WTF?!?! [PAL version]

If this was charged to experience, I paid bucks.

The plane back to Davao was huge. I'm sure I have not ridden anything like it. Not once. 40K, there goes my seat. Wow, I thought, this is a huge aircraft.

I got hold of Jonathan Safran Foer and read away. This is going to be a great flight. I'm sure it would be cloudy, which is always a sight I like to behold. The safety instructions card indicates the plane is Boeing 747. I felt weirded out.

Fifteen minutes or so after, the pilot apologizes for the delay of the departure. He said they're still waiting for some passengers. Stupid, I thought, thinking about the late passengers and the discomfiture they're causing to the early birds.

No wait. I'm dead sure it was just about 4pm. How come they're late. The plane should leave 430, it's still 30 minutes early. Ok, I think they're just trying to be cute. Are there VVIPs in the aircraft?

I read. More minutes ticked.

Another announcement from the pilot. He says with finality that really, this is the final boarding on the flight to Mactan International Airport Cebu. Hahaha, the pilot's got to be kidding, right. Is he drunk? It's a bad joke, come to think of it.

I laughed in my mind. Imagine, if I landed in Cebu, I would finally see Aina and Roan. But then I can't text them because my bat is empty.

"Sir, excuse me, tama ho ba yung narinig ko? Mactan, Cebu ho itong flight na 'to?" I asked feeling like an idiot, but asked anyway.

"Sa'n ka pala?" "Davao, ho." "Naku, pa-Cebu ito." The man sitted next to the empty chair beside me frantically called the attention of the steward. "May naiwan dito, Davao daw flight niya, baka maiwan ng flight 'to."

What the fuck. This isn't happening.

"Sir, dali po kayo baka maiwan na talaga kayo, sunod po kayo sa'kin," the steward, trying to be concerned. I tried my best to explain that I entered the correct gate. The plane switched gates. I didn't know. Perhaps I was still outside, had they made an announcement. But what the fuck, I tried to calm myself because I was goddamn sure it wasn't my fault.

"Naku Sir, kakalipad lang ho nito," the pretty stewardess said, in a voice, which I thought was trying to mock me and my stupidity. The other steward said, "Sir, baba na lang po kayo sa runway, baka tinatawag na po yung pangalan niyo." This is an aircraft full of fucking jokers.

Is he serious? Now he is really embarassing me. I didn't have lunch and breakfast was eons ago and I swear I could've passed out at that moment. I felt dizzy but I ran like I've never ran before. I can see a plane closing its doors and the tube slowly pulling away. Could it be it? Am I doomed? Am I stuck in this jungle full of demeaning looks?

It was not. I am saved. It's a good thing I don't like to sleep in airplanes.

The Jungle

At 23, I am terrified of going to Manila. I have constantly shoved out the idea of me working there and the planned work-related trips I had with my previous employer always ended up canceled. For someone who's greatest ambition is to be a travel writer unpredictably marauding the whole world, it's such a big, glaring, slap-in-the-face irony. I know I'm such a chickenshit and for someone who has embraced [post]postmodern theories, mine is such a backward probinsyano mentality. In fact, this is such a mockery to the "new" probinsyano/na mentality, which is venturing into the urban jungle, the clearest, most popular vision would be Manila.

And in a matter of 3 hours, I will be at the airport aboard the 1:30 flight to Manila. You can just imagine how many butterflies are in my tummy right now.

Big shit

I was twice introduced as Jay, the big shit of *mentions the office I'm working with*. I wasn't taken aback really. In fact, it was sort of amusing. The cordial exchanges ends with more laughs.

Recently taken from a presidential suite of an expensive (understatement) hotel here (perks, perks, perks), this photo doesn't really say how much of a big shit I am. In fact, I'm that proverbial speck, oblivious and marginalized.
(TY to my colleague Jong for including me in the frame.)

Direct me if I'm wrong.

Participating in a film directing workshop (The Mindanao Film Directing Workshop) with the enfant terrible of the Philippine independent cinema Nick Deocampo, will probably be one of the most important highlights of my self-absorbed cinephilia. He called me to give a brief background of Stephen Frears' The Queen (I raised my hand when he asked who saw the film thinking that a lot would have seen it. I was the only one who showed hand) and told me to analyze the dialectics of the poster. I felt my knees weaken.

This was already last month, and since the outpouring of events that ensued after it was so overwhelming, here it is.

I still don't have words, though. Mr. Deocampo is amazing. And his Nora Aunor histrionics are beyond compare. Perhaps I can film it. Soon.

Mr. Nick and his tummy. That tiebox hanging in the middle is a makeshift frame constructed to stage a scene.

Ibang leveling na photography ni Mark Limbaga (hehehe). Thanks sa photos, Mark. Nick is supposed to be playing Cherie Gil here and that iced tea should be splattered in her famous one-liner.

Deathbed

After lighting the last candle and firmly placing it on the grassy edges of Mama's tombstone, I sighed a sigh that knows no meaning. Not of tiredness for sure. I stared at her name and felt a sudden pang of inexplicable loss and melancholy. On the second day of undas, the air of exhaustion and joyous relief can be felt among the families getting ready to depart from their departed.

I remembered Abigail Breslin's character in No Reservations when she said that she's afraid she's going to forget her mother who died in a car crash. I must have heard this line before in some other movie and while I may not fully understand such apprehension, I admire the young girl's longing. In this noisy world, one can easily drift in wave of inanities.

Days before Mama died, she called me to lay beside her. She started telling me things that were a blur to me back then. When she talked about responsibility, obligation and other familial ties, I didn't know what it meant. I never thought she was going to die though I was aware that her cancer was deadly. I was listening to her but I was only looking at her sad, tired face. I cried but I didn't know for what. If that happened now, I'd be terrified. I'd tell Mama to stop saying such foolish things. The next day she was already seeing things. Figures clad in black and wanting to take her away. We called a priest the following day but she only spoke of nice things and that she already being called by figures clad in white.

She passed away in peace. In the deathbed, where she used to tell me that I be a good man, a good son, a caring, responsible brother. Ma, I hope you look down at me pleased that I'm trying my best to do what you told me to.

Spooky stories

The last time I saw a ghostly apparition was last month -- or something close to supernatural. One time, I came ten minutes early so naturally the lights on our side of the one-floor office was still switched off. I saw my colleague's back about 2 meters from where I stood from the glass divider and thought why she didn't turn the lights on and how I was weirded out why she was sort of staring aimlessly at our glass cabinet full of tapes, CDs and other materials. I thought about it for three seconds before I was about to greet her. (I have to turn to the left side after switching the lights on and I wouldn't see her in about 2 seconds because of a blockade). My colleague who I think I saw wearing a washed-out tangerine and a headband turned out to be arriving later with an entirely different set of clothing. I told my division-mates of the supposed doppelganger. They made me swore never to tell of it again.

Experiencing the supernatural was sort of commonplace back in college. Working as a student assistant, I was usually assigned at night because almost all of my classes were during the day. I'd stay up to 9 pm and I'm practically all by myself by 8 except for rare times that I get visitors at night. Human visitors that is. I usually hear the doorknobs go berserk like somebody wants to barge in. I'd immediately peek unfazed by what I might see but I'm always greeted by darkness or sometimes I'm greeted by the glaring eyes of the resident black cat scouring the trash bin of the oldest building where my office is situated.

There was also this one time that I heard a loud shrill scream in the desk of the division chairperson. It was 10 pm and on the way out that time, I think I was the only living soul aside from the guards at the gates. I scrambled downstairs hitting my hip with the edge of the table and I didn't bother to turn off the lights. I was also able to see a ghostlike apparition while I was taking a photo of myself through the cameraphone. It passed behind me while I was at the height of my narcissism. Last time I saw a much clearer ghostlike figure was in the third floor of the same old building. While accompanying my fellow SA, I just sat there quiet, unmoved by the passage of what seemed like a white lady in the window. I didn't tell her right away but she did see it also. From calmness, her scream drove me nuts and we ran downstairs.

Back when we still had a decent house in a subdivision, I was able to witness the so called aswang (jeez, my hairs suddenly shot up) in the form of a very large cat atop our chicken house in the backyard. According to my mother, when she was still alive, she drove the beast away with a bolo. The cat, it turns out, have shapeshifted from a dog, to another form of animal. I was also able to hear the proceedings of an exorcism from our neighbor's house at the back. The growls vis-a-vis the incantations of the priest just spooked the hell out of me. The kids in the neighborhood were told not to gallivant around the area when 6pm approached. That neighbor of ours vacated the house but the next occupants were still pestered by what seemed to be lamang-lupa.

Oh God, my goosebumps won't stop. Lord, please don't let Linda Blair visit my dreams tonight.

The bus ride was a bitch for the godfather.

I left for Malaybalay, Bukidnon early morning of Sunday as I promised to my former colleague that I’ll be the ninong of her firstborn son, Leobert John. I was excited of course because it would mean seeing the marvelous landscape of Bukidnon after almost a year of not passing through the Davao-Bukidnon-Cagayan route.

I woke up at 5am with the hope that I’ll be able to catch a non-stop aircon bus that would just take about 4 hours. There was no non-stop aircon until 10 am so I have to make do with the estimated 5 hours ETA with 4 stops. The sky was overcast and it rained. It rained so hard the moment the bus left but I didn’t gripe on it. What really flared me up to point I almost jammed the horn was because the driver and ticket dispatcher/collector didn’t come back until an hour after the ETD. They probably played tong-its or fucked each other twice in the filthy CR or god-knows-wherever.

I missed riding the bus actually so I was looking forward to it despite the 2-hour delay that I thought I will cause during the whole christening proceeding. Good thing the mass was late. I saw the San Isidro church of Malaybalay about twice but I never really got in. Inside it was a sight to behold. Just like the churches in Butuan, Agusan and Dapitan, it feels ancient and golden. Bukidnon also has the Transfiguration Church situated amidst the vast plains and mountain ranges. I wish I had a camera and I wished it wasn't raining. I didn't capture its architecture from the outside which resembles a massive black pyramid from the outside.

So the priest got on with the head-rinsing ritual and the whole rhetoric of godfather responsibilities. It suddenly occured to me that it was the first time I sat through a whole baptism considering that I am already ninong to about 4 children, all from high school classmates.

I ate like a pig or rather I ate the pig -- lechon that is. I did not have breakfast during the entire bus ride which was made excruciatingly long by people who seem to think they own the fucking bus by staying in the CR for too long, marauding the market and not buying anything, marauding some more before finally deciding to go back while the rest of the passengers are clutching their bags hoping to give them a beating.

Night was cold in Malaybalay which was great - one thing I love about the place. When you walk at daytime, you know ultraviolet rays are penetrating your skin but you don't feel jumping into a tub of ice water because of heat. While listening to the crickets, I decided that I would not pass up the chance to bask in the spring water resort the next morning to travel another hellish 5 hours just to get my index finger inked and vote unknown people in the barangay elections.

hiatus

Jeezers. I can’t even remember the last time I posted. It must’ve been almost a month. Work really gets in the way with blogging. Tsk. Tsk. He. He. I feel that the stress has siphoned the thoughts that I have piled up since a lot of major things have transpired. But yes, I’m still thinking. I think I need to dilute the void I have created in this space and make way for some sinking in. Whatever that is.

Get mind-blogged

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Apil na 1st Mindanao Bloggers Summit! Mag-enjoy gali mo! Daghan pa mo makat-unan!

Spotlight Mindanao:
Blogging for Culture, Identity & Understanding

• Date: 27 October 2007 (Saturday)
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Ang ZTE bow

I remember the week before the ZTE broadband controversy erupted in the news, I was in Zamboanga City to do a roadshow consultation in the region with the organizers of the Mindanao ICT Congress. I was still with my previous office then and it was actually my last work-related travel. We invited ICT stakeholders both from the government and private sector to promote the conduct of the said event. As part of the promotional roadshow, we conduct consultations among the ICT players, the output of which will form the policy component which usually translates into resolutions or policy agenda.

The NTC regional director reported during that meeting that the deployment of the National Broadband Network is expected the following week. Broadband connectivity is one of the emerging ICT concerns as this is seen to heighten appreciation of the critical role of ICT in the nation's development especially that world economies are now propelled by information and knowledge. In fact, I read in the papers a few months back that the Philippines ranked 4th in the world with the usage of e-Governance. ICT is indeed critical in enhancing government transactions and the basic delivery of government services.

Then here comes Abalos who seems to enjoy the proverbial hot seat and other political schmucks entering the picture inevitably. Everything has been laid already in the table, in the hands of the Senate inquiry actually, where everybody had a grand time except Abalos who keeps receiving pies in the face.

But I don't gripe on this usual scenario. Fuck those retards. What I'm dismayed at is how this kind of political backwardness takes its toll on an industry that is poising the country to really actively play in the global economy, thinking that we can outrun other leading Asian countries in the ICT and BPO field in few years if we're dead serious about it. If planned strategically, and commonsensically at that, ICT can and will bridge this digital divide, even in the countryside, that hampers a great deal of development. Look at the Telepono sa Barangay which is so haphazardly installed that I bet rural people continue to ogle at its anatomy and purpose.

I hope that the initiatives and efforts that are already under way should be sustained. I also hope that the players in the industry continue to have that technopreneurial spirit to get ICT to transform lives.

Traysibot diaries

While I have previously indicated my delight over riding on an empty or even a near-empty jeepney, I have sometimes come to detest riding a tricycle (in Davao we usually refer to it as traysibot), another ingenious Pinoy mode of transportation that have earned some notoriety in the daily hurly-burly of Juan dela Cruz. Undoubtedly, it has created its special niche (along with the jeepney) in contemporary Pinoy pop culture. Few months ago, news reported a road accident in Manila involving a tricycle which crossed a highway.

The common picture we have of a tricycle is usually the one which has the motorcycle in the middle with two wheels on both sides of the attached part (which I think is quite illogical because then you would have four wheels and thus it should be called quadri-cycle). However, the attached part of a traysibot, or in the layman Pinoy machinist’s term is called the sidecar, only needs one wheel to be completely mounted.

My trips to some Mindanao cities have also introduced me to some charming versions of the tricycle. In Cagayan de Oro, it's motorela (sounds like the mobile phone brand). While I've seen motorelas in limited routes in CDO, the tricycles in Butuan and Zamboanga graze the city streets like the jeepney and they look pretty much the same in assembly. In Butuan, however, you can easily identify them because they're all colored orange and they have humongous ID numbers painted in black.

In Davao, traysibots are common in subdivisions, villages or housing compounds because the size allow them to navigate the narrow streets. However, they are prohibited in highways because aside from the added congestion the whole anatomy of the poor thing can become an eyesore especially if metal parts are already rusting and clunking and it looks like an overblown version of a dilapidated toy tarak-tarak. Riding in the traysibot is another hell of an experience. The motor, depending on its age can really test the ultimate decibel levels, so answering your phone or talking to your traysibot-mate is close to impossible. And depending on the age of the entire thing, the moment you step off, you have your insides all shaken up.

But despite the occasional unpleasant experience, every nuance of the tricycle or traysibot experience is truly and distinctly Filipino.

I actually own one now. Not really own because it's still a liability. I practically loaned the whole thing. I got the motorcycle for a 5,000++ downpayment with no hassles of registration because they the company took charge of it. When interviewed by the agent, you're supposedly to tell every reason why you're going to purchase one except use it for business like jamming up a sidecar and make it a traysibot.

So I lied. And perhaps I believe it's a known secret that just gets passed off as a perfunctory response. Which explains why a lot of people consider it as an easy way to earn fast daily income. Something that pays my siblings' daily meager allowance. Something to buy a kilo of rice for or a bundle of firewood for cooking.

The motorcycle is not really for my own use because I've never driven anything in my life. I still have some phobia left from falling off twice while riding and getting whacked by a coconut palm because I didn't wear a helmet.

So this whole traysibot business is up, but it hasn't been running for the past days because there were no available drivers (who usually thrive on boundaries) who are usually just our neighbors.

Given that it's really mine, I think I have to start learning to own the thing. This might be the career path that has unconsciously eluded me. O, sakay namo!

First Day High

Jeez. The first-day jitters. I just have to blog this because it's historical. Well at least for silly me. As if to throw a big welcome bash for me, almost the entire Mindanao was debilitated with power. Something wrong with the power grid or transmission line in Bukidnon. Great. It's as if I sucked out all the energy into my own vacuum.

"Guys, this is Jay, our new (enter sounds of computers shutting down and generator buzzing)."

"Uh, hi."

A bureaucratic week

The past week I've literally jostled myself from different points in the city, or at least in the downtown area. Name every clearance one has to accomplish in transferring work, I labored through all of it. Perhaps I'm yakking because I never went through this bureaucratic shit when I applied for the job which I just left yesterday.

I never had the patience queueing up. When I got to the NBI processing center in one of the malls (this is first thing when the mall opened), people just attacked the information guy like he was Dao Meng Su. Uh-oh, I said to myself I'm never gonna bust myself through this so I went to process another one of the clearances.

This is also the first time I subjected myself to a medical clearance. Just when I thought that life can't get anymore shittier than mine, I realize that some people go through shit everyday of their life. And I mean a lot of shit. Some soft in consistency.

Smells like Oscar popcorn

My film blog has been shamefully lagging for the past month. I had written only about 3 articles and the first one I wrote this month is on The Bourne Ultimatum (The Lookout and Knocked Up on pending mode), the last movie I saw, which was like ages already. In the States, usually after summer, the most exciting of the season ensues contrary to the popular but understandable commercial period of summer blockbies. It is also the time when prestigious film festivals start handing out accolades, and this early, forecast what we will expect come next few months.

So after thorough sifting here’s the top five films I look forward to watching (and no, despite the early hype and looking all so Oscarly dolled up, no Tom Hanks and Tom Cruise):

Lust, Caution by Ang Lee. This just won Golden Lion, the top trophy in the recently concluded Venice Film Festival. And though it stirred mixed reactions on its supposed worthiness towards the other top contenders, I just couldn’t resist that trademark Ang Lee. This Chinese-language film is a tempting espionage set in 1920-something China. Tony Leung is forceful than ever and Lee introduces the serene and beautiful Tang Wei.

I’m Not There by Todd Haynes. This is the other film I was talking about who has kept critics saying in the top tier as Lust, Caution. Who wouldn’t? This is a courageous conceptual biopic of Bob Dylan, supposedly the only one he seems to agree to. I’m particularly excited about Cate Blanchett (who just won Best Actress in the same festival) who plays Dylan in one of the artist’s musical periods. Haynes is one of the directors I haven’t seen. Velvet Goldmine, prepare to be scratched.

Margot at the Wedding by Noah Baumbach. I have yet to see Kicking and Screaming but The Squid and the Whale just did it for me. I’m going to watch this because Noah Baumbach is one hell of a writer and his semi-autobiographical funny take on divorce is one of the best of 2004. I can’t wait for Nicole Kidman and Jack Black in an indie and Jennifer Jason Leigh is long overdue for a nod.

3:10 to Yuma by James Mangold. I was tempted to put Rescue Dawn by Werner Herzog because I really picked this one because I felt this would be the year for Christian Bale. But something about 3:10 to Yuma is so appealing that I would like to see it more than the former. An early review looks promising and the Crowe-Bale tandem is a tour-de-force. This is a remake of a 1957 classic based on an Elmore Leonard short and if the film lives up to its hype come awards season, I have a feeling that it will be this year’s The Departed.

There Will be Blood by Paul Thomas Anderson. Boogie Nights and Magnolia are among my favorite movies and both are of the same director. PTA is one of the youngest talented directors around and what makes this film exciting is the fact that it’s a totally new genre for him and he is not working on an ensemble. Moreover, he adapts the screenplay from a Sinclair novel titled “Oil”. Daniel Day Lewis is inevitable but besides PTA, I’m excited about this because Paul Dano is so good in the trailer that I actually forgot his name.

Atonement by Joe Wright. I’m so looking forward to this one that I’m reading the book now by Ian McEwan. Everything in the trailer looks like it’s headed for Oscar. Even Keira Knightley is staggering despite being unbelievably thin and I’m sensing a James McAvoy mania right now. If last year, Children of Men has the famous cinematographic moment in 2006 film history, this year, by the looks and raves of it, Atonement has it for the running.

My runners up include two favorites at this year's Sundance: Grace is Gone by James C. Strouse. Something about this film is so strikingly orginal. One of the big winners in this year's Sundance, Grace is Gone tells the story of a father and family who copes with the death of the mother, who is a military official, in the Iraq war. John Cusack's performance looks Oscarrific. The Savages by Tamara Jenkins has Philip Seymour Hoffman and Laura Linney playing as siblings attending to their dying father (the trailer is so funny that I shouldn't dismiss this one). Other notables include the Coen brothers' No Country for Old Men and Julie Taymor's Across the Universe.

Will link up the trailers as soon as I can and possibly add up some if I've seen enough trailers.

words are falling like an endless rain into a paper cup

So does John Lennon sing... And because I'm still collecting whatever staple wires I can...

Riding along with Girard's meme. Anybody can just tag along, para mas masaya hahaha. So here are random weird things or little-known facts about me (now they're not obviously).

1. I'm obsessed with my hair. I think that I really look good with my hair now. Sometimes, I find myself caressing strands of its smoothness between my thumb and forefinger like the cliched depiction of a deranged person. However, I'm not "level-headed" or in vernacular, pihing (hahaha, what a reliable translation). So no matter how I wanted to be bald at one point, I can't. Or else I'll look like a deformed monay.
2. When I sit, I often curl my right leg in a way that is hinged by my left leg. It looks like I'm semi- Indian sitting. I have to constantly remind myself, whenever in a meeting, to sit with my two feet parallel because people will ogle at the dirty sole of my shoe.
3. I cannot, for the love of God, go near a cockroach. Call me sissy, but I can't even bear to kill one. The shanty that is our house has lots of them and I am constantly on alert of their "sudden flights of fancy" or whenever they are roaming around the floor.
4. My first kiss was when I was five. I forgot her name but I can very well recall that we used to hide behind the curtains, and no, it was no smack. I scored 15 years after and that was it. I never had a girlfriend or at least be in a relationship.
5. After college, I observed that I had an increasing intolerance for crowded places especially the malls and especially when there's midnight sales. I think I have vertigo. There was this one time that my ears rang and everything was just going in circles. I had to literally sit down on the floor to regain my balance and sense of things.
6. I learned the hard ways of working as a food crew or at least something related to food when I was about 10 or 11. I assisted my aunt who used to rent a balbacua-han in Agdao Public Market. I get free food and fifty pesos at the end of the day. After finishing first year college, when my chances of going back to school has gone from slim to none, I worked for the entire summer in a bar and billiards restaurant that required me to stay awake until 3am. Back then I didn't need diet to look like Nicole Richie-thin.
7. I almost got mugged and killed by a bunch of thugs because of that work. One guy who was at my back whacked my head, the other one was holding an ice pick. Good thing that the guard of the nearby convenience store, who was also my constant chit-chat friend during those wee hours everytime I pass by the store, was quick to rescue me. A group of trigger-happy hippies came in a short while and a race ensued. They bludgeoned my assailants with big rough stones. When the police dropped me home, I saw pools of blood along the street. I learned in the news the day after that one of the thugs was killed.
8. While working as a waiter in that bar (I faked, or rather my parents, faked my age), I had an avid fan who says that he is a prince from Malaysia. He once caught me rapping to Eminem and asked if I can rap in toto some of Eminem's songs. I did and got 100 bucks per song.
9. I find riding a jeep with few, or barely no passengers at all, one of the most enjoyable thing to do. There are times that I forget where I'm actually headed. However, I abhor the contagious disease of people inside a jeep when they start paying the fare when someone does or some people who pass their fare when you're about to go down. I also like buses. On the other hand, I am terrified at riding planes. I find it tedious. I cringe even at the slightest jerk. I dream of riding a train in Europe passing by the mountain range and all of the connecting countries.
10. When I was five and when we still lived in this barangay called Barrio Pogi, I was chased by a rabid dog. It stopped when I stumbled on a sharp stone that hit my head etching in eternity an inconspicuous pahak at the left side of my head. I thought then they would open up my brain or something. That's why up to now, upon chancing on a strange dog with the likelihood of rabies, I bite the tip of my tongue and stop at my tracks to drive the beast away. Luckily, this supertitious belief still works for me.

INSTRUCTIONS: A person who gets tagged must write in his or her blog ten weird things or habits or little known facts about himself or herself. He or she should also state this rule clearly. At the end, he or she should tag six other people, except the one who tagged him or her.

The Staple Wire Allegory

My work requires a lot of staple wires. I wish I could just plaster them into the mouths of those who I want to shut up but all I can manage is to stack the removed ones from copious papers into a makeshift container from a transparent sign pen case. I have carefully gathered them in such a way that the wires make up half of the container. The other half is filled with paper clips.

I can remember the first time I decided to make a big deal of stacking it up just for the heck of it. Kidding, I told myself that if I am able to fill up half of the rectangular case, I would decide to get married and have kids. The container is now filled to its brim but it can still accommodate more staple wires. I find it cute everytime I pull up a few wires and the whole thing clings on it like falling people off a cliff. It's like a magnet with no magnetic force. I thought of it as just a mere kiddy diversion. The kind of thing I find wonder and amazement despite its utter lack of sensibility and point. Kind of Wes Bentley in American Beauty filming an empty cellophane or paper bag being blown away by wind because he is just filled with wonder. And nobody knew where he's getting at and nobody gave a fuck.

Today is supposed to be my last day in the office. August 31 is the date I set in my resignation lettter. They say I can extend for a few days to a week, but that's not the point. Struck with that eccentric sudden blow of amazement, I now realize what the filling up of staple wires mean. I now know what those staple wires are. It's weird but I know everybody does not get that kind of epiphany everyday. From a bunch of stacked-up staple wires at that. Crazy town here I come.

The Last Trip

I wish I could call the entire trip a break, but work punctuates. Nevertheless, this will be one of the memorable trips to Mindanao despite the limited places I've gone to. The spectacular beach front of Medina. Duka Bay and it's hospitable owner, son of then vice president Pelaez. The sunrise viewed on the dungawan of the 1907 Fournier ancestral house. The old churches along the dreary winding roads. The night market in CDO divisoria (despite the torrential downpour halting what could have been a loud and merry night, I bought 3 shirts for 100 bucks). Another plane ride to Zamboanga, getting re-acquainted with Chavacano. The heaps and heaps of ukay-ukay and the infamous barter trade are too tempting not to splurge on. Perhaps, it could be any better but I guess I couldn't ask for more.

The Fournier ancestral home in Medina, Misamis Oriental (Sir Andre promotion!). Built in 1907, the dungawan is defintely one of the best parts of the house, not to mention the kitchen (hehehe).

The untapped beach front of the Fourniers in Medina. That's Mt. Hibok-hibok right there on the right side.

Ukay-ukay in the infamous barter trade in Zamboanga. Got myself an olive green padded sweater and a white polyester polo shirt for 250 bucks.

Give me a break. Puhleeez.

Tired, exhausted and still working. Been to Butuan and Cagayan de Oro cities for the past three days for the Northern Min leg of our MICT 2007 roadshow and consultations. Thank God for the nice beach front in Medina and the ancestral house of Mr. Fournier, I forgot about my headaches and the impending resignation. More about it on the next entry. Kapuya jud oi. Meanwhile, I finally bluetoothed the pictures I took from a camera phone of our short visit to my deceased mother's hometown in Man-ay, Davao Oriental during the Holy week. It took 15 years after me and my siblings got the chance to go back there again. I wonder when will be the next.

We crossed about 5 swamps with strong currents and endured the searing heat of the huge stones (walked barefoot) before we got to climb the hill on the next photo.

The hidden lagoon. One of the most beautiful sights I laid my eyes on. And no entrance fees.

And of course, the falls. The first one is second to the topmost falls, which we didn't reach because it's steep and slippery. I tripped and cut my foot several times.

The white sand beach effortlessly named as "White Beach resort".

Shock-style

Lemme start by giving words of wisdom from the proverbial spam messages, which as the frequency suggests, spammers get a lot of friggin money out of pestering people with out of this world sexed up phrases. Here's one from someone named Jewel M. Wesley: When I tried to give him oral sex, I practically choked. How do I do it without gagging? Please help! It's a valid question indeed (even underscored by the urgency of its las two words) but by golly, did it freaked the bejesus out of my sober and boring day. There goes your daily dose of comic relief Jay.

So anyway, I wanted to tell you about the Sukang Pinakurat which I've been gobbling (no, not in that kind of amount) these past days. I'm so obsessed with it that I practically smother every piece of food I intake with it piniritong isda, beef loaf, even tinapa, which I rid out of the sauce, and even scrambled egg just this morning. (No, this is not how it looks like but definitely by the looks of it, you know already how the searing spice would feel in your palate.) Forget the treadmill, this is the only exercise which can make you lose copious amount of sweat just by sitting and gobbling up food. Thanks to Mr. Reinardon, proprietor of the original sukang pinakurat in Iligan, who guested as one of the speakers in our recently concluded 6th Mindanao Food Congress. And while it is a food congress, the event doesn't have much edible food and cooking sessions to beat also. It's more agriculture-focused and food as a product of agriculture. Because I was assigned as the program manager, I haven't had the chance to go around the exhibit for some food samples.

Mr. Reinardon generously distributed bottles sukang pinakurat to the audience and us (promotions of course) during the last day. And yes, the concoction of powdered and sliced chili in vinegar is way better than digesting the opening and closing keynote speeches of Senator Angara and DA Secretary Yap.

Everybody wants to rule the world.

Dahil kelangan ko ng muna ng diversion and jumpstarting activity dahil holiday ngayon at eto ako nagpapakasasa sa trabaho. Hi Chard, I'm finally responding to the tag.

Three things that scare me:
1. cockroaches (and smashing them to death till their icky juices come out of their exoskeleton)
2. (I'm not afraid of death but I'm afraid of) dying alone and dying young
3. heights (dahil wala na akong maisip at talaga naman nakakalula pag tumingin ka sa ibaba)

Three people who make me laugh:
1. friends
2. ang walang-kamatayang patutsada ni Rosie Buhian
3. Tobias Funke, AnalRapist (analyst and therapist)

Three things I love:
1. the arts (film, literature, visual arts)
2. music
3. food (syempre)

Three things I hate:
1. slow internet connection (or the lack of it.. work related.. hehe)
2. check network services status
3. overpriced things (because I can't buy them)

Three things I don't understand:
1. understanding itself
2. love's shenanigans
3. Un Chien Andalou by Luis Bunuel

Three things on my desk:
1. laptop
2. cp
3. notebook

Three things I'm doing right now:
1. sinasagutan 'to
2. nakikinig sa 80s music (Now Playing: Michael Jackson & Paul McCartney - The Girl is Mine)
3. figuring when I will have the motivation to start working

Three things I want to do before I die:
1. write a screenplay
2. get an award for it
3. have lots of children

Three things I can do:
1. sing
2. dance
3. act (artista ata ito...hahaha)

Three things I can't do:
1. drive a car
2. think for a long time (and produce output) while people are noisily chitchatting
3. mag-audition for PBB

Three things I think you should listen to:
1. inner peace
2. the sound of music
3. dashboard confessional

Three things you should never listen to:
1. when people say you can't
2. words that come out of know-it-alls
3. paris hilton

Three things I would like to learn:
1. astrophysics
2. foreign languages
3. screenwriting

Three favorite foods:
1. tortang talong
2. spaghetti
3. instant noodles

Three shows I watched as a kid:
1. Sineskewela
2. Batibot
3. Okidokidok

Three people I'm tagging:
1. Isko
2. Jap
3. Mitchie (dahil kelangan mo ng exposure)

"Rebel with a curse"

Sometimes I think book-fanatics who want to go see the film adaptation of their well-loved story should even think twice in the first place. The nosiest insufferable know-it-alls that they normally are, they should be banned from entering the theatre and public viewings or premieres and instead make a specialized screening where they can forever gloat in perpetuating their expertise which quite a select people give a damn anyway. This goes for the Harry Potter franchise, most especially, whose majority of the fan base feel that the film versions unjustly treated the material. Believe me, I wouldn’t want to go see an entire visual replica of a book because aside from being unbearably long, what’s the point?

I also want to contend that while some may opine that watching film adaptations the likes of Harry Potter without having to read the book first is an agonizing tedium, I believe that readers have a tougher job sitting through the entire running time. First, I believe that a film stands out as a film, one you can conveniently extricate from its material, and second, readers have the difficult job of having to distance the original material while seeing the film version in real time, and I believe few came out successful of this tedious and tricky exercise, which again explains the irritably nosy attitude.

I haven't read the final book in the series yet so I don't have the burden to decide which of the book stands out from the rest. It may even be impossible as the stories are closely-knit with each other. I liked Potter 5, both the movie and the book, if not for the important transition for Harry, the political subtexts (which were more manifest in the book) invites a more mature discourse apart from the usual magic and spectacle that the series is known for.

Josh Hartnett in Goldlandia

Much hullabaloo right now on the Josh Hartnett visit in far flung Diwalwal, the contentious mountain in Monkayo, Compostela Valley (a two-hour ride away from Davao City) sitting in bazillion amounts of gold reserves. The Hollywood actor of Pearl Harbor and 40 Days and 40 Nights fame is here to shoot the film I Come With The Rain directed by Cannes-acclaimed Vietnamese director Trin Anh Hung (The Scent of Green Papaya).

The recent PDI entertainment article revealed that Hartnett has been a cool homeboy so far and I hope he doesn't pull out a Claire Danes. One local correspondent even has close-up photo of Josh driving around. Reading news about this, I remember Apocalypse Now, which supposed to show Vietnam, was shot here in Philippines. I remember reading somewhere that the bad conditions during the shooting resulted into health and psychological problems for some of the cast particularly Martin Sheen. The place is such a ghastly sight.

Though the famous barangay captain welcomed the historical opportunity as a move to boost investor and tourist confidence, a particular headline in a local paper revealed that the one of the top local officials in the region (I think it was the mayor) was dismayed that the producers weren't able to show respect by dropping by his office and say his and hellos or beso and the usual courtesy calls afforded to higher ranking government officials. Baka naman big fan din sya ni Josh?

It was just rumors when I first heard about a film shooting in the place (Josh's name wasn't in the grapevine yet either) sometime in May when I went there in Monkayo with a Council adviser to help facilitate a meeting with the tribal chieftains in their formation of an IP business council in the area. Months after the rumor was fleshed out and Hartnett is being feasted right now in the mountains. I wonder if I can text Datu Banad and probably arrange a trip there anytime this month. I can probably ask the shooting schedule as Josh may be around for like 2 days only.

Update: Freakazoid! I should've known Tita Edith was interviewing Josh. She's got a picture of him chopping the lechon which the crew feasted during his last day. Her story appears front page on The Philippine Star today.

A ratty encounter: Tales from this Godforsaken Whatever

Sunday has become the day of introspection for me, not that it's something OC-ly calendared on a friggin' monthly or weekly planner because that would be ridiculous. While I'm not a church-goer and family days are things of the past from the point of view of the impoverished, I always find myself unwillingly immersed in this so-called introspection or even just mere thought-gallivanting when I do my laundry (read: handwashing). Of course, it's not something that's done on purpose because really now that would be totally outrageous. The dormancy and the surrounding dead air is the perfect atmosphere for plunging into a state of wanton thinking - just that, when I get tired of watching tricycles, vendors of fish, mais, ice cream (the dirty and the seemingly unlucrative retail vendors of known brands) and nonsense stuff like five-peso destructible toys, or when fantasizing about Aubrey Miles in several postitions in three different episodes of Xerex feels like an overplayed CD.

Last Sunday was kind of gloomy and I had the feeling that it will take another day for the clothes to dry out. It was muddy everywhere and the cemented part of the very small frontyard was just as filthy. I was alone since none of our neighbor co-renters did their washing that day. While I was doing my thing, a large rat snuck out of the largest pipe that lead to the canal and made its way near the faucet opposite me. The rat, which was now nibbling leftover rice grains thrown out of dishwashing and running directionless in the pool of murky water, was about three normal steps away from me. I cringed but not of fear and usual repugnance to this filthy rodents (aside from cockroaches) but in a serious moment of obervation. I could've easily brushed my hand off to shoo the rodent away, the size equalled to that of the kitten we used to nurse (that thanks to our retarded neighbor who whacked it to death is now rotting in the dark recesses of the sewers).

I watched the rat like it was some kind of episode on Discovery channel about house pests and their eating behaviors, my hands now rested on my knees like the observer that I am. And then it stopped and looked at me with those little black vermin eyes as if to say "so what now"? And then I remembered that film Willard, about a loner who develops a twisted friendship with rodents. Then the rodent-infested thought was replaced by the face of Jack Nicholson as Frank Costello in The Departed when he was mimicking a rat like he was born to do it. After the rat returned to the pipehole and vanished from my sight, I was trying to put the encounter into some metaphysical level (wtf???) like it was some kind of premonition or an omen. Oh, now I get it. The vermin was trying to say na mahirap pa ako sa daga, and that it was just his lucky day because he had a meal without being shooed by a human being (who happens to have Zemmiphobia), which could impress to him that their species have attained a .00001 niche upgrade in terms of dominating a much higher-ranking species. Oh, jeez wtf.

Bergman, 89; Antonioni, 94

Early this year, I rekindled my passion for the cinema, which means the serious, contemplative thus boring, unappealing and unbearable to most. I'm quite sure I had it running during that semester when we had a film appreciation elective, but while I was seriously reading supplementary materials and read names like Eisenstein and Buñuel, we kept viewing stuff like X-Men (oh, here I am again, and not to say X-Men is bad, alright?) and recent commercial releases. The closest serious shit was Scorsese's Taxi Driver and Coppola's The Godfather.

And while I was being introduced to great filmmakers in a matter of months, two of the most important directors died in a matter of two weeks. Ingmar Bergman and Michaelangelo Antonioni. And while I must confess that I have only seen Bergman's The Seventh Seal (1957) and Antonioni's L'Avventura (1960) this year, I'm quite glad that I caught up with these films before their deaths. And so my memories of them are moot and I'd prolly lose to any discussions on their filmography, so I'm humbly sharing these clips in honor.

The Seventh Seal (Ingmar Bergman, 1957). The hooded figure who personifies death still gives me the creeps.



L'Avventura (Michaelangelo Antonioni, 1960). This may be a montage of all the kissing scenes in the film, but that's the closest it can get.

The Boss

I picked up the phone after three missed calls. It was unregistered and I have an immediate withdrawal syndrome for unnamed callers. When I answered an enigmatic hello, the guy from the other line shouted "Bossing!", a Tagalog derivative of boss or someone who usually leads and dominates the pack. It was Angelo, one of my high school classmates. I should've guessed it. The spur-of-moment semi-reunion was actually happening in real time and that I should be there. I'm the bossing anyway, despite the fact that I cannot shell out 43 pesos for the taxi and would have to text Frances, another close classmate of mine who promised to pay the fare, to save my face.

(Diversion: The realities of an overworked low-wage-earner loser is a case that should be documented already by Amnesty International. Imagine the psychological effects of seclusion and deprivation of proletariat ramblers like me due to perforated-pocket syndrome. Double whammy. I bet there are bazillions of undocumented (unsung, in a rather 'lyrical' melodramatic sense) out there that could rival the ever-increasing statistics of political prisoners and media slayings.)

Trying to dislodge the bossing irony, while sipping a pretentious mocha-on-the-rocks surrounded by noisy class A people and faux pas bourgeoise, I am again transported to that memory in high school, where the bossing etymology is rooted.

I was the only male cadet officer during the fourth year PMT heydays when commando-crawling in both rocky and muddy grounds and eating lamaw-like buffet gives a stupid adrenaline rush. Sir Sonny, our beloved commandant was not around during our pointless training month, and was replaced by the dominatrix Sir Emilia (his alternate name). If clinching the credits to sustain the honors thus the scholarship was not in question, I could easily have quit along with five of my guy classmates who shared to me they just couldn't stomach the pointless stupid training with the bitch. The other five called themselves "the quitters" and emerging as Alpha Co. Commander and only thorn among the brave roses, I was tagged their bossing.

It would have been a different ball game had I quit, had I proven a different point, had I disappointed expectations. My reasons may not have been as valid but later gaining the respect and confidence of the rest of the guys is priceless even if I had endured burnt arms in the searing pavement and the nauseating, puke-inducing stench while submerged in the canal. Gawd, I really could have done away with it, no? Oh, fuckit.

Jayclops Simpson

Got this from Mitchie. Not a particular fan of The Simpsons but I badly need some diversion. Simpsonize yourself here.

Jeez, this is becoming a one-liner blog.

Sometimes, there are things better left unsung; it gives an inexplicable feeling of strength.

Regurgitate, infinitesimal.

Despite all my rage, I'm still just a rat in a cage.

- Bullet with Butterfly Wings, Smashing Pumpkins

Emo.

Stepping out of the cramped conference room after a long afternoon meeting, I glanced at the clock above the wall and its long hand was just in time to flick into the 30-minute mark. I wasn’t tired, no. My eyes were listless and I seem to be wandering in a state of dormancy and paranoia instantaneously. Anxious. I wanted to rest my head and drift off to slumber, put on that overplayed playlist of the day. 3 Doors Down, Yellowcard, Dashboard Confessional and some good ole Gin Blossoms. Swear to God, just felt tears welled up my eyes, but they were closed and my arms providing the cushion to prevent those lachrymal by-products from streaking down like snippets of slight rain on an empty wall. Gawd, I’m so fucking emo right now, I can’t even figure why the hell am I. The recurring fantasy of falling off a precipice or the Petronas Towers is so vivid right now.

Washday Sunday: Tales from this Godforsaken Whatever

There is never a week that I don’t get my hands chemically-burned by commercial detergents. I’ve tried different variants of different brands but I end up with sore fingers, which usually takes about five days for the blisters to dry up. The stingy feel, especially when run by and soaked in water, lasts for about a day.

When life was still easy and little bit convenient, we had the washing machine. Every middle class family probably owns this piece of appliance that I think is semi-useless save perhaps for the all-too-good promise of convenience and the economic inevitability of purchasing power brought about by the occasional increase in income. Some who can afford to have manang labandera doing the laundry for them, choose to have the dependable hands of humanity rather than the regurgitating wheel that spins and loops your clothes.

So while I still bask in the far-off reality of a laundromat in some big-shot city like NYC, Indian-sitting with a book in hand and an iPod in my ears, or the perverted thought of a quickie sex with some hot chick atop the frenzied machines on a lazy and gloomy morning, I have to make do with the refuge of the shade on a makeshift small bench on a scorching Sunday morning, with pestering flies like tiny black helicopters hovering over the liquefied suds beside my feet, the doggie stench of Scooby, drifting off to thoughts that would make me forget I'm ruining my precious fingers.

Jaycloptron, activating.

Alter-ego Scott Summers right there, going through serious galactic transformation. Really, wouldn't it be ultra-cool if Jayclops could morph himself into a sleek blue Chevy Camaro and still emit his trademark optic laser via headlights. Maybe I'm really one of the Bots who's taking refuge among the stars. I can hear Optimus Prime sending the message via hardcoded undecipherable signals. Pardon my childish meandering, but that some megatronic hangover right there. Transformers really packs some neat shit and explodes in your face that you can't help but cheer (though discreetly, thanks to the already annoyed lady beside me) like an eight-year old kid and not feel guilty about it. Oh and it's Sha-ya La-Beau. "I gotcha boy!," ensures Optimus, with quirky me hanging on to Allspark and dear life. Sweet. So here's my little eight-year-old take on what I think is the most enjoyable summer blockbies so far.

Brashy, bratty and bitter.

Hooowaaahhhht?!!? Why do I have to always explain things that I shouldn’t in the first place? Enough of telling people around. Screw understanding. This just cements everything that I have come to believe about people and why they should quit telling they know what you feel and they understand. They don’t fucking understand you because they can never fit in your shoe. Bratty? What’s the fucking big deal about it? Bratty is for sissies and elitist dimwits who get what they want at the flick of their fingers. But the world doesn’t work like that man. Perhaps for all you self-deluded pricks and your thinly imagined world of banalities. Not for me and not for all those people who are going through a lot of shit.

Photocredit: Thanks to ka0rg for the caricature

Crash into me.

Nothing could have ever prepared me for J.G. Ballard's Crash. It's up to you if I'm exaggerating but seriously, it's unlike anything I've ever read before. This is a late review and I have labored finishing through what could've been a breezy read. The second-hand copy I found in one of the booksales here and bought for 35 pesos is not the book cover posted here. I could've dismissed it even for its abstract cover on a usual abrupt breeze-through in the pile's mishmash of forgotten titles. But Anthony Burgess, author of one of my favorite books A Clockwork Orange, sorta says something about the grandeur of Ballard's imagination, and the three-pronged "blood, semen, and engine coolant" sure sparked a hell of interest (*evil grin*). The 1996 film adaptation is directed by David Cronenberg and starred James Spader and Holly Hunter.

Crash narrates the ultra-unique and violent adventures of then-TV scientist Vaughan and his avid friend-follower James. Vaughan believes that humanity's fate is in the fast lane and death ultimately is a malevolent but orchestra-ic concoction of car-crash and human carnage. Vaughan envisions his final death scene with Elizabeth Taylor, while experimenting on different variations of automobile collisions. Pretty grand, huh? It solders violent sex into the concept of orgasm and automobile crash as a perfect junction in achieving a different state of nirvana. In a dreamy scene inside a car, James watches Vaughan and his wife perform rigorous, mechanical sex while the automobile is car-washed. Some fetishistic sicko, huh? But no, like the 'underground literature' that it claims it is, the novel is uncompromising in its imagination, and for believing so much in the notion of Vaughan's obsession, this is a great diversion. The psychological exploration of man is just an after-taste. You should be entranced in the hallucinatory and hypnotic ride.

Expire.

The whole week mentally, emotionally and physically drained me. Let's just say I'm mapping out a path which I dunno where to begin and what to place. You find time to be with you old chums and bask in noise and perfunctory chatter (even when it was 48 years ago that you last seen each other) and try to forget the mental and emotional rigors elevated by your too much contemplation but you can't escape the Lost-in-Translation-loneliness-in-a-crowd. It's that type of thing. Times like these you want to imagine yourself in a tranquil place like Canibad where you can do all the thinking you want. I wish I can just have Hiro's teleporting capabilities.

A visit from Peeping Jane

Sheila came over our place last Saturday night. The last time I saw her was five or six years ago. She used to work as a waitress cum GRO (not the GRO you’re thinking) when we still operated this videoke joint after father resigned from the company he’s working with. This forms part of the wrongful decisions that send us hurtling downhill until now, the resignation I mean not Sheila.

Anyway, going back to Sheila, I mentioned her because I couldn’t help but remember a very funny thing when I was in high school when we still had the videoke joint. She was actually visiting my stepmother and called us from inside the room to have a good look at me and my siblings. I guess she was surprised to see how much I’ve grown physically from the teenybopper she and the other girls used to poke fun with.

As part of the cost-cutting and as an easy means to earn 50 pesos a night, I operated the videoke machine which that time was merely a 3-disc player where I exchange a roster of CDs containing Tom Jones, Engelbert Humperdinck, Air Supply, Bee Gees, which is just about what people normally sing every night. Imagine my eardrums getting immune to such repetitions that sometimes I caught myself singing to Delilah. The horror of it all.

So I have this nook at the back and the girls would hand me these small pieces of paper containing the song numbers which I would tack in order. I’d be lucky if there are a few drunkards who would give me an earful because they want their song to be played right away. No can do, mister. So I usually hid my head.

Because I’m not used to staying awake late, my eyes would normally droop starting from 11 pm. We’re open till 2 so go figure the agony. So when I have a whole line-up of songs programmed for say 15-20 minutes, I take short naps on the couch. And these girls would always try to unzip my shorts or simply pull the garter of whatever I’m wearing to check if mine was cut or something like that. I’m sure they don’t really mean to do exactly that because what would they really want from a 15-year old weener. The whorish giggles sure gave me something to wank about but I made it a habit to drink cups of coffee to stay awake.

Misericordia.

God delights in seeing his good children suffer. More weeping.

Mao na ni ron.

Talk about too much love for the game. Found this one on Himantayon.com. They've got 'good pieces'. Boy, was I rolling on the floor.

Watching Game 2 of the NBA Finals at Tequila Joe’s, Ayala Center Cebu, 11 June 2007 10:17 AM.

Guy 1: Boanga, naunsa man pagkahitabo-a nga napildi man ang Pistons sa Cavaliers?

Guy 2: Maayo man gud ang Spurs.

Guy 1: Ha?

Sa NBI:

I-FINGER MO...

Girl 1: Taasa sa linya oi…

Girl 2: Lagi oi, maayo pa siya ay kay nauna na.

Girl 1: Alangan ningbayad man. Taymsa, asa man ta inig human kuha aning form?

Girl 2: Anha diha oh, mag fill-up ta sa form dayun magpa-finger.

Girl 1: Naa bayad magpa-finger diha?

Girl 2: 5 pesos man siguro.

5 reasons why Filipinos (the Philippines) may not be worth dying for

It's Independence Day for chrissakes (wait, is it yesterday or today?) but please don't think this is such an unpatriotic blog entry. It's just that with everything around us today, Ninoy may want to reconsider his most famous statement immortalize in the 500 peso bill, which amounts to really not much these days. On the second thought, even if Ninoy would be alive today he'd still die for us, for the country, but I know he'll come up with something that doesn't necessarily require bloodshed. It would be such a waste of brains.

# 1 - Where are these Filipinos we’re talking about? The majority of the Filipinos being referred to in the statement have fled and flown to just about every city in whole wide world where their idealism, intelligence, talent and perseverance will be put to good use. Just exactly who are the ones left? Those who couldn’t care less.

# 2 – Statistically majority of the Filipinos are either dying from hunger or on the brink of poverty. And government phonies would try to lure you with figures and stats that’d suppose to tell you poverty has abated. But really who are they kidding? The homeless? The unemployed? The farmer who up to now tills land he does not own? When you’re hungry nobody gives a flying lemur about heroic deeds or love for country. One of my friends said she’d begged to steer away from my first premise and rather say that Filipinos found more than one reason to leave this country. Sad but true.

# 3 – Practically a number of negative traits have been coined referring to a particular Filipino character. Yes, there are whole bunch of talented and industrious people out there but there are a great number who are indolent and plain worthless. Paging crab mentality and a plethora of other bad behavior. To my mind, this doesn’t give us any positive identity rather it has work to the disadvantage of hard-working Filipinos both in and out of the country only to be discriminated against because their fellowmen are morons.

# 4 – If Ninoy was alive today, he’d shoot himself in the head if he was to work and be flanked by worthless bad-ass sonofabitches in practically every level of government. Think DOJ secretary Raul Gonzales whose etymological skill has entirely modified the meaning of vote-buying or Benjamin Abalos and the COMELEC aliens who sit in their prized thrones clad in robes watching the whole elections get rigged. A friend of mine said Ninoy would still probably shoot his head if he lives up to seeing her daughter's histrionics. Di nga kaya?)

# 5 – That GMA ad featuring a dispatser shouting Kalayaan is so striking for me. It’s not enough that people have lost touch with the essence of our independence. To further mis-educate the people, the government’s ability to swap relevant commemorations as if it were festivals has come to its fruition with this one.

There’d be more reasons out there I guess but that’s what I can think of and also based from those who have commented and validated.

So am I saying that every hero who has fought for our liberation died for naught? Am I unworthy? And those who still live up to the hope and ideals that this nation can still be great? Am I to be blamed for wanting a better life? Are those people who have put to good use their talents and those who have enslaved themselves to working for other countries be blamed because they did not espouse patriotism? Maybe yes? Maybe no?

These are just questions. But I hope and pray that I would be able to live up to a time that I shall know the answers.

Photo courtesy of www.apa.si.edu