industrialfireFly

The Tenth Attempt Number Ten

2007-09-17T15:02:00.000+08:00

Let me try - let me try again, as i have been doing so over and over and over. For in this expedition to discover me, i have harvested nothing other than false hopes and traded everything else for regret. This is me typing, no, this is me ranting. To myself, to you, to no one, to everyone of us tired of hearing the thud that reverberates from a body slapping unto the ground.

Amen.

2006-04-10T13:55:00.000+08:00

http://www.howbaduy.blogspot.com

new places, different times, same fucked up kid.

2005-10-07T02:19:00.000+08:00

okay, first of all, make sure you are seated comfortably and securely. make sure you aren't in danger of falling off somewhere; if you are holding a lethal object, put it down. i don't want you to hurt yourself just because of my announcement. okay game?

these days, i don't LOOK fabulous.

well, not in that way, silly. that's like a hard stunt to pull off. harhar; kidding. here's what i mean though: i was walking in the mall a while ago and *bam!* i suddenly realize that i cannot read the menu--the big one nailed behind the cash register. well, i recognized words like "milk" and "ice" because i knew how the words look like, design and dimension-wise. just like what i told my idiot friend: if the word printed above the door is long, that's where you enter; if it's short, that's where you're supposed to go out.

but seriously, the individual letters, i had a hard time to distinguish. everything was so...suffused. so not sharp. i swear the markings on the board did not have edges. it's like looking through the window when the rain's falling so hard and the view is being distorted by water that's sliding down the sheet of glass.

i don't think i've suddenly become illiterate or dyslexic. and if there's anything i am very terrified of, it is going blind. i will rather lose a leg or an arm but i will not go blind. sheesh, i'd rather give up smoking. (yeah listen to me go on with this, with lights turned except for a cutesy night light and my notebook's monitor.)

truth be told, i actually own a pair of glasses. i have been prescribed one when i was still a kid. it's funny, really, since i am not an insistent reader or what have you. how i could have destroyed my chances of ever being a pilot at that young an age is beyond my capability to connect events. but i know this much: i don't wear my glasses because they are:

1) so goddam inconvenient
2) very unflattering
3) the accessory makes me look smart, profound and all proper--things that i am not.

but right now, all i could think about is going to the opthalmologist to have my eyes refracted the soonest time possible. i probably have outgrown the pair that i have now; i get headaches when using them, those seldom instances that could probably be registered as a phenomenon.

unreliable eyesight is such a drag. once, i ran spectacularly right smack into springfield's display window, actually intending to go inside the shop to check out clothes. and i was so shocked i wasn't able to remove myself immediately; i stayed plastered against it, feeling the glass vibrate behind my cheek and i tried hard to phase out peachy's hysterical laughter, as if calling all other people in the damn mall to come look at the obese boy stuck to the glass like an idiot. i suddenly felt sympathy with the mannequins. instead of the one looking, i felt that i became the display behind the glass. the looks on the faces of the folks inside the store: priceless. that is one way of drawing attention. best part is that it was not orchestrated. that is my most recent MOST embarrassing experience. (well, wait, not really, but it's in the top ten). but then again, this probably accounts for my stupidity rather than the damage on my eyes. or how the good people at springfield are immensely talented with keeping their glass spotless and clear. well, they lost this customer as i scurried out of sight like the idiot i have come to play. bleh.

prissiness is a good thing. it keeps you from being contaminated in countless ways. i sure wish i knew how to be prim because i think i am the world's biggest klutz in disguise. or a slob claiming to be fabulous. there are days when i don't shave and i walk around the house in a robe. a wonderful robe, i must add. lately, i've noticed that i am more excited about these robes over clothes that i can actually wear in public. (mickey, thanks again for that fabulous balinese robe. i love it so much--c'est chaud dahlin. muy caliente. and to whoever else you are reading this and in the future, you come into a situation wherein you cannot decide what to give me, well then just give me a nice robe.) going back. but then again, that's a matter of taste, clothes that could be worn in public. i've been into skirmishes over that. they take one look at me and a debate worthy of the philippine senate hall goes off.

but hey: if you want evidence that god does not exist, you are invited to take a look at my bedroom and discover how anarchy would look like when translated into mundane matters, what with all stuff thrown on my couch as if sitting on it was not the consideration for its purchase.

but don't get me wrong, in spite of this cesspool i inhabit which i call bedroom (my mom says that i am actually destroying-yes exact word-the house because i insist that one room in it to be this way), i do believe in a higher being. i have figured out young enough that i am not the most tremendous thing. yes, i may have developed the belief that i am important, but certainly, i will not claim to be responsible for such bigger things like the existence of chocolate, tobacco leaves or sugar.

so higher being, please fix my eyes. and when you're done doing that, fix me up with someone. amen.

2005-10-06T04:39:00.000+08:00

the internet is evil.

i have so much to finish and yet i find myself in friendster checking out the profile of the one person i should stop being interested in. god, the regret of adding to his "profile views!" argh right now i'm actually banging my head on the wall. okay, the internet is a neutral thing; i am a stupid boy.

i have just finished reading hey nostradamus! by douglas coupland and i must say that i like it so much. the book has been with me for more than a year now but since i had all his books bought for me, i was determined to read them all in sequence. i finished it in what, two days and now i'm starting with eleanor rigby. although i'm the kind of person who would rather have an interval in between reading novels, so i'm guessing that i'd stop reading this and put it off for maybe a week or two. or when (or if) i go to baguio next month with hans and co. i guess i digest these stories. i think that's why i prefer fiction, or prose, over poetry. i like to be lost in scenes, in moments, in...well - no other way to put it - stories.

not to say that my life is boring. god knows how much i love myself and no torture can ever make me admit that i'd rather be someone else. none.

* * *

speaking of being myself, the semester's about to end and i haven't posted anything about my classes yet. well, technically, my poetry class is done with; i just submitted my poems and my paper last tuesday. i'm not a poet yet but i never really expected (nor will i ever expect to) to be one. the workshop class was fun though. sir jneil was (is) a fantastic prof and i had (have) wonderful classmates.

i just had dinner with sir jneil, kath and noel the other day and it was so much fun. well, the first plan was to have coffee, but since some funky thing was going on at the bahay ng alumni, we decided against choc kiss and went to chateau verde instead. i had lasagna that mysteriously filled up my tummy as if it expanded into a blimp inside my stomach. it still scares me, what kind of cheese was in there, up to this day.

we were just laughing the whole time, but in spite of being with these interesting people, we did not miss checking out the cute guy who sat in the next table. i've learned so many things, like about nawals, how to get rid of crabs and all sorts of drugs. hahaha kidding. well not really. one other thing i learned is something about myself: how is that i am totally capable of talking about sex as if i am not a virgin? even i am wondering where i get all these...material. cos when i say conversing about sex, i really mean conversing. as in sharing opinion and well, um, experiences. (that may not be of sex, but are sexy nonetheless) god i talk crazy for a sixteen year old.

okay i'm starting to be a psycho so i think this means i should start working again. god, i've been doing photoshop all day, my eyes are starting to melt. having this kit ready by later is like so next to impossible. i think i'm going to post the poem i submitted for poetry; the one i most like:

LESSONS IN ASTRONOMY

1

As if an earnest professor
whose excited words just eddy
in the earlobes of his
one and only student (freshman, i think you think),

you lecture me about

looking up
to see for myself the wonders
of the zodiac:

those flickering dots with which to play
an ancient game
of connecting them
into a belt, creatures, heroes,
lovers.

A busy sidewalk café is
where we always hold class. You drink
your macchiato with long,
slow sips in between sessions that
never went passed the silly name-game
and the explanation of the syllabus.

2

Tonight,
the practical test.

I haven’t any idea of
the grading scheme but I try my best;
suck up anyway. Hidden behind
foliage and squeaky park benches,
I tremble
while lying on an improvised mat
of our clothes.

I was never told
by you that I have to be shaken and
thrown into a multitude of angles
just to watch this “spectacular,”
and stagnant, lightshow.

3

What I failed to say:
I have done some advanced reading.
I shiver under your vast, black umbrella
pricked with countless holes
and I run this in my head:

the stars are not the stars
but light coming all the way from
unimaginable distances,
some from sources that
have already went out
before the imprints poked dots on the sky.

So I light a cigarette and look up,
as you’ve always instructed.
I see not a belt, creatures, heroes,
nor lovers
but a graveyard for promised illumination.

2005-09-06T00:14:00.000+08:00

I've seen blogs with song lyrics posted on them. while i do admit that i usually - wait, what usually - i always dodge reading the lyrics and proceed to read the other parts of the entry, i find myself posting the lyrics of a song which i has come to mean something to me. The most lucid memory I have with the song is when I was drinking with segment producers while i was still a researcher at the buzz. (Calling fellow employees in a tv network "officemates" does not sound like it makes sense, well besically because I cannot call a network 'office')

before i give you the lyrics, i want to dwell on this first. my former job did not really required much from me, but incidentally this included twenty-four hours of my day and all seven days of my week. (i swear i broke my knee there, all for the love of chismis.) needless to say, i disappeared from the face of the planet as i entered the world of showbiz.

It was really a dychotomy:

1) there were those who tell me that I fit right smack into that job. These are people who know me from school and I guess they've always known me as quirky and chika and all that and they kind of associated those attributes to the particular show that I used to work for. And it was kind of fun, seeing the reactions on the faces of people when I tell them what I had been doing during those days. I guess they were expecting me to know a lot of juicy stuff concerning people, well, whom i really did not give a fig about. (Binugbugbog ni famous singer/actor/tv host ang asawa nya etc etc)

2) and there were those who just knew from the beginning that it wouldn't work for me. unfortunately for me, I did not fall under number two, but this is a different thing altogether.

So back then, we had post-production/pre-production meetings every monday. after which, these segment producers and I would watch a movie and sometimes down a couple of bottles of beer after. whenever we did the latter, we almost always did so at this 24-hour joint in front of ABSCBN main gate along Sgt. Esguera. The place looks like a big, dreary hut with more often that not no other customers in it.

We were drinking and talking about the history of the show and how they hoped that I would stay and how thye thought that I had a biright future at the network and all that when this song started to play on the radio. I realized then that I had heard the song before but at that moment, something about it soothed me. I was tired then and i was not so hot about my occupation. Being in the company of newly met fascinating people and enjoying it was merely the reason I had for going back to work each day.

I scrambled towards the sound system and demanded the waiter to play the track again. I searched their CD's and scanned every track trying to look for the song. I dug into their big case logic for the sleeve just to find out what the song's title was and who recorded it.

Months later, I would be out of ABSCBN and won't see these segment producers again. I only stayed there for five months and no, there was no future for me there.

I guess, especially now, the song reminds me that (as Mundi and I were talking about a while ago) things don't fall apart. They just change.

Build
Housemartins
Now That's What I Call Quite Good...

Clambering men in big bad boots
Dug up my den, dug up my roots.
Treated us like plasticine town
They build us up and knocked us down.

From Meccano to Legoland,
Here they come with a brick in their hand,
Men with heads filled up with sand,
It's build.

Chorus:
It's build a house where we can stay,
Add a new bit everyday.
It's build a road for us to cross,
Build us lots and lots and lots and lots.

Whistling men in yellow vans
They came and drew us diagrams.
Showed us how it all worked out
And wrote it down in case of doubt.

Slow, slow, quick, quick, quick,
It's wall to wall and brick to brick,
They work so fast it makes you sick,
It's build.

Chorus.

Down with sticks and up with bricks,
In with boots and up with roots,
It's in with suits and new recruits,
It's build...

***

THINGS DO NOT FALL APART; THEY CHANGE.
Still, I can't help but think that the saddest story i will ever get to write is an autobiography.

2005-08-24T18:14:00.000+08:00

in online conversations, it seems that every topic other than sex is small talk. "still in school? what do you do? favourite movie? yadayadayada" and it annoys me when people do not understand "what do you do" but mistake it with "what are you doing now" and they give answers which they thing are witty like "chatting with you." so, that's what you, do, you chat with me. how miserable that life must be. just an observation.

2005-08-05T20:53:00.000+08:00

on 2 stars (metro and me)

monday:

i know that i have just recently made public my strong abhorrence towards the metrostar. i've once taken a ride on it during rush hour and instantly whipped up an insight regarding vanity and at the same time discovered the true meaning of the word cramped.

But then, i get dropped of at quezon avenue station this morning only to find looooooooooooong meandering lines, taking up every permissible space. i spent more time lining up for that friggin trip ticket than taking that trip. trying to get on that train should be considered for extra challenge. it's a real test on one's agility, stamina and patience. all the while, i wanted to kick myself but no space allowed for this happen. it would have been less complicated had i only waken up earlier.

once i got to ayala station, the first thing i did was to purchase stored value. much ado to be an hour late for work.

wednesday:

so there i was again, morning at metrostar, mouring for myself. to my horror, condition actually worsened and the aircondition in the friggin train was not turned on. in missy's words (unfortunately taken from her own experience) "noon ko lang nalaman na puede pala yun"--i never knew that it was possible for the goddam train to run without aircon. and so the windows were opened i was praying ever so hard for it not to start raining. and then, i made that fatal mistake of heaving my chin up and took a peak of edsa. upon seeing that traffic was manageable and that it might actually take me faster if i brought my friggin car, i swear i felt a warm tear roll down my cheeks.

i took the cab home.

thursday:

in spite of my 9am work the following day, i go out with missy and nika. and this is only an excuse so that i could post this pic, cos i'm such a star.

happy birthday missy! it's funny that it was because of her birthday that we went out and i find no picture of me with her taken on that night. but hey, don't nika and i look like half-sisters? harhar

friday:
okay, things got kinda spunky at the club and we all ended up going home past 4. i wake up at 9, but still took the cab to makati. i arrived at the office at 10:30. shame on me.

next week, i will take the goddam car. i really hate the goddam train. i am spoiled i will not be ashamed of it.

2005-07-27T02:00:00.000+08:00

realization, i have just realized, is a word i use quite loosely. i may walk up a hall, catch a glimpse of my reflection on the shiny steel surface of the elevator doors and go on to claim that i realize something about myself. like something as silly as how how my eyes are not symmetrical. i have over the years, in similar fashion, realized that i don't like sinigang, that i abhor eating at abscbn cafeteria (or at least i did when i was still with the company), that i don't like the bitter taste of beer, that i am obsessed with triffle-hi of gayuma and yadayadayada. i have realized that i don't construct sentences the way i used to (whether i have improved or have turned for the worse is a thing I cannot realize just yet.)

but truly, realization, as i have realized just now, should come with a distinct pain. liken it to being shot with a pellet gun right on your nape, that sting not fading anytime soon after the pellet hits you. and it won't kill you. it just leaves a totally unnecessary feeling of discomfort that causes unrest, grumpiness for the rest of the day. you feel your nape, and never get to neglect the fact that you have a nape. and you miss that feeling of not feeling your nape. of being able to just go on without that full knowledge of having one because it's just there. simply because it was just there.

when you realize something, whether about yourself or about how things go, you part with that part of yourself that's hopeful, the part of your psyche which cannot fully reconcile what you want to do and what you will be able to accomplish. before realizing something, you are magnanimous, invincible and totally able. to part with that ignorance of a certain something is a painful matter that is not always outdone by the new knowledge which takes its place.

and so now i know why i constantly confuse myself. like that lonely horse pulling a calesa up a filthy binondo street, i find it easier to trudge along with blinders on both edges of vantage, steadily ascending without knowing what's on the periphery, being under the impression that that sometime, somewhere will be arrived at, wherever it is, without fully understanding how getting there feels like.

(okay, i should stop being vague. i have a tendency to be vague, and i don't know why.)

but it's kind of too late to gripe over this now for i have just realized that to be something, something real in this world, someone who matters, one has to do things that one does not like to do. it may be as petty as writing an article on something one is actually the least bit interested in. or claiming to be something that one, in the end, does not want to live up to after all.

2005-07-12T04:43:00.000+08:00

>asl?
>fine:
(subtitle: a very labo post)

uneventful is how i would describe a day wherein:

i do some funky stuff with some guy over the telephone just before i pull that sleeping mask over my eyes, and the new day heralded not by some rooster but by my snoring
i wake up to such scorching heat, i turn the aircon on and then i sleep again
i wake up at 3pm, rush a 300-word write-up for the contributor's page and turn the TV on just to see two guys fight over Sexbomb Rochelle in Daisy Siete
i arrive at enterprise plaza, an hour late for a staff meeting, and still leave the damn building with parking fee jacked up to a hundred
i insist, and just may have succeeded in doing so, to do the styling in the fashion spread
i am given a new article to work on: skin care section, which i know nothing about since i only smolder my face with whatever's in my bathroom
i hear two versions of "last kiss" on the radio as i pass through that supercongested cubao tunnel and all the dirt and smoke and squalor of manila is sticking to my face because the windows are down since my aircon is still broken. it had been for a month now.
i meet up with a former officemate and rant the whole night. in two locations.
i rush a report for class the following day

what i really miss is that feeling that nothing matters because they really don't. i also miss the time when my reading list did not matter; that i would not be judged for reading too little or for reading not-too-literary stuff life rushdie or borges. i miss reading those quark henares stories. (wonder if he still writes...and where to find these pieces) i miss being so sensless and being amusing to make up for it. i miss being something.

2005-07-08T03:37:00.000+08:00

SUCCULENCE
after neglecting this page for such a long time, the one time i felt like i was finally going to post something again, the taskbar takes its sweet time. nothing really hurts more than a blank screen to go with a giddy mind. the thing that's not really talked about too often is the importance of internet connection. unfortunately this is nothing i can delve into myself as i don't know a fig about it. as you have noticed, this new template activated the comments option in this blog and everyone is invited to leave me a message concerning internet stuff which you think i ought to know about.

but then what i really want to talk about is the most delectable sin ever: vanity. i can't believe i am only talking about it now, particularly after reading what igz had to say about it in his blog (his blog is linked to mine, if you want to read for yourself).

the other night, i hit cafe saguijo with lotte and her childhood friend wesley - cool guy - and two of his friends. when we arrived, they said that they (wes and his pals) were just going to the toilet so lotte and i stayed outside to have some smokes. after like thirty minutes, we noticed that they haven't come back yet. it was still early and there definitely was no line for them to negotiate. our search for the threesome led us to the parking lot and we were merrily bouncing on some tires that were just lying there when one of wes's friends found us.

at cafe saguijo, we never really bothered to go up the stairs and as this guy led us, i had no idea what was waiting for me. as i took steps, i kept on imagining it as like a place where people smoked weed and do funky stuff. imagining and hoping: kinda same thing, don't you think. it turned out to be a room that was converted into a botique that sold cool and mostly vintage stuff. "lola's baul" the guy we were with said. (god how i wish i remember his name, my blogging life would be so much easier. i know: let's call him ernie.) okay, so ernie said that we were in some lola's baul and wesley was trying some tight retro shirt on, wesley with untamed, curly hair and a scrawny frame. and that was in fact the purpose of our summon: we had to see that. i said he should get it, and went on fiddling with the stuff in the room. treasure--lotte found this really cool small red, rectangular pin (reminds me of name plates service specialists wear) with the word succulence written on it in white. (i acknowledge that the last sentence is the worst ever.)

we were on our way to another bar, talking about the act of mixing friends that belonged to different circles and i was still thinking about the pin. i never figured out why i didn't buy it since it could not have caused much. then i thought of why someone who's not vain would buy it. buy it and wear it. i obviously wasn't thinking about myself, as i had actually already tried it on and had every intention of keeping it on, if only i had the mind to whip up the intention to buy it too. (never even bothered to ask for the price. stupid stupid. so if you go to saguijo before i do, be a darling and leave the damn pin where you will find it because i swear i am coming back for it.)

"vanity is the most delicious sin," i suddenly said. i didn't really care if my statement was going fit in what ever it was we were discussing at that time. (ninetees rock music, i think) "it's a win-win situation. at least you get to be beautiful come your judgement day. with vanity, you don't lose. you might go to hell for it but you'd end up being one hot-looking devil." i think they agreed, but i was too busy agreeing with myself to pay enough attention.

a couple of days prior to that, i had a meeting at enterprise. (every monday actually. so friends who work at makati, feel free to book me mondays after work.) i got into trouble the last time i parked in front a friend's establishment and i just couldn't stomach the fact that i was going to pay way too much for parking. so i decideded to park my car, whos name is montgomery btw, at shangrila mall where parking is fabulously at a flat rate. i took the train to makati and since it wasn't rush hour, it was okay. i arranged to meet cathy after work so that we could ride the train together.

okay, rush hour at the metrostar is like being at a uaap basketball match between ateneo and la salle except that from araneta, they ahd moved the venue to the ayala heights clubhouse. i had to agree with cathy when she said that there was not going to be a small chance in hell that we were going to be able to catch a ride in the qc-bound train. so she had the idea of taking that "roundtrip" ride. meaning, we were to take the train that was heading towards taft and there, we would simply wait for the train to start heading to the other end which was i think somewhere in balintawak. "isn't this kinda illegal," i asked. "many people do it," she said, but you don't really have to mull over it to realize that that hadn't really answered the question. with a promise of course that we'd eventually get seats, i let myself take that bogus course of action. the promise would elude fulfillment. for me, at least.

so i ended up standing during the trip, no, voyage to taft and then back to shangri-la station. this, after walking up and down ayala avenue and practically spending my entire lifetime lining up for a friggin trip ticket. i was clearly not in the most accomodating mood. to top it off, i kept hating that person who "stole" my seat, who were practically everyone who were seated. (except for cathy, of course. she is my friend. she did not steal a seat from me, i gave one to her.) i had to smite them. i did not have to be successfull at doing so but i had to. i had to i had to i had to. so i concentrated on how they looked. it was after all their most apparent flaw. i will not elaborate on this. i am laready coming off as superficial as it is. but i swear, "vanity yields results. it's okay, don't be scared to go fix yourselves" i kept on saying to no one in particular and to everyone at the same time(except for cathy, of course). i realize, dear reader that this might turn you off about me, but hey you must forgive me for i was sooooo tired then and do admit that i had a point. i said more cruel stuff which i am not going to write anymore. and i do admit now that exhaustion blinded me so much that i failed to see the beauty in people. (okay that was too much. i am sure not everyone in that goddam car was repulsive, there.) the next time i had bussines at enterprise, i parked under the building and had to literally pay a totally impractical amount all in the name of vanity.

so these are two concrete stories about how i have been thinking about vanity lately. i thought that in the few posts that i put concerning my job, i was perennially vague. perhaps one, day, i will post stories about it. very pregnant topic, i tell you. spicy and juicy and worthy of the show i used to work for. but i digress. anyway, vanity. what i actually forgot about while i was standing inside that train is this: my stand has always been that everyone is actually vain. as in everyone. and it is such a gross misconception that the ones who are aware of their own vanity - those who are admittedly and outwardly vain - are the more sinful ones. everyone is vain, except that not everyone is successful at being so. if that to them is the best version of themselves, then so be it. like not having a fashion statement is in itself a fashion statement. actively not caring is caring. it takes more time to look like you did not assemble your outfut, i'm sure, just as it takes helluva longer time to achieve that natural look in terms of cosmetics.

but then, i am now thinking if vanity really is my favorite sin. cos i think it could either be glutony or deliberate megalomania.

2005-06-17T01:02:00.000+08:00

OVERDUE OVERTURE

geez. since I have already forgotten, remind me who i am. when you see me like walking in a mall or something, do not hesitate to slap me on my back and tell me: "hey! you're *my name*! you were such an ass."

in the first place, working for this network has deboned me of my essence. we all know how dandy fish fillet is or tenderloin steak is (as opposed to porterhouse) but filleted charlie?

the backbone of my existence is glamoure.

and how does work deglamourize moi? let's start with the obvious. for one thing, working for television production sucks your schedule into a vacuum of tar. there's simply no time to do anything else besides work. and one could not afford to slack because unfinished work would translate to dead air. (oops, network jargon here. dead air is when you see black even if the TV is on.) no matter how gago anyone could be, no one wants to be cause to dead air.

another is that the term measely was invented to describe such quantity four times my salary. this is not a hyperbole but a realization. do i need to elaborate on this?

and not only do i lose time for activities, and not only do i lose the means to afford myself but I also lose time for non-activity. sleeping has become a privelege and non-sleep translates to eyebags, dark circles around my eyes and pimples. i am simply being robbed of my natural beauty.

now, i hadn't really realized that i've been working for five months, that i haven't been the gallivanting animal i was originally bred and engineered to be, 'till my friend cokelover brought it up. egh. so now, i am very happy to anounce that this sunday will be my last episode. showbusiness is simply not for me. it is so beneath me.

2005-04-22T22:01:00.000+08:00

I AM ALIVE.

I have so much stories to tell and I am afraid that I am no longer myself. I am no longer the person one would almost certainly see out in bars or in parties or orgies or whatever. I have been sucked into the world of television production--and never had i ever imagined myself gettng entangled in this web of stress and deceit and controversy. working for this weekly showbiz talkshow is ruining me and i do not even know why i am still here.

They call my position "researcher. But I say, I am a "magician." "Get me this, give me that. Find this search for the friggin supreme court ruling and i need it now (and it is a saturday night)" There is no recourse for me but to say "yes."

sometimes, we whip up skirmishes between starlets. part of the job. And I look at the paycheck. Tell me it's worth it. I need to be convinced.

i feel so profound.

2005-03-15T01:38:00.000+08:00

I put off telling you guys about my work because I am afraid that it will just be another reklamo session. It is a custom practice to exaggerate the hardships one might meet in a first job and I am trying to be classy by setting myself apart from this practice, for as long as I can--working in broadcast is not a bed of roses. If ever it is, it is a bed of really thorny roses and one is pressed down against it by anvils.

Instead, I have decided to do this: a few days ago, Cattan was asking me to post a story here. Well, this is the first part of the story I am currently working on. I have actually finished it but I think it is too long to be posted. Besides, I am currently reworking it. So for any comments and constructive criticism (which I will so much appreciate) you may reach me through supercharlie69@yahoo.com or you may leave your message at the tagboard.

Picture this: me sitting across from her. Now, imagine me: a paper cup suspended just below my lips. My other hand should be restless. It was itching to stroke back hair that just grew back. Lola always said that I was just another pathetic kid trying to be a punk. Couldn't even call me a punk; always stated through an angle of a failed attempt. It wasn't my idea, you know, mowing my head about a year before. It was Hunter's. I called your mother Hunter. Well, she'd dumped me anyway so screw me for allowing that to happen. "Oh Oslo, you're just too...too antiseptic--but it's not you, it's us." Exact words.

And then someone said that still staying friends with Hunter was going to be easy. Your uncle Zurich. He was drunk or high or whatever then but his words sank in like they were the Gospel of Matthew. Or something Bono had just said in a recent press conference. Found him by the door, Zurich. I just came in from work--I was working graveyard shift; he was self-employed, he'd always said. He was self employed but was in lola's pay roll, but I think that was a secret. I drove in and he was balancing himself by leaning on the doorknob. I had to twist the key for him. You'd think I'd know better, that I'd stop listening to Zurich. The two of us may have had shared a womb for nine months but that doesn't mean he knows as much as I do. He grew up here among these people.

All of them, not like mama: forty-five year old Catholic schoolgirl-wonder who had chosen to run away from them, from here, to run away with the man of her dreams. Once, I called her Ma, and that started an entire discussion. Bottomline was to always call her mama, accent on the second syllable. (But you don't have to call me papa. Call me whatever you like. What's hip there? Erpat? Whatever.) But mama also had her one-sentence moments. When I told her about Hunter, and I sure babbled a lot of stuff, the only thing she cared to say was "you're seeing a girl named Hunter?" I could almost hear her heart palpitate from across kilometers upon kilometers of highway. And she was on the speaker phone.

"Mama, you named your children Oslo and Zurich," I said.

"Oslo and Zurich happen to be nice cities, hijo. The two of you were made there, you know. I don't know exactly where, but your father and I spent some time in Denmark and then in Switzerland some nine months before you were born." And I was so sure she was nodding while over-sharing this, glint in her eyes and everything. Of course the capital of Denmark is actually Copenhagen; Oslo is in Norway. Priceless was the relief over my parents committing this mistake--being Oslo was far out, yes, but it was definitely better than being called Copenhagen. What, Hagen? Hag? Coppie? Kids could be cruel. Imagine, if mama and papa had chosen to have their honeymoon in Africa, I would have been Madagascar instead of Oslo. If they had enough money to take a sidetrip to France, I would have been Paris. If they hadn't any money at all, I might have been Vigan or Manila, depending on the extent of their poverty.

I said to myself, you better stop here. I decided not to tell her about the small detail concerning my hair. Probably the best decision I had ever made. Finding out the etymology of myself was already too much.

The small detail concerning my hair? Hunter had a point to illustrate one night so she produced a hair clipper and slid the black contraption against my head. Old folks might call that delirium. I said nothing as she did that. I just sat there and listened to the vrrrr of the clipper and to her undirected ramblings: "And then they took you. They took you! Ampoocha, you...you are so stupid. You're one stupid girl, Hunter! How can you allow this to...to... Fuck.." She made no sense, no sense at all, yet I still remember every word. I felt the clipper press harder and harder against my scalp then after a while I started to wonder if she still remembered that I was there. And I forced myself to believe that the feelings might stay because of that.

The next day, she dumped me.

That changed nothing, really--being dumped. I'm still on-call. I was a boyfriend on-call then but after the break-up, I became just plainly, eternally, on-call. So I showed up for "coffee." That's what Hunter called it: coffee. She would send a text message saying "coffee." One-word text message. It actually meant "Hey I need you right now my life is all fucked up so you better come here at the coffee shop in my condominium building to buy me coffee while I use you as a freakin shock absorber." (I could almost hear her say it all in one breath.)So imagine me doing exactly just that.

Helpless-looking girl across the table--look at her, luminous under these lights, saying: "Shush. I'm pregnant." So to avoid the humiliation of being interrupted in mid-talk I raise the cup to my lips but I don't take a sip, bearing that sting of boiling liquid against sensitive skin. Froth sticking to my lip. I wait five beats. I anticipate. I put on that understanding and excited face.

She is pregnant. What's new? She's always been, anyway. The two of us might be making some action and she would get pregnant right there and then. She would stop licking me wherever she was licking me and would go on to ruminate as I slumped placidly on the backseat of the van, or wherever it is we may be doing it. And I wait. I anticipate. Same old-same old.

Pregnancy is such a common occurrence. Back in school, I've encountered more shocking announcements of various forms of pregnancies. The one that still clearly resonates is the one with the head magistrate for the School of Humanities. I still remember how a shrill shriek issued from the lavatory one day. I turned my head and found her waving three strips of paper. "Positive, Positive, positive!" Old people might have called her delirious. Seven months after, the entire batch watched her march up the stage with her belly sticking out through the slit of the toga. I swore I saw Father Dunne squint his eyes as he handed her the diploma. Apart from her and this former blockmate who had his girlfriend pregnant back in sophomore year, there had been other stories and rumors about classmates, batchmates or schoolmates, neighbors and countrymen, and fellow earthlings my age going the family way.

(Among these stories, his was the funniest, former blockmate's. He did it once, and once was all it took...)

But then, those are different stuff altogether. Hunter was pregnant, yes. She always thought she was. We could just be sitting side by side on a park bench, and she would say that she was pregnant with whatever. Or we could be having coffee at the coffee shop just below her apartment, just like now, and she would announce that she is pregnant while I'm giving heartfelt, well-thought-of advice. "Shush. I'm pregnant." And so, just like old times, I put myself on hold. I raise that paper cup of overpriced macchiato to my parted lips in anticipation of the violent birth: "I don't know what love is."

Yes.

2005-02-18T03:07:00.000+08:00

biscocho, orange cinnamon tea and the excitement in domestic life

my legs are killing me. i've just gotten home from the up-diliman fair and the first thing i did out of blind impulse was to go straight to the shower. the line-up of the performers was good, actually. they had kitchi nadal, spongecola, sugarfree, imago and a lot more.

i snuck my sister out of the house; told my parents that i was just going to see my college friend who happened to be my sister's high school friend. i let her handle the wheel and i swear it took us hours to cover my usual five-minute drive. sometimes, it helps to live vicariously through others, those others who still have rules to break. i remember how it was like--having the power to shock the hell out of my parents for doing stuff that should not be done.

everytime i leave the house, i'd tell my parents that i'm just going to a coffee shop with some friends. well, being myself, sometimes this is true, sometimes it's a lie. i don't think it still matters to them, where i really am going. the concern now is if i'll be coming back home still with the things i left the house with. the car, for instance. this, of course, is beside the point. i always tell them that i'm just going to a coffee house, specifically in one of those along katipunan ave. but my mother knows me well enough to know that i'm not a coffee drinker for she made sure that none of her fold would be. she has this aversion to caffeine and once she told me when she saw me making coffee for myself that she knew that i was only after the creamer anyway and she would really prefer that i just ate coffeemate from the spoon.

me: i'll be back by twelve (noon tomorrow. harhar) just going to katipunan. some coffee shop to meet friends.

mommy: you always go out for coffee. too much caffeine's bad for your nerves.

me: no, ma i only have tea (english breakfast harhar)

mommy: okay. but if you're just having tea, i have lots of tea here at home.

me: bleh i don't want your ginseng-shit

mommy: no, i have all sorts of tea.

me: bye.

mommy: oh why do you keep on leaving at night...

me: do you love me enough to give me money?

mommy: that's the problem with you. you can't seem to stay here...always out...and i don't want you out there. you do the things i don't want you to do and you ask money from me to pay for these things.

me: fine. goodbye.

mommy: wait. get my bag. how much do you need?

actually, ladies and gentlemen, tea also has caffeine. english breakfast has more caffeine in it than your usual coffee. and we always have coke and whatever softdrinks during sunday lunch--but of course i never let my mother realize this cos i adore coca-cola and a sudden ban of it will just kill me, rob me of my reason to wake up during sundays.

maybe my mom just has this secret crusade to topple the coffee manufacturing industry.

whatever. so today, i decided to rummage through her teabags. just for the sake of doing something new, i wanted to have tea in my room, light my aroma therapy candles and play world music and hire an erotic masseur, although lack of funds required of me to abandon this last want. so what i did instead was i stole one of my mom's bags of biscocho. she's been hiding these bags from me. everyone in the house knows how i am with food stuff: what i see, i open; what i open, i finish. they never leave food lying in the house cos they won't see it again. they keep it in their lockers, their safes, their toilets. they keep them in places where i won't see them. anyway, these bags of biscocho were from bacolod, she said, and i found them hidden behind the gummie bears. i normally would have gotten the bagt of gummy bears instead but since i couldn't have erotic pleasure, i was to take pleasure in finishing off something someone's been hiding from me, something someone's been saving for herself.

bam! pleasure.

it's been quite difficult to find pleasure lately since i find myself doing the same things everyday. that's why lately, i have been trying to create a new pattern in my everyday life. Besides the usual sleep-eat rhythm i had for so long tried hard to maintain, i have just tryied to squeeze more activities to my usual itenirary. for one, i've been trying to cook, incorporate some physical activities to awaken my senses (i've been swimming, actually. but i couldn't do more than six laps! haha) and i've been trying to put more discipline to my writing.

truth be told, i'm kinda thankful i have not been asked to report for my job yet.

2005-02-17T02:54:00.000+08:00

i find myself most vulnerable during the wee hours of the morning. during this time, everyone i can think of calling, texting or yahoomessengering with would already be alseep, having sex, drunk or drugged. being awake, sober, partnerless and in a state lucid interval, i find myself alone to swallow all these things that i choose to chew. insignificant stuff mostly. things that do not matter to anyone else but to myself unless there is someone out there who cares that much for me.

during the day, everyone's at work.

i find myself in another low period in my life. for one thing, i am literally on hold. the worst part is that i do not feel empowered to actually act on this. i am also too weak and tired. i cannot get myself to be the me who's been through everything that kept me whole all these years.

no, i am not commiting suicide. and yes, i want to bounce back into the blogging scene. maybe one of these days, i will post something worth reading.

2005-01-30T14:34:00.000+08:00

OFFICIAL PRESS RELEASE

charlie castelo is still alive, though just barely.

truth be revealed (this sounds more dramatic than the usual 'truth be told'), a lot has happened since the last time he posted. he's written quite a few pieces for his masteral classes and is actually tempted to just upload an essay from his non-fiction class to shortcut this entry-making routine (if one could call a sporadic habit a routine.). yesterday, he was just smoking outside palma hall when suspicious looking boys extended hands to him for handshake. he pulled his earphone out and raised an eyebrow. "what?" later on, he would find out that these were frat neofights who made the stupid mistake of thinking he was a fratboy.

charlie the fratboy.

he is now a semi-career boy to boot and has started training in b-scanb, a family corporation. he is trying to memorize which forms would land him a reservation for an obvan, or which ones to accomplish for props and costumes. a million forms to remember, one rotten brain to store the information. if luck does not pull him through, he is as good as relieved. he has not signed the contract yet, to the utter dismay of the hr head.

he has missed a class because of this and hopes that he does not have to miss more.

his weekends are all punctured with parties and gimmicks and is now wondering if he would still be able to support this lifestyle in spite of time and compensation constraints.

he still gets drunk and says things he later on regrets saying.

through this all, he is not the same charlie.

taking on more of a life sentence than a job, don't expect to be seeing much of him in the hip places he is usually spotted in. as of now, we give you this publicity photo. "vision," his latest movie project, is currently on location in the third rim of hell. though it may seem that he is still a few steps away from that fiery center, he can see the raging flames and can smell burning flesh from where he is standing.

--industrialfireFly official publicity staff.

2004-12-15T02:30:00.000+08:00

Falling in love used to be a simple matter. It isn't anymore. People are being born too smart or too dumb or too wicked for it, or perhaps people have stopped being born and only shallow, brittle spurious cowards are walking the streets.

--Kerima Polotan, The Hand of The Enemy

* * *

a haze of optimism still enshrouds me at this point. i am twenty-two years old (or sixteen for the past six years), eternally single, virtually unpublished (outside school, that is, although an article under my name's due this february), and jobless therefore penniless.

in my haste, the last post turned out to be pathetic and utterly unfair as far as the writers' night is concerned. a night in the presence of writers and talk about just one? harharhar

one movie that certainly makes it to my top five list is wonder boys. perhaps it was the yardstick upon which i placed my expectations of how a writer's night would be. it is a sickness--hollywood constantly allows me to forget that i am in the philippines. in the said movie, there also was a writers' night. it was held in the chancellor's house where distinguish-looking gentlemen and ladies sported elegant black suits and little black dresses. in every hand, a wineglass was cradled. people were happy and beautiful. although everyone was talking about literature or the state of literature or publishing, there was a festive glow that only the warmth of camaraderie can tolerate. it was about art but inasmuch as it was about having a good time.

or perhaps magaling lang silang magplastikan.

the sin is mine. all mine. this is the classic case of an expectation of grandeur turning around to bite the ass of the one expecting. the up writers' night was also held in the chancellor's house. the list of similarities stop here. bohemia is still something i'm struggling to get into terms with. in all fairness, there were friends whom i haven't seen for a long time and writers i admire. basking in the glow of their presence made it worth going. and the prevailing conversation opener of choice went like: "boring, huh." of course the answer should be something like this: "and we're all bored together, it kinda is fun..." in retrospect, i can't really say it was fun but i can say that since i am myself, i had fun. in all fairness.

and the alcohol was cheap. it was not free but it was cheap.

let me skip the harrowing details of not being able to walk straight, not being able to exhibit grace and class in a place filled with strangers, however being able to show displaced wit. but because alcohol was cheap, i rode the roads leading home like a retarded airplane, ultimately ending up with a busted muffler (which i would only find out days after--"so that's what the noise is all about..." my dad shrugs his shoulders in complete abandon and hopelessness).

i still, at this point, cannot articulate in a very sincere fashion why i chose to postpone professional fulfillment in exchange for a masteral program in a field known to be monetarily barren. but i must admit that the movie encouraged me and gave me that confidence to put off earning in exchange for writing, and learning how to go about it. and hopefully, i will get to meet james leer as i do so.

* * *

let me clear that i am no victim, nor culprit. i will not hide behind the mesmerizing colors of the academe, nor will i shortchange my decisions through images of my lingering sloth and the comforts i enjoy.

* * *

last sunday's slumber party had been in the brewing for at least a month and everyone was informed as early as The Exodus. Nostradamus had predicted that it shall happen so it was but a surprise that not all of us made it. harharhar no, i am not bitter, just surprised.

anyway, so a bewildered lisa greeted me in the elevator, clueless of how to bring herself to the room--in discovery, you need the keycard to be able to press the desired floor. everyone else in the elevator disappeared under our gasps and excited babble. patty, muffin, lar and alessa were having dinner when we arrived. and then kaia and erix burst into the room fresh from podium, doing the one thing i did not bother to do (largely because i am penniless), that is hunting for artifacts for the exchange gift from eightees heaven.

that was supposed to be the theme of the night: eightees babies. see, for our psych class, we made this very incriminating video. we encrusted ourselves with eightees apparel as we swayed to "shout." it was fun and as i have said, incriminating. come to think of it, that was what made it fun: we have this secret video we share among ourselves. er and with our psych teacher and classmates. consequently, no one has a freakin idea where the hell it is. the original plan was to shoot the sequel. but the gods must have needed a break from this quirk of ours as circumstances conspired to have us not shoot it. i am certain that someday, it will be shot, in dolby surround no less. watch out for the premier, you guys.

i was about to have desert when randy arrived. (no offense meant, but there's an eightees name) we dashed to 7-11 to buy booze and had an arguement in front of the casheir as to whom will shoulder the butal in the bill. he left me on the counter but in the end, i won after a very public and debasing battle. yes, i am the queen of cheapness.

the coffe table stood low among us as we scattered ourselves in the sitting area. on it were glasses of rumcola, ginsprite and tequila, (is it tekeela or tekila?). hovering above was the mixture of nostalgia and plain senseless laughter. the best question popped during the early parts of the night was whether i played with myself. the best answer was the one that addressed it.

a non-smoker would think that these questions and these answers and booze and laughter were enough to send anyone to a smashing trip. well, there was also erix's fabulous pate, or what randy kept on calling delicious reno liver spread hahaha. so the sixth floor club was established. (move over, 700club.) since we were not on a smoking floor, erix, kaia and i had to take trips down to the sixth floor just to be able to re-enact that scene from my bestfriend's wedding. (arrest me. i'm a bad person. i'm a criminal. hahaha) one memorable yosibreak was when everybody started to talk about love and relationships. why should they not--they were all in love and in relationships anyway, save for kaia, erix and i, and lisa (but she is not a smoker). being witty and funny and cringing in the background and wondering what the big fuss was all about started to be boring (okay, that sentence was kinda bitter.) so erix and i (kaia was taking a powernap) decided to exorcise ourselves by treating our lungs with some nicotine.

since sixth floor was just a floor below, she had the splendid idea of just hitting the staircase. glass of rumcola in one hand, no pants under the robe and feet in those free flimsy fabric slippers that came free with the room, i followed her into that stairwell from hell. it was easy, letting ourselves in; there was this chrome industrial lever that allows easy access.

this lever was nowhere to be found from inside the stairwell.

i'm sure i've watched this before, being trapped in the emergency stairwell. if erix was a studmuffin, or for that matter, if i were a hunk, this was supposed to be romantic. if discovery suites was in the middle of a forrest or an abandoned ghost town, then we would have been recreating the climax of some horror b-movie. but it just felt stupid.

some people survived earthquakes, others plane crashes. me, i survived being trapped in a stairwell. as i rushed down with erix, thinking that there is no other exit besides the one in the far end (and even that, is a gamble)...ok i am really struggling against overreading the experience and turning into an imagery of love and discontentment in this world.

all the same, i was bracing myself for emerging into the lobby in just a robe and slippers, or having to spend the night with erix trapped in the stairwell and coming out of it in the morning as a new-age couple when fortunately the door in the fifth floor was busted. we literally clawed it open and saw chiara standing in front of the elevator. i jumped on her, still shaking with laughter and relief. perhaps the best ending for this is story is that. i did not have to burst into the lobby in a very domesticated appearance.

i am least lovable when i pretend to be comfortable.

2004-12-08T01:04:00.000+08:00

nobody said it was easy...

so why the hell did i think that it would? my latest major hang-up in life is bj. he has a name but i choose to call him bj because i need to feel that he is beneath me. anything that we could not have, especially if we want it so badly, has got to be beneath us. i just attended up writers' night. it's my first time to attend it. i came there with such grand expectations of what it would be; after all, i am studying to become a writer.

it's funny how such an event could turn into something about someone, and all it takes is for you to set eyes on someone (or get to exchange a couple of words with him, for that matter). rum does not help either.

everything melts.

back to square one: you're plainly undeserving--period. and the truth is, i still want him. he may not want me for everything that i am and for everything that i am not, but i do want hin for everytheing that he is and for everything that he isn't.

you know what, i'm probably gonna delete this entry tomorrow.

2004-12-03T07:03:00.000+08:00

la cama de agua

after the third storm, i began to think that perhaps the philippines is being wiped off the face of the planet. if this indeed is what's happening, then why was i not informed in advance?! cos i should've gotten that damn credit card and shopped heinously as the country sank. when those submarines explore the underwater ruins of the philippines, they will find my body flanked with shopping bags and a credit card.

in the meantime, aerial television shots show murky water where there used to be land. i still can't decide which depresses me more, the fact that there used to be land there or that the water is murky.

we should stop cutting fucking trees.

***

the other day, i was still in my sleepwear a couple of hours after noon. my sleep wear usually consists of a long polo shirt and underwear--hey who's gonna see me anyway? and then this question was soon answered: i was just lounging around when to my utter mortification men suddenly decided to grace me with their presence. i never felt so naked in my life. well anyway, i slipped into boxers (something really short so they'd think that perhaps they just didn't see my shorts the first time they saw me, and that i was in fact wearing shorts the whole time) and, in my best greta garbo impression, asked them what they needed.

they were delivering a bed. i quickly called my dad because i didn't want to sign stuff without checking if the goddam bed was really ours. well, the bed turned out to be for me and since it's wider than what i previously owned, i had to get rid of my headboard as well. now, i don't have a headboard, just a cold cement wall hanging over my head. cold cement walls don't rock and squeak. deng.

i have forgotten how a nice orthopedic mattress felt like against my back. although, the one i have just disposed off for the new one was also an orthopedic bed, it's become sagged in the middle and lumpy in some parts. it has become incontestable that it is a spring mattress primarily because in certain parts, you really feel the springs. as the men carried my old bed to the attic, i couldn't help taking a glimpse of the tag that said "lifetime guarantee." apparently, they were pertaining to a fish's life.

(my dad sent me a text message saying that the bed is his advanced christmas gift for me and that he hopes that i use it at night. you see, i own a sleeping mask and i use it well.)

now as i lie on my new bed watching the television show how people get displaced and killed, i can't help but feel sorry for those in less comfortable situations than i am in. i have in fact refrained from posting my usual rants because among the filipino people, i am in the least position to rant at this point.

oh my god i'm growing a heart. and i really think we should stop cutting those goddam trees for chrissakes.

2004-11-20T04:24:00.000+08:00

hiatus from blogging does not mean hiatus from life.

well unfortunately, it doesnt indicate a hectic one as well. if anything, it shows laziness to type. i never saw myself implying that: me too lazy to actually write stuff ABOUT MYSELF. moving on, nowadays we classify food as "real" food or fastfood. this, dear reader, is the fastpost as opposed to real post. comecome.

how do you measure a life? in decades? years? no. thanks to mtv, short attention span would allow me to sum up my life in a week. scrutinize a week, u get a rhythm. a bad rhythm spells doom and despair.

and then, as we would further have it, i begin a new cycle that is second semester. every student would surely talk about his classes. as to brag about it and show the world: hey, this is me inching my way to greatness. just wait and i'll make my mark, i'll make a difference in the universe. let us oblige.

i have signed up for six units: fiction workshop 1 under dr. butch dalisay (fridays 5-8p), and creative nonfiction workshop 2 under ms. marra pl. lannot (sat 1-4p). la-dida. because i swore 2 things: 1. i will find a job so better dodge the weekdays. no.2 i will be a good boy-slash-serious grad student. minimize socials, pump up academia.

both promises are yet to be fulfilled.

i had my first class last friday. i actually arrived at the diliman campus on time, took my sweet time and had a couple of smokes outside the rizal building. then i went on to look for my class. i have grown accustomed to camping outside the classrooms. in up, thrity minutes late is actually on time. however, after noticing that there are no other people waiting for that oh-so-in-demand class to start, and after pounding on the door of specified classroom (not to mention performing rituals on my registartion form to make sure if it was indeed showing me the correct classroom) i shoved my way to the english department. of course only to find out that ive been waiting in front of the wrong office. in the wrong building, for that matter. my prize for being late for the first day of dr. dalisay's class is precious: walking through the door and finding familiar faces on the other side. The faces were familiar because they taught in ateneo. to make one understand the gravity of this detail, how's this: this semester, i will be having my work critiqued by my former teachers and of course let's not dodge the impending awkward-o-rama of having me critique their work as well. splendid.

after this, i hit (ta-daaa) rack's el pueblo. it's no use bashing this hole as i will find myself in it again (for the 3rd time in my life) the following week--as in moments before i type this down. instead of going heavy on alcohol, i trooped to the nearby 7-11 and finished 2 monster tumblers of slurpee. in all honesty (and stupidity) i thought that i was doing the better thing to do. having classes the following day, that night was not the time to get drunk. i completely forgot about the fact that mirinda slurpee contained caffeine, but i actually had time to think about the wrongness of that decision as i watched the sun rise outside my bedroom.

zombie was the motif during the creative nonfiction class. the homework (and it was the first meeting!) is just so...too painfull to even type down.

that night i attended a party with a 90's theme. i wore a big striped chaps tee, khaki walking shorts and sandals with socks. harhar i was trying to look for my windbreakers and failed to find them.

the days that will follow are packed with the following activities:

having had done all this for this week, i once again hit a friday. my friday (as in yesterday) would begin at around three. i wake up and watch a couple of telecrap. i get ready for school and scram.

the second session for the fiction workshop had us talking about three short stories. i had read them, enjoyed them, and had nothing to say about them. marvel at my intelligence, people. during the only time i recited, i wasn't able to articulate my point.

after class, i go to racks el pueblo again. basically with the same people. pleasant surprise: mojofly was on. so i proceded to melt under ricci gurango's (the stunning bassist) gaze. i assume that he was gazing at me. looking, staring, seeing, viewing and every other word that means this. he has eyes solamente pare me. after their final set, i walked out of the resto-bar pregnant with his child. i swear.

(by the way, their new vocalist is soooo pretty. possibly prettier than the last one, even. well, its a matter of taste, and for me, she might be. they had a smashing repertois which included sweet child of mine and king (or queen) of pain. yes, apparently, the nineties is still following me. but it really was a smashing sonic experience and i was reminded of how much i missed live alternative gigs. by good bands.)

i will not fail to mention that my friend's cell phone was stolen, but this adventure is worthy of a separate post. tomorrow, i have two party invitations. i still havent figured out how i will arrange my schedule to fit both, or which one to go to if i get too lazy to attend both. OR WHAT TO WEAR. (i actually turn down parties! my life has got to be good. i should start feeling this.)

but that will have to wait because i just got home and have just finished typing my homework for later. i've already crammed my reading asignment as well and according to the manual, what i'm writing right now is the familiar essay.

there. the week: basically two weekends juxtaposed. feel the rhythm. it's an iamb, i surmise. i have no other recourse but to make the most out of this. to enjoy my freshly assumed status: fully-fledged scum of the universe, minor godess of pain and beauty.

2004-11-09T03:19:00.000+08:00

reminiscing The Great Futile College Enterprise. this stuff is imported from friendster and it was such great fun and very telling that i decided to post it here too.

1.School and course?
ateneo de manila, ab communication

2. What year are you in?
after college? half a year.

3. Favorite professor/s?
Mark Escaler! Dr. Violet Valdez, Mr. Calasanz, Ms. Boots Anson-Roa, and Danton Remoto (well, it's so much easier to admit that i actually like them since i no longer have to cram any of their requirements. also, i don't have to care anymore if other people might think they're lousy teachers. i'm a ditz and i guess i just have to live with that.)

4. Favorite subject/s?
classes, actually. Fiction Workshop, Philippine Literature in English, Communication Theory, Photography, Acting for the Camera, Performance and Presentation

5. subjects you dislike?
Math 11 and Math 12. oh, and Math 12. (i had to take the goddam thing twice.)
im sure there are more but these are the ones that really stand out.

6. First you got to know?
Blockmates. Crissy and Maita (within close proximity during the Orsem) Randy and Mac. Ava in Freshman English class--7 in the freakin morning! i had to talk to my seatmate lest id end up drooling on my notebook with my pen sticking in my ear.

7. Crush in the same room?
Argh im really tempted to say "no one" but i will admit that there was one in my Freshman English class. As i have said, it was so early in the freakin morning and i had to fabricate a reason to get myself to wake up so freakin early. Now, i realize that it was huge lapse on my judgement. HUGE.
wait! is this considered: film theory and criticism class and we viewed Donnie Darko. Donnie Darko. is he considered?

8. Most embarassing experience?
When my test tube exploded. Wait, was that in high school?
Well, in that case: when i smashed my car into a truck on my way back from a break. I was with friends. fifth gear, but i was able to step on the breaks on time. a truly edge-of-my-seat experience.
but it not end there.
i released the fuckin clutch but failed to put the gear on neutral prior to it. the truck did not acquire any damage. spotless. My car was a different story. I believe that to this day, fragments of what used to belong to my unofficial first car is still scattered in front of gate 3.

9. Have you ever failed in a quiz? what subject?
Gawd! fail is such a dignified way of putting it. Getting zero in Mr. Calasanz's class, at one point, started to become the norm.
If u insist in knowing which specific classes i had failing quizzes in, then leave me ur email address and i'll send you my transcript--all the classes i have ever taken in college are listed there.

10. Favorite place in school?
SEC B foyer (bench), caf up (before it became Hans' Gourmet and it was still airconditioned), pubroom (before it got airconditioned and got partitioned into these rabbitholes with locks), my catwalk (aka EDSA walk) and the smoking pocket gardens during senior year. I had also developed an appreciation for the Guidance Center. There were times when i pretended to be coocoo and invent problems just so i can lounge in Ms. Mia's office. But don't get me wrong, i'm completely normal.
Oh yeah, behind the sacred heart statue before the Church of Gesu was erected. (pun intended)

11. What do you often buy in school?
test answers. sometimes, friends and company. and. tocino from my teacher.
hehe seriously: fruitshakes, specifically mango-banana. chicken strips and tuna casserole pasta. bluebook test booklets and cd-r from orp.

12. Friends?
Some Fellow Comm Majors, Benchmates & former HS classmates, Heightsers, Orgmates and other blahblahwhatevermates. Some individuals as well. I think even the manang who sells the fruitshakes is my friend cos she started prying into my lovelife while i waited for my drink. she gave me free refills though. ;p

13. Favorite book?
As in required? Cubao-Kalaw Kalaw-Cubao (by Tony perez, required for my Fil13 class) Gangster of Love (by Jessica Hagedorn for my Phil Lit in English Class)

14. Most unforgettable quote from one of your profs?
"Carl, button your shirt!" --Mr. Calasanz

15. Organizations you were in?
Heights, etc.

16. Highest Grade You Got?
A!!! I'm not that stupid. Mostly my major subjects. Besides, there are many many ways to get this... (see numbers11&19)

17. favorite semester
none in particular. when i realized that it was making fun of me, i just said whattathehey and proceded to make fun of college too. Rules are there for the thrill of it.
(the lottery and the random number registration system never made sense. getting the worst teachers possible was no joke. looking back on everything is just plainly relieving and ego-bloating.)

18. Gen Ave.
does this mean general avenue or general average? if it is the former, then no, i havent been down there. if it is the latter, and u expect me to compute, then ur dreaming.

19. Ever cheated?
On my lover?
oh yeah. always.
In like school and all?
Of course. I should devote a separate entry just to answer this question.

20. Describe college life in 1 word
cacophonous

and my parents had paid good money just to see me in this toga...

2004-11-02T03:56:00.000+08:00

what is halloween without costumes? this is nika, me and missy. originally, we wanted to go to the party plainly in formal attire and those cool, cheap masks missy and i found in some photolab along katipunan. but as the night neared, our ideas got a little carried away. we wanted to all go as characters that had something to do with magic, so here we are: nika as the 80's young fairy godmother (with the closed white shoes and all), me as puck, the mischievous faerie from midsummer night's dream (no, the sweat is not part of the look) and missy as the typical storybook witch. shame, her knee-high black stripe socks can't be seen in the pic.

it was fun planning and assembling the costume and all. trying it on every so often. it's also always been fun getting smashed. what's not fun is being smashed while in a puck costume. next halloween, i promise to lay off the funky stuff. i will dodge wearing pleather and wings as well.

i thank cokelover for rendering the pictures.

2004-10-26T05:10:00.000+08:00

yeah, yeah i know it's one of those survey-ish things but what the hey, it's fun.
i ripped this off briant's site. (my friend all the way there in florida--hey you come visit again soon!!!) thanks to him, i now know the names of my other personalities.

YOUR PORN STAR NAME: (NAME OF FIRST PET + STREET YOU LIVE ON)

Lancer Amorsolo

YOUR MOVIE STAR NAME: (NAME OF YOUR FAVORITE SNACK FOOD + GRANDFATHERS FIRST NAME)
Lays Leon

YOUR FASHION DESIGNER NAME: (FIRST WORD YOU SEE ON YOUR LEFT + FAVORITE RESTAURANT)
Hello Shangri-La

EXOTIC FOREIGNER ALIAS: (FAVORITE SPICE + FOREIGN VACATION SPOT)
Garlic Hamptons

SOCIALITE ALIAS: (SILLIEST CHILDHOOD NICKNAME + TOWN WHERE YOU FIRST PARTIED)
Canuto Makati

"FLY GIRL" ALIAS (a la J. Lo): (FIRST INITIAL + FIRST TWO OR THREE LETTERS OF YOUR LAST NAME)
C Cle

ICON ALIAS: (SOMETHING SWEET WITHIN SIGHT + ANY LIQUID IN KITCH)
Kitkat Savour

DETECTIVE ALIAS: (FAVORITE BABY ANIMAL + WHERE YOU WENT TO HIGH SCHOOL)
Cub Ateneo

BARFLY ALIAS: (LAST SNACK FOOD YOU ATE + YOUR FAVORITE ALCOHOLIC DRINK)
Picnic Bailey

SOAP OPERA ALIAS: (MIDDLE NAME + STREET WHERE YOU FIRST LIVED)
Castelo Castor

ROCK STAR ALIAS: (FAVORITE CANDY + LAST NAME OF FAVORITE MUSICIAN)
Crunch Loeb

2004-10-23T04:03:00.000+08:00

blood is thicker than water.

clearly, blood here refers to kin. but i still have trouble relating water to the other varieties of liaisons. water recedes; it seeks its own level and it has surface-tension. it evaporates. It has a defined boiling and freezing point. in cases of extreme squalor, it may cause death through ugly ugly ways. say, cholera. too much water in your system will retain salt in your body, which will cause you to appear bloated. Who would want to look like a sore thumb sticking out in a sea of vibrant looking humans? i may not fully understand everything that i say in this part (if only i foresaw my future career as a blogger, i would have paid more attention to my science classes!), but it is sufficient that these properties do not sound good when thrown into the context of a relationship.

***

blood and water.

water: there is a party later and i can’t decide which set to wear. although this predicament is a lot better than simply not having anything to wear, i need to distract myself before i fall into a state of style-catatonia.

enter blood: perhaps now is a good time to think about my family. everybody knows (or so i love to presume) that in my immediate family-a basic unit of this freaky society-i am the only non-dentist. I was the only one who would finish his schooling (as i already have) with out earning a d and an r before his name. nor would i be earning anything to decorate my name with (like an a, a t, a t and a y) except maybe when plugged in bylines. i cannot call myself anything as in the case of accountants and economists do. unless of course i embrace starving artist. But until then, i am simply charlie. the charlie.

blood. kin. clan.

bigger picture. in my maternal side, the same principle holds true. (with the men, at least) most of my uncles are lawyers, (One even topped the bar; his nephew, meaning me, almost did not graduate high school.) one an accountant (although non-practicing), and one an economist (graduated from the economics-honors program; again-say it with me-his nephew almost did not graduate high school.)

being the erudite bunch that they are, they totally supported my decision to take up further studies, except the fact that what I chose to study further was not law.

and now i shall appear to digress.

for somebody who sprang out of a woman who has this uber-close relationship with her siblings, i do not know my cousins well. after an arduous search, i was able to track down shadow’s site. this is what she had said:

i visited my cousins blog…and it seems very interesting…my cousins don’t know much about me…and i don’t know much about them either...they have no idea what i’ve become within the span of one summer and half a month. we haven’t contacted each other or whatsoever.

i present no counter-affidavit. she said it all.

i have only recently discovered the joys of being related to carmina and we’re starting to get considerably close. she and i know some of each other’s deep dark secrets; however, i still cannot say that we were aware of each other as we were growing up. there was no dearth of familial functions and clan shebangs. each and every holy week is spent in nueva ecija. as in all of us. in that ancient bahay-na-bato, which ironically enough, was mostly wooden in the second floor: the floor which mattered. only the dust outnumber the conwebs.

as i have said, having had this constant thing, i still couldn't say that we grew up together. this could be because this growing up for me seemed to have involved certain gender issues. knowing that you are blossoming into a flower was enough burden; nailing yourself on a scenario wherein kin is involved was just unthinkable.

the castelos are the stereotypical old-fashioned, rigid hispanic type. i am expected to act nonchalantly with having a grandmother who spent most of her youth in front of a piano inside a convent school who was married to a man responsible for the death of certain people. (oops, i’m not sure if my cousins know of this. if you are my cousin and you know that you are my cousin and you’ve just read that, then pretend it’s not there. or. pretend that we’re not cousins. whichever works for you.) testosterone is not considered a male hormone but a gene passed on to the castelo males. on the other hand, art should trickle down through the women. i care not to expound which gene i have inherited.

i too much feared the prospects of a surprise revelation concerning an adoption. or a dramatic scene where a boy is being disowned. (whichever would prove to be more convenient for them, although the latter was the more likely choice.) so i simply took a leave of absence. But now that they have discovered the perks of having a sure-fire spinster nephew, i bounce myself back into the scene. still with no titles before or after my name.

***

another story which involves blood:

when i was six, i caught that yucky-sounding ailment (dengue: a truly effective onomatopoeia for death) and i needed blood transfusion. although aids was not yet a hot topic at that time, my parents did not trust the bloodbank so they promptly assembled everyone they knew who had the same bloodtype as i did. (and now you know the story behind my multiple personalities: bloods of various sources copulate within my veins.) damn me should i ever forget: i literally have my father’s, his sister’s and her two children’s blood flowing within my veins. while the doctors toyed on my circulatory system, the rest of my clan religiously recited the rosary. perhaps, they even got those folks who do the extending-of-the-palm-to-the-sick-person-thingie, but i choose not to remember.

meanwhile, at home, my two little sisters mentioned to their respective yayas about seeing me talking to an angel. the yayas broke into hysterical tears, which was actually a good thing. the three of us were only a year apart from each other so our parents decided that we needed a nanny each. when we fought, our nannies would also fight. even when my sisters and i were enjoying a ceasefire, the nannies would find their own justifications for going for each other’s throats.

“i say the flower vase should go on top of the tv!.”

“you’re ruining my style!”

anything that gave our yayas something to agree on was a great contribution to humanity. and my mother, upon hearing the cute story, immediately went into her “lord, if it’s really time, then i offer my son to you” moment. her marriage to my father was almost destroyed because of this abrahamic spell.

i almost died. obviously, i didn’t. i leave it up to you to judge whether this is a good thing or not. before you cast your ballot, i want you to reflect on how screwed up i turned out to be.

2004-10-21T03:50:00.000+08:00

"the villainy you teach me, i shall execute, but i shall better the instruction."*

ricci: kamusta na si BeeJay?

rainn: who cares?

ricci: hmm...sino niloko mo?!

rainn: well, that's a tragedy unworthy of audience. next.

ricci: bakit naman?

rainn: huh? obvious. besides (bitter) i'm sure mahilig sa sex si beejay. ayoko makipagsex. ever.

ricci: yeah, u cant even convince yourself. stop trying to convince me too.

rainn: fuck you.

ricci: eh si absynthe?

rainn: oh my god you're grossing me out. stop it. (takes a swig of beer)

ricci: hindi nga. matalino naman sya.

rainn: inaassume mo kagad na papatulan ako. ano ba. besides, good luck na lang noh. a day would never pass without a skirmish pag kasama mo yun.

ricci: so?

rainn: so ayoko din. wag na natin isipin kung ayaw din nya kasi ayaw ko. it won't work.

ricci: wouldn't you want to have something not work with absynthe kesa not having anything at all?

rainn: well, mamimili ka na rin lang, yung matino na noh. gusto ko yung parang close friends lang.

ricci: parang tayo? (stop it!!!)

rainn: um hindi. i've just realized na binibigyan ko lang ng problema sarili ko noon. i think i was just bored and i wanted to make life more exciting so i rammed the fucking wall. (takes another swig.)

ricci: hmmm... okay. if you say so.

rainn: no, really. tingnan mo, wala na ngayon.

ricci: eh kung ligawan kita?

and the highschool girl kept on grinding beside the table.

rainn: ewan ko.

***

i have never been to racks el pueblo before. if you haven't been there yet, then just imagine an incubator pumped up with evil hiphop music, and you have imagined racks el pueblo. i felt like a martian in my clothes (i just saw a play, and thus had dressed up appropriately for the said engagement) while strutting in the steakhouse-cum-hiphopden. i wanted to tear my shirt open. actually, now that i think about it, why didn't i since everyone i knew who saw me there seemed to have wanted me to. they would introduce me to their friends as the person who never cared much about buttons.

i still don't, actually.

to all the kangaroos out there: if you are missing a kid, the there's a ninety-nine point nine percent chance that it is in racks el pueblo dancing to beyonce knowles.

***

as i have said, i just saw a play. last friday, g, silver, cokelover, cathy and sofia and i watched the merchant of venice in greenbelt. it was beautifully rendered by repertory philippines and was directed by zenaida amador. it made me happy that they did not do a modern interpretation, minimalist or whatso. you know, the funky stuff people like doing to shakespeare nowadays. repertory stuck to the classical rendition with the costumes and all. it was such fun.

we only had silver tickets (which meant we could not sit on the center seats, as opposed to gold tickets) but thanks to the fact that cathy abhores her current occupation, she dashed to greenbelt hours too early for the show. i found her standing in front of the line and when the cordon was lifted, we glamorously strutted as fast as we can to grab the nearest seats with decent vantage. because of some complicated details, cathy and i became the advance party--the explorers, those who will claim the colony--and we had to sit four seats apart whilst saying "taken" over and over again.

the programme said (in ms. amador's message) that they have taken out some parts that may indicate anti-semiticism. she said that this time around, shylock would receive such bad a fate not because he was a jew but simply because he was a bad man.

right.

of course shylock's justification for revenge got me excited. in reality, it is largely this particular part that got me so excited to go see the play. when i was in freshman year high, it was this that i chose to deliver in class. i didn't bother to recite bassanio or antonio or even lorenzo. i was shylock, the ultimate villain, and to me, the real merchant of venice.

"to bait fish withal. if it shall feed nothing else, it shall feed my revenge..."

i will never forget how i had pounded the blackboard with my closed fist after these lines and suddenly proceeded to intensely burp out the rest of the solliloquy.

"he hath disgraced me..."

a classmate commented that i looked like a real man. wait...is this good or bad? in the context of an all-boys school, i guess he was trying to give me a compliment. another said he swallowed his gum out of shock when i pounded the board. hah! eight years have passed and i still remember vividly. (eight years?! argh!)

cokelover and i agreed that we had rendered better interpretations of shylock when we were in freshman high than this particular staging. we both kinda expected the soliloquy to be a bit reflexive. i thought he would face the audience and would have that monospotlight. but no.

then again, the play was so surprisingly funny. when i was reading it for high school english, i don't remember laughing. at all. i can't believe i only appreciate the cleverness now that i have seen the thing staged.

***

yesterday, as in tuesday, i watched skycaptain and the world of tomorrow with carmina, my cousin. we had such great fun. we totally paid attention to what was happening on the silverscreen. however, don't ask us if the movie was good; don't ask us something we could not answer.

perhaps when people enjoy too much, they mystically progress to that stage of existence when they could converse with the least words as possible and understand each other perfectly well. if i were to sum up the conversation my cousin and i had inside the theatre, it would eloquently be such:

charlie: delicious.

carmina: yummy.

no, we were not talking bout the beard papa cream puffs we were eating. my cousin and i also profusely agreed that perhaps we would have understood the story if only skycaptain smiled less.

dear god: if you give me jude law, i promise i will stop making fun of other people. like the ones who are not beautiful. okay fine. and the ugly ones too. and the ones who can't carry themselves well. and the ones who can't use their brains well too. so that the world will be a lot better. i know it's already a miracle that i was not brought out of the theatre in a stretcher, but i push my luck further. consider this as an ultimatum. amen.

***

the secret to my secret alter-ego lies hidden behind the reason why i change the lay-out of my web-journal so scandalously often. it is probably connected to the fact that it takes me soooooo long to decide where to go and what to order.

*taken from Shylock's justification for revenge. Merchant of Venice. William Shakespeare.