Ang Una kong Panulat sa Multiply gamit ang Tagalog.

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

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)

(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

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

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.

A.

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

…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

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.

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!)

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.

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

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

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

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

And More Coffee, Perhaps?

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

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

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

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.

Note to self: never sniff pencil shavings.

Because Breathing is Less Important than not being It

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.