on beauty

Early morning last Friday, with barely enough sleep, hair tied in a tight bun and put into a place by a head band, and eye bags as heavy as the backpack I carried, I stepped into the elevator followed by a woman probably in her early forties. She looked familiar, so I greeted her a good morning. She smiled at me and started a small talk. I thought this is going to be one of those situations when things go awkward until, before stepping out onto her floor, she cheerfully said to me, “Ang ganda ganda mo!” (You're so beautiful!). I didn't exactly know what she saw, but that was enough caffeine to perk me up. I want to hug her dearly.

could this law bring us back to the dark ages?

Republic Act No. 10175 or the Cybercrime Prevention Act (in short, the Cybercrime Law) has brought ripples into the consciousness of many Filipinos. It is effective today, and it is no laughing matter. It entails some of the highest degrees of iron-fisted ruling which seems shocking and desperate especially in this time and age.

 

Now that nothing is really safe—more than ever—in the realms of the internet, here are some questions that, up to this point, remain drilling a migraine of enigma into my head. There are plenty more from where these came from but these would enough:

 

• Will journalism be a thing of the past because it will be subject to scrutiny (and possible penalty) for covering critical understanding of current affairs?
• Will opinion, freedom of speech or even the right to information be a thing of the past?
• Is Senator Sotto, one of the supporters of the law, even aware that it includes plagiarism as a crime, too?
• Will Senator Sotto be penalized for committing such crime if ever, by a twist of fate, the higher echelons of the government finally realize some of his deeds are “unlawful?”
• Has there been a scintilla of proper thinking put into this law?
• Has there been a scintilla of attempt at making sense in this muddle called the Philippine government?
• How could this law be made into possibility with all its vagueness?
• Is this simply a maneuver to distract us from the real deal which is, among many other things, the RH Bill?
• Could we never, once and for all, point at a criminal when see or know one at the risk being called libelous and thus holding us liable for a crime for telling the truth?
• Could users of social media (e.g. Facebook, Twitter, Blogger) better shut down their accounts right now?
• Could the Cybercrime Law be the glossy, digitized, 21st century version of the Martial Law?
• Could this be the end of this blog after posting these questions?

just another excuse

Not much writing has been done lately. Reading is even shamelessly stalled in the meantime. Blame that to the weather and the television shows, “Community” and “Happy Endings” (especially the former). Comedies in general often fail to tickle me, so when I first reacted to the two the way I should supposedly be reacting to humor upon first viewing, I could not let them go. Please forgive me of my weaknesses. Also, this entry is another form of stalling (when I am supposed to be writing). I must get back to my drafts. But first, I need to see that new episode. Bye.

the biggest circle of friends, a history

In the early days of college, somewhere in the middle of 2006’s second quarter, we seemed to gravitate to people who were a year ahead of us (some way older). It could be the humor beyond our age that they had, the no-nonsense quality they possessed, the campus tricks-of-the-trade they knew as if these were the back of their hands. So when time came they had to go, finally graduating (some after five, six or so years), we felt a massive chunk of our social lives chipping off. Even those in the university paper (where we spent/wasted a couple of our hours) who we thought would linger longer, if not forever, had packed up. Cue Beethoven’s “Moonlight Sonata.”

And there we were, left to each other. Still in the university paper, juniors this time in 2008, it was our turn to let in new applicants for the recently vacated staff slots. We met odd, giddy, idealistic, gullible, and especially younger girls and boys. It seemed the world they lived in was leagues away from ours. They were fine, but something felt stilted. Out of gratuitous infantilism, the three of us then decided there were no better companions than ourselves.

There may only be three of us but our tandem was larger than life, indestructible, powerful. We stuck together like evil stepsisters. We were the Biggest Circle of Friends. BCF. (Yes, we were naive and self-absorbed that way. Bwa-ha-ha).

But in irony’s twisted hands, we co-wrote this feature article for the first issue of the paper that made us think back to our former selves. Odd, giddy, idealistic, gullible, and most especially younger. “The Five Enemies You Meet in College.” It was a guide of college archetypes for freshies to be wary of. Then it dawned on us we three could be Enemy #5. We were turning into people who we would loathe when we were wide-eyed, free birds a few years back. We simply laughed it off, all for satirical ha-ha, but we knew it struck a chord. Cue Beethoven’s “Allegro Con Brio.”

So we changed, in the purest deus ex machina kind of way. Everything was fine. We realized the newbies we met, especially those in the publication staff, night after postmortem night (the evening meeting we call for reviewing the just-released paper) were as neurotic as us. And in today’s parlance, it deserved a  “Like.”

The three of us kept the circle.  We were still the Biggest Circle of Friends, and today’s our fourth year anniversary. Why? Well, it was just the day we wrote the aforementioned article, with “Biggest Circle of Friends” turning up as the feature’s byline in hundreds of papers circulated all over the university (and perhaps all over Negros Oriental) four days later. We just deemed it was worth remembering.

These days, we don’t get to see each other as much as before, but to hell with drama. There’s Facebook and there’s Twitter. One’s now reviewing for her bar examination, one’s a manager of an events agency, and me, well, oh look, a kitten! Grab that cute, little kitten!

bane has talent

I just have to post this. It made my day.

 

[ lifted from this site ]

perennially lonely

The entire weekend could have ended with a ho-hum sigh of discontent if not for an invitation to an art fair somewhere in Makati. After I handed my broken, beloved camera to its service center (which begs for a different post) late Saturday afternoon, I met up with Sara, ogle at quirky things in the said gathering of buyers and sellers, until both of us thought we have better things to do. Like have a couple of drinks and talk about better things to do.

In the course of the night, Yas from Alabang joined us at a pub near SaGuijo, a café-cum-bar wedged in the maze of San Antonio Village. Eva was supposed to be with us but she had “spiels” to do, Sam was practicing how to drive (and joy-riding the entire night), and Philip was happily in love and could not even respond to our calls. Also, someone long thought to be a ghost of the past apparated from somewhere nearby. The latter was a proof of the dangers of proximity. It all happened, unplanned, but it was nonetheless charming. I guess spontaneity is that one rare gem of occasions.

To commemorate the 555th post of this schizophrenic blog, here are some of the things that make up our banter:

• How a broken compass works as embodied by a person who does not want to read maps.
• How camera repair service costs as much as a new camera.
• How a camera is needed in every occasion.
• How a camera captures what you miss in the blur of an occasion.
• How people could have beautiful cars at such a young age.
• How people do not want to have beautiful cars in a lifetime.
• How that long weekend in June could be the perfect opportunity for trying out that new car.
• How people need a beautiful beach in every vacation.
• How rhum becomes the training ground for beginners in a little city somewhere in the Visayas.
• How most of us face a computer for hours at work.
  
• How sub-zero beer works like magic.
• How three bottles of beer could get you an extra-large shirt.
• How a family name could scatter all over the country.
• How a name could sound truly Filipino based on semantics, syntax, and pak! factor.
• How a name could be pretentious.
• How a name, a face of the person behind that name that is plastered on a book , which is edited by the person with that name could be the ultimate form of pretentiousness.
• How that could be a result of miscommunication and graduation gift surprises.
• How artifice and pretention could easily make an event.
• How artifice and pretention differ from art and preservation.
• How some people need to attend the annual Cosmopolitan Bachelor Bash.
• How some people need to attend the annual FHM’s 100 Sexiest Women.
• How saddening it could be when a friend who organizes or sponsors these two events forgets to give you your VIP pass.
  
• How cigarette differs from electronic cigarette.
• How an electronic cigarette could only provide a thin feel of smoke.
• How nicotine makes you addicted to cigarette.
• How nicotine gum fails at replacing the cigarette.
• How a climb to Mount Pulag, Luzon’s highest peak, makes you regret of smoking cigarettes.
• How a climb could be risky.
• How people take risks.
• How people should take risks more often.
• How people keep themselves away from risks.
• How people see themselves as risks.
• How any small house, dilapidated or not, could be a venue for emerging, indie bands.
• How doing so could further establish one’s indie cred.
• How reconnecting with an old acquaintance sparks new connections.
• How reconnecting with an old-recent(?) acquaintance sparks something more than connection.
• How connections should have never been established in the first place.
• How social media hide in a veil of goals to connect people.
• How social media perpetuate a culture of delays, especially in writing.
• How social media sate our human desire to be liked, mentioned, relevant, on the loop.
• How social media could be a seed for art.
• How art should always be separated from religion even if it touches on one.
• How limiting and selfish one’s take on art could be.
• How artists should be torchbearers of production and not polarization.
• How polarization could be a fuel for production.
• How many workshops need funding, as usual.
• How plagiarism could be a result of subconscious idolization of the text being read.
• How idolization blurs the line between praise and indolence.
• How much themes could business owners think to refresh their line of motels.
• How motels could offer perks with a frequenter’s card. For example, an umbrella.
• How dental braces perfect and ruin a smile.
• How longganisa tastes like when dipped in soup.
• How a face registers to other people, as exemplified by this concern: “I hope he finds someone. Gusto ko siya makitang happy. Parang perennially lonely itong batang ‘to.”

And that, people, is how good friends who have never seen each other in a long time talk and backstab at each other from five o’clock in the afternoon to five o’clock in the morning. Yes, we are varsity players in this game of talking too much without really saying that much. Or so it seems.

it started this way

Here’s a bit of truth: my headband-wearing ‘guise’ originated in November 19, 2008. That is exactly three years and five days ago. It is one unforgettable date in college. Unforgettable because the headband-wearing is carried on to this year and maybe until the next few years.
It all started with the Opposite Day. I think it is what one would call a harmless dare (if not an embarrassing one). I and a fellow co-staffer of the university paper, The Weekly Sillimanian, thought we needed a little bit of crazy (as if we had not enough), so we rounded up the rest of the staff and suggested to fulfill this objective for an entire day: be in a getup that is as farfetched as a cat in checked purple-and-orange jumpsuit.
In simple words: don’t be you, aesthetically.
So I ditched my khakis, button-down shirt, leather slippers, messenger bag and opted for something quite more pedestrian: old PE shorts, an aircon shirt (tee with tiny strategically-placed holes), a pair of rubber slippers that was one size bigger, and a drawstring bag of some company’s seminar giveaway for all of my things. I topped it all off with a cheap, white plastic headband.
I got in my World Literature class that morning and the professor’s eyes, surprisingly, widened. (Surprisingly, because I thought he had no emotions in him). “Is there some kind of conspiracy going on around here today? I had a pirate in my previous class!”
Oh, yes, there was a pirate. There was an extreme gothic chic, too. There was a labandera (basin-sarong-bandana and all). There was the lesbian basketball buff. There was America Ferrera’s Betty. There was Wendy in night pajamas. And there are other more persona who I couldn’t really describe for the sheer madness of it all.
And for some strange burst of insanity (or reason), one thing stayed after that day: the headband. It just stuck especially when I had decided to grow my hair out of the blue (then shaved off into a Mohawk upon graduation day).
Of course, the headband only appears in appropriate places, or in whatever places people think are appropriate. I couldn’t care any less, actually. I’d wear it anywhere if I can. In fact, last May, someone who I was not fully acquainted with at that time remarked I was the only one she had ever seen who looked good with a ponytail and a headband on. Insert mandatory blush here. (Thank you, dear, I admire your taste).
I don’t want to repost the photos in this entry, but I could offer this shot, which is printed and kept in an album in the university paper office for future generations of staff to see. Anyway, I just miss some of the people involved (pictured above) because they’re crazy. And they’re great. And they’re lovely. And they’re brilliant. And they’re bright. And they’re scattered all over the country, all over the planet.

Sigh.

the old man and the seat

Lunch break turns out to be amusing if not a wee bit insulting today. In one of a mall’s many fast food restaurants, a mother with her two-or-three-year-old daughter approach a waitress just across my table, asking her for one of those child-safe high plastic chairs. The woman then takes the special seat and sets it to my table, right next to me. I stare at her, a spoonful of rice midway to my open mouth. The mother corrects the waitress that she sits farther in the corner, so she immediately moves the chair to the directed spot. The aforementioned mother appears to be in her late thirties.

Such incident begs the questions: Do I really look that old? Is there hope to be a family man? Does this finally break the curse of being mistaken as a woman? Or is the waitress just pulling my leg? Whatever the answers are, that is just indisputably crazy. At least it is a funny way to start my week.

career changes

I already find it numbing when a person says I look like someone they know or have seen somewhere. But recently, what’s giving me the electric shock deals something more than this exceptionally generic face of mine. It is other people’s assumption of what my profession really is based on this exceptionally generic face of mine. And here’s a bunch of jobs (as far as I can remember) that I have rounded up from the late 2010 to this date.

Writer
I always denied being one. I enjoy the act but I feel queasy toying with that identity. I know my flaws so I keep myself away from that word. But since I am working in a company where, well, I write (or connect words to form) newsletters—and I have a goatee, a mustache, long hair, and a pair of piercings—everyone says I am this, and there goes the logic of the title.

Fashion Designer
When the previous job title of mine (supposedly) has already been embedded in almost every head in the office (yeah, thanks to word of mouth), a woman about my age sits beside me one day and asserts “Mas mukha ka pang fashion designer.” There is no humor in her voice. That’s job number two.

Call Center Agent
All ready for my daily commute to work early in the morning, next-door lady neighbor chances upon me leaving the house and sweetly asks, “Saang agency ka nagtatrabaho?” But of course! Call center agents wear dark blue slacks, black leather shoes, and sky blue kusot mayaman barong in their offices, right? “No. I work in a food company,” I respond and leave her by the gates with a smile.

Musician
Since the neighborhood in the past few days has gotten a little bit chatty, I give in and mingle to one. Predictably, conversation falls into the work category and asks me what I do for a living. I fire out the usual one-two punch of my job description, feeling happy because she is smiling of the things that I do, when she laughs and says: “Akala ko musikero ka!” I stop my monologue. At least there’s talent in being one.

bye waves

On the second day of the new year, I did the weirdest thing in my entire life. After rounding up my grocery items, I chanced upon a barbershop on my way out of the supermarket, and maybe due to the shaking of the cosmos, decided to get a trim. I was perfectly contented with my shoulder-length wavy locks, except for those stubborn strands that stick out in opposing angles. In fact, I am in the spectrums’ opposite end of the idea of getting or donning something new after 365 days, but I entered the shop anyway. Now sitting on a chair that I hadn’t sat on for a long time, I told the barber flatly: “Ikaw na ang ang bahala” (It’s up to you).

Surprisingly—and luckily—I was happy with the results. I have to use less shampoo this time (And by the way, if you're curious, it all looks like that thumbnail photo to your right, only shorter).

generic

There are plenty of things to compare in this world: this bag looks like that bag, her dress is a twin of your dress, or this notebook is a twin of a thousand notebooks.

But being a spitting image of another person? I am not sure if that’s a comforting thought.

I’ve received the comments “May kamukha ka!” and “Someone in here looks like you!” for the nth time (probably, 1,234,567,900th) as if this is a tag permanently clipped on my back. It is not entirely grating, like Justin Beiber’s voice, but I just hope people will keep the thought to themselves because I have my very own mental picture of what I look like, and if the so-called similarity they are talking about defies the illustration in my head, maybe the apocalypse is not that far from happening.

But if the resemblance is strikingly true, well then, I might settle in the shelves of a drugstore soon. It seems that I look exceptionally generic.

more powerful than ever

This comes a little late in the punctuality department but here it is anyway: yesterday was the second anniversary of BCF—born in Dumaguete City, now wreaking havoc across the nation. I will not give any further details behind the acronym, knowing the silly repercussions that may break the still waters of sanity by doing so, that is why I will end this note here with this overly misunderstood maxim: “Evil has a beautiful face.”

Sorry guys, it has been a long time since I go cryptic. Pardon the post.

nothing's elusive to the desperate man

It seems to me that whenever the lethal mix of stress, boredom and routine strikes, there’s the need to completely vanish from the picture, go out of the radar.

Yes, it has been a while that I have not mingled with my usual partners-in-crime, to pursue the usual rounds in a drinking hole, chat the usual fantasies, and walk back to the usual dwelling only to wake up the following day to a dreary Sunday, or worse, a usual Monday.

My mind is completely cluttered lately that I can’t even determine what the fun in watching a movie is.

It is a momentary choice I’ve made, this detachment. I have been missing a lot of things since the start of the year, and the opportunity to get out of the metro—the city tangled in many electrical wires, drowning in dusty PUV’s—is like the most beautifully-cut diamond in all the trash I have been seeing.

After living in a concrete jungle for almost eight months, I’ve thought that the waves, the sand, the cheap sumptuous food, the sunrise, and all about calmness, will be an elusive dream of an intoxicated employee. I’ve made that notion wrong.

One day, with everything all set to go, I venture onto a six-hour travel to find peace, along with three of my Hipon fellows Sara Sebastian, Sam Echavez, and Yas Ocampo. Slap me in the face, but what a peace we found! The escape is worth it.

The stunning details are too vast to word in a paragraph that is why I will just post some shots here, and insert some bits of our conversation that will never be heard in our offices:

I need a break.
[at hindi pumasok ang tao on a workday]

‘Prolific’ is the word of the day.
[feelerette pa rin]

Nauubos na yung Ding Dong. Talaga namang nothing is forever.
[lasing ka na yata]

You are my trophy and trophies don’t talk.
[about handsome no-brain boyfriends]

At the end of the rainbow, there is a pot of bro’s.
[the beach is a sight to behold nga!]

Avant-garde pose tayo!
[at kailangan magmukhang matamlay na talangka tayo?]

Ayoko ng ma-repeat yung ‘Don’t say that’ line ko.
[winking at Mars, Pilipeh and Budjkins]

Risks are needed to complete the adventure.
[muntik ka ng malunod, leche!]

mandatory may nakatulog sa biyahe shot.


mandatory pre-Friendster heads up shot.

mandatory dalampasigan jump shot.

mandatory emo shot.

mandatory sunrise shot.

mandatory nakahiga circle of 'friends' shot.

mandatory nakatayo sa mga matutulis na bato shot.

mandatory post-valentine blog entry

This is not supposed to be an obligatory post, especially about that date when bouquets of flowers are much more expensive than my workday lunch, but seeing that I haven’t written anything in here for a long time I might as well get into the fair.

If there’s anything significant on the 14th of February, it is simply the fact that it follows my father’s birthday. He’s turned 56 today. And on the fourteenth itself, it is also the birthday of someone I know who I’ve tagged along with to participate in a college Valentine songwriting competition three years ago only to fail right at the very start of the screening period. Aside from these, there’s nothing else I could think of.

I am neither dense nor jaded not to notice its sugary presence with Hallmark messages crisscrossing the country (or all over the world), or tearjerker primetime telenovelas raking up ratings from the masa with their supposed universal theme, or endless songs of lost and newfound love serenading many jeepneys. Heck, it is even linked to “Up to 70% Off” mall sales and discount packages in hotels (and motels).

My nonchalance to the whole festivity is a—hold your breath for the coming word—choice.

Yes, it is my choice not to entertain sudden appearances of “attic acquaintances” (people casually linked to your social web for a while then left in a corner for good out of ennui) in my inbox, unanswered calls and messages in my phone, or even seedlings of short talks in some gatherings. Someone might call me lackluster, or even conceited, but I guess I am through with those things. For me, they are like rain in a sunny morning; they are arresting at first and instantly draining next.

As the last ray of light from the sun took its last wave yesterday in the horizon, I left the open window and went downstairs to watch Simpsons. It was just another day, only a little bit different because many people were just too caught up with Cupid’s consumerism. As to how an acquaintance puts it, the 14th of February might as well be Singlehood Awareness Day.

I know what I’ve said may paint a bad picture of me but, I like to share, I still keep them coming: the appearances, the messages, the calls, the short talks.

No harm’s done anyway.

adjusted

Go to your trusted dentist now and avail the Year-ender Braces Adjustment before the clock strikes twelve midnight on December 31. The first 12 patients will get a 40% discount, plus unique Mickey Mouse brackets and glow-in-the-dark elastics. This service is offered by all dentists across the country.

With your Year-ender Braces Adjustment, you wouldn’t only get that perfect smile in the next three to five years but you would also receive the Stupid Mistake Certificate. This special token is a testament to your unthinkable decision for having those pearly whites cringe in this season of feasts and merrymaking. Lechon, chicharon or fried dumpling? Nah.

So what are you waiting for? Be tortured in every bite.

i am talking to you

After all, it has been a while. There’s no need stretching the introductory lines here but, being the loquacious bullfrog that I am, I will offer to you my apologies right now for not directly saying what I wanted to spill out of my mouth. I have this question and it’s as if the interrogative is stuck on the tip of my tongue.

Rest assured this is not something that would annoy you, like some television prank show finale. Do not worry.

Even if you’ve reached this point, probably considering that this is a waste of time, I hope you’d hold on to this a little longer. Besides, what matters in almost all events is the moment the two persons share together—and reading a post by someone else is a communal act.

You are in the right place.

Of the several ways that I could manipulate in here, the least I could do is to keep you away. The link between us may not be visually concrete, only subjective to the haste exchange of replies in minute boxes.

Upping the ante of luring you into this part by nailing you with sentimentality is not what I have in mind. In fact, these words just flow from the tips of my fingers like nature’s spigot.

From here on, fine, I will now tip you the purpose of me talking to you. There’s something I want to know but the answer I could get can basically be encapsulated in words like “yes” and “no,” that is why I am rooting for something more than the generic responses.

I appreciate that you’re listening to my written words.

Now, here is what you should do and please bear with the simple instruction that follows: gather the first letters of each paragraph and read them.

Erm, the sudden silence is just jarring. I need to post this.

the man with the metal studs

It is no one’s sunshine when it hits the day’s toll. From delayed papers to anxiety in irksome human forms, the causes are as varied as the spectrum from a color prism.

Stress is, unlike your neighbor’s noisy dog, is a self-induced routine. If the stressors are external, you could yield to them anytime. Kebs. It’s a routine because it grows once it is not dealt with at the soonest time possible, thus, almost becoming like a habit. You know there’s undeniably wrong or stilted in the way how things work yet the atmosphere around is as normal as any other day, so you hop on to another task or assignment that neither helps solve your previous problem nor improves what you will be doing next. It is also a routine because, based on medical research, it happens episodically in everyone’s lifetime, therefore, no one could escape its head-crunching grip. Especially in the corporate setting of any company, this is to be expected.

That’s why stress must be included in the esteemed list of deadly sins. You create or surrender to it, you suffer.

And that’s one curious thing, the fourth word in that sentence before this. Surrender. Ah, you can just feel how the word makes acrobatics with your lips. To avoid suffering, you steer away from that option. I steer away from that option. Well, obviously, it has never been anyone’s favored option.

But due to the limitations of the corporate setup, one ends up with stress, in agony. Maybe that’s a strong word but it is more or less like that, probably in the 4th degree of criticality in a one-to-ten scale.

Concentration gone, aspirations collapsed, the gears not oiled. The cause of both psychological and physiological rumpus? Believe it or not but these simply concern a pair of metal ear studs worn by a man. In short, men shouldn't put any adornment on their ears, or on any other part of the head.

It strikes me to know such kind of prohibition. To encapsulate the drama that escalated because of this, which spanned for two weeks, here are three specific reasons that are so tasty I would like to share them in their concentrated context.

Specific Reason #1

You are under a department that foster resourcefulness through cohesive policies in education, training, health and employment in all levels, and at the same time reflect and require workplace diversity that echoes the company’s customer base. As a result, you follow rules and regulations created by your department, for other departments and for the other people in your department.

Specific Reason #2

You are stereotyped as a creative person, thus, you can get away with whatever looks you want to project, but since you are in a corporate place you have to tone down.

Specific Reason #3

You are only wearing an accessory, something that’s removable. Piercings are not part of the body (on the argument on why a lot of men around are permitted to have shoulder-length hair).

Specific Reason #4

You are under the gods with a conservative viewpoint.

There, they are all laid out. Specific Reason #1 is a given, but here’s the loophole: Restriction on men having ear piercings is not even mentioned in the code of conduct. Besides, what may not be good-looking on someone looks magnificamente perfetto to another. Corporate attire works on a lot of different levels.

As if we had enough typecasts in the world through telenovelas and C-movies, here comes Specific Reason #2. It may be rude to come up with projection as a defense mechanism but look around; aside from the Creative section of the Marketing department, some IT personnel wear them and a whole lot more from obscure units I am not familiar with. Yes, one can easily tone down anything but not individuality. And if long hair is acceptable, since it is part of the body and is not an accessory, cornrows and Mohawks would be a good idea, especially in this field crowded with boring slacks, polos and pencil skirts.

Arguing to Specific Reason #3 equates to having a conversation with a rabid dog, so let us progress to #4. This reason is the most challenging part of all, wherein one has to tackle a fixed religious mindset and moral upbringing.
The word “conservative” basically covers the familial creed, the forbiddance of the color black, and the restriction of putting an umbrella under the table. Get the picture? In this case, imposing the practices of the gods on “different” people, disregarding how efficient they move the system, through usage of authoritarian power, defeats the foundation the department in Specific Reason #1 is trying to build—that is, workplace diversity. It is ironic, if not comically tongue-in-cheek.

And the gods say the acceptance of change must be gradual, and the normalcy of men having piercings is one fine example. Of course, it must be gradual, everyone must have known that after age 12, but the question is: Were the gods being ‘gradual’ in the first place?

If the gods are being gradual, they should stop whispering unpredictably to the so-called deviants in cold office corners to remove any form of accessory, and set the rules in a formal and written-on-stone finality, not through the distinctly Filipino “pagsita.” We are not elementary kids any longer.

If the gods are being gradual, efficient and constructive as what they are trying to show in their glossy demeanor, they should have cracked the hard nut of the applicant, slap on the face the documents of “you should” and “you should not” during the interview processes—not three or four months later, just like what they did to me, because that would truly be a showcase of clumsiness and ineptitude.

But no, the gods are not being gradual. They are noticeably stuck in the age of the dinosaurs, or in limbo, misplaced at the center of modernity zooming in hyperdrive, like denying the existence of Windows 97 all along.

I say this because the real meaning of gradual can be realized only if it takes the next step of moving forward. When that’s done, one can clearly see how satisfying the result of the gradual movement for change is. But there’s no movement, none at all. How stressful.

Pardon for this length but I think I have to write for my long absence in here. It is just sad that this comeback shows up in the form of a highfalutin rant. With all honesty, this is not about the hot air in my head, not one of those Millennium Development Goals promoting gender equality, and especially not just the metal studs in my ears the size of your morning stars. It is to discern that there’s something more than first impressions, to see the sunshine before anything else hits the day’s toll.

I guess I am running in circles now. Goodness, it’s strange. This must be the reason why I feel my days are complete whenever they break at six. I better put on my headband.

hefty bunch

Though some things are better left unnoticed, there are those that you cannot disregard no matter how you shut all your senses down. For example, how would you ever resurrect the death of Friendster to all your elitist comrades? Seriously, here are the mind-fillers that I am talking about. A word of caution though, this does not involve pointers on the coming elections and global economic issues.

1. Itch
I’ve already mentioned this itch a couple of times ago through status updates (as if the frequency helps get rid of it), and it is still there, lingering in my throat. I have even mentioned of getting a cat to have its padded paws rub my neck, but then I realize it only works for removing the pain caused by little bones stuck somewhere in the throat—which is, of course, based on silly old wives’ tales. I get myself a can of soda, a bar of chocolate and two cupcakes. Now I wonder where I keep on having this annoying sore throat. Hey, where’s the vanilla almond ice cream?

2. Weekend
What can be more befuddling than spending a long weekend doing nothing at all? Well, another weekend doing nothing at all. I know this would happen today, that’s why last Friday I visited the dibidihan and bought seasons one and two of Big Love, a series about polygamy, and then discovered I made the wrong decision after watching the first three episodes. It’s not that it is awful, the series, but I need something light and funny, not something stressful with bickering in-laws and scheming religious sect. Alright, I will just listen to Mika then.

3. Stagnant
My promise is broken. I tell myself to come up with a short fiction or a piece of verse, at least in their roughest draft you could imagine, every month but that October is a total dud. This is troubling. I don’t want the well to go dry, especially in these times that I’ve chosen a career path that veers me away from inspiration, keeps me rehashing all the good sentiments I could remember from Hallmark cards. That’s why I want to do the bullet that follows this; wishing it might help me get back, head on to those unfinished drafts.

4. Reads
I want to read. There’s a big pile by my bedside, novels upon anthologies upon magazines upon collections. And most of them, I haven’t read. Technically, I have read all of them, the first five to ten pages. Because of my sudden inability to finish anything that’s bound, in gloss or matte finish, I have given myself a rule to finish at least one material before buying another one at the bookstore. But then, the minute I arrive home after work, all my energy are gone I can’t even pick a flimsy Time. Now, I feel myself shiver, probably a withdrawal symptom, the minute I see an interesting cover by the store windows.

5. Camera
My work will soon require frequent documentation just for the heck of it, and so far, I am not happy with what the upper echelons have been providing me. So, I think of getting one, the sort that captures the image of lions devouring a gazelle from meters and meters away if there’s a safari around here. On my long trek to get to the jeepney terminal before going home, I cannot help but salivate whenever I pass by the gadget stores in one mall. If I could just get into those shops after midnight…

6. Gifts
And just look at that, October slips by like tumbleweed. A few more weeks and it will be December, the month of giving and more giving, or if you’d prefer the term, sharing. My concern here is the equation listed below:

Legend:
a – Me
b – Income
c – Family members

Problem:
a(1) + b is not equal to c(7)

Get the picture? Never mind.


7. Material
In case you haven’t noticed, I will tell you now that the last three things mentioned are, like what I have just said, Things. Isn’t that disturbing, wallowing in all earthly delights? Envying filthy goods? Falling to the consumerist pit where the devil might be lurking, patiently waiting to join him in the underworld? I don’t know. What I am sure is I want to live a pleasant life even if I can’t bring a netbook after I am cremated or buried six feet under.

the rant as a generic political campaign against discomfort

Ideas, as many a mind produces, are worthless if stale. They rot, ill with boredom, and remain uninspired that only divine intervention could take them out of mental limbo. And here I am, neither stuck in the open spaces of ingenuity nor in the confines of incapacity. Just there in the middle, flotsam-like, moving along the grains with no effort.

It doesn’t feel good.

To complain would be the worst thing to do, especially that in order to sustain the earthly things materializing in front of me twice a month, I just have to sit all day long until spiders visit me and build houses inside my head. To request, on the other hand, seems to be too coercing and besides, I once requested a minor change in the system and it took weeks to see the currents moving. Wait! It should be take weeks, present tense, because until now the waiting continues.

So what’s left right now, if ever I do have possible choices, is to yield. To Yield. Just do what’s supposed to be done and the waters will carry on, ebbing smoothly into the vast unknowns. Belch! Sorry, this food has bad aftertaste.*

See, there’s the fight against putting taxes on Coca Cola drinks in the US, the father beheaded by his own mentally-deranged son in Capiz, the tandem of Manny Villar and Willie Revillame for president and vice-president respectively in the coming elections, the skyrocketing sales of Dan Brown’s latest recycled popcorn, the upcoming December issue cover of Oprah Winfrey’s O magazine with Ellen Degeneres on it, the personal mission of finding the perfectly-structured white button-down shirt, and most of all, the movie of Vilma Santos with John Lloyd Cruz and Luiz Manzano as a gay couple, but why am I here? Why am I thinking like television reruns, like used underpants, like soap suds on the bathroom floor? Stone me to death but I repeat, why am I here?

Batuhin mo man ako ng bato o tinapay,

tatanggapin ko, wag lang crac…

I am not compelled to keep this abstract burden rested on my shoulders but let’s just see what happens next. Three more months or, if I can still hold on to my patience and sanity, intact and functioning, nine more and then off I will fly away to rainbow’s end. As of now, I am as stale as yesterday’s breakfast rice.

*clears throat at the side

see it for yourself

“Then you might see it,
but you won’t believe it…”
- Stranger to the Eyes of a Child-Man, The Republic Tigers


1. Bash
Last Thursday night, the traffic seems to be the least concern for most people going to NBC Tent. You know, for a small event that’s called the Cosmopolitan Bachelor Bash 2009, I guess it is not hard to set this problem aside. Samantha Echavez, who works for the Cosmo magazine, has invited me to this annual event ever since we’ve met in Iligan City. I turned her down before. But this time the bash can’t be missed. After all, I live minutes away from the spot and get to veer away from the humdrum of my daily office routine. The sights are strange but pleasant, and I guess I need them.

2. Spectacles
If you think this post has got nothing more to say, well, stop reading. This one goes for the pedestrian: I am wearing glasses now (cue: release the confetti). Yes, I am wearing one as of the moment, many thanks to the computer monitor that I make love with nine hours a day. But it has no grades. I visited the ophthalmologist two weeks ago to check what was wrong with my eyes; they’re aching, gritty, and always dry (sometimes, before I go to sleep at night, tears would crawl from my cheeks even though I am not feeling melodramatic). After taking a few tests with the doctor, I was given this radiation filter specs. He said I am just experiencing eye-strains so he recommended me to wear something for protection, not for treatment. With my retainers and braces, now someone’s looking like a real nerd.

3. Splash
The “Ber” months have just arrived without prior notice, starting with the appearance of wet September. Like an episode taken out from the pages of a Gabriel Garcia Marquez novel, the surroundings are all grey, muddy, damp and cold—the exact opposite of a sunny but dusty, dry and humid day. But honestly, I prefer the latter. I am not living in Tagbilaran or Dumaguete any more, where every distance of one place to another can easily be covered with a few tsinelas steps. Yes, this is futile because I am complaining against nature, but this is basically what the rage in my head is all about: I miss you, guys!