A Deluge in a Paper Cup

Ang Una kong Panulat sa Multiply gamit ang Tagalog.

2009-02-26T10:58:00.000+08:00

Ito ang unang pagkakataon na sumulat ako sa Multiply gamit ang wikang Tagalog.

Sanay kasi akong magsulat sa Ingles. Datiing guro sa Ingles ang aking ina, at mula pa nung bata ko't naglalaro ng baril na yari sa dahon ng niyog ay minulat na niya ako sa pandaigdigang wikang ito. At ngayon na binata na ako't naglalaro ng baril na yari sa pixels (Tawag ng Tungkulin. Medalyon ng Karangalan. Tagabilang-Welga. Pili ka na lang.) ay walang halong paghahambog kong masasabi na magaling ako magsulat sa Ingles. Kung tutuusin ay mas komportable pa akong magsulat sa Ingles kesa sa Tagalog. Pero hindi ibig sabihin nito ay minamaliit ko na ang aking sariling wika. Ipinagmamalaki ko na ako'y Pilipino at anak-Bikolano, kahit na katayin man ng sariling kong mga kababayan ang katagang "uragon" at "magayon" (Takdain mo mukha mo Dyosa ).

Pero kahit Pilipino ako, mas gusto ko pa rin magsulat sa Ingles. Yun na ang kinasanayan ko. Kaya medyo naninibago rin ako sa sarili ko na nagsusulat ngayon ako sa Tagalog. Iniisip ko marahil ay pagod lang akong magsulat pa sa Ingles. Trabaho ko ang magsulat para sa mga banyagang kliyente limang araw kada linggo, at dahil sa dami ng sinusulat ko araw-araw ay nangangalay na ang utak kong magsulat pa ng mga bagay-bagay na hindi naman kasabay sa trabaho. Burn-out ika nga. Pero nakakapagtaka nga lang na meron pang puwedeng sunugin sa utak ko.

Isa na rin siguro sa dahilan kung bakit wala ako sa kondisyon magsulat ng Ingles ay dahil naaksidente ako kaninang umaga. Sumabit ang manggas ng aking salawal sa bisikleta at nawalan ako ng balanse. Pangalawang beses na yun na humadusay ako sa kalsada habang nagbi-bisikleta ngayong linggo (Yung una ay dahil nasobrahan yung pagliko). Nasugatan ako sa kanang tuhod, natipak ang kuko sa isang daliri ng aking binti, at sa lakas ng pagbagsak ko ay bumaon ang ilang malilit na bato sa paa ko. Nagpapasalamat ako sa Diyos (at konting pamuri sa Nestle Low Fat Milk) at hindi nabali ang aking tuhod, pero isa yun na karanasan na ayaw kong ulitin.

Idagdag mo pa siguro dito ang dahilan na isang linggo ko nang hindi nakikita yung nililigawan ko. Mahirap man aminin pero mahal ko na siya at miss ko na yung tao. Eto na ata yung sinasabi nilang lovesickness. Lovesick. Burn-out. May pang-tawas kaya si Manay Bebang dito?

Pero, kahit siguro ganito ka-epal ang kinalabasan, at least nakapagsulat ako sa Multiply ng Tagalog. Nakakagaan-loob pala sa pakiramdam, parang Downy sa kaluluwa.

Oh balon. ^ ^

Angels and Ninjas

2009-01-16T19:11:00.000+08:00

It was already past eleven when I got her message. I reached across the bed for my mobile phone, and tried to stave off the impending drowsiness that came with the closing of the day.

She apologized for breaking her promise of sleeping early. Her timber design had some kinks and it, and she has to redo all of the computations from scratch. I asked her if it was that important enough for her to stay awake all night. She didn't answer my question, instead she asked me to sleep early for my trip to Naga City in the morning. I refused.

It has been like this ever since I've met her last October; a whirlwind of words and emotions exchanged in the realm of reality and fiber optics. And my life has changed drastically as well; a few months ago my only concern was how am I ever going to find time to watch John Stewart and the Colbert Report. Now I find myself forcibly awake in the middle of the night, trying to persuade a girl as stubborn as I am to hit the sack.

And at these times that I ask myself why I am doing this. After all, we are just friends. Yes, we date on a regular basis and there is affection between us, but we are still just friends. Though I would be a hypocrite if I said I wanted it to stay that way.

But right now I am happy, in a silly but heartwarming kind of way. I feel as though I have been a prisoner of war, seeing the barbed-wire gates open into the vast expanse of the desert of non-existence. And as I march into the freedom of the endless void, I hear a faint song in the air; of a memory of what once was.

She asks me to go to sleep for the umpteenth time now, and although every cell in my brain is urging me to do so I don't feel compelled to sleep. How will this end I don't know; it's still happening right now as of writing.

But whatever happens, I know it will end someday. When it will be, I don't know. I'm just walking.

Five Things I Recently Learned from DotA (And why we lost from the last game)

2008-12-06T19:38:00.000+08:00

(Disclaimer: this was never made for serious thought. Paloko lang. Seriously.)

1. Clicking on the corner of the mini-map (where the World Tree or Frozen Throne is located) no longer causes your hero to retreat. Instead, makes the hero stop and wait for its demise, like an emo fanboy eagerly waiting for his wrists to be slashed by a crazed axe-wielding demon orc.

2. Never go for that "last" hit. Yes, it's addictive and fuels the hope that you might turn the tables on your pursuer. But really, if you've got the chance of pawning the bastard, why the hell are you running in the first place? Guns don't kill people, greed does.

3. Teamplay is always the key to victory. However, asking your teammate of his sexuality while waiting for respawn and singing along with Rihanna's "Umbrella" does not count.

4. The victors are to sing "Umbrella", and the vanquished are to suffer. 'Tis is the circle of life.

5. Always be a sport. Whether or not the game ended in your favor, always say "GG" to your the fact that you've wasted 2 hours of your life staring at a computer screen automatically makes you blood brothers.

The End begins when you see the City Lights

2008-12-02T18:35:00.004+08:00

The tricycle dropped me off at the side of a dark highway junction. I got out, paid the man a twenty, and headed out to the side of the road.

It was a relatively cloudless sky that night, but despite the starry canopy above and the bright headlights from oncoming vehicles, the expanse of nothingness the highway offered seemed to be as dark as pitch. I always found places that I’ve never been to as dreary, especially if it’s 10 in the evening.

But I really had no choice. A friend of mine has died, and there was nothing else I could do.

I remember Gerrol with only the vaguest of memories. It was 6 years ago when I first met him at the university: a guy with a taste for sharp clothes, the last name of a local political family, and a Harley Davidson. Okay, so it was a Chinese-made Lowrider that looked vaguely like a Harley, but I was a broke, gullible kid studying in a public university; in the land of the blind the Chinese Harley was the one-eyed king. I also clearly remember riding that bike to the local mall on the first day I had met him. Gerrol was pretty much a nice guy. He also had that certain charisma too, which was probably brought about by his years as the youth council president in his town of Sto. Domingo. But either way, he was still a nice guy.

Gerrol was an irregular student, and the irregular students in our college seemed to create a strong bond with each other. Maybe it was because we were different from the others that made us stick together that way, but next thing I knew I had Gerrol for a buddy and Gerrol had a lanky, mentally-disoriented sophomore for his.

But the next memories I have of Gerrol are now mere shards of its former self. Probably because of his budding political career, he lagged behind in classes, and pretty soon we kept seeing less and less of him. And what’s more, I have also moved on. I’ve met friends beyond the circle of irregulars in my class, joined a school paper, fell in love, and did some crazy stuff. But still, Gerrol and I remained good friends, and he would always invite me for a drink every time we saw each other.

And on the last time that I saw him alive he was still inviting me out for a drink. If I knew the events that would unfold later I should have took him on his offer and told him to wear a helmet. Because on the next time I would see him was through the glass window of a casket.

Gerrol died instantly when the motorcycle he was riding on crashed with another on a dark Friday night. It was another 5 days before Beth, another Irreg friend of mine, told me of what happened. And as usual, the feeling of numbness replaced shock. It was like I was a hundred miles away, a spectator in the travesty of life and death. But then again, I’ve had my issues.

But whether those issues were real or imagined, I found myself on another Friday evening with Beth at Gerrol’s house, staring at his remains and wondering what the fuck happened. I should thank Beth someday for bringing me there; she always made me remember that I existed in a coherent world. And we stayed for a couple of hours in his wake, talking with Gerrol’s fiancée and family, reminiscing the memories we’ve had of him, and thinking of life in it’s entirety.

While waiting for a bus bound for our town that night, I thought deeply of Gerrol’s death. He was barely 25, an age wherein death was considered unlikely. But it happened, and the implications of it brought more ideas to mind. I thought of Gerrol’s mortality, and what his life and his recent passing had in value. I thought of my own mortality, and asked myself that should a crazy truck driver run me over on the side of the road that night, would people come and visit me as well. But most especially, I thought about life.

So as always, though we forget, life is always unexpected. Beautiful, but unexpected.

Sto. Domingo was only a few kilometers from Legazpi, so the city lights were clearly visible in the dark. And as I looked at it as I climbed up the jeepney on the way home, the lights glimmered brightly until they were hidden from view by the trees. I gave one last look back, and turned to the road ahead.

A Letter To President Barack Obama

2008-11-18T20:30:00.011+08:00

HIS EXCELLENCY BARACK H. OBAMA
President-Elect of the United States of America
Soon to be living in 1600 Pennsylvania Avenue
Washington DC

Dear President-Elect Obama,

First of all I’d like to extend my sincerest congratulations to your election as the 44th President of the United States. What you and the American people have done was truly ground-breaking, considering the fact that it wasn’t that long ago that the concept of an African-American President can be found in a Chris Rock movie. It’s not that I have anything against Chris Rock, but you get the point.

Also, please forgive me if this letter may seem odd to you. To be honest I’ve never written to a President before, which is even made more complicated because you are not my President. Or to be exact, the President of my country. If you haven’t known it yet, I’m a citizen of the Republic of the Philippines. It’s a quaint group of islands situated near Taiwan, China, and Indonesia, but you probably know where it is already especially since you’ve taken primary school at Indonesia. You should try and visit our country sometime; we’ve got a remarkably nice place and we Filipinos always have time and a hot cup of coffee for well-meaning visitors.

Anyway, the reason I wrote this letter is because it has come to my attention that our President, Mrs. Gloria Macapagal-Arroyo, has been trying to contact you ever since you won the election. Now, I just want you to know in behalf of my countrymen that we don’t really mind if you don’t pay much attention to her for the time being. We know that you’re busy getting ready for your new job, and besides we don’t really pay much attention to Mrs. Arroyo either. I didn’t even vote for her during the last election, and I’m not even sure if the majority of Filipinos even voted for her at all (kindly ask your Ambassador here, Ms. Kristie Kenney, about the “Hello Garci” scandal for further details). Some people claim she was elected fairly, which could be true considering the fact that we really didn’t have much in the way of better options; aside from Mrs. Arroyo the other presidential candidates we had back then was an actor-turned-first-time-politician, a former cop with an alleged habit of whacking people he doesn’t like, and a crazy-looking guy with an even crazier-looking wig. One could say it was choosing the lesser evil, but that would be an error in so many ways right now.

I’m not really sure why our President is so eager to see you. Maybe she’s trying to score a PR bonus by meeting you in person (with an accompanying photo op, of course) to boost her sagging ratings back home. Maybe she wants to show her political opponents who’s boss by getting an endorsement from an even bigger boss. Maybe it’s because the Philippines is a long-standing ally of the United States, and she’s just trying to secure the support of your upcoming administration, given the fact that she was a staunch supporter of Bush’s. Or maybe just like most of her countrymen, she’s just really excited to see you and get your autograph, in which case I should also consider making my first letter to her as well and ask if she could get your autograph for me too

why doesn't he call back?

But enough of that; I’m pretty sure you’ve had enough of politics during the election campaign. I just wanted to say that we understand whatever decision you make concerning Mrs. Arroyo’s desire to make an eager acquaintance of you. Maybe she could even learn a thing or two from you and get us out of the economic, social and political problems we have right now. I think that’s a long shot though, but you’ve got me with the entire “hope” and “change” thing you’ve been spreading around.

And speaking of spreading around, I’d also like to take this opportunity to ask for your help. I know that this is embarrassing, as we Filipinos (contrary to what others believe) are a proud and noble people, and we try not to involve others into our own affairs. But for the past 300 years other people, including those in your country, have been involving themselves in our affairs (despite our occasional objections). In fact, Mrs. Arroyo’s groupie-like enthusiasm to meet you further shows that the United States still plays an influential role in Philippine policies. So I think it’s only fair, considering that my country has been faithfully backing up yours even when others are backing out, that the American people give a bit back.

So I ask of you President-elect Obama, can you please help us by declaring war to our country?

Right now you’re probably thinking, “Duuude…wait. What?” But you’ve read it right, and I want you to look at it little longer. I want you to declare war on the Philippines. A War on Corruption. Yep, a War on Corruption. Heck, President Bush waged a War on Terror in Iraq because of weapons of mass destruction that aren’t there, so why can’t you wage a War on Corruption in the Philippines because of graft, exploitation of power, and rampant dishonesty that’s there and will be there for years to come? Send in a battalion of auditors! A fleet of American government observers! For crying out loud, send us Al Gore!

I’ve heard that one of the core platforms of your campaign is to change the old self-destructive bureaucracy in your government into something new and better, so what better way to boost your foreign policy than to extend that platform to our government through such a war? How you will do that is up to you of course, though I have some suggestions which I have listed below:

1. Influence Mrs. Arroyo executive decisions and policies to support agendas that will improve the economy, increase jobs, and raise the overall standard of living.

2. Subject Mrs. Arroyo’s non-essential entourage who want to tag along on her official foreign trips to a full-body cavity search and intensive military interrogation before departure to discourage them from going.

3. Instead of money, supply high-ranking police officials (with or without their wives) with rations, medkits, tents, and other necessary survival gear when going on international conferences.

4. Post a crack team of Navy Seal auditors, accountants, and administrative conflict scenario experts in every major government office.

5. Overhaul the Bids and Awards Committees into resembling that of a military tribunal.

6. Coax delinquent senators, congressmen and other public officials to perform their duties in accordance with the Constitution and Civil Service regulations under the threat of a surgical missile strike.

7. On public relations, assign Justice Secretary Raul Gonzalez to perform a live demonstration on waterboarding whenever he says something and promote Senator Miriam Defensor-Santiago as special liaison inside Guantanamo Bay.

8. And as a special environmental advocacy, make Al Gore bitch-slap every bus and jeepney operator that violates the Clean Air Act.

Drop that fertilizer fund Mayor, or I will shoot!

The list which I have here contain some of the suggestions which I thought about, and you are free to modify them or create new ones should you decide to wage war on us. And don’t worry about the Filipino people retaliating to a War on Corruption. Sure, there will be a couple of demonstrators who will say that Americans are imperialist pigs, but they usually go home before Deal or No Deal is on TV, and if you play your cards right and keep to the game plan you’ve been showing us in your campaign, you might even win them over. Just make sure that you set an agreeable pull-out timetable though. Guests who stay too long are usually made to clean the dishes here.

So this is where I end my letter to you President Obama. I’d like to exchange further views with you regarding our countries’ relations and other matters, but I know how busy you are finding the right dog for your two kids in the White House right now, so I thought it best to let you focus on that. But I still hope (you really got me with that hope thing), that you would take my letter into consideration in your upcoming administration.

I give you the best of hope (damn, there it goes again!) and luck in your historic endeavor.

P.S.

Guess what? I made a “Hope” joke:

Q: What would an Obama administration do to the tobacco industry?

A: When you buy a pack of Hope, you get Change!

Really, that “Hope” thing works in so many ways.

Pancakes in Hot Sauce

2008-11-13T20:03:00.005+08:00

…Henceforth I beseech thee, do not rely on the virtue of cheese, for it is inconsistent with the teachings of the Law.”

- Songs of Philocemus, Canto 35 Verse 6

I had once described my writing as that of a slaughterhouse: raw thoughts in my head are rounded up and cut into consumable bite-sized portions of ideas. I am the butcher, and the pen was my cleaver.

But that was before. Back then good ideas were plenty and there was much work to be found. But now the slaughterhouse is empty and is reduced to a mere shell of its former self, the butcher shipped into a war of attrition, and the cleaver gathering dust in the corner.

I will no longer explain as to why it’s so long since I have written on this blog ( and if you were concerned as you why, bless you). It was just writer’s block, plain and simple, but how it managed to hit me at the back of my head and send me into a literary coma is complicated and too sensitive for discussion. Nevertheless, much like how healthy cells die slowly from lack of oxygen, the literary life which I had has also slowly wasted away to a point where I personally declared that I am dead as a writer.

But it seems the dead do come back to life.

Also, in a lighter note, I decided to get rid the previous post, which was supposed to be a maiden voyage of a planned Nostalgia series to help stave off the literary recession. I was never a fan of cannibalizing my old work, even if it managed get the words “Sharapova” and “half-naked” on the same article. *rawr*hiss*hiss*

(shoots cat with a shotgun)

Anyhoo, you can still read the Great Balls of Fire and others of its kind at my old Friendster blog The Road Not Taken at www.theroadnottaken.blogs.friendster.com. There some mighty fine work there you might wanna see if you plan on blackmailing me in the future and incurring the wrath of a Japanese samurai lady.

So, that is that. I really can’t say that I’m back and running, as the ol’ engine still needs some warming up after that long cold spell. But I’m a persistent little bugger, so I’ll try to whip up something nice after this.

Anyway, as a closing filler I’ve uploaded a picture of a rabbit taking a dump. Enjoy.

(Many thanks to Eph, Vhan and other kindred spirits who still believed in my thought –butchering skills. Hats off to you guys.)

A2C2 Ten Commandments Commissioned Work

2008-06-12T19:34:00.007+08:00

I admit, I haven't been updating my often as of late , as I have been busy with a couple of things recently.

And the this is one of those things.

My former Administrative Officer, Ate Monette, asked me draw some cartoons for the brochures and flyers on the Albay in Action on Climate Change (A2C2) Ten Commandments for Sustainable Development. To the uninitiated, the A2C2 Ten Commandments is a list of things to follow in order to induce sustainable development in the Province of Albay (where I live in), which in this case means the adaptation to climate change, which our big boss, the Provincial Governor (whom I work for), has as his pet project.

The caricatures were originally made in black and white, as the brochures were meant to be mimeographed fotr mass circulation However, the office managed to get some funding from UNICEF, so I had to overhaul it all into colored works.

All of the lines were done by hand using a simple pencil and 0.5 technical pen, while the colors were done manually using Adobe Photoshop CS2 and a mouse. If you're deciding to try digital coloring, I advise you to get a tablet. Doing it by mouse will turn your fingers into splintered matchwood.

Fear Me Butcher! For I am Sheep.

2008-04-17T15:55:00.006+08:00

Picture of me during the last dying throes of my sanity on the First Scientists and Community Development Practitioners on Climate/Disaster Risk Reduction on Climate Change Adaptation Round-Table Discussion.

My Very Own Wonderful Person Award (Wohoo!)

2008-04-16T18:04:00.012+08:00

One of the things that the boss troubles me on occasion is that he keeps telling people I am an award-winning writer. Now I appreciate the boss’ pride in his staff, but it is a bit worrying as I have never told him of my awards. Because I haven’t won any. In fact, the last award I can remember being given is the title of “Most Tardy” during my high school senior prom night, and I’m not even sure that counts (they didn’t give me a trophy).

Therefore, it is with much honor and gratitude to accept this Wonderful Person Award from Ruthie. This is the first time somebody has ever described me as such, especially since it comes from someone as cute as her (hehe). I also appreciate the fact that it actually has a certificate (with authentic squiggly border designs) to boot.

Thank you very much Ruth. I appreciate it.

Mental Note: Have to talk with the boss later. And ask for a printer while you’re at it.

Back in the day they used to sell Tivoli Ice Cream. Wonder what happened to that now.

2008-04-13T14:40:00.006+08:00

This is the first time I’m doing a post on a table napkin.

The boss is busy speaking up front, trying to sell the idea of climate change running our quiet little town to the ground (or in this case, underwater) to the prepubescent minds of the local youth council members. It’s not that I have anything against it, although if I had known earlier that I will be tagging along with the boss on one of his speaking engagements, I should’ve brought a camcorder to document it. Or at least a decent notepad that won’t disintegrate at a touch from a technical pen.

(Pauses to sip a cup of coffee. Yes, it’s bloody 11 in the afternoon and the road is baking from the heat outside, but I went drinking the other night with the cousins. My head still feels like cotton candy, mind you)

Right now I’m pretty much bored. Sure, the boss’ slides are something to think about, but I’ve seen it so many times already I think it’s the reason why my brain has the consistency of circus confectionery right now. And I was never good at sitting on a chair for a prolonged period of time while listening to someone either. I nearly flunked high school because of that. But I can’t basically bail out on this one, especially since the boss wants us…

Crap. The boss just pointed at me and mentioned my name out loud. Now everybody in the dining hall is looking at me. So much for sitting it out the sidelines.

Anyway, the boss wants us to start doing the lectures as well, so this is basically the warming period for my baptism of fire, so to speak. Let’s just hope I don’t end up with cold ashes on my socks.

The lecture is finally finished, and the sound of applause quickly floods the room. But it isn’t exactly over for us, as after this we are taking a three-hour trip to a teacher conference on the neighboring province of Sorsogon. First time I’m going to the place, and I’m a bit excited about it.

Well, I have to pack up. Gotta go.

P.S.

Had a chat with Mom later that day. She said it’s just proper that the boss should introduce the staff. I tried explaining to her that I’m not exactly all too thrilled at having myself publicized in such a way, but she countered that as a fully-functioning human being with my occupation it is only right to do so. Note to self: You can never win against your mother. Plus start looking for a good publicist.

Your Sword Versus My Dagger covered by Level 70 Elite Tauren Chieftain

2008-04-01T11:32:00.003+08:00

A song that I really like performed in a game I also really like. It's so much bliss I think my brain just turned to cheese.

Blood and Alcohol Don't Mix

2008-03-27T12:54:00.001+08:00

There are many things I would like to do with my life: fly a kite, grow vegetables in a farm, drive a Royal Panther tank, and so many other things.

But right now the only thing that I want to do is bash my head on a brick wall.

I hate hangovers.

Mechs, Guns, and Bald Kung Fu Guys

2008-03-27T11:45:00.009+08:00

I just learned that there is now a fifth installment in the Front Mission video game series. Although it blatantly uncovers how pitifully ignorant I am of video games recently (the game was released Dec. 29, 2005), I am still quite excited to check it out soon.

I first got hold of the Front Mission video game back when I was in high school, and ever since then I was a big fan of the series. Basically, the game revolves around Wanzers, which are big semi-autonomous mechanized units or mechs, and the pilots that commandeer them. I especially admire the realistically-based designs of the Wanzers, which is a far cry from the fancy but impractical "super" robot designs of Voltron, Mazinger Z, and the like. The storyline is also based on a realistic theme, which is mainly about the hero and the cast struggling with the ideologies that surround them and the factions they are serving in.

Probably the only rotten tomato that spoils the basket is that it suffers from the Chickboy Hero Syndrome, as evidenced by Mr. Walter Feng, hero of the current Front Mission game:

Meet Walter: ace Wanzer pilot and Secretary General of the Oceanic Community Union Emo Club.

Until today I still don't get why they would put men who would probably cry if a rocket went over their heads to pilot these war machines. And to make matters worse, Walter is already gutsy enough as compared to other robot/mecha pilots of the genre *cough*cough*Gundam SEED*cough*.That's probably the saving grace I suppose, although they could've just motion-captured Jason Statham or Jet Li instead.

Hmm... Jet Li inside a fully-armed mech. Now that would make one hell of an action movie.

(many thanks to Jaymee for inspiring me on the poster above)

Cluttered

2008-03-20T20:19:00.003+08:00

And More Coffee, Perhaps?

2008-03-20T20:16:00.003+08:00

I have gotta learn to write smaller posts.

I'm having difficulty finding time to write posts again. Aside from the fact that I no longer have a dedicated internet connection as that of my previous work, things has become fast-forward in pace at the office. My boss, the executive director of CIRCA, brought back a lot of stuff from his trip in Bali, including that of a national climate change round-table discussion this coming April. So far I’ve been churning out letters here and there, asking for sponsorships from the bigger establishments in the city to informing respective government heads of the said event.

Then there’s also our entry for the DILG program proposal contest-thingy (which is worth 500 grand in grants) to do, and I have to help the Governor on his UPLB commencement speech. I still don’t know how I ended up doing that; to closest thing I ever been to a commencement address is throwing up the horns after getting my diploma onstage (Wohoo!). However, the boss says its part of me being the Communications Officer of the Centre, so I pretty much can’t argue with that.

But on the upside, at least Holy Week’s here. That means I have four day’s worth of holidays (one of the few perks of being in a Catholic-dominated country). And that also means watching the carros of the 12 Stations of the Cross being paraded again. It’s probably the only time in the year where you can see thousands of people walking in the dead of the night holding candles and following creepy-looking life-size statues around the city (Tim Burton should visit our place sometime). It just like Halloween, except without the candy and with more praying.

Now that I've got more free time, I can finally shove in a post or two. I just hope there are open internet cafés though.

A Screencap of My So-Called Digital Life #2

2008-03-07T13:48:00.005+08:00

This is another one of my quick projects for my Friendster page. I've drawn and inked it by hand, although I had to clean it first and darken the blacks by adjusting the curves a bit. The coloring meanwhile was made digitally in Adobe Photoshop, with the flats done with the default brush while a digital airbrush set to 30% opacity was used for the blending and shading. I still haven't quite gotten the handle of it though. The Blogger logo, however, was taken from a Flickr page, whose specific address I can't remember. Hopefully the finished output will be uploaded by the time this is posted.

Red and Gray

2008-02-18T23:39:00.003+08:00

It’s a rainy day this Valentine’s Day.

I’m slumped in an old bench on the far side of the hall, watching the gray rain-clouds pummel the park outside into submission. Filtered gray sunlight reflects from the cracked marble tiles on the floor, and it creates an eerie haze that lulls my eyes into sleep. I sink even further into the bench, lowered the cap over my head, and tried to doze off the rest of the morning.

On the far right from where I’m sitting there’s a sign taped on the window of our office. It’s an advertisement for an all-you-can-eat “Valentine Buffet” at a local hotel, promising not only a bottomless dinner plate but also a chance to win a night’s stay in a jacuzzi in the accompanying raffle. One of the office staff must have posted it as a gag, as we were more likely to find ourselves taking post in the frosty confines of the Centre than in a warm candle-lit honeymoon suite tonight.

But past the four glass walls of the office, Valentine’s Day is no laughing matter. Just this morning I woke up to a radio station giving away free horoscope-based compatibility tests, with one of the “experts” dismissing a caller as stingy because her name starts with M. And while passing by the high school on the way to work, I saw vendors hawking roses, heart balloons, and other Valentine gifts outside the school’s gates, providing convenience (and cashing in) to the bold hearts of the young. There’s really no escaping it really, but if you were romantic, you’d find it rather sweet. But if you were bitter, you’d find it sickening. But I’m neither, with just a bit of both. Which in turn would probably explain why I’m going nowhere with this Valentines thing.

After 15 minutes of trying, I still couldn’t sleep. I straightened on the bench, stretched my arms forward, got up and headed back into the office. I’ll get myself in trouble if I got caught slacking off on the job, even if there is none to do at the moment. I gripped the knob on the door and swung it open, hoping to salvage what’s left of my Valentine’s Day.

Going home after visiting Richard in Panal

2008-02-18T22:52:00.004+08:00

You've got to be kidding me.

Endless needles of rain sting my face as we crossed the vast expanse of the empty highway, further increasing my body's sensitivity to the biting cold. I try and stop from shuddering, fearing that any sudden movement might cause Vhann's motorbike to go out of control on the slippery asphalt.

It's probably one of the worst places I've ever found myself in: getting pelted with rain while riding a bike in the countryside at 9 in the evening. Plus the fact that there's no one within a hundred meters from us further complicates things. But then, nobody in his right mind (with the exception of two scrawny post-adolescent geeks) would go out in this forsaken hour, as the freezing wind and rain have almost completely shut down the city.

It's been like this since the start of February: endless cold coupled with endless rain. It's as if the entire Arctic Ocean was redirected to our tropical hamlet, with no signs of receding any time soon. Its stark contrast to the fact that summer is only two months away. That is, if there will still be a summer. If what the people back at the Centre are saying is true, then this whole crazy weather is due to global warming, which could further explain why the rain falling over our heads seems like it came from a glacier. But maybe I'm just over-reacting. It just feels too obvious for all of this to happen only a year after "An Inconvenient Truth" went onscreen and Al Gore got his nod at the Nobel. Maybe it is just a coincidence. Or maybe not. But if that should be the case I'll be damned if I ditch the bike in the middle of nowhere just to cut down on my carbon footprint. Our house already has enough fluorescent bulbs to compensate for the moment, thank you.

Nevertheless, you also start to fear, not only because of the strange weather but also because you are in the middle of a strange place. Proper civilization is only a few kilometers away, but the darkness and the emptiness surrounding us gives no hint whatsoever of our progress. And of all places to be you get an epiphany: that in the midst of all your accomplishments, you are still just a warm tiny speck in the ginormous void of a cold unforgiving universe.

It only took 15 minutes to get back to the city's core and for Vhann to drop me off at the tricycle stop home. There weren’t enough passengers for the tricycle to leave yet, so I decided to go to the nearest convenience store and grab something to drink. And while I chuckle at the subtle irony of it, the raindrops keep falling, oblivious to the endless ramblings which this and the hundred more souls that huddle for warmth in its domain.

I've got a headache. And it goes by the name of Pain.

2008-02-18T22:51:00.001+08:00

Note to self: never sniff pencil shavings.

Because Breathing is Less Important than not being It

2008-02-14T23:11:00.010+08:00

I'm never really good with the game of tag. Anything that involves running or vigorous activity in a prolonged period of time automatically gets shelved into my "Dislikes" folder. And so when I find myself tagged by Ruthie one day, I was a bit alarmed as I was flattered. But then again, I've already been creeping people out with answers to similar lists below in the Friendster bulletins, so:

5 Things Found in my Bag

Red Thermos Mug.
My old (i.e. haven't lost it yet) FILA Baseball Cap.
A gel-based sign pen.
Some strange stuff that's been inside for years that'll probably bite me if I touch it.
Deodorant.

5 Things Found in my Wallet

Money.
A sky blue Kingston USB Mass Storage Device.
Empty ATM Cards.
My Social Security card.
Old slips of paper from as far back as college.

5 Things Found in my Room

Porn. (hahaha just kidding. Reformed na ata 'to!)
Cluttered computer desk.
Woozie, my long-suffering yet ever-trusty Sempron rig.
Bed with extra-large pillows.
Books leaning against empty boxes of Gundam model kits.

5 Things I’ve Always Wanted To Do

Drive a tank in the highway during rush hour (wahaha!).
Take a nap in Norway.
Hot-wire Dreamweaver and Flash.
Get drunk at a bar with Gordon Freeman and Barney Calhoun .
Meet God without dying first.

5 Things I am Currently Into

Trying to be a Christian.
Messing around with Photoshop.
Making press releases and other paperwork for the Centre for Initiatives and Research on Climate Change.
Chatting with Ruth, Arcee, and other friends online.
Sleeping.

5 People to Tag on this Meme

Her.
Him.
F.
J.
You.

Eight

2008-02-14T23:05:00.003+08:00

It was already half past eight when I got out of the office door. There are no more eateries open at that hour, so I’ll have to pass by the corner noodle shop for dinner. I’m not really that hungry anyway. Just tired.

It’s probably the only thing that I didn’t like about my job: the overtime. The working hours of the Centre is from 8 to 5, but the staff rarely closes shop earlier than 7 in the evening. Ate Carol, the spry Administrative Assistant of the Centre, said that there are even sleeping bags stored aside for those extra special times that we have to literally sleep over the work.

But I really can’t complain about it though. Aside from a few official letters I had to write for the day, there’s pretty much nothing else for a Communication Officer like me to do. And we really can’t say no to the Director of the General Services, who rushed to our office to get help for his slideshow which was due the next day. He even bought us some pizza to make up for the trouble, which probably is the reason why I’m still not hungry.

And as I walk past the bright lights shining down from the lampposts lining the sidewalk, I wonder how long this is going to last: to find myself walking in the middle of the night, going to a future as uncertain as the hour I can go home from work.

A Screencap of My So-Called Digital Life

2008-02-14T22:30:00.008+08:00

This is actually a rather old project of mine, sort of a tribute to the late(?) legendary Sannin whose daring feats of manliness has been a pillar of inspiration for testosterone-fueled men everywhere. Excelsior!

EDIT: Yes, yes, I admit. I listen to Cueshe. Every man has his moment of weakness too you know...

Because Whiteboards don't make good Pillows

2008-02-07T12:39:00.000+08:00

My hands are freezing.

The skin on my palms has turned ghost-white, and a numb ache starts to sear on the joints on my fingers as I punch in the keys. Guess that makes me a candidate for arthritis in the future then, although right now I’m more preoccupied with the current irony of my hands turning into popsicles while there’s a blazing-hot afternoon raging outside. That and I’m back at work again.

Last Friday night, Eph called and asked me if I needed a job. At any normal day I might have said no; I just got out of a job, and I’m not in a hurry to go back into another one anytime soon. Maybe it was because I was grappling with the concept of being broke again, or maybe it was the beta-blockers kicking in that made me say yes. Either way, three days later I find myself as a Creative Communications Officer for the Provincial Governor’s Environment and Eco-cultural Office. It’s probably the fastest hire that I’ve ever experienced, as I applied on Monday and went back in the game the next day. And it’s really not that hard; basically I’m just making press releases for the office to be distributed to the press. It’s really nothing I can’t handle compared to other articles I’ve made for the university paper, although they may not as critical nor as hard-hitting. And the turnout is relatively slow, with an average of one article per day. I usually get sidelined as errand boy or brochure illustrator during the downtimes, which tend to be a lot. Sometimes it even gets to a point where it’s so slow you just want to slump in the chair and doze off.

But then again, with the freezing temperatures in here that seems hardly possible.

Madness

2008-01-25T16:28:00.000+08:00

I never liked staying up late. Unless it is an all-night drinking binge, a good book, or a video-game relapse, you would never find me at midnight without my face in a pillow and my head in the clouds. So when I find myself at 1 in the morning staring at a brightly-lit ceiling, I know something’s bothering me. And with the past few days, it has been quite a lot.

I’ve quit my job recently. A lot of people found it surprising, but that’s just because I haven’t told anybody about it for a while. But truth be told, I too found it a bit early. But certain events have made me show my hand earlier, and now I find myself in the unemployed side of the river again. This means that I don’t have to try to crunch three articles in the morning (which is rare), nor do I no longer have to compete with Homar on who can stare at the monitor the longest without blinking (Hahaha just kidding Mar. Peace out man). I have been attached to MBSTek for ten months, and as with all attachments are you feel a sense of loss and sadness when you release yourself from it.

But I had to do it. Over and over again I say to myself that I had to do it. It’s not that I am fooling myself into thinking as such, but rather because I have to remind myself why. As a friend once said to me, sometimes you have to let go of something good to achieve something better. However, this time I am not looking for something better. I’m just looking for calm.

So far I haven't found it.

Oh well.

The Toss of it All

2008-01-25T15:28:00.000+08:00

Getting married is hard.

That’s what my cousin, a teacher of 23 decked in a pearl-white wedding dress, said to me as I sat near her table during the reception. If I was younger, I would have scoffed. But as I have gone older (if not more mature), I too have realized that in marriage, as well as in other cornerstones of life, it’s pretty much the game plan.

One of the tendencies of our clan is that we tend to have families at a young age. This is especially true for the men, as I have male cousins at my age who already have two or three children of their own. And I have attended almost all of their weddings, most of which I played the role of the groomsman. There was even one time that I have caught the bride’s garter, and got the unfortunate opportunity of slipping it on some blushing girl whom I don’t even know. I still haven’t known that girl, and I have now learned to keep my hands to my pockets during the garter toss.

But the wedding was usually the fun part of it all. Being a close-knit extended family, I have occasionally spent a day or so in the houses of my newlywed cousins, and I have seen first-hand what it is to support and manage a new family. In the same way that I have often found myself in weddings, I have also been in more than often in a delivery ward, baptism fountain, a late-night rush to the pharmacy, early-morning walk to the corner store, and the day-to-day toil in earning the food of your family for that day. And sometimes I look at myself, and wonder if I too will see myself as such.

And that was the thought that popped in my mind as my cousin spoke in my ear those words. And I haven’t asked myself that question for a long time now, because marriage, nay, a relationship, is the last thing on my mind at the moment. But as my friend and fellow noodle-connoisseur Romalyn once said, the future is always uncertain.

I looked at my cousin’s face, and beneath the make-up and the weary look of preparing for the wedding all month, I saw the sparkle in her eyes and her happy smile. I looked at my recent cousin-in-law, a hulking tower of a man with a skilled hand and an affable grin, shaking the hand of my aunt and deflecting taunts from the other groomsmen across the table. I then looked back at my cousin, patted her on the shoulder, and told her that everything was going to be fine.

Fear the Asterisk! wahaha...

2008-01-15T09:46:00.000+08:00

--_--

Somebody keeps stealing the padlocks in our house.

It all started before Christmas, and so far they’ve managed to filch three of our locks. It’s actually more annoying than intimidating, as new locks are quite expensive (the good ones cost about 2 and half dollars, which is already a handful here in our country) and we have to update our keys every time it gets lost. So far we don't know who the culprit(s) is/are, although Mom says it's probably some of the bored kids roaming around the neighborhood, which kind of makes a lot more sense than my theory involving keymaker elves bent on a worldwide conspiracy to monopolize the padlock industry. But I'm still not taking the jumper cables off the gate though (hahaha just kidding*)

Green Beans

2008-01-15T08:30:00.000+08:00

I’m not really a fan of podcasts. It’s not that I don’t like it though, it’s just that it would be just too much of a distraction for me while at work (where I am always online). So I found it quite odd that I would be in a café high above the city streets doing a podcast with Eph and Jaymee.

I’ve known Eph for about 4 years now, as he was my Editor-in-Chief during my stint in the college paper as well as being my spiritual confidant at church. And it was in our weekly group meeting that Eph asked me to guest in the next episode of their podcast Get Back to Work. And since I am always eager to try something new (as long as it doesn’t void my insurance benefits), I decided to give it a go.

There are three things which I learned during the podcast.

1. I have an accent. Being born in the Philippines, having a Filipino accent while speaking in English is expected. However, I have been speaking, writing, and talking to myself in English as long as I can remember, so I was a bit surprised that all those years hasn’t affected my accent that much. But it’s not that I am ashamed of it either, however it’s hard to be taken seriously when you're proclaiming your intentions of taking over the world to the terrified masses with a solid Bicolano twang.

2. I (apparently) have an unruly lifestyle. The episode in which I was to guest in was about whether personal organizers and New Year’s resolutions really work, and I was the one representing the ones who don’t. According to Eph, I was the only one he has found in time for that side. So unless I misquoted the E-man, it just proves that I am the only unorganized person in the city, or maybe even the planet. It just kind of makes me imagine myself as Will Smith in I Am Legend. Except that Will Smith is richer ... handsomer ... and manlier ... than me.

...

I think I'm just going to curl up in this corner here and weep for a while.

3. Pee before doing a podcast.

Overall, the podcast was nice and quite interesting. Heck, I might just even try it sometime, although I won't do it now as the technician will kill me if I choke up the bandwidth of the office network.

For those of you who want to know more about Eph and Jaymee’s Get Back to Work podcast, you can visit it at
http://getbacktowork.podbean.com. If you want to hear the episode with me in it or you're just looking for some juicy stuff to blackmail me in the future, just click this here link.

Thanks to Eph and Jaymee for the opportunity.

EDIT:

Da**it, I sound like Borat. Very nice!

Screwed

2008-01-12T14:40:00.000+08:00

I suffer from chronic depression. When you're a lanky, post-adolescent recluse with a screwy childhood, I guess it comes complimentary. It's kind of an on-and-off thing: one moment I'm bright and chipper, and the next thing you know the last two factors that are stopping me from killing myself is a lack of a firearm and a deep-seated fear of God. (Yes, there are other methods of self-execution, but medical studies show that a gunshot wound to the head is the quickest and most effective way to die). And right now I'm going through the same motions again, although now without much of the bells and whistles that was so prevalent during my teenage angst/emo years.

There are a lot of things that led me into this recent ticket to the dumps. Work, love, and a sense of personal lacking are the main reasons why, with the L-word taking up the lion's share. But I will no longer elaborate on these. Aside from the fact that I am a man who takes his privacy seriously, poking at one's emotional wounds will only make it heal longer. But nevertheless, the pain still heals at a snail's pace, and it tends to leave a scar in your mind. Sometimes I even wonder if I still have places in my brain which haven't been scarred at all.

So right now, in the same way as I treat most things in my life, I'm just winging it until it finally blows over. One good thing about having chronic depression is that it tends to get old over time, and you take it with much bitter stride. I even find it quite silly at certain moments, although I just wish I would stop thinking of shooting myself that much.

Pain is a Pain in the...

2007-12-19T09:18:00.000+08:00

My wisdom teeth is to acting up again, and thanks to that I'm going to have to do 9 articles today. It's not really that hard actually(I think I made 10 articles once in one sitting), but that was motivated by a 4-figure incentive and not by a pair of attention-deficit third molars. The pain is somewhat bearable, but I'm thinking of finally availing of that dental plan in the health card I just got from HR, but since the teeth are still midway inside my gums, I'll just have to wing it until it subsides.

Anyway, back to them fuel injectors.

Life, Love, and Death at the Crossing

2007-12-11T15:43:00.000+08:00

I consider myself a rather serious gamer, and as most serious gamers know the word "heartwarming" is that not easy to find in video games. And so it was therefore in my collective surprise that I stumbled upon an article in Penny Arcade about a heartwarming webcomic of the Animal Crossing video game. After much digging around (with the help of Google), I managed to find the offending (or should I say, heartwarming?) culprit and checked it out to see its worth.

And in my opinion, it was worth a few good words. Plus a few tears if you can afford to.

(please click to enlarge)

I don't play Animal Crossing (not by choice, but rather by lack of a Gamecube in which to play it), but it doesn't take one to play the game in order to understand the poignancy of this strip. Being a gamer myself, I know how difficult it is to find a middle ground for both children and parents to step on when it comes to video games. But this one just goes beyond that awkwardity and shows that despite the hoopla regarding in-game violence and immorality, video games can be a fun and touching way in which a family can connect to one another. This is especially true in this age where the devices that can keep us connected can also keep us apart.

And so, with a lack of a suitable phrase to end this post/pseudo-review, I shall quote the final words on the strip:

Show your parents as much love as you can, while you still can.

Dog Piss

2007-11-27T08:27:00.000+08:00

I hate bathing at night. There is nothing more traumatizing than stripping down to your bare essentials in the cold of night and dousing yourself in even colder water. Every time I swing that dipper over my head, I feel like my brain cells are getting shorted out by lightning. So every time I head for the bathroom at 9 in the evening with towel and soap in hand, I better have a damn good reason for it. And last night, the reason was because I smelled like dog piss.

The boarding house where I stay in here in Legazpi has a dog named Claus (My uncle, the landlord, found him on Christmas Day). And just like his namesake, Claus likes to give. Except that it comes in ammonia, nitrogen, and other stuff that dog kidneys make. But I really can't blame him; the fella is basically locked up inside the boarding house all day. But when you wake up to a glorious Tuesday morning and find that the dog left you a very smelly present on the doorstep, sympathy tends to vanish hard and fast. I'm a self-confessed animal lover, but it takes all of my mental faculties just to stop myself from whacking the dog every time he pisses on the doorway. And now I just consider myself lucky that he peed on the kitchen floor after dinner; at least I have the time to clean it up and go to sleep without holding the urge to puke every time I inhale. But then again, it's hard to consider oneself lucky if he's going to clean up dog piss. It just makes me want to blow up inside, or at least take a bath at night.

Bitter Coincidence on 7 Wheels

2007-11-17T16:42:00.000+08:00

The conductor slowly inched his way to the back of the bus , taking the fares as he did. And as he came nearer and nearer to where I stood, I became uncomfortable, wishing that he would just go away. But as he came at arm's length he stared at me, with the gaze resembling that of a man who goes around asking bus fares. I would have humored him though, if it were not for the fact that I was literally stuck in what seems to be a dozen reasonably large and unreasonably sweaty men, each struggling to hold tight in the bus as it rumbled about in the road. Is he friggin' crazy? I asked myself. And just how the hell am I going to get my wallet outta this mess?

But then again, I realized that it was my idea in the first place to ride an overcrowded bus which is running with one blown tire in the middle of the countryside at 9 in the evening.

And so, with despair and through somewhat remarkable contortion skills, I got my wallet out of my pocket and handed my fare.

Assassin's Creed Trailer

2007-11-14T12:55:00.000+08:00

I normally don't embed video in my blogs, primarily because they eat up a lot of memory and are a pain to load up. But I'm willing to overlook it for this instance.

The video shown above is a trailer for the upcoming game Assassin's Creed for the Xbox 360, Playstation 3, and the PC, which is slated to be available in the coming months. It tells the story of Altair, a disgraced assassin set to redeem himself by performing hits in the Holy Land during the Third Crusade. Judging by the graphics, the supposedly innovative gameplay, and the overall bad-assiness (the man replaced his finger with a switchblade, for crying out loud), it's going to be a good, if not great, video game. Just another reason for me to spice up my rig when the PC version supposedly hits the shelves next year.

The Days are Getting Longer, The Nights are Getting Colder...

2007-11-05T14:14:00.000+08:00

I finally found the time to write again.

It's not that I don't write anymore. Instead what I really mean is that I finally found time to write something a bit pithier, rather mouthing off silly ramblings and revealing how much I suck at playing video games. I think there’s even a theory that states that as you get older, your skills in video games decrease accordingly. Must be with the aging brain cells I suppose. However, there’s actually no solid scientific fact which can support my theory. But if you find a middle-aged father beating his teenage son at Team Fortress 2, kindly let me know.

But I find it rather ironic though, due to the fact that I’m not really busy nowadays. Aside from the occasional weekend backlogs, my work does not require duty beyond the 9 to 5. But despite this, I still don’t write as much as before. Maybe it’s because my work is starting to turn my mind into that squash pudding my cousin made last week. After all, writing about license plate brackets all day does not exactly induce the Shakespeare in a person. Sometimes I even wonder how my co-workers who are taking up Law (don’t know how many, but my super-secret ninja spies say they’re quite a handful) manage to balance work with study. But then again, I need the money, and compared with other jobs out there mine is as easy as it gets, so I’ll just have to wing it until the next school year.

Also, there’s the fact that I’m no longer inspired to write at all. The teenage angst that has dominated my college years has started to fade out ever since that Senator guy handed me my diploma. Plus I’m no longer pulling out Cupid’s arrows out of my chest cavity. Come to think of it, I think that’s one of the good things about not writing anymore, as there’s drastically lesser chance of me writing about how the way she walks as though she’s gracefully swaying in the wind, cherry blossoms and uber-cheesy Kim Chiu songs in tow. Just reading through my old journal entries makes me cringe and want to slaughter Cupid with a rusty pick-axe.

Then there’s also the fact that we have a new PC at home. A brand-spanking new Sempron PC with 512MB RAM and a 128MB video card. It’s not exactly the fastest out there, but any rig that can make me run Half Life 2 smoothly is good enough for me. And although I still haven’t purchased the aforementioned game, I am contently wading through Disciples 2 and various console emulators I found on the Internet. And when I’m not wasting precious sec…er…hours of my life in pointless but otherwise addictive video game diversions, I’m busy trying to figure out Photoshop CS and doing the wedding invitation card for my cousin who’s getting married in January. And let’s not forget the occasional DotA fix with Shad and/or Vhan at Chuck’s, as well as various other frivolities such as laundry, eating, sleeping, and respiration. Kinda makes you think twice about “not being busy”, ain’t it?

But as for now, I have the time.

Flowers and Graves

2007-10-31T08:13:00.000+08:00

Every day during my daily commute to work I would get off the jeepney at the corner where the flower shops are. And today would have been no different, except for the fact that instead of roses and tulips, there was an abundance of daises, lilies, and those other types of flowers usually reserved for floral wreaths of the dead.

Halloween is finally here.

I never really saw Halloween coming, or I simply just failed to acknowledge it. It's probably because I'm always distracted by a lot of things recently, and it wasn't until I saw the flowers that the thought finally hit home.

Ironically enough, Halloween, or All Saint's Day as they call it here, has always been of great significance for me. This is because every night of the first of November, my family and the families of my aunts and uncles would trek to the cemetery and pay a visit to the graves of my grandmother and grandfather. It is an unbroken tradition as far as I know; ever since we decided to stay here in the province I could almost always be found staring at the grave candles at November 1. But despite this, it was never really a solemn occassion. Except for the standard one-hour prayer vigil (usually headed by one of my more devout aunts), the rest of the night was punctuated by conversations, children making balls out of the melted wax from the candles, and the token card games of tong-its and pusoy. And it was hard to be solemn at the cemetery anyway, as it was always crowded with people and resembled more of a busy night market than that of a place of repose. There was even one time when the family of the grave next to ours brought a karaoke machine, buckets of beer and barbecue grille (which was promptly followed by a drunken brawl, thus permanently turning our all-night vigil into an until-midnight one).

Ever since my grandfather died in 1997, visiting the cemetery became more important for me. Suffice it to say that Gramps became my surrogate father when Dad was away; a wrinkly but robust old man toiling in his patch of cassava while his skinny young grandson tailed behind. I would never forget those tall cassava stalks, nor my grandfather for that matter. And after he passed away on that fateful birthday of his that January, we would visit his and my grandmother's grave regularly. But as the years passed by the visits became less frequent, and it even came to a point where the only time we would go to his grave was during All Saint's Day. And then came the time where I went to work in Manila. That was the first time I that missed the yearly visit. And as what I have planned for myself in the near future should come into fruition, I would probably be missing a lot more visits to Gramps.

But as long as I am still here, I'll still visit him.

Last Blade Blues

2007-10-25T16:34:00.000+08:00

(much to the horror of Setsuna, Hibiki started to sprout wings)

I downloaded a MAME Emulator from the office the other day. For those who don’t know what MAME is, then the feeling is quite mutual because I don’t know what it is either. All I know is that it can simulate Arcade games like those coin-operated ones at the mall. And along with the emulator, I also downloaded 2 arcade games, or ROMs as they call it in the emulator trade. And one of these was the Last Blade 2: Bakumatsu Roman.

One of the reasons why I decided to download the emulator was that I wanted to try Last Blade for myself. Neil, my cousin and undeclared sensei on all things manly, once told me how great a game Last Blade is. And coming from a man who would rather spend the day reading Nietzsche than play video games, his recommendation was something to consider. And when I researched the game on Wikipedia, I was impressed with the artwork as well as the complexity of the unit sprites. So when I managed to stumble upon a website that offered a Last Blade game emulator, I decided to grab the opportunity and downloaded it.

And so far I’ve been getting ass kicked by it for almost two consecutive days.

Okay, so I did play a bit with it (and managed to actually enjoy a second or so of the game), but most of the time I was either being slashed at, pummeled, sucker-punched or having my face hammered at the ground. Last Blade 2: Bakumatsu Roman is by far one of the hardest and most unforgiving fighting games that I have ever played. The enemy AI is brutal and uses all of the skills at twice my speed. Sure, my old Compaq keyboard is not exactly the best gaming peripheral out there, but c’mon! How the heck can you land a hit on someone when you’re literally moving like you’ve got hot potatoes in your pants? And blocking is almost non-existent when the wily bastards lands one on the jaw. If were not for the fact that I spent two month’s of my savings on our PC, I might have thrown it out my window out to sheer frustration.

But as soon as my head cooled off (and right after my blood receded back to its normal temperature), I realized that the game was that hard because of the fact that it is an arcade game. Arcade games (with the exception of the Street Fighter vs. Marvel vs. Capcom vs. Care Bears franchise) are designed to be difficult. After all, how are they going to rack up on the money if you’ve beaten the game at a single sitting? Arcade games were meant to give its customers a thrashing, and have them spend tokens one after another with the illusion that they just might somehow beat it and place their name at the high scores. Neil must have played a console version of Last-Blade, which is usually watered-down and has a more merciful difficulty setting. Either that or he’s got the hand articulation of Spiderman on crack.

It took me another day before I decided to end the madness and stop playing Last Blade altogether. Arcade game or not, it is a game not worthy enough to test my anger management capabilities. So until I discover how to lower the difficulty level of the ROM, or they introduce a new character that has a fully automatic AK-47 as a weapon, the game is in the back shelf of my PC. But should any of you would like to be interested in getting a crack at it and want a copy, feel free to contact me. I’m always willing to share the love, or in this case, the frustration.

Cold

2007-09-18T08:19:00.000+08:00

One of the band members of the Temptations once said that North Dakota is so cold that it is "where cold is made and sent to other places". And if that should be the case, then our province must have bought in bulk recently.

It has been raining almost every day for the past week. Maybe it's because it's the monsoon season in our country again, or maybe the Philippine government's effort at cloud seeding has gone awry. But either way, the incessant rain and wind has caused the temperature to drop. For the first time in months I had to use an umbrella and hoodie, which is already something, since I despise carrying umbrellas and our office tends to get hot as a Turkish bathouse at certain hours. But then again, if it were not for the fact that I have a job, I would be rather at home sleeping. For the past week, every time that I wake up to the frigid morning one of the first thoughts that comes into my mind is to go back to sleep again. And most of the people I've asked feel the same way as well (including my mother, who is probably the patron saint of workaholics everywhere). I attribute this sluggishness as the human body's way of conserving energy for heat, but then again one must think of Scotland, Iceland, and Norway, whose citizens are hardly touted as lazy. And nowhere in the history books mention of the hardy Vikings holing up at the living room watching reruns of the Emmys during a cold spell. Maybe were just not used to the cold, with us being tropical islanders after all.

But is not that I am complaining. On the contrary, I prefer cold days over the sunny ones. While others see bleakness and sadness on a gray sky, I see calmness, solitude, and peace. Plus the mountains surround our house look more majestic on a cloudy. It's just how one sees the world I suppose, which is already difficult to do in this world blinded with illusions and compliance.

Bossa Fever

2007-09-14T08:44:00.000+08:00

I was sitting on a jeepney on the way to work when I noticed a banner on top of the highway. The banner advertised "Bossa Fever", a concert involving a local bossa nova artist and an "audio deconstructionist" (who blatantly looks like an ordinary DJ).

How the heck do you get Bossa Fever? Sure, I've heard of disco fever, but bossa nova? Dictionary.com states that "fever" is an "intense nervous excitement", but bossa nova is probably one of the most relaxing forms of music next to the lullaby. So how do get nervously excited over something so soothing?

Husband: Honey, I think I might be going down with the bossa fever...
Wife: Oh dear, what makes you say that?
Husband: Well, I've been feeling sort of relaxed since this morning, and just a few hours ago I keep getting this urge lie on the couch.

The marvels of Philippine marketing really do leave me speechless sometimes.

A Castle of Cards

2007-09-03T19:59:00.000+08:00

I finally made my first complete card castle.

It was a simple construction: a three-section pyramid composed of receding triangular arches of two cards side to side, and platforms made up 4 layers of cards on the first whilst 3 layers for the second. Strangely enough, it took me only less than an hour to complete it, considering the fact that it is made up of brand new (and quite slippery) unmatted playing cards that was assembled on a wobbly wooden work table.

I started constructing card structures quite recently. Maybe it was the challenge I guess, or the fact that it can induce a meditative state at some point. And God only knows how badly I need meditation these days...

But sadly, I made this construction during the wee hours of my grand-aunt's wake, who was very close to me ever since I was a kid. So in the end I never fully enjoyed the fruits (or castle) of my labor, because I lost something precious just to gain another.

In the end, maybe we are all just a castle of cards, waiting for the wind to blow us away into a pile of nothingness.

(This card castle is lovingly dedicated to my late grand-aunt Carmen. In pace requiescat Lola.)

Ka-ching

2007-08-30T21:25:00.000+08:00

I managed to scrounge a red bicycle frame and handlebars from my cousin over the weekend.

I was passing by their house the other day, and I saw the lad busily tinkering away at his bike. He managed to scrounge a much lighter bike frame from somewhere, and he's transplating the wheels, brakes, plate, and other components to this new one from his old bike. And since he had no use for the old frame, I asked him if I could have it, along with the old chrome handlebars I saw rusting in the corner. A few hours of haggling later, I managed to haul home the bike frame, the handlebars, and a set of pedals to boot. So right now I'm closer to getting a new bike of my own, with only a fraction of the market price.

I can be such a cheap bastard sometimes.

Close

2007-08-15T12:17:00.000+08:00

It was already past 10 in the evening when I looked at the clock. Time flies fast when you've got a Playstation 2 joystick on your hands. I pulled at the aluminum door of the rental store, and the cold wind came rushing at my face. I was only wearing a t-shirt, so I shivered a little. I started to rub my arms warm, put my cap on, and started the long walk home.

Last week the woman I love told me she was leaving, where it is she wouldn't tell me. But all I know is that I may never see her again.

I wanted to go straight to her house and beg for her to stay. Or at least see her face one last time. But instead I am standing outside a Playstation rental store on a rainy Monday night, trying to think of other things that are less important. At least the unimportant things don't hurt when you wake up in the morning.

She wants me to move on; to keep my heart whole and wait for the right girl for me to come. I wanted to tell her that I don't know where to start moving on. Because I never went anywhere with her in the first place.

In the end, what probably hurts is not that she's gone and no longer a part of my life, but rather the fact that it's the best thing that's ever happened to me in years.

And that I still love her. Probably for the rest of whatever's left of my life.

I still wanted to keep playing for another hour, but the store was already closing for the night. So quite reluctantly, I had to go home. And as I walked out into the darkness of the alleyway, I wonder if there are other things in this life that have closed.

It’s just hard to let go of something very precious especially when you have accepted that something as part of your being. But letting go is essential. Separation is needed. Just like a seed... it needs to separate from the fruit to grow, become a tree, and produce more.... If the seed stays with the fruit forever, they will both perish...

...life cannot adjust to us; we adjust to fit in it.- Romalyn Casia

Rallying cry for my Work Ethic

2007-08-03T14:56:00.000+08:00

If what I feel right now can be summed up in one word, it would be this:

I've been playing a lot of Urban Dead recently. It somewhat has certain parallels with my job (For example: it involves losing brain cells), but nevertheless it is quite engaging and entertaining. That is, if you find clicking text boxes entertaining, of course.

Since it's a casual web browser-based multiplayer online game, Urban Dead does not win any awards in terms of graphics. Here's a screenshot of the game:

But if you can sacrifice the visuals for expansive gameplay, well this game is worth checking out. The game basically dwells on a zombie outbreak in a London-ish suburbia, wherein you can play as a living, breathing human who is stuck in the city or as an undead, rotting zombie preying on the living. It's not really gross though; probably the most graphic description in this game is wherein you stick a syringe up the neck of a zombie. The survivors mostly spend most of their days scrounging for supplies, setting up radios, generators and barricades, and shooting the living (or dying?) daylights out of zombies with a double-barreled shotgun. The zombies, or zeds as they call it, roam the deserted streets searching for "harmanz", "harmanbargahz", and of course, "braiiiiiinzzzzzzz"....

The game can be frustrating at first, as you need to be of a significant level to be able to fully enjoy the game. It can also be boring sometimes, especially when the zombie hordes just passed the suburb you're holed up in. But nevertheless, it's quite a nice diversion on a boring afternoon.

Unlit Cigarettes

2007-06-29T09:57:00.000+08:00

When I was younger my grandfather used to send me on errands to buy him cigarettes. Red "More" Luxury Cigarettes; I can still remember them as though it was yesterday. I would walk a few blocks in my sando and oversize flip flops to the nearest store and buy a couple of those weird-smelling sticks. I was always fascinated by those sticks: the odd but eerily fragrant smell, the smooth paper cover, and the fact that most of the men that I considered to be big and tough usually had them clamped between their lips. I would sniff them constantly on the way back, put them in my ear or in my lips just like I saw my father or grandfather did. But when I was in sight of our house, I would put it back in my hands along with the change, for fear that my grandfather would spank the hell outta me for messing with his sweet-smelling cigarettes.

But that was before Grandfather died in 1997. A former cockpit owner and "banig" seller struck down at the age of 86 by heart attack. He left behind 13 children and more than thrice that amount of grandchildren, including this boy who would buy him his cigarettes.

And as I grew older I realized that cigarettes were bad. I learned that they contained harmful chemicals with weird-sounding names like nicotine and formaldehyde which could make you sick. I saw pictures of lungs turned black with soot, of reddish human organs that look like they were taken from the local meat market. They were addictive and bad for you, they said, and that I should stay away.

And so I stayed away from cigarettes. But at that time I also stood away from the rest of the world. I was an outcast, a weird organism who never smoked. I saw other boys of my age who would swagger like those in the movies at the local town cinema, with a burning stick of cigarette in their mouths. I wanted to be like those boys. I wanted to be cool, because I want to be part of the world.

But I still stayed away from them. And as I grew older, I learned more about those burning sticks. I learned that they were made by multinational corporations which made lots of money from those tiny sticks. I learned that there was a lot of people who were fighting against it. I learned about conspiracy, compromise, bribery, bureaucracy, red tape, frame-up, blackmail, and salvage. And that people kept smoking them. They said it calmed the nerves, made them think better. Sometimes I wonder if they were right.

I had my first real puff when I had a bad cough back in college. My roommate gave me a stick of "Hope" Menthol Cigarettes. He said it would make my cough go away, and that it should put some meat on my lungs. I took a drag, inhaling the smoke as it went its way from the filter to the recesses of my throat. A wierd bitter taste grew inside my mouth, and I coughed it out. My roommate laughed in the darkness and took back the stick from my hands.

And more time passed by. My grandfather's body has probably turned to dust now, and my roommate is somewhere basking under the desert sun of the Middle East. I've finished school and found a job, and almost found love. I have died and been reborn so many times, and have learned other more important things to do and to think about.

But until today I still find cigarettes fragrant.

A meaningful conversation seen through a bottle of San Miguel

2007-06-10T19:16:00.000+08:00

R: She's HOW OLD!?
A: If my calculations are correct, if she was born in 1987 that would make her 20 years old today.
R: I can't believe this!
A: You can't believe what?
R: That's she's just 20!
A: What's wrong with 20?
R: Dude, I have a poster of her in my closet!
A: And what's wrong with that?
R: It's from that Red Hot Special Lingerie Edition magazine.
A: Oh, THAT poster...
R: And I bought it 2 years ago. Which means she was 18, which in turn makes her a minor...
A: Uhhh, technically you're no longer a minor when you're 18.
R: Really?
A: Yep.
R: But still...ah never mind. Maybe I'm just over-reacting. I mean, she just looks too old for her age...
A: S'Okay. Europeans tend to look older compared to us anyway.
R: Probably...
A: ...
R: ...
A: ...
R: So that means that she's in my age bracket.
A: Oh please. Like that's going to help.
R: I'm just saying...
A: Dude, she's a tennis player. She whacks balls for a living. Doesn't that scare you even a bit?
R: Now that you've mentioned it...
A: ...
R: So does that mean I have to tear her poster down?
A: I dunno. Probably.
R: ...
A: ...
R: But she still looks hot though.
A: Whatever...

Misunderstanding

2007-06-10T19:09:00.000+08:00

The woman that I love said to me that I should stop hurting myself.

It's been months since we've talked that long, and that's the second time that she has told me that. And that was the second time that I asked myself "Now what the hell kind of an advice is that?"

I know she is trying to help, but then what she is saying isn't helping me at all. I love her, and I've already told her what I feel. But the reply I get from her is more enigmatic than a crop circle formation. Now she's telling me to stop hurting myself because of her, and find happiness instead with God, not with a silent girl who dreams of joining a convent one day.

And maybe she is right. No, rephrase that. She is right. One can only find true happiness in God, because he is the source of all things. And despite my shortcomings, I have found peace from Him. And that is a happy thing.

Though that still doesn't explain why I spend our time together just looking at her, or that every time that I wake up in the morning her name is the first thing that pops in my mind.

And it is embarassing. A part of me wants to smack me in the head for dragging myself into this mess. What the hell was I thinking?, I ask myself. But in the end all I could do is shake my head in frustration, sink into my hands and hope that tomorrow I forget all of this.

Sometimes it is better to have no memories than to be haunted by many.

And ultimately, another day ends. Despite the joy, the pain, and evrything else in between, the day goes on. I have to wake up every morning for my job, do my articles, and go home. And maybe in the future, I go back to school and study how to become a lawyer. And should I pass the BAR, I'll get a good-paying job, a car, and the prestige that comes along with such a profession. And if I have money and power, people will say that I've finally made it.

But that still does not answer the question why I keep spending our time together just looking at her, or that every time I wake up in the morning her name is the first thing that pops in my mind.

Maybe I will never know. I've given up trying to find out why.

I'll just have to try harder finding happiness this time.

The Beginning of Something

2007-06-09T17:46:00.000+08:00

Hey now, hey now. Don't dream it's over. - Crowded House

Many months ago I said to myself that I would never right a blog or journal again. Maybe because I find it prissy, or maybe just plain unnecessary. I have always adhered to the philosophy of Joseph Joffo: Happy people don't need to tell stories. And I believed I was happy with my life.

But now I'm telling my story.

But I'm not doing this because I am sad either. My life has always been a screwed-up soap opera in the first place. But I don't know. For the past few months I don't really know much about my life anymore. It's as though life is tugging me on my shirtsleeves and asking me with puppy-dog eyes: What should we do now?

I don't know. I really don't. And sometimes frankly I don't really care at all.

Maybe I'm just lazy with my life. Or maybe I'm just tired of it.

(Sigh)

Or maybe I'm just plain crazy.