The Literalist

A Rendezvous with a Whore: The Place

2010-06-24T00:09:00.000-07:00

As I entered the tiny complex, a feeling of nervousness engulfs my senses. The place is familar. Its fascade is unassuming. There are no pretentions unlike the streets of Geylang or the alleys of Patpong. Located in a national road bordering two cities, it is easily dismissed as a structure designed to house small local businesses. Perhaps it is designed that way. With prying eyes that are not only reserved to authorities, the clandestine operations of the men's club, like any other similar club, for that matter, is not totally hidden from locals inhabiting its surroundings. In fact, the patrons are often from the same community or the nearby towns. It is an example of the paradox of cultural norms wherein the professing of virtues is aesthetic at best. People of the faith abhors it and some say hypocritically. Wives would silently wish it wont exist. The governing kind vows to eradicate it. However, its existence is not dependent on any moral standard. In fact, it is numb to it. The banality of its perceived presence is checked ultimately in its doors and any attempts to destroy its essence would lose its reason to do so. Human nature is empowered to make something out of it senses. This place stretches that idea to, to some extent, to the extreme. No invention of man, physical or non-physical, can go against the tide of nature.

And there, I was. Received by a man in his 40's as I entered a hallway, no greater than two people can fit. Its walls were adorned by curtain-like trappings that were seemed installed in order to hide its imperfections. No different from a woman who hides behind a make up who will be greatly attracting men who are drunk, yet, repulsed the morning after when all that covers her are all taken down. Again, the thought that this minicule path leading to the main hall is part of the greater design of things, lingered continuously. Behind a curtain of beads, similar to those that can be seen in porn movies, the sound of music blasts its way to the eardrums. The songs are familiar and it can induce anybody to hum along. The beats are no different from the ones that you can hear from upscale clubs that cater to the young and the young at heart. A DJ, trying his best to mimic an American accent, is blurting out words that can hardly be understood. Its like a murmur with a mic stuck to your mouth. The verbage is incomprehensible but funnily the people who are patronizing the joint, seems to undertand what is it all about. For every word or sentence that is uttered by the man with a plan, a woman or a group of women, scantily clad, of course, gets out and go to the stage. For reason that escapes me, everyone, including the waiter, fixates their eyes towards the direction of the platform, everytime a girl or the girls come out. Its part of the drill. Clockwork, it seems. The chance of the patron to see his possible merchandize for procurement. "Behold! The satisfaction of your whims." are the words that comes to mind and it never fails to excite.

While the music reverbrates in the atmosphere of temporary ecstasy, I was led to a couch. It is one of those delights that makes this place stand out among its peers. Unlike similar places that cater to the same economic strata, there is some quaint difference in terms of the comforts that one can get. In some places, the usual setup is a a table and a plastic chair. Others, even just a stool with no back rest. Airconditioning is a staple. And so is a funky smelling men's room. Men hardly care. There is a single purpose in mind and amenities that are expected from a bar is far from their minds. The place, where I was, had the value add amenities. The setup is like a big hall with tables, chairs and couches are all over the place. Often, the middle spots are hardly full because the choiciest area are either in front or at the corners. The front area is where the less discrete customers go. It is a strategic spot depending on context. As the area where most of the illumination is concentrated, one can see the women in full High Definition. Best of all, it is the place where action called "Area" happens. "Area" is the word that performers use for a steamy lap dance often not by request. Unlike its counterparts in the US, groping is allowed while the dancer does her "area". Some even lock lips with customers. Often, it is the girl's ticket to be chosen as host by the client for the night. It really adds a whole lot of meaning to the phrase "show me the merchandize". Not only do they show them. You can feel them.

In contrast, the corners or the back areas dont get lap dances. However, it is also filled with people as they are most discrete locations of the hall. Unlike the front area wherein everybody can see you and the girls, the corners and the back are the spaces wherein discretion is highly valued. Unlike being in front, the risk of embarassing yourself if someone recognizes you is a lot more less. Nevertheless, in both places, groping is a common activity. The place is like an orgy wherein the only difference is that the only one naked is the one dancing on the stage. Not being naked doesn't mean less erotic, though. Its a free for all (how's that for an irony?). The conversations are often about doing things privately. Which means, the customers will opt for a more private area called the VIP room and the place has 7 of them. The girls will do eveyrthing to convince you to make that choice primarily for economic reasons. Inside the VIP room, a minimum charge is required which basically assures the girl of better income. Therefore, to entice customer to go inside, all tactics are utilized. The hostess will whisper sweet nothings in your ears. Let you touch her legs and her hands traversing your crotch area. She will go as far as allowing you to feel hers but she'll stop it quickly to act as if they suddenly got sticken with modesty. In truth, it is an act to seduce you further so that you will decide to spend more. It does make sense. Money talks everywhere and this place is no different. In fact, money is the only one doing the talking here.The bigger the money, the louder the voice.

I was in no mood for a trip to the VIP. I was in no mood for sex. Contrary to the expectations of a young college student about to be devirginized, graduating and being relatively successful doesnt automatically grant you to have the same libido as before. In fact, the curiosity that brought a green horn to a place of sexual exploration, can be absent from a young man bombarded with resposibilities in life. The race to be successful in one's career drains the energy to spend time for fun, ironically. Unless you are manor born, this irony is a fact of life. In fact, it is life.

So, there I was, opting neither the front or corner seats. I chose the middle as I was not expecting to stay for more than an hour. I wanted to be discrete but not too discrete which I will hunt for a prey or to be the prey myself. Primarily, I just wanted a beer. While driving home, I just had the urge to relax and have my favorite brew. The usual watering holes are filled with people wanting to party or already partying. The atmosphere is way too familiar that it doesnt grant a respite from the every day grind. I am not too old but neither too young. Peaking is the word that qualifies as description. Yet, I dont know its meaning.

And at that moment, I wasnt interested to know neither. I chose to sit and relax and see people in a different light. I was asked by the waiter what would I want to drink. "A beer.", I said. "Sir, lights?", he retorted. "Hell no! That's not beer. That's cow piss. Do you have Cerveza Negra?", I vigorously replied in the vernacular with an unprintable swear to punctuate it. "No sir." while scratching his head. It suddenly occured to me that this is not a place for wine or beer connoisseurs. I am neither. But I know my beer. Sensing that it will be hopeless to ask for anything else, I opted for a Pale Pilsen. There is no plan to get drunk anyway. It will be a quickie and there is no pun intended. Halfway with my bottle, I was approached by the floor manager, traditionally called the "Mama San". Of course, I didnt call her Mama San. Even in these places, being tactless will get you into trouble. She told me that she will introduce girls to me. I told her I wasnt interested as I wansnt staying long. She insisted by telling me that there are no commitments(?). Just an introduction. I know that it was a ploy but before I can retort for another dismissal, a lass was introducecd to me. I was figuratively sucker punched into it. The surprise was effective that I stood up and shook the hand of the girl. Obviously resistance is futile. I told myself, what the heck. I am very prudent but unlike college days, I am not necessarily penny pinching. So what's a few bucks for a drink and to avoid embarassing a lady whose name I dont recall? So I acquisced.

I am thankful that I did acquisced. Because it allowed me to stay for more than an hour. Little did I know that the girl that was introduced to me was the one who will lead me to the person, who will allow yours truly to see a different color of this thing called life.

(...To be continued....)

A Rendezvous with a Whore: The Beginning

2010-06-22T02:23:00.000-07:00

A cliche-driven love affair is nothing but uncommon in this age of TV overload. Contrary to proponents of reality bitten experiences, it is common for people to have this deep longing for a fairytale story. A less vocalized wish to be in constant euphoria while Nat King Cole(fine....is Michael Buble alright?) is singing his love tune. Nevetheless, like the ecstatic effects of any form of vice, such foray into the sometimes carnal world of attraction do wear out. And like the after effects of any addiction, the aftermath is worse than the state before the jump.

Such is the fate of Angel. Her story is almost generic as a soap opera or a B-movie. In fact, if one is intoxicated by the atmosphere of her place of work, one can just dismiss the whole conversation as a ploy to add more value to what she offers to her clients. I met her one night in a club outside of Manila. On my way home from that bastion of ancient faith in Espana street, after many years, I decided to pass an old watering hole. Alone. For reasons that dont matter. And for purposes better left unuttered. Tempting the fates' accusation of hypocrisy, the reasons and purpose were not sexual but rather sensual. A psychotic inclination to short circuit my sensibilities and senses.

The place is one of those dingy venues often patronized by the less priviledged. Working men whose salaries, if one is abnormal enough not to cave in to the sins of flesh, is better reserved for food and shelter. Its only similarity to the ones that cater to the elite is its dark atmosphere wherein the psychedelic lights provide the neccessary illumination for fantastical purpose first and for practicality being secondary. The pricing point of such venues caters to those who are either one day millionaires or their subtleterns. Such economics appeals to college students who saved up their allowances, hardearned by their parents, after a long semester. (The more affluent are more inclined to venture to nests wherein money should flow like water and that money is hardly hardearned.) Or by High School seniors, mustering the nerves to get themselves baptized so as to gain right of passage to full manhood. Not that they need to go through the unholy process to become the man that they want to be or they ought to be. They just need to. Foolishness notwithstanding. Sin they say is the scourge of man. The ritual seems to be immuned to that. I was both the under-priviledge college student and the high school senior waiting to be initiated.

But this time around, I am no longer both.

(To be continued....)

Empty

2009-03-30T01:24:00.000-07:00

Walking to a vast emptiness
Clouded by the random images
Stepping to floating rubble
One miss and I'll surely fall

Crowded with blur faces
Faces with same expressions
Blank and unwilling
I'll surely melt with their stare

I'm in the end of a lightning
Faded white...a rippled spark
That strike lit me.
And turned me into gray ash

A voice told me
That I have to be lost
In order to find myself
And that kept me wandering alone.

The One

2009-03-24T04:52:00.000-07:00

How I wish I am the one
The one that makes you whole
I wish that you can love me
I know I'm such a fool

You can't love me
Because I'm me
If only I can change
But I can't.. you see...

How I wish I'm born again
And be the one you'll treasure
I'm just someone no one will miss
I don't want to be ignored like this.

I'm just a nobody
A nobody that loves you
But you will never see me
As I see you

If only I can find someone
Who will love me as me
The one that will pick up the pieces
And show me what I can be...

Time Flies

2009-03-23T05:44:00.000-07:00

Time flew... yes indeed, time flew.

Wish I could fly, too. Then I would fly away from here. But where would I go? Ok, I'll just stay put. But why will I stay put if I can fly? But then again, I CANT fly...

Am I making sense? Guess not... so I'm really flying out of here! I'll spread my wings and feel the wind in my face... cool and liberating, that's what flying would feel. Ought to feel... would probably feel.. well, I will never know, won't I? Because I cant fly!

The Endless Line

2009-03-05T23:44:00.000-08:00

I'm in a path that never ends.
A road i walk with humps and bends.
How I wish I could skip a turn.
But tomorrow I'll still see the burn.

Yes, It's been a while
Stepping in this endless line.
Pointless as it may seem.
Thinking of what could have been....

Whisper

2008-07-19T19:39:00.000-07:00

I never believed in the tradition/custom that if someone dies, you have to whisper to his ear and tell him your wishes... your prayers... believing that he will take it with him as he leaves the earth... And wherever he'll go, he'll take it with him...

I don't know what got into me that i suddenly thought of it. One of our patients expired this morning and while my friend and I were doing the post-mortem care, we joked about it... but deep inside we both knew there was some desperate need inside of us to take away both of our pains and frustrations, our heartaches especially. So I told her, "let's whisper to her.." She smiled, but I knew right and there, we both wanted to believe... even just this one time.... for our relief, for our healing.... Natawa ako, sabi niya, "sige, ikaw muna....". (I laughed for she said, “okay, you first”.) I did... And I knew she did it too.

"Linda, please take my feelings away with you... bring it with you..."

I don't know if this is true. What I know is that I need badly to let go of what I feel for him. I never thought letting go is this difficult, so hard that you tried to hold on to something that cannot be there, probably will never be there.... and this causes you so much pain. "been there", "done that"... yeah, maybe... A patient of mine who has cancer told me, "I don't know. I have this pain for a long time, yet i never get used to it." I held her hand and said, "I guess we'll never get use to pain...." Maybe we meant two different things but...

I haven't written for a long time. My personal articles used to be products of my experiences, my emotions... but I couldn't believe I'm writing right now... maybe i haven't felt this way for a long time.... not until the last few months… not until certain choices were made...

My whisper to Linda was not just a tradition. What went with it was my prayer to the One above... because with each moment, whatever way, I know HE listens...

Let's Fly

2008-07-08T18:41:00.000-07:00

You gave me wings
For me to fly
Oh, Let me be
Your glittering star

You made me complete
And I want you to believe
You made me reach higher
Than I ever could achieve

But now it's time
To set you free
If it is our fate
So let it be

Let's fly for tomorrow
And forget the pain
There is so much to lose
But there's much more to gain

Just remember the memories
That came along our way
And don't ever forget
That I will always be there.

Birthday Wish by Marga Reodica

2008-05-29T18:26:00.000-07:00

The days that passed have been tough,
Trying to live one day at a time,
No thoughts of tomorrow, no plans,
Each moment a difficult task,
Each day a prayer.
Decisions were made, the past to forget
No regrets, I have to say,
Forgiveness had been asked and given
The lowest point of life to take,
The weakness and the loneliness to face.

A step forward a day,
Yet alone with God is the best reward to have.
On the “big” day which HE still gives me,
Thanking Him for the chance of wishes,
Which in my prayers these I include.
I wish I can still enjoy the people around me
Who in the past till now have given such comfort,
Whether far or near, they think of my wellness,
Guide me through it all….
“family” -- we named them…
With a love that binds us all.

I wish I can still laugh with them,
The people I’ve met along the way,
The differences we have are trivial
The small things shared are treasured.
I wish I can still face them and be true
With them, not a reminder of my pain
But to appreciate their presence all this time
“friends” -- we call them…
A blessing along the journey.

And I wish I can still love “me”
The me I often forget.
Maybe I have loved as I should
But lived as I shouldn’t.
I wish I can take care of this heart
And help it rest, help it heal
Empty it from hurt, that joy may enter it.
And I wish… and I wish
But more than wish I PRAY
To the LORD of Lords, and my King of kings,
Who has shown His love to me from the start till the end,
To let me know that in my weakness, He’s my Only strength,
In my ignorance, my Only wisdom
The learning how to move on, how to yield.
My wish and prayer of a year of letting go and letting God.
And to you, I say “thank you”…
For saying the same prayer with me.

Between Halibut and a Rock

2008-05-20T23:19:00.000-07:00

Brought about by a desire to see a beauty, beyond the tears from heaven. A riveting experience it was for a stranger to drive cross state, and across forest reserves, just to buy, with will as currency, the feeling of freedom and inhale the air of the great Orygun outdoor. (..to be continued..)

Happy birthday, Mr Nice Guy!

2008-04-09T09:59:00.000-07:00

Meet Joey – the nicest guy I know. Ok, the cutest, too.

Really, Joey is your honest-to-goodness nice guy. Once, he drove to Baguio in the morning to bring his Lola home; that same day, he drove back to Manila as I had a job interview the next day. And all through those 10 odd hours in the driver’s seat, he didn’t complain. Actually, that made me guilty for not expending an effort to drive – he sure could have used an alternate driver! But see, that’s just how nice he is!

Not only is Joey Mr Nice Guy, he also has the gentlest of ways. He never raises his voice, no matter how angry he is; he doesn’t have a mean bone in his body, even if he gets the shabbiest of treatment from others (and believe me, some people have behaved despicably towards Joey!); he is always generous and kind-hearted, loving and giving.

My parents are actually his number one fans – they think the world of him, especially my Mom. And rightly so. Joey once was late for an appointment because he had lunch with my Dad at home. See, my Dad showed him the fresh fish he bought earlier that day and boasted to him that it was for lunch; and true to form, kind Joey didn’t have the heart to tell my Dad that he wouldn’t be having lunch at home. But lunch at home he did. Now, would any of you do that for your own parents? Much less, your parents-in-law?! Heck, I couldn’t even get my brothers to drive for my parents at a moment’s notice! Suffice it to say that there is no short supply of proof that Joey is nice. He cooks for my niece when I am not yet home (and her parents are not yet home, too!) He even wakes up early to see me off whenever I have out-of-town trips, and this he manages to do, even as he is the type who starts his day much later in the morning. He actually once stayed up all night to edit, format and print a manual I was working on because I was too tired and couldn’t keep my eyes open for a minute more. When I awakened the next day, my report was all printed and bound, ready to be submitted!

Now, you may be wondering why I am showering Joey with laudable superlatives. Well, because today is his birthday! After months of mulling it over, I faced a blank wall regarding his birthday gift. Not because he is hard to please. On the contrary, he is such a simple and down-to-earth guy, he doesn’t need much. I offered a new phone, a new shirt, a new work table, a new hard drive… well, most things that I could afford, and could be bought at any store. But no, he says he doesn’t need much. And so I decided that the best way to celebrate Joey’s birthday is to celebrate his goodness. And in my own way, through this blog, I celebrate his loving ways, gentle demeanor, and kind heart. Really and truly, he is the best hubby there is!

And so Joey, on your 43rd, I wish all the best. May God always shower with his abundant blessings, and keep you safe under his wing. I know you have your doubts and misgivings, that life has not always dealt you a desirable hand, but believe me, you are simply the best.

Today, I celebrate YOU. The world may not know of you and your fantastic good deeds; but I do, and I thank you for being such a wonderful human being. Birthday or not, you deserve love, peace and happiness… I am convinced that the world, or at least, my part of it, is infinitely better because you are there.

Happy birthday, honey, and may all your wishes come true!

Desert Rose Wandering

2008-03-31T00:17:00.000-07:00

Desert Rose Wandering

Barren plains you deceive
A mirror of power that cannot be dreamed
A smile that one can receive
In a realm of which nothing had lived

O distant flower of a raging kind
A sweet sorrow traverse the soul of the traveler
Resulting to the bitterness of exquisite wine
Longing for that touch! One can only holler!

O sweet rose, lend us your gaze
I am afflicted by Arnold’s longing
Soften this otherwise frigid day
Our hearts know where we’re going

Touch me, muse of imagination
The gaudy sun is rightly envious
Let your laughter banish oblivion
While a traveler risk the impervious

Is The Customer Ever King (or Queen)?!

2008-03-23T09:03:00.000-07:00

Yes, tell, me please, I want to know - is the customer really king? I keep thinking where I first encountered this adage.... well, wherever it came from, whoever said or wrote it, this tagline (or whatever you may choose to call it) has certainly caught on. But really and truly, is the customer the king of the pack? Or even the queen? Is he or she always right? Is he or she ever right, for that matter? Now, you (and even Richard, my twin brother) may wonder where this is coming from... well, it is coming from inside me, the customer/shopper/consumer who feels just so indignant at how unfairly we are treated by these establishments who depend on our peso power for their existence and sustainability!

The other day, as I was paying for my medicine, the cashier asked, "Ma'am, ok lang, kulang po ako ng 25 cents...." (Ok, I will translate for our non-Filipino readers... the cashier informed me that my change was 25 cents short, as she didnt have 25 centavos). To which I caustically I asked her, "If my payment were 25 cents short, would it be ok with you?" (It sounded so much more impactful in the vernacular! To wit, I said, "Eh kung kulang ng 25 cents yung bayad ko sa iyo, ok lang din ba?")

I mean, sure, it's just 25 cents, but the point of the matter is, if it's pro-business, these people just assume it's alright. But if it's for the customer or consumer, it's another matter altogether! Consider this: it is easy to buy anything, but try to return something - ah, the "protocols and procedures you have to go through. There is no time limit to when you can buy something (the only limitation is the store hours - shopping stops when the store closes. Plus, you, dear buyer, need to do other things, too. Such as sleep!); but you can only return something within 7 days of purchase (it means I need to wear my new blouse within that time frame! And if it shrinks after laundry, sorry!). A retailer or store owner can easily run to the police to report a trouble-making customer; most even have their own security to take care of such unpleasantries. In short, if the store or shop has trouble with your presence, there is closure as they can just throw you out. An nasty incident of mistaken identity that happened to an actress in the parking lot of a grocery comes to mind... But if you are hassled by inattentive sales clerks, or dubious store policies, you first need to write a formal (written!) complaint and send it to whichever government office has jurisdiction over the product concerned. I mean, just how difficult should life be?! For you, the aggrieved party, closure is delayed as you have to wait for the response from the govt agency. Heck, you even have to bring your letter there yourself! Could closure delayed be closure denied, too? I wonder what 'justice' has to say abou this...

Ok, ok, I will calm down... I am just venting becuase it can be so frustrating sometimes, really. Well, to be fair, the cashier finally found the energy (she was probably too tired from standing behind the cash register the whole day) to find 25 centavos so she can give me my complate change. Now, don't get me wrong - I consider myself a generous, giving person. But really, we, as consumers, deserve respect and the appropriate treatment, too, right?

Oh, enough said here.... What's the point? For my sentiments to make an impact, I would have to write a letter of complaint to the Trade Department, telling them about how this drugstore almost didnt give me accurate change. Do I really want to go to great lengths to air my grievance? I will just make do with this page.

Of Thank You's and Rejections

2008-03-20T18:08:00.000-07:00

All moments are seized by the anxious tomorrow. Reliving the past is not an option but a ridiculous justification to look back and ponder. In the advent of slanderous anecdotes and dimwitted responses, beings are reduced to numbers, faceless and insignificant. Where does one go? Whose arms do we hold on? Whose heart do we beat with? Looking for a time of our life, we find complications. Too tired of the lines being held upon, silence becomes a denominator. Intimacy is existent but almost swept away. Its the time at hand that matters but none of the choices are appealing. The clock ticks alone and yet its dominion is checked. It can handle reality's truth but it cant seep into the fiber of its immediate recipient.

In these moments, we find solitude a friend and an enemy. In a predicament of lies, deceit, and folly, we turn to the nearest being for a respite. Salvation is not expected while empathy is a necessity. Tomorrow may not come to salvage the remains of the previous day. However, at least, one does not traverse with excruciating loneliness. The smile and laughter will not depart amongst the familiars. For it no longer matters what lies beyond as empathy and solidarity can stand on its own within all of the perfect strangers.

Losing Two

2008-03-17T00:11:00.001-07:00

Our story is not uncommon from other stories that you have probably heard from radio, from friends, read in books, or seen in movies or TV specials. But I didn’t know the feeling until I’ve realized that the “story” lead me in losing two special people in my life. “Ang sakit siguro”(Painful , probably), I said before. Ouch! Masakit pala talaga!(It is painful!)

He’s been my “childhood love”, the prince in my fairy tale story. I’ve learned with him what was crush means, how love can make you feel. For more that half of my life, he’s been the “leading man” of the movie in my mind.

We’ve seen each other, lost each other – on, then off, and then on again. I couldn’t remember how many times we reconciled. He got involved with somebody else. I, myself, had some too. But maybe because of the fact that the “love” grew up with us, there was always that feeling of being a part of each other’s heart that kept us going back to each other’s arms. Ewan ko ba…

She’d been a friend for a long time. I don’t know how it happened but we got close in just a snap – opening ourselves to each other. Our friendship was not the type which developed because of togetherness (I mean, going out together or having the same gimmicks). In fact, we were always apart. We were miles away from each other a year after we’ve met. She has her own set of friends and I had mine. We never had the chance to be together for one whole day, just like the usual friends do. Wasn’t able to shop together or mall around, or had that long chat on the phone. But OURS had been a living proof of how can communication bridge a gap. The friendship just developed through letters, and e-mails for the later part. They said I was the “martyr” in the friendship. She was always the cause of coldness or misunderstanding. I couldn’t remember a letter from her without “sorry”. At least, she would always admit it was her fault. And of course, I would always say, “it’s okay”. As I’ve said, she’s special. Our friendship is special.

But as they say, some things just happen in the most unexpected way. Because “he” whom I’ve loved then for so long, and “she” whom I’ve cherished so much as a friend are the ones together now. It’s a short story to tell and explain… but painful enough for me to go back with the memories and remember. But I guess, their story is not for me to tell. I’m writing for the sake of what is left inside my heart.

I didn’t feel any anger nor hatred for them. A hypocrite? No, I’m not. I didn’t feel anger. I felt and still feel deep sadness because from the moment I’ve heard and confirmed about their story, I knew I didn’t just lose one, I’ve lost TWO. Long time ago, I’ve accepted the fact that he and I can never be “us” again. So many times we tried but we always failed. And when we moved on, we realized our paths went to separate ways. The next thing I wanted to happen between us was to be friends. But with this situation, ‘think it’s possible?

And she? From the time I came back, I dreamt of her thrice already. In my dreams, she was always there with that sad look on her face… as if saying “sorry, again..”. Is this what she wants to relay to me now? People around always tell me, “She’s not worth it”… “He’s not worth it”… “They’re not worth it”. Sometimes, I wanted to believe them… or maybe I was just hurt.

But whose fault was it, anyway? Nobody can teach one who to love and whom to give back that love. It just happened that my ex-boyfriend fell in love with my good friend…

And where am I in the picture? I’m not there. I’m here praying for their happiness, wishing them good luck, and hoping that one day, we can share the same laughter again. Oh, impossible? If not, I hope, even an exchange of smiles will do. Someday…

Just Like George...

2008-03-16T19:18:00.000-07:00

I don’t know how to describe “him”. I don’t know how to start. For more than 20 years that we’ve been together, doing this and that, talking about this, criticizing about that… was it watching “My Best friend’s Wedding” for the nth time that drove me to get my pen and write about him? Yup, this guy…my buddy!

We had always been mistaken as steadies. Maybe because we’ve been partners since we were kids. Programs, church activities, hosting, I was very identified with him, and he with me. If I were around, “Where is he?” people would ask, and vice versa. When I woke up, it was a routine to look at the window to see if he was already awake sitting on their terrace especially the morning after a gimmick, signaling to each other: “Did you throw up?” or “napagalitan ka ba?” (You grounded?). And of course, there were arguments – many, in fact! He was always irritated by my laziness – starting a project then leaving everything to him when I couldn’t handle it anymore. He budgeted his money well and could account even to the last penny, while I don’t know where my money went. And many more incidents I love to cherish and reminisce.

We grew up fast, yes. And even that we started to live apart and tried to find each of our own path, we were still “partners”. People still look and ask when one of us is not around. “Bakit nga ba hindi kayo?”. Kung sana nga lang … Kung sana nga lang ano? (Why don't you two hook up? I wish that were the case.)

If only he doesn’t walk and act more feminine than I do? If only he doesn’t talk much more than I do? If only he doesn’t eat with more finesse than I do? If only he’s not a gay? People had known him like that. Maybe, he had acted differently. Friends had accepted him to be that way, ‘though no one had ever asked what he really feels about it and I guess, nobody dared. BUT it’s not being a gay or not, or the supposedly “chance” that we can be”us”. It’s not a question of what he really is or the chance for him to change. They’ve never seen the real “MAN” inside this guy. They’ve never seen what I’ve seen in him all these years.

I was afraid to cross-busy streets. He was always on the danger side to help me get over that fear. I was bored and lonely. He was there to make me laugh and forget about my sadness. He danced with me even though I was a difficult partner to swing with. I had the longest stories to tell. They never heard it. He patiently listened… every single detail of it. I’ve fallen in and out of love. I’ve met guys who loved and hurt me. They didn’t see me cry. He’d seen me. I’ve passed and failed opportunities. They’ve never seen how excited or disappointed I was. He’d seen it. He did simple to most sensible things for me that I guess my fingers and toes aren’t enough to count them all. Maybe they’ve seen the “soft” part of him … but they’ve never seen the “tough” guy inside of him. He’s a different kind of person … my different kind of man … my one of a kind of friend!

And after a year and a half of not seeing each other (first time to happen in our 27 years of existence!), all I wanted was to hug him and tell him how much I missed him. And I do regret that I didn’t! Wanted so much to stay late with him, talk about our experiences for the past year apart, get drunk, laugh, sing, cry, whatever! But so sad, we didn’t get the chance to do all those things. ‘Guess, we’re all busy with our own routines now. And of course, I understand.

And so I went back to my new world, work…work…work… and watch one of my favorite movies AGAIN: MY BESTFRIEND’S WEDDING! He’s not “GEORGE” and I’m not “JULES”. But we have a FRIENDSHIP somehow like what they have … NO, maybe much stronger and more comforting! And with the Lord between us, I know it will stay for a long… long… long time!

To My Brother in Crime, Richard

2008-03-11T20:14:00.000-07:00

Ah, Richard, what can I say? Here I am, finally, FINALLY, letting my thoughts traverse the electronic highway... have I been invisible for that long a time?

When was the last time we actually had a conversation?! Heck, I can't event say it's your fault! Like i am wont to do... no, my silence has been, actually is, my fault. I have submitted myself to the demigods of corporate slavery, and now I almost lost my life. Of course, not in the physical sense (am definitely not suicidal!)... you know what I mean... Save for work and occassional dates with hubby and family, I hardly have any life. I gave up boxing (because my carpal tunnel-inflicted hand) and didnt find any other fun alternative. I quit walking in the park becuase I couldn't wake up early enough - too much late nights in front of the computer, furiously working on those never-ending ARs! The only good thing is, I also gave up shopping! If only for that, you have to congratulate me, brother! Yehey!!!!!!

So now, what am I but a manager with no people to manage, supposedly enjoying the perks of flexi-time but needs to be online practically 27/7. I mean, what kind of an ironic existence do I have?! I bring (no, LUG!) my laptop everywhere, like an extra arm. I evaluate a hotel or restaurant's acceptability being accessiblity to an internet connection. My quick breaks are timed when there is no emergency or crisis that I need to deal with... All my training schedules are worked around demands of external stakeholders.. what the +*%@# is this kind of l ife I have?!

For some insane fluke, I find myself unable to think of anything today, and so I finally turn to our page, and see if I can write something. Isnt' that so great - emptiness of mind leading to the creation of a thought-piece. Of course, this is some kind of a thought-piece. I wonder what thoughts this would evoke in others who bother reading it? Well, whatever....

To my brother, Richard, many thanks for patiently waiting for my two-cents' worth... it may not be much, but it's an additional post. He he he... Cheers! And may the demigods of corporate slavery never hold you hostage in its evil clutches.

Your wonder twin,

Tere

To My Friend Nani

2008-02-26T21:25:00.000-08:00

Dear Nani,

My attitude towards this recent incident is far from apathy and indifference. Just because I refused to be dragged into this chaos, does not necessarily mean that I am visually challenged. As a matter of fact, it is the other way around. Looking into the mess from above, one can see a different picture. A picture that is inept of credibility and substance while having truckloads of ambition and selfishness. In summary, it is a case of wagging the dog. Like you, and most of the recipients of this mail, I am a student of political economy and history. And in both, one can arrive into conclusion that there are no shortcuts to reform. As a matter of fact, reform is not an end to itself but a continuous process that can only be fueled by perseverance and resolve. And this where I am coming from. I had been in two EDSAs. The first one, I did not know why I was there. The second one, I proudly vented my rage, from the first human chain to the following days, and proudly telling an American visitor that this is how Philippine democracy works. Never regretted that moment, yet looking back, very naive. Naive not because it was wrong. Naive because I was only half informed. This is why.

The Philippine political landscape had been like this ever since. Patronage politics is not new. As a matter of fact, we partly inherited it from the Americans. The difference was that, while the US was teaching the Indios how to govern the American way, our social and political structure is based on a feudal system of master and slave. It was a case of us being taught on how to use the tool but not the function (Doods, remember TRIZ?). Neither corruption is new. Even in the US, the military-industrial complex that Eisenhower warned about, looms in their political landscape, 50 years after his term ended. In Germany, the current news is the scandal about how the Lichtenstein officials were bribed to get information on bank deposits. In that case, people are agog about the bribery, but few asked why there is a cache of money, unreachable and nontaxable, therefore highly suspect for laundering or ill-gotten. Funny , but doesn't that remind us of our own country? In a system of checks and balances, it is ideal that whoever does the check is not related, by blood, affinity, or class, to the one who is being checked. This is not happening in our country. Ever since the time of the commonwealth, it was the landed rich who does the checking and who are being checked. What happened was a tool not used for its ideal function, but used as a way to preserve the status quo. The Spanish were partly correct not to let the reins of government transfered to the natives for that matter. The Americans gave it to us but we, through the oligarchs, mangled it terribly. This is still prevalent in our times. Dont take my word for it. Go check the family lines of the rooted rich of our country and you will find a traitor to the revolution and change that Rizal and Bonifacio died for. Geez, Bonifacio was even killed because the landed wanted to maintain the status quo. One, even doesnt have to go that far. Just look at the traitors of EDSA 1 and 2.

At this point, you may ask, where I am getting at? I wish I can say it is simple but it is not. The current affairs of the state is rooted in the sins of the past. The players are different but the characters are the same. That's why I was throwing the question of credibility and whose benefit are we playing our lives with. Look closely at the players who are agitating us to act. Why cant they charge those involved in the courts? Its obvious. It doesnt play well in their timelines and benefit. A senate hearing is televised but the courts hardly allows live coverage. One might argue that the courts are also corrupted. Oh c'mon, its stupidity to generalize. Besides, one congressman earns 60 Millon pesos as pork barrel every year. A senator maintains 200 Million. Cant they hire the best lawyers to get those people involved and send them to jail? They wont for a simple reason. It will go against the game plan and it wont serve the ambitions of the few. It takes great logistics to organize rallies and logistics require money. Where do you think the money is coming from? In contrast, that was the miracle and tragedy of EDSA 1. The miraculous unselfish love of the majority and the tragic exploitation and triumph of the selfish few. This is the reason that I refused to be dragged. Of course, this government is corrupt. So was the governments that preceded it. Invite me to a cup of coffee and I will tell how you can get rich by being corrupt even in just the barangay level. Why do you think they are willing to die just to get elected? But I'm not playing their game. By not playing their game, I think I'm honoring the activist tradition. I wont be dragged in demolishing the very institutions that we are bound as citizens to preserve. If we continue doing this, be ready and forewarned. We will be going to a place wherein none of our generation had ever encountered. When that happens, be ready to pick up a weapon because the fight wont happen in the mountains anymore. It will happen in the streets where our children play. That sounds exaggerated but history is telling us it will happen.

True, this is the time to be angry. I had been angry since time memorial and I'm pretty sure, my heart will give up anytime soon. However, are we angry to what is happening or are we falling into the terrible clutches of hate? It is easy to be misled that both are the same. However, the former begets virtue, while the latter begets only malice, the greatest evil ever described. Dont get me wrong. Im proud that Kris made his stand. Im prouder because he lit the fire of the pen. However, I still quote Bono and say Fuck the Revolution. There is no glory in a revolution that engulfs the very essence that it wants to save. Instead, Im praying for a revolution of the heart. Im not alone in this prayer. As a matter of fact, there are a lot who are doing this. Its fruits can be seen in the houses that were built and the hopes that were restored. That revolution of the heart is sending scholars to our institutions and giving them a future worth fighting for. That same revolution is fueling the exodus of Filipino scientists coming home to build enterprises and keep this country moving forward. Its the same revolution that is in the heart of a lowly but brilliant engineer manning his machine, resisting the temptations of going abroad while saying "I can make this work". Its the same revolution thats fueling a teacher with a PhD who is teaching in the barrios of the Visayas. Believe me, my dear Nani, that it is happening.

An anecdote. Once, I was in a date with a friend and was traversing the EDSA flyover towards Pasay(..we were going to the Baywalk...dirty minds!!) when we saw an actual motor accident happened. Wanting to be a hero, I asked my driver to stop the car so that we can help out.(Half consciously, i was trying to impress my date.). Guess what? I wasn't alone who stopped and helped the guy. There were five other cars that stopped all wanting to help one way or another. Two taxi drivers managed the traffic in spite of their need to meet their boundary quotas. Another car, a Nisaan Cefiro, whose high profile driver, stepped out and was frantically calling every emergency station. Another, well to do man, was with me, talking to the fallen driver and keeping him conscious and applying what we know of first aid( or what we thought was first aid). Its a minuscule example, but that is the revolution of the heart. Geez, my previous company, logged a million hours of volunteer work(building, teaching, coaching, etc.) and made the communities better than a midscale subdivision.(Does your subdivision, have a library? Their barrio has one. Its even digital. No money directly donated.) . Now thats revolution. A revolution that wipes out indifference. A revolution without hate.

Charity's meaning is not relative. Its specific meaning is the love of thy neighbor. A lot of us subscribe to this not because we find our political landscape hopeless. We do it because we find the S.O.B.s who are manning the same landscape hopeless. Instead, we'll patiently work for the time when more and more people realize that its not what our country can do for us but what we can do for our country. When that time comes, and it will come, the revolution will be complete. Care to join?

best regards,

Richard

When Grief Turns to Sadness

2008-02-15T19:43:00.000-08:00

Every memory that encompasses the assumption of a dream can be snuffed out by a single moment. The rupture is not the eradication of the memories itself but the cumulative meaning of the dream. In as much as you fight the melancholy that haunts your soul, time nudges you to move towards loneliness. Towards a place wherein solitude is the only horizon that you can see. A wise man once said that this life is nothing but a journey. It is indeed true if you look at it with your back against the future and facing the place you came from. However, it is a matter of chance that what you see in front is the same place where you started. Easily unrecognizable but suprisingly a dissappointment, if not shocking. So much have been said about life's meaning and the virtues that should be led in fulfilling it. Only the cynical was given the right to protest the overflowing sentiments of hope.

However, hope itself is much like clinging to something nonetheless empty. That said, the spiritually enlightened turns to faith which is more tragic than the trusting of an empty promise. In as much as one intends to grapple between reality and fantasy, the hard truth and the metaphysical, when combined, presents itself as a place of uncomfortable limbo. Denying the physical reality forces a person to perform unnecessary acts. Neither, dismissing the metaphysical provides comfort since cynicism, at its ideal, is worst than absolute atheism. Therefore, how does one cope with the desperate feeling of losing a dream? A feeling that even enemies shouldnt be burdened with nor cursed with. It is presumed that nobody knows. To each, his or her own tribulations and challenges. To each, his or her own succcesses. To each, his or her own joy. After all, we are just matter, or a child, depending on what spectrum one is coming from.

Wonder Twins

2007-12-25T20:37:00.000-08:00

As far as it can be remembered, the gimmick of having a "he said, she said" opinion space is often motivated by gentle people who, due to having too much time on their hands, seek a window to vent their rambling spirits or just bitch around. It is comforting to note that the words that come out, whether from the lips or the unmanicured fingers, of the accidental siblings are just, well, words. Musings of the unsolitary lover, the (in)sane complaint of the shopping addict, the nostalgia of the balding bachelor, the grief of the old maid, the protestations of the activist wannabe, or the pseudo criticism of a movie fan. All just words trying to find their significance to a once peaceful existence or lack thereof.

Perhaps, as we are human beings, and as such, we are social beings, there is always the mood to reach out. It may sound ironically selfish since communicating one's opinion is no better than the doling out of unsolicated and unwelcome advice. However, no matter how self-centric the motives are, the actual "reach-out" does have its own benefits. One, if you agree with the opinion, you can come to a realization that you are not alone with your feelings. Two, if you vehemently disagree with the words, you will have somebody in your imagination, a face to hit with an iron glove. Third, if you strongly disagree, you can turn the opinion slackers into target practice just like what the evil minions of Voldermot(a.ka. Politicians) can do or doing. It is prayed, though, that the third reason should be left out. In short, be a sport. (Or better, write your own blog!)

Nevertheless, we dont think we have pretensions as journalists. Neither do we have the messianic complex of Maria Ressa and her saintly bunch of reporters. No ideas on how to save the Republic. Nor do we intend to head the republic. We are more like dysfunctional misfits who are tired of trying to understand what the f*#! is going on, thus, we just let it rip. Like slam dancing in a mosh pit wherein you do your own thing, arms flailing, not minding if you bloodied somebody, or be bloodied yourself, and go home, if you are lucky, with a toothless grin. Some might say it will be nothing but irresponsible conjectures. I prefer to call it rock and roll. Im pretty sure we are not going to be alone.

Anyhow, this piece was meant to be an introduction. I would leave my accidental sister, Teresa, to write her own. She's the better twin. I dont intend to speak in behalf of her. Besides, she writes better and she'll probably end up booing mine. Woe is me. And that goes to everybody else.