The Curtain Call

Guys, Thank you for keeping up with this blogsite. Its time to hold my mouth shut and stop my ramblings. I'm glad that I will be leaving this site with a light heart knowing that I have been blessed with the love of my family, my baby and friends- people that matter. As I embark on a new chapter of my life, isn't it nice to have someone beside you holding your hand, and making beautiful plans together?
Thank you all! Its been a pleasure sharing some swaths of my life with you.


Between the world and me, I am the happy one.


Goodbye earthlings!

Para Sa Aking Minamahal.

Bago ako tuluyang umalis ng bansa, isinangtabi ko muna ang aking mabigat na mga bagahe at sumama sa aking baby sa kanilang malayong probinsya. Matagal na naming pinagpaplanuhan ito ngunit dahil sa kanyang trabahong nagdadala sa kanya sa ibat ibang bahagi ng mundo, madalas ay hindi ito natutuloy. Pero ngayong ako naman ang dadalin ng kapalaran sa ibang bahagi ng mundo, hindi na ako pumayag na ipagpaliban pa na mapuntahan ang lugar kung saan lumaki at nagkaisip ang taong mahal ko. Ilang beses na din naman syang napunta sa aking probinsya, at dito'y ipinakita ko sa kanya kung saan ako madalas maglagi noong kabataan ko pa, isang hindi malilimutang karanasan ang maglakad sa lupang kinalakihan mo kasama ang isang tao na mahal na mahal mo. Lalong pinaglalapit ang mga puso nyo ng ganitong karanasan.
Babalikan ko ang lugar na ito pag dating ko mula sa ibayong dagat, syempre, kasama ko pa din ang mahal ko.
salamat sa pagpapatuloy mo sa iyong lupang kinalakihan, at higit sa lahat, salamat sa pagpapatuloy mo sa akin sa iyong puso.
Maghihintay ako sa muli nating pagsasama.

On being happy

Have you ever felt so happy with someone that nothing else matters? Forgive me for being one slimy bundle of mush today, I'm in love. I'm incapable of finding the right words.

Im sorry,My heart renders me inarticulate.

Toy

This is a story of many of us who have gotten into a situation with no any other way out but to pass through it.Through the seemingly interminable series of denial and disbelief, and then acceptance, followed by the painful awakening, a very long process of self healing caused by our slip of judgment. Maybe we had seen it all coming, but we were too enamored to care, we'd thought we were in control, until one day, just like a junkie, we were all under the influence.Defenses collapsed.Interventions denied. Truth twisted. Logic defied.


You were the shiny toy everyone wanted to try but didn't want to keep. You were just a novelty item, no lasting value, a thing to satisfy a fleeting whim, and after being used up and outgrown, thrown into oblivion. Of course you didn't know that, your intentions were pure, divine even, and unlike any toy, you weren't battery operated that could perform only what was told. You were capable to care, to love. That they didn't know, to them you were just a thing.

While you were on a display, someone showed a sliver of interest, someone you had been seeing sauntering around, but never really bothered to stop and see your worth. And when he finally went your way, you gasped- Thats the effect he had on you -Your heart beats a god damn mile per second, butterflies everywhere.You were happy, alright? And while he was giving you a time of a day, you secretly wished he would see you as different, you silently prayed to be owned. You hoped.

He held you and you never felt more special. You could have sworn there was love but you never much cared. You were there, he was there,in a place where there's no sense of time and no concept of right and wrong- That all that mattered. It was magic.

And then he dropped you, he never even bothered putting you back onto your dusty shelf, just like that, he let go and went about his life. He left off when you thought the twinkle in his eyes were for you, he walked off just when you felt there was a passionate connection. And after being completely swept off your feet, he disengaged.

And now look at you,shoved into your new place, this time amongst other toys on a basement bargain price. Marked down. Used up. Abandoned. Damaged beyond repair.

You were just a toy to a person whose hands break.

The Penitential Walk

It was Friday afternoon and it was pissing down,half scaring the shit out of people due to the prevailing news that any rain that'd come from April 21 onwards would be acidic bringing forth skin diseases and even cancer. While half of the population was worrying over the atrocity of an acid rain, I was contemplating if I would come to the "Penitential Walk in honor of Our Lady of Peace and Good Voyage". I should awfully feel ashamed of myself to admit that my idea of this incredible feat was just mainly for pure fun clearly sidestepping the true essence of the century-old tradition. The walk was due at 11pm and I started fidgeting like a horse in heat at 6pm. Should I still come?
A friend told me a story of a man he knew who promised to come to the walk but at the last minuted bailed out, the man's right foot swelled for days, giving a clear testament to the ineffable power of the Virgin.You see, I am not a highly religious person who dances to the beat of cymbals as if being eaten alive my hundreds of fire ants while holding out a replica of a saint, but I have my religious streak, albeit an inconspicuous one, and besides a swollen foot was enough for me to join even the 250-kilometer Death March. I got into my most comfortable get up,packed my bag and went off.

Okay, what will you do if you are in the company of people who know practically everything there is to know about saints? And who insistently talk about it, leaving you feeling like a complete moron slash pagan who worships trees and goes head hunting for food? Surely, My knowledge of saints is shamefully scarce it cant even fill a vial of a tubercular dwarf, and I was afraid I would just hassle them mercilessly with endless questions leaving them want to run away from me like headless chickens, so I just decided to shut it and observe.

Scores of people converged and their faith and their sentimental attachment to the saint was palpable it was almost too painful to watch, they walked barefooted, some even carrying poles half their own weight. The devoted ( and able bodied) ones were carrying heavily festooned 'carozas" onto which their beloved saints were rested. Being a hopelessly clumsy human that I am, A news headline that says "One Moron Ran over by a 50ton Caroza and Stepped on Beyond Recognition by 10 sweaty Men", would not have come as a big surprise.

The Penitential Walk doesnt only attract the faithful, the mere curious and the "what-have-I-gotten-myself-into", it also lures teenagers who wear sweaters in a 29degree celsius heat, and funky shades in 3 in the morning (maybe they found too much candle light blinding?) , and I am constantly amazed with the industrial amount of product they put on their hair! 4 hours into the walk and their hairs were still fighting the law of gravity!

The most challenging part of the walk was the uphill way to the city proper, I vividly remember because everytime my friend saw me nearing the collapsing point, all the colors drained out of my face, and toungue sticking out and wagging like a pendulum clock,he would tell me that we still yet to walk through the most difficult part (perfect timing! its as if telling someone who is suffering from a left leg tumor that another tumor had just sprouted somewhere in his right leg)I was huffing and puffing at this time so hard, it caused a series of tornadoes in East Africa.
I was tempted to tell one friend, "dude, If I just drop dead at any second, Can you drag me by the ear to the cathedral and have my knackered body blessed?"

When we reached the cathedral, people held out their white handkerchiefs and vigorously waved them at the oncoming Virgin. The guy in front of me was a bit too enthusiastic he was practically whipping my face with his towel that reeked of comedones, perspiration and sanctity. It would have solicited loads of eye rolling and snarling but even I was transfixed by the wondrous effect of the Virgin to the people, including, admittedly, myself.


to be continued.

Topple Over

Here is the story of someone who keeps deluding himself into believing he's a shining gift to all mankind. Let's call him "Topple Over". His name fits him like a glove- He has an unusually big head that seems to be in constant struggle in defying the law of gravity,and thus one should only expect to think that he'd just topple over,fall on his head and crack his skull open any second.
Topple Over only associates himself with people of certain repute, He doesnt coexist with the hoi polloi (ordinary people) for fear of infestation of some flesh eating bacteria and the corruption of his holier-than-thou morals. He has an inexhaustible resource of tall stories- people drop dead at his feet and lust after him like rabid mad dogs. He claws at your self image and tear it into pieces until you find yourself questioning your own self worth. "You are so fat! It doesnt suit you!". These pseudo-constructive comments corrode your self esteem like a rust to a metal until you see the very image in the mirror Topple Over wants you to see. An ugly, fat science experiment gone terribly wrong.Whatever happens to the man who used to laugh at himself? The man, who despite what nature did to him, still managed to pull a wide grin and say "At least Im not losing a limb". A man who used to spend little time looking after his looks and more on making others keel over laughing?

Beware of Topple Over, he lurks in the dark, cloaked in friendly concern but can kill nevertheless.

To Follow the Sun with a Whopping Hang over!

It was a lazy Saturday morning and despite all the pre-hangover precautions, I got out of bed with a pounding headache, Now before you go pegging me as somebody with a drinking problem. Let me tell you I dont usually hit bottles not unless it calls for a celebration, although admittedly, lately I have been too eager and enthusiastic in this department that even settling of Meralco's bills warrants drinking myself silly.
The binging happened in a friend's pad, as I was contemplating how to tame the monster atop my head (namely my hair) I got a call from her asking me if I would want to come over her pad because she had bought crates of keg beer and Absolut vodkas and she wanted a decrepit alcoholic like me to finish them off. Being a very gracious human of this green patch of Earth, I said yes.
I came to her pad which was reeking of smoke with an afternote of perspiration. I put the number of people in the room around 8, and like anyone addled by alcohol, everyone greeted me as if we were on a toothbrush sharing terms, Everyone had been posessed by the Divine that I nearly fell on my knees and chanted Hail Mary's.Is this Utopia?!
I knew that the reason why my friend wanted me there, aside from my unbridled appetite for booze was my ability to keep everyone in the loop. You see, I am no Shrinking Violet, and you won't find me nursing one beer all night long keeping to myself while embroidering my initials on a table cloth while the rest was being rowdy and obviously having fun. I just dont see any point in excluding yourself from the group you in the first place were invited to as if you had a severe case of halitosis.
She told me to do something about the guy opposite me who was evidently would rather be anywhere else but there, I struck a conversation and I gathered that that was all he needed because he didn't stop talking for the next three days, He mentioned about being straight more than 10 times even without being asked (with some affectations like flexing his biceps) and I thought "Straight? one more pluck of your eyebrow and you'd be Nicole Kidman", the only way to survive him without going stark raving mad was to be under the influence of alcohol.
It was nearly 4am and I was starting to have trouble sticking to my train of thoughts when I decided to slink off.
My milk of human kindness was going stale. I need to go back to my coffin.

The Invasion

I hate going to the gym, I may be wearing a chastity belt but there is a limit to my masochism. One day, the ever playful universe threw a prank on me. I came home and Lo and Behold! There it was! Sitting like a grinning maniac on the clear side of our already cramped apartment- the home gym equipment, complete with squat boards and whatnots. I immediately gave my customary smirk and examined the evil with the same fondness of Count Dracula to garlic, Did I ever tell you I sometimes act cinematically? I looked up and muttered under my breath " Nice try, If you cant bring me to the gym, Let the gym invade my living space!" I would have looked as if I was talking directly to heaven making it all the more cinematic if the ceiling wasnt too low it was almost touching the tip of my nose, instead, it rendered me the look of someone who was preventing his nose from hemmorhaging and spilling his brains out.
Upon thoroughly examining the invader,I positioned myself and laid flat onto the board.
I woke up just in time for dinner.

I Told You I Am Not Of This World

When things get out of hand and I feel that all too familiar homicidal tendency eating at me and egging me on to either get into a spontaneous combustion or lurk in the dark alley and pounce on an unwitting human while screaming like a banshee with a stubbed toe, I get "otherworldly" quirky (If that's not making you wet your pants yet or your dentures scurry away like a headless chicken, you need to up your medication)

The things I do to avoid more body counts are as follow:

1. I go and bite into my comfort grub- Jollibee cheeseburger, not that humongous Champ that can dislocate your jaw and renders you the look of someone giving breech birth to an 18-pound baby, but that plain yum with cheese. It eases me off really, its my narcotic- alters my mood. My soothing, numbing agent. Its as if I scale back to the point in my life when troubles melted like lemon drops, when the thing I only worried about was when asked by my dad to sing and I couldnt sing with 'tremolo' at every ending of the word (give me one-an-an-an-an, moment in time-an-an-an-an, when im more than-an-an-an, I thought I could be-eeh-eeh-ehh! -Geez! Why Couldnt I just belt out twinkle twinkle little star!). My dad found it cutesy and prodigous, my brother thought I was having a root canal without anaesthesia,neighbors within earshot predicted as if with divine certainty that I would end up embroidering my handkerchiefs with my initials and sending out heavily scented bookmarks and my mom worried that I'd end up taking the place of my "chang Remy"- the village's undisputed queen of songs whose performances graced every dead's wake,that would be later on superseded by videokes that turn your brain into pulpy mush- a very cheap way to romance the soul of the departed. I am telling my family and friends that when its my time to go, never, ever bring that clutter of crap in my wake or else I'll haunt them mercilessly, I can make a good poltergeist.
Going back,I must eat my yummy yum burger alone, I dont want another freak worrying over my sanity, because.. look, I have a confession to make, I involuntarily smile when downing my grub,I even catch myself mumbling some words of approval repeatedly to myself that people would think I just came out of the cave and temporarily left my dinosaurs unattended.Its like an unself conciousness of someone who never worries about getting fat. I once had it infront of a friend who started giving me quizzical looks and right away contemplated calling a priest to get me exorcised- He got out of the store dripping with ketchup and fries shoved down his ears. And for an ineffable reason, He stays 10 meters away from me thereon.

2.I walk, and I cover miles! It gives me the sense of total abandon. When I walk, the seamy side of my life folds away (Insert the name of your stressors and stresses here), I live for the moment, I live at the NOW. (Eakhart Tole, is that you?) Taking brisk observation about my surrounding. My senses are heightened, and please, I don't crawl up buildings and wear spandex (It will surely make me look like a weather-beaten flag). Of course, I dont tell the true reason to people when confronted. I just tell them I walk because I wanna pose for some steamy publications in the near future, They won't understand, so why bother?
There was one time that I told my housemate I was just going to buy newly baked, steamy hot pandesal in a nearby bakery, and after 3 hours "buying" pandesals in a 'nearby' bakery, I went home bringing rockhard pandesals that could alternately be used as pumice stones if you so desired." I thought you were going to buy FRESHLY BAKED pandesals?! Throw these to someone and they'll have multiple head concussions!" barked my housemte. "They were.. 3 hours ago." was all I could say.

The Crotch-Grabbers.

My street is all haunted by creatures of the dark-the crotch-grabbers. They are a group of elite faggy warriors who possess a heightened sense of smell, that able them to sniff crotches meters away, x-ray vision that can instantly decipher the size of the male specie's genitalia, strategic positioning included (downward,upward, sideward and 'taped,clamped and obscured), it all depends on the material of the garb, the flimsier it is, the more their body vibrate as if invoking the spirit of some benevolent spirits. Among them lies a mastery of self-defense and wreaking havoc on unwitting victim. If they see you steadily standing and all wrapped up, they will sneak behind your back like a true ninja, kneel to the ground, cock their arms back, focus all the energy and strenght into the punch and release it and Baam! You have been proton canonned!It is when they hit the back of your knees with such a great force it renders you instantly paraplegic.The good defense is to constantly horse kick every 10 seconds, it may make you look like a cross between a horse desperate for a shag and a complete moron, but at least, you'll be spared, if you were lucky enough, given that there is indeed a crotch-grabber at your back bracing to strike, you might even get the upperhand and flatten his overly made up face with your wooden slippers.

One crotch grabber, upon my first week of immersion in the area, kept on yapping about his boyfriend's flourishing career as an up and coming print ad model, He would tell the narrative story of their wondrous relationship at the mention of the words "love" , destiny (even if the only destiny word that can be found was that on the Destiny Cable Van that zooms by the street). His eyes would instantly turn glassy at the mention of romance, and his whole body, spastic, like a possessed blender. And as true as his words, As I was riding a cab along C5 road one day, There it was, the boyfriend's billboard beaming with a knowing smile,It could have been glamorous if it wasn't for the catch phrase "GOT TERMITE? Call 6754568" on the upper right of the billboard. A few questions formulated in my twisted mind, 1. Is the boyfriend the exterminator? 2. Are the exterminators really that good even humans with termite-like quality can be annihilated? 3. Is the boyfriend's picture the closest the ad agency could get to the real termite? A termite personified? 4.Was the boyfriend bludgeoned, tortured and manhandled into posing for a termite
ad?

Another crotch-grabber has a preternatural fascination to garbage collection day when heaps and heaps of garbage are shoved onto the designated sidewalk area, It's as if he was Storm and the garbage is at his beck and call, he is clearly in his element. He cajoles someone is his syrupy voice and a hush-puppy, I-havent-eaten-for-a-week look into going with him to a store, and when they get right smack in front of the collected garbage,forcefully push the poor soul into the mountain of stinking rubbish, the last time it was done, someone had kissed a shitty diaper.
To Be continued..














on the Destiny cable car as it zooms by the street).

to be continued

Departure

Your day began like any ordinary day, you were doing the same stuff and was certain nothing would be any different,until it was not.

It was noontime and the book I was reading had gone a bit dull so I decided to saunter by my friend's small eatery. Fancy is not particularly the adjective one would use in describing the eatery but people gravitate there like it was a soup kitchen dishing out rations to the homeless. It is manned by insanely funny friends who have an unfortunate habit of scalding each other with boiling cooking oil and shoving uncooked squid balls up the unwitting victim's nose. I went inside, observing and helping a bit when a man of around 50 stopped by and started to contemplate the food on display. He was known as Mang Ben, a burly, affable man who barely went out of the house. His funny antics, bawdy jokes and raucous laugh were highly engaging, Its as if Mang Ben was an Uncle you never had. He was cracking everyone up while endlessly poking quail eggballs with a stick and dipping it into the gelatinous sauce letting it sit there a little longer.
A tricycle halted in front of the eatery and disgorged a highschool student, my friend whispered "That's his daughter". Mang Ben,upon seeing his daughter immediately took her bag and quipped "your bag is so heavy, what's inside? a refrigerator?" at which everyone chorused in laughter. I noticed how he immediately planted a kiss on his daughter's forehead and wrapped his arms around her "Are you hungry? go and grab something to snack on" and the daughter started ordering stuff. I also noticed the way Mang Ben looked at his daughter while she was pouring sauce onto her quail eggs. It was a look of sadness, and longing, and pain and tender love. A look people in the airport departure area cast over their relatives on the other side of the fence, the kind which seemed to say something that cannot be said even during the most articulate moment in one's life. It left me transfixed, the spectacle infront of me was an unconditional love of a father to his daughter in the rawest form,it wasnt the nagging type we all tend to get from our parents, nor a restricted show of affection. It was simply Love.
"How's the damage? 12 quail eggs, 2 fries and 2 halo halos" inquired Mang Ben, and upon forking out the bill, off they went with his daughter's cumbersome schoolbag still clung onto his shoulder and arms wrapped around. I watched the two until they turned left and gone.
We went back to business,hours passed and we were all greasy,reeking of smoke and knackered when someone came running to the store "Mang ben just had a heart attack and he didnt make it." All of us looked at each other in disbelief and started muttering "he was here just hours ago, he was full of energy and cheery,how could that be possible?" It was only until we saw the remain of Mang Ben being wheeled into the ambulance did we manage to wrap our brains around the deeply harrowing news.
My friend was steady muttering "It must be my quail eggs that did Mang Ruben in, But we didnt notice him eating up that much, It's as if he was keeping us all entertained with his jokes in order to divert our attentions, If I knew he was downing quail eggs on end, I would have told him to stop"

The last moment of Mang Ben's earthly existence shows me the fragility of life, that there are so many reasons to be alive,but too many ways to be dead, even the most innocuous thing as a quail egg can put paid to a life.
We all get to think that Death happens, but not to us, and not to all the people we love and care about, we are immortal and so are the people we share great swaths of life with, its the mere concept of immortality that makes us put off the love we feel for another until tomorrow, and until the next day, and the next, until death knocks on our door to ferry someone that's close to our heart away and its just a little too late. Its easy to talk about the death of someone who is remotely connected to us, a death of a stranger, but what if the loss we have to deal with is that of someone closer to home? Is it really possible to be strong and see all the sense of it? Does it even have a sense to start with? Can we really get over it and move on or will we just be a piece of hollow ragdolls, forever walking through half-life, devoid of substance? Can we really still find the will and the reason to live when we have been mercilessly wretched to pieces?

Death happens.Death is in all form.

Don't strew with roses after I'm dead.
When Death claims the light of my brow,
No flowers of life will cheer me: instead
You may give me my roses now!

Life in Slow Mo

Ysabelle,

The pain of not being with you makes me all hollow inside, it's the kind of pain when someone loses his core, the mainstay of his existence- everything turns black and white, you never live, you just drift through life while trying to make sense of it. I miss those days when I would wake up to your kisses, times when the only option was to start the day swinging you in my arms while you laughed, oh that wondrous little laughter mahal. I close my eyes and think of your sweet little face, the thought and the possibility of seeing you again, that what keeps me afloat,somewhat. Through all this flurry and madness, my unconditional love for you is the only thing that is sane.
Tito misses you more than anyone can ever know. It pains Tito not being able to walk with you in the park, not hearing your first words, your songs, and not carrying you up into his arms.
In silence Tito suffers. I love you mahal. Until we meet again


With All the Love in the World,
Your Tito J

My Top Ten 2010 List

Pateros

I have been living in Pateros for nearly 4 months now, Its funny that when you live in a city, you measure your stay simply by looking at the accumulated bills, disconnection notices included, 4 white Meralco envelopes mean that you have been shacking up for 4 months, 2 5gallons of mineral water make up for 2 days and a once-in a-month visit from a petulant neighbor to whom you have clung your cable wire on means it's been a month of Travel&Living and time to fork over the cable bill, or half of it for that matter. This must be how an adult lives, eternally worried and sometimes harried by bills.
When I first came here, I was overwhelmed with too many people, the place is a typical urban underbelly- decadent, decaying- Crammed spaces, too much variety of humanity (typical humans, almost humans-for some freak of nature never quite look like humans, may resemble racing horses, shake rattle and roll all time favorite creepy characters, used to be humans- used to posess a natural beauty and charm but because of too much shabu and snorting of god-knows-what,have turned into creatures of the dark, the undead, seemingly humans, think they are superhumans- those with higher-than-though attitudes, humans of other specie- fairies, twinks, closet queens, and queens that out the closet queens for no any other reason than to annoy and put them to shame. and genetically engineered humans -humans that can filch your valuables in a fraction of a nanosecond) Narrow street that used to be my everyday battleground with merciless and ungiving automobiles that wouldnt give a flying fart if you lie face flat to the gutter or pop your arms out of their socket, the space is such small you instantly feel like going on a 'toothbrush sharing' terms with,lets say the biggest slob of the vicinity.
But despite the squalor,the decay and the gut-wrenching smell of abnoy, I am having a glorious time here. The people, regardless of their genetic make up and smells that persist to linger in your noses and flirt with your olfactory nerves are the same humans I have come to call my friends. This is the place where I can do brisk walking at the wee hours of the morning without the fear of being stabbed, held up, chopped into pieces, mugged, turned into sacrificial stuff to some deities or to a more cinematic context, hung and offered to King Kong. This is where every house invites you in and practically shoves the content of their fridges up your noses (thus the added 30pounds, which makes walking in the narrow street all the more life-threatening, I am like a walking bowling pin- Target by default). And more amazingly, this is the place where everyone glugs alcohol in a fashion that can put all the members of Alcohol Anonymous America look like wimpy, pubertal schoolboys.
Alcohol industry is especially thriving here, the whole street alone imports innumerable cases of alcohol on a daily basis, you wouldnt wanna see them mad, they all turn green and maniacal.
Another staple of Pateros life is the videoke, almost every gathering and "made-up' celebrations (collection of garbage day, the miraculous survival of Buday the dog from imminent demise, The outing of Brando, the long awaited comeuppance of Nene's tormentor in Katorse). Everyone here sings, but do they sing well? Thats another issue altogether. I know someone who sings like a drunk person with terminal asthma, It may seem okay,since ingesting alcohol can be an effective excuse for the voice that can call forth the rain of scorpions (I sing terrible! must be the alcohol wreaking havoc on my voice box!), But what can you do if you sound like a drunkard ashtmatic in a nebulizer even before you take your first shot? Let everybody's sense of propriety gets pickled by alcohol! they wouldnt know the difference between a frog's croaking and your voice singing, they may even find it charming, you might even get laid!
Life can truly bring you to places you never even thought of going, places you only heard so much about but not actually intending on going. It's as if being singled out by the whimsical, playful universe and carelessly plop you into the lives of people you never imagine liking and wouldn't wanna be seen dead with, until the magic works its way, you discover the generosity of their hearts and their unpretentious love of life and eagerness to live, and together you create a raucous,tone-deaf music while enjoyably swigging cheap booze.
To all my friends and my adoptive family here in Pateros, Thank you for letting me into your homes and into your lives, and yes, thank you for shoving everything you can offer up my nose. =p








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