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to pilgrims who have made their pass [Jan. 31st, 2010|11:53 pm]
(Adapted from a college application essay in futile approximation of the probable answer to things we did not have the chance to understand in people we no longer have the chance to confront, for confirmation or denial)

I am:
Blinded by science, saved by Zero, thrown from a fairy tale, across the pit of what could be, and back into the magic again, smoking with restrained passion and still shivering from the bitter winds that blow through my skeleton, which I left behind for awhile when I decided that I was a magic soul trapped in a mechanistic body.

The funniest thing is that my skeleton does just as well by itself as it did when fleshed and blooded and clothed. No one has noticed that my devotion and greatest concentration are no longer on my work, even while that bare skeleton of attention is beginning to crumble.

I am:
Old like Kronos, young as the dew, day-to-day variable like the wind, now a soaring dove far above the petty concerns of familial and social life, now an irascible, excitable bear in a box. Obviously egotistical as hell. I've always been plagued with fantasies or greatness. They're fine, but at one time they were the only fantasies I had. Eager to be the greatest scientist the world had ever known, I devoted myself to my studies and launched myself into the sea I thought I belonged in, because I had known no other since falling in love with school at the age of five. I've since re-emerged from that surf, foam on my mouth.

But to many I seem stable, calm, rational, "boring". They may be right. It's possible that I'm suffering from delusions of artistic grandeur, or that I'm simply trying to make myself feel better by pretending to be of a romantic cut. Or it may be that I actually am a turbulent person with a calm exterior deriving from a strong sense of self-control and modesty. I can truly let go to create and to communicate only in art (but what a term -- "art" -- it sounds like some kind of prostitution). So my soft artist's body: blood, brain, intestines and all, has gone on to paint, draw, write (and sing surreptitiously -- and quite poorly -- in the closet), while my bones remain behind to prop up a convenient image back in school.

I am also:
Obsessed. The hormonal soup and sexual instinct present in every __-year-old happend to swirl up into the head of someone whose patience, dedication, faithfulness, and general stupidity amaze even myself. That is to say (with all the irony due such bizarre school years): I spent almost an entire ____ waiting, admiring, and damn near privately worshipping a person with whom I was desperately infatuated; by the time that person came around and decided they were crazy about me too, it was two weeks before they had to leave for ______ -- meaning I have to wait another year, for no certain return. But I love that person, quite sincerely, and my feeling is that most people really love only a few times in their lives, so I'm not giving up on this one, not yet, not just because five thousand miles and thirty million seconds separate us.

I am:
Emerging from this essay intact, shaking off the beads of fancy words and metaphor, hair dripping with sweat from the exertion of the usual Olympian attempt to create (100% self) and communicate (half self and half audience), yielding one more work with the ideal ration of 3 me : 1 you. Another four-part structure! If I'm done writing, then you are done reading me. Do you feel you know me any better?

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To pilgrims who have made their pass [Jan. 31st, 2010|10:28 pm]
(Adapted from a college application essay in futile approximation of the probable answer to things we did not have the chance to understand in people we no longer have the chance to confront, for confirmation or denial)

I am:
Blinded by science, saved by Zero, thrown from a fairy tale, across the pit of what could be, and back into the magic again, smoking with restrained passion and still shivering from the bitter winds that blow through my skeleton, which I left behind for awhile when I decided that I was a magic soul trapped in a mechanistic body.

The funniest thing is that my skeleton does just as well by itself as it did when fleshed and blooded and clothed. No one has noticed that my devotion and greatest concentration are no longer on my work, even while that bare skeleton of attention is beginning to crumble.

I am:
Old like Kronos, young as the dew, day-to-day variable like the wind, now a soaring dove far above the petty concerns of familial and social life, now an irascible, excitable bear in a box. Obviously egotistical as hell. I've always been plagued with fantasies or greatness. They're fine, but at one time they were the only fantasies I had. Eager to be the greatest scientist the world had ever known, I devoted myself to my studies and launched myself into the sea I thought I belonged in, because I had known no other since falling in love with school at the age of five. I've since re-emerged from that surf, foam on my mouth.

But to many I seem stable, calm, rational, "boring". They may be right. It's possible that I'm suffering from delusions of artistic grandeur, or that I'm simply trying to make myself feel better by pretending to be of a romantic cut. Or it may be that I actually am a turbulent person with a calm exterior deriving from a strong sense of self-control and modesty. I can truly let go to create and to communicate only in art (but what a term -- "art" -- it sounds like some kind of prostitution). So my soft artist's body: blood, brain, intestines and all, has gone on to paint, draw, write (and sing surreptitiously -- and quite poorly -- in the closet), while my bones remain behind to prop up a convenient image back in school.

I am alo:
Obsessed. The hormonal soup and sexual instinct present in every __-year-old happend to swirl up into the head of someone whose patience, dedication, faithfulness, and general stupidity amaze even myself. That is to say (with all the irony due such bizarre school years): I spent almost an entire ____ waiting, admiring, and damn near privately worshipping a person with whom I was desperately infatuated; by the time that person came around and decided they were crazy about me too, it was two weeks before they had to leave for ______ -- meaning I have to wait another year, for no certain return. But I love that person, quite sincerely, and my feeling is that most people really love only a few times in their lives, so I'm not giving up on this one, not yet, not just because five thousand miles and thirty million seconds separate us.

I am:
Emerging from this essay intact, shaking off the beads of fancy words and metaphor, hair dripping with sweat from the exertion of the usual Olympian attempt to create (100% self) and communicate (half self and half audience), yielding one more work with the ideal ration of 3 me : 1 you. Another four-part structure! If I'm done writing, then you are done reading me. Do you feel you know me any better?
LinkLeave a comment

Tunay na Mahirap [Jan. 21st, 2010|01:18 am]
(The following is a spoof of the Manny Villar campaign ad. Know the tune?)

Nakakuha ka na ba ng grado na basura?
Nagsunog ka na ba ng kilay hanggang umaga?
Yan ang tanong namin, 75 nga ba'ng passing?

Naisip mo na ba kung bat nag-aral ka pa?
Todo effort tayo, bat walang nagbabago?
At mas mabuti pa kung natutulog tayo!

Sa Law School ay tunay na mahirap!
Sa Law School ay tunay na puro pasakit.
Sa Law School ka may kakayahang malimutan sariling pangalan.
Ang Law School lamang ang magtatapos ng ating kasiyahan.

LinkLeave a comment

then and now [Jan. 21st, 2010|01:17 am]
following are two oratorical pieces written by the respective teacher-coaches and/or contest organizers (if the piece is prescribed). the first was written in 1994 for a grade school science fair competition whose theme focused on the looming energy crisis that time. the second was written just last month, for a high school competition the theme of which is public accountability. by the language (grammar and usage) alone i can judge the better piece. let's not even get to coherence and logic. how about you?

***
(untitled)

Energy crisis? This is our country’s concern of the hour. The mass media is replete with discussions and arguments about it. News reports capsulize it in brownouts spelled in bold letters, which now is a plague besetting not only our own communities but the entire country as well.

Yes, my friends, never has there been so much fuss about this situation as during these times.

We call into mind the saying that we only realize the value of something when we have lost it. The Philippines was not just an ordinary piece of land years ago. In all of the thousand islands is a favorable climate, fertile soil, rich forests, long coastlines and seas with abundant marine life.

Today, it is in the state of environmental chaos: plundered, degraded, dying – these describe the state of the once beautiful environment, its forests, mineral deposits, marine resources, and croplands. And we are aware of the fact that these resources constitute the nation’s support system, without which it would not be possible to sustain a meaningful human life.

Evidently each of us has a moral obligation to perform.

You and I -- everyone can do much to rebuild our devastated energy resources. We could replant tree seedlings where trees are cut. Waste from piggeries and poultries could produce biochemical gas which could be utilized in cooking our food. Unused and extra (organics) should be deposited in garbage pits. The decomposition of plants and animals produces natural gas.

Most important is the need for a change in attitude to bring about the best of our thinking power, so as to develop, conserve, and utilize properly our energy and food resources.

Before it’s too late, let us take a united stand in protecting our environment, our native energy resources, to avoid the worst-case scenario of an energy crisis.

Then, we can all look forward to a renewed, refreshed, and re-invigorated earth for which the next and succeeding generations will remember us with undying gratitude for such a legacy.


***

YOUTH'S MORAL ACCOUNT ABILITY TO SOCIETY


Today, we are witnessing events unparalleled to Philippine history. Such are catastrophic which can lead to our country's confinement to further retrogression. Rebellion and secession threats, coup d' etat, oil price increases, spiraling inflation, deliberate commission of enormous crimes, institutionalize graft and corruption, incompetent government with subservient people-these are the problems of the time.

How can we cope with this? Ladies and gentlemen: I, a youth, am lost in this gargantuan problems - solutions of which are seemed to be far-fetched and time is of great essence. If we don't resolve them immediately, nowhere can we find ourselves sharing with God's blessing of peace and prosperity.

Perhaps, you have noticed that I went directly to my point. This is so for I don't want to go around the bush and put my stand a mere rhetoric.

Having cleared my point, let me deal now with only one of the many problems I've mentioned and that is, our government and people.

Section 1 of Article XI of our new constitution clearly states that, "Public officers and employees must be at all times accountable to the people, serve them with utmost responsibility, integrity, loyalty and efficiency, act with patriotism and justice, and lead modest lives". Such mandate is exact and explicit and this is precisely what we expect from the people in the government. But are they? Theirs are responsibility and accountability, but do they not fail us most of the times?

Country's march towards peace and development depends on government's morality. It has always been an issue yesterday, today and perhaps in the future.

Are we not what we are today because of the people in the government? They are supposed to lead us to where we are supposed to be. But, are we not totally disappointed with how they are performing their duties, discharging their tasks, and managing the affairs of our government? Have they, our leaders, not already lost their moral accountability to the masses? And if we, the people, are already fed up with our officials' promises and proposals, inaction and ineptitude, mismanagement and miscalculation or in short, if we can't count on them anymore, must we not make or take the move to put away this stinking mess?

At this point, I would like to invoke the youth of the land. We, the youth, must be activists. I mean, an activism that builds rather than destroys, an activism of hope rather than despair. And as a good start, let us all wake up to lift our country into moral regeneration. Let's revive the tradition of conservatism, honesty, integrity, and dedication of our forefathers.

Moral uprightness is the foundation of a society. Problems in government are problems of society. Has not much politics brought us to sufferings? If so, let us all be politicized youth. If we, the youth, can make our government fulfill its responsibilities to the people, then we have already accounted ourselves to our society.

The youth comprise more than one half of the population of our country and is more than enough for a compelling force to change our society in the next generation. Youth of today are the leaders of tomorrow. If we can have a moral youth envisioned with only one objective, that is, of putting this once great country to life, then peace and prosperity is at hand.

But now, while we are waiting for our time to come, let us live modest lives - uncorrupted by the characteristics of modernizations. Yes, change in our attitude goes with development. Let it not be for it is our downfall. Let's be guardians of morality in the government. Let's focus our eyes on every government action of our leaders for they are accountable to us.

We should not forget what our great national hero once said, "The youth are the hope of their motherland". Living up to this creed is by no means a tall order. But, we have to. Setting good examples or being role models in uprightness to others is a perfect way for character building and development.

Our society is in decadence. The evils that our leaders did brought our society to moral degeneration. Today, a cure-all to social maladies is unachievable. I may sound pessimistic but that is the reality. And if we want to solve it, let's do it now, no matter how difficult it is. Let's bear in mind that a journey of a thousand miles begins with a single step. If we are not going to do it today, when shall we? If we are scared, how could we? Let's all be firmly resolved. Our actions will shape our country's history and our people's destiny. And it thus becomes obvious now that the real menace to our country is not rebellion, not coup d' etat, not oil price increases, not inflation, and not crimes of different magnitudes, but we, the Filipino people. It is another way of saying that it is we, Filipinos, who must change and it is only we, Filipinos, who can save our mother Philippines. Therefore, what we need now is not change of men but change in men.

Our mission then, my fellow youth, is to restore to our country the authentic dimension and forgotten image of a true Filipino.

As a parting message, my dear fellow Filipinos, do remember this, "In the vastness of space, there are always tiny specks of light. And this light is the instinctive inclination to what is moral. Let it glow so that everybody will be lighted by it".

LinkLeave a comment

Tunay na Mahirap [Jan. 14th, 2010|03:32 pm]
(The following is a spoof of the Manny Villar campaign ad. Know the tune?)

Nakakuha ka na ba ng grado na basura?
Nagsunog ka na ba ng kilay hanggang umaga?
Yan ang tanong namin, 75 nga ba'ng passing?

Naisip mo na ba kung bat nag-aral ka pa?
Todo effort tayo, bat walang nagbabago?
At mas mabuti pa kung natutulog tayo!

Sa Law School ay tunay na mahirap!
Sa Law School ay tunay na puro pasakit.
Sa Law School ka may kakayahang malimutan sariling pangalan.
Ang Law School lamang ang magtatapos ng ating kasiyahan.
LinkLeave a comment

then and now [Dec. 6th, 2009|02:02 am]
following are two oratorical pieces written by the respective teacher-coaches and/or contest organizers (if the piece is prescribed). the first was written in 1994 for a grade school science fair competition whose theme focused on the looming energy crisis that time. the second was written just last month, for a high school competition the theme of which is public accountability. by the language (grammar and usage) alone i can judge the better piece. let's not even get to coherence and logic. how about you?

***

Energy crisis? This is our country’s concern of the hour. The mass media is replete with discussions and arguments about it. News reports capsulize it in brownouts spelled in bold letters, which now is a plague besetting not only our own communities but the entire country as well.

Yes, my friends, never has there been so much fuss about this situation as during these times.

We call into mind the saying that we only realize the value of something when we have lost it. The Philippines was not just an ordinary piece of land years ago. In all of the thousand islands is a favorable climate, fertile soil, rich forests, long coastlines and seas with abundant marine life.

Today, it is in the state of environmental chaos: plundered, degraded, dying – these describe the state of the once beautiful environment, its forests, mineral deposits, marine resources, and croplands. And we are aware of the fact that these resources constitute the nation’s support system, without which it would not be possible to sustain a meaningful human life.

Evidently each of us has a moral obligation to perform.

You and I -- everyone can do much to rebuild our devastated energy resources. We could replant tree seedlings where trees are cut. Waste from piggeries and poultries could produce biochemical gas which could be utilized in cooking our food. Unused and extra (organics) should be deposited in garbage pits. The decomposition of plants and animals produces natural gas.

Most important is the need for a change in attitude to bring about the best of our thinking power, so as to develop, conserve, and utilize properly our energy and food resources.

Before it’s too late, let us take a united stand in protecting our environment, our native energy resources, to avoid the worst-case scenario of an energy crisis.

Then, we can all look forward to a renewed, refreshed, and re-invigorated earth for which the next and succeeding generations will remember us with undying gratitude for such a legacy.


***

YOUTH'S MORAL ACCOUNT ABILITY TO SOCIETY


Today, we are witnessing events unparalleled to Philippine history. Such are catastrophic which can lead to our country's confinement to further retrogression. Rebellion and secession threats, coup d' etat, oil price increases, spiraling inflation, deliberate commission of enormous crimes, institutionalize graft and corruption, incompetent government with subservient people-these are the problems of the time.

How can we cope with this? Ladies and gentlemen: I, a youth, am lost in this gargantuan problems - solutions of which are seemed to be far-fetched and time is of great essence. If we don't resolve them immediately, nowhere can we find ourselves sharing with God's blessing of peace and prosperity.

Perhaps, you have noticed that I went directly to my point. This is so for I don't want to go around the bush and put my stand a mere rhetoric.

Having cleared my point, let me deal now with only one of the many problems I've mentioned and that is, our government and people.

Section 1 of Article XI of our new constitution clearly states that, "Public officers and employees must be at all times accountable to the people, serve them with utmost responsibility, integrity, loyalty and efficiency, act with patriotism and justice, and lead modest lives". Such mandate is exact and explicit and this is precisely what we expect from the people in the government. But are they? Theirs are responsibility and accountability, but do they not fail us most of the times?

Country's march towards peace and development depends on government's morality. It has always been an issue yesterday, today and perhaps in the future.

Are we not what we are today because of the people in the government? They are supposed to lead us to where we are supposed to be. But, are we not totally disappointed with how they are performing their duties, discharging their tasks, and managing the affairs of our government? Have they, our leaders, not already lost their moral accountability to the masses? And if we, the people, are already fed up with our officials' promises and proposals, inaction and ineptitude, mismanagement and miscalculation or in short, if we can't count on them anymore, must we not make or take the move to put away this stinking mess?

At this point, I would like to invoke the youth of the land. We, the youth, must be activists. I mean, an activism that builds rather than destroys, an activism of hope rather than despair. And as a good start, let us all wake up to lift our country into moral regeneration. Let's revive the tradition of conservatism, honesty, integrity, and dedication of our forefathers.

Moral uprightness is the foundation of a society. Problems in government are problems of society. Has not much politics brought us to sufferings? If so, let us all be politicized youth. If we, the youth, can make our government fulfill its responsibilities to the people, then we have already accounted ourselves to our society.

The youth comprise more than one half of the population of our country and is more than enough for a compelling force to change our society in the next generation. Youth of today are the leaders of tomorrow. If we can have a moral youth envisioned with only one objective, that is, of putting this once great country to life, then peace and prosperity is at hand.

But now, while we are waiting for our time to come, let us live modest lives - uncorrupted by the characteristics of modernizations. Yes, change in our attitude goes with development. Let it not be for it is our downfall. Let's be guardians of morality in the government. Let's focus our eyes on every government action of our leaders for they are accountable to us.

We should not forget what our great national hero once said, "The youth are the hope of their motherland". Living up to this creed is by no means a tall order. But, we have to. Setting good examples or being role models in uprightness to others is a perfect way for character building and development.

Our society is in decadence. The evils that our leaders did brought our society to moral degeneration. Today, a cure-all to social maladies is unachievable. I may sound pessimistic but that is the reality. And if we want to solve it, let's do it now, no matter how difficult it is. Let's bear in mind that a journey of a thousand miles begins with a single step. If we are not going to do it today, when shall we? If we are scared, how could we? Let's all be firmly resolved. Our actions will shape our country's history and our people's destiny. And it thus becomes obvious now that the real menace to our country is not rebellion, not coup d' etat, not oil price increases, not inflation, and not crimes of different magnitudes, but we, the Filipino people. It is another way of saying that it is we, Filipinos, who must change and it is only we, Filipinos, who can save our mother Philippines. Therefore, what we need now is not change of men but change in men.

Our mission then, my fellow youth, is to restore to our country the authentic dimension and forgotten image of a true Filipino.

As a parting message, my dear fellow Filipinos, do remember this, "In the vastness of space, there are always tiny specks of light. And this light is the instinctive inclination to what is moral. Let it glow so that everybody will be lighted by it".
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(no subject) [Sep. 16th, 2009|03:19 pm]
Yummy octopussy, anyone?



Oh, nothing. I just saw octopus (octopi?) at Farmer's Market in Cubao this morning, and suddenly flashed back to when my father would just boil baby octopus (octopi?) fresh from the sea in salt and water or Sprite. When they were already cooked and tender, I would sneak into the kitchen, open the pot, and with a small knife slice me some tasty tentacles. They are a bit rubbery and gamey, but not as chewy as steak, or even turtle (pawikan. don't ask. or do. hehe). You can actually bite through it easily.

So I got two octopus (octopi?).

But to make them softer, I think, hey, why not boil them in vinegar? So vinegar it was, after rubbing sea salt all over the octopus (octopi?).

When cooked, octopus becomes reddish pink. But if the blood (or ink) is still there, the color is a lot darker (apparently, mine didn't have ink anymore; curse the vendor -- she told me they just got them this morning, but heck, that is too fast a time for the octopus [octopi?] to squirt out their ink).

This is already good as pulutan. But if you want to make it more appetizing for the rest of the household (who, hopefully, are more open-minded than people I know), sautee (igisa) the octopus (octopi?) in tomatoes and onions.

Slice the octopus (octopi?) into tiny bits (small enough to be picked by the fingers, and the smaller, the easier to chew). Slice some tomatoes and onions.

Heat a small amount of oil, maybe two tablespoons, in a pan. Put the sliced onions and tomatoes in together.  Don't cook them too much; put the octopus (octopi?) in soon after.The whole thing will water, but of course. Stir every now and then, not too often. Pinch of salt and pepper. Magic Sarap if you want, then let the water boil down. Stir occasionally, like said earlier, to help it along.

The result should be a little dry, like that pictured above, although it should have some sauce beneath. Above all, it should be wonderful. Uhmmm-mm!.

Bend a tentacle, guys!

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(no subject) [Aug. 23rd, 2009|09:46 pm]
Some friends and I have taken to having a cookout every Sunday. That is, if I am not playing tennis with buddies from my old high school. It started as an impromptu get-together one day when the wife and I were looking for stuff to do on a lazy Sunday. Thank God for Jamie Oliver, who makes throwing things around in pots and pans look cool even without gourmet precision. But even without him, I was always rummaging in the kitchen as a kid, anyway, watching my father whip up the usual dishes you would find on an Ilocano table. I guess Mr. Oliver, with his rough and rustic style, just widened -- or made more possible -- my already existing (but very, very basic) romance with the culinary arts.

SO. This Sunday.

Lunch was chicken thighs roasted in a sauce I sort of just cooked up. I actually had no plans of getting thighs apart from the usual whole chicken and some innards that I get every time I go to the grocer's. Marisse had promised she would cook some coq au vin (whatever that was) and make some falafel, which, at the time of this writing I have  sufficiently been educated to pronouce by the wife, a former debater (I, on the other hand, opted to shut up and keep to the quiet world of writing on 15 January 1998. My reasons I will take with me to the grave). But Marisse was not responding to messages, so I thought I would get some chicken thighs as a back-up.

At home, I made three scores on each of the thighs to allow the marinade and other ingredients to later seep into the meat. Quick sprinkle of salt and pepper. Chopped some tarragon from the front yard and mashed that into and all over the chicken. Then, on the roasting pan, a sprinkle of olive oil for coating, some onions, garlic, a little soy sauce, sugarcane wine vinegar. Put your choice of herbs in. Massage that into the meat. I would have left the chicken in that mixture for a longer time, but lunch was passing by and Marisse was still nowhere. Sliced potatoes (keep the skin, what the heck), and if you have apples and pears, quarter those and throw them in, too. Just sort of throw everything in together, make sure the marinade spreads over everything. Oh, I forgot the lemon. Shave some zest into the pan, squeeze the juice into the mixture, and if memory serves, Mr. Oliver usually throws in the squeezed rinds in, too, for added flavor. You can always remove them later.

There. Into the oven, 250 degrees, 45 minutes.

As you can see above, I found some leftover egg from breakfast, beaten and cooked with sauteed tomatoes and onions. Good for plating with the golden brown chicken, at least because of the contrast of colors. Some mint leaves from the front yard for garnish, and voila. Suddenly Marisse arrives, just in time for lunch, while I am putting some fresh mint into the pitcher of ponkan juice.

***

After lunch, we began the falafel, which turned out to be a premix that Marisse just wet and fried. Making it from scratch, she said, involves chickpeas, or something. Anyway, I walked in on our guest gourmet cutting cucumbers as fast as a basketball shot replay (UST was playing ADMU, and eventually lost. tsk.). I got the knife. In no time, I cut the cucumbers and some tomatoes into strips. The rest of the cucumber she put in a food processor, together with onions and garlic, and sour cream. Yeah, I chopped the onion and garlic, too. And some parsley and mint. The pita, she said, we would warm in the toaster just before eating.

As the food processor whirred, we started on the coq a vin. Which turned out to be cock and wine. Chicken and wine, dumdum.

Marisse had me cube some carrots. Then chop some onions. Then cut some bacon into strips. I was getting frustrated and impatient with her instructions. When she finally got the magazine she was copying the recipe from, I snatched it and read through it. Uh-huh. Uh-huh. Okay.

She got her mushrooms just before I asked. I quartered those. But if you have really small button mushrooms, put them in like that. In a medium-sized saucepan, we put in two tablespoons of olive oil. Then onions. When they were softening and turning brown, the bacon strips and mushrooms. When the mushrooms were tender, two tablespoons of flour. Do not put too much in, our guest gourmet said, because the dish might smell and taste like flour. But the trick is to stir the flour in until it has sort of stuck to the bacon and mushrooms, and absorbed the oil. Now, red wine. Two cups, or until the whole thing is a bit runny, depending on how much flour you put. Let the wine boil down into its essence, letting out its alcohol in a steam. When the broth thickens down again, it's time to pour in two cups of water. Adjust to desired consistency. The reason why yours smelled and tasted like flour, I told Marisse, is that you did not put water. Even a little bit of flour thickens soup, so you have to add more liquid. Add your carrot cubes at this point, and let it boil for a while. A pinch of salt and pepper.

After about 15 minutes, add the chicken. To be flavorful, you must have marinated chicken overnight and roasted or grilled it. But you can cheat, like we did: get some roasted or grilled chicken from the stalls in your supermarket, or heck, Kenny Roger's. Put them in the purple broth and let it boil for a while again, until the chicken has absorbed some of that soup and is soft and soggy. Just before you're down, give the stuff a good size knob of butter and let that melt in the boil (Marisse's idea).

***

After killing time in a mall, we went back to dinner. By the way, we chilled the tomatoes, cucumbers, and the stuff we processed into sour cream. I reheated the coq au vin again to boiling point, then turned off the stove. On plates I scooped some chicken, then onto it some bacon, mushrooms, and carrots. Chopped parsley for garnish.

Meanwhile, Marisse heated some pita halves in the toaster. How you eat the falafel is up to you. You can wrap the pita around it and the other ingredients. But Marisse's suggestion is the one pictured above. Pita halves, falafel, cucumbers, tomatoes in the cavity. Then the sour cream with chopped onions, cucumber, and garlic. Then chopped parsley and mint.

***

Eya said everything was good.

I should not assume, however, and I disclaim that the dishes that come out of our kitchen satisfy most palates. In fact, although I like the food that I cook, I even distrust compliments.

But cooking is fun. Next to writing, it's the one happy place I have where everything else is thankfully forgotten.


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SUNSON! [Aug. 20th, 2009|01:18 am]

You would usually hear the cries on otherwise slow mornings or idle afternoons. From nowhere discernible they broke the quiet calm of omnipresent greens and the gentle provincial breeze blowing in from the fields, like a hide-and-seeker teasing whoever’s it.

 

That is, until you brought your gaze downward to the earth, where you would find two to four youths squatting, some guarding something in the soil (a marble either in or just outside the hole, you discover) with their hands or a slipper made to stand on its side, while the others would be leaning over from four to five steps away, one eye in a squint while at the other was a hand holding their own marble, ready to strike. If the marble hits, you could most certainly expect once again that jubilant shout: SUNSON!

 

“Sunson” was the culmination of a rather complicated game of kuryendo. It was the punishment of the loser, the incompetent, the impertinent challenger, often resulting in red spots along the fingers (for those who were brave or imprudent enough to not use slippers) or an extremely lengthy score-racking penalty, depending on the accuracy of the throwing winner.

 

A glossary of terms:

 

Agsunson

n. the winner in a game of kuryendo. He gets to sunson.

Bots

n. a state in which the kuryendo has fallen into the hole; ety. probably a corruption of “abot (hole)”; usually converted into a verb, as in, “i-bots mo (shoot it)!”

 

Bugguong

n. the sorry state of being the subject of a very long sunson, as when the winner is deadly accurate in hitting the loser’s marble, making sunson point after sunson point; has reference to the native pasty fish sauce, which is made to sit for a very long time before being released and marketed.

Bulintik

n. a strong release done by forcefully flicking out the thumb from a closed fist, with the kuryendo as projectile nestled in the folded forefinger and against the hammering thumbnail; usually used in a padagas.

Dam-eg

n. a position in which a player, in a very exaggerated effort to reach for the hole so bots-ing is easier or the chances of hitting a kuryendo are bigger, balances by leaning on the earth by the base of his palm; this is tapo. (alter. agdam-eg)

Kuryendo

n. marble; may also refer to the game they are used in, as in, “agkuryendo tayo (let’s play kuryendo)!”

 

Padagas

adv. descriptive of a technique used to skip having to bots in by hitting another player’s kuryendo; literally, “passing by” referring to a kuryendo hitting that of another player but maintaining enough force and movement to make it just near the hole next to the one that player is skipping.

Pangina

 

n. the act of a loser trying to make it more difficult for the person doing sunson to hit the kuryendo by pressing it into the earth not quite outside the hole. see infra.

Paspasurot

n. a newbie in the game, unskilled or unlearned in the rules; usually, a younger kid wanting to play with the gang.

 

Patayyek

adv. a manner of making bots in which the player sends the kuryendo out with a spin; done by holding the kuryendo between the thumb and fore or middle finger, squeezing it into a flick – suddenly letting the kuryendo roll under and out from the upper holding finger, with the thumb following through.

 

Patulid

n. a manner of making bots by simply rolling the kuryendo on the ground without spin or any fancy trick; the player holds the kuryendo on an open palm,  secured only by the thumb, then swings back and releases the marble; it is the lowest in the rung of skills, usually employed by a paspasurot

 

Sunson

n. 1. the penalty round of kuryendo; 2. also, the score during such penalty round, punctuated by shouting the word every time the point is won. cf. detailed explanation infra.

 

Tapo

n. a forbidden state, as when either the kuryendo thrown at or the kuryendo thrown ends up in the hole, or the player is agdam-eg (see dam-eg, supra.)

 

Now, then.

 

There were three holes, the size and depth of which were usually what a bottle cap could dig by pressing its edge to the earth and rotating it. This made a small bowl. Sometimes, to make things more interesting, the holes were made by putting kuryendo down and gently hammering it into the soft soil with a stone, until just the tip remained. The indentation, just as wide as the kuryendo, would be it.

 

The holes were usually four or five steps apart, depending on the size of the players. The general rule was to have the holes in a straight line. But if the players cannot find a stretch of flat, stone-free earth long enough, a curving track did as well, as long as the distance between holes was the same. The starting line was drawn the same distance from the first hole.

 

Play could be in singles, up to three, or doubles at two teams battling it out. In the singles game, the players simply took turns. The goal is to bots the kuryendo in all the holes, up to the third, and back, before anyone else. Bots-ing is done patayyek or by pitik, depending on the player’s level of skill. Dam-eg not allowed. The paspasurot, though, was permitted to make dam-eg, and even patulid.

 

But the game is not just a matter of sending the ball into the hole. If you missed, that would give the next player a choice between trying to hit your kuryendo so he can skip this hole and move on to the next, or bots-ing first then hitting your kuryendo so he can skip the hole next to this one, depending on what’s more convenient, and doable (the accurate throwers had a very easy time). To do this, he could either throw, or, if the kuryendo was near, use a bulintik, because the force would be enough for a padagas. If your kuryendo was hit by a passing player, you had to go back to the starting line.

 

First to finish all the holes and back gets to sunson.

 

The agsunson positioned himself at the starting line while the loser was at the first hole, facing the former. The latter then placed his kuryendo in the hole, then either stood a slipper on its side behind the hole, or if he was confident the agsunson would not hit his hand, use that instead. The slipper or the hand served as a wall behind the hole, so the thrown kuryendo would not go far; it would just hit the wall, and might even fall into the hole afterwards, creating a tapo (this is allowed, rather than having the inconvenience of picking up the kuryendo at a distance if thrown unhindered).

 

Hitting the kuryendo in the hole and forcing it out in the process won you one sunson (SUNSON!). This means the agsunson had one more sunson round. If the agsunson did not make such a hit, the loser then placed his kuryendo outside the hole, just in front of it. Annoying losers made pangina. Making pangina, however, could be stipulated on before a game. If the agsunson hits the kuryendo outside the hole, the loser puts it back in the hole. The cycle repeats. Three hits outside the hole equals one sunson round (SUNSON!). If the agsunson’s kuryendo or that of the loser accidentally rolled into the hole anytime during sunson, that was tapo, and sunson was over. Another game would start.

 

The doubles game was the same, except the teammates did not play one after the other. Opposing players did, so that the teammates were the first and the third, and the second and the fourth.

 

Anyone could play. Any paspasurot could be allowed to join, but most of the time begrudgingly, just to prevent any baby-crying. The game picked neither sex nor season. All we needed was a little damp, flat section of earth. We could last all day, save those times when shouts of SUNSON! got prevailed over by another, more authoritative exclamation: MANGAN!

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The Little Red Bike That Could [Aug. 18th, 2009|01:01 am]
I was about four-and-a-half when my father got me a bike. It was a red one, big for my age, about half of the regular BMX sizes, and had training wheels. My parents had the habit of buying things big for my age with the thinking that I would grow into them anyway – a practical way of spending for kids which I will be able to implement with my own kids once I earn enough to spend freely.


Anyway, the bike.


I had the training wheels removed barely a year later, envious of other, bigger kids who I saw expertly ride theirs past our house each day.


I had one spill. Give me that. One, minor spill.


I first pedaled into the uncertain that afternoon the trainers were removed, repeating in my head the older ones’ advice: steer into the direction of the fall. I did not do so well that first time, because when I started pedaling and picked up speed, I figured I could make it with enough acceleration and velocity, the way rockets travel. But unlike rockets, which fall after using up their fuel, I would keep pedaling at my terminal velocity to keep from falling.


Long, straight road (back then, anyhow, one block seemed a lightyear)? Check. Traffic at the crossings? Never thought of them. My hands firm around the handlebars, I kicked off with my left foot while simultaneously bearing down heavily on the pedal with my right. I was off! Freedom!


I lasted 50 meters.


But they were an awesome 50 meters. The wind blew against my face and ran through my thick, youthful hair (that was awesome too; ah, those were the days). I was not dependent on anything for balance, the way riding with training wheels have you tip to whichever side you choose to lean on, depending on what you ate for breakfast. I was riding straight, by Jove, and recklessly fast for a first run. Hey, like I said, I thought speed would be the ticket.


But approaching the 50-meter mark, gravity was on to my childish little idea, and, with the bike having just three-inch wide wheels, it decided that I did not have a thick enough base to balance on. Soon, it started tilting the bike to the left. Still, proudly convinced of my theory, I pedaled faster. My heroics were unavailing, and immediately with the tilt came a leftward direction, to the side of the road.


Completely forgetting even the brakes, I left myself to fate.


Fate happened to be a Santan hedge just past the Gascon house a split second later. Next thing I knew, I was wedged somewhere in the shrub, on my tush, my hands spread to my sides to cushion the fall. I seriously cannot remember how, driving toward the bush, I bailed and turned fast enough so I would fall into it backside first.


When I got out, I looked back to the direction of the house and saw my neighbor Manang Marlynne half-shouting in shock and half-laughing. I am fine, I shouted back, a little embarrassed. I learned my lesson: steer into the direction of the fall. I never lost balance after that.


What I did become was more recklessly adventurous with my newfound skill. In no time, friends and I were constructing jumps with wooden planks and packed earth, to my mother’s eternal consternation. We were jumping into and out of ditches, from high platforms, doing wheelies, and riding without hands (look, Ma!), and downhill, at that. I have always been athletic, thank the gods, and I was discovering a really good coordination in my psychomotor facilities. That bike got me several beatings, to make a long story short.


The memory of that bike I am most fond of, however, has to do with what I have always thought a miracle, until I figured out the simple probable answer 20 years later.


So we were already copying extreme biking on TV (when the reception was good enough, anyway). We had a skid phase. You know. Riding really fast and abruptly squeezing the rear brake while jerking the handlebars to a side, causing your rear wheel to skid into a stop?


Our chosen arena was the old auditorium in front of the municipal hall. In the provinces, such open areas were usually made with the primary purpose of sun-drying the rice harvest for sale or further processing, but to get the most out of these concrete beds, local governments usually put stuff around them, like stages or basketball rings and bleachers, for use during the off-season, or at least when there is no rice to dry.


Our old auditorium was perfect. It was wide enough to bike around in, to gather speed, and had unpaved earth at one end, opposite the stage. It was at that spot where my friends and I opted to skid, trying to outdo each other by creating the bigger cloud of dust.


One afternoon, at or about 4:30P.M., I was there again with friends, in our version of the (then) future X-Games. Unsatisfied with the speed I could gather by just going around the concrete pavement, I theorized that I could gather more speed if I had biked a longer distance. So I went outside the auditorium.


A hundred meters from the auditorium gate, I kicked off with my left foot, while at the same time bearing down heavily on the pedal with my right. I was off! I was flying!


Then it happened. Twenty meters from the gate, three old teachers from my elementary school walked right into my path (you can walk through the auditorium and out the gate at the other side – a diagonal short cut instead of turning left at a nearby crossing).


I was so fast I was within meters of ramming into them in a split second. At ten-five meters away, again, I left everything to fate: once more forgetting the brakes, and figuring I would reach the gate first if not for these humans in my way, I quickly theorized (here we go again) that I could squeeze between the rightmost lady and the gatepost without much damage to self, the post, the bike, and most importantly, the 50-something educator, if I jerked right (to avoid the lady) and back left (to make it into the gate) super fast enough, and at the precise moment. So I kept my speed and calculated that precise moment – with my eyes closed.


When I opened them a second later, I was in the auditorium, approaching the earthen end. Utterly surprised, I looked back. The teachers were still walking casually side by side; they just entered the gate. I failed to skid that time. Dazed, confused (and quite relieved), I called it a day, and went home, wondering how God allowed that stupid trick to work. That was a pretty close call, and a pretty narrow window. In any case, that was the end of our skid phase.


I would soon outgrow that bike, if only in terms of (ab)use. When I was seven, my dad got a regular size BMX, which, although big for my age, I would start experimenting with barely a year later. Years after that, I would also inherit my father’s mountain bike, which I used to cross into the next few towns, seeking out friends’ houses for free merienda.


Those were the days. Riding was freedom. From house chores, my mother’s nagging, or my father’s bamboo stick. It was just me and the road, the wind, and ridiculous challenges set with friends. When I was on my bike, I thought of nothing else.


Which is probably the reason why I figured out my miracle only years after I stopped biking: the teacher probably saw me coming, and stepped aside.
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businesses for real men (mga negosyo ng mga tunay na lalaki) [Jul. 30th, 2009|10:55 pm]
not a few members of the varsitarian batches that i was fortunate to work with are in business, or plan to be. it was not a surprise to find myself with some fellas from my stint as editor in chief, discussing possible ways to make money.

and because we are real men, and real men like women, we settled on a brothel.

but of course, having a bevy of nubile women serving the needs of us real men is not really legal in these parts, so it was necessary to think of a cover. massage parlors are too obvious. karaoke and videoke, taken. billiards bar, maybe not.

the most effective cover that we believe no one has ever thought of (we have to compete in terms of innovation and not just price) is... a photocopy shop.

it's perfect! who would ever think that there is a brothel behind those innocent photocopy machines?

first things first: we have to have the staff, which, of course, will be all-female, from 14-25 years old. hey, the average female starts to understand how their machines work (the machine to be assigned to them, dumdum) at an early age these days. it is the age of information, after all, and girls these days, you would be surprised as to how well-informed they are.

anyway, getting the staff.

we need advertisements. and our ad  for the photocopy shop will run this way -- wanted: young girls with reproductive experience. that ought to get them all, from all places. there will be filipino girls, brown girls, yellow girls, white girls, black girls.

which is good, because that will enable us to offer diversified services. maybe, because of that diversity, we would be able to offer services to women, too.

hi sir/maam, my name is pinky, what can i do to settle your reproductive needs today?

there will be several options available.

reproduction with people's di... documents, DOcuments... will be in several options. photocopy services can be in black. this is the most basic. an aeta girl can take care of this. of course, when paired with a caucasian, instantly, there is the choice of black and white. the chinitas, with their yellowish tinge, and the tan ones, can offer the colored service. this is without saying the sheets used in the shop can be local, imported, or if the customer is cheap or in a hurry, recycled.

a combination of reproductive needs for documents would be no problem, since all we will have to adjust is the price.

aMAIzing!

sometimes i think i was born for this.

(rambling off...)
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mga bagay-bagay sa aking pagnilay-nilay [Jul. 9th, 2009|10:39 pm]
kita ko sa isang canteen dito sa may kamias: "now serving kambing."  sabi ko, okay a. ilan kayang kambing ang kumakain dyan araw-araw?

***

lumayo kayo sa mga restaurant na nagsasabing "now ready to serve YOU."

***

mga kanta. alam nyo yung "and iiiiiii found a very SPISyal love in youuuu..."   bisaya ba yung artist?

***

eto ngayong gabi ko lang din narealize: kakatakot yung kantang "turn arouuund... bright eeeyes..." ano yun, multo? dilat na dilat ang mata, kumikinang, parang may flashlight? tapos yung tono pa nung kanta e no? "turn arouuund..."

***

"sorry, wrong send."
- ah. bakit, pag may binaril ka ba tapos mali pala yung tao, sasabihin mo, "sorry, wrong shoot."? pwede naman sabihing "missent". o "wrong number." ilocano ako, pero masisigurado ko na hindi galing sa tribu namin yung nagpasimula nyan.

***

galing sa propesor namin sa trial and appellate practice (akalain mo?), mga labels at warning sa mga produkto (na karaniwan e mga abugado ang gumagawa, dahil sa mga kaso na inihahabla ng mga tangang kostumer):

1. sa kahon ng sleeping pill: "may cause drowsiness."

2. sa kahon ng blowdrier: "do not use while in the bath tub."

3. sa mga eroplano: "fasten seatbelt while sitting down."

4. sa kahon ng plantsa: "do not iron clothes while they are being worn."

5. sa kahon ng massager: "do not use while asleep or unconscious."


ayos.
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asar [Jul. 8th, 2009|10:43 am]
maglalabas lang ako ng inis, galit, at isang walang-magawang buntong hininga sa pananalita ng mga tao ngayon. hindi ko maintindihan. at hindi ko maintindihan na ako pang hindi tagalog/ingles ang papansin sa mga ito. aywan ko. tinuruan naman kaming mga ilocano ng maayos na pananalita sa aming paaralan sa aming muntik purok sa ilocos. saan nag-aral ang mga ito???

***
"i can't bring my car. i'm coding."
- aba, sandali at tatabi kami, baka bigla kang tumumba at mangisay. or, kung hindi pala medikal ibig mong sabihin, ano ba ang ibig sabihin ng pandiwang "to code", kung meron ngang pandiwang ganun? para ba yang "encode"? "to code"? ang pagmamakinilya o kompyuter na kulang ang daliri, siguro.

"para safety."
- karaniwan kong naririnig sa mga nagmamaneho nung pampasadang kotse (taxi). bakit, kung hindi ba ako magsi-sinturong pangkaligtasan e... danger?

"i-friend mo ako ha?"
- mas gusto kitang i-enemy.

"fine-friend nya ako e hindi ko naman siya kilala."
- fine-friend ka? pati siya ie-enemy ko!

"sine-sell. nagse-sell."
- ibinebenta, nagbebenta.

"scinan."
- ini-scan?

"sina-scan pa lang."
- (himutok...)

"prinint."
- mahirap nga ito.

"monthsary namin ngayon!"
- aw. sweet naman. date kayo? so ano gagawin nyo naman kapag yearsary nyo na? last week ba weeksary ninyo? konting kaalaman: ang anniversary ay galing sa salitang latin: "annum". ibig sabihin, taon, o year. kaya anniversary. kung gusto nyong gamitin yung month, ang salitang latin niyan e mens, mensis. ergo, "mensary" dapat. wag kayong mag-imbento. nakakainis talaga ito. isa ito sa mga all-time na nakakagigil. "monthsary namin ngayon!" AAAAAAARGH!!! puta, kinikilig pa...

"polisiya."
- tarantadong mga brodkaster na yan. akala nila ang galing-galing nila. akala nila ang huhusay nila kasi gumagamit sila ng jargon. mga tarantado! ano yan, tanggapan ng pulis? dyan ba dinadala mga kriminal? ALITUNTUNIN!!!

"pinal na desisyon."
- isa pa to. bakit hindi "huli." ang puno't dulo ng usapan. pinal? bakit? kasi final? kasi ganun ang baybay nya sa ingles? pinalitan mo lang ng "p" yung "f" e pwede nang tagalog?

"ibi-nreyk nya ako."
- ayan! kasi! monthsary-monthsary ka pa. ganyan ka kasi magsalita kaya "hiniwalayan" ka niya, hunghang!

"ingat."
- ... ano!!?? sino!!?? ano sa ingles yan, "care"? pag may aalis na pinsan kang merkano sasabihin mo ba sa kanya, "care!" ?  "care, cousin!" ganun?

"god bless."
- YOUUU!!! YOUUU!!!  TRANSITIVE VEEERB!!! putakti. ayoko na.
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just a spark [Jun. 4th, 2009|12:03 am]
character is not enough. it doesnt feed. it doesnt buy things. it does not make you worth anything apart from stories you tell that might entertain for a little while. but in the end, character does not respect get. you have to be worth more. if you do not get respect, you at least become an object of awe. or shame. and people do not dismiss you. people do not feel (or make you feel) that your mistakes, misgivings, misdeals, miscalculations -- and just about everything that makes you human, or some creature born different -- are not the end of the world, whereas when it is they who seek the forgiveness you readily give, it does not take anything more than an apology, recited with impunity if with a little remorse. people know how to comfort you. they find words. they find proper actions.

but if all you have is character, you get overlooked. your needs. your welfare. your longings deemed no more than asinine predilections that they will say you never outgrew. your problems are unsolvable, they will say, although sometimes all that they require is an assurance that everything will be all right, that things are inherently temporary and thus finite, breakable, tend to vanish in time. assurance that you do not change, that your character remains unblemished in their eyes, and they continue to defend you without fail or qualification, they continue to offer taking bullets for you, be persecuted by others, dear to them, in your name and on your behalf.

that is all. that is not much.

then your character takes over. it immediately decides to set things to rights. whatever part of humanity it was that was made manifest: you lost a job, you had an accident, you broke the vase, you lost a memento -- becomes moot, because your character pushes you to rise above what once was, your character which does not accept the usual, which leaves things as they are.

sometimes just one little spark of assurance does it: an encouraging pat on the back, an uplifting smile, a positive outlook. something other than what is called for.

something real.

something felt.

something genuine.

until then... well... arya...
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does anyone remember inday? [May. 31st, 2009|06:11 pm]
(from an old email)

Dahil sa tindi ng kahirapan sa probinsya,
namasukan si Inday bilang katulong sa Maynila.
Habang ini-interview ng amo...

Amo: Kelangan namin ng katulong para mag ayos ng
bahay, magluto, maglaba, magplantsa, mamalengke,
at magbantay ng mga bata. Kaya mo ba ang lahat ng
ito?

Inday: I believe that my trained skills and
expertise in management with the use of standard
tools, and my discipline and experience will
contribute significantly to the value of the
work that you want, my creativity, productivity
and work-efficiency and the high quality of
outcomes I can offer will boost the work
progress.

Amo: [nosebleed]


Nakaraan ang dalawang araw, umuwi ang amo,
nakitang me bukol si junior.


Amo: Bakit me bukol si junior?

Inday: Compromising safety with useless
aesthetics, the not-so-well engineered
architectural design of our kitchen lavatory
affected the boy's cranium with a slight boil at
the left temple near the auditory organ.

Amo: [nosebleed ulit]


Kinagabihan, habang naghahapunan.

Amo: Bakit maalat ang ulam?

Inday: The consistency was fine. But you see, it
seems that the increased amount of sodium
chloride (NaCl) affected the taste drastically
and those actions are irreversible. I do
apologize.

Amo: [nosebleed na naman]

Donya: Bakit tuwing paguwi ko, nadadatnan kitang
nanunuod ng tv?!


Inday: Because I don't want you to see me doing
absolutely nothing.

Donya: [hinimatay]


Kinabukasan, sinamahan ni Inday si junior sa
principal's office dahil di makapunta ang amo at
donya.

Principal: Sinuntok ni junior ang kanyang
kaklase.


Inday: It's absurd! It was never a fact that he
will inflict a fight. I can only imagine how you
handle schizophrenic kids on this educational
institution. Revise your policies because they
suck!

Principal: [nag resign]


Pag dating sa bahay, nandun na ang amo, galit na
galit.

Amo: Inday, bakit nagkalat ang basura sa likod ng
bahay?!


Inday: A change in the weather patterns might
have occurred wrecking havoc to the
surroundings. The way the debris are scattered
indicates that the gust of wind was going
northeast causing damage to the path it was
heading for.

Amo: [nosebleed ulit]


Habang nagluluto si Inday ng hapunan, malikot si
junior.

Inday: Stop your raucous behavior. It is bound
to result in property damages and if that
happens there will be corresponding punishment to
be inflicted upon you!

Junior: [takbo sa CR, punasan ang nagdudugong
ilong]


Pagkatapos magluto, nanood na ng TV si Inday.
Nabalitaan nya umalis si Angel Locsin sa GMA 7.

Junior: Bakit kaya sya umalis?

Inday: Sometimes, people choose to leave not
because of selfish reasons but because they just
know that things will get worse if they'll stay.
Leaving can be a tough act, and it's harder when
people can't understand you for doing so.

Junior: [tuloy ang pagdugo ng ilong]


Nung gabing yon, me nag text ke Inday. Si Dodong,
ang driver ng kapitbahay, gusto maki pag
text-mate.

Inday: To forestall further hopes of
acquaintance, my unfathomable statement to the
denial of your request - Petition denied.


Di nagla-on, dahil sa tyaga ni Dodong, nagging
syota nya rin si Inday. Pero di tumagal ang
kanilang relasyon, at nakipag-break si Inday ke
Dodong.

Inday: The statute restricts me to love you but
you have the provocations. The way you smile is
the proximate cause why I love you. We have some
rules to think of. We have no vested rights to
love each other because the upper household
dismissed my petition!"

Dodong: Perhaps you are mistaken, what you seem
to contrive as any affections for you are
somewhat half-hearted. I was merely attempting
to expand my network of interests by involving
you in my daily recreation. Heretofor, you can
expect an end to any verbal articulation from
myself"


Me dumaan na mamang basurero, at narinig ang
usapan ni Inday at Dodong.

Basurero (sabi ke Inday): Be careful in letting
go of the things you thought are just nothing
because maybe someday you'll realize that the one
you gave away is the very thing you've been
wishing for to stay.

Narinig ang lahat ng eto ng amo ni inday.

Amo: [nagpakamatay]


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ode to arkdia [May. 31st, 2009|12:01 pm]

i wrote the following poem after a night of beer at the bar of arkdia, where i used to hang out, alone or with friends, in my college and law school years. arkdia is no longer. the poem is posted on http://www.poetry.com/dotnet/P5930351/999/1/display.aspx


Offering

 

Arkdia
11:30 pm

It was the strobe lights.
When they began to blink madly
in the fashion of a furious heartbeat,
she emerged from the shadowed corner
of this sleepless sin house, wanting
perhaps to seek atonement
from the pounding rhythm
that has been beckoning, relentless
like the devil on an idle night.
Virginal, she walked like a royal
among commoners whose eyes wondered
what called her to a place like this
then bowed to the inevitable:
she must make amends.


Eldric Paul Aquino Peredo
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oooh louie louie! [May. 17th, 2009|01:14 pm]
si louei jon sanchez, ph.d. cand.

naaaaaaks.


http://www.facebook.com/ext/share.php?sid=108105622064&h=n4srJ&u=83VtA&ref=nf
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untitled number ___ [May. 15th, 2009|01:50 am]
i am not sure if i have published this before. found it while i was trying to organize my stuff.

(untitled)

were i to trace where
tears drag heavy blades
to birth scars sacred -- echoes
of solemn prayers unheard -- lightly,
like whispers assuring
(presumptuously) of morning,
would i find there paths to a soul
unmollified? i wonder (presumptuously)
what would happen to the words:
would they break before
the utter power of a love unreturned,
their breath-light innocence betrayed,
or would they, with all meekness, raise
a hand to pull out
of love's eternal night?


(the notebook where it is written says it is the second to the last attempt at poetry that i have written.)


***

anyhoo.

i can hardly wait to die. and it is only because i feel, after all i have seen and heard, that death is not the enemy. it is life. and his closest accomplice is love. - the capitan in mass for the death of an enemy (renato madrid)
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down with the herd... [Apr. 25th, 2009|12:40 am]
1. (while watching house, md) why do doctors yell "STAT!"? to be cool? because it's a medical term? hell no. it's an abbreviation of statim (or statum, i forget my latin grammar) which means "NOW!" so why dont they just say "NOW!"? it's shorter, with only three letters (even if "stat" is likewise considered only one syllable). wala lang. style nila. medicalese.

2. sabi ni binay sa campaign ad nya sa tv na maganda ang makati, etc. obviously sinasabi nya na nag-improve ang makati nung sya mayor. ganoon daw sila sa makati. e di doon na lang sya. stay on as consultant or something. pero sabagay, kailangan ng bansa ng disiplinador. pero ulit, sabi nga namin nung bata kami, sa ilocos, habang nagpapalipad ng saranggola at nagpapasikatan, "paramakits".

3. bakit kasi nilinis yung scene dun sa alleged suicide ni trinidad etong?

4. napakaliit ko ngayon, pakiramdam ko. napakawalang silbi, kumpara sa nakaraan. minsan iniisip ko kung bakit lumipas pa yun. sana wala na lang nangyari, nang hindi ko kinukumpara ang sarili ko nang ganito. alam kong may silbi ako pero wala akong laban sa mga ipinanganak sa pribilehyo. nakakahiya.

5. yung mga nakakakilala talaga sa akin, nagtataka siguro kung anong nangyayari. nabali yata yung mga pangil ko.

6. pero kahit may nangyari, sana hindi naman ganoon kalaki silang tao at pangyayari. ang hirap labanan ng tadhana, ng panahon, at ng katotohanan. parang kamatayan. tatanggapin mo na lang sila na ganoon kasi wala kang magagawa.

7. ang sarap pa rin ng buhay probinsya. biyaya talaga ang lumaki at mabuhay doon.

7. buti pa si pacquiao, bilyonaryo na siguro. kung may datung, may dating. tanungin nyo yung mga ipinanganak nga sa pribilehyo. ang bilis ng galaw at takbo ng mundo para sa kanila.

8. kung saan masaya ang tao, pagbigyan. darating din siguro ang akin. balang araw.

9. blaming anyone is inutile. the fault is always with the person who fails. he would do well not to hope or expect. he would do well to exert an effort to get up and improve. never mind the lack of recognition. sabi ko nga, kung tama ang ginagawa, darating din siguro yan. kung totoo ang diyos at lahat ng sinasabi tungkol sa kanya, hindi dapat siya natutulog.

10. all i have, all i am, has been drastically reduced. fuck it. down with the herd...
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e ganun e [Apr. 15th, 2009|10:47 pm]
1. kung may datung, may dating. kahit pangit, salbahe, walang modo, walang direksyon, manginginom, durugista, manggagahasa, etc. hahabulin pa yan.

2. dun pala sa up law, kapag may namatay, suspension. sa ust law naman, pag may nagalusan, expulsion. wala ako balita sa ateneo.

3. naluma na ang selpon. nagkokontakan mga tao sa facebook.

4. pati yahoo messenger. kasi may chat na rin ang facebook.

5. pero yung chat sa facebook pinuputol ang chat history.

6. wala akong pera ngayon. mga may utang dyan...

7. san ba dito ang bumibili ng mga plastic na drum na sira? yun bang pinunit/nilagare. madami ako e. pwede pa naman yun imelt at gawing plastic ulit di ba?

8. ano kaya sasabihin sa akin?

9. mangyayari ang mangyayari.

10. masanay na dapat ako. darating din ang akin.
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