had also become my tambayan while waiting for Baabaa to call it a night when he was still working in one of the office towers there.

But this is not what made Salcedo Park special. Sure there was the friendly cat I carried in my arms, and the cute kid who waved at me while serenely sitting on a bench. It was the kind act, the unprecedented gesture from JC that made this place something worth remembering.

It was past one in the morning and the partner wasn't done yet with work. The happy camper in me was willing to wait, kahit na pinapapak na ako ng lamok sa tabi ng puno. Nabusog naman ako sa food na bigay niya sa akin earlier that night. A short conversation with mahal and then an idea was conceived. He asked me to meet him at the lobby.

He would let me stay in his office.

He introduced me to the guard on duty as his cousin. I in turn played the act. While he was busy resolving the problems with his codes, I was there seated beside him playing Angry Birds on his iPhone. Soon we realized it was already past 2.

Baabaa was able to accomplish his tasks that morning, while I went home happy to see that the partner is slowly acknowledging my presence. Just a few months before, I asked him to accompany me at work just for him to see my office. He returned the idea with a dreaded stare.

It was raining when I went back to the same spot a week before this entry was published. Gone are the cats who made the park their home. Gone also are the kids and their attendants who often held picnics at past midnight. What welcomed me was an empty park and a heavy heart knowing the place is bound to dwell in my memory.

- to be concluded -

Larawan Second Part

2011-10-15T00:00:00.000+08:00

Baabaa was asked sa isang online forum kung saan daw ang pinakamemorable date niya.

Kelly Heights, Antipolo

His answer was Antipolo.

Bilang isang hamak na stalker sa forum na iyon ay napangiti ako sa kanyang sagot. Malay ko ba na yun pala ang special place namin para sa kanya. Kelly Heights has always been my retreat every time I'd like to run away from the city. It is fairly inaccessible, the food, albeit mediocre in taste and looks, is uber-pricey for an average joe, but the vista of the city is breathtaking. On a clear, cloudless afternoon, one can even catch a glimpse of the sun as it sets gracefully in Manila Bay.

When I brought Baabaa there, we are not yet an official couple sa blog. Sa aking pagbabalik upang isulat itong entry, tuwing pagmamasdan ko yung table kung saan kami naupo ay paulit-ulit na sumasagi sa diwa ko ang mga salitang

"walang nakakalimot" habang parang tangang nakangiti sa kawalan.

White Moon Bar, Manila Ocean Park

When asked the same question, my answer would be White Moon.

The Manila Ocean Park date was actually a fulfilment of a promise. Sabi ko kasi kay JC nung naglalandian pa kami sa SMS na isasama ko siya sa Intramuros for him to experience riding the Pasig River Ferry up to Guadalupe. The problem is, the ferry service went bankrupt. We stayed instead at Starbucks then did a walking trip along the walled city up to Luneta.

It was almost sunset when we got to Manila Ocean Park.

In an instant, my world had transformed upon seeing the bay. I could almost picture us lounging in one of the white vinyl sofas while sipping a glass of Margarita. Ambient sounds play in the background as the sun sets in the distance. Kulang na lang ng infinity pool para sabihing we're lapping the life of luxury.

Matapos maubos ang tall glass of Iced Tea na nagkakahalaga ng 100 pesos, kumain kami ng grilled pusit na nilalako ng mga ambulant vendors sa tabi ng Quirino Grandstand.

Cafe Alejandra, Makati

Pilian ng rest days during the company manpower shuffling last year, I said they could throw me on any shift as long as I would get Saturdays as my off. That's my only condition. The resulting trade-off left me working on Sundays on graveyard shift and having my Wednesdays as my other rest day. Ako lang ang bukod tanging employee na permanenteng hiwalay ang rest day.

To make the most out of my days off, Wednesdays have become the Baabaa day. Sa araw na ito ay nagkikita kami ni partner kahit siya ay may trabaho. We sometimes watch movies. But most of the time, we just settle in a place where there is free wifi so I could keep him company while doing his work. When I have pending articles for Bentusi, I turn my idle time into something more productive.

Sino ang magsasabi na ang mag-partner ay hindi maaring maging workmates?

Greenbelt Church, Ayala Center

It was JC's birthday and I had something planned for that day. The kid had no idea what's in store for him. Ako yata itong magaling mag-surpresa. Mind you, it comes with age.

After watching Angel Locsin's In the Name of Love, dali dali ko siyang dinala sa simbahan, hindi para magpakasal kundi magpasalamat. It has been a good year for him and as a partner, I believe a visit to our Father's house would be most appropriate.

It was too early to call it a night. Besides, sinadya ko talaga siyang gutumin nung araw na yun dahil for the first time, I'd be treating someone in a fancy restaurant. Yung entree pa lang, mabigat na sa tiyan.

I threw the partner a birthday celebration he wouldn't easily forget. As for me, I realized that I could start a career as an events planner. Seriously, to see him enjoying every moment of our time is already a befitting reward.

I couldn't ask for more.

- itutuloy -

Larawan First Part

2011-10-14T12:30:00.000+08:00

Ang bilin ng mga matatanda, ang taong hindi marunong lumingon sa pinanggalingan ay hindi alam ang pupuntahan.

So here we are, looking back at where this sweet thing called love brought us.

McDonalds, UN Avenue

May masama akong balak ng gabing iyon. May ko-kornerin akong tao para i-treat ng Twister Fries. Ang binata ay walang kaalam-alam na ang kanya palang ka-textmate ay nag-aabang na sa ground floor ng kanyang office building. Kaya pala panay ang sabi nito na magtext ang binata kapag ito ay pauwi na.

Nang magkita, kaagad naming tinungo ang McDonalds Taft para maglate-dinner. Yun kasi ang malapit sa mga bahay namin. Habang nag-iintay ng order ay nagkasabay kaming magbanyo. Nagkatinginan, nagkangitian at yun na! Isang kiss lang pala ang magpapatunay na may spark pala. Sabi ko that night, I might be seeing the last days of my singlehood.

Tama ako.

Isang linggo matapos ang "first date" namin ni JC ay naging kami na.

UP Oblation, Diliman Campus

I would like to think that I was just making a good impression. Na ang piniling kabiyak ni Baabaa ay nakatungtong ng State University kahit paano. But it was not the case. Sadyang gusto lang namin lumabas kasama si Maginoong Bulakenyo at Diliman ang napili namin puntahan.

Matapos papakin ang isaw ni Mang Larry ay naglibot kami sa paligid ng campus; Naupo sa Sunken Garden at naglakad sa calle Juan Luna kung saan nakatira ang ilan sa mga pantas ng unibersidad.

Nang uwian ay bumukod kami sa aming kasama... at nakalimot na pareho lang pala kami ng daan. Hindi man sadya (promise!) pero ang aking hinihinala ay gusto ko lang ma-solo sa bus si partner.

The Dungeon, Eclipse Gym Mabini

Like all healthy relationships ay nagcla-clash rin kami ni Baabaa. RedtheMod said it best: it is because, "complementing" daw kasi ang personality namin. Hindi ko na kailangan mag-elaborate

Our first fight took place because of a tweet that became a subject of dubious interpretations. Malay ko bang lyrics ng kanta yun at hindi patama tungkol sa mga regret niya sa nakaraan. Wounding words were hurled and for two hours ay dedma kami sa isa't isa.

Eventually, the partner reached out, apologized and I did the same. But to seal the peace treaty, I went all the way from Eclipse Shaw to Eclipse Mabini para manundo ng nagbo-body building rin. Doon ko na realize na we can't stand each other na magkatampuhan ng matagal.

And from that moment ay nag-full circle ang pagiging mag-acquaintance namin. He caught my attention in a body-building thread and in return, we worked out together when time allowed.

Greenbelt 3 Cinema

I seldom watch movies in theaters. Unless I get invited. The partner loves the big screen even if it means going solo. At dahil mahal ko siya, nagsimula ulit akong manood ng films no matter what the genres are. This is how we date.

The first film we saw was Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows Part 1. Hindi ko alam kung sa Greenbelt 3 namin pinanood yun or somewhere else. But Greenbelt is the nearest cinema to my partner's workplace. For that, the mall became our hang-out place.

From Burlesque to Scream 4, to Black Swan and Source Code, lahat yun kasama ko siyang pinanood. Pati yung Rosario at saka In the Name of Love na dati-rati ay hindi ko napapansin ay pinatulan ko na rin. The tidal shift was so strong that when JC left for Canada, I never stepped foot inside the cinemas again.

Saka na lang, sa kanyang muling pagbabalik.

- itutuloy -

The Epilogue

2011-10-08T16:10:00.000+08:00

"Kamusta ka Joms, I'm so happy to see you after a long time! Grabe kagabi no? Did you enjoy ba?"

It was the first text message I read when I woke up. It was from Kane.

"Happy to see you too! Super fun, grabe. For 3 hours, felt like the girl that I was, only tamer. Wahaha. Cu again."

Notice the inflection? Well, what can I say, I was nursing a hang-over.

"Hahaha I love tamer :) So you met Eugene..."

As the story goes, Kane and his boy slave went home with another guy. No other details were thrown away, not even morsels about what the third wheel looks like. But as of this writing Kane still denies a threesome ever took place.

One week has passed since my return to the dance floor and the characters in the story went back living their own old lives.

As we now know, Kane returned with his entourage at O-Bar the next night. For him and his gang, life is indeed a partey. But who would have thought that just before daybreak, white flags will be raised. I may not be privy to the Upper East Siders, but I know what happened last July. It was an eye opener for me, who is used to celebrating every Encanto's birthday with beer and more beer.

Fox never forgets.

Kaya ang masasabi ko lang,

I'm overjoyed to hear that peace has finally been restored.

Nishiboy went out too the following night. His destination, Palawan 1. I cannot recall if this was the night when he met the twink, whom, he dated for a week. (He announced on Twitter last night that he was breaking up with the boy. The boy of course, was devastated.)

"Anubayun, natikman ka lang eh devastated na." I should have spared some sympathy. What if the boy was indeed madly infatuated?

I was told that Jap went on a binging spree every night after my return to the dance floor. Every time I hear the news, I couldn't help but ask if this is what I had exchanged. Looking back, part of the reason for inviting Nishi to meet new friends is to distract him from doing this. I may not know if I succeeded, or the trade-off was worth it.

What I am hoping is that a week has passed and our boy didn't bite the bait. A delay should be enough reason to drink more.

As for me, the first thing I did after I arrived home was to go online. I was willing to wait forever for Baabaa to show up on G Talk. Lucky for me, the partner was still at work.

I told him that I had fun and that, I was behaved. I may have forgotten to dive into the details, but after reading this entry, he would have an idea as to what really took place.

Instead of getting mad, the partner was ecstatic. He said that he has no issue with me going to dance clubs, after all, it is not the place but the act that gets you into trouble.

I guess my decision to tell the truth had paid off. (Because in my distant past, I would never breathe a word) Just imagine, this entry wouldn't be conceived if I told Jap while on our way to O-Bar that our trip should stay a secret.

It would have been fun had things went perfectly. But I knew, that the moment I stepped foot inside the club, I will pay the ultimate price. The day after going to O, my joints ached, and my body grew feverish. I had runny nose and my chest jerked with cough. This affliction would go on for days, until the body decided that it was getting tired of being sick.

I was only able to resume my normal routine (that is to return to the gym) after a week.