tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-34328297135477366422024-02-08T11:29:51.512+08:00Hanging on a Hyphen"Some say that life is a long straight line.
But what if all that is left is life the length of a hyphen?
Well, at least we can keep it short and sweet.
While hanging on a hyphen...""Hanging on a Hyphen"http://www.blogger.com/profile/09954654427742268236noreply@blogger.comBlogger64125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3432829713547736642.post-52828344204947557582017-03-02T20:32:00.001+08:002017-03-02T20:51:21.472+08:00ON TO A NEW WORLDI have sadly left this platform, swept by the mighty wave of change into facebook where I was more productive, more inspired to write. I have just finished a book.... It was the fruit of painstaking effort, a truly modest dream come true but exhilarating nonetheless.... I hope whatever, whoever is left of my blogging friends can take a look at it and share my happiness. For old time's sake....<br />
<br />
It's been quite a while....<br />
<br />
<a href="https://www.amazon.com/s/ref=nb_sb_noss?url=search-alias%3Dstripbooks&field-keywords=pillows+from+the+stone+age">"Pillows from the Stone Age"</a><br />
<br />
<br />"Hanging on a Hyphen"http://www.blogger.com/profile/09954654427742268236noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3432829713547736642.post-85173742713573164842014-08-10T07:54:00.000+08:002014-08-10T13:20:53.262+08:00Into the Storm<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify;">
<a href="https://encrypted-tbn0.gstatic.com/images?q=tbn:ANd9GcRF6Zmf6VVVEeSjm7lcRwi6tUDKd3VYmrx_OC3ibTvddetP3G2KYEmdozeK" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="250" src="https://encrypted-tbn0.gstatic.com/images?q=tbn:ANd9GcRF6Zmf6VVVEeSjm7lcRwi6tUDKd3VYmrx_OC3ibTvddetP3G2KYEmdozeK" width="400" /></a><span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 10.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Into
the storm is not only the perfect storm. It should rank as one of the best chill
out movies I’ve seen after a long while. The best thing about the movie is
there is no villain in it, unless you hate your life so much that you see typhoons
as your enemy. The plot is nothing to make you lose sleep and think seriously
hard which is really the reason I loved it. Some movies try expect you to understand the phenomenon of inter-galactic molecular combustion while discussing on the
side how sheep cell can be replicated to produce the animal’s living carbon
copy through the wonders of medical cloning. Let’s leave those movies to the
intellectuals.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 10.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Into the Storm has refreshingly none of that BS, thank God. To put is simply,
there are movies that thrive on the philosophy of filmmaking where the less you
think, the more you enjoy. And Into the
Storm proved that philosophy once again. There was a time “2012” was my number
one disaster movie, a close second should be the Will Smith starrer “Independence
Day”. Well, the ranking has changed and I should place “Into the Storm” on top
with “2012” a distant second. That’s how good the movie is. Well I urge you not
just to believe me but you better see for yourself. Watch it, for the love of
God!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 10.0pt; line-height: 115%;">For
one, the movie was able to overcome my initial reluctance to pay money to see
it considering that people like me have this natural tendency to be seriously
skeptical of films that come out after a major disaster happens, which I feel
are all about squeezing an otherwise unfortunate
event of its commercial potentials to generate money.</span><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 10.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><a href="https://encrypted-tbn1.gstatic.com/images?q=tbn:ANd9GcRJUEP-HYn12w74COQYq8hAYZU_btm7-sVpOrJjd9ulWmpdHjVj" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://encrypted-tbn1.gstatic.com/images?q=tbn:ANd9GcRJUEP-HYn12w74COQYq8hAYZU_btm7-sVpOrJjd9ulWmpdHjVj" width="400" /></a></span></div>
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 10.0pt; line-height: 115%;">But
although I still think the film capitalized on what Yolanda’s did to Leyte, the
redeeming value of Into the Storm is the way it concentrated almost entirely on
capturing the visual images of the hurricane on a rampage. There was no major political
statement to be made. Unlike in “2012” where the president had to make the
decision to stay with his people to the bitter end or in “Independence Day”
where an emotional speech was inserted somewhere before the ultimate showdown
with the alien-invaders. In Godzillah for instance, the movie tried to take a stab
at the awful state of politics in New York.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 10.0pt; line-height: 115%;"> <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 10.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Into
the Storm resisted the temptation to criticize the human race for its endless
political agenda or mankind’s plunder of the environment. It was like “hey
buddy, let’s just watch this thing and relax, okay?” is the overwhelming attitude
of the film and oh yes, it got the message through and stayed true to the theme
the entire two-hour screening. There was no letup in the action the moment it
began.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 10.0pt; line-height: 115%;">This
movie decided to spare us from the awful sight of people dying and starving and
living in shelters. Instead we are treated by the movie to a larger than live
rather, more aptly, closer than close viewing of flying trucks and airplanes,
of buildings being lifted off the ground, and treated the imagination to spectacular
sights that we will otherwise not be able to see up close in real life and expect to live
to tell what happened. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 10.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify;">
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://encrypted-tbn0.gstatic.com/images?q=tbn:ANd9GcQixLiPFRlf60B_o0FhC4Rm6CMQZckpD01r6uXVfxiWiwkmbf2vTA" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="223" src="https://encrypted-tbn0.gstatic.com/images?q=tbn:ANd9GcQixLiPFRlf60B_o0FhC4Rm6CMQZckpD01r6uXVfxiWiwkmbf2vTA" width="400" /></a></div>
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 10.0pt; line-height: 115%;">The in-your-face treatment of disaster scenes highlighting
only the physical destruction may lack the emotional punch if people were
placed upfront and in the center of the drama but hey, that is precisely the
point the film was trying to make – its lack of pretense or political agenda. The
film succeeded beautifully in this regard. In the beginning, the movie
introduced to us two characters, a pair of thrill-seeking bums who would to
anything for a kick attempting to be the next you tube sensations with the
craziest video stunts. They just lacked one member to be the
Three Stooges. But anyway, they made the whole movie fun while it lasted –
right to the very end. I wouldn't want to spoil the thrill here so let me just
mention that the movie regardless of its hardcore topic, took its time teasing
our sense of humor.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify;">
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 10.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Finally,
the movie passed impressively the verdict of the worst team of critics you can
ever assemble. I was at the movies with the gang – my wife Arlene, Alon (13),
Aya (11) and Nanay, who is already 86. Usually, the kids would start fighting
and throwing a tantrum if they don’t see anything to keep them still and Nanay
would be snoozing as soon as the dim-lighted theatre goes completely dark.
Guess what, they stayed still and kept themselves awake. And when we came out
and talked about what we’ve just seen, I felt that for one brief moment, my 86
year old mother was a kid again, grateful and ecstatic to be at the movies.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 10.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-language: EN-US; mso-fareast-theme-font: minor-latin;">So go ahead and watch it.</span><span style="font-family: "Calibri","sans-serif"; font-size: 11.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-language: EN-US; mso-fareast-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;"> </span>"Hanging on a Hyphen"http://www.blogger.com/profile/09954654427742268236noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3432829713547736642.post-6424635299058646822014-04-26T01:50:00.001+08:002014-04-28T23:11:33.701+08:00Prom Night<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif";">This could
be the longest one minute of her young life.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif";"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif";">Sining
sat in one corner, far from the glare of the chandelier light illuminating the
entire room where only the faintest flash of light could reach her, slicing
through the darkness every now and then before leaving that corner in pitch darkness
yet again. For now, everybody’s attention is transfixed on the contilion de
honor, where the chosen few – the tallest, fairest, and comeliest members of
the class had the opportunity to participate – and the dance was the
culmination of weeks of rehearsals which some even took to the extreme with
weeks of dieting. It was the ritual reserved only for the most stunning and virile
among the lot, the ones who radiate with the glow of youth and closely approach
the fairy tale images of prince and princess which sadly she is not. In a
moment, the music stops and this is where the things she dreads the most set
in. She remembered what her father told her in the car, on their way to the
dance. Sining at 16 is a ball of nervous energy threatening to explode.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://encrypted-tbn0.gstatic.com/images?q=tbn:ANd9GcT3_3YmnjF3qtIrUk0dxjMA1T_knONQequ-SetJ-jlr1-fMtC5e7A" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="435" src="https://encrypted-tbn0.gstatic.com/images?q=tbn:ANd9GcT3_3YmnjF3qtIrUk0dxjMA1T_knONQequ-SetJ-jlr1-fMtC5e7A" width="640" /></a></div>
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif";"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif";">This
is just a phase, a rite of passage so don’t take it too seriously if others get
all the attention it’s not because you deserve less. It is not a statement of
how much you are worth or where you stand in the order of things. You all have
a full life ahead, and no one knows where it will lead you. Years from now, you
will just laugh it off especially if it turns out the expectations that you have
for one another completely fall off the mark. It’s all superficial for now and
physical attraction naturally gets a lot of praise and attention but as you
move up in years, character takes over and changes the way you look at the
world. In the meantime be what you are. Be your age. Just enjoy the dance. Have
fun. If you act naturally and be kind to everyone, and put on a genuine smile, they
will remember you as that simple girl who made the evening truly special.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif";"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif";">She
could almost remember every single word that his father said during the ride
except that the element of encouragement in the manner he delivered his message
had dissipated now, and Sining began to seriously have some doubt. After all
those words came from a confessed wall-paper and high school geek himself –
surprisingly, his father was even proud to admit that – so they offer little
comfort. She felt worse than Cinderella did with seconds ticking away before
midnight turns her from princess to pauper. Sining glanced at the buffet table
and noticed that some girls have actually helped themselves to the food –
honestly, that was the only reason they came here for. She promised not to be
like them even as her stomach protested, making her remember she never had
anything for lunch, for fear of not fitting into her gown. If only her father
knew.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://encrypted-tbn0.gstatic.com/images?q=tbn:ANd9GcSRzuRl2zbTilUOZz-mn495VXMrtHBF7ZKTx2c_azRVdoGbiTCv" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="435" src="https://encrypted-tbn0.gstatic.com/images?q=tbn:ANd9GcSRzuRl2zbTilUOZz-mn495VXMrtHBF7ZKTx2c_azRVdoGbiTCv" width="640" /></a></div>
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif";"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif";">As
soon as the cotillion stopped, there was a flurry of shoving and teasing as the
boys go after the girls they like for the next dance, this time, unrehearsed
and anything goes. Again as expected, there were beelines for the comeliest
ladies while those who get passed up pretend as best they can not to care. The
DJ caught everyone by surprise and brought the house down by putting on Psy’s K-Pop smash dance hit, right
after the formal cotillion, drawing a collective nervous laughter from the very
young crowd. The music had already started, transforming the crowd into a
dancing suicidal mob when Sining heard a familiar voice, barely audible amidst
the heart-pounding noise. “Shall we dance?” When Sining looked up, she saw Eugene,
the gangling senior with a serious nutrition problem some class bullies have likened
him to the life-size skeletal system model back in biology class when they were
sophomores. For a brief moment in that dark corner of the room, she thought he
was a creature from horror movies but immediately Sining smiled a wide smile and
took his hand.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif";"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif";">She
could barely remember anything else after that. Eugene was very shy and
unassuming but a true gentlemen and every other boy that took her to the floor
after that was a similar model in decorum – grateful and happy enough just to be able to say that he was not be turned down. Sining never said no to anyone even as her foot ached and she even successfully yanked
Jeremy off his seat – her gay classmate – for a shot at a slow sweet dance when
“Blue Moon” played along.</span><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://encrypted-tbn2.gstatic.com/images?q=tbn:ANd9GcTFl7w2kLhFMU1l4ad7VLUuvqQi9JeIWXFTRbAifH6FSh0T2iR-" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="448" src="https://encrypted-tbn2.gstatic.com/images?q=tbn:ANd9GcTFl7w2kLhFMU1l4ad7VLUuvqQi9JeIWXFTRbAifH6FSh0T2iR-" width="640" /></a></div>
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">That
night, when the party ended, she found her father already asleep inside the car at the
parking lot, the engine and airconditioner turned off because he's saving on gas. She had to tap hard on the windshield to awaken him. Three of her best friends who had no one to fetch them asked to share the ride, and her father said yes without a second thought even complimenting them, saying it was not everyday that she gets to have beautiful princesses for company. But when he found
out they were hungry and never had a bite, he pretended to be mad and drove to
the nearest restaurant still open at one o’clock in the morning. They were
lucky to find one far away all the way up in Timog Avenue. There, all dressed up
in their evening gowns and in full make up, she and her classmates gorged on their very late dinner like starving
sailors while her father watched wondering what on earth is happening to the young
ladies of today.</span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif";">It
was the best dance and dinner date she could ever possibly ask for.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
"Hanging on a Hyphen"http://www.blogger.com/profile/09954654427742268236noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3432829713547736642.post-74592438660823171292014-03-01T20:01:00.002+08:002014-03-01T20:33:35.947+08:00Chill<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif";">It’s funny how the
Red Hot Chili Peppers, my college definition of artistic rebellion, never fails
to bring out my inner Jekyll and Hyde. I grew up admiring them – obscene,
irreverent, gross, smelly, stinky and all. That was during college. And that
was a long time ago. Looking back, I realized that my connection with the band
is because they affirm my personal faith about believing in choosing to be
different and refusing to follow the convention. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif";">I was then the
reed-thin, asthmatic-looking nerd-geek crossbreed with thick-rimmed glasses who
always seems to get the distinction of being the shortest boy in class. I mean,
vertically challenged --- heck, what I like about this blogging thing is you
get to reveal your worst affliction and still feel less miserable to have
admitted it compared to when you do it publicly. Behind that pathetic exterior
is a rocker-rebel who would not hesitate to choose chaos over peace,
disturbance rather than comfort uncompromising as I was – then and now – when
defending the choices that I make. And during that time, I choose to march with
the sweating masses in Mendiola, face the Marcos government’s marines rather
than sit on Spanish class trying to stay awake while struggling to conjugate <i>nosotros vosotros </i>or listen while my Humanities
Professor rant and rave about the perfect male figures that Michaelangelo
formed from slabs of marbles, muscular men but in my mind were the most
miserable of creatures with their pitifully small and shy phalluses retracting
under their wrinkly scrotum covers. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif";">To me, the perfect
man-image is Anthony Keidis in his birthday suit rocking on stage with only
socks for underwear, and while my Humanities professor sees the physical
epitome of perfection in the sculptures of the Greeks, I, the geek, would
rather hear and see the metaphysical definition of what rebellion is all about.
The naked truth in public is not always a bad thing, because it also resembles
a casting away of the earthly embellishments of life, until only the butt-naked
flesh remains. Think oblation.
Sometimes, if the force of ideological protest fails, wouldn’t it be
nice if one can just, out of sheer exasperation with life, drop those clothes
and run. That’s it, I’ve had enough, one could just say. The heck with decency,
the hell with religion. Let me get naked and run. For no reason but the heck of
running naked. I really suspect I must be a streaker in my previous life, a
streaker with a mean streak and who knows, the Chilli Peppers went side by side
with me in some of those streaking. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif";"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif";">Every Chilli Pepper concert is a corruption
of the virtuous society that we thought existed, a middle finger flashed in the
faces of moralists and decent men. Every Chilli Pepper concert is a phone call
away from calling the police to launch the mass arrest of psychopaths and
perverts let loose in the streets. If I can afford it, I would not have missed
their live acts. But I was just a college student at that time. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif";">But then again, the
terrible thing that people are afraid to confront one day caught me by surprise. I
grew old. My inner rocker is not spared from the ravages of time and could
barely rekindle some of the vitality during moments of deep introspection, as
when I am in a long drive and Under the Bridge comes up on the radio. There is
almost sadness in realizing that I have lost the lyrics of Can’t Stop which all
my life I believed will forever be etched in my psyche but when suddenly, the
song came blaring out of nowhere during a monster of a traffic jam in SLEX my mind couldn’t cope
with the rhythm and beat, feeling humiliated at how I could have lost the
words. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif";"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif";">The worst part was after I learned recently that they were coming to Manila. If I were
still the college geek, I would have robbed the bank, or held up my parents for
the premium ticket. That’s all the chance I have to get the money and go to the
concert then. But I have to remember that I go to work on a tailored suit now.</span><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I meet people who have </span><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">stashed away
millions in the banks, ready to kill or be killed</span><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"> to keep it there. My life revolves
today around long and exhausting travels, endless disagreements, high-stake lawsuits, and
high-profile litigants, and yes, ironically, I have reached a point in my life where I
cannot even afford the time it would cost me to go to a rock concert. The Chilli
Peppers are calling me back to where I came from but instead of listening to
the call, I went the other way and deliberately missed the trip. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">The geek must
be dead.</span></div>
"Hanging on a Hyphen"http://www.blogger.com/profile/09954654427742268236noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3432829713547736642.post-63289378478805850902013-10-16T22:02:00.000+08:002013-10-17T23:05:14.611+08:00Dasal sa Alon<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">A day to escape from my life in a box...</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">A day of defiance...</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">A day at the beach....</span><br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgtgkGoMEDRn14EMEdJlyIUCWj7goUQAoRiuId4qkGkVX3dC7PuCOwSaLDAEyWMFYuIzoyA1XMBm7UTJE-BJhhFDZCXI3eWojSWOltkYA5Gimpv421G4V75waK2sVn2uSsVcSmqochtnvY/s1600/1381846166600.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="297" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgtgkGoMEDRn14EMEdJlyIUCWj7goUQAoRiuId4qkGkVX3dC7PuCOwSaLDAEyWMFYuIzoyA1XMBm7UTJE-BJhhFDZCXI3eWojSWOltkYA5Gimpv421G4V75waK2sVn2uSsVcSmqochtnvY/s400/1381846166600.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
<br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">Galit ang dagat</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">Bawat hagupit ng alon sa pampang ay sumasabog na matinding poot</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">Kulang na lang na ito'y magsalita</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">Sabihing ako'y nalulungkot</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">Nangungulila sa naglahong kulay at ganda ng dati kong daigdig</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">Mundong nabili na</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">Ngunit paulit-ulit pa ring binenta</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">Hanggang wala nang gustong bumili</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">Katulad ng perlas na ginawang kwintas</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">At gomang tirintas na inilalako sa tabing-dagat</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">Yakap-yakap ng babaing kulot</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">Ang mayamang matanda na galing sa ibang bansa</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">Na nagmamasid sa bawat nababasag na alon sa batuhan</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">Na nagiging tulis-tulis na liwanag</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">Kaya huwag na tayong lumusong</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">At sumubok na magpahabol sa alon</span><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhmQ-GEd99I2h1vV3vBPnzA39NoIsRydU0eNfIvYvF5EHrfRRKrryrQmWtGm7FT8ykw8Cj8uIDc9FqwrmKRVxFCXZmZCm_3L4LJ1LJ2XeYOIhLEPA9ZXI6mJFMDVp52dD4YvIasG71EFDs/s1600/1381744412566.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhmQ-GEd99I2h1vV3vBPnzA39NoIsRydU0eNfIvYvF5EHrfRRKrryrQmWtGm7FT8ykw8Cj8uIDc9FqwrmKRVxFCXZmZCm_3L4LJ1LJ2XeYOIhLEPA9ZXI6mJFMDVp52dD4YvIasG71EFDs/s400/1381744412566.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
<br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">Dito na lang tayong magkahawak-kamay sa pampang</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">Makipagtuksuhan sa mga alaala</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">Habang dumidilim ang langit </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">At nagagalit ang dagat</span><br />
<br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">(Puerto Galera, sunset, Oct.15, 2013) </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><br /></span>
"Hanging on a Hyphen"http://www.blogger.com/profile/09954654427742268236noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3432829713547736642.post-70587740203591652452013-09-06T21:34:00.001+08:002013-09-08T23:18:00.058+08:00Rosalie<!--[if gte mso 9]><xml>
<o:OfficeDocumentSettings>
<o:RelyOnVML/>
<o:AllowPNG/>
</o:OfficeDocumentSettings>
</xml><![endif]--><br />
<!--[if gte mso 9]><xml>
<w:WordDocument>
<w:View>Normal</w:View>
<w:Zoom>0</w:Zoom>
<w:TrackMoves/>
<w:TrackFormatting/>
<w:PunctuationKerning/>
<w:ValidateAgainstSchemas/>
<w:SaveIfXMLInvalid>false</w:SaveIfXMLInvalid>
<w:IgnoreMixedContent>false</w:IgnoreMixedContent>
<w:AlwaysShowPlaceholderText>false</w:AlwaysShowPlaceholderText>
<w:DoNotPromoteQF/>
<w:LidThemeOther>EN-US</w:LidThemeOther>
<w:LidThemeAsian>X-NONE</w:LidThemeAsian>
<w:LidThemeComplexScript>X-NONE</w:LidThemeComplexScript>
<w:Compatibility>
<w:BreakWrappedTables/>
<w:SnapToGridInCell/>
<w:WrapTextWithPunct/>
<w:UseAsianBreakRules/>
<w:DontGrowAutofit/>
<w:SplitPgBreakAndParaMark/>
<w:DontVertAlignCellWithSp/>
<w:DontBreakConstrainedForcedTables/>
<w:DontVertAlignInTxbx/>
<w:Word11KerningPairs/>
<w:CachedColBalance/>
</w:Compatibility>
<m:mathPr>
<m:mathFont m:val="Cambria Math"/>
<m:brkBin m:val="before"/>
<m:brkBinSub m:val="--"/>
<m:smallFrac m:val="off"/>
<m:dispDef/>
<m:lMargin m:val="0"/>
<m:rMargin m:val="0"/>
<m:defJc m:val="centerGroup"/>
<m:wrapIndent m:val="1440"/>
<m:intLim m:val="subSup"/>
<m:naryLim m:val="undOvr"/>
</m:mathPr></w:WordDocument>
</xml><![endif]--><!--[if gte mso 9]><xml>
<w:LatentStyles DefLockedState="false" DefUnhideWhenUsed="true"
DefSemiHidden="true" DefQFormat="false" DefPriority="99"
LatentStyleCount="267">
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="0" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" QFormat="true" Name="Normal"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="9" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" QFormat="true" Name="heading 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="9" QFormat="true" Name="heading 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="9" QFormat="true" Name="heading 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="9" QFormat="true" Name="heading 4"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="9" QFormat="true" Name="heading 5"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="9" QFormat="true" Name="heading 6"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="9" QFormat="true" Name="heading 7"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="9" QFormat="true" Name="heading 8"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="9" QFormat="true" Name="heading 9"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="39" Name="toc 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="39" Name="toc 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="39" Name="toc 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="39" Name="toc 4"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="39" Name="toc 5"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="39" Name="toc 6"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="39" Name="toc 7"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="39" Name="toc 8"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="39" Name="toc 9"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="35" QFormat="true" Name="caption"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="10" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" QFormat="true" Name="Title"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="1" Name="Default Paragraph Font"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="11" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" QFormat="true" Name="Subtitle"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="22" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" QFormat="true" Name="Strong"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="20" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" QFormat="true" Name="Emphasis"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="59" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Table Grid"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Placeholder Text"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="1" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" QFormat="true" Name="No Spacing"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="60" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Light Shading"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="61" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Light List"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="62" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Light Grid"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="63" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Medium Shading 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="64" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Medium Shading 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="65" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Medium List 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="66" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Medium List 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="67" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Medium Grid 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="68" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Medium Grid 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="69" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Medium Grid 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="70" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Dark List"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="71" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Colorful Shading"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="72" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Colorful List"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="73" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Colorful Grid"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="60" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Light Shading Accent 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="61" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Light List Accent 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="62" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Light Grid Accent 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="63" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Medium Shading 1 Accent 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="64" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Medium Shading 2 Accent 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="65" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Medium List 1 Accent 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Revision"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="34" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" QFormat="true" Name="List Paragraph"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="29" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" QFormat="true" Name="Quote"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="30" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" QFormat="true" Name="Intense Quote"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="66" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Medium List 2 Accent 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="67" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Medium Grid 1 Accent 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="68" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Medium Grid 2 Accent 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="69" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Medium Grid 3 Accent 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="70" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Dark List Accent 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="71" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Colorful Shading Accent 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="72" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Colorful List Accent 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="73" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Colorful Grid Accent 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="60" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Light Shading Accent 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="61" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Light List Accent 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="62" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Light Grid Accent 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="63" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Medium Shading 1 Accent 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="64" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Medium Shading 2 Accent 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="65" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Medium List 1 Accent 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="66" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Medium List 2 Accent 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="67" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Medium Grid 1 Accent 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="68" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Medium Grid 2 Accent 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="69" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Medium Grid 3 Accent 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="70" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Dark List Accent 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="71" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Colorful Shading Accent 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="72" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Colorful List Accent 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="73" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Colorful Grid Accent 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="60" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Light Shading Accent 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="61" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Light List Accent 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="62" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Light Grid Accent 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="63" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Medium Shading 1 Accent 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="64" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Medium Shading 2 Accent 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="65" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Medium List 1 Accent 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="66" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Medium List 2 Accent 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="67" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Medium Grid 1 Accent 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="68" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Medium Grid 2 Accent 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="69" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Medium Grid 3 Accent 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="70" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Dark List Accent 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="71" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Colorful Shading Accent 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="72" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Colorful List Accent 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="73" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Colorful Grid Accent 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="60" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Light Shading Accent 4"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="61" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Light List Accent 4"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="62" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Light Grid Accent 4"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="63" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Medium Shading 1 Accent 4"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="64" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Medium Shading 2 Accent 4"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="65" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Medium List 1 Accent 4"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="66" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Medium List 2 Accent 4"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="67" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Medium Grid 1 Accent 4"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="68" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Medium Grid 2 Accent 4"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="69" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Medium Grid 3 Accent 4"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="70" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Dark List Accent 4"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="71" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Colorful Shading Accent 4"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="72" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Colorful List Accent 4"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="73" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Colorful Grid Accent 4"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="60" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Light Shading Accent 5"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="61" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Light List Accent 5"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="62" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Light Grid Accent 5"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="63" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Medium Shading 1 Accent 5"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="64" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Medium Shading 2 Accent 5"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="65" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Medium List 1 Accent 5"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="66" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Medium List 2 Accent 5"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="67" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Medium Grid 1 Accent 5"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="68" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Medium Grid 2 Accent 5"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="69" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Medium Grid 3 Accent 5"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="70" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Dark List Accent 5"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="71" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Colorful Shading Accent 5"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="72" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Colorful List Accent 5"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="73" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Colorful Grid Accent 5"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="60" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Light Shading Accent 6"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="61" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Light List Accent 6"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="62" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Light Grid Accent 6"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="63" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Medium Shading 1 Accent 6"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="64" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Medium Shading 2 Accent 6"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="65" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Medium List 1 Accent 6"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="66" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Medium List 2 Accent 6"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="67" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Medium Grid 1 Accent 6"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="68" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Medium Grid 2 Accent 6"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="69" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Medium Grid 3 Accent 6"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="70" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Dark List Accent 6"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="71" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Colorful Shading Accent 6"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="72" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Colorful List Accent 6"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="73" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Colorful Grid Accent 6"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="19" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" QFormat="true" Name="Subtle Emphasis"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="21" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" QFormat="true" Name="Intense Emphasis"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="31" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" QFormat="true" Name="Subtle Reference"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="32" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" QFormat="true" Name="Intense Reference"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="33" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" QFormat="true" Name="Book Title"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="37" Name="Bibliography"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="39" QFormat="true" Name="TOC Heading"/>
</w:LatentStyles>
</xml><![endif]--><!--[if gte mso 10]>
<style>
/* Style Definitions */
table.MsoNormalTable
{mso-style-name:"Table Normal";
mso-tstyle-rowband-size:0;
mso-tstyle-colband-size:0;
mso-style-noshow:yes;
mso-style-priority:99;
mso-style-qformat:yes;
mso-style-parent:"";
mso-padding-alt:0in 5.4pt 0in 5.4pt;
mso-para-margin-top:0in;
mso-para-margin-right:0in;
mso-para-margin-bottom:10.0pt;
mso-para-margin-left:0in;
line-height:115%;
mso-pagination:widow-orphan;
font-size:11.0pt;
font-family:"Calibri","sans-serif";
mso-ascii-font-family:Calibri;
mso-ascii-theme-font:minor-latin;
mso-fareast-font-family:"Times New Roman";
mso-fareast-theme-font:minor-fareast;
mso-hansi-font-family:Calibri;
mso-hansi-theme-font:minor-latin;}
</style>
<![endif]-->
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 10.0pt; line-height: 115%;">As if the rain could read
my mind.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 10.0pt; line-height: 115%;">I stepped out to a roaring
downpour that instantly turned the Pinaglabanan Shrine into a shallow pool of
dirt and mud that almost seemed unreal now, almost unrecognizable from the
earlier scene of a bustling and breezy urban park under the scorching midday
sun when I quietly walked in, unnoticed by anyone in the crowd about an hour
ago. That scene and the crowd are now completely gone. Perhaps, I figured, the
rain alludes to my own drastic mood swing from one of quiet purpose to complete
emotional chaos and the message from the rain could only be one of two things –
either it sympathizes with my sorrow, or it actually mocks my misery.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://encrypted-tbn1.gstatic.com/images?q=tbn:ANd9GcTRCtpaDDoh9gbOpSOl7gR0FupifTdbJ3H9VvxXRllzcNbk_y_fWA" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="472" src="https://encrypted-tbn1.gstatic.com/images?q=tbn:ANd9GcTRCtpaDDoh9gbOpSOl7gR0FupifTdbJ3H9VvxXRllzcNbk_y_fWA" width="640" /></a></div>
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 10.0pt; line-height: 115%;">I said purpose because I
just made a promise to myself earlier today that my search for Rosalie would
end now. Not tomorrow, not tonight but now. Right here, right now. And then sad
to say I got my wish.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 10.0pt; line-height: 115%;">I reached out to my
briefcase and held the paper in my hand, scanning carefully every entry – the
dates, places, numbers, notes, punctuation marks included – and still I can’t seem
to come to grips with the reality of my heartbreak, if only people knew what I am going through and what
all of this meant to me.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>For the past
several weeks, the thought of Rosalie consumed me. Without any exaggeration, it
was already a matter of life and death to me at this point. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 10.0pt; line-height: 115%;">The case of Rosalie was
referred to me by a friend, through an innocent phone call that unexpectedly
came while I was cruising EDSA on another rainy afternoon in mid-July. I
vividly remember hesitating whether or not to take the call, wary of accidents
that occur most of the time from the slightest distraction. Atty. John was
almost frantic, struggling to catch his breath on the other end of the line while
narrating the story of this family fortune that now lies at the center of a
bitter and protracted lawsuit. And this is where Rosalie comes in. If we can
prove that she is still alive, we might as well take a bite from out of all that
bounty.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 10.0pt; line-height: 115%;">And so during the next few
weeks, I live, eat, and think of that single thought and in fact even in my
dreams, I dream of Rosalie. How is she now, how does she look like, and most of
all, where can I find her. Every single day and every single hour of those past
few weeks, I agonized over these thoughts, completely consumed by the great
desire to know the answers to my questions. It was like a seed had been planted
to the core of my soul. It was causing me so many sleepless nights. It was already
eating bits off my health and I was sincerely terrified it might just be a matter
of time before it robs me of my sanity. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://encrypted-tbn0.gstatic.com/images?q=tbn:ANd9GcS2mOdkfmPE-2wHM1kPdpEo-7IynwFtGpgZnE64E33S9QOoOGqy" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="608" src="https://encrypted-tbn0.gstatic.com/images?q=tbn:ANd9GcS2mOdkfmPE-2wHM1kPdpEo-7IynwFtGpgZnE64E33S9QOoOGqy" width="640" /></a></div>
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 10.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Long hours of research and
visits to government offices, meeting people, asking around, losing my way to where
I am going, finding my way back again to where I’ve been, spending the last
cent of my money, borrowing someone else’s money and spending it to the last
cent, skipping several meals, and missing important appointments, I have to
deal with all of that, which is really bad but not as bad compared to the fact that the
progress of my search had been excruciatingly slow. Only bits and pieces of
information would come out of the blue which do not even remotely compensate
for the enormous amount of energy I was already expending. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 10.0pt; line-height: 115%;">This much I have learned.
She was born sometime before the war. Married in the 50’s and after that,
disappeared without a trace. And now, I need her with the urgency and
desperation of one who lives his life for the moment that he finds the missing
map to the hidden treasure, the one elusive piece of the puzzle that I will
never ever forgive myself if I should let it elude me.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>That’s how obsessed I was.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 10.0pt; line-height: 115%;">I remember early this morning, my conversation
with Mr. Horror Movie. He was at the stockroom of the census office in Times
Street, and immediately upon seeing him I was prompted to relate the experience
to something about movies. You know what, I have this habit of automatically connecting
people, events, and experiences to the movies I watched or books I’ve read at
some point in my life and on that particular moment, my reaction to the sight
of Mr. Horror Movie was obviously unflattering. But what am I supposed to do?
That meeting turned on the hidden switch. I couldn’t think of any other image
or sentiment that would connect me to him except for the Nightmare on Elm
Street. One of these days, I would have painful karmic lessons from having this
aberrant behavior. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 10.0pt; line-height: 115%;">But there he was, in what I
would call the dungeon of the census, a place that reeks of the stench of
decay, the dim light mood does not help in any way to assuage my morbid mixed emotions when I walked in. As I turned left to one of the isles in between rows of
bookshelves, he was there, smiling a wicked smile that almost made the hair on
my neck stand stiff. But in fairness, he went about his work with the absolute dedication
of the man who seems to honestly want to have nothing else to do with the rest of his life
than this. I wouldn’t be surprised if his last wish is to get buried somewhere here.
</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://encrypted-tbn2.gstatic.com/images?q=tbn:ANd9GcTV4qf0wjpRbtK_BLnt_Mjry1fyqQtoOqfF2lqIpxexqdndcpkhQA" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://encrypted-tbn2.gstatic.com/images?q=tbn:ANd9GcTV4qf0wjpRbtK_BLnt_Mjry1fyqQtoOqfF2lqIpxexqdndcpkhQA" width="237" /></a></div>
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 10.0pt; line-height: 115%;">I mentioned to him first the
full name of Rosalie making sure I pronounced it right and gave the few details I have gathered about her life from
all my adventures and just like that, Mr. Horror Movie immediately went to work
scanning across piles upon piles of documents that connect to the past, frozen
in time. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 10.0pt; line-height: 115%;">I was surprised to be left
alone in the dim-lit room with the mixed scents of noxious fumes, dead things,
the leaking sewer, and the unforgettable smell of paper mill that never fails
to take me back in time to my old job as proofreader at the old Evening Post. I
tried looking behind my back from time to time, expecting some rabid voracious
beast to leap out of the dark and devour my intestines. In that brief interlude
of time somewhere underneath the bowels of this scary old building, amidst
shadows and secrets, I fought fear by retracing my steps back to that dark rainy
afternoon in July when I received Atty. John’s phone call while driving in the
middle of Edsa. One day, I was in Sta. Rosa Laguna, and the next day, I was
flirting with the thought of taking the last plane trip to Davao but decided
against it after a friend tipped that someone at the Civil Registry in Mandaluyong
holds the key to my fortune. One moment I was at Quiapo underpass looking at magic amulets, and at the South Cemetery
the next. And then there was that drinking binge with forgers, fixers and plain
crooks during yet another typhoon-ravaged evening at some stinky bar in Claro
M. Recto, when I had grown so desperate, too desperate that I seriously
considered breaking the law if that is the only way to get what I wanted. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 10.0pt; line-height: 115%;">The introspection was cut
short by Mr. Horror Movie’s sudden appearance from the dark, carrying a huge
book that let loose a mighty spray of dust when he abruptly opened its pages.
And there it was. Everything that I wanted to know about Rosalie. That yes indeed,
she walked the aisle as a 21 year old bride in 1957. I wonder what gown she
had, the scent she wore. Was she pure and untouched at the altar on that day? Afterall, those
were the days.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://encrypted-tbn0.gstatic.com/images?q=tbn:ANd9GcS5psmgnPsrcy-HPNY2BdX5MVaFUczZ7-d96z6BZq8ItawwsUQ1-g" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="425" src="https://encrypted-tbn0.gstatic.com/images?q=tbn:ANd9GcS5psmgnPsrcy-HPNY2BdX5MVaFUczZ7-d96z6BZq8ItawwsUQ1-g" width="640" /></a></div>
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 10.0pt; line-height: 115%;">And then, finally, I got
the fact that I wanted to know. The one answer to my question, the one I've been waiting for. Immediately, I
wanted to scream, I wanted to tear this building apart, I wanted this place to
burn to the ground, tell it to bring its secrets to hell, and never come back again even in my memory. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>My instinct was to bid my
farewell to Mr. Horror Movie, but as if on cue, as if to read my thoughts, he
offered his hand, not saying a word, but I fully understand that what he meant
was his job was done and I should be going. I accepted the handshake and it
felt cold, like shaking the hand of a body that’s just been taken out from the
morgue. When I turned my back and headed for the sunlight, I had to squint and
blink to adjust to the sun until I realized I was in tears. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 10.0pt; line-height: 115%;">If my discovery from the
dungeon with Mr. Horror Movie this morning was not enough to bring me down to
my knees, my next quick stop – here at Pinaglabanan crushed my spirit beyond
resurrection, by this time, the sun had absconded and left the whole of the heavens
to the rain. So this is where the journey stops, I said to myself. Rain-drenched Pinaglabanan. As I
held the paper in my hand – a reproduction of the microfilm entry that
officially validates the record I just found at the dungeon – I was consumed
with a totally different, incomparable kind of emptiness that I have never felt
before in my entire life. Rosalie has become more than a ghost from the past. I
realized she has taken her place somewhere in the deepest corners of my
consciousness, a place that takes only the worst of emotions to enable me to sink deep
enough to recognize that it actually exists. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 10.0pt; line-height: 115%;">I wonder what they made
Rosalie wear at the funeral, her own funeral. I wanted to know if the mortician
did a good job to conceal the ravages of tuberculosis that led to her untimely
death at the tender age of 24, three years after her wedding. Maybe she was a
beautiful woman, a lovely bride, but how was she when she laid there lifeless.
Cold. Dead. It is almost unfathomable that someone I have never even met,
someone I would never have the chance to know, someone who was there long
before I came, and left already long before I had my turn to come to life,
someone who is not and never will be a part of me except perhaps for a passing
memory, or if not an obscure image in time, a speck in space, indeed unfathomable is
the only word I can think of to describe the short, very short and anonymous
life she lived and in the mysterious confluence of events that she found me, or
rather that I found her, and then how one thing led to another until here I am
questioning my purpose, my being, my own faith. I was grieving for someone I
never came to know, someone from another generation far removed from the day
the great force behind the order of things commanded that I come to life. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://encrypted-tbn0.gstatic.com/images?q=tbn:ANd9GcQsyfmLP9BeiaXyhKqKqrn5dTOLPUWSCy9pv8x1uajpvdIP68BM" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://encrypted-tbn0.gstatic.com/images?q=tbn:ANd9GcQsyfmLP9BeiaXyhKqKqrn5dTOLPUWSCy9pv8x1uajpvdIP68BM" width="640" /></a></div>
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 10.0pt; line-height: 115%;">I am a man who had lived
through many episodes of pain and grief but here, right here under the rain, while
holding the paper that is already beginning to wilt in my hand, the suit I was wearing
already a complete mess, and my spirit broken, and as I stood defiant under the
rain, and completely soaked to the bone, I knew I had fallen down a new depth where
I have never gone before. Another heartbreak like this would probably kill me.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 10.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Rest in peace Rosalie…</span></div>
"Hanging on a Hyphen"http://www.blogger.com/profile/09954654427742268236noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3432829713547736642.post-40651552649296923272013-06-30T07:58:00.001+08:002013-07-01T12:08:38.541+08:00My Father's Day<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">"When I was a
child, I had life all figured out. Life is all about making sad people become
happy. I guess I never changed the way I think from there because up to now,
years later, I subscribe to the same school of thought. What I never expected
was just how far this simplistic yet life-altering principle can take me. You would
think it takes a rocket scientist’s understanding of life to be able to reveal
the purpose and reason why we live. Well, think again. </span><span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; text-align: center;">I became a
journalist. Analyzing unfolding history not from the safety of the office cubicle
but in the frontline, where the raw emotions of a rebel attack aftermath, the
tears of a losing Olympian, the last dying dream of a PWA (person with aids), and
the national hysteria of a Michael Jackson visit would inevitably spill over
you."</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify;">
<div style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;">
<img height="576" src="http://sr.photos1.fotosearch.com/bthumb/CSP/CSP369/k3694911.jpg" width="640" /></div>
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">My father was
almost in tears looking at the distance and almost totally unconscious of my
presence as he spoke. I realized he was talking to himself. The impulse to make
people happy is one of my father’s most powerful and endearing traits, in fact
it ruled his life and one I am quite pleased to become a living and breathing witness
to.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">"It is almost
addictive. It consumes you, heart and soul you sink deep into your own trap,
you just keep doing it from the first time you felt the sheer joy of transforming
grief into smile then you go at it over and over again at the expense of your
own private time and relationships and never run out of opportunities because
there are just too many people in the world who are sad and waiting to be consoled."</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify;">
<div style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;">
</div>
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I truly believe
the man and for a while I was genuinely sympathetic. Then I remember the late
nights he would come knocking at the door, only to fall asleep like a dead log
for long hours, and then leave and be gone for days without a word, at times, even for months returning only to reenact this cycle of sightings and disappearances all over again. I
remember the awful drugs and drinking binge, the endless waiting to see him come back. I haven’t
really forgotten and I doubt if it is within me to forget the absentee
celebrant that he was during his own birth day and on father’s day, his excuses
for not being there to pin medals when we did well in school, the fact that it
was mom who taught me to swim, to bike and fly a kite, the dark void that he
left in my boyhood.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify;">
<img height="539" src="http://sr.photos1.fotosearch.com/bthumb/CSP/CSP992/k13720240.jpg" width="640" /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">"So as I was saying, I took it a
step farther, quit my job with the network with my career just starting to blossom
and all my life savings I had no second thought about spending for tuition to
enroll in law school and in the next four years I had toiled like a slave,
friends say I had completely lost my mind, well, they can say what they want,
it’s a free country, but law school was an obsession a reason to push myself to work
even harder, to live in constant desperation to be an attorney at last."</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">He broke into a
half-smile at the mention of attorney at last. He is indeed an attorney at </span><span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">law, one of the very best. His colleagues would tell me about it to have me drawn into
a conversation and I would oblige like a dutiful son to affirm the impression,
by showing them how I had I kept abreast with all my father’s achievements, to
take the cue from them, as if I had been programmed to do so. And indeed, they
were genuinely amazed, maybe envious when speaking of my father’s landmark
battles in court, the winning lawsuits against mighty business empires and high-profiled
criminals, the oral arguments in the High Court that they can’t stop talking about
in legal circles and conversations like these are part of urban legend, a
modern day lore except that everything they knew is true. He played his
maverick’s role with aplomb.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify;">
<div style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;">
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">But these
friends are completely mistaken if in their opinion my father earned a
fortune from his practice. I myself am beleaguered by this irony. If the man
had really earned his millions, well, he made a good job hiding it because I have
not seen the benefit of those staggering tales of money. Always a simple man,
you don’t equate father with fancy clothes and cars. We live in the same
neighborhood from the time I was born and see no hope of moving into a better
place, not that I am complaining of what we have and where we are. My father
had never failed to remind us that a lot of people are in worse shape in the
few times, rare occasions indeed that something like conversation would break
the silence between the two of us. The law completely took him away from us. I
still do hate the missed opportunities, the family bonding moments that we
never experienced as much as we craved for them, just the simple joy of having
a complete household, and the comfort in the knowledge that he was in the next
room, and not the sad fact that he was not really present in our lives even
when he is around because his heart throbs for the call of the courtroom,
and the files of documents that demand too much of his time to make sense of
life’s legal side and that side of life that people make with their greed and
infidelity, the people who just can't wait to be relieved of their sadness. </span></div>
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">The medical
attendant signaled my visiting hour is up. I gave him a hug and as he bent to kiss my
forehead, I realized I will never be as tall as he, and maybe it is a metaphor
of how I may never come to reach the heights he managed to scale. But I am
happy with what I am and what I’ve done. That’s always been my retort and
rebuttal.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify;">
<img height="424" src="http://sr.photos3.fotosearch.com/bthumb/CSP/CSP990/k9780337.jpg" width="640" /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">As I walked out
of the hospital and stand at the street corner now, my mind was deluged with reminiscences,
a rush of memories that come forth almost in the form of a physical force ramming
against the doorway to all the deepest private thoughts that I have kept so
tightly closed and which I have always tried to avoid being exposed and agitated.
It was not his fault that he took to heart the child’s faith that maybe it was destiny's will that wanted him to heal people of their sadness for there cannot be a more
noble thing to live for. </span><span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">If only I had the power to change things before they happened
I would have made him realize that one must hold back bits of that happiness
that he was unwittingly giving away, if only to save some for the people in his
life who truly mattered. I am selfish, in a way I guess I am but the way I see
it now in hindsight, it would not have hurt to have spared something for himself,
the happiness that he thought was abundant and inexhaustible. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">He might have
succeeded in a grand way in turning sadness to gladness, but doing so had left him almost completely consumed with sadness himself, betrayed by his childhood faith.</span><span style="font-family: Bookman Old Style, serif;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
"Hanging on a Hyphen"http://www.blogger.com/profile/09954654427742268236noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3432829713547736642.post-43230223863702781532013-02-07T08:08:00.000+08:002013-02-18T14:16:28.923+08:00"Halohalo"<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif";">I can’t recall
anymore how long and how many times I’ve done this before, sitting under the
tree right next to the rows of food stalls here at the Quezon City Hall open food court
chilling out over <i>halohalo</i> on a disposable paper-thin plastic cup.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif";">It’s been so long
since the first time I’ve been here doing this but I remember it was years ago,
as a struggling government employee and it’s amazing that I still do this now.
My thoughts then were of the forthcoming prosperous times, perhaps having
cappuccino at new world café poring over the newspaper’s business section to
analyze the latest movements of my blue chip stockmarket investments.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif";"><o:p></o:p></span><img alt="DSC_6590" src="http://farm6.static.flickr.com/5064/5672858923_21fb00a3e5_z.jpg" /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif";">I have since stopped
being a bureaucrat and those thoughts of prosperous time have remained just
thoughts but refusing to fade.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif";">The friends that I
used to visit every now and then at their office desks in the nearby city
courts are not there anymore; they have moved on for better things. It gives no
comfort reminiscing of my old job at Visayas Avenue, which with the passage of
time have only memories to offer now, and not exactly pleasant ones.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif";">Most of my friends
don’t get in touch I really doubt if they ever pause once in a while to think of me at all. Well, since I only get to remember them once in a rare while too, I guess I have no right to expect as much. <o:p></o:p></span><br />
<a href="https://encrypted-tbn1.gstatic.com/images?q=tbn:ANd9GcT4NphePXMMChOVV9YCHdEMq87Vl2_s0XM1-74wMvlm0j8lw5Z7" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://encrypted-tbn1.gstatic.com/images?q=tbn:ANd9GcT4NphePXMMChOVV9YCHdEMq87Vl2_s0XM1-74wMvlm0j8lw5Z7" width="212" /></a><span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif";"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif";">So when I go back to
my old haunts like I do today, here in this familiar spot under the tree, it
brings me a feeling of being stuck in the past, of being left miles behind by
those who stood beside me when I was just at the starting line of the rat race.<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif";"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify;">
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif";">Maybe I should have
embraced destiny instead of chasing it. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif";"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif";">Maybe I should have stopped daydreaming
of coffee breaks at new world long ago. If I did, who knows, perhaps i would not be feeling like this, alone in the world and lonely. There should be purpose not only
bitterness for every moment of reminiscences that I spend with my <i>halohalo</i> under the tree. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif";">You know what, I don’t
really like the taste of <i>halohalo</i> but I just don’t understand why I keep on coming back and doing
this…<o:p></o:p></span></div>
"Hanging on a Hyphen"http://www.blogger.com/profile/09954654427742268236noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3432829713547736642.post-72851535123003368552012-12-22T14:56:00.000+08:002012-12-22T15:51:17.580+08:00End of the World<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://media02.hongkiat.com/end-of-the-world-artworks/environment-POST-APOCALYPSE.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="521" src="http://media02.hongkiat.com/end-of-the-world-artworks/environment-POST-APOCALYPSE.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif";">I watched the end of
the world tonight.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif";">They came in full
force; the women with babies in their arms, the men with their tattoos and the
smell of hangover, together with the pot-bellied children with mucus on their
faces. They all came.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif";">And I made them wait for
two and a half hours. Their impatience and collective frustration showed. The
children were already lying on the floor, barefoot and disheveled, the women
talking in the manner they would haggle over fish at the wet market while some
of the men have already started smoking and all decorum the courtroom commands
was quickly forgotten.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif";">My arrival was
greeted by an impatient hush. I knew that every eye in that courtroom became
immediately transfixed into me, watching my every step as I moved through the
aisle, crowded with wayward limbs and bodies, and parting it the way Moses did
the Red Sea. And as I took my seat before the bench, I cringed at the thought
of tomorrow’s tabloid headlines: Lady Judge Lynched by Angry Mob.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif";">Take a hundred hungry
and angry people and keep them waiting in a cramped spaced that could only
accommodate at best a fraction of that number and you might as well be doing a
home-made bomb experiment. The atmosphere was volatile and frightening even for
a judge.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif";">“Your Honor” the
young lawyer was addressing me with the calculated expression of one already at
the edge of his temper yet trying desperately to maintain his composure.
Lawyers are good at pretending that everything would turn out fine especially
when they address judges even after a two-hour wait. “The folks at <i>Sitio Maligaya</i> have reached a consensus
that they would accept a compromise if the lots are sold to them at a price
they can afford. They realize the folly of litigating over the long haul and
frankly, I told them we are looking at a ten year trial at least, if we cannot
agree on a settlement. Hopefully, this honorable court would assist the parties
to reach a reasonable agreement.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif";">The opposing counsel,
an old balding veteran lawyer chimed in. “With all due respect your Honor these
people should not dictate what terms are acceptable. The land was occupied by
them for more than twenty years without paying a cent so as the true and
rightful owners, my clients have every right to evict.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify;">
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://media02.hongkiat.com/end-of-the-world-artworks/Apocalypse.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="416" src="http://media02.hongkiat.com/end-of-the-world-artworks/Apocalypse.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif";">I knew right away,
with lawyers like these, it was going to be a long night. I rattled off worst
case scenarios and conversely, the possible win-win solutions. Scaring them back
to their senses if they don’t settle and why, for everybody’s peace of mind,
both must be willing to accept sacrifices “because one can’t have his way all
the time” and “sometimes it is better to take a little and give a little than
lose everything”.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif";">I wanted to be equally
sensitive and open minded to the sentiments of both sides but the hard
realities of this world makes it even harder to keep that neutral stand at some
point. These people wanted a piece of the earth; their whole lives, they felt
the pain of deprivation and social inequity. Poverty drove them into the slums,
the dark and slimy and crime-infested section of the city where they try to fit
in, to try to survive and live a semblance of life in the midst of dirt,
poverty and decay, to make sense of what fate had given them, where fate had
pushed them until fate they accepted. Yet now, despite the acceptance and
surrender to fate, they are about to be driven away. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif";">The old man had taken
to the floor now, arguing fiercely about “social justice not being a solace to
the scoundrels, and for rich and poor young and old alike to have their fair
shake”. In between jabs at empty air, he would throw glimpses at the crowd,
contemptuously and with an air of utter disdain. He would reserve the fiercest
glare at the other counsel, the younger lawyer who is himself keeping a brave
front, and a swagger only lawyers feel the need to show, as if arrogance would translate
into something brilliant and produce legal miracles and indeed I would sometimes find myself craving for the
same miracle, even as a judge myself.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify;">
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://media02.hongkiat.com/end-of-the-world-artworks/Doomsday.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="416" src="http://media02.hongkiat.com/end-of-the-world-artworks/Doomsday.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif";">They were worlds apart,
these party litigants and it didn’t help that lawyers have this flair to
disagree on the most mundane and trifling. We spent hours fighting over price
per square meter, the manner and duration of payment and which side will
advance the cost of survey and documentation. The longer we spoke the wider the
division seemed to grow. I lost track of the many times I pounded the gavel and
the instances I wish it’s the lawyers’ heads that were taking the pounding. A
drunken man made a scene quoting excerpts from the bible and pontificating that
society must stop this injustice now or the end of the world will rid us of our
petty quarrels. I threatened to walk out if his companions would not make this
crazy man leave. Gladly they listened and kicked him out. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif";">Three hours into the
stalemate, I was beginning to accept the futility of our situation. It was
already past dinnertime and ours were the only lighted room in the whole five
story building, in the whole compound of the city hall for that matter. Courts
adjourn at five, at times earlier and when sessions are held well after dusk
it’s either because a military coup or a hostage taking is keeping the judge up.
<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif";">And then it happened.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif";">It occurred to me
that most of these people are uneducated and uninformed, relying on gossip, if
not the exaggerated explanations of those similarly uninformed and uneducated
to form their own personal opinion of the world. I absent-mindedly reached for
the calculator icon on my i-phone and tried this simple mathematical equation:
price per square meter (or P3,500.00) multiplied by the number of square meters
in a lot divided by sixty, which is the number of monthly installments over
five years, equals the monthly amortization. I turned to the fat woman on the
front row, the most vocal of the group and asked the measurement of her lot.
Per my calculation, her ten square meter lot would cost P35,000.00; divide that
by 60 and you get roughly P585.00 which would be her monthly amortization over
five years. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif";">The woman regarded me
with misty eyes in a manner I have only seen just once before in my whole life when
the priest touched a cancer patient on the forehead to administer miracle
healing. She self-consciously asked if she can borrow my phone and showed it to
the rest, like it was the holy grail. Just like that, a long line of people immediately
formed in front of me, inquiring about the formula and if “please your honor, madam
judge can you help me find out how much I should pay monthly for my lot?” By
all means, I obliged to their pleas, my hands in fact were trembling in the
rush to get it done. By all means. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif";">I wouldn’t mind
breaking protocol and I would much rather have this moment last for as long as
I can help it, for as long as there is peace, seeing them smiling, relieved at last, their lawyers shaking hands and
exchanging high fives. Even the drunken fellow had returned, sober now and
self-consciously and politely standing in line. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify;">
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://media02.hongkiat.com/end-of-the-world-artworks/Post-Apocalypse.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="522" src="http://media02.hongkiat.com/end-of-the-world-artworks/Post-Apocalypse.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif";">The significance of
this moment will make it to become one of the high points of my life as a
judge. This people for whom society seems to frown forever, to whose hands, the blessings of
the earth are hard to come by, these people who fall prey to politicians' promises and government's neglect, will finally get their due, not in
the manner of dole outs or of alms thrown at them out of pity, but something
they would have to pay for, something that they would earn, something that they would
accept with their heads held high because they will pay for it no matter how
modest and trifling their means. From now on they will no longer be called and
treated by society as some unwanted, illegal, some unfortunate outcasts among men because by the
sacrifice they make these people are going to earn back their pride and their dignity.
Sometimes, where law or religion fails, a simple mathematical solution may just
provide the answer to the greatest problems of man. Yes. I watched the end of the world tonight. The world that these people used to know has ended. Thank God, it was a happy ending...</span></div>
"Hanging on a Hyphen"http://www.blogger.com/profile/09954654427742268236noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3432829713547736642.post-62566836628724634712012-12-07T11:24:00.001+08:002012-12-08T10:35:14.453+08:00As This Sun Bleeds<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif";">Coming home from a meeting with
Grace<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif";">On a jampacked train at Boni Station<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif";">I realized that something special <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif";">Had taken place<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif";">Rising up to offer my seat to a
septuagenarian<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif";">I already knew that having a seat <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif";">On a rush hour trip is such great
luck<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif";">That to give it away for someone
else<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif";">And sacrifice what I wanted so badly<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif";">Makes me a fool or just plain crazy<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif";">Standing up and facing west<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif";">I caught a glimpse of the sun
descending to rest<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif";">A ball of fire on crimson sky<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif";">I looked around and I saw red<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif";">The faces of passengers<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif";">The ground below<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif";">The buildings and rooftops <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif";">The solitary dove <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif";">The skies above<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif";">The world is on fire as the sun
comes down<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif";">With such magic spell <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif";">To turn the heavens into bloody hell<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif";">Without regrets and bleed to death <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif";">Losing the vision of the sun’s last
dance <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif";">Across the horizon <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif";">When the train just passed Kamuning
Station<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif";">I was filled with longing<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif";">To turn back the train and return to
the scene<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif";">To capture the moment all over again<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif";">While the dying embers fade out of sight<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif";">To take flight during the night<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif";">Reminiscing now, through the paths <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif";">I’ve travelled, </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif";">The loved ones I’ve
lost <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif";">The sunsets I’ve seen<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif";">Like yesterday’s sunset <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif";">That I watched from the train<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif";">At least I can say that unlike those
people<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif";">Who looked the other way<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif";">Or fell asleep during the trip <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif";">The ones who missed this masterpiece
in red<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif";">Compared to them I am much more
blessed<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif";">I’m coming home with a poem in my
head<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif";">Coming home from a meeting with
Grace <o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif";">I realized that something special had taken place.</span></div>
"Hanging on a Hyphen"http://www.blogger.com/profile/09954654427742268236noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3432829713547736642.post-33279007162767164392012-08-18T08:54:00.001+08:002012-08-18T09:09:57.424+08:00On Sadness...<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://us.cdn4.123rf.com/168nwm/hikrcn/hikrcn1205/hikrcn120500010/13579546-teen-depression-tunnel.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="265" src="http://us.cdn4.123rf.com/168nwm/hikrcn/hikrcn1205/hikrcn120500010/13579546-teen-depression-tunnel.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif";"> An empty room <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif";"> A faded portrait<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif";"> A telephone call <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif";"> That came too late<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif";"> The missing piece <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif";"> Of a photograph<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif";"> A walk in the rain <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif";"> That never stops<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif";"> These are the things<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif";"> That make me sad<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif";"> To find the letters <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif";"> That were never sent<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif";"> To say the words <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif";"> That were never meant<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif";"> To stare at the sunset <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif";"> From a moving train<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif";"> To watch the feather <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif";"> Drifting in the wind<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif";"> And then realize<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif";"> That life is the same<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif";"> When you know <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif";"> You should stay<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif";"> But you said goodbye<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif";"> When your heart is breaking<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif";"> But you have to smile<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif";"> When you ask yourself <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif";"> The reason why<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif";"> And find no answers <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif";"> You could almost cry<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif";"> For the smallest sins <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif";"> That were not forgiven<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif";"> For the acts of kindness <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif";"> That were easily forgotten<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif";"> For the faith and promises<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif";"> That wouldn’t last<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif";"> For the ghosts of the past<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif";"> It’s just too bad<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif";"> These are the things </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif";"> That make me sad...<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 11.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-language: EN-US; mso-fareast-theme-font: minor-latin;"> </span>"Hanging on a Hyphen"http://www.blogger.com/profile/09954654427742268236noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3432829713547736642.post-88251749192407575342012-07-31T15:23:00.000+08:002012-08-01T11:13:50.993+08:00Hey Jude, how are you?<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://i.huffpost.com/gen/708043/thumbs/s-PAUL-MCCARTNEY-OLYMPICS-PAYMENT-large300.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="145" src="http://i.huffpost.com/gen/708043/thumbs/s-PAUL-MCCARTNEY-OLYMPICS-PAYMENT-large300.jpg" width="200" /></a></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Not many people are
like me. Thank God. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I do understand that there
are but only a few of us who get misty-eyed over a song, a scent, or a passing
memory. So when Sir Paul, one of the only two surviving Beatles unexpectedly belted
out the classic Beatles hit “Hey Jude” during the highlight of the
Olympic Opening Rites, the younger generation must have been caught dumb-founded,
wondering if the song has any place or if it would serve any purpose at all during the occasion. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I say hell, yes!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">True. “Hey Jude”
during my time was nothing more than pure pop music of the cheer-up and smile,
pick up the broken pieces type of thing. Heck, it was almost juvenile. And
guess what, it still is. And it didn’t help that the inspiration that pushed the
very young Mr. McCartney, freckles and mop hair and all, to write “Hey Jude” five decades ago was the specter of a sulking Julian Lennon, John's first child, then a chubby and
neglected toddler who was drowning in tears over his parents’ divorce.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">But what can I say, I
got goosebumps just listening and humming along…. <i>Na… na…
na…. na-na-na-na…. Nananana… Hey Jude….</i> I could still hear the music
reverberate and pulsate with pure joy among the crowd. <i>Nananana…. Hey Jude…<o:p></o:p></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I wouldn’t say Sir
Paul had completely lost his mind but I perfectly understand that he was caught
up in nostalgia and couldn’t quite get over the past. And it wasn’t necessarily a bad
thing. In fact his latest caper had reinforced my conviction that I made the
right choice in making the Beatles my real-life heroes and role models when I
was myself a kid. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">The Beatles were
flawed, like everyone of us is. They were brave but stupid. But when we were
young, are we not cut from the same mold? I developed a personal attachment to
the song because somehow, “Hey Jude” captured the humanity of our imperfect
lives and that aching need to make it a little bit better. If anything, I am
profoundly touched by the gesture of Paul, taking the trouble of consoling the sulking little
boy, when a million fans out there were dying to get his autograph. My heroes
were not selfish spoiled brat superstars afterall. And</span><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"> if you think that Paul, now a gray-haired senior citizen had already outgrown the cool teenage kid who composed "Hey Jude" coax little Julian out of his misery, well, think again. Paul's talent fee for that London Olympics gig was a staggering one dollar and fifty seven cents! </span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I would like to think
that I am equally capable of such small act of kindness and that just like
Paul, in a rare moment of compassion I would also be willing and able to stray
off the gold-laden path and rise above the glow of personal success to do the
right thing - to sacrifice my own needs so that someone else can live through
the heartaches. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br /></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">“Hey Jude” strikes a
chord somewhere in the heart because it reminds us of the time in our lives when life was
simpler and our idea of happiness does not require a monumental effort to
achieve; when all that it takes was a familiar tune, with all of us singing
our hearts out, not even knowing the lyrics but having fun just the same while humming together to the music, which might as well be the music of our collective soul. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br /></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">That magical moment came back once again, actually with Paul's help we were able to bring it back, on that
night at the Olympic stadium in London. </span><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Paul could not have found a more fitting occasion to remind us of who we are and the way we used
to be. </span><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">For one night, he made us be the child Jude once again.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>"Hanging on a Hyphen"http://www.blogger.com/profile/09954654427742268236noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3432829713547736642.post-85475342720542153492012-07-12T11:54:00.000+08:002012-07-12T12:09:51.173+08:00You’ve Earned the Right to Make Me Cry<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://www.dinolarablog.com/wp-content/uploads/2012/07/556050_10151005843707808_543068333_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><br /><img border="0" height="216" src="http://www.dinolarablog.com/wp-content/uploads/2012/07/556050_10151005843707808_543068333_n.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br /></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I love the way you make me smile<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">And smile I did a million times<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">But when it’s time to say goodbye<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">You’ve earned the right to make me
cry<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I guess I’m spoiled by your humility<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Enjoyed so much your comedy<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">While others do it for fortune and
glory<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">There will never be another Dolphy<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I thought I’ll hear the laughter forever<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">But I was wrong<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I should have known better<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">The best things in life won’t last
forever<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">But I won’t give up or sulk in a
corner<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Because of you I’ll try to be
stronger<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I will survive, I’ll really try<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Until the tears have all run dry<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Sooner or later, this pain will fade<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">A brand new smile will take its
place<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">And so for now, I say goodbye<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Just give me time to grieve for a
while<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">For all the times you made me smile<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">You’ve earned the right to make me
cry.<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br /></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>"Hanging on a Hyphen"http://www.blogger.com/profile/09954654427742268236noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3432829713547736642.post-57491732580378779962012-06-07T15:58:00.001+08:002012-07-12T12:05:56.606+08:00On Venus Crossing the Sun<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">There must be a
reason why it only happens once in a hundred years.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">As dot moves across
another bigger dot in the blue vastness of a post-summer skyline over this sweltering
tropical archipelago, millions of stargazers around the world watched
transfixed, even spellbound, savoring every passing moment of a phenomenon that
will never happen again in this lifetime. By the time the passing of Venus over
the sun is repeated it would be already a hundred and five years from now, year
2117 to be exact, which means every single human being young and old, that
breathes today, and in fact including those still in the formless stages of conception
will not be able to live long enough to see the moment happen again.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">If only the planet
Venus could speak, maybe she would have profound stories to tell us not only
about her journey. I do feel that she would have a whole lot more to tell us
about ourselves. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">She might tell us
that the first time ever that she strayed across the sun’s path, there was no
earth to speak of, at least not the earth as we know it today, but just another
dark, barren and lifeless piece of rock, one among the countless millions of
such objects floating perpetually in space. Maybe she didn’t even notice earth
at all. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Several hundred years
later, when it was time to cross the sun again, Venus looked back to the
direction of planet earth and saw man-apes scurrying to their caves in terror at
the sight of a dot emerging on the face of the flaring sun fearful that a
monster would emerge from somewhere in the vastness to devour them. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Still several hundred
years later, Venus was amazed at how far we’ve come. The man-apes no longer
cower in fear, running for cover, but instead they waited and watched her
arrival with the same perpetual curiosity that actually propelled them from a primal
state of oblivion to civilization. They have learned to question, to plan, to
improvise. Where before they watched with their naked eye, now they had
instruments with which to catch a closer glimpse of a rare occurrence millions
of miles from where they were. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Maybe by now Venus
feels differently after every rite of passage. And just like us, she now awaits
the event to repeat itself with the same perpetual curiosity that we have.
Curious at how much we have excelled in nearly the same manner and extent that
we have ruined ourselves. Curious that
so much of us have remained the same, yet desperately we insist on becoming
different in trying to create division, to put up barriers and to live in the
illusion that the world should only revolve around our own needs. Curious at
how much we have loved and how much more we have hated, Curious about all the wars
that we have fought, for God, country and ideology. Curious at our
imperfections, at our self-inflicted pains and curious even more at our quest
for the perfect self.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Maybe, Venus is already
exasperated at us, because her every journey across the sun follows the same
painstaking pattern in the time clock of eternity – that of happening once and only
once every hundred years… and in fact
her journey delivers the same message to us over and over again but for some
reason we refuse to comprehend and accept the meaning of that message over the
course of several hundred years from Jesus Christ to Adolf Hitler… we refuse to
comprehend the message about life in this world being fleeting and transitory… that
when this life is finished, the whole pattern is bound to be repeated with or
without us waiting and watching for the moment when Venus once again would drift
across the sun… the message that our faiths and convictions are pitifully tiny
and gravely irrelevant no matter how much we exaggerate their worth because
eternity doesn’t give a damn about what we think or how we feel, the message
that no matter how desperately we try we could not make a dent in the universal
order, let alone to inflict a heartbeat’s delay in the general cycle of birth and
death and renewal because we are just humans and our understanding of our
wisdom and energies borders on the delusional. Venus is telling us all of
these, over and over again, and she has been doing so every hundred years. Someday
we shall all be gone but the universal order goes on and on. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">To accept that we are
miniscule compared to the infinite realm is not to lose our self-worth. On the contrary,
it is one significant step towards the discovery of the great secret of making
every moment count and leaving an indelible trace in the course of our journey
through life, just like the life well lived that will continue to inspire and
to give hope long after it ended. The journey that Venus takes every hundred
years across the sun speaks not so much of the fact that we are too small, and
our life too short. Those things incidentally are facts and we cannot change
them. However, the reason why people would like to witness the journey of Venus
should not be overlooked or ignored. They do, we all do, because that one
moment in time is so rare and unique and it is in the nature of man to value
and covet that thing that we couldn’t have. But we must realized that these very
attributes of rarity and uniqueness are inherent attributes in every man, the
same way we find them in the journey of Venus across the sun. There will not be
another sighting of Venus crossing the sun in a hundred years but we don’t have
to look too far to realized that the bigger irony is this: there will be no
other person quite like you or me forever and ever and until the end of time.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br /></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Each person is not quite like any other and for that matter, each one is a bigger miracle than all the journeys across the sun that Venus will ever make.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>"Hanging on a Hyphen"http://www.blogger.com/profile/09954654427742268236noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3432829713547736642.post-18874001640039381952012-06-01T17:17:00.000+08:002012-06-04T15:48:01.136+08:00My Completely Worthless Opinion on the Impeachment Trial<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">From the very start, I
never wanted to comment on the issue. But I changed my mind in the end. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Now that everything
is said and done the conviction of the disgraced Supreme Court Chief Justice
should make you think twice before you despair or celebrate – whichever side of
the fence you chose to be. With all due respect, I do not find the Chief
Justice, rather the former Chief Justice as someone who could inspire me to get
off the couch and take to the streets and try to rekindle the old flame of
idealism of my youth. To be honest about it, were if not for the high-handed manner
he was unseated, perhaps I would be among the first to march in the streets and
call for his immediate removal. Fighting his fight can be disheartening, and in fact just
the mere thought of doing it depletes my enthusiasm instantly, because frankly,
there was no cause worth fighting for with him at the forefront. For nothing in
this man or whatever he stood for or symbolized to us could reasonably agitate
my hatred for corruption and the social ills. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I couldn’t relate,
much less identify with his torments because as we all should know by now, he
had it coming. In fact, I am almost completely swayed by the argument, as beautifully
articulated by both the suit-clad lawyers from congress and by the sidewalk
vendor that I spoke to, that the disgraced Chief Justice must be understandably
measured against a yardstick of moral and ethical fortitude that rises over and
above the standards by which we must judge the ordinary men. At the risk of
sounding sacrilegious, I should quote a line I overheard from the loud
conversation of neighborhood drunks just last night that, Corona’s lying declarations
on the senate floor are unforgivable as the specter of the Pope committing an act
of indiscretion. While the comparison is grossly exaggerating the point, it
only meant that no allowance for human frailty should be given the man who
stands alone and without peer in accepting the role of the ultimate symbol of justice
and faith and hope to his people. Whether we like it or not, forgiveness is not
for everybody.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">However, that doesn’t
mean I have been converted overnight into a believer of the Senate and for that
matter, of the current administration. For every single reason I have to
despise Corona, I have ten more reasons to feel like, figuratively, pounding
the balding head of the man in Malacanang with the Senate President’s gavel. Here
is the man who has done nothing to deserve the Presidency except that he
remembered to insert his parent’s bio-data in his job-application. In between
speeches calling for moral reforms and a shifting of the national direction
into the straight and righteous path, he would emerge from some showroom behind
the wheels of a mean slick Porsche and would be dating the likes of Grace Lee, although
as of this writing, they are rumored to have already broken-up. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">And while 80% of our
people eke out a living on a dollar a day, the President’s sister would
heroically wage a courageous battle against dandruff and oily skin by endorsing
the latest beauty products for which she was being paid a “measly” talent fee of
a few million pesos. In fact, his nephew Baby James at such tender age, is already
taking his own share of sacrificing for the country by enduring the monumental task
of gulping down a glass of milk before the cruel and heartless television camera
for which the boy was paid predictably, talent fee the equivalent of a “paltry
sum” by his family’s standards. Now that’s public service.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I wouldn’t applaud either,
the act of the senate as a demonstration of high principles as all this funfare
is plain and simple politics. The impeachment trial is flawed right from the start
not having emanated from the legitimate cry for help by the poor and the oppressed
but rather it was made to serve the purpose of the oppressor himself. Heck I
will build a life-size monument of the 23 senators who voted yes and kneel in
front of them every night and say a prayer in their honor before I retire to
bed had the impeachment trial been the product not of presidential manipulation
but of a simple and honest to goodness complaint from an ordinary citizen who got
the wrong end of a Supreme Court decision. Then and only then can I say that the
intention behind the whole exercise is laudable and pure. That the end
justifies the means. But the way I see it, the senators have gladly accepted
their demotion to a baby-sitting role next to a power-tripping spoiled brat of
a president, who had already been served everything he wanted on a silver tray for
no reason other than his pedigree. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Those who keep harping about the argument that the moral standards by which to judge the Chief Justice must be of the God-like level of infalliability, let me throw these questions back to you. Wouldn't it be fair to expect that since we are dealing here with the Supreme Court's highest leader, don't you think it follows that the persons to judge him should themselves submit to the same exacting standards? If I were Chief Justice, would it be too much to ask that the person to pass judgment on me must at least be intelligent enough to know highschool-level English, or someone who did not earn his fame as a former comedian? And that the person to lead the whole process of my impeachment has no shady past? </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">You can say all you
want. Cite every legal citation there is to be found in the books. But all the
legal doctrines and all the lawyers in the whole world cannot change my opinion
on this one. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">It’s not about
principles. It’s all about politics.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Thank God, I’m not a
lawyer. I’m a liar. Ha-ha-ha… <o:p></o:p></span></div>"Hanging on a Hyphen"http://www.blogger.com/profile/09954654427742268236noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3432829713547736642.post-58196203101498976102012-05-18T15:44:00.000+08:002012-05-18T16:21:58.183+08:00The Story of Sam<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I had to rush to catch that 8:00 o’clock dinner with Sam. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Coming from far south
of the crowded Metropolis, I was desperately praying that traffic would be a little bit lighter
at that hour, and that the gridlock, if there is one should happen on the
opposite direction, stalling motorists travelling from Makati to the
neighboring areas down south. But quite unfortunately for me, chaos spread both
ways, where ever you are coming from, north or south of EDSA with no escape in sight.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I have a confession
to make. I dread meetings with Sam because of the mixed emotions heaped upon my
self-esteem by such meetings. The sooner I get there, the sooner it would be
time to leave, I assured myself.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">So when he stood up
from the dinner table he had reserved for the two of us at one of the mall’s better
diners to acknowledge my presence, I was inevitably struck by the familiar sense
of anxiety. A quick glance at my wristwatch showed I was more than an hour late for the
meeting. It’s almost ten. Time flies, indeed, but damn it, I’m not even having
fun.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify;">
<i><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">“Kumusta</span></i><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"> bro, how are you doing? Tooth-paste
commercial smile radiated all over his handsome, flawless face, accentuating the
rose-colored cheeks that seemed to glow under the light, as he reached out to offer
the customary handshake. It felt like pillow. The palm of his hand. And for one
second, I hesitated to grip it tight I might injure the immaculate, almost
lady-like hand. His perfume left a slight residue in my hand that was both a
distraction and a sensory pleasure.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">“You looked harassed
<i>pare</i>. It must be a really long day. How’ya doin’ bro?” He repeated.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">“Just came from Sta.
Rosa, Sammy Boy”. I retorted mindlessly. “My butt is already starting to burn from sitting
through four hours of horrific traffic”. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Suddenly he stood up
and I was instantly looking up and it felt awkward. We’re almost eye-level when
he’s seated but standing up, his 6-foot frame dwarfed me by a full feet. I wanted
to push him back down to his seat and tell him to stay there.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Sam is everything I
am not. Someone I could only hope to be, but could never quite come close to compete
with in terms of physical gifts even in my wildest dreams. In the corner of my
eyes, I could see the ladies swooning, wait, it’s more like they were drooling,
frothing in the mouth like mad dogs do at the sight of meat from their vantage point on the next
table across the room and I really don’t blame the ladies. Sam simply oozed class, breeding,
and drop dead male sensuality most men like me would die to have. I would rather be in
another place than be sitting right here next to him where I think those ladies
have already thought of me as Sam’s personal chauffeur. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">The last time he called
me up on my cellphone, Sam was in the process of finishing his latest
condominium project, a joint-venture with his college buddies and their foreign
financiers that would net them millions in profits and I do expect that Sam
would take the lion’s share of that fortune. I had helped them go over the
legal hurdles and to finalize side-contracts.
Then I overheard his friends say he will bring Dolly to yet another
honeymoon in Boracay. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Speaking of Dolly,
she is… well no single word can describe the kind of woman she is. But let me
just say from experience that every kid who goes through the process of
becoming a man had more or less his own idea of what the perfect girl is, and
chances are, without even knowing Dolly, she personifies that girl. Her pure and fragile beauty is the muse of every man. I only met Sam’s
wife twice, but both encounters are intoxicating, near-surreal experiences that
left me clueless about the place, time and the circumstances in which they
occured. I remember taking her handshake and staring straight into the most
sensuous almond eyes I've ever seen, and wondered if by the grace of God I have just died from a stroke and this
angel was sent over to fetch me. That’s the kind of woman Dolly is. She and Sam
indeed are meant for each other. Incidentally, it was my idea to call the two
of them – Sam and Dolly – <i>Sam-son and Do-lie-lah</i>
– and our friends who heard the monickers for the very first time, in between
bursts of laughter couldn’t help but agree. I still hear them called by those
names every now and then, during occasions of friendly banter, and I take
credit for having made the perfect monicker that really stuck. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">“So, what’s the deal
now? I’m fed up with seeing you guys get rich so quick while I starve.” I was
in a playful mood, but what I said were honestly half-meant, especially the
fed-up part. I do feel that my envy is completely justified. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I realized Sam had
ordered a late dinner for the two of us. His favorite t-bone steak, medium rare,
and I could see the blood still dripping off the meat and I felt suddenly being swept with
nausea. He was methodically starting to pick the meat off the bone with the steak
knife, trying to keep the conversation going without looking at me.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">“Well, actually,
we’re planning to bid for the North Rail Project, as soon as the French
financiers give the go signal. But that’s not what I called you for. You see
bro, Dolly and I…”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">“Oh yeah, how’s
Dolly, send her my regards will you, by the way, that North Rail Project is making
such a buzz. I know a lot of investors are licking their chops as we speak, if
you and your friends nail that deal, then you’re made… you don’t have to work a
single day in your life after that.” <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">“It really is… by the way, Dolly had just…”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">“Tell me what can I
do to help.” I stopped Sam in mid-speech and steered the talk back to business,
which is, as I said, the reason I came here for in the first place. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">“Expect tons of paper
work and legal skirmishes but don’t worry we’ll have it all figured out like we
always do. The main thing is, it would be all worth that North Rail deal. We’re
raking up hundreds of millions here.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">“Dolly and I had an
ugly fight”…. Sam’s words seemed to get drowned over my ranting exuberance about the
prospect of another multi-million, possibly billion peso deal, and I had trouble
grasping the idea at once. Still, I came here to talk business. I won’t dare drift
away from that. Besides, it’s getting late.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">“Oh, sorry to hear
that… But hey, relax, Sam… we all do fight… Can’t live without it. You’ll be
kissing and hugging in no time, I bet.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">He paused for a moment
and focused on the bloody meat, slicing it carefully like a surgeon. Then he
put down the steak knife and reached for an envelope. “She’s suing, bro. I want
you to be my lawyer. Here, I want you to look at these photographs.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">The pictures I pulled
out of the envelope unleashed a shockwave I have never ever felt my entire
life. I felt numbed by the sight of so much blood, of busted lips and bloody broken
nose, the dreadful aftermath of a violent rage unleashed on defenseless and vulnerable
flesh, suggesting a screaming, excruciating pain. For a moment I was completely
disoriented and I wanted to believe the pictures I am looking at were those of
a mangled doll, or those of a crash-test dummy. But this is no illusion or make-believe. This is true flesh and
blood. This is what he did to Dolly… <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">The ladies giggled
from the table next to us. Sam was scooping the last morsels of meat off his plate
while I struggled to keep myself from leaping across the table and plunging a steak
knife into the throat of this monster next to me. During the next hour or so, I had to endure listening to his story, his self-serving excuses, his twisted truths and desperate lies while I stifle the voice of my own conscience not because i wanted to but because it was my job to listen. Because that is what I am getting paid for. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">That night, I went
home with the weight of the whole world on my shoulders.<o:p></o:p></span></div>"Hanging on a Hyphen"http://www.blogger.com/profile/09954654427742268236noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3432829713547736642.post-84512908340989882632012-05-09T09:54:00.000+08:002012-05-09T11:16:44.733+08:00"The Mother of Mayhem"<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: .5in;">
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; text-indent: 0.5in;">Without a shred of doubt, I am now
convinced that Pacquiao versus Mayweather is not the best fight to be made in
our lifetime.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Why, last Sunday, the battle to end
all battles, the fight that really mattered had actually already been made and
you must be dumb and blind or you’ve been living in a cave to miss out on all
the action. Brief as it was, fleeting even, the spectacle was unscripted,
unannounced, and completely astounding!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjMb-cCkrcxQ-zMHyCViaCtM28W20MEvfghjNLV-M6NA84tPSfSdICt8BvIz3uXdTFMjlhZxwWifst5_-aPnjvM2fKPzVGGRbD4BxVvfM9PbQhsBvj3GBgmOIVaJKsZF3ctzM1mjh7o_DFh/s200/Claudine++Barretto+and+Raymart+Santiago.png" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjMb-cCkrcxQ-zMHyCViaCtM28W20MEvfghjNLV-M6NA84tPSfSdICt8BvIz3uXdTFMjlhZxwWifst5_-aPnjvM2fKPzVGGRbD4BxVvfM9PbQhsBvj3GBgmOIVaJKsZF3ctzM1mjh7o_DFh/s1600/Claudine++Barretto+and+Raymart+Santiago.png" /></a><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">We were treated to a fight way more
profound and intense than Pacquiao and Mayweather fighting a hundred times over, could
ever produce, if by any remote chance that fight could still be made.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiuEKSVj6Lswsc1Mt6sMjC1NL1DuLvQ___M9xnvT6oXyvZ31kVA1SZuqB2o2YHXntLlCKhFKtZx3XTnoiEN8wDq4DVkD82YobqStNqvKSJv6J9e6lOJjuilvFlMDHLALnap2_MNjyXyl4Ep/s200/Mon+Tulfo.png" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiuEKSVj6Lswsc1Mt6sMjC1NL1DuLvQ___M9xnvT6oXyvZ31kVA1SZuqB2o2YHXntLlCKhFKtZx3XTnoiEN8wDq4DVkD82YobqStNqvKSJv6J9e6lOJjuilvFlMDHLALnap2_MNjyXyl4Ep/s200/Mon+Tulfo.png" width="147" /></a><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I was gripped with suspense and glued
to the teevee set, and so was the entire nation of tens of millions of
rice-eating, rumor-mongering, and debt-ridden Filipinos when Mon Tulfo and the
husband and wife tag team of Raymart Santiago and Claudine Barreto got down and
dirty during a hilarious and highly entertaining punch fest at the NAIA 3
mezzanine floor.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Pound-for pound, I would dare say
Claudine Barretto, all beefed up and with bulges her clothes could barely hold
together must be tough to beat. I was worried her skimpy shorts would rip apart
when she bends and expose her assets all over the cameras during the fracas. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Having literally “outgrown” her
young and wholesome image, Claudine had been typecast for mother roles of late.
But following this public embarrassment, I doubt if even mother roles would
come knocking at her doorsteps these days to salvage what’s left of her fast-fading
celebrity. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Ironically, she would probably end
up losing all the “meaty” roles for throwing her weight around, pun intended.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">As for Tulfo, the poor fellow was clearly
in queer streets while trying to regain his footing from all that bashing on
the head that he took that perhaps in the aftermath of the confusion, he must
have thought of calling for help on the program <i>Isumbong Mo Kay Tulfo</i> until he
realized when the cobwebs cleared, that “G<i>oddammit!</i>
I would be calling myself!” <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">If anything, he was lucky his toupee
was not yanked off during the attack!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Imagine this, Claudine’s shorts
bursting at the seams and Tulfo’s wig blowing in the wind! It should be one for the books.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Before you bash my head for being
insensitive and for making fun of people’s public humiliation, I stand by my
choice to take everything in stride and see the whole picture for what it is, a
ridiculous case of people being people and letting off steam in a savage, if
comical way. I see no point in turning this incident into a feminists rights or
a freedom of the press debate. With all due respect, Claudine is not worth bearing the banner for the
typecast aggrieved women of the world in the same manner that Tulfo is not
deserving to wear the mantle of the crusading journalist. I don’t know about
you and I respect your opinion whatever that is, but for me, we shouldn’t
dignify this incident.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Let’s save the argument for the real
life heroes out there. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">In the meantime, let’s sit and watch
the aftermath, as the Senate with yet another investigation in aid of
legislation in the offing, tries to get into the act while the Tulfo brothers grit their teeth waiting in the wings. Overall, it was wacky and wild, it was fun to watch. It
was an advanced Mother’s Day bash. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">And it truly was the Mother of
Mayhem.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
</div>"Hanging on a Hyphen"http://www.blogger.com/profile/09954654427742268236noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3432829713547736642.post-17370048487559438842012-05-04T15:38:00.001+08:002012-05-07T17:12:50.887+08:00Slavemaster Society<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<div class="MsoNormal">
<div style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br /></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; text-indent: 0.5in;">I had just overheard
from the radio of a passing jeepney that employers’ groups have offered to
raise worker’s pay by a staggering twelve pesos (P12.00) a day. Bring on the
brew and celebrate. This is great news! Talk about manna from heaven, a
windfall from jolly old Santa at the height of summer – but wait, first things
first. Hurry up. Let's all get down to work and invent the time machine ASAP
because that's just about the only chance we've got in a billion years to get
back to the 60’s – that time in the distant past that we can never bring
back ever again, a time when a peso can buy you a hundred king-size pan de sal
or treat you and your date to the movies. That time when life was a little bit
easier and when it seemed only the misfits were the only ones who starve not
because they could not afford food but because the ‘hippies’ of those days
think it’s cool to be a walking zombie. But anyway, my message to these
employers – capitalists in the socio-economic sense is whoa... wake up dudes
and get real. Hello… Most of us will have no problem giving twenty bucks to the
parking lot attendant. And those billionaire businessmen are dangling twelve
pesos. Give me a break. Twelve pesos is a slap in the face… a bone thrown to
the hungry dogs. I would even dare say the offer is inhuman. It’s bullet to the
old dying horse’s head.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; text-indent: 0.5in;"><br /></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; text-indent: 0.5in;">This
is the reason I always dread the coming of May firsts. Ironically it brings
floods of very joyous memories to me that only add more pain to nostalgia. May
firsts were occasions to the many rites of passage that filled my life. It was
I think on the first of May that I painfully transitioned from boyhood to
manhood, well, I’m not so sure about the exact date actually, but what I am
very sure of was the pain. Just remembering the experience still hurts to this
day.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; text-indent: 0.5in;"><br /></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; text-indent: 0.5in;">In
college, the first day of May offers a perfect outlet to our angst.
They make bearable my embarrassment that I am taking summer classes instead of
bumming around in the beach because I flunked Algebra in the worst possible way. At
the height of summer, we would protest in Mendiola, students like myself who
crave for some self-affirmation would find themselves happy to spend sweaty
summer days in the company of the starving masses. The unwashed, unfed and
disconsolate to the core that we used to ignore when social issues take a back
seat to happier times, the people who assume an unexpected significance because
it’s May first. When the chips are down, we tend to gravitate towards each
other, united under the banner of discontent with society’s double standards.
Somehow we all find a commonality in the struggle for better working conditions
and higher wages for the working man which, come to think of it, have long been
going on perhaps since the beginning of time. Long before you and I were ever
born.</span><br />
<div style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<div style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<div style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; text-indent: 0.5in;"><br /></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; text-indent: 0.5in;">This
social inequity is as old as the air that we breathe, and the ground we walk
on, feeding the greed of the privileged few with nourishment that grows from
the servitude of those whose destiny is to live, to work, to die and to be
forever forgotten. We would like to believe we could change that. We were young
and those were the days.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; text-indent: 0.5in;"><br /></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; text-indent: 0.5in;">There
were those times when outcasts and activists transform into heroes because of
their defiance of the system, the willingness to rise to the occasion at the
risk of losing their lives. They were my first role-models. Ka Cris (Beltran)
was much younger then but he and Ka Satur, were the firebrand that would
energize rallies with their impassioned pleas. I could listen to them all day.
They were not especially eloquent but they satisfy my idealism in a way that no
politician or celebrity can. They have a cause and to me, it was more than
enough. Afterall, I was lost and searching for meaning to my young but empty
life. I needed something to lift my lowly assessment of where I stand in the
system. These activists showed the way. They take their mission to heart. They
have a faith that just like flame must keep burning or darkness shall claim our
lives and take away everything that we work so hard to achieve. We have
something worth living for, a cause, a duty, a fight to be won.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; text-indent: 0.5in;"><br /></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; text-indent: 0.5in;">I
wish I could say the same thing to Ka Cris wherever he is now that I am old and
my hair gray, now that I am nearing the age that he was when we first met,
if indeed there is a way the spirits can get in touch with the living.
Maybe I shall confess my lifetime of embarrassment to him, beginning with the
way I had transformed from social activist into a corrupted bureaucrat who not
only became part of the system but willingly sold out to the system part of his
soul. I wonder if he is at peace with himself after the ignominy of his death,
the circumstances in which he lost his life, not from the beating of truncheons
of anti-riot police or from an overdose of tear gas, which we already accepted
as the likeliest end for people like us after every close brush with death
during May day upheavals. The closing chapter to his biography is so unfair to
Ka Cris how I wish I could do something about it to claim for him the dignity
in dying that was robbed from him by fate.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; text-indent: 0.5in;"><br /></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; text-indent: 0.5in;">Ka
Cris had achieved modest success and joined Congress as partylist
representative at the turn of the millennium. But as they say, you can take the
man off the street but you cannot take the street off the man. Outside the
august halls of Congress, he continued to live the life, the only kind of life
that he knew. Having spent most of his life on countless rallies and riots in
the streets the blue collar worker in him rules his life, even in a period of
relative affluence. One day, the congressman slipped and fell off
the roof of his modest house while repairing a leak and cracked his skull on
the pavement. At the time of his death, he was lobbying for a one hundred
twenty five peso (P125.00)across the board wage increase. Years later and after
a series of oil price hikes coupled with the plummeting value of the peso, his
capitalist enemies could only offer twelve pesos. They are not content with the
knowledge that the man is dead. They want his cause to die with him. Our slave
master society never forgives. That's why May first makes me feel sad -
resigned to the misery of mourning the sheer ignominy of the passing of a good
man. It is not a pleasant thing to remember.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; text-indent: 0.5in;"><br /></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; text-indent: 0.5in;">Sometimes
the thing I hate about life is life itself...</span></div>
</div>
</div>
</div>
</div>
</div>"Hanging on a Hyphen"http://www.blogger.com/profile/09954654427742268236noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3432829713547736642.post-60533143420733998112012-03-28T11:15:00.008+08:002012-03-28T16:24:37.253+08:00My Hard-Rocking Days<a href="http://us.cdn1.123rf.com/168nwm/phanlop88/phanlop881106/phanlop88110600872/9845235-guitarist-of-a-pop-band-with-a-guitar.jpg"><img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 112px; height: 168px;" src="http://us.cdn1.123rf.com/168nwm/phanlop88/phanlop881106/phanlop88110600872/9845235-guitarist-of-a-pop-band-with-a-guitar.jpg" border="0" alt="" /></a><br /><br />The 90’s were a crazy time in pop music. As music fans across the globe staggered to their feet from the new wave hangover – where Duran Duran, Tears for Fears, Spandau Ballet and all the colorful bands that emerged came to define the sound, the attitude and the hairstyle of the time – the same music fans who once worshipped them were ready to move on. While new wave was crazy, the grunge era that followed was dark and way more violent. <br /><br />Nirvana and Metallica epitomize the milieu with their take on drugs and violence while Guns and Roses, and oh yes, the Red Hot Chilli Peppers added an overdose of sex, so what we have then was a deadly musical concoction that was all set to explode. As a footnote to that period, Kurt would shoot himself in the head at the height of his popularity, leaving a young widow and a hapless baby girl as well as millions of heartbroken Nirvana fans. I was at the RPN-9 newsroom when the news came off the wire from Reuters and instinctively I fed the story of Kurt’s death to the hourly newsbreak anchor and the late Frank Abao (RIP, Manong Frank)gave me a piece of his mind for putting such “obscure” story on the foreign news banner. I couldn’t blame good old Frank. He thought Elvis was the last late great action hero and after him, no one else deserves to die and have their death announced on teevee. <br /><a href="http://us.cdn4.123rf.com/168nwm/kovacevic/kovacevic1001/kovacevic100100136/6289058-silhouette-of-guitar-player-on-stage.jpg"><img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 126px; height: 168px;" src="http://us.cdn4.123rf.com/168nwm/kovacevic/kovacevic1001/kovacevic100100136/6289058-silhouette-of-guitar-player-on-stage.jpg" border="0" alt="" /></a><br />Just like the last Japanese straggler, I refused to surrender unconditionally to the grunge invasion. Although I must confess I nearly did, when new wave was “in”. However, I am a Robert Smith loyalist to the grave and I refuse to define him as new wave or grunge. The Cure had been spreading the word to whoever would care to listen since the 70’s. He’s just a guy with the hairstyle of an electric chair miracle survivor and a voice from somewhere between heaven and hell. Simply, there is no cure to my addiction to “The Cure” and I feel vindicate because Robert and his band are still around long after the rest have disappeared. “In Between Days” will remain on my list of favorite soundtracks in case my life is made into a movie, which I imagine will have plenty of torrid kissing scenes and maybe a little bit of frontal nudity. <br /><br />Yet, I was ready to give the new breed of rockers of that period a chance. On hindsight, I think I was actually left with no choice. The airwave is heavily polluted with the so-called “alternative rock” that there was simply no escaping their evil spell. The defunct NU 102.7 made sure of that, and so did the handful of local FM bands that rode the alternative rock band bandwagon. There was even one obscure FM station that completely dedicated itself to alternative rock music, and so they play non-stop the very raw and edgy early recordings of The Wuds, (where the hell are you now, man, I miss you…) Tropical Depression, Coco Jam, and of course the very young and still dirt-poor E-heads who are, as we know by now, already filthy rich (but no longer as prolific).<br /><br />My life was at crossroads during the 90’s. It was a time when I do believe I have moved away from my angst-filled days, and was beginning to accept compromises at the expense of my idealism, which translates to growing old. It was also a time in my life when I strongly felt that my gripes and whining against the world are justified and legitimate. Afterall, I paid my dues as a student. I learned as much from the schools as in the streets. I had my collection of battle scars from the riots, the rumbles and the rallies in Mendiola. Then suddenly I graduated. Forty two, again forty two companies rejected my job application outright. When I was in college, at least I had my allowance to feed me, and what I was doing seemed to make sense, education is big deal, right? After that, I wasn't so sure anymore.<br /><br />But I guess it wasn’t asking too much if I had expected that the real world, the one I could only watch from a distance from my classroom window, would be more kind and accommodating to someone like me, or at least, it would have a little bit of something to offer like, perhaps, a fairly decent job, which wouldn’t necessarily pay much but would at least make you feel useful and maybe proud enough to think that the four years of college was not exactly a waste of time. For some reason, that proud moment just wouldn’t come to me. Instead, I was continuously confounded by the pain of rejection. I lost count of the number of times I heard “no.” <br /><br />Those were the times I would turn to music. I want music to sing my angst, to rebel against everything that has been tailor-fit to the standards. I want it to be defiant, to stray off the track, better yet to go out of tune. For some reason I can’t quite explain, you find a communion that way, you feel a certain bond, a sense of belonging with people like you, the people that fate did not seem to treat too kindly. You may not speak the same language or your political loyalties may strongly differ, even you faith may set you up as foes, but if there is a particular music or a song or a sound that you like, it was already a good start to a breaking of the barriers. The atmosphere of a rock concert validates that observation. There is a sense of collective bliss from all that noise, and depending on which crowd you belong to, you might end up breathless or beaten up. One late night at a rock concert in Ultra’s football field, I was ready to concede that After-Image had genuine talent. “Next in Line” had the potential to become the anthem of the generation. It was well-written, catchy and with a message that would move the casual listener. Wency and his band of young musicians from San Beda were just as brilliant to hear live, as they would each time their song is played on the radio. “Tag-ulan” was a favorite, partly because I am obsessed with rain and anything associated with it brings joy to me. <br /><br />The problem was, After Image had the misfortune to play back to back with another rock band whose name I can no longer recall but whose front man left a lasting impression. Karl Roy was his name and he blew Wency Cornejo off the stage. The word badass was not yet spoken this part of the world at that time but if there was an occasion to use it for the first time and if there is one person that personified what it meant, then he is absolutely the man. Karl was a man possessed. His take on “Give it Away” makes you feel like the Red Hot Chili Peppers were on stage playing. The Mohawk haircut and tattoos, I mean the whole attitude simply rocks. By the time Karl and his band were done playing, the audience were booing Wency and his band for having the gall to take center stage next to him. I feel sorry for you guys. Sometimes, a rock concert is heart-wrenching drama, even when people were supposed to have a crazy fun time. Maybe that one incident took the wind out of their sail and After-Image shortly lost the energy to proceed with its journey, riding off prematurely into the sunset of obscurity. After-Image has since faded into an after-thought whereas, Karl Roy continued his quest and was in fact a rocker to his death. <br /><br />After that night, I forgot about Wency and became a Karl Roy fan for life. And this is how this piece of reminiscences would end, the same way Karl ended his hard rocking days. I feel a tinge of sadness writing about the past, because all my heroes are dying. But I do feel a sense of duty to say goodbye. Roy represented a time in my life when I was young but old enough to deal with life’s heartaches. He will forever be one of the characters, he and Kurt, who populate my make-believe world, the one I will always visit when I feel so low and desperate, the place where I always run for comfort in moments of sadness, and especially when my heart is broken, when I long for the days when I was young, idealistic, creative and free. <br /><br />Good bye Roy. I hate you for dying on me. I mean that with all my respect and affection."Hanging on a Hyphen"http://www.blogger.com/profile/09954654427742268236noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3432829713547736642.post-90856995958318068282012-02-04T11:48:00.017+08:002012-02-09T11:33:59.971+08:00To the cat that got killed under my back wheel...<a href="http://cdn7.fotosearch.com/bthumb/FSA/FSA708/x18430449.jpg"><img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 112px; height: 170px;" src="http://cdn7.fotosearch.com/bthumb/FSA/FSA708/x18430449.jpg" border="0" alt="" /></a><br />My heart bleeds for you. You know that. And it’s hard to explain how I feel about this. I was pulling over into the parking lot fronting my office and never had the chance to see you coming. If I did, you can be sure I will do everything to avoid you from getting crushed under the back wheel. <br /><br />I live my life dedicated to the personal mantra that I had adopted ever since I was a child; that is to treat everyone with gentleness and respect. And that personal philosophy does not extend to people alone but to all of life itself, which would include even the tiniest insect. Heck, I would levitate if I can for my feet not to touch the ground and bring harm to what I couldn’t see lurking in my path. I feel that if you have the power to eat, drink and live today, you must have a purpose to be sent to this world bearing the gift of life. <br /><br />Otherwise, you would have ended up a piece of rock, a thing bound to be around for the ages but without moving, without feeling, without consciousness, simple as that, just a cold lifeless piece of rock. Or perhaps you can be the thunderbolt, the thing with the fastest movement but with the shortest life. <a href="http://cdn6.fotosearch.com/bthumb/STK/STK028/PCL26136.jpg"><img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 118px; height: 170px;" src="http://cdn6.fotosearch.com/bthumb/STK/STK028/PCL26136.jpg" border="0" alt="" /></a> If you were a rock, my back wheel would have rolled over you without leaving as much of a souvenir as a slight scratch. If you were the lightning bolt, I would have been in serious trouble. But no. You were a proud cat, a feline of the class pantera, member of kingdom animalia, (whatever that means), and because of what I did, the consequence is this; this miserable way that I feel now, the feeling that I had done a dissacrelege, that I had defiled something pure and innocent, that I had disrupted the universal order, the cycle of life so profound and great everything else is subservient to it, and in its depth and vastness both of us and every other creature for that matter would pale in significance when taken in isolation, removed from the great big boundless scheme of things. If I go to court because of this, then I would probably tell the judge you where nowhere to be seen when I approached the parking space, and let me stress this point – that I did so, slowly and carefully – yet it just couldn’t be avoided because in all likelihood, you must have sneaked up from under the car, reducing any chance of my catching a split-second glance at you, which is consistent with the horrible outcome of my rear wheel catching you. If this reasoning should fail, I wish I could just say it's curiosity, not me, that killed the cat.<br /><br />Believe me, I don’t feel right telling this and rewinding in some deep dark inner recesses of my brain every single scene. Some people would react to the incident with hardly anything more than a shrug of the shoulder and then perhaps they charge it to experience and move on. But not me. My problem is me. A cat is dead and I do give a damn about it and I have in fact been losing precious sleep over it. <a href="http://cdn2.fotosearch.com/bthumb/FSB/FSB054/x15300930.jpg"><img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 151px; height: 170px;" src="http://cdn2.fotosearch.com/bthumb/FSB/FSB054/x15300930.jpg" border="0" alt="" /></a> From now on, there will be no more licking and romancing on rooftops for you and your girlfriend-cat. Your rat-chasing days are definitely over. You’ll never get to see the little bundle of baby-cats that would be born from all your acts of indiscretion. There’ll be no more kitchen raids in the dead of night for you that's for sure. And that's all because of me. I had assumed you are a boy-cat since, in my self-styled theory of human behavior, which by analogy should apply to animals too, the male of the species is the most prone to such wanton recklessness and disregard for personal safety, like getting killed in broad daylight under a slow-moving vehicle. You are, in my youth particularly, the cat version of me.<br /><br />I wish I could say my piece, my apology in a language you can comprehend, dead or alive if only to lessen the pain that swept both of us, which in your case was horrific but rather quick whereas mine was not as deep but would surely last. There is something else I’d like also to tell you if somehow it can still be done. The difference between you and me now is that now you’re dead while I’m alive, now you’re history while I’m here, still here living and walking and breathing the same obnoxious air and condemned to go on living perhaps for a few more years this miserable life to which another chapter of misery has just been added by your passing and for which I am driven to insufferable confusion trying to regurgitate the significance of my becoming the reason to your doom, why of all people it had to be me. If this is part of the grand design, then I must protest and rage against the way I’m treated. Screw the grand design. I would have to stir up a storm and agitate people like me into action, all of us that were shortchanged by destiny. There is more to life than being the cat-killer.<br /><br />Wait a minute, you got nine lives, right? Well, you certainly can use one right now. Do me a favor will you? I beg you, please, get the hell back to life and spare me the lifetime of conscience-pricking. My heart bleeds for you. You know that. I do give a damn about your death. <br /><br />So please… Please... Get the hell back to life or I’m gonna kill you…"Hanging on a Hyphen"http://www.blogger.com/profile/09954654427742268236noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3432829713547736642.post-64854394152891007162012-01-07T10:47:00.008+08:002012-01-10T14:17:51.438+08:00Between the Night and the Silence<a href="http://us.cdn1.123rf.com/168nwm/samuiarzt/samuiarzt1101/samuiarzt110100001/8685475-boy-on-bike-sunset.jpg"><img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 168px; height: 113px;" src="http://us.cdn1.123rf.com/168nwm/samuiarzt/samuiarzt1101/samuiarzt110100001/8685475-boy-on-bike-sunset.jpg" border="0" alt="" /></a><br /><br />He pulled hard on the wrench to turn the screw but the grip slipped and his hand crashed violently against the sprocket, opening a deep wound that started spewing blood immediately.<br /><br />John bit his lips and continued what he was doing, unmindful of the pain. There was far greater pain pounding at his chest, eating him up, the sort of angry pain that could explode at any given time.<br /><br />His mind wondered back to the scenes that transpired shortly beforehand, which lingered vividly. They were driving home, he and his wife, and there was no word, no sound, a small talk much less, but only the air conditioner and the hum of the engine that showed pulses of life, otherwise an absolute dead silence owned the night, the kind that he dreaded the most. <br /><br />He would step on the gas with mean intentions and the car would fly, eager to get home past the roadside trees, the structures, and the signages and against the headlights of the opposite lane traffic, chasing shadows and becoming the ghostly imagery of his desperation, that kind of aching deep down inside hoping to see the moment ended at last so that they, who both were erstwhile trapped into this cramped piece of hell between the night and the silence could step out to freedom, walk their separate ways perhaps to find peace and the right path back to serenity and reason. In the meantime, the wife’s sideway glances were a rain of daggers. <br /><br />The boy ran to him as soon as he pulled over into the garage, she on the other hand quickly disappeared. Little Joey was sweetly excited, remembering his father’s promise to fix the bike as soon as he comes home tonight which John realized he had totally forgotten. His trouble had doubled. And it was just too much for the fortysomething dad to handle. First, his wife’s silent rage and now the boy’s irrepressible badgering. He was barely able to contain himself from cussing out loud but John couldn’t help banging the car door with such brutal force in his exasperation, terrifying the child and even himself. John instinctively wanted to kill himself as soon as he realized what he had done. After that, another long inexplicable silence appears to merge with the cold spell.<br /><br />He recalled how he wondered into the garage, finding the bicycle in one corner under the fluorescent lamp and right next to the tool box, the muted testimony of his promise. John pulled up his sleeves and began to work, beginning with unscrewing the rear wheel and again his mind drifted back to the past. He was reminded of the ineptitude of his physical abilities, a fact he had accepted eversince he was himself a child. His father would constantly show him the calloused hands of the construction worker, and their conversation would almost always end up with the surreal vision of a distant future, created through his father’s riveting words, that John someday when he grows up would not be wearing the blue collar, no, never shall he sweat under the sun the way that his father did because this boy would become the man who would use his brain instead more than his hands. That admonition would thankfully become a self-fulfilling prophecy. And yet on occasions like this, when it became his turn to play his fatherly role, he hated being so inept and ill-equipped, and John was anything but thankful and in fact, he felt bitter to not have inherited even a little of his old man’s skills with manual work. <br /><br />Blood continued to drip from the cut in his hand. He was down on his knees on the dirty pavement trying to figure out what to do next when John was astonished to feel the child suddenly embraced him from behind. Joey had sneaked up to him to watch his father at work, doing the most important job in the whole world, the one thing that really mattered at this moment. The thing about fixing what was broken.<br /><br />John carried Joey in his arms and rushed back to the house. She hugged his wife and whispered something in her ears. <br /><br />The boy, the wife and the bike. Nothing else mattered."Hanging on a Hyphen"http://www.blogger.com/profile/09954654427742268236noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3432829713547736642.post-84029791781601627202010-09-25T05:57:00.009+08:002010-10-01T06:43:00.613+08:00The Rain Before ChristmasIt takes just one moment under the rain to merge the past with the present <br /><br />Claire was caught in the downpour, an aberration of weather that seemed to suspiciously time its arrival to bring her the most inconvenience. She was dressed in her white nursing uniform and had left the dorm without an umbrella. The hours before saw a frantic search for relief from the scorching heat. She remembered running for cover into this waiting shed to escape the noontime heat just hours ago on her way to school. Now, she is trapped in the same corner where she stood earlier at the Espana and Morayta intersection only this time the place is cold and damp as the weather has taken a full shift to the extreme opposite. <br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://media.smashingmagazine.com/cdn_smash/images/rain-photography/time.jpg"><img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 500px; height: 330px;" src="http://media.smashingmagazine.com/cdn_smash/images/rain-photography/time.jpg" border="0" alt="" /></a><br /><br />All things considered, she figured she would rather be running from the sun. But the rain is a more complicated, a more formidable adversary to deal with, and to her personally, it held the deepest darkest secrets which the rain uses to its advantage unlike the sunny days that conjure predictable images of sunset in the beach, those nonsense juvenile movies, and the summer break that meant plenty of time to frolic and to simply relish being young. Rainy day on the other hand agitates and almost disdainfully replenishes the old grudges, and it can be downright ruthless in reminding us of where we sinned, the pains that we have inflicted, the pleasures we crave along with our indiscretions and the manner that we justified and almost celebrated while doing them. It can be the most cruel of judges of human actions, in that it is as instantaneous in denying any form of deliverance from misfortune, as it is unfailing in amplifying the enormity of our guilt. <br /><br />Michael Jackson belted a familiar Christmas carol from a passing jeepney which seemed to animate the impatient throng, including Claire herself, who suddenly realized space is quickly running out as more people came rushing in moments into the rain to find temporary shelter here. <br /><br />It’s already the 25th of September and the countdown to Christmas had started for a gullible nation, a nation that refused to get real and grow up, as her father used to say, teasingly to her mother, whenever the conversation strays into the topic mostly during the cold night as they waited for dinner when Claire is at home in the province to spend Christmas with the family, and which opinion she now understands and accepts to a certain degree. Indeed, Christmas is a universal incurable obsession to many of us, borne from years of deprivation, and a constant craving for the fulfillment of our aching needs. They don’t necessarily go away at Christmas time but at least we find reason to forget them, her mother would argue vehemently. <br /><br />She finds irony in the knowledge that the king of pop is dead yet people continue to find solace and comfort and hope from the song that he sings, songs that preach about hope as a wonderful healer and love being the ultimate gift despite the fact that the life that he lived was a miserable narrative of big and small disasters from being burned at the scalp to domestic abuse, to the horrific results of cosmetic surgery gone haywire, to the persistent rumors about his sexuality which may have all conspired to bring the ultimate tragedy of dying young. She wondered if in Michael’s death bed, when flashbacks of unforgettable memories of your life were supposed to reel off like highlight films in reverse mode in the minds of the dying… she wondered if during the last glimmer of life images of gifts and Christmas trees emerged in passing somewhere deep in the subconscious of the late great singer just in time before the dimming of the light. <br /><br />She wondered if Charice Pempengco would be just as famous.<br /><br />Claire actually dreads the coming of Christmas, and it will come soon, sooner than soon enough which meant as soon as classes pause for the three-week holiday break. And it meant returning to her innocent life, to her hometown, to the ancestral house and its old familiar haunts, the places that carry an awful lot of memories, places where she would always return to reclaim her innocence and purity, the places that await her in Pinili up north, the tiny sleepy town where she grew up chasing butterflies mornings in the meadows, and putting out tobacco leaves to dry under the sun during the summer, the textures and colors and unforgettable scent of the plant becoming ingrained to the core of her consciousness, and those of the other countless dreamy youths the plant and their parents’ sweat have sent to the big city to chase their education to fulfill a promise they never really made but rather their progenitors actually left for them. <br /><br />Yes, she will return to listen to lectures on frugality from her father, a trait deeply rooted in the people up north. And she expects to be lavished with praise for every peso she had managed to keep longer in her pocket by remembering the northern way of living within your means, a trait that she would take to heart by choosing to walk the half-kilometer stretch from the dorm to school and vice versa even when it rains instead of taking public transport, which incidentally is an excellent form of exercise, her father would approvingly say. And that is also the reason her father speaks grudgingly about Christmas especially the tradition of living the one day millionaire’s dream which he cannot, or he would rather not, comprehend. <br /><br />Today, exactly three months to go before Christmas, things will never be the same again and the rain made sure that Claire would remember that. It was actually on another rainy day like this about a year ago that she met Rey when they were caught in the middle of a heavy downpour and he asked to share her umbrella. She still remembers the sound of his voice, the perfume he wears, the way that his black hair glimmered at the touch of the raindrops, and how it felt when their arms would rub gently accidentally. She remembered the many succeeding walks under the rain after that, and especially the long walk one stormy night that led to a dirty rented bedroom where she lost her innocence while the tempest sweetly dies to a drizzle outside. <br /><br />The forbidden fruit of that tryst she now carries, and soon enough her parents will find out."Hanging on a Hyphen"http://www.blogger.com/profile/09954654427742268236noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3432829713547736642.post-29976838010852297322010-08-22T00:24:00.014+08:002010-08-22T01:59:51.637+08:00The Voices in the BusThe next passenger to sit by her side was an old man with rags for clothes and dead mice for breath and Lydia swore to herself to ignore the stranger. <br /><br />“So where are you going now?” he asked. I guess you finally took my advice to bring that child to your parents in the province. It’s about time…”<br /><br />He was referring to Becky, 4 years old, the little girl sleeping in Lydia’s lap. She had expended all her energy crying the whole day. She asked for food, begged for water. Pulled Lydia’s hair and even peed on her lap but her mother wouldn’t say a thing. Even now, while already reeking of urine, her eyes were transfixed into the distance and while occasionally she would smile, Lydia’s eyes wouldn’t stray from whatever it is she was looking at, which seemed far and away and unreachable.<br /><br />But the old man was persistent. “That child has not seen her grandparents, in fact, not a single one of your relatives. You wouldn’t like her to grow up a stranger to her own family don’t you? Lovely child. I bet she tastes good.”<br /><br />He licked his chops at the mention of the last words and Lydia fought the terror creeping into her with pretended outrage. “Back off, you ugly beast!” she screamed, startling the other passengers as well as the driver himself who accidentally sent the bus into a throttle. But immediately they pretended not to hear a thing. They all knew the woman sitting at the farthest seat in the back had a serious problem. It's just that there's nothing they can do about it. <br /><br />Lydia on the other hand, knew the people in that bus are aware of her condition, but they just pretend not to care. She had actually seen the old man before. In the bedroom at the stroke of midnight while she slept with Medel. At the hospital while she was giving birth to Becky and the whole time during her confinement at the ward. Lydia struggled to get hold of herself screaming anew. “You are not real. You are just a figment of the imagination. Stay away from me”. She was shocked at the suddenness of her recollection of the entry in the doctors’ notes, which she only read once and in great hurry one time while she was lucid during the time the doctor inadvertently left his papers at Lydia’s bedside at the ward in Mandaluyong. She regretted why she escaped. Medel would be mad at this that’s for sure. <br /><br />A headless woman walked through the aisle, her bloody skirt brushing Lydia lightly in the knees jolting her and the old man let out an eerie laugh, forked tongue wagging in the air. He was drooling. Craving for the sleeping child. The passengers looked and seemed normal except for the horns that suddenly appeared on their heads. As soon as they reached the next bus stop, Lydia jumped out and scampered into the night.<br /><br />It was not until ten months later that Medel finally found his wife wandering aimlessly along the highway in Lucena. A walking naked skeleton of a human being covered with filth and grease. She was totally incoherent and violent and in permanent conversation with her ghosts about how the devil ate her child."Hanging on a Hyphen"http://www.blogger.com/profile/09954654427742268236noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3432829713547736642.post-87748785018198403542010-02-14T03:08:00.012+08:002010-02-21T09:13:41.622+08:00Toy Soldiers<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://www.fotosearch.com/bthumb/THK/THK015/c0039585.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 170px; height: 113px;" src="http://www.fotosearch.com/bthumb/THK/THK015/c0039585.jpg" border="0" alt="" /></a><br /><br /><br />(Thanks to James, who shared me this story and inspired me to write... albeit with a heavy heart...)<br /><br />Some things take us back to the past. Others make the past a constant companion in the present, never to leave.<br /><br />Sometimes, my kids would catch me going surreptitiously to the toy room, which I had personally requested to be built near the family library, when my wife and I having just settled down were putting this up, the house of our dreams, that was long before the kids came into our lives.<br /><br />My wife on the other hand has long ceased to be amazed by my habit, and though she was shocked that a toy room would be on top of my plans when the thought of building the house was conceived now she perfectly understands what it meant for me and I love her all the more for it. In this room the treasures of my boyhood dreams are neatly kept, and a special place is reserved for the 24-piece toy soldier collection which I bought from e-bay. Unlike the others which are remnants of the past, they are a recent acquisition, the product of a long search in the internet and although I am not exactly eager to discuss with anyone how much it cost me to have them, to me they are well worth every cent.<br /><br />It was summer time during the tumultuous 80's. My father was sent back home without finishing the two year tour of duty to war-torn Mindanao in the south following a close brush with death. He came home with his back pack on a Wednesday night, without any word before hand that he was coming, and unlike in previous times, he came home without the customary gifts, only the joyous confirmation that he is alive, and it was all that mattered to me, in fact, that day was the happiest day of my boyhood, my dad coming home with a dirty back pack and a hole in his stomach where the bullet had passed which means, he is staying with us at least for the year- long recuperation period. If you ever knew how it feels to see your father just once or twice every three years, his bullet wound was indeed a blessing, a morbid thing to say but I was a kid and I have the right to say it and under the circumstances, it was indeed, it really was a great big blessing. <br /><br />He would take me for long walks... in the afternoons during a clear day, just when dusk was setting in, that by the time the sun was slowly disappearing in the horizon, we would be on top of the hill watching the world down below us change colors under the cascading hues and slowly and slowly the crimson light gradually fades into blue and then black. We watched in silence, my father has never been a man indulgent with words, which I guess is the way they all are in the marines. The war and its unspeakable horrors would leave a man to suffer in silence for life. He never shared his stories with me, perhaps thinking I was too young for them, too pure and innocent then, and in hindsight, I somewhat feel grateful that he didn't. <br /><br />On the first month of his vacation, he asked me to go with him to the barracks to claim his paycheck. My father was exuberant on that day, the vacation has done wonders to lift his spirit and hasten his recuperation. He was glowing and beginning to regain his health, unlike when he came home one day wounded and starving.<br /><br />They actually waited for payday to come; he had told my mother he would get his disability pay, in addition to the regular salary, and maybe a special commendation from the headquarters in Manila. On the way to the barracks, we passed by a flea market and as my steps slowed at the sight of the toy soldiers being peddled at a makeshift stall on the sidewalk, my father could almost read my mind. "We will get back here and I shall buy you those toys son, right after we get the money". I pressed his hand and his words put a spring in my steps and he knew what it meant.<br /><br />Thirty years later, I would be scouring the internet looking for the same toy soldiers that my father had promised to give me the last time we were together. We never made it to the barracks. I have no recollection of what exactly happened then except for the few things I hear growing up during the hushed conversations every time that my mother and relatives would speak about the ambush. <br /><br />I just knew it was the last day that I saw my father alive..."Hanging on a Hyphen"http://www.blogger.com/profile/09954654427742268236noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3432829713547736642.post-72118720715289991722010-01-11T01:34:00.004+08:002010-01-11T14:55:52.172+08:00The Witch<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://t1.gstatic.com/images?q=tbn:ShJxRU7887iHEM%3Ahttp://www.bellwitchstory.com/images/witch3d.jpg"><img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 114px; height: 140px;" src="http://t1.gstatic.com/images?q=tbn:ShJxRU7887iHEM%3Ahttp://www.bellwitchstory.com/images/witch3d.jpg" border="0" alt="" /></a><br />The ancestral clock strikes 12, and in the pitch darkness Joey tries to adjust his eyes, it was difficult to see anything. <br /><br />He turned to the other side of the bed, away from his mother and faced the window where the full moon illuminates behind the capiz shell window panels, creating odd shapes, black random shapes cast against the window by the intricately penetrating light of the full August moon. The boy was desperate to go back to sleep except that he couldn’t force himself to do so. The striking of the midnight bell from the humongous clock reverberated into his sleep awakening the child.<br /><br />“Think happy thoughts Joey and cuddle up close to your mother”. <br /><br />“I will have that tree cut down, son, if that’s what causing you all this trouble.”<br /><br />He remembered his conversations with his father about the sleep disorder and how he can manage it. For months now, Joey has been deluged with nightmares, odd terrifying dreams and his parents are worried. With his father away on a provincial assignment, the boy's paranoia is even more chillingly felt on this particular night.<br /><br />“That one looks like a dove:… the boy whispered to himself as he singled out a particularly odd shadow on the extreme left side of the window. A bundle of leaves hanging from the branch of the tree extending up to their bedroom window blocking the moonlight created the bird-shaped figure along with the strange mosaic of shadows cast against the window’s entire length <br /><br />“There’s a plane… a dog?” Joey decided to pass the time and amuse his imagination with the shapes he can make out of the shadows. Until something caught his eyes. <br /><br />It was difficult at first to make sense out of that single image but as he soon as became fixated and adjusted to the dark, slowly it unraveled… the huge crooked beak-like nose, big bulging eyes, the long flowing hair, and finally the unmistakable profile of the old woman seemed to gradually configure into a familiar unmistakable vision.<br /><br />He felt the blood rush to his head, his hair rising instantly as he watched the profile move. Looking into his direction, as if she knew he was there. And then the bony claw-like hands reached into the window panel, trying to open it. At last, Joey let out a huge scream and Linda nearly jumped out of bed.<br /><br />“Oh God Joey, my poor son, you’re feverish again, hush up now… I’m here… calm down, and stop crying son, don’t be afraid.”<br /><br />She massaged his head and sang her gently back to sleep. <br />Then Linda walked up to the window wondering how she could have left it partly open. She looked outside and under the moonlit night, she saw what remains of the stump of the tree that Ronald felled on the Sunday before he left. <br /><br />And how they thought the nightmare’s over."Hanging on a Hyphen"http://www.blogger.com/profile/09954654427742268236noreply@blogger.com4