Flowers and Graves

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

(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

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

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

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.)