Fishy Publications

The Last Tremor Felt

2009-09-22T00:40:00.000-07:00

It’s official. This heart has all but been bled out and is nearing its end.
I should’ve recognized the symptoms- chest pains, shortness of breath and unpredictable attacks of dizziness. Too late I learned, this condition has passed the stage where it could’ve been treated.
The doctor gave me the results from the x-rays and the other varied tests the other day and we were left astounded after what was found out.
At first glance, my heart was ok. It was only by looking through a lens that we discerned the visible symptoms of its failure. Minute, myriad cracks ran through the muscle. The exterior has degenerated into a papery, fragile texture, causing some of it to peel away and crumble into dust.
It seems too that my heart has shrunk from the normal size (I think this explains my apathetic behavior for the past months now), causing it to lag and bounce about like an abandoned, fallen kite, with its string entangled on a high, dead branch.
Observations also show that parts of my heart have been chipped off, some small areas looking like the pieces were carefully excised, though more prevalent were areas looking like chunks have been forcibly torn out by a monstrous beast.
However, I think I know the possible cause of these missing pieces (and it somewhat beleaguers me that i should probably admit this to the doctor). I have been giving away parts of my heart over the years, most of which I optimistically lent out on loan and wanted to get back twofold. Unfortunately, most people don’t seem to value paying loans nowadays that needless to say, forced my heart-giving venture into bankruptcy.
The bigger chunks though, now those were different. Those were given freely and without hope of getting them back. Why? Suffice it to say that all hearts or at least parts of it, are irrevocably meant to be given away to someone special, at one time or another. In my case, there were a lot of "someone specials" (and still are) so that explains away the large bulk of heart pieces missing.

I guess I shouldn’t have been surprised by the diagnosis, really. Truth be told, I had it coming. Anyone who didn’t value hearts as much as I did are doomed to this fate.
Even as I write this memoir, I can feel my heart shudder with the last vestiges of effort.
It’s only a matter of time now.

Much Is Unsaid

2009-09-21T04:02:00.000-07:00

I look back at my life right now and I'm not sure if I’m happy with what I see. I don’t know if I achieved all I’ve set out to get nor do I know if I’ve lived the way one’s supposed to. All I know is that right now, I am stuck in a crossroads and I can’t move on or choose a path because I am laden with uncertainties on where to go next and insecurities about taking on the new hurdles of life. I haven’t always been like this. I know I used to be light in spirit and disposition and something this trivial wouldn’t have bothered me any.
Anyway, that’s all moot now because the thing is, I am in this dismal reality and it seems I’m stuck here or worst, have been stuck here for the longest time and I’ve just noticed, now that my feet won’t move since they’re sinking in quicksand.
Is this despair even normal? I have lost all semblance of fighting and I’m being pummeled into pulp by circumstance, inability and hopelessness.
Is this what’s fated for me? I shake my head and wonder when my life has reached its peak because I don’t think it ever did. And when I do recall a specific goal achieved, place traveled or persons met, somehow those memories just seem petty and washed out.
Lord, I don’t want to keep on living like this. I am neither a drone nor a shadow but it’s just so hard keeping my head up. I want to view the world as I did, when I was but an exuberant youth. I need to witness something with wonder again. I need your help. Please show me there’s something more than this bland, bleak excuse of a life.

25 Random Things About Me

2009-05-02T21:44:00.000-07:00

I've been Tagged!

IN NO PARTICULAR ORDER (might be rambling a bit too)

1. I have a “thing” about mint chocolate ice cream. I think it’s the best flavor in the ice cream world. I’ve always wondered why local brands don’t have this as a regular flavor. But then again I’d be reduced to hopeless destitution if they did.

2. I can emulate a lot of accents. Here’s the list:
a. British –
- regency/upper-crust brit
- street/slang brit
- hybrid brit with brogue mixed in – watch Billy Elliot to get an idea.
- Tagalog and Ilocano - Yep, you read right, I can speak Tagalog and Ilocano with a british accent.

b. Brogues –
- Scot (me and my buddy Jonathan Benito even write testimonials for each other in simulated Scottish)
- Irish (has been permanently ruined when I acquired the Indian accent though)

c. Indian – I can do indian – both genders. Yep, the lilt’s different ‘tween genders.

d. American –
- Neutral – American - accent that can be pinned down to any state in the US (usually this is the accent that call centers try to achieve in their agents)
- Texan Southern Drawl – having spoken to them for what felt like eternity in one of my past jobs, I can manipulate my tongue so my words come out sounding like I’ve been chewing gum for the last 20years (and the same gum at that). However, my best southern usually comes in the guise of the irate African-american woman (luv ito nina She and Lala). Also on this list are – Stetson –wearing cowboy, African-american man, single southern lass, white married Texan woman and Hispanic (chicano, not the castellano espanyol). Ask me about this sometime so I can let you hear the difference.

e. English – these are just inflections so I listed ‘em separately
- French-english – Hank azaria’s character in Along Comes Polly – “Ze Hippoh”
- Italian-English – Those who’ve watched The Godfather movies know how this one sounds. It’s easy to acquire, really, just try choking yourself for 5 minutes or so and your voice comes out all raspy and Mafia-y
- Russian – English – I vanna be dancer. OR… Lucy Lawless’s character in Eurotrip. Luv the “VANDERRSEX” scene. ‘nuff said.
- Bimbo-English – is this even an accent? Nope. But I sure can do it. Me ‘n Paris Hilton are, like, BFFs.
- Surfer-dude – best example I can give you with this voice is Crush the turtle from Finding Nemo.

That’s it I think. I’m working on asian accents now so the list is gonna get longer.

3. I’ve been collecting books since I was 13. My genre’s Fantasy (leaning towards Robert Jordan’s writing, never was one for Tolkien’s flowery style)/ S&S/SF and a spattering of other types of fiction. Lately, I’ve been worrying about space since my books just overflowed the latest book shelf I got as a present (o, nagpaparinig na… perfect gift for me – BOOKSHELF)

4. I collect DVDs. Pirated naman. I’m a movie buff. I can watch beloved movies 10x and still bawl at the “cry-here-and-insert-chees

y-music” parts. Been really delirious with happiness lately since I found two of the 3 great Robert Downey Jr. Chick flicks, Only You (with M. Tomei) and Heart and Souls (with E. Shue). Kulang na lang yung Chances Are (with M. Stuart Masterson)

5. I’m a volleyball addict. If a sport can become one’s significant other, volleyball’s the one for me.

6. I’m a cat person. I once gave up the chance to watch the FIVB Manila leg with once-in-a-lifetime contingent Italy, Croatia and Brazil (meaning legends Mauri Cacciatori, Ceska Piccinini, Paola Paggi, Barbara Jelic and Leila Barros were playing) because Gilbert our cat needed a pelvic bone-knitting operation when a reckless jeepney driver ran him over. On this note, I pet street cats, even weird –looking ones, almost always to the chagrin of my friends (oo, kayo yun, Abdel at Patoy)

7. I have wanderlust.

8. I take pictures.

9. I am obsessive. It takes years for me to get over something. Or someone. I can have LSS for 2weeks. And yes, because I’m obsessive, I hold grudges.

10. I HATE CIGARETTE SMOKE! I ABHOR IT! I LOATHE IT! Cig smoke brings out the unreasoning Hyde in me, so it is not unusual when I get physically violent (yep, there are different types of violent, minsan kasi virtual lang) with a smoker. I specifically hate how Reds smell.

11. I’ve always been mesmerized by large bodies of water, particularly, seas. I love the smell, the sounds and everything associated with them. Unfortunately, I am an Earth sign and I’m totally clumsy in water. Fact is, I’ve almost always had an episode of near-drowning every time my family visited the beaches when I was small. I still don’t know how to swim to this day but that doesn’t stop me from visiting a beach every chance I get. As far as I can tell though, it’s not the beach-bum type of adoration. I just love to be near the water. Maybe I’m afflicted with one of those syndromes that make you long for what you can’t have, or in this case, what you can’t conquer.

12. I’m a musician.

13. I love to tinker. Unfortunately, this was the reason why most of my toys didn’t last long when I was a kid. I’d take ‘em apart and mix other parts from other toys. Recently however, I have successfully combined parts from 3 busted generic DVD players into one working unit (hooray, pede na kong mag-electrician). I’m also my apartment’s resident plumber.

14. Unlike most in this generation, I still believe in Ghosts, UFO’s and the Fey - and I’ve got photos I took to prove they’re real too (though some might say otherwise)

15. I miss running. I miss Salcedo park. I quit my routine when I got seriously sick cause my body couldn’t take it. I’m fervently hoping I can run again someday.

16. Favorite time of the day – 3-5pm. For me, this beats sunsets/sunrises. I specially love sunny, windy afternoons when everything looks blue and gilded.

17. Orange is my favorite color. It’s gratifying how a large number of my friends know this kasi I barely have Orange-colored clothes or belongings.

18. I’m clairvoyant. Totoo yan, wag magduda.

19. I hate Beer. I hate the smell, I hate the taste. But I still drink it anyway, pag walang choice.

20. I love to eat. I consider food as one of the best things in being alive (besides the more practical reason of course).

21. Dancers fascinate me.

22. I go for the weird. They influence me in varying degrees.

23. I firmly believe in speaking out my mind. So if you see me and we run out of small talk, I just say “out my mind”.

24. My pet names for my sisters are Peykchupuxkwenah and Pushinet.

25. Mahal ko si Mr.Kabab.

Kill The Cat Killer!

2009-04-16T23:09:00.000-07:00

There are things that make me angry. and then there are those that make me raging mad. i just read this post (link pm'd by one of my colleagues and fellow UPian and catperson, Kerwin Nicolas) about a certain UP student, Joseph Carlo Candare, an alleged cat- killer. The info was posted by another UPian blogger (ty for being so concerned) about how and why a hapless little kitten was killed by a vicious beast of a teenager. here's CatKiller's post on his multiply site (fortunately copied by Upian blogger, before the site was closed, probably because of numerous Abuse reports) -

Name: Joseph Carlo Candare
Nickname: JC
Age: 18
School: UP Diliman (nop for long!!!)
Course: Applied Physics
Hometown: Butuan City
Multiply: http://myperfectsymmetry.multiply.com/

The entry

4th Epic Fail: An Accidental Crime. First day sa supercon. Lunch time came. On our way out of old NIP I saw the cat I almost killed last Tuesday. Now everyone knows I hate cats. It's an unexplainable feeling towards them. Like some internal hatred. Hindi ko talaga alam kung bakit pero anumang pagpipigil sa sarili ay hindi sapat upang mapangibabawan ang panggigil ko sa mga pusa. I pulled it on its tail and threw it. Then like some pro wrestler I jumped on it and my feet landed on it's torso. Slam! Felt good! But the cat didn't die, well not yet. It ran for it's life and just as I was about to catch up on it somebody yelled: "Pwede bang pabayaan mo yung pusa?!". It was instant and involuntary. I stopped on my tracks. Nobody ever stopped me when assaulting cats. Well I guess there's always a first time for everything. The cat got away. Or at least that's what i thought. So we went to lunch Mel, Jayson, Tracy and me. After lunch, balik na sa kung anumang naiwang gawain. Then Tracy and Mel told me " Hui Jc napatay mo yung pusa". Hours later, habang abala sa XRD, a guy came in. Tanong niya: "Sinong pumatay dun sa pusa?" Bang! Dat was me boi. Guilty as charged.

I didn't see it die pero sabi ni Myles it coughed up blood or at least something like that daw. Didn't realize I gave it a fatal hit. This isn't the first time I've killed a cat but this time it's different. It didn't occur to me back then that the cat had a leash. So I think somebody owns it. Well it's very well loved in NIP from what I heard and I just ended it's life. So there you go I'm sorry. And I wont be striking another one for maybe about a month. It feels good when your beating it(a cat) up but you suddenly feel something strange when it turns off permanently. That's how I feel right now. And maybe for the next days. Dang, am I a cat serial killer?

Obviously, this guy doesn't have a clue that his current mindset is setting him towards becoming a serial killer (they always start out torturing little animals).

I hope this guy gets karma big time. It's an ever bigger shame that he's currently studying in UP- dapat he should know better because he's being provided with premium education. Maybe it just goes to show how twisted he is, and perhaps, he may already be irrevocably damaged inside. People like him always turn out for the worse. I pray na maagapan pa sya. If not, at least, sana, one day when he's out walking, he encounters some crazy guy strong enough to throw him up into the air and for fun, stomps on his torso as he hits the floor. That should show him.

Gushing about the local band scene

2008-12-07T20:18:00.000-08:00

Last Saturday, my band, Distantshores, had the privilege of performing with some of the upcoming talents in the Philippine underground scene. The experience was one of the few good events I’ve gone to for quite a while now, so I felt compelled to write about it. The event was spearheaded by friends of ours, Rj Chaves and Aries, the guys who started the After Shift Jam series; gigs usually done during the early morning hours to cater to call center agents. Saturday’s gig was one of the rare occasions that the event was done at night, it was even featured as live webstreaming from 6Underground’s website.
Anyhoo, we confirmed last on the bandlist, so we were slated to perform as the 7th(last) band. Nevertheless, my bandmates and I intentionally went in early so that we could watch the performances by the other bands (kasi we heard apparently yung mga kasama namin that night were really good). I think we made the right decision. The bands who performed not only lived up to the hype, pero they actually took it to the next level. So here I am, tryin’ to help these musicians out, cause if they deserve anything for their music, it’s being heard and appreciated.

Here they are;

The Ram Chaves band (formerly known as Sutil) – You might have seen Ram (known as RJ pa rin to most) in the TV show Pinoy Idol. He finished third. If you ask me, Ram’s beyond anything inane such as being known as “third”. Some people might say “di sya nanalo kasi ginagaya nya si bamboo”– that’s just ignorant banter. You wouldn’t say that if you’ve seen him perform live. This guy, si Ram, along with his bandmates, Wilbert, Bong and their new bassist (sorry didn’t get the name-pero he placed 1st in The Rj Nationwide search for Music Hero, si Dob, our bassist was on the top ten) – perform their hearts out when they play. They’re really good to watch, the type of show that just makes you want to sing along, if only you knew the lyrics. Anyhoo, all those people who didn’t vote for Rj, you’ve just been upyoursed. Kasi they have an album coming out in January under VIVA records. Fortunately, things always have a way of working out. ☺

Menaya – I’ve heard about this band while to talking to a former bandmate of mine. One time, nagkita kami, he said, “uy, vote mo naman sa NU countdown ung band ng best friend ko, he plays guitar for MENAYA”. Syempre, ako naman, haven’t even heard of the band so I just gave a noncommittal answer. Watching them play sa 6Underground totally changed my outlook. The few songs they performed were enough to convert me to a full-fledged fan. Menaya’s music is not the usual Filipino-yi sound you hear on the radio. It actually sounds like they’re foreigners. I’m not trying to sound like I’m belittling anything sounding Filipino-yi, I’m just trying to give a distinction (I hope I don’t offend anyone with this thought). As I was saying, I was really surprised kasi ang ganda-ganda ng tunog nila. Just my type. It’s easy-listening-rock-na-hindi-maingay-kahit-nakadistort-ang-gitars. Astig. You can put their CD in the car stereo and go on a joy ride habang inuulit-ulit ito sa playlist. If you wanna know what I mean, just check them out sa record stores, their second CD’s already out.

Ursa Minor – Besides the fact that the band’s astig kasi they have a female drummer (I personally think that girls who can rock as well as or even better than some guys are innately cool) they’ve got a really great sound. Try to catch them at their gigs; I think they’re pretty active in the underground scene, so those of you who are part of music mailing lists sa yahoo groups would usually see them on gig scheds. I don’t know if they have an album out yet, pero I’m sure to buy one if they do.

** at this point, I’m gonna plug in for my fellow musikeros na rin kasi they too deserve kudos, kahit na sa simpleng post lang.

Ambermoon (Effect) – They currently reside and gig in Baguio, although they’ve already performed here in Manila. I really respect these guys not only because I personally know them pero kahit na I haven’t had the opportunity to watch them play live, I’ve listened to their demo songs sa soundclick and they sound really good. Dati kong kabanda si Rubena, vox nila. She’s one of the best female singers in the Philippines. If you don’t want to take my word for it, you can always watch them perform and you’ll know it for fact. Bukod dun, her band’s got a heck of a repertoire for musicians, si Jethro, si Sev, si Oliver and their lead guitars (sorry po, I haven’t met him pa) – they’re all really, really adept, judging from their songs. So please try to catch them play, if you can.

The Lowtechs – Another band I’m really proud to be acquainted with. Gelo, the vox, was my blockmate nung college sa Fine Arts. They’ve made quite a name for themselves sa underground scene. So bukod me being happy about my blockmate, I’m proud that these guys, Baguio guys all, are on their way to success dito sa Manila (and it’s really hard to make a distinction at all dito, as I should know).

Tabass – Tabass’s music in three words – FUN FUN FUN. Met them sa After Shift Jam. You haven’t had a really good bar experience unless you’ve seen AJ, Suzi and Bennet perform onstage (it gets even better if they’re inebriated). Their music, with some quips and anecdotes thrown in for laughs, really make watching them a novel experience. Astig kasi pag nakikipagsabayan ka sa kanila lalo na sa mga kanta nila like “Gusto Ko Matutong Mag-Rap” or “Granma” or their cover of Wham’s Careless Whisper. Their single – “Balat Kayo” is currently number four on the Pinoy Rock Countdown on 105.9 after only a week of airplay. I’m urging anyone who reads this to lend a hand and cast a vote .

Kastigo – This time, don't know them personally pero I’m still gonna write about them. Got acquainted with their music through Sir Eric (my account’s Creative Director) a fellow local music enthusiast. I think the guitar guy is some kind of a guitar henyo. Apparently he doesn’t use a pick when playing the guitar. Magaling sya, magaling sila. Their song Kapag Kapiling Ka (KKK) is on my Ipod’s jogging playlist. I’ve once had this song on repeat for a whole day at work – it’s that catchy. They’ve got an album out so try to ask about them on your local music stores.

Traumaligno – Boom, the vox, I do know from college (seems a lot of people I know from college are currently in the band scene). His band’s also released an Indie album, called “Baon". Astig rin ang tunog nila. The guitars sound great and of course, astig ang bosses ni Boom (heard he got the best vox award sa After Shift Jam awards last year).

Basilica – Been hoping to see them perform live for quite some time now. Di ko matyempuhan. Magaling kasi sila e. Watching them’s gonna be on top of my current to-do list. They’re that good.

Even – This band, di ko pa naririnig. Di ko rin kilala. I just read from a post though that
they won the latest Red Horse Muziklaban competition. And they’re from Baguio. Kudos to them.

I know that most of you might think the only reason I’m promoting these bands is because of the fact that I know most of them. The thing is, I am taking the time to write about them because as a musician, I’ve listened to and appreciated their music. More than that, I know that their gifts of melody have been given to them for a reason; it might be for something as shallow as trying to have a good time or something as serious as you finding something you can relate to and that something might even inevitably alter your life’s path. Of course, that just might be the romantic in me speaking, but who knows? Anything is possible. For those reasons, I know I’m gonna sound cliché by finishing this post by urging everyone not to buy pirated CDs’ but for these bands and all other struggling musicians out there, one Original CD bought means quite a lot, so I am gonna endure becoming part of the generic crowd at least this once. Here goes, PLEASE, DON’T BUY PIRATED CDs, TANGKILIKIN ANG SARILING ATIN.

Like falling off a bike. literally.

2008-11-25T05:00:00.000-08:00

I fell off my mountain bike last Friday. Actually, let me rephrase that, I flew off my mountain bike last Friday; arms-and-legs flailing, screaming-my-head-off flying. It’s the kind of stupidity I thought I outgrew, like peer pressure and cutting classes to go drinking. The most embarrassing thing about it was, about 25 people saw me actually careening through the air. I can only imagine the collective thought going through everyone’s heads at the time (including mine) – what an idiot.
The funny thing is, I still couldn’t believe it could happen to me – I, who spent my childhood enmeshed in animate activities that would drive any sane parent to tooth-clacking, knee-trembling hysteria if only they knew about it.
When I was a kid, I’ve jumped (fallen) down 10-foot walls while lugging a bag of stolen kamotes (and running from a fuming gardener waving a big-ass bolo), slid down streetlight poles ala fireman-in-action, scaled bayabas and avocado trees in search of Y-shaped branches for slingshots, illegally entered park premises by clambering up the park fences and various other monkey-brained schemes. Most importantly, and I guess, not surprisingly, because of my seemingly uncontained childhood adrenaline, I’ve found the time to learn and eventually become accomplished in Roller Skating, BMX and skateboarding. I’m not going to say that my skills could’ve gotten me into the X-Games, that would’ve been exaggerating, but suffice it to say that for a 10yr old kid and a GIRL for that matter, I could beat most teenagers in a karera.
Anyway, considering my past life as an adrenaline-pumped (kiti-kiti if my mother had anything to say about it) juvenile reprobate, I should have known better than to speed up on a curve. So, here I am with severely bruised elbows and knees and various black and blue pain points on my body. That’s not the only problem though. I’ve been having a constant headache since the incident happened and it’s been four days already. I haven’t told my older sister (the tattletale) nor my mom about it. My mom wasn’t too happy about what happened and has called me repeatedly since Saturday morning so that she could recite a sermon I’ve heard the -enth time using a voice usually reserved to start wildebeest stampedes. The headache’s not actually a big deal, I could even ignore it if I wanted to but knowing when it started and speculating about the probable cause, it’s starting to worry me A LOT. Unfortunately (or ironically), though I never backed down from a challenge, I go tail-between-the-legs scared when it comes to doctors. No, I’ve never been hospitalized because of my over-active behavior as a child so you can rule that out. I just don’t like going to doctors, or to hospitals, for that matter. Maybe it's my irrational fear, like what other people have against ghosts; though on my part, I fear something more concrete. I don’t know what to do. I know it’s unreasonable – I’m covered by medical insurance and I need only get a doctor’s appointment and be present on the day of the appointment, but I just can’t seem to do it. I really don’t know what to do. Maybe it’s just paranoia. I’m fervently hoping that what I’m feeling is only Hypochondria because at least that way, I’m only imagining the pain and there’s really nothing wrong beyond my usual cookoo-ness.
Nevertheless, I am going to give myself a deadline, if this headache’s still with me on Friday, it’s off to the Doctor on the weekend for me (which I'm still fervently hoping against). Wish me luck. Sana all it is is a concussion and nothing worst.

Try To Look Up, Tilt Your Chin Up A Bit , Then Smile

2008-10-06T04:12:00.000-07:00

Lately I’ve been trying soooo hard to keep my perspective about things. It just seems that everything’s not satisfactory anymore.
Anyway, I’ve been trying to keep myself enthused by a few things that I think are really helping me keep my attention away from more dejecting matters.

Reading blogs – I’ve discovered that reading some of my friends’ blogs are actually therapeutic. Why? Getting to know them better through their posts just assures you that you’re not as disturbed as you thought you were. This is a very good thing because, you find out that you do belong to a group, albeit a looney one. ☺ ahhh, the rewards of a comfort zone. Besides, reading about problems and anecdotes not your own gives you a glimpse of life from another perspective, and that’s always refreshing.

Finding a hobby – Lately, I’ve been trying to condition my body into returning to its former athlete-form (I played varsity tennis in college till I busted my shoulder). I realized that besides the fact that I’m beginning to look like a fat-ass, I may be someone who might be described as one who’s “gone to seed”. I find it troubling to be bothered by a phrase that I’m not even sure I know the meaning of. Anyway, I always read about that saying in books, when the author describes the former athlete with the current beer paunch. Just thinking about it depresses me. So, here I am, willing to take on a new hobby to battle the invasion of flab. More importantly, running’s keeping me from brooding too much (it's really hard to be "brooding" when you're about to collapse from exhaustion). This time, I guess having a hobby’s more than just about the hobby itself. Besides, just the thought of eventually looking better is always a welcome addition to the list of pick-me-ups.

Pasta Catatonia! - I recently experimented with making a pasta dish throwing together various ingredients I found in my apartment's pantry - Penne pasta, thyme, rosemary, tuna chunks in veg oil, rock salt (yes, rock salt since i couldn't locate where my housemates kept the iodized variety), some capers, pitted olives and a bit of corn oil (sounds eww).
I'm not gonna call the activity cooking because I don't think boiling penne qualifies as cooking anyway. Nevertheless, I think I came out of the experiment successfully because everyone I've forced into sampling my pasta told me I did good, meaning- they gorged and were satisfied. More importantly, they exclaimed that the taste was really yummy. This means a lot, because the majority of people I've fed so far- mainly my housemates - haven't really tasted anything I've put together, besides the usual hotdogs and instant noodles.
I'm not really the cooking type. The last time I cooked, I remember my Dad and I having a row about why I couldn't even fry an egg right. I felt so bad, I ran away from home, well, for 5 hours at least. I went back because I found a lost kitty and had to return home to get some milk - I remembered seeing a can in our refrigerator.
Back to the story - I named my dish Pasta Catatonia! (note the exclamation point, yes, it's part of the dish's name, so you have to say it with flourish) jokingly warning my housemates that a bite of it can render you Catatonic for 5 minutes. I haven't had anyone go into a coma yet so another hoorah for me.

A new pet – I have been reluctant to get a pet since my kitten, Cleocatra a.k.a memeh, an abyssinian mau, died. She mistakenly ate rat poison at our neighbor’s gym, thinking it might have been her usual fare of Whiskas cat food. I was so distraught over her death, I wasn’t able to go home to the apartment for 2 weeks. I had to bunk over at my sister’s apartment until the grief became at least bearable. Call me a drama queen, but I couldn’t help it, I am and always have been, a cat person.

memeh my cat

Anyway, we do have a new pet now, a little puppy by the name of Falcor (named after the Neverending story’s Luck Dragon).

Falcor a.k.a Maximus Decimus Meridius

He may not be a cat but I treat him like one.
He’s such a small bundle of excitement and energy that you can’t help but smile just by looking at his antics. That’s one less frown for a day. ☺

more new pets, Antoinette "Grabiddy" Rabbit and Seamus the Kitty

Music – I’m really thankful that I’ve been given a chance to relive my music this year. I am thankful that my bandmates have found the time and exerted the effort to go to our jamming sessions and play our music like they did when first we met.
I am thankful to have found a gig with a good sound system and a good crowd and to have sung my heart out, because of it.
I wish I had the patience to sit down one day and finally work on the multitude of recorded voice notes and rough riffs in my cellphone so I can arrange them into complete songs (and good ones, at that).
I wish that we could continue recording our songs so that we can finally release our Demo CD.
I thank the Lord that He has given me the gift to create and be music. It’s always been one of the soothing constants in my life and without it, I may have sunk into the doldrum mire a long, long time ago.

Anyway, that’s my list for now. I’m not sure if it’s going to be a lot of help to you reader, but I hope it has kept you from thinking about your worries, even if it’s just for a little while.
Find things to distract you, find things that make you smile. Sooner or later, you’ll be surprised that you’ve passed your “down-phase” and everything’s gotten better.

Mesmerized

2008-10-03T05:48:00.000-07:00

no, i am not going home until i sort myself out. homesick..homesick..homesick..
besides, baka magkita pa tayo and all hell will break loose.

You make me want to write. I, who writes as often as the elusive thunderstorm vents its fury in summer.
I hate it that you make me feel this way.
I hate being so out of myself and being so insecure, especially since being in control is what makes me tick in front of people.
The worst part of it is of you having no idea about how you affect me so.
It must be grand being your usual ordinary self yet affecting someone in an extraordinary way.
i hate losing myself this way, especially, losing myself to a person who i'm not even sure is worth losing oneself into.
Hence, I'm instigating this constant battle to hate you.
It's a defense mechanism you see, it would be better for me if I didn't like you too much because eventually (and inevitably), it wouldn't hurt too much either.
So stop being your usual charming self and at least show a little bad character.

I don't know what I see in you anyway. You're a nerd and from what I've personally seen so far, boring.
You're someone who doesn't usually deviate from convention and that makes you as interesting as fighting off a yawn during a sleepy school afternoon.
Worst of all, you look like the type of person who basks in a comfort zone.
This means, you content yourself by having and being what others expect you to be and not even exerting effort to go beyond the cliches.
I know it's unfair that I've put you in a box and I know it's more than unfair that that box is made up of nothing but speculations and vindictive thoughts but, as you may have gathered already, if you're the between-the-lines type, I'm desperately looking for ways to preserve myself.

I'm sure that in reality, you're more than a person in a box and you're even more wonderful
than what I clearly deny myself to see but right now, I don't want to think about that.
You see, I've got everything to lose in this game and what gets to me is you're not even in it.

#13 General V. Lim Street and other stories

2008-09-03T03:45:00.000-07:00

When I was a kid, we lived in a big old colonial house that people who saw it for the first time would always automatically think they’re looking at a genuine haunted house. We were still relatively poor then, we didn’t have a house of our own and lived with two other families renting with us. It’s not as pitiful as it sounds though. The house was what writers would describe as “rambling” in novels. It was a 2-storey relic from the 1900’s, which means, it was there when the Japanese invaded our islands and when the Americans came in force to the Cordilleras, to help repel the attacking foes. Since the house was so big, we shared the ground floor with the G*******s, a family of four, who had 2 children the same age as my sister and I. The 2nd story was rented by the B*******s, a married couple who were richer than most (they were both officials in a government agency department), but too scrimpy to buy a house of their own. They had a son whom I couldn’t remember much, since he was about 7 yrs my senior. The B*******s, also served as the monthly rent-collectors, since they personally knew the owners of the house, an old Spanish family by the name of Ricafort, who were residing here in Manila. The rent money was supposedly sent out by mail every month-end, but it was a favorite topic of our elders back then, guessing how much the B*******s pocketed and how much was actually collected by the Ricaforts.
The house was built according to the style of American suburb houses - if you used to visit Baguio back then (‘80s- early ‘90s), you would recognize it looking like one of the Camp John Hay cottages. If you weren’t fortunate enough to have seen the Camp back then (hence having no idea how the cottages looked like) let me just give a brief description. They were made of white enamel- painted wood, with chocolate brown foundations and green-shingled tile/ wood roofs. I know, it’s a lousy description, but hey, I was about 10 when I last saw them. Anyway, take that image of a house and imagine it with the paint being the worse for wear but big enough so that a mob of 25 could live inside comfortably.
Adding to the fascination of it being a humongous, old house with a long history, it was located in a neighborhood that we locals termed as “bakasyunan”. Every year during the Lenten season, especially on Holy Week, our neighborhood would fill up with actors, actresses and other big names in the country taking a break from work. When I say big names, I don’t exaggerate - Isabel Granada, Aiko Melendez and Robin Padilla, to name a few, used to spend Semana Santa in the vacation houses lining our street. It was totally exhilarating to live next door to the current matinee idol/ love team at that time.
Our area was prime real estate due to a few reasons. First was the location, it was a 5-minute walk from Burnham Park. You might think that we were overrun by tourists all the time but, actually, we were at the ‘back” part of the park, away from the market and the major road that led to the business district. The only people who actually knew about our street were locals who knew that traffic was virtually non-existent in that part of town. Additionally, our neighborhood was located within the side of Baguio that wasn’t congested and instead of the numerous buildings that were popping up like mushrooms after the storm at that time, the General Lim (our street) area was still surrounded by majestic pine trees. For the better part of the year, the big houses in our street were deserted, like big mammals that hibernate until summer comes along, then becomes full of life again as their vacationing owners – their families, friends, friends’ friends return from the lowlands.
Living in General Lim, my playmates were mostly composed of the caretakers’ kids. Schooldays would be an endless longing for dismissal. At about 2:00pm, the street would start filling up with kids still in school uniforms (almost always being chased by elder sisters who were usually in charge of family laundry) eagerly awaiting their playmates. My dad was abroad at that time and my mom also had a day job, so my sister and I were left to the care of aunts and older cousins staying with us for college schooling. Anyway, I was free to spend the remainder of the day outdoors, familiarizing and eventually mastering all the things kids considered important stuff back then. I guess one of the main reasons I had a pretty good chilhood was because of the fact that almost all of the kids in General Lim were at my age group. Hence, we shared the same interests and gave import to the same things. Usually topmost on our agendas were of course, games.
Children who grew up without strict supervision would know that the “games” cycled like seasons throughout the year. January would start out as the “tex” season. If you don’t know what tex is, dati eto ung mga maliliit na karton na may print sa harap, then themed with local movies like Inday inday sa balitaw, Kumander Bawang, Valentina at ang anak ni Zuma, Pik Pak Boom and Lintik lang ang walang ganti, to name a few. The children of General Lim would usually go around the block carrying a shoebox each, containing the precious tex. The kid who’s currently on a days-long winning streak would even use the things to make business, selling tex at 10pieces for 2pesos. This gimmick really worked well if, once the loser bought 10 pieces, current winner would usually challenge him to another bet-all game, thus getting back the tex he’s sold. To be a good tex player, you should know terms like “cha”, “choob”, “kasado” and “quits” by heart.
After tex would come the season of rubberbands. I think I know and played almost every Filipino game involving rubberbands. There are the physical games like sipa, 5-5, 10-15, high jump and Chinese Garter and the acquire games like Pitik, Toss and “tatsing”. Like tex, we paraded around with our rubberband-chain links wrapped around our torsos imitating what Hulk Hogan and “Macho Man” Randy King Savage did with their World Wrestling Federation Belts. I also mastered how to make paper and plastic kites and we would steal thread from our moms’ sewing kits to have kite-flying contests on windy days.
The boys also taught me to play Turumpo or the top (hmm sounds kinky). I learned how to distinguish a top that would turn smoothly by looking at the body contour, type of wood and the construction nail used to assemble the toy. Besides that, I also know how to “pick up” a spinning top into my palm or aim it accurately so that it drills a hole into a Spartan tsinelas, once released from the top string. I’ve played jolen, Washington, taguan (moonlit nights were the best), patintero, langit lupa, tumbang preso, touch the body, pog, monkeymonkey, sawsaw suka, catcher, piko, luksong-baka, pitik-bulag and games that were so obscure, we had to invent names for them.
There was a day that we looked forward to every summer, when winged ants would fill the air due to the mating season. We would cut up big cans of Nido or Bear Brand and stuffed dried pine needles inside. We lit these up and ran all over the street screaming our lungs out while waving the cans in the air so the smoke would repel the winged insects. Thinking back, I don’t think this method was effective against the ants at all and the only thing we got from it were scoldings when we got home because we smelled and looked like we just came in from a forest fire, but it still was a ritual we kids looked forward to every year.
When we got bored with playing, we went adventuring.
As I previously mentioned, General Lim and the other streets included in the barangay was in an area with big, deserted houses, tall pine trees and vacant lots overrun with weeds, ivy, kamote plants and sunflowers. There’s a story told by the old people in our street. Apparently, when the Japanese came into the Philippines, they used the then standing houses in our barangay as temporary garrisons. A prevalent (and favorite) topic regarding this alleged “history” of our place were the ghost stories. Anyway, I’m going to enumerate some of them and before you accuse me of digressing, let me just say that I think these stories play an important role in understanding why living in General Lim was such a novel experience. So, here goes.

GHOST STORIES
There was this one house situated in the Legarda-General Lim street corner where, it was whispered, that a headless priest shows up every time a blackout occurs. Another house crumbling and abandoned, supposedly became the den of occultists/ Satanists because of the atrocities committed there during the war. One childhood rite we had to perform was to go up to the porch of the said house and knock 3x. We were scared witless because the windowpanes had weird markings that we used to think were arcane writings of those who dwelled within. Another ghost story favorite of mine was “the march”. Our neighbor, an old caretaker by the name of auntie Mary would tell us that on foggy nights, one could hear the faint thump of marching boots in cadence on the deserted street. The house adjacent to us was rumored to have been built on top of a hospital that was blown up during the bombings, it being in particular a children’s nursery - which might explain why, on cold nights, some profess to hearing babies crying and children wailing like they were in a lot of pain.
Of course, our house had its own claim to fame. Remember when I mentioned that it looked like a haunted house? That was because we believed it was one. The story is about one of the Ricafort clan, the only daughter. Apparently it was her wedding day when the Japanese came to take the house as part of their headquarters. Ricafort (don’t know the married name) and husband were shot down in front of the house for refusing to let the Japanese inside the gate. Some said that they occasionally see someone wearing what looked like a wedding dress circling our house every now and then. They say that the Ricafort ghost still haunts the area looking for her husband. For some reason though, I wasn’t afraid of living there. Even when sometimes, we could hear the thump of running feet on our ceiling when we knew that the B*******s had gone out, we still went on our daily business unalarmed. Perhaps the reason was, we believed that the Ricafort ghost had been protecting our house instead of haunting it, which explains why it’s still standing even after the Japanese apparently bombed our area in the 1940’s. At times when there were really strong typhoons, the house would creak and shudder but never fail to shelter. In the 1990 earthquake, the cliff beside our house collapsed in a landslide, but the massive rocks stopped short of the house’s side wall.

We believed all the “Japanese” stories regarding our neighborhood. The reason? We used to dig up 3-inch long bullets when we went searching for kamotes to roast in our street bonfires (a ritual involving a pile made of lots of dried pine needles and freshly dug kamotes carefully placed in the middle). My dad and his friends found bayonets (a weapon favored by the Japanese infantry) canon balls, wallets, boots and various stuff that looked to have been war-era at the vacant lot behind our house. There was even a scrawl in our bathroom saying “john was here during the war, 1942”.
The most interesting story I guess is what drew treasure hunters in droves to our community. Standing theory is that the Japanese, having lost the war, left in such a hurry that they buried part of the Yamashita trove in one of the caves that riddled the stretches of unkempt land in our neighborhood. Different treasure hunting types (complete with spelunking equipment) would arrive at least 2 times a year to snoop around and try to verify if the theory is true. Of course, being protective of the relative privacy of our area, we would usually tell them that it’s just a local joke. Anyway, it was all very exciting stuff to us kids and we sometimes tried to do some “treasure hunting” ourselves, but since we also knew the part of the story about various booby traps and curses attached to the “treasure” we never got farther than a few feet into the caves.

Another highpoint of living in General Lim was being so close to Burnham Park. My barkada and I would spend weekends and idle summer days going to the park trying out the swings, monkey bars, slides and seesaws. The BMX craze afflicted us when we watched ET a few years after it was released. We all became bicycle fanatics. I can still remember my first try on a rented park bike, 8 years old aboard a wobbling bike desperately trying to avoid colliding with a garbage pile while my friends laughed their hearts out. Even without bikes of our own, we became adepts, living so close to the park. One of our favorite pastimes was challenging tourist-looking kids to kareras. After our BMX craze, we graduated to skateboarding, then to Roller Skating by the time the skating rink opened in the early ‘90s.
We also took advantage of the other perks the park had to offer. Most memorable were the days that we went “fishing” in Burnham Lake for Carpa fish using Oishi and Ringbee chips for bait and a rebended safety pin tied with a string for our hooks. We would carry home our Carpa fishes in the empty Oishi junkfood containers and feed them to our cats (I think this was my “cruel kid who tortured small animals” phase). When Christmas season arrived, we bought our fireworks with money we “earned” from singing Christmas carols to park goers. Our scheme involved going to the park at early evening then singing carols to lovers huddled on isolated park benches. They were usually our “victims” because they could not wait to get rid of us and get back to whatever they were doing in the secluded spot so they usually gave us big sums of money (P5, wow!) for us to move along.
Note: I was very lucky that the General Lim- Burnham Area was still safe when I was growing up, as a result, our parents never really worried about us much so we went everywhere within the vicinity.

Anyway, however much the park attractions lured us, we still spent most of our childhood time wandering through our own neighborhood. A few minutes walk/ climb from the plateau at the back of our house would get us to the infamous Don Ramon Roces Rose garden. Apparently, the Don’s eldest son suffered from asthma and the sprawling rose garden was planted and maintained for him as a gift from his dad. Being another vacation place, we would invade the Roces grounds and head to the 3 big ponds within the Garden. We held contests every rainy season to see who could catch the most tadpoles in an hour. Beyond the Roces property, is the Prieto compound, a series of fenced in European-looking vacation houses (complete with a private driveway that looked more like a private road) guarded by a lone caretaker. Needless to say, we raided the empty houses whenever we had the chance. We didn’t steal anything; we just wanted to feel the thrill of how it was like to be inside the seemingly brooding but still grand houses. Our favorite spot within the compound was the breathtaking view of the Baguio Convention Center, seen through the caretaker’s carefully kept flower garden. On sunny mornings, it was like being in another country, or another world for that matter.

We moved away from General Lim in my third year in high school because by then, my parents were able to afford a house of our own. I think that was the time that childhood really ended for me. Looking back I think childhood was left behind in General Lim Street. We all knew, that as happy as we were to have our own place, the house and area we spent my early years in still held a different appeal.
Anyway, I wrote this post because I dreamed about General Lim last night. I woke up and realized that although I’m years and miles away from that wondrous place, I have never truly outgrown it. Its magic and appeal will always be a part of me and I am gratified because somehow I know that a new batch of kids is continuing the adventure we took part in years ago.

Life, Half-Lived

2008-08-24T23:30:00.000-07:00

Living a half-life? Not sure? Read my symptoms then.

THE JOB

BEFORE
You started each morning actually wanting to go to work for no other reason than sheer, bright-eyed enthusiasm. More than that, you couldn't wait to go to work everyday to the extent that you go to sleep the night before thinking about what you're going to wear so that you could look the part of the sharp, talented, individual that you are. After thinking about the "get-up" you start worrying about work that hasn't been handed to you yet and if you could possibly come up with something so stellar, so mind-blowing that oohhh's and ahhh's will be the standard reactions of your colleagues. Take note, all this fretting actually takes place BEFORE the work has been handed to you. Such was your zeal and optimism that the word "effort" was always/inevitably trailed by the suffix "less" for you.

NOW
You set your morning alarm at least 2hrs and 30mins before your actual work time to avoid the early traffic but end up setting it to "snooze" for another hour, totally canceling out your intent to be punctual. This has become your morning routine, a continuous battle not to be late for work that you lose everyday. Upon getting to the office, you spend a small amount of time worrying what others might think of your constant tardiness. But then, as I mentioned, it's just a small amount of time. You simply don't give a damn anyway, or should I say, anymore. Once in your station, you sigh and think about how you're going to get through another day because it seems you already want to leave when you've just gotten there. You spend the day idling and procrastinating then make up various alibis you recite to yourself so you could feel less guilty. You never even stop to wonder why you feel the need to defend yourself against your conscience.
There's always a ready litany going on in your head that you don't get paid enough for what you do. However, when work does come, you whine and grumble about why you've been chosen to do it and how come so-and-so wasn't picked first for the responsibility anyway?
So goes your week in the office, a seemingly alternating cycle of ennui and listlessness, leaving you to wonder if your existence meant anything at all, and, if anybody ever cared anyway. The only perk is anticipating when office hours end, forever looking forward to the weekends and holidays-in-between so you could burrow into your bed where it's okay to pretend the world's dead to you, or on more pessimistic days, that you're dead to the world.
Within this state of melancholia, you ask yourself what went wrong and surely there must be something better meant for you.
You grieve because deep down, you know you still love what you do (and you know you're supposed to be good at it) but you're confounded as to why it's becoming harder and harder to create and deliver - something that was so innate and effortless before.
You spend lackadaisical minutes eaten by doubt about losing your touch and end up everyday berating yourself that you'll never get it back.
You dread that somehow along the way, you've become an automaton. You've stopped caring about what should really mean something to you and even that dark thought doesn't bother you much anymore because you've gotten so used to feeling it anyway.
You used to call your job your passion but now it's simply work, most of the time, it's just a bother.
There's a specific time of day that you decide you've had enough and you make a resolve to change your situation but then something inane comes along, you forget about your resolve in the meantime, leaving it to crumble without you even knowing it.
Though you do have certain aspirations, either you're making excuses or postponing anything even remotely resembling a forward step until what you deem as the "right time" comes along. You're fooling yourself and you know it.
Such is your drama right now and the worst part, when all is said and done, is that you're still trudging along to the same discordant beats of boredom and all the supposed-to-be intolerable crap and yet, you let yourself be.

THE LOVELIFE

BEFORE
Starry-eyed and lightning-struck, you were. Couldn't live without seeing him everyday and if you had your way, you wouldn't leave his side, ever.
Your schedule was based on his, your efforts aimed at his happiness, never mind your own. What made him happy is what made you happy. The high points in your life were counting the proverbial "little things" he did for you. All was well, all was perfect. You may have had a shitty job, you may have had a hell of a week but at the end of the day, you had him, and nothing else mattered.

NOW
You wonder if the saying " familiarity breeds boredom" is true. Yet, you try to take it a step further and wonder if familiarity doesn't only breed boredom but contempt, too. You have been together for so long that the sparks have almost all sputtered out, so to speak.
The things you used to love about him are currently your pet peeves.
It's becoming harder and harder to become excited when he's around because everything's become predictable and mundane. You catch him giving other girls the "checking-out" look that guys, while they say it's natural for them, shouldn't do when they're with the supposed "loves of their life".
You try to convince yourself that you're jealous, but deep down, you know you're just angry at what he's become. You try to blame yourself and try to feel appropriately contrite but find out that more and more, you give other guys the "once-over" look too and don't necessarily feel guilty about it.
You want to fix things but you don't know where to start because you're not sure if anything needs fixing anyway. You come to a conclusion that you're both fine, but maybe you don't love each other as much anymore. Still, you try to cling to what once was for the sake of a comfort zone but you belatedly realize that, like too-wet sand, it's useless to hold on to something that can't be possibly held for long. You still haven't reached the stage of letting go but you know that the day looms ever closer and you're not trying that hard to stop it.

LIFE AS YOU CURRENTLY LIVE IT
You immerse yourself in things not related to your job or your lovelife so you can distract yourself from the dismal reality. You have your music, your art, your activities and even find yourself an elusive subject of infatuation to get you through your days. You drown yourself in pursuits that are trivial to avoid slumping in a corner and shedding frustrated tears. Efforts that may be better spent on your job or your lovelife are wasted on petty things that you delude yourself into believing are important. You hate what you've become and you hate how the world has changed. You want to do something about it but it seems daunting to face the problems on your own. You need help but you don't know who to ask it from and if you did find someone, you wouldn't know how to state your plea anyway. You've become helpless and you constantly wonder when it's going to end, or, if it's going to end at all. As such, you're on the verge of collapsing because you're so tired of grappling with a foe you just couldn't beat and it's taking all your resources to keep going on.
If such is your existence right now, such is mine. Welcome to what I call the "half-life" malady.

A Love Affair With Volleyball

2008-08-01T02:44:00.000-07:00

THE EARLY DAYS OF FALLING IN LOVE

I’ve been a volleyball addict for as long as I could remember.

High School
The best memories were in high school. I literally started and ended my days with thoughts of volleyball. My teammates and I went to school early so that we can play at least a set before the flag ceremony. Lunchtimes were usually contests of who can eat the fastest and get to the hard court first. This was a real big deal, because the fastest eaters get the choice 12 spots in Court A – a nicely paved hard court. Latecomers had to be content with Court B – littered with small pebbles and stray gravel from the constant construction the school underwent (up till now I still couldn’t figure out what they were always having fixed). There was a time we didn’t eat lunch at all because the lower years started eating on the court itself to get some “court time”. If we arrived late, we had to wait for them to finish a set before kicking them out, leaving us with only 30 minutes of gameplay. Besides going to school at an abnormally early hour, we left the campus at an even more absurd time – early evening (school ends at about 3:40 in the afternoon). It was at this time in my life that I never cared if I was usually burned to a crisp by the noonday sun, my shoes being constantly repaired or replaced (as long as there was a volleyball, I never cared if I played using my leathers) and scolded for the enth time because I went home so late. The weekends were neither rest nor home time for us, members of the volleyball team. We would usually meet at the park and challenge a rival school for a game of volleyball. We would also pool our left-over allowances for transportation because the schools we challenged were not necessarily located within the city. This was all done unofficially of course, as our school strictly forbade us to associate with other schools in contests and competitions promoting so-called "bad-feeling" amongst students. We used to think it might be because of our school being half a conservative convent (our teachers were sometimes the nuns themselves) and they just didn’t want to encourage any rivalries between their students and the other schools’. I personally thought they were afraid of having any record of losing. Yes, even a measly event such as an impromptu volleyball match would never fail to have the ever-disapproving nuns don their imposing scowls (the top nuns who ran our school were nothing but sinfully proud). Nevertheless, weekends turned out to be the best days when we battled at least 3-4 volleyball teams a day for a prize of 3 coke litros per game, and unofficial though it was, we were the main subjects of the inevitable gossip about our school beating so and so’s school in a volleyball match. We used to go around with our chests puffed out, obviously proud about helping our school gain a “to-beat’ reputation.

WHAT HURT THE MOST:
Because it was a constant activity, I’ve suffered countless injuries through my years of playing volleyball.

Sprained thumbs – I sprained my thumb every week in my 3rd yr in highschool. Come to think of it, all my fingers were sprained at one time or another. This was really a big bother, being one of our school choir’s lead guitarists, since I could neither pluck nor hold a pick. The Choir mistress actually forbade me to play any more volleyball so that I won’t be totally useless in choir. I ended up playing volleyball in secret for 2 months, hiding from teachers lest they spill the beans to the choir mistress. This went on until she realized I’ve been skipping choir practice more and more often– which she couldn’t afford of course, as I usually directed the instruments group. It was then she realized she couldn’t bar me from volleyball since I always found a way to sneak back into the court. In the end we made a compromise, as long as I didn’t miss choir practice for volleyball anymore, and as long as I took care of my fingers, I could play as often as I wanted.

Black and blue arms – There was this one time that we were so desperate to play but the school custodian locked all the cabinets containing the Mikasas (best ball to play volleyball with) and we didn’t have any personal Mikasa balls of our own (the professional ball costs over 1k, too much for our meager allowances back then). Fortunately, we discovered one of the sophomore students who owned a soccer ball. The Volleyball team went around the school for weeks with their uniforms’ sleeves uncharacteristically pulled down and buttoned. Our secret? Black and blue arms. Though it turned out that the soccer ball was way, way harder than the average volleyball, that didn’t stop us from playing with it for weeks anyway.

Twisted Ankles – If a hard-ass ball didn’t stop us from hitting our arms with it, neither did not being able to run stop us from playing. The person with the sprained ankle usually took the setter position. We helped out by being really careful with our 2nd ball reception because each of us took the designated setter position every other day anyway.

Scrapes and lacerations - If warriors had their battle scars, we had our gashes from trying to receive balls from jump-serves (those of us who had such) and wallops, digging for spikes and running after badly-bumped sets. Those were the medals we wore on our knees, wrists, fingers and on rare and unwanted occasions, our faces. I tell you now, cement courts weren't really made for floor games.

College Ball
College ball turned out to be a completely different experience. Although in my freshman year, still not a day passed without me playing volleyball. The Fine Arts building was strategically built beside Court B. I would play volleyball after every 4-hour fine arts subject and every other subject for that matter. It was no surprise when I took it for PE and aced the course in basic and advanced volleyball, for the summer.
Since volleyball was in my blood, I inevitably decided to try out for varsity. It wasn’t like it was in high school wherein we used 2 days of lunch hours to determine who would be in the team. The college process was a grueling 3-month affair with everybody trying to show their best in running, ball handling, teamplay and over-all athlete etiquette (whatever the hell that meant). Anyway, since I lived and breathed volleyball, I wasn’t one to complain. I went to school early and left late, this time with an official reason. As the months passed by the team positions were slowly filled up one by one. The Inter-university games were fast approaching and I still haven’t secured a spot. Finally, only one spot was left and there were still two of us to choose from. I began to doubting if I really wasn’t as good as I thought I was and all those months of strict regimen was just a mediocre performance on my part. I was pushing myself and from my personal opinion never played better in my life, but still I was in the pending list. One night, I was about to go home coming from a late subject when I decided to pass by the lockers. As I was about to enter, I took a peek to see who were still slugging it that late. Unfortunately, I saw the whole team assembled, plus my current competitor for the spot. They were all looking like they were having a party or something. That was when I realized. Lahat ng mga nakuha sa team ay either ka-Org nung coach or girlfriends ng mga guys sa men’s team and only 2 or three really had talent. As it turns out, my rival was one of the orgmates too. I couldn’t compete with that. So the next day, I didn't show up for practice for the first time and stopped going since then. Needless to say, the spot was given to my counterpart.

FALLING OUT OF LOVE
For a while I couldn’t play volleyball. I just couldn’t get the experience out of my head and when I did try to play, I couldn’t spike, I couldn’t set, I couldn't receive and worst, I couldn’t serve. It was an athlete’s worst nightmare come true. And it really affected me because I played volleyball not because I liked it, I played it because I loved it passionately.

THE REBOUND
The Inter-school competitions passed, with our school's Women's volleyball team winning only 2 games I think, from the requisite 12 and a new semester started. Even though I was still feeling bad about not being able to play for my school, being an athlete, I could not not play a sport. I took up lawn tennis for PE that year, hoping to learn something new. Since I was already used to running short distances at seemingly steroid-pumped runs due to the volleyball training, it wasn’t a surprise that I took to tennis like a bird takes to flying, so to speak. My tennis instructor, as it turned out, was also the college’s tennis coach and she immediately signed me for lawn tennis varsity. I only learned later that the reason why she signed me up on my first day of playing was because the basketball coach had his eye on me while we were doing laps around the court and wanted to ask me if I was interested in playing for his team. So, that’s how college went. I was in Lawn tennis varsity for 3 years and even won a Gold medal for the regional games. And while our team always placed 2nd in the inter-college competitions, the volleyball team remained in the low rungs. What still puzzles me to this day, is that however much we won, I didn’t feel as good when I wanted to gloat, as I wanted to.

GETTING OVER AND TRYING ANEW
Eventually though, I got over the whole volleyball-varsity experience and even got comfortable enough to join games wherein the Volleyball team members were playing. The good thing was, it turns out, I never lost my edge in playing volleyball. I always had a secret smirk when I placed a spike perfectly into a Vollleyball varsity member’s face. What’s best is when their coach sees me execute a perfect play without even breaking sweat whilst most of his players can’t even block a ball to save their lives. In my mind, I thought it served them right for choosing politics over talent.
I played college tennis and volleyball on-the-side till I injured my shoulder in my final year at that college. I developed tendonitis because, fool that I am, didn’t do the required stretching before the game. I busted my shoulder while serving for breakpoint.
It was a good thing, I guess, since I was leaving for Diliman the following semester. It took a whole year for my shoulder to heal.

A CONSTANT COMPANION
After my shoulder healed, I still played volleyball whenever I could. Sometimes I went to the park or the barangay court to see if there were any guys playing. The best types to play against are the gay guys. Why? They usually don’t give a f*** who they’re playing against, unlike boys – they don’t pull their spikes when pitted against us girls. Hardcore volleyball players disdain pity-play. Guys think that playing half-assed against girls is a form of being nice. Nge. If I wanted “nice” playing, I would’ve looked for elementary students. Besides, gay guys turn volleyball into a work of art. If you’re looking for the perfect arc before the spike, watch a gay guy playing volleyball. Antataas tumalon, ang lalakas pumalo. So instead of trying to block the ball (good luck) you’re left in a kind of breathless awe. Unfortunately, this just gives you enough time to watch the ball hit the pavement with a resounding thud.

ALWAYS AND FOREVER
It has been years since I last played a good volleyball game. Nowadays, I just can’t seem to find time for anything other than work. However, writing and reading this blog has brought me back to my carefree days. The best thing about it is, I think from now on, whenever I feel like everything’s just turned shitty and bleak, I can always read this post, and remember. There is one love affair that will always be a constant through my life and for me, that’s always something I can smile about.

Fine Arts buddies and other college pals at Court B
fooling around in between plays

sorry for the poor-quality images,
these photos were taken by a manual SLR camera, developed (by me, with not enough fixer, hence the over-exposed blacks&whites), scanned and resized.
yuck. really looked like a geek back then. :)

Missive to melancholy

2008-07-09T00:45:00.000-07:00

Dear Loneliness
I know you’ve noticed that I’m not happy that you’re around too often. I’m sorry. The truth is, I’m trying my best to break away from you. Don’t get me wrong; it’s not that I don’t appreciate everything you’ve done for me. You’ve helped me more than you’ll ever know.
Remember the time when I couldn’t find myself? You were my constant companion and because of that, together we eventually found what I was looking for. You helped me learn more about what I wanted in life and how I should go about getting it than any other melancholy emotion. You helped me get over my broken hearts, and glue the pieces back together. You were always around when I had nobody, and for me, that’s the mark of a true friend. The best part of it all was, you wanted nothing in return.
However, as with everything in life, I have changed. I no longer want you near me. I realized that the more time we spend together, the more I get isolated from the rest of the world. I don’t want that to happen anymore. I still have dreams of meeting the perfect one, my lightning strike and I don’t think that would happen with you around. We just all get to a point in life that we want more than what we’re accustomed to, want more than what is expected of us, and I can’t have those with you holding me back. I hope you won’t think badly of me because inspite of all this, I still want to remain your friend.
I honestly think, in my heart of hearts, someday you’ll find someone who used to be like me, who’ll cherish and treasure your company the way I used to.
We both believe in Destiny so I hope you’ll believe me when I say that I know there’s someone for everybody in this world and someday, you’ll find yours too. It just so happens that I wasn't the one fated for you. Don’t be sad, these things have a way of always working out. Hope you understand.
See you around (or not)

Under The Radar

2008-05-29T01:33:00.000-07:00

Starting today, I will follow a regimen to save mine self from this hole I’m digging into. I will establish and follow these parameters so I can at least maintain a sense of dignity and self-preservation, when it comes to you.

I will not log on to my Friendster account first thing in the morning to check if you’ve been online.
Trying to refresh the Home page every 10 minutes is not helping my already annoying obsessive-compulsive nature. I’ve realized that keeping myself from clicking your profile when it seems that you haven’t been logging on takes the same amount of willpower as trying not to breathe for 5 minutes. However, in keeping with my newly-established "self-rules", I’ ll try to see if I can survive asphyxiation anyway.

I will not purposefully wander into your side of the room, starting today.
I’m running out of excuses and people to have idle chats with, while I’m constantly craning my neck and eyeing my peripherals just to get a glimpse of you. Honestly, I think that’s the reason for the constant migraine I’ve been having these past months.

I will not moon around while staring at nothing nor talk like I’ve swallowed a microphone, every time I think you’re in the near vicinity, just so you’ll notice me.
In relation to this, I will not talk like the smart-ass I usually am. I only did that intentionally, on the off chance that you were listening and might be impressed. Neither will I try to show you a false front, so you’ll get the impression that I’m something other than who and what I am. That kind of effort takes a toll, even if it’s not immediately noticeable. I know my eyes are turning squinty and my hair’s being more unmanageable, from too much thinking of grandiose schemes, on my part.

I am tired of starting each day wishing I could talk to you and tired of ending it wishing that I did have the guts to talk to you, when I had the chance.
I know hearts like mine are getting fewer and fewer, what with today’s almost abnormal rate of people getting to know each other and “getting it on” in record time, but, what can I do? I am this way and have been ever since and I don’t think I will ever be otherwise. What a foolish way to love.
Nevertheless, wretch that I am, I still don’t consider myself a lost cause, hence, this regimen.
I want to think of myself for a change, not only of you – though I guess, I never should have thought of you in the first place, not in this way - because I know it can never be. So, starting today, I’m leaving you out of my heart and keeping you out of my mind, I’ve so many issues that I don’t need another one.
Not that you’d care, you haven’t even noticed, anyway.

The Ghost

2008-02-04T04:57:00.000-08:00

This composition was originally intended and made, for my band's CD jacket. however, it just looked so good, i decided to redo it and just make it into a webpost. hope y'all like it.

Mundong Noypi: UFO Sighting in Pampanga

2007-10-30T21:53:00.000-07:00

Mundong Noypi: UFO Sighting in Pampanga

Death of a friend

2007-04-25T23:20:00.000-07:00

I stare at my writing pen, now mottled gray and green with disuse. With dawning regret, I reach out and cradle its desecrated body. I wonder how could a once-treasured friend been left to wither and rot in apparent disregard. As my tears fall on its moldy body, my pen gives a barely-felt quiver. It might have been remembering the days when it still had the power to create worlds of fiction and prose, or it might have been a last struggle for air, before death finally claimed it. While I ponder its fate, I felt a sigh escape my palm, and in that sunny afternoon, while I held it in my arms, my pen finally died. Wiping tears of sorrow, I think of a fitting eulogy to describe how a simple pen has given everything and more, but still, its end just became a triviality. As my thoughts commenced, i threw my once-pen's body into the trash bin. Then, as in days past, I shrugged and turned away and started typing a story on the keyboard.

merely to pass the time

2007-04-14T15:10:00.000-07:00

for someone that i feel strongly for....

i have had this dilemma for quite a few days now. i will be leaving soon and i don't quite know how to say goodbye, or, if i should say goodbye at all. it's been two years and my heart has been yours ever since our first meeting. unfortunately, we are still on the same ground we were on before anything ever started, on separate ends of the world.

whatever they may say about goodbyes being some sort of a beginning, it means nothing to me but a sad, soul-wracking parting.

i will be leaving you without making any distinction, any impression that would mean something to you, no significance whatsoever. how despondent that such an irony would happen to me, to think that for the better part of two years, you were my heart's beat.
i think i have always loved you, but always, in the background.

when i leave, i hope you remember me, not my shortcomings, nor my fumbles, but those experiences we did share, in laughter, in tears, and even in indifference.

when i go, see me not as a spurned soul but as a hopeless romantic. when i go, don't recall that i was your annoying offkey radio but that i was the one who taught you how to make your fingers dance on the chord fields. when i go, forget that i was always the prankster but remember that i always wanted to see you smile, hence the jokes at my expense. when i go, know that my art wasn't in the least meant for flaunting but only for your viewing. when i go, do not take my constant readiness to do your bidding as a pathetic excuse to be near you, the truth is, i was willing and obliged to help you out.

i think it is pretty obvious that things didn't turn out the way i expected them to be, at least, not between us. however, there is no remorse nor regret on my part. whatever this confession fails to convey, know that i will always cherish each and every one of my memories with you, though they are largely composed of the melancholy and the sundered.

i will be leaving soon and i choose not to say goodbye. remember me as you are wont to, remember me as you please. i will not force nor begrudge your choices, the right is not mine to do so in the first place.

when i leave though, promise me this, that there will be no parting words, no goodbyes. nothing to remind me of leaving you at all.
like nothing ever happened.

way back home

2007-04-09T22:30:00.000-07:00

i saw you when i went back. it wasn't the encounter i've been dreaming about, for the longest time. there were no deafening heartbeats, like the mad drumming of wild jungle tribes, there were no prolonged breaths that could have left me hanging on the verge of dying from asphyxia.
in truth, i think you just did a subtle doubletake, not even worth noting, and maybe, it wasn't even from recognition. perhaps, we've grown past the stage of having even miniscule regard for each other. perhaps, you've even forgotten me.

i read your letters last night

2006-11-13T06:40:00.000-08:00

i have never put much stock in words. words are the easiest things to break.
there is nothing concrete nor tangible to tie words with.
nothing to assure us of oaths and promises spoken being kept and followed through.
however, as much as we say that words are fleeting and incorporeal, they can inflict the most damage to a person.
a hurtful statement or a careless phrase can kill self-belief and can stamp out inspiration with the same effectiveness that a beating can mete out physical pain.
i would have you know that your words have been killing me, little by little, the same way that a chisel chips away at a stone block.
with the pieces of myself being whisked away, bit by bit, into the unknown ether, i hope you realize how much your words have done their part, in draining a soul of its luster.

thirteen years is too long to grieve

2006-05-25T00:44:00.000-07:00

I've always thought that the pain would go away, in time. now i wonder if it ever will. it's the kind of pain that would hit you when you least expect it, when you think that it can never bother you again. this is when the absolute confidence that comes with forgetfulness just tumbles down, block, after hard earned block.

There is just no getting over you.

They say time heals all wounds. be that as it may, i say, but there are some of us with hearts broken so utterly, the wounds running so deep, that even the scars hurt for a whole lifetime.

I see you, in dreams, usually, then the pain is there again, in waking.

I wonder where you are now, if you're ok, if you're happy. i hope you are not like me, in love for so long that the love no longer nurtures me, but is now a slow, gradual death.

I miss you. i miss you so much that sometimes the effort of going on, of breathing is too much and it is only because of my too-frayed willpower that i can go on.

I miss you so much that it never stops hurting.

Everyone's wrong it seems, time doesn't heal all wounds for it failed to heal mine.

HATE MAIL

2006-05-13T06:30:00.000-07:00

I HATE YOU. I AM WRITING THIS SO I CAN SAY "I HATE YOU" WITHOUT ANY HESITATION NOR THE USUAL PREAMBLES.

I HATE YOU. i hate that you don't notice how my eyes go all vague and glassy when we meet in the halls. i hate it that you don't know anything about me, and i, about you. i hate it that we still have to conform to the world at large, or at least you still do, hence we keep away. i hate it that you long for someone else, when i'm here at your beck and call. i hate it that we don't talk nor walk in the same dimension, although we are of the same world, we are at the opposite poles.
i hate you. i hate you. i hate you because you let me lose my wits when you're about.
i hate you when i lose my train of thought and eloquence when you come near, and i'm left standing looking like a numbskull.

I HATE YOU. I HATE YOU. I HATE YOU. i hate you because i don't want to feel this way.
i don't want to spend every day in limbo, with you as my sole companion. i hate you since you took my heart away from me and never gave it back. i hate you because whatever i do, i cannot hate you, not the way i want to. i hate you since whatever may happen i still want you and i still believe in you, despite and inspite of what you are and what you want.

I HATE YOU. I HATE YOU. i hate you because i have a relationship with you in my head, nevermind that it's one-sided.

i hate you with a passion and yet my passion is you.

i hate you because no matter how much i say that i would hate you from the bottom of my heart, it would all be for naught.
you've already taken my heart and there's really nowhere left that my hate would come from.
i guess you've figured that out when you took it, and i would hate you for that, if i could have.

Restart

2006-01-18T23:19:00.000-08:00

i have finally quit my job.
a relatively high end profession, compared to most, but, the noose has gradually tightened for so many years now that it has finally reached the point that every breath i took was a constant struggle for air.

i have been putting off this resigning business for a long time now. when i think about it, i really have no clue why i put it off for so long. there really was no point in staying. i guess what got me hanging by a thread were the people that i got to call friends and of course, the monetary compensation. however, i thought about it long and hard, and i realized that real friends will always be with you, and the monetary compensation, well, can be procured somewhere else.

so why did i stay for so long in a job that i really no longer wanted? i honestly cannot say.

on my last days of employment, i noticed that even as i woke up early to avoid being late, i always had to battle the compulsion of staying at home and watching a dvd marathon, even if i was already dressed and ready to go. and, even then, i detain myself till the last minute (which completely cancels the point of waking up early in the first place.
alas, i think everything caught up to me at once.

there was no point in prolonging nor fighting the inevitable. everything has become monochrome and ritual that nothing held any mystery and amazement anymore. everything just sort of stopped having any meaning and i inevitably developed a gaping emptiness of being that was so consuming, i knew that i had to do something fast, before all of my sense of self was diminished.
as a result, i handed in that resignation letter that has been sitting in my head for two years now.

now i'm in my room, writing another memoir. i think i'm past the depression stage. i realized that work is like a drug, you'd have to go through similar withdrawal symptoms. i don't think it means that i didn't make the right decision. on the contrary, it feels like a cleansing ritual.

strangely enough, even though i'm currently unemployed and is technically considered a "bum", i don't feel the emptiness that i felt when i was still a part of society's so-called '' productive faction".

i had a conversation with a friend a while ago. she's also taking a relative time off from work. she said it's really nice to sit back and watch the world again. i couldn't help but agree. in the four years that i have been a slave to the economy, i have forgotten the simple joys of life that are usally taken for granted.
now, i'm sitting down, taking a breather, just watching the world move without me, at least, for a time. i must admit, it really does feel good to take that deep breath without the noose tightening around my neck.
since i quit, i have written 3 songs in one day, which is more than the number of songs i have written in 5 months. my creative capabilities, are finally flowing again, as this entry bears witness to. maybe being drained from work's mind numbing stress and demands took away my capacity to create and be inspired.
i am hopeful that i will get it back though.

i am working on perfecting the concept and skill of taking my time about things, without the dictates of a deadline and a timetable.

it's so good to feel alive again.

finally, i'm looking forward to the new day, after it having lost its wonder for a good part of two years. tomorrow, i'm going to wake up early, stand on our balcony and wait for the day to begin anew. i just want the day to know that i'm just so glad to welcome it back and witness this big, big smile on my face.

The Mantra

2005-09-28T22:59:00.000-07:00

we don't need circumstance to hold us back. we don't need realities to bind us.
everytime i see you, i force myself to believe these words. if i could just treat pride and dignity without regard, i would have approached you long before. as it happens, my bravado only extends to writing. my virtual pen has recently been possessed and can't seem to stop writing about you. you, my elusive song, the unaware subject of my heartbeats. this may just be imagination in prose, but, at least allow me the luxury, for in reality, we are just distant shadows. allow me my world of the surreal and melodramatic for in truth, it's the only time i can say i'm happy.

author's note ... self -berating, at its worst, or should i say, its finest..

another one of those quarter life uncertainties

2005-09-28T22:47:00.000-07:00

the rift
we all get lost along the way sometimes. it may sound comforting to know that we share the same travesty that everyone joins, at least once in this life, but, if there was a way to deviate from this inevetability, then i would.
i am in this state right now. i'm in a limbo that has left me screaming and tearing my hair, wondering where in the world did i go wrong, why have all my plans of granduer and glory gone awry?
many a potential virtouso, a possible maestro, a probable adept have gone through this stage and lost the battle against all consuming helplessness. may i get through this roiling attack of self doubt and trial unscathed and whole.
i hope in my heart of hearts that you do too.

on queue at the vendo machine

2005-09-28T20:56:00.000-07:00

i wish i could ask you out for a cup of coffee. even if the reason you'd go with me is not a willingness for company nor just a simple attraction. I would be content to be the object of your curiousity.

i am tired of writing love letters to the wind. i am tired of directing words to deaf ears and smiles to blind eyes.

wishes can never be wings they say, move on and find someone else. there are things that can never be, i know. but for once, i don't want to think of what can never be's, i don't want to consider the consequences.

i do hope you'd go out with me, if only for a cup of coffee, even if i'll just be an object of curiousity.