The Optimist - Pessimist Conundrum

This Is The Way We Brush Our Teeth

2012-01-19T00:04:00.001+08:00

If you just happened to crawl out of a rock recently chances are that it hasn't reached you - normal dysfunctional people like all of us hate unsolicited advice. There are those who pretend that they do of course. But those are attention junkies. They don't really care about what you say, only that they have your full and undivided attention.

Ok so I've again deflated you or someone elses only ticket to happiness. But hey really, if I wanted to know what you think I'd have asked you don't you "think"?

So now I've no choice but to give you a response right? Right. Go take your two cents and gag on it.

I've been told I blot out the sun

2012-01-18T23:27:00.001+08:00

Not in a good way though. The princess has acquired this habit, as her own psyche is so similar yet so different from my own - where my self deprecating handling of my soul is a coping mechanism, my hope for the best and expect the worst, she just goes on blinking red lights and the alternate flashing of "does not compute" and "system shutdown" in her lovely almond eyes. Which of course comes with the verdict of proven genocide against unicorns, fairy folk and the like. I believe in magic thank you very much. How else can elected officials steal your taxes and make you vote for them again if magic did not exist?

Doesn't bode well for your writer dear solitary reader as I have to censor myself now when I used to just talk to a wall. God forbid I take the sun again and hide it in my poophole (which is where I think she guesses I hid it)

Trying to write II

2012-01-18T22:36:00.001+08:00

So here I am still stuck in real life, unable to find my road back to make believe land and sadder still is my inability to make even those midnight runs to the sarcasm store I used to frequent before. Sucks bigtime lemme tell you.

Maybe it's because I'm stuck in a rut too. Unable to travel like I used to and stuck with my dumbass ride that I keep meaning to dress up but never finish. I really hate that, driving some battered tin can rust effing bucket.

I am trying to find my mojo and I very well can't. It feels like my prose oriented soul has gone and sawed off a shotgun, loaded it, then drank a can full of insecticide for good measure before chewing on a scatter-shot.

I find it so unfunny it's funny. That's how sick it is.

Twin Pines Suites Tagaytay

2011-06-06T19:18:00.000+08:00

by Michael Martin

We passed this bed and breakfast last December and felt so at home with the modern minimalist design of the hotel. It was a mom and pop as far as we could tell, and I had interviewed the owners a little. Sadly, the material is not enough to put on a review but the place is such a good deal that I think I’ll make up for it.

First off the place was the owners previous country home, and they had renovated it post retirement. I do not have enough pictures of it, but what I have I think will suffice. I do things better when it’s enfolded in a story so I think I’ll do that now if you don’t mind.

Heidi and yours truly spent the morning racing around Manila and did some crazy shopping and pampering. Afternoon arrives and we get a text message from MJ and Jocelle asking where we were. The other members of the erstwhile Team Fuji were indisposed and after the funny incident of hide the cars in the Ayala Center parking lots we hooked up at Glorietta.

The drinking session began at Guilly’s G5 since we were too pooped (that’s what we thought) to move the cars or try and go anywhere else. After a languid session of around nine vodka Ices, six lite beers, two towering frozen margaritas and a plate of pork sisig, we ran out of smokes. On the way down Saldy confirmed that he was in the area already and we picked him up. RJ arrived soon after.

The drinks were done, and there was discontent brewing. We ended up kidnapping Saldy and RJ. It was one o’ clock in the morning by this time.

The best idea we had was the Twin Pine Suites as no one was liquid anymore and all we had were credit cards. So off we went in our tanked up buzz and devil may care attitudes to the friendly cold slopes of Tagaytay City.

The owners picked up the phone on the first try, and although it was such an ungodly hour were so accommodating (I do not recommend this, please be considerate) to these eclectic bunch of travelers. We were given the list prices - Heidi and I were in for 3,500.00 PHP and MJ, Jocelle, Saldy and RJ decided to take the double at 4,500.00. Since we were leaving in the afternoon, Instead of a usual 12 hour plus 24 hour charge, the owners charged a single day. Word to the traveler, most places are hard-nosed about these types of stuff. You find someplace as customer friendly as Twin Pines, go get them more patrons. There is more than ample space for parking, which means you won’t have to worry about your ride too if you wished to crash and hide.

Ohhhs and Ahhhs followed suit as the group went upstairs and were given a small tour of the area. We were housed in the Longleaf Pine and Loblolly Pine rooms. The rooms had dark stained wood motif and were all warm shades of brown and beige. The interiors looked like five thousand peso rooms you would find along the same stretch of the highway. The bathrooms are well maintained and have cold and hot water. There are LCD televisions in the rooms and have cable if you’d ever need it. There are books in the rooms, and they are serious entertainment let me tell you.

Despite the strong pull of sleep, we were suddenly animated and in discussion. Heidi and I shared a smile. We didn’t fail the gang. MJ saunters over to our room and upon seeing the veranda asked if we could still stay there despite the lateness. The owner assented and off we went, in high spirits and hope of continuing our nicotine induced madness.

The garden was so welcoming and friendly. We didn’t notice it was almost light as we caught up on stories, recounted old ones, made new memories and hoped for kind futures. I’m not sure if it was Heidi or Jocelle that mentioned it was near six in the morning, and we all trudged back to our rooms. I am not really sure if they were sleepy, as I sure wasn’t.

I was up by nine thirty in the morning and woke Heidi up for breakfast. The Twin Pines serve great tasting breakfasts with good service from their friendly staff. We decided to forego the dining area and had breakfast in the garden instead. The choices were either the standard Filipino silog fare or American continental breakfasts.

The place felt so warm that I was reluctant to leave in the afternoon. I’ll be back again that’s for sure and drink the place up.

Great price, great service, warm and friendly people, what else would you want from a vacation spot? Thank you Twin Pines! Four stars by my book.

You may contact the Twin Pines at:

Twin Pines Suites

185 Aguinaldo Highway, Maharlika East, Tagaytay City 4121

Mobile: 0927-8747199

Telephone: (046) 544-0265

Email: twinpinessuites@yahoo.com

Happy Returns

2011-06-06T17:50:00.001+08:00

Our lives are composed of acts, that when strung together make up a lifetime. Every moment is a choice; fear or courage, indecision, coherence and all else – acts. We never really know what happens next, fate may lay waste to the best laid plans or may reveal after a long and winding bend, dreams further than our wildest dreams.

I wrote this nine in the morning as we were in the garden of the Twin Pines at Tagaytay. Poetry would lead me to say as usual that I am a victim of circumstance in this case, but that would be both contradicting and self serving. Also the tale is not mine. Not entirely. It’s mainly about someone else’s son. It just so happens that I consider him partly mine too.

A boy had left my orbit years ago. He left quietly, so opposite from the noise of his arrival and his intervals with me. I found myself talking to a young man last night. Somehow he learned what I sought to teach, but I think he may have figured it out himself. We never know what life brings, what we do with it is take it the best way we can, and do it with our backs straight.

I said yes without blinking when he asked me to be a godfather in his wedding.

from October 2008 *(Heidi’s Starbucks Planner) How Matt and Ivy came about

2011-06-06T00:14:00.000+08:00

We were looking for our old photographs and found this. I think I posted this somewhere before I took all my blogs down. Reposting with minor edits.

------------------------------------------

Sunlight filters through the curtain and lands like fluttering butterflies on my eyelids. It’s what passes for sunlight actually. The day is overcast, and it has been drizzling the entire morning. I stretch and groan, and my hands feel warmth; my heart skips a beat. It is still a pleasant surprise and I believe in my heart of hearts that it will always be so. I open my eyes a fraction, and yes, there she was. I hug her tightly and she smiles although locked tightly in sleep’s embrace. “Good Morning honey” I croon in her ear and she curls into my arms in reply.

Unimaginable really where life has led us. To the here and now. The cycles have been both kind and unmerciful. We had held on, and fought it out even as we fought for each other. We stood our ground, and somehow this storm left with us finding ourselves staring at each other in the wake of its passing. There was no spoken moment that defined capitulation. As it was always for us when things did happen, the bargaining is between souls. Agreement then follows assent. Soft eyes and silence. Fingers entwined. With that, commitment is given. More powerful than any spoken word to bind. To show up. Stay. Share.

I stand up, unwilling to leave the warmth of her side. She half mumbles, sounding the way she does when she pouts. I shake my head chuckling under my breath to not wake her up. She was still wrapped tightly in sleep’s friendly shroud. Which was good. She needed that more than she knew. I whistle softly as I proceed barefoot into the kitchen and turn on the percolator. I then start to make breakfast. Omelets, bacon, tomatoes and toast. I nod as an idea comes to mind; it would make a great story. Matt and Ivy. Somehow the morning seemed to be filled with promise. As full and varied as the aroma wafting from the small kitchen. Yes there is a fair chance. That everything will be alright.

Screaming Spots *circa 2005

2011-05-29T19:57:00.000+08:00

harbors.beaches.cliffs.a lonely stretch of hardtop. anywhere isolated.

pebbles. and my heart.

i have prevented myself from going completely bonkers in the past through it. wherever life takes me, the first place
that i look for - a screaming spot. have a few of them scattered across the unfathomable miles. some i have not seen for
years, but still a part of my soul, and a part of me.

i had to one to talk to, or no one that understands before, and that became the spillway which i still cling on to, up to the
present, whenever there is something i cannot say. there i let it all out, mostly ending up panting and out of breath, on all
fours, clutching the ground and blinded by my tears. i have gone there with someone only one time in these almost three
decades of being in this planet, although there have been a couple of people who have thanked me for bringing it up,
according to these souls, having their own screaming spot kept them from the edge as well on a number of occasions.

how does it work? the two main ingredients are in the first two lines of the entry. then find time, or rather make time. ditch.
play hookey. it would be good if you had a journal or the like. each stone represents whatever you want to say or get out
of your system, and you hurl it with all your might as you scream your want, your intention, your hurt, your pain. it might
and it will feel awkward at first, remember though that it is your time and your hurt. let it loose. let it go.and do not cheat
yourself. oh by the way, cliffs might not be a good idea if it is your first time, i would not want you to jump off it if you get
too intense.

so scream.and scream till there is nothing else. scream until you are empty.

memoirs 09/12/05

WELCOME TO THE WEEKEND

2011-05-29T19:47:00.000+08:00

WELCOME TO THE WEEKEND

Matt and Ivy

By Michael Martin

Matt slowly eased his car into the driveway and killed the engine. He smiled at the thought of the rest of the evening, glancing at the red Suzuki Swift resting peacefully on its 17 inch rims. “Boy she’s early today” he thought to himself as he gathered his belongings and walked the short graveled path to their front door. The Zen garden which he so loved he barely gave a glance to, hurrying as he was, it was a Friday, and sure it went all crazy just thirty minutes before he promised to do a hard stop, he was able to close it out. The work week is done, his Client happy, his Company quiet, and Matt on his driveway at six o’ clock sharp.

The television was off and the couch was immaculate in its black leather, new magazines and what looked like new books in a table beside the couch. There was no sign of activity during the day other than that. He took a couple of steps out into the hall and listened for noise near the stairs. Only a restful quiet greeted him. He didn’t notice a frown growing in his face, his jaw muscles clenching and a pout forming in his lips. Some weekend this is. He sauntered into the living room and was greeted with the same silence. “Kroatoan” was playing in his mind. He thought of turning around to change his clothes and felt the stronger pull of wanting to search the house first before doing so. Then a thought occurred to him. “What if - ?”

He slowly spun around, and killed the lights off as he passed them: dining room, hallway, stairs, and living room. He then went back and lit the light at the stairs again, noisily climbing up this time and opened all the lights in the master’s bedroom. Then he took his shoes off and hastily bounded down the stairs and out the front door. Catching his breath, he slowly traversed the left side of his house, his shoulder glued to the wall. There was a good five meters from the wall to the fence, but he took no chances. An evil grin was on his face, his eyes lit up with anticipation.

As he neared the edge, he slowly took a peek. Just as he thought, beside the pool and hunched behind the cabana, were Ivy, Carlitos and Isabel. The household helps and their driver were there too. They were exchanging glances and trying to keep the two toddlers from giving whatever they were planning away. Carlitos and Isabel were so excited that they literally looked like they were tensed springs as they crouched. He went down on his haunches, really worked up now. Crawling slowly to where they were, he was just not noticed in the middle of their anticipation. He finally reached them, and leaning over, he whispered: “Who are we waiting for?”

Carlitos answered: “Dada”

He asked again: “We are waiting for me?”

He was watching Carlitos intently and saw the boy mouth a “Yes” and then began to stiffen up. His smile was wide on his face as he watched his son slowly turn, awareness dawning in his wide eyes.

“Dada! You cheater! You were supposed to go through the door!” Carlitos screamed as he jumped his dad, simultaneous with the surprised exclamations of the household. He rolled on his back and embraced the boy, chest to chest as he laughed like a bear. Isabel squealed “Dada!” and leapt to his arms as well. Tears were in his eyes from laughing as the kids mussed him up. Then he heard a familiar voice in his ear, as lips grazed his cheek. “Welcome home Dada.” It was Ivy’s sultry voice welcoming him home, completing his universe and making life worth living.

Techno Major Geek Mode

2011-05-19T20:23:00.001+08:00

The dour thing about owning IPods is that if your media library wasn't set up properly in the first place is that you will be spending a crazy amount of time trying to put it correctly from that point onwards.

I've spent the last two hours setting up my iPod. The princess? She's still arranging her songs. Tee Hee

Sucker Punch

2011-03-28T22:06:00.000+08:00

I went to see this movie without the benefit of any web research. I saw a part of the trailer on those LCD televisions that establishments use for bombarding our heads with further capitalist propaganda than anyone had ever thought possible. After seeing a young woman wearing that kind of a uniform and brandishing a katana who would not want to watch that movie? Oh please, like I was the only one who bought Anne Rice’s Belinda or Nabokov’s Lolita. Plus it felt like a PlayStation game on cellulite.

From IMDb:

Sucker Punch

PG-13

Action, Fantasy, Thriller

Release date: March 25, 2011 (Philippines)

Writer: Zack Snyder

Starring: Carla Gugino, Emily Browning, Vanessa…

Genre: Action, Psychological thriller, Thriller,…

Producer: Jim Rowe, Deborah Snyder, Zack Snyder

A young girl is institutionalized by her abusive stepfather. Retreating to an alternative reality as a coping strategy, she envisions a plan which will help her escape from the mental facility.

I was wondering five minutes in if I saw the rating correctly (PG-13). I think I was. Boy, I wonder if the parents (and the kids) followed the undercurrent, or saw it as another play to bend reality and not get taken in by what the film was trying to say. The other thing is I maybe too perverse and it is scary to think about being able to catch a lot of that through my filters. It was a pretty sick plot, with the stepfather obviously having relations with the lead (Baby Doll) and committing her to a mental institution that did unspeakable things (Yes they weren’t mentioned but clearly alluded to) to its patients.

The movie carries through on its promise to be an action fantasy thriller. It’s 109 minutes of in your face adrenaline rush.

The fight scenes were really good, although the only one I did like was the first one. The CGI was great and the sequences were over the top, which was a testosterone boost. Pair it up with sexy young women with their puppies almost popping out and you have lift off baby. Well you could say that I’m a sexist pig, but this was one for the Cro-Magnon vehicle all the way. The movie sells big action scenes, allusion to sex, skin, skin, skin, and then some more skin.

Welcome to the 21^st century.

Oh, the soundtrack was freaking great!

Three Stars out of Five Possible

Trying to Write

2011-03-27T17:31:00.001+08:00

It’s always good to know in your heart that you have published works that you’ve been paid for already. It gives me comfort. I’ve broken the barrier, I’ve proven that I can do it. But knowing this is sometimes very aggravating since I wrote about pain and loneliness.

I’m happy now. And consequently there is a lack of truth to write about what I did before and tell myself that it works. It does not.

I’m restarting this blog yet again for the nth time these last three years trying to find the direction I should be in. It’s three days and still no go.

I miss Lalaine.

Quiet Saturday Morning Drives

2011-03-26T11:45:00.001+08:00

Early morning found Mikey on the C5 highway driving to Taguig. I was to show Jet the finer points of HDMI connections, which was what you ought to have when you prefer watching and listening to the great trash metal bands on your rest days.

The roads were quiet with very few cars on them, which reminds me why I fell in love with driving when I was younger. It was a pleasant morning, that I found myself a little saddened to reach my destination so quickly. Time and everything else flashes by so quickly that you need to always be aware to try and live in the moment.

It something I have yet to learn. Thank God I have Heidi by my side.

Drone Drone Drone

2011-03-25T22:37:00.000+08:00

The afternoon was a departure from the usual. Believe me the usual is a monotony we call our life. It’s fun, and is everything I ever wanted. But the princess (Heidi she calls herself) thinks life is dead without variety. Poor me. I’ve caught the dream and she decides that lack of choices makes for a very lackluster life. Good thing she doesn’t feel that way about the man she loves.

So the break we got was courtesy of her physical therapists Mitch and Deng. They joined us for an early dinner at Dencio’s Bar and Grill. It was a treat and good fun. They were funny and refreshingly different. I have to hand it to Heidi – the variety is something I should welcome. So much for the uptight Mikey.

So we were watching this Meryl Streep movie about a cook in the late 1940’s. Alternating in the cut scenes was a modern day blogger working through the former’s published cook book. The movie was going quite well until Heidi picked up on the blogger. With a wicked glint in her eye she starts getting on my case.

Which is why I’m penning this down while she watches the movie for me. Sheesh. I understand it though. If it was so good, then why don’t I write about it? I guess I will.

Getting Old-er

2009-09-12T15:20:00.001+08:00

Dang this putting years on business does not agree with me. These are the kiddos now. Yes, there is no age gap, as I was a teenage dad. I just wonder where all the time went, and that I am currently part of the middle aged set. My age has fallen off the calendar a year ago.

Anyway here they are.

3:14 AM At The End Of A Long Week

2009-09-12T03:40:00.001+08:00

I have the merciless drone of the wall fan in my ears and the comforting sliver of yellow light from a door slightly ajar. The rains have since stopped falling and it woke me up. This is wholly against my current predisposition but hey, I haven’t written for some time now.

It’s been one of those long weeks. To be perfectly straight, it’s been six months of those long weeks. I’m at a point where I’m starting to ask myself why am I doing it at all? I’ve thrown everything I know at it and more, given time otherwise spent somewhere else, and it’s responded. 30% increase in certain KRA’s and higher in others. But the monkey won’t budge. G*d*mmit the freaking monkey won’t budge.

Gotten awards and all that clap clap clap for me and my team. But it still feels empty. Now I’m blogging about it. To be fair about it, I am happy with most things, but with this – no. I’m still there mainly because of a promise. To a group of people that I will show them how things are run as I was taught. The downside of it was, they all want to go where I go now. Until I teach the next step which is go ye and propagate the principle, I have a nuke on my hands once I tender the bye bye baby papers.

So fuck. Another series of long weeks.

Harry Potter and the Half-*ssed Prince

2009-07-19T23:40:00.001+08:00

Ok I’ll leave the chapter by chapter narrative to the fanatics.For the purposes of this blog, I’ll I just got out of the movie and let me tell you, it was the most excruciating book to movie I’ve ever seen. Installment five was a let down, and this one seriously had the doldrums. I was wondering how they managed to s*ck for two and a half hours, or how the cast made it through without puking after every take…. which probably did happen and Warner Bros didn’t want us to know about it.

Fine, there were a couple of highs. But here’s the crux of it. Six was supposed to be a grim one where the tendrils of evil slowly but surely gain a hold. The heroes do not know if they can be, and are forced to start to grow up – and fail. The heroes of old falter. And still they fight – against the rising tide.

There was none of that in the movie. Not the stage setting with the Minister of Magic and the Muggle Prime Minister. Not when Harry followed Snape (when did he ever?). Not when Dumbledore died and Harry just watched instead of railing against being under a spell, not being able help. Not with the battle of Hogwarts taken out. There was none of that. None of what made the book so powerful for a non fanatic. None of what made you wail with grief at what happened and rage because you had to wait for the next book. None.

Go get a haircut instead. Or a pedicure, it may be time and money well spent.

All pooped out and where is my venti mocha anyway?

2009-03-22T17:53:00.000+08:00

This was after a very long day during the internecine corporate struggle. Ah, I’ve turned out to be the corporate monkey after all, regardless of my spite towards it. Hey you do it well or you don’t do it at all right?

I was mainly surly because I was waiting for my coffee.

That Dark Damp Basement Staircase Leads To Your Head

2009-03-22T13:57:00.000+08:00

"This is one tough baby to write, I don't even know if I am making things worse by bringing this out and God forbid pushing someone into the door. Yet it's a weekend, and even then all dances with Hypnos come with daybreak and just last a couple of hours at the most. Time has been spent with the muse too. Which nevertheless still made me unable to sleep. And here I find myself, with a sink full of dirty dishes, an unmade bed, a pot of stale coffee and cigarettes attempting to make sense of it all."

It all started I think about two and a half decades ago. I had thought I was playing under the blankets with an older female cousin, which somehow turned ugly. What she did to me felt good, but there was a stirring in me that said it was ugly at the same time. I remember softly crying as she reassured me that it was all "perfectly all right". That it was where the nanny soaped really well so that these could be done.

That incident occurred some more times after that, until one day I came home from playing, I saw her boarding one of our cars and the household driver loading all her things into it. She got sent to Granny in the province to be exiled.I learned about the reason a couple of months after that. I was on my way to pee when I chanced upon my mom talking to one of her sisters. Apparently she had "unnatural appetites". Since she was an orphan then, there had been no other place to take her except to Granny's.

I remember racing back to my bedroom, the urge forgotten, my mind racing and my face flushed with shame. Was that what I was now too? Unnatural?

*To be continued.....

Three Mornings of Solitude

2009-03-22T13:32:00.000+08:00

Three accounts. Policy Administration. Property Claims Processing. Commercial Claims Processing. Five Countries that include two Mandarin speaking nations. Sometimes it’s so freaking fast you barely hear yourself think.

Three days in a quiet secluded enclave of the islands. Surf. Sun. Sand. A quiet hotel. Shake stalls. Nipa coffee huts. Away from everything. I didn’t even bring my laptop, wi-fi access and did not open my phone.

This is what weekends are supposed to look like. Long ones since the pay is just really for four hours of work everyday. That’s what the contract says anyway.

I really have to get this balancing thing down. And guess what? I think I’m finally starting to learn.

Supersize Me Please!

2009-03-22T13:25:00.000+08:00

know, I know. Thirty three and the body starts slowing down, so I have to watch the LDL and Cholesterol and blood sugar.

I get that. But…. I get this too.

Dig the new Wendy’s Baconator. Three beef patties and a generous sprinkling of bacon to surefire clog up those arteries like gonk on an engine.

I did two extra laps of the jogging route to compensate for my unfaithfulness to the diet. Hell, who am I kidding? I didn’t.

Yummy!

Polish-ies and Prose-ehh-Diors

2009-02-09T18:46:00.000+08:00

I hate being mediocre. I am so scared I am. Oftentimes I end up botching things because I worry too much and kill the proverbial soup.

Very few people get me, and those that do need clarification. I am vague according to most folks and I scratch my head. I've been accused a lot of times of being "sagey". Whatever the hell that means.

I am dull. Yet am working on polishing myself. There are quite a number of folks who have stayed too to do it. I wonder what they get out of it.

I love to write. I do'n't give a rat's bee-hind anyway if you don't agree with what I write. I smirk at the thought of someone shaking their fists. It means they read everything. Ain't that dumb junior?

I love the good things in life. Both free and expensive. Acquired the taste. Like for muscles. (was that a pun or was in topographical error? tee hee)

I'd poison you and your family's brains given half the chance.

I am arrogant. But never malicious.

I put my foot in my mouth. And enjoy the communal embarassment it brings.

I like to pretend I'm stupid. Then hit you with a BAT. Which means I'm violent, not intelligent.

I contradict myself and my policies. Whenever occasion and vice applies.

I have three offers from firms right now for a higher post than what I currently have. Six figures. I've been an *ss most of the time so I guess I am a lackey donkey. (again, for the dambass, hint hint)

MRT Commuter Files – Full Contact Fighting Skills Required

2009-01-31T14:11:00.001+08:00

The train doors open. It is a promise of wealth, redemption and Nirvana. Entering would mean transport commencing to that place where you hopefully distill your dreams into useable reality. You’ve taken time to prep yourself for the day, crisp ironed clothes, shined shoes, hair made up, and cologne. The day is to start full of promise. You try to take one step, to enter that gleaming cabin, and all hell breaks loose.

Suddenly you’re crushed in a wall of people, an elbow get jammed in your throat, a shoulder shoving you towards the left and another one pushing you to the right. You’re getting stepped on, and people are using you as a fulcrum to propel themselves forward. Worse, some pervert rubs his pecker into you, and he does not care if you’re Adam or Eve. What on earth happened?

Well on the MRT, education and culture does not play a factor. It is the law of the jungle that prevails, meaning the stronger you are the better off you are. Forget about lines, politeness and courtesy. Forget about letting women and children sit, let alone go first through the door. Forget about the elderly, after all they resort to hitting you with umbrellas or bags anyway.

The only rule that remains is, avoid getting run over by the train. The guards pretty much let everything slide as long as there are no closed fists flying. So feel free to use everything, like bending your knees and then launching yourself into that throng at the proper instant to get yourself a prime space. Or dip your shoulders and pretend you’re getting pushed so you can cut-off that line-cutter’s path to the train door and get yourself in. You get revenge and satisfaction all at the same time. Remember this, most of everyone will be fighting like hell to get themselves into the coach, they will be resorting to all manner of tricks, they will be cursing and verbally assaulting your sensibilities while they try to get the upper hand, but at the end of it, everyone is just relieved to not have to wait a little longer that they let it pass. Until it’s the time to go down, and the battle resumes yet again.

Do you need a useful tip? Learn Karate.

MRT Commuter Files – What’s up with the Mad Dash to the Turnstiles?

2009-01-24T15:09:00.001+08:00

At the cost of the pain of admission, both literal and figurative, allow me to say that I am a commuter. For now; as I have not bought a new car yet. There is this phenomenon that I’ve noticed since starting to take the MRT to and from work. As the train glides to a halt the collective human body starts to stiffen, coiling like a spring and then launches with ferocity as the doors open. Braveheart could not have found a better rabble to follow him to the charge.

It has been a cause for amusement for me at first and then wonderment, which has now turned to plain curiosity. More than once this week I’ve caught myself almost tapping the person in front of me to ask why this daily ritual occurs. I maybe missing a huge portion of my life by mot being a part of it and it galls me no end. I end up retracting my hand and heading to my cave, dejected and disappointed. So here I find myself writing what I cannot ask, and maybe if one of the runners read it, would be kind enough to answer.

Here are my guesses to why this ritual occurs:

· It is a daily patriotic gesture, like the current fad of the sun and stars tee. The runners are imitating the great Andres Bonifacio

· There is a secret contest, the winner being the most consistent top finisher. The MRT honchos view the surveillance tapes and decide the weekly, monthly and annual winners

· It is training to join The Amazing Race

· As a part of cost cutting due to the current economic conditions, the companies the runners work for have foregone toilets and/or running water and hence, everyone is running home to pee or crap

· People want to catch Arnold Clavio or Noli De Castro or whoever supposedly non-partisan newscaster is on

· Manny Pacquiao is the contestant for “Dell or Noodle” errs…. I mean “Deal or No Deal” and it’s on permanent re-run

· There is a slap happy telenovela on the telly that’s taking the country by storm

· The Philippine government has allowed porn on free telly from five in the afternoon to seven in the evening

· People have taken the phrase “rat race” too seriously

· The runners were not really listening when “RUSH HOUR” was explained in class

· The runners have incredibly wonderful spouses….bed bed bed baby

· The runners incredibly wonderful spouses are having a romp with the wonderful neighbor

· In the absence of career growth, the mad dash is to exorcise all that unused competitive juice

· The last one is a rotten egg?

So You Think You Can Manage People

2009-01-21T14:30:00.000+08:00

You find yourself angsty about getting leapfrogged or you crashed on the interview again. Or maybe you can't get to the next managerial level. Or maybe you haven't felt like you have reached the trough yet, and wonder why your team is collapsing around you. Regardless of what people say and how we all say we are individuals we all fall prey to certain factors, that are generalized and if used effectively can lay the gorundwork for a harmonious team. Or at least a team you got buy-in from. So let's see; what do you do with -

A. Subordinate who talks the talk yet has poor quality or has slipshod work (doesn't have to be an agent, could be an RTA,QA Sup, Ops Sup, RTA Sup, Line Manager whose work needs double checking).

B. Subordinate who likes to do extended hours, but it's because the work is not finished in the time frame that is acceptable.

C. Subordinate who always complains about having a lot to do, when the workload is partitioned and accountabilities defined. Then applies for the next level.

D. Subordinate who isn't meeting key results indicators but is a kiss-*ss

E. Subordinate who is clueless (e.g. it's alright to go on AUX or to leave your post indefinitely, you get paid anyway)

F. Subordinate who raises hell about pay and appraisals yet has been lagging behind and is undependable

G. Subordinate who is dependable but is unbelievably learning handicapped

H. Subordinate who cannot speak straight english, never mind having an accent

I. Subordinate who had been previously your go to person but now cannot stand the sight of you

REQUIESCAT IN PACE - Erwin Bercasio

2008-12-31T02:36:00.000+08:00

Around three years ago there was this gangly yet insanely cheerful gay guy that joined our inbound sales team. He was generally liked by the team and had forged friendships.

I left two years ago to join another start up team within the same company and we parted ways. The next time I saw him was early this year while I was smoking outside the lobby of one of the more known BPO's in the country. I had laughed when he asked if I was joining the firm and I reassured him that I thought this new company he was with was fine it was just not for me.

I'd bump into him occasionally and we'd smile and wave, we weren't really on speaking terms but he was always polite to a former superior which was heart warming. Then suddenly I didn't bump into him anymore.

I found out two weeks ago that he was in a coma. Yesterday that he went back to our maker. We weren't really close, I had never been invited to his birthday get together or he to mine, but we were cordial and he was a good person.

Taken too early. My condolences to your loved ones in this time of grief. May your soul rest in peace Wehn and say hi to heaven for us.

7 remittance firm execs charged for failing to remit OFW's money - Yahoo! Philippines News

2008-12-31T02:10:00.001+08:00

7 remittance firm execs charged for failing to remit OFW's money - Yahoo! Philippines News

Now this one is something that makes you want to say yes to flogging and public beheadings. For people to do this when Pinoys brave the pain of separation and isolation not to mention the hazards of living as an immigrant (well truth be told we are a second class set of citizens in our own country but that's another story altogether) to try and eke out a decent living and help their families that remain in the country is just downright appalling.

Imagine if you were paying for a house mortgage so you'd have somewhere to retire and you lose it because these people hoodwinked you, or that someone was waiting for it to get himself out of the ICU.

Word of caution here from someone who was a migrant before too. Use the banks. A 2 peso mark-up is negligible when you lose all that you sent. Try and avoid these remittance companies altogether. Get with the program folks, it's the age of the internet and mobile banking. Now for you folks who are aware and receive remittances make sure you educate your relatives on how to go about electronic banking, I've seen countless pinoys living in first world countries and keep the "Saudi Boy" mentality. The door to door padala is so last century.

Enforce total ban on endosulfan in 2009, solon dares FPA - Yahoo! Philippines News

2008-12-31T01:57:00.001+08:00

Oh this is fun. Well I know that their father was a great man, which had led them to get hmm, elected after he joined our creator, but seriously they turned out to be irksome with all the blah that they had. Anyway we all know that Pinoys love drama and boy do these siblings know how to rattle the bars.

So two years to election year and we do have to keep the name fresh right? Although, come to think of it - would it not be really beneficial to go after the shipping lines that was at fault (undeclared cargo, didn't heed warnings, etc.) rather than go after a government agency just because you are not with the administration? The two companies who are allowed to use it are well, allowed. So no real issues there right? Makes you wonder what the motivations are doesn't it?

Enforce total ban on endosulfan in 2009, solon dares FPA - Yahoo! Philippines News

The Long Held-up Rant About The Metro Rail System

2008-12-27T14:05:00.004+08:00

A minute ago I was enjoying my Saturday, marinating in bed, fussing over the WMP tag editor for my music files and having a generally fine early afternoon.

Like it was meant to stay quiet huh? I got bugged to shave, bathe, eat bitter gourd and do the MRT bit that I've been meaning to do since forever. I find myself being pried from the weekend comfort zone like a slab of meat on a teflon pan.

So what do I do first? What keeps me in bed. So I blog.

This was taken on a normal day way before the X-mas rush. Begging pardon from the Yad Vashem, but it did evoke mental images of those Krakow trains during the Second World War. I had men breathing down my nape, a hard-on from some pervert scraping my thighs like clockwork (did you get your rocks off buddy?), a midget with his face right beside my underarm and my woman facing me, with her face slowly turning into a thunder cloud. I am thinking she had a scraper too.

Like wtf right? Is it too much to get a few more trains and de-clog the railway system? It's not a free service anyway. I wouldn't mind shelling out a couple of bucks more for a little space. The way it looks though, and the way that the trains arrive in always the interval it takes for them to get filled up this way tells you one thing - it is all about maximizing earnings.

Never mind that people are packed like luggage or cattle. It's all about the profit margin for the MRT management. If you ride the bus, it's the same thing. Those buses would just crawl to ensure that they dreg off all possible passengers and stop for unbelievable lengths of time that you get a stubble by the time you get to where you're going.

I hope someone from the MRT management reads this. Folks, are you even confident enough to let your relatives take the rails? How about you get a little compassion here to go along with all the money you are stuffing into your executive pockets? Hey we're just asking for a little space, not fully reclining seats. Who knows right? The judge up there might put in his book as a note - that you weren't always concerned about gilding your wallets.

Coffee on the 25th

2008-12-25T22:39:00.001+08:00

So what's up? Everyone's, or most of everyone that is, may well be stone bleeding drunk or stuffed with food right now and in the middle of their after dinner cigars. Gaudy lights, merriment and laughter.

As usual with me, I find myself solitary which I like, as I've given my offspring time a couple of days ago and maybe some more time with the progenitor during the weekend. I told this person why I shunned making plans for these days and why I generally am a recluse after I've doled out the customary and obligatory gift giving. I will not expound on it here as it is too close to my heart to ever be said out aloud and we have to consider that what I said, I said to only one person ever.

I had made plans, and boy oh boy as I had expected, things fell apart What's new? Nothing. What's odd about it? Nothing as well. Why am I miffed? Because I hoped. Built around it, and canceled any plans the kids had made. To end up blogging at Starbuck's West Avenue was not in the plan at all. It makes me wonder sometimes why I even bother.

Anyway, in the spirit of it, a Merry Christmas to one and all. Here's to hoping you have your loved ones near and you have happiness in your hearts.

What I'm Running After

2008-12-25T20:15:00.000+08:00

Part of the quest for the lost talismans.

Hoping to buy it soon.

Hats Off To The Colbert Report

2008-12-24T21:58:00.002+08:00

From the show: "Personal massagers were originally invented for your shoulders, and we all know how that turned out." Oh and that in this season, he had a "raging pardon". If you haven't caught it yet, you better get the Comedy network. Go and dial now.

For a CNN and BBC junkie, this show is dang fresh baby. Makes you laugh and forget your consternation about the news in general. For a former segment of the Today's Show, these folks have come a long long way.

How in the hell do these writers think of that freaking funny sick sh*t anyway? One thing is for sure, along with the new year, I'd like to see how these folks spin on the new U.S. head honcho. Ought to be tons of fun.

Anyway, I'm off to relax and wait for Santa so toodles. Y'all have a merry one now!

Mount-ed Everest

2008-12-24T07:44:00.001+08:00

Oh this was so damned fun (which incidentally turned to the exorcist and the poltergeist rolled into one small pita bread in the early evening). Spent the day on the road traversing the near southern areas of Luzon, including those almost vertical pineapple farm plots tucked in the rolling hills of Tagaytay. It was a suspenseful ride reaching them using those oh so narrow roads (kind of like those that lead to the pearly gates eh?) with a full sized SUV. If you are one of those who in your childhood needed nutri-buns, yes the title means we rode (mounted) on a Ford SUV (Everest).

We were actually afraid of being covered on pineapple needles and not severe concussions and or a slow agonizing death which was so hilarious considering everyone on board was stone cold sober. Too bad we did not have time to go grab coffee.

I'm having breakfast at the moment, and juggling Helga (my laptop) a loaf of bread, a pot of Folger's, sauteed corned beef and cigarettes. Nifty eh?

Windowsills and A Flowerpot Falling Into Your Noggin

2008-12-21T10:33:00.000+08:00

Which actually should be the first line and not the title. Anyway, I haven't had this surge in a long time so I will jut tap tap tap on the keyboard until I am exhausted or the idea is.

I was starting my day when I realized it... The reason why I have not been writing or have had the urge to pen it down - my thoughts, my angst, those rants and raves and railing and wailing and all of that rot that swirls around my universe.

There is no need to. Where before there was this void that needed validation, this fondness for writing borne out of the need to converse and say things that I felt strongly about and not finding either the venue or people to express it through.

I had walked under countless windowsills and always had come away disappointed and/or disillusioned when I get invited to come in the front door. Or when rebuffed and denied entry. So the escape became like a lover, the faceless woman. Companion, friend and lover.

I lost her a year back and didn't fully grasp the idea that she was my muse. I've been so enmeshed in the rebuilding that I didn't notice or give the due introspection I usually did. My muse is alive and in the flesh. I can talk now, to her. The trick here now is - To still keep writing because I love doing it, and make it work. Maybe I should carry a voice recorder. Here we are, after the jump.

The Thirty Third

2008-12-19T02:57:00.002+08:00

So I haven't really been writing for a while now and the brain is getting stale. The itch is not there to begin with, plus I have been so preoccupied with all the restructuring entailed.

Well it's hours past my thirty third birthday and believe it or not kiddies, I spent most of it tucked under blankets. I still am right now and thank the geeks for wi-fi eh? I have Alanis Morissette singing her cover of King Of Pain and yes, everything is dandy in the Derck's universe.

I like the solitude. Which was hard for a some folks to deal with. I am not big with syrupy closeness like what this current season entails. Not a freaking scrooge mind you, just not hung up on it. If you like it then by all means, enjoy.

So here starts a new year for me. Have no idea of where I am leading my life to or whether it's leading me. I am sold to the conviction though, that I will live this time to the fullest. Have a merry blasted x-mas everyone.

Time Flies When You're All Messed Up

2008-10-31T00:03:00.000+08:00

Didn't notice it was midnight already. My head's buzzing like it was kept in a blender for hours and then pounded just for good measure. So much for wanting to create a blog space huh?

Well wtf? There'll be other days.

The Cusp Of Change

2008-09-08T19:41:00.000+08:00

Now I have a draft of a blog entry that I think I'm glad I did not post yet. I was mad at that time and was being my unpleasant bigot self. I actually enumerated all of the reasons why I wasn't "lesser". It's good that I held back. I was never lesser. Not the five unbroken generations of my family that folks take their hats off in the hometown whenever members of my clan pass them by. Not the ancestral home that stood when these testy folks that drew my ire were just toadstools and tenant farmers wishing the next generation could somehow get an elelmentary education. Wait I am going there again.

The items being: Yes I deliberately tore my life apart. Personally and professionally. Found out too that the world is full of judgmental bigot wannabees. Let me put it this way, at my poorest, I may have been still miles ahead. Funny thing, a person earns a penny and thinks it's a pound, gets an entry level officer position and thinks the world is conquered.

Here is the crux folks. I prove my worth to myself, not to anyone. I do not answer to you or anyone else except my maker. I write because I love to, I developed people as officers because I loved the look in their eyes when they start respecting themselves and learn to respect others too. I take long walks. I take long drive. I love having my passport marked. Because I do. Not because I need to fulfill some ardent urge to gain approval. As Amiel cleverly remarked one "eh, noveau rich".

Now I went back to the horse and rode it. Surprise surprise. So where does it lead us now? I let you sling and sling. I was levels apart when I took a rest and I was asked to "prove myself". So what do I get now? A plaque? Appreciation? Approval? What is that worth to me? Will it improve the quality of my life?

What do you do when you come across me again?

Wise folks hold their tongue. For all you know, the person you are cutting to the bone may have the ability to mess up things and just has learned that it doesn't do anything for him anymore. That being in the background lets him sleep better at night. That there is so much more than prestige, status, and wealth. That maybe he can say that because he had it, and still has it, only he doesn't want to go flaunting to give you your satisfaction since it's pointless. You don't count anyway. As I don't too.

In the end, if you can sleep at night and smile when you wake up then all is ok. What ever ruckus everyone outside does is irrelevant.

And in the end, the real friends say "I wish you well".

Stumped

2008-07-29T18:06:00.000+08:00

At the pain of being called a fraud, I'll put this in anyway.

I have six pages with me. Three stories and four album reviews. I was going to put them all in or at least what I could with what I have in my pocket worth of broadband time.

I ended laughing my bollocks off. Which I am still doing while I am laying this down, and without any intention of giving man birth to any of what I've made.

Oh f*ck this is so motherf*cking hilarious. I find myself so stumped and doubled over I am spliting in the seams.

What am I laughing at? Life. All i has thrown and it hasn't finished yet. What was it that Albert Mondiego had said? I think it's relevant at the moment; for the life of me I can't remember what it is. Tee hee.

From The Diary 07/08/2008

2008-07-26T20:03:00.000+08:00

Circuitous Events, The Hand Of Providence and The Guy Named Gerry

So there we were, at the cusp and bosom of yet another milestone. Eighths we call them for that is precisely what they are. Now I would really like to go all numerology on you but hey, the derck is a blogger however odoriferous the word may be.

Well the day had been going completely bonkers for me up to that point of the day. There were a couple of minute bright spots and that was that. The princess had gone through a pretty hellacious patch herself. A very big patch. Almost like a blanket. So the birthday card and the first letter in a decade were mailed to her-who-should-be-called-mom, the venerable office of crooked lawyers cleared m, and we were currently crossing the abbey road in the starting rain, bereft yet happy.

A voice pipes out from the multitude and I snap my head in its direction. There in the not too far off distance was one of the more interesting petite young woman I've known. She had someone with her, the long talked about him I was guessing. One of those alpha-males I've been told. We join them and after the hugs and light banter of hellos and introductions, find ourselves dragged to lunch at Gerry's.

The meal we got treated to was a hoot. That's putting it mildly. It never ceases to amaze me how good things have the potential to become infinitely better when shared. The food was great, the conversation albeit somewhat awkward was honest. If there was a curve where everyone relaxed, it was hard to tell. It was just the frankness and openness that maybe took things to where they went. Truth be told, it's been sometime since I was that loose around folks. Goodbyes were soon given, handshakes and hugs doled out. Damn cool for people who planned for happy meals. Providence rolled out way happy ones.

I don't mean to be prophetic here, but I just may have found Charlie Runkel. The "whadup Runkel?"

The Marce too.

Makes you stop and furrow your brows doesn't it?

Tick - Tock or Finger Tapping in the Waiting Room

2008-07-23T19:06:00.000+08:00

The paper bundle keeps getting higher and higher. I am starting to get blisters from all the writing I do. Pauper that I am though, am unable to get them sorted out yet. Or to get the thoughts across yet. There is time for all of it. I will come out in one piece. It shall all pass as all does. I will rebuild; I am rebuilding.

Having fun despite all of it. For the first time in a long time I feel I am alive and that there is a purpose for being here. I think I've reached something infinitely precious with my kids that I didn't really have before despite our closeness.

I dance and run in the rain again. This time without tears.

On House Inquiries, Tycoons, Conscience and the ability to sleep soundly

2008-07-07T22:19:00.001+08:00

Now I told myself I would not join the bandwagon. We grieve for the deaths, the senseless ones when that Sulpicio ship sank during the typhoon. We are outraged at the undeclared pesticides that would ruin livelihood and destroy nature if it ever leaked into the sea.

This will be short. F*ck everyone who is finger pointing now. Please be reminded that there may actually be a God when you die, He may not willingly accept the confession you did or the donation you gave to the church or the people that you helped because buddy, you reaped more from it.

It was teeth grinding how Hon Suarez and Fuentebella were grilling PAGASA officials on the news earlier. Need anyone be told that it is actually these comedians that pass the yearly government budget. If they really wanted to, why not appropriate their pork to it instead of grandstanding on the telly?

Everyone one knows we are pathetically antiquated technologically. We can't even defend our country from a school of fish if they wanted to attack. To hear someone say on the news something to the effect of "You sent it through SMS. Are you joking?" is damned sick. YOU are the one who is joking buddy. You and everyone else who keep calling inquiries that just waste the tax payers money. You know what you can really do, so why don't you just go do what you were voted for? Oh yeah right. Were you voted in at all? So much for public service ey? Pinoys always fall for the grandstanding. Bleh.

Now for the ship owner. Why don't we just be people and stand up to our accountabilities? Buddha on a spiked wheelchair you knew where the ship was going, where the typhoon was and sure as hell know what your ship contains. Or at least someone under you. I am a cruddy manager but even then I knew all that went on under me. I made it a point to. You mean to make us believe that no one knew? Really? Take it in the chin and say it's your fault. Everyone agreed to be bought off by 200,000 pesos anyway. Oh yeah, there may be class action suits.

Finally. For the regular juans out there like me. When are we going to put a stop to the cycle? When will we say enough to all of it? To crooked politicians who we allow to buy our votes, to a crippled justice system that strangles the under privileged, to businessmen that do not have an ounce of civic duty and accountability in their veins? To the cycle of greed and abuse? It stops when we say it does and when we do what it takes. Only then folks, only then. Or we could wait for Christ to return and let ourselves get raped until taht time comes.

Downtrodden

2008-07-02T22:21:00.000+08:00

Hmmm... News from the front. Second week of no carbs on the diet. Working out a lot. Have Collins, Desplechin and Marquez on the plate it seems.

Have a couple of stories and a hell of a lot of reviews for posting. Made me sure of this too.

I can't write at all with old school tools. My fingers and my psyche demand a keyboard. I have a lot of pages with me and I so do not feel like typing them back on the screen. One birthing process is enough.

Actually at a cafe. It feels so alien to go and work here. Meaning, to post my thoughts using this computer.

Life's a bitch aint it? Do I sound disjointed? Well I actually am. This feels so weird. I went here hoping to post some stuff, and now I find I can't do it.

Anyone with a broken down run down piece of crap pc that they don't want anymore? I'll take it. I'll take it even if it's a Pentium Plan. Pun intended. F*ck.

Morning Glory

2008-06-26T22:22:00.000+08:00

Hokay. So for anyone who ever cared to read the garbage I spew here, we all know that I had let my life explode to smithereens. Yes I did. I tore this page apart too and well, it hasnt been the same since. Now if there were queries if I have come to regret any of it, the answer is - NO.

Bumming right now, the vacation is well...wait....four more days to officially make it a month. Lost all of what folks said was important, and realized that all of it was superficial. None of it made any more sense to me, and I felt so tired about all of it. It held no meaning for me anymore. So what do you do then? I got up my desk, and walked away.

Been sleeping a lot and looking around. Haven't picked up a pen although I did dawdle. Ended up with a lot of incoherent phrases. So I didn't. No net no phones no nothing. Fall off the edge of the planet, and do it literally. Kept taking notes though, so if anyone thought I was spent, oh baby you should see the axe I keep sharp at the back of my door. I just don't want to go chopping just yet.

There are stories to be told, of here and there. Enough of the wandering soul. There is a tale to be told here, and I believe there will be a lot of hate when I start opening my mouth. Then again, I've made a lot of enemies and false friends too. Funny how people can be so strong when your back is turned to them. Oh yeah, please remember why you couldn't really go toe to toe with me, because well... I think I've turned nice. But I am still vengeful. Yeah nice. But not a saint.

Why am I resurfacing? There are a lot of tales. Of places. Of occurences. Of people. Of love. I am a writer first and foremost. I write and I blab. Now if you don't like me, have never or will never, here's what I tell you with a smile: "You may bite my brown hairy butt."

Now go on to the other more substantial bloggers out there. Shoo!

One Hundred Ninety Eight Kilometers and Back

2007-11-08T19:19:00.002+08:00

Monsoon Midmornings
By M.A. Martin

The Matt and Ivy Show
One Hundred Ninety Eight Kilometers and Back

A shadow flickers at my partly open car door as I listened to The Low Millions. Their lead singer was calmly singing about his love being every single song on the radio and being everypretty face on video. The shadow fully opens the door, and the woman who owns it makes the song something I can relate to. Incidentally, the song was titled “Here She Comes”. It was quite apt.

My universe opens up to endless possibilities as her face enters my field of vision. She has this smile I rarely see, maybe because she has become more than a bit jaded when you compare her to the rest of the swarm we affectionately call mankind. It was good to see it pasted on her face that much I am sure of. I strive to do it consistently, but the klutz that I amusually fails in the endeavor. “Hey” she goes, her smile staying with my fluttering heartbeats. “What brings you here?” Something flashed in her eyes, like a moment of inspiration or decision, and I find her in my lap. I am stunned; somehow, after all these years, she still has the power to surprise me. I saw she got her amusement out of my reaction too, as there was a mischievous glint in her eyes which now made her smile so downright disturbing. Then assuddenly as she was there, she was gone. The passenger door opens and shuts andthere she was, beaming. My goddess. Ivy.

She repeats her question and I realize I have not answered her yet. I get so horribly mangled around her it’s a wonder I remember anything afterward. If you’d see us, you’d find it hard tobelieve the cosmically retarded fellow she was with could actually write, much less speak. So out with the truth then, “I missed you bad enough it made me drive here”. Her face softens. “You’re not even supposed to be here. Will you be staying the weekend?” I shrug. “Nah, I’ll be heading back as soon as you go upstairs.” I feel pressure on my cheek and find her hand there. For the first time, I do not pull away. I accept it. I tilt my head to sent the pressure backand reply with my acquiescence. The touch turns into a gentle caress. She knows. I look up and meet her eyes. There is joy there. Is it because someone wants and loves her that much? Maybe. There is a heartbreaking sadness as well. Because? I do not even want to commit that to active thought. Yes, as with everyone around me, it is my fault yet again. That countenance is as familiar to me as my waking moments. Will it always be this way?

I talk about a conversation I had with a faceless stranger in this dream I had. He indulged me while I ranted, then made me think. It sort of went this way:
Me:There’s this woman I am madly in love with. She said she loves me too.

Stranger: So what’s the problem? Isn’t it a good thing?

Me: I do not deserve her. I do not have anything to offer. See, she’s this intelligent, sensitive,kindhearted and opinionated woman. She takes on life on her own terms. And, she’sthe most beautiful woman to ever walk the face of the earth.

Stranger: I see. And she said she loves you?

Me: Yes.

Stranger: So you feel that you do not deserve to be loved by someone like her?

Me: Yes! Aren’t you listening? How could she even begin to love someone like me?

Stranger: She said she loves you? Do you believe her?

Me: Yes. Yes! What has that have to do with anything?

Stranger: Well you’re lucky. You’ve dreamed and the dream loves you back. How about you make sure you do not hurt her, instead of all this rot. Maybe then you’ll hear it from her, and it puts your heart at peace.

I pause, the story ended. I raise my eyes and find myself wrapped in her arms. Our lips meet and time stands still. The world is silent, except for the sound and feel of her breath. The taste of her lips. The softness of her limbs as they envelop me and I return the intimacy. The warmth of her as she is pressed against me. The beating of our hearts; in tune with the movement of our lips. It lasts an eternity of moments, and I drown in it, unwilling to let it end. Finally we part and open our eyes. Breathless, she speaks three words that I repeat with four.Our lips meet again while the moon peeks from the overcast sky, and becomes a glare on my windshield. The eighth word is spoken wordlessly. Eight to infinity? Maybe. And may God help us both.

The Curtains Rise and the Show Begins

2007-11-08T19:18:00.001+08:00

Monsoon Midmornings
By M.A. Martin

The Matt and Ivy Show
The Curtains Rise and the Show Begins

The rains had just stopped. The droplets caught in the halogen orbs make the lamp lights hazy, yet enchanting all at the same time. The rush hour is at its tail end now, with the heavytraffic almost perceptibly idling down. Smoke was rising from car hoods as the last raindrops evaporate from the collective engine heat. The evening is covered with scents, sounds and lights and the hustle and bustle of city life.

Matt stretches inside his car, stuck three wide and seven deep on a two lane city block. No wonder we’re all hung up, he muses we are so like crabs caught in a basket. In our hurry to get ahead we all stay put. He chuckles, shakes his head and turns the stereo volume up. He might as well enjoy the wait. He sits back and starts to hum, tapping his steering wheel to the beat of the song. The graphic equalizer bars sway like clockwork, in perfect cadence to him. The car is not tinted and there he was singing for all he was worth. Reflected in the soft dashboard lights; a man in his own universe drinking the moments of his life. A few drivers andpassengers noticed and some had taken to staring. Wondering maybe. Those who were women tilted their heads and smiled. He was unaware, caught up in his own mind.

Ivy was tying up her day and closing shop. Well that was figurative. Tying up almost two hundred people to their schedules and breaks, that’s what it was. All her reports were alreadydone too. Which made her a very happy camper; sort of. It was a long day and she was tired and worn out. The joy was from meeting the excellence she required from herself today. Plus she’s getting to spend time with her man, who is also about to conclude his day. She looks at him, seated with his back to her; working. She can’t help but smile at the sight of him. It’s allshe can do to not run up to him and crush him in her arms. Ivy was pretty sure he would enjoy that too. Life was good. In certain stretches. Willing herself back to work, she glances at the desktop screen to check intervals and resumes her floor walk. She moved with an easy gait, her billowing hair complementing her high cheek bones and almond eyes. Everyone taking calls breathed a little bit easier. She was wearing a smile on her face

Afternoon At Where It Leads To You

2007-11-08T19:16:00.000+08:00

Afternoon At Where It Leads To You
by M.A. Martin

I got lost and somehow, I got found
driving in an overcast morning in the pouring rain
saw myself standing - on soaked ground
wishing I can hold this pain

Eighteen steps to the fenced off door
Twenty two acts before I'm rid of it all.
Bereft.I walk away, my back to you and forever more
the beat a fading echo. As I have left,

my heart, my soul, my dreams complete.
On the curb that leads to your street.

Overmatched

2007-11-08T19:14:00.000+08:00

Monsoon Midmornings
By M.A. Martin

Matt and Allie’s Journey
Overmatched

Matt hazarded a hand at the elevator door before it closed. The sensors detected it and the gears retracted the doors. He stepped inside, looking so smug in the knowledge that some poor soul who was running late would probably be grinding his teeth with exasperation. He was still smiling when he looked up to survey the damage, and froze. Stunned to his proverbial boots.

Allie was there, standing in the deep left corner, looking oblivious by staring blankly ahead. Yet with an almost imperceptible twitch of her brow and flaring pupils, she betrayed her grudging acceptance of this intruder in this most confined space. He stood there dumbfounded, cursing his ill luck. “I just gave her another confirmation of her hunches.” Matt rued silently to himself. He always had this innate talent of managing to put his foot in his mouth in the most inopportune of situations, and this was no exception. Without even knowing it, he had a smile pasted on his face. She was more attractive when she was irritated, that’s for sure.

Another thing he was sure of was that if karma and rebirth were true, he was some sort of flying insect in his previous incarnation. How else can he explain his predilection for flying onblind instinct, and his obstinacy in hitting walls, backing up, and then rushing headlong in the same direction yet again? It looks like he’ll be doing it over and over again in Allie’s case. The phrase “or die trying” came to mind and he shrugged it off with mild disgust.

He glanced up at the lit number indicating the journey’s progress, and he sputtered. Three? What the? He thought he blanked out longer than that. Matt did a quick double-take; yes, shewas there alright. He was not having one of his comic strip slash dialogue episodes. Is this fate? And a second ice cold thought surfaced immediately. That he was a blithering idiot. Of the cosmic and cataclysmic variety. They were workmates. Of course they would bump into each other on occasion. Jeez! To even think that the universe would revolve around him was downright preposterous. Matt caught himself at that moment. He was ripping himself to fine shreds and he hasn’t even said “hello” yet. “Here’s to rushing blind” he muttered and sidled to where she stood.

Life rewards the courageous few, Matt reminded himself and plunged in, to waiting and foreseen disaster. “Hi. How were your calls yesterday” Was that the best he could come up with? Matt groaned inwardly, this was totally lame. Allie barely tilted her head and the smallest of curves played on her lips. It was so small and fleeting it was almost imaginary. He was there anyway, so what’s a little more humiliation? Against his better judgment, Matt pressed on, tossing pitch number two. “So how was the closure rate?” There were tempests in those set of eyes, but the voice that came out was cool, composed and collected. “Ok.” He was clearly out of it. So that constitutes a reply nowadays? Marvin Albert was droning in hishead by now, “One more pitch and it’s a ballgame ladies and gents. It’s pinch hitter Allie at bat, and let me tell you she is looking good!” What the hell, crash and burn right? Matt throws the last question. “So how about you gather the updates for your team and then forward it to me?”

The elevator chimes their arrival at the designated floor and the doors open. Allie flashes a faux smile worthy of Khrushchev and mumbles a “Yeah. Sure.” Then steps out into the hallway. Matt is left rooted to the spot, mouth agape as Allie walks away. He managed to close it when he tasted dust gathering in his tongue. Literally. A few words came into mind. Overmatched. Road kill. Routed. Annihilated. He scratches his head, glances at his feet and couldn’t help but smile. Would hitting her in the nape with a baseball bat change her views? He chuckles and follows her out of the elevator, into his early morning shift.

An Introduction to Complication

2007-11-08T19:12:00.000+08:00

Monsoon Midmornings
By M.A. Martin

Matt and Allie’s Journey
An Introduction to Complication

She caught my eye as I stepped into the production floor after that long drawn business review. She was one of the newer reps on the floor, and one of maybe my top ten eye candies. I’ve been wondering about that since I first laid eyes on her as she came out oftraining and into production. There’s something about her I can’t place.

See I’ve always been partial to women with fairer complexion and Caucasian or East Asian features. Credit goes to my mother for that, as she had drummed in me this insane mentalconditioning. She wanted non-Pinoy looking grandchildren. Yes, from le-hippie-zee-rocker herself, who of course is married to a blond Viking. She keeps trying to hook me up with daughters of friends, and winds up more frustrated than ever if we decide to be just friends. Which reminds me of this excruciating blind date with a minor baroness from Heidelberg almost a decade ago – oh wait, I’m sidetracked. Let me get back to the matter at hand.

So back to this young woman and the tale at hand. Allie. She is about five foot four with a mass of jet black hair almost to her waist. Normally I’d kid someone about that, like ask if shekept coconut oil in a carabao’s horn at home and if she sprouted bat wings when the moon was full. In her case, she pulled it off splendidly, She had a face that was kind to angles, which made her breathtaking to look at in any profile and frankly, made the fact that she always kept her hair neatly pulled back a huge treat for the beholder. She dressed well too, and having the kind of body that she was gifted with, oh brother! Kiss your soul goodbye mate.

The clincher for me was her eyes. She had this pair of wide pools that hinted of mystery and an expanse of knowledge. They seemed confident and reticent all at the same time. Plain, yetfull of mischief in one go. An unwary person may lose himself in those eyes for the rest of his life. Smart, sharp, and calculating. It made her look so much like a resting feline. She was beautiful, majestic and extremely dangerous. This was what Tim Burton was angling for when he cast Michelle Pfeiffer as Catwoman. Selina Kyle is brown skinned; you best believe that.

The catch? I know her. Or more like I know the back of her head pretty well. Her nape is a good buddy of mine come to think of it. It also means she’s usually walking in the same direction as I am. Only she’s about ten paces ahead. I tried talking to her once or maybe a couple of times and she was polite. Which I think is because I was a ranking officer in theaccount. Otherwise, there were swirls in her eyes and she looked like she was about to lose the fight with her rising eyebrows. Like, “Oh. Yeah. Right. Now get out of my face loser”. To think I was asking her about work related matters and not attempting small talk. Oh, I’ll be honest. I was attempting. Moses on a rotting charley horse! This woman was going to fit perfectly as a New Yorker!

This is in all probability going to feel like rushing blindly and headlong into a concrete wall. Yetlike a deer caught in an oncoming headlight, I am stuck. Transfixed. I will get to know her. If it is to be under the pain of constant embarrassment, then so be it. I have a strong hunch that there is more to her than meets the eye. I just hope that I last long enough to see her turn around. So unfounded aversion is true after all. Or unbridled dislike at the outset. I just did not expect to be at the receiving end of the barrel when I found out. I take one more glance at herand go on my way.

An Evening In The Dark Room Room Everyone Refers To As "Life"

2007-10-21T10:32:00.000+08:00

Monsoon Midmornings

By M.A. Martin

The Matt and Ivy Show

An Evening in the Dark Room Everyone refers to as “Life”

There was a small light on the nightstand that would not waver. It stood there, sure and steady against the expanse of darkness. I stretch and groan. Hurt is nothing new. This is but an extension of it. They say that a man is made or unmade by his choices. I hope there isn’t an ounce of truth to that, since I may be vying for the top seed in the bad choices and judgment department.

People oftentimes have the tendency to hold on when the carousel stops. They know it has, but acceptance is often more difficult, and denial the easier path to take. I should know, since I have been living with these kinds of pain for my whole life. Thee is a certain courage and clarity needed to go after real happiness, and a lot of us find it convenient to use pain, hurt, or instability and chaos (i.e.lack of order) as a shield. So as not to acknowledge the real challenge – fear. All encompassing fear.

So I changed courses twice today. Altered decisions I had made. The person I am waiting for is still not ready to live. Or to leave. For everything she had wrought in me, she only had lived vicariously through – as I found out with mind numbing certainty. She got left behind, and is tottering in indecision. Am I to remain in the shadows? Yes. I was to go and lay my cards so to speak. To ask point blank/ She felt it and knew. Then shut herself in. It was to be done in all of two minutes. I recoiled; not stung. Wary. Warned. Do I leave? No. Do I wait? Yes. I have been waiting for the better part of the decade anyway. Will she ever come around? I do not know. Are we soulmates? I think we are so God help me.

So back to the light on the nightstand. It seems steady and sure. Look a little closer and see that it flickers. Then it hits you, that Light is fighting with all its might, against the encroaching darkness that always threatens to engulf it. There is uncertainty in that light. There is doubt. There is fear. That the next wave or volley will be strong enough to kill the spark forever. That light hang on in desperate hope, not knowing the strength it draws from hope.

That light needs to know these truths: The strength is from hope. Buried and acknowledged. The wait has long been over. If that light but opens its eyes and looks dead center, there is another one in that dark room. One that heard its silent pleas across the darkness and fought blind to seek that one that sent it; one that understands and patiently waits; for the moment when that light finds the courage to open its eyes..

That light has not been solitary for sometime now. For where there was once one. There are now two.

Soundtracks

2007-10-07T09:07:00.000+08:00

Monsoon Midmornings
By Michael Martin

The Matt and Ivy Show
Soundtracks

It was thirty minutes to three in the morning. The rains had stopped hours ago, but the air was still damp with moisture and the asphalt roads were still soaked. The skies had opened up with full fury earlier in the evening causing horrible traffic jams and a couple or more accidents. I almost thought I would not be able to reach Ivy today. Time, fate and chance had granted a reprieve. I have been hugging her for the past five hours.

The evening had been fine. We are both tortured souls to begin with, and laughter is not a daily luxury. Well laughter is easy. What I am talking about here is the laughter that comes when you eyes laugh as well. We both are the toast of the common circles we have. We drive people of the wall with mock meanness, idiosyncrasies, and our penchant for doing the unexpected. Which prevents most folks around us from looking at our eyes and seeing what’s there. Come to think of it, few take the time to.

Conversation was sporadic, mainly from me needing a lot of shut-eye and feeling like whenever I am with her, I have just arrived from a very taxing journey. I was also feeling a bit awkward. Up to now, I haven’t really adjusted to having Ivy this close to me. We were sitting across each other, when I decided to break this fear. Although these would be another story, suffice to say that we ended up with her almost catatonic from a lengthy foot rub session.

We had popped our head out about five minutes ago. The coast was clear, and the hunger pangs were becoming irresistible. We took the car out for a food run and went to one of Ivy’s favorite low cost haunts.

The place was bustling considering the weather and we took our usual seats on the right side of the establishment. We were both famished and pigged out, talking animatedly while our mouths were full. We do not need the intricate social dances and masks when we’re together. Then suddenly she stops, mouth agape and eyes twinkling with mischief. My breath holds, expecting the worst. She stares at me, slowly forming a smile. I get what she’s driving at and lose my focus on her. The song! It was a sappy local song bout a granny telling her grand daughter she got screws loose because she’s in love with a guy who doesn’t look good and is poor to boot.

I look back at her with questioning eyes, and she can’t help it anymore. She breaks out in gales of laughter, “Oh my god, oh my god, oh my god! Honey she’s singing about you.” There was kindness in her eyes and mischief as well. “Honey you ought to have your hair cut. I didn’t notice it earlier, but you look like a pineapple.” I was smiling sheepishly, a bit embarrassed as we were attracting everyone’s attention. Her laughter dropped down to a wide grin as she fought to control herself, when the song got to the chorus again. She glanced at me, and couldn’t hold it, now with the “I’m so sorry honey!” mixed in between breaths.

She rarely laughed this way, with her eyes lighting up the way it did. I may have fueled it with the way I looked, because every time she’d look at me, the peals would start again. We finally stood up and walked to the car, when another song came in, this one about a guy who kept running from the woman, only to go back begging on bended knees because she was the love of his life. I could hear her braying from inside the car as I proceeded to walk to my door on the other side. Oh brother, this was so damn mortifying. But honestly, if it was just to hear her laugh? It would be ok to dangle.

Dissembling

2007-10-04T15:05:00.000+08:00

Monsoon Midmornings
By Michael Martin

The Matt and Ivy Show
Dissembling

My inbox lit up. The number 1 highlighted, bold and italicized Yes mister, you have mail. I stare, breathless in anticipation. It’s a new day, and I am trying to get used to a new concept in my life. One day at a time. The premise is simple. You take what is given and you live in the moment. None of the planning and the worrying that goes with it. None of the mapping out of courses, of plans A through G.

There was no other choice. If Ivy was to stay where she is, where we are, which is for all practical intents and purposes – in limbo. I had to learn to deal with it in this manner. We had no future. But we have the perpetuity of the present. There was nothing to be done about it anyway. We both have lives to lead, and we have built separate roads before meeting. In this lifetime. Yes. I say that with all certainty. In this lifetime.

There has been this constant nagging feeling since I met her years ago. It slowly bubbled up to the surface of my consciousness. She seemed to pop up everywhere I turn. Be there by my side during the most trying of times, although I never told her about it. It made things bearable. When we had our first real talk, it was like talking to myself in a manner. It was easy. And I consider myself a mass of contradictions in the highest order. She had a way with me, of being able to simplify the most complicated of matters, and vice versa. From the look of it as well, I had the same effect on her. Although I was not arrogant enough to accept it and verbalize it, so it remained there hidden and unacknowledged. Until the dams broke the other day and altered the realities we lived in.

I have a different Ivy with me now. She’s a freer one, unbound and unrestrained. I’ve felt a sense of calm too. All my searching is finally done. Everything else has fallen into place and the questions have been answered. So this is where it leads us, surprising as it is, she feels the same way as I do. Then we both end up with the “we can’t” which of course is the crux of it all. This is not the lifetime for it. There will be another, and I will be damned if I don’t find her. I found her now didn’t I? Despite the odds of it all. Four continents and twenty-eight years. She was right under my nose since a decade ago, and I missed her, when I had been free. Free to offer myself whole if she wanted me. I believe it was simply because we were not ready for each other then. There is a season for everything under the sun as the saying goes. It’s our time to find each other, but not the time to be with each other.

We’ve made peace with whom we are. There is a sense of quiet finality to it, to what it will be or will have to be now. We are, but for reasons of how we built our lives, we cannot. On the other hand, there is no running away from it. Our roads lead to each other. So that’s why the great love stories are all tragedies. We hope when there is none. We are unbelievably elated and irrationally scared at the same time. The sureness of it all is frightening, and for one time in your life everything stands in sharp focus. You know, as sure as you are that there is a higher being. And you know that there is no way for both of you to be together. You try to fight it and follow what you know is right. Which makes it worse. Because you cannot bottle it up. You’re screwed either way. But if you’d ask if they would rather not have it to make the roller coaster go away, I think you know what the answer will be. No way.

All this before I open my mail. I’ve been ruined by love. That’s what it is. This is the happiest I’ve ever been. The happiest I’ll ever be. Until tomorrow comes. Isn’t that right Ivy?

The Circle Closes (Ivy Speaks)

2007-10-04T10:59:00.000+08:00

Monsoon Midmornings (Ivy Speaks)
By Michael Martin

The Matt and Ivy Show
The Circle Closes

The few times that Matt and I actually spent together outside of the circle of people we normally go with, we spend it talking in ernest. The conversations are about where we are presently in life, about the people around us, about the sh*t heads who make our lives difficult, and all the things in between.
Tonight its different. Tonight, as I sit across him on the veranda of this well hidden cafe, I found that for once, in all four years, we do not have anything at all to say to each other. Not that its uncomfortable, I think, I believe, that it will never come to that between me and Matt. But after I found him again, there seemed to be nothing more to say. It feels like everything has come into place for once. He's there in once piece and I am satisfied and that's it.
He, on the other hand looks like he's having an internal battle once more. Matt is this stubborn guy who would never let anything just pass him by and go with the flow. With him, its always, "what if?" and "then what?" and " and then?". He looks way too far in the future and cooks up a worry storm along the way with it. I often remind him of a line in one of my favorite movies "You are so hell bent on making things work that you miss out on all the fun when they don't"
I decide to take charge of the conversation because, quite frankly, we would just stare at each other if I don't. Matt seems intent on just sitting there and studying me so i guess I'd better go get into the heart of things. Hm. And I think i have just the right question to get him out of that stupor. "So you still can’t look at me huh, Matt?", I asked. Leaning forward and putting the my elbows on the table as if making a point. I guess that got my point across coz he looked at me like I doused cold water on him. "you can't huh?" I asked again and found the look on his face too funny. I just had to laugh.
He shakes his head, as if amused that I had the balls to ask that question. He took a deep breath and same time as it started to rain, he releases a torrent of emotion I never really thought was bottled inside for the longest time.
"You know why? You’re within sight and my whole universe turns upside down. You’re this close and all I can think of is shoving this table away and taking you in my arms to kiss you. I look into your eyes and I get overwhelmed by how heartbreakingly beautiful you are.It tears me apart, you know? I tried to stay away the past year! I did everything I could to forget you. I moved jobs, uprooted myself and to what merit? My world goes quiet for a second and you re the first thing that pops into my head. After all my efforts, one message from you and everything comes crumbling down. You know why I came? I came to tell myself that I am over you. That I can live my life and come back to you in the in the only way you want me. As a friend. To sit here now and accept that I couldn’t. I can’t."
I was left breathless with this revelation. I never really thought it would be like this, that I affected him this much and that I would have this much power over a person's life. For the first time in all four years, I am speechless. All I could do was stare at him, at this tormented soul in front of me. I've always loved Matt. He's the dearest friend that I could ever have. Once upon a time in our lives we were almost the best of friends, he is my knight in shining armor, the person who once stood beside me and helped me fight my battles. Although to let you know, there's always this thing at the back of my mind that knows. That says it is so. That understands and fights it like he does.
I tried not to show how shaken I was with his revelation. I know I'm good at that. I was a stage actress for god's sake. So I said the only thing that popped into my head and the very words that I said were the same words that surprised me. For until then, I was at a loss myself.
"You kept running away Matt. I was waiting for you to stop fighting it.”
After that, the rain slowed to a drizzle and eventually stopped. We were both quiet, enveloped by the cacophony of sounds around us. The hum of the disco music from the next door bar, the laughter of the group of boys practicing guitar a few tables next to us, the siren from the fire truck racing below and the murmured conversations of students with their heavy medical books behind us.
I look away, into the night, into the sea of lamp lights and the general traffic below us. I can't help but smile myself. At this revelation. At the silent assent that just happened. Yet at the same time, I know this is another cruel test of fate. Because as I much as I want to, I know I can't.

The Illustrado Experience

2007-10-03T12:35:00.001+08:00

Until about two years ago, I had been just another ranting blogger in the web. I just got back from wandering the parts of the world I had access to. Well, wandering and working to be frank. I went back because I miss the motherland, and would definitely prefer it to the fatherland that is for certain. I did miss the opportunities afforded me by being abroad but we can’t have everything right?

I found my niche in the BPO industry when I got back, and my nerves sort of got soothed a bit. See I was hoping to make a difference somehow, and the small way wherein I made a change in someone’s day meant a lot in terms of personal satisfaction. I quickly rose the ranks and the dream of making the difference played into the bigger picture. I now had the chance to make a wider impact and I did not waste a moment of it. Developing people, imbibing the sense of pride not in the fatter paycheck but in the pride of a job done with passion. Somehow though, there still seemed to be gaps somewhere. See I had always written before. Nothing formal and no formal training on it. It was mainly for myself. Journals, stories, poetry and all that rot, which made me escape or helped me escape the pitfalls of daily life.

The net afforded me that. To raise my voice and talk, despite my innate shyness. There are some authors who read my stuff and that was a blast, but nothing prepared me for Mon and Lalaine. I did a review of a horrendous bar my workmates and I went to, and lo and behold I had gotten a reply telling me she enjoyed reading it. She then proceeded to hand over an invitation. Not to be an employee but to be a part of a group of friends. What was I to do? inadequate as I felt, I went forward to clasp the hand of destiny.

I’ve learned a lot being around Mon and Lalaine, and being around the Illustrados. I’ve found I could write. For real. And what I needed to do, to be able to write the way I want to – which is to make a difference. Illustrado is made up of people whom despite their aversion to credit due to them, is making a difference. Illustrado’s existence is a difference in itself. It represents our values, our ideas, our brilliance, which is often overshadowed by our own fears and insecurities as a people. The Illustrados stand in the face of that and shout; nay rage against all that. Before the team stood there though, there stood Mon and Lalaine. With the dream. And the courage to make it happen.

So yeah, I do bar reviews. Then again, these people I am around, they are brilliant. It makes me so proud to have been invited to be a part of it. To be a part of something that changes the views and challenges the perception of not just Pinoys, but everyone who would leaf through Illustrado. You learn through them and bask in their brilliance. You sit and quietly drink the conversation during the times you get one or some of them across the table and realize the process. You get strength from the passion from the resolve, from the simple and humble these individuals carry themselves.

There might have been a lot of disbelievers. I wasn’t really there, but from what I know the birthing process was a long and the labor hard. It’s all moot and academic now. There is a legacy here. Not the ones you often see about Pinoys becoming filthy rich abroad, but a bigger one. A more lasting and important one. A legacy that will remind all of us, regardless of where we are in the world. We can make a difference. We can make ourselves and others stop and think. We are. More importantly. We can. May everyone never forget that. If we only allow ourselves.

Hats off to you chief. Gratitude springs eternal.

Ivy Speaks

2007-10-02T15:01:00.000+08:00

Monsoon Midmornings (Ivy Speaks)

The Matt and Ivy Show
Rediscovery

I stepped out of my door that Friday night and I immediately noticed how humid it was. hm. It'll prolly rain again tonight. good. Perfect weather for coffee, smokes and good conversation. Speaking of which, there he is. Standing beside his car, looking at anywhere else but me. *sigh* When will you ever change Mattie?

I approached him and I managed to catch "Hello" just under his breath. I missed this guy a lot. It's been awhile since last saw him and all he managed was to give me an almost inaudible hello? jeez. So I went up to him and hugged him tight. There. That's better. I like giving my friends hugs. Tight ones. Its my touchy feely side at work here and there's no escaping that this person is one of the closest people in the world to me. So a formal hello is never good enough. Not for this guy.

Like I said, I like hugging so I couldn't help but smile after I let go. Then I noticed the uncomfortable look on his face like he wants to run away or something. I looked at him, brows furrowed, wondering why he looked freaked. I guess he noticed. "Ok. So. How are you?" he asks. I tell him I'm ok. Finally got the chance to ask how he is but then there he goes spacing out on me again. Wtf? What is he on tonight?

He finally looks at me again and asks (more like chokes) if I'm ready to leave. So I get on the passenger seat still wondering why he looks so uncomfortable. This is the first time that he gets to drive me around in all 4 years of our friendship and quite frankly, I really thought he'd flake out. Mattie's been acting really weird since that last december evening we went out for coffee. Been trying to reach him, sending sms messages and calling whenever I can but I cannot seem to find him. So finally, I got through, already worried like hell that he jumped off a cliff without saying goodbye or something (yes. he does have that tendency. My friends are all crazy) and he, the social butterfly that he is, said that I got a confirmed appointment with him. Finally. Frankly? I'm just happy he's still alive and that I found him again no matter what state he's in now.

Again I play the role of the navigator. The men in my life seemed to be navigation-challenged and they all claim that they lived in the city all their lives! Passed Quezon Ave. going to Tomas Morato, we both noticed two girl-wannabes-walking on the side street. Instinctively, I look beside me just in time to catch Mattie's eyes on them creamy skin and short hem lines. Men. I smirk and then asked him to guess if those are women or not. Bewildered, he looks at me and says he doesn't know. I gave a quick analysis that if you are a woman, that tall, with figure and skin and hair like that, wearing that, you'll prolly want to ride a cab right?! He looks at me like I'm someone crazy. Noticed the sarcasm on my face and realizes that I'm playing around with his head again.

This feels familiar in a very very good way. Its been a year since I last saw him and through that span of time, nothing seemed to change between the two of us. I was actually scared of the changes. You know the saying, change is the only permanent thing in this world. I was wondering if we're gonna babble about like complete morons, making small talk, waiting unbearably until the night ends and we decide to just go home.

He seemed happy though. Even with the seeming disorientation and the fleeting moments when he seemed to want to run away. It was a short but happy ride on the way to the coffee place. A few moments before we discuss the turmoil that our lives turned out to be. I know this is gonna be a night of revelations, resolutions and of course, good conversation.
I can almost smell the rain. Dunno if it's gonna dampen my spirit or if the breeze would refresh my already tired system. But I'm happy I found Matt again. Finally.

From Dreamland to Dreamland

2007-10-01T14:52:00.000+08:00

Monsoon Midmornings
By Michael Martin

The Intricacies Of Matt’s Universe
From Dreamland To Dreamland

It’s getting dark out. She unceremoniously woke me up with a call. Which incidentally woke me up from a dream. Where I had been having a very pleasant conversation. With her. I suppose you are asking yourself now why I seem disappointed? Well I am frankly. In the dream, we were under the cover of blankets, and we’re facing each other while our cheeks were scrunched against our pillows. Mother earth was gently weeping outside, and the air-conditioning system, although antiquated had kept its droning to a tolerable level. The old geezer finally got its hint.

We were at home. Our home. Had neither the trappings of the rich and famous, but the gentle welcoming aura of a domicile. Where you’d know people in love with each other lived. There was a small den downstairs filled wall to wall with books. You’d find Hemingway, Dostoevsky, Maupassant, King, Rice and you’d even find Sheldon, Deveraux or Virgil and Homer if you knew where to look. It had a small coffee table in the middle stacked with magazines, Time, Newsweek, Cosmopolitan and what not. There were throw pillows strewn around. If you didn’t know the couple, you would think it was haphazard, not the controlled chaos that they loved.

One side of the living room had been converted into shelf space, holding cd’s from The Pretenders to Dawson’s Creek OST. It also housed their movie collection that of course included Shrek, much to the male’s disdain. There were frames around, from old movie posters to representations of Renoir and Van Gogh. Curiously there was a poster of a goat as well. In one countertop, there were three frames. One housed the first article the man had published and the other, a copy of the first book the woman had published. The middle one was a photograph of them. They were sitting in some harbor front, with Kirin Ichiban on the table, the man seemingly ruffling his hair and the woman on the verge of laughing. They were stylish in their low key, off hand manners.

The kitchen was stacked yet orderly. They had a full sized one complete with an oven good enough for a whole damned turkey although they rarely cooked. They enjoyed spending time with each other and had fun cooking, but it was too intense because of the wait and usually ended up making out on the counter top that they forgot about what they were cooking. Nobody likes munching on burnt meat anyway, so they had foregone it a long time ago. They still do make out in the kitchen while they boil water for the fun of it. The kettle whistled endlessly like an eternal siren while they laughed and kissed.

There were three bedrooms upstairs of which only one was in use. They had no offspring yet, as they were enjoying each other to the fullest. There was time for a family. They were both young. The time now was for each other. For kissing in the rain. For walking on beaches while the sun set. For meeting in provinces after their itineraries have been met, each of them driving like madmen to the rendezvous point or for connecting flights before they went back home together. For midnight burger or ice cream runs. For browsing for books and scented candles and other trappings they fancy.

They never spent a waking day without speaking and never ended it without. They made time, found time and/or bent time. However much they loved their work, they knew when to drop everything and run. To each other’s arms.

It was the end of a long day. The bedroom was still bathed in a dim glow from his bedside lamp. The thick curtains were absorbing much of the light, and he liked it this way. With her face turned towards him in this kind of light she was a goddess. Well she was, in any light. He smiles, knowing that wherever she is, it would be what he called home. She purrs, almost claimed entirely by sleep and snuggles closer to him, her knowing hands embracing him. His mobile phone rings suddenly, and he reaches for it, wondering what the hell could be wrong for someone to call him in this ungodly hour. He picks up the line croaks a hello and gets confused when he hears her voice on the other side of the line. He looks at her again, and she gets swallowed in a swirl of colors.

She talks again and I’m finally awake. “Matt. I’m sorry. Were you sleeping?”

Lost And Found; The Rain Dance

2007-09-30T10:25:00.000+08:00

Monsoon Midmornings
By Michael Martin

The Intricacies Of Matt’s Universe
Lost and Found; The Rain Dance

I am in my car almost butt naked. Almost. Wanted to start before I change clothes. Maybe it’s a bad idea. I am dripping all over the notebook. See it’s a quarter to six in the morning and the day’s about to break. Not in a particular hurry, since my ride is heavily tinted.

I was supposed to be at work around eight hours ago. Ended up somewhere else where I had found good conversation, a kind heart and a warm embrace. Almost a kiss. But not quite. I went so near to losing my head tonight. Reason prevailed mercifully plus my unattractiveness helped as well.

Left at around three thirty and since the rain was pouring like wanted to drown the world, I missed the left turn leading to my street and went all the way to somewhere else. I finally lost my head. Arrived at a quarter past four to a nondescript house with a nondescript gate. Inhabited by an extra ordinary woman.

Her veranda lights went on as I parked, and there she was jumping into my arms as I got out of the car. Into the rain and into my arms. She pulled back and looked into my eyes, eyebrows questioning. She tilted her head to one side and gave me a kiss. I stepped into it. She had this tender warmth to her, yielding in a manner that told me she missed me like crazy. Or maybe relieved that I decided to pop in. I let go and stepped into it, giving myself over to the moment. Did I ever need this? Yes. God help me, I did. I do.

I pulled away and looked into her eyes. She had a soft questioning look to her, her eyes visibly moistening despite the drenching downpour. Had I broken her? I didn’t want to think about it. I hope not. I held her hand and squeezed tight. I cared, yes. But I can’t tell her I loved her. Because I did not. I turned and walked away. She was beside me in a heartbeat, her hand in mine. The streets were still deserted, general humanity was still tucked in their blankets, unwilling to give up R.E.M. from the cloak of the monsoon. We continued walking as the rain poured on, making conversation difficult, and making me comfortable. She cuts me off suddenly and I find her lips on mine. I give in for a second time. This one lasts longer. Our hands explore each other oblivious to the openness of our surroundings. It was still dark anyway.

We broke off after what seemed to be an eternity. We were both out of breath, and her voice broke as she sought to speak above the din. “Will you stay? Have breakfast at least? Please?” The touch of her hand was pleading. I almost gave in. But I didn’t have anything to offer. “I’m sorry. I can’t. I have to be somewhere else. I did miss you.”

She hung her head and would not look at me. “How about I walk you home now? You’re soaking wet.” I tug her hand and she reluctantly budged. She went for one more try. “You still have clothes with me. You ought to change too.” I chuckle despite myself. “You know there’s at least three spare sets in my trunk any given time. I promise, we’ll find time within the week. The whole freaking day, just with you.” A smile breaks in her face. “You’ll ditch work? For me?” I shrug. “It wouldn’t be the first time.” She yelps a laugh and hugs me. “I was beginning to think I didn’t matter anymore. I love you.” I smile and hug her back. I loved somebody else. Who also could not allow herself to love me back? Life is a bitch. I tussle her hair and hold her close. “I have to go.”

I caught her look back before she went in her house. Her eyes were unsure and doubting, since I didn’t give her a reply when she laid her feelings out. I could not. I would not. Lie. Anymore. To anyone. My heart belongs to someone else. Who might crash it against the rocks in the seas of time and fate? But I am hers. Hers alone. Whether she wants me or not. This makes me feel so evil, asking for a measure of intimacy from someone I could not love back. I look at my rearview and my eyes throw me a return look of loathing.

I should stop writing now and change. Light is just around the corner and the world is waking up. I’ll see you all soon.

Glare

2007-09-30T10:24:00.000+08:00

Monsoon Midmornings
By Michael Martin

The Matt and Ivy Show
Glare

Rain was steadily pouring outside, the steady pitter-patter a constant humming sound. Nature’s song, and she was singing it in all her splendor. For the world. Or for this island in a backward third world tropical country. To the lovers inside the four by five walls of destiny however, the song is for them and for them alone.

“It’s raining like crazy outside.” Ivy had been spread out languorously on her stomach as she lay on her bed. Her eyelids were heavy and drooping. Her hair had an oily sheen to it, from the perspiration brought by the humidity earlier. Her fan had a slight clickety-clack to it, maybe from the lack of an oil job. The sound was a nice accompaniment for Miss Nature’s singing.

“Uh-huh.” I was lying on my side, with my head propped by my elbows. My other hand was toying with strands of her hair as she tried unsuccessfully to fend off sleep. She had been smiling from time to time as she waned in and out of consciousness, somehow sure and surprised to find me there beside her. She turned off the lights in her room, but the door was open letting in light from the living room filter in. God she looked stunning, with her hair in tendrils cascading her high face and her cheeks crushed against the pillows. She looked stunning even when she didn’t mean to be. I could stare at her now, now that she has her eye closed. I promised not to kiss her. Under these circumstances though, this is one promise I would have a hard time to keep.

She rouses again, tries to open her eyes in vain and is unsuccessful. She settles for a smile instead and wraps her arm around me, pulling me nearer. She smiles and mumbles, “I love you” in a manner only she can deliver. It sounds like how honey would taste the first time it touched your tongue. Or the way your eyes react the first time you see dawn slowly break and set the sky afire. Am I really here? Is this a dream? I bury my head in her neck and feel her warm steady breath on my cheeks. No, this is not a dream. She is there all right. I am here as well.

I look at her and find myself surprised. It’s like I’ve known for all of eternity. I know I’ve seen her like this, in some deep dark recesses of my memory, I know this look. The look of peace and serenity etched in her face. Woken up with it before, although this is the first time I saw it. She had always been a whirlwind. Passionate, driven, angsty and on perpetual overdrive. She tones down when she’s with me, like feeling comfortable in the passenger seat for once. Now she’s asleep. Here’s where we are right now. I don’t have to talk. Murmurs though are there. Some humming sounds from the deepest of slumbers. Hugs. The world is at peace. I murmur back and the rains swallow it. Does it matter? Did she hear it? I don’t know. But she smiled a bit and held me tighter. Is there anything better the world can offer? I think not.

The Circle Closes

2007-09-25T13:51:00.000+08:00

Monsoon Midmornings (From Matt’s Universe)
By Michael Martin

The Matt and Ivy Show
The Circle Closes

Coffee never tasted this good. Cigarettes never felt this wonderful. Unless she was there with me, sharing time. The world felt like it was in equilibrium. Everything and everyone was a dreamy haze, except for the woman sitting opposite me. She was all that mattered. Blinding in her radiance, awesome to behold. I talk about her like she is a goddess. Maybe in that respect she is. When someone has that kind of hold over you without meaning to, when you give her the wrecking ball to do with as she wishes, while you cringe and smile, terrified of what she might do, yet thankful that she bothered to stay anyway, then she is a goddess. Yours anyway. Or mine to be specific.

Don’t get me wrong I didn’t succumb at the first instance. To be plain, I went down kicking and screaming. I had to be dragged by the roots of my hair by time, fate and chance. That led me here. Hopelessly in love with someone who will never be mine to hold.

The air is pregnant with moisture as they are in this season. It makes everything seem of the verge of change. We’re sitting at the second floor veranda of a coffee house, looking out at the hustle and bustle below us. Somehow it seems different. I’ve known her for four years. There’s a shift within her. I cannot figure out what it is though. She seems older too, wiser and more in control of herself. Makes me love her more. She’s maturing into one hell of a wonderful woman.

She makes a huge deal out of it, looking intently at me while I construct my thoughts into coherent half sentences. The strain is not yet at a point to matter but it is distracting. A knowing smile now and then and an almost imperceptible nod of the head, which is what I call her let’s see how freaking good you are under pressure mister or the I feel like screwing with your head now because I can, then she throws the “So you still can’t look at me huh, Matt? ”. Which of course sends me mentally sprawling on the sidewalk.

I shake my head and try to regain my wits. She laughs. It’s one of her short chuckles that speak volumes of amusement. I could wait a lifetime to hear that again. “You can’t, huh?”

I decide to lay it on straight. No mustard.

“You know why? You’re within sight and my whole universe turns upside down. You’re this close and all I can think of is shoving this table away and taking you in my arms to kiss you. I look into your eyes and I get overwhelmed by how heartbreakingly beautiful you are.”

She stares at me blankly. Does she always have to be this difficult? She could just say “Fuck off Matt.” Then it’ll be done. She never gives a hint if what I say even reaches her mind. It always feels like it falls on deaf or indifferent ears. Yet still she would not dismiss me. A reaction would be nice though. It isn’t a dream to talk to statues. No matter how crazy I seem.

Damn. “It tears me apart, you know? I tried to stay away the past year! I did everything I could to forget you. I moved jobs, uprooted myself and to what merit? My world goes quiet for a second and you re the first thing that pops into my head. After all my efforts, one message from you and everything comes crumbling down. You know why I came? I came to tell myself that I am over you. That I can live my life and come back to you in the in the only way you want me. As a friend. To sit here now and accept that I couldn’t. I can’t.” I choke up and look away. I can’t do this, I cannot allow myself to live like this. I was planning to get my shit together and then take her home – a head on my shoulder, and a hand on my arm. “You kept running away Matt. I was waiting for you to stop fighting it.”

The world goes quiet. Silent. Still. I feel a steady humming in my skin, and become aware that the sky had opened up. I tilt my head just a bit, tentative. My cheeks find her there. The stillness feels like it can stretch for eternity. I close my eyes and smile. So this is what writers write about. The moment. The decision. It’s breathtaking to feel this, when you are at an age to really appreciate it. The jump. Or when you open the door for the first time and walk inside. There is a timeless wonder to it.

I am not sure why, but although I can’t see her face, I can feel she’s smiling. But her eyes remain so sad. The circle has closed.

Reaching The Final Bend

2007-09-25T13:48:00.000+08:00

Monsoon Midmornings (From Matt’s Universe)
By Me

The Matt and Ivy Show
Reaching The Final Bend

She stepped out of her door into the humid tropical evening. I fought hard to keep the world from swimming out of focus as she smiled at me, signaling her re-entry to my world. I felt my heart lodge in my throat as she came fully into view. She was not the most beautiful woman in the world. But for me – she was. Is. Will be. I would hazard the word forever here. It’s that strong.

All I managed to do was give a quick wave and croak an inaudible “Hello.” Ivy walked into my space, my air, and I struggled to keep conscious. I found myself enveloped in her embrace and it was all that I could do to turn my back and start to run away – as fast and as long as I could.

Damn, it’s been a year, and all that she had to do was be within vision and the freaking universe stopped ticking. She broke my heart and my world. Which after my supposedly worst debacle, I said I would fight tooth and nail not be exposed again. I would never allow myself to be vulnerable again. Until she came along. Her, this destroyer goddess, who didn’t even know what she’d done most of the time, blissful in her ignorance. Four years worth of ignorance to be exact.

Then it was over. She had let me go, and was beaming with her inquisitive child baby doll expression. “God.” I groaned inward, when was he going to be over her? Was this ever going to end?

I forced myself to speak as I exhaled. “Ok. So. How are you?”
“I’m good. You?”
“Uh. Ok I guess.” My halves were in animated discussion during this, and had come to blows. If that was even remotely possible.
“I told you we shouldn’t have gone Matt. You’re a sucker for punishment aren’t you? You give her the bat and tell her to repeatedly hit you in the head with it. What are you trying to do anyway? Be the pioneer inductee for Masochists Are Us?!”
“Shut up.”
“Loser!” Chirping in the most annoying singsong voice he could accomplish. “Loooseer!”
I opened a door in the caverns of my mind. Shoved that half in and locked it. “I’ll deal with you later.”

How much time did I lose? Did I blank out? I found her eyes and nodded at her.
“Shall we? Go, I mean.”

I drove quietly as she gave directions. It was excruciating to have her near, and even that was an understatement. A left turn here, a right turn there and not long after, we were out in the main road heading towards Quezon Avenue. Ivy broke the silence.
“I had been trying to reach you. It’s good that you didn’t flake out on me this time.”
Did she actually say that? Tried to reach me? What? Did the world fall of its axis while I drove?

“Matt, I was. Kept sending you SMS messages. I was wondering where you fell off to. I had been worried sick about you.”
“I said it was iron-clad. I would see you no matter what.” I kept repeating a mantra inside my head like a protective prayer. “Don’t lose it. Don’t lose it. Don’t lose it.”

The drive went by like a blur. Everything is this way when I’m with her, that it is a wonder I even remember anything at all afterward. I know we had talked. I have a vague remembrance of it. It isn’t healthy for me to have her be this near. It’s the first time I had driven her around too. This was the first time she was this near physically. I caught myself wishing I didn’t have such heavy tints. The illusion of privacy was slowly making the tension I felt unbearable. Then again, no one ever felt more correct in the passenger seat than the one who was there now. No one, except her; who was trying her damned best to screw with my head right now with her mischievous grin and body language. Didn’t she know that she was under my skin already?

I am happy though. To be within her sight again, to be this close to her. If she continued to break me, I would scurry and lick my wounds, then come back for seconds. That much I am sure of. It isn’t her fault anyway. I’m the obsessed lunatic here. Not her. I was here of my own volition and had allowed myself to dangle. I had been startled to find myself turning the engine off. We stepped out of my car and into the evening of resolutions. Maybe I have a chance to be free after all.

Why? It looks like it’s about to rain in a while. Call it my element of luck

Ivy's List Of Facial Expressions

2007-09-24T06:44:00.000+08:00

This character is from the series Monsoon Midmornings. Ivy is in her early twenties, about five feet four inches in height, has jet black hair (most of the time), fair complexion (she does get tanned a lot), almond eyes and high cheekbones. She is extremely intelligent and articulate, outgoing, carefree and sensible. She has been inadvertently a recurring character, although it was first planned as, well there would be around four women to share Matt’s dysfunctional universe. Each would have their definite characteristics to draw and fascinate Matt, and the woman he ends up with was still a toss of the dice.

As things progressed though, Ivy has turned out to be Matt’s great love, his soulmate, his companion through eternity. Which is a pleasant surprise. Here’s how I found out: I have snippets of phrases to delineate expressions and emotions. I didn’t include happiness or joy. Matt prefers to keep that to himself right now.

Looks (Like how her eyes and facial expressions combine):
• Incredulous (slowly widening irises, both eyebrows rising in slow degrees)
o I am trying to convince myself I didn’t just hear what you said.
o Maggot! You didn’t!
o Please explain it to me like I was a six year old. Why did I let a retard like you in my life?
• Mischief (lips thinly curved in a wide smile; brows furrowed together, face angled downward and eyes up. This is more scary than wrath, Matt has decided)
o Let’s see how freaking good you are under pressure mister
o I feel like screwing with your head now because I can
o I have a fun game in mind, it’s called let’s play with the Maggot
o I have something for you. Come here.
• Disappointment (downcast eyes)
o You can’t?
o You won’t?
o Reconsider?
• Wrath (almost like incredulous, only one eyebrow is rising while lips start to purse ever so slightly; this is where she is most dangerous; Matt really gets scared when she crosses her hands on her chest and starts drumming her fingers)
o I’m trying to decide what to hit you with
o I’ve decided what to hit you with, I’m just not sure how hard I’ll hit you
o Oh you’ve gone and done it now
o I am evaluating what the loss of you may mean to me. Right now, I am almost for it.
o How about I break a bone to even us out?

• More Wrath (with a finger pointed at Matt; this is way dreadful and very rare)
o You do not know what hell is Maggot. You are about to find out.
o My finger is about to turn you into toast.
o I weighed the consequences of murdering you. I think I can live with it
o Run.

Discretion is the better part of Valor; the Joy and Terror of Capitulation; an Unforeseen Confession

2007-09-11T13:19:00.000+08:00

The wheels of fate have been turning yet again. I have hinted previously about preparation. For a moment. A time of reckoning. This is mine. For the entirety of my being. It has not been an easy life, but whoever said that life would be easy?

All that happened in the past now seems a funnel. To steel and temper for the coming…how do I put it? Test? Storm? Tribulation? Or a combination of all that. I see and feel the thunderclouds gathering in the horizon. I know the lines will come into clear focus anytime soon. The question will invariably be asked of me. “Will you cross the threshold foolish mortal?”

I believe it will be at least two lines. Each determines a course of fate. Therein lies the crux of my questions in life. What I’ve found learned and what I hold dear. This entire running around, this searching, these silly quests have now come to an end. So I wait in bated breath for the conclusion. I may find myself in a rocking chair surrounded by grandchildren, but the time is at hand. This is the deal for the whole kit and caboodle.

I have found my Great Love. The One. The Bearer of Tragedy and Unspeakable Pain. And of Untold Bliss. Right beside me. It has been a slow realization, as I was fighting and kicking all the way. I did not go down easy. So do I capitulate and surrender to it? I know that acceptance is the road to destruction. Humans are not allowed to be that happy. It is reserved as a reward for the afterlife.

I keep saying there is no chance. Hoping to convince myself that we will both guard ourselves. I am torn between letting everything blow up into a thousand pieces and keeping the status quo. Now I know why I was imparted with self-esteem issues. Else I would have gone and grabbed the sword by the hilt and let everyone else be damned. I am able to use my inadequacy as a shield. Of course the other person has choice, but the answer is not always a “NO”. But I will not let her have a say here. For if the answer is yes, we destroy everything else. I have half a mind to shut it down completely and kill my soul in the process. If it comes to it, I may choose that, if only to keep her safe. From me. That is the first line. Do I gamble for an “our happiness” or stick with “her happiness”. There are no guarantees either way. The second will render me dead, but I hope I have the strength to choose it. It is the only logical recourse. I am seriously considering it as I write now. God help me, it’s so damned difficult, but it may be the only way for everyone to be safe. And anyway at least I have my answers. I have had my questions answered. Without room for doubt.

The second? Close friends and family have been seeing omens of me this year. Walking out of a production floor when I am a hundred kilometers away. Passing by without my head. Passing by while I am spoken to on the phone. Those kind of things. People have been burning the lines every time. I still draw breath and try to push it out of my mind. If the contract is up, there is nothing you can do about it anyway. I have had a brush with the reaper early this year, I can’t remember if there was a deal on lingering here. So now that my most important questions have been answered, does it mean I am to leave? Now that I’ve said it aloud? Will the choice matter? Yes, I may find myself surrounded by grandchildren. I am alive then. Although with a shell of an existence brought by the choice of the path drawn by the initial line. I will be dead either way.

I guess I have to close it out now. I am contemplating deleting all blogs. It’s all resolved anyway. All the reasons for their presence is moot now. Or maybe I’ll keep them. Haven’t really decided yet. All the next ones if I still decide to do this, will be of an entirely different vein. Yes I am happy. How could I even feel despair now?

So there. I think this is goodbye. To the searching me. To the unbalanced me. To the unsure me. There is tomorrow. Yet I think I’ll stretch today as far as I can. Tomorrow is still too far away.

This is goodbye to you too I think. So this is what sweet parting means. To give up. Knowing that who you love will be better off. Without you. There will be no one else after. Be happy and be safe. We’ll always have rainy evenings. I don’t even want to consider it, but if it’s the same for us, then expect me in the next lifetime. I will be your man.

Six Packs, Marlboros, Credit Lines and Laptops

2007-08-10T16:36:00.000+08:00

It’s evening of the same day. The wire transfer didn’t arrive as scheduled and I’m pleasantly stuck in the boondocks. Good thing I have a running credit line at the local grocer. Got myself an ice-cold six-pack of San Miguel Lights, a pack of Marlboros and a fully charged iBook. Isn’t life grand? Yeah I know, bad for me, but considering everything that’s going on now, it may just be a good idea. See I haven’t been pounding on the keys that much since I moved to a new post on my daily grind and I miss it badly. It was nasty trying to make time.

So I’m finally grounded with nothing to do, and as far as I know everyone who I love has something better to do with their time than to spend it with the king of melancholy. It’s been a long time since I’ve been really alone, and it’s twisted. See there are a lot of people around me, but no one’s paid attention to be honest. I just go on my way since no one cares as long as I deliver the goods. Mr. A-ok family man and all that rot. The recent two years have been an absolute whack job for me, filled with short rises and very long troughs. Been in and out of emergency rooms with a steadily declining health. To be brutally frank I do not expect to live past forty. But I still believe I have enough time, with the Creator willing, to set everything in order for those I love. It’s scary and exhilarating at the same time, this race against time. Well we know it from childhood, when death first visits our family’s doorsteps. We put it on the back burner till we get a missed call from the ever-pleasant reaper.

So that’s that and maybe nothing more, if I die as boring as I lived. Wait, I may still have time enough to complete my book. I’d like to be printed posthumously though, to spare myself the shrink freak psycho-babble analysis of anyone of anyone who’d care to read and criticize the work. I think I’ll cut it here and stick to the beers. They’re a fine companion during these times.

Insanely Smitten Still (or An Evening in The Life Of Your Friendly Neighborhood Stalker)

2007-02-26T19:48:00.000+08:00

The aircon drones like a tireless bee, an eternal a slave to its compulsion. The drapes have flowers and vines etched on them; its thickness however stops light from entering the room and they remain unseen. Out of sight, yes. But it does not mean they're not there. It's a small room, four by five feet. Under the circumstances it would have to do. His palace; his prison.

Time flies he told her once and she nodded. Years pass too. There she remains, locked somewhere between the rainy December evenings and foggy January midmornings. Somewhere in the coalescing memories, hazy and vivid at the same time. Always twentyone, always maddeningly beautiful, always with her clear bell-like laughter, always before he left, always with his love unspoken.

A dream is what she is. Someone so alive you'd think her photograph would speak. She stood beside him and time froze. She laughed and threw her head back as they walked and all else was a blur. The world was a haze of color and there she was in the middle of it. She smiled and the weight of the world did not matter. She argued relentlessly and badgered you with questions. Her eyes lit up and her brows furrowed; it was not possible yet she became more enchanting still.

A dream. So intense he'd be happy not to wake. Yet he does. The anguish is unbearable in the morning light. The drapes grudgingly give way to a few tendrils of light so life can tell him he's not with her. Will never be. He knows but can not erase her from his soul. There she remains. Her smile; her kind and patient eyes. Waving before she walks into her door. Out of his life. Forever.

Bed & Breakfast

2006-11-04T13:59:00.000+08:00

Bed & Breakfast
Originally uploaded by solea.

Tryst.
arms entwined. souls locked in a kiss
blanketed in the deep evening mist
unfaithful in passionate peace.

will the sun's tendrils creep with the morrow
to find me gazing at your eyes;
or driving away with leaden sorrow
of weakness and lies?

a very long wait

2006-11-04T13:46:00.001+08:00

Originally uploaded by solea.

countless grains in the hourglass
anxious lover, amorous arms
rendezvous; celebration; to later pass
later to drown in your charms

to wait is to wait eternal
can you see without sight?
madness; frustration infernal
embracing you since daylight.

Tumult

2006-08-18T12:41:00.000+08:00

Here's another one of them. A lot of these sick murky melodramatic *sswipe stories have been spewed forth recently. Ugh.

Tumult
By Michael Martin

The laptop screen’s glow etches him in blue against the darkness. Once in a while, everything is in plain sight, as lightning snakes across the night sky. The room is awash with light for an instant; a Polaroid snapshot from God. Sound effects of thunderclaps on cue, courtesy of the Big Cheese as well.

Andy is lost in thought, staring but unseeing, peering at the crevices in his mind. The WordPad is empty, save for the flickering cursor, eternally patient for the birthing process to begin. It will not today, for the muse has taken leave and left the writer to his devices.
Finally tired of staring at the screen, Andy folds the laptop and stares at the window and the endless night. Immersed in the sights and sounds of the violent evening – and he is roused by the cigarette ember in his fingers.

"Shit!" As he jumps to his feet, wringing his hands, the cigarette butt falls to the floor and he crushes it underfoot. He looks at it intently afterward and decides not pick it up. Dressed in boxers and undershirts he trudges downstairs and goes out the back door into the stormy evening.

The rain is a welcome respite. He sits in the backyard, head bowed and unmoving; the slow rise and fall of his shoulders are the only sign of life. If you knew him, it’s the sign of the tumult inside the man. He’s talking to himself again.

He starts to murmur. To whisper. The freight train inside him begins to gather steam, gain momentum and he lets it build. Until it is audible: his pain, his hurt, and his vehemence. He lets it rip, imploding on himself.

"And I chanced upon you in my mind again. Time does fly doesn't it? There were fleeting hand waves as you passed by. It seemed to be pretty much the way this was going to be. You in a different league and going past at breakneck speed. I am resigned and reconciled. More than an acquaintance, less than a friend."

His alter ego is standing with his arms crossed, shaking his head and smiling at him condescendingly.

"How long are we going to stay in the rain sissy boy?"

"Shut the f*ck up will you? I didn’t ask for your opinion."

"Well excuse me, Mr. I know where I am headed! I’m not the loon sitting outside getting soaked moaning about how unfair life is. Why don’t you just nail some woman and get it done with?"

"Contemplating while washing the dishes. That's the life, I say to myself. I have neither the luxury nor good luck to have had it otherwise. Ugly and unbalanced to boot. There are a lot of things I ought to be thankful for I remind myself, my eccentricities are nothing compared to the plight of who we consider to be less fortunate. At least I still have time to muse."

"Yeah, yeah. Blah blah, sob and all that rot. Will you quit being a pussy? You’re about to make me puke you know."

" It's in these terms: anyone who would have you in their life need not look for much other than that, except maybe for air and water. Then again, what do I know I am little league. I think of it in terms of like being the emperor of the universe or some grandiose event. But therein lies the gist of all this meandering. The inevitable question will be, can we ever find an adequate ratio? To be colloquial, "rock mine as I rock yours?" Darn impossible right?

If we do get it does it mean we settle for someone else? To be the center of one's existence and then revolve around another's? To choose because you are loved but know deep inside you are head over heels for someone else. History and literature is replete with it. All of them end in tragedy. A warning that the world will not stand for it. Is there no workaround? Can it not be two souls revolving around each other?"

He stands up and glares maliciously at himself, picks up the umbrella near the back door. He proceeds to the empty flowerbed, opens the umbrella and hunkers down groping for a nearby stick. He writes furiously, and droplets are caught in between his furrowed brows.

"Oh writing! I see you still haven’t given up that sissy dream of yours eh? How quaint!"

His hands grasp the muddy soil, as if purchasing for balance and lets out an anguished scream, body wracked with sobs. After an eternity of silence, with nothing but the deafening pitter-patter of the rain around him, he folds the umbrella and walks back to the house. Inexorably being erased by the elements, the words he wrote barely legible in moments:

"We live and we love. Once in our lives we love enough to override everything and it is the stick by which all subsequent loves are measured. You will move on and fall again, but never recapture it. You will tell yourself it's over and love fully. Yet once in a while you are reminded of the lie you told yourself to believe in order to continue. There the person remains. Her smile, her hands, her face, the tilt of her head when she looks at you, there she stands, in the sunshine and in the rain. In your heart until your last breath."

---end---

monsoon morning

2006-07-06T09:59:00.000+08:00

here's something for the season. on the first draft. wanted it out raw.

I

The sun breaks through and the tendrils invade his windows. With burning corneas Andy is roused to consciousness and another day of his drab life.

Humming to herself, Cathy finishes up the dishes. It felt so nice to pig out once in a while, and that overdose of eggs and bacon is surely making the morning that much better.

II

The promise of the morning forgotten, Cathy hunches underneath her umbrella, unsuccessfully trying to shield her and her belongings from the downpour. She presses on to the nearby bus stop, awkwardly shuffling her feet in her haste. Goes to show why you cannot trust weathermen. It was supposed to be a lovely day.

"A few more feet, just around the bend."

His circle fondly calls him eccentric. Ditching work at the sight of the first droplets falling at his windshield, he decided to go for a long walk instead. Soaked to the bone and loving it, he rounds the bend.

Right smack into his future.

III

Cathy saw the oddball as she turned the corner. In the split second before he slammed into her, she caught herself wondering what the hell this guy was thinking, walking around in the rain. Then she realized there was no sidestepping, and braced for the impact.

He was chuckling at his good fortune; something about the rain gave him comfort, made him happy, kept him sane. The Big Guy upstairs really knows more than we think. As he looked up, he found himself face to face with a striking woman who looked both puzzled and surprised. And she was on a collision course with him.

"Right after I sing you praises" was his last thought before the inevitable.

IV

She lay sprawled on the curb, her things scattered all over her. She shook her head, dazed from the impact. Droplets clung to her hair and he thought her maddeningly beautiful. He caught her eye, and the burning stare shoved him from his reverie.

Him:" I am so sorry! Are you okay?"

Her: "Do I LOOK like I am OKAY?"

Him:" I really am sorry, let me get that."

Her: "You’re getting my stuff soaked!"

Him: "Look, I said I was –"

Her: "What’s your glitch anyway? Walking around in the rain like some psycho –
Wait. I am sorry too. I’m not usually mean, it just this day –"

Him: "I know what you mean, how about we get out of the rain?"

V

They found shelter in an outdoor deli/resto covered by a makeshift tarpaulin roof. They had coffee and exchanged pleasantries. She called in absent not too long after. She found him arresting, this man in the rain, or Andy as he was known. He wasn’t in the "make you swoon" department in the looks category, but he was definitely interesting. In a weird, off kilter kind of way.

She was not arresting. She was radiant. Looking at her earlier, huffing and puffing while she glared at him, she seemed a goddess. Implacable and destructive. Seeing her now, seated across him in the gloomy morning sky, with her hair damp and tangled, she was the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen. And she was here. Now. With him.

VI

The smell of the rain still hung in the air. The sky was slowly turning blue; the sun was still hiding. He had offered to walk her home and she had accepted. They were silent as they walked beside each other. She had noticed, for the first time in her life – the droplets caught in the blades of grass, hanging on the leaves of trees, the smell of the air after the monsoon rain. She felt like the world was renewed; and her along with it. Is this how he felt? She would ask him next time. Next time? That made her smile.

Time felt like it was stretched disproportionately. Then all too soon they were at her front door and he was handing over her stuff which he helped carry. Was this all there was to it? Fighting the fear of rejection, he scratches his head and blurts out:

Him: "Cathy?"

Her: "Yep?"

Him: "Well I was wondering if you were, I mean if I was, what I meant was – "

Her: "I’d like that. You may stop stuttering now."

VII

She peeked at him through her front window and her smile turned to giggles when he jumped with his fists in the air. So like a victor, so like a man, and so like a boy. She stepped into her room, and went into the shower; radiant like the most beautiful woman in the world.
He couldn’t contain his joy. He was exultant. She said yes! He had her number! As soon as he felt he was politely out of sight, he let his feelings engulf him and he shot out into the sky with his fists up, feeling like he could fly.

You never know what’s beyond the bend do you?

-end-

Janus?

2006-06-12T07:53:00.000+08:00

as those who have visited the philippines may have ascertained after a few hours of being here, the homeland is ripe with dualities, much like a person with multiple personalities. closeted, ultra-conservative and mainly catholic.

i still do not have the guts to publish the entire transcript. not until i get the demons banging at my gates to stop, or at least until i reconcile myself to their existence.

here's what i can tell you:

Joan settles down comfortably across the table and flashes a smile, brimming with confidence. She has recently turned nineteen, has dropped out of college and has since found a job in one of the nation’s top outsourcing companies. Before restarting her life, she spent the last two years being the quintessential party animal, bum, and nomad, to her parent’s and older siblings utter consternation. "Imagine how’d they feel if they found out I had pimped myself out for kicks too" she says. "And how wicked it makes me feel."

I fumble for my recorder’s button and I see an odd glint in her eye as I desperately try to recover my bearings. I let out a sigh of relief as I hear the friendly click that tells both of us the session is about to begin. She glances at the floor, takes a moment to compose her self. When she looks back up, the game face is on.

While I grapple with my demons throughout the process.

Here’s the transcript:

*effderck convulses and faints*

heehee.toodles.

the dance as you know it is dead

2006-05-03T15:15:00.000+08:00

more than a month since the last one. here goes nothing

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

I distinctly remember telling myself to go clean with the woman who owns the other pair of the ring about it after it's done. How could I not? This was written to be read. It might mean my manhood in a pickle jar ( I am not gifted mind you) but hell, the temptation was too much to pass up. I had to. Now to everyone else whose hackles I would inadvertently raise - @#*(@#!

Everything stemmed from an offhand remark in a conversation while having coffee. My brows furrowed and struggled with the question, have we really become libertines? Aliens in monocycles, are we? With the flame of the quest for the truth burning I set out to accomplish my task. First I had to get all the tools ready. Spiffy black car with a sunroof (according to Bruce Wayne chicks dig cars), check. Credit card, check. Toothpaste and mouthwash, check. Good looks, che---- now wait an effing minute, there was no way I could squirm out of that one. Wait, wait – uh, Charm and Confidence, check. I'll have to try and get through with what I have.

Now where do I start my search? Somewhere safe of course. I found myself connecting to the internet. So nicknamed as “effderck” I went henceforth to get my answers. There were a lot of nice young women on the net, and let me discredit the notion right now, I did not meet one single gay man posing as a woman (they must have their own chatrooms eh?) I quickly found myself earning friends, which was hugely enjoyable since I am an introvert and also because I was conversing with intelligent articulate people.

There were the sprinkling of pervs and hate filled entities of course, but in general the experience was smooth. The topics were varied, from economic to social to entertainment and of course, bedding habits. I said to myself, “Are they outspoken because of the veil of the net?” So on to the next part. I went out to meet my newfound friends. I was shaking while driving to where I would be meeting this “young woman” for coffee, with a thousand questions racing in my head. When we did meet, the butterflies increased a thousandfold. She was a young woman, tall, good looking, smart and was still a student. Didn't her parents teach her not to talk to strangers? Oh yeah, I am a friend. So we get to know each other more over coffee, and I am pleasantly stunned to find that she is as outspoken as she was on the net.

I ask her all sorts of questions, and her brows furrow on some of them, like a person examining something they have found odd. She replies and throws a barrage of her own, and the dance begins. The thirty yearold man and the teenaged libertine. I can just imagine how weird we should have seemed. Looking around, I saw that no one was even noticing. I can't decide which was weirder. She found it interesting that I saved myself for marriage (i.e. No one except my wife had been interested enough), or that I find it extremely awkward to sleep with someone I did not love. She actually laughed at that, and then looked at me like I was some lost puppy. So I found the answers and yes, all the preparations went out of the window, I was way in over my head.

Apparently talking about and having sex was not taboo, and I am still of the opinion she would have given Nancy Friday a run for her money. They still had rules, and those rules are way, way more lax than what our society leads us to believe. Don't get me wrong though, it is still a choice. She makes the choice if, when and whom. But she and most of those I had talked to aren't too afraid of the fire and brimstone hullaballoo like us of the previous generation. A lot of it stems from the staggering amount of information the generation has access to.

In the end I got tested. Maybe the thought of corrupting someone older was enough to overlook my lack of good looks. Maybe the idea of opening me up and stripping me of my so-called inhibitions? Or it may be as simple as showing me it is okay? I took a raincheck each time and got a soft shake of the head in return. And a smile. Whoever thought a man would say no eh? I kind of thought I was wild for my generation.

I still talk to her and see her occasionally, and that holds true for most of the people I have met. I do not know what I feel but it is certain that we need to have a reckoning and stop being hypocrites. About ourselves and about our society. On the outside looking in, it looks like you're with a conservative bunch of people, and that the church is holding sway. Once you step into the circle, it is an entirely different ballgame altogether. Now excuse me while I go and explain matters to my boss.

Love and Machismo in the Modern Age

2006-03-31T21:39:00.000+08:00

here's something fun. for me at least. it got me two shirts, a swimming and sauna gift certificate at the dusit hotel, 300 smackaroos worth of phone credits and a 1000 smackaroos gift certificate at Max's. nice? the price is. the fact that i was picked was better. hokay hokay it is not a pulitzer, but hey, i am not the kind of writer you would pay to read eh? plus the other works were enjoyable reads as well. victory is sweet. hope you like it. and in case you're wondering where this wonderful place is, click here.

LOVE AND MACHISMO IN THE MODERN AGE

Traitor. So like St. Nick. Cupid sold himself out to the organ grinding machines of capitalism. While we are at it, the guy who we got the name of the day from is probably jumping up and down and tearing his hair out in an apoplectic fit in heaven (he ought not be anywhere else right?) every time the day arrives. Okay, hold on to your horses, if I had in any way deflated your blossoming state of amorousness. No need to get those condoms in a bunch. While you are at it, go and swallow the pill that’s in your mouth.

Love. It is a word so grossly commercialized it has become cliché. You love your skin, you love your hair, and you love your freaking white armpits for heaven’s sake. So great, everyone is making a killing off the day, from the debonair bachelor who you are about to sleep with for the first time, the flower vendor, the upscale restaurateur, to the sleazebag motel owner (I do hope you have enough sense not to make a video of yourself and make the friendly neighborhood pirate’s coffer overflow with moolah). People ought to have enough sense not to go anywhere during that day, since even the most private and secluded spots (i.e. hotels) are a veritable ground for impromptu reunions. I had seriously begged off after we saw my female companion’s classmates all clutching numbers for the waiting list. That was eons ago dearies, before our population well, exploded.

The word is not something to be trifled with; else it loses all its power. You utter it and it means commitment, and sacrifice as well. When you love, it is never 50/50. You go all in, body, heart and soul. You compensate for what is needed and accept what is and not there. Love is supposed to make you and your partner free, not shackle you in a corner. Take for example when we men meet someone – a free spirited woman. Dresses up nice right? Shows some skin, is nice to talk to (she is nice, after all you’ve just met and she doesn’t mind talking to you), during the conversation, you are of the opinion she is smart apart from being sexy. Plus she is confident, has lot of male friends and revels in them. You grow to like her a lot, and she grows to like you as well. You date and sooner than you expect you wake up next to her. Now, instead of the world being okay, the walls creep up on you. Was I number three or number four (sure as hell I was not the first)? Why did she like me (and what happens if she meets someone she’ll like as well)? Does she really love me?

In the process of hanging on, we ask the other person, to change. To change from what we fell in love with, to something no one wants to fall in love with. Why? It’s so that the better-looking guy with the bigger banana and the Porsche does not run off with her. Here’s something I learned – try not to transpose your fears. Do not use it as a weapon to make your partner feel bad. Being in love is supposed to make you happy, it supposed to be your rock, to be your center. It’s supposed to make you confident and keep you free. Free to celebrate who you are and your love. So please before you go out today, think. You at least owe that to yourself.

view from a bus window

2006-03-31T21:33:00.000+08:00

here's one of those numerous snippets that i have, unresolved and unfinished. written on a bus ride home the eve of the last valentine's day - i got really dizzy and it reminded me why i do not read or write in a moving vehicle. 02/13/2006

Nine fifty pm. Good thing that I didn't take my car today. Gives me time to write. The city is in transition, in the clutches of halogen and gaudy neon lights. It never really sleeps does it? As I make my way home, tired and drained as a lot of the other passengers and some of the people I see, there are those who are about to start their day. Until about two weeks ago, I was part of them - nightcrawlers.

I had been oblivious, reason why I am happy I commuted today. The woman in the dark blue pant suit passing by like she was floating, as graceful as a swan. Her hair looked like it was still damp, I wonder what scent she uses. The young couple ambling along the sidewalk, looking like the world was theirs alone. The ambulant vendors with their toothless grins and sunken eyes, still managing to be cheerful in their impoverished state.

I sometimes get so wrapped up in the foibles of my own existence that I forget to live. It's now eleven twenty and I am still stuck in this traffic jam's hellacious death grip. I live just a stone throw away from where the city's florists are, and since it's the eve of Valentine, well everyone is here.

grounded

2006-03-01T18:11:00.000+08:00

Been stuck in bed for two damned days. I hate being sick. My kids have been driving me nuts about how it may be bird flu, and then my son developed a new one today. He told me my bird's got the flu. Tee hee.

I have some things swirling in my head right now, including making a new blogpage, for my politicking. Somehow it does not feel right, but then I said anything and everything right? I'll try and figure things out. Also, how do I put just the initial paragraph on the blog entry? How do I put the "want to read more?" Been meaning to ask Patricia Kirby how she does it, but it always escapes me. I have dial up internet see, and by the time my tortoise like connection gets to where it's going, it is a wonder I still am able to have any coherent thoughts at all.

Anyway I was holed up in my room channel surfing and I come across ANC's (ABS-CBN's news arm) Top Story. They had Professor Winnie Monsod as guest and I found myself glued. After the subsequent accusations that the network had been overboard in delivering the news, I would say that having one of the most respected and level headed people in the country as your guest would more than make up for it. And Professor Monsod, you are correct, Filipinos are not stupid!

An Open Letter

2006-02-27T21:56:00.000+08:00

For all of you out there outside the ocean that frames my country, CNN has probably broadcasted the sensationalized version of things – brought to us by the network giant I was talking about in my last post.

Now here’s something from the inside, from someone who lives a stone throw away from the palace.

This blog is apolitical. APOLITICAL dammit! So will you politicians please for the love of your own souls please quit the grandstanding! Everyone in the country has enough troubles already for you to muddle waters with your ulterior motives. The majority mind you, is not with you, regardless of how you cry to the heavens. If you really had wanted the best of our people, if you really had the heart – we should have seen you over at Leyte, helping and comforting the victims of the landslide. But noooo, you just could not pass up the chance to use the People Power anniversary as a cover to stage your plans. Maybe you forgot in your pride that it was the common people who EDSA belonged to, not you. Yes you reaped power and glory, but it was the masses that turned it around. Why need to go to Fort Bonifacio to pray? Pray somewhere where there are no cameras and maybe God will hear you and make things better for us. Besides, it’s an open secret that politicians in power get rich from illegal logging. Why go there eh?

Perhaps you were expecting the EVAT law to be a backbreaking burden? Well it is. Then again our economy is growing stronger by the day, and so is our peso. Afraid of what happens if the country has a miraculous turn around? You ought to be, all of you have been in power at intervals after Pres. Marcos was deposed. You weren’t able to do a damned thing except grandstand. The country does not believe you anymore. Please accept that so we all can move on with our lives. If you really want what is best for us, work within the framework. Fight the battles in the House of Congress, show us your passion, not just of being correct, but of wanting what’s best for the country. Allow us to believe again. Allow us to hope for the better, not by your bickering, but by your galvanized actions in an understandable platform. Work like you obey the rules and find a solution without throwing tantrums like a spoiled child when you hit a corner.

Aren’t you wondering why the people with jobs, the dreaming, the hoping, the ones fighting silently for a better tomorrow through an honest life, the family building Filipinos are not out in the streets? Why the millions you keep insisting that are with you do not show up? It is simply because we do not want to. Granted that Pres Arroyo may not be manna from heaven, we have chosen you before and you have dismally failed. What else do you want? You are a self righteous and conceited rabble. We know by now how you change bed partners by necessity. The nation is not stupid you know. So please give up the game. If you really want to help us – THEN HELP US. Not yourselves.

On Life and Survival in a Third World Country

2006-02-19T22:06:00.000+08:00

My country is beautiful. My countrymen are beautiful. Let me say that before I start the process of disassembling life here.

The game show tragedy, the stampede that killed almost a hundred and injured scores a few weeks ago was appaling to say the least; yet despite all the clamor for ABS-CBN's proverbial head on the platter, have we thought about what drove these people into such a frenzy?

Yes it was 20,000 PhP or roughly 400 USD. Let me ask you now, would you kill for it? Will you at the minimum, be willing to risk life and limb for it? Or ask a relative to do so? Then what,why, how?

Yes we are poor. There are a lot of us who work overseas to help our families. There are families who migrate in search of greener pastures. Those who have remained try to eke out a living, those unlucky toil to salvage self esteem and what is left of their pride.

We are a proud race. We may have been bound to slavery in the past and servitude in the present, but we have a quiet dignity in our suffering. We keep our humanity, and we keep our sense of self.

I could not help but shed a tear as I saw the footages on television. Then it turned to anger as I saw people unwilling to leave the scene, hoping to somehow still win the prize money for being one of first three hundred to enter.

How have we allowed it to go this far as a people, as a society? To be desperate and destitute enough for our compatriots to allow themselves to be debased in such a manner. No, my dear friends the fault does no necessarily lie with the network giant. It resides within what we as a nation have allowed ourselves to become, what we have allowed our leaders to steer us into.

The collective desperation is nothing new, there have been innumerable poor everywhere since the dawn of time. Hence the irresistable lure of fortune and wealth. There might even be some who will argue using the pyschology and mechanisms of mobs. Then again, why did it become a mob in the first place?

We need to address the growing sense of hopelessness that was centric to the issue. We as a nation and a people need to wake up and become more accountable.

I am no fan of the show nor the host, but hey, they were honestly trying to help. Before everyone goes asking for crucifixion, have you asked yourself what you have done for your neighbor lately?

I have tried to keep this blog apolitical - I failed.

An Annual Midmorning (Excerpts)

2006-02-09T09:41:00.000+08:00

Here's something that's been stuck. It was supposed to be something dark and sick - keeps turning out cheesy.
I hope I made you laugh today at least.

Act 1 - The circle opens
January 2

So here it is anew, another year and his thirtieth on the planet. Andew finds himself torn on a myriad of issues sorrounding his life, the implacable dreamer and romantic still waiting and beginning to lose hope in setting out on that great adventure, the unmitigated coward shivering in the corner, telling himself that he is content in his bondage.

An aspect which pervades all aspects of his life, his version of Jeckyll and Hyde. It makes him hard to live with and love - and he can't give those who stayed to keep loving him credit that is due to them.

Intelligence? Introspection? What good did it ever do to him other than keep him wandering inside his head, mapping out labyrinths that get more convoluted with time.

January 6

Raindrops splash across the windshield in sheets, making lamposts and rearlights look hazy. He shudders, yet is unwilling to turn down the airconditioning.

"So", she said earlier, tone bordering somewhere between incredulity and exasperation, "Would you mind repeating what you just said?!"

"I am in love with you!" He blurts out, hating himself at the same time for sounding like a love drunk teen. She laughs, so much like bells tinkling, stitches her brows together and regards him speculatively.

"So you say dearie. Thank you?"

He stares at her, dumbfounded. Embarassing is an understatement. The scenario did not play out that way in his head. Why in Sam hill did he ever go through with it? Too late.

The brakes screech as he stomps on the pedals, muttering angrily under his breath at the idiot in front of him who did not have the decency to beat the red light.

This Cristine business is going to get him killed one of these days. There she was, still running around in his head, beckoning him to keep up, her black hair billowing in the wind. Andrew shakes his head, guns the gas, and fades into the rainy midmorning.

Landscape

2006-01-03T02:14:00.000+08:00

Landscape
Originally uploaded by solea.

I dunno.It looks beautiful.

But it's creepy. I half expect Hansel and Gretel to appear in the horizon, and the Wicked Witch with them.

At the same time, almost divine. Like hallowed ground.

Maybe it's what makes it eerie - the textures and colors are all skewed. You could not tell what happens next.

Then again maybe you could.

Imagine!

my day

2005-12-18T18:04:00.000+08:00

Rainy Saturday evening, the way my soul prefers. Everything is all right with the world on these occasions from where I stand, regardless of where I happen to be.

I am celebrating my thirtieth year as a resident of the blue planet tomorrow, and the past week could only be described as --- heaven sent.
So yeah I've long since come to grips with the fact that I will not be leading any country, not discover any life changing vaccine, not write something profound enough to alter the world.

But hey, looking around me, I can say everything is ok....

(to be continued.....)

If you listen closely you hear....nothing..

2005-11-30T03:41:00.000+08:00

If you listen closely you hear....nothing..
Originally uploaded by solea.

*****never*****

never.
that you said innumerable moments ago.
i searched i tried to no avail;
all that i've seen and all that i know
i am yours. in all detail.

never.
heard again after the circle round.
head bowed against the soundless expanse -
frozen. so like the heart never found
always broken. never a chance.

ground zero mid mornings

2005-11-20T17:25:00.000+08:00

took the leap.
went to see the princess in metrowalk this morning.
pressed for time. and for a place to hang-out.
i left a girl and came back to a woman.
sitting across the table.ah time.
and follies of inane men too stupid to know.
or to hear. or listen.
i am thankful i went.

Waited In Vain

2005-11-11T02:20:00.000+08:00

Waited In Vain
Originally uploaded by Spiegelbild.

My hope dries up like a sun baked stream, cut off from its source. To ever find the answers I have been looking for, to resolve these that I harbor in my soul.

Was it her? Or she that passed before? Or that woman from back then.

Never to be whole again, is that to be my lament? Yet I remain. Here. Hope against all hope. Maybe. There's always maybe.

Arrivals

2005-11-10T15:47:00.000+08:00

There's a first time for everything.
My first published work arrived yesterday, and well for the lack of a better way to put it, I of course was all agog and beside myself with joy. Seeing my name and work in that glosssy sheet of paper gave me more satisfaction than all the paychecks I ever recieved combined. I still believe I am crappy person, but hell inspite of my despondent nature, the sun shone in between the clouds.

The thought of cartloads of those magazines, marching off to their individual destinations, is a wet dream come true.Ahahaha there is no dream of world domination kiddies (apparently I am not as psychotic as I previously believed), only a wish to be heard, like most of us.

I'm too sleepy ...

2005-10-24T02:43:00.000+08:00

I'm too sleepy ...
Originally uploaded by Spiegelbild.

*from the dim corner*

fleeting. time is. yet constant
my beating heart. the ebb and flow
though the muse always distant
quick glimpses and shadows

as it always was and will be
i know your soul, know you whole
view you the way no one can see
since six am a decade and all

i am always in the half light.
sunshine; bask in your warmth?
content in the everlasting twilight
in sight yet never in your arms.

No Beaudelaire

2005-10-24T02:12:00.000+08:00

No Beaudelaire
Originally uploaded by solea.

draw from me as you will
me, my soul, my all
all i have to deal
sweep me from everything real

drawn to you enchantress
your dark wicked self
i swoon temptress
keep my heart in a shelf

do as you would, i accept
drink me and discard me
render me babbling inept
chain me. ill never want to be free.

Who is afraid of the wolf?

2005-10-04T21:45:00.000+08:00

Who is afraid of the wolf?
Originally uploaded by solea.

i am giving you till ten
so flee little rabbit
run and scamper to your den
when i catch up you will love it

and the fog will eat up your scream
as i tear you limb from limb
blink all you want it is no dream
blood mingles in the stream

lemelerberg under the moon

2005-10-04T20:12:00.000+08:00

lemelerberg under the moon
Originally uploaded by solea.

trudge trudge trudge.
a hobbled step and another -
nomad yet without grudge.
searching far and farther.

one step beginning a lifetime past
as i rose from slumber, startled
by your voice like a floating mast
this journey started.

still i walk scragged and bedraggled
yet spurred on by the thought of home
till i find you - continued struggle
forever i will roam

My side of the bed

2005-10-04T03:59:00.000+08:00

My side of the bed
Originally uploaded by solea.

if i jump to your arms, will you yield?
or be like a sculpture - cold hard marble
avert your eye, arms like a shield
verbal and body language garble

and i remain. breathless for your command
but will you give? or want me
to take? i have no spirit to ask nor demand
i wait on, with silent aching plea....

In The Darkness

2005-10-03T01:27:00.000+08:00

In The Darkness
Originally uploaded by Hard2Handle.

in the half light she glows
eyes full and wondrous; like deep pools
mysterious, angelic and she knows
secrets kept from fools -

like me. i stand in awe, trapped
held transfixed. you gleam
like a beacon in the dark, i am enrapt.
and nothing is at it seems.

down is up and left is right
although i stay in place, held
and the sun shines at night
me by your beauty felled.

spook in the swamp

2005-09-27T02:08:00.000+08:00

spook in the swamp
Originally uploaded by solea.

now this is the kind of work which comes from a brilliant mind or eye or eye inside the mind. this person has a wide range, from the poignant,to the intriguing, to totally deranged. her works fascinate me.

let's play with the image shall we?

"unrequited, love unsaid, untold, finally from the grave she becomes bold

back from the hallows she calls
to tell the one that she did fall

or is she? vengeful are you?
that you come out of the blue

screaming voiceless shadow
lifeless for eternal tomorrows"

in 20 years...

2005-09-27T01:49:00.000+08:00

in 20 years...
Originally uploaded by solea.

poignant. somber.
everything i hold dear.
fleeting and temporary.
so live in the moment.
be thankful for the breeze on my cheek.
the taste of my tears.
the beating of my heart.
my yearning to hold you.
or you to hold me.
be thankful that i still can feel.
after all these years.

lovers

2005-09-19T22:57:00.000+08:00

My fate lies with you. As do yours.
I cannot wander your mind and I would not if I could.
I hang by a thread, and hope for honesty.
People lie and deceive I know,
yet at the end I can only count on your words.
I cannot measure your trust in me and neither can you,
everything else is pinned on what was said,
on what was shared.
Here I am, as whole as I can ever ask to be.
Hoping you are as honest as me.

stuck

2005-09-14T00:52:00.000+08:00

train stations. bus stations. boarding gates.

are you arriving, or are you leaving?

i would prefer you to be arriving.
although you always seem to be leaving.
since i have been rooted to this spot
for as long as i can remember.

i could say it does not matter to me.
feign indifference and pretend i am free to roam.
i can't. yet i am resigned to be an observer.
the plate glass is much too thick and i have hurled
myself against it innumerable times.
it did not even rattle, much less shudder.

fact of my life. fact of my existence.
i bear no grudge, no ill will.
it is as it is. nothing more.

klutz

2005-09-12T03:37:00.000+08:00

i should really pay attention to what the hell i am doing, or not do it at all. posted the damned blog (the one below) and it was incomplete. and i was so happy, enough to pat myself on the back (how lame-*ssed does that sound?). to check it today and find out that i bungled it yet again is the pits. i am indeed cosmically cataclysmically retarded. welcome to my world. i was not being cryptic on the last entry, i was plain stupid!

unassuming

2005-09-09T00:57:00.000+08:00

Unassuming
Originally uploaded by Spiegelbild.

stole my heart a decade and a half ago.
and never even knew.

maybe got swept down the storm drain. not her fault, and no way to tell her.

now, after all of this and all of that the convergent paths meet and orbits collide. i find you again after all this time.

and find my voice.

and find you are the dream. and more.

you are who you are.

the mr piggy dorky porky spongee thank you list

2005-09-08T23:52:00.000+08:00

oh kayyy. so the dreaded christmas season is almost upon us, and i am feeling the love.
life has taken a few turns to unfamiliar roads that i had given up on, and had considered as wild goose chases. so thereby i will have a lot to thank for when i say grace at the table.

i am officially a writer, something that has been a wet dream since time immemorial, it appears to be quite lucrative in fact, as a side job or otherwise.

here's the top end of the list:

gratis to the wickedness incarnate for her subtlety in handling my frail confidence and for her completely unfounded belief in my abilities, for being a friend and a mentor, and one of the voices in my head that drive me to go on and challenge my preconceptions.

to the mastah, for doors opened and lessons learned. i can never express how much this means to me, and how this has changed the view from the looking glass. always indebted.

to the reflected soul in the mirror, for a decade and a half of continuing inspiration, for still having the ability to render me into a blithering drooling idiot, for being an absentee muse, for being the brilliant silhouette running around utopia.

to the drop dead gorgeous holiness, for remaining elusive and oh so sexy, for scaring the living sh*t out of me with her mind games, for midmorning spur of the moment confessions, and for not blanking out when I am around

to the beautiful south for remaining desirable and out of reach, for laughter and consternation, and for being my uncalled for and unwanted conscience.

to litton, for holding me enthralled and being an anchor of both sanity and insanity, and for giving me back my laughter, and my youth.

to the royalty of the frozen north, for screwing my head back on, and for guns and ammunition. there will be a day of reckoning i believe.

to the child like lawyer, for giving the worst compliments in the history of mankind, and for being a force majeure.

to the gallus gallus man for being a good sport and putting up with me, while I was being an a-hole most of the time.

last but not the least to the owner of the other half of the rings for putting up with me all these years despite misunderstandings and near death run-ins, for turning out to be my best friend a keeper of my soul, for still loving me despite her founded and proven misgivings, and for being the one person on earth i cannot live without.

Niemand wird dich finden

2005-09-08T23:39:00.000+08:00

Niemand wird dich finden
Originally uploaded by solea.

dark. devious. malevolent. not the person who did this to the woman as the picture would imply.

rather, the mind who set it up in her head, and took the shot. it's almost universal, since half of the planet's population is female.

i love this person. whether she makes you cringe, or smile that evil smile of yours with this photo, you cannot deny its strength. the tension is so thick you can almost taste it. makes chills run up you spine. go choke on your own feelings then. and yes, no one will find you.

thoughts from the lines unseen

2005-09-07T04:36:00.000+08:00

(photo courtesy of anne herschelle adrineda)

Intellect. Reason. Freewill.
Frail. Hesitant. Indesicive.

the light stretching the darkness or
the darkness engulfing the light?

to walk, to bask in the borrowed glow.
or to immerse one's self in the hidden depths?

the stark contrast depicts that which becomes most sharp in our lives;
when we decide to be a catalyst for change.

when we decide to not be a drone in the throng of humanity.
when we decide to stand out and be heard.

before you start and paint your colors, whichever and however gaudy you might end up.
set up the base on which you stand.

the choice is as always your own,
and no one may tell you otherwise.

in the ice palace

2005-09-05T02:56:00.000+08:00

silent halls, these cold bare walls
etchings in the marble floors?
outside the snow gently falls
I pass thru rain-sheet doors

she sits magnificent and proud
ice throne reflecting light
blazing brilliant loud'
round here it is never night

inclines her head, and brows rise
acknowledges me as here
this sage,this queen un-nice
then it dawns crystal clear

i catch her eye, alive and aware
fiery and passionate
still she reigns alone and bare
chained by chance and by fate

from livejournal 2005-04-18 13:02:00

monsoons and late afternoons

2005-09-05T02:41:00.000+08:00

manila late may. the afternoon reclutantly gives way to twilight, and the air is pregnant with moisture. people on the streets walk briskly in unison though each one to their own purpose. makes me stop and gaze at the sky before i get into my car. the air is heavy and sorrounds me, i feel at ease, comfortable in its embrace. i would be very happy to reside in burmecia.

the first droplets fall, splatter on the windshield. i let them accumulate. at last they cover my entire field of vision and i recline, the steady drumming of raindrops playing the music of hope, the song of renewal. it is not enough and i step out of my car - into the midst of the weeping sky. i let myself go inside it - standing immobile as a marble statue yet surely as alive as the leaves in the trees nearby. i keep my head bowed, i have been waiting for months; i will drink as much of the moment as i can.all too soon the skies grind to a halt. i find myself soaked to the bone and looking up to the sky as the last droplets fall on my face, realize that evening has draped her arms across my little area of the universe.
a contented smile forming on my lips, i walk back into my house.

from livejournal 2005-05-31 13:13:00

the wicker speaks

2005-09-05T00:41:00.000+08:00

(photo courtesy of anne herschelle adrineda)

primordial.pitch black expanse.cold.unfeeling and uncaring. the veil of ignorance. of bigotry. of fear. of hiding one's true self.

then the spark.birth. shoved into existence.life.solitary soul. beacon. muse. inspiration.forces. fates. molding hands shaping the maladroit into a swan. a butterfly.

prometheus. empowered. illuminated. aware. alive.passed on. from mother to daughter. from father to son. inextinguishable warmth.the intimacy of a smile. of a thought. of a hand on your shoulder. of souls passing by in the dead of night.of raindrops on your cheek.

the flame speaks of love.

in a language unknown.

yet clearly understood.