Felt tip works

 There are few things that have welcomed me into manhood. There's fatherhood, of course. Driving lessons: two-wheels that I learned the hard way (with scars to prove it) and four-wheels (with a learner's permit for proof.) Job applications, pay slips, legitimate addictions, bouts with alcohol, erratic behavior and so on. Drawing remained a hidden childhood memory but it has resurfaced lately.

As a kid, I used to sort of pride myself in my creations, seeing that the other kids in my class were below my talent line, so to speak. But then, as I grew older, I realized that my drawings are cute, not good. I saw other people's works and said 'Fuck it. I better leave this art stuff to those who are really good at it' and so I transferred to writing. I really have former schoolmates who are very talented, some are already quite skilled in the art department.

I've been very much in love with prospect of getting tattoos for a sort of storytelling. I picture it as my own way of being identified with many things that happened in my life that obviously had a huge impact on my perspective, attitude, outlook and the way I steer my life as of now. Then I had the idea of making my own tattoo designs so that they will be more personal: banking on beliefs, landmarks represented by meaningful illustrations that I've sort of think is applicable. 

Swallow as inspired by Sailor Jerry flash

The swallow is symbol of loyalty for me. It was supposed to be my first tatt but the need for the headstone memorial tatt trumped it. It will be the next to be done on my right shoulder down until my upper right chest. 

The 26th

My personal marker. Serves as a reminder. Sorry, Ma.
"Everything was beautiful, and nothing hurt."
~ Slaughterhouse Five, Kurt Vonnegut

It is nearly the 26th of the month. It'll be the first death anniversary of Tita Mila's passing. It feels passe to say 'How fast. It's been a year already?' She wouldn't want that. She would want to see us enjoying at McDonald's with all the fast food amenities and saturated fat. She was nice like that.

I remember reading a story on the Philippine Daily Inquirer. It was from a column and I've forgotten all too well, the details of the story, the author, the name of the column and when I had read it. The gist was actually a question: "Why do we celebrate deaths and failures?" It was a baffling question for me at that point in my life, having lost no one.. YET. Well, no one important.

I remember the point of the article and it goes something like this: we celebrate deaths and failures so we remember a somewhat silver lining, we remember the Fall of Bataan to remind ourselves of the good that it has brought to us as a people, we remember the deaths of loved ones to remind us how happy we have been to have had them touch our lives, we remember tragedies to remind us that everything we touch in this life is but transient in material space but immortal in a dimension that we all share and pass on to the next seeds of our generations. Well, something like that. 

For many, this time of year, they count the days until Christmas. I do, too. I just wish that wherever Tita spends her time now, they have Christmas there, too. So she may recieve my greetings and gifts. I hope that Vonnegut was right that when we pass, we never really die but only pass on to a different dimension. A dimension where the physical senses are not enough to make us believe that we exist, we just know that we do.

Merry Christmas, Tita. And happy anniversary on your arrival at your own personal and non- physical dimension. 

Dr. Gonzo

The late Dr. Gonzo, once a young Hunter S. Thompson

"Buy the ticket, take the ride."

I bet that would look great on skin. With a pair of amber aviator glasses above the words.

I need the Doctor's books. It will be a great addition to the creeping addiction. 

Well, not as addictive as his.

Hey Hey, My My

Out of the blue, into the black.

Ang Kwento ng Anito Apple

I asked my father why he got a tattoo of a tiger on his left thigh. He said it was for me, to remember me every time he'd have a look at it. It is a face of a tiger, full colored, rather roughly drawn and inked on his skin. Above the face is something that read "HONG" punctured in green ink skittering on the sides.

Then I asked my uncle about the history of his tatts. I asked him what was the apple on his left chest meant, he said "Anito, yan." Not knowing what he meant, I shrugged my shoulders and with a smirk, continued the inquiry. Pointing to his green skull face on his right forearm, I asked him and he said "Wala, nakuha ko sa magazine. Buong piece sana yan pero yan lang pinagawa ko." Knowing my uncle would not give me a serious enough answer to my questions, I let it pass by. I ended my inquiry with "Masakit ba yan?" He answered no, adding that the pain is tolerable if you really wanted to.