Thursday, December 31, 2009

and so it ends.

Ohmygod I'm dreading to do this but here I am in front of a pc in a half-filled internet cafe that's usually full and usually noisy. If the two deaf people in front of me were actually making sounds out of there words instead of sign languages, there would be some semblance of noise but so far the whirr of the aircon and the occasional shrieking of the welcome door is by far the closest thing. I've tried to stray my mind on Facebook and doing all kinds of stuff like reading Quark Henares's top 50 musical LPs of the decade, which is kind of fun and informative in a way or the usual checking of, which I give a lot of shit about, but like diarrhea I have to let this crap all out. Like fucking get rid of it fast or it would stink or I'd shit in my pants. Remember that shitty feeling or mood or whatever it is I always find myself entrenched in during these times of the year I mentioned in the previous blog? Well it's still up and it's been a while. It's been taking up a lot of time. I wish it would go away because I previously said that I like New Years because it's something new, which garnered a sarcastic remark from my friend who said that it was supposed to be "new" that's why it's called new year. Well, I don't really mean it that way you know. It's like when Jakesully and Neytiri say "I see you" but then it's more than literal sense of the phrase. Silly me, I thought the second viewing of Avatar would make me all giddy-up and prepped up like a schoolboy for the new year but alas, it's just a piece of entertainment I'd escaped to for more than a couple of hours. It was cool by the way, the other day when I watched it with my colleague in this steaming new theatre which costs more than double of the usual and it was a treat so I wouldn't really mind. There's this reclining chairs, less crappy people, which I really like, good sound, but that's just really it. No 3D whatsoever. We here have really been deprived of a lot of stuff only found and experienced in Manila. Not that I give a a lot of shit about it though. It was just fun to be in that theatre for a coupla hours. I was supposed to go to an afternoon-and-night-long party with my batchmates in college but then there was that cold feet and all. I decided I should really finish this crappy evaluation of ours in the office which should take my mind off it for a while. Not that the evaluation was some kind of big deal or something, it's crappy I say. Then people started texting on where the fuck I was and some were inquiring on the details, which finally got me thinking that I shouldn't anymore hint of some kind of a get-together next year unless they do it first. The previous night few of my classmates showed up and we had dinner and all that stuff and we had coffee and a few laughs but when a suggestion of a follow-up came, I felt like it was too tiring already. I had a little chat with one of my classmates saying how much fun they had and I thought they wouldn't really care if I wasn't there or that I didn't show up in any of the venues they went to. I made up a stomachace reason but the real problem was that I'm fucking broke. Remember I told you I find myself in utter destitution? I'm not some hotshot like them who only spend for themselves or who have amassed huge sums of money and Christmas bonuses from their hotshot careers or from working abroad. I'm just a fucking slave working my ass off. I'm cool with that by the way. In fact I miss them to bits but I wouldn't be caught dead anyway if I just walked home and deprived myself of the fun. I had a perfectly reasonable excuse anyway, it's just that I lied. Anyway, while doing the crappy evaluation I told you about, I counted three quakes that really knocked my brains out. I don't like quakes but that time I had three, in less than 15 minutes while sitting and doing my stuff on the computer. I was alone in the fucking office because my colleague left a bit early and so it was me and the guard. It was scary as hell and I could've died alone in the dark cold night should that have been a really destructive quake. I remember this 30 Rock episode where you have Tina Fey choking alone in her apartment. I couldn't imagine myself dying in the office for chrissakes and so I headed home, quickly finishing the whole thing off. In short, I still end with this shitty feeling I always refuse to label as some kind of a crisis or whatever becuase I really, really don't like that 3-word phrase they use to label to people who've reached 25. I dunno; maybe I'm Jakesully who will really find himself happy in the extremest things possible, or that only the cinema, or James Cameron's wild imagination, could've concocted. Or perhaps because I'm re-reading Salinger's classic for a couple days now. Well not really re-reading it in the complete sense because I left a few chapters and bailed out on it few years ago because I can't stand reading it as e-book. You think that's a bad idea, me reading the book on such a joyous time of the year? It's like me watching episodes of Six Feet Under last year or the year before that prior to the New Year. Someone told me not watch it on these times but then I picked up Salinger on my colleague's shelf. Maybe that hinted all the bullshitness you've just taken in from me, or the language. I hate it to throw something like this to you but like I said I needed to take my crap out. It's something like a New Year-ish thing for me to do. I've been warned not to be jaded and all and that all I need was a really good shag but jeez I can't fucking help it. What should I really be doing is be optimistic about things. Oh I am, I truly am. But then I'm some kind of a bipolar on this like cynical-optimistic or whatever. I said to one classmate of mine that I think something grand will happen to me this year, like it's a milestone or something. So see, I'm not really a major pain in the ass. Unlike Holden, I find the word grand to be just okay especially if I have to look at and expect good things. I always expect grand things; in fact you can even see that in the blog description. But I guess this time or this year, I should really work my butt off so that I can move on. Jeez, I hope I haven't cornied it up for you. I wish I could be that writer of 500 Days of Summer who's so adept at not cornying things up when you expect it to be really corny. It's just painfully true. Perhaps that's what this is all is. A painful truth I have to at least deal with. And work on. So I'm just gonna quit yakking now because my fingers hurt already from the stinking hard keys and that my time is up. Jeez, I have to actually pay fucking 20 pesos so that I can neutralize my insanity or a quick glance at depression? Jeez. At least I'm not gonna be checking into rehab soon and be injected with all this shitty medicine that supposed to psychologically balance you out like the rich slobs who actually think its cool. Adios people, I think I'm gonna watch Julie and Julia instead. And, okay, Prospero Año Nuevo.

Tuesday, December 22, 2009


Can I just pause and actually believe it? It's freakin' Christmas. The only indication of its coming-atcha mood only came a few days ago while waiting for a taxi that would lead me to the inevitable office Christmas party, which obviously plenty of us go laboriously through. Not even the office party would make me go giddy-up with joy and anticipation. For a moment, I thought all the taxi drivers in the world went to North Pole to offer themselves as reindeers to Santa. Or that by some random universal mechanical mishap all their automobiles went kaput. For 30 minutes or so I stood transfixed and fuming at the same time. From where usually hail taxis or ride jeeps, it's already unusual. And so it's Christmas na pala. And people suddenly troop to wherever to constitute the busy-ness of the season. But I'm still working my ass off like right now, which is actually okay anyway, rather than I endure the compulsory tasks propelled by the commercialism of the season. Lining up in counters, picking your brains on gift ideas, and just about every pronounced pleasantry the holidays would require one's self. This year, I find myself in utter destitution. Unlike last year, I haven't bought anything for my inaanaks. Guess I have to go through the TNT stage at least once in my godfather life. And boy do these children multiply every year! I am avoiding get-togethers and I find them to be such a cop-out sometimes. I haven't contributed anything to the noche buena table to which I cannot really call a noche buena because it ceased to be buena a long time ago. I haven't bought a single decent gift for myself except probably food, not that it would actually appease my usual helpless, lackadaisical mood during these supposedly joyous times. Kate Bosher said: "Isn't it funny that at Christmas something in you gets so lonely for - I don't know what exactly, but it's something that you don't mind so much not having at other times". My colleague said I'm slowly becoming a grinch. There's always a Christmas rant. Perhaps I should really count my blessings noh? Oh how I wish I could be little drummer boy and just be nonchalant about everything. Well, whatever. I can't help it. We live in such perilous miserable times. And so I end this with something from George Bernard Shaw, and hope next year I would have something that would best fit describe whatever remnants of joy this season supposedly give out: "Christmas is forced upon a reluctant and disgusted nation by the shopkeepers and the press; on its own merits it would wither and shrivel in the fiery breath of universal hatred."

That's me, feeding my finger to little drummer boy himself. Photo taken the other week at Plaza Pershing in Zamboanga City. The lights there are OA but fun. It's as if all the Christmas lights were harbored by the city government and plastered it in their city halls and parks.

Choose life. Choose a job. Choose a career. Choose a family, Choose a f—king big television. Choose washing machines, cars, compact disc players, and electrical tin openers. Choose good health, low cholesterol and dental insurance. Choose fixed-interest mortgage repayments. Choose a starter home. Choose your friends. Choose a three piece suit on hire purchased in a range of f—king fabrics. Choose DIY and wondering who the f—k you are on a Sunday morning. Choose sitting on that couch watching mind-numbing, spirit-crushing game shows, stuffing f—king junk food into your mouth. Choose rotting away at the end of it all, pishing your last in a miserable home, nothing more than an embarrassment to the selfish, f—ked-up brats you have spawned to replace yourself. Choose a future. Choose life . . . But why would I want to do a thing like that? I chose not to choose life. I chose somethin’ else. And the reasons? There are no reasons. Who needs reasons when you’ve got heroin?

Renton, Trainspotting