small things

hello blog.

it's has indeed been a while since I was last here. Many things have happened since my last visit. So many, I really have no idea where to start. There's just so much to tell, some I have actually forgotten already, but some, the major ones. the significant ones, of course, I will never forget.

for starters, I just passed my first year of being in a relationship. yes, my beloved and I just celebrated our first anniversary. I never really thought I would get this far, just because I never really looked that far ahead. But just because we did get this far, it fills me with hope, and maybe, to allow myself to see that I just might not grow old alone after all.

I took him to lunch at La Cocina de Tita Moning, just for a change from our usual mall-dining experience. I also thought he might like the taste of home cooked food for a date (not my cooking, obviously). he however loved the place more, I believe. it reminded him, he said, of the place they lost to the lahar when he was young. i could see that, as he was sitting on the receiving sala sofa, that his mind had drifted off already to simpler, happier, more peaceful days. I was happy nonetheless. its details like this that make lasting memories after all.

We had our first major fight a few days after that. On his birthday, of all days. My fault really. I was an idiot. A good one at that.

Our anniversary celebration continued to his first trip abroad. We flew to Vietnam to Saigon. Needless to say, I was a nervous wreck more than half of the trip since I sincerely dislike things when things go wrong, and considering we were both going to a country we have both never been to, and that i was with a first-time flyer, things did go wrong. the trip however was an eye opener for me. indeed there are many things that i thought that i had already dealt with with myself that still were there, and indeed, it took very little to unearth all the nasties inside me again. it was saddening yet enlightening, in a way. taking the optimistic way, my beloved and i chose to move on passed our differences and trudge ahead to possible commonalities that would strengthen our bond... this transition of course was made faster with a visit to the war museum. nothing makes your problems feel insignificant once you see pictures of dead bodies and deformed people, all after effects of man's hunger for supremacy.

my beloved learned how to haggle, and not to bring heavy books in his luggage. i learned to be more relaxed and be more patient... and not sweat the small stuff. letting go gave me more room to love, and love i did.

i also, in the midst of all this self discovery, am now a licensed interior designer. yes, i passed. thank the Lord. now, to get projects. Good ones hopefully and not the errand-esque projects thrown to me by relatives who think that what I do is easy.

I brought him to Singapore this year. We both ran the Singapore Marathon, tho we ran different distances. All that time, I felt my role change from lover to mother as I was scared for him most of the time. A part of me wanted to show him the world, yet a part of me wanted to keep that innocence about him. Then theres that part of me that just wants to keep him safe and not loose him since Singapore can be rather overwhelming sometimes...needless to say my worrying had its climax when he had to take the train alone to his race starting point. there were moments where i felt i was nagging already but i guess i justified it in my head that what i was doing was for the best. im happy to say that the race was incident free and that we BOTH survived :)

so many small things to say from the many small things that i have seen. the many small things that make the patches in this quilt of memories i am now making of me and him, him an me. my heart skips a beat when i see the quilt slowly grow in my head. every stitch, every square is another crystal eternalized in my heart.

i hope to grow this quilt to be big enough to be lost in. big enough for both of us to be lost in. to lie in. to cuddle in. to love in.

Rage

i was walking to gym early this morning when i chanced upon a gridlock of jeepneys at my neighborhood intersection (yes, traffic jams do occur as early as 530am where i live, poor me). one of the jeepneys decided to park at the narrow, one lane street to wait for passengers, never minding the swelling growth of irate vehicles piling up behind him, blowing their horns like crazy, urging him to budge. since all the drivers in this country are opportunistic (including me, when the opportunity arises, of course), none of the irate motorists bothered to keep the intersection open, hence the gridlock. now, if this oblivious jeepney, who is the thrombus in this traffic blockade, just mindfully moved his vehicle a foot or two, then he would have opened up enough space for the motorists behind him to pass without him really loosing sight of potential passegenrs who, at 530am, would actually decide to ride, but no... he stood his ground. i didnt linger long enough to see how the situation resolved, but as i distanced myself from the inflaming scenario, i could hear rough shouting ensuing, my neighborhood has it limits for inconsiderate behavior too apparently.

as i walked further away, i heard a voice play in my head, and it sounded just like me, only angrier. i saw myself inside my car, immediately behind the said oblivious jeepney driver. i then found myself getting down and walking to the jeepney, grabbing the driver by the head and forcing him to turn his sight to the mess he has done. i then resulted to driving my car against the jeepneys bumper and pushing it forward. in the unfortunate but unavoidable event of violence erupting, i found myself ready for it, polar bears are the world's largest carnivores and we are highly protective in keeping that title. 

i felt my heart racing as my imagination went bezerk with the images in my head. it was so vivid and so real that my muscles were tensing and sweat began to form on my brow. i shook the images off, hoping it would not escalate anymore and began to pray. the triumvirate were nowhere to be found, all three were silent for some reason. i wondered, do i now have a fourth in my head, the one to represent rage? i suddenly felt a tinge of sorrow in me, i always knew i had a temper but have been well enough to control it, but sadly so, lately, my irritability easily flares into full displays of rage, some that i even feel is so unlike me. i have never acted any of them out yet, but if my mind can now conceive it, then outward manifestations certainly cannot be far behind. i prayed again. 

rage does not come out of nowhere, even though it may seem that way. it is a slow boil inside a pressure cooker, always starting out as a manageable simmer. i know because i have seen it before, and the prospects of behaving so uncontrollably, so violently frightened me to my core. i prayed again. 

i often confess for my temper. i have confessed for anger, but not for rage, not for contempt, which fuels rage even more. to have a temper is normal, to get angry is too, but to allow both to root itself, unresolved and eventually influence my reality, thereby breeding contempt, that however is not, and i have to confess, i have allowed myself that, hence my rage.

i pray the Lord be kind, this is one serious matter i no longer can ignore.

introspections

that sometimes, living is escaping.
even if sometimes, you can't seem to escape enough.

that sometimes, escaping is to retreat back into the hole
even if sometimes, it was the hole you first ran away from.

that sometimes the hole is a death-trap,
even if sometimes the hole is as good as home.

that sometimes, dying can be escaping too
just so you that you can be reborn again.

what happened...

let me just say, i hate surprises. no wait, i DETEST them. i never enjoyed the feeling of the unknown and just the mere fact that something of the sort could be looming in my immediate future (in cases wherein someone was kind enough to leak me information) just drives me completely insane... as if i could get any worse. hence birthdays are a particular struggle for me. my ex-best friend before would often surprise we with unusual gifts, and despite the fact that it had already become a tradition between us every year, thereby also lessening the surprise-factor, just the mere fact that there was something "unknown" about the whole thing still gets me anxious. my birthday this year was no different, rather, it was since this is the first birthday i am celebrating while being in a relationship, so imagine only the level of anxiousness i had.

consider it grooming. i had been steadily breaking it to ros (my utterly adorable other half) about how i was not particular with special dates, as well as surprises. i had also been rather consistent (or so i believed) that i am better impressed by simple things and small gestures rather than grandiose expressions. thankfully so, he is keen to take note of these things, more so, also appreciates them since he too is not a fan of very overt gestures HOWEVER, for my birthday, he begged things to be different. enter the BAD feeling... i honestly have never seen anyone so excited for another's birthday but here he was, ros, practically bubbly with whatever it was that he was planning, NO, scheming, malevolently concocting in that brain of his... of what he wont tell me. not even give me a hint. threatening him with unimaginable pain would be futile since knowing him, when he says its a secret, it really is a secret and all i really could do was wait for that faithful, o horrible day...

september 9 fell on a friday and the entire day, i was in school taking an exam. ros had scheduled me for dinner and we agreed to meet slightly earlier to "prepare" for things to come. i had finished my exam early and got to makati earlier than expected. i decided to get a birthday haircut from my barber. he commented that i looked particularly dandy today. i told him i was off to a party later, not telling him it was my birthday. i loitered a bit more and eventually parked myself at my favorite coffee shop. ros arrived a few minutes later, practically beaming. i tried to hide my growing anxiety, as well as curiosity and struggled to keep myself calm and distracted. ros and i tend to feed off each other's energies and i was afraid if i got more anxious, he would get more excited, which would fuel my anxiety even more.... its a vicious cycle. ros eventually got things rolling and began to unravel his plot. the first installment was a scrap book he had made himself, which he demanded that i open leaf-by-leaf. as i panned through every page, my heart went soft, my mind wend numb and quite frankly, all my anxiety left me. each page contained a picture of a friend, holding up a letter, all the letters put together spelled HAPPY THIRTY SECOND BIRTHDAY. twenty five pages, twenty five letters, twenty five pictures of friends, some ros hasn't even met. he even had my BARBER and my cousin from Canada pitch in. to say that i was joyful is putting it lightly. i am at a lost of any expression as i feel the emotions for such hasnt even been invented yet. in the few minutes that i was there, flipping thru the pages over and over again, i could not stop thinking how much i love ros and that i could not show him how much it was that i did. all i could do was stare at his scrap book and flip through each page again and again. 

we went out to dinner at Top of the Citi, his second installment to his well-orchestrated surprise. we dined at our own private room overlooking salcedo park, our table strewn with rose petals.... an overly cheesy detail the resto manager thought appropriate, that was until he saw two guys walk into the room. bwahahahaha! i'll let the pictures do the talking here :)

we finally capped the night off with his third installment. he bought me perfume supposedly specially formulated to make people happy. to be quite honest, he need not have had anymore. i think i have enough happy in me to last me a very long time. thank you ros. i love you very very much.

humanda ka sa birthday mo. BWAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!!!!

9.9.2011

it is with this glimmer that i lay my little faith, this sliver of light in what has been many years of walking in fog and thick mist, unable to see, feel and touch the world around me, only hear the many voices and noises that surround me, following their direction, hoping that the ones i do heed are leading me the right way. i have walked in fear and in uncertainty all my life, even if i tried my best to hide it, even if i tried to show that i knew what i was doing, even if in truth, i was not... but you knew this, indeed, you knew this all along. nothing is hidden from you and my heart, my arrogant mind, and my falsely capable self was exposed. i was stripped of my strength and you allowed this to happen, only because you purposed it that it should be so, because it had to be. i fought you. i struggled against you but you were stronger. you were also steadfast and strict. you remained with me all this time, unwavering, unchanging, unrelenting, ever patient, ever sure, waiting until i had nothing more to offer and throw, waiting till i could surrender and see myself for what i am, what i have become... nothing. i was nothing. in my intelligence, this i could admit. i amounted to nothing. all that i am was nothing. all that i have been doing, that meant nothing as well. until i could realize this in my head and in my heart, you did not leave me, and now that i have seen this much of this universal truth did you open a way, this glimmer of hope, this light to my path, to lead me to something. you led me to see you for what you really are, not as my oppressor, but as my savior, for you have saved me from my just fate; my redeemer, for you had purchased me with the highest price, your own life; my emancipator, for in your death, you have unshackled me from all those that have bound me; my lord, for i am no longer of my own.

my praises are but a humble sacrifice to you. thank you. thank you. thirty-two years, you have been faithful. thank you for never leaving my side.

i love you, lord.

through the storm

i cannot say that i have lived a long and full life yet, though on many instances, i may certainly feel like that. so on the often occasions when trials come my way, i sometimes have to remind myself not to groan or complain or murmur that i feel so oppressed, for certainly, someone as young, as immature, as fresh as i, cannot compare to those who indeed can claim that they have lived and have gone through many (unpleasant) things, but yet, have surpassed them all and have come out alive, quiet, seasoned, perfected and content.

recently, i was dealt a heavy blow, so heavy that i was rocked to my core. it challenged all that i had believed in, but more so, it exposed me of my delusion, something that i was the most thankful for.

i had always thought that i had well exercised faithfulness in my short, and rather different existence. but as i was dealt that blow and my faith was indeed tested, i learned, rather bitterly, that i had actually none but what i had thought was faith was actually just a convenient surrendering to the situation. though outwardly they looked the same, one was supported by an omnipotent God, while the other was a hollow act by an arrogant man. there was no power in my seemingly righteous act, neither was there anything righteous about it, and i was exposed.

it was a most horrible and frightening feeling, so much so that i still feel it now, the agony of it all. but despite the pain, despite the suffering, i also can say i was not left with nothing, though everything i knew and held dear was taken away. in my destitute, God finally became real, which i guess was the real reason for all of this, and clinging on to Him became the true exercise of faith. everything needed to be taken away, because God was to give me something greater, so great that it needed maximum room, room i did not have because i had cluttered myself with insignificant things.

john nelson darby said it well, "oh the joy of having nothing, and being nothing, and seeing nothing, but a living Christ in glory..."

i will not say that i do not pine for the things i treasured before, for the concepts, the self-righteousness, the might i had in me to overcome with my own strength. old flavors and old appetites take time to change, but time i do have, that and the wonderful experiences of having everything i need when i give up everything i want.

o what mercy.

o what glorious, all-sufficient grace.

fatigue

there is no fight in me anymore
as i push against this surmountable wall,
against its brittle bricks and crumbling stone,
relenting to the pressure
i exert on its weary masonry.

the killing blow

i wish i had a fragment of abraham's faith right now.

for no angel came to my beloved's rescue,

no one hindered me from making the final, cutting blow.

i wish i had a fragment of abraham's faith right now... but maybe a bit more

for abraham will never know the killing feeling i will forever know.

on a lighter note...

the sparkle in your eyes
                     said it all.
words, suddenly,
lost all their meaning.
          dumbfounded.
mute.       scrambling, lost.
but words were not necessary,
that day.                 only sight
                                           and seeing.

emotions                              and feeling
a little of touch
                      a little of smell
                                           a dash of hearing

just a little

else everything in my overflowing
heart
                       spills all over the unworthy floor.

happy ninth.

walang kwentang review

and so i finally, FINALLY happens. i had been wondering why it hasnt set in yet, maybe, by some great luck, i had skipped that phase... only to collide with it head-on a few moments later.
of course im still talking about school and the blasted review class im taking for my exams. three weeks down and just when i thought i had finally found my rhythm, i wake up monday morning and found myself not being able to recall ANYTHING from the past two weeks. not only could i not recall anything, but the drive i had been banking on to push me till the end was all of a sudden, absent. the surging spring that was once gushing up within me was dry. all i was left with was my naked self, vacant, clueless and to a certain degree, stupefied. i was like "WTF happened?!" i got to work still feeling rather blank, and when i got to class later hat evening and saw my classmate buried till their noses in their notes, i started to get REALLY worried. there's something wrong.... i can FEEEEELLLLL IT!!!!

a few moments later, in comes the lecturer. her credentials say she topped the exams during her time, which wasnt that long ago. i even think i recall reading she graduated with honors in the country's top university.... whatever they may be, however colorful her academic resume may sound.... i really cant see any of it in her way of lecturing. even more depressing, when she teaches, i feel i get stupider by the minute. i cant seem to even think about the subject while listening to her. now, to add more insult to her slow torture, she decides to give a surprise quiz. needless to say, i failed miserably. blank brain, blank paper. if this happened when i was still in school, i would have never been able to live with myself... but now in review class, while i supposed to be surrounded by the freshest products of the best universities in the metro, while im supposed to be inspired by all this youth and the prospects of a thriving design industry.... i instead am finding myself dejected and, well, drained.

fear is slowly setting in. to think that i had survived what was supposed to be the THIRD most difficult exams given in the country (we had a national passing rate of 21%), i am slowly finding that i am getting more anxious with this one instead.

lord... help me.

writing the exams

i'm finally talking to my classmates, though i still dont know their names.

yesterday was my first taste of the design class wherein we are giving a client profile and a set of requirements to fulfill. we are then given 9 hours to complete everything. i am happy to say i survived day 1 though i think i will have deductions for the quality of my work. even if it has been the suggestion of previous lecturers that it is more important to finish everything, rather than submit a few exemplary work, it really wouldnt have mattered since my brain was spitting garbage anyways. we were supposed to color our drawings and all i could do was wash the entire piece in a sea of beige. it was sooooooo mediocre it hurt. i found myself questioning, how in the WORLD can i call myself a designer if i design like this.

i couldnt help looking around at other peoples work and i found myself get more dejected. 4 years of actual practice hasnt shown in my work. i truth, it looked like i lived in a design hole for all that time, a practical death sentence to any designer since trends get churned out every millisecond! whats the latest craze today may be the dying fad tomorrow... and i certainly felt nothing CRAZE-worthy with my output.

of course i try to pacify myself. a full-time day job in the auto-spare parts biz, sideline interior design work, articles, family, lovelife, and miscellaneous errands, coupled with studying for the exams, isnt the easiest thing to do.... then again, i am just pacifying myself and i think my ego need none more.

i honestly dont know why the exams are this important. i just know they are. i just know i have to take it. of course my profession or my person doesnt depend on it. i had already learned that from taking my first exam, many years before, but i guess taking the exams this time is more for ending what i had started when i decided to go into design. the exams would be the clear cut moment when i can tell myself that i am or had fully invested myself when i took this course.

from the looks of my work, i may not be the most brilliant, nor the most artistic, but that shouldnt bother me anymore. i work because i like it. taking the exams is just another project. i just hope it doesnt kill me in the end... coz i feels like it sometimes :)

pardon for the post. my brain hasnt fully recovered from yesterdays exam yet.

Another driving post

I cannot recall how often i have mentioned about my bitter-sweet relationship with driving. Although i cannot part myself with the obvious advantages of being able to shuttle myslef, at my own leisure from point A to B, i also cannot seem to get over the fact that it drives me crazy sometimes being behind the wheel, almost to points when i would find myself palpitating and close to screaming till my dog's eardrums hurt.

I have always wished i was a calm driver, someone who remains unfazed when jeepneys swerve unmindful of other vehicles, when pedestrians lazily cross as if theyre impurvious to on-coming metal, when pedicabs, motorbikes, dogs, cats, the occasional rats simple occupy the road without any consideration that death in the city comes with 4 wheels and xenon headlights. How i wish i could just be overwhelmed in my own zen rather that wishing for the most unfortunate of scenarios for those who would find themselves in the most unlucky of places, in my war path, for that is often the case when i drive. My route is my battle. Apart from rare sundays and pacquiao fighting on the idiot-box, my route always feels like driving in a video game.... Maddening.

More often than not, i drive with the radio off. I learned that music influences my mood, especially when i am most volatile when behind the wheel. I however give in when listening to classical music since, i thought, surely orchestral music can sooth my troubked driving soul. It did initially, until you get to fast paced, high-octane pieces that is, then its almost listening to heavy metal as well (brass... Heavy metal indeed). So im back to having the hum of my engine as my background noise. Imagine what would happen if they suddenly play VERDI!!!!

This morning, i tried doing what i used to do before, that is to sing. I think it worked since i got to the office with the slightest bit of agitation. I guess ill try this for a couple of days. Dont worry, il keep it soft. Im sure the weather wouldnt mind.

Choices

Basing from my personal experience, God often speaks to me in a very soft, and quiet way. I guess He expects that, since i am the naturally introspective type, that it would only be amatter of time before i would hear what He has to say to me. On the other occasions however that i have been lagging on my regular self analysis, God would exercise (tho rarerly, i must point out) a level of impatience and speak with a louder voice, making sure that even deaf ears can hear, particularly mine.

I guess it was a growing voice within me, a soft but persitent nudging that started it all. Again, my views about my identity, me, and my homosexuality was put under scrutiny, and like how i was many years ago, i find myself at a lost of answers.

I would like to think that i have made peace with what i am, but with how things are presently, i dont think i had been thorough. I cannot deny that i am to a great degree happy at my current situation. I am out to a lot of ppl and am blessed by their unprejudiced acceptance of me. I have close family members who know i am gay too and have taken me just as i am. I have found someone to love and who loves me back. I am surrounded by great and supportive friends, gay and straight. What else is there not to be happy about? However, i still cannot say that i feel complete. Though i cannot complain of the blessing i have been given, a part of me still feel that there is something amiss with it all.

I turn to God for enlightment often when i am faced with situations like this, but unlike when i was still searching for the real me, many year ago, i am a bit defensive now whenever i am face to face with my Master. i find that my mind braces for an arguement and fellowship with God often becomes uncomfortable, and consequently, brief and dry. I knew there was something wrong, but i didnt want to address it just yet. I guess i was fearful to do so. Fearful that in exchange for what i seek, God would ask me what i dread Him to ask, for me to choose.

I don't believe God is cruel. On the contrary, my faith in His unlimited goodness is what keeps me to Him. The problem obviously is with me. My short sightedness, my self righteousness, my pride, my self, and my very strong mind. A verse from Revelation comes to mind, how God stands at the door and knocks, and whoever oepns the door, He will come in. I hear the knocking, i hear the pounding, but i choose to speak to God thru the peep hole instead, distrustful of His intentions, unwilling to let Him have His way with me, even if in my mind, I know this is what i have to do.

falling again

there has been a question that, for the longest time, i had fears of asking. i have always known how critical i am, especially with myself, and though answering this question may come so easy or so simple to many, it is not too so with me. i always believe to always answer truthfully, honestly, and unless i can qualify, quantify, justify my answers, then i rather avoid the question altogether, lest make an erroneous, even worse, a false answer.

what is love?

the question hurts for though my mind and my faith and even life experiences can give me many ways of responding, i cannot, in my opinion give a solid answer. i may have accounts of it, ideas of it, stories of it, but if i were to extract from my own personal experiences, then i feel i draw from a deep and empty well. i don't think i am love-less. i however feel that my mind often, sad as it is for me to admit, get in the way of feeling. maybe when made to draw from my well, i do so with the slotted basket of my mind, always open to suggestion or to new thought, never really tightly grasping onto rather complex and profound ideas such as love.

i often shudder at the thought, often when lost in deep introspection. my deeper self would ask how much do i love and i always find myself at a lost for words. i am caught speechless ever time, and the weight that i often carry myself, always severe, always calculating, would suddenly get dropped and i am left without defense, naked, frail and bare, vulnerable to the harsh reality of my shallow existence, subject to my own chastising now of never learning to appreciate, enjoy, cherish the many affections that come my way. that i had allowed myself to even have these pass me by, fall through the cracks of my slotted basket, into the deep well that is my unquenchable heart. what then, my deeper voice would ask eventually, would you offer when it is your turn to love? when you have nothing but empty gesture, hollow thoughts, and vanity to your credit.

my mind is a powerful, yet a dangerous thing. but i am slowly learning, that the heart can be as well.

in the quiet moments of my reverie, on the rare occasions when my mind is exhausted, my heart quivers. it skips, even if a little to the dream of having you wrapped with my arms, your read resting on my chest, your body's weight pressing on mine, and for the very few occasions, my body relinquishes its need to be strong and allow itself to be lost in your small power. how lovely it is drown in you, that i do not struggle but feel an overwhelming sense of rest. it is death in its sweetest form. a lovely execution, smothered by your affection, suffocated in your tenderness. i could stay here forever, until my mind awakens again and he slowly leads me away, loosening my embrace, tightening again the reins.

what is love? i know a little bit of it now. my mind tells me of its greatness but i once had nothing to substantiate it, that was, until i once again find myself falling, quickly, gently back into you, deep into your overflowing well. there is love. i hope you find it in me too.

the possession

the possession. pencil. 5.24.2011

inner battles again

was listening to the radio while on the drive to work this morning, and the commentator of the show i was listening to was discussing how, through Christ, we can be freed from every sin. His topic this morning was about low self-esteem though, something i quite honestly never really really associated with sin. he however was able to weave the web, like how good speakers do, and explained any that causes us to miss the mark (which is what sin really is) from enjoying what God has intended for us, all of it can be defined to be as sin, so low self-esteem, that feeling of worthlessness, that too is also sin.

i found myself wondering, is humility and low self-esteem the same? for quite often, in expression, they are seen the same and similarly, people react to them the same way. also, how about feign humility, something us chinese seem to be brought up to practice, what about that?

i guess it's not our job to discern who is truly humble and who is faking it or who is having problems with self worth. i guess the real work should be more of a self examination, that God will enlighten us of our real condition with regards to whether or now we are truly humble. i cannot deny, though i exercise to be humble and find discomfort in people's praise, deep down, i relish it. certainly who doesn't want to bask in people's approval? in the same matter, i also catch myself exercising my authority, even if its severely misplaced, over others, forcing my opinion, unrelenting to my position, and being stubborn to see beyond reason. i also am guilty of feeling never content with what i have, more so, what i pine for those i cannot have and feel that those will complete me. it's a self feeding lust, an auto-cannibalization that leaves me often questioning my value, my real potential, and instead, cause me to invest my energies in pursuing shallow, meaningless things in the hopes that they will satisfy me.

its easy to acknowledge these things. i find no difficulty in doing so since, having feigned humility allows you to see your lesser points and yet still save face. but the work ends there, acknowledging. i dont think i have taken any measures of really changing, more so, in a deeper sense, allowed God to heal that part of me. my self-worth, ironically, is deeply ingrained to my feeling of worthlessness. i find power in pity and it is a deadly thing.

i was disclosing some thoughts to ros this morning and his reaction to it threw me off, in a sense. in my stillness i began to feel a growing defense building inside of me and the familiar bitterness leered its ugly head once again. on a positive sense, it put my rather irrational emotions at bay. on the negative sense, it once again exposed me of this rouse i play. fooling myself, fooling other people, even those who are close to me.

there is much work that yet has to be done. i pray i can be given enough strength to overcome it all.

running in the rain

it all began with the first clap of thunder, while the dark skies went ablaze with flashes of white, hot, light. the temperature changed. the air changed as the heavy silence after the thunder hushed almost everyone as it heralded the oncoming storm. lighting flashed again, the following thunder rolled in, much crisper this time. people began to move faster, walk more hastily, seeking cover, finding shelter, while ross and i kept steadily in our pace.

the wind's direction changed, like the turning of an invisible rudder. above us, though we could not see it, clouds billowed and churned as the storm grew angrier and louder, it seems, with every passing minute... with every passing minute we ignored its fury. we, ros and i, as well as other runners who too kept to their routine, horses of a giant carousel, ignorant or feigning ignorance to the violence that is building overhead... and then it came. a gust of wind blew in the first drops. the head phalanx was rushing on its way.

the rain fell heavy. it was strong, cold and unrelenting, but so were we. we ran in the rain. we ran in its almost solid wetness as drops got pounded into our soaking clothes, almost piercing into our wet, wet skin. water ran down into our eyes, it flowed into our mouths, into every willing orifice, hoping i guess, the discomfort would slow us down, but it did not. we kept to our pace. the trees rustled and shook, spraying the road with huge drops apart from the ones already falling. they hit you, almost like pebbles of hard liquid, stoning you, but we kept to our pace.

i began to slow down after that, the cold now setting in, my muscles now beginning to fatigue. i began to fall away, but you kept to your pace, and for the first time tonight, i was able to watch you run from behind. i was able to see the joy that beamed from your person as you drove yourself into the oncoming rain. you ran into puddles of deep water, purposefully splashing them with your new shoes. you stretched your arms forward and told me of how you, as a child, would pretend to be driving planes when would you run back then. you then began running in and out of the lane, criss-crossing about, ignorant of people watching, ignorant of the violence from above, ignorant from the deluge below, from the harsh cold wind, from the rough rustling leaves, from the steady admirer beaming at you from behind.

i have never seen you so happy.... and so was i.

fatigued

i sometimes find myself feeling panicky on times when i think about the future. it seems as days pass and the more i feel older, a part of me suddenly gets jolted awake and scrambles to do something, anything, just to feel like i am not living a "wasted" life. not really saying that i feel i am living a rather worthless life, but i cannot help but think that i can be better, greater, live a more productive, fulfilling life, than what i have now.

i would like to think i dream good dreams, much grounded dreams, but a part of me is slowly realizing the tragedy that maybe, my good dreams are just too good to be true; or maybe that destiny has prepared me just to live a life that is mediocre, that i really am just meant to be mediocre and was mistakenly given a brain, a soul that should have belonged to another person, definitely not a person like me.

i used to very curious. i lived to learn and spent most of my time wandering and wondering, finding myself in the oddest of situations and thereby finding myself learn the oddest of things, that was, until i needed to grow up and learn the sensibilities of staying put, of growing roots and, in a way, cling onto something. now, my wanderings are limited to an office chair and browsing the internet, reading about the lives of those who maintained living the curious life, and trying my best through what remains of my boundless imagination, to presume to see what they may have seen, heard, felt, tasted. maybe in doing so, something will get rekindled in me to once again yearn to break free and stretch beyond the confines of this prison i am in.

my work consumes me now, and i don't even bother resisting the bite.

perched 5.2011

sizing up

i was getting off from my car this morning, looking rather like a mexican guerilla, as my mom would often jest of me. slung around my body are: my usual everyday man-bag; my rather full messenger/ laptop bag; my lunch kit on one hand; plus for today, my coffee press. needless to say i get where the analogous visual comes from and quite honestly, i dont really mind. anyway, as i was walking towards my office from my car, all my bags slung across me like Ms. Supsup's beauty queen sashes, my eye caught the sight of this rather good looking man from a distance. he was tall, pale skinned, and from the looks of it, chiseled, based on his form-fitting black shirt and jeans. he was walking in my direction so i could not stop and take a better look at him until i turned at the corner and glanced at him from the corner of my eye. just as i did, i noticed he was looking at me as well.

i recall asking my kuya sometime back regarding a curious observation i have had. i didnt really want to think too much of it and conclude anything about it yet, for surely, what really do i know? i asked him: i noticed when we're out that people often give me the once-over. i know i do it with people as well and often when i do, it's because either my gaydar alerts me, or i find the person attractive, or i find that what he (or she) is wearing is particularly nice and i need to take mental note. i presume this is also the reason why people do it with me, more often than not however, i think i alert their gaydar. but what really i find curious is that it seems, straight men do this as well. i've encountered many times noticing guys, even when with their girlfriends in tow, would glance at me. glancing i guess is ok, but to stare is something else, and not wanting to boast or anything, but i get stared at. kuya chided that maybe i just look weird in their eyes, that and he guesses, that i look huge as well. doesn't mean that straight guys have gay tendencies and are checking me out, guys, he guess, just like to stare.

i wonder if its just pinoys though. i dont recall people in dubai doing it, except if they're pinoy. people in HK or in SG, i found, dont do it too much either. i wonder if its because pinoy guys are just vain. i read an article stating that we're the most vain men in asia, straight or gay.

seems to make sense.

white noise

trying on a new look, maybe it will help clear my head of certain things.

found myself in contemplation last night, something i haven't done in a long while. as the winds howled while they tore through tattered roofs and punctured walls in my neighborhood, i found myself lying half awake, half asleep, wondering why my conscience wasn't making the same ruckus.

it's not often you find people who "stress" over having a silent conscience, certainly it cannot be a bad thing not having an incessant nagging troubling you from with. however, like with a lot of things i have learned in my short existence, there are certain things, even unpleasant ones, that i cannot live without; a handkerchief in my pocket, a street atlas, bad smelling chinese medicine, and a conscience that would bother you from time to time. i am not necessarily saying that i am bothered with the fact that i have a silent conscience, rather, what really worries me is that there is a huge difference between a quiet conscience and a silent one... for only the dead truly remain silent you see.

no connection

kuya and i were at the powerplant mall last weekend when i chanced upon this designer/ stylist as he got on the escalator. i pointed him to my kuya and commented "he seems like a very sad and lonely man". kuya wondered why i had that opinion of the designer since, obviously, i didn't really know him personally. i said i follow his Twitter and more often than not, his tweets would always carry a rather melancholic undertone... that and he shops like there's no tomorrow. the latter statement was my kuya's light bulb moment as he quickly interjects that the designer might be trying to fill up the void he feels with all that shopping. i certainly hope my speculations are untrue.

while working out at the gym this morning, just like how strange things just kind of POP into my head, i suddenly found myself thinking of a friend and his relationships. odd thing about me, i unconsciously gather information on the people i meet and eventually find myself noticing   patterns in their behavior. this friend was not an exception. despite how it may be that his carries himself with much confidence, even to an authoritative degree, i cant help but feel that this air that he carries feels "brittle", for lack of a better term. like if i were any meaner and malicious, i could easily tear him down. i also could not help but feel like whenever i am around him, even if i am not directly interacting with him, that i find his presence quite draining, almost as if my energy diffuses towards him. i don't know if its just me (which could probably be just that) or i should just trust my gut.

i recall a portion of my morning reading this morning while, well, reading. it was about the difference between salvation and redemption. i often mix the two and interchange them, though there really isnt anything wrong with doing so since both were accomplished by Christ when He died on the cross, it needs to be said tho that there is a difference between the two, their main difference is the point from which we were saved and redeemed from. when man fell and sin entered into creation, when Satan usurped us and frustrated God's plan for us, we became captives. because we we stolen away, God, through Christ, had to save us back unto Him, save us back from our sins, Sin, the world, Satan and of death, which He did when He was crucified and died, as He died for all. His death, as the unique death, as the unique sacrificial lamb, also redeemed us. He paid the highest price to buy us back because according the the righteousness of God and according to the law, we all who have sinned are all destined to die. Christ's death and the shedding of His blood satisfied the highest requirement of the law, thereby redeeming us all back unto God. Now, because of that all-accomplishing death, we are saved from sin, Satan, the world and death, and have now the right to be reconciled back to God.

i thought of this portion as i pondered on my feelings, of feeling unworthy, of feeling condemned, of feeling lost. i then recalled this part, that i have been saved from all that weighs me down and that all had been dealt with already for me. more than that, i had also been purchased, bought, redeemed with the blood of my God, of which, i too am liberated from the judgment of the law. i have no excuse to feel negative, nor depressed, nor weak, for God had done everything already for me.

PUCHA!

my blog doesnt exist DAW!!!!??? lecheng google yan. actually... LECHE tong araw na to!

in the sauna

it can be rather exhausting, sitting in a room filled with strangers, trying to mind your own business, but really, honestly, all you can think about is everyone one else around you. you try your best not to fidget, not to move suspiciously nor cause any undue attention to your person since, to do so would be counter-productive, counter-productive to this game you had begun to play, to be this pretend-person, this unreal imaginary figure, who seemed to be completely detached from his present surroundings, but in truth, he is so immersed in it, it almost feels like he's drowning.

you hold your chin level, almost parallel to the wooden floor. this was your default, nonchalant position. you keep your head erect, your shoulders low, your arms loose as you do not want to look intimidating despite your bulky frame. you try to keep your form looking relaxed, even if your entire body is ready to jump at the slightest nudge. you control your breathing, almost to a maniacal degree. one breath every 2 seconds, you exhale with mouth agape. you toy with your ankle, and twist it around like drawing small circles in the air, a way to distract, you thought, to keep people's attention away from the nervousness that is beginning to show on your face, but at the same time, to draw attention to yourself, like winding back the line to the spool, the hook, you sense, is now in place.

it starts from the feet, from the tensing of the ligaments of the toes, their force marked on the thin skin that fails to hide them. it leads up to the leg, to the flushed calves and the engorged shin, now pink with blood, beads of sweat outlining the sharp bone that cuts through its length. it continues on to the muscular thighs, to thin valleys and fine troughs that score its surface like ripples of ungodly enchantment. you feel the slow crescendo of your heart, pulsing to an audible beat. it throbs in your head, on your neck, through your chest, down your gut, lower, deeper, harder, stronger. the hips then tighten. the torso reacts. you feigned a spasm and shift your position. and just like that, you cut the line and let the catch go.

good game.

reckoning

it's like sitting on a lone chair,
while sitting in a large empty room,
facing a towering dormer window,
facing east towards the harsh,
bleaching rays of the warm,
warm summer sun.

you sit there frozen,

fingers tightly gripping your seat, 

as if a wrecking ball is set off on full swing,

it's weighted momentum sent crashing towards you. 

you stare outside, not daring to blink, 

your eyes stinging, by the glare, 

by the arid room air, 

as you try to betray your innermost whims, 

for survival, for safety, 

and force yourself to see past beyond the glistening window pane, 

past the shine, 

past the lush valley that spans in between, 

towards the distance to where the unknown rest, 

ominous, evil, dangerous, painful unknown, 

hiding in the shroud of the golden rays of the warm, summer sun. 

the cold cannot protect you.
the quiet cannot save you,
and the slow crescendo of noise from you past
begin to fill your hollow head with echoes and whispers and unperceivable horrors. 
like galloping horses they approach
and your tight, tight grip forces you
not to run away.
they are coming, you see them
they are coming, you scream

and the towering window begins to fold before you

it bends and it bows, like that of a beautiful memory

large eyes blinking, slowly shutting to the brightness outside

the shadow of the light, now approaching from above

and as the light succumb to the night

as the sun becomes veiled from sight

the quiet begins to prevail again

the voices, the screaming, the wails, the clamor

begin to fade again to the hushed stillnesss

of the emptiness of the room you are in.

the temperature drops

your grip relaxes

your breathing slows

and your shoulders fall

it is over, finally. 

you had buried everything all over again.

what's love got to do with it?

kuya and i had a little chat while on the drive to his friend's wedding reception. while on the drive, i asked him about this "thing" my mom had brought up that morning, about another suitor taking interest in the girl he was showing intentions for. though i didn't really want to blow things out of proportion, i guess, the queen in me just needed some tension and drama, i nudged the idea that this means competition for my kuya, and indirectly, i was feeling the need to wage war for some reason. kuya, being the level-headed specimen that he always is, could not be bothered by my calls to arms, or he looked like he couldn't be.

as i eventually calmed down and the discussion progressed, i learned that now that both of us are older, my kuya and i are starting to think more and more alike, a fact that i greatly welcomed since i always thought my kuya to be one of the smartest people i know. when asked on the issue of love, he and i seemed to be on the same page, that is, love is not a feeling, but really a decision. we choose the people we want to be with, not just because of a feeling, but because we believe we can build a life with that person. feelings are too superficial, and do not anchor itself deep enough to create stable relationships. it sounds cold, it sounds frigid even, most especially to those who swear that romance is the way to go. true, i think romance should be present, but what if romance dies and people start pondering on the the idea that since they fell in love, that maybe they have fallen out of love? kuya said such ideas to be ridiculous. love is not passive that you just fall in and out of, love is an action and is an active word. it requires decision and commitment, and not just relying on the whims of erratic emotions.

i was quiet now, ruminating on his words, now a small smile forming on my face. it got me thinking of irog, again a slight recalibration on my part, a re-reminder as to why i am here with him in the first place, why i decided on him after just a few dates, why, even with our differences and personal unlovely details, those don't seem to matter so much since thankfully, love is a decision, and five months running, i'm still sticking to my decision.

the fraying

it was that lady crossing the street, unmindful of my car's speed and my blaring horn scolding her for jaywalking and crossing into my line of way, not even mentioning that she had her kid in tow, her child shielding her grossly rotund body in the case i decide to run her over and maybe rid this world of one more idiot, not much harm done since it seems, we have in abundance of them.

it was that cop that pulled me over while i was driving along EDSA, for violating some traffic rule stating that if one is on the U-turn lane and fails to take a turn, then pull the son-of-a-bitch over. of course he fails to notice that i would be on the right lane, if only he'd do his job and bust the maniacal manner of driving the buses take, as well as the crisscrossing motorcyclists who ride as if playing "patintero" with death. of course he threatens to fine me a ridiculous amount of money for the most minor of offenses. of course he was extorting me for snack-money.

it was the jeepney driver who would stop in the middle of the street, completely obstructing traffic, just so he could take his time to drink his bottle of water, while waiting, hoping that some passenger would decide to ride in his vehicle. never mind the incessant clamor of motorists, now piling up behind him slowly growing livid as to why he was not moving.

it was the kid who played outside our house, sprawled on our driveway, engrossed in his precursor-to-gambling game, expletives building much of his vocabulary, since his mother, equally engrossed in her game of bingo, sitting a few feet behind him, communicates with him the same way.

it was that guy who would bum across our house the entire day, smoking, drinking, playing his tapes of heavy-metal music, guns 'n roses, metallica, parokya ni edgar, every morning. he sits in front of the speakers while they bombard his probably damaged eardrums, reading the paper or maybe, eating off the floor, food provided by his elderly in-laws who day in and day out work selling fruits at divisoria.

it was seeing that picture in the papers about how so many people were rallying to oppose the Rh bill. a movement headed by many empowered and self-righteous religious groups since they believe the bill will corrupt the morals of the people. of course it's debatable what morals they are trying to protect, more so, if they really are even the right people to protect them.

it was seeing the local shows we have on TV and realizing how i miss my sesame street.

it was seeing the kind of people who run the country, a band of (in no particular order) thieves, murderers, cowards, idiots, criminals, lunatics, geriatrics, celebrities, cronies.

it was hearing and reading about the 50 Japanese workers who decided to stay behind. 

i told my mom, while on the drive home from lunch, after pondering all of these things.... that i do not want to grow old fighting to survive these things, that it's time we begin to considering leaving now. she, after being so resistant all these years, for the first time, agreed.

jenga

a soup of words, 

is as best as how i

could describe them. 

semi-formed poems,

thoughts, feelings, all 

swimming in my head,

bumping, waiting, waiting

for the right sentences

to form, as if the words 

try to set themselves onto

these pre-formed molds, 

a kind of fixed measure 

for what my brain sees as 

perfect and beautiful. 

sentences merging together

to make paragraph blocks, 

an architecture of words,

building, forming shapes,

forms, buildings, structures

that inspire, intrigue and awe,

spires, towers, and cathedrals 

that aspire to reach heaven.

one on top of the other

they pile, stacking till ever 

so high, so high until i have

none more to say,

none more to write, 

think or do.

my stores are depleted, 

my ideas all 

exhausted

either that or 

when my thoughts

fail me and everything

 just comes

crashing 

                  down.

hiatus is OBER!

the past month and three quarters had been toxic to say the least. so toxic that my body had no other recourse but to bog down and allow me to get sick, thinking that would cause me to slow down long enough for it to recoup. unfortunately for it, my brain, stubborn as it has already been defined, chose to completely ignore the fact that i was already running a fever, my innards are refusing to function what is medically normal, i was loosing sleep, eating uncontrollably, developing the worst stress-induced eczema flare-ups, and other maladies i don't even want to mention. indeed, slowing down and taking a break seemed like the only option i cannot take as i trudged on, till today, to finish everything i had gotten my eager hands on. day-job where work seems endless, freelance design duties that requires utmost vigilance, articles with deadlines to meet, family duties, boyfriend duties, friends, Romans, COUNTRYMEN!!!!!

the blog was the first to suffer. i had wanted to write for many an occasion already but just as i was supposed to hit the first letter, something more urgent came up. either it was to conserve the words in my head before i hemorrhage them all onto my two articles, or i save up on much needed energy to survive the very long day ahead, i had to give up writing and ranting on this blog for a while since, well, it was the least of my priorities at those times (sorry blog).just when things started to feel like, well, its time to end this journal of mine because life is now getting in the way, my stubborn brain again exercises its "stubbornaity" and churns out THIS post, just to end the inertia of inactivity and rantlessness.... as if the world really needs more ranting.

so what is there now to write about? besides work, that is? sex? never really on this blog, though i have to say, i have been tempted to do so many times, then decided against it. i'm not that desperate for attention. also, nothing much to write from the home front either.

wait.... sorry.... a supplier called. wait, what was i talking about again? sex? what about sex?

now i lost my train of thought. LECHE.

earthen vessels

i closed my eyes to see it more clearly. i closed my eyes to make things disappear, maybe robbing myself of other stimulations, concentrating the focus even more to that singular point wherein everything mattered and all things else became unimportant. it was the heart beat. it was the pulse throbbing in my jaw, my shoulder, my throat, in my head. it was being lost in the thick darkness of not seeing and yet seeing splashes of acid yellow and toxic green, of bubbles floating about as my eyes saccaded under my eyelids, my brain hallucinating now. it was my muscles slowly growing limp, its tonicity wasting,  my body eventually slacking, visualizing atrophy. it was hearing that honest speaking again, as i surrendered myself, defenseless, and had finally allowed the world to take down veils and walls and layers of thick covering, revealing my frail nakedness, exposing my thin, sullen skin, barely clinging onto my small brittle bones, holding on to keep my broken, broken soul.

my triumvirate

february 25, 2011

it was secretly supposed to be just about Dodong, but not too long after he came out to greet the hungry eyes and fantasies of the audience did things quickly turn into something else.

he must have been the personification of the ideal, the projection of the secret wishes and hopes of perfect, blissful existence that many members of the audience that night had. it was, in a way, fun to wish that ideal for myself as well. so i laughed, i smiled, i smirked in my glee, tickled by the prospects and the scenarios this bit of fiction is creating in my brain, but the joy was hollow. none of it felt real. none of the feeling lasted.

there was another production playing that night and despite the lights, the effects, the loudness of the music and the pathetic audio of the performance happening in front of me, my attention was elsewhere.something far more interesting, intriguing, captivating, was happening and it took my undivided attention. unfortunately though, this show, too, gave me no joy.

peeling an orange

not a lot of people would suggest peeling an orange. more often than not, they would prefer having or serving oranges sliced, neatly cut into perfect wedges, shaped just right to fit in their mouths and give them a seamless, orange-peel smile. but i like peeling my orange. i always have. it may be messier than, say, peeling a tangerine, but i peel them nonetheless. it's all about connecting with my food, something slicing with a knife can never seem to provide. i like how my fingers would run over an orange's dimpled skin, searching for that perfect spot where i can dig my thumb in. i like how my thumb, big and blunt as it is, would carefully wedge itself under the thick skin, easing away the white, fibrous flesh, unraveling the juicy underlying meat. i like how the meat would feel, how the temperature changes from the warmth of the outside air to the cold interior of the fruit's core. i love how, as my fingers manage its way around undressing the fruit, that it sprays me with a citrus bouquet, its juices running down into my scooped palm.

not a lot of people would prefer peeling an orange. they find it messy and too cumbersome as opposed to, say, slicing it with a knife. but as i eat the succulent portions of the fruit i had so lovingly peeled, and smell the sweet scent it had left on my sticky fingers as they come near my mouth, i think about those people who like having their oranges perfectly sliced and wonder, if only they knew what i know, then maybe their experiences wouldn't just be about a neat, orange-peel smile.

Philippians 4: 10 to 13

Paul, the apostle, once said...

10 But I ^arejoiced in the Lord greatly because now at length you have caused your thinking for me to ¹blossom anew; for which matter you had indeed taken thought, but lacked opportunity.

11 Not that I speak according to ^alack, for I have learned, in whatever circumstances I am, to be ^1bcontent.

12 I know also how to be ¹abased, and I know how to ²abound; ³in everything and in all things ⁴I have learned the secret both to be ⁵filled and to ^ahunger, both to ⁶abound and to ^7black.

13 I am able to do all things ¹in Him who ^2aempowers me. 

i pray earnestly to also learn how to rejoice in my lack, in my insufficiency, in my weakness, in my failures, in my defeats. i hope that in so doing, i too, if my Lord wills it, will be able to experience in the most practical sense how it is to be filled, to be sustained, to be strengthened, to be uplifted, to be made victorious by the unlimited, inexhaustible, omnipotent God that made His dwelling in me.

a curious incident in the evening while in the bus on the way back to manila

i was seated on the second row from the back. it was tight and uncomfortable. the bus was new but the spaces between seats was cramped. i didnt understand why they had to make the spaces smaller. i don't think shorter people would prefer newer buses while the taller ones go for the older. despite the discomfort, the bus was at least clean and devoid of any moldy smell. i disliked moldy smells. it reminds me of decaying matter under my butt, probably eating away onto my flesh on some microscopic level. thankfully, i was too tired to be bothered. not long after i sat in my seat, i soon found myself dozing in and out of sleep. everytime my eyes would open, i would be in another part of pangasinan.

maybe it did not attract short people, but the new bus attracted many passengers since we kept stopping at almost every few meters the bus would move. this was my first time to be in a bus wherein all the seats became packed in just a span of a few minutes, none of the passengers, i found, were short enough to fit comfortably in the spaces provided between rows. i did however notice the guy sitting in front of me. it wasnt hard not too since he was maybe one of the best dressed in the bus. i took special notice of him since he got up to wave at his friends before the bus departed from the station, and because he sat uncomfortable close in front of me, just because the seat rows were close to each other. i dozed off soon after again.

i woke up a few minutes later since i felt i fell asleep with my mouth slightly agape. i felt embarrassed because it is a funny sight to sleep with your mouth open. i was also afraid i might drool. i had a friend who drooled. it was not very funny, especially if he drooled on you, his saliva probably feeding further the mold already feeding on your flesh from the seats. i also woke up because i felt more cramped than before, surprised that it was even possible despite the sardine-line condition of the bus. the guy seated in front of me had reclined his back, far enough that i could see his head and count his hair and surmise how cheap his greasy hair wax was. i had my bag on my lap and it was the only thing that was keeping him from further reclining and squash my balls. i was slightly irritated, but again, maybe it was the sleepiness, decided not to react. he tried to further recline his seat, but my bag was too bulky to give in. he took a glance back at me, i stared back at him. he did not stay long with my eye contact. i fell asleep again.

when i woke up much later, it was already becoming dusk outside and my seatmate, i found had already alighted from the bus. quickly moved to that seat and was thus able to stretch my cramped legs a bit. the guy seated in front of me also now could recline his seat further, to which he did. he looked at me again, this time, almost inquisitively. i looked back and thought, maybe hes never seen a chinese guy before. it's a possibility. i once met an african zulu who seriously thought i could do karate because of what he saw in the movies. i told him i cant, because karate is japanese while i am chinese. the guy kept glancing back at me many more times after that, until, i guess after my brain started to function properly, that i realized, this guy was checking me out. it also helped that i saw him groping himself while looking at me. like with all things related to the improper and obscene, i often go into a cold, frigid blank, a severe state of indifference. he could have moaned and groaned and all i would be able to do was stare at him blankly and blink... which i did. he tried to get me aroused i think by fidgeting in his seat and showing that he's touching himself but all that i could think of was how uncomfortable it must be for you to slide up and down the bus' seat. like all public buses, the seats were laminated in plastic wherein shear pressure was your main enemy, especially in long trips. not only did he looked uncomfortable and raunchy, i could also imagine the friction burns he could be inducing to himself from constantly rubbing his unnecessarily tight jeans. he was not the slimmest of subjects since i could see a chunk of his flesh pressing against his also unnecessarily tight shirt. probably realizing he was not getting anything from me, he turned around and faced the other way. thus ended his show, thus also ended my frigid spell. i then fell asleep again.

when i woke up, his seat was now up and it seems he found for himself a new point of interest... the guy seated in front of him. i have to say, he is awfully persistent, more so, i found it amusing how coincidental it was that you have three guys, seated one row after another, all of which were gay. there was some transaction happening between the two of them, exchanged thru stares and some other body language. not long later, the guy moved beside to the seat in front of him and thats when things started to REALLY happen.

i was reporting to Irog blow by blow accounts of what i was seeing since it does not take a genius to interpret sucking sounds, head disappearing behind seatbacks, unusual vibrations and the faint, but still audible escape of a moan. i didnt understand why again i was not offended with what was happening, maybe again because i found it utterly laughable what i was witnessing. three rounds later and the two of them were done. i heard whisperings and kissings and the other person even going further of taking a picture of the two of them hugging together with his blackberry. it seems that they are now in a relationship. i guess some people just dont like wasting time. the new guy eventually had to go since we arrived at his stop. he had an almost spud-like shaped face and head, not really helped by his crew-cut hair and his geeky glasses. he was taller than the other guy, longer limb but a doughy torso. he gave an ok sign to his boy who was left behind and disappeared as he got down. the guy who sat in front of me never looked back at where i was, all the way until we got to the station.

this is my second time to be a voyeur.

im heading back to the province again this weekend.

i dont think there is anything charming with a third time.

the last nightmare

the memory of it is quickly fading, blame the efficient process of my over-protective consciousness. the emotions caused by it, however, remains. i feel bothered; irritated; and to a certain degree, angry. not really the emotions one would feel when you wake up from a nightmare.

i just had a nightmare not too long ago, one that i can still remember bits and pieces of, that it. strange about this particular unpleasant dream was, all i could remember about was the argument i was having with Irog. i remember tempers flaring, his and mine, and how it was strong enough to jolt me to wake up, fully lucid, despite how late it was already that i went to sleep the night before. i remember looking up into the ceiling, trying to control my breathing, my heart racing from rage. my head started to spin as i felt utterly bothered that i could be that mad, in a dream, against the person who has been giving me so much love this past 3 months. what bothered me even more was that, despite the efforts in dismissing the nightmare, my consciousness was not that willing to let go of it yet. there was nothing aberrant, nothing strange, nothing off about it. it felt almost like deja vu, or even a forgotten memory. processing it kept me awake long enough that when i finally fell asleep, my dream afterward was me having a long, wordy discussion with, i would presume myself since i dont recall any other character being there. it was like a british talk show, only i was walking around in this dark room, ruminating on my thoughts, fellowshipping with some other presence. it wasnt as charged as the nightmare and i remember i was calmer, more objective, even more serious. that dream ended finally, i believe, when my subconsciousness had it's vent. i woke up later feeling better, but still a tinge bothered and slightly irritated for what had happened....

all because, i honestly believe, i went to sleep close to BURSTING from my shabu-shabu dinner at a good friend's home. BEHOLD!!!!! our spread! none stop flow of every assortment of meatball, veggies and paper-thin slices of beef and pork, simmering in a hotpot, filled with a broth painstakingly made from pork bones, cooking over a coal stove for 3 long hours.... extracting its flavors and aromas. then, after you draw the cooked morsels from the soup, you dunk it into an intoxicating sauce made from garlic, egg, satay, soy sauce and almond butter before they inevitably end up in a welcoming mouth. o the joy and oh, the nightmares this feast of gluttony will bring, INDEED!

last night in the car

the realization dawned on me as you ran your fingers, rather awkwardly, through my hair. i have to admit, i initially found it rather strange since it felt like you were petting an animal more than stroking the head of your lover. you continued, unmindful of my growing reaction. it was a discomforting feeling, how your fingers seemingly struggled through my strands, managing their way with some friction through my waxed hair. you combed them with your fingers, pulling them down, flattening them towards you, towards where you sat, as if raking my mind. i eventually blurted out, "thank goodness you're not my stylist!", words of which halted your stroking as now, you pondered on what it was that i meant. it was a joke that fell flat on its own. it feel flat the moment i said it, as, now that i think of it, all jokes that don't begin as jokes always do. my feelings of discomfort, my ideas of perfection, this picture in my head and how the moment that we were having did not fit in it was the cause... because, it was a picture only i alone drew. a picture i drew for myself, without you. a picture only i saw from mine eyes, from my vantage point and mine alone. a picture whose sole focus was how perfect the world was if i had things done... my way.

a world, i realized, you had no part in.

hence, your fingers felt awkward as you ran them through my hair. your petting felt like you were stroking an animal, more than your lover. you struggled. you were not gentle. you felt unrefined, and thus, did not conform to perfection.

but there lies the great error, and here also began the wondrous mercy.

i saw you again. i saw you again in your purity of intention. how your every action stems from love and love alone. how you step out and go out of your way to express your love, and how i have forgotten that this was one of the reasons why i fell in love with you. your beauty, your uniqueness does not stem out of outward polish, nor of great poise, nor of impeccable demeanor. your beauty comes out of your fragility, your innocence, your simplicity. you are like fresh dew after a harrowing night, like a cool breeze to break the heat.

we speak a different language, you and i. while i grew, accustomed to a world obsessed with outward appearances and control, you however speak a language far more relaxed and sincere, and how i now look forward to hearing you, and if you would be patient enough, learn how to speak your language as well.

all of this, i realized, just because you messed up my hair.

i love you.

happy me (pardon the sarcasm)

it must be that time again when, maybe exacerbated by a day's worth of fatigue, that my serotonin levels drop to a week's low, leaving me again in state of, though despair is too strong of a word, well, maybe just persistent gloom. breathing is unexciting, food becomes bland, and things that often stimulate me now find themselves struggle to even make me take notice. though i am writing about it, i am not keen to agree that i am wallowing. just merely acknowledging it, and stating a fact. i have learned that i do have moments like this, and no, it will not be the death of me, nor would it lead me to ponder on the liberating feeling of how having a blade slice through my pulse points finally rid me of these very tiresome emotional oscillations. thankfully so, more than my penchant for drama, i have a stubborn will and, a irrational sense of vanity since, suicide is such an ugly way to die. so messy. then again, there's the pill. but then again... how unoriginal.

i am not typing feverishly on my slowly draining laptop, watching tweets pop up on my screen, reminding me of how other people's lives carry on, unmindful of mine. i used to have this notion that i was the center of the world, that i was the unique consciousness, that apart from me, nothing else exists, and when i expire, everything disappears with me. it was an interesting theory i have to say. more than a extreme case of egomania, it was more of me playing with the perception of reality. what if, i wondered back then, if i, like truman in the truman show, was the star and the entire world's activities were orchestrated around me. of course, this idea is simply too preposterous, now that i think of it, but i do miss that part of me, that part who conjured up this stupid notion in the first place. i miss him. his crazy ways. his out-of-the-box ideas, and his almost limitless curiosity of the world. it was an insatiable appetite for knowing and seeking. i dont see him so often anymore. i guess, when you reach a point in you life wherein you are content with knowing everything, even if you really know nothing, then you unknowingly begin to die.

this is my type of suicide.

i will sleep this off. tomorrow, will be another day.

tinapa fried rice

it was last night's dinner's fault. it really was.

mom was wondering who brought the tinapa since it seemed no one could recall who it was from. it wasn't the usual smoked bangus that we often would have. this fish wasn't as salty, however, what it lacked in taste, it made up in flavor. it smelled utterly divine. the smokey aroma was neither too weak, nor too pungent (the latter is often the case with bangus), and the fish, the outer crust was toasted golden while the meat inside flaked to touch. the skin was a crispy amber and the fat... holy. it no longer needs to be said, that fish disappeared in almost an instant as even my dad, who often dismisses eating anything filipino, could not resist. i think he had the most actually.

i was in my usual lazy-eating mode and was picking on what was left of the fish, having my fill even with the burnt, caramelized skin when my mom asked what i wanted to have for my lunch tomorrow. ever since working for my uncle, i always brought lunch to work and the only instruction to them was lunch was always veggies. so for the past two years, that was all i ate. however, while i was licking off the wondrous tinapa juices off my oily fingers, i found myself say... i will make tinapa fried rice tomorrow! mom didn't immediately understand what i said, so i repeated myself. I WILL HAVE TINAPA FRIED RICE TOMORROW.... and I WILL COOK IT MYSELF :)

i immediately went to the fridge to rummage for ingredients. to my dismay, all we had was garlic and onions. not enough for the recipe slowly forming in my brain. it was ok, i thought. one day to prepare was not too long of a wait. a grin slowly formed on my face. it was dubai all over again, this gleeful feeling i was having when i KNEW what i was going to cook was going to be good. i listed down the ingredients to buy and gave it to our help. by this time tomorrow, my tinapa fried rice will be born....

(the following night... which is, just a few hours ago)

so i finally made my tinapa fried rice... well, most of it. i only got to prepare the first part since "plating" will come tomorrow in preparation for lunch. i first had the tinapa re-fried. since it wasn't really salty enough, i had to salt it a bit more just to help the flavors give taste to the oil. after frying the fish, i drained a bit of the oil and added in the garlic and the onions. i love the smell of frying garlic. so aromatic. as the garlic slowly turned golden and the onions, translucent, in goes the brown rice. i decided to use brown rice for the rustic texture and flavor it has, almost like grilled corn. i then started to stir the rice frantically since my wok was in high heat. i wanted to evaporate as much moisture as i could so that the tinapa-flavored oil would be able to coat all the grains evenly. as the rice slowly toasted and the GLORIOUS smell of the tinapa oil fill the kitchen, in goes the flaked tinapa meat. little by little, i added the meat in, just so they dont get all mashed up as i mixed the rice. salt, pepper and finally, the burnt bangus skin. i continued to stir the rice at high heat, flipping it from the bottom to keep in from burning, and fluffing it to further help in its drying. the popping sounds were my cue that my rice was now beautifully toasted. the meat was also now crispy. the fish fat had melted into the rice and now gave it the most divine taste.

tomorrow, i will plate it with salted egg, diced tomatoes and scallions.... drizzled with chili vinegar from RL Lapids chicharon.....

i think i am going to die...... smiling :D

i'm in love

i have a secret to tell.... i'm in love... and her name is design. i'm so in love with her, it kills me that i cannot honor her with beautiful creations. it seem everything i churn out lately is a pile of crap. yes, crap, and what eats me even more is that i charge people of crappy work, hoping that they wont realize how that they actually are paying for crappy work.

nothing is more frustrating. i dont really consider myself as an artist, but my approach to design is like that of a scientist. probably why i dont feel so attached to my work as much, as long as it serves a purpose and it's logical. design for me serves a function that is more than just something pretty. maybe this would explain why architecture appeals to me, since structure is based on physical laws unlike interior design wherein most is really reliant on subjective taste. ive been practicing for years now, and despite how i LOVE full, maximalist, classical, eclectic, sensual interiors, whenever i design, all, and i do mean ALL my works are minimalist, bordering in brutalist, simple and bare. i don't understand why, to be honest. all i can say is blank is beautiful. sparse is spectacular, and empty is em-pressive (nye!)

either way, design is love, and this intoxication is driving me crazy!!!!

musings of a flatlining brain

ian wright said it best, that the curious would always have stories to tell. i was curious once, very curious indeed, and true enough, i had something to say about almost everything. that, however, was before.

i am rather afraid to say it, but nothing seems to excite me anymore these days. nothing enticing, nothing stimulating. everything, it feels, is lost in a state of utter blah. its almost as if i took a rather communist view point onto everything, where everything is equally interesting and thus, nothing anymore is.

maybe i've gotten too used to my surroundings, maybe ive seen everything that is there to see. maybe ive been bombarded by so much already that i'm numbed to the bone. maybe i'm just turning into a really, really boring guy.

my brain feels like mush right now, a product of fatigue, both physical and mental, and maybe lack of sleep as well. constructing sentences is become more laborious, more so having full intelligent conversations. speaking of full conversations, my beloved and i were sharing a moment over cups of coffee, as well as decadent portions of glorious cake (i just love cake). i love moments like this, where we are lost in each other's attention, deeply focused on each others voices, and just bonding.

on other less interesting notes, i have now a stupid reason as to explain my recent episodes of bitchiness... i'm now a leo, and no longer a virgo. funny no? explains a bit why im short fused and a bit more vocal than normal. can't say im not adjusting to this sudden bursts of bluntness, but to be quite honest, i don't mind it at all. maybe learning to be more direct is the lesson to learn this 2011. it certainly would help me save on time.