BananachokeD

death

2009-10-19T20:20:00.002+08:00

you expell rants that make you actually sound like a parrot lousily parroting some theorists and factists that offered sad truths about life and the lack of it. by life it's a given that gayness is a given fact. so you spew all that you've heard from oprah's guests whose names you can't remember now. and you underscore what you've read from writers whose names sounded jewish so you have the difficulty of pronouncing them. and you do this as if you will never see the sun three hours later. and--with feelings--you stress, you puncuate. you are the center of the universe. and you are getting undivided attention. you know that for you to persuade them, you must persuade yourself first. and the world crumbles and you are a witness to this. just like how your blinding eyes are witnesses to the death of yet another stick of marlboro. you are frustrated because your parroting is nearing its death. because they dismiss your parroting of the theorists and factists as "that's only your opinion."

sa pagpapakamatay

2009-10-09T21:44:00.004+08:00

Sa Jaby. Noong isang gabi...

Bananas: Kung magsu-suicide ka, paano mo ito gagawin?

Fritz: Ako, gusto kong tumalon from a building. But that's messy, diba?

Bananas: Yes...mahihirapan tayong walisin at i-gather ang iyong utak. And imagine the splatter of your blood. Would be all over.

Jepoy gamay: Ang mo-morbid nyo! (Pouts lips. Balik sa laptop)

Bananas: Nasubukan ko na dati maglaslas. Masakit sya. It would be a painful death if ever. And slow. Mararamdaman ko ang sarili kong death.

Fritz: Ano sa tingin mo kung magpa-bangga ako sa rumaragasang sasakyan?

Bananas: Sus! Idadamay mo pa ang driver sa death mo?

Fritz: Pwede na ring magbaril.

Bananas: Pero may baril ka ba?

Fritz: Wala...

Bananas: Wala na ang baril sa usapan.

Bananas: Ako kung magpapakamatay, magha-hang. Quick death.

Hours later over bottles of beer sa Boystown...

Bananas: Kung magpapakamatay ako, ano ang gagawin mo?

Jepoy gamay: (deadma lang. drink lang ng beer. pout lang ng lips after)

Fritz: Ako? Magiging proud ako.

Bananas: Ha?

Fritz: Proud ako na kilala kita. At kaibigan kita. At nagpakamatay ka.

Bananas: You will write my story. I will give you the license to do it.

Fritz: Ako?

Bananas: Yes. Share kayo ni Louie. And Rolanda. (Si Louie ay cousin ni Fritz na sobrang friend ko rin. Si Rolanda ay another writer friend na kilala ako, more or less.)

Hours later sa room ko. With R.

Bananas: Kung magpapakamatay ka, paano mo ito gagawin?

R: Tatalon...

Bananas: Parang si Fritz. Ako mag-ha-hang. Para madaling-madali.

R: Bad ang pagpapakamatay.

Bananas: Bakit bad?

R: Kasi it's bad. Dapat di mo pinapatay ang sarili mo.

Bananas: (no comment)

R: (Medyo high-strung na) Bakit ka magpapakamatay? Ano ba ang problema mo? Lahat ng problema ay pwedeng i-solve!

Bananas: (no comment lang)

R: Magbasa ka nga ng bible!

Bananas: Sinabi ko bang magpapakamatay ako? Nagtatanong lang naman...

R: Magbasa ka pa rin ng bible!!!

r,

2009-08-28T21:55:00.008+08:00

This morning, looking at you, shirtless, partly wrapped in that old sheet owned by a former lover, deep in your sleep despite the nasty whirring of the fan, washed out my troubles. I must apologize. I could not not lie beside you or hold a breath, afraid that I might miss the sound of that faint snore or that inaudible grunts. I wished the world stopped the moment you pouted your lips to meet mine. And I don't have the liberty to complain because yes, the world stopped after.

over

2009-08-02T17:27:00.007+08:00

I fell in love recently. It was kind difficult because this boy's used to be my friend's ex. What made things extra difficult was because we often go out together--bonded by a common interest that put us on the same page. That for some maybe a good opportunity. Not for me.

He was cool with it, my friend--the ex--as he was telling me about how easy it was for him to figure it out. That I was into his ex. I was as transparent as water. And it was easy for another friend to figure it out too. My eyes sparked when I saw him, she said. "Parang nakakita ka ng artista." She told me about the law of simplicity, if only to arrive to a good ending. That I will not elaborate.

Crucify me if I'd fail to convince you that that I did not imagine something good to happen between me and this boy because I did not. I was scared of so many things, rejection one of them. Truth is I wanted the feeling to be over immediately.

As fast as I want to end writing this.

in the name of their fathers

2009-07-01T22:49:00.004+08:00

A text message I received one Sunday morning washed out the alcohol that entered my body the night before. I wasn't expecting lawyer Karlo Nograles to like what I wrote but that he would react the way he did was another thing.

The text message sent he sent to a common friend read: " Have you read the inquirer? I thought this jeffrey guy was a responsible journalist. if i had known that he had already prejudged my family, i would have never let him into my house. He directly misquoted me and even added words just to suit his biased report. That's the last time. Never again."

Many questions were dangled by the reaction of the son of the Speaker of the House. Which part of the story was manufactured? Which quotes were misquotes? These he failed to answer.

I must concede about my being bias. My bias is something that I must not compromise. My bias is my loyalty. And my loyalty goes to my stories. And these stories are the stories of my sources. Meaning my loyalty goes to the story of Karlo Nograles or Sara Duterte and all other people who trust in me their stories.

Sure I am guilty. Be one of the judges...

Inquirer Mindanao
Defending the name of their fathers

By Jeffrey M. Tupas
Inquirer Mindanao
First Posted 21:39:00 06/20/2009

Filed Under: Family, Politics

DAVAO CITY—He is his father’s son; she, her father’s daughter. Their families are mortal political enemies, and in the 2010 elections, they will be at the forefront of their war.

Like his father, Speaker Prospero Nograles, lawyer Karlo “Kaka” Nograles defends the billboards and posters with his smiling face and name—in rich, bold letters—that are placed conspicuously in areas where major infrastructure projects have been completed or are going on in Davao City.

While critics say these announcements speak of the Nograleses’ narcissism, or are part of a grand stunt to claim credit for government funded-projects, Karlo says these do not violate laws.

He describes these as nothing but “information billboards”—simply to remind people of the service that has been delivered to them and what is to be expected from the Nograleses’ “politics of performance.”

Karlo speaks of how his father’s performance has changed people’s lives in the first district, the biggest in the city’s three congressional districts.

That is normal because he is his father’s chief of staff. It is expected because he is being groomed to become his father’s successor.

Blunt on issues

Just like her mayor-father, Rodrigo Duterte, Vice Mayor Sara “Inday” Duterte is known to be blunt about issues close to her heart.

While presiding over a regular city council session, she was overheard as saying, “Oh my God … oh, my God …”—her eyes wide—as the majority of the councilors voted for a controversial housing project in an environmentally critical area.

Later, she would confirm cases of corruption involving some councilors and admit that she has difficulty in fighting corruption in the council.

But she had to do it, she said, as she could not stomach public officials stealing public money. “No public money got into the pockets of the Dutertes … the Dutertes are not corrupt and I can declare that publicly, without me being mortified of myself for saying it,” she once said.

Reacting to rumors that her plan to replace her father as mayor will be challenged by Speaker Nograles, Sara said: “Who’s afraid of them? … who’s afraid of the Nograleses?”

It is the kind of tough talk that her father is known for. The kind that drives “criminals” out of the city, sending shivers down their spines.

Next breed of politicos

Sara and Karlo are the next breed of politicians who are seen to stir the political landscape of Davao City in the coming elections. The long battle of their families, as political arch-rivals, is anticipated to sizzle more with them at the helm.

Sara, 29, a lawyer, is seen to take over the position of her father. She considers herself the product of the old and the new Duterte, a family name kept protected by a long history of public service that “always kept the people first.”

“Our identity as political leaders is recognizable as it is distinct. It is a kind of service that emanates from the heart. Ours is not mechanical. We see through people and we respond to their needs appropriately,” she said.

Davaoeños know that Sara, who wears a couple of tattoos and a short chic hair, had contradicted her father over many issues in the past.

It was a feud that she did not deny but refused to elaborate on, except to say, “I don’t want to be told what to do. If I am told not to do this, I would end up doing it.”

Stereotype brand

Karlo, on the other hand, leaves an image of the obedient son, if not the perfect copy, of the father. He, too, has an image of a stereotype politician.

“I can offer many ways to serve the people. But my father’s brand will be my brand,” he said.

“We give importance to the continuity of things—to work on what has already started, done or achieved … my advantage over my father is that all I have to do is to continue what he has done and accomplished.”

For Sara, compromise is as tricky as the full implementation of the law.

She illustrates this by using as an example the sidewalk vendors that business establishments have been complaining against for so long.

“We have been receiving complaints about sidewalk vendors who occupy the space supposedly for the people and these establishments,” she said.

“But we can’t just disallow these sidewalk vendors and dislocate them and become the reason for their poverty. So we allow them (to occupy the sidewalks) provided that they agree to behave well, maintain the cleanliness of the surroundings, and other simple things.”

that first-time-pain

2009-04-11T16:35:00.008+08:00

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?

buhay pa ako...

2009-04-02T15:56:00.000+08:00

kahit parang hindi naman.

Unless Bakla Sya

2009-02-18T13:00:00.008+08:00

May peyborit councilors ang media ngayon dito sa Davao. Bawat Tuesday, bantay-sarado sila sa mga peyborit na ito. Ang dami kasing pwedeng makuha sa kanilang mga sinasabi. Ang problema lang ay walang maiuuwing story ang isang journalist kung itong councilors na ito lamang ang kanilang tututukan.

Well, meron naman kung ang mga sumusunod ang gustong story ng kanilang editor:

1. I am deliver privilege speech tomorrow...
2. ...to each one another
3. for more inquarries...
4. when you open the pusit, the water is milky your honor...

or, lalaban ka ba sa:

5. As of to date...

and when he was asked by the presiding officer for clarifications, nagtaray ito ang nagwikang:

6. Whatever your honor...whatever!

Dati, as in sobrang dati pa, sabi ng the same councilor na nag-deliver ng speech tungkol sa mga sirang tables and chairs sa city council:

7. ...the chairs and tables here are amputated, your honor.

Yong iba, sa susunod na naman. Ay oo, may the best na quote talaga after ng Valentine's day--Si House Speaker Prospero Nograles kasi ay binati ng Happy Valentine's si Mayor Rodrigo Duterte. Eh, diba nga? Di naman maganda ang kanilang relasyon? Kaya ang sagot ni Digong ay:

"Valentine's is a very incongrous event. It is only for lovers. Unless Bakla sya...but we are not lovers!"

sugar, baby, love

2009-02-11T23:18:00.003+08:00

Shoop...shuwarahwarah-shoop...shuwarahwarah-swoop...Sugar-baby-love...Sugar-baby-love...Flower every day...Flower every day...Ahahhhhhhh...Ahahahahaha...Flower every day...Flower every day....

Ang Sugilanon sa Loyloy

2009-02-07T15:05:00.006+08:00

ampingi ang imong kamingaw
sa balak nga wa pa nadungog
ayaw kalimti nga ugma
basin mupadidit siya pag-usab
uban kaniya
nga mukuyog kanimo
ngadto sa ilawom...

ampingi ang imong kamingaw
sa sapa sa ubos sa bungtod
nga sa iyang pagpanghimasa
ikaw naghulat sa abohan
gatayhup sa baga
hangtod kini nagkalayo...

nga sa imong pagtayhup
imong nadungog ang iyang pagpanaghoy
nga hinay nga gidala sa hangin
ug nahanaw ang kabalaka sa pagkahanaw sa hangin
mipahiyom...
Galuha ang mga matang gitak-upan sa baga nga aso

ampingi ang imong kamingaw
sa mga awit nga di malimtan
sa kapait sa saging nga nangitom
human gidangdang ug nabiyaan...
hangtod mapagod...
hinumdumi kanunay
ang pagbukal sa tubig
ug sa inyong pag-atang
ang itom nga bula
nga mudagayday sa gamayng baba sa gikapoy nga takori.

Translation:

cherish your yearning
for that unspoken poem
forget not that tomorrow
perhaps he will come sliding again
be with him
who will be with you
down through...

cherish your yearning
for the river down the hill
that while he bathed
you waited by the kitchen
blowing the cinder
untit it erupted in flames

that in your blowing
you heard his whistle
delivered by the wind
and your worries dissipated as the wind disappeared
smiling...
Drenched in tears were your eyes blinded by the thick smoke.

cherish your yearning
for the unforgotten songs
for the bitter taste of the burnt bananas
left for the cinder to scorch
remember constantly
the boiling of the water
and how you anticipated for the black froth
to flow out the small spout of the tired kettle.

This can't be happening

2009-02-01T02:22:00.005+08:00

Strange, really, how the death of a person whom I totally, totally don't know can affect me. I thought I am already too dense to feel any emotion associated with death that even the recent demise of an aunt--the coolest--did not even move me a bit.

This while Imogen Heap's Hide and Seek played in the background. On repeat-mode.

what's brewing?

2009-01-28T15:07:00.001+08:00

He's here and met with the media this morning. I mean Neri, the former head of the Commission on Higher Education who turned out to be more popular than our dear Darna--pun not intended--when the controversial ZTE deal became one of the mothers of all the scandals that rocked the administration.

He looks fit now--far from the Neri I saw early last year at the University of the Philippines-Mindanao when he was still the head of Ched. So fit that he appeared to me like someone who can put up a day-long cat-and-mouse chasing game with whoever would want to--or even a fist fight--unlike that day in UP-Mindanao where his escape from the angry students was made sweatless by his bodyguards. Bodyguards--made me think of Whitney Houston and Kevin Costner. Sweet.

At the hotel yesterday, Neri did not appear to me like he's someone who has been entangled into the messy multimillion ZTE deal. He looked calm and sounded--effortlessly--optimistic that the money of the contributors of the Social Security System that he heads now will not go down the drain--actually guaranteed as it is the safest investment, anyway--once it will be funnelled into the government Economic Stimulus Package.

He looked--cherubic--to say the least.

Ay waw! P12.5 Billion of SSS contributors money will be poured to complete the P330 Billion package, along with the share of the GSIS and two other government finance institution. Yes, a government package. And the money is guaranteed. And it will help pump prime the economy. And will help generate employment. And, pardon the redundancy, this is guaranteed.

Yes, dear. This is Neri--and the government--brewing.

free

2009-01-26T13:21:00.007+08:00

How must one celebrate freedom when poorness is looming?

I am kind of ecstatic about some significant changes happening to me in the next few days. I have finally decided to flirt with my self-made feeling of fatigue over NGO works to give way to poorness by devoting most of my time on the thing that I love the most--something that I am afraid will not even be enough for me to pay for my bills or will allow me to treat the self out to a movie.

Yes I am a little worried because there's not much money in the local media compared to the their counterparts in Manila, and I am of course suggesting that in media--and the difference is always elaborate--the struggle of the lower class is a reality although it is not necessarily the same as the struggle of the poor against those who are up there in the social triangle as being fought by the countless Aling Mamengs against the residents of the Palace and their elite friends.

I am a little worried because I am working in a system known for being unfriendly to those who cannot deliver. Right now, I am starting to feel how it is like to be inside a pressure cooker and I am not even exaggerating. Not yet. The what-ifs are countless and the issue of survival is a booming voice that tries to distract and weaken the resolute self.

But let us see.

And while I am starting to problematize my own and other people's poorness--not that working in an NGO for three years unpoored me--allow me to devour on freedom first.

my mom is iti...it-serou

2009-01-15T15:44:00.004+08:00

Meet ate Emerald. Nakatabi ko sya sa isang internet café sa Cagayan de Oro. Wala akong nagawang trabaho kasi nag-eavesdrop ako. Kausap ni ate ang kanyang boyfriend na Egyptian. Sinilip ko sya…gwapo ang porener. Sa aking pagsilip, don ko rin nalaman na Emerald ang name ni ate. Si ate Emerald ay medyo malusog. Naka-lacy blouse ito na shining-shimmering-splendid ang arrive. Plum ang color. Ng damit, hindi ni ate Emerald kasi may "P" sa dulo ang kung si ate na ang idi-describe natin. Si Ate Emeral ay pimply. Hon ang tawag nya sa kanyang kausap. Base sa mga narinig ko, may anak na si Ate. Babae rin. Nakakaloka ang tawa ni ate. Lol daw. As in lol. Hindi el-Ow-el ha. Talagang lol. Pero mapapansin nyo sa baba, may tawa syang hahahahaa…siguro napagod kaya sat wing tatawa sya, pagkatapos non, lol na.

lol...

Ate Emerald:

really? are you tired? ok. you have to stretch your body. make an exercise...ok. my motorbike...and i have, we have..den we go to da betch. and we do picnic. you know picnic honey? yeahhhh...very mats. yeahhhh...yes.

and she is beri talented. she dans. and she is more seksi than her mom

PAUSE

hello? u her me hon?
hellow?
hellow?

PAUSE

etch chokey...etch chokey hon

we love to go to the betch...yeahhh...im a good swemer. yeah. yes. i tetch u. i know how to dayb. you know how to dayb? daybing? ahhh..you want to know how to dayb? daybing? you want to know...yes...i will be the one tetch u...ok?

ok...

yeshhh
see u...
i...yes...picture plant.

PAUSE

my work?
my work is beri simpol. you know what is ker giber? no... yes

PAUSE

in da ospetal...
you know what is ospetal? yesh...dats et.yeah...

PAUSE

yes...

PAUSE

my mom is very old now...
she is iti year old...
iti...
it-serou--iti
hahahha...
yes
hahahahahha...

PAUSE

(Fixes self. Chatmate went somewhere…)
YM CALL----TOLOLOLOLOT...TOLOLOLOLOTTTT....

hello...
hello
hon?
her meh?
u see me hon?
honi...
ispik to mi
yesh
why are u not speak?
u are sad?
about wat?

PAUSE

second ger?
second keyd?
ahhhh
about my second children

COMMENT KO: potaH...second children?

PAUSE

ahhh

like a child, she's...always--mom, mom...
i can si dis? she is so very--tsk! sge's an honor styodent in her school
i dont know what i tell u. jas ask me

my mom?
no! hahahahaha...no. she's biri old now.
hellow?

COMMENT KO: potah! gad!!! *ano ba itong ginagawa ko?

i will not allow my dooter to have a boypren...she is study first

COMMENT KO: DOOTER?

hello?

PAUSE

i cant...
i can...
oki...

hellow?
oki

COMMENT KO: ito ang statement na pamatay

no wan kan tik u pram mi!
again? pardon?

COMMENT KO: on again and pardon----*totyal

i layk you...i lay u so much. i love u so much...dats it
ok...say something. say it
it chokey
ets my plesyor
it chokey hon
yes
hahhahaha...no
jas imadyin...
ur not tatsing me...lol
...why?

COMMENT KO: apparently, nagsesex na sila

Ohhh...lol
what you do?

why? okiiii...

PAUSE

who's that young lady? hon? is she ur beybi?
is he your beybi * naging lalaki bigla
really? ur not lying? hones? yeahhhh...
u got a nice beybi
HE IS A BOY?

yes
...i lesen (listen)
Lol…
Lol…

You have sno (w) in idyip?
You have sno (w)?
Yes…
Lol..

--
Hay napagod na ako. Nagwork na lang ako no. Respetuhin na ang mga naghahanap buhay.

Who Juana Change?

2009-01-14T15:41:00.004+08:00

Handa awit!

On the first day of scandals, ay nag sex on phone ng matandang kalbong si Garci
On the second day of scandals ay textmates na kami, ni Jose Pidal, at ng matandang kalbong si Garci...

On the third day of scandals, nagwebcam magdamag with joc-joc-joc bolante, ni Jose Pidal, at ng matandang kalbong si Garci

On the fourth day of scandals, nag eye ball din kami…sa wakas…ni Abalos at Neri…ni joc-joc-joc bolante… ni Jose Pidal, at ng matandang kalbong si Garci

On the fifth day of scandals, gi-nang rape akong bigla…ng Charter Change! ni Abalos at Neri…ni joc-joc-joc bolante… ni Jose Pidal, at ng matandang kalbong si Garci…wahhhhh…wahhhhh…

On the sixth day of scandals ng north and south railway—die back to back—aray, charter change…. ni Abalos at Neri…ni joc-joc-joc bolante… ni Jose Pidal, at ng matandang kalbong si Garci

On the seventh day of scandals, muling ginahasa—not once but twice—ng CARP extension, ng north and south railway, ARAY!!! charter change…. ni Abalos at Neri…ni joc-joc-joc bolante… ni Jose Pidal, at ng matandang kalbong si Garci

On the eight day of scandals, akoy pinagsasampal—two hundred thousand, five hundred thousand, CARP extension, ng north and south railway —array!!! charter change…. ni Abalos at Neri…ni joc-joc-joc bolante… ni Jose Pidal, at ng matandang kalbong si Garci..

On the ninth day of scandals, akoy kinabayo—without my written consent day, for dios por santo—ng pesteng MOA, ng perang naka-sobre….ng CARP extension, ng north and south railway —array!!! charter change…. ni Abalos at Neri…ni joc-joc-joc bolante… ni Jose Pidal, at ng matandang kalbong si Garci..

On the tenth day of scandals, akoy pinilihan—di ko kaya—10 euro generals, ng pesteng MOA… ng perang naka-sobre….ng CARP extension, ng north and south railway —array!!! charter change…. ni Abalos at Neri…ni joc-joc-joc bolante… ni Jose Pidal, at ng matandang kalbong si Garci..

On the eleventh day of scandals iniwang duguran—Oh lord in Heaven, please pray for us—ni General Palparan, 10 euro generals, ng pesteng MOA… ng perang naka-sobre….ng CARP extension, ng north and south railway —array!!! charter change…. ni Abalos at Neri…ni joc-joc-joc bolante… ni Jose Pidal, at ng matandang kalbong si Garci…

On the 12th day of scandals, akoy loka-loka—Basilio, Crispin—Day! Panahon pa ni Rizal ang drama ko—hahhhahahhaaa….huhuh…ang babaeng walang kibo. Magnilay ka at mag-isip..teka! kailangan ko pa palang tapusin ang kanta…

Walang bang mangyayari, tulad ba ng dati, dedma ang bayan nagbubulag-bulagan, pag ako’y nagalit sisigaw ako ng—DING!!! Ang batoooo!!! UHGHHH!!! DARNA!!! Bayan…Punyeta!!!
Walang mangyayari kung di ka aalma anong hinihintay
Itigil ang scandal ni…

Glooooooria…
Maligayang Pasko…
Merry Christmas…

Tara na Let’s go.
Muwahhhh

salamat po ti

2009-01-10T14:11:00.003+08:00

Six days before today, my good friends I and Z, who are lovers, sent me an advance birthday greeting that confirmed their peculiar way of making or ruining someone else's day. Attached to the email was a photo that only had me remembering some forgotten memories of someone who remains dear to me.

The (unedited) letter says:

Jepoi

talagang mukha kang maybahay sa pic ti. pero ang mahalaga ay di ka mukhang nasunugan ng bahay ngayon. Yun ang mahalaga ti. andito kami ni Z sa haus kasama si Zay. Banat lafs ang drama ti at wara na rin. Nag ukay kami at naglaba ng 15 pairs of knee socks...ADVANCE HAPI bDAY na lang sa u.

Ang 10 wishes namin 4 U ay ito:

10. HouseS and LotS with CarS. dapat malapit sa beach ang haus at magkakapitbahay tayo. may roof top din dapat at bar.

9. sariling Coffee shop and internet cafe na pwede mag yosi sa loob.

8.Massage and Spa parlor

7. life time supplies of groceries from NCCC mall. because NCCCares.

6. life time beauty na di kumukupas at walang contradiction.

5. privilege para sampalin si paris hilton at si Sharon Cuneta o sino mang nakakabwisit.

4 Gay Hospital and mga doctor at nurses ay gwapo dapat. di pwede si Hayden kho kay amoy katrina halili na yun.

3. Gay Memorial Park bawal ilibing ang mga sundalong bading at mga mapagsamantalang bading.

2. Sariling printing press. radio station at Tv station at recording studio (global ang market ha)

1. Pinaka mahalaga ito. Isang dosenang Keke taun-taon para flavor of the month ang drama ti.

Yun sana matupad ti.

Loves u Alot,

I and Z and Co.

Bye.

papapel naman daw kasi they are, yeh...

2009-01-07T16:12:00.010+08:00

Suddenly, he was reduced to being a stunned piece of breathing paper-pale flesh--formalinic, I observed, perhaps as his blood evacuated from their correct places--after getting a tongue-lashing from the fuming Mayor Rodrigo Duterte, who, by few inches, was taller than him.

He backed-off and it was the best thing to do while Duterte was still gathering the remaining sanity left of him. He cannot afford to put up a man-to-man show here, no matter how capable he is as he is an army Colonel after all.

But it was way too late for the man, later identified by one journalist as Col. Joel Ibañez, the commander of the 1003rd Infantry Brigade based in the town of Santo Tomas in Davao del Norte.

I was thinking--what could have been the man thinking? There had been arrangements that they must not be seen in the area or anywhere near for this event.

You see, the man was the uninvited. While I was witnessing the show, I pitied the man as I imagined him as being the main cast of a story that tells about someone who bought a new pair of swimsuits but was not part of the outing. So the gang went out to the beach while he was left home.

And yes, while writing this, I was kind of singing that Alanis song that says: "Like any uncharted territory, I must seem greatly intriguing...You speak of my love like you have experienced love like mine before...But this is not allowed, you're uninvited...
an unfortunate slight..."

Perhaps the scene outside was teasing him like those naked internet stars who last year had another official's time frozen while a national security official was behind a podium during a gathering that gave journalists a pass. Good that the media, when these things are happening, are always there.

So what I am really talking about? Read this.

samtang ga-rosaryo sa pikas

2009-01-04T15:22:00.008+08:00

Sa dihang iyang gilimugmog
Ug iyang gitakla...
Una mikitiw-kitiw
Ang iyang dila nga naputos sa laway
Nga susama sa lawot—init nga bugnaw
Ug hinay nga midagayday

Iyang gigukod hangtod sa ubos
Perte! Ang dila misutoy!
Wa man gani natandog,
Wa gyud natarog!
Bisan gamay nga kahadlok wa mipakita
Sa unod nga dugay nang naghulat
Sa mainitong pagpulpog.

Padayon...
Padayon...
Daw wa gikapoy
Padayong nagmadasigon
Sama sa wait nga lagum.

Usa ka minuto…
Duha ka minuto…
Hangtod baynte-singko ka minuto…
Hangtod nga ang oras mikuyog sa kalimot
Ug mipahuway sa kalami

Sa dihang iyang gilimugmog
Ug iyang gitakla...
Milurat akong mata.

over now

2009-01-02T18:12:00.010+08:00

But is it really?

Walking out of 2008 is for me like walking out of my room--the immaculately messy but comfortably dark room, its light painted walls made alive by some weird smears on the wall that looked like some dried-up spunk, the sight of it always makes our favorite masahista comment something like "you have been doing something inside here sir..."

It's like waking up and forcing oneself to function despite the overly heavy head--yes head, and whatever you think honey--after drowning in alcohol the night before.

And still drunk, it feels like seeing myself wearing the same shirt that I wore last night and it reeks of smoke mixed with cologne. Or hear myself whistling, while sitting on the toilet bowl, the last song I heard or sang. Or struggle at the inability to remember the names or numbers and faces of those who were introduced to me over bottles of beer and friendly glances or libido that remained contained because of some missing elements of determination or because of the inadequate charm, which is the case most of the time, by the way.

And fresh from the room, I see myself laughing over how I, along with friends, swiped at the most holy for others; decoding in perfect travesty the same teachings that became the most wicked of the instruments of oppression employed by Spain.

Then comes the desire to change clothes. And the need to bathe. And while into it, the brain revolts over being stranded in memory. But so fresh are everything that the self could not not linger with the sentimentality of the past.

And it's like stopping myself for a moment for a brief rerun of the show: I was party to everything that happened last night--good and bad, traumatic and redeeming, stupid and fabulous, intelligent and the tragic, painful and rewarding, friendly or sexual and everything in between.

And I see my family. And the friends--old and new, those who stayed and left, the real and the not-so-real. All of them played their parts in varying levels of perfection.

And follows the endless kisses as the time has come to move on.

...

2008-12-20T02:42:00.002+08:00

Sa Cagayan de Oro, marami ring Koreans. Lagi silang tumatambay sa cafe nina JB--sa Brewberry. Minsan, nakakatambay din ako don. Maganda ang lugar. Free wifi. Masarap ang iced tea. At moist cake. At mga Koreans. Lalaki man o babae. Basta.

Pero itong Korean na ito, di ko kinaya. Iba siya. Lab ko na sya.

Merry Christmas sa lahat.

bayoleyted

2008-12-12T17:09:00.005+08:00

Sobrang pagod ako the past days na kailangan kong magpamasahe. Ang Cagayan de Oro ay di katulad ng Davao City na pwede kong iteks lang ang aming masahistang serbis. Kaya, bago ako sumakay ng dyip papuntang pier, dumaan muna ako sa isang lugar na ang pangalan ay---comforting touch (or something like that).

Pero imbis na marelaks ako, nabugbog ako sa loob ng comforting touch massage syet na ito. For 30 minutes, para akong tinortyor. Di ko alam kung anong uring pasakit ang na-eskperyens ng babaeng masahista sa kanyang buhay--especially sa kanyang tsayldhud--at ganon na lamang sya gumalaw. Amazona sya. Habang minamasa niya ako--i repeat--habang minamasa niya ako, nararamdaman kong gustong lumabas ng dugo ko sa mga pores ng aking balat na kanyang walang sawa at kapagurang nilalamutak.

Ito ang lamutak na walang katiting man lang na landi. Hindi ito katulad ng lamutak ng mga lalaki sa susu ng kanilang mga gelpren o asawa o kabit o kakilala. Hindi ito ang klase ng lamutak na ang pinaghugutan ay landi. O libog. Hindi ito romansa. Ang pinatikim sa akin ng ebay ay kung paano mamatay slowly.

Habang ramdam ko ang lamutak sa aking likod--ang masel sa aking shoulders na kanyang paboritong balik-balikan--ipinokus ko ang aking atensyon sa isang paso ng--potpourri yata ang tawag don--na nakalagay sa ilalim ng bed. Maliban sa sahig, ang potpourri lang na ito ang nakikita ko habang akoy nakadapa at pinaparusahan ng babae.Thirty minutes lang ito. At nagpasalamat ako habang tinatanong ko sa aking sarili--paano na lang kung 1 hour ang masaheng ito? Buhay pa kaya akong lalabas dito?

Tik. Tak. Tik. Tak.

"Sana matapos na please..." dasal ko. Tumulo na ang luha ko. Pramis.

At ayon. Parang pinakinggan ako.

"Okay lang ang presyur sir?" tanong ng babae sa akin.

I nodded. I smiled. I lied! Puta siyang babae siya! Gusto kong siyang patayin pero wala na akong lakas para dito. Hinayaan ko na lang siyang umalis habang nakangiti. Masaya ang bruha. Parang wala lang sa kanya ang naganap sa aming dalawa. Malapit na akong mawalan ng ulirat sa bagsik niya. Hindi sya masahista. Isa siyang sadista! At hindi siya kinaya ng aking pagiging masokista.

Naisip ko--iba ang ibig sabihin ng hard massage sa Cagayan de Oro. Ang hard dito ay ini-espel na H A R S H. Dito, di nila alam ang ibig sabihin ng finesse. Dito, kapag sinabi mong hard ay ibibigay sayo ang hanap mo. Hard kung hard, inay. Ito yong masahe na mapaparalays ang iyong kamaselan; ang iyong pores mawawalan ng kakayahan magsara. Ang iyong kamaselan ay magkokolaps.

At nangyari ito sa gabi kung kelan inobserba ang Universal Declaration of Human Rights 60 years ago.

wet

2008-12-03T17:39:00.006+08:00

Sobrang daming trabaho ako ngayon na gusto kong i-wish na sana...sana...boys na lang sila. Pero hindi. Trabaho pa rin sila. Minsan, may bayad. Minsan wala. Minsan, malaki ang bigay. Minsan naman, halos wala na. May iba naman katamtaman lang. Diba? Para ngang boys.

At tutok ako ngayon sa napaka-toksik na trabaho kaya hanggang ngayon nasa Cagayan de Oro City pa rin ako. Naisip ko ang aking eks. Parang siya. Pinag-plantsa ako. Pinagluluto. Pinagtutupi ng kanyang yoniporm. Nagpapagawa ng asayment. Nosebleed ako lagi--hindi dahil hindi ko alam ang kanyang asayment kundi dahil sa relidyon ito. Kaya habang sulat ako ng sulat ng reaksyon peyper nya, mura naman ako ng mura sa mga santong kailangan banggitin sa kanyang peyper. Siya naman ay piling api. Nasa tabi ko. Kunyari umiiyak. Pagkatapos kong maisulat ang peyper, hayon, bes in esmayl na. Pota. Teka, bakit ba napunta sa kanya? Bitter pa ba ako? Isang taon na ang nakalipas ah. Tse!

Anyway, balikan natin ang trabaho ko. Hayon. Nandito pa nga ako ngayon sa Cagayan de Oro. Sori ha pero ang wird ng CDO. Sori ulit. Baka may ma-opend. Pero totoo. Ang wird. Madumi. Pero maraming gwapo ha, sa totoo lang. Ang ayaw ko dito ay ang kanilang mga jeep. Sobrang ang ingay. Isipin mo na lang. May konduktor. Maingay na ito. Ang driver, nag-aambisyong maging konduktor--sumasali sa pagtawag ng mga pasahero. Dalwang maiingay sa isang jeep. May sobrang lakas pang myosik, syempre. Tapos, habulan ang mga jeep. Geym na geym talaga sila.

Pero may bumawi kanina sa akin. Isang kyot na konduktor. Maingay pa rin ito. Pero maganda ang mga hirit. Puno na ang jeep. Pero nagpapasakay pa rin sila. Para yata hindi mairita ang mga pasahero, maganda ang hirit ng kyot konduktor.

Ganito--Urong lang po tayo ng kaunte. Ipakita po natin ang ating pagiging magkakapatid (Sibog lang ta. Ipakita nato ang atong panag-igsuonay).

Diba? Ang galing. Naisip ko: Mindanao Week of Peace pa rin pala ngayon.
At ang suot kong shirt ay may malaking nakasulat na: Act for Peace. Now!

Ispiking op Peace. Si utol naging storyteller ng INQUIRER Read-Along session sa mga batang Muslim at Kristiyano sa Shariff Kabunsuan Province nong Tuesday. Yes. Si utol po. Si Robin, mga misis. Anoba!

At ang galing Robin ha. Mas magaling pa yata ito kaysa kay Rustom. Basahin nyo na lang sa INQUIRER. Front page sya. Yong isyu po ngayon. Like, Wednesday?

At nandon ako syempre. Kasi nga trabaho. Naisip ko...masarap kayang magtrabaho kay Robin? Chos! At ano ang trabaho ko don? Ako ang host. Syempre, mas magaling ako kaysa kay Robin. Tse!

At paano ba ako maglagare? Ganito. Bumiyahe ako papuntang Davao nong Sabado ng gabi. Pitong oras lang naman yon. Tapos, nong Sunday, byahe naman papuntang Cotabato City. Limang oras din yon. Tapos, work-work na nong Monday. Tapos, Tuesday--work-work din. Habulan and all that. Tapos, kinahapunan--bandang alas tres na--byahe papuntang Davao. Tapos, dumating kami ng Davao bandang alas nuebe. Tapos, byahe uli pabalik ng CDO bandang alas-onse ng gabi. Dumatin ako ng CDO ng alas-singko ng umaga. Tapos, naligo lang. Nagsulat. Nagsulat. At hanggang ngayon ay nagsusulat pa rin. Naisip ko tuloy uli--sana boys na lang ang trabaho.

And in fairness to me. Naka-pink ako ng shirt na may tatak na: MASARAP MAGBASA. Yes. In English--I would rather be wet. Walang biro. Jokes.

एपिताफ

2008-11-15T16:14:00.002+08:00

...Here Lies The Work Whore.

badly missing them

2008-11-03T19:04:00.004+08:00

There I was--absorbing pain exactly the way I often attract negative volts from the sad and tragic stories of people in war; how they survived bullets that could have pierced--fatally--through their flesh but nevertheless still ripped a part of their lives, teasing the little sanity left of them. Outside, the sea started to darken the shores; leaving the expanse in perfect shade of bleak. And the highway--surprisingly 'bumpless'--became a bosom of frenzied vehicles, fearless but never ready for a clash, no matter how minor it could be. As stories always get the better of me, the body contorted itself to fit into whatever is left of the cramped white car; the eyes eclipsing voluntarily to separately meet him and her in the recesses of my past.

jess fur peyn

2008-10-28T20:39:00.004+08:00

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

2008-10-21T17:44:00.004+08:00

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...

2008-10-14T11:42:00.003+08:00

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

2008-10-09T14:29:00.004+08:00

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

2008-10-01T19:04:00.007+08:00

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?

nagbabagang...

2008-09-26T11:01:00.003+08:00

TAE.

Ang neyga ko na naman ngayon. Kasing neyga ko kahapon. At dahil sobrang neyga ako kahapon, muntik ko nang di siputin si Ching at ang boss ng Alchemy na magtatanong sana sa akin. Raket ito. Pero muntik ko nang isnabin. Buti tumawag ang Ching. Nagbago ang lahat. Ng kaunti. Owkey ang proseso. Mabait ang boss ng Alchemy. Mabait ang mga tanong. Mabait magtanong. Ang mga sagot? Sosyal. Sosyal ang mga sagot.

Pagkatapos, babo na kami. Kumain ng baby back sina Ching at isang lalaking di ko babanggitin ang neym. Ako naman ay nakikain lang sa kanila habang nagpapalamig ng fresh strawberry and manggo shake. Pagkatapos, umalis sa restong medyo sosyal at lumipat sa Calle 5. Tatlong bir uli, at maraming maraming tawanan at kaunting drama--na halos wala na nga talagang dramang nangyari.

Nalunod ang neyga partikels.

Pero bago ito, nakakasurpresang malaman na habang ikaw ay neyga at online sa ym, may isang negya rin na online sa ym. Katulad mo, ayaw nyang aminin kung bakit sya neyga. Sa tingin ko, di naman na kailangang aminin kung ano ang dahilan. Malaking bagay na na aminin mong sad ka at neyga ka. Yon lang sapat na.

Pero tingin ko may kaugnayan sa kanyang labir ang kanyang kaneygahan. Ewan. Pero tulad ko, gusto nya ring magbakasyon. Sa beach daw. Mag-isa. Bakasyon ng ilang araw. Magdadala lang daw siya ng nivea--panlaban sa araw. Atraktib ito. Umuo ako. Gusto ko ring gawin yong gusto nya. Empak, gusto ko itong gawin nuon pa.

Sa ngayon, ang gusto ko talagang gawin ay magkulong sa kwarto. Ng ilang araw. Siguro tatlong araw. Di lalabas. Di kakain. Di maliligo. Di magsasalita. Walang TV. E-o-op ang radyo. Pati selpon. Iiyak lang. Iyak lang ng iyak. Yong may sawnd na iyak hanggang sa mamaos ako. Tapos, mamya, wala na namang sawd kasi paos na.

bir--par tu

2008-09-24T17:03:00.004+08:00

Wala akong mapost ngayon. Pero gustong gusto kong magpost. Kaya ito na lang, kung post mang matatawag ito. Gusto kong ikwento ang meeting namin ni kiks, empress, at mandaya nong nagmanila kami ni mandaya para sa isang event na, ewan pero sobrang nakakatuwa at, edyokeysyonal. Jeyses! edyokeysyonal ba ang sinabi ko?

Unang-una, gusto kong magpasalamat at nakabalik na ako ng Davao kahit pa man gusto ko pang mag-estey sa Luzon. Gusto kong gumala. Hindi sa Manila. Sa Luzon. Kahit saan basta wag lang sa Manila. Kahit pa man kasagsagan ng bagyo. Sabi nga ni Aaron: "May bagyo? Eh, ano?" Ang sagot ko naman: "Eh di, baha..."

Gusto kong subukang bagyohin. Una dahil akoy uga sa napakahaba nang panahon at ikalawa, gusto kong patunayang pwedeng maging event ang bagyo. Na pwede itong maging toris atraksyon na katulad ng bulkang mayon. O Apo.

Pero hindi naman season ngayon ng gala. Sa dami ng gawain, di dapat gumala. Hindi dapat i-endyoy ang tanawin ng pinas kung ang totoong tanawing dapat na bigyan ng pansin ay yong nasa Maguindanao, Pikit at Lanao.

Pero minsan din, naisip ko, ang sarap siguro kung kasama ka sa entored ni GMA. Dyangket ng todong-todong. Pero kung akoy taga-Mindanao at kasama ako sa trip ng pangulo, tiyak kong di ko rin ito mai-endyoy. Ang gagawin ko, hahanapin ko si Obama. At magpapa-esnab. At aadbaysan ko ang pangulo na magpa-esnab uli kay Obama. Ano kaya ang piling ng sanay ma-esnab? Tulad ba ito ng sanay na mabasted? Endyoy siguro talaga yon.

Syor, ibang sipa ng endyoymen ang nangyari nong dinner namin nina mandaya, kiks, empress sa kitchen ng greenbelt na sobrang alta. Pero syempre, mas alta ang mandaya kasi nagpasikat ito. Siya ang nagbayad ng aming nilapshe. Aba! Sobrang pasikat. Kung alam lang ni kiks and empress kung anong uring pagpuputa ang ginawa ng mandaya para mabayaran ang dinner na yon na sobrang mahal. And jeyses masyado the pleys. Masyadong gawa. Pati ang gward, gawang-gawa. Bumalik lang ako sa reyaliti nong nag-malate kaming apat. Sarap. Ng bir. Yes, sarap ng bir sa O. Ang gandang pagmasdan ng mga weter na naka-penk.

Sa loob ko: mabuti na lang, di ako naka-penk ngayon.

Bago kami uminon ng bir, ito muna ang ginawa namin sa pleys na masyadong alta. Pityor. Di kasama si mandaya kasi chinika nya ang gward. nag-oper ng P500 para magpa-pityor silang dalawa. Tsip ang gaga. Teyk nowt ang bunganga naming tatlo. Kay kiks ang pinaka-wayd.

At habang bumubuhos ang bir sa aming lalamunahahannnnn, dumaan si Michael. Sabi ni kiks Filam daw ito. UCLA. Nasa Pinas. Dyomodyoen ito ng mga mob. Pinakilala kami. Bes in esmayl sya. At gwapo. Shineyk nya ako. Shineyk ko rin sya. Ayan sya. Kasama ni kiks at isa pang kasama nila. Sya yang nasa right. Ano ba. Hindi yang nasa gitna! Vovie!

Mas masarap sya kaysa sa bir.

bir sa aking lalamunahahannnn

2008-09-22T14:21:00.011+08:00

Y,

So what I have told you last night? Yon yon.

Don't tell me I did not warn you about it: I am my most honest self when my insides--including what's left of my brain--are drowning in alcohol. I have a feeling you took it lightly the way I was--and will (always) be--taking bottles after bottles of lowcal beer almost every night like there's no tomorrow.

Last night was like the other one when I anticipated an end to what I was densely considering as a connection between the two of us. But I have not been sure about a lot of things recently; unsure as my choice of the word connection that could have been so-not-there in the first place. But I can remember you assuring me that this connection will continue with your "bakit naman hindi?"--regardless of what I confessed.

Reading that, I somehow wished you were not telling the truth. Still, part of me wished otherwise. But things could very well come out differently. Or close, if not exactly, to what I initially was afraid of. I saw people fall in love and how they grew together in love. But I also witnessed the tragedy of people being unloved. Now I see myself in them. Clearly. Like the time when I told you that I think I was falling for you and being scared of the truth that I have already fallen for you.

Sure I am scared. The thought of falling in love is scary. And seeing myself fall in love is scary. And feeling the self falling in love with you is scary. And writing about it here is scary.

But honesty I have become last night and was happy that you asked earlier on, before that confession:" Pag namatay ako ngayong gabi, kelan ulit tayo magkikita?"

Because honestly? I didn't know the answer.

if god knows! twice

2008-09-15T11:51:00.008+08:00

The opening scene was a complete whirl: young naked bodies painfully wrapped with packaging tape amid a confusing babble of gayspeak.

Save for that scene where naked bodies, one of which showed an appendage-less near-frontal—the body-owner is overheard saying “gamay lagi na akong notes! (My dick is small!)”—there’s no more flesh—I mean, sex—in the Thank You Girls.

And despite the absence--but not completely--of revolting display of flesh and over dramatic and tired bleak and violence, this one will be taken seriously for its hilarity.

Written in Visayan with English subtitles, nobody would ever think that the film was a Cinemalaya trash.

“I feel so vindicated,” says Bebs Gohetia, the Davao-born writer and director who also wrote the screenplay for Daybreak and got a nomination for Best Editor at the Second Annual Asian Film Festival for Tirador.

I met Bebs late last year, while TYG was still in the works. I read the script even before its 6 lead stars—five of whom are all local and unprofessional—did.

From the opening scene, Gohetia succeeded in making his audience forget, albeit very shortly, that the world outside is drowning in its own tragedy—although the film shows the awful fate of six gays, all of them beauty pageant veterans who never seem to get tired both at joining and losing in every contest.

But you will never feel sorry for them, no matter how you see them crumble over their own tragedy of losing and becoming thank you girls or backstage beauties. Instead, you will admire their chutzpah to survive in a stage (after another) where intelligence and beauty, apart from age, are essential weapons to survive.

TYG stars EJ Pantujan, July Jimenez, Kit Poliquit, Kim Vergara, Pidot Villocino, and Ari Bancate, all of them Dabawenyos. Another lead role was played by Gie Salonga, half-brother of Lea Salonga.

And yes, another character worth mentioning is Char Lang who loves to sashay around town with Exclusive For Bayots sash.

TYG is still shown at Gaisano Mall of Davao until Sept. 16. Late this month, it will be competing in the Vancouver International Film Festival’s Dragons and Tigers Competition for Young Filmmakers as the only Filipino entry.

Watch na keyo! Dyodi na magwaiting in vain for pirated dibidi kay 48 years pa ang araybal. Go as in G-O-W!!!

buhawk

2008-09-09T11:51:00.005+08:00

I'm sort of trying a lot of things recently--from the absurd to weird to totally, totally unimaginable. After that korean-styled hair, which was emo according to friends, I now have this close-to-mohawk hair. I'm still thinking of getting hardcore. Thinking really, really hard of becoming hardcore. Right now, I love the two-inch shaved part--from my temple down to the back that veees around--that shows my pihing head.

basa

2008-09-04T11:57:00.004+08:00

sa meeting namin sa bali bali resort sa isla ng samal, walang ibang nangyari--walang napag-usapan--kundi ito:

ako at si grasya, ang diwata ng bukidnon...

swim lang ng swim...

kwin nipoltiti...

kung ang mga lalaking ito ang makakasama ko sa isang isla? swim na lang ng swim...

2pm

2008-08-30T16:00:00.005+08:00

There's a reason why coffee tastes bitter that not even too much sugaring can possibly weaken--both the reason and the taste. Like this one that lingers in my mouth as I am writing this--the mystery of which remains unclear--I am in the dark about a lot of things recently.

I may appear confusing more than how this post is but nevermind. Like coffee, life can be bitter. And dark. Or creamy or sweet. And like life, coffee are sometimes bland. And yes, nevermind because anyway, there's poetry in coffee as there is to life, no matter how sad or tragic or tragically mundane it is. And there's poetry in bitterness. In darkness. In confusion. In reasons. And failing to find reasons. Or appreciating those that you have found.

And there's mystery in poetry as there is poetry in mystery.

fall of Hercules

2008-08-27T18:42:00.006+08:00

Cheryll Fiel’s face was washed-out—her lips chapped and pale, her eyes mirrored unspoken fear—as the aircraft struggled through the thick clouds over Davao skies Monday night.

Around 20 minutes before the scheduled touch-down of the Cebu Pacific Flight 5J 969, set to land at around 8:30 at the Davao International Airport , the aircraft experienced turbulence in the air.

Apparently, it was not just an ordinary turbulence as minutes after the plane--which left Manila at 6:30 pm--finally landed at the airport, the military C130 plane crashed off the sea of Davao killing all of its nine crew members, including the captain.

(Earlier, the Cebu Pacific plane captain announced that the airplane would be arriving Davao earlier than scheduled.)

Gasping for air, Cheryll, the managing editor of the online magazine Davao Today and one of the newly elected members of the directorate of the National Union of Journalists of the Philippines (NUJP), frantically rummaged through the pocket of the plane seat in front of her for a litter bag.

She might threw-up, she said as she slipped herself out of her red sweatshirt. She found no litter bag. Her state was contagious and I suddenly had the urge to call for help from one of the cabin crews but they were nowhere near.

She stiffened her small body and nailed her attention to the valves beaming soft lights on the headboard.

Peeping at the window, I could see not a faint light from down below—except for the distractive red one flickering from somewhere the plane’s right wing—although I know, after the captain announced shortly before that the plane was already making its final decend—that we were already flying over Davao.

There was nothing outside but ghostly shades of white film that broke into what appeared to be rain or bed of water when sliced by the plane’s wing—visible only through the faint light of the aircraft.

The descent was extremely rough, sending a frightening sensation worse than the one being felt when riding an extremely fast ferries wheel. Difference was this one was not a ferries wheel ride and inevitable, the question dangling in my head was whether or not the plane will touch-down safety and we disembark alive.

The female voice over was assuring, if not reassuring, but did not promise any hint of a safety landing: “We are experiencing turbulence…please remain seated and your seatbelts remained fastened.” The Tagalog translation, which was contextually incorrect compared to its English version, was obviously tensed.

As the plane was making its descent and broke through the clouds, leaving a scary shudder to the aircraft, all passengers fell into silence—even the group composed mostly of children who were earlier boisterous.

“It is raining in Davao ?” Cheryll nervously asked. Outside, still the dark clouds are only exposed with few streaks of lightning.

Another nagging question was: “What if we will be hit by lightning?”

Terrified, Cheryll said: “I am experiencing motion sickness…this one is definitely one of my roughest flights.”

The situation was even made worst by the ringing of a mobile phone from somewhere at our back which made a nervous male plight attendant to run towards the direction to curtly remind that it was prohibited. Few minutes after, the same phone rang again.

As the turbulence painfully dragged, Cheryll looked me in the eye and said: “God…we will still be hovering back to Samal Island .”

By that time, though, city lights have started to emerge, signaling that the we were already approaching the airport.

“No. The captain said were on our final descent…and we are already flying under the clouds,” I told her.

In the morning, a text message reached me that made me imagined the worse—a C130 plane crashed shortly after we landed safely.

Hail, Holy Jos Smith

2008-08-20T15:04:00.012+08:00

In highschool, when I was still madly in love with a girl--a madness that dragged on for seven years until I had my longest serious relationship with gorgeous and intelligent Ay.Ar--I never thought of Hitler as somebody incendiary. Sure, that's OA. Fine. Hot.

Hitler, my classmate since first year, loved to spruce up himself and his spic-and-span look stole the attention of the girls---away from his pimples. He mattered in school as his sisters did. They mattered in our town. His family name cannot not matter.

Last time I heard of him was last year. A friend told me that our Hitler already married his girlfriend. He came into my mind after I found from somewhere a list of young hot men who exactly reminded me of Hitler. Not because he was hot because I never thought of him as someone hot ever anyway, but because he was, and I guess he still is, a Man on a Mission.

Looking at the photos, I could only gasp and whisper: "Hail, Holy, Joseph Smith!"

Putana: letter from Kremlin

2008-08-10T14:30:00.009+08:00

PUTANA, a very dear friend who is comfortably holed in one of the palaces surrounding Kremlin--functioning only, sanely, upon the the desires of one the youngest of the young guards of Putin--sent me a letter.

He gave me a mountful upon learning about my recent mishap. He knows I need his nagging and he knows when to shoot it and how do it the right way--in my face. Painful. Ugly. But who cares when it is the truth? And it may sound really odd like what Penny Lane (in Almost Famous) implied when she said "Isn't it funny? The truth sounds really different."

And this he said:

Bananachoked wears love misery like an amulet, warding off all possible decent, long term lovers. The anti-eros amulet is not him per se but an erratic principle towards relationships on account of a crystalization of years of broken relationships, slit wrists because of broken relationships, and transient jobs because of slit wrists from broken relationships.

What's left of him is a walking, breathing void of dry lust that pounces on every homo sapien with a dick. But this is not because he is hell-bent in satisfying his craving for senseless sexual gratification.

Horribly, this is so because he has come to relate his need for connection with shallow man-hunting.

Picture a kid who has come to fancy the taste of lemon-flavored candies. To find his choice, our kid licks, munches on, gobbles, devours all other flavors in the shop--bitter melon and expectorants included (wink...wink...).

Now we know what overdose of sweets does to our oral hygiene. Uber-candied, our kid can no longer distinguish the lemon drop he so long for because his been too foolish to try everything!

Ngayon, bad teeth and all, takot na si bananas kumagat, mag-lick, mag-gobble at mag-devour uli.

Ito ang ang tanging maisasagot ko kay Putana: Puta ka! Ang saya ko kaya! Lech!

Foursome

2008-08-06T23:54:00.006+08:00

Because Bananachoked, Mandaya and our yayas will be vacationing to Samal Island's Bali Bali Beach Resort--and because I am soooo tamad to bring lappy--lagare blog ako. But before the foursome, at tulad ni Mandaya, painggit muna ako. Kita mo yang mga photo na yan sa ibaba? Dyan kami pupunta. At ipinasara namin yan. Let me introduce to you my friend--ekslosib.

Instructions:

What you are supposed to do...and please don't spoil the fun...

Click copy/paste, type in your answers and tag four people in your lists!

Don't forget to change my answers to the questions with that of your own

(A) 4 places I go over and over: Matina Town Square's Kanto Bar, office, SM, and church (Yey! I lied).

(B) 4 people who e-mail me regularly: Gabriela for her releases, Mother Peng for her trash, boss Lia because I also email her frequently, and MAILER-DAEMON because he's got a crush on me.

(C) 4 of my favorite places to eat: Kanto Bar for their charbroiled pork and waiters, Space Burger for their burgers, Mandarin, and Bankerohan for their Bulalo.

(D) 4 places i'd rather be? Sagada, Pagudpud, There at, my coffin.

(E) 4 people i think will respond: Mandaya, Beyef, Anthony, Jessica Zafra.

(F) 4 TV shows i could watch over and over: Singing Bee, My Girl, TV Patrol and Iisa Pa Lamang

Kairita

2008-08-06T23:00:00.004+08:00

First off, I would like to apologize to you, friend, for pissing you off. As I have told you, the thought of it--I mean, me pissing off people--does not drown me in bliss.

That I am makulit is a congenital baggage. That you do not know about my being makulit speaks of one thing: we are not really friends. You can of course remember when I told you to stop calling me friend because we are not. Well, not yet. And perhaps we never will be. Not your loss, sure. Not mine, of course. No one else's.

And, yes. I am not about to blame you for calling me samok, no matter how offensive and irritating the word is to me. For I know, being makulit is irritating. And you told me you were being nice? Thank you.

And if there is something to sever, allow me to sever it. Then let's put on the bandage as if nothing happened. Then let's all sashay around as if we are, errr, beauty queens trying to redeem the lost crown to fresher queens. Or--former basketball players who have lost the, errr, balls following a lousy attempt to rebound.

And I say---good luck to all of us.

--

Well this day--Wednesday--is hell. Sitting in a meeting the whole day is hell. And thinking about how I woke you up smiling then quickly swept out by a hellish phone message is unspeakable.

Not three or seven sticks of Marlboro or three cups of lousy coffee can surely flush out the frown. But looking at my officemates not looking at me, probably because they knew I was sent by someone from hell, was a great relief.

An hour before the meeting closes, almost 6 peyem, I sent a friend a message telling him how the meeting was draining me off.

A couple of minutes after, he replied:

He: You sent the message to the wrong person? Well, why don't you leave and stop the discussion?

B: No. That's really for you. I really am tired.

He: What is is all about? Who are you talking with?

B: My officemates. NGO.

He: Leave then. Is it done?

B: No. Not yet.

He: What NGO? Rotary?

B: Rotary? No! It's an environmental NGO here in Davao. You ask Rolanda. He knows about my NGO.

He: Ay! Sorry! I thought I was talking to ______ . You have the same names. How can I be so stupid? I was thinking of him while I was texting you.

B: Ok. Let's stop this.

Kairita no?

10 saddest

2008-08-04T17:12:00.004+08:00

Slumped inside Ow-Be's car Saturday night, the four of us--Ow-Be, Dashes, Jen, and I--were drowned by the weird sentimentality inside. Sure it was not about the lonely color of Ow-Be's car nor the colors of the exteriors which were uniformly close to bleak.

That we were sad, all of us, was really weird if you know us. Even us were a little surprised to know that a common denominator was apparent in all us four--misery. And Jen, a charming law student whose hubby is currently in Japan, quickly quipped that cliche about misery loving company.

Ow-Be's (cheap) music was the culprit. Imagine listening to Jeffrey Osborne's On the Wings of Love when all you have in your head is your hubby. In the case of Dashes, hubby is also far farming somewhere together with my Lover (I wish!) while Ow-Be's wife is in the Middle East.

Bitaw uy, I was in misery because among the three, I was the recently unloved. And Mandaya said being depressed is my sole purpose in this life and I am even starting to submit to the teachings of Sartre on existentialism and, of course, its take on purpose is differently stroked. Mandaya went on to name me Depressed Forever but I turned it down for it's pathetic lack of creativity. So Mandaya named me instead Sad-Na-Sad (Sad Again or So Sad, depends on whether you are a Bisaya or a Tagalog). For me, Sad-Na-Sad just sounds lovely.

Because we were not ready to fly on the wings of syet, Ow-Be pushed a button on the car stereo and voila, Vonda Shepard, the goddess, in her throaty rendition of What Becomes of The Broken Hearted blared inside the car, overwhelming us evenmore.

Made me realize that recently, I have been listening to songs the nature of which is good enough to make Jessica Zafra fart with blood and a little syet.

My list, not in order:

1. Elton John's Tiny Dancer
2. Fleetwood Mac's Landslide
3. Carol King's Up On The Roof
4. Carol King's Anyone At All
5. Dishwalla's Angels or Devils
5. Bonnie Sommerville's Winding Road
6. Dido's White Flag
7. Vienna Teng's The Tower
8. Vienna Teng's Momentum
9. Vienna Teng's Gravity
10.Vienna Teng's Drought

Eating Out 2

2008-08-03T19:13:00.006+08:00

To say that I was ekskayted about meeting Ayel in person was an understatement. I was ecstatic. Please give it to me as I give it to him: I have never dated someone like him--with, yes, thank you u-know-me, the presupposed disposition that the date was a potential lover--in my life.

Many years ago, I dated a nurse and found myself romantically involved with her for more than four years, excluding the painful many months of recovering from the painful separation. After her came several encounters most of which were easily forgotten for their insignificance until came Athan, the 18-year old Ateneo boy who, okay--let's forget about it.

Not that the nurse and Athan were smaller than Ayel because of his profession (for one, Athan is yet to get one) but the thrill of dating someone whose job must be kept in a safe was something bigger than the news about the Moros getting their own state in Mindanao or the Mindanao lumads, frustrated over their miserable state now, delivering their own address.

I had to assure Ayel that his secret would be safe with me. To which, he replied: "I want it to be safer." I sensed a little problem there. For me, his statement was loaded. Or perhaps I was just overthinking things. That I was just taking matters seriously as seriously as I rush in to feed my desires--both carnal and not-so-carnal.

And he was not. I mean, he was not really taking things seriously. The same way that he hates serious talks about politics and all that.

Just like how he managed to ask me who is better between Britney and Christina. It turned out that he's a Britney fan but concurred to the contention that Christina has the better voice. He said Britney, compared to Christina, is sexier and all that. Mostly during this time, I was just laughing.

And he also made me choose between Nora and Vilma. I had to think hard. I wanted to pick Vilma but I ended up not picking a name right away because while I am not a Nora fan, I don't like Vilma either. Ayel's a Nora fan.

Thanks to his mother who influenced his taste. As we were sharing the flat rice noodles of that Vietnamese restaurant--the one that he did not like at all--he said: "Once, I blamed my mom for feeding me mostly meat."

Eating Out 1

2008-08-01T10:59:00.008+08:00

As Ayel went to relieve himself inside this small room we call CR, I sent out excited text messages to few friends who knew I was out on a date--told them how good looking he was. He was not far from the photos that I shamelessly saved from that account where I, well, shamelessly dropped a nag about the stars.

Only that in person, his face is smaller.

Before meeting him up at 6pm, I was clear to tell him not to expect much from me. In return, he also asked me to not expect much from him. He arrived at least 20 minutes late than the agreed time--armed with a foldable black umbrella--and I liked what I saw. Not the umbrella.

He apologized. And it was, of course, okay. I am not really a physical-person--someone who gives premium to synthetics and bone structures. But that he is intelligent is already a given so I indulged the self in foolery of what were visually pleasing.

He noticed my hair style. My tattoo. One time he mentioned about the photos I posted in my account that bordered in something that both of us, perhaps for the nature of the photos, refused to describe. I would have wanted to comment on the attractive rim of his glasses--how it suit him well--but I stopped. Made mental notes of how many cellphones he has (probably the same as I have), the color of his shoes. It was brown. It was leather. Mine was a dying purple. Mine's an All Star.

But the given was a dogged worker, insistent on making its obvious truth more than felt. And so the moment he sat opposite me on that poorly-clothed table, the gymnastization of the brains began.

Then came next was a bloody slaughter of principles and ideas over issues related to his work and my work. How our works clash. How our works not clash. How the people we find important to us, both personally and professionally, are made to clash with each other, the system, the faulty system, and the lack of system.

During discussions, I managed the thought that the person whom I was sharing a dinner with doesn't smoke. Allergic to alcohol. Maybe, goes to church and prays at night. He could be that person who refuses to go out in kinked clothes and non-leather shoes. And, someone who sings RNB.

Did I problematize that I smoke packs and pack of Marlboro especially when stressed out and under pressure? Did I problematize that I can stay out all night over bottles of beer and hearty talks with friends? Did I problematize that I still have to give god the benefit of the doubt? Did I problematize that I just hate RNB? Did I problematize that I detest leather shoes? Did I problematize that I don't mind wearing un-ironed clothes?

Did I problematize the contradictions? No.

But I felt sorry upon knowing that he doesn't eat vegetables. And spicy food. And we were eating in a Vietnamese restaurant. And yes, I felt bad that while I loved the flat rice noodles, he did not enjoy it a bit.

Moonlighting

2008-07-29T10:49:00.006+08:00

Ayel's shoutout, I felt, deserved an attention that, despite the possibility of the effort to be misconstrued as plainly attempting to grab attention--which was secondary by the way--I took the plunge.

He quoted a line from the filmized Neil Gaiman book Stardust: A philosopher once asked, "Are we human because we gaze at the stars, or do we gaze at them because we are human?" Pointless, really...” Do the stars gaze back?" Now that's a question.

I knew he would reply. But was afraid that he would not. And when he did, it scared me that he would stop. But nobody's stopping yet. I guess it's too early to stop as it would be too early to say that things are getting well.

Well, I'm hooked. And because I am an open book, read on...

B: The stars? I guess they gaze back. Actually more than gaze. They speak to us, tell us things that so different to what they have been telling others. And these things that they tell us always depend on how we stare at them. You see, stars know what "two-way-street" is all about...Sure, this is romanticizing. I am romanticizing.

*Nevermind tho. wink...wink...

A: Definitely, you are romanticizing...Stars don't gaze back at us...They don't even twinkle...(or so we thought) sigh

B: But what if these stars are not really as withdrawn as you think they are? What if you're just misreading them...that they actually detest being called and treated like "stars"? What if they're real?

*Just thinking. Btw, my name is Bananachoked.

A: What do u mean, they are real? Stars are undeniably real...They are in the sky...They are part of the galaxy...Why would they detest being called as stars? At least, they have a label...Do u detest being called human?

And I'm Ayel...I dont know ypu actually...But then, I have nothing to lose if I'm gonna respond to your email... :-)

B: There are reasons why they are called stars. One maybe, for the elementariness of my grasp and understanding, because they are up there--so hard to reach. Promixity made them and probably, made us too. You see, whoever coined the word starstruck was brilliant but apparently was so drowned by the starness of stars.

We can be literal and that is fine. Which brings me to my proposal that we try to lower our gaze far from the skies. Looking around, we will certainly realize that unlike the real stars, mortals' own version of stars do not brighten mortals' own version of sky.

I hope that answers the issue on whether or not stars are real.

Now, about having labels and all that--sure labels could mean a lot. But labels are like boxes. They constrict us. Sometimes, people tend to focus their attention more on the box and the wrappings rather than the content. The fancier the box, they expect more of the item inside. What i am saying is that most of the times, boxes precede the item.

Yes, Ayel, both of us do not have anything to lose on this. wink...wink...

A: I'm impressed with your letter...Tinodo mo lahat and binuhos mo lahat ng powers mo to come up with much depth and analysis...hehehehe...Well, I am actually in awe after reading your letter...I never thought you can be so analytical about the stars.....And you are indeed a writer...Good writing skill...So lets talk about the moon? Joke :-)

B: I don't actually mind talking about the moon, although I know that like the rain, the moon is also depressing. But, really, I don't mind being depressed this time.

--

Ayel and I agreed to meet over dinner Thursday. But because I will be out for a 3-day meeting, we agreed to instead meeting next week. Wish me luck.

Attack of the Killer D

2008-07-17T15:18:00.002+08:00

Beyef came out with the perfectest line I have ever come across with--with regards to my being depressed and its bizarre association with the downpour--as he tried to clear out the layers of cobwebs that clogged my tubes: Why can't we all be frogs and be happy when it rains?

I had to apologize for not making sense and--a run-through the conversation later made me realize--for sounding "nyah-nyah" while Fleetwood Mac was persuading me to understand that the poetry in Landslide is not pain, no matter how bleak it may seem.

I blame it on this weird feeling that makes the body feel like an inflatable void that not even the immensity of the release can stop the air from filling in. To outpour is so tiring but keeping the air inside is impossible as it is almost endless. But I will give it to Beyef. He made a good job in the cleaning department, picking up even the spider poops with his bare hands.

It has been a long time since I had a bout with it. It felt new to me but at the same time, it felt like some old friends that I left but remained real. Contrary to what I have been thinking, perhaps it never left me at all--just there lurking, awaiting for the best timing to launch an offensive.

This one knows me more than my closest friends. This one sees my vulnerabilities. Surely, this one kills.

Lover In The City

2008-07-15T13:48:00.007+08:00

Yes he's here. Meeting me tonight. No. I am meeting him tonight. It has been long since I last saw him. Talked to him. I am not really excited that I am meeting him tonight, although it was my idea that we meet up. There is nothing special with this meeting. But who knows.

I should have stopped addressing him Lover because he's not my lover. But he's a lover whom I always wanted to be my lover. Silent. But not really. Mysterious because he plays his part well; that someone who loves being solved. Condescending as he is intelligent. And sexy. Intelligent. Sexy. Intelligent. Sexy. Intelligent. Sexy. Intelligent. Sexy. And I am not copy-pasting "Intelligent. Sexy.", you know.

In case you don't know him, let me introduce to you Lover once again. He's the one whom I saw walking ahead of me like a god. He once was my god. And the drizzle agreed.

He was the reason why one cold night, while we were inside a decrepit but comforting hut, became too unbearably long, moving slowly to give way to light as I lay, wide awake, almost all the time, beside him, listening to him snore, wandering how his body welcomed the damp.

And yes, he, too, was the object of that fleeting sensation down my crotch that same night. It was so quick. Quicker than what that brief and spontaneous orgasmic bliss. Lying flat on my back, he took the pain down his crack, slowly as beads of his sweat landed on my chest. Too bad it was just a dream.

Now, how can I be blamed?

Kung Di Kayo Maiyak, Ewan Ko Na Lang

2008-07-09T16:10:00.003+08:00

Youngblood

Quiapo vendors
By Consuelo Maria G. Lucero
Philippine Daily Inquirer
First Posted 01:19:00 07/03/2008

The day after "Ka Bel" died, my father sent me an email urging me to go to the wake for the party-list representative. He said Crispin Beltran was once his boss and one whom he deeply respected, and he felt it was his filial obligation to offer flowers and prayers at his wake. But since he was away in Maastricht, the Netherlands, on a scholarship, he asked me to go his place.

I'm no leftist; I'm not even politically inclined, as some of my schoolmates have probably noted. So when I put on my denim pants and rubber shoes to go to Manila's Quiapo district to buy some flowers, I thought that I was merely doing what my father had asked me to do: to offer flowers and prayers for a dead man.

When I got to Quiapo, I searched the flower vendors at the side of the church, trying to imagine what colors my father would have wanted. I stopped at a nondescript stall with green, maroon and pink flowers, not just the usual yellow and white. The vendor told the white or yellow mums would cost P100, but if I picked assorted colors it would cost me P150.

I tried to bargain, and she brought down the price of the latter to P140.
I asked if the funeral wreath came with ribbons. "Extra P20 kung may ribbon," she said.
I did not bother to haggle anymore. Then I handed her a piece of paper on which I had copied the epitaph my father wrote: "Pagpugay sa dakilang anak ng uring manggagawa, Ka Bel; Ang buhay at alaala mo'y titis ng pag-asa sa pakikibaka ng uri. — Kas. George."

The vendor was shocked by the long message. I figured that she was used to writing only "Condolence and sympathy" on the ribbon. But she talked so loud that the other vendors came over.

"Santissima! Kay Ka Bel mo ba ibibigay?" a vendor of Lego-like toys asked.
I nodded and smiled.

"Diyos ko, Mare, huwag mo na singilin!" she told the flower vendor. "Kay Ka Bel naman pala eh. Kapatid natin iyon sa pakikibaka."

They called their friends, who were selling trinkets worth P10 or less. One of them offered to do the writing, declaring his handwriting was the best. Others shared their opinions about Ka Bel. Some told the flower vendor to add more flowers on the wreath.

"Nakakasama kasi namin sa rally si Ka Bel," the friendly toy vendor explained.
"Oo, at wala siyang paki kahit mga mahihirap kami," the man with the nice handwriting chimed in.

Some asked me if I was going alone, or if I was with a leftist group. I politely told them that I was going on behalf of my school organization.

When they asked me what school I attended, someone said, "Mabuting may mga matatalino pa ring sumusuporta sa mga mahihirap." I did have the courage to tell them I was no leftist.

Finally they finished the wreath, beautifully done. The flower vendor told me that with all the additions, the wreath was now worth more than P200, but she was giving it to me for free as her own offering for Ka Bel. A vendor of plastic bags gave me a big red-and-white plastic free of charge. And while I was preparing to leave, a cigarette vendor came with a small bouquet of white mums and asked me to bring them to their champion. Then they all bade me a cheery goodbye, while asking me to extend their condolences to Ka Bel's family. I rode the jeepney to Taft Avenue with a heart that was never more deeply touched.

Had my father been here, he would have gone every day to the wake. He would have go to Ka Bel's funeral, marching with his buddies in the labor group Kilusang Mayo Uno, sharing pictures and stories of Ka Bel and the KMU. He probably would not have thought of asking me to go with him, knowing that I am not interested in rallies and leftist organizations.

But maybe it was a good thing that he was away and had to ask me to do this. I never would have come so close to the poor and neither would have known how deeply they felt about Ka Bel, their "brother in the struggle" against poverty.

--
Consuelo Maria G. Lucero, 17, is a third-year Bachelor of Arts in Comparative Literature student at the University of the Philippines in Diliman, Quezon City.

Requiem for Hair

2008-07-08T12:15:00.008+08:00

For more than two years I allowed the hair to literally go down without me giving it much attention that I would go out--even covering a presidential visit--with mass of it gathered by a overly-tired panali at the back my head, and loose portions hanging, caressing both of my cheeks.

It was just like that. Hair was far from being beautiful but the comfort it gave me was unquestionable. It allowed me to achieve that lukaret look. That easy look. That tambay look. Cool. Very kanto.

For two years I so loved hair that not even one of my greatest depressions succeeded in pushing me to grab a pair of scissors and cut it, nevermind if they had their share of depression that they pull themselves off and fall like messy threads littering the bed, the floor.

Hair was just there. A silent witness to my bliss, a loyal companion when I was in pain.

Until recently.

(Cousin Daniel, Bananachoked, Pipo Matalam aka Veve Ghel, and housemate Jimaima)

And these are some of the looks that I want to achieve in the next months. CLICK...CLICK...CLICK

2008-07-07T18:09:00.003+08:00

The scariest of all the scary movies I have ever seen...

2008-06-27T11:49:00.002+08:00

Neth Daño, the representative to the Philippines of Third World Network wrote:

As per radio reports on DZRH just now, the ill-fated M/V Princess of the
Stars was carrying a container-full of Endosulfan (manufacturer: Bayer CropScience) - a neurotoxic organochlorine insecticide, one of the "Dirty Dozen" banned for some years now in many countries, including ours. If you will recall, Endosulfan was banned in the Philippines in 1994.

If the pesticide cargo is owned by Del Monte, then it will not be used in Cebu, but most likely in Bukidnon in Northern Mindanao where their thousands of hectares of pineapple plantations are located. The M/V Princess of the Stars disaster has now exposed that a "reputable corporation" like Del Monte is using tons of a banned pesticides (if radio report were true that it is indeed Endosulfan - and we can expect massive cover ups) on their pineapples meant for export.

Radio interview with divers say that they have difficulty breathing underwater from the first time they started the search-and-rescue operations early this week, which made it very hard to recover bodies inside the upside-down ship.

Tragic to think about the long-term effects of such a highly toxic and endocrine-disruptin g pesticide on corals, water and the entire marine ecosystem off Sibuyan Island and adjacent water bodies...

(;-)Neth

2008-06-12T20:20:00.002+08:00

Bless me Father for I love my sins.

For how can I be blamed when I knew, the moment my back pressed the soft bed, that warm body thawing the distance between us, that drought will soon be over. Let it be the mother of all my sins, and I confess that it remains in my words and lingers all the more in my thoughts; that I love what I have done--what we did--and with tomorrow coming, I try not to fail doing it again.

And so I thank Mother that I no longer am a virgin; I abhor not a hint of regret for the body--that body--was like that of an angel. And a saint. Nevermind if he was a cousin. Or a cousin's cousin. I am happy, though, that he was not a brother.

So bless me Father for I love my sins.

2008-05-23T12:34:00.001+08:00

Athan, whose real name I am so tempted to disclosing here but I think I will not--thank you better days, thank you respect--recently pissed me off. Like, big time.

I was so pissed off that a little snap would have been enough for me to give him loads of problems, just as what he was asking for, after describing me as someone who is congenitally problematic. You see, I don’t really mind sharing to others my problems and I think he wanted some.

Well, he did not use the word congenitally, but the way he said it, he was hinting that he sees me as someone congenitally problematic. Probably he did not use the word because he did not know what it really meant. And had he known what it meant, he would have used it and perhaps, he’s a cold ass by now.

(Mandaya said I am so Mr Bitter Ocampo. Fuckness! Hahahah…)

Well, he also called me ugly. But I did not mind that because I know, in my heart, that the new beau is uglier, if I am ugly. But I am not ugly, hello, and yet, the new beau is still ugly. I am not in denial or something, I want you to believe that, and ask me and I will tell you that the new beau, as I was told by my cousin Daniel, is really ugly.

And my cousin, for the hotness of him, said I am not ugly. And he was not saying it because we were cousins and I believe him for saying that, you know, not because we were cousins but because he was hot. Like, really hot—imagine all those carved muscles and all but not really grossly carved. He was just perfectly, well almost perfectly, toned. Wait, I am not suggesting something like I am entertaining incest here, please, no matter how he asked me to wrap him around my arms while he was deprecating Athan and the ugly beau.

(Ang gulo ano? Hahahaha…nakakaloka)

Had it not been for my threatening flails—hints of it he so slowly realized—I bet he would have not given up his little game until now. Wait, we are back to Athan now. I am done with my cousin—the hot cousin. So Athan, everytime he pisses me off, I bet, is getting a huge hard-on.

I know in my heart that he tries to engage me into intellectual exchanges because he’s not getting any from the new beau—the uglier beau. But Athan’s shots were so lame, really, that I felt like I so wanted to puke on myself everytime I read his messages on my friendster account that he tracked down. And so I had to tell Athan that we better stop the exchanges because the process was so one-way street—he was getting a hard-on while it did not even warrant any desire from me to initiate a foreplay.

And so I had to insist that we better stop it before I forget that I am nice. He knows it that I am a nice person. And my being nice gives him a little protection. But I am not all nice, and he, too, knows that most of me is a bitch. You see, I don't mind outing people in public. Or beat someone to it.

God, I am writing this while Elton John’s voice was rising to almost a beautiful falsetto as he breathed life into his tiny dancer. And Penny Lane’s image was impossibly etched into my mind like the color of the fallen flowers of the fire trees I saw several post-summer months ago in Sarangani Province.

2008-05-15T14:37:00.003+08:00

After Celso Pojas, chair of the peasant group Farmers Association of Davao City (FADC) and spokesperson of the Kilusang Magbubukid ng Pilipinas in Southern Mindanao, woke up early morning of Thursday, he quickly readied himself to leave for Compostela town in Compostela Valley Province to check on the situation of the lumad displaced by the military’s massive anti-insurgency campaign.

He, however, never made it there. He was stopped by three bullets of caliber .45 pistol few minutes after he bought sticks of cigarette from a sari-sari store in Barangay Maa here, just about 30 meters away from their office.

The bullets of the two unidentified persons, onboard a motorcycle, pierced through the right torso of Pojas and crushed the bones of his left arm. Medics from 911 declared him dead on the spot few minutes after he was attacked at around 6:00 am.

His colleagues at FADC said they were preparing to leave for Compostela town and were discussing recent developments concerning the lumad evacuees—particularly the sudden appearance of soldiers that caused the evacuees in the town gymnasim to panic—over coffee when Pojas excused himself to buy cigarette.

Few minutes after he went out of the office, people from FADC heard gunshots and learned later that Pojas has been attacked. He died right by the red gate of their office which is located just by the main road.

Pojas, 45, was the first militant leader in Davao City in recent years who has fallen victim of the strings of extrajudicial killings being blamed to the government. He also the first casualty since the leadership of Armed Forces of the Philippines was bequeathed to Gen. Alexander Yano. In Southern Mindanao , Pojas is victim number 79 while across the country, he was marked as victim number 903.

The military has denied any involvement in the killing. Militants groups and the human rights group Karapatan believe otherwise.

2008-05-05T14:12:00.003+08:00

"Ang bango mo naman...sarap mong romansahen..."
--sabi ng isang cute na lalaki sa akin

"Salamat..."---Bulong ko kay Denenes

2008-04-24T18:06:00.000+08:00

DECIDE WHAT'S THE BEST FOR YOUR ASS...

How can't I not agree?

2008-04-23T13:10:00.003+08:00

Something is really depressing about sadness. I seldom get sad. I am often depressed. Recently, however, I have been swallowed by this old feeling of sadness. Not really constantly. But close. Almost. And, over just anything.

The moon.
The new moon.
The full moon four nights ago.
The rain yesterday.
The sun today.
The overcast today.
The neighbor's radio this morning.
The news.
Les Miserables.
The letter I wrote.
My expecting of a text message.
The text message that I did not get.
The text message that I got.
The pine trees at Agusan del Sur.
The dried up river of Compostela Valley.
Diwalwal.
Space Burger's cheeseburger
The fries...
And the mustard...
My yellow shirt.
My cellphone; the refusing keypad.
My lover.
My former lover.
The lover that I almost had.
The lover that I will never have.
The lover that I will never become.
His stare.
And the smile...
Actually, it was a grin.

and more.

2008-04-09T15:14:00.007+08:00

"I have a bisexually open mind, but I have never been in a sexual relationship with a man. If the right one came along, then sure."

---Jason Mraz, Genre Mag, August 2005

A couple of birthday celebrations ago, my friend, Lulu, gave me a framed nicely put together decent photos of Jason Mraz. Several years ago, even before I officially came out, silently--within the confines of my overly-tight room I nicknamed Coffin--I made a number of orgasms courtesy of Jason Mraz.

Recently, I saw a set of Mraz photos that would have made my previous orgasms a real blast. Here they are:

2008-04-04T11:46:00.003+08:00

Nawala ako ng matagal. Mahigit dalawang linggo. Nakipagdaupang palad sa mga lumad ng Agusan del Sur na buong tatag ang pagtutol sa mga hakbang na matitulohan ang kanilang ancestral domain sa pamamagitan ng prosesong tinatawag na Certificate of Ancestral Domain Titling Nasa kanila ang puso ko--bakit nga naman kailangang patitulohan pa ang isang lupa na iyo na? Para saan? Para kanino? Tapos?

Ang mga lumad na nakausap ko ay ibang kwento. Ang kwento ko ngayon ay tungkol sa aking Lover. Sa lakad ko, nakita ko uli sya. Hindi naman talaga si Lover ang numero unong sadya ko sa lakad kong iyon. Swear. Pero, tama, parte syempre siya ng lakad ko. Ilang buwan ko na ring hindi nakita at nakausap si Lover kaya sobrang saya ko syempre nong makita ko syang muli.

Pero busy ang Lover ko. Umalis akong wala siya. I mean, hindi kami nagkausap man lang bago ako umalis. Naipalam naman sa kanyang aalis na ako pero akala daw nya--sabi nya sa akin sa text--na binibiro lang sya nong sabihin sa kanyang aalis na muna ako.

Dahil wala sya, sinulatan ko si Lover, isang bagay na hindi ko ginawa nong kami pa ni Athan.

--

April 3, 2008

Lover,

Allow these goodies (15 pcs ng kisses chocolate, isang pakete ng swiss miss, at dalawang balot ng oreo cookies--bananachoked) to make up for my lack of balls to personally thank you for carrying my heavy bag that day when all reasons conspired to favor you--that day when I saw you as an oblivious lover walking ahead a demented soul thawed by the drizzle, and an apparition close to being that of a god.

That day, I saw myself silently tailing my god.

Bitaw, kanang, daghan man kaayo ko'g rason nga magpasalamat ug pasalamatan.

For one, I wasn't really expecting that you would finally talk to me, something that eroded my perception of you being a hopeless and congenital snub. But yes, you talked to me and you did more than talk to me.

For another, I was really swept away by your effort to carry my stuff despite your hubag and lusay (boil and swelling lymph node, groin particularly--bananachoked) and even offering another hand to carry my backpack after that long and tiring walk.

My bad, in retrospect, to decline what could have been an offer reeking of nothing but sincerity. Dapat pala sana pinatulan ko na ang offer mo at hinayaan lang dalhin ang isa pang mabigat kong backpack if only through it we can possibly find the remotest and mundanest connection that mortals so long to find with each other.

Btw, I hope you don't mind my calling you my lover or my god or my penchant to name call. You see, you're also my demon.

Bananachoked

2008-03-15T16:21:00.002+08:00

no one ken to ken to sivmen
nor yon clees to jon maliveh
when i guez ajo zavateh na nalechoo more
new yonooz tonigh molinigh
yon sorra shoo...
yez it shoooo...oooohhhhh...

ken lee, tulibu dibu doocho
ken lee...ken lee meju more

ken lee...tulibu dibu doocho
ken lee...ken lee meju more...

ken lee, anyone?

2008-03-13T18:12:00.002+08:00

Michael and Harvey,

Dudes! Wow! You two are great and are close to being the greatest. Your friendship--that one--I am so jealous of it, man! Sup to both of now? Hope you guys are, you know, doing it well. I mean, doing well.

Weird how I felt like touching the self--and my honestly just comes out fluidly when I see two good looking young men, hot and with skin the color of milk--obviously happy with a friendship that's making a fabulous tour in the lifelane, gracefully flowing with Pops and Joey's Points of View.

And when you professed that you will always be beside each other "until the very end, wiping all your tears away, being your bestfriend I'll smile and feel the pain when you do, and if you cry a single tear, promise I will cry too...(sic)?" Boy, I felt my spunk ready to spew out of the schlong even without me touching it.

Can I join in the friendship? Sure, by that I mean I am ready now for a threesome.

2008-03-06T20:19:00.004+08:00

...and talking about genetically engineered stuff, I remember covering a demonstration staged by local members of the worldwide Food Not Bombs network where I spotted a placard emblazoned with a text in red that read: DEFY GENETICALLY MODIFIED ARROYO.

Well, from anti-GMO to anti-GMA.

2008-03-03T13:30:00.003+08:00

According to Greenpeace Southeast Asia, the following products, sold in the Philippines, are packed--as in packed--with genetically modified organisms or GMO.

1. Nestle Cerelac Wheat Infant Cereal with Milk
2. Hong Chi Foods Yung Ho Soybean Drink
3. Nestle Nesvita Natural Cereal Drink
4. Pokka Soya Bean Drink
5. Abbott Ensure Complete, Balanced Nurtition Vanilla Flavor
6. Kellogg's Chocos Chex
7. Pilmico-Mauri Farina Quick Cooking Hot Oil Wheat Cereal
8. Isomil Soy Infant Formula
9. Wyeth Nursoy Milk-Free formula for infants and children
10. Shoemart Bonus Vienna Franks
11. Swift Rica Protina Hordog
12. Swift Meat Loaf Embotido Style
13. Swift Cheesy Hotdogs
14. Holiday Corned Beef
15. Purefood Hormel Vienna Sausage
16. Purefood Chorizo Bilbao Style
17. Purefood Chicken Nuggets Classic with Honey Barbecue Sauce
18. Purefood Beefies Hotdog
19. Gusto Sausage
20. Purefoods Liver Spread
21. Campo Carne Chicken Vienna Sausage
22. Campo Carne Chinese Luncheon Meat
23. San Miguel Campo Carne Chicken Hotdog
24. San Miguel Campo Carne Moby Hotdog
25. Magnolia Chicken Chunks in Brine
26. Foodsphere CDO Corned Beef
27. JAKA Quality Foods Budget Franks
28. Quality Foods Big 'n Tastee Hotdogs
29. Argentina Corned Beef
30. Argentina Beef Loaf
31. CDO Carne Norte Pinoy Style Guisado
32. Foodmart Enterprise Kani Kizami Age Crab Cake
33. Nestle Maggi Cup Sarap Chicken Arroz Caldo
34. Zesto Corporation Quick Chow Instant Pancit Palabok
35. Doritos Smokey Red Barebecue
36. Universal Robina Jack 'n Jill Tortilllas smoky Barbecue Flavored Tortilla Chips
37. General Milling Granny Goose Kornets Natural Flavor
38. General Milling Granny Goose Tortillos
39. Granny Goose Tortillos Chili Flavor
40. Granny Goose Kornet Barbecue Flavor
41. Bocaditos Tortilla Chips Shaslik Flavor
42. Knorr Cream of Corn Soup
43. Knorr Crab and Corn Real Chinese Soup
44. Campbell's Condensed Soup Chicken with Rice
45. Prime Corn Starch
46. Food Fair Quality Cornstarch
47. Nestle Butterfinger

...now time to scour the food cabinet and the ref. Go!

2008-02-28T11:01:00.006+08:00

A woman, who looked more than a man to me, shrieked as if she's just had an orgasm after sleeping with Brad (or perhaps Angelina because she looked more than a man to me, told you).

I gave it to her --"her" because I want to be correct here--that not so often a commoner gets a chance to shake the hand of a smiling President who is embattled by the controversies and the deafening calls for her to resign--and still can afford to smile.

The scream of the woman, as she bragged about how she managed to point her camera-ed phone and shoot the president, was a stealer that even the smiling president, clad in sky-blue suit, had she not been too engrossed at giving out that signature smile and countless thank-yous, could have been irritated by it.

Honest, I saw the woman's esophagus. And irritated was one senior journalist who had to, amid the chaos, ask the woman "idol mo siya (you idolize her)?"

The woman,surprised by the question, for a split second, stopped. Recomposed the self and grinning but still exposing the tired esophagus, proudly said "syempre!"

She was very happy, sure, that the President shook her hand. But the President also shook several dozens of strangers' hands Wednesday afternoon and the President, I bet, would never ever remember one face in the crowd.

Honest, I am wondering whether the President, described by the members of the League of the Municipalities of the Philippines-Mindanao cluster as someone with "integrity and honest," could even remember the feel of a person's hand.

But that was not my problem Wednesday. I know something was wrong when I saw some journalists--those who do not mind dying just to be where the news is happening--at the lobby of the hotel when they were already supposed to be at the ballroom, waiting for the President to, well, give out the news.

My problem was whether or not the more or less 15 journalists who were stopped by the guards at the lobby (or those who were forced to leave the ballroom prior to the arrival of the President) of the hotel will be allowed to go up even without the the security pass.

But you know, I for one, already have a security pass numbered CN 070. I got hold of the pass, a Malacanang Media Pass signed by the head of the Philippine Information Agency (PIA) and accredited and cleared by Media Accreditation and Relations Office (MARO) of the Office of the Press Secretary, during the media briefing the day before the President arrived.

The security was really tight. And the the secretariat was not attending to the queries of the journalists who were stalled and were really, really getting anxious because the situation only meant one thing--we will be missing the statement of the President.

But we realized that we did not have to worry about whether we will be able to hear her announcements. One senior reporter said: "She needs us more that we need her."

With that, we proceeded to the bar and allowed coffee and a platter of French fries to simmer us down. Few minutes after, we went outside the hotel to only overhear a woman, apparently a servant of the MARO, telling a group of journalists that "I can allow you to get inside the hotel but not go up the ballroom."

Hell, what was she thinking? That she owns the hotel? That people cannot go inside the hotel without her facilitating it? That people cannot be in that hotel because the President was there getting the assurance of Mindanao mayors that she has their support, no matter what, in exchange for a fat annual internal revenue allotment? What?

That plus the frustration later pushed the journalists to tear the Malacanang issued Media pass.

PS.

Forgive my address of the President as the President when I could have used her name instead to avoid annoying repetitions. I have to be consistent with her recent assertion that "...ako pa rin ang pangulo."

2008-02-15T15:32:00.002+08:00

Omar's messages raced up with Mandy's; both of them begging me to even just once, be quick. You know, down here, I am quite notorious for my late arrivals to meetings and interviews. I am supposed to report to work at 9am but that's my wake-up time actually--meaning, my work time starts an hour before lunch time.

Texted Omar that I am already preparing to leave the office. It was just past 6pm, three hours before my self-imposed off. But truth was, I wasn't. Truth was, I was still stuck in my office. Truth was, I was not moving at all--just staring at the screen of my computer. Truth was, I was felled by this unknown feeling of shit. You know, it was really strange--I was just watching videos of my dear, dear Jason Mraz and suddenly I felt this familiar and nasty pang of gloom thickening in my chest.

So like today when I clicked the play button of this video.

2008-02-11T13:48:00.000+08:00

I just made a huge, huge decision over my smoking. I have been smoking for the last eight years and recently, something has been consistently nagging me to quit. Yes, I'm quitting as I felt the urge to impose upon myself to drastically turn the back from the white-filtered sticks that have been giving the saliva the flavor of cancer.

I am confident that I can forget about Marlboro Lights' intimate moments of both happiness and frustrations with me easily, the way I threw into the waste bin my orgasmic encounters--happy and frustrating, too--with Philip Morris.

Now, I declare, I am done with Marlboro Lights. I am tired of Marlboro Lights. I am breaking up with Marlboro Lights. I need a comfortable space, away from Marlboro Lights. Yes, Marlboro Lights is THE spent. I no longer love Marlboro Lights, you know...

But listen to this, I'm beginning to like Marlboro Light's older but stronger brother. Actually, I starting to really like Marlboro. He is much stronger and everytime we kiss? Wow! Marlboro, with his red head, surprisingly turns me on as he is a sight to behold. He challenges my tongue--actually entices my piece of meat to strip off as he thrusts dip into the mouth while at the other end he burns down slowly, spewing a glorious white film of smoke.

Sigh...I am so into him that I don't mind dying in his arms.

2008-02-06T14:10:00.001+08:00

It's blinding outside but the pale paint of the walls illuminated darkness. For how can I stand the radio that just played the saddest song I ever have heard? It's not the radio, sure. It's the song. Even after turning it off, it remained inside my head. It's there, gracefully ripping down the sanity left me by the fever and colds.

I guess it's what they call the mean reds.

2008-02-05T17:28:00.000+08:00

The House has now a new boss. A big boss. Bigger than the old one. The new boss has a checkered political history. He was a former human rights lawyer. Critics would rather see the word former in bold letters. And all caps. Why, because they say he is a lapdog now. The new boss made his way after, her critics say, the mother opened the door for him and forced the former boss outside.

Then, slammed it on his face.

You see, the closeness of the former boss to her was unquestionable. He was there for her as the new boss was always beside her. You see, he was there when she was being forced to vacate her own house. She did not budge. Thanks to him--the new boss--and to him who will now I call The Spent. Both the new boss and The Spent were instrumental in making her, along with the minions of her guards. This made her really invincible. They made him invincible. All of them who were called as her rabid supporters.

You see, it's a two-way-street for the mother and her rabid supporters, critics say. Or more than a two-way-street, in fact as their rabidness funelled more power to her, enough for her eclipse their rabidity.

Whatever happens next will definitely dictate, more or less if not curbed, the fate of the children.

Here lies. Whatever lies mean.

2008-02-05T17:14:00.000+08:00

I once read in a lifestyle article in the Philippine Daily Inquirer that Frenchmen do not mind a strip. That I was persuaded to believe the story was really easy as the article came up a couple of photos showing young Frenchmen showing off their rasé cul during a wedding party. I often imagine them as that. Bold. Daring. Perhaps, these are the reasons why I would always want to visit France, not to mention the French kiss.

But France, for all its glorious and kaleidoscopic history, has a lot to brag about. A magazine featuring tourism of the country made me sink in total amazement as I browsed the section that carried France Hotels. Nevermind the price that ranges from 30 euros (P1,700.00+) to as much as 400 euros (P23,000.00+) because, based on what I were seeing, one would surely not mind the price at all.

The package being offered by Paris Hotels, on the other hand, is something that cannot be ignored. Who would ever say no to the charm of Ritz Hotel Paris? For lovers in Paris, other attractions, of course, include the Musée du Louvre, the Notre Dame, and the Eiffel Tower.

In Germany, the Berlin Hotels are just as interesting. Five-star Germany Hotels, raging from 120 euros to 326 euros, are must-go places like Berlin’s Romantic Road and Neuschwanstein Castle. The impressive Adlon Hotel is not only known for its excellence but also best known for its historical significance as it was through the support of Kaiser Wilhelm II that what is now known as the world’s most beautiful and luxurious hotel in the world was built.

2008-02-01T16:01:00.000+08:00

Helping out a friend here. I can be his PRist, I told him. He said he will use his body as payment. I didn't tell him I'm not accepting "lumpsum" pay. I always go for tingi.

--

Coral Productions is in need of Visayan actors for an indie film entitled “The ‘Thank You’ Girls’ scheduled to be shot in Davao City on March 2008. Audition will be on FEB. 22, 2008 in DAVAO CITY (specific venue to be announced later) so if you know people who will be interested in the area, kindly tell them.

“The ‘Thank You’ Girls” is a roadtrip comedy about five dysfunctional gay beauty pageant veterans who always lose in gay beauty pageants. They then decide to travel from Davao to Cagayan de Oro City thinking they have better chances of winning in the provinces.

STRAIGHT ACTORS CAN AUDITION.

MOMMY PAOLA
male, 40-45 yo
gay
has an expressionless face
the manager and financer of the group and biological father of Chris

CHRIS
male, 18-22 yo
straight acting gay
goodlooking, vain, son of Mommy Paola

BERNADETTE
male, 24-25 yo
gay
has an obnoxious, contagious laugh
body borders to being almost chubby
not goodlooking but has high self-confidence

ALLYSON
transvestite, 25-28 yo (he is 33 yo in the film but should look younger than his age)
with boobs

MACARIO
male, 24-27
gay
very normal, ordinary looking
struggling musician

CARLOS
male, 45-50 yo
Mommy Paola’s “demented” lover

Also, if you are an unsigned alternative rock band who has recorded music, we are in need of songs for the film’s soundtrack.

Contact:

YAM
0920-642-8684

2008-01-30T12:10:00.000+08:00

Thursday, January 24, 2008 12:43 PM.

Someone from the my former university's yahoogroup forwarded to the loop a message that contained the supposed pork and perks of our dear, dear congressmen. The message apparently was reeking in disgust as the sender put before the message the note: Yikes!

The following was the exchanges I had with two other members of the group. Mr. Cirunay, I believe is based in the US. Mr. Jabonero worked as an IT head of a fastfood chain and, from what I have gathered, has just recently moved to Manila to work for a bank.

This can really be long
---

Sent: January 25, 2008 1:05 AM

Re: The perks of being a congressman- yikes!

Telling us about it is one thing. Asking the public officials to stop or minimize it, especially the subject congressman, is another thing - must be the thing.

Why don't your write your congressmen or ask your friends to have an email blast requesting your congressmen to have a reasonable expenditures in their tour of congressional duties if there's any?

It is sad to know about their expensive habits and (maybe unnecessary) functions when their constituents could not even afford to buy one Calamansi to dilute their bagoong.

Let them know that these are not acceptable.

C. N. Cirunay

--

Sent: Friday, January 25, 2008 10:00 AM

that was a good take mr. cirunay, really. good to hear that someone here takes the time to, well, suggest something over something so serious, and gross, as this.

but you know, stories such as corruption and stuff, appear too mundane already that not even the distinguished members of this loop--you know, those that are comfortably up there--would not care to notice anymore.

or are we too lazy to care anymore?
too dense?
too jaded?
too comfortable?
or too afraid?

maybe the last one?
or all of the above, im scared.

---thinking aloud here.

jeff

--

Sent: Monday, January 28, 2008 10:56 PM

Perhaps Mr. Tupas, some of us, are feeling tired but not lazy to care anymore about the topic.

The email that was sent over the group is pretty obvious that there's a lot of "MEAT" in that congress of slaugther. Pork Barrel is the second thing next to
power, why that position is really "HOT".

So, some of us won't take a damn suggestion because this is Philippine Political System. You can't change it, unless you take one seat and make Adobo(Filipino Style) out from that "MEAT" and you share it to every Filipinos... and serve while it's "HOT".

(Unsigned but this came from Mr. Jabonero)

--

Sent: Monday, January 28, 2008 2:00:11 PM

That the political system of this country can only be changed by those who were put into office--thanks to the infamous phones calls and the overflowing money during elections--- sounds as hopeless as witnessing a catatonic ex-punk feast over leftovers straight from the garbage bin of some fastfood chain.

What i am saying, and i guess you would graciously concede to it, Mr. Jabonero, is that something has to be done and this was perfectly articulated by Mr. Cirunay. While there are more other better things to do other than what Mr. Cirunay suggested, for me it was one of the best things to do now. A lot better, in fact, than succumbing to silence and, as you've said, laziness.

One more thing--I think something went amiss with the first sentence of your last paragraph because there's a huge, huge difference between making suggestions and taking some.

Jeff

And oh--PS.
The last time I checked, Adobo is indigenously Pinoy, a reason why one movie had to be really definite about the dishe's foreign variation. Remember American Adobo?

Peace (with justice).

--

Sent: Tuesday, January 29, 2008 1:00:56 PM

I am still surprised that despite the education we posses , majority believes that only the congressmen or the officials of the government can make the change we like.

Did we forget that Philippines is still a democratic country and that its government is still for the people and by the people? We are the government. About the problem we have, I do not blame anybody, but we the people, who elected these crooks and put them in that position. We are a part of the problem. If we hate these people, we are just shooting ourselves.

If we talk about these so-called "problems", we will never solve them because it is not really a problem. It is just a symptom of the real problem. The real problem is us. So, the solution will come form us if we take the responsibility of the situation we created. Think about it.

C N. Cirunay

--

Sent: Tuesday, January 29, 2008 3:16:33 PM

Amen to this sir.

Maybe too much airconditioning paralyzes one. Or worse, sends a person into a state of coma. Well, what could be worst than that? Becoming oblivious of the basics is unspeakably unspeakable. I blame this to the hoax "coolness" caused by the airconditioning system of our offices. It closes the pores of the skin and shuts down the other senses, rendering one feeless.

Mr. Cirunay, sir, education is not a guarantee, and will never will, that we become better persons or more. One can even sell his values and his dignity as a person even one is the head of the state. I know you know this so well that, I know, too, you were just faking it when you said that you were surprised about the ignorance of some on the basics of democracy. As I have said, education can never be a good barometer.

That's all for now. Thanks.

Now, back to my steamy-as-a- sauna work station.

Jeff

2008-01-30T12:06:00.000+08:00

There appears to be an intense techwar, particularly in telecommunications, in the UK today that might interest the monarchy or the hotties called William and Harry and their not-so-hottie girls. Sorry, I’m bitter. The clash has now, as expected, been brought to the battlefield of no-monthly fees, cheap tariff and charges, dependable line quality, and attractive line of services.

Leading the fight now is TalkTalk that offers free broadband and free calls to local, national and international landline phones. Had this been offered many years ago, I surely would have enjoyed much more the long talks I had with my ex who based in London. She would have certainly saved her pounds had she availed of this. Hahaha…

Another London-based TalkTalk user friend, in a chat, told me that the best advantage of the service is on the cheaper-and-better-than-BT department. This I will still have to find out, though. And will only find out if she starts calling my landline through TalkTalk.

2008-01-28T15:52:00.000+08:00

I always bump around Tiara, the editor-in-chief of University of the Philippines-Mindanao's Himati, everytime I visit Coffee Spot, the sanest place along the constantly-frenzied-mode Claveria St. of Davao.

The frequent encounter with her at Coffee Spot makes me think--ok, the girl is part of the whole package. Like, she's no different from the cakes and the pastries inside the brightly-lit showcase. It's like she's owned the place and it owned her already. One day, I was tempted to ask her--"are you a stockholder?"

But like me, the girl only wants to enjoy the offerings of Coffee Spot: free, as in generously overflowing, internet connection that hits the very-good-to-excellent mark, a smokers' den that is still reached by the piped-in music, and the, err....ok coffee.

It's always writing and journalism that unites the two of us. As a mainstream practicing journalist, I have had the chance to share with her and her group some inputs about, err...journalism (what else?). I usually do the talking during these sessions, no matter how I encourage a very animated exchanges.

Recently, though, things took another shape between us as I found her lecturing on me a matter that sounded sooooo mathematics to me--blogvertise.

Listening to talk about figures gave me the chill. I felt like I'm once again standing small, face to face, with my highschool algebra teacher. She's the charming the version, though.

"It's easy."

"Yeah, right."

"Really. Believe me...imagine me and my brother are into it."

"Uhhha?"

"I'm earning at least 300 dollars a month...Pearl is earning more that than. And my brother is earning as much as I earn too. And Pearl's sister earns this much, too...and Pearl is planning to quitting this job to concentrate on this..."

"Really?"

"Look, one day I went to the mall with my brother and we splurged. You know, we can now afford to splurge---together!"

"What's it called again?"

"Blogvertise."

So I found myself turning on my lappy, wrote blogvertise and punched the enter key.

2008-01-23T14:58:00.000+08:00

heath ledger

goodbye my lover
but thank you, anyway
for allowing us to witness you;
touch your naked life
as you touched ours...
and as you smile,
and raise a thumb
a disgruntled soul
smiles back
and raises a thumb, too...

that you will be ok there
is spoken by that smile,
much more spoken by that raised thumb
clearly
than a shattered picture
that hanged on your wall
the one that constantly reminded a disgruntled soul
that it's ok
no matter what...
and how...

but the pills said it's today
only today...

2008-01-21T10:28:00.000+08:00

My take on gay relationship (and my lack of it):

2 rolls of toilet paper
1 bottle of Clear shampoo
1 box of Oreo
1 pack of cotton buds
1 box of medium-sized toothpaste
1 ream of Marlboro, red
1 note that says: dahil malaki ang galit natin sa ating mga baga (because we so hate our lungs).

These and my belief that love is a verb.
But succumbing to the inability to muster something that probably would have given justice to that verb--because, in fact, there is more to it than just being an action word.
And learning to love Vanessa Carlton's A Thousand Miles...
And drowning in his memory as Vanessa Carlton did
And feeling very, very important after that short exchange of messages.
Then submitting to cerebrality that dictated: Delete The Number Now!
And deciding to love him silently...
But looking forward for summer,
And waiting for (another) Christmas.

...all these as you imagine him telling you: "you're just mystified..."

2008-01-16T17:26:00.000+08:00

Kalai was telling me about how he felt sluggish the past few days. He told me about this as he pathetically tried to widen his drooping eyes, as if to convince me to drop my preoccupation over something other than his story. The only thing that kept him busy the past days, he said, was sleep. Sure he was lying. He has been reading books--lots of it. And movies, too.

Last night, few minutes before he told me he's going to sleep early again, he had a conversation with Bridget Jones. And he recounted this conversation to me--how Bridget thinks about things almost exactly how one does in his lonesome, for instance, while walking--while we were walking.

What he really wanted to tell me, I know, was that he was Bridget Jones. And that I was trudging that desolate road with Bridget Jones. That he was not a slug despite feeling sluggish afterall.

I gave that to him, though. Got no problem with that. He's a friend, you know.

This Kalai is leaving few days from now. He's taking a break and I hope he makes it really big time there. I owe a lot of things to this Kalai--really lots of it.

This one here Kalai introduced to me. Thanks for making me fall for Ste. Hope you meet my Ste there. Warm regards...

2008-01-12T14:46:00.000+08:00

Why I failed to attend and, yeah, host the yearly party of journalists covering the military and police beats end of December last year was because I was sent out somewhere to cover another Party.

Now this one explains the absence. Click here to find out.

2008-01-05T17:05:00.001+08:00

Warning: Raw...raw...raw...in a hurry to meet a friend for coffee and chismis. This may appear like a spew of bitter diresion from me but as Nelson told me: "Who the hell cares if you are bitter!"

A couple of times last week, I experienced the unimaginable.

First, it made me realize that Davao, the largest city in terms of land area in the whole world (next to Puerto Princesa), can actually reduce itself into something like the size of a can. You know that small thing where they force-in five to six pieces of poorly tomato-sauced juvenile fish? That's it. A tin can.

Second...there's no "second" actually.

What I am trying to say is nothing because what I realized and experienced twice last week were almost tantamount to nothing. It was just Athan. You remember him?

I mean, a month after he left me in the middle of a dead busy highway, why the hell would he choose to eat in the same Tapsilog Center where I was eating. Hello! I arrived there first. I ordered food first and that does not mean that I must leave the place first?

That he showed up there was perfectly nothing, right? As nothing as seeing him eat with in the same Tapsilog Center with someone whom you, from the start, suspected as his new beau. Right, it's perfectly nothing with the thought of his supposed reason why he went corpse-cold over your almost two-year relationship always made you feel like a destraction--totally--to his bright, bright future.

There was, of course, nothing wrong with that, except that you, as you consistelty stood by your atheism as a personal-political statement, wrote essays--his project in theology--about how you adored the thought of lying next to god and all the angels and saints afterdeath--and you learn later that the essay earned him a 98 percent rating, something that you did not, no matter you tried, get when you were taking theology classes back in college.

Sure, there was nothing wrong with him seeing with someone. What was wrong, you would stress, is that they do not, in any inch, look good together. Not that you and him looked good together when you were still together but, hey, they looked like---unimaginable.

But of course, you are not easily pressured by anything that are not pleasing to the eyes and to the feeling. You would claim you had a blast after taking a break and finding out that you are crazy over some crazy guys you barely know the real name. But what's unpleasant to the eyes would either push you to break out into laughter or in panic and dread.

And unimaginably, you did both while you were frantically sending our text messages to your friends about the horrible sight that just unfolded before you.

But because your new year was great, despite how simple it was spent (thanks to that can of corned beef and Julian...hahaha...), you go meet your friends and tell them what you just saw and they end up laughing with you as you tell them how you bubblily greeted he-who-left-you "haaaaaaayyyyyy...how are you?" and how you only got that usual demeanor you have always convinced him to dropping because it always made him look like stupid.

And then you, next few days while you are onboard a taxi, see them again in this small cafe by the road. And then, you inspect the self and feel the self and you find the self laughing so hard that it scares the driver so much for him to ask: "Naunsa ka dong?"

2007-12-19T14:32:00.000+08:00

Past 4 o'clock in the afternoon yesterday, while I was lining up to pay for the two books I bought at National Bookstore:

Hindi. Ah. Pwede...pwede...
Marami, syempre. Pandak?
Ok lang ang pandak wag lang yong sobrang pandak.
Pandak na para nang unano.
Bading? Gay? Hindi. Ah...yon! Yon!
GMA daw.
Sigurado nga!
Bading. Chubby? Ayaw ko ng chubby na sobrang chubby.
Mansanas at lechon.
Shoot!

(He mumbles something inaudible)

Tomboy? Walang problema ang tomboy.
Wag lang bading. Ayaw ko nang bading.
Pandak! Pandak!

(He mumbles something inaudible)

Hehehehe...wag. Wag dyan.
Kahapon pala yon? 'kala ko ngayon.
Si Darna? Hindi si Darna! Baliw! Si Ding.
Darna!
Walang bato si Darna? Naubos ang bato ni Darna?
Binato ni Ding eh!
Kaya na-rehab si Ding.
Nagalit si Darna kasi nagbabato si Ding!
Ulol! Salampakin ko kaya ang mukha ni Darna!
Ito. Itim...
Plastic na itim na matigas.
Twenty five seventy five ito.
Babayaran mo ito ha? Refund syempre. Saka pamasahe ko.
Iiipin nito ang mga papel.
Itim nga!
Tawas lang yan.
Rexona?
Tawas.
Kili-kiling itim.
Black underarm.
Arm.
Autonomous Region in Muslim Mindanao.
Armm.
Bobo!
Papel. Iiipin ang papel dito sa board na itim.
Papel de-leyja?
Coarse.
Fine.
Fine!
Fine paper.
Coarse!
Coarse paper!
Paper clip.
Clip.
Hair clip?
Clip...
To...
Clip---to!
Clip--tomaniac.
Maniac.
Yuck!
Yak!
Man is yuck--eeeeee...
Long e.
No eyh.
Just eeeeee. Not eh!
Wow!
Wowweeeeee...sinong di mawiwili sa Eat Bulaga.
Bulaga!
Bulag!
Lag!
Bu! Boooooooo!!!
Booooooooooooo!!!

(He mumbles something inaudible)

(He sings) Bangkang papel...nag-disappear...Isang bangkang papel...na--na---na--na--na...

(He mumbles something inaudible)

Gary. Gary Granada. Gary Valenciano. Gary Estrada.
Joseph Estrada.
Loi.
Kabit. Daming kabit.
Di ko mabilang kung ilang kabit.
Kabit-kabit na ang mga kabit.
Senador? Senayyyyy-ter!
Ulitin mo..
Senayyyy-ter!
Baliw...baliw...baliw.
Malapit na ako.
Counter.
Pangit.
Hindi maganda ang nasa counter.
Pandak.
Pandak...pandak.
Tomboy.

Kahapon ba yon?
Oo. Tama. Mali...tama...mali.
Correct? Correct!

Kahapon dinala ni Ding kay Darna ang bato.
Oo...si Richard Gutierez.
Sina Sussie at Geno.
Sustagen.
Si Raymond daw.
Hindi pandak si Raymond!
Tomboy...si Anabel?
Bading...bading...

(He mumbles something inaudible)

Ayaw ko ng bading.
Kambal?
Wala si Ruffa.
Christmas na? Merry Christmas! Happy New Year.
Hoooo...hooo...hoooo...hoooo...

(He mumbles something inaudible)

Si B1..B2...B3...at B4
Diyos ko! 21 na sa Friday.
22 na sa Saturday.
23 na sa Sunday.
Monday.
Tuesday.
Wednesday.
Thursday...
Holy Thursday...
Holy...day?
Holiday!
Happy Holiday!

(Stops for five secs)
Hindi. Oo...pumayag si Angel.
Balakubak.
May balakubak ba si Angel.
Sa shampoo.
Shampoo day...may libre pang toothpaste.
May libre pang toothbrush!!!
May libre pang tooooooo!!!
May libre pa.
Libre.
Libre.
Bre...
Bre!!!
Re!
Prrrrrr-re.
Pre!
Kumusta na Pre?
Sa Eat Bulaga?
Si Joey.
Wi Willie, hindi...wowowieeee sinong di mawiwili!
Si kasama si Edu!
Si Joey.
At Vic.
At Tito.
Pwede ring si Val.
Si Dina?
Oo...si Dina.
Sus...'wag ka nang magselos!
Si Oyo at si Angel.
Nagkiss? Hehehehhee...
Sarap.
Sa'yo si Oyo?
Ok. Bakla ka ba?
Ayaw ko ng bakla ha.
Tomboy ok lang...
Pwede na ring pandak.
Wag lang pandak na parang unano.
Unanong-unano.
Si GMA?
Wa----w?
Si Ate Glow.
Bading yon eh!
Ayaw ko ng bading!

(He mumbles something inaudible)

Birthday ng aso kahapon.
Syempre sa beach.
Swimming...
Laro...
Push...
Pull...
Swing.
At pa-swing-swing pa.
Holding hands while walking...
At pa-swing-swing pa.

(Stops for few secs; then laughs...stops again for three secs...looks at me)

Ay! Akala ko babae!

(He mumbles something inaudible)

Malapit na ako! Malapit na ako!
Ako na ba?
Ako ba?
Hihihi...
Ho-h0-ho....
Merry Christmas to yo--ho--ho--ho...

(He stops then notices my tattoo)

Ay! Masakit yan?
Hindi naman no?
Galing ka ba sa loob?
Hihihi...
O, dito ka lang sa labas?
Ho--ho--ho...
Sa loob nagkita kami ni Hubert!
Nagpalagay sya...
Sakit-sakit!
Gago talaga!
hihihi...

(He mumbles something inaudible)

Ay! Akala ko babae!
Bakit di ka nagtetext sa akin?
Walang load...walang load...
Ako na ba?

(The lady gives me my change and the packer hands me the books. I spew out a sigh of relief)

2007-12-18T14:59:00.001+08:00

2007-12-14T12:50:00.000+08:00

INQUIRER MINDANAO

Mindanao bloggers unite for peace
By Jeffrey M. Tupas
Inquirer
Last updated 06:07am (Mla time) 12/09/2007

DAVAO CITY, Philippines -- While most gatherings of bloggers are nailed on how to possibly earn huge money from this cyber exchange, which is almost as mundane as updating one’s web log, the first Mindanao Bloggers’ Summit talked about how to strive for peace.

Attended by almost a hundred bloggers from various parts of the island on Oct. 28 at the NCCC mall in Davao City, the summit aimed to promote the diverse cultures and identities of Mindanao in the hope of narrowing gaps that provoke conflict and misunderstanding.

A number of those who came were journalists, writers, artists and students, who even passed a resolution encouraging other bloggers to write about Mindanao as a “contribution to fostering understanding and peace.”

One of the summit’s major supporters, the United Nations Act for Peace Programme, and the Inquirer Mindanao Bureau drafted the resolution.

All shapes and sizes

The summit seeks “to bring together bloggers of all shapes and sizes, of varied beliefs and convictions, to a common venue, and hopefully together come up with answers to this question: What can we accomplish as bloggers to contribute to peace and understanding?” Oliver Robillo, the organizers’ team leader, said.

Robillo said the bloggers must open the windows to what is Mindanao for the world to see and appreciate, contrary to what is often highlighted in local and foreign media.

“Even our fellow Filipinos in Luzon and the Visayas are blind to the reality of our island,” he said.

“Through our collective voices, we will be able to effect certain improvements. By letting our blogs’ readers see our everyday lives, our work, our involvement, our passions --which we write about -- they will be given a glimpse of the true images of Mindanao,” Robillo said.

“By our blogging, the negative publicity surrounding the Philippine South might soon be overcome.”

According to the resolution, the bloggers would exploit the new medium of expression and information exchange to write stories about the “beauty of Mindanao’s people, culture, places, creativity as their contribution to foster understanding and peace on the island.”

Peace agents

“The participants have held Mindanao close to their hearts and are aware of its diverse people, rich cultures and amazing places,” it said. They “recognize the need to continually communicate with one another to know and understand Mindanao and its people through the available technology.”

Now posted at the www.mindanaobloggers.com, more bloggers said they were willing to become peace agents by supporting the resolution.

Fr. Albert Alejo, a peace advocate and one of the speakers, said peace building and promotion could be done in many ways, like writing stories about the goodness of people, especially those who are in the margins of society.

“We have to touch the heart where the violence starts … we have to create more images that touch the heart,” Alejo said.

The stories must tell about how government policies and officials further push the poor aside.

“Let us write about corruption because corruption is violence. Let us talk about Malacañang because Malacañang is violence,” Alejo said.

“We have to start writing about the billions of dollars coming in if the final peace agreement is signed between the Philippine government and the Moro Islamic Liberation Front … we have to write about this before the money gets squandered by corrupt government officials.”

Copyright 2007 Inquirer. All rights reserved. This material may not be published, broadcast, rewritten or redistributed.

2007-12-10T10:35:00.000+08:00

First, I would like to make it clear that after this entry, I will no longer be writing anything about what I just went through--or going through--in relation to the depressing end of my more than a year relationship with Athan. This, as I resist the call not to bounce immediately because I want to bounce now, despite not really having been able to completely pick-up the self from where it went to because of what happened.

AR, a colleague from Manila, discouraged me from bouncing. For someone who went through a marital ordeal that ended in separation, I guess no one could beat her in the How-To Department of a broken relationship.

I met her Monday afternoon, few hours after I once again had a bout with another short-span depression, a series of episodic drama that I was consistently warned about my a number of reachable friends despite my claim of being ok. The day Athan announced he was bolting out, I told myself to take a rest for awhile. And by rest, I mean "rest."

Last night, while oblivious of the already bleeding knees after more than an hour of Inner Dancing, I (re)discovered my capacity to scribble using my left hand. (Ambidexterity is something that I did not desire to learn and whatever was that that was ignited it in me, thank you) First words were a repetition of my name, written, albeit invisibly as I was using a stick I found somewhere, on the red cold floor of Don Bosco's Trinitas Hall. The next batch of words were Athan's full name, streaming fluidly---literally encircling my sweat-drenched body.

I wanted to stop. But how can you stop your Higher Self? I even resisted, but failed, that force who told me to stand up and move to one corner of the room where I later continued writing ambidextrously a three-word unsigned letter addressed to Athan---the size of it could pass as the shortest letter I have ever written in my whole, whole life.

It says: Dear Athan, Why?

Few hours before that, I was in a trance while exchaning text messages with Jaydey. He knows that I like him but I don't want to read what is not yet apparent in the exchange of messages happening between us since the overcast blinded my sky. In one of the text messages, he asked me: "What do you want me to do (just) to make you happy?"

It was one question that was never asked me before.

2007-11-20T09:13:00.000+08:00

Athan,

The rain? I saw it coming that I already warned a couple of friends about it few days ago, while the overcast was slowly thickening outside. It did not surprise me a bit even if it arrived at the most unholy hour of this lifetime--our lifetime, leaving us both cold but not really totally out of comfort.

And last night? It drenched us both. It was nasty; worse than the cutting coldness seeping through the cream and green plastic mats spread on the red concrete floor of my office. It was past 2 in the morning and the coldness burnt the flesh it earlier numbed.

Few days ago, I was multiplying 8760 hours by two to a friend; now I am substracting as many hours as I can while at the back of my mind, a slideshow just won't stop.

Rewind. Play. Pause. Forward. Fast forward. Rewind. Play. Rewind. Rewind. Rewind. Forward. Play. Rewind. It just won't stop; just like the rain.

Unlike you.

2007-11-18T15:30:00.000+08:00

So it seems numbers are more important that I am. Not that I am complaining because I am more than feeling that. I am wanting. It's been more than three weeks but it feels like it's a year already.

I hope this is far from forever. Or over.

2007-11-16T16:00:00.000+08:00

Canvass bags for sale. Mura lang...

2007-11-08T18:47:00.000+08:00

Death No. 1...

This morning, I was with a throng of journalists who stormed the office of the Ombudsman Mindanao, as one of our colleagues filed criminal and administrative charges against a Board Member of Compostela Valley Province.

Apparently, what Board Member Neri Barte did to broadcaster Roel Sembrano of Radyo Natin in Compostela threatened the very soul of freedom of expression. In fact, Barte attempted to curtail this right when he attacked Sembrano, with hir wife and daughter in tow, early morning of October 24.

Listening to Sembrano retrace the event created a picture of three voltures, ripping the flesh of a half-dead prey, in my mind. It is highly condemnable that the Bartes had to share their lust (or disgust) over their hapless prey, right inside that place called "announcer's booth."

The National Union of Journalists of the Philippines (NUJP) and the Kapisanan ng mga Brodkaster ng Pilipinas (KBP) said the attack is intolerable as "an announcer's booth is to a broadcaster what a pulpit is to a priest."

"Actions of public officials like Barte are dangerous. It is the kind of mentality that threatens the democracy that we vowed to protect. Such act of a public official must be condemned, not only by the media as a sector, but also by fellow public officials," the NUJP and KBP said in a joint statement.

Death No. 2...

This morning, after expressing unity for the "protection of the mandate of our profession," we went to see Mariannet Amper who was lying right where she was found hanging. Hers is a death so painful it challenges everyone's apathy; a truth that screams right in the face of the policy makers who met to talk about how to fight poverty in a posh Manila hotel while she was hanging lifeless because of poverty.

Death No. 3...

This morning, news about another death in the family came in. The text message read "Patay na siya kuya..." Reading it left in me a feeling that this one is no different from the others.

Death is as overrated as death.

2007-11-03T01:12:00.000+08:00

Diana Mandarawon wakes up at 3 am, while the earth is still covered by darkness and mist. She wastes no time, her every move well calculated as she avoids not to wake-up her younger siblings with the grating of the floor made of slabs. She then goes to the kichen--just a few steps from the only bedroom--and grabs the sack of cassava and bananas.

This morning, just like the past days, the 12-year old daughter of an Ata-Manobo farmer, leaves for school with not a single cent. But Diana does not care if her lunch appears like an endless repetition of the previous meals she had taken in with her classmates and friends at school--viandless cassava or bananas.

Worrying about food or money is the least of her concern. Her problem is how to get to school on time, the reason why she had to wake up as early as 3 am for she can start walking at 4 am. Disregard the fact that she's going to school without notebook, paper, pencil, or books--the girl is consumed by her unquestionable determination to learn.

He cousin, Gina, does not also care if, just like the yesterday, she will be using the free spaces of her overly used notebook to write down today's lessons. Her classmates will not be lucky as she is, as most of them practice writing down their names and solving simple mathematical problems on leaves of bananas.

Diana's village, called Sitio Tambuko in Barangay Palma Gil in Talaingod, Davao del Norte, is about three hours away from Sitio Dulyan, where the community learning center called Salupungan Ta 'tanu Igkanugon is located. The learning center only caters to grade one pupils.

If Diana and Gina, and at least 55 others, want to finish elementary education, they have to travel about 20 kilometers to reach Barangay Sto. Niño. To do this, they have to pay P600 for motorcycle fair for each person.

Asked why she wants to be "educated," Diana said "aron dili mi malimbungan sa mga bisaya (so the bisaya can no longer cheat us)."

Such a desire of someone so young to actually learn of her bloody past. Such a dream of someone so young yet never oblivious of the cruel future that lies ahead. This struggle while the government nearly allowed the implementation of the questionable Cyber Education Program in public schools in the country.

Btw, her village, as most of the villages of Talaingod, was the site of the logging operations of the giant Alcantara and Sons (Alsons) many years ago. Alsons, of course, is the manufacturer of Ecowood Plywood.

Now, Diana and the children of Talaingod are reaping the abuse of their ancestral lands. They are trapped in a depressing and unspeakably disheartening condition of poverty and hunger while the "intruders" lie in the comfort of their own hotels.

And yes, the intruders? They sure can have better view of the destruction they left everytime they fly their planes over the skies of Talaingod.

Learn more about the problems of Diana here.

2007-10-29T15:45:00.000+08:00

Who's afraid of President Gloria Macapagal-Arroyo? Well, not this woman who swears, during my interview with her, that the president will get a mouthful from her, if ever they meet. She blames the President (and the past Presidents) for what have become of the lumad people now.

This is a special story for me as it signalled my coming back to my roots; sort of retracing of the past. What is inevitable now is for me to ask the self--Why am I meeting these people now? It feels weird. Kind of an omen.

Recently, I also interviewed another lumad leader, Datu Duloman Dawsay, an Ata-Manobo tribal leader wanted by the government after they declared pangayaw (tribal war) against the giant logging company Alcantara and Sons (Alsons)in in late 1990s.

The Pangayaw, which came after Alsons allegedly encroached into the ancestral lands of the Ata-Manobos, was led by another leader Datu Guibang Apoga, also wanted by the government. Anyone who catches them gets a million peso reward.

Bigkay, Dawsay and Apoga are my grandfather's relatives.

INQUIRER MINDANAO
The war of Bae Bibiyaon Likayan Bigkay
By Jeffrey M. Tupas
Inquirer
Last updated 03:59am (Mla time) 10/28/2007

DAVAO CITY, Philippines—She riffled through the pages of the Inquirer, her hand steady and careful, and hurriedly flipped back to the front page and stared at the photos.

Bae Bibiyaon Likayan Bigkay recognized the images: the man was “Pek’yeo” while the woman between two Indian officials was “Ori’yeo.”

Slowly chewing a betel nut—traces of being a longtime partner evident in her lips—the Ata-Manobo chieftain from the hinterlands of Bukidnon said she admired Pek’yeo because the man fought well. Pek’yeo is Filipino boxing champion Manny Pacquiao, whom she saw on television in Davao City several months ago.

She’s not afraid of him, she said, and would even willingly face him in the ring for a match. With a bland smile, she said, Pek’yeo might have strong punches but nothing could beat her arrows.

From a bitter derision as she talked of how to beat Pek’yeo came a chafed indignation over Ori’yeo, or President Macapagal-Arroyo.

‘Limbungan’

“If I get to meet her, I will confront her and tell her that she’s the reason many “lumad” (indigenous peoples) in the hinterlands do not have food, why we suffer from poverty … why many of us have lost access to our ancestral lands ... why many of us have gone into hiding … why many of us have lost their loved ones,” Bigkay said through an interpreter.

“She’s a big reason for all these sufferings,” the old woman said in an interview at a human rights center in Davao City recently. She stiffened and walked toward the glass windows.

Bigkay described the President as “limbungan” (cheater).

“She’s taken advantage of the people, especially the lumad. Look at her—she’s so rich—while we cannot even go to our farms and till the land without fear that the military will again suspect us of supporting the rebels, thus putting our lives in danger,” Bigkay said in her native tongue.

That she is dauntlessly confrontational when provoked and passionate about fighting for the rights of her people come along Bigkay’s being a bibiyaon or a woman tribal leader. It was a responsibility bequeathed to her by the Ata-Manobo elders when she was still a child. (This was the time when she convinced the elders to let her borrow a horse in behalf of her father, a negotiation carried out only by matured men.)

Now, she is one of the few women lumad leaders who is respected not only for her wisdom but also for being a fearless warrior. She punctuates this prominence by never failing to be at the forefront of her people’s opposition to government projects that are deemed destructive to their ancestral lands.

Pantaron Range

Thrice a week, Bigkay gathers the people of her small village of Natulinan in San Fernando, Bukidnon, to discuss how to keep their defenses strong against mining and plantation companies. Central topic is how to keep the Pantaron Range free from “foreign intrusion.”

“Pantaron is what is left to us. Without it, we will have nowhere to go,” she said as she described the land still rich with fauna and flora, including herbs that the people use as medicine.

Bigkay recalled how, as a little girl, she would dare go to Pantaron to hunt with her uncle. Sometimes, she said, she would stay there for many months.

Alamara

But the woman warrior is also wanted by the Alamara, a paramilitary group of Ata-Manobos allegedly funded by the military and other tribal leaders who do not share her stand. She said she often moved around the community and into the forest, where she is most protected.

The Alamara has also become a ruthless group going after suspected supporters of communist rebels.

What concerns Bigkay more than herself is that her people might shed blood again as what happened to her niece who died several months ago when Alamara members looking for her fired at a hinterland school in Bukidnon.

People close to Bigkay claim that she is in the military’s battle list on suspicion of supporting the New People’s Army, along with other lumad leaders Datu Guibang Apoga and Datu Duloman Dawsay.

Bigkay said that the presence of soldiers had always been the community’s problem as they prevent residents from doing their usual farming and other activities.

And because her farm is spacious, she said, the military would always regard her as “farming to feed the rebels.”

Logging days

The government has been watching her, she admitted, being one of the few remaining lumad leaders who are critical of its “development” projects.

She cited the experience of the Ata-Manobos at the time of the giant logging company, Alcantara and Sons (Alsons). “They’ve (company owners) abused the mountains, leaving us with almost nothing at all. They have abused the land, our ancestral home. What they have already destroyed can no longer be restored. Now, look at us … look at our children,” she said.

Mining and other agricultural development projects are “maruot” (ugly), she said. Despite their many faces, these will never get her approval or that of the people who have already seen the destruction they have brought to them.

“I will die fighting for our land against those who only desire to get its resources and destroy it. If I, as bibiyaon, will allow them to desecrate the mountain again, it will mean that I have also allowed the destruction of my people because the mountain is our home, it is our life,” Bigkay said.

Ipra

She cited as an example how the government sold out lumad land to investors using the legal instrument that is supposed to protect their rights—the Indigenous People’s Rights Act (Ipra). The development thrusts are packaged as the Ancestral Domain Sustainable Development Priorities Plan (ADSDPP).

The law, signed on Oct. 29, 1997, by then President Fidel V. Ramos, facilitated government interventions when ancestral lands have already been formally titled, Bigkay said. Government representatives have convinced other lumad leaders to enter into agreements with businessmen interested in turning their areas into banana and pineapple plantations or mining sites.

“This is the very reason I hate this law. It never served its purpose but instead it facilitated the oppression of the indigenous people,” she said.

Now, Bigkay is among the tribal leaders in Bukidnon, Talaingod and other areas in the Davao provinces, North Cotabato and Agusan who are blocking moves to include their lands into areas whose formal titling is being processed by the National Commission for the Indigenous Peoples (NCIP).

Tribal leaders, who met in Davao City recently, stormed the office of the NCIP-Southern Mindanao and lodged their complaints over the inutility of Ipra and how it had actually worked against them.

Roque Agton, director of NCIP-Southern Mindanao, said his office aimed to deliver to the lumad their lands by issuing titles to them. “Their lands are very vulnerable to the same developments that they are opposing if their lands are not titled,” he said.

2007-10-25T18:01:00.000+08:00

More and more people were coming in, most of them men who flashed outfits that made them appear like they're clones of each other. Sitting next to another one who was anxiously puffing his cigarette as if under pressure, I looked like I just came straight from bed.

The sight of it frozen me. It scared me, actually. This was the same place that became the reason for my depression last year. Well, it was not because of Station 183 but because of the superficiality married to the entire compound that housed 183--Rizal Promenade.

I wanted to tell Gwapo to persuade housemate and Queen Nostrelia put down the plan and hit a "sober" place instead. Earlier, Gwapo said he wanted a place much dimmer than 183. I said it was a 50-50 battle because I soooo dreaded 183. But even before an actual pleading can happen, housemate and Queen Nostrelia have already bought us four tickets.

So I was there, feeling like one the many excess passengers of an overly loaded boat waiting for it to sink. Everyone were in a frenzy while I was barely moving, afraid that the whole place will explode (And if that happens, at least 60 percent of homosexuals in Davao will be listed as victims).But after few shots of that blue liquid, I loosened up and it was not too long until I realized I am already as deranged as the others.

Gwapo, while he refused to leave the wall for fear that somebody might assume the spot, was also starting to gyrate and this woman kept on brushing her back on his body. Suddenly, a goodlooking male stood beside me, his right hand holding a bottle of beer. He looked dazed and despite the air of delirium that ovewhelmed the place, his only dance step was that left-and-right sway that led his arm and a portion of his body to constantly touch mine. He looked dazed and controlled. He looked like a good looking battery-operated machine.

I dismissed him and instead tried to engage the guy who later told me that I am cool in front of his girlfriend.

Gwapo was supposed to be out for only two hours and three hours have passed and we were still dancing like there was no bukas. I wasn't expecting to stay that long inside a place to crammed up one can barely feel that his crotch is already undergoing dissection or can feel the complaint of an abused butt (only that this abuse is the kind that one would always like, more or less, depending on the abuser).

And that night, I was abused. And I don't know if I liked it. Maybe, I allowed the abuse. It happened while people were slowly leaving the bar, collecting their reserved sanity. The abuser was shorter that I am and much shoter than the dazed man who later I realized had a band-aid on his nape.

Like the dazed and band-aided man, abuser was also holding a beer, drinking the bottle up with that kind of sexy smirk. Abuser came near me. Then close enough for me to smell the sweet breath. Abuser was a big tease, a huge contrary to the toned built covered by a body-tight shirt. I grabbed abuser by the waist and turned the body around as the music remained up, challenging the tympanic membrane.

Suddenly I forgot about everything as I entertained the thought of being laid that night. And as I was basking on the lights of the bar, I knew my friends' eyes were witnessing yet another moment of me being wasted.

I felt my abuser's butt pressed against my crotch and it felt good. My hands travelled slowly from the flat stomach up. There I realized that abuser has (swollen) breasts. Abuser was a woman.

2007-10-22T11:14:00.000+08:00

My memory cannot perfect a recollection of this story where government operatives arrested an alleged terrorist in General Santos City after one bloody bombing incident many years ago. Just recently, this story was again told in a gathering of student journalists.

That the government arrested a suspected terrorist--allegedly an operative of Al Qaeda--was not new at all for someone from Mindanao, with the government's left and right arrests.

What was surprising was that the suspect was gay.

Well, this is not to say that gays cannot possibly carry out a terror attack, just like any other individual regardless of sex and gender.Remember that film where a woman went up a stage and embraced a Middle Eastern official, detonating the contraption placed all over her body? She succeeded in killing the target and killing herself. Hers was an act of suicide that this man, in another film that introduced me to sisha, failed to do.

I think that gay in General Santos City was the first case of a wrongly accused gay terror suspect, aside from being the first gay terror suspect in the Philippines. His only crime was having a name that sounds almost exactly like that of one of the terror suspects in the government's long list of suspects. In a world overwhelmed by paranoia, despair and impunity, and everything in between, anyone can be a suspect that even officials of the government are not spared.

Concrete example of this is when a former Philippine Constabulary general accused the government of masterminding the deadly explosion in Glorieta 2 last week ( I heard this over ABS-CBN radio this morning). The father of one of the victims said the hand of the government is apparent in the explosion that killed more than a dozen and hurt scores of others. His loss allowed him to see and suspect the supposed desperation of the government to escape from the waves of scandals that refused to ebb from its shores as the reason for this.

The same suspicion was also aired by some quarters with the bombing of the Davao City International Airport and the wharf in Sasa in 2003, shortly after the government declared an all-out-war against the Moro Islamic Liberation Front (MILF).

Not everyone were convinced that the airport bombing was carried out by Montasser Sudang, a young father from a small village in Kabacan in North Cotabato--the town where I also came from. I remember interviewing some of his relatives after his name was pressed by authorities as the primary suspect in the bombing. He was supposedly excited. It was his first time to go to Davao.

An INQUIRER editorial entitled "An innocent man" stressed out the impossibility of Sudang being behind the explosion that killed almost 20 individuals, including himself: he just got himself a son, he went to the airport tagging almost the entire village with him, including very young children, to pick up a relative from Egypt, and that whether he was a member of the MILF, the former reasons will dilute any desire, if there was any, to become suicidal.

The INQUIRER editorial was blunt in saying: "Unlike the real suicide bombers in, say, Israel, his body parts are accounted for, and his face is still recognizable. It has the look of innocence, as if Montasser Sudang didn't know the end was near."

With that came suspicion that the government was actually behind the attack with traces of C4 allegedly all over the explosition site. As I was saying, anybody can become a suspect.

The gay terror suspect in General Santos City was released without any case filed against him, I was told.He spent (many cold) days inside the cell totally oblivious of the kind of people being linked to his name as much as how he was literally unaware his alleged crime.

But it was because of this that he was able to personally meet with his number one accuser, President Gloria Macapagal-Arroyo herself ( Note--Not sure if it was in the Palace or in his GenSan cell).

It was also because of this that he finally found someone to own as she would quickly tell his interrogators, those who insist that he knew people in the list of terrorists, as: "Asawa ko yan (That one is my husband)!"

2007-10-16T16:16:00.000+08:00

There's this oyster restaurant in Davao City called Talaba Joe where the food is almost great but the service sucks up to the hilt. I guess the owners still do not realize that with their kind of service, people are going out of their small place puking the almost great food out, minus the refund.

The place cannot deny its pretensions: charming on the outside and nothing follows. Well, a lot of things follow actually, only that these will make you feel that you are caught in the middle of a grand rip off. And you are privy to it. And you cannot do anything about it but pay for the expensive food and the service that sucks. And instead of going home feeling satisfied, you'd feel like you the greatest loser in the tanan-tanang kalibutan (wide, wide world).

This place closes at 10pm during weekdays and an hour earlier during Sundays. Good for someone like me who often eats dinner late. One Tuesday night though, with Athan in tow, I went to the place, entered into a half-openned door, and welcomed by the emptiness.

That it was already empty was perfect because we found out that the restaurant's cooling system malfunctioned, the reason why the main door had to be kept half-open.

Ten minutes after we've taken a table, the waiter appeared from the kitchen which was just few meters away from us--beads of sweats running from his forehead down to his neck. He took our order--mine was a pesto-flavored oyster while Athan wanted a t-bone; 2 cups of rice, and their famous chocolate cake.

Ten minutes after, the waiter arrived with no pestoed-oyster, t-bone, 2 cups of rice and a slice of chocolate cake.

Why?

"Mag-close na man diay gud mi sir," the waiter said sheepishly while glancing at the clock on the wall. It was still 9pm.

And we were there, like, 20 minutes already.

c(@_@)0

Because I wanted to give this place a chance, I went back after two weeks but this time, I had to make sure that I was earlier than the last time. This time, the aircon was already working. This time, the waiter came to us quickly than before and took our order with a promise that everything would be fast. So I thought...and I was wrong.

"Sir, wala na pong cake."

"Eh, anong meron?"

"Pretzel sir."

I saw Athan making a face.

"Wag na lang...ok na kami don sa ibang order."

The waiter left and came back immediately with his tray. No problem right? Yeah, so we thought until we ordered a bottle of Coca Cola, drank it and were finally ready to pay.

"Check namin."

"Ito po..."

Athan, the numbercian, riffled through the pieces of paper and bowled over something that he caught the attention of other customers.

"Magkano ang Coke ninyo?"

"Forty po."

"Forty? Isang litro, forty?"

"Opo."

"Grabe naman! Overpricing pud kaayo uy!"

(NOTE: Image from www.eatstuff.net)

2007-10-13T06:04:00.001+08:00

A global movement aimed at arresting the overly alarming environmental problem worldwide is scrawling among thousands of bloggers who all pledged to write about the subject. At least 7,500 bloggers have so far signed up and organizers said the number is continouosly swelling. The big day for this event is on Monday--the Blog Action Day.

Needless to say, this will surely hit the red spot. Incidentally, the whole world is also observing the World Food Day on Tuesday. Locally, environmentalists and safe-food advocates will be gathering together that day.

Below is a press release I wrote for the event. If you wish to post this story in you page, pease...please...I'm not suing, I swear. I would be very happy if you will, in fact.

Safe food forum set on World Food Day

Civil society groups in Mindanao will conduct a one-day forum-workshop Tuesday next week (Oct. 16) here in time for the global celebration of the World Food Day and organizers are highlighting the natural way of farming as the answer to the problems confronting food security and healthy environment.

To be conducted at the compound of the Davao Medical School Foundation, Inc. (DMSF) in Bajada, the activity is themed “Celebrating Organic Agriculture in Mindanao : Seizing Opportunities, Overcoming Challenges.”

Lia Jasmin Esquillo, forum co-convener, said that the activity hopesto raise the awareness of the civil society organizations, church organizations, local government units and agencies, and the academe on the status and threats of organic agriculture in Mindanao.

Esquillo, who is also the executive director of the environmental nongovernment organizations Interface Development Interventions, Inc. (Idis), said that organic agriculture holds great potentials both for the practicing farmers and the public who patronize safe food and health environment.

Right now, Esquillo said, organic farmers have been countering the chemical-dependent and monoculture farms with commercial-scale production of organic rice and other food crops which are accessible to the growing market.

“We also hope to be part in the implementation of government programs in organic agriculture and at the same time, strengthening the partnership of people’s organizations and nongovernment organizations involved in community-based organic agriculture in Mindanao ,” Esquillo said.

Participating in the forum are the biodynamic agriculture primemover Don Bosco Foundation for Sustainable Development (Don Bosco), Justice and Peace of the Diocese of Marbel, Idis, Kababayen-an Alang sa Teknolohiya nga Haum sa Kinaiyahan ug Kauswagan (Empowering Women Through Appropriate Technology in Harmony with the Environment) or Katakus, Kinaiyahan Foundation (KFI), Masipag-Mindanao, Mindanao Farmworkers Development Center (MFDC), Third World Network, Upliftment of the Moral, Economic, Technological, Socio-spiritual Aspirations of Persons or Metsa Foundation, Holy Cross of Davao College (HCDC), Sustainable Integrated Area Development Initiatives in Mindanao-Convergenc e of Asset Reform and Regional Development (Simcarrd).

Dr. Emerlito Boromeo, consultant of the Third World Network, will be coming over from Manila to discuss the threats on organic agriculture, particularly on the current developments on the genetically modified food crops in the country.

2007-10-11T20:26:00.000+08:00

2007-10-10T11:09:00.000+08:00

Can your teacher read, does your preacher pray?
Does your president have soul?

Have you heard a real good ethnic joke today?

Mama took to speed and daddy ran away
But you mustn't lose control

Let's cut the class, I got some grass
The kids are wild we just can't tame 'em
Do we have the right to blame them

We fed them all our indecisions
We wrecked their minds with television
But what the hell, they're too young to feel pain

But I believe that love can save tomorrow
Believe the truth can make us free
Someone tried to say it, then we nailed Him to a cross
I guess it's still the way it used to be

------Used To Be, Stevie Wonder and Charlene

2007-10-06T18:39:00.000+08:00

For how many times I have almost fallen into decadence without even knowing it that you were the force that stopped me from the internal demise? I blame the self for missing the details; I would have been writing a different story now. For how I failed to notice your beautiful pout as you scoured the litters on the floor this morning, in search for the missing keys? Well, I noticed it but only now that I realized how you've been pouting those lips whenever you need my help--I, whose functionality is put to hold until nine in the morning.

This one is never too late, though. After nine hours, I can clearly recall how you tried to wake me up as you told me about your fears while you were putting on that khaki pants. Last night, you also told me about the examinations that you so scared to take but always end up topping. Remember last year? Did you not take the finals while burning with fever but ended up being on top of the list? I have always been proud of you. I can never be prouder.

And btw, let me tell you about how you really made me happy six hours before eight eyem today--the time when we were talking in whispers, afraid that we might disturb housemate and Maya who were already asleep.

Lest you’ve lost recollection of it, you stopped me from going to the toilet for a moment and I, totally unused to having almost muted conversations with you, had to get closer to you to hear whatever was that that you had to say, only to hear:

“Ing-ania imong buhok… ipadaplin…aron pareho sa mga Koreana…(You keep your hair like this…put this part on the side so it may look like a Koreana’s).”

2007-10-05T18:29:00.000+08:00

Mandy’s notoriety to treat her characters as hapless beings is both unquestionable and acceptable knowing how she, too, self-deprecated in some of her entries.

Never failing to unleash her penchant to brutalize her protagonists, even her own lover, she involves her readers into becoming unsuspecting parties to the spree of slaughters she guiltlessly perpetuate.

Better known as Mandaya Moore-Orlis, she leaves her readers wondering about the difference between fiction and truth and this is spreading like a viral infection.

She succeeds in making her readers believe in the fiction that she wants them to take in as truth. But there is no offense committed because what is truth and fiction in this lifetime, anyway?

Her stories are so real that if they were concocted, they leave imprints in the consciousness that everything doesn’t matter anymore because of the nirvanic relief they create.

These imprints are mixed. Some are disturbing and alarming. Some are vivid and lasting. Some easily left out in the brain’s garbage bin. Some slow to effect but excruciating when already felt.

They are the characters talking to us. Some voices are loud; some are faint. Some speak to us without even trying as they expose our own weaknesses and vulnerabilities. Some voices are annoyingly persistent and we discover that we are annoyed because it is our own voice that we hear.

They are the faces who own the voices: a future lover, a former friend, a skim boarder, the beggar, your angry mother’s kumare, your loving father’s boyfriend.

Always she creates vortexes in her readers’ emotions, making them laugh while feeling threatened. She makes them cry while tossing them in mid-air of sexual stimulation as she narrates of how her fingers caressed her lover’s chest.

The coercion is flawless maybe, but it’s still coercion that she employs both for her characters and readers to interact like one against the murder of a homo who only desired to have a release.

Mandy has never failed to tell her readers the strangeness of reality confronting people—both for those who live in the glitz of the city and those who are in the countryside.

And the truth is well articulated by the voice that owns Mandy, the character itself, no matter how one suspects that she is a grand example of a manipulative personality split from the other self.

If her stories are not real, what is reality then?

This is an entry to the
You Got Blogged!
DigitalFilipino.com / MindanaoBloggers.com Review-a-Blog Competition.

Join the DigitalFilipino.com Club!

On 27 October 2007, come to Davao City for the
1st Mindanao Bloggers Summit!

2007-10-01T21:27:00.000+08:00

I'm joining the Mindanao Bloggers Summit on October 27 and kind of excited about it because...I am excited about it. Period.

No. Mandaya Moore-Orlis is playing a huge, huge role in the summit and the bitch is kind of dragging me into the pool and intends to leave me wet--all alone. The bitch is cooking up something with the organizers of the summit after we (I was privy to it no!) kind of "closed" a deal with a mighty-sounding aid agency actively working on how to make peace and development a sustainable experience in Mindanao. (Wait, I guess it's not accurate to say that the deal, if it is a deal, is already closed because negotiations are actually still underway. Labo ko ano?)

Anyways, if anything, what I am really excited about is the integration of the issues of peace and development in a gathering of bloggers. In my experience, these issues are only talked about during gatherings of journalists, peace and development advocates, conflict victims, students, artists and policy makers among the very few others.

I would like to think that Mindanao bloggers are embarking into something that is hardly talked about during gatherings of bloggers in other regions. I guess this is not only totally new to the blogging world (I could be wrong and if, I am sorry) but also very, very timely and relevant.

When I opened this up to somebody from the mighty-sounding funding agency, she said: "Wow...that's very interesting."

c(0_0)a

1st Mindanao Bloggers Summit Sponsors:

Councilor Peter Laviña

Join the DigitalFilipino.com Club!

BisayaBloggers.com

Davao's Food Huntress

NoKiAHOST.COM P5/day webhosting

Web Design Philippines

Orange County Real Estate

Web Developer Philippines

2007-09-27T17:54:00.000+08:00

Tomorrow, Friday, is a red day for Filipinos who care for what is happening in Burma; those who feel for the monks, the men and women and children who went out to the street to demand justice and freedom from the despotic Burmese government. Red is for rage against the oppressors. Red is for freedom...

(NOTE: Please feel free to copy, if u want to post it in your own page, the image...you don't even need to credit me for that. I swear I won't mind)

2007-09-26T18:22:00.000+08:00

Lest you tell me I don't care...

2007-09-26T16:23:00.000+08:00

She forgets herself as she waits for her lover in the dark expanse that she's learned to befriend.Always with her to keep her company is the gasera that is always teased by the wind, its bottom partly burried by the white sands that also never fail to keep her feet warm every time she walks down on them meters away from their kubo to welcome him back. Whispering her untold desires to the tides has become a painful hobby, but a (hepful) hobby nevertheless. The tides seldom spoke to her. She's a tired wife but this she's never willing to admit. To say that she's in denial is to say that she's a waif, a truth that has been consistently told to her by the tide--during those seldom moments they intimately shared. Apparently, she's afraid of her truth.

And this scares the tide.