Buhay Talangka: Isang kwentong barbero ng gunam-gunam ni Sisa

isang pagbati

2007-03-09T07:07:00.000-08:00

isang pagbati

Ako, si Sisa, isang babaeng luray-luray ang kinatay na pagkatao. Nais kong maibahagi ang ipit kong mga sigaw, na nagtatago sa kaibuturan ng hungkag kong puso. Alam ba ninyong matagal na akong naliligaw? Matagal na akong nangungulila? Crispin at Basilio bakit nawala pa kayo? Dahil sa inyo nararamdaman ko ngayon ang kawalan ko ng silbi, ang kawalan ko ng saysay.

Minsan nasabi ko na sa aking sarili: "Paalam sa inyo. Paalam sa mundo."

pagsubok ko ito

2007-03-09T07:01:00.000-08:00

Pagpapakadalubhasa

Tinangka kong sumalat ng
katha

dilat
ang mga matang
tumirik

pawisang
mga palad nagsimulang
manginig

walang humpay na
pakuskos na pagbubura
sa papel kong gula-gulanit na

))__))

Babalang Pasadya

Ang pag-ibig ay para sa baliw:
pagluhang tulad ng sa sawi,
pagsukong masakit lunukin,
pag-asang ako'y iyong lalasingin.

2006-10-09T06:02:00.000-07:00

LYRICS

AQUALUNG LYRICS

"Brighter Than Sunshine"

I never understood before
I never knew what love was for
My heart was broke, my head was sore
What a feeling

Tied up in ancient history
I didnt believe in destiny
I look up you're standing next to me
What a feeling

What a feeling in my soul
Love burns brighter than sunshine
Brighter than sunshine
Let the rain fall, i don't care
I'm yours and suddenly you're mine
Suddenly you're mine
And it's brighter than sunshine

I never saw it happening
I'd given up and given in
I just couldn't take the hurt again
What a feeling

I didn't have the strength to fight
Suddenly you seemed so right
Me and you
What a feeling

What a feeling in my soul
Love burns brighter than sunshine
It's brighter than sunshine
Let the rain fall, I don't care
I'm yours and suddenly you're mine
Suddenly you're mine

It's brighter than the sun
It's brighter than the sun
It's brighter than the sun, sun, shine.

Love will remain a mystery
But give me your hand and you will see
Your heart is keeping time with me

What a feeling in my soul
Love burns brighter than sunshine
It's brighter than sunshine
Let the rain fall, I don't care
I'm yours and suddenly you're mine
Suddenly you're mine

I got a feeling in my soul ... [repeat chorus to end]

***

"Going Under"

Now I will tell you what I've done for you
50 thousand tears I've cried
Screaming Deceiving and Bleeding for you
And you still won't hear me
(I’m going under)
Don't want your hand this time I'll save myself
Maybe I'll wake up for once
Not tormented daily defeated by you
Just when I thought I'd reached the bottom
I'm dying again

I'm going under
Drowning in you
I'm falling forever
I've got to break through
I'm going under

Blurring and Stirring the truth and the lies
So I don't know what's real and what's not
Always confusing the thoughts in my head
So I can't trust myself anymore
I'm dying again

I'm going under
Drowing in you
I'm falling forever
I've got to break through

So go on and scream
Scream at me I'm so far away
I won't be broken again
I've got to breathe I can't keep going under

2006-10-02T21:03:00.000-07:00

UST growls again!

Waaa...Walang mapaglagyan ng saya ang aking puso. Never felt this good since this year's sem. I am so thankful that GOD blessed the players and coach PIDO today. It was indeed a challenge for the Ateneo Blue Eagles to face headstrong with the UST GROWLING TIGERS. i don't kow what to say. Masaya lang talaga ako! For the team and for the school as well. Hopefully, the Thomasian community would continue to support the teams not just the UAAP basketball team but, of course all the athletes. Nakakaproud talaga. To this victory I just want to say: UST is still growling for more!!! Wait and see na lang sa season70. I hope pour luck would progress 'tiil next season. I am putting my faith and crossing my fingers that UST would have a 5-peat in basketball. Yipee!!!

Enough of the game, grabe our psych paper is still SHITTY! I really have no idea on how to make the paper wonderful and powerful. I can never defend the paper not because I am not knowledgeable of the topic, but because maam is so bitchy. Kaya wala talagang lusot. I am hoping that divine interventin would shun over me.

Napakapiquant kasi ng thoughts ko lately. I can't eat, sleep, beathe... hehehe...lolz jokes lng, but seriously, i am in deep shit. grabe I am doing my best naman but I guess I still am a BIG FAILURE...

Enough! Why do I suddenly feel awful. What is wrong with me? I guess I just need to sleep. I hope not to make any harsh and wrong decisions 'cause I know I've been such a BICTH these past few weeks. Sorry to those who I've screamed at. i know that I was wrong, definitely, so sorry... =(

***missing jhiez right now and quite bothred about the textmessage I've been receiving regarding Davin. Si rico kasi kung anu-anung pinagsasabi sa pinsan n'ya. wherever he is, i just hope that he is completely OKAY... *sigh*

2006-09-05T21:01:00.000-07:00

Goodmorning

This is my earliest entry, for I usually post my entries before sleeping. Hay! I haven't got enough sleep because I've been thinking a lot og things: Mr. Twinkling Star,Mr. Hate, and paperworks. Wala naman akong ginawa kagabi besides taking a nice warm bath before sleeping, but when I tried closing my eyes they just won't follow me. Matitigas ang ulo, ayaw pang pumikit. sadly, we had no internet connection last night that's why I wasn't able to write an entry about the things that had happen yesterday.

Grabe si M.B. well she is definitely OUT OF HER MIND. eTO YAN EH, she barely remembers what she made us to do. Parang may short term amnesia, ba... hehehehe... But the funny thing was, she got irritated to Jai. i can't stop laughing, for Jai managed to annoy her-- well i just don't know if that she is good thing or not. Wonder how did that happen?

Jai was laughing pretty hard and he was saying things behind M.B.'s back, ayun unfortunately he was caught making fun of maam. Grabe1 it was fuuunnnneeeehhhh indeed...

Papers were retured in Lit. Journ., got a decent grade but I am feeling sorry for not following his instructions. Hehehe, Sir A. said that we should have written INDIRECT CHARACTERIZATION. Hardheaded Queennie again did not listen well. Until I've finished writing a story with direct and indirect characterization. Sayang. Tsk, tsk, tsk

After classes-- penpushing activities, lectures,and psych experiment-- we (Jai, Mahal, Maui, Karen, Kirstie, Ruben and me) went home through our usual Espana route. We went to the chapel and said some thanks and prayers tapos took a walk 'til we reach the corner of P. Noval and Espana. I was quite surprised kasi I saw Mr. Twinkling Star in Espana--of course together with his friends. *face turns red*

Hehehehe

He smiled at me and waved his endearing bye-bye. =) Honestly, I am very happy that I felt like a newly recharged battery. *ding dong* bleh.

Hay! Well better take a shower now because I still have to go to school, though I am not in the mood. Tinatamad na talaga akong mag-aral *sob*

2006-09-04T21:42:00.000-07:00

KABET (GAGONG RAPPER)
hehehehe... kakatouch ang lyrics...

-verse1-

Kay sakit naman isipin na sa puso mo ako’y pangalawa sa tuwing makikita kitang kasama siya pinipikit ko aking mga mata at sa gabing kasama mo siya halos hindi ako makahinga kayakap ko ang bote ng tequila nagmumukmok sa ibabaw ng lamesa naghihintay haggang sumapit ang umaga ng muli kang makasama.

Ano ang ating lagay hindi mapalagay ako’y nasasaktan pag hawak mo kanyang kamay sa kanya ka sa tanghali akin sa gabi pagilas sa umaga wala kana sa tabi meron kahiti gusto kita na mapasaakin kung pwede lang ba sana sa kanya kita nakawin at lagi mong iisipin kung hindi ka para sa akin magmula pang salimutin na ikaw mahal ko rin.

-chorus-

Sa puso koy nag-iisa kahit merong iba kahit hindi tama ang ginagawa sinta basta bay makasama lang kita kahit kapiling mo pa siya. At wag ng mangamba kahit sabihin na kalimutan ka di ko to makakaya basta bay makasama lang kita kahit kapiling mo pa siya

-verse2-

I t really hurts ang magmahal ng ganito kung sino pang pinili ko hindi makuha ng buo haggang ganun na lang nga kailangan ko itong taggapin sa puso mo meron na ngang iba umaangkin at alam ko na rin na mayroon nagmamayari sa pag ibig sa iyo ako itong nakikihati at ano man ang mangyari hindi ko kayang manumbat at kahit pailihin mo ako sa lahat gaano man kabigat sa puso ko itong aminin hindi dadaing wag ka lang mawawalay sa akin masakit man na isipin na ako ang naghihiramkaya pinasya mo na huwag na ngang ipaalam at hindi ko tama sumugal kahit pa nga alam kong mayiba kang mahal binigay ko ang lahat kahit ito ang natamo sa pag-ibig nang iba ako ngayon nakikisalo

-verse3-

Sa situwasyon natin ito hindi ko alam san tutungo alam ko pag mahirap pag mali pero mahirap rin isuko paano ko masusuot sing sing sayo na dala, kung sa paglalagyan nito meron na pa lang na una ng makilala mo ako di ko binalak mang-gulo gusto ko lang mapatunayan na ika’y mahal ko, yung binuo yung buhay ko sa mga na-una na saglit kahit ang tawag nga sa akin dihamak na kabit.
Oo nga ikaw sa akin at ako ay sa iyo, at ikaw din sa kanya at siya din sa iyo, yun ay aking tinanggap para makasama ka lang pero sa ng wag sabihin pa na kasama ka lang para sa narin wag na tayong dumating diyan tiisin ko ang lahat ke sana wag lang yan at kahit alam kong mahirap tanggapin na mas na una siya sa iyo kesa sa akin

(repeat chorus)

2006-09-04T18:18:00.000-07:00

Walang Himala, Tomweb G.A., and Mr. Twinkling Star

AARRRGGGHHH! So exhausted! Just got home from Tomweb's General Assembly. Well now I can feel no regrets for joining the said organization. To be part of TOMWEB is like being a portion of a pizza pie. Hihihi, it just makes me complete--plus I LOVE PIZZAS...

The G.A. was good plus I get to meet a lot of other Tomwebbers. A short program was held with those small party games (speed dating and modified bring me). I had some laughs with Angge and Gian, masaya naman 'yung G.A. However, Manong A. was there but bright side is Mr. Twinkling Star is also there.

*++++++*
I was able to catch up on Sir Jun and ayun we went straight to the DATA CENTER, thank GOD I met him agad kasi I wasn't able to enter the main building because I wore a sleeveless shirt--why I am not aware that wearing such is prohibited. Ayun, I went to the data center instead and moments later Mr. Twinkling Star with the others followed.

We arranged the chairs and tables--and we talked a lot. Introduced ourselves and made fun of almost everything inside the room. Heehehehe, I guess he thinks that I am "crazy". Well, I can't blaim him for thinking so because it is I, who kept on asking his Chinese name. Kasalanan ko bang hindi ko mamemorize?

This crush thing I guess would make me feel better. Hay! I must divert my ADMIRATION to another guy, not for the petty reason that Ericson would be graduating, but because I can't let and I wouldn't let myself be this loyal to Eric. Ewan! Basta I've done somethings to befriend him but things would just not fall into place, for perhaps things aren't meant to be.

Etong si Mr. Twinkling Star I hope he would be the nice guy I think he is. He is cute and smiles cute, as well...
*++++++*

*sigh plus eyes rolling*

Yesterday I was lucky enough to fix my misunderstanding with jhiez. We settled things perfectly and saved our BOUND-To-BE-RUINED relationship. Everything ended up fine and dandy.

*++++++*
Walang Himala, the play was constructed with eloquence and with uniqueness. Social problems that aroused in the Philippines on and before EDSA I. Galing ang portrayal. They implored mixed media--live theater acting and multimedia (videos). Napahanga nila ako. BRAVO!
*++++++*

*hay better start my LIT JOURN ARTICLE... waa...

nightie...

2006-08-30T22:50:00.000-07:00

Segunda Mano
Eugene Evasco

“Abo na kaya ang mga daliring minsang bumuklat sa pahinang ito?” tanong ko sa sarili habang hinahaplos ang sinagip na aklat mula sa tindahan ng mga linimot at ibinasura. Kinamihasnan kong bumili ng mga aklat na may kasaysayan. Sa aking kabataan, ang mga binabasa ko’y pinaglumaang aklat at magasing ibinigay ng maykayang ka-opisina ng aking magulang. Nagkataong may kaibigang librarian ang aking ina at kami’y naaambunan ng mga sobrang aklat ng Books for Asia—mga aklat ukol sa siyensiya, aklat pambata, aklat ukol sa gramatika, at mga lumang almanac. Nakatatatak sa mga aklat na ito, “Gift of the United States of America.” Siguro’y naibibida ng aking magulang na ang kanilang panganay ay laging nauubusan ng binabasa, o naghihimutok na nawawala ang kanilang supling sa binabasang aklat. Sinusuyod kong lahat ang mga mapa at impormasyon sa bawat bansa, maging ang kabisera ng mga estado sa Amerika, at resulta sa nakaraang Olimpiyada. Iyon ang dahilan kung bakit nahilig ako sa general knowledge. Sa pagtatapos ng klase, humihingi ako sa kapitbahay ng mga lumang textbook na kanilang itatapon. Ginugugol ko ang aking tag-araw sa mga aklat na ito, habang ang aking mga kababata’y nagpapakadalubhasa sa patintero, piko, taguan, habulan—humahabol sa naantala nilang paglalaro kapag pasukan.

Aklat na may kasaysayan ang pinaganda kong termino sa segunda mano. Sa tuwing binubuklat ko ang mga nalikom na aklat, naaamoy ko ang naptalina, usok ng tabako, cinnamon, giniling na kape, ginisang bawang, pipino, curry, lemonada, o kinchay. Nabubuo sa aking isipan ang kaligirang minsang naging bahagi ng aklat. Madalas, nasusumpungan ko ang bookplate, dedikasyon, petsa ng pagkakabili, zodiac sign ng may-ari, munting larawan sa inside cover ng aklat. Naghuhumindig ang mga titik na “personal property of” at “from the library of” kaya napagdududahan kung naaangkop isalansan sa aking estante ang mga aklat na ito. Kung ang tindahan ng mga segunda mano ay ampunan, labag ito sa patakaran ng pagpapaampon. Marapat na walang bakas ng orihinal na may-ari ang inabandonang aklat. Maaaring lumikha iyon ng komplikasyon. Sa tuwina’y ginigisa ko sa tanong ang sarili, “Ibinenta kaya ang aklat dahil hindi ito nagustuhan? Nagkamali kaya sa pagbili? Yumao na kaya ang may-ari at ayaw ng mga kahinlog ang kaniyang gunita?”

Bago at habang nagbabasa ng aklat, hindi ko mapigil ang sariling basahin ang mga nakalakip. May hibla ng buhok, piraso ng tuyong anit, mga bakas ng daliri, tarheta, bookmark, larawan, at mumo ng tsitserya. Natutukoy ko rin ang pinagmulan ng aklat: regalo sa Pasko, graduation, Easter, kaarawan, o simpleng paghahandog. Nakalagda nga sa pahina, “I hope you like this as much as I do.” Naisip ko, hindi ko sinasadyang iligtas ang mga mensaheng iyon. Naangkin ko maging ang pagbati. Ang mga aklat ding ito’y magandang ebidensiya sa arkeolohiya ng kinabukasan. Sa hulma ng Jurassic Park, makalilikom rito ng mga tirintas ng DNA para sa cloning ng magiging sinaunang tao sa malayo-layong hinaharap.

“Baka may dalang mikrobyo ang mga iyan,” pagdududa ng aking kasintahan, bukod pa sa reklamong “nag-uumapaw sa mga aklat ang silid.” Ayaw na ayaw niyang dadalhin ko sa silid-tulugan ang mga “binhian ng sakit”, baka mahawa ang mga orihinal na biniling aklat. May konsepto siya ng mga aklat na nararapat isalansan sa estanteng may salamin, ibalandra sa sala, o itago sa kahon sa ilalim ng kama. Sunod-sunod ang paratang niya sa mga aklat: takaw-sunog, takaw-agiw, takaw-alikabok, takaw-sakit, takaw-anay. Sumasakit ang kaniyang mata sa hitsura ng lumang aklat. Narinig kaya niya ang kasabihang pinakamagandang muwebles ng tahanan ang mga aklat? Ito ang peligro sa paghalukay ng henyong pampanitikan, lalo na sa panahong iniuugnay sa ukay-ukay ang meningoccemia. Naisasantabi ang pangambang ito sa pagtunghay ko sa pakikipagdialogo ng unang may-ari sa aklat. Madalas, mas interesante ang dialogong ito kaysa nilalaman ng isang aklat. Tila ako’y mamboboso sa pagtatalik ng mambabasa sa binabasa, ng binabasa sa mambabasa; sinusubaybayan ko ang mga marka ng unang naghimaton sa mga pahina—mga talaan ng mahihirap na salita, mga pagsasanay sa pirma, mga salungguhit, mga binilugang salita, mga tala sa gilid ng pahina, mga puna sa mga pangungusap, pagkakabit ng tandang pananong sa malalabong pangungusap, komentaryo sa mga idea. Bigla ko tuloy naisip, nakikita kaya ng sinomang kaibigang humihiram ng naibigan kong aklat ang bakas ng aking labi sa pabalat? Napakainteraktibo ng aklat kung pagkakaisipin, maiuugnay sa pakikisangkot ng mga manunuod sa pelikula, radyo at telebisyon. Nariyang sinasagot ang linya ng artista, nakikihagulgol sa iyakan, hinahalikan ang artista sa iskrin, sinisigawan at minumura ang kalaban, at minsa’y binabaril ang kontrabida sa telon. Patnubay sa aking pagbabasa ang mga pakikipagdialogong iyon—sa ganitong bahagi nabighani ang mambabasa, dito siya naiyak, dito siya humalakhak, malabo ang imaheng ito, sariwa ang metapora, o dapat nang harapin ang diksiyonaryo. May lumalabis naman sa pakikipagdialogo. Madalas, ginagawang sanayan sa pagdrowing ang mga pahina. Sa kasong ito, pinatatawad ko ang mga bata sa kanilang mga aklat. Napapansing kinukulayan nila ang mga ilustrasyon, ginagawang bungi at bungal ang mga larawan ng tao, at naglalagay ng thought balloon sa mga tuod na ilustrasyon. Matagal ko nang tinanggap na ang aklat ay laruan ng mga bata. Hindi pinagbabawalan ang mga bata na romansahin ang mga pahina para maging bahagi ang aklat sa kanilang kultura hanggang pagkagulang.

Sa pamamakyaw ng mga segunda manong aklat pambata, naisip kong masakit mawalan ng aklat. Ang mga aklat kayang ito, tulad ng damit, ay napaglalakhan; tulad ng musikang nalalaos o sapatos na nalilihis sa moda? Sinaliksik ko ang mga aklat pambata naming magkakapatid. Iilan na lamang ang natitira. Yaong iba’y itinapon na dahil nawawala ang ibang pahina; ginawang eroplano o bangkang papel. Yaong iba’y nilamon ng amag, tagulamin, at alikabok. Yaong iba’y hiniram at hindi na isinauli. Hanapin ko kaya ang mga nawawala kong aklat? Hanapin ko kaya ang batang orihinal na may-ari ng binili kong aklat? Manunulat kaya siya ngayon, o masugid na mambabasa? Pinagsisihan kaya niya ang pagwawalang-bahala sa aklat ng kaniyang pagkabata? Nag-asawa na kaya at may mga anak? May pamahiing walang aklat na nawawala; napupunta lamang sa maling lugar. Nasa mga kamay ko ang mga nawawalang aklat na iyon. Ayaw kong isiping maling lugar ang nasa aking pangangalaga. Ako ang tamang lugar. Nasa aking pag-iingat ang napaglakhang mga aklat.

Ang tahanang walang aklat, wika nga ni Cicero, ay katawang walang kaluluwa. Ginamit ito ng Amazon.com sa pagbebenta ng mga aklat. Mautak nga rin ang mga patalastas, sinasalakay ang panitikan ng mga poeta ng kapitalista. May mga islogan at panghikayat ding “there is no such thing as too many books” at “walang mahal na aklat” para hindi manghinayang sa mataas na presyo ng babasahin. Hindi ganito ang kaso sa pamimili ng mga segunda mano. Sa suweldo kong katumbas ng apat na bagong hardbound na aklat, pinaiiral ko ang prinsipyong “mahahanap ko ang aklat sa mga hindi inaasahang lugar.” Nais ko’y salakayin ang warehouse ng Booksale, o salubungin ang mga barko ng segunda manong aklat sa dagat Pasipiko bago dumaong sa baybayin ng Pilipinas. Pero para saan pa? Nasa pagkakagitla at sorpresa ang ligaya ko sa paghalukay; yaong may kakaibang uri ng nginig at kilig kapag nakita ko sa kailaliman ng tambakan ang pabalat na minsang tumakam sa akin. Tila ako antik-hukay na nananalig sa isang alamat, na nasa dakong ito ng bansa’y matatagpuan ang kayamanan ni Yamashita. Wari pang aso na nakatagpo ng butong malaman sa basurahan. Dahil dito, sa tuwing naglalakbay ako, lahok na sa aking itineraryo ang pakikiwagwagan sa tindahan ng mga aklat. Kapag umaakyat ako sa lungsod ng Baguio, ang ukay-ukay capital ng Pilipinas, hindi damit at sapatos ang aking pakay kundi mga aklat sa Diplomat sa SM City at sa Center Mall. Wala naman akong fetisismo sa mga damit na may pangalan o popular na tatak na maisusuot lamang ng alta-sosyedad. Wala naman akong pantasyang mag-asal-pabo sa mga damit buhat sa winter/spring/summer/autumn collection ng kung sino-sinong taga-disenyo. Mahalaga’y may naisusuot pa akong matino-tino.

Tumutuklas ako ng aklat, naghahanap ako ng mga mababasa, nagtuturo ako ng mga paraan sa pagbasa, sa isang bansang kumakayod para may maihain sa mesa. Pagkain, tahanan, tubig, koryente muna bago ang lahat. Idagdag pa ang cellphone at cellcard. Habang ginagalugad ko ang mga tindahan ng aklat, siya namang pagdagsa ng mga kabataan sa call center, sa doktor na nag-aambisyong maging caregiver, sa mga dalagang nagpapasipsip ng bilbil, sa mga matronang magpapatala sa facelift, sa mga bagets na nag-eensayong mapansin sa artista search. Paano uunlad ang bansa kung namimilipit-sa-gutom ang kamalayan? Aklat ang katapat ng inu-ulcer na utak.

Sa pagsuyod ko sa Booksale at Previously Owned Books ng National Bookstore, nakatutuklas ako ng ng advance reading copy na aklat, cloth bound, library binding, aklat gamit ang acid paper, at aklat na ang pabalat ay yari yata sa alpombra. Tunay nga kayang makikita ang kalinangan ng isang bansa sa kanilang pagpapahalaga sa paglalathala, sa kanilang paggalang sa nakalimbag na mga salita? Nakapanlulumo ang sitwasyon ng paglalathala sa bansa. Walang akdang Filipino ang nakalimbag sa acid paper para magtagal ang papel ng mahigit sandaang taon. Walang aklat sa bansa na balot-sa-tela ang pabalat. Para makatipid at maging mura ang aklat, ginagamit ang papel na pambalot yata ng pandesal o tinapa. Dito’y hindi nakagawian ang advance reading copy, yaong ipinapakilatis muna sa mga piling mambabasa ang bisa ng manuskrito. Sapagkat ang kalakaran sa paglalathala sa bansa ay pagmamadali. Biro nga ng isang kaibigang manunulat, kapag nagsumite ng manuskrito sa ganitong palimbagan, kinabukasa’y pasinaya na ng aklat. Dagdag ko pa, magsumite ka ng katipunan ng katitikan ng pulong, magkakaaklat ka na.

Pinakapopular ang Booksale sa pagtitinda ng segunda manong aklat. Panganay ito sa mga nagsulputang negosyo sa pinaglumaang aklat. Halos sistematiko ang kanilang pagsasalansan ng mga aklat mulang nobela ng pag-ibig, coffeetable books, aklat pambata, magasin, textbook sa iba’t ibang larangan, hanggang sa mga hardbound na nobela. Bibihira ang Diplomat sa Metro Manila pero matatagpuan dito ang pinakamura ngunit pinakalamog na mga aklat, parang manok na hinimas, kinurot, pinisil, nilamas. May kamahalan sa Books for Less dahil talos ng may-ari ang halaga ng aklat na itinitinda. Pero sa lahat ng mga tindahan, ito ang may pinakasistematikong klasipikasyon ng mga aklat mula sa listahan ng bestseller ng New York Times; premyadong mga akda ng Nobel, Pulitzer, Booker, Newbery, at National Book Award; hanggang sa mga rekomendadong aklat ni Oprah Winfrey. May mga segunda mano at surplus na aklat rin sa Booktopia sa Libis. Kung hindi ako nanaliksik, baka mapatulan ko ang kanilang presyo. Sa abenida ng Recto na tinaguriang “Booklover’s Haven,” masusumpungan hindi lamang ang mga instant diploma, transcript, at tesis, kundi mga segunda manong textbook at mga nobela ng pag-ibig. Maging ang National Bookstore at Powerbooks ay nagtitinda ng mga lumang library book sa halagang nobenta nuwebe pesos. Nakabalot pa ito sa espesyal na plastik na pananggalang sa mantsa, hamog, tubig, tinta, sopas, ulan. Magagandang uri ang library books, kadalasa’y hindi man lamang hiniram sa mga public library sa Amerika, dahil pinasadya ang produksiyon para sa matagalang gamit. Aklat na may kasaysayan rin ang makikita sa Old Manila sa Megamall, bukod sa mga lumang retrato at mga magasing pang-artista. Ngunit presyong turista ang mga aklat dito, lalo pa’t bihirang Filipiniana ang kanilang ibinebenta—serye ng Philippine Readers ni Camilo Osias na may mga ilustrasyon ni Fernando Amorsolo, mga kolonyal na nobela ni Edward Stratemeyer ukol sa ating bansa, at mga unang edisyon ng mga kalipunan ng tula at nobela.

Kung ituturing kong texto ang mga tindahang nabanggit, kapansin-pansing isinasantabi ang espasyong pinaglalagakan ng segunda mano. Mahahanap ko ang ilan sa basement (Diplomat, SM City Baguio; BS, Fairmart; BS, Glorietta; BS, Megamall; BS, Starmall; BS, Festival Mall; BS, Shoppesville; BS, SM Fairview), sa pinakataas na palapag (POB, National Cubao; POB, Crossings Quezon Ave.) at sa annex (BS, SM City North EDSA). Ang karamihan ay nakatayo sa espasyong mumurahin ang renta (Diplomat, Center Mall Baguio; Diplomat, P. Tuazon Cubao; BS, AliMall), sa espasyong madadaanan ng masa (Recto; BS, EDSA Central; BS, Shopwise Cubao; BFL, Tandang Sora), sa mga tila abandonadong gusali (BS, Rustan’s Cubao; BS, Katipunan; BS Quezon Avenue). Lahat ay mga maliliit na kahong ilang dipa lamang ang lawak. Masisiko ang isang mangangalkal ng mga lumang isyu ng magasin, o ang kolehiyalang nagtitipon ng mga nobelang popular. Hindi ko rin masusumpungan sa magagarang mall tulad ng Rockwell, Greenbelt, at Eastwood. Palibhasa’y class ang mga pumupunta doon, kayang-kayang bumili ng mga mamahaling aklat sa A Different Bookstore, Fully-booked, Bibliarch, at Ink & Stone. Sa pangalan pa lang ng tindahang iyon, napakarangal pakinggan na kumpara sa Booksale at Books for Less.

Walang konsepto ng customer service sa mga tindahang ito. Walang artipisyal na pagbati sa aking pagpasok. Tila banderitas ang anunsiyong “This way to treasure hunt.” Walang guwardiya at aparatong maghuhudyat na may sinomang nangupit ng aklat. May pagkakataong sa Booksale sa Quezon Avenue, umiidlip ang anak ng kahera sa mga kahon ng aklat. Sa Booksale sa likod ng Shopwise ng Araneta Center, nadatnan ko ang kaherang kumakain ng piniritong galunggong, itlog na pula, at kamatis. Nakilala niya ako sa mukha at binati ako ng “Kain tayo.” Wala naman talagang alam sa mga aklat ang tumatao sa Booksale. Layon lamang nila ang maka-quota. Madalas kong marinig ang reklamong “Mahina ang benta ngayon.” Minsan, sinumpong ako ng kapilyuhan. “Miss, may kopya ba kayo ng The Very Best of (pangalan ko) at His Worst?” Kinagat ko ang aking dila; ayaw kong humagalpak sa sariling biro. At kagila-gilalas, sinagot niya ako, “Ay, naubos na. Baka may dumating sa susunod na linggo.” Mula noo’y naging urban legend sa mga kakilala ang pangyayaring iyon.

Madalas, pakiramdam ko’y ako ang naisasantabi. Tulad ng minsang bumisita ako sa kalulunsad na Powerbooks Live! sa Greenbelt 3. Tunay namang napahanga ako sa disenyo nito. “First world na first world,” puna ng aking kaibigan. Malamig sa loob. Amoy ng kapupulak na kahoy ang paligid. Dinig ang musika ni Antonio Carlos Jobim. May malambot na sopa para kilatisin ang aklat bago bilhin. Ganito raw ang mga bookstore sa Hong Kong at Singapore, kawangis ng Page One at Kinokuniya. Hanggang titig-pag-ibig na lamang ako sa mga aklat hanggang sa matuklasan ko ang bargain books section nito. Malaking bulto ang mga pinaglumaang library book ng Amerika. Ayos! sa isip-isip ko. Sa lugar na ito sa Makati, walang mga katulad kong segunda mano ang pakay. Wala akong makakalaban. Hindi pa ito nasusuyod. Hinintay ko ang tamang pagkakataon para mawala ang mga nakapormang yuppies, na lagpas alas-singko na’y kay aayos pa ng damit, parang bagong plantsa. O sa mga naka-party dress. Palibhasa’y gimikan ng mga kabataang nagsasayang ng pagkabata ang Greenbelt. Baka isipin nilang hanggang segunda mano lamang ako. Ayaw kong mahabag sa maaabot ng aking bulsa. Malimit kong tanungin ang sarili, kung bakit ako asal-mayaman?

Tuwing pumapasok ako sa tindahan ng mga segunda mano, pakiwari ko’y ulilang kuting o ligaw na tuta ang mga aklat. “Palayain mo ako!” hiyaw ng isang aklat. “Iahon mo ako!” sigaw ng isa habang nakasiksik, hindi makahinga. “Naririto lamang ako,” taghoy pa ng isa buhat sa kailaliman ng kahon. May pagkakataong sementeryo ang turing ko sa tindahan. Sementeryo ng mga limot na aklat. O morgue ng mga pinaslang na aklatan. O kanlungan ng mga minaltratong akda. Tinatanong ko ang sarili kung makatarungan ang magtapon ng mga aklat. Parikalang maituturing na pampasikip-tahanan ang mga bagay na pampalawak-utak. Bigla tuloy akong kinalabutan sa natuklasan, likha ng aksidente sa pagtipa ng keyboard, na kapag nabaligtad ang unang dalawang letra ng “aklat” ay magiging “kalat”. Hindi ko rin matanggap ang dahilang “nabasa na” ang aklat. Sapagkat ang esensiya ng pagbasa ay nasa muling pagbasa (rereading), maiuugnay sa proseso ng pagsulat bilang muling pagsulat (rewriting). Nananalig ako kay Vladimir Nabokov na “ang nilalang ay hindi nagbabasa kundi nagbabasa ng aklat. Ang mainam na mambabasa, ang pangunahing mambabasa, ang aktibo at malikhaing mambabasa ay ang mga muling nagbabasa.” May isa pang teorya na upang maging ganap na nilalang, kailangang makabasa ng 400 aklat. Kung pagsasamahin ito sa idea ni Nabokov, 800 o mahigit ang kailangan kong bunuin habang nabubuhay. Ilang pulgadang kapal ng lente ang aking antipara kapag natapos ko ang proyekto ito?

Dahil bihira akong makabili ng nais na aklat at walang konsepto ng book allowance ang aking magulang, ang pamamakyaw ko ng segunda mano ay maitutumbas sa galak sa eat-all-you-can, bottomless na inumin, sa presyong Divisoria o Tutuban, habang tinutubos ang aking pagkabata. Di tulad ng kahel na kapag piniga’y wala nang halaga, ang aklat ay mananatiling aklat kapag magpasalin-salin man sa iba’t ibang kamay. Hindi ito tulad ng segunda manong kotse, cellphone, muwebles, bahay. Alay ito sa mga sanay sa diskuwento, sa mga bagsak-presyo, sa mga sale at midnight madness, at sa mga pinalalagpas ang aklat na may factory defect, yaong mga bumagsak sa quality control ang pisikal na kaanyuan, hindi ang nilalaman. Ginagawa nitong demokratiko ang pag-aaral at pagbabasa, lalo na sa panahong isasangla ang lahat para makapagtapos ng kolehiyo. Naitataguyod nito ang edukasyong walang hangganan, ang pamantasang walang gusali at kaguruan. Sa mga tindahan ding ito mababakas hindi lamang ang pinaglumaan kundi ang binasa ng isang bansa.

Ilan ang nagsabing ang ugali ng mga Pilipino sa segunda mano ang dahilan kung bakit nababansot ang pambansang paglalathala. Pinaiikli rin nito ang buhay ng bagong aklat dahil kinamihasnang pasa-pasa ang babasahin sa pamilya, kaibigan, kakilala. Lalo na sa bansa, noong una pa man, ang Liwayway, Pasyon, mga komiks, nobela ng pag-ibig at mga munting aklat ng awit at korido na mabibili sa tabi ng simbahan ay pinagkakaguluhan ng pamilya, barkada, at komunidad. Kolektibo ang tradisyon ng pagbabasa sa bansa kaya bibihira ang maging bestseller na manunulat sa aking bayan.

“Bili ka naman nang bili,” reklamo ng aking kasintahan, “basahin mo muna ang tambak diyan.” Nais niya’y magdiyeta ako sa mga segunda mano. Mag-uumpisa raw ba ako ng tindahan, magtatayo ng publikong aklatan, magpapasinaya ng eksibit? Bakit hindi ko i-donate sa nangangailangang paaralan? Medyo natauhan ako sa sinabi niyang iyon. “Mababasa mo bang lahat iyan? Baka yumao ka na’y hindi mo pa natatapos ang mga iyan.” Halos 80% ng aking koleksiyon ay hindi ko pa nababasa, lalong lumalaki ang bilang habang namamakyaw kung saan-saan. Iyong ibang aklat, pagkaraan ng unang talata, binitawan ko, hindi pa ako handa. Iyong iba, pabalat na lamang muna, hindi ko pa nasusuri. Iyong iba, mabulunan sa maikling buod at mayayabang na blurb sa likod. Iyong iba, hindi ko pa naaalis sa supot. Sa ganitong ugali, kadalasa’y nagiging doble o triple ang kopya ko ng aklat, na may iba’t ibang edisyon. Aanhin ko raw ang ibang kopya? Sa kanilang mukha, mababasa ang pakiusap na “akin na lang ang isa.” Magaan kasi ang pakiramdam, kapag sinumpong ako sa pagbabasa, na madadampot ko ang kailangang basahin. Sa madaling sabi, abot-kamay. Panahon at damdamin ang nagtatakda kung ano ang aking makakaulayaw. Ang mga kahon at estante ng segunda mano kong aklat ay hindi bodega kundi botika. Nakahanay na parang bote ng mga gamot ang aklat. Sa panahong nauso ang “detox” at kailangang isaayos ang mga sukal-agiw-surot sa utak, lunas sa patong-patong na iskedyul at deadline ang mga bestseller. Popcorn book ang tawag ko rito. Pahinga sa mga required reading, sa hangaring erudisyon sa mga klasiko at kanonisadong aklat, sa mga pretensiyon sa akademiya. Palibhasa’y para akong nanunuod ng pelikula sa bilis at pihit ng mga pangyayari. Lisensiyado naman ang magbasa ng bestseller ang mga guro ng panitikan. Nais kong makiugnay sa panlasa ng aking mag-aaral na nahuhukot sa mga iniismirang aklat nina John Grisham, Sidney Sheldon, o Dan Brown.

Kapag sinusumpong sa adiksiyon sa pangangalkal, dagli akong bibisita sa mga tindahan. Nasuyod ko naman ang mga branch noong nakaraang linggo. Pero babalik pa rin ako. Baka may nakaligtaan ako. Taimtim akong nananalangin sa mga aklat, parang naghahanap ng nawawalang kamag-anak. “Magpakita ka, magpakita ka.” Baka may mga bubuksang kahon; anak ako ng isang balikbayang naghihintay sa mga kahon ng pasalubong. Walang bago, sasabihin ko sa aking sarili. Inaasahan ko na ito. Pero may mga kayamanang dapat sagipin. Lilikumin ko ang mga aklat na mayroon na ako. Magte-text sa mga kaibigan. “Mayroon ka na ba nito? Text back ASAP.” Sorry, mayroon na raw. Pero maghahalukay pa rin ako. Dampot dito, kalkal doon. Dito ko ginugugol ang aking maghapon. Sa huli’y ilalagak ko ang aking ani sa isang tabi. Sana, sa loob-loob ko, mayroong isang nilalang, na kawangis ko ng panlasa, ang makatagpo nito. Ituring sana niya itong jackpot. Patawad kung pinadali ko ang proseso. Ipinagkait ko sa kaniya ang pagtuklas ng sorpresa.

Basura’t kalat nga ng ilan, kayamanan ko naman. Ito ang aking ambag sa kultura nating ukay-ukay, wagwagan, at pagpag. Laging nag-aabang ang mga taong lansangan ng aking lungsod sa iluluwang pagkain ng mga restawran. Kaniya-kaniyang teritoryo ang mga maralita, maghihintay ng hatinggabi at saka mag-uunahan sa mga itim na supot. Dali-dali nilang iipunin ang maisasalba, itatapon ang mga napapanis, pag-aagawan ang karne, at muling pasasayarin sa apoy para kahit papaano’y mapuksa ang mikrobyo. Lalagyan ng kaunting toyo, paminta, sibuyas. Dagdagan ng tubig para may mahigop na sabaw. Pagpag, minsa’y batchoy, ang tawag nila sa segunda manong pagkain. Dagli ko ring naaalala ang pamimili ng nalaos na modelo ng telebisyon, washing machine, at VCD player mula sa mauunlad na bansa sa Asya. Save on Surplus, ang ipinagmamalaki ng mga tindahang ito. Kakatwang tinawag ang mga tindahan na Sayonato at Nakamura. Ang Pinoy nga naman, kaytalas ng siste.

May kakilala akong iskolar ng Mombushu, naglilibot sa kapitbahayan, naghahanap ng maisasalbang sopa, kutson, mesa, telebisyon, lampara, radyo sa basurahan ng Tokyo para punan ang anemiko niyang dormitoryo. O ang aking propesor, ibinibida ang kaniyang mga nailigtas na “discarded books” mula sa isang unibersidad sa Hawaii. O ang aking ama na dinayo pa ang bayan ng Dau sa Pampanga, pagkaraang isara ang mga base militar, para makamenos sa mga kasangkapang stateside. Kuwento nga niya’y nakahanay sa gilid ng highway ang mga pinagbebentang inidorong ginamit ng sundalong Kano. O ang mga “buraot vendor” sa Divisoria, nangangalkal ng ibinasurang gulay at prutas, tatapyasin ang bahaging nabubulok, huhugasan para muling ipagbenta. O ang aking ina, pinuntahan pa ang Ilocos sa kanilang outing, para silang magkakaopisina’y makahanap ng segunda manong scooter mulang Taiwan. Sa Hong Kong, ang mga pinaglumaang damit na dapat sana’y sa karidad, ginagawang negosyo ng mga mautak nating domestic helper. Sa katunayan, ang orihinal na tawag sa ukay-ukay ay “rilipan” buhat sa salitang “relief goods” ng mga maalwang bansa para sa mga biktima ng sakuna.

Ang pinsang Japoy (Japanese-Pinoy) ng aking kasintahan, tuwang-tuwang nang namasyal sa EDSA. Para raw siyang hindi umalis sa Japan, ibinalik nga lang ang kamay ng orasan, dahil segunda mano ang barumbadong humaharurot na bus. Japayuki bus, sa isip-isip ko. Napabalitang kaya daw nagbabagsakan ang mga eroplano ng isang kompanya ay dahil pinaglumaan ang kanilang binibili mula sa Singapore. Idagdag pa ang mga segunda manong armas at helikopter, na beterano ng Vietnam War, ng ating Sandatahang Lakas. Kamakailan, natuklasang nakadaong sa piyer ng Maynila ang mga barko ng double dead na manok (dulot ng bird flu) at mga basura ng ospital mulang Japan: malalaking bloke ng pinagsisiksik na heringgilya, duguang bulak, telang may langib, bandage na may tuyong nana, gamit na adult diaper, disposable na kumot. Salamat, Ka Amado, sa pagtukoy mong ang ating republika’y basahan. Ngayon nama’y tambakan. Republikang Tambakan ang aking lupang hinirang. Maipagmamalaki ng aking bayan ang segunda manong bahagi ng katawan sa umiiral na malayang pakikipagkalakalan sa daigdig. Ipinagbibili ng aking kababayan ang kanilang mga cornea, dugo, at kidney para maipantawid sa pang-araw-araw na pamumuhay. Kulang na lang ipagbenta nila ang sariling mga ngipin, binti, puso, at kamay. Sabagay, naipagbibili na ang mga ito, hindi man humantong sa mutilasyon ng katawan. Ikinakalakal ng aking bansa ang mga segunda mano ngunit primera klaseng ina, kasintahan, at asawa sa sistemang mail-order.

Kung isinilang kaya ako sa ibang panahon, sa ibang lipunan, maghahanap pa rin kaya ako ng segunda mano? Bilang guro, kipkip ko ang prinsipyong “nasa kalipunan ng mga aklat ang pamantayan ng pamantasan.” Alagad ako ni Desiderius Erasmus na nagsabing “When I get a little money I buy books; and if any is left I buy food and clothes.” Isinilang ako sa lipunang bibihira ang pagpapahalaga sa mga palaisip, sa mga panday ng salita, sa mga tagahubog ng kamalayan. Sa kakarampot na pabuya’t pagkilala, ang kaligayahan ng guro’y ideklarang bagsak-presyo ang mga aklat sa pang-unibersidad na palimbagan. Manghiram habang wala pang bonus. Mabuti kung mayaman ang koleksiyon ng aklatan. Umaasa rin naman ito sa abuloy ng mayayamang nasipagtapos o ng mga yumaong propesor. Pumasok sa aking isipan na ipamamana ko sa aklatan ng aking unibersidad ang mga aklat ko kapag ako’y yumao na. Pinagkakasya ang suweldo sa pagpapa-photocopy ng mga akademikong aklat. Kung okey sa budget, puwedeng ipa-ringbind o ipa-bookbind, ipa-colored xerox pa ang pabalat. Hitsurang orihinal na. Ganito na yata ang kapalaran ng isang guro sa Ikatlong Daigdig—maparatangang nabubuhay sa iskolarship na photocopy at cut & paste. Matutong mamaluktot kaya segunda mano ang hinahakot. Hindi naman puwedeng dahilan ang kahirapan sa harap ng klase. Hindi ko puwedeng sabihing, “Ito lang ang maibibigay ko sa inyo. Tinatapatan ko lang ang suweldo.” Sapagkat tungkulin kong paunlarin ang mga kamalayan. Kapanabay nito’y hadlangang agiwin ang aking utak sa akademiya; sa pagtuturo ng batayang dalumat ng texto, intertexto, subtexto, at kontexto sa panahon ng text messaging, sa panahon ng tigpipisong kombersasyon na may limitadong bilang ng mga titik.

Sa kuwento ng aking kaibigan sa Chicago, iniiwan ang mga nabasang aklat sa mga estasyon ng tren. “If you want a book, take one. Donated books appreciated,” sabi sa karatula. Sabi ko’y ipunin niya. Piliin niya ang magaganda. “Magdala ka ng sako at ipadala mo sa akin,” udyok ko. Talagang ganoon daw sa States. Bibihira ang magtago ng aklat, lalo na kung paperback. Ang turing nila sa aklat ay magasin o peryodiko. Disposable ang lahat. Land of plenty, `ika niya ang bansang iyon, umaapaw ang gatas at pulot. Lipunang Supersize Me. Labis ang paglalathala, daan-daang bagong pamagat ang nailalathala bawat buwan. Salamat kay Noam Chomsky sa pagturing niya na ang bansang Amerika ay may bulimia, isang kondisyong bundat na bundat ang tiyan at kailangang kalkalin ang lalamunan para isuka ang dapat isuka. Ang Pilipinas ang isa sa mga napili nilang pagsukahan: mga patapon, pinaglumaan, labis, nilangaw, di binasa, at di nabiling aklat. Heto naman akong sumusubaybay sa barko-barkong aklat, isinantabi muna ang dignidad at pagpapahalaga sa sarili. Wala akong pinagkaiba sa mga dalagang Pilipina na “hanggang piyer” lamang.

Bumubukal sa aking katawan ang daloy ng koryente kung nakakatiyempo ako ng first edition ng pangarap na aklat, dili kaya’y signed copy gayong iniaalay sa orihinal na may-ari. Nangangaligkig ako sa mga hardbound na aklat. Pumipitlag ang aking puso kapag nakatatagpo ng leatherbound at clothbound na mga nobela at katipunan ng mga tula; amoy na amoy kong totoong katad ang ginamit, kapara ng mga sinaunang aklat ng musika, yari sa pinatuyong balat ng kalabaw, sa antigong simbahan ng Loboc sa Bohol. Maging ang mga limited edition ng dinidiyos kong manunulat—ginintuan ang mga titik sa pabalat, tubog sa ginto ang mga gilid ng papel, at may pen and ink illustration sa bawat kabanata. Ito ang mga segunda manong aklat na aking pag-aari ngayon, nakalagak sa retablo ng aking pagbabasa. Mga aklat na ayaw kong buklatin nang husto sa takot na mangulubot ang gulugod at malagas ang mga pahina. Obserbasyon nga ng mga kakilala, ako’y dakilang “author’s reader.” Ayaw kong magalusan, maanggihan, matupi, magasgasan, masulatan ang mga aklat. Parang sarili kong sanggol ang aklat, ipagtatanggol sa lamok, ipis, anay.

Pagbibigyan ko ang pagkarahuyong ito: nais ko’y magkaroon ng sariling tindahan ng segunda mano. Nakadisenyo na sa aking isipan ang istruktura ng magiging puwesto—may kapihan, koneksiyon ng internet, kahoy na mesa, incense holder, trosong mauupuan, mga ilustrasyon sa dingding, antigong baul, antigong aparador na magiging estante. Pero biro sa aki’y baka malugi ang negosyo; mapupunta lang sa akin ang magagandang titulo. Pinanghinaan din ako ng loob sa ambisyong ito. Takot ako sa mga kagaya ko—sa mga minsang nagpalit-presyo, sa mga namumuslit, sa naghihintay ng bagsak-presyo, sa kinikilatis ang edisyon, sa nagtatago ng kopya, sa ginagawang tambayan-tipanan-aklatan ang bookstore.

Isang hapong nagpapalipas-oras sa ikaapat na palapag ng National Bookstore sa Cubao, nakasalubong ko si Aling Isang. Kamakailan ko lang nalaman ang pangalan ng aleng ito. Madalas akong bumili ng mga segunda mano sa kaniyang tindahan sa naghihingalong Shopping Center sa unibersidad. Kaytagal kong pinag-isipan kung saan niya hinahanap ang maiinam na paninda. Siya ang may-ari, tagadisenyo, tagapamahala sa sariling puwesto. Tulak niya ang shopping cart, halos mamuwalan na ito sa mga aklat. “Uy, narito ka pala,” bati niya sa akin habang kapuwa namin sinusuyod ang mga estante ng surplus na British edition na aklat. Tulad ko marahil, napalundag siya sa pagkakapanalo sa subasta ng National Bookstore ng mga trak ng aklat mula sa London. Hindi ito bumenta kaya ipinasyang dalhin sa bansa. Ako ma’y lumuwa ang mata at bumagsak ang panga sa natuklasan. Ubos ang aking bonus kaya nagpasiyang magtago muna sa mga inaanak.

“Maganda ba ito?” paniniyak ni Aling Isang, hawak niya ang ika-pito sa serye ng nobelang pantasya ni Ursula LeGuin.

Tumango ako. Nais kong humiyaw sa galak. May taong nais umintindi sa akin.

“Nakita n’yo na ang libro ni Ray Bradbury?” Ganti ko para mabaklas ang hiya sa aming pagitan. Mahirap daw hanapin ang mga nobelang iyon. Kung mayroon man, agad namang nabibili.

“`Di ba ikaw ang mahilig sa mga libro ni Pullman?”

Napangiti ako. Hindi ko inaasahang ang simpleng tindera’y binabasa ang kaniyang mamimili. Kilala niya sa mukha ang mga propesor at kabataang manunulat na napadadaan sa kaniyang puwesto. Sunod-sunod ang mga paniniyak niya: “Talaga bang writer iyon? Sabi kasi ng asawa ko, nakikita niya sa telebisyon. Talaga? Ilan na ang libro niya? At propesor pa pala. Naku, mahilig din iyon sa romance. Saka detective novels.” Naku, nagkakabukingan na.

“Gusto n’yo po bang tulungan ko pa kayong maghanap?”

“Baka naman may gagawin ka pa, ilista mo na lang ang mga pamagat.”

“Naku, panlimang balik ko na rito. Naghanap lang ako ng mapaggagastahan.” Sabay kaming natawa. Natuklasan kong sinusuyod din niya ang mga Booksale para sa muling ibenta. May kaunting patong, aniya. Saka tulong na rin sa mga mag-aaral. Batid niya ang panlasa ng mga mag-aaral. Ano’ng ligaya yaong nakikinig siya sa aking payo. Ano’ng ligaya ko rin nang malamang nagbabasa siya at ang kaniyang anak. “Pareho pala nating gusto iyon,” pagmamalaki niya. Banggit ako nang banggit ng mga pamagat na aking nabasa na maaari niyang basahin at ipagbili. Kay sarap palang magrekomenda. “Ay, ayaw ko noon, hahamunin ang faith ko,” dagdag pa niya, matapos kong irekomenda ang The Da Vinci Code. Inamin niyang binabasa niya ang ilang aklat bago ipagbili. Sa isip ko, tersera manong aklat na ang ibinebenta niya.

“Nagkalibro ka na ba?” habol niya sa akin habang nagbabayad kami ng aming nalikom. Naisingit kong “nagsusulat-sulat” ako sa aming diskusyon kanina.

“Opo,” pagmamalaki ko. “Pito na.”

“Ituro mo sa akin,” nakangiti niyang pahayag. “Bibilhin ko.”

Habang tila mga tinapa sa dalayrayan ang mga aklat ng banyagang manunulat, pinipiga ko ang sarili sa kaiisip kung sino-sino at ilan ang maghihintay ng mga obrang Filipino. Ito ang malungkot na parikala ng aking panahon. Tanggap na katotohanang ang aklat ng Filipino’y nilalangaw—walang buhay, may amoy na, hindi gumagalaw at walang gumagalaw, nabubulok ang laman hanggang pagpistahan ng mga uod. Gawin kayang pabalat ang mga larawan ng kung sinong sikat na artista, tulad ng ginagawa sa mga kuwaderno? (e.g. larawan nina Angel Locsin at Richard Gutierrez para sa aklat ng mga alamat at epikong-bayan?) Puwera na lang kung ito’y kalipunan ng mga kuwentong kababalaghan na ngayo’y programang subaybayin sa telebisyon. Puwera na lang kung ito’y aklat na nangangako ng matamis na pantasya. Puwera na lang kung ito’y textbook na may endorso ng DepEd. Malaon na naming pinagtatalunan kung may sumisikat na manunulat sa Pilipinas. Sa pagkakaalam ko’y wala. Kung mayroon man, sa hanay rin lamang ng mga kapuwa manunulat. Iba ang kaso nina Balagtas at Rizal dahil nasa batas na ituro ang kanilang mga akda. Mabuti pa si Joanne Rowling, hindi pa nga naiimprenta ang kaniyang ikaanim na installment ng Harry Potter, number 1 bestseller na. Kaunting libot-libot pa, natanaw ko ang isang tambakan ang mga aklat sa Filipino. Sinalakay ako ng malisyosong idea na ito ang Payatas o Smokey Mountain ng panitikan—ipinagbebebentang beinte pesos ang mga nalamog na kopya ng panitikang-bayan at katipunan ng mga dula at tula. Insulto sa manunulat na tatakan ang sariling obra ng “sale,” “marked down price,” “buy one, take one” at “discount.” Ewan ko, hindi ko mawari, parang nais kong maduwal noong panahong iyon.

Sa idineklara kong yugto ng pamamahinga, matapos maihanda ang manuskrito ng isasalibro kong panunuring pampanitikan, mainam na panghalili sa pagsusulat ang pagbabasa. Ikulong man ako ng isang buwan sa tindahan ng aklat na may sapat na tubig at pagkain, mabubuhay ako. Tumitigil ang lahat at wala akong konsepto ng oras kapag ako’y nagbabasa. Unti-unting nagugunaw ang aking silid at sumusupling ang lunan buhat sa linang ng tangan kong aklat. Gusto ko’y tahimik, kakaibang uri ng katahimikang hindi maipaliwanag ng anumang aklat ng ponetika. Nakadapa ako habang nagbabasa. Pakiramdam ko’y lumulutang ako’t nakalilipad. Nagpapaubaya ako sa mga salita—sa kasiningan; sa mga umaawit na pangungusap; sa polido, matipuno at walang-inaaksayang talata; sa kapistahan ng mga pandama; sa pagsasalansan ng mga tunog at biswal na disenyo ng mga salita; sa mapagtimping emosyon; sa mga katawagang tila bugtong—hanggang sa ako’y makalipat-unibersong hindi na kailangan ng teleutaia makhaira para pumunit ng bintana tungo sa ibang daigdig, ng mahiwagang saranggolang tatangay sa akin patungo sa langit ng mga yumaong pantas, ng lagusan sa patnubay ng puting kuneho, ng lumang aparador tungo sa walang-katapusang pag-ulan ng niyebe, o ng dambuhalang ipo-ipo tungo sa lupain na maengkanto. Sagradong ritwal ko ang pagbabasa hanggang sa makasama ko sa pagtulog at pananaginip ang binabasa. Hanggang doon, ipinagpapatuloy ko ang pagbasa. At pagkagising, aklat ang una kong inaapuhap. Hindi pa man natatapos ang aklat, idinedeklara kong “hindi ako makapaghintay na basahin itong muli.”

Sa pagbabasa ako nakahahanap ng kaligtasan, ng init kapag giniginaw, ng ginhawa kapag pinapawisan. Tulad ko ang mga tauhan sa The Day After Tomorrow—literal na ginawang kaligtasan ang mga aklat. Sinilaban nila ang mga aklat para magbigay ng init sa pagdagsa ng tsunami at daluyong ng niyebe ng ikalawang Ice Age. Tanging iniligtas nila ang manuskrito ng Bibliya bilang testamento ng kabihasnan ng sangkatauhan. Tulad ko ang mga dagang naubusan ng pagkain sa ilalim ng lupa sa kuwentong Frederick ni Leo Lionni. Walang mangata ang mga pamilya ng daga hanggang sa magbasa ng tula si Frederick buhat sa kaniyang koleksiyon. Nalimot nila ang gutom, binusog ang mga sarili sa mga tayutay, at pinaiinit ang katawan ng mga talinghaga. Nailigtas nila ang lahi mula sa tagsalat sa panahon ng taglamig. Sa pagbabasa, hanap ko’y mga gunitang mahahawakan. Binubuo ko ang nagpipigtal-sa-gunitang tinig ng aking lola, sa pagsasalaysay niya sa akin ng kuwento ni Negro Bandido, isang tauhang tubo-sa-damo, mula sa komiks noong ako’y bata pa. Kaytagal kong inilihim sa kay lola na nakapagbabasa na ako. Nais ko’y ipaghele niya ako ng kaniyang mga kuwento, ng kaniyang “pagdaragdag” sa mga de-kahong kuwento, ng kaniyang bersiyon ng kuwento mula sa telebisyon, ng pagsasanga ng salaysay, ng pagsusupling ng mga tanong at ng mga sagot. Dito ko natuklasan ang kapangyarihan ng paglikha habang nagbabasa. Dito ko nasaliksik ang bisa ng imbento. Kalauna’y inawat na ako sa mga kuwento ng aking lola, tila pag-awat sa pagsuso sa gatas ng ina. Baka raw lumaki akong bopols, gunggong, bugok, pulpol. Sa aking musmos na gulang, ipinagdamdam ko ang dahas ng pagkakaawat. Kaytagal kong natuklasan na puwede pala akong mag-isa. Mag-isa sa pagbabasa. Pag-iisa habang nagbabasa. Maaari palang kuwentuhan ang sarili. Tila ako inakay na natutong ikampay ang mga pakpak hanggang makilala ang lawak ng daigdig. Ngunit sa tuwina’y binabakas ko ang tinig ni lola. Kaya madalas ako sa mga tindahan ng aklat. Kaya madalas akong maghanap ng mababasa. Doon ko matatagpuan ang mga kuwento, ang kaligtasan, ang kalinga. Sa makitid na espasyo, dinig ko ang pagkukuwento ni lola.

Panata ko’y tuklasin sa mga binabasang aklat ang Pilipinas ng Panitikang Filipino, tulad ng pagsaliksik ni Helene Hanff sa Inglatera ng Panitikang Ingles. Sa 84 Charing Cross Road, pamagat ng aklat at pangalan ng tindahan ng mga aklat antikwaryan, hindi hadlang ang Dagat Atlantiko para mapasakamay ni Hanff, sa tulong ng Britong bookseller na si Frank Doel, ang maririkit na prosa sa talaarawan ni Samuel Pepys, sa mga sermon ni John Donne, sa mga aral ng bersiyong Vulgate Latin na Bibliya. Hindi ko rin masagot ang hamon sa sarili kung mayroon bang nilalang sa ibang lupalop na tinutuklas ang Pilipinas ng Panitikang Filipino. Kung saang daigdig ako dinadala ng mga segunda mano kong aklat, kung ano-anong kultura ang aking nararanasan, ngunit hindi ko pa lubos na natutuklasan ang salamangka ng mga etnoepiko ng aking bayan. Gusto kong sisihin ang mga nagkalat na murang kopya ng Bulfinch’s Mythology at ang aklat ni Edith Hamilton. Kasama ako sa henerasyon ng mga Pilipinong masuyong makalilikha ng mapa ng Middle Earth ni Tolkien at ang arkipelago ng Earthsea ni LeGuin, gayong hindi ko batid ang istruktura ng lupang pangako sa Nalandangan ni Agyu. Kung bakit naman kasi masakit-sa-bulsang bumili ng mga serye ng panitikang-bayan ni Damiana Eugenio at ang Ulahingan ng Gitnang Panay ni Elena Maquiso. Gusto ko ring sisihin ang mga Thomasites na dumaong sa kapuluan at ng mga pensionadong naging kolonyal na guro sa bansa, na nagpunla sa mga katutubo ng panlasang Kanluranin, ang sistema ng edukasyong naghasik ng estetikang maka-Kanluran, ang globalisasyong sumira sa hangganan at teritoryo ng mga kultura at nasyon. Kung wala ito, hindi dudumugin ang mga tindahan ng segunda manong banyagang aklat.

Kung walang segunda manong aklat o materyal na kultura, wala rin itong segunda manong kultura. Kasumpa-sumpa ang panahong ito na instant at de-lata ang aliwan at kultura—mga pinaglumaang Mexican telenovela, Chinovela, Koreanovela; pelikulang horror ng Thailand, Korea, at Japan; mga animé at manga mulang Japan. Ang mga paslit na aming kapitbahay, umagang-umaga’y bumibirit ng awiting Intsik ng F4 at sumasayaw sa saliw ng Braziliang Chopeta. Maging gupit ng buhok ay nakapadron sa mga artistang Taiwanese. Ugat ng panggagaya tulad ng ibong papagayo ang segunda manong kultura: si Bayani Casimiro bilang Fred Astaire of the Philippines; si Eddie Mesa, Elvis Presley; Canuplin, Charlie Chaplin; Jaya, Whitney Houston; at Regine Velasquez, Mariah Carey (Maaari pang humaba ang listahan). Gaya-gaya, puto-maya. Segunda manong kultura, segunda klaseng artista. Kapag nanunuod ako ng paligsahan sa pagkanta, kumurap lang ako sandali, akala ko’y orihinal na singer ang bumibirit. Nakapangingilabot ang paligsahan ng mga walang sariling tinig. Sa segunda manong kultura’y isinilang ang mga uring jologs sa lipunan—silang mga hindi naman baduy, silang hindi naman promdi, silang hindi naman hikahos. Sapagkat ang mga tunay na jologs ay iyong mga Pilipinong nagpipilit maging Afro-American sa Harlem (Egoy na Egoy sa porma at pananalita), mga Jamaican kunwari na tipong Bob Marley, at iyong mga skinhead na Neo-Nazi. Inakup! Batid ba nila ang mga kulturang kanilang ginagaya? Naramdaman ba ng mga jologs na ito ang kasaysayan ng exodo, ethnocide, ghetto, at Holocaust habang ibinabalandra ang kanilang mga kuwintas ng swastika? Ilang mag-aaral ko ang nagsusuot ng kamisetang nakadisenyo ang mukha ni Che Guevarra. Gusto kong itanong, “Kilala mo ba iyang suot mo?”

Ganito rin ang kaso sa unibersidad na aking kinamulatan. May isang propesor-sosyologo na nang makatapak sa Amerika’y namakyaw ng lumang akademikong dyornal na hindi makikita sa aklatan ng aming unibersidad. Ipinagyabang niya ang kaniyang nalikom, na ibinebenta lang daw sa gilid ng daan. Pakitang-gilas si propesor sa lektura niya sa social anthropology. Sa pagkakatuklas namin, ang mga halimbawa niya ng mga tribo’y matagal nang nabura sa daigdig. Biktima ang aming propesor hindi lamang ng segunda manong babasahin kundi ng segunda manong kaalaman. Ang resulta’y segunda klaseng pagtuturo, edukasyon, at mag-aaral.

Sa prinsipyo ng Sosyolohiya ng Karunungan, krimen ang sumandig sa mga sekondaryong sanggunian, lalo kung ito’y luma. Huwag tanggapin nang buong-buo ang mga banyagang ideya at datos, at pagkaraa’y magbibigay ng kuro-kuro nang walang pagmumuni. Huwag sumandig sa lumang edisyon, sa lumang pananaliksik, sa lipas at pasong idea, at sa mga bilasang balita mula sa mga magasin. Kailangan ng sariling siyasat. Hindi naman nauuso ang retro at revival, o revival ng retro, sa idea, kaalaman, at teorya. Akma lamang iyon sa mga pananamit at musika. Sapagkat ang pananalig sa segunda manong kaalaman ay nagbubunga ng segunda manong karunungan. Hindi kaganapan ng karunungan ang pakinig-kinig at padalaw-dalaw lamang sa mga lektura, discussion group, book club, sit-in. Mahalaga’y makaranas, makatuklas, makapagmuni buhat sa sarili. Sino ang dapat sisihin? Hindi ako maghuhugas-kamay. Kamakailan ko lamang natuklasan na ang inaakala kong bago’y bilasa pala, ang klasiko’y kasumpa-sumpa, ang rebolusyonaryo’y palasak, ang experimental ay binuwag, ang moderno’y luma, at ang masalamangkang realidad pala ay nasa ugat pala ng pambansang mitolohiya. Kapag kumakatok ang pagkamalikhain, nakalilikha ako—buhat sa kinakanlong na segunda manong imahinasyon—sa nabibili kong segunda mano. Eksena’y murder mystery na katatakutan. Naglalakad patungong estasyon, sa madilim na kalyehon ang isang binata. Umuulan-ulan and aandap-andap ang ilaw sa daan. Pumutok nang limang beses ang baril. Natumba ang binata. Dead on arrival siya sa ospital. Natuklasan ng nurse ang aklat na yakap-yakap ng pinaslang. Kinuha niya ito, tiningnan ang duguang pabalat, at saka itinabi. Para paikliin ang kuwento, napadpad sa aking mga kamay ang aklat na iyon. Nakapaloob ang mensahe, mga larawan, mapa, mga liham, mga lihim, mga rebelasyon na tutukoy at bubuo sa pagkatao ng pumaslang. Ano na ngayon ang gagawin ko? Nagmumulto na sa akin ang pinaslang. Sinusundan niya ako saan man ako magpunta. Lutasin ko raw ang problema. Lutasin, lutasin. Ako ang susi. Nasa aklat ang mga kasagutan.

Nais kong magbabanyuhay bilang si Parasurama, ang arketipal na tagatuklas ng karunungan buhat sa sagradong aklat na Sri Tripura Rahasya. Sasapian ako ng kaniyang sigasig, ng kaniyang pangarap, ng kaniyang rahuyo. Baybayin ko ang mga kabundukan, magkapaltos man ang aking talampakan. Tatawirin ko ang ilog, salakayin man ako ng mga buwaya. Sasaliksikin ko ang gubat, gayong nag-aabang ang mga limatik. Maglalayag ako sa karagatan, hahamunin ang daluyong at sigwa. Hanggang sa marating ko ang kaniyang tahanan sa isang antas ng kalangitan. Haharapin ko ang diwatang si Dattatreya. Magpupugay sa paanan niyang nagsisilang ng mga alamat, ng mga epiko ng pakikipagsapalaran, ng mga bugtong, ng mga salawikain. Iaalay ko sa kaniya ang kaalamang aking taglay. “Paano ko hahanapin,” bungad ko sa diwata, “ang karunungan?”

“Nahanap mo na,” deklara ni Dattatreya, nagluluningning ang mga mata. Iginabay niya ang aking paningin sa paanan niyang bumubukal ng mga akda. Sumalok siya, gamit ang magkasalikop na palad, buhat sa agos at inihasik sa dakong iyon ng daigdig. “Naranasan mo na. Nasa pagdanas ang karunungan.

“Hindi makapaghahasik ng liwanag sa sangkatauhan ang segunda manong karunungang iyong natipon mula sa binasang mga aklat o sa nakasalamuha mong mga guro,” dagdag pa niya. “Hangga’t hindi mo sasaliksikin at isasabuhay ang katotohanan. Hindi binibilang ang mga binasa kundi tinitimbang. Tanging ikaw ang makalilikha ng karunungan. Danasin ang sarili at gamitin ang kamalayan.”

Mapalad pa rin akong isinilang sa panahong ito, sa isang lipunang hindi hinahadlangan ang pagbabasa. Hindi sinusunog ng mga kawal ang mga aklat na sumasagka sa politikal na ambisyon ng mga pinuno. Hindi ipinagkakait sa kababaihan ang mga aklat. Hindi katulad sa Tehran at Libya na ipinagbabawal ang Lolita. O sa Tsina noong kanilang Cultural Revolution mula 1971-1974, sa hangaring re-edukasyon ni Mao Zedong sa daang libong palaisip, pinagsusunog ang mga akdang Kanluranin tulad ng kay Honoré de Balzac. O sa Singapore at Malaysia na itinuturing na subersibo ang Satanic Verses ni Salman Rushdie. O noong panahon ng Batas Militar sa bansa, dinarakip ang sinumang may dalang mapangahas na libro at manuskrito. O sa pagsusunog noong ika-2 ng Marso, 1940 sa mga akda ng “tinaling” manunulat sa Plaza Moriones ng Tondo, na walang pagpapahalaga sa tradisyon at kasaysayan sa panitikan. Masuwerte ako sa panahong sumibol sa pagbabasa.

Kalkal, hukay, halukay, wagwag, pagpag, ukay-ukay. Anuman ang bansag sa paghahanap kong ito’y nakalakip ang testamento ng pagdiriwang sa mga salita. Bibigyang-dangal ko ang mga salita. Sa pagkahumaling sa mga titik sa pahina, nababakas ko ang pinagmulan ng aklat. Noon pa man, akto ng pagsamba ang paglalathala. Nakikiisa ako sa metikulosong pagkopya at pagsasalin ng mga monghe sa mga iniligtas nilang naninilaw at malulutong na pahina ng mga tekstong Griyego at Romano sa mga sulok ng aklatan ng monasteryo noong Edad Medya sa Europa. Nililikha nila’y mga naliwanagang manuskrito, dinarakila ang mga salita ng Diyos, at ginaganyakan ng mga guhit ng ahas, leon, pabo, at mga baging. Hindi lamang pagpapalamuti ang mga guhit, halimbawa’y ahas na sumasagisag ng muling pagkabuhay dahil naghuhunos, kundi pagdakila sa teksto. Mga mandirigma sila laban sa kamangmangan, laban sa pagtatayo ng kalinangang walang kinakalingang manlilikha.

Sa aking mapantuklas na kamay, bubuhayin ko ang aklat habang pinalulusog ko ang sariling aklatan. Bibigyan ko ng panibagong buhay ang mga aklat. Naniniwala akong higit pa sa pusang may siyam na buhay ang mga papel na pinagtipon-tipon. Bibigyan ko ng bagong kasaysayan ang mga aklat na may kasaysayan. Magmamarka ako ng kasaysayan sa bawat balat ng aklat. Ang kamatayan ng isang aklatan ay pagsilang naman ng isa. Matingkad sa aking kamalayan na may iisang dakilang aklatan sa daigdig na sumasabog para ibahagi ang mga aklat sa iba’t ibang dako.

May buhay ang mga segunda manong aklat. Muli itong binubuhay ng bagong mambabasa, hindi ng may-akda na malaon nang pinaslang sa pagpapalimbag ng kaniyang obra. Nabubuhay ang mga aklat, dumaan man ito sa maraming mga kamay. Tila fenix, ang mga abong daliring minsang bumuklat sa aklat ay magkakalaman at magkakadugo sa bisa ng aking pagbabasa. At ang dugo’y dadaloy sa guniguni. Isipin na lang kung paano ito isinasalin sa iba’t ibang papel bago mailathala—mula sa palara, napkin, talaarawan, o kuwaderno ng manunulat; sa kamay ng patnugot, sa proofreader at copyreader, hanggang sa blueprint hanggang sa mapasakamay ng mga mambabasa. Isipin kung ilang taon ang inilaan sa pagpapahinog ng isusulat; ang paghango mula sa himbing ng mga manuskrito sa palimbagan. Isipin kung paano pinipili ang hugis, pabalat, ang tipo ng mga titik, ang uri ng papel, ang mga walang-pangalang nagpatakbo ng imprenta at mga nagtahi ng mga pahina. Umuunlad ang aklat, nadaragdagan ito ng mga di-makitang pahina sa pagdaan ng mga panahon, sa pagdaan ng mga henerasyon. Walang nawawalang kaluluwa sa muli’t muling pagbuklat ng mga pahina.

This essay won Third Prize for the Essay in the 2005 Palanca Awards.I got this atory from-HERE

sleepy

2006-08-30T00:07:00.000-07:00

Sleepy head

Today, nothing much happened except for school activities. Ayun I met up with my groupmates in Psychology, but sadly not everyone was able to come. I am feeling kind of sleepy actually. So in effect this entry would be super short.

Wag ng mainip hehehe. Maam B accepted our experiment pero may mali pa daw. So talagang kailangan ng effort, o s'ya I'll be sleeping ei?!

Nyt, nyt... *does the pucca dance*

Balls fall from the sky

2006-08-28T22:09:00.000-07:00

Balls fall from the sky

Hay! I am really tired! Today happens to be not the routinary days I've always experienced. Grabe! I woke early to visit my bf and help him in his THESIS. We ate breakfast in their house, alone. He talked about a lot of things that have been happening lately. We get to hear the sides of each other, and we did even fight, again for the hundredth time.

*++++++*
When I got to their house he was still sleepign and I just couldn't help but be mad at him for not complying to his promise that he'll wake up earlier. He knows that I'll be coming to their place yet he drooled in his bed for an hour, not bothering that I was just around. Sino ba namang hindi magagalit dun?

After napping for an hour or so he finally stood and made himself AWARE OF MY PRESENCE. Kakabaliw s'ya talaga. Tapos after doing that he is expecting na I'll be sweet and shower him with kisses. Anu s'ya sinuswerte?!

I am very much aware of the reason why he got mad. It is because, after ignoring me and sleeping (though I am already inside their house), he wanted to hug me tightly and snuggle. Sorry na lang s'ya at hindi ko s'ya napagbigyan. s'ya din naman eh! *sigh*
*++++++*

Tapos ayun we parted ways-- he went to school and I went to UST for my duty. Time seemed to be less cooperative a while ago in the office. It felt like forever! Honestly, I was deeply bored! GOD KALA KO WALA NANG KATAPUSAN ANG AKING SERBISYO KANINA. Oh well! Things went quite fine naman during my stay in the office, I even helped DJ get his long dued T-SHIRT in the officers (sabi nya nahihiya daw sya... hahaha). After working for three hours I met up with Sir Jun and planned the interview with the UST WOMEN'S VOLLEYBALL TEAM. Okay pala ang play nila, promise...

I get to meet the trainors (pati si A.K.A. PRINCESS LULU) and the players, well Balse actually. Shelly and I did the interview and photography because Allan, tomweb member, was not around. Grabe! We had a hard time figuring out how to properly handle the camera for Sir Jun was not able to brief us regarding the camera.

Ayun, we just took any shots and prayed that one would turn out good. *grins* But in all fairness, Shelly and I did great in the pictures. She get to capture Tan doing the i-don't-know-term, hahahaha, basta volleyball move s'ya. *big grin*

It was late na when Sir Jun instructed us to use the "flash effect" of the digital camera. After doing so, VIOLA, ayun ang solution. Our consequent shots are clear and fancy na.

Hay I had a great tiem watching the volleyball team practice. At dun ko naappreciate ang beauty ng scenery ng lumilipad na bola. Hehehe ang daming bola, sobrang dami nila. Hehe.
Galign talaga ng team! Just by looking at their moves and their warm-ups, I can't help but be amazed in awe. Muntik na malaglag ang panga ko. Hihihi.

They are really great 'tas ayun Coach Nelson even said that this season the team is well prepared. He also mentioned that the team didn't join V-LEAGUE because they are focused on the UAAP games. Furthermore, the overdued glory of UST in volleyball should now be achieved, especially that DLSU won't be playing. Mas may opportunity na kung baga.

More than that I learned a lot of things from Shelly regarding Balse. She shared her experiences and we sort of discussed some private things. Ayun it felt good, to be parang close to Shelly in that way. She even punned a joke that she is PUCCA and that I am GARU?-- whoever he is. *smiles, winks*

*+++++*
Other than the fun we had dduring our stay in the gym nagkatuwaan pa kami lalu dahil kay PRINCESS LULU BY REQUEST.Hahaha. I just don't want to drop names because I am not any position to do so, and besides baka makasuhan pa ako. Hihihi. But seriously though, I just hate that PRINCESS LULU. Grabe mangmando akala mo head coach s'ya or whatsoever. It felt really annoying. Ahhh basta nasa PILIPINAS s'ya, PERIOD!
*++++++*

Me and Shelly ate burger together. Hehe kakatuwa kasi ang takaw ko talaga... HIHIHI... After eatign we continued taking shots until ayun the camera just gave up on us. HEHEHE. That is the time when we decided to just take OUR PICTURES in her cellular phone. AYUN MEGA POSE KAMI SA GYM... *smile*

Hay.... I better rest na and get some sleep, because I feel really sleepy... *mwuah*

...pahabol...
miss ko na talaga s'ya kainis s'ya hindi na naman s'ya nag-ol hay...

2006-08-27T08:15:00.001-07:00

Tiresome day

I didn't feel like sleeping now after what "he" did to me a while ago. I was expecting him to be accomodating or whatsoever. But sadly he turned out to be still mad. He kept on denying it but what he doesn't know is that I am pretty certain of what he feels. GOD! I hate saying this but I am wounded by what he keeps on doing. I can't believe that I am feeling staggered and floored. Yes I miss him but I don't think that it is proper for me to let this "distraction" come across my life.

If he intends to hurt me, then fine, I will just let him be like that... But there is certainly no point of keeping a friendship that is out of line. I've been looking around the bend but he is just too much!

2006-08-26T20:17:00.000-07:00

SAPPY LOVE SONGS

You Are The One

Another day passes by, i'm dreamin' of you,
And though i know it might be just a dream, dreams come true,
Somewhere, somehow i'll find you even though it takes all of
My life{all of my life}

And when i finally do{and when i finally do}
I know inside my heart{ i know inside my heart}
That there could be no doubt, i knew it from the start

{you are the one}you are the one
That i've been searching for my whole life through,
{you are the one}you are the one that i've been looking for
And now that i have found you,
{duet}i'll never let you go, i'll hold you in my arms
You are the one

Another night spent alone
I'm lying in the dark{lying in the dark}
I don't know your name
But i know your voice sings to my heart{voice sings to my heart}
A sweet melody, a symphony of love

I know that come one day{i know that come one day}
I time for you and me{a time for you and me}
To finally be together, cause i know we're meant to be
{repeat cho. except last sentence}

Forever's a meaningless word
Even though you're here with me
Here by my side, here in my heart

{duet} i'll never let you go i'll hold you in my arms

{you are the one} you are the one that i've been searching for my whole life through
{you are the one}that i've been looking for and now that i have found you
{duet} i'll never let you go, i'll hold you in my arms
{repeat 1}

Cause you are the one, you are the one

The Closer I Get To You

The closer I get to you
The more you’ll make me see
By giving me all you got
Your love has captured me

Over and over again
I tried to tell myself that we
Could never be more than friends
And all the while inside
I knew it was real
The way you make me feel

Lying here in your arms
Time just seems to fly
Needing you more and more
Let's give love a try

Sweeter than sweeter love grows
And heaven's there for those
Who fool the tricks of time
With hearts of love define
True love
In a special way

The closer I get to you
The more you’ll make me see
By giving me all you got
Your love has captured me

Over and over again
I tried to tell myself that we
Could never be more than friends
And all the while inside
I knew it was real
The way you make me feel

Closer I get to you

missing someone badly right now...

2006-08-25T11:20:00.000-07:00

Vindicated (not quite, justify my actions please)

Once there was a time when we could learn
all the simple pleasantries a follower should yearn
and all that I can do is watch them burn
and wish that I could save them all
or just one
See The Fake, everyday shaking hands with men, promising the end
Hear Him Speak of all the things that we need to hear, to adhere
Justify, your secrecies that surmise your cries
I see the way you look around the bend
is it going to end, when?
The visions that I've seen have left me torn
between the resurrection and the prophecy unborn
I think that I will document the fall
and say I hate to say it
but I told you all..
See the Fake, everyday shaking hands of men, promising the end
Hear Him Speak of all the things that we need to hear, to adhere.
Justify, your secrecies that surmise your cries,
I see the way you look around the bend
is it going to end, when?
Justify, your secrecies that surmise your cries,
I see the way you look around the bend
is it going to end, to end?
Your side, choose wise
your side, choose wise
your side choose while you can.
Justify, your secrecies that surmise your cries
I see the way you look around the bend
is it going to end, when?
Justify, your secrecies that surmise your cries
I see the way you look around the bend
is it going to end, to end, end?
When you change your mind is it going to end?

Just arrived from school and boy I feel as if I am all restless. The exam in LITERATURE is finally over. It was such a relief. I got a good score but honestly I am not in any point satisfied. I could have done better, or Maam should have checked the paper BETTER! To think that the examination is already ope notes, dear I fear not blurting this out. I AM DISAPPOINTED but I AM THANKFUL NA RIN...

Not that I don't think that I would get a decent score if the test is the objective one, but that I am SOMEHOW thankful that I was not burdened evenmore.

Most of my classmates got good grades, many indeed got 90+, but some unfortunately failed. I think that such judgment (checking) must HAVE RECONSIDERATION. Grabe! I cannot believe that someone would fail the exam. Not that I am insinuating that the test was a no-brainer, but you know what the prelim exam is SUBJECTIVE. Well, it should have been MORE EASIER, I guess?!

Trouble, trouble, trouble. I am in no condition of STUDYING. I cannot understand myself lately. I don't know why I have become this IRRESPONSIBLE GIRL, that actually I'm not. GOODNESS! I suddenly became less concerned of my study habits, sadly I am reaping the consequences of my actions. I am not satisfied with my scores. Grabe I am troubled, I am doomed! I fear that I may never achieve what I used to accomplish. I need some divine providence.

Hindi naman ako ganito eh! You know why I've become this complacent, or rather this IRRESPONSIBLE? I don't know either, but what I do know is that I am dying with all thsi burden that I am now carrying because of my actions. How could I dare to forget someone who has been part of my life?! I am missing dadi and I bet he will never know that, especially now that WE HAVE SAID THINGS THAT SHOULDN'T BE SAID.

*++++++*
DADI: bakit nde ka na nagol?
me: hmmmm...
DADI: bkit? may problem kb?
DADI: *BUZZ*
DADI: uy bc k n nmn ba?
me: nde ah... may tiningnan lang ako...
DADI: so.. kamusta kna...
me: ok lng.. eh ikaw? :D
DADI: medyo ok na ako.
me: ???
DADI: i'm a lot better now....
(after few more minutes)
me: musta kna? [idiot 'di ba, kanina ko pa sya tinatanong kung kamusta na sya at knina pa nya sinasagot... DUH! WHAT'S WRONG WITH YOU QUEENNIE P. SANTOS]
DADI: ok lng... kaw? kau ng bf mu?
me: 2lad p din ng dati
DADI: OIC...
DADI: awwwww
(after 30 minutes or so...)
DADI: *BUZZ*
DADI: uy bkit d kna nagol
me: bc lang sa schoolworks... tatlo tatlo nag thesis namin eh... kakapagod
DADI: ganun?
DADI: baka may iniiwasan ka...
(after an hour)
DADI: nde ka na sumagot...
me: aww sori ah...
(after 10 mins.)
DADI: alam mo nagbago ka na...

Isn't that just the saddest words you'll hear from someone who you have come to loved? Know what I should be over him, because he did his best to make me happy, by leaving me. But truth is I AM MISERABLE right now. I am LOST and I am dying missing the guy.

I cannot justify my actions. I know that I have done him wrong and I pushed him to hard away from me, that now he really is that far.
*++++++*

See the Fake in me? I am feeling sad right now and I need some chocolates...

2006-08-25T01:00:00.001-07:00

JIMMY L. ALCANTARA
Red ang Luha ni Michael

Michael and I were meant to be together. Tumira sa iisang komunidad sa Butuan, magkaeskuwela mula prep school hanggang kolehiyo, lumaki na pareho ang barkada, nagsosyo sa bawat stick ng yosi at sa bawat piraso ng french bread, pan de sal, at pan de coco, at kung minsan sa bawat bilog, lapad, at cuatro cantos. Kaya walang nagulat nang isang mahalumigmig at makulimlim na Agosto, magkasama kaming "lumaya" sa Agusan del Norte. Limang libo, transcript of records at sense of adventure ang bulsa-bulsa namin papuntang Maynila.

Pagkatapos ng anim na taon ng iba't ibang komedya, trahedya at melodrama, magkasama pa rin kami. Sa isang sulok ng Quezon City kami umupa ng apartment--dalawang kuwarto, three-five. Hati na naman kami sa lahat: renta, pagkain, bayad sa tubig, ilaw, telepono. Akin ang sala set, kanya ang kama; akin ang TV, kanya ang ref; akin into, kanya 'yun. At pag naghiwalay na kami, siyempre naman, kanya-kanyang hila ng gamit.

Malabo ang relasyon namin--magkaibigan, mag-asawa, magsyota, magkakilala. Kaya siguro di kami nagpakasal at di rin kami nag-anak. Pero di kami apektado kung di man namin ma-define ang relasyon namin.

Yuppy ang gimik ni Mike. Nagtatrabaho siya sa personnel department ng isang ad agency sa Vito Cruz. Wala akong trabaho. Hindi, nawalan ako ng trabaho. Huwag na nating pag-usapan ang nangyari sa CCP. Di raw nila kailangan ang 'nahihibang' na production designer. Masisira daw ang mga dula at musikal nila. Gago raw ang mga kulay at konsepto ko.

Isang makulit at mainit na Lunes ng umaga, sa harap ng pinagbuhusan ko ng atensiyon at pawis na omelet at bagong pigang orange juice, nagpabuntung-hininga si Mike at, "Sa init ngayon, natutusta ang utak ko at maalala ko, kinakalawang na ang ref, pag may bisita tayo, gusto kong magtago sa aparador."

Napangiti ako. Ito na ang pagkakataon para sorpresahin si Mike. No, di ako bibili ng bagong ref. Babaguhin ko lang ang kulay! Marumihin ang puti, vile naman ang brown. Pula! Tama, scarlet red. Magugustuhan niya.

Madrama ang pula, may landi. Minsan morbid pero kadalasan, romantic. Masisiyahan siya. Ako na rin ang magpipinta. Gagawin kong isang obra-maestra ang ref.

Sa isang tindahan sa Cubao bumili ako ng malaking lata ng Scarlet Aluminum Paint. Di ko alam kung puwede 'yun sa ref, pero kinuha ko na rin. At isinama ko na rin ang isang brush na katamtaman ang laki para kontrolado ang pagpahid.

Kaya pagpasok ni Mike sa trabaho ng Biyernes na iyon, hinarap ko ang ref. Binakbak ko ang lumang balat nito. Binuksan ko ang lata ng pintura at hinalo ang parang dugong likido ayon sa direksiyon. At binanatan ko na.

Ang ganda ng kinalabasan. Perfect ang first coating. Bagay na bagay ang kulay. At natakpan ang dumi at iba pang lumang pinturang di natanggal sa ref.

Naaliw ako ng husto sa ginagawa ko, kaya di ko na nahintay na matuyo ang unang coating bago pahiran uli. At para makasiguro na di mababakbak ang pintura, pinahiran ko pa ng isa. At ngayon ko na-realize na dry ang itsura ng kusina, walang dating. Sinimulan kong pasadahan ang mga cupboards. Kaya lang, natuluan ang lababo, itinuloy ko na rin ang pagpinta rito. Ilang pahiran lang, bagung-bago na ang mukha ng kusina--intense.

Di na ako nakapagpigil. Nang mapuno ang sahig ng kusina ng mga pulang polka dots, napagpasiyahan kong gawing maliliit na puso ang mga ito. To relieve the monotonous squareness of the tiles, kung baga.

Tutal narumihan na ang kamay ko at bukas na ang lata, naggalugad ako sa loob ng bahay ng puwede pang mapinturahan. Dali-dali kong hinarap ang nangungupas na lampshade, ang miniature na model ng Eiffel Tower, ang frame ng isang pekeng Monet, ang mga paso at dahon ng palmera, airpot, pati na ang tsinelas ni Mike sa loob ng bahay.

Naa-addict na ako sa ginagawa ko. Pero nang makita ko ang itsura ng pinto ng bahay, di ko napaglabanan ang tukso. Kulay dilaw na brown na puti ang kulay ng pinto. Ilang pahiran lang at nawala ang ambiguity nito.

Pagkatapos ng pinto, naisip ko: "Ayoko na, tama na." Pero di siguro magandang tingnan na isang picture frame lang ng bahay ang kulay pula, kaya pinintahan ko ang lahat. Ilang minuto ako sa ceiling fan. Ang dutsa sa kubeta at ang mga gripo, nag-improve mula sa walang kalatuy-latoy na silver.

Habang pinapasadahan ko ang gilid ng TV, nahulog ang brush sa kaliwang sapatos kong de-goma. Itinuloy ko na rin ang pagpipinta sa sapatos--sa isang paa lang. Parang si Tom Hanks sa Man with one red shoe.

Pagkatapos ng konting pahiran sa radyo, determinado na akong huminto--sa sandaling lagyan ko ng glamour ang mga throw pillows. Kaya lang, natilamsikan ang rug. I'm sure, masisiyahan kayong malaman na maganda ang pagkaka-absorb ng rug sa pintura. Di ko lang alam kung iyon ay dahil sa kalidad ng pintura o ng rug.

Pumanhik ako sa kuwarto at hinarap ang mga aparador. Binuksan ko ang isa. Pinasadahan ko ang mga bag at sinturon ni Mike at ilan sa mga attaché cases ko. Bumaba ako at lumabas sa garden at pininturahan ko ang mga praso, ang mga dahon ng san francisco at gumawa ng kauna-unahang pulang sampaguita.

Nasa kalagitnaan ako ng pagpipinta sa telepono nang may kumatok. Si Mike! Binuksan ko ang pinto. Di si Mike.
"Sulat galing sa Butuan. Sino si Mike Fernan? Galing sa isang Joan." Inabot ko ang sulat. Maputla ang kulay ng kartero, kulang sa buhay. Pinahiran ko ang mukha niya ng konting pintura para di naman siya mukhang anemic. Di yata naintindihan ng mama ang gusto kong palabasin, at nagtakbo itong humihiyaw.

Habang pinipintahan ko ang dingding ng sala para ibagay sa bagong personalidad ng bahay, bumukas ang pinto at bumulaga si Mike.

"Ipinagpaumanhin ninyo," sabi niya, "nagkamali ako. Akala ko'y ito ang bahay ko at ikaw ang Ricky ko."

Hinawakan niya ang pulang doorknob at lalabas na sana nang pigilan ko siya.

"Mike, ako ang Ricky mo. Di ka ba nasorpresa, ref mo'y iba na?"

Di lang siya nasorpresa, nagulantang pa siya. Doon na raw muna siya sa kaibigan niya sa Fairview. Iiwan na raw niya sa akin ang ref niya, ang kama niya, ang ito niya, ang iyon na. Aalis na raw siya at di siguro kung babalik--pero di pa siya makaalis kasi'y basa pa ng pintura ang mga maleta niya. Di malaman ang gagawin, bumigay ang tear ducts niya.

"Totoo ngang nababaliw ka na. Sabi mo'y matino ka na. Ibabalik uli kita sa basement. Sana'y gumaling ka na. Ayoko kasing mag-isa."

Wala akong nasabi at sa isang mahinay na unday, pinintahan ko ang mga luha niya ng pula. Naubos ang laman ng lata.

SOURCE IS HERE

Fake, fake, fake: Who isn't?

2006-08-24T21:24:00.000-07:00

DAVID HONTIVEROS
Kaming Mga Seroks

You know me on the boards as “Jim Crack,” but my real name is Peque.

I’m a basurero. A garbage collector in a small south-east Asian archipelago called the Philippines. You may recall my country with these key words: Ferdinand Marcos and People Power.

I’m also a seroks; what’s known in the West as a dupe.

Where to start?

You know all about the jihad against the Great Satan, the archaic United States of America, which ended with the release of Iblis, a viral plague engineered to infect individuals with certain genetic markers, a plague that decimated the American population and left nine out of ten male survivors sterile.

In the bleak aftermath of Iblis, the moral and ethical concerns that had, up to that point, stunted the development of genetic engineering were conveniently forgotten, and the advent of cloning came to pass.

Clones were used for any number of reasons, foremost among them, as changelings, made-to-order children to be adopted by the moneyed, yet childless. Almost overnight, cloning became big business worldwide.

But you already know all of this. What you may not know is how quickly the pirates descended on the ripe opportunity.

Asia has always been big on piracy. Decades ago, it was video and audio CDs (remember those?); today, it’s people. That’s what a dupe is: a pirated copy of a particular genetic sequence. A clone of a clone.

Naturally, certain modifications are made in the collectives in Chongqing and Hangzhou, where my kind are grown. From tinkering with melanin levels to darken skin color, to altering particular dispositions and personality quirks, the changes are made so we can adjust better to life in a Third World country (as opposed to a Western country, for which a dupe’s Template was undoubtedly made for).

As an example, I’m a seroks of an Oscar model (clones meant for the sprawling entertainment industry centered in New Hollywoodland), but instead of being passionate about Lynch or Cronenberg, I am in awe of everything Mike de Leon, a prominent Filipino director during the 1970’s and ‘80’s, responsible for one of the best horror movies ever made, anywhere, Itim.

The fact of the matter is, though, what keeps me awake at night, cramped in my tiny nicho in a modular highrise in Tondo, is that the Philippines has no film industry to speak of. Not anymore. Not since the turn of the millennium and the downward economic spiral the country found itself in.

All that’s really left of the Philippines is a number of rich families—the ones who were always at the apex of the economic pyramid—and hordes of dupes.

Shortly after the third millennium began, the middle class finally succumbed to the black hole of poverty. And just like a black hole, no one outside the Schwarzschild radius which was the Philippines seemed to know what was happening. The Western media continued to obsess over the soap opera lives of the British Royal Family while thousands of Filipinos suddenly found themselves incapable of keeping pace with rising costs and fixed salaries.

The entire middle class collapsed, unable to resist the gravity of circumstance. At that point, the outcome became inevitable. The sprawling body of the urban poor achieved critical mass. The squatter situation, traditionally a perennial problem here, became untenable. And in any overcrowded, unplanned community, the sanitary conditions are nearly always the first to suffer.

Multitudes died ill, homeless, starving, while the government watched and wrung its hands, then proceeded to reclaim vast tracts of land (once they’d managed to clear away all the rat-infested shanties filled with bloated, rotting—and partially consumed—bodies). In the end, the country’s economic pyramid was brutally truncated, reduced to its apex of fortunates.

But if it’s one thing history has proven, it’s that the rich have always needed other hands to dirty. Thus, the void in the population was filled (as it was in America) with clones. Or, in our case, with clones of clones.

In all honesty, we’re what keeps this country going. We wash their clothes, cook their food, clean their toilets, collect their garbage.

Up till now, life in the Philippines has been hard, but bearable.

Here, Mike de Leon’s entire filmography is downloadable, for free, as opposed to the latest from Hollywoodland, which can cost an entire month’s wages for me to see. I can watch Bayaning 3rd World or AKO Batch ’81 anytime, watch them over and over till I hemorrhage on social commentary, but at the same time, it’s like what I imagine old-time movie houses must have been like: sitting in the cold dark, at the uppermost reaches of the balcony, right below the projection room, watching the flickering images on the screen, seeing the beam of light, knowing you can try to reach up and touch it, but also knowing your fingers will close on nothing but air.

It’s cruel, the genetic hand I’ve been dealt. I make movies in my head to keep myself sane, tell myself stories of balut vendors and Japayukis, Metro Manila aides and tak-a-tak boys, let their morality plays comfort me in the darkness of my personal movie house.

I could, of course, program a film on-line using computer-generated actors (known in the industry as “thesps”), but that sort of keytime costs thousands of credits, and a basurero’s paycheck is hardly enough to put food on the table and keep the leaky roof over your head, both anachronisms, when one mostly eats freeze-dried noodles and lives in a nicho (one of thousands of cubicles in what Westerners refer to as “coffin hotels”).

The thing is, these stories… these mental movies, I think of them as my children, as legacies I might leave behind, once my mortality catches up with me. Dupes, of course, like their clone Templates, are engineered to be sterile.

Having no reproductive rights is bad enough, but having all these potential children inside my head, and not being able to give proper birth to them…

It’s agonizing.

Not only that. Can you imagine not being given the right to speak your own language?

Since English was long considered the most widely used language in the world (and with the virtual disappearance of the country’s lower class), the collectives saw no need to re-map the language centers of the brains of most of the dupes headed for the Philippines. The rich didn’t mind; they no longer had to trouble themselves with learning the “native tongue.”

Only about a quarter of the seroks population actually speak Filipino, so the mother tongue still survives, thus the rise of new colloquialisms like “seroks.” I taught myself Filipino a long time ago. I had to, to fully appreciate Mike de Leon’s work without the subtitles. I’ve tried to teach other dupes Filipino as well, but it’s hard going, since their brains are hardwired to think in English. Still, I try.

But this is just me, poor little well-read garbage man with a dream. Other dupes have it far worse.

Those dupes engineered for the flesh trade (pirated from the Meretrice and Ganymede models) have it particularly bad. Already finding themselves in a demeaning, dehumanizing occupation, seroks putas are literally expendable sex toys.

Do you ever wonder at the current boom of snuff films? So long as kinky foreigners into rough trade are willing to pay for the original cost of the dupe (cheap, at a seventh of the going price of a Template), they can do whatever they want to her (or him).

These days, even the defective dupes (whose genetic sequences were particularly problematic to copy, and thus end up with imperfections, like a predisposition towards cancer, or actually being fertile) are being released on the market. Along Ermita, they’re called “chop-chops,” and they also ultimately serve the secondary market for spare organs and body parts.

The Chinese collectives have even began to pirate custom Demimondaine models from Europe, who all have chromosomal booby-traps that ensure any second-generation copies will be horribly malformed. There are brothels and clubs in Chiba and Amsterdam and Bangkok that cater to a particular clientele, where Demimondaine dupes roam the rooms and halls, hobbling, shambling, or simply crawling, drooling from hare lips, hair falling out in clumps.

As I’ve said, it’s cruel. Cruel and inhumane. But some of us have learned to adapt. I have. I’ve learned to adapt (if not totally accept) my lot in life.

But things are about to become… more complicated.

It’s all over the news, China’s intention to annex the Philippines, and no one’s inclined to contest this move. (Japan might have, I suppose, if they hadn’t been so quick to assist post-Iblis America with “economic packages,” which basically purchased 60% of the former United States, now known as NeoNippon.)

What isn’t on the news is how slavishly schizophrenic the Chinese can be about us seroks; they engineer us, but they despise us. Dupes are purely for export. Any dupes found living on Chinese soil are summarily executed by the white-clad anti-piracy police, the Yihe Quan, the “Righteous and Harmonious Fists,” named after xenophobic extremists who murdered Chinese Christians during the Qing Dynasty.

Even the Chinoys (the Chinese-Filipinos) look down on dupes. Not a single seroks is employed in a Chinoy household. Their maids and drivers are made up exclusively of naturally-born Filipinos, the surviving remnants of the country’s lower class, who now get paid more than five times the monthly wages of a seroks, and shun my kind as if we were rabid dogs.

Naturally, we’re being told that there won’t be mass executions once China takes the Philippines into its fold; we dupes will merely be exported, to work in other countries, and that we should see this as a lucrative opportunity to make more credits.

But that’s a lie.

Displacement always brings its share of culture shock, and re-conditioning takes time and money (far more than the cost of engineering a dozen new dupes).

Do I really believe the new government is going to spend to have my love of Mike de Leon’s work changed to a respect for Wim Wenders, or a fanatical worship of Guillermo del Toro, should I even be lucky enough to find placement in Germany or Mexico? Of course not.

I may be a dreamer, but I’m not naïve.

Once the Chinese flag flies at Malacanang, and the Lupang Hinirang is replaced by the Chinese national anthem, I and my fellow dupes—kaming ga seroks—will ll be obsolete. Obsolete, and, in the horrid tradition of a Steven Seagal movie, Marked For Death. (My sense of humor may be frayed, but it’s still largely intact.)

I need to leave this place, because soon, this country will be the death of me. I could end up the star of my own snuff film, except my death won’t involve sex. It won’t even be captured on shaky hand-held digital. It will be a quiet, nondescript death, the denouement to a quiet, nondescript life.

I suppose it’s cheap irony that the country that is about to become a source of so much misery for my kind, has a pointed absence of tragedy in its traditional drama. Largely due to Buddhist teaching, which instructs one to accept life and its myriad contradictions, not to struggle against it, its old stories had no concept of the “tragic hero,” what 19th century writer Herman Melville called the “mighty pageant creature.”

Even when the drama of the common people first began to emerge in China, the drama—the tragedy—was in service of a political ideology, and not the individual per se.

If this were a traditional Chinese drama, I wouldn’t exist.

Well, I may be the copy of a copy, but that doesn’t make me any less me. I have a life and I refuse to surrender it, even if it is quiet and nondescript, even if it is, in the eyes of some, a counterfeit existence.

I’m even willing to go so far as to leave my body behind, if that’s what it’s going to take. (Though I’m aware that the cost of the mapping process, as well as the fee for storage space of a downloaded personality, is a stratospheric amount of money, so my liberation will, in all probability, not take that form.)

I have heard of the rat lines, smuggling my kind off Philippine soil, towards New Guinea or Australia. I need to get in touch with someone, anyone, who can arrange for my safe departure from the Philippines.

This is not easy for me. Despite everything, I love this country; hard as life is here, it is the only life I’ve known, and I’ve come to adapt. Soon though, staying here will be out of the question.

Already, I’ve heard whispers on the street, dupes disappearing in Cubao, Guadalupe, Ermita. There’s been talk of the Yihe Quan ghosting the dupe enclaves of the Port Area.

I know this message has gone on far too long, but I needed for you to know how desperate my situation—our situation—here, is.

There is no longer any place for my kind here, if ever there was at all.

I’ll be waiting for your reply, though I can’t wait long.

For the first (and perhaps last) time,

Peque

-- End message --

Hu Han-min stares at the wafer-thin flatscreen, roaming over the contours of the message, studying its geography. He stands, undecided. Is Peque too knowledgable for a garbage man? Too eloquent?

He walks to the room’s east window, his white leather jumpsuit creaking softly with each step. The air is bathed in the garish light that streams in from the south window, which looks out onto the Street of the Vermillion Sparrow. He is pleased that the sound-proofing is complete, keeping out the noise of New Ch’ang-an’s busiest thoroughfare.

At the east window (which is his favorite, despite the fact that the west plays such a dominant role in his life; he is part of the Ministry of Justice, associated with Metal, thus linked to the West), he looks out to the Yellow Sea.

Born some ten miles inland from here, he is again thankful that New Ch’ang-an was built on this spot, on the tip of the Shandong Peninsula, and that he, Hu Han-min, Captain of the Yihe Quan, was assigned to this coveted post.

Despite all the difficult work that is to come, he is at peace, here, at the very center, in the midst of all the seasons, in the Activity of the Earth, in the greatest city of Under-Heaven, “Long Security,” the capital of his beloved Chung-hua Jen-min Kung-ho-kuo.

He looks out at the calm waters, where an off-shore arcology is being raised, its skeletal ribbings like a bizarre skeleton of some fantastical, mythical creature—some chimera—floating on the sea.

Yes, he decides, the message will do.

So much is available on the net, after all; the accumulated wisdom of the ages, ready to be downloaded and read at one’s leisure. Even a garbage man has access to the net these days. Besides, there is an earnestness to Peque’s words, an honesty.

The message is perfect. It will lure the filthy collaborators out into the open, into the light; those idiot humans taken in by the dupes, by those devilish mannikins, fiendish homonculi vat-grown in the collectives.

Of course, it is not all a lie. Like all good stories, there is just enough truth to make the whole convincing, to make it real.

There is a Peque, though he is already five days dead. He was watching the Cabaret sequence of Batch ’81 on a flip-down eyescreen when Hu Han-min’s men found him seated on the breakwater of Manila Bay.

He resisted, but in the end, all that he knew was extracted from his mind, and Hu Han-min had the basis for the message. His message. The one he has just finished composing.

“Send,” he vocalizes. His computer beeps softly in reply.

Hu Han-min gazes out to sea, watching the arcology’s Klieg lights rake the night sky, like a tiger’s stealthy claws, shredding the darkness with the blinding white glow of truth.

*This story won Second Prize for Futuristic Fiction in the 2002 Palanca Awards
CLICK ME TO PROVE IT

2006-08-24T21:11:00.000-07:00

Weight

I've been forcing myself to really love reading, that is why I've been reading small stuffs. Short stories and novels that somehow interest me. One of my favorite short stories is LAKAMBINI SITOY'S WEIGHT.

I really love the story and the plot itself. The characters were realistic and her command of the English language is great. She presented vivid scenes in her story and was able to write a unique love story...

I fell in love with this masterpiece, deeply INNNN LLLOOOVVEEE...

2006-08-24T17:49:00.000-07:00

You make my heart melt

you are just the best band ever!!!

2006-08-24T17:12:00.000-07:00

What worries me most is...

I am feeling tired and hopeless. With tons of schoolworks in my agenda planner I am now all messed-up as to what should come first. Not that I am not used to school works, but what I am complaining right now is that I can't get my acts together. It's as if my entire system is not working harmoniously. At times I think of some things without even knowing why I bother thinking of them--sounds weird?! Yes, well I know it is indeed hard to understand.

If I am to rearrange myself I must start from scratch. There are things which I must change for the better. Though I am not at all open in any ideas of changing myself. I mean who would? The hardest things one may find is criticizing his/herself. The inner "voice" is not at all times noticed. I, for myself, often ignore "her." Buti na lang and she doesn't get tired reminding me.

I am feeling fucked-up honestly, I SIMPLY HATE MS. B. Isn't she just the BITCHEST of all bitches??? If I were to impose some punishment or if I have this power to make her life miserable, well I would take that opportunity and savor every minute. Inside me is the meanest person I've ever known. I could and I would kill for something I really like, consequently, I would also destroy someone if he/she would totally piss me off.

*++++++*
I am not the "SOBRANG MABAIT" person some of you may think. I guess if you would just have enough time to know me and the things I hide, you would probably be surprised.

I consider myself the biggest player in the GAME of my life. I am draped with enigma but I guess none of you has thought of that. I may be easy to talk to and I may always agree upon what you would say, but I am not all that nice.

I curse people, but only those who have done me wrong. I erase people existing in my reality once they have triggered and disrupted my temper and patience. I AM JUST SIMPLY NOT THE FORGIVING SOUL...
AND TO MAKE THINGS CLEAR, I WOULDN'T AND I COULDN'T FORGIVE MISS B.
*++++++*

Enough of hatreds and bitching, aaarrrrgghhhh... I am in deep trouble. Grabe! A while ago I went to the recognition event for DLs for the 2nd semester of last school year. The line was too long and our cue was tiring, as well. I get to have some words with Hershey. She is nice to talk to. She smiles a lot and shares her experiences in their class. During our conversations we somehow talked of Sir E. hihihi... *Guys just to clear things out I am not interested in Sir E.* I am just wondering to death why he got that thin! Anu kaya nga ba? IS he sick? IS he using drugs? *harhar* IS he depressed? or perhaps he just went on strict diet to lose wait.

After the recognition we (Mama, Papa, Karen, Tita, and K's bf) ate at CHOWKING. Kaya eto I am stuffed! Grabe ang dami ko talagang kinain. Anyways during our meal Karen blurted out something: SHE IS NOT SATISFIED WITH HER SCORE IN THE FILIPINO PRELIM EXAM. But honestly she acquired A HIGH SCORE, AVERAGE. Me, I don't even know if I would pass the exam. GOD HELP ME PLEASE. After hearing her "lamentations" something suddenly stroke me: IF THIS GIRL SITTING NEXT TO ME IS WORRIED ABOUT HER SCORE (na ok naman), HOW ABOUT ME?!
I HONESTLY FEEL AS IF I WOULDN'E PASS. Bakit ganun I suddenly feel so STUPID!!! I am keeping my fingers crossed. KINAKABAHAN TALAGA AKO SERIOUSLY...

This school year I can't assess myself. I feel as if that I wouldn't even get decent grades... arrrggghhhhhh.... damn it! damn schooling! damn me!

Hectic

2006-08-23T17:09:00.000-07:00

Hectic

God! we are really busy.... Grabe ngayon lang ako nakapagblog for 48 years... hehehehe... i miss this space... *kisses*

2006-07-11T07:53:00.000-07:00

And the story goes...

I just got home from a school. Boy it was surely a tiring day! I ate immediately as soon as I arrived in our house and sort of rest for a while. Honestly I have greater doubts now than before as to why I keep this shitty blog. This space, well least I can be thankful of is that I have my SPACE. Unlike DEA.

The girl staring now in front of me is all wrecked and tattered. I pity her for she is suffering a lot yet I despise her for all her wicked lies. Dea, as any other normal teenager, is in desperate need of attention. Her family is all ruined and her boyfriend is very unimaginable. Instead of helping her out, he PULLS her down (kindda familiar to me).

This guy is in love with the DEA: they both are. Funny thing is when Dea started openin her eyes for other guys, boyfriend went on changing or rather improving. From the old "i-don't-care-about-your-weherabouts" to the now "i-miss-you-everytime" boyfriend has proven his worth. Unfortunately Dea is now confused. She doesn't know what to feel anymore. Her conscience says a lot of things new to her.

I, for myself, am also in such a slightly similar position.

This Dea is deeply in love with her boyfriend but another guy is into her life now. This guy, a certain Onil is making her life a lot complicated. See, Dea is finding herself in love now with this Onin without considering what her boyfriend would feel. AMEN to that! God I just don't fucking know what I would do. I feel more like Dea and she gets into me every inch of the day. I know for a fact that I must not let her in. Forbid myself from giving her sympathy. For all I know she is one hell of a "miss-goody-goody-bith."

What annoys me most is how she brags her boylets. Instead of just focusing on her boyfriend or just thinking things out she complicates them. How? By telling hundreds of lies to all the people that surrounds her (even to Onil who have seem to be in love with her, as well). 'Di ba bitch talaga?!

She gets into my nerves. Pero hindi nga ba, as a friend all I have to do is to listen to her and guide her. But the more I realize and sort things out the more she gets the better of me. I fear that time might come that she would be in grave danger because of her deceptions.

Deception- or mystification is the intent to distort the truth (wikipedia). Yep she does best in mystifying men. She is a great liar and still the very hurt and bruised girl I've come to embrace into my life.

I am all furious because I am concern of what might happen to her, and to me, as well. I am just disturbed that Onil, the only guy (other than her boyfriend) who made her feel secured, happy, and worthy would someday leave her. Why leave her? Onil has all the cards laid in front of him. The moment he discovers the truth would be the end of Dea's ephemeral happiness. Poor Dea , my awfully "battered" friend. She has had suffered enough , but question is; does she learn from them???

*sigh*

Hindi nga ba super stressful ang araw na ito. I was with Jairuz kanina on our way home. Grabe I am indeed thankful that he is around (kahit na pasaway 'yung utol kong iyun) for if not for him I would have not gone home everyday feeling kind of safe. Knowing that our schedule is super duper late and that eveyday I need to catch a ride from Espana to Taft, I sort of feel frightful. Evil doers are on the loose during those times.

Another good thing, other than having a classmate around during my ride, is that from Taft to our house the expected time of travel is about 45 minutes, but since we go home late I get to travel only 15 minutes. Wala kasing traffic jam...

*sigh* Oh s'ya better think things out for Dea ...

current mood: tired
current music: morcheeba (trigger hippie)

"Deception lies within each individual; it just waits to be tampered."

2006-06-09T22:51:00.000-07:00

`I write alone, cry alone, and bleed alone...

Love is a Sickness
by Samuel Daniel (1562 - 1619)

Love is a sickness full of woes,
All remedies refusing;
A plant that with most cutting grows,
Most barren with best using.
Why so?
More we enjoy it, more it dies;
If not enjoy'd, it sighing cries--
Heigh ho!

Love is a torment of the mind,
A tempest everlasting:
And Jove hath made it of a kind
Not well, nor full nor fasting.
Why so?
More we enjoy it, more it dies;
If not enjoy'd, it sighing cries--
Heigh ho!

Ever felt that you are all alone. Well I am right now. I have never been this depressed in my entire life. I feel unwanted. It is not just my problems with bf. It is far more than that.

***Would love measures up?***

What a fucking silly question? I really am not sure what to feel right now. I guess for some reason I feel all tired loving and giving.

I've been in a relationship for two years. Jhiez, at first, was fine but now we are not in good terms (as what I've learned in our ECONOMICS class with Sir Manapat there is this so-called LAW OF DIMINISHING MARGINAL UTILITY). That law states that there would be a time when buyers would get tired supporting their favorite goods in the market. That very law could be applied in any field of our lives even in relationships. HAYZZZ *sigh*

I think that Jhiez might be bored with our relationship or with me. He doesn't admit that. He still claims taht he loves me pero 'di ba if you are in love with the person you'll support your special someone 'til the bitter end. No matter what happens you'll be understanding and sensitive to what your partner feels.

Unfortunately, he doesn't show any concern. I am waiting for him to be nice again. I know that he just wants me to be with him all the time, but that isn't love. I am bound to have a broken home. I am now at my darkest hour yet he demands even more things to me.

It is just fine with me if he'll never get exhausted acting such a selfish bitch. I am okay with that. But noooooo he is far from that. He is worse. 'Yun na nga he never listens and yet he complains a lot.

He doesn't see my pains and agonies.

I BEGGED my aunt just so I could study. My aunt was in rage to find out that my parents' relationship are on the rocks. Why won't she? I am not mad at her. My family is ungrateful to her. I live here with my uncles and aunts. my three uncles are all drug users. One of my cousins uses SHABU and the other is addicted to MARIJUANA. My life since my ELEM DAYS had been a BIG MESS.

I've been molested several times before but my parents haven't done anything when I was a child. We can't do anything since we are just living with MY UNCLES. Both of my parents are jobless so I'm accustomed to their usual fights about money. My pops is an alcoholic gambler. He brags his money (though he doesn't have any). He steals from us (his children) so as to support his debaucheries. I am torn inside and out.

It hurts to live in our wretched home. And know what hurts more my parents are freaking selfish. They don't think of what me and my sister would feel if they would separate. Yeah they LOVE US, 'cause that is what they claim but I couldn't feel that psuedo-LOVE. Is it just me, or am I numb already?

My sister rebels. She is into this habbit of "collecting boyfriends." She goes home late in the evening. I am afraid that if she persists what she's doing she would be in her downfall. She might either get pregnant or be blinded by the influence of her "friends."

I am in deep shit. So glad that God didn't bail me out when I cursed Him for not making my family work. I've done that once. Hatred spurred me. I was blinded by what was happenign to me. He still helped me acquire enough money so as to enroll this sem.

He has been so good to me that He had saved me and cathced me. I guess love wouldn't really measure up. Because if it would then I shouldn't be experiencing these things.

Yeah I know there is a reason for everythign but you might as well admit also that not everything you want is feasible. *cries*

MOOD: pensive
LISTENING TO: All thet I've got (The Used)

2006-06-09T09:08:00.000-07:00

`Bleary-eyed...

I see red and feel red. *sigh* "I am not okay, I not o-fucking-kay" (MCR, I'm not okay)

MY FAVORITE SONG:

Help yourself and read between the lines...

So deep, that it didn't even bleed and catch me
Off guard, red handed
Now I'm far from lonely
asleep, I still see you lying next to me
So deep that it didn't even bleed and catch me I...

I need something average
Someone please just give me
Hit me and knock me out
And let me go back to sleep
I can't laugh
All I want inside I still am empty
So deep that it didn't even bleed and catch me I...

I'll be just fine
Pretending I'm not
I'm far from lonely
And it's all that I've got

I'll be just fine
Predenting I'm not
I'm far from lonely
And it's all that I've got

I guess, I remember every clench you sent me
Un-harmed, im losing weight and somebody
Eyes closed so hard
I stopped your heart from beating
So deep that I didn't even scream f*** me, I....

I'll be just fine
Pretending I'm not
I'm far from lonely
And it's all that I've got

I'll be just fine
Predenting I'm not
I'm far from lonely
And it's all that I've got

And it's all that I've got
Yeah, it's all that I've got
It's all that I've got
It's all that I've got!

So deep that it didn't even bleed and catch me
So deep that I didn't even scream f*** me

I'll be just fine
Pretending I'm not
I'm far from lonely
and it's all that I've got

I'll be just fine
Pretending I'm not
I'm far from lonely
And it's all that I've got

And it's all that I've got
Yeah, it's all that I've got

*The Used, All that I've got*

MOOD: contemplative. lolzzz

2006-06-08T20:33:00.000-07:00

`The barricades are down...

Shall I compare thee to a summer's day?
Thou art more lovely and more temperate:
Rough winds do shake the darling buds of May,
And summer's lease hath all too short a date:
Sometime too hot the eye of heaven shines,
And often is his gold complexion dimmed,
And every fair from fair sometime declines,
By chance, or nature's changing course untrimmed:
But thy eternal summer shall not fade,
Nor lose possession of that fair thou ow'st,
Nor shall death brag thou wander'st in his shade,
When in eternal lines to time thou grow'st,
So long as men can breathe, or eyes can see,
So long lives this, and this gives life to thee.

Just placed Sonnet 18 because it is very inspiring. It talks about the persona's special someone's description. The beauty of love. The glimmering sight of that very person who swept a certain person's HEART in an instant. Pero at times love is not that easy, smooth, and happy. There are also times when love seems to be cruel and painful.

Love is such an irony. It makes you happy but kills you too. According to a movie dialogue (You Got Served): "what doesn't kills makes you stronger." Is this really true? Sometimes we think that love brings us rapture. Hell yeah! We always get fucked up because of that crazy thing called LOVE. We even lose our sanity. A living proof is Marie. She is too in love with Kiko. I feel bad for her because I've felt that before. I felt ashamed, trashed, and ragged.

I pitty her but at the same time I am all greedy to let Kiko fall for her too. Sama noh?! Hekhek. I don't know why I am like this. I feel as if I am into Kiko. I am drown into his comforts. I am used to his attention. I like it when he doesn't admit that he cares for me when truth is he does without IFs and BUTs. He did his best to gain weight because I said so. He would never admit it to me that he does things for me. He may sometimes say sweet and thoughtful remarks to me. Compliment me at his best days and jest whenever I am on the verge of breakingdown. He is a swell friend. He never leaves me hanging. He cares a lot and that's what I love about him.

He makes me feel secured and loved. He is indeed my WATER (sorry Marie for using your metaphor). Now tell me where would I compare someone like Kiko? He is sweet yet I am not putting my 100% trust. He is a playboy, for all I know I am just his toy.

I am such a "slut" (not literal parang greedy lang) to be PLAYING IN THE SAFEST GROUND OF MY LOVE LIFE. I just can't help it. I can't tell bf that I am falling for another guy, though by telling that everything would be a lot easier. Easier? Yep you heard me right!

Things would fall into their places the moment I confess everythign to bf. At first he would be mad. then He'll be in rage and would end up breaking away from our relationship. As easy as it gets, ei? But the question is would i be happy with that? I would never know right now since that was just a make-believe scenario.

...He called...

Yep he did! I was excited. We talked about Marie and how he would deal with the girl's so-called FRUSTRATIONS. I just said to him to keep things real! That would not be the easiest but that IS the most effective and sensitive thing to do. *sighs*

He feels guilty I know it but I can't help telling him to please Marie (not in the passionate way, of course). I guess he was confused with the things I've said. I don't even know why I said those things. I don't know and I am in no position to find out. *grins*

Am I giving him the wrong signals. I am sure that he got depressed. Stupid mouth! Worse, I even bragged my first love's courtship. I am foolish, I know that! I just don't get me anymore.

I am messy and I am very buffled. HAAYYZZ...

...Chumps and champs...

Before creating this entry I get to talk to Jelly, my niece who is older than me, and we shared a lot of secrets. I even get to have a quality time with Kenneth and Jelly. They are smart people and cool to be with.

Tonight Kenneth will be sleeping over our house. Hekhek. I'm used to him sleeping over the house since: first, he is GAY; second, our families are close friends.

Now problem is, how would I ever talk to Kiko when Kenneth is around. he'll be sleeping in our room. Whhhaaaatttt tthhiisss ccaann'tttt bbeee hhaappeennnniinnggg.... *60 seconds before waking up into reality*

Anyways I am also talking with my other friend, via YM MESSENGER, Carl. Carl is emo like WATER. ME and Carl spoke of our favorite punk-rock bands. We both love MCR, DC, The Used, FOB, Thursday... We share a lot in common... When it comes to music. He was even surprised that I was into rock. Hekhek, actually before I am not. But after listening to some emo songs I kindda related my experiences.

I felt understood. Grabe pala talaga ang powers ng music! Huwaw!!!

Oh well... Better eat dinner now... Ciao... *stomach rumbles* hekhek

MOOD: happy (not quite) and hungry (is that a mood?)...

2006-06-08T15:44:00.000-07:00

`More emocons...

:-?? I don't know - New!
%-( not listening - New!
:@) pig
3:-O cow
:(|) monkey
~:> chicken
@};- rose
%%- good luck
**== flag
(~~) pumpkin
~O) coffee
*-:) idea
8-X skull
=:) bug
>-) alien
:-L frustrated
[-O< praying
$-) money eyes
:-" whistling
b-( feeling beat up
:)>- peace sign
[-X shame on you
\:D/ dancing
>:/ bring it on
;)) hee hee
:-@ chatterbox
^:)^ not worthy
:-j oh go on
(*) star
o-> hiro
o=> billy
o-+ april
(%) yin yang

2006-06-08T15:37:00.000-07:00

`Clark...

If there is one thing that made this day great it is Clark. A guy from my cousin's wedding. He is into rock like me. He LOVES Fall Out Boy and their song "Sugar We're Going Down." Grabe I was very stunned we like the same music. He studies Broadcom at Lyceum and guess what he is also a Dean's Lister. Grabe we have so many things in common. Plus may bonus pa gwapo s'ya! Harhar. Ang radar ko gumana na naman. Wakekeke...

Url lang ng freaking hidden smilies DAW...

http://engr.smu.edu/~kaytaz/smiley.html

2006-06-07T21:32:00.000-07:00

`Tattletales and ramblings...

Is life half-empty or hal-full???

***Water and Wind***

I just talked to Kiko and Rico a while ago on the phone. We sure do burn our phone lines. God! This day is pretty tiring. I went to jhiez's house. We snuggled and smacked. I was happy to see him again. I surely did miss him but as the usual story goes we ended up FIGHTING. We had a BIG FIGHT. This time it is VERY HUGE. I feel as if our relationship is bound to end. I don't get to see the point in making this relationship work. I LOVE HIM if that is the question but truth is he is KILLING ME.

Before posting this entry I had the chance to read Marie's blog. Marie the very good friend of Kiko is deeply in love with Kiko. I really don't know that. I just thought that what existed between them was purely FRIENDSHIP. Sadly though Kiko doesn't feel the same. He likes Marie as a FRIEND, nothing more nothing less (hehehe).

For that matter Marie was all chafing so she went on as far as entering a so-caled CONTRACT RELATIONSHIP. A not-so-good relationship with plenty of rules and regulations. A relationship with her EXBOYFRIEND. Duh! Marie's life is pretty messy. tsk, tsk, tsk. I pitty her sincerely that is why I couldn't help myself posting a commentary on her latest entry.

Her entry entails the agendas of their relationship. MArie is a 100% goth girl. She is bleeding like me (but I am not goth). She writes very well and has a pretty good command in the English language. Syempre naman. Why wouldn't she eh she came from UST.

Hayz... *sigh* She even wrote a metaphor in her blog about the wind and the water. The wind pertains to Kiko. Light, strong, yet refreshing. The wind came to her life in a nick of an eye and now the wind rarely blows in her ATMOSPHERE. The water, on the other hand, is her present boyfriend. Sad to say their relationship would expire in a matter of weeks and that is what makes her all grimaced and depressed. The water quenched her PAINS and for that she extends her gratitude to the water. Unfortunately since their relationship is bound to end she never had enough time to realize that she has fallen for the guy. LOVE TOOK HER BY SURPRISE. Weird isn't it? Haha! I feel the same. My wind is my boyfriend and my water is Kuya Kiko.

Things between me and boyfriend are getting muddled, tousled, and clattered. We barely understand each other. To my every heartaches with my boy Kuya Kiko comforted me. He stood beside me giving me strength and telling me that he cares. He knows how much I love my boy. I know that the fact that I am still in love with jhiez hurts Kiko but that is life. I know he likes me as much as I like him. I can't tell what would happen to both of us. I don't want to sound greedy but I can never live without him beside me. I can never wake up each morning without hearing his voice. I know that Kiko might just be anotehr DIVERSION. But honestly HE IS DIFFERENT. He is special. He is the water to my life.

The water that makes me alive. The water that nurishes me. The water that purifies me. The water that cools me down. Now tell me how would I live without this water in my life.

He moves freely and flows perpetually. I know that someday he may drift away from me. Now that is what I fear. It is not only because of my "benifits" with him thta I don't want him out of life, it is much deeper. He made me feel alive. I CAN VERY WELL SAY NOW THAT I AM BRAVE. I CAN SHOUT WITH MUCH PRIDE TO THE WHOLE WORLD THAT I AM BLEEDING. I AM DAMAGED AND BROKEN LIKE HELL.

***Pop you are killing me***

Here I go again blaberring. How would I ever learn to accept the fact that papa is killing us. He is a certified pain in the ass. A genuine SELF-CENTERED old man. Yeah I may sound unforgiving but the hell that is what I am feelig. I am all fucked up, fed up with my life. Seeing him complain of his health when in the very beginning he is the one to blame. He drinks a lot, an alcoholic (hard to admit), gambles a lot, and steals a lot from us.

He doesn't have any bit of RESPECT IN HIS BODY. He destroys my admiration. He was once a good man turned bad. I don't get it?! I don't know why he is like that. I can't figure things out. And damn I am all depressed here. I even wanted to cut myself and see me bleed to death. Before I fear death but now experience taught me not to.

I can die today and still live tomorrow. I would rather endure heartaches definitely than think of things between you and me pop. I am ashamed to admit that I HATE YOU. What can I do? I do every single thing I can just so I could understand your misbehavior. Eventhough you never stood for our family I showed you how I care. I followed everything you told me to (except not having a bf).

Kulang pa ba? 'Yun ang tanong? Is everything not enough. Why us? Why me... Thinking of these things makes me freakout.

Shit! Life is pretty messy! Life is half-empty! Life is a crap without GOD.

Hell yeah I savor each pain I feel and bury them in my deepest and darkest place. I don't know my purpose anymore. I am thankful to have actually feel God's presence. I am putting my every faith in HIM. I believe in HIS words. He would surely save me from these miseries.

I am drenched in loneliness. I fucked up! I am a mess! I am bleeding myself to death...

Life is half-empty but thanks to you my immortal savior I could still feel the sensation over the pain as I bleed to death...

MOOD: bouncy

2006-06-07T11:38:00.000-07:00

`First day high...

Nasasabik sa unang araw ng iskwela
Taas kamay with confidence
LET'S DO THE FIRST DAY HIGH!!!

First day of school laging may kaba
Sino ba naman ang gustong mag-isa?
Sana may cute na makatabi
May bagong kaibigan tapos ng klase
Lakas loob, hanapin ang katropa
Sumabay sa sayaw!
LET'S DO THE FIRST DAY HIGH!!!

Nasasabik sa unang araw ng iskwela
Taas kamay with confidence
LET'S DO THE FIRST DAY HIGH!!!

Umaapaw sa talino, Do the BRAINY high!
Kung mayaman si papa, Do the SOSY high!
Pag mahilig ka sa sports, Do the MVP high!
Kung cool ka at astig, Do the REBEL high!
Pag solid sa bait, Do the NICE GUY high!
Itaas ang kamay
LET'S DO THE FIRST DAY HIGH!!!

FIRST DAY HIGH!!!

Nasasabik sa unang araw ng iskwela
Taas kamay with confidence
LET'S DO THE FIRST DAY HIGH!!!

Iba't iba ang hilig
Magkakasundo sa trip
Kung gusto mong sumama
WELCOME KANG MAG FIRST DAY HIGH!!!

Taas noo, wag kang mag-alala
Tiwala sa sarili, wag ka nang mahihiya
Kumaway't wag kalimutang ngumiti
Sigurado'y sa iyo na may babati
(Hiiiiiiii!)
Lakas loob, hanapin ang katropa
Itaas ang kamay!
LET'S DO THE FIRST DAY HIGH!!!

Nasasabik sa unang araw ng iskwela
Taas kamay with confidence
LET'S DO THE FIRST DAY HIGH!!!

Umaapaw sa talino, Do the BRAINY high!
Kung mayaman si papa, Do the SOSY high!
Pag mahilig ka sa sports, Do the MVP high!
Kung cool ka at astig, Do the REBEL high!
Pag solid sa bait, Do the NICE GUY high!
Itaas ang kamay
LET'S DO THE FIRST DAY HIGH!!!

FIRST DAY HIGH!!!

Nasasabik sa unang araw ng iskwela
Taas kamay with confidence
LET'S DO THE FIRST DAY HIGH!!!

Iba't iba ang hilig
Magkakasundo sa trip
Kung gusto mong sumama
WELCOME KANG MAG FIRST DAY HIGH!!!

F-I-R-S-T D-A-Y
FIRST DAY HIGH!!!

F-I-R-S-T D-A-Y
FIRST DAY HIGH!!!

F-I-R-S-T D-A-Y
FIRST DAY HIGH!!!

Nasasabik sa unang araw ng iskwela
Taas kamay with confidence
LET'S DO THE FIRST DAY HIGH!!!

Iba't iba ang hilig
Magkakasundo sa trip
Kung gusto mong sumama
WELCOME KANG MAG FIRST DAY HIGH!!!

FIRST DAY HIGH!!!

FIRST DAY HIGH!!!

I am just plain excited that school would open in just a matter of days. I am so done living my boring life inside the house. Not that I am saying that living with my family is boring. Well I am just honest enough to say that spending time inside the house and speaking to no one but the players here in Kuya Eil's computer shop. I feel all bored and soaked. *SIGH*

THINGS THAT I AM EXCITED IN THE COMING SCHOOL YEAR:

1. new school shoes
2. new pens
3. cute guys
4. friends
5. blockmates
6. cool professors
7. duty sa OSA
8. meeting new pals
9. prospects
10. cute professors
11. BAON...

2006-06-07T10:35:00.000-07:00

`Tomb robbers...

Robber's cloth rag, found in Tutankhamen's tomb,
which contained gold rings. The thieves probably
dropped it when caught by necropolis officials.
(Photo Credit: Howard Carter and A. C. Mace, The Tomb
of Tut-ankh-amen (London, 1923--1933.)

I was watching NATIONAL GEOGRAPHIC'S TOP 5: ANCIENT EGYPT yesterday when jhiez texted me and told me to come to their house. Unfortunately I was not able to come to their place, reason was "I JUST DON'T WANT TO." Evil me stroke again! HARHAR. Anyways while I was watching the featured presentation I was definitely taken aback. I did not imagine how tomb robbing became FAMOUS in Egypt. For once I thought that only the lowest dregs of their society could commit such mischievous acts but na-ah even persons from the middle class (a.k.a. the nobles) would steal and perform sacrilege to their KING-GODS.

I suddenly became amazed to ANCIENT EGYPTS mysteries and pratices. Beautifying the pharaohs' tombs was a sine qua non for they all believe that the dead should carry all their precious belongings to the AFTERLIFE. Well basically Egyptians think that the afterlife is pretty much like EGYPT during their times. That is the very reason why they hoard treasures to the necropolis and after the burial they seal the tombs and all the riches buried under hundred miles would all be GONE FOR ETERNITY.

Now this in turn made the poor and even the middle class all greedy. They felt that such riches don't deserve being buried and forgotten. Grabe 'di ba and I thought dito lang sa 'Pinas may mga ROBBERS and DESPARATES. But come to think of it those tomb robbers though they are criminals still had their POINT.

Masyado nag naman kasing pinaghahandaan ang afterlife ng kings nila. Uhhhmm... Tsk, tsk, tsk. Pharaohs' pleasures are Egyptians' pain?! Parang ganun ang story. *sigh*

National Geo's show featured a guy his name was something like Pinudem (I can't barely remember the exact name, so sorry). GRabe the guy was a foreman but he was just a plain craftsman before. He even ended up killing his STEPFATHER (who adopted him) so as to be the foreman. His stepuncle, on the other hand, became very jealous so he recorded every act done by Pinudem. To make the story short Pinudem was killed, en masse, and impaled (using a bamboo stick).

Egyptian justice was HARSH as we all know. Impaling in the Egyptians' version of crucifixion. After impaling the sentenced CRIMINALS would be erased in the society's record as if the person did not exist. Records about the criminal would be burnt.

HARSH TO THE ENTH POWER! Wala lang I just thought that what if Philippines has a portion of ANCIENT EGYPT's justice. Eye for an eye, tooth for a tooth.

Well I just can't help thinking that maybe if our justice is quite tight I guess crime rate would be LOWER. Quite right, ei???

MOOD: grimaced??? lolz...

2006-06-06T20:37:00.000-07:00

`TICKLE PSYCHO TESTS...

*to know me better you must read the succeeding paragraphs.

Queennie, your crush is the Class President

Hello, First Lady. A smart and motivated gal like you should set your sights high when it comes to your crush. Forget the slackers or burnouts. You should go for a guy who's got brains, ambition, and people skills (good looks wouldn't hurt either). Only an achiever and well-liked beau will be able to keep up with a first-class lass like you.

A guy who's heading up the student council, spearheading a car-wash fundraiser, and winning everyone over with his charisma and charm is the right candidate for you. He's the responsible type who'll make Mom and Dad proud. And you'll feel proud when your next stop is the campaign trail or The White House!

Queennie, you're an Artiste!

Your type is the Artiste

Creative. Sensitive. A bit offbeat. Your type is the Artiste, a unique guywho knows how to express himself in many ways, whether it's through words,music, or attire. You're attracted to his unconventional ways and hisremarkable talents. He doesn't feel compelled to abide by society's norms.He believes that individuality is the key to happiness, and everything hedoes is a reflection of his "inner self." You fall head-over-heels for suchconfidence and style. Whether he's playing a song he wrote for just you orwriting you a love letter, this guy knows how to make you feel special. He'sin touch with his feminine side and doesn't need to assert his masculinityto feel manly. If we were to paint a picture of your future, the Artistewould definitely be part of it!

Queennie, your fantasy home is a Relaxed Retreat

Home sweet home. For a low-key person like you, your home should be a comfortable and warm place that soothes your spirit and warms your soul. After a tough day, you'd probably rather head to your cozy haven than blow off steam at the gym or out on the town.

Whether you're lounging on an overstuffed couch, taking a bath, or cooking dinner, your home is a place to relax and be yourself. That's why you're sure to fill it with all the creature comforts that make it so inviting to you and everyone you know. So put your feet up, kick back, and enjoy!

Queennie, you're a Doomed Middle Low!

Your Relationship

Good news — it looks like your relationship is on solid ground. You've probably just moved beyond the "honeymoon" phase and into reality. Most of the time that nervous, excited "heart-beating-faster" feeling matures into a deeper, more stable connection. And that's okay — really! If you're having doubts, though, try spending a little extra time nurturing your relationship and focusing on the intense friendship and romance you've developed. If you're still concerned in a month, come back and take this test again. But chances are you'll adjust nicely and enjoy yourself immensely!

* cant believe this one...

Queennie, you're Shy 'n' Sexy

When it comes to sex appeal, you have it — and you know it. It's just that you hold it back until you're more secure with the person of your affections. Were you the kind of kid who was nervous about the first day of school even though you knew you were smart enough to compete?

Let's face it, you probably know what you're great at, it's just getting over that initial bump of meeting someone new, getting used to them, and warming up to a situation that gives people the impression you might be a little more tame than others. But look out. Because when you reach your comfort level, you're in the zone.

Your lovers are the lucky ones because they're the only people who really know what lies beneath your timid exterior. Sure you might shy away from steamy looks in public. But get you behind closed doors and you're ready to unleash your true sexual powers. You may be shy, but you know how to hook and reel 'em in.

MOOD: tongue-tied right now... (?)

2006-06-06T18:30:00.000-07:00

Still and randomn thoughts...

Gatorade, my Jhiez, first day of school, Kuya Kiko, swimming, The Used, Sugar we're going down (FOB), internet, chatroom, chicharon, blockmates, terror professors, new building (UST), library (UST), Dapitan, P. Noval, colayco Park (paalam), Angelo Suarez (wahehehe), poems, PGC (like duh... that was so two years ago), Sir Jalin, Sir Baccay, Sir Coronacion, Ms. Arlene Domingo, bio class with MR. OLIVAR, the science freak-- JOHN, Red RIBBON, FRAP, cheesecake, lecheflan, cam, punkrock, blood, goth, EMILY THE STRANGE, suicide, sex, seven capital sins (?), Kuya Jan, ERIC, You to me are everything (the real thing)...

MOOD: LUCID... haha lolzzz

2006-06-06T02:47:00.000-07:00

Types of DREAMS...

Dreams are answers to questions we haven't yet figured out how to ask (from X-FILES). I suddenly remember the paranormal. Still thoughts I guess but ever wonder why we get to experience dreams that are prophetic??? Minsan weird talaga. I just came across a certain website with a list of DREAMS. How we interpret thme that I don't know.

What I discovered was pretty interesting. Because I don't know why I have been dreaming of my "suspected MR. RIGHT." I never had the cahnce to see his face but at least I recognize his voice. I felt bothered because of that RECURRING DREAM hay...

I'll just be posting the different kinds of dreams....

Daydreams

Studies show that we all have the tendency to daydream an average of 70-120 minutes a day. Day dreaming is classified as a level of consciousness between sleep and wakefulness. It occurs during our waking hours when we let our imagination carry us away. As our minds begin to wander and our level of awareness decreases, we lose ourselves in our imagined scenario and fantasy. Click here for a more in depth look at daydreams.

Lucid Dreams

Lucid dreams occurs when you realize you are dreaming. "Wait a second. This is only a dream!" Most dreamers wake themselves up once they realize that they are only dreaming. Other dreamers have cultivated the skill to remain in the lucid state of dreaming. They become an active participant in their own dreams, making decisions in their dreams and influencing the dream's outcome without awakening. Click here for a more in depth look at lucid dreams.

Nightmares

A nightmare is a disturbing dream that causes the dreamer to wake up feeling anxious and frightened. Nightmares may be a response to real life trauma and situations. These type of nightmares fall under a special category called Post-traumatic Stress Nightmare (PSN). Nightmares may also occur because we have ignored or refused to accept a particular life situation. Research shows that most people who have regular nightmares have had a family history of psychiatric problems, bad drug experiences, people who have contemplated suicide, and/or rocky relationships. Nightmares are an indication of a fear that needs to be acknowledged and confronted. It is a way for our subconscious to make up take notice. "Pay attention!" Click here for a more in depth look at nightmares.

Recurring Dreams

Recurring dreams repeat themselves with little variation in story or theme. These dreams may be positive, but most often they are nightmarish in content. Dreams may recur because a conflict depicted in the dream remains unresolved or ignored. Once you have found a resolution to the problem, your recurring dreams will cease. Click here for a more in depth look of recurring dreams..

Healing Dreams

Healing dreams serve as messages for the dreamer in regards to their health. Many dream experts believe that dreams can help us avoid potential health problems and help us to heal when we are ill. Our bodies are able to communicate to us through our dreams to "tell" us that something is not quite right with our bodies even before any physical symptoms show up. Dreams of this nature may be telling the dreamer that he/she needs to go to the dentist or doctor.

Prophetic Dreams

Prophetic dreams, also referred to as precognitive or pyschic dreams, are dreams that seemingly foretell the future. One rational theory to explain this phenomenon is that our dreaming mind is able to piece together bits of information and observation that we normally overlook or that we do not seriously consider. In other words, our unconscious mind knows what is coming before we consciously piece together the same information.

Signal Dreams

Signal dreams help you how to solve problems or make decisions in your waking life.

Epic Dreams

Epic dreams (or Great dreams) are so huge, so compelling, and so vivid that you cannot ignore them. The details of such dreams remain with you for years, as if your dreamt it last night. These dreams possess much beauty and contain many archetypal symbology. When you wake up from such a dream, you feel that you have discovered something profound or amazing about yourself or about the world. It feels like a life-changing experience.
http://www.dreammoods.com/dreaminformation/dreamtypes/index.html