almost a year later

i didn't get to do this last year when i graduated. so i did it yesterday. the graduates with their cameras looked very envious. they had to wear decent shoes and clothes. as for me, i simply went up there and smiled.

me and oblation. :)

ripped from abigail's blog

Which poem are you? Sonnet 17 by Pablo Neruda Aw, you're a romantic. You believe in true love and all that sort of stuff. How cute are you? To you, love is incredible and amazing.

Click Here to Take This Quiz Brought to you by YouThink.com quizzes and personality tests.

i have a refrigerator magnet depicting this painting. it's called "the kiss" by gustav klimt. nice coincidence.

get rich quick

last tuesday my dad brought me to the casino. it was my first and i felt a certain amount of thrill at finally getting to enter one.

first thing the people at the casino did was confiscate my phone. okay.

then i noticed the atmosphere. the air was thick with smoke, there were two performers onstage doing some commentary and the tables were full.

my dad was standing at the super six table and i gave him my chips. we were just going to bet alongside the players sitting there.

my first set of chips lost. my dad transferred to the other guy and he lost. my dad and i shared a laugh. after all, the chips we were playing with were the ones he had won earlier.

he asked me if i wanted to play some more. i said no. and i meant it.

at first i couldn't explain it. my only exposure (if you can even call it that) to casinos were thanks to movies and television shows. yep. vegas. nothing else. so i was expecting to see a place full of happy gamblers, or at the very least, drunk gamblers and scantily-clad women.

i didn't see that. what i saw was totally at odds with my vegas influenced thinking.

we left, and while we were on our way back to the room, i finally realized why i didn't like it there.

i saw no smiles, except for that of my dad. there was an air of desperation there, almost palpable. or maybe it was just my imagination. it felt like people were there to try for that one big win that would solve their problems. there it was, that quiet plea... just this one time... please... let me win...

i got depressed. good thing my dad didn't want to stay.

i don't think i will ever go back. or if i do, i'm going to the slot machine and i'm going to turn my back on the rest of the people there.

if i'm going to become impoverished one day, it will not be because of gambling.

suso sa nanay

before anybody reacts, i heard that this is the old way of referring to one who goes back to his parents for tlc.

last night i went to the hotel where my parents were staying. they have a seminar at the hotel. as soon as i got there, i changed my clothes, brushed my teeth and snuggled up to my mom.

it felt good, i felt centered and all my worries left me.

this morning they fed me a heavy breakfast, and had me chauffered to work.

this job is my stint at independence. and it took a lot of control on my part to say that i didn't need money when my dad asked.

still, though. the pampering was good.

that's why i'm going back tonight. :)

for adults only. explicit content.

watched the premiere showing of passion of the christ last night. suffice it to say that i went home physically and emotionally exhausted.

got home around midnight and promptly fell asleep. around 2:45 am, i woke up to the sound of the landline ringing.

nobody wants to hear the landline ring at 2:45 am. it calls to mind police, or worse, hospitals. it must have been ringing for some time to be able to jar me from my exhausted sleep.

i rushed to the phone and it sounded like my sister's boyfriend who is currently out of the country. so i called his name. nope, wasn't him.

"hi. i'm just looking for someone to talk to about my problem."

sleepy as i was i became afraid that this guy might be suicidal. so i asked him what the problem was. he said it was difficult to find someone to talk to. he'd been dialling random numbers and i was unfortunate enough to have picked up the phone.

then the next thing he asked floored me.

"are you single?"

what the fuck?

i finally told him that i needed to sleep and i didn't have time for this.

he said he needed to talk about his problem. fine.

me: what's your problem?

"my sleeping problem."

tangina. (pardon me.)

it took practically every ounce of control i had to not slam the phone.

i told him, calmly, that i was going to put the phone down, that he should look for someone else to bother, and that he was selfish and inconsiderate. ( i saw no point in getting worked up and missing more sleep)

he said he will keep on pressing redial (turns out he didn't take note of what he dialled) and was asking me for the phone number so he can call me on an ordinary day. asshole.

i put the phone down while he was talking, switched off the ringer, and went back to bed.

fucking inconsiderate bastard.

ONE!!!!

my blog turned one today. HAPPY BIRTHDAY BLOG!!!

last year i was looking for an article i had read way back in high school, printed in the inquirer. i searched for it and came across a blog. it was this blog.

thought it would be a good idea to start a blog. but then i couldn't get around to doing it. then i got depressed. i needed an outlet. so i started my blog. i was depressed, hence the title.

my first entry was bitter. of course it was! i felt bitter. but then eventually i started blogging about other things, from what i ate for breakfast, to the fat lizards by the window.

liberating, and to a certain extent, it appeals to the "exhibitionist" side of me that wants the world to know what is happening to me, even though i am probably a mere speck in its sphere.

so there.

happy birthday blog. :)

weird event of the day

got to sit inside the bus today. i was sitting beside this big guy. the seat was for 3 but between the 2 of us, there was space left only for half a butt. so we were undisturbed.

somewhere in front of rustan's the guy suddenly takes his shirt off, stripping to his undershirt! i counted to 10, waiting before hitting my panic button. my thoughts:

he has a meeting, he needs to change. there are no changing rooms anywhere. he's late. he needs to change in the bus...

imagine my consternation when he put the shirt back on. i slid a glance at his face. he wore a half-smile. then it dawned on me. he probably realized his shirt was on inside out. hehehe. couldn't stand it maybe.

i just had to smile.

gmrng world!

not being

as young as i used to be.

way back in college i used to go home practically every weekend. i'd leave on friday and get the manila-bound bus at 2 am monday morning. head straight for the dorm, shower, off to class, then the 3 hour training for volleyball in the evening.

went home last weekend. got there saturday morning. left sunday night at 11. i got to the apartment at around 5, slept till 7 then off to work.

found myself dozing off during the day. i felt so tired. when i got home in the evening i slumped in front of the tv, finished watching charmed then went straight to bed. for almost 9 hours. unheard of for me because i usually get only about 6-7 hours, which is more than enough. not that time. woke up tired and feeling heavy. (of course, it could be my weight. still.)

sigh. i guess our bodies can only take so much abuse.

these days i find myself declining invitations to go out at night. i would rather sleep.

maybe i really am getting old.

well at least my body is. hehehe.

feeling model

my brother in law t, is a photographer. when he and my sister m met, and we found out he was really good at what he did, we became willing subjects. ate k and i would pose whenever he needed to test some lights, or some setting, or we'd help out with his shoots. we also did brainstorming with him.



my sister k and i were the most "popular" models. mainly because we were always available, and because we were cheap. lunch was the usual payment. and we thought it couldn't hurt that we had lots of pictures to show off. and it also didn't hurt that he didn't usually charge us. (grad pics were free. :)



a couple of weeks ago my brother in law was in town for a shoot. i decided to have my pictures taken. when asked, i told him it was for my friendster profile. hehehe. honestly though, i just wanted to have my pictures taken. something for my resume, perhaps. or maybe i just wanted to pose. ah vanity.

my sister was there, of course. she did the fixing up, and took care of minute details, depending on the directions of the t. he took about 40 pictures of me, 20 more of my sister, and several of the both of us. plus we had the other guy in the studio take our picture. for posterity. :)



our best pictures were always the ones where we were together. so here. these are some of my favorites from the latest batch. will have to convert the others to digital.

my brother in law is good, yes? :)

footnote

"it should not be assumed merely because the pronouns "he", "him", and the possessive "his" are used extensively throughout this article that the person referred is of the male sex. gender is of no consequemce om ,pst situations referred to herein, and yet the alternatives of using "he/she" or "his/her" or employing the pronouns "she", "her", or the possessive "hers" make for cumbersome prose in the fist instance and in the latter could even be viewed as being more sexist and male chauvinistic than the terms that have been employed."

-Defending Civil Service Employee from Discharge
by Loren E. Mcmaster

hmmmm. i used to have a teacher in lawschool who insisted that we should use the alternatives "he/she" or "his/her". he would throw a fit if we made the mistake of using only the he or his.

i wonder if it really is more sexist and male chauvinistic to use these alternatives.

personally though, i don't take offense if it is the he or his that is used.

food for thought. for those with nothing better to do.

archie

this day ten years ago a good friend of mine died of asthma complications resulting in kidney failure.

these days i find it hard to believe that he's gone. it was much easier to accept back then. now when i think about him, i don't think he's dead. i just think he's gone somewhere where there are no cellphones, no postman and no email.

i remember what it was like when he got sick.

it was a few days before he died. i heard news that he was very sick, in the hospital and his parents were just waiting for him to die. i panicked. i was in manila then, in danger of getting dismissed from the university of the philippines. i couldn't afford to be absent.

so i called a common friend. she said he was fine and that he was just in school a few days before. i breathed a sigh of relief. i had written him letters that morning telling him to wait for me, i will be home soon.

it turns out that the friend i had called had not been going to class and that she had no idea he was sick. i panicked anew.

a couple of days later we got word that he was at the kidney institute. common friends were making plans to go there the following day. since i had class then, i decided to go that very day. march 8.

i remember the ward. there he was, gaunt, bearded. but trying to smile. i had no idea how bad it was. i spoke to his parents before i approached. they told me he had been revived several times already and they were hopeful that he'd be stable enough to survive a kidney transplant. he and his older brother were a match.

i stared. he stared back. then he lifted his hand a few inches off the bed and beckoned me. i finally went near him and held his hand. i had forgotten to bring my letters so i settled for holding his hand. he couldn't speak anymore. he was too weak. but he held my hand firmly.

i smiled. i remember telling him that i had letters for him and that i will bring them the following day. he merely nodded. i asked if he wanted me to stay but he shook his head. after whispering i love you, he squeezed my hand and i left. glad. i was so sure he would be okay.

the following day in class i was writing him about how bored i was in class. certain he would be amused. he had a wonderful sense of humor, archie.

i remember the day he died.

on the way to the hospital, i was with my brother in law who brought the contact prints of this portfolio he made of me. while in the car he kidded me. he said arch might croak when he sees my pictures. ha! i looked so pretty!

at the ward i stopped at the door. there was a little girl in the bed. i turned to the watcher at the first bed. she smiled a sad smile and said "hinintay ka lang."

i froze. surely she can't mean what she said?

things were hazy after that. i remember crying. i remember wanting to look for his body to make sure it was just a mistake. i remember my brother in law trying to comfort me, saying sorry for making that crack about arch croaking.

but all else faded into the background. all i could think about was that it was my fault he was dead. if i hadn't gone to see him, he would have waited some more. and he wouldn't have died.

it was my fault it was my fault it was my fault.

i shook the guilt off eventually.

i couldn't believe he was dead. arch. the guy who had ants for pets. who used to write poetry about whatever. the guy who could spike like a huge person, but who was about 6 inches shorter than me. the guy who never let asthma get in the way. the guy i lay next to on the roof to watch the stars till we were coated in dew. the guy who used to say "i love you snowflake" to me.

but he was. and it was something we have come to accept, albeit with some difficulty. he was 18 years old.

we felt the loss. we grieved. i lived with the grief for months. along with the guilt.

and now it's been years.

i feel him sometimes. talk to him sometimes. knowing he probably can't hear me. but i suppose it's for me. i talk to him to make myself feel better. i talk to him to keep up the illusion that he's alive... somewhere.

it's been 10 years.

but he is remembered. as the guy who once called me snowflake.

waking up

i love waking up. even when i complain that it's too cold, it's too early, i want to sleep some more, yadayadayada. truth is, i love that moment when i open my eyes, and i snuggle deeper into my blankets and just wait for the world to wake up.

this morning was especially beautiful. woke up around 5 and there was light streaming in. i got up and there it was. my moon. (yes, my moon. nobody say otherwise) full, yellow, in a brilliant blue sky. it wasn't completely dark anymore so the blue was more apparent. and the moon had a niche all to itself.

i just had to sigh, wishing i had a camera.

i imagine that it must be sights like this that inspire poetry, music, and stories. sights that throw a coating of fantasy to an otherwise dreary world.

so i got up feeling lighthearted.

and there's a story in my head.

my old friend the floor

yes. the floor.

yesterday my sister finally decided to clean up the apartment. i had been cleaning up when i can but there was so much stuff scattered around, and my valiant efforts failed. it didn't help that i slept as soon as i got home. i kept my room in some semblance of order and it was my sanctuary.

so when she decided to clean up i looked up and said a silent prayer. i cleaned the bathroom. a dirty job but someone has to do it.

she washed the dishes and started fixing her stuff. (dumping it on the dining table. hehehe.) soon there it was. the floor. but filthy.

couldn't help it. swept it. got a mop. mopped it. ah there. my old friend the floor.

i started singing (ala ric segreto) "it's been quite a while...."

she got a rug and we promptly sprawled on it, watching miss congeniality. i only hope the clean floor will last.

next project, my old friend the dining table.

people

one reason i take the mrt, aside from the traffic, is because i like watching people. they're interesting and it's fun wondering what their life is like and making up stories in my head.

this morning, though, i wasn't having fun.

a lady coming along in years suddenly thrust her hand across my front to reach the pole. since i didn't see her at first, i was more than ready to pick a fight. but it was an old lady in a pink blouse. i gave way and let her stand beside the post so she can hold on. a few minutes later i saw her slowly sink to the floor. we held her and a guy sitting down stood up. he had crutches but he gave his seat. we asked her if she was okay and she said she was.

later i saw her crying. so i took the scrunched up tissues in my hand (courtesy of mcdonald's), peeled the one with hot chocolate traces away, and gave her the rest.

i felt so helpless. and i think the guy with the crutches felt the same way. we were both getting off at buendia and she was getting off at taft.

she said she was okay. i hope she is.

in the bus i saw this lady, middle-aged probably. perhaps older. she got off at the same stop immediately before i did. she was walking so slow and she had an umbrella to support her. i held the people behind me at bay so they wouldn't push past her. i stood my ground.

i almost offered to walk with her but she was smartly dressed and i felt that she might be offended, or worse, she might think i'd rob her. i'm wearing a shirt and cords. so i walked on.

i felt anger. i was mad at the world that demanded that people their age should still be working. that they would have to commute and take the train or the bus because they don't have the money for cabs or because the traffic is really bad.

i was outraged that they should have to suffer so. and i hated myself for the moment because i felt i should have done more. i just didn't know what.

i almost lost hope that this country would ever progress. we don't even help each other.

but then i thought about that guy in crutches, bum leg and all, offering his seat.

and i didn't feel so hopeless anymore.

we've moved house

or at least that's what my id says.

yesterday i was late for work. for the first time since i started my job i was late for 20 minutes. i was pissed. but i guess these things happen.

while in the bus i decided to get everything ready so i could just run through the lobby when i got off. so i opened my bag and got my id out.

i happened to glance at the back of the id where they put in the "contact person in case of emergency."

through the haze i saw an address.

234 Bintog
Plaridel, Bulacan

my dad's name was there. we moved?????

there i was sitting in the bus laughing all by myself. it occurred to me that if something happened to me and they sent somebody over to plaridel bulacan, they will never never never find my dad.

still, they got the phone number right. that's something.

sigh. at least that would only be a two-hour drive.