that first-time-pain

Waiting for a text or a call from your editors on a Saturday afternoon, when all you had for breakfast and lunch is a cup of coffee, is kind of tedious. Exactly it feels like watching Benjamin Button, only this time the feeling is painfuller because you do not know exactly whether or not tomorrow's newspaper will carry your story. You see, getting your story printed or not is one of the problems of a freelance journalist like I am.

I problematize because I put on too much on my stories. Not that I am saying that I have never tinkered into armchair journalism--which makes journalism a lot easier but extremely dull--because I have and perhaps will be in the coming days as other journalists will be doing in the coming days or their entire lives as journalists. And armchair journalism is not bad at all. What is is when you stroke it too much. And you do nothing but stroke it. Fine! There's a clearer term for that. Masturbation.

What I am saying is--one must at least exert an effort to get himself or herlself that journalistic orgasm by not just sitting on an armchair and wait for that spurt.

That I put on too much on my stories--maybe--can be summarized by the bruises on my thigh and a dislodged joint on my right foot that I recently got while on my way up to a village of Barangay Palma Gil in Talaingod, Davao del Norte. Dearest habal-habal created a scene right in a very busy junction called Nara.

Accidents happen and that I can easily accept. But it's totally different when you find yourself stuck in a situation--we call accident--in front of your former lover's store.

If it were you, what would you do?

I did nothing. I did not move a bit even after the driver told me to get up. I just could not get up because dearest habal-habal was on top of me. Literally. Dearest habal-habal habal(ed) me, only that did it not look sleazy. Not even sexy. While it hurt me, it did not arouse me. Not a bit. Not at all. But it hurt like it was the first time.

There I realize the reason why it's called habal-habal. Made me think--gihabalan ko sa habal-habal.

How's that for an accident huh?


F said...


johnnypanic said...

having lived through 4 years of pre-concrete road UP Mindanao, i so can relate to your unsexy habal experience.

...and of all places in front of your ex's store? we faggots are forever receptacles of high drama!

Maki said...

ah dear, i could only imagine. must've hurt like hell.

btw, im glad that you're back to the blog world. :)

rainisrian said...

'What I am saying is--one must at least exert an effort to get himself or herlself that journalistic orgasm by not just sitting on an armchair and wait for that spurt.'

ganahan ko ani na lines. Hahaha.

Anyway, about your accident on that unfortunate spot in front of your ex-lover's store, the universe might be speaking to you. :)

bananas said...

john, sakto gyud ka ba. ngano man kaha na no?

maki, i am glad too.

rain, tinuod. the natural scheme of things...ana siguro sya--GUMAPANG KA NA SA LUSAK NANG MADAPA KA DATI, UNSA MAN? TAGAM NA KA? hahahaha

Bryan Anthony said...

ate what's habal habal?

mikel said...

i don't know why, but the way you narrated how the habal habal habal(ed) you is funny. i know it is not funny being pinned down by that machine.
i read you stories whenever i can. :)

sanggrepirena said...

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Winter said...

hihi musta kuya??

Bryan Anthony said...

helo helo!