"50-50"

Ito'y isang post mula sa isang talented writer, dating kaklase at batchmate sa pagpasok sa org nung college.

Minsan ang kalaban ng peryodista ay ang deadline, para sa manunulat naman ay ang kawalan ng sanib upang makapagsulat. Sa paglalakbay nya para sa paghahanap ng maisusulat ay nagagawa nya ang iba o karamihan sa mga nakalista.

Ang galing ng pagkakabuo ng simpleng artikulo at sigurado akong marami ang makakarelate dito. Kaya kudos kay Ms. Aina Buenaobra. Di ako magtataka kung mababasa ko ang mga sulat mo sa mga dyaryo o iba pang limbagin dito sa bansa at sa kabuuan ng pagkalawak-lawak na internet.

Bisitahin ang kanyang blog sa Nature.Ethnicity.Women.

Sa kanyang pahintulot ay ipinapaskil ko sa aking blog ang kanyang isinulat.

Sanib (n.), more common term—writer’s inspiration

“Huwag mo ng antayin ang sanib. Journalist ka. Hindi ka aabot sa deadline mo kung aasa ka sa sanib.”

Iyan ang isa sa pinakahindi ko malilimutang linya ni Sir Abner Mercado sa aming klase noon. Sinabi niya ito upang ipaalala sa amin na kaakibat ng pagiging peryodista o mamamahayag ang deadlines. Maliwanag naman sa akin ang aral na ito, ngunit ang masaklap ay ang identity crisis ng pagiging peryodista at pagiging manunulat.

Kung ikaw ay 50% journalist at 50% writer, malaki ang magiging problema mo. Karaniwan kasi ng may 50-50 na kalagayan ay nangangailangan muna ng sanib bago sila makasulat. Ilan sa mga problema ng pagsusulat ng walang sanib ay ang mga sumusunod: 

1. Johny Pa-deep. Hango mula sa pangalan ng sikat na artistang si Johny Depp. Una sa mga problema ng may 50-50 ay ang tunog Johny Pa-deep. Nais ng bawat manunulat na magkalaman at lumalim ang kaniyang artikulo. Ngunit asahan mong kapag walang “sanib,”imbes na matalinhaga, pa-deep ang kalalabasan ng artikulo. Trying hard kumbaga dahil nag-try naman ng hard ang manunulat upang matapos ang artikulo kahit walang sanib. 
2. Happy New Year! Bakit happy new year? Dahil sabog! Sabog na sabog ang article na isinusulat mo. May mga pagkakataon na sabog dahil ang dami mong magagandang ideya at isinusulat mo lahat iyon. Ang problema, hindi mo sila mapagtugma-tugma o kayang buuin bilang isa. Sabog din kung isip ka ng isip pero wala kang maisip kaya nag-free writing ka na lang. Yung nasulat mo, malayo sa tema ng artikulo na dapat mong tapusin. 
3. The researcher. Wala ka namang gagawing thesis o research paper pero hala! Sige! Maghapon ka sa library, basa ng basa ng kung anu-ano. O di kaya maghapon kang online nagtitingin-tingin ng kung anu-ano ulit. Bakit ka nagpapaka-researcher? Simple lang. Dahil umaasa kang magiging inspirasyon mo ang isa sa random books orandom posts sa internet. Umaasa kang sa pamamagitan ng anumang makikita mo, ikaw ay magkakasanib. Umasa ka lang at walang nangyari. 
4. The wanderer. Parang The researcher din pero imbes na pagbabasa, paggala naman ang ginagawa mo upang makahanap o makakita ng mga bagay, tao, lugar, o hayop na magbibigay ng sanib sa iyo. Palakad-lakad ka lang sa kalsada, sa parkeng malapit sa bahay niyo, sa mall, sa ecotrail, sa banchetto, at kung saan-saan pa. Kakalakad mo, nakalimutan mo ng magsusulat ka nga pala. Fail!
5. Combo. Combo, ibig sabihin, kailangan mo ng kombinasyon ng The researcher at The wanderer para magkasanib. Lalo ng nagkaloko-loko! Siguradong hindi ka na makakapagsulat kapag ganito. 
6. The Script. Bakit The Script? Kasi “Nothing.” Dahil wala kang sanib at hindi tumalab ang sanib-invoking activities na ginawa mo—you finished NOTHING. Kawawa ka naman. 

Pero ‘wag kang malungkot. Ganyan talaga ang buhay. Minsan nga yung sanib mo talbog pa yung kay Emily Rose eh! Darating din ang sanib mo. Magdasal ka lang na dumating ‘yon bago ang itinakdang deadline kundi siguradong exorcised ang kahahantungan mo.

pangungulit

Ako'y magsusulat.

Ako'y magsusulat.

Ako'y magsusulat.

Ulitin nang sampung beses.

Maaaring dagdagan ang pag-uulit kung kinakailangan.

Nakakainis. Mahirap sundin ang mantra na 'to.

Backpacker

"Ansaya saya ng mga kaibigan ko sa mga pictures na pinopost nila. Siyempre 'di na uso ang mga post cards kahit may mangilan-ngilan paring nagbibigay nun (dagdag pang-inggit kasi.) Ansasaya ng mga ngiti nila, 'yung iba silaw pa sa pictures at balot na balot sa jackets. At hanep din sa background: Golden Gate Bridge, Pyramids, 'yung museum sa Da Vinci Code, Eiffel Tower, Marina Bay, Mount Pulag, Sagada Caves, meron ding nakaabot sa backpacking trail ng isang bundok sa Nepal (sorry at hindi ko na maalala 'yung pangalan.)

Radio Silent

Break muna tayo. See you when I see you.

Obey: a peel-off serving of dissent

I was intrigued by the idea behind the stickers, snapbacks, prints. I had to google it. All I can say is Fairey is a genius. Just polarized dissent and earthshaker illustration combined. Quiet but steady resistance should not be mistaken for apathy and helplessness. The barbed wires can be cut to make a way around the spiked entrapments.

MANIFESTO

The OBEY sticker campaign can be explained as an experiment in Phenomenology. Heidegger describes Phenomenology as “the process of letting things manifest themselves.” Phenomenology attempts to enable people to see clearly something that is right before their eyes but obscured; things that are so taken for granted that they are muted by abstract observation.

The FIRST AIM OF PHENOMENOLOGY is to reawaken a sense of wonder about one’s environment. The OBEY sticker attempts to stimulate curiosity and bring people to question both the sticker and their relationship with their surroundings. Because people are not used to seeing advertisements or propaganda for which the product or motive is not obvious, frequent and novel encounters with the sticker provoke thought and possible frustration, nevertheless revitalizing the viewer’s perception and attention to detail. The sticker has no meaning but exists only to cause people to react, to contemplate and search for meaning in the sticker. Because OBEY has no actual meaning, the various reactions and interpretations of those who view it reflect their personality and the nature of their sensibilities.

Many people who are familiar with the sticker find the image itself amusing, recognizing it as nonsensical, and are able to derive straightforward visual pleasure without burdening themselves with an explanation. The PARANOID OR CONSERVATIVE VIEWER however may be confused by the sticker’s persistent presence and condemn it as an underground cult with subversive intentions. Many stickers have been peeled down by people who were annoyed by them, considering them an eye sore and an act of petty vandalism, which is ironic considering the number of commercial graphic images everyone in American society is assaulted with daily.

Another phenomenon the sticker has brought to light is the trendy and CONSPICUOUSLY CONSUMPTIVE nature of many members of society. For those who have been surrounded by the sticker, its familiarity and cultural resonance is comforting and owning a sticker provides a souvenir or keepsake, a memento. People have often demanded the sticker merely because they have seen it everywhere and possessing a sticker provides a sense of belonging. The Giant sticker seems mostly to be embraced by those who are (or at least want to seem to be) rebellious. Even though these people may not know the meaning of the sticker, they enjoy its slightly disruptive underground quality and wish to contribute to the furthering of its humorous and absurd presence which seems to somehow be antiestablishment/societal convention. Giant stickers are both embraced and rejected, the reason behind which, upon examination reflects the psyche of the viewer. Whether the reaction be positive or negative, the stickers existence is worthy as long as it causes people to consider the details and meanings of their surroundings. In the name of fun and observation.

Shepard Fairey, 1990

From Obey

The King of Small Things

Tula Tuesday~

Napasulat ako habang nakaupo't naghihintay sa lumang terminal ng Victory Liner sa Caloocan. Madumi, medyo madilim at maulan. In short, boring. Pero good pa rin, excited ako sa reaction ng kalaro ko pagtapos ng biyahe. At magugulat ako kasi yayakapin niya ko.

Scrappy

"He was rolling with her. In that tight and scratchy rug that has been the recipient of many liquid spillages and food debris. They were both rolling in it. It was cool but their body temperatures are slowly syncing. Tears or sweat have beaded on their brows, foreheads and temples. It was definitely going to be a caloric burn.

She did not know what will happen that afternoon. For all she could think, it'll be another day at work. Stressed out coffee maniacs in the morning rush, people are surging in. They were all busy people, doing busy things, having busy conversations and unforgiving routines. The coach was overflowing with human substance, there was busy-ness all around and it conjured a hazy image of the incoming trains and faces in it. The next station was to decongest and again congest the train with human busy-ness. She was waiting for the last stop.

Arriving at the office safely, normally, she went to the cubicle to register her daily hand carry. It was a ritual to show the peeps at her office that she has indeed showed up for another riot of a day. She sat at her chair, scanned the desk for any missed items and compilations of shit that has been growing and taking life lately. This will be another crackling day. Losing a few minutes in an empty meandering stare into the screen, she got up. She went straight to the wash room. What else do you do in the wash room? The fixtures reflected her young, shriveled personal notion of beauty. Mirrors lined up to meet her, there was a simple break in the reflection. Wiping her hands dry with the paper towel, she noticed that the office has recently switched to greener solutions to the growing garbage problem. It was taking a shot at recycling and eco-friendly brown paper towels. It looked like a crumpled grocery bag.

It was all silent at first. An awkward flicker of lights from the TV sent a soothing beam of afternoon goodness into the room. It was a semi-old LCD TV, she had bought it for herself though she barely had time to surf channels for things that interest her, really. It was a surprisingly early comfort to be on the couch. It was a surprise even to the TV, it was switched on after 2 weeks of awkward encounters.

She didn't have anything fun to do. She didn't know there were things that were even fun to do. He was her fun. She was about to find out in a rough way. It was an afternoon scuffle that was much of a discovery for both of them. The cool breeze from the AC unit was starkly familiar, it felt more like an office than a home. But they were each other's home for a while. They were coming both home that afternoon.

This discovery was not pushed forcibly. It was waiting for a spillover of curiosity and waning identities. They were reveling in each other's nubile bodies. They were both young but old at the same time. They didn't have time for pleasantries, they just immersed themselves in the presence of such visceral emotion and passionate feral intent. He was surprised how perky she was, tight and bouncy in all the good ways and places. She was a handful in a slender way. Her shriveled fingers lingered on his shoulders, slightly scratching and clawing. They both had torsos of the glory years of youth. She wanted to be eaten. Whole, deep and unapologetic. 

It was a surprising afternoon. She woke up in the faint glow of the skyline burning to a bluish red smear. It was 6:04 pm, she was hungry from the office holiday. She had missed the memo posted at the office bulletin board. They both nearly missed each other."

...

Cinco Pesos

When I go out, I go look for books to add to my small collection. I was looking for the usual authors. BestSeller, apparently had a wide selection. It was a nice experience: again, surprisingly disappointing. I found books that are worth spending various afternoons cooped up in some place to get lost in the pages. It was disappointing since I had to work extra hard to get those books but are definitely good finds.

One page was P605. It stings thinking about it, depressing to the point that I'm tempted to go on pirate mode to find an ebook substitute. I wanted to buy it. It was begging me to buy it. It was about a make believe journalist chilling by the beaches of an underground gangster's paradise out in the open. Or at least it was what the plot was, for all I think it was from true accounts; only that the author was neck deep in booze, controlled substance and with his one leg in a grave for nosy people. I'd imagine he had a near cut throat moment during his young writing phase.

P405 was on the label of the other one. I thought "Why not P400 flat?" It was a weird question. It was written by a dead morally charged humanist/humorist. He's dead now. A flight of stairs took his life. His Pall Malls had failed to honor his contract for a "classy suicide." It broke my heart.

It broke my heart further to leave the place. Oh well, so it goes.

An itch to a scratch

"My lighter gives out a click, a fizzy pop of butane is let out and the flint rubs to give a spark. Next, a little fire is born to burn the end of my cigarette. Smoke seeps from the stick into my mouth. Soothing, burning, a mild heat comes up and past by my cold nostrils. Damn good stuff, a transient good feeling followed by simple and outstanding disgust with the habit. I should really quit this thing, I'll just have to picture it in my head. It looks fun but my throat and lungs are not having a good time, but I am, temporarily.

A clean looking old man comes up to where I was standing. He was clutching a leather briefcase. He was wearing khaki slacks, unpleated of course. He was asking the guard where he could smoke, the guard pointed to my direction in reply. He put down his clutch down the plant box, gave me a look and a nod. I nodded back. He lit his cigarette, a variation of what I was smoking. It blended with everything he had on: clean and crisp. We puffed, we turned our heads, we looked straight ahead. I was looking at his well polished cordovan tassel loafers. He had new rubber soles on, I can tell. Damn shiny cordovans. I couldn't do that kind of style. He looked accomplished, his brushed steel watch was gripped by the almost cordovan matched leather alligator strap. It all looked clean, like a dog's dick. Clean as a dog's dick.

That nod had me thinking. I don't do that to other people when I see them, not even those I really know; not in the past, not until now. We took more puffs from our bad habits. He snuffed his cig and went inside. I lit another one, it was a combo with the sunny day and slightly cool breeze.

He was clean as a dog's dick."

...

Morning read

Just wanted to put this up here. Very interesting writing voice and style.

Writers are darkly glorified and simply loathed for being semi-sleazy and scheming people with dark, sexy and or evil intentions. 

Its somewhat a glimpse at the quirks of being a writer, their idiosyncrasies that make them appealing and repelling at the same time.

Thank you very much Mr. Travis Grandt for writing this and Ms. Aina for pinning it up on my feed.

Please don't take all things seriously. :)

Bubbles

I have been on a reading and writing break for a good part of 5 days now. This will be shake up for the handful of people who are sheepishly waiting for posts in this blog. So, here it goes.

Since I put myself in a reading break, I figured that I have been having less thoughts inside my head. No idea to think about, no concept to wrap my dying neurons with, no contradictions to be untangled and no sudden realizations about aforementioned things. Good things happened during the weekend though. A lot of good things.

1. Off the bat, I got to visit my quickly growing son. He now stands 3 feet just with his little cute Crocs on. He weighs about 15 kilograms already, a hefty kid at that. He does not look pudgy like other kids his age since I think he got his height from his deadbeat dada. He now has this short tail of hair at the back of his head that I have put in my non-negotiable checklist of things to flinch at. Though I have accepted the fact that it looks cute on handsome kids. 

Sorry, its my son we're talking about here so I'm going to do a little promotion. My kid is one tough soldier but he chirps at the sound of "bubbles" and he runs frantically to catch the bigger one with his face or perfect little hands with long okra fingers. He is just pure delight to look at and during the time we spent playing, sleeping, snacking; we kinda got into a sync including body odors and breath smells. I didn't think that I could be so happy with a person this rowdy, slimy and rough. I didn't even know that happiness is a pint-size, 15kg sack of pure energy and thoughtfulness. He gives me his leftover, half eaten cereals so he could share with me.

2. I got two books during the weekend. One was a gift, another tale from Vonnegut and about Trout's amazing mind and cool framing instrument. It's a 1997 novel, Timequake. I've read a few pages but I haven't really digested anything it said, I just know that Kilgore Trout was still alive in that book and that maybe he's about to go on and follow Cyclone Bill, his pet parakeet. I'm itching to read him on paper. The other book is a little gem from BookSale (thank you very much BookSale) which costs about 15 pesos. A good enough deal for me. It is titled The Chosen, and by the looks of the jacket, it's about Jewish people. I'll see for myself why it was a finalist for the National Book Awards.

3. Still talking about books, I got to walk by Mt. Cloud Bookstore again. I just walked by, it was right in front of me in some time. It was tempting but I had to go home, alcohol was jealous. I didn't know it was famous until my friend, the author of An Ongoing Novel asked me about a little bookstore that carries good titles for very reasonable prices. He said that the guys at that bookstore would visit book events and other literature-related activities to encourage others to drop by at their place whenever they got to visit Baguio. So the mystery deepens, I've never been to that place even when it opened a few years back when I was still in college. Dumb boy. 

Another thing is the discovery of a bookstore that offers ukay prices for good finds. Though they may not match that of BookSale's (of course I still love you BookSale,) they have really good books. Some notable books are Sybil, a book about the true story of a girl who developed 16 personalities. I wanted to buy that one but I had to go back to Bulacan that afternoon and besides, I only had 200 pesos for fare money. I would have bought it for a friend who made me download a 3-hour film adaptation of the film. I won't watch it until I've read the book (if I am ever lucky to find it again.) Another is a follow-up to Khaled Hosseini's The Kite Runner novel, it was a book title A Thousand Splendid Suns. Again, I was going to buy it for a good friend, a book gobbler and a prolific poet. 

Another book was a collection of short stories by Edgar Allan Poe, it had a certain dark look to it; much like Poe's works. Also, I laid my eyes on a Papa Hemingway book, again, wanted to buy it for a friend. It was a good experience: sweaty and cramped and disappointing. I couldn't find a copy of Songbirds of Pain though. If you happen to find one, I'd be more than happy to pay for it plus commission. There was no more Vonnegut, Thompson, McCarthy. I'd be damned to let my friends loose in that little ukay bookstore.

4. Got a new watch. Thank you very much, dear sponsor. Yay! Tank style ala Boardwalk Empire gangster (in reference to Jimmy Darmody.)

5. Got a new Frat patch. Thank you residents, it was well worth the price.

6. I got to do good by buying some stuff for other people. Seeing their face light up with little somethings is a sight for sore eyes deprived of moisture and sleep and strained by harsh light and smoke.

A good weekend indeed.It was eventful. I hope I can get my act up back on reading. I'm still looking for books to read and I think I'll begin giving gifts to people now. I think its high time to give after years of receiving.

Isang gabi ng Hulyo

"Katulad ng iba pang maraming gabi, kaunti lang ang sinisinagan ng liwanag ng lamp posts at fluorescent lights. May malamig na hangin kahit katatapos lang ng tag-init. Well, hindi naman natatapos ang panahong iyon. Nagtatago lang sa wisik ng tag-ulan na nagbabadya sa gilid.

Hindi naman natin alam bakit andito yan. Basta andyan lang. Sana nga lang mas matagal na nating nalaman na andyan lang yan. Burgis, sarap magkape kaso mahal. Dibale, wala namang freeloader. KKB! Tawa, kwento, pero ang pangit ng post na to. Talagang pangit.

May filter pa yung litrato. Minsan nakakainis kasi wala akong ibang talent. Minsan nagtataka ako bakit matagal na kong nakatapat ng taong matagal na palang nasa kasaysayan ng aking friends list.

Bwisit, bwisit talaga. Sana ni-libre mo nalang ako para quits lang tayo."

Don't eat me.

Damn you, Schlachthof Fünf for being a symbol of oppression against talking animals on posters who apparently don't want to be eaten.

 But thank you for keeping a hundred men safe from the Blue Monday bombs of the world war. Thank you for saving the brains of Billy Pilgrim as he was able to teach us the different meanings of living life: whether in the unstuck dimension or not.

The fires of Dresden would have dissolved the lessons in accelerated speeds while being cooped up inside Billy's head.

 Quick, Tralfamadore awaits.

inconsistent

"Ganoon ka nga ba kabilis makalimot? O sadyang di ka makaalala?

Yan ang problema, inconsistency hanggang maging normalcy. Sa mga panahon ng mabilis na pagsalo ng mga impormasyon at stimuli ay hindi na makasabay. Kasi naman, ang bilis mo. Pano ba kita mahahabol? Mas maliksi lang ako dahil sa unexplained wonders ng human genetics at pagkakaiba ng human male and female make-up pero pang Autobahn ang speed limit mo: pinahigang number '8.' Pano ka ba naman sasabay dun?

Siguro nga tama ka at ako ang problema. Pero... alam mong ayaw ko makipagtalo sa'yo dahil wala akong panalo pero... hinay hinay ka lang. Lumilipad ka na e. O baka ako lang yung nililipad dahil sa'yo?

Inom na lang tayo. Dun, makakasabay pa 'ko. Kahit may headstart ka pa.

Dahan dahan lang, giliw. Pa-virgin man, ganun talaga eh. Pasensiya na lang kung hanggang dito lang ang kaya ko sa ngayon. Hindi naman kita pinipigilan. Magiging mabagal 'to. Isang mahabang tiisan."

...

B-sides

Dahil madaldal ang mga daliri ko ngayon at mas mabilis ang utak ko kesa sa kanila, dadagdagan ko ang posts ko ngayong araw. Maraming salamat sa aking muse, sponsors at sa invisible readers. You made me who I am today.

I sit here at my desk in the office, crackling my back, curling it as a snake would as it was about to contract and lunge at an unsuspecting small mammal. Masakit na ang likod ko, for short. But as young as I am (it is impolite to ask though I really don't know why) I feel that I've fully entered the gates of a familiar place. Entering your 20's can be exciting, especially as a young child imagining the future with xxx rated movie houses and 'bold' films (that's what we called it back then we tried to be sleazy youngsters.) 

'Tara, punta tayo kina RJ, wala raw tao sa kanila. Nood tayo ng bold!'

Anyhow, the 20's phase is very tricky to describe. 'I want to do this. I'll do my job well. I'll be a working class hero. I'll do my job because it is my passion.' Yea, that's one side to it.

The thing I'd like to point out is that there are silver linings to this phase. People you know back then and thought less of are probably making it big in their own things, really doing the things they love and loving the things (and people, hee hee) they do. While you, on the other hand, go into fading spiral, yep, downwards.

The 20's phase is a long ang troubling road that welcomes you with open arms. It is a gateway for legitimate addictions, bad habits, de-moralizations, de-philosophizations, de-idelogizations and a bunch of other made up words starting with that 'de' prefix. 

Though good and shiny at the same time, this phase will also be the phase of addictions, troubles, getting lost, being lost, losing, failing, wrecking and other wide-ranging things. Binge strings and drifting (once a fond memory of childhood with mean cars and mods have now begun to feel like a lingering feeling of apathy and semi-disgust) alongside promiscuity: in constant promises to do more tomorrow, procrastinating for the better part of making promises, promiscuity related to fluid exchanges, promiscuity related to conflicting ideas and disturbing statements.

I'm not sure what to call this side of the 20's phase. I can't brand it as 'bad' or 'dark.' That would be unfair for many others out there. Maybe, b-sides?

Oh what fun it is to be in your 20's. I am now enjoying layers of relapses and do-overs.

Manamit

Ang view mula sa lugar kung saan ako
sumipat ng mga happenings nang halos limang taon

Sabi ko noon, pag hindi ako pumasa sa school na gusto ko pasukan eh magta-tricycle driver nalang ako. Tinawanan ako ng mga kaibigan ko at na-shut up ng aking mga magulang. Bakit? E ano naman bang masama sa pagiging tricycle driver? Marangal naman, malinis ang pinagkakakitaan, isa sa mga backbone ng local transportation services.. ang isa namang choice ko e maging gun smuggler o drug runner pero naisip ko mabilis ang buhay ko dun. Baka hindi ako umabot ng 30 years old, mga 20 palang eh inuuod na ang bangkay ko. 

Side dish, nakapagdrive na ako ng tricycle, at sinasabi ko sainyo, hindi madali magdrive nun. Lalo na yung 170cc na Kawasaki Barako then add the difficulties of a moon trekker on the surface of Mars (only Mars, in reference here was Earth and the surface was ridden by potholes the size of manhole covers, yeah. Thanks local officials for doing us a favor by shaking our brains to a slush.) Another thing, ginawa ko yun nang nakainom.

Pero hindi dahil dun ang post ko. Awa ng Panginoong Maykapal, nakapasa ako sa ekswelahang inaplayan ko. Ilang taon na rin ba? Lima plus plus? Ang nakakatawa pa, bago ako magsettle sa campus na yun ay sinubukan ko sa iba, sa kabilang dako ng mapa, sa bandang timog katagalugan: ang lugar ng buko pie at mga natural hot springs. Pero hindi ako nakapasok, one week na palang tapos ang enrollment ng mga humahabol para sa admission. Malas. May instant friend pa naman sana ako dun, at magaling na manunulat siya; ayaw lang umamin.

Ayun na nga, doon ako sa norte nag-aral. Malamig sa campus pero maraming nakatsinelas at short shorts na pwedeng pumasang summer wear sa hotspots ng Pinas. Masaya sa campus dahil maraming bagong experience. Naks, experience, parang totoo lang.

Hindi ako nagsising nakapasok ako sa campus. Hindi rin ako nagsisi na hindi ako lumipat dahil nagkaroon ako ng tahanan at pamilya sa kampus.

Ni isang beses ay di ko inisip na dito ako papasok ng kapatiran; na dito ko makikilala ang mga taong huhubog sa akin sa lebel ng ideyolohiya, prinsipyo at paninidigan. Hindi ko rin naisip na makakatagpo ako ng mga gurong dibdiban(nakakatawang isipin dahil sa ilang imaheng nakita ko na sa nakaraang mga taon) ang dedikasyon sa pagtuturo, na makikilala ko ang mga taong kulang na lang ay umampon sakin para paiyakin lamang ako sa klase; pero may hot coco naman yun at donuts (meron ding pamasahe papuntang bangko na P500, "Pang-inom mo na yang sukli.") At lalong hindi ko inisip na dito ko makikilala ang magiging nanay ng aking anak. Hindi roller coaster ride e, parang Salt Race Flats drag race, blurred lang lahat sa bilis pero masaya balikan ang ika nga e 'ride.'

Pero, inisip ko rin ang magiging buhay ko sana sa katimugan. Malapit lang sa bahay, malapit sa dalawang ancestral homes (isang angkop ang laki para sa malaking pamilya at isa namang bunggalo kung saan pilit pinagkasya ang isang malaki ring pamilya), malapit sa mga resort, malapit sa mga kamag-anak.

Sa malaking campus kung saan masarap maglakad, doon rin kasi nagtapos ang isang  pinsan ko na tinitingala ko noong bata pa lamang ako (tinangkaran ko sya pero ganoon parin ang pagtingala ko sa kanya.) Inisip ko, masarap siguro magbasa ng libro doon, parang imahe ng Ivy League ang pumasok sa isip ko menos ang falling leaves at ang mga scarves at blazers at ang preppy khakis na bagay na bagay sa autumn season. Matututo kako siguro akong magsulat, makialam sa mga bagay-bagay ng lipunan at iba pang kaalaman sa isang state u. 

'Namit' siguro. At balita ko, masarap din daw ang pagkain, mura pa!

Paligoy-ligoy lang ang isip ko sa bagay na 'to. Hindi naman nakakasisi pero masarap din sanang maranasan. Ang sarap bumalik sa pag-aaral. Ipon lang at babalik din ako sa school, kaso itatago ko na ang student number ko. Sana wala akong maging teacher na kabatch ko.

Para sa mga malalaking sweldo

Good news ang dumating. Tho, late na ang post na ito ay ihahabol ko parin. Sophomore Slumps noon ay naghihintay na lang ngayon. 

Congratulations Pareng Jepp, you now have a wallet as fat as your gut (and mine.) That's a compliment. I clink my glass in your honor. May we have more below zero beers together.

Missing members: Nico Antonio, Byron and Marc Anthony

Surplus

Snaking around the terminal, the line gets longer as every would-be passenger hurriedly run to the tail. It looks like an ouroboros, snakes biting their tails and shit; putting an ellipsis to the cycle of infinity. Though the vans and would-be passengers will run out some time, another working day shall resurrect them all and the same.

Breakfast of Champions

Every person on earth is a machine, only you are human.

Old-timers

Seeing old people get by with their lives is something to see. I see them all wrinkled up, having to take those pills, having to watch their weight and eating habits, chatting up with fellow elders, and some with their white false teeth. It's undeniable. You can't just hide age. You feel it, you see it, you hear it in the voice of old men and their grunting coughs and crackling phlegm.

It makes me wonder about what kick do these people get in this late stage of their lives. I always thought that youth must be one of the finest gifts in the world: that's because you still have time ticking for you, lots of it. 

"What would you want to do when you get old?" is one thing that grown ups often ask little children. No, really, what would you want to do when you get old? 

"I don't want to get old."

But then lately, it hit me: growing old is not a choice that many take head-on. Somehow, growing old is a privilege. Older men, usually said, wiser men accumulate those wrinkles along with the hard lessons in life. With all the knocks to the head, the skinned knees and elbows, cracked soles and healed bones, the old men would probably know what they're talking about. 

You age as you are gifted with the many things. It was a scary thought at first, all that "getting old" shit going around everyday. Though there are times that I think that the reason most of them old folks reached that ripe age is because they've done something good to deserve that high score in terms of years.

Maybe it would be fun to face the coming years with a full sleeve of ink with more than a dozen stories for keeps. You'd be called an old fart but you know for yourself that you're a wise old fart. The young 'uns will be drop jawed with old-school wisdom.

Maybe it'll hurt, with all them meds and pills and therapies and problems that come with age. That hip ache may have been from an epic bike ride across the country. That missing tooth was secretly from a case of falling teeth rather than a knee to the face in some back alley brawl in the past.

Most people don't want to get old. We'll age but at least we get some stories to tell. But let's hurry, the clock won't wait, not even for future old coots.

Son, read my blog

NOTE: This will be a longer than usual post.

“He wants to live on through something – and in his case, his masterpiece is his son... all of us want that, and it gets more poignant as we get more anonymous in this world.” – Arthur Miller

I can never explain the quirks of being a father just in words, not even in volumes of writing that I may force my weird looking fingers to write. The feeling is just weirdly beautiful in a way, and somewhat disturbing and superficial. From here on, I would like to say sorry due to the fact that I have avoided this topic for a great deal of time, confining my realizations and acceptance to myself (note that not all realizations and acceptance are of necessarily good.)

There are things that will definitely change when you become a dad, especially a young one (in my experience.) That leap towards parenthood is frightening enough that you retort to that basic human instinct: fight or flight.

script

"A consummate anger fuels him. It drives him to this point at which everything else is barely tolerable.

The shitty pay, the inferno of a commute to work, work itself, the simple idiocies that are nibbling at his ear. This should be all fucking worth it. Everything should be worth it. Rinse and repeat was once his better mottos. If it was that easy, he shouldn't worry about doing it again and again and again, especially if he was that good. What a sweet deal, doing things easy and quick. Doing them smooth and slick. Now, shit was thicker than ever. He is just talentless and has a bloated ego. What great fucking news.

It was a realization that has just stuck him. He was out of that grave but was hoisted back out just to be thrown into a deeper shithole. That deep coy was too thick to be seen through, it was clever. Hide that fucking tree in a fucking forest in a fucking planet of forests. Or so it seemed at first, e'rything was just a big blur to him now.

To understand all the fucks that he does and doesn't give, it would a whirlwind of a story. The expletives are just overflowing. He needs to sign up for another session, that should be the coup de grace.

The only respite was that image of a tiny hand, a little something from the past that told him to dive into that same pit of shit in the first place."

...