Twenty minutes max. The clockwork from centro up to the shithole I call office is an eternity of minutes spent with staring at familiar view, locking eyes with familiar commuters, and at times when lucky, reading a Reader's Digest, listening to an Ipod an officemate loaned me to upload with music, or playing with a PSP a friend sent as a favor to be picked up by a relative.
The most eventful yet is this lady who caught my eye. I have been on the same ride with her quite a few times. Conservative looking, screamed out by two-three inches skirt below the knee and the sleeved blouse with the floral decoration with matching ruffles, this girl made the effort to look at me and gave a quick smile or grin or whatever, her lips made an upward arc resembling a smile.
This made me uneasy. This early, when you're as usual running late, and expecting a long boring day staring at a monitor you're bound to marry for eternity, a glance with a quick grin is a shot to the jolt. I was at guard, waiting for the perfect chance to abot her sukli.
Fortunately she did. No I wasn't planning to make a move. The warmness of her presence was quite enough as a start for the day. There was that occasional glance to suffice and not ask for more. Just as things can't get any better, she hails, Para!
In quick motion, she gets a pamphlet from her big brown bag resembling my lola's gets a three folded pamphlet, and hands it over to me with a smile and the last three words that would resonate with me for the rest of the week: Basahin mo, baka may malaman ka.
It was a quaint little Jehovah's pamphlet. No I don't have anything against other religion. I just hate getting my hopes up and getting duped.
A few weeks later and just my luck she was there again, all radiant and blooming and all. And yes, she handed me the same pamphlet at the end of her ride.
Monday, April 28, 2008
Tuesday, April 22, 2008
Competition is Life, Life is Competition
Competition is a friend having a new pretty girlfriend and topping that by dumping your girl and introducing a new one, pretty and filthy rich.
Competition is not going to work when you're all dressed up because you have to win on the grudge match after losing three straight in nba live.
Competition is not puking after 24 liters of red horse and 18 hours of non-stop drinking.
Competition is courting a girl who turned down a close friend.
Competition is debating till wee hours if a priest is qualified to talk about married life when he doesn't know jack shit.
Competition is composing senseless anagrams of favorite music lyrics.
Competition is wrapping your weiner with packaging tape to win a strip dare contest.
Competition is not going to work when you're all dressed up because you have to win on the grudge match after losing three straight in nba live.
Competition is not puking after 24 liters of red horse and 18 hours of non-stop drinking.
Competition is courting a girl who turned down a close friend.
Competition is debating till wee hours if a priest is qualified to talk about married life when he doesn't know jack shit.
Competition is composing senseless anagrams of favorite music lyrics.
Competition is wrapping your weiner with packaging tape to win a strip dare contest.
Trying Too Hard
When I was in high school, my Math teacher gave us a peculiar homework - to draw circles on a sheet of paper. Was this art class or Match class? This must due to that rumor that our teacher was AC/DC.
Anyway, we obliged. We drew all kinds. Big Circles. Small Circles. Colored Circles. Circles bordered with the color purple. Circles flooded by pink crayons. Someone even made the Olympic rings.
Come grading time, to our dismay, the work that got perfect score was a single drawing of a large circle traced by a pencil. It was a perfect 100. Though we were still in doubts, cause it was made by one of the most good looking boys in our class.
No explanation was made on the scores. We were to take it as it is. On the next homework, the task was to draw points on a sheet of paper. Again pointillism was the new hit. Points to resemble a face. Points ala connect the dots. Points colored black on one side to show yin and points colored red on the other to show yang.
Guess who got the highest score?
Guessed it right - the same guy. All because he was freaking good looking amongst the bunch that his penciled point in the middle of the paper made another 100. That reminds me, I gotta find out if the Howard Brackett of my Math teacher came out of the closet already. If not, I hope he suffocates inside of it.
Anyway, we obliged. We drew all kinds. Big Circles. Small Circles. Colored Circles. Circles bordered with the color purple. Circles flooded by pink crayons. Someone even made the Olympic rings.
Come grading time, to our dismay, the work that got perfect score was a single drawing of a large circle traced by a pencil. It was a perfect 100. Though we were still in doubts, cause it was made by one of the most good looking boys in our class.
No explanation was made on the scores. We were to take it as it is. On the next homework, the task was to draw points on a sheet of paper. Again pointillism was the new hit. Points to resemble a face. Points ala connect the dots. Points colored black on one side to show yin and points colored red on the other to show yang.
Guess who got the highest score?
Guessed it right - the same guy. All because he was freaking good looking amongst the bunch that his penciled point in the middle of the paper made another 100. That reminds me, I gotta find out if the Howard Brackett of my Math teacher came out of the closet already. If not, I hope he suffocates inside of it.
Monday, April 21, 2008
Work Philosophy
I don't have patent over this, saw this as a screen saver on one of my co-worker's monitor:
Always give 100% at work
Monday - 20%
Tuesday - 25%
Wednesday - 30%
Thursday - 20%
Friday - 5%
It only proved that jokes are half-meant. In fact, this is my mantra for every workweek. It starts slowly peaks in the middle and falters in the end. I do not even have to try it out. I am personifying the reality of the joke. See, it's only Monday and I have three new blog entries already.
Anyway, its late and I don't go overtime cause it is a sign of inefficiency. Anything that needs to be done today, can always be done tomorrow. Whoever said it could not be, never lived to see the next day. I am still here right?
Always give 100% at work
Monday - 20%
Tuesday - 25%
Wednesday - 30%
Thursday - 20%
Friday - 5%
It only proved that jokes are half-meant. In fact, this is my mantra for every workweek. It starts slowly peaks in the middle and falters in the end. I do not even have to try it out. I am personifying the reality of the joke. See, it's only Monday and I have three new blog entries already.
Anyway, its late and I don't go overtime cause it is a sign of inefficiency. Anything that needs to be done today, can always be done tomorrow. Whoever said it could not be, never lived to see the next day. I am still here right?
Pure Loveshit #2
Might as well push the pedal since I've started with the melodrama. It's like a tagline for pringles, "Once you pop, you can't stop." On second thought, that line works better with Trust condoms.
Getting back to the topic.
I was in college. She was a month younger than me. She was was two inches taller than me. She seated next to me during classes. She was my second unadulterated mushy lovey dovey heartbeat.
Finally, I got a legitimate girlfriend before I turned legal age. This time, I went the friend route - borrowing notes just to get five minutes of small talk, studying hard to impress the girl with perfect score exams, saving up allowance (yep, still the five peso daily allowance and its freaking 1997!) just to treat the girl with burger mcdo meal come weekends.
I don't know if I can sum up everything in words. Words cannot do justice to entire relationships. Still, it was well worth it. We got to know which one left the toothpaste cap open after using, watched City of Angels over and over, listened to a whole night of double disc Cruisin' cd which got lost when it was borrowed by a friend, (That was worth 200 pesos back then! Give it back not even for sentimental value's sake) cheated on exams together, threw things and slurs at the height of petty arguments, the whole nine yards.
No we did not end up together, went as far as planning a wedding date on before our 25th birthday. Rock bottom was a year after she came back from abroad, us learning new things being away from each other, her meeting new friends (one of whom I got extremely jealous with leading to a whole series of doubts which I pinpointed was the reason for out falling out), and us eventually parting ways.
We are still friends. However, I am amazed by the magic of time. One day she was the most familiar person in your life, several clockwises later, she's as eerie as your next door neighbor whom you haven't spoken to since your childhood.
Sometimes I imagine if we ended up together, and surprisingly I am relieved that we did not. It is a cliche but we were so young back then. Does that mean I am all grown up now? I don't know. You never know until you know.
Getting back to the topic.
I was in college. She was a month younger than me. She was was two inches taller than me. She seated next to me during classes. She was my second unadulterated mushy lovey dovey heartbeat.
Finally, I got a legitimate girlfriend before I turned legal age. This time, I went the friend route - borrowing notes just to get five minutes of small talk, studying hard to impress the girl with perfect score exams, saving up allowance (yep, still the five peso daily allowance and its freaking 1997!) just to treat the girl with burger mcdo meal come weekends.
I don't know if I can sum up everything in words. Words cannot do justice to entire relationships. Still, it was well worth it. We got to know which one left the toothpaste cap open after using, watched City of Angels over and over, listened to a whole night of double disc Cruisin' cd which got lost when it was borrowed by a friend, (That was worth 200 pesos back then! Give it back not even for sentimental value's sake) cheated on exams together, threw things and slurs at the height of petty arguments, the whole nine yards.
No we did not end up together, went as far as planning a wedding date on before our 25th birthday. Rock bottom was a year after she came back from abroad, us learning new things being away from each other, her meeting new friends (one of whom I got extremely jealous with leading to a whole series of doubts which I pinpointed was the reason for out falling out), and us eventually parting ways.
We are still friends. However, I am amazed by the magic of time. One day she was the most familiar person in your life, several clockwises later, she's as eerie as your next door neighbor whom you haven't spoken to since your childhood.
Sometimes I imagine if we ended up together, and surprisingly I am relieved that we did not. It is a cliche but we were so young back then. Does that mean I am all grown up now? I don't know. You never know until you know.
Pure loveshit
I was in high school. She was a year older than me. She was was three inches shorter than me. She lived fifty meters from me. She was my first unadulterated mushy lovey dovey heartbeat.
I am coming clean and telling you that yes I was in love or I thought I was in love or was in love with the feeling of love, whichever of the three.
Let's just quantify that:
I would wait for her for thirty minutes so that we could walk together to school even if it meant that my lateness was equivalent to 20 paces of duck walking.
I researched material for her thesis which was about pornography in Philippine literature. I cut out items from Abante and Tiktik which I found out later were not admissible as evidence.
There was this one time when we were walking that it drizzled that I immediately removed my jacket and put it over her hear (certified mushy moment).
I would always reserve fare for two people in case I see her downtown and we decided to ride the trike together. Mind you, I only had a daily allowance of five pesos back then. (Trike fare was Php 1.50)
No we did not end up together, not even went the hairline of mutual understanding. The peak of which was her rejecting my invitation to have her as my prom date.
I do not know what to make of this other than the point that at one point I was an ordinary mushy corny teenager. I looked at her without intention of anything but just the simple wish of spending time with her. I wish I had that now, simple wishes, undemanding desires, uncompromised decisions.
The complications of growing up has complicated our view of things. I grew up without my want to grow up. It was bound to happen.
I am coming clean and telling you that yes I was in love or I thought I was in love or was in love with the feeling of love, whichever of the three.
Let's just quantify that:
I would wait for her for thirty minutes so that we could walk together to school even if it meant that my lateness was equivalent to 20 paces of duck walking.
I researched material for her thesis which was about pornography in Philippine literature. I cut out items from Abante and Tiktik which I found out later were not admissible as evidence.
There was this one time when we were walking that it drizzled that I immediately removed my jacket and put it over her hear (certified mushy moment).
I would always reserve fare for two people in case I see her downtown and we decided to ride the trike together. Mind you, I only had a daily allowance of five pesos back then. (Trike fare was Php 1.50)
No we did not end up together, not even went the hairline of mutual understanding. The peak of which was her rejecting my invitation to have her as my prom date.
I do not know what to make of this other than the point that at one point I was an ordinary mushy corny teenager. I looked at her without intention of anything but just the simple wish of spending time with her. I wish I had that now, simple wishes, undemanding desires, uncompromised decisions.
The complications of growing up has complicated our view of things. I grew up without my want to grow up. It was bound to happen.
The Secret of my Non-Failure
Picture this: a two on one fastbreak. Me on the right wing. The other guy handling the ball.
Picture this two seconds later: a one on one fastbreak. Me on the halfcourt line, engine stopped. The other guy expecting me, passes the ball to nobody. Turnover.
You don't miss the shots you don't take. You don't get turned down by a girl you never courted. You don't answer incorrectly to a question you ignore. You don't lose opportunities you don't try.
The recipe for not failing: Don't Try. The glass is always half-empty.
Picture this two seconds later: a one on one fastbreak. Me on the halfcourt line, engine stopped. The other guy expecting me, passes the ball to nobody. Turnover.
You don't miss the shots you don't take. You don't get turned down by a girl you never courted. You don't answer incorrectly to a question you ignore. You don't lose opportunities you don't try.
The recipe for not failing: Don't Try. The glass is always half-empty.
Wednesday, April 16, 2008
Crybabies
Do men cry?
It was after 14 liters of red horse and 10 hours of bottoms up, that it all came as a shock. Two middle aged men pouring their hearts out. When I look back, I couldn't think of any reason why they were doing the deed. The first guy was the bandit type - mischievous, secretive, and heady. His reason was that he was reminded of family member who passed away. The second one was the emo type - romantic, passionate and determined. He said he was carried away when Guy 1 was steaming tears on his cheeks, which was expected of him complete with all the wailing sounds.
I did not cry. I have had my shares. I know I did it once or twice in public out of broken relationshit of all things. But right now, I am becoming a James Dean or the commonly known FPJ kind-a-guy, the strong silent type.
I know that in the 21st century with all the advances in behavioral sciences, it is said that men who cry are said to be stronger. What if I can't force tears to steamroll? Do I have to fake it to show I feel pain too? Should I put vicks in my eyes to relieve my heavy chest?
In truth, I envy my friends who cried, they can act naturally. Show pain in its unabashed form - with luha na nagdalahig sa pisngi ng nakaraan. Maybe the tears will come in time or in the right moment or maybe they won't. In the meantime, I can always claim that I am the strong silent type and tease my friends that they are crybabies, with a one liner of "So, are ya gonna cry now? huhuhu"
It was after 14 liters of red horse and 10 hours of bottoms up, that it all came as a shock. Two middle aged men pouring their hearts out. When I look back, I couldn't think of any reason why they were doing the deed. The first guy was the bandit type - mischievous, secretive, and heady. His reason was that he was reminded of family member who passed away. The second one was the emo type - romantic, passionate and determined. He said he was carried away when Guy 1 was steaming tears on his cheeks, which was expected of him complete with all the wailing sounds.
I did not cry. I have had my shares. I know I did it once or twice in public out of broken relationshit of all things. But right now, I am becoming a James Dean or the commonly known FPJ kind-a-guy, the strong silent type.
I know that in the 21st century with all the advances in behavioral sciences, it is said that men who cry are said to be stronger. What if I can't force tears to steamroll? Do I have to fake it to show I feel pain too? Should I put vicks in my eyes to relieve my heavy chest?
In truth, I envy my friends who cried, they can act naturally. Show pain in its unabashed form - with luha na nagdalahig sa pisngi ng nakaraan. Maybe the tears will come in time or in the right moment or maybe they won't. In the meantime, I can always claim that I am the strong silent type and tease my friends that they are crybabies, with a one liner of "So, are ya gonna cry now? huhuhu"
Attention Blogghores
I was always critical of bloggers. An online diary is nothing but an emotional hurrarah for people who can't vent up in real life. Most of the time, the topics would range from the occasional broken hearted lover, or the frustrated employee, the rebelling son or your typical suicidal woe is me person.
This is all out of our natural need for attention. I am no hypocrite I starve for the spotlight. When I used to have friendster ( I had 3 accounts, deleted on account of fallen relationships), I would be intrigued in that clickable item called "Who's viewed me?"
Isn't that what blog is all about to get some attention? To get a few comments here and there? So maybe I am finally turning coat and calling myself one of them an Attention Blogghore.
(Five more posts and I would now be drifting to emotional topics, not!)
This is all out of our natural need for attention. I am no hypocrite I starve for the spotlight. When I used to have friendster ( I had 3 accounts, deleted on account of fallen relationships), I would be intrigued in that clickable item called "Who's viewed me?"
Isn't that what blog is all about to get some attention? To get a few comments here and there? So maybe I am finally turning coat and calling myself one of them an Attention Blogghore.
(Five more posts and I would now be drifting to emotional topics, not!)
Tuesday, April 15, 2008
I thought of the most embarrassing topic to start with and here is what I got
Masturbation.
Yeah. Yeah. I know. Normal men masturbate. If you started out early, the better. Some would say you got to sip early on the soup of life. My cousin Christian even thought he was the one who invented it, showing us the whole nine yards complete with demo and return demo as those medical peepz would term it.
Picture me - turning 29, with a kid, has a job and with virtually no idle time to spare still doing the deed. No I am not a virgin, unless you did not get the clue it was not a test tube experiment or sperm donation. I can easily relate to that movie with Kevin Spacey when the ten minute bathroom exodus was the highlight of his day. Luckily, I am still way below his level.
Why do I still do it? The only reason I can think of is that I can release stress and yes, it has a positive one, I don't look at women as bed objects frequently. Other than that no, I am guilty or abusing the shortest primal way to have adulterated fun.
So judge me. The hell do I care. For all we know you may still be doing it too. I just choke the chicken frequently than you do.
Yeah. Yeah. I know. Normal men masturbate. If you started out early, the better. Some would say you got to sip early on the soup of life. My cousin Christian even thought he was the one who invented it, showing us the whole nine yards complete with demo and return demo as those medical peepz would term it.
Picture me - turning 29, with a kid, has a job and with virtually no idle time to spare still doing the deed. No I am not a virgin, unless you did not get the clue it was not a test tube experiment or sperm donation. I can easily relate to that movie with Kevin Spacey when the ten minute bathroom exodus was the highlight of his day. Luckily, I am still way below his level.
Why do I still do it? The only reason I can think of is that I can release stress and yes, it has a positive one, I don't look at women as bed objects frequently. Other than that no, I am guilty or abusing the shortest primal way to have adulterated fun.
So judge me. The hell do I care. For all we know you may still be doing it too. I just choke the chicken frequently than you do.
Why Kidding Aside?
This was the title of my column back when i was a columnist for our school paper in college. The main purpose why I named it that way was to impress upon readers that I was serious with the column when in fact I wanted to embody irony by writing material purely for comedic purposes.
Can it be considered doubly ironic when the Kidding Aside column meant and intentionally made to be humorous did not turn out to be even a bit of corny funny?
Roughly eight years later, I am writing again. No, I don't consider corporate communications, writing. It is in fact a loatheable job. One thing I learned though is not write to please but to just write.
If any chuckle, roaring comment, sentimental parallelism or sympathetically congruent experience is raised in random by anyone, it comes with the occupational hazard of writing to one's delight. Nobody, ever said you can't be a selfish writer. Ooops just kidding, not!
Can it be considered doubly ironic when the Kidding Aside column meant and intentionally made to be humorous did not turn out to be even a bit of corny funny?
Roughly eight years later, I am writing again. No, I don't consider corporate communications, writing. It is in fact a loatheable job. One thing I learned though is not write to please but to just write.
If any chuckle, roaring comment, sentimental parallelism or sympathetically congruent experience is raised in random by anyone, it comes with the occupational hazard of writing to one's delight. Nobody, ever said you can't be a selfish writer. Ooops just kidding, not!
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