jess fur peyn

Writing from Linamon, Lanao del Norte. Just few kilometers--like nearby--are Kolambugan and Kauswagan--the towns recently stormed by the Moro Islamic Liberation Front rebels headed by Commander Bravo. Next week, I will be in Tawi-Tawi and Zamboanga, then back to Cagayan de Oro.

Been slow lately. Ang daming travels. Meetings and trainings overlapped; if only I could be in two places at the same time. Or three places. The other week, I was in Laguna for the National Union of Journalists of the Philippines training. Ang dami ko nang utang sa aking office. Masyado na akong spoiled--makes me think about my being an effective advocate.

Over the weekend, I attended a training on peace and conflict journalism in Cagayan de Oro. Nakakaloka. New inputs. Old inputs. New friends. Old friends.

Hmmmm...but new words. Lots of them.
Para sa inyo, asan ang winner?


Desayas.....................................................Desires
Re-ek.......................................................React
Ekts........................................................Acts
Fekts.......................................................Facts
Reedahs.....................................................Readers
May-yah.....................................................Mayor
Gabbage.....................................................Garbage
Ektiv.......................................................Active
Bek.........................................................Back
Adah........................................................Other
Pee-pil.....................................................People
Sauce.......................................................Source
Sauces......................................................Sources
Sektoh......................................................Sector
Tweel.......................................................Tool
Ple-yes.....................................................Players
Mee-tah.....................................................Meter
Ah..........................................................Are
Ekses.......................................................Access
Pawah.......................................................Power
Teh-bel.....................................................Table
Awah........................................................Our
Boder.......................................................Border
Fail-yah....................................................Failure
Impek.......................................................Impact
Leah by leah................................................Layer by Layer
Patties.....................................................Parties
Moning......................................................Morning

imbestigatib mong mukha mo

Ayaw kong sanang mag-blog pero sobrang tagal na nitong kagagahan na ito. I mean, yang entry sa baba. Isang linggo na yan at tapos na ako sa episode na yan. Bago na naman sana pero di ako makapag-sulat. Hindi ko ma-gather ng maayos ang aking thoughts. Ang dami naman sanang nangyari sa akin nitong mga nakaraang araw.

Ito na lang. Nawendang ako nang...

1. Nong nasa laguna na kami at papunta na sa resort kung saan ang mga kasamahan sa work ay magmi-meeting, ang daming signage along the way na talagang weird. Isipin mo na lang ito: ice-tube uling (charcoal, yes) for sale or private pool for rent. Ano? private pool? For rent? Di ko ma-gets.

2. Ako'y may naging kalandian ng hindi ko inasahan. Tae. Basta. Landi yon. Gusto ko naman. Perfect masyado kasi mabait na malandi ang combination. Kung di man sya naglalandi--o di man nya sinasadyang maglandi sa akin--ok lang. Landi sa akin yon. Walang pakialamanan. At isa pa, ok. Fine. Ako na nakipaglandian sa kanya. Masisisi nyo ba ako kung hot sya? Kung yummy sya?

3. Hindi pala kasama ang isang kasama sa meeting na ito. Akala ko nagbibiro lang. Tinutuo ng bata ang kanyang banta. Sadness kasi wala sya. Pramis. Eh, sa gusto ko pa naman syang makita. Yon lang. Potasya! Eksayted pa naman akong makita sya uli. Bweset. Syet. Like, I'm so highstrung this very moment. Tse.

4. Nang mabalitaang may hiwalayan sanang magaganap at may hiwalayan daw na naganap. Like, ang nakakaloka kasi mga malalapit na tao ang involve dito. Ayaw ko na munang mag elaborate habang makapal pa ang usok, altho may nabitiwan na akong comment. Antay na lang muna kung kelan wala na ang makapal na usok at soot na lang ang naiwan. By that time keri na ang event.

5. Ang tawagin ng isang sikat na blogger ang kanyang podcast na investigative journalism. Nakaka-offend kasi hindi naman nya alam kung ano ang investigative journalism. Nakaka-insulto sa mga investigative journalists. Ang mas lalong nakakainsulto kasi ang topic ng kanyang investigative journalism ay kung paano makipaglandian ang isang bakla sa kapwa bakla; paano makipag-sex sa isang stranger. Hindi nakaka-insulto ang sex ng mga bakla sa kapwa bakla. Ang nakaka-insulto ay kung paano ito ginawang cheap sa isang podcast na nagbalatkayo bilang isang porma ng investigative journalism. Isa pa--hindi naman sya journalist no!

yellow...

D,

This is kind of sooooooo frigging off.

First, I know sumemplang ako. Second, I sort of don't know whether to really explain or not--especially that this is one of my most embarrassing semplangs. Ever.

Then, there is this nagging concern whether it is right--but, of course, it is more than it is not--to really explain my being honest while at the same time being unspeakably cheap; the latter, I know, you know very well.

Problem is--I don't know how to do it. I mean to explain. Paksyet.

Kato...

I am sorry for like mixing messages up. Really. Chaka.

Again, I am sorry for showing you my honesty while at the same time, slipping out my being uberly cheap. Waw.


Always,

Jepoi


PS

Always gyud? hahahaha...

---

Writing this letter made me cringe. And thinking about the reasons why I had to apologize for being honest or being cheap made me raise a fist--literally--and swing it up straight to the wall. Ampanget. Puta!!!

Whatever happened to class

No. This is not about the battle of the dirt poor against the filthy rich. That one is a struggle that many are inspired to join in as they find the wide gap present right smack dab in the middle of their own lives. Talk about misery loving company or simply associations: you are empathetic to others because somehow you see yourself in them.

This one here is a story about the rich and the famous—both, of course, are debatable--allowing the demise of their class. Thanks to the company they keep intimately, especially those whose education and understanding of what is classy is limited only on the clothes and the scent that they wear and never on the attitude and character that must supposedly come out as the best accessory than the big hoop earrings, French tips and pouting lips.

Now think of the word copycat. Then, put the word “poor” before the word copycat. What do we have then? Correct. Quintessential social climber. Indeed.

This leaves me to explain why I mentioned education. Class is something that can be taught and learned. It can be acquired from constant beso-beso with the poreless cheeks of the rich and the famous—stress some more on the debatableness of the words rich and famous. Exactly, the cheeks of your designer and artist friends.

Understanding, I also say, because someone with class must understand—always—the existence of social stressors. And breeding, something that is a freaking must-have for someone who claims to be classy, must not be surrendered to anger.

Yes, Virginia, you do not succumb to the temptation of releasing your self-devised weapon of mass destruction—those French tips, love—against those who do not find you physically attractive; those who call you--in malicious whispers or through a megaphone--“ugly” or “starfish” who “must better go back to the sea.”

If you have breeding and you are really sosyal like your real sosyal friends, all you have to do is just smile at those who find you ugly or starfishy (my apologies to all species of starfish) and sashay around, ride over the air of freedom that since you’ve had under your wings for being an out gay who never had any issues about his sexuality or had to undergo that suffocating experience of staying inside the closet for 18 years.

Or you approach them, still sashaying as if you just won a major award in the Miss Gay Paquibato beauty pageant that you know they are so afraid to join in for fear that they will pass out during the question and answer portion. Then whisper in their ears—“Kung starfish ako, tuyum kayo!”

And then smile and walk-out, and sashay some more.

Yes, I pity you and your anger. It’s painful to be called names. So go on. Call them names, too. Summon the goddess of ugly names and smear it on their beautiful, beautiful—thanks to foundation and diamond peeling—faces.

Call them maya, mayette, mayang bungol, flores-de-maya, pathetically-pretentious-gay-male-who-claims-to-be-bi-and-top-only-with-girls-but-bottom-with-boys, social-climbers-we-are-alike. Call them pobre. Call them pa-sosyal-unlike-me-because-i-am-really-sosyal. Take out your purse. Show off your money, something that you must have because your sosyal, anyway.

But do it in whispers, please. Do not scream. That will only hammer down the perception that you are a screaming faggot. That’s derogatory, of course. I mean, to be called faggot is derogatory. And it’s a double whammy if you are called a screaming faggot, no matter how true.

Because your friends are classy and sosyal, you do not smear their reputations by dousing beer on the beautiful, beautiful face of the maya who called you starfish. Or engage in a cat fight with them—slap the maya’s face and throw him off under the table, to say hello and kiss the fence.

And, because you are classy, too, just like your friends, you do not run and leave the poor, poor maya crying on the shoulder of another maya—the scene of which reminds many gays of the time when they so badly needed to win a beauty pageant but sadly lost.

Yes. You are not supposed to run. I told you…you sashay your way out. That one is graceful exit; sashay your way out and leave the poor, poor mayas paying the P1,800 damages. All by themselves.

And you are not supposed to do this in Rizal Promenade on a Saturday night. Not in Rizal Promenade where one can buy two kilos of flesh straight from the counter--for free.

The price of a virgin

While waiting for a cab in a waiting shed beside Davao Doctors Hospital one rainy night, I overheard this conversation between a group of students in white--perhaps nursing students--and manong, a vendor who sells balot and cola.

Girl1: Kuya, tagpila ang Virgin? (How much for a bottle of Virgin)
Kuya: Diyes pisos (P10)...
Girl2: Mahala pud ana kuya uy (That's too expensive)!
Kuya: Mao man gyud na iyang presyo (We're really selling it for P10 a bottle)
Girl2: Diba tag-seven pesos lang man na sya kuya (Doesn't it cost only P7)?
Kuya: Diyes lagi (No. It's really P10).
Girl1: Kurakot gud ka kuya (You know what, you're corrupt)...
Girl2: True! Mura ka og si GMA (You're like GMA)...
Girl1: Kulang na lang sa imo kuya kay alum (The only thing that lacks in your is a mole)!

Other characters--their friends--just laughed. And I could not help but also laugh from where I was standing, thankful that no taxi was available that time or else I would have missed that scene. And they did not even look like they were tibak.


PS:

Ano daw ang Virgin tanong nina biatch and lyka. Well, bukod sa akin, ito ang Virgin.



----

Outside our apartment, the chorus for Manny Pacquiao was drowning our little angry whispers as the staccato of his punches tore the beautiful face of Marco Antonio Barrera. Inside, all of us were unanimous in praying that the fight be called over. Both of them were bloodied. Pacquiao's face appeared ok, despite the lacerations and that broken nose. It did not change a bit. Marco Antonio Barrera's face needed a major reconstruction.

Now, Pacquiao is preparing to battle Mexico's Golden Boy--another hottie Oscar dela Joya. And being THE consistent Pacquiao-opponent fan that I am, I will pray, as in pray, for hottie dela Joya.

This early, many already predicted the doom of Pacquiao: that he will be knocked down by dela Joya.

Thank you very much but I am not sure. I cannot say. But I am sure of one thing. I know of one person who will be brought to the hospital--to be tailed by TV cameras and radio reporters-- IN this fight.


Dionisia.

Who else? You see, the stage mother who never ceases to steal the limelight--whenever and whatever she can grab from her superstar son.

Hmmmmm...last time she asked for a new car. What do you think she will ask from her son after the fight with dela Joya?