Tuesday, November 24, 2009
I loved it when you allowed me to court you,
I loved it when I heard you like me a lot,
I love you.
The nights are dim when I’m not with you.
The nights when I’m with you, I want to call a night.
The nights are nights when you shine through my eyes.
Tonight, you’re not with me, I want to be with you.
I love your eyes,
I love your hands,
I love your toes,
I love all of you.
I wish I didn’t pull the trigger.
I wish I didn’t loose the thread.
I wish I didn’t tighten the belt.
I wish I didn’t hurt you.
Plans are laid out to my mind,
But your words simply wouldn’t mind.
I dreamt of you and me together,
But maybe I have to sleep with the thought and let my dreams do the work.
It’s been 14,668,000 seconds since I met you.
I saw your face six times, and dreamt of seeing it six more times, sixty, six hundred, six thousand, six million times until I finally recognize that yours is the face I want to see for the whole lifetime.
No any calculation could count my desire to see you, each time I skip to think of you.
And perhaps, tonight, I have to stop counting because I can’t already be with you.
This has been the saddest night, and the next nights to come without you.
Sunday, September 6, 2009
They say it’s in troubled times where new breed of leaders sprout and take their shots to lead an equally troubled electorate. And so when we are challenged, one, or well, many might come up the stage and dare the culprit for a fistfight.
Our country has a fair share of leaders shaped by challenges. And normally, those who dare to fight are those who take less of the consequence, idealistic that is. In retrospect, the leaders who stood still in the bleak history of our land are, in present time, now seen in daily monetary exchange. Yes, their presence is now on our money bills. But the likes of Rizal, Bonifacio and Ninoy were not congenitally placed on the bill. They have brought groundbreaking changes to our country, too colossal for them to be installed in some monumental way.
Rizal published Noli Me Tangere at age of 25. Bonifacio, Inc. mounted the Katipunan when they’re just at 20s. Ninoy was arguably the youngest politician who vied for seat at the local government and the Senate. What’s the common variable? Maybe it’s their young blood flowing through their veins which drove them to aspire change for their country, but by blood or something else, they were young and they dared the tyrant for a fistfight.
The present administration is now drowning from their self-made political storms. Malacañang, where the eye of the storm seems to be permanently glued, has always practiced reactive stance on the issue, never cared much to lessen the storms they face. As general election is just months away from occurrence, political storms engulfing the nation bring so much reason for its citizens, this time not to shield themselves with umbrella, but defy the flashes of controversy with empowered stand on issues we all should get involved with.
The political storms call for volunteers to resist the eye of the storm. Perhaps, the pattern from Rizal and Bonifacio to Ninoy tells us that the young may bring another monumental change to our country. Let’s know their numbers. Presently, the youth aged 15-30 comprise of 1/3 of our entire population. In election figures, the National Statistics Office is projecting nine million First Time Voters in the next election, an addition to the total 27.6 million young voters aged 18-34 who will participate in the polls. And as of June this year, 2.6 million new voters are added on the voting population, and the figures are expected to flood before the registration ends on October 31. Whoa, that’s a promising figure enough to elect a president! A strong nine million FTVs can be a powerful change-advancer in the elections, but the numbers are yet to be tested. Sad figures show that 78% of the youth aged 7-21 are not concerned about politics. 70% say they distrust the politicians.
The First Time Voters’ Project (FTV) is just one movement which answered the call to advocate the voice of the new voters. In 2001, some youth camped out of the Commission on Elections (Comelec) office to protest the disenfranchisement of 4.5 million 18-21 years old first time voters. The failure of the eligible new voters to participate was due to lack of awareness on the ongoing registration and the incapacity of the Comelec to register efficiently all the first time voters. Reform-minded groups then took an alliance to never let disenfranchisement of large scale happen again.
In its fourth engagement to call for higher youth participation in the elections, FTV Project drives-up electoral education and registration awareness to every part of the country with high youth concentration. In-schools and community-based organizations take part in aim to let all qualified new voters practice their right to register and vote.
The Philippine Constitution has clearly detailed the youth’s importance in our country. And I quote, “The State recognizes the vital role of the youth in nation-building and shall promote and protect their physical, moral, spiritual, intellectual, and social well-being. It shall inculcate in the youth patriotism and nationalism, and encourage their involvement in public and civic affairs.”
But despite this mandate of the Constitution, how come some studies show that politicians keep on ignoring youth agenda in their list of priorities? Well, some argue it’s because the youth simply don’t participate in the elections. As mass media now aggressively call for the youth to engage on 2010 polls, not to mention the so-far-so-great result of the new voters’ registration figures; dear politician, better think again.
As FTV Project works on the new voters’ State-assured rights, advocates lobby to institutionalize the FTV Project as their generation’s response in changing the socio-political culture of the youth towards alternative politics and transformative governance.
They have four words for the politicians, “Listen, it’s our turn.” The youth have high expectation for the next seating government. The youth agenda which include education, health care, employment and poverty are expected to be on the list of the politicians’ platforms this time. To date, one of four youth voters live below the poverty line. Education, which is supposed to be of highest budget priority, receives even less from the government. Decaying education policies haunt the schoolchildren’s future. Another less-attended factor, health care, brings the sick closer to their grave. Unemployment among youth continues to be on the rise. Thanks to Overseas Filipino Workers (OFWs), the sector which saved the country from sure misery in the last world recession, is by the way composed largely of the youth aged 25-29.
It’s in the youth’s nature these days to act indifferent to issues of their time. But history has it that the more the youth got punched with social worries, the stronger they aspire change and challenge the things they find wrong. Edsa People Power 1 and 2 are strong evidence of the youth’s power to topple the ill when it’s already too hot to handle. These should also warn those who think of repeating the ill-deed of the previous regime.
The youth fight is everyone else’s fight. What the youth aspire will always benefit the whole; the present and the future generation to come. Don’t let them down.
Tuesday, July 21, 2009
Theater plays usually catch my attention for one reason: its authenticity in big gestures. And when realism strikes a chord, sure it’s painful but oh so relieving.
Noli at Fili Dekada 2000 (Dos Mil) is a modern-day social porn. It’s hard core but not too graphic, disturbing but enlightening. When reality bites you, it makes sure it seals it with a slap on your face. And my cheeks went red.
The play echoes its original counterpart’s shoutout. More than a century after, it still resounds the face of a sick society; the same symptoms, only a little face lift. You will still encounter Ibarra, Maria Clara, Elias, Padre Damaso and other iconic characters, only with contemporary personalities.
Set in Maypajo, a small town somewhere in Southern Tagalog, nature took its toll to humanity’s abuse through flash floods and landslide; a toll very large enough to claim the souls of hundreds. Young blood Ibarra Marasigan, newly-elected mayor of the town, witnessed his constituents’ misery and pushed for the total log ban in Sierra Madre mountain ranges. He sought help from Governor Santiago Santos, his future father-in-law and godfather. But instead of a helping hand, Ibarra stumbled upon the rotting government system that compromised his future marriage to Clarissa. She was forced to marry Col. Salvi, the notorious architect of some of illegal government transactions. Meddling of the Church to state affairs was apparent with Bishop Damaso’s filthy involvement in illegal trades and shadow of dark past. Affected parties engineered Ibarra’s way out of public office. Ibarra brought his battle to the mountains and joined a rebel armed group. He eventually went down and took a vengeance for his ill-fate.
At present time, Nic Tiongson has written what every social goons would avoid: a reflection of their ill deed, a mirror of their own self. They may be narcissistic, but dirt on their faces—and worse on their inner self, is another thing.
I think Soxie Topacio is well-endowed to direct the play. A master of his field, Mr Topacio was able to connect the grim line between reality and the lack of it.
The play didn’t lack great actors. In fact, they’ve got an overwhelming number. Respected names in theater, TV and music like Lex Ramos, Bembol Rocco, Robert Seña among others, flocked together to bring a must-see play this season.
I was particularly impressed with the underlying cause of their engagement in the play. Some of them were able to see the gloomy picture of Quezon back in 2004, the province hardly-hit by a super typhoon, a natural calamity worsened by the abuse of humankind. The disaster claimed hundreds of lives. The play is a by-product of their desire to “strike a message” to the concerned, a badge of every PETA play for forty years now. Crying for no reason is nonsense. Acting for nothing is equivalent to shit.
Roughly six years back, I took up Noli Me Tangere and El Filibusterismo at third and fourth year high school, respectively. I could boast of my outstanding marks in Filipino subject then, that’s where I only excelled on anyway. (Well, History was another I guess.)
My interest in Noli Me Tangere led me to direct a play, partially to fulfil the final requirement for the subject and mostly to kindle my lust for social awakening; this was sort of juvenile ejaculation, I suppose. Pardon my language.
And I guess that had awaken my sixth sense: a keen eye for social imbalance. We all have a story to tell about Noli at Fili, some might got dead bored while taking the subject, some shared my admiration for both novels. But in the process, sure we learned that something's wrong a century ago. Presently, please care to ask ourselves, how far did we improve as a nation, or how sick did we turn out.
You wouldn’t allow your child to watch porn, and worse a hardcore one, but I dare you to try this, sure your child would reach social foreplay in no time. I bet politicians and people on highest social layer would never herd up their kids on PETA theater, but I challenge my generation to give this a shot and, for once, think over our future roles in a society predominantly ruled by the powerhouse elite.
PS. All photos courtesy of PETA Facebook account.
Showing at the PETA Theater Center from July 17 to August 9, 2009 (Friday, Saturday and Sunday: 10AM and 3PM)
Tickets are P300 each.
For inquiries or reservations, call PETA Marketing at 410 0821 or 0917-8044428 or email firstname.lastname@example.org.
Friday, July 10, 2009
Antagal na kitang inasam.
Naging tapat ako sa'yo.
Sabi mo may money-back guarantee ka.
Sabi mo abot ko ang mundo pero ni
Friendster (dumbing me since 2004) 'di ko ma-access.
Sabi mo, sabi mo. Blah blah blah.
Up to 512 kbps ka kamo.
May Wi-Max ka pang nalalaman.
Murang mura ka nga sa PhP 795 kada buwan.
Mapapamura naman ako sa bagal.
Panis na Panis.
Monday, July 6, 2009
I hope you’re in great shape before reading this love-hate letter, because I’m daydreaming for another emotion to sink in to your sacred, grandmotherly heart after reading this.
I resent being a young adult. It’s a big term for me, huge enough for me to get anxious of its perks. I have unwelcomely reached twenty just two months ago, and received my bittersweet diploma on the same period. A twenty-year old badge plus a college diploma are not a good mix I tell you; some have been and currently in my shoes so sure they know what it feels like. But the stigma is not yet over, our country’s economic figures are just one-round off shy to recession. I won’t just mention here that even before CNN has managed to inject the word recession in every one minute of their broadcast, the bottom 90 percent of the Filipino people have already been living in its supposed aftermath—daily life struggle at its finest (pun always intended), and I want to acknowledge your exemplary governance here. You count me in on the figure. Twenty-year olds and so at this time are on the verge of despair over our country’s fate, and again, I join the ranks.
I’m a post-Edsa I baby, if that still appeals to your senses. And I too am an Edsa II kid; I was at sixth Grade when some of the young took up the refresher course of old about ‘Think Again 101: How to sack a president when he’s gone too far’. I also deliberately did a home study so I could cope up with something I believed was a great refresher. I might be 30-plus kilometers far from the scene but I tell you, I figuratively guarded your way up to Malacañang. I placed my bet on you. In 2004 general elections, at 14, even when you cried wolf and ran for greed, err, president, I still gambled and entrusted my uncounted ballot to you.
Madam president, I did careful judgment on every single stone your critics threw unto you; it’s like viewing a valued shares of stock plunge yet hope against hope that it will soon recover. Still, I kept loyal.
But enough is enough, madam president. I need not mention this but when your crying sorry for ‘lack of judgment’ got in to my resting nerves, when a poker-faced Gloria excused herself from the price of phoning a commissioner, when you mastered the discipline of gluing your tired a*s from seating on your eight-year old treasured high-chair, my doze of tolerance has gone sick. You stepped on my tipping point.
You have failed me. And you have failed just everyone else who placed a bet of trust on you. Thanks to our prime moment, the youth, among all segments, have the sharpest memory nobody could stand. You have asked for forgiveness, but we find hard to return the favor when the other end shows no remorse.
And just now, amid issues of eight years of unpopularity and flopped presidency, among others, you have all the guts to engineer your celebration of enormous power. No thanks to your allies who do all their concerted might to carnal attack the Constitution for your pleasure, our country is now one-string away to a banana republic. I cannot help but think: What are you thinking?
But when my tolerance for evil ends, my seek for good begins. And I concede no one’s perfect, madam president. As devout Catholic as you are, I believe forces of good will still hit your heart. I’m now speaking to you as a supposed loving grandchild.
Lola Gloria, you’re now 62 and lolo Mike’s 63, I appeal for you to breathe some fresh air and mull over: What have we done to our native land? How will people write down our history? What are we to pass on to our grandchildren, to the youth of today?
Lola Gloria, you now take a rest. Bring with you lolo Mike. Have you seen the blossoming of orchids in the garden lately? Lola Gloria, you now take a rest. Bring with you lolo Mike. Abort your plans for 2010. Sure, you have vast fields all over the country, but I’m sure you now terribly miss Lubao, you keep on coming back there recently I was told, so why not spend the rest of your retiring years there? You two lovely couple will surely fit in there. Lola Gloria, your unexploited backyard is waiting for you there, plant lovely flowers and let lolo Mike give you a hand. You keep a fertilizer scam, err, spray on your hand and a shovel at lolo Mike’s. What a great picture, isn’t it? Who knows, there you’ll finally experience a ‘eureka moment’ when you get to dig in a long-abandoned maxim: Kung anong iyong itinanim, sya mo ring aanihin. (Reap what you sow.)
My concern for you both made me search for the Philippines’ average lifespan. I startled for your closeness to the figures: 70 for men, 73 for women. Lola Gloria and lolo Mike, on 2010, may you rest, in Lubao.
We don’t want another Imelda in the list of greediest of all time, if that time comes, I might seriously consider be one in the 2,000 daily average of Pinoys who’d find refuge in a foreign land.
Madam president, please don’t fail us now; our generation plea for your mercy on us. We've had enough suffering at this early life. Please spare us from another years, or even worse, another generation of failed dreams. Don’t let us rupture and desperately ask for natural force to meddle in and bring forth your ultimate rest. We don’t want that to happen. Filipinos give high respect for the elderly. Let us keep that values running.
I am deeply sorry if you find the letter unlikely for a twenty-year old, but please teach us to write a thank you letter.
Saturday, July 4, 2009
Fresh from her expensive travel spree in three H1N1-infected countries, Ms Arroyo submitted herself to a free quarantine in Asian Hospital to show the public that precautionary measures of virus spread is a must to those who went abroad—including herself. Truth will set us free, so after painful scotch on defending the president, Press chief Cerge Remonde finally spilled the bean. The president has made a sidetrack to the hospital and undergone biopsy to check on lumps on her breast. Philippine Star columnist Jarius Bondoc wrote Friday that the dear president “checked in for a “mammoplastic repair” of leaking breast implants done in the 1980s, and removal of a cyst in the groin and extra hair growth”.
I can feel the pain, madam president.
Here’s my take. This is too personal. If she has (or had) fetish for perfect boobs, no one cares, it’s her life. But I think the president is a victim here. Medical malpractice advocate, anyone? First, it’s a failed procedure. I didn’t even take notice, did you? Parang wala lang. The president should ask her allies in the lower House to railroad the passing of Medical Malpractice bill to give justice to her breasts’ bad fate.
Surfing GMA: No trace of enhancement. Google Photo
GMA with fellow Assumptionista, Loren Legarda. PCIJ photo
I guess you too look forward to see the president’s boobs este SONA (hopefully her last) this month. I’m quite sure the legislators have double of our excitement. After all, they have this obsession to help women in conflict, right? See Katrina Halili circus.
All eyes are on president’s boobs this time. Not bad, this is a good neutralizer to her unpopular presidency. Suddenly, the president has another tag— a sex icon.
Full story here.
Tuesday, June 30, 2009
[A]Beijing's Bird's Nest
[B]Manila's metal rails
August 8, 2008
Just when Beijing was about to wow the world with deceit of extravagance, I was wowed by another reality bite. Define reality.
Friday, June 19, 2009
And for one, I really deserve a good night sleep. Kudos to my new signature! Yes, a signature. Who’s so grateful for a newly acquired sig? (Raises hand, OK, hands)
You may be wondering how shallow I am. Worry no more. READ: I can be forever thankful to you if you give me a paper clip. Yes, I love paper clips. And I’m all for the red ones.
Going back to sigs, I’ve had bugful sleeping nights with my Contract to my new job. It required me to accomplish all the essentials of a good, abiding employee. No thanks to our University and Bureaucracy, fresh-graduate perks always turn to nightmares. I had to register to the Social Security, prepare my transcripts and all. And believe me, none of our University and Bureaucracy were helpful. It seems everyone’s doomed to curse them later for lack of enthusiasm to serve. And so I too cursed them with all my might.
Enough of our God-forsaken government, my dilemma has gone internal. I seriously needed to have one good signature, enough for people to treat me as a good, abiding employee. Welcome to the pro world.
But wait, I’ve never been good and law-abiding! So this may be a call from the Divine Providence. Lui, Son, face it, you need a decent sig, He said.
When the One up above talks to an individual like me from low below, then I should follow.
In my rough count, I’ve already had ten signature revisions. I started signing with just my initials: LFY. It bored me, and it seemed all my classmates at intermediate Grade did their signing with their initials, too. I noticed that my mom and dad have cursive sigs and it looked cool so I imitated my dad’s. I never had issue with cursive writing anyway, it’s been my stroke since third Grade. (I figure, just when I’m comfortable with my handwriting, everyone else is not. Some say I’ve got a pretty ugly stroke. Others say it’s rare for the male world. The hell I care.)
But as times pass, and so the revision goes on.
I’ve had bad encounters with signing papers, from signing class attendance to supporting Save the Panda Bears petition paper to placing sig on legal documents. My college sigs sucked big time, they’re just too inconsistent; badly written and unduly executed. I can’t imagine seeing my signed papers now. Sure, I will vomit.
And so the pro world compelled me to produce a pro-like signature. I believe I have now settled for a lesser-complicated and more easily-written sig.
I lied when I said I’m shallow. It’s just a lame excuse. Sure I might still end up revising my sig, but I just hope it’ll be minor.
Saturday, June 13, 2009
Dalawang gabi nang 'di mahimbing ang tulog ko. Kanina, mga dalawang oras bago mag-alarm ang phone ko at pwersahan akong gisingin, napadilat ako bigla: hindi dahil sa bangungot at kung anong bed bugs, bigla ako napadilat dahil sa paninigas at pagsakit ng kaliwang braso ko. Kaliwete ako, sabi ko sa sarili ko nun, wala na kong pag-asang mabuhay nang normal.
Oo, paranoia bigla ang naging reaksyon ko nang mga sandaling yun. Kaliwete ako, 'di ko na magagawa ang mga bagay na wiling-wili kong gawin kung paralisado na ang kaliwang braso ko. Mga ilang minuto pa, balik normal na ang function ng katawan ko. Bumalik ako sa pagtulog para lasapin ang nalalabing oras na meron ako.
Ngayon nila matitikman ang ganti ko. Tahasan kong isinisisi, at wala kong ikokonsiderang mga damdamin, masaktan na ang masasaktan, magsampa man ng ilang asunto ang industriya ng artipisyal na bulak sa Pilipinas, naniniwala akong kagagawan ng mga malalambot na unan ang ilang minutong pagka-imbalido ng kaliwang braso ko, pagsakit ng batok at ang 'di mahimbing na pagtulog ng dalawang gabi. Oo, sa mga malalambot na unan. Napakamapagkubli ng mga unan sa panlasa ko ngayon. Dati kasi, sa tuwing dumaraan ako sa home needs' section ng department store, para kong minumura ng mga unan: Pu***** ang sarap kong higaan, bilhin mo na ko 'pag nagkapera ka na! At nagtagumpay naman sila, ilang taon ko rin pinagnasahan ang mga malalambot na unan. Isang aspirational product ang tingin ko sa kanila. Isang bagay na mabibili ko lang sa tamang panahon, at 'yun ay 'pag sumweldo na ko.
May malalim na pinanghuhugutan ang pangarap kong magkaroon ng malalambot na unan. May scarcity ng mga unan sa bahay mula pa noon, tig-iisa lang kami ng unan at ang unan mo ngayon ay walang kasiguraduhan na unan mo pa rin kinabukasan. Nagpapasa-pasa ang mga unan namin sa bahay. Panigurado na-weiweirdohan ka, huwag ka mag-alala, ako rin ‘di ko alam kung bakit at paano nangyayari yun.
Ancient na ang mga unan sa bahay, karamihan kundi mas matanda sa’kin eh mas matanda lang ako ng ilang taon. Karamihan kasi ay mga unan 'yun na minana pa namin kay Inana nang kunin na sya ni Lord. Si Inana ang ina ng ama ng ama ko. Pumanaw sya sa edad na 94 noong 1994.
May common denominator ang mga unan sa bahay: lahat sila matitigas, siksik sa bulak na hinabi pa mula sa mga pinakahitik na bunga ng puno ng bulak. Oo, may puno ang bulak kung maaalala mo. Pero may charm ang mga matitigas na unang yun, fit to use pa sa susunod na dalawpung-taon.
Nang mag-dorm ako nung ikatlong taon ko sa kolehiyo, nagkaroon ako ng long-time unan. Naiiwas ko sya sa tradisyon ng ‘pagpapasa-pasa’. Minahal ko ang unan ko na yun. Bagama’t matigas, sya ang naging kasama ko sa struggle ko sa pagiging independent.
Dumating ang temptation. Naaliw ang mata ko sa mga masasarap sa matang unan tuwing napapadaan ako sa department store. Nakakabulag sila. Naging pangarap ko talagang magkaroon ng malalambot na unan, gusto ko nang mapalitan ang stone-age na unan ko.
Tatlong araw na ngayon, bumibisita sila tita sa Quezon, doon na kasi namamalagi sina mama’t papa (lola’t lolo ko). Ako ang tao ngayon nila sa bahay. Sinamantala ko ang pagkakataon na subukan ang malalambot na unan nila tita sa kwarto. Nang una kong mayakap ang unan, iba ang sensasyon, ang sarap sa pakiramdam, sabi ko. Sumakit ang batok ko pagkagising. Siguro naninibago lang ako. Dumating ang sumunod na gabi. At nangyari na ang ‘di ko inaasahan.
Seventeen days mula ngayon ay matitikman ko na ang tamis ng una kong sweldo, marami akong gustong paglaanan ng perang yun, kasama na ang malalambot na unan.
Pero hindi pala sa lahat ng pagkakataon eh masarap sa pakiramdam ang masarap sa paningin.
Nagkamali ako, 'di pala sila masarap higaan, 'di ko na uli ipagkakatiwala ang ulo ko sa mga malalambot na unan. Binigo 'nyo ako.
Ayaw ko na ng malambot na unan. Wala na silang karisma sa’kin.
Friday, June 12, 2009
You know what, I've been practically tired all my life, and no one is to be blamed but me. I won't even dare to enumerate reasons of such, trust me, it's tiring.
And to further boost my List of Tiring Things to Do, I decided to sit down, face my soon-partner for life and take blogging seriously.
I'm not a big fan of the trendy and the hot. Well in fact, I'm not a follower of pop culture, not at all. I'm just stalking it. Jokes. Our generation has a great patronage for the latest, the coolest and the trendiest in the comforts of our home, thanks be to Web. (And oh, my active fingers almost slipped to my qwerty and type in Lord Web, but please NO, Web is not a new god, please don't even mention it, Lui. Well , of course I'm just kidding. Oh yes, I'm not good at joking.)
But undeniably though, we have a lot of thanking to do in this invention. And weblogging is one of them.
I've been itching to blog for two years now, but I was busy filling in my tiring list and blogging then is not in the priority. I even created a Wordpress account 13 months ago but it ended up half-done and zero posts as of today. And now, after I got fired up by lots of influence, and you included, I'm now officially starting this link. I hope I am welcome.
I was thinking of a lighter, more feel-good post to work on in my first ever blog. And yet I ended up creating a negative title! And to top it all, I built in a rather deviating blog name, literally deviating.
Why you count me out?
I can't think of a better reason than to say that I believe that we all have our time to say NO. We are at frequent times can't utter that letter lacked-word to the world we live in; we always go and drift in with other logs in the river, and ending up one average furniture.
Here in my blog I would love to uphold the alternative and the less-taken, embrace independence and share a piece of the globe unexplored yet. Come with me, let's travel the world, the other world. But of course you can say no.