Saturday, September 28, 2013

135 Filipino Building


Maraming dapat sabihin pero saan ba ako magsisimula. Siguro dun nalang sa parteng gumugulong na uli ang buhay ko sa maraming paraan. May bagong trabaho na pakiramdam ko ay magsisimulang magbigay sakin ng direksyon na kailangan ko ngayon. Nakakatuwa lang dahil saktong sa linggo ng kaarawan ko e nagkaroon ako ng trabaho. Sakto. Birthday gift. Katunayan nga eh niregaluhan ako ng mga kaopisina ko ng cake at pinagsaluhan namin yun. Mababait sila at kwela. My kind of people.

Nagbirthday ako sa steps ng building kung saan nakabase ang opisina namin. Kakatapos lang kasi ng shift at nag overtime rin kami dahil sa mga ginagawang trabaho. Can't complain. It feels better this way. Maraming dapat ipagpasalamat, isa na dun ang mga kasama ko sa opisina.

Happy 23d!
Writing job ang nakuha ko. Para sa'kin eh nakakatuwa rin yun dahil mapili ako sa mga posisyong inapply-an ko. Sabi nga ng nanay ko, ma-pride raw ako. Sagot ko na lang, ganun talaga e. Mas gusto kong magamit ang mga pinag-aralan ko sa isang trabahong bubuhay sa'kin at sa pamilya ko. Isang uri yun ng pride na sa tingin ko e mabuti para sa'kin. Pride. Nakakatuwang pakinggan.

Dito ko masasabing lalago ang kakayahan ko bilang manunulat. Hindi man pulitikal o kahit may bahid ng social pro-activism ang gampanin ko bilang manunulat eh masasabi ko namang masaya ako sa ginagawa ko. Mas mabuti na yun kesa sa isang trabahaong ginagawa mo lang para sa kakarampot na sweldo at masabing "may trabaho ako."

Isa pang dapat kong banggitin sa sulatin kong ito ang pagkakaroon ng pangalawang pagkakataon para maging mas mabuting kapareha sa aking sinisinta. Wanep, "sinisinta." Pero pwera biro, salamat para doon. Alam kong sablay ako sa maraming bagay at mahalaga sa akin ang mga nangyaring yun. Mahal kita, alam mo yan. Siguro lang ay mas maganda kung sinasabi ko ang mga ito sa harap mo. Ganito lang ako, pero pramis, mula rito magiging ayos na ang lahat.

Saka na lang uli. Salamat pa rin. Nasabi ko na ba yun?

Thursday, September 19, 2013

A writer’s letter to his son

Son, I hope you read this someday. You may feel that it is all too tacky for your grey old man to write this for you but that’s the point – I don’t want to seem the bent old fart that you see hovering around you whenever you have a girl around for dinner, I want you to hear or read what I have to say when I’m still sound and sober.

There will be lots of hardships for you. As a father I wouldn’t want any of that to happen to you, my precious child. I love you and I hope you have all the best in the world. No, I wish you may have the best the world has to offer. The possibilities are only as limited as the barriers you would put up in your mind. But as a man, I’d want you to face challenges that would test you and build you a stronger hold in life.

I’ve done a lot of things that made me think once or twice about. Having you is not one of those things. Your mother and I believe that you are the best thing that has ever happened in our life, no homo. Your little hands that are now beginning to take shape into large but beautiful coolie paws are what will help you build your own castle.

You are a prince by right, so act like it. Soon, you’d be king. A king is noble and right in his words, deeds and promises. Treat women the best that they deserve as you would your mom, your queen. The only time you should touch a woman’s face is when you wipe away her tears or kiss her to assure her of your love. If she should cry, it should be when you are kneeling before her when you ask for her hand in marriage. 

Be a comforting presence to your soon-to-be queen and never lose time to listen to her qualms and her inner storms. The heart of a girl is meek; you’d have to take a step closer to hear it speak. Make her feel her prettiest everyday when you are together and make her remember that love when she is far away. But for now, love your mother to the full – it’s one of the best kinds that love can be.

You should always act the part you want to play. Never be a poser who basks in the lime light of mundane and fleeting things. You must earn everything that you would want to be proud of. Be a man in every right of the word. I know you’ll do because you’re my son. You are everything that I have always aspired to be. You are my role model. I look up to you now even if you’re just three feet tall. That’s how much of a big man you already are in my heart.

If you may feel like I’m talking a lot or expecting too much of you, don’t. These are but words that I’d like you to read and understand. Never feel obligated to be dictated if you know it’s not what you want to do. Speak out but keep in mind the feelings of others. Say what you have to as long as you know that you are on the right side of the fence. I am your father, I will listen.

Join a fraternity if you’d like, just march back home when your mother is calling for your ass or both of us would be grilled to golden brown perfection. Don’t come home beaten because I will make it my personal pledge to make the lives of those who did that to you a living hell.

You can be gay, too for all I care. You are my son and I would love your partner when the time comes. What’s important is not the beard on your chin (but that would like be totally awesome!) or the muscles in your arms nor your personal winning score in fist fights but the man that you are underneath all of it. 

Cuss, drink, smoke and get tattoos, it’s all part of your rite of passage but stay true to what you stand for and make good with the youth you have. I’ll believe in you because you’re my little boy, nothing can change that and I’ll always love you for it.

Forgive me if it’s taking too long to finish this thing. I’m getting old right at this very moment. Plus, I’m a writer. It’s what I do. My memory is starting to become a big blur. But before that completely happens, I want to ask you a favor – when I pass on, be sure to put to heart and mind all of the things in this letter. Be the guiding image to your children and the younger men after you. It can only get better from there on. Remember your old man as the way you would always want to remember him, as your father.

I love you, son. Your mother and I love you very much.

I forgive you for shoo-ing me when I try to hug you and pepper you with kisses. I guess that’s just what fathers do to their little boys. I’ll always give you a pass. And I promise not to show your naked baby pictures to every girl I see you with, I’m cool like that. Also, please take care of the bikes, boots and books that I leave to you. Use them at your disposal to learn the workings of the world in pages, see the open road on two wheels and what it has to offer you, conquer your mountains and leave nothing but your footsteps and a sigh of contentment. I’m sorry I can’t leave you the special reserve of whiskey, it’s one of those things I told you earlier of which you had to earn. Cheers to you, my man. 

Sunday, September 1, 2013

A writer’s letter to his future wife

I’m a writer. This will be a disclaimer. It will be apology letter rather than a romantic quip to pull at your heart strings but I promise it can shed light to the darker corners of my mind and heart. Cheesy as it may, please forgive me. I’m terrible at words when it comes to you. Good thing is you’re not a figment of my imagination. It’s a pity that some of my colleagues have fallen to that sort of thing. Though Ruby Sparks is probably one of the most romantic and truthfully accurate works there is out there. I can’t make you up with words. You’ve appeared before me and all I have are my words to make you realize that I am flawed but am ready to love you and irritate you with the same words that helped me reel you in.
I am sorry if I am forgetful at times. This will be the base of this whole thing.

 I have a way with words that have helped me make a small career and a couple of jobs that will keep us satisfied. As you always say, we need not much, just enough is good enough for us. What use would too much money serve? I say a lot of cars, a bigger house and a more comfortable life. You smirked. I realize that I had enough to make me happy and content. It is you that made me realize with less words. It is you who made me understand with such simplicity the thing I tried to explain my whole life with paragraph after paragraph. You are the parsimonious side of my letters. It’s a good thing you said that. 

As a writer, I can only earn as much. Though I can write you simple notes to remind you how much of a good person you are to me and how much I forget to thank you in return. I am forgetful though I remember with more words than I can imagine how distinct and vivid is the memory of your face and that look you make when I do things that make you swoon as accidental as they may be.

I am sorry if I can not put into audible sound the feelings I have for you nor show it to you in actions. It is something that I must do as part of this relationship but given the chance, I will peek out of my shell. Extend my wrinkly appendages and demonstrate a futile hug to invite you in. My shell will be cramped and you will need a longer time to get used to it but I really hope you will. You will get mad at me for my annoying habits and quirks. You may even get used to them but one day get so frickin mad that you’d want to smack me in the face. I understand that, I really do. I will not be the easiest person to be around with but I will try to be the best shellmate for you. Please accept the poorly arranged flowers, they’re on sale at the local flower shop.

Forgive me for not being able to come up with the greatest love story ever told when asked to write about our love. I can’t seem to do it. Love stories have endings and they end with a dot. It’s hard for me, at times, to work on things that I am queasy to do. It’s just that we are living that story and I couldn’t, for the life of me, find a good enough ending for you, for us. I want it to be several thousand pages long with ellipses instead of punctuation marks. You are the greater writer in this love story. That smile of yours inspires me to write a whole act in itself but I still wouldn’t want to finish it. I would want to get to the part where I’d see them mutter the simplest words that would fill me every day that we are together. Whether they be “go get the laundry” or “I want soup for dinner.” 

Olive oil. 
Across the table glances and snickers when I get flush because one of our friends had an embarrassing story that involved me having the greatest crush on you. You wrote those pages, so keep them coming. You don’t know it yet but you make novelists look like amateurs. I’m afraid I can’t keep up with the way you put words into my fingertips.

Forgive me if I take too long to propose. As a writer, I also find it difficult to end one chapter in my work just so a better chapter would open. I have many quirks that you will find annoying, this is one of them. I get anxious thinking that I couldn’t find a good enough beginning for the next act as well as the last words to finish this one I’ve been working so long on. Do you remember the time we imagined the family we’d soon have? You have great pov’s and plot ideas. How creative can you get? That’s why I’m writing you this letter. It’s also like a letter of intent. I hate corporate type letters but I’ve enjoyed this one so far. You may enjoy this too, or not. I’ll know when I see crumpled paper lying around. But I hope you would like it. It will feel like getting a book deal, only better. It’ll be something we’d have to fill in, enjoy the creative process and extend the deadline since we are our own publishers. 

No stingy editors, just you and me and our thousands of pages to fill and subchapters to extend and the characters and protagonists and framing devices along the way. I’ll teach you how to use the ellipses. You’ll teach me how to put words into better places. Did I ever say I’m sorry for being a writer, yet?

I see London, I see Sam's Town

Holds my hand and lets my hair down. Rolls that world right off my shoulder
I see London, I see Sam's Town now.