Playthings of the Damned
Posted at 03:43 AM

What is the fate of the world? Some say the world is as it was, and as it ever shall be. Others say the world is born in darkness from chaos, And shall die in the same manner returning to explosive eternity. The poet writes that the world shall end not with a bang, But with a whimper. And the troubadour sings that the answer is blowing in the wind. “What can I do about it, anyway?” says the common man with a shrug and a philosophical grin. It’s all in the hands of fate. ~ cris 092701

Anne Rice's Blackwood Farm Primitive Radio Gods's Fading Out

Malate
Posted at 11:33 PM

My head was starting to swirl from all the booze I drank. The blinking lights and cigarette smoke caused my face to cringe and my eyes to burn. Friday nights are the best, dito sa Malate. You get to meet different kinds of people. Cute guys with attitude; weirdos and their mohawks; human pin cushions and their pierced bodies; and if you’re lucky, you can even get a glimpse of Randy and other stars on their way to Ratsky’s. Ganito lang naman ang buhay ng isang estudyante dito sa Maynila tuwing Biyernes. Of course it depends on whether you were able to fold a Ninoy Aquino inside the hidden pocket of your wallet to keep from spending it. Aral sa araw, gimik sa gabi. We consider this as treating ourselves after a long day of mind-frying. Party time may last from midnight to the crack of dawn. But for sure, a night in Malate is never at a loss for the unexpected. One time, I was dancing my stuff in one bar I frequently go to. I almost thought that I’d go home without a story to tell. Just then, two gays started shouting and raving to the music. One climbed on top of a seat and the other stood in front, below the former. They started extending their hands and swaying to opposite directions, like spiders playing patintero with their prey. “Play our music!”, they shrieked, like harpies, their tongues flailing out their mouths; almost as if trying to taste the raw atmosphere of smoke, booze, and sweat. I check the arena, turning three hundred sixty degrees, with an almost infinite slowness. Every face I see is different. Every movement, saturated with life. Every soul inside the night coven, bursting with a story to share. Take kapitbahay, for example. We call her that because she once lived in the same dormitory with my friend. We don’t really know her, but we see her every time we go to Malate; almost as if she lived here. This was her kingdom and she was queen every night she danced. The ledge was her throne; every gyrate of her hips, a commandment; and every other person inside the dark den, her subject. Some say she was no longer studying --- filed her L.O.A. to avoid being kicked out due to failing grades. I then come into deep contemplation. Did her parents know this? I swiftly erase the thought from my mind. This should not be part of my reverie. I sway around, catching a nanosecond-smile from Alvin. This, on the other hand, was a guy who was there, not to drown his burden in ale, but to scope the place, looking for his latest victim; like the vampire, Lestat. For those who are not familiar with Anne Rice’s most famous character, the latter is a blood-sucking romeo who prefers victims who deserve to be victims. The more dirt, the better. Pero syempre, mas maganda kung palaban. That was how Alvin liked it. Pero ibahin mo si pogi. We met this waiter, the very first time I went to Malate. Quiet, but friendly, patience was already evident, the second I saw the sweat from his brow. He was working his way to college. Aral sa umaga, trabaho sa gabi. Kinda’ like makes you feel all guilty inside. But then, all these faces form a part of me that make up what we coin as, human. I am kapitbahay, when I try to cover my melancholy with a life evident with happiness. I am Alvin, when I try to feel good about myself by toiling with the emotions of those I consider my inferiors. I am pogi, when I try to make up for what life cannot readily offer me. I am each of these three and a million others. But most of all, I am Malate --- full of life; bleak sometimes, but always full of hope. I felt my head wanting to explode; thoughts turning redundant. I had too much to drink. It’s time to head home. >>> This entry was done August 2, 2001, during the time wherein which i felt a little gratitude despite Eros' omnipresence in the life of everyone else's but mine. i just began typing one night and felt glad that i had something to preoccupy myself with during those ungodly hours of just staring blankly at the ceiling.

Limbo
Posted at 11:41 PM

Home. Hours later, when night is reborn. The heavenly stars above cower into the folds of night’s blanket, chastened by the glare of the imposing starscape below. Flickers of compassionless light studding a firmament of steel, glass and stone. I’ve never really noticed before how disquieting it all seems. Yet, I definitely notice it now. The dark above, the stars below. A world turned upside down. Just like mine. burningice> do u think good people go to heaven, dino? hundred> u ask the weirdest questions. burningice> don’t tell me, u don’t wonder sometimes. hundred> lol burningice> gtg. I’ve been online for too long and this account’s isp may be in the process of tracing it. “Coward”, I heard myself say as I gently pulled the plug to disconnect from the internet. I look at the clock and realize that it’s just half an hour past 2 am. I got up and headed for the kitchen. I poured myself some coffee to bring zip to my gnarled and wracked body. I propped myself on a chair and tried to recapitulate some conversations with other chatters. I reminisced a little and decided that the night (or day), was too precious to waste on reveries. I finished my cup of zinger and again logged on the net. They were all there. Hundred, vodka, skeezo, josh18, and all the other regulars. I began typing my kudos to everyone. Clickity-click, went the keys on my keyboard. Clickity-click, clickity-click. I couldn’t stop. It was as if I’ve imbibed some kind of drug that made me smitten by the computer’s monitor. Ah! Its hard, white frame. Its chiseled angles. Its smooth, flawless face and illumination. burningice> I, for one, don’t believe in heaven hundred> y say such a thing? burningice> coz, I’ve been dead. burningice> and I’m still in hell hundred> ur starting to freak me out, cris burningice> it’s true. mine was a sad story and I thought it was finally ending. hundred> I think there’s something that uv been hidin’ from me. hundred> am I not ur fairygodmother? burningice> u knw very well hu it s abt hundred> ahh! so, its prince charming again. burningice> maybe being good doesn’t always mean being ryt hundred> love indeed, is a queer thing burningice> lol burningice> brb hundred> (“,) “Maybe being good does not always mean, being right”. It’s true. And I’m living proof! I spent more than six years of my life, juggling between caring for a family with puppet parents and loving my prince, who thinks indifferently. My life is devoted to them. I love them. I hate them. My life is misery. >>> written during my melancholic phase. Around year 2001. Glad i was able to save my entries.

Fallen
Posted at 11:44 PM

Come in
I’ve been expecting you
There’s a knock on the door
And love walks through
It lights a fire,
Smiles…
smiled,
As though love was going to stay awhile.
And the fire breathes.
It weaves its spell.
But then love runs out of stories to tell.
For love is restless.
Love’s a flirt.
Love has places to go And people to hurt.
And so here’s the shovel to smolder the flame.
Tomorrow you’ll barely remember my name.
And I’ll try to forget you, my dearest one;
As a person tries to forget the sun.
For love holds no purpose.
Love holds no charms.
Since I beheld you Deep in my arms.

>>> A letter I gave someone. I just shrug when I think about that particular past. My years have wisened me and that's all that counts.

Anne Rice's Lestat Chris Cornell's Sunshower

A Wrinkled Leaf
Posted at 11:47 PM

The sheets of empty canvas lay sprawled on the floor. She was not compelled to do anything as her thoughts were turned from bereavement to exhaustion. I fell for him. I loathe him. My life is misery. She had no more illusions. She had lost them in her travels. How must I demote myself to the tepid position of friends? How could I possibly drown myself in oblivion? Questions. They just transcend in the wind. Questions without answers. She cannot endure it, and so she flees, like a man bolting from his bed to escape nightmare. Finally she halts, somewhat calmed though hardly at peace, on a rise beyond the sanity she thought she ruled. Here, almost like a man in search for salvation, she gazes outside the glass house. How has it come to this? The answers swim up from the depths of her mind, like shimmering scenes painted on shards of glass: she was a wild child with moments of bitterness. Happiness had not come to her early in life. A thousand years of it would not have made her blasé. Her palate for all the joys of sense and care was unspoiled. Nothing would have been wasted on her. A noble hunger, long and unsatisfied met at last its proper food, and almost instantly the food was snatched away. Fate ( or whatever it is ) delights to produce a great capacity and then frustrate it. Now, she sits in her bedchamber, slowly scanning from one corner of the room to another, from the sea of her sanity to the shadowy jumble broken by the flicker of unclean light which has become her “destiny”. I fell for him. I loathe him. My life is misery. >>> 092801. Need I say more?

Anne Rice's Blood And Gold Lit's Miserable

A Night In Purgatory
Posted at 11:50 PM

Decay has set its hooks into the very souls of the people. They continue; fed by too much history, too much experience, too much civillization. It is exemplified nowhere better, these same observers contend, than in the black alleys of Manila, the city of promises. A tall man in a coarse cloak has come this night to see for himself. And he finds it true. For here lie the shadows, and in their deep swirl teem the dregs of broken and corrupted humanity. Here hides a realm within a realm, squalor lurking within a bastion of plenty, pockets of cruelty and debauchery seeded around a heart of nobility and justice which is the palace and the throne and the crown. And into these dismal places of decadence, disease and sin… not even the hand of God can reach. The truth: there is simply no end to it. The tall man hurries past, shivering, his pace quickened by disgust. But it is impossible to escape that which is ever there, jeering or grasping at him, around every crumbling corner. Alms… Please… My belly burns… And my legs… There is pity enough in the breast of the tall man. But he has brought no coin into these places where any purchase would be mad. And so he pulls free… But there are others, always so many others, to descend on him, slowly… torpid locusts near death, sensing a single proud grain in a crushed field. He has walked too swiftly and held himself too high. A man with places to go and reasons for getting there. If he won’t give us his money, let’s take it. It is the undoing of his coarse cloak… and of his disguise… and for the tall man who is Death, this is the breaking point. It drives him to a point of stealing from a thief – life. He has been forced to slay his own, and now they shrink from him on sight… as if he were the carrier of disease. There is now but the weary whiff of melancholy… and a glimpse of slow, liquid dreams… waiting beyond. A small life which at least knew a momentary taste of greatness… before the inevitable end. >>> 092701. Hehehe! I felt a little poetic doing this entry. Thought it would be nice to write about society for a change Ü

Dreams
Posted at 11:52 PM

Soothingly, the lilting wind sings the gentle lullaby of Morpheus. It is now the time for rest. The time for slumber and dreams. However, the mollifying breeze is not entirely successful this night. In fact, it has been several nights since all creatures have pranced happily into dreamscape. For one soul, dreams have become unwelcome bedfellows. For her, they have become invaders, barbarians she has grown to dread… grown to hate. Part of her admonishes herself for allowing dreams to bother her. Afterall, they are nothing that should torment her. “It’s just a dream”, she keeps telling herself. “A dream. Perhaps. But whose?” a voice echoes in the dark. “Is it my dream or yours?” “Dark prince, is that you?” “This would not be the first time I had dreamt of you. I know not why this is so… and fate would not explain… as usual”. But what answers fate did reveal proved interesting. Particularly as it pertained to him. They are staring at each other, and yet, their eyes meet not. She gazes deeply, and what does she see? She knows that there is something that she should see. But she cannot. Her eyes burn from effort. But she must know! Perhaps, he would tell her; if she was certain this was not a dream. “If I am dreaming, then all you say would be but my own imaginings trying to piece together the puzzle”. “You could only give answers that I want to hear. Or don’t”. “You could not provide the truth”. “And if you are part of my reverie, then you would not be more than I already knew… or dreamed”. “But perhaps this is real.” Perhaps, they are in fact existing in this plane right now. But what is now? An intangible that flees as quickly as its name is uttered? For several nights, dreams had become unwelcome bedfellows… invaders and barbarians I have grown to hate. But they were merely fears and insecurities manifested as angry images in the mind. All roar and no teeth. I admonish myself for allowing such discomforting reveries to bother me. Afterall, they are only dreams. Nothing that should torment me. >>> September 2, 2001. Gosh! Has it really been that long since i wrote this entry? Wala siguro talaga akong magawa. Oh, well! An entry is an entry Ü

The White Room
Posted at 11:56 PM

You are entering the white room, that is the password. You can leave all your hang-ups at the door now. Because this is the white room. My asylum. And you are welcome… Look at all you pretty people walking past my eyes. The room is getting smaller. There’s a bright light deep inside. My toes are curling upwards And my toes have left my feet. They took away my velvet chair. My name is obsolete. Good heavens! I don’t know how you got here; Did you sneak inside my head? Or did you say a few swear words, And sneak under my bed? Look! A huge, fat pilow. Come on, lay your mind. Lay it on my crooked thoughts And see what fun you find. Oh hell! We can get wicked, amuck and in ecstasy. Delicious, angelic, innocent and in naivete. You are entering the white room. Nothing but pleasure, nothing but pressure. No earth! No gravity! No pain! No enmity! Our bodies on the red. You’ve shown me that secret weapon That shoots my fears all dead. This is the white room. My asylum. And you are welcome… >>> I wrote this little entry as an opening for a book I am planning to publish in the near future. The content is all finished, save for a few pages that should be included in every book (acknowledgement, dedication, epilogue, etc.)

The Wooden Gun
Posted at 11:59 PM

I have this habit of tickling death; tempting it so as the tallow would smolder the final wick. Do I want to die? Would I like to feel hell’s consoling embrace? Would I like to feel the security of finally reaching home? Perhaps. Someone asked me why I lived in a Rubik’s cube. We, the pawns in our own house, have to be taken apart and put back todether again like Humpty Dumpty, before we could all say that our lives were normal for the day. Chaos is comfort and ignorance is bliss. I don’t care about family and harmony, and all those crap! I feel what I want to feel and turn myself to numbness when I think different.
Stop tinkering that revolver!
Here’s a wooden gun.
Wooden Guns are for cowards!
Give me the real thing!
I could end it right now!
Shh! Stop shouting. He might hear you.
Him. The man with horns.
Hahaha! What clever jest.
Okay. Let’s play your stupid game.
Oooh! I’m so scared, I’m peeing my pants.
I can’t handle the fear!
I’d like to end my life now.
Look, I’m pointing the gun on my head.
BLAM!
Where am I?
Am I dead?
Am I in heaven or I hell?
Am I finally home?
You are here with me, away from your clever, clever land.
You are home.
And you are free,
my little sprite,
my little imp, my
little angel.

>>> Maybe the reason why "certain" people keep mistaking me for a suicidal siren is coz i keep on writing stuff like this. It pays to pretend, though. Makes more of this unsaturated life we have.

The Acrobat
Posted at 12:00 AM

Déjà vu. You’ve read about it. Described in one dictionary as “a distortion of memory in which a new situation of experience is regarded as having happened before”. Finding familiar that which should be unfamiliar. Not an uncommon sensation for you, is it? Then why, this time do you dread it so? It’s as if you’ve lived through it all before in your dreams. Visions perhaps… visions witnessed through the eyes of another. In your two decades of life, you’ve learned the hard way that nothing in this strange world is impossible. There is no time, no space, no earth, no gravity. Slowly, you realize that you are not upon unfamiliar grounds, afterall. But, yes! This thought has toiled in someone’s mind – yours! Expecting a quiet respite? I hate to disillusion you but this will have to come in a blow. As cliché goes, all good things come to an end. But not the fulfillment of realization… of acceptance. >>> Another day of higher learning to you Ü

The Fortuneteller
Posted at 12:05 AM

“Ah, a line, a crevice along Saturn. A mark on your life line. And then a turn in your career line. Hmmm, interesting. Very interesting.” I strain to hide the evidence of amazement in my eyes. I gaze into the night sky through the window and notice that the ebon tint has already blanketed whatever turquoise that, which might have been left by that wonderful, fair afternoon. There were but the glitter of diamonds that twinkled in its place. “You are a person of destiny and nothing would ever put you down.” I stare blankly and realizing this, I try to regain my composure. “Stubborn”, she looks at me; gazing but not peering. She was telling me this and not inquiring whether I was indeed stubborn. “Yes, stubborn, you are. But wise by time.” I smile at her but urged her to continue, as this was getting more interesting than I’ve ever imagined. “How old are you?” “Twenty two going twenty three on March.” “Seventeen, there was heartache. Then another when you were eighteen. A lot of heartaches after. There are a lot of heartaches.” How did she know? I was not sure. “You are twenty two now. Before you turn twenty five, there would be a big decision for you. It would be entirely up to you, but whatever you choose, you would make it work for you are destiny’s child, a destiny-person.” She looks at me blindly but I feel her words peering into me, seeping through my thoughts, my contemplations. “You think that you have already loved, but you have not. Not yet.” Ah! A gliche. I knew that this was too good to be true. Too accurate. Too perfect. “Your capacity to love. You had not yet loved to your fullest. Your love, it stretches. It can go on until there is none left for you. You think that you had already loved to your fullest, but you can still love more than that. “Whatever you choose, my child, whatever you choose”, she smiles. Ah, let us see. >>> This story happened by the way, last 021603. Hmmm.... Someone special once told me that i should not try to read palms, myself. Predicting one's destiny affects the person psychologically even if he doesn't believe in fortune telling, he says. Not unless you're a person as numb as me.

The Kindling
Posted at 12:09 AM

True happiness lives everywhere. It chooses you. It lives in your car when you drive to work. In vast scenic bridges, or in angelic choirs in your brain. It’s a place apart from the immense, benign laugh of life. A friend once told me, “Beware of people who might affect your life story. They would change it, rewrite it, turn it to swill”. And then, I met him. He was everything parents tell us to avoid. He was dark, mysterious, and sexy. He was the most beautiful thing my eyes ever beheld. He was creation and apocalypse. He was Jesus. He was Judas. One could picture him beaming, radiant, shouting --- “I am a golden god!” He was what nourished me, what destroyed me. He was uncorrupted innocence and pure malice. He was everything that I loved and everything that I loathed. And he did not know. I contented myself with every stolen glimpse of him; this boy with his ineffable silence. His smile would illuminate the unfathomable sadness I had. His limited words; fill my infinite loneliness. Sometimes, I felt like ending everything while all joy was still bearable. You, my friend, could not possibly imagine the degree of elation I’m in. Sometimes the happiness is so unbearable, so maddening, I sometimes cry out in pain. His love was cocaine. I could not get enough of it. And I knew that I was doomed. “I will never forget you”. This struck me as goodbye rather than a promise. Sometimes, the truth hides in words disguised in hope. And what a day to be out of hope! I should remind myself to buy some when I go to the grocery. “Do you want anything? I’m going to the store”, mom hollers. “Could you buy me some hope?”, I answer. “And whenever did you start smoking?”, she retorts. I just smile and head for my room. There are a lot of things mother doesn’t know about me. Things are so secret in the confines of our house walls. Walls, that serve as eternal divisions of moral and immoral rectitude. My voice is heard through these pillars of pallor, only because I choose to matter. Some days, I’d rather go invisibly; untouched. But enough of me! This is about him --- my happiness. I became his shadow. I was there even if I was not. Somehow I thought this would serve us both in the positive. I would wake hi for school, help hm with schoolwork, cook for him, clean his room, care for him when he was ill. Hell, I was Inday and inay all rolled into one! One could even say that I could have received an award. But “thank you” is so expensive during these trying times. I decided to go passive. And where did it bring me? To a situation called, I will never forget you. I still don’t know how this tale would end. The stubborn part of me still cries out for answers. But then, no answer could ever suffice at a point that I’m still struggling with my faith. One thing is for sure; I don’t care if my life story will be edited a thousand times, or if it turns to swill in the end, so long as he remains my happiness in the long run. >>> Reveries i had 2 years ago. The conclusion has ended in a brighter aspect, far from the ebon gloom of this past. The final event though, still remains to be written.

Posted at 12:12 AM

Ikaw ang high ng buhay ko! Sa tuwing pinupuntahan kita sa bahay ni Aling Pasing, pulang pula ka sa galak sa sandaling maaninag mo ang aking katauhan sa kalye ng Road 18. “Eto nga pala, may dala akong softdrinks para pagsaluhan natin”. “Ayaw mo? Sige, akin na lang”. “Alam mo namang hindi yun ang sadya ko sa iyo e. Pero kung gusto mo, ok lang din sa akin”. “Iuuwi ko na po siya, Aling Pasing. Nasa lamesa na yung bayad ko”. Alam kong mainit ka na. Ako rin. Kanina pa ako nag-iinit. Kaya nga pinuntahan kita kaagad. Hindi ba’t nabanggit mo sa aking malungkot ang iyong kabataan. Sinabi mong anim kayo. Panganay ka, at ikaw ang unang ibinenta sa inyong magkakapatid. Pinagpasapasahan ang iyong kamusmusan ng kung sinu-sinong demonyo. Nauna si Arthur, ang lalaking akala mo’y kakalinga sa iyong murang katawan. Sinaktan ka lang niya. Ikinulong at saka ibinenta sa iba. Si Leo ang huling lalaki sa buhay mo. Ngunit, tulad ng iba, katawan mo lang ang habol niya. “O, tahan na”. “Alam kong masakit pa rin sa iyo ang lahat ng nangyari, pero wag ka nang mag-alala”. “Nandito na ako”. Hmmm. Ang bangu-bango mo. Puwede ba kitang kagatin? Nakakagigil ka kasi! Gusto kong matikman ang iyong kabuuan. Gusto kong makilala ang bawat kurba ng iyong kaganapan. Maaari ba? “Mmmm! Ang sarap mo talaga!” Bakit ka tumatawa? Ganyan ka naman. Lagi mo na lang akong tinatawanan. Oo, alam kong maabaw ako. Alam mo namang ikaw lang ang makakakumpleto ng araw ko. Mmm, isaw! “Isaw” 090501 >>> I chose to write the title at the end. Adds more to the element of surprise. One of my few tagalog entries written in litt. fashion.

Jarred
Posted at 10:47 PM

This site is for my personal vanity, mind you. So I can do away with whatever I want to post. Sigh! Kakainis. Some people just can't help but bask in other people's untutored learning of certain things. I just wanted to learn the html. If it's that hard, then the basics will do. Of course I cannot digest a certain piece of wisdom in one sitting! Crash courses were never for me. But if learning something means being reminded all the time that it's hard and that i cannot learn the more advanced aspects of the former, then fuck with it! Today, I wasn't able to finish my thing with school files. Again. I really have to do it tomorrow. Blech! School nanaman.

Anne rice's Merrick Hoobastank's Running Away

Hail To The Chimp!!!
Posted at 11:27 PM

It's my year! Yipee! It's only now that it sank on me. Just so you'd know, I'd like to post what the theoretical ancestor of man is all about. Monkeys are fun and loving persons who are always cheerful and energetic. They are very clever. Give a monkey a boring book to read and he'll turn it into a Musical. Better yet, he'll invite everyone to see it free! That's how talented, creative and generous monkeys usually are. Monkeys are always alert and can feel surroundings even as they are thoroughly engaged in conversation. The fact that my daily intake of fluid is 50% caffeine makes this theory is very much possible. Monkeys are sociable and have an active outside life. My source doesn't say anything about sex life, though. I guess, it's equally active and thrice as exciting. Hahaha! Monkeys sympathize with people and they in turn trust you with their secrets. Monkeys can forgive, but never forget and can be revengeful if somebody wrongs them several times. Hmmm. How true is this? They wait their turn for the perfect opportunity and nothing can stop them from achieving a goal. They have a lively love life. Hah! Monkeys are good at making people comfortable and even the most shy individuals open up to them. I think, this particular trait is perfectly apt for moi Ü Having a very attractive openness, and as a partner they are reliable, adaptable and cheerful. Inherently brainy, monkeys very rarely fail in their mission. "The fact that you were able to enter med school, means that you have an above average Intelligence Quotient (IQ, slow!)", a professor once told me. They are good at assessing risk and financial problems. That explains how good I am when it comes to budgeting money for my shopping Ü Monkeys are intellectual and their memory is incredible. Such nerds we are oftentimes perceived. But all we truly are, are a bunch of "oc-oc's". They don't care what opinions others may have of them. Just let me add that this is provided that there is coplete closure to certain issues whatsoever. They know they are lucky, and they also know they have the power to change things when convenience calls. Lucky for me I'm my personal genie! Monkeys are virtually unsinkable! If people try to trick monkeys, they will probably catch them. They never make a move without a plan. They are great strategists. They can spot an opportunity in any form. They never miss a trick! Kaya beware, my antagonists:p! They improve and try to do things better, and often amaze even themselves. They are the ultimate diplomats and slip in and out of difficulties with ease. More lubricant, please! Monkeys are always out in front! Dragons and rats will match up with the monkey. Hmmm. This is the part that really sucks 'coz Baby and I are the complete contradiction when it comes to the Chinese Zodiac. Maybe that's why I've had several hard years with him. Still, i believe, destiny is what you make it. I know a lot of people will agree. Job hunt tomorrow for this particular chimp!

Audioslave's I Am A Highway

Of Fairies And Godlings
Posted at 10:06 PM

I'll be signing my contract tomorrow. I'm really excited about work. Money in the pocket, finally! And there's less time to toil about not doing anything Recieved email from my "fairygodmother" today. He's planning on marrying late this year or next year. Sigh! Oh, well! There goes the contract! He is of course the closest boy-friend i ever had, next to the "guitar god", who's now my intimate partner. Honestly though, I miss just being friends with the latter. There's just so much more secrets now... more unspoken truths. 2 Thumbs up for my "artist", who has the guts to even talk about the "M" word. I for one, won't be settling down 'till I get a stable career and a fat bank book to cover whatever. Maybe 'coz it's just now that I am doin' regular work. Here's crossing my fingers for tomorrow Ü I went to gym yesterday. The place was nice. Taebo, Aero, lockers, steam shower, and CABLE :D The instructors were real nice. But umm, I just can't see myself goin' there by myself as of the moment. I'll try, though. The final interview yesterday was more than intense. I had several bloopers with the actual "thing" and guys who work there keep on calling me liv tyler. first time I wasn't able to handle the compliments. I was too shy and nervous worrying bout my application. The one who gave the test was real nice although he kept reminding me of someone from Korea. They had the same Canadian accent (Korea-Canada, duh!). Got a call from the company while having lunch with She at the mall and returned their call after receiving the news that my application was a success (at first I wasn't all that enthusiastic). Found out that I'd be earning more than I bargained for. No immediate plans of going anywhere for me, as of the moment. I'm such a zombie! Why am I still here making clickity-click, clickity-click?! I still have an early meeting tomorrow. Aargh! Have to wake up at 5:30 if I am to make it at 8am in Makati. Grrrr! I'm such a nerd.

Jeff Buckley's So Real

Test For Echo
Posted at 05:41 PM

Ever morning, I look in the mirror and say, “What are you smiling about?”. I start reminiscing, pondering whether I have anything to thank for from this small and stupid life. I stare blankly at the mirror at first. Then I begin to frown; my forehead starting to wrinkle from the stress of stressing myself. I sigh in frustration and open the faucet. The freezing, 5am temperature of the water wakes me and brings me back to reality. It’s time to go to school. I look around and realize that I’m not the only one grumbling, silently cursing the morning traffic jam. I unknowingly overhear a conversation of two of the fx passengers. One mutters, “Hay naku, tapos ganyan nanaman ka-traffic mamayang hapon. Di na ata aasenso ang Pilipinas”; her voice trailing off as her words seep into my mind, lodging a thousand words. I am not a philosophy major. I am a pre-med student. But I knew then, that her point of view was one that would give Socrates and his successors a sense of pride for what they had evoked upon the minds of many. I would normally dismiss such words and bury them under the most dorsal part of me, supporting my decision with the fact that I am just a student, what can I do? But then, I start to think, these are the kind of behavior that bring about such comments. The FX door opens and a guy tries to squeeze his butt inside the crammed up Tamaraw FX. The tought that FX’s have a 10-passenger capacity, provided that the latter is as thin as paper, immediately came fluttering around my think tank. He had to try to close the door thrice before his bottom could be truly supported by the vehicle’s cushion seat. I was going to catch a quick nap before I reached UP Manila but then this guy brought out his mobile phone and started punching like crazy, sans the keypad tone which would give any normal person the initiative to plot vengeance. As if this was not irritating enough, we were in a dead zone. Ears are meant to be lent. But they’d rather have taken a back seat that time. The “Message Not Sent” beep was killing my two lovelies! What was this guy trying to do? Give us all auditory defects? Was it me or was everything getting to the driver too? He started honking at the pedestrians crossing the street, oblivious to the fact that the lights already signaled red. I tried shutting my ears from the world during that present scenario but to no avail, I was not able to catch a single wink. All this, and it wasn’t even raining. Mamaya siguro, mage-LRT na lang ako pauwi. Baka dun, mas makapagpahinga pa ako. I got off the “teleserye” ride when we reached Padre Faura. Just one subject for the day, then I can go home to my best friend’s house – my only refuge. After an hour and a half chemistry, I was all ready to go. Drat! It felt like hell stepping out of UP Manila’s air-conditioned buildings. Just a few steps to the station and I was there. As I stood in front of one of the Light Rail Transit’s non-air-conditioned cars, I began to recognize that familiar smell LRT passengers chance to whiff each time they ride the train. When will all the cars be equipped with air conditioners or should we say odor blasters? Even the humid atmosphere inside the train seemed to take shape and form a veil around me, making me even more uncomfortable. Little did I know, this was just the beginning of another hilarious adventure. A woman started shouting for the driver to hold the door, as her shoe was stuck between 2 other sardine-packed passengers. The good thing about the Light Rail Transit, you don’t have to hold onto the bars to keep from slipping. The crowded train assures that there won’t be any room for breathing. I couldn’t help but smirk when two men started shouting, each accusing the other of having the bad odor. I was grinning from ear to ear and before I knew it, all the other passengers were gregariously laughing, some, routing for one of the two contenders; some, stoking fire on the two’s already heated argument; some, commenting out loud that we all had the same uninviting scent, thanks to the trains crammed up accommodations; and some simply shrugging off the petty incident. Monumento Terminal! This was where I finally got off. I rode a jeepney to Novaliches, considering the smoke from the passing vehicles my final touch-up. I arrived at G’s house, an ugly wreck. But he smiled, asked me to come in, offered me his towel to freshen up, and bought coca-cola (my favorite) from the sari-sari store across. We had a rich conversation of funny experiences and instances you’d love to abhor’ our personal vendettas, and our not-so-secret aspirations. This was when my post-thoughts earlier in the morning came flooding back. What did I have to thank for in my life? Then the answer turned crystal. The simple things of course! Turning bad things into a good laugh, a friend being there for you, signs and mementos of love, prayer. It’s nice to know that everything is not so senseless. That there is always purpose whether it be for the simple reason of reflection, or for the optimistic reason of making a difference. Every morning, I look in the mirror and say, “What are you smiling about?”. I start reminiscing, pondering whether I have anything to thank for from this small and stupid life. I stare blankly at the mirror at first. Grabe, ang dami pala! Friends and loved ones, food on the table, the crisp sound of a hundred peso bill, being able to learn a new vocabulary (So feeling matalino ka for a second), mga grades na pasang-awa sa pinaka-ayaw mong subject. Ang dami sobra! Then I begin to frown; my forehead starting to wrinkle from the stress of stressing myself. I sigh in frustration and open the faucet. Mamaya na ako mag-iisip. The freezing, 5am temperature of the water wakes me and brings me back to reality. It’s time to go to school * July 31, 2001 Wrote this when I was still in pre-med. Notice how different my way of writing was at the time. Was a bit crude, I think. Sigh, those were the days. It’s a good thing though, that there’s already the MRT and air-conditioned cars in the LRT. G is still my best friend although the friendship we share right now has already surpassed the most trying of tempests.