the need to list 10

an inventory of my accumulated experiences in 25 years led to this list of fave things. so i am.

1. short play: uga (the script for this was handwritten on yellow pad, and it took only two days to rehearse. but oh my! was it riveting and eerie just the way i liked it. the milestone of my career as a pseudo writer and involuntary director)

2. plot: ggm's 100 years of solitude. i still dream of macondo. it's sp overrated, i know. but i love the misery in the characters of gabo.

3. shot in a film: maynila sa mga kuko ng liwanag (manila at the talons of light- or something to that effect). night, a mob circles the lead actor, bembol roco to kill him. shot dissolves to silhouettes of people, hands bashing bembol. then cuto to another scene. camera zooms in bembol, soft sunlight on his face. cut to lead actress, hilda koronel- smiling at him, sun behind her. he was remembering more innocent times in their fishing village, before hilda went to Manila in hopes of finding a better life there. she instead landed in a brothel and eventually was forced to marry an old chinese businessman. bembol came for her. but in a series of unfortunate events, he gets mobbed and killed. and then you know how dreams are forged and destroyed.

4. song: cranberries' dreams.
i know i felt like this before
but now i'm feeling it even more
because it came from you

then I open up and see
the person fumbling here is me
a different way to be

i've never fumbled like this. must be nice to find someone who'd make me.


5. scent: freshly cut grass. it just makes me happy.

6. power activity: taekwondo. there's something in punching and doing 45 kicks on pads and unleashing fury just like that.

7. great discoveries of the old world: chocolates. dark chocolates. heaven on earth!

8. to do when sad: drink lots of water. or beer. then take refuge in hootie and the blowfish or the eraserheads. tangnang ely yan, ang galing.

9. when sleeping: dreaming. interesting to find out what the subconscious has to say.

10. being a filipino: that i can make fun of my third world tendencies. that i'm not third world at all.

so, what's your story?

hinayupak

punyetang hinayupak na income tax na 'yan! ang laki. minsan naiisip ko bakit ako nagpapakandahirap sa pagtatrabaho, e, halos 1/3 naman ng dapat kinikita ko e napupunta sa mga di ko maintindihang pinagkaka-abalahan ng gobyerno. e, pakialam ko ba sa mga squatters? bakit? tulad ko ba nagbabayad sila ng buwis?

ewan ko ba. talaga bang wala na akong choice kundi ang manatili sa pinas at kumayod? napromote nga sa trabaho, anak ng tinapa, ang tinaas sa sahod pambayad lang sa gobyerno at sa lahat ng pabigat sa bansang ito.

sana kasama sa free will ang pagpili ng bayang kapapanganakan. hay, asa pa.

ano naman kaya kase ang dahilan kung bakit sa pinas ako pinanganak. eh kung naging european lang ako, sana kasama na ako sa green peace o kaya kung anumang kachuvahang without borders. dalampu't limang taong gulang na ako, wala pa akong magandang naidudulot sa paligid ko. yun nga, kung hindi bibilangin ang paggraduate ko bilang iskolar ng bayan sa oras para naman hindi na maabala ang mga nagbabayad ng buwis at ang palagiang paggastos ko. oo nga pala, sabi ng propesor ko sa industrial relations, hindi nakakatulong ang sobrang consumer spending sa ekonomiya natin. kung meron ngang maitatawag na ekonomiya ang kawawang bansang ito. ayun, wala rin talaga.

ayoko rin naman mangibang-bansa. para sa akin, ang mga taong maayos naman ang kalagayan dito pero pinipili pa ring umalis ay nakakahiya. ipagsiksikan daw ba ang mga sarili sa mga bansang ubod nga ng yaman, ayaw naman sa kanila. kung sa bagay, nakakabawas din sila sa unemployment rate natin. o sya, hala sige, magsilayas kayo!

pero inaasam-asam ko talaga, mangibang bansa na ang boss ko. putik! sa kabobohan niya, walang aasenso sa amin. anak ng putang ina! sayang ang galing ko dito.

sana naging direktor na lang ako ng mga patalastas. ganun din naman pala. puro kabalbalan din ang PR. buti pa mga direktor mas artistic ang expression ng bullshit. at pwede pang umiwas sa tax!

maka-uwi na nga. baka sabihin pang masipag ako magtrabaho.

on a night like this

feet, size seven, leave prints on the heavily waxed floor. the arch is high on both. and the pressure is heaviest on the toes. it seems that sleep escapes another too.

tonight, a cool wind blows through the screened windows. white curtains part and dance to sea salt and jasmine. she remembers her. hair, silk strands as black as the heavens outside. her voice, soft like the whisper of a pleasant dream. they all loved her. and they all pierced her with the arrows of their bitterness when they realized they couldn't have her.

she stares at the wave of memories that flood before her eyes. silence fills her. and it's almost as if it would overflow like a sad song into the spaces between her realities.

when she was six, her family left the city to build their lives anew in an island. there she met a boy who taught her how to speak the local dialect. and the only otehr memory she has of him now is the story of his dog. his family lived in a hut by the sea, he said. for months, his father, a security guard for a smelting company didn't come home. food ran low but he couldn't complain to anyone, except to his dog. then one afternoon, the dog came home, a big chunk of pork between its teeth. for a week atleast, the dog brought home enough meat for the family. she remembers how she didn't believe him then. but now she does. in small barrios, life imitates imagination.

she attended public school for two years. her new friends introduced her to the shortcut trails in the woods behind the quadrangle. the trails led to hermits, streams, and cemeteries. the inscriptions on the gravestones fascinated her. what were the stories buried underneath, decaying not with the flesh?

at a corner table she sits and folds her legs. her toes are clean and the thought comforts her.
he used to paint them in innocent pink. he said they were pretty. and he'd make her smile, just like that. his was true love. hers was nonchalant fascination.

there are too many ghosts in this house. even the light refracted by a vase of wild orchids conjures their dreams.

and she, silent audience finds peace in remembering her own buried stories.

how to forget

and we knew it was time to take a chance here
and time to compromise our lives for awhile
and it was time for all the wrong reasons
but time is often on my side and I give it to you tonight
and we sleep all, sleep all day, sleep all, we sleep all day over again
-jason mraz


so you go about your usual business. the same routine restored to ensure long-term sanity and normalcy. you do not think anymore about that person who just left. who just left without a cause. you take to the comfort of familiarity, the music you've loved since you knew how to break promises or how to be at the recieving end of it. in this case, you listen to gin blossoms. so, headphones blaring, you are cushioned from the noise of the morning rush hour. everything's gonna be alright, you say.

then just before you cross the street, you see this girl in a black shirt. and across it emblazoned, in bold white, the name you've decided to forget. you can take one girl, how about fifteen of them. the whole damn crew for the play and there's just you.

you open your e-mail and a spammer pretends to be that whom should not be mentioned asking if you'd like to join a new friends network. do you dare scream.

then you get a call. hey, your new partner is named guess what?

at home, you try to find meaning in HBO. funny white guy gets into a gunshoot scene with cool black guy. columbian drug lords, expensive cars, all caught in the crossfire. nice, you say. dumbass movie. then cool black guy (damon wyans) calls out to funny white guy (adam sandler), "hey, get over here *****!" screaming tadpoles! that name again.

then you give up. give up trying to forget.

there's no way, you say. even when you sleep you remember.

life on the catwalk

But you gave away the things you loved
And one of them was me
I had some dreams they were clouds in my coffee
Clouds in my coffee,
andYou're so vain
You probably think this song is about you
You're so vain
- Carly Simon

you walk and everyone stares at the sway of your hips, the bob of your head. you've got a bored look in your eyes and as you cross the street, cars, buses and trains halt on their tracks. eyes follow you as you disappear. there you go- one foot infront of the other, in successive purposiveness.

big shot holds his frosted beer glass as manly as he can muster. boys' night out at the most happening club right smack in the middle of Babylon city. so far so good. he does not know it yet but at the corner table sits his plaything tonight. another round! on me.

i've got a question, she says. why did he leave me just like that? because. (because that's just the way it is most times). get over it already.

eyes on me. i live. i thrive on your attention. i feed on the hunger in your eyes. does that make you sweat? you can touch, you know. but i do not guarantee your satisfaction. only mine.

yes, she was vain. egomaniacal bitch- i'd spit on her! does that make me wish i was her? absolutely. drinks for all!

the self is the hardest to accept. but why should i surrender to some psychoanalyst babble? this is me as i see fit. (and nobody really knows you).

let's walk away from this. let's make them watch and plea for their own freedom.

transient realities

so trans asked me the questions below. i've never been interviewed. really. i'm always the one with the questions. except that one time during a job interview at this basketball-crazed company that i now work for. i wasn't aware the head of the department was the manager of the country's most beloved team. he asked which team in the league i liked the most. i could have chosen from the 5 teams the company owned. i mean, that much margin could have saved me, but no. i had to be honest and say it was this one team. the team that happened to be the bitter rival. but that's another story. here now is me at it again.

FIVE QUESTIONS FOR BISMUTH

1. brandy is off your list of consumables. but you need to get rid of one person in your life to make it an absolutely healthy one. if there is one person precious to you whom you would swear off your island, who would it be and why? if that person is me, i won't be hurt. you can answer the question honestly.
it will never be you. you keep me sane. i need you too much.
it will have to be that baby i always dream about. it has gotten insane as the years go. it
would sneak in any scene now. the freaky thing about it is that i think my psyche wants it
there. babies can be creepy and sneaky.

2. fill in the blank: second chances are for people who have no __________.
where to go but back where they ought to be. people with places to go fly away, even if it
has to be on the frayed wings of whimsical dreams.
3. you told me the name transience fits you better. tell me why. be as marxist as you can be.
i only take what's needed (everything fits in a pocket at the least or a backpack at the most). i
leave when i must and i don't go back when i've said my goodbyes.
4. how has your background in industrial relations affected your capability to multitask?
it hasn't. i can't multitask at all, if by multitasking you mean doing all things at once. i could get
too focused on one thing that i couldn't care less about the rest.
5. your toes tell you the most interesting stories. pick which toe is your favorite. what story has it told you that you are so enamored by it?
the pinky toe on my left foot once revealed to me an ecstatic secret. perhaps i'd blog about it.

so there. my beer-influenced thoughts at 3 am on a saturday. glad to amuse me.