Age-experience disconnect

I went to two house parties last night and I did not get drunk. I was not in the mood to get drunk. Koji asked me why this morning and I awkwardly fumbled for possible reasons. But I think I now have a suspicion.

I first went to Abby's girlfriend's birthday party, and almost everyone in attendance were either nearing thirty or with kids. They were really very nice, but I kept noticing that I was the only one who was not born during the Martial Law years. Then I went to my highschool classmate's party (she just passed the nursing board exams), and this time, I cannot help but notice that I was the only one among the group who hasn't finished school. They were all raving about their diplomas and laudes.

I didn't piece all of this up together until a few minutes ago, but I wonder no more why I wasn't tempted to pickle myself in vodka and beer last night.

Contemplathings XV

1. Joblessness. It's disgusting how I make fun of the fact that I am both currently unemployed and out-of-school, living a lifestyle that both intrigues and disgusts my friends. Yet I really don't do much about it.

2. The National Artist awards. Why is there even a National Artist award? It is presumptuous and elitist.

3. Iran. I just finished Reading Lolita and Tehran. Some Persian women really are blonde?

4. Vodka and cranberry juice. Oblivious to my protests that I am content with beer, my friend Jay insists that I should try this concoction.

5. Thoughts and ideas I can no longer share here. Whereas I had blogged freely before about past (failed or stunted) romances, prudence dictates that my blog now hardly remains the right venue to talk about the affairs of my, uh, heart. He blogs also.

Remembering Karen and Sherlyn

I logged in to Facebook earlier and was reminded through Prof. Judy Taguiwalo’s status post that today marks the third year since the forced disappearance of UP student-activists Karen Empeño and Sherlyn Cadapan.

Karen and Sherlyn are active members of the militant groups League of Filipino Students and Anakbayan. They were doing research for their theses when they were abducted by military men on June 26, 2006 in Hagonoy, Bulacan.

A local farmer, Manuel Merino, who was also abducted with Karen and Sherlyn, eventually managed to escape after months of captivity. His testimony in court has confirmed that the AFP is behind the abduction.

I remember being horrified while I first read the blotter reports and eyewitness testimonies, while I interviewed Karen and Sherlyn's families for a news article for the Collegian, while I read Manuel Merino's tales of torture. My horror was rivaled only by my new-found disgust and anger at what the government can do to "neutralise" anyone at the slightest suspicion of being an "insurgent."

I remember being enraged by Jovito Palparan's nonchalant denials of his involvement, because he projects the easy demeanor of someone who is above the law, who can get away with whatever he does.

What has happened since the two disappeared? Writs from the courts have been issued and the high tribunal has ruled that the military is behind the abductions. A UN rapporteur has declared that the government is responsible for orchestrating extrajudicial killings and forced disappearances. Human rights groups and other progressive organizations have tirelessly fought in court and in the streets. But like in many other cases of missing, jailed, or murdered activists, it seems as if these otherwise valiant efforts have yet to yield results.

Three years is a long time for waiting. To me, it seemed as if it happened just yesterday, but to the closest friends and family of Karen and Sherlyn, three years must have felt like an eternity. To the mothers of Karen and Sherlyn who have fought relentlessly, who have attended numerous court hearings and protest rallies in the hopes of being reunited with their daughters, it must have been a long, lonely, and painful process.

Three years is a long time. What to do? I guess we don't just wait for justice to be served. We fight for it. Personally, I don't know everything that I could do to help and I suspect I alone could not do much. I could start, though, by saying I have not forgotten. I remember.


(Artwork by Jether Amar)

Domesticities

1. Yesterday, I cooked chicken soup enough to feed a small orphanage. I handed over a big bowl to the next door neghbor, but I was still left with a vast amount of the soup that made me think about Africa.

I had to end up forcing everything down my throat, images of scrawny Somalian kids in my head, like a UN PowerPoint presentation. I felt less guilt, though, because I didn't let the food spoil.

I need, no, I wish I can afford my own refrigerator.

2. When I first saw my new apartment, I would hardly call it love at first sight. The walls are dark pink (though the landlady insisted they are lavender), the toilet lacks a flush, and the apartment is a little too conveniently located--aside from a church, a self-help laundry shop, pharmacy, bakery, and water-refilling station a few steps away from my door, there is also a mortuary very, very nearby. Some afternoons, I'll wake up suddenly because a there's a funeral procession, and Hindi kita Malilimutan (I will Never Forget You) is on. It never fails to cheer the spirit.

In the end, I took the apartment because of the cheap rent, the tiled floor, the window looking out into the street, and the double-lock doors. I'll be moving out soon, but in the meantime, I will have to bear with the afternoon dirges.

3. Leon is dying. My plant was doing fine, and then after his fifth flower wilted, he entered a depression phase that rivaled mine. His leaves yellowed and then browned, and he seemed to made up his mind not to bloom again. I thought he was going back in the closet.

Curiously enough, he got over his emotional phase, almost at the same time I got over mine. I asked Leon what made him unhappy, but he wouldn't tell me. Like me, my plant likes to keep things to himself once he's already okay.

Plea for help: My copy of The Hobbit is gone. Gone! I was dusting my books yesterday, and I found out it's gone because I want all my Tolkien books to be arranged beside each other in the shelf. As usual, I might have lent it to someone but I could not remember who. If you're the one who borrowed the book from me, please let me know as soon as possible. A prize awaits you if you text me within the next 24 hours.

Back on track

Almost two years ago, I was perfectly fine. I was taking a full load at school, was occasionally writing news for the student paper, was earning a very considerable five-digit salary every other Friday, was managing to read at least one book a weak, and was washing my own laundry. Then I became a bit too naive and tried new things I knew little about. I think I was too confident that I will ace everything I set my mind into doing. I was younger and I was still used to being fairly successful at things I want to do. Of course I was wrong.

There is a scene in the movie Juno where Brenda, Juno's mom, tongue-lashes the "ultrasound technician" who says it's a good thing Juno is giving up the baby for adoption.

"What is your job title exactly," Brenda asks the clueless troglodyte.

"I'm an ultrasound technician, ma'am," says the ultrasound technician.

Then Brenda delivers her knock-out, kick-ass line: "Well, I'm a nail technician and I think it's best we both stick to what we know."

I reckon it's about time I take Bren's cue and stick again to what I know best right now: dividing my spare time into novels and writing desultorily on my blog/s. Then maybe, maybe I'll be perfectly fine again.

PS. I'm sorry about the new photo. I wanted a new picture, but the last phase of my cosmetic surgery isn't done yet.

Of Bedouins, blogging, and boredom

I feel strange: sedated and disinterested, like a bored dairy cow. I have a suspicion that if I wake up and find myself, curiously garbed as a Bedouin, inside a tent in a North African desert, the whole incident would hardly throw me into a fit of panic and surprise. This is a very dangerous thought, of course, but not necessarily entirely undesirable. Nomadic lifestyles have their exotic charm.

I am mildly envious of others here in the blogosphere who always write about something. Someone wrote about suicide (again), one on trade barriers and the bovine epidemic, and another on wasted romance. I am almost tempted to write about the possible connections of all three discourses. But all I could blog about is either my half-done posts or my interminable boredom. Ho-hum.

A blogger wrote about an advice given by a common friend, Melane. I wonder why during these sorts of times in our lives, we always feel inspired to invoke her sagely advice.

She told me more than once before: Pinili mo naman yan.

Of Melissa and Matt, proxies, and Orlando, Florida

Sine my long post on Pullum and Strunk & White, I have attempted (in total) four times already to write a new post. The first attempt is about bookstores and the information elite (nosebleed). The second is about how recession can fight the signs of ageing (see anorexia and fasting). The third is a fearless forecast on the Pacquiao vs Hatton fight (Manny: This will be a battol!).

The fourth is about the new hit series Kambal sa Uma. (Back in highschool, I was able to interview Melissa Ricks when she dropped by in our campus to promote some shows. I asked her if she has any shows in the pipeline, and she said she's been promised a fantaserye. That was of course four years ago; she had to wait for Matt Evans to do away with all that hair. The afro takes up so much camera frame space, rendering kissing scenes impossible to film.)

None of these saw the light of the day. I am a very prolific blogger.

***

My previous company has a very limited sense of securing its resources: Coffee gluttons plunder the creamer and sugar packets beside the coffee vendo. Vast amounts of handtowels and toilet tissue disappear mysteriously everyday. At the same time, entering the sleeping quarters at any given time gives one an impression that the company has decided to take up the cause of harboring refugees and the homeless. Accessing the internet is also hardly secured against non-work related activities. All you get when you try to go to Youtube is a page with a pair of monkeys warning you that the page is not secure, which you could avoid anyway through a proxy.

Accessing the internet, however, needs a bit of an effort here in my new work, and may require a considerable store of good proxy servers, which one can use alternately. Still, even when I manage to beat "Orlando" and get to my Blogger dashboard through some server located in France, a lot of links and scripts get lost in the process (and sometimes, because of that, I can neither approve nor view comments since the links wont work properly in some second-rate proxies).

I am beginning to suspect that I might need to save for a laptop. It is a hassle to go home to my mom's whenever I want to manage my blogs. Then I can cease being guilty of hogging the company's bandwidth each time I surf the web.

Contemplathings XIII

1. My long-overdue Pene tribute. Nobody talks about the Oscars anymore, but a kudos post to someone like Penelope Cruz is perhaps always welcome; I just couldn't find the right mood to write decently and finish my blogpost draft. So I'm typing away randomly instead in an attempt to while away the hot afternoon hours.

2. Friends at the Collegian. I know I should not have reduced myself to being published in Inquirer's Youngblood. But I did, because I was bored, and now I have to live with the fact that Jerrie et al are disappointed with me. There's an unspoken but mutual opinion among them that I took the easiest way to write and get published, which is a polite way of saying I'm cheap. I'm afraid I don't entirely disagree. Lesson learned: do not ever do things out of mere boredom.

3. Last Order sa Penguin, by Chris Martinez. I just reread this Palanca-winning play, and I hope a theater house thinks about doing it onstage again. We could all certainly use a good laugh.

4. Rurouni Kenshin. I have liked anime well enough before, but when Naruto and a slew of other crass anime shows came into the picture, I lost my eagerness to watch more. I decided to watch Rorouni Kenshin (Samurai X) on DVD these past few weeks, and found out it was quite historically accurate to Japan's Bakumatsu period. Some even say most of the characters were patterned after real Shinsengumi members. I religiously followed the TV series back in high school, but I have never given much thought about it.

After I'm done with Rurouni, I'll hunt next for a copy of Neon Genesis Evangelion. Also back in high school when I was following the series on national TV, I always thought Rei is hot. And then I started noticing Shinji is hot, too. LOL.

Declaration of bankruptcy

I will be incommunicado thru SMS for the rest of the week. The current financial crisis is global. Please send me messages thru GMail (the one in my blog profile), Yahoomail, or UP Webmail.

Frustrations

1. Bebe and Rustom

Rustom Padilla is not simply dead. He was murdered by the fabulously wicked Bebe Gandanghari. Bebe is a selfish, ungrateful bitch. After coming out of the closet with Rustom’s help, why does she have to kill him?


2. Miriam Santiago

Miriam used to be smart. Her reputation as someone who can dish out tart, witty one-liners, with such admirable flair is eclipsed only by her former reputation as an iron-woman when it comes to battling corruption in the government.

Then she voted against the opening of the second envelope. Then she mentioned her dead son on TV in an election ad. Then she ran under Gloria’s party in the last Senatorial elections. Then she became too fond of making scenes and long speeches.

As Jessica Zafra once bemoaned, what happened to the good old Miriam that we have so adored in the past? We should appeal to the aliens who have abducted her; they must have placed a deranged dummy in her place.

3. Tide and Downey

Why would soap companies be disturbingly partial to politicians as their endorser? When Mar Roxas appeared in apparently Tide's latest commercial, I thought, “Well, everyone is entitled to make their own humiliating mistakes.” But when I recently saw Pia Cayetano on TV, sweeping her hand across an image of a huge overflowing dam, urging everyone to use Downey Isang Banlaw, my brain went short circuit.

4. KC Concepcion

What happens to a kid who’s sent abroad by an over-protective mom? She goes wild, once given the chance. She flirts with a former Hollywood star, does movies with a brother of a fallen beauty queen, and guests at every talk show airing on TV. So much for just shampoo commercials.

5. Ambitious project in progress

I have gone so far into my project that I can no longer go back. I am not sure if I can still pull it off. This is what happens when you’re too much a fan of great surrealist writers; their weird ideas rub off on you, but your talents remain inconsiderable. I guess there’s no option but to plough on with the story, and hope for the best.

Contemplathings XII

1. To resign or not to resign

It's final. Our company's migrating our account to Araneta Center on the 21st. Which means by then, I will have to start taking a jeep and a bus (or the MRT) everyday I go to work, since I live in Taguig. I ruled out the shuttle service in Market Market. (I've been getting tips that the car seats smell of old laundry.)

Then I read a company email from one of the Bosses. It noted that there is an alarming upward trend in absenteeism and tardiness, blah blah blah, and that there are agents who keep on getting away without punitive action. The email ends in a cheerful note: "I am not pleased and I don't want this to continue. I want blood."

In any case, there will have to be only one way to save my ass: resign before my neck says hi to the ax.

2. To text or not to text Joey.
To say that I miss him terribly would be the understatement of the century. There are times I would lie in my bed and try to remember his face and I would find out my memory of what he looks like fades by the day. That's a terrible thing, starting to unconsciously forget how someone you love looks like.

I want to continue texting him, invite him for a genuinely innocent cup of coffee. But that is the most guaranteed way to look like a stalker, and I'm not sure if I'm ready to look like one.


3. To go out or not to go out on V-Day.
I have been invited by someone already to go out on the day after this coming Friday the 13th. But I'm not sure it would be fair to the guy if I date him when I still have strong feelings for Joey.

I am also surprised though to find out that if it comes to it, there are actually people I would consider dating. Jeez, I'm a mess.

***

My apologies if I can't continue my project in progress. There are just so many things going inside my head; I think I need a real Pensieve. As Jamie said, blogging is some sort of Pensieve, but I think I need the real thing. I'm that screwed up.

Wowowee and the Lovapalooza Stampede

I know why it sometimes feels good to have an occasional dose of Willie Revillame's infamous noontime show. It's watching those contestants embarrass themselves (and their kin) in national television. I laugh at them and admire them at the same time. Such courage to tell stories about personal drama are strange to me.

That is, until fairly recently, when I digressed from this blog's supposed cultural affectations and decided to write about myself again. Sef-cannibalism, in other words, as Jessica Zafra once said in her better days.

Now pass the salt, please?

1. Derriere-licking. Not only did I get away with it again by writing a long exquisite letter explaining my recent slew of absences and tardiness, a little bird told me I might even get a pay raise this May when my score card gets evaluated. The stars are kind, the stars are kind.

2. Ned. I have not received a text message from him until now. Nor have I atempted to initiate anything that would resemble an attempt at conversation. He looks cute in his new primary DL photo.

3. Joey. Well. Joey. Where should I even start? It was inevitable that this will happen. You know that last U-turn in the road when you're driving? Well, I went past that point. I was actually driving too fast, stepping on the gas pedal too hard, that I had to be pulled over by the MMDA.

4. Moving to Cubao. As our company will be moving to its new building (yes, that one) come end of next month, I am now looking for a new place to rent. Two of my officemates have expressed interest in sharing a house with me, but I honestly think I should get my own studio-type flat. Not that I don't get along well with people; it's just that my household maintenance habits dramatically fluctuate: anything between downright lazy to obsessive-compulsive.

5. Backlog of pre-planned special-feature posts. My neurons had been too preoccupied lately about my own insipid affairs that they have neglected more interesting topics.

There's that special post I planned about Natalie Portman flicks. Since I miss my Collegian days, I also thought about doing a small investigative on the "UP-Ayala Cyberpark." The list of ambitious projects goes on. Collezione and its Pinoy pride prints. The proposal to scrap the Student Regent position in UP's Board of Regents. Obama's anti-Iraq War stance and Gloria's possible retraction from her original support for Dubya's War against Terror. The Matrix trilogy and its signature bullet-speed camera shot.

Self-cannibalism is so cathartic, I can hardly stop. But like the few remaining pleasures left in this world, I guess all of them end too soon. I have released too many calls already. Must get back to work. Thraldom beckons.

If you have no further questions, I'd like to thank you for calling---

I'm quitting.

I cannot believe I put up with AT&T for six months. There's always something mildly exhilarating about anything in retrospect, something like an after-effect of vertigo. After having fallen from a high cliff, you wonder why you're still alive and breathing.

But I'm free at last from corporate thralldom, at least for quite a while before I get enslaved by either Convergys or IBM Daksh. Enrolling for this semester also is not quite out of the question, though I guess it will have to be my powers which will have to make this come to fruition. (My mom swore to me this morning she'll pay for my tuition. I know better than to trust to her short-lived promises. She is someone who says she will cook dinner, only to back out at around 9 pm, suggesting she pines for a can of sardines.)

Just a little disclaimer: Though I'm submitting my resignation letter tonight, I enjoyed being AT&T customer service for VXI for the last six months, if only for the fact that it's a high-paying way of killing yourself slowly. As my friend Chona puts it perfectly, "Ang sweldo sa VXI, either pambili ng gamot, o pambili ng kabaong." Believe me, jobs like that excite me, for a certain period of time. As much as masochism is hardwired in my system, I'd like to believe I reach the point when I become sane as everyone else. I know when I've done enough of what Jessica Zafra calls "self-cannibalism."

Now some of my friends I'll be leaving at VXI have all declared they will miss me, teary eyes and all. It's touching, but more probably this is just to hide the fact that they are green with envy; I bet it shall not be long before they follow me on my way out, screaming "You twerp! Me too! Me too!"

Anyone got the loony bin's number?

I think I'm ready for the sanitorium. I have two news articles to draft (deadline: 7 pm tonight), and my legwork is far from sufficient. My reaction paper on Socrates' "Apology" is weeks due. I just found out that I managed to flunk my second long exam in Calculus; the next exam is in two weeks, and I still don't know what a bleeping antiderivative is. And by the way, my mother's birthday is today. ■