She Lives Next Door

I am suffering from a medically unknown disease which binds the tongue when the mind is clouded with too much information. One doctor actually diagnosed me with dyslexia and after a keen research on this topic, was able to find several details about the disease. I do not suffer from this dyslexia thing.

"No, you can't just tell me a certain illness when I'm paying you the right amount here. Enough of this gambol," I said and without thinking twice, slammed the door to his office on my way out. The patients outside his clinic were terrified.

Unhappy with one doctor's resolution that I'm dumb (yes, that is how his diagnosis sounds to me), I sought the help of another person, this time, a linguist. She lives next door.

Warmly lighted and good-smelling, her house is. She accepts visitors by day and I felt deeply welcome with her bright yellow clothes and lavender wafting in the atmosphere. Her voice was soothing, every word she's saying calms me down like a hypnotic spell. Such a fancy.

"Talk," she convinced me, "about this picture that I'm holding." She gestured her fingers around the frame. While she was doing so, the trappings of her bracelet were moving back and forth. I swear to God I was distracted with the movement of her hands, and of the dangling bits in her accessory, that I cannot think of another way to verbalize my interpretation.

Closing my eyes was the best way to avoid seeing the cyclical drifting. I restructured the picture on my mind and tried imputing one of the millions of adjectives that can be located in a dictionary. However, for a trice the forces of nature might have collaborated to pull away the alphabet from my neurons and prevented me from pronouncing a single thread of my cerebration. I felt helpless and inutile.

Just when I thought I was doomed, bound for another judgment, I felt a warm mouth on my nape, to my ears, then, to my lips. I opened my eyes and kissed her. The feeling was insurmountable. We made out in her living room.

Three hours of pleasure passed, we cleaned ourselves and went back to business as if nothing ever happened. Words -- a plethora of verbal syntaxes -- started materializing in the form of my voice. At last, I'm able to speak my mind!

"'suppose all you needed was some good loosening up. Good job," she quipped.

My life was never the same from that day on. We would always have sessions either on her house or in my pad, but she leaves every weekend for some outdoor activity.

Before she left for the second weekend since we knew each other, I asked for her name.

Kayla. She beamed and winked at me with her heavenly features. I could only miss her so much, and wish that it was Monday again.

to be restructured
Post Script: I doesn't equate me. =)

Fubu Hits the Margin

I woke up that early evening to a text message:

Tara, dito tayo samin, wala si Kuya.

I immediately went downstairs for a shower; my mom might get back from the grocery store and that would bust my escapade. I took two pictures of meself: one before and one after the bath.

After gearing myself up, I checked my phone back and hiya~ two missed calls. This guy missed me, didn't he? I bought with me my wallet and a hanky on the way to his house.

I dropped by a 7/11 store to buy condoms and lube, since I was out of stock (read: sexless four weeks) and this night has a steamy and action-filled forecast. I took a jeep to their place which is actually less than a kilometer away.

When I reached his place, he had dinner served for me. I begged off the offer to dine with him, not that I didn't like it, but because I came there for a purpose and eating literal food was not it.

He looked a little disappointed. Did the drink have something in it? I don't know, and I don't care. I won't touch his concoctions. He moved towards me and gave me a hug. A tight koala hug. I was a little confused that I just went with the flow. No one was captain to the ship, and I let him start the engine.

"The hug is for what happened to you, I read in your blog," he whispered to my ear and he started licking the backside of it. Tingly. I pushed him away and I kissed him in the mouth. His breath smelled of mint. I took control this time, initiating a fencing of tongues. I tied him a cherry stem and he responded with a soft moan. We gravitated towards his sofa, we were still torridly kissing until he was laid down and I am on top of him, clenching the sofa for support.

I pumped with our trousers in proximity and in less than a minute, he manifested a boner. I teased him by borrowing lines from a porn read, "something wants to get out of there," pointing to the area with my lips. He kissed me again while he uncaged the snake inside. We both removed our shirts and I went to his nipples. I encircled it with my tongue and he let out another soft moan which turned me on.

After doing his two chests, I went down on his treasure trail, following it by my tongue down to the snake. It was salivating and ready to bite. I used my thumb to take the precum away and I started playing with the head of his cock. I don't know the drill because I'm not a good cocksucker so I withdrew after a minute. He didn't complain so I guess my performance was enough to satisfy.

It was his turn to please me. He let me lie on the sofa and took my shorts off after. He was a natural at foreplay: he knew where to navigate his tongue, the brisk transition from kissing to licking my torso, licking my neck and armpits, my abdomen and the treasure trail to the already hard member. He sucked my dick in a very pleasuring manner, savoring his saliva while letting some intentionally flow down the shaft, moving from the head to the balls and eating it whole. The lone sound of his attempts pumped more blood to my cock and I was delirious with his every dive and wicked slurp.

After servicing my member to its full hardness, we went back to kissing. I can never explain how kissing is vital to me, and he knew that fact before inviting me over. This time, he pumped while on top of me, creating friction between our groins. He definitely knew how to sustain an erection.

I temporarily suspended our tongue fight scene and pulled out the strawberry flavored condom from the pocket of my trousers. "Coat me," I mouthed. He gave a devilish one-sided grin and opened the pouch with his teeth. He played at the contents, pinched the end and unwrapped the protection from the head to the end of my shaft. I feel hornier seeing someone put a condom on me.

"Bend over," I commanded. He willingly did so, as he took over my place and I stood. I took the lube and toyed at his hole with my thumb. I felt for his time to relax and when his nerves settled, I attacked his opening slowly, until I got the whole of my dick inside him. He gave out a loud moan, but I didn't draw back, I pulled and pumped from a slow to a faster tempo. Our bodies were adjoined and he moved with my rhythm, followed the flow of my thrusts.

I asked him to lay flat on the sofa, like planking, and I entered him at that position. The tightness gave me a rush and I went berserk for I was about to come. I kissed him in the nape while pumping at my most controlled yet fastest, withdrew the condom and ejaculated at his back. He faced me and just in time, I spilled at his tummy, my manjuice. He started ejaculating and I kissed him until he finished his turn. Good charms, he smiled and I asked him if we could take the shower together.

The heat was not washed by the cold water flowing from his shower, we kissed and teased each other with the way we handled the soap. If we were on a glass encasement, steam would have formed.

After the shower, I dressed up and he asked me to stay for a while. I was puzzled, for whatever purpose I was there for had been met. I saw no reason to lengthen my stay.

"Joe, I think I'm falling for you," he said in a low note.

I looked down at him while he is sitting in the dining chair. I did not deliberate on his words. I shrugged. A fuck buddy connection is one with no strings attached. I reminded him of that on our first meeting over a year ago. His statement hit the margin, and so much happened over a span of two weeks that I cannot add this mess to the pile which is already present.

I didn't say a word. I just kissed him and said goodbye.

Five Hundred First September

If there is a sleeping pill, then you are the tablet that wakes me up.

Five hundred and one Septembers ago, you and I shared the same room, the same bed, the same blanket. When I open my eyes I would see your long eyelashes meticulously curved above your eyelids, refracting the little sunlight passing through the capiz window in my roomy quarter. The sight of your angelic, young face on an early Saturday morn is simply tonic to my hibernating veins.

We tread along the enervating garden of our youth: by summer, the May branches robustly picks its might, facing the unstirring sun with vigor; by rainy season, the June twigs fold themselves on the puffing gale; by calm Septembers, the earthlings move in and out of the ground to renew a daily need for movement.

Everything was going perfect between the two of us until one bizarre September, I saw you boarding a train with another man. I never asked, I never went to know, I just knew that seeing you leave on that train was coterminus with seeing you. It was an exclamation point bordering on an ellipsis and reaching the finality with a period.

It were those excruciating images of the leaving train and your entwined hands that are vividly haunting my sleepless Octobers up to this day.

You were the only girl that I hoped to be with for ten million more Septembers but the impossibility of a renewal is just as elusive as an aberrant apple tree in the center of the Sunken Garden, very unnecessary. Our future can be told by the dead leaf clinging on to a branch on the onset of a typhoon. I am waiting for the last ant to enter Noah's Ark devoid of further emotions as the Ark closes. By October I will be drowning.

If punishment is absolute, then leaving my sanity is worse. I only have you on my mind, and that is enough to cleave me for a million more Septembers of hits-and-misses.

The Twink-Cougar Love Affair

“belated..happpppppeeeee bertdei..wish u ol the best!!!”

There he was. After more than two weeks of hibernating in a deep hiatus called “Space Away from My Boyfriend”, he miraculously appeared in my facebook profile and gave me a surprise greeting I never counted on. If the medium is the message then his greeting was definitely an utter declaration of his preference to literally talk to the wall than directly to me which was quite consistent to his disappearance when he decided to join NASA to be an astronaut and explore his own space. Two weeks of no response to my messages which was previously accounted to his malfunctioning phone or insufficient balance to text to other networks (talk about cheap alibi), his uncalled for apparition was as sudden as Ricky Martin’s coming out of the closet: timely but unnecessary.

But more than the medium, it’s the language that gave me a feeling of humiliation on his behalf, the restricted kind that you get when while having a serious talk with a friend you see some slimy booger skidding out of his nostril. The way he spelled "happy" with 7 Ps and 5 Es, and the word "birthday" like a person who worships Salbakuta would pronounce and spell it, combining it with inappropriate use of punctuation.. marks.. and shortened spellings of "all" and "you" (cummon, he could have saved some effort typing Ps to spell them correctly ), I finally accepted what I had long been trying to deny to myself for two long weeks we were together: I fell in love with a jejemon.

All along, I thought that being 28 and having a five-year experience in my love resume would make me an expert in dating. But I guess my age and experience had only qualified me as a cougar when I got swept away by someone six years younger than me bearing an indubitable charm that masked his jejemonic tendencies. It was a whirlwind romance catapulted by our strong online connection. So strong I boarded a bus to Pampanga to meet him for the first time just barely two days after our first exchanges of messages in a social networking site exclusively for people like us (read: desperate lonely people like me.) On the third day of knowing each other, he introduced me to his best friend as his boyfriend. And that’s how, ladies and gentlemen, I learned for the first time that we were officially together.

Just like a futile investment in a network marketing, there was no turning back and I knew I was about to be doomed. There were red flags everywhere reminding me that the very foundation of our relationship was as strong as a cobweb trying to remain intact against the wind of typhoon Ondoy. We were so different in many aspects. It was like matching a kangaroo with a rabbit and expecting them to bear an armadillo. But I just simply brushed off these red flags consciously and unconsciously mainly because I enjoyed his company for the most part and, admittedly, I wanted to stretch it for as long as I could so it could last until my birthday which was just barely three weeks away.

Truthfully, I found his simple living quite charming. He would prefer to ride the jeepney over an FX even if the five peso difference in the fare was not worth the smoke and dust airbrushed on our faces. He would refuse to go to the mall for a date, but would be inclined to stay home where we could simply make the most out of our time just canoodling like slimy worms put in a jar. He was a generous philanthropist to his friends, giving away his Fossil watch or a bottle of expensive perfume in return to small favors such as helping him pacify an irate customer at work. (I wondered what he would give when someone would try to save his life). But the charm of his simplicity was quite fleeting. As days passed, evidences of him being a jejemon started to surface like panicky cockroaches on the wall foreboding a heavy downpour of rain.

For one, our conversations were limited to what happened to his day, usually the shit ones that took place while dealing with his customers on the phone. When I tried to inject some opinionated questions such as what he thought about the movie we watched he would simply give me one-line answers like “it’s good” or “nice”. And then he would move on to bragging on how he hung up on a difficult customer because he needed to take a shit. I judge a person’s likeability based on his passion. I asked him once what was his. After minutes of blabbering, he settled on sleeping as his final answer and then he laughed hysterically like it was really really funny. I pitied him at that moment.

But the biggest factor that spelled the difference in our age and highlighted his jejemonic inclination was how he handled arguments. Actually, he never did. He always stayed out of it either because it was too much of an effort for him to think of counterarguments or it was just too much of an effort for him to think. Period. So when something exasperated him, he would just walk out on me in the middle of a busy street and shut me off like I never existed in his life. When he said he didn’t want to talk to me, he meant it like a curse. It was like saying sorry to a statue. No amount of pleading and apologizing would make him talk to me again. One night, we were snuggling each other like it was our last night being together when without warning, he just shoved me and got furious with me as if I committed the gravest crime. Turned out, he got irritated by the stubbles on my chin that kept poking his skin. I plead for apology like a hungry dog begging for a piece of bone until I got tired and finally walked out on him. Indeed, that was our last night being together. The next day, he started being indifferent to my existence. He stopped responding to my messages and started barring my calls, which I learned later through his bestfriend, was his way of telling me that he wanted me out of his life for an indefinite amount of time. I never heard from him again until the day after my birthday when I read the birthday greeting I never expected.

I was staring on the monitor for a long time contemplating on whether to respond to his greeting or just pretend that I overlooked on it. But when I viewed our pictures posted in his album, I couldn't help but be transported back to the wonderful moments I had with him. The inexplicable mixture of feelings of giddiness and humiliation I had when he held my hands and kissed me in public like he was really proud to declare to the world that I was his boyfriend. The way he would respond, “I love you more” like it was the only honest thing he said in his life each time I told him I love him. The insurmountable joy I felt at the sight of his face while watching him sleep. These memories made me realize me that, after the death of a dream with the ending of my five-year relationship prior to the one I had with him, I could still lose myself and be in love like I had never been hurt before.

“Thanks J***. It's nice to hear from you again," I responded after some careful thoughts.

Surprisingly, despite his disappearance left unexplained, I meant it in a very forgiving way.

Postscript: In as much as I would have wanted to write this story, I found a better version. This story is not mine. I didn't make any revisions whatsoever, and credit goes to atticus1982.

Inevitable Twilight

Oxygen entangles with iron: rust
Cavities complicate the system
  of an industrial junk.


Air in mobility: wind
The blades provided relief, alleviation
  after eons of usance.


Now hitting the hay: retire
Copious hirelings miss the comfort
  only an enormous propeller can suffice.


Unstoppable future: technology
Air conditioning eventually advances
  giving the fan an inevitable twilight.

*a magpie tale

Binary: A Review

After discovering this awesome website from Eon's Books Read tab a couple of months ago, I have been chipper. I always had something to look forward to while my other phone is not so teemed with text messages or calls.

With a double-digit range of genre, I picked out Science Fiction. The pull came out of my boredom of romance and homophillic potions. The first e-book that I downloaded is entitled Binary by Jay Caselberg.

If you have a portable e-book reader, like a smartphone or Kindle, I suggest that you try downloading all the formats first to personally know the difference in character print and paging: which one works best and which one screws on the device. On my iPhone, the format .epub works best in the application called Stanza.

Binary is all about the effects of natural disasters to the human behavior and politics of a nation. The setting brings us to an unfamiliar planet, somewhere in the outer space where two suns rise at the same time and the seasons are governed by the intensity of each sun's brightness. In a sort of prologue, the setting starts at Clear Season, where the Major Twin is brighter than the Lesser Twin.

Of all the major characters, I liked Sandon Yl Aris the best. He was a victim of the bitter situation of having been banished from the camp of Principal Leannis Men Darnak, the man he served for almost all his life. Principal Men Darnak was not in a good state of mind when he sent out Yl Aris, his very loyal secretary and confidante. Working out his way back to the Principal's camp, he became a spy of all sorts to gather more information on the political instability that have been going on in the Guilds, proving his loyalty to the half-sane Principal.

We are confronted by the effects of religion and superstitious beliefs in this novel. The belief is, the Lesser Twin's dominance, the Storm Season, is a curse to humankind. People born on the Storm Season are stereotyped to suffer with cataclysm in the inner self. For this reason, the Principal's son, Tarlain, had become the most unpopular Men Darnak in their country. He too, was banished, after the Principal learned that he was doing something which sounded like a threat to the security of the Guilds. Tarlain used the Kallathik mines as a refuge after his father expelled and disinherited him at a wrong time --  the Return -- which is the start of the rude Storm Season.

Storm Season is indeed, a very nasty threat to life and security. Earthquakes of great intensity, biting cold, fog coupled rain -- these are a few of its tolls. It is a hindrance to good communication, and it is a test to the human spirit.

Several villains had the plan of ousting the current Principal and gaining control on the nation. With control, the natural resources are at stake.

The plot, the flow and the twist, all are hooking. Catharsis, however, received a little attention, for the author might have seen a little need for it. The supervening neglect of humans to nature is, to me, the major concern. 

I was reminded of a book I wrote several years ago (April of 2007) which is eerily similar to the twist in this book. Too bad, after reading this I thought of not giving my book an end. I was stuck at chapter seven. I know, when I have found myself a better interpretation. Binary is all it could have ever been.

Coming Out?

Katext ko si kornik @jepjepdee at gusto ko lang i-share ang napag-usapan namin. Private dapat ang texts, i know, pero okay lang naman siguro 'tong portion na 'to.

 

I live in half-truths.

There are no half-truths, only lies.

A Dose of Inspiration

Good morning!

I've come across this video on my Facebook News Feed and because of the positive remarks, I decided to watch it. After watching, I was one with their comments... the video was good. It gave me several goosebumps and I didn't know why.

This is a Christian song, if you are an Atheist you could move on.

I'm done dealing with my little distresses and monsters. Thanks be to Him! Have a good one.

(Sound?) Dissuasion

What do I think?


I think you must not get pressured. Write at your carefree spirits. Everyone has the freedom to express, and this freedom is the best thing that you can garner from writing, apart from the comments and appreciation.


We are very lucky to know English and let the whole world see what we have to say. Just to ramp a comparison, people in the Middle East are not as free as we are but they really want to show the world what is happening in their country at this moment, but they cannot express; either because they can't write it in forms understandable by the general internet population or because their IPs might get traced by their governments and they might end up in jail. You get my point Ate?


Be happy if you have thoughts flowing. No matter how feeble sounding those may be, let it flow still. Do not allow yourself from getting pressured by external forces, what matters is that your ability to express is present and is unhindered. People who love you, after all, will not judge how cranky or biased or crazy you may go at times. Let things be.


Smile. :)
:: An advice I gave to Ate Leah, I dunno if I even made a connection to her post.

My thoughts can only recount the positive comments I got from the post before this. Thank you, all.

I will shortly be out; I have to face some monsters which had been on my dreams, fiends I'm too afraid to disclose...

Should You Travel

Mossy stones on the curbside take the form of little pebbles scattered ominously. Trying to evade the chances of slipping, you tiptoe your way to the nearest tree. Apparently, you hear nothing but the bass of your headphone. You unzip the fly, hail the unseen spirits without an audible tone. You work the piss that has been sitting in your bladder for the past thirty minutes.

The most tiresome of your routines is waiting for the right bus. You pretend not to hear the dispatcher, while the poor guy tries to convince you that there is enough space inside. Pleading is the bitter herb, your indifference is the ailment. Good thing the tint of your Oakley guises the direction of your eyes, as you read the signage of the bus behind the one in front of you. Who cares if you decide not to choose the undersized and filthy ride? The customer is always right, you quote your Management professor.

With difficulty, you extract the coins from your left pocket. It is plain mercy that you have the exact amount; Bills are cursed every morning. Awaiting the bus conductor is, most of the time, obstruction to a truncated recline. However, this will be shorter because weekends often relish a mitigated road volume. Eons later, the bus conductor appears. To your surprise, the stubby employee didn't notice that you were a newcomer. You took this in as a blessing, but you dreaded its payback because 'God knows Hudas not pay'. You shook your head for utter disbelief in convincing yourself that you could bail the ticket inspector.

The reason why you choose the two-seater is its ability of repulsion. By merely acting asleep and widening the angle between your legs, you could almost take the space away. This is to make sure that you won't be disturbed by some random individual for the rest of the trip.

Beware of the unlimited number of halts. These drivers have mastered the art of feigning deafness, too. They do not hear the protests of passengers who are about to be late. They do not hear the iterative horns of other cars behind theirs. They do not hear the whistles of traffic watchmen. Your estimated jaunt time should have an additional of a quarter of an hour to a quarter less of an hour. You should realize though: this is due to the fact that undisciplined passengers make these bus stops.

The last thing that you should worry about is the unpredictable weather. An instantaneous the sun is up -- ultraviolet scorches the epidermis, next minute is drizzled with precipitation. The nine-tailed fox is crying, isn't she? You cannot afford to get sick in this entirely expensive generation, cladding to cover the parietal and occipital lobe areas would be a useful shield versus forms of migraine and respiratory diseases: climate change is here, to stay.

Alight the ride with a nifty beam. After all, you would never know if someone desirable followed you, beware if it was a burglar.

+++

Thanks to Splice, for allowing me to borrow a few expletives from his manual.

The Last First Day Anxiety

After nine semesters and one summer session in college, tomorrow, I will finally face my last first day under graduation.

I will, for the last time, be going from Ortigas to the other end of Edsa for me to get to school. I will, for the last time, curse my alarm for betraying me. I will, for the last time, take the long path to the Engineering building with great stress. I will, for the last time, treat the library as a refuge should lazy afternoons come. I will, for the last time, swipe my ID card or try bailing on the security guard in cases I'd forget it. I will, for the last time, eat in a school canteen. I will, for the last time, write down notes for the benefit of exams. I will, for the last time, feel anxious about knowing new faces and be eaten alive by the greatness of what is ahead of me.

I still remember, though not vividly, my first day in college. I was brimming with confidence. I knew that I was smarter than any other student in that classroom. I may have failed UPCAT but I passed ACET with great grades. In that UPCAT vs ACET thing, they say ACET is harder. I had that fact sitting side-by-side my technical pencil, T-square, tracing tube, Algebra and Trigonometry textbooks, and what-not.

The first exams came. The professor calls the names from the person who got the highest score and so on. "Mr. Joe Green Breaker?" the fat professor asked. I stood with eyes transfixed on the paper she was holding, and neck up tight. I was proud of myself. The professor said, "You are the second one, in fifteen years, who got my first exam for Algebra perfectly." The classroom gave out small gasps and I got furtive looks. The professor tapped me in the right shoulder. "We need members for the Math Geeks, I would love to see your face in the tambayan later."

As sudden as that, I would be called Einstein when I pass the lobby and the corridors. I'd hear people whispering. I'm a celebrity. No, not yet. Until we get the scores from Trigonometry, English, and Chemistry. I never knew such a position; I was never the best in high school. I was always behind the shadows of my brighter classmates.

Four years later, I gained a cool group of friends. The prettiest lady in my course, the richest, the other cool geeks, the best DotA players. We boded well. It was a bullying group. I enjoyed the position.

Later, I knew how to skip classes. Play billiards, computer games, drink just before a major exam, flirt with anyone who would show equal attention. Vegan spirit consumed me. I had to pull myself together before all that I was investing on were gone.

And the tragedy came. I was struck with psychological distress after knowing that my grades suffered. I was so depressed. I did not eat for two days. I never left my room. I disconnected myself from my friends. I cursed myself for it was me who brought myself into that situation. I was not supposed to blame anyone else.

Two semesters ago, and I'm back on track. Unfortunately, the Latin Honor which I was aiming is now far from my grasp. I cursed the high grade requirement for the lowest Latin Honor Cum Laude, 1.41-1.60. Even if I get all straight A+s I ill be 0.04 points short. YES! LIFE SUCKS! 1.64. Fuck.

Even if I shoot trajectories of efficient projectiles, I will still be an asymptote to the Honor: so close, yet, repelling.

I will forever regret my extravagance. The times when I should have done projectiles in my Physics class and not on anyone's bed, a different one every night. The times when I became the prodigal Math geek. The times when I slept on my final exams in Integral Calculus, Differential Equations and Electronics 1.

The most that I can do now is enjoy my tenth and last semester. Those bitter moments will be a scar of remembrance. I learned a lot from those experiences. They were humbling and life-changing. As look back, I saw how Joe came past transitioning from a self-satisfying brat to a concerned and mature individual. I believe, All Is Well That Ends Well. I will end this semester wearing the black academic regalia with an orange lace -- proud and with an insurmountable amount of gladness in my heart. This is because, I have successfully got through the highest highs and the lowest lows of college. College made me a better person. College will contain my greatest social treasures. It will always be worth a walk back.

Gusto Ko Si Blogger...

Iurico. (and his comforting oblivion)

Sabi sa akin ni friend Kiro na wala na daw yung blog ni yummy Iurico (may yummy talaga sa unahan?? kras ko siya eh) siguro mga mag-one month na.. Hinintay ko pa naman yung last installment ng kanyang serye sa PnP.

Hay, tapos, siya lang ang isa sa limang blogs na binack-read ko ng bongang bongga. Like, up to the first post with matching readings sa mga komento. Oha. May duda pa ba na crush ko talaga siya? :D

Ayun. Speculation lang ni friend kung bakit nangyari yun kasi nasabi ni yummy sa blog niya: (non-verbatim)

This blog will cease to operate the moment my identity gets compromised.

Ayun. Baka nga daw may nakadiskubre. Sad as it is.


Namimiss ko rin si Mandaya. Pareho kasi kami ng lupang sinilangan. Me ganon? not so. lol. Ayun. Kasi bago ako gumawa ng gay blog eh about a year na rin akong nagbabasa at nakikicomment sa mga blogs. Natutuwa lang ako basahin ang magagaling na entries niya. Siya ang isa sa mga inspirasyon ko sa pagbuo ng blog na ito, gusto ko sa entries, yung nagagamit ko ang kritikal na pag-iisip ko. Gusto ko kasi na kahit papano mai-share na hindi lang ako malibog, may bahagi rin ng pagkatao ko na nag-iisip. A part of me who wanted to make space know whatever I have to say.

Ayun. So, kunwari socially concerned. Lol.

Sana bumalik sila..

PS. the green chair. lol. green breaker nga din pala si ateng.

Long Time, Mom

I can't write anything to my Mama but I think I will be able to write anything about and for her.

PreScript: This is long. But this is for my mom. I don't wan't to set a limit for her.

I remember when I was four to five years young, my Mama and Papa used to work abroad, though not together. Mama went to Japan and Papa went to the Diego Garcia, one of the British Territories in the Atlantic. My mom was a singer. She works in a lounge and sings Japanese songs with a band. My dad is in a band too; he gives beat to the drums.

Even if you say I'm too young to possibly remember it, but I know I was crying hard when my mom left. Probably harder as compared to when my dad left. I guess it is because I'm used with dad leaving (even up to now).

I was six when mom came back. I think my parents had an agreement at that time to have only one of them working. From then on, it is my mom who tends to us. Papa comes home every six months or worst, in every two years.

This is the reason why I'm more of my mother's son than my dad's. I tell almost everything to my mom. I wanted her to know that I am trusting her and that I'm going to grow up as the son she had always wanted.

Being eldest in the family, its hard to set aside your responsibilities over your desires because your parents always looks at your faults and gives you a hard time if you can't live up to their expectations, if you can't follow whatever they have to tell you. Everyday is a training to being a Team Leader. Everyday, you get punishments like a Commander from the General whenever you break orders. You are always expected to be better than a babysitter when it comes to working with your siblings.

This is not a rant. But its more of giving my mom all credits because she made me into a good Team Leader, Commander and Babysitter, perhaps we could also include Housekeeper, Chef, and Butler. *LOL*

There were a lot of times when my mom and I had misunderstandings. The worst of them was when I was in high school. I did something to my neighbor which pissed my mom off. What she did was to talk it over between me, the concerned neighbor, and my neighbor's mom. I was so much of a rebel at that time, that I didn't care less of what I had to say. She slapped me in front of my neighbor's family because of that. Feeling humiliated, I ran away cursing her on my mind. Later, I knew that I was so wrong. When we got home, she cried and hugged me and said sorry in innumerable times, told me to never do it again and if it hurts me, it hurts her tenfold.

We never learn our lessons once, and in the later years there have been more instances of me and my mom fighting, either because I don't get what I want which I'm sure I deserved, or because she doesn't get what she wants which she thinks is good for her. I bet in their point of view, its the other way around.

As I figure it out, my being busy and her being workaholic brought about, somehow, an enstangement of feelings. When we eat dinner, we seldom talk and I always tend to get water or something when she starts asking things. There were times when I get home late just not to intersect with her late uwian time, to avoid either her afterwork rant or paglalambing. I go to school early so we won't have excuse to talk during the morning. I don't text her except if there is something important that I need to tell her. Whenever we stroll, I always make sure my iPod is with me so I can always get away from a conversation. I answer back everytime I 'think' I have the more right explanation.

But, I also realized, that I was much of an insensitive son which grows deeper to an insensitive man. Naaawa ako pag nakikita ko siya from work. She works 8 days a week which is if you sum up all the unpaid overtime and after work transactions. She doesn't even have time for herself. She comes home late and wakes up early for the next day. She can't treat herself unless all of our needs are fulfilled. As I think of it, all that she wanted was just make our lives easier yet, ganito ang ginagawa ko sa kanya.

Sometimes, when I'm on emo-mode, I think about the things that I should have told her. Of the secrets that had branched into more complex twigs of lies and false pretense. Of the times when I could have helped but I worsened the situation. Of the times when I refused to follow even if I knew she was right. Of the should-haves which could have been one step closer to a renewal: I hate myself that I screw as a son.

However, I still believe that it resolves to the proverb All Is Well That Ends Well. I regret the times that I did not tell her my true feelings. I disgust the lies that I had to tell even if some of them would make her feel better. I hate the moments when I had to follow my wrong self. I just wanted her to know that she is the only woman that is worth my life and that my life would suck without her. I wanted to give her an assurance that I'm always here to back her up and defend her if I need to.

There are a few ocassions wherein I could have told her this but there is a brevity in the courage of my tounge to release the words. Words which might have been the only thing that she needs to hear to weaken our differences, if not erase them:



I love you so much Ma.


*This post came from my old blog and was published 8th of May, 2010. Happy Mother's Day to all the mothers in this Earth.

A 'Timed' Post

Here we are again, being servants of flesh and as such, bound by the limits of Strength and Time. If Eve had not chosen to eat the fruit of wisdom, then we might have not lost our eternity with our immortal bodies and the powers that we are supposed to enjoy. Then we would have not been on chains of Waiting and Patience won't have been an issue.

But it is just another would-have-been.

I would always blame my phone alarm for malfunctioning and as a horrible consequence (yeah, I treat Time with sacred divinity) I get late on my early classes for most of the time. I see this as the greatest flaw to my professionalism: To be ruled out by the Minute-hand on its way clockwise in at least 6 degrees from it's previous position. Lateness to me is a criminal than administrative offense but I commit this with great inconsideration and without self-restraint.

There might have no sundials if the Earth stood still, just like the Great Pyramid in Giza bearing no shadow on any time of the day or day of the year. There might have no sands of time which trickles down the tight-ended funnels of an hourglass if gravity does not exist.

Well, I'm not looking for a proportionality between the Earth's rotation and the acceleration due to gravity, but at a framework on the elements of which are created. Time is just as essential.

Sometimes, we try to seek respect but we don't even respect the ability of other people to compromise with us. And on most of the 'sometimes', this comes in as early as the first impression of arriving on time. We try to care about several other physical matters when values and manners are the things intelligent people use to measure other people on the basis of personality.

I believe that if I introspect further, I will see that I never became a late person, nor was I judgmental. Not until I knew people who defied all my rules on values. But this time of silence is a chance for me to recreate my lost firmness. I must not let anything tarnish the ideas of palabra de honor and earliness. I must not be a flaw to my parents' and education's admonitions and I will certainly not be a disgrace to the people who believe and trust in me.

Time is a precious resource and we all have the responsibility to carry this over -- properly and wisely.