Thank You

THANK YOU. These are two words that a receiver can convey his gratitude to the giver. It doesn't take two seconds to utter these words. It's not even phonetically difficult. But why is it that some people take these for granted? Why is it, like the word SORRY, so hard to get out of the receiver's mouth?

Do these receivers not realize that two simple words can make the giver deliriously happy? That the time, energy, and effort spent to provide this and that were not done in vain? That the giver does not care if no material gratification is received? That what giver cares is an acknowledgment of the sacrifice no matter how small it was.

Is it really that hard?

The giver does not understand. The giver shows his appreciation all the time. The giver says THANK YOU to the guard who opens the door for him. To the lady who prepares his lunch. To the woman who does his laundry. To the cashier who hands him his change. To the baggage boy who bags his groceries. To the woman who expertly massages his body each month.

THANK YOU is a phrase the giver uses more than once in a day. The giver believes the phrase can never be overused. It must be spoken to those who deserve to hear it.

BISDAK

When I first moved to Manila a month after college graduation to review for the board exams I refrained from speaking in Bisaya in public. Whenever I and my cousins would meet up I would always speak in Bisaya at a low volume while they would converse in Tagalog. Back then I was feeling inferior to Tagalog-speaking Filipinos, afraid to be laughed at for my accent. I was still a bit shy since I did not have a good command of the language having only visited Manila for 3 days one summer when I was 11, relegating its use only in the classroom during Filipino class.

For seven years I slowly learned my way in Tagalog. It’s no surprise since all of my colleagues and most of my friends grew up in Manila , with only my relatives and a handful of college friends I could speak with in Bisaya. I learned that one should say ‘mahaba ang buhok’ and not ‘mataas ang buhok’, or say ‘mas matangkad ako ng konti’ and not ‘mas mataas ako ng konti’.

I became so accustomed speaking in Tagalog that a few years back my high school friends remarked that I had completely lost my Bisaya accent and now spoke like a true-blue Tagalog. They laughed when they first heard me pronounce tricycle as try-c-kel rather than try-c-kol. They laughed some more when I would forget I was in the Visayas and pronounced a slew of other words whose last syllable should have been spoken as kol instead of kel.

I was cool about it since some people I know in Manila have also observed that a twinge of my Bisaya accent would sometimes manifest itself especially when I talk real fast. Now, if my Bisaya has a Tagalog accent and my Tagalog has a Bisaya accent what does that make me? A crossbreed?

The Wrath of Ondoy

This photo circulating in emails and uploaded in the internet was probably taken Saturday afternoon when news of the floods caused by Ondoy broke out. I was dumbstruck when I saw the photo, not just because of how massive Ondoy's wrath was but because it was only a 15-minute walk or a 5-minute tricycle ride from where I live. The area was a waterworld from two days ago. When I left for work this morning the water was gone, replaced with inch-thick mud and mountains of garbage.

I overheard my neighbors talking amongst each other when I was on my way to work that we were lucky, having been spared from Ondoy's wrath. All we had to endure was a power outage, which as of this writing is still out and last I heard will only be restored by Wednesday at the earliest, and ankle-deep water.

I grieve for all those who were on the receiving end of Ondoy's wrath. For those who lost their homes and a lifetime of memorabilia. For those still trapped in rooftops. For those who have nothing to eat and no decent bed to sleep on. For those who have lost their loved ones.

And I worry for a friend who lives nearby whom we have not heard of until now, knowing that their area gets flooded even on the lightest of rainfall.

All I could offer them are my prayers, a few of my clothes, a little bit of cash, and a helping hand.

To those who need an extra pair of hands this weekend, please do contact me. My email is on my profile.

Scud's Random Thoughts: Part VIII

I miss doing my random thoughts and since I have things in mind that I want to blog but too tired to do separate posts I might as well revisit this for the nth time. Here it goes...

*****

They were twins, born a week apart. One was extremely intelligent, the other a semi-retard. One was mean, the other lovable. One speaks with the head straight, the other angled to the side. They are Kimmy and Dora, played superbly by Eugene Domingo with the same title sans the and.

The film is a riot. I haven't laughed out loud over a non-festival Filipino film since Ang Tanging Ina many years ago. The Aiza Seguerra song at the end was pretty good too. And Miriam Quiambao is hot.

Watch this!

*****

Three years after the extremely gross and funny Borat, Sacha Baron Cohen is at it again with Bruno. This time he is a gay Austrian desperate to make himself famous or rather infamous based from what he was doing the entire 83-minute running time.

This film is a disappointment. The filmmakers were trying too hard to top Borat. Scenes that were actually funny - the Paula Abdul interview, the Jerry Springer-type show, the wrestling match turned into a gay makeout scene - were few and far between.

Don't pay your hard-earned P140 pesos for this. Eight minutes were cut from the original version. If you really do want to give it a try, buy the dvd. It costs a 100 bucks less.

*****

The US Open, the last tennis major for the calendar year, is underway. As I write this Roger Federer is down a set against Lleyton Hewitt. That is good news since I don't like the 15-time Grand Slam Champion. Bad news is that Novak Djokovic, the only person capable beating Federer before the Finals, is down a set against an American and crowd-favorite Widden. Dammit!

Here's hoping my bets on the men's and women's singles - Murray, Nadal, Djokovic, Sharapova, Clijsters - win the tournament. Magpapa-cheeseburger ako pag nagkataon!

*****

Speaking of tennis, the pact that I and three of my friends made last year to begin playing the sport finally pushed through. It was only this month that all four of us were free from work obligations.

We learned the basic strokes - forehand and backhand - and I tell you it ain't a walk in the park. My forehand sucks but my backhand, which a friend of mine envied, was pretty good. I did hit a lot of moon balls though. The trainer said I was using too much power and was flicking my wrist like I was playing badminton. Arrrggghhhh!

I need practice. More practice. Maybe I should give labs a ring and ask for some tips. Perfect timing too since she's turning 29 within the month.

*****

I don't like my new job. There. I said it. Finally. It sucks. Big time. The tasks are few. I don't get any development work. Documentation of resolutions to application issues are non-existent. My manager don't act like he is one. My lead is an ass. My teammates are a bore. Some of them anyway.

I'm not quitting though. The pay is good. And my finally needs me. This is not the time to be selfish.

*****

I arrived at the office on Friday and found a stress ball on my desk. Nobody knew who left it when I asked around. Someone must have sensed I was stressed for the past few days investigating a production issue and thought the ball would be of help. It didn't.

I only squeezed it once then immediately tucked it on the same place where I first found it. I was not, even remotely, interested in doing a little bit of sleuthing on who gave the ball. Maybe after that damned production issue is resolved.

*****

I was trying out a shirt at the Megamall when I heard a couple talking from separate dressing rooms. I heard a rustling of clothes. Then I heard the woman say out loud "I can smell myself in here".

My mind started working on overdrive. I wondered "What must she be smelling?".

Swipe!

I realized sometime last month that 1/4 of my take-home pay goes to my credit card bills. If I had saved the money from the start of the year I would most likely now have enough dough for a down payment on a new car. Or invested it in mutual funds or in time deposit.

Since I have more responsibilities now like tuition fees, maintenance medicines for lola, financial support to close relatives who are in dire straits I have decided to let go of some perks that I have been enjoying for the past few years. Credit card will now only be used to purchase plane tickets online and postpaid cellphone bills. Dining out and drinking sprees will be kept at a minimum. Dating too. Some weekends will be spent in bed with Efa, my books, or the DVD player.

It is a win-win situation for me. I get to save money for possible tough times ahead and also share whatever blessings I have with others.

*****

I wrote this post yesterday at the office. Just a few hours ago I was able to test how committed I was to the new Scud when I passed by one of the Ayala malls. A blue checkered polo shirt caught my eye. I tried it on. It was a good fit. Really good. I could use it either with slacks or jeans.

I looked at the price tag. Not bad.

I thought for a few minutes if I should swipe my card since I didn't have enough cash with me. Then I went out of the dressing room, returned the shirt on the rack, and told the saleslady it was too tight.

That was the first time I resisted buying myself a shirt which looked good on me. Now I need another way to subtly impress my crush(es) at the office. Haha.

Have a great weekend, everyone!

Package Counter

I always have a backpack/messenger bag with me whenever I report for work, buy some stuff at the mall, or do my weekly grocery shopping. It has become a staple of the 'Scud look' that an officemate expressed her surprise one Friday many months when she saw me without a bag strapped to my shoulders. I grinned. I had an important date that time and I didn't want to look geeky. But that's another story. One that I won't blog about.

The thing is whenever I enter some stores, like Bestseller at the Galeria, I am always politely asked to leave my bag at the package counter. I begrudgingly abide but is silently pissed when I see women with really BIG bags strolling the aisles.

I'm no sexist. I'm all for equality. But c'mon. Isn't that discrimination too? Women can bring in their bags and men can't? Is it because women keep their wallets in their bags and men keep it in their jeans? Is there a study published somewhere that I do not know of which shows men are more prone to shoplift than women?

The Lady in Yellow

I was too young when Ninoy Aquino was assassinated and EDSA 1 happened. As much as I tried to rack my brain of EDSA memories from 23 years ago I could not. Maybe because Mama was a Marcos loyalist and discussing EDSA 1 would mean reliving the last days of her idol.

When I grew older and became more politicized after voraciously gobbling editorials from PDI, Philippine Star, Today and opinions from the likes of Max Soliven, Randy David, Conrado de Quiros, Amando Doronila I learned who Ninoy Aquino was and why he was assassinated. I learned who Cory Aquino was and how she came into power.

She was, as the media put it, an icon of democracy and the nation's moral compass. So when she died on the early hours on Saturday after more than a year of battling colon cancer Jolina wept without respite. The Filipino mourned. And so did the heavens.

What made Cory endearing to Filipinos is not because she had Ninoy Aquino as a husband or Kris Aquino as a daughter but because she was not the traditional politician you see on TV and read about on the news. She was sincere, decent, honest, and good. The outpouring of sympathy that she has received from all social classes since her death is a testament that the Filipino appreciated these traits that we seldom see in our present crop of politicians.

Today when she is finally laid to rest at the Manila Memorial Park I will be watching it on TV. The first time in many weeks that I will be tuning in to Philippine TV. Manny Pacquiao could not make me do that. Nor Michael Jackson. Corazon C. Aquino did.

Allow me to end this paean of mine by quoting a few lines from Howard Chan-Eoan's article on Aquino in Time Magazine.

"Whenever the country appeared to be in a crisis, Cory Aquino rose above the bureaucratic procrastination that had always bogged it down, reminding her people that they once astonished the world with their bravery — and that they could do it again. But Filipinos must now take stock. Whom will they march with now that their saint has gone to meet her God?"

Child's Play

I want to have my kids of my own. I see how my brother is with his 5-year-old daughter and I tell myself I want one too. Preferably a boy. Fraternal twins would be fantastic. A boy and a girl. I even have a name in mind for the boy. It's a cool name. Methinks.

Don't get me wrong. I'm not exactly green with envy that my bro and former classmates now how their own families worrying more about health care, tuition, milk, diapers. Serious stuff.

It seems, observing from afar, that it would be nice to go home to a wife and kids after a boring day at work rather than to an empty apartment that has been a staple of my life for years.

The thought makes me both smile and cringe. Raising a kid is tough. They throw tantrums. Wail with no apparent reason. They piss and shit and you have to clean up the mess. Walls covered with crayon marks. Toys litter the household.

They also ask the most innocent of questions that adults grapple to find answers palatable to their unblemished young minds.

As a kid, I was no exception. Here are a couple of them.

*****

Cemetery on All Saint's Day.

Me: Ma, why are all tombstones have RIP in them?
Ma: Because they are all dead and we wish their souls to rest in peace.
Me: Why are they all dead?
Ma: Because Jesus wants to be with them in heaven.
Me: Ma, why are they all raped?

I don't remember what mama answered. What I do remember was staring at all the crosses near lolo's final resting place and wondering why all of them were raped. Ah. As a kid I was already showing a demented mind.

*****

SEA Games.

Me: What is SEA Games?
Co: Short for Southeast Asian Games.
Me: They play it in the sea?
Co: Some of them. Some in pools. Some in land.
Me: Why do they call it sea games when they also play on land?
Co: You will know when you grow up.

*****

I was adorable then. I think. I hope my kids will be too.

Heartless

My friends told me to move on. That I deserve someone worthy of me.

I tried. I tried not to make memories of us linger on my thoughts. God knows how hard I tried to let go.

At the back of my mind, though, I could not totally let go. I held on to the thought that we could get back together. That the memory of us could somehow rekindle what we once had.

I had a particular day in mind. Judgment Day I called it. That day would tell me if we still had one more stab at us.

The day arrived and I hoped and expected and waited but it was all for naught.

Every text message I received my heart would skip a bit thinking it was finally you. It wasn't.

I checked messages from all of my email addresses and YM account but none were from you.

I realized then that you are not coming back. Gone from my life. For good.

I realized too that it is finally time to totally let go and move on. There's no sense of holding on. You no longer care. I know that to be true. And it hurts. A bit.

For the first and final time, allow me to quote your last line -- "Salamat na lang sa lahat."

Goodbye, baby. I love you.

-----

To those who think I should not be the one doing the waiting think again.

I didn't want to make the first move since I have exhausted all possible means to bring her back without losing my soul. The ball, as they say, was in her hands and she chose to throw away the basket.

Khonspirator

I haven't seen any of the sex videos filmed and produced by Haiden Kho. I do not intend to download the videos via http/torrent or watch them via YouTube.

I have seen too many personal sex videos in my 20-something existence that all of them look the same to me. Bad video. Bad audio. Sloppy and stagnant camerawork. Unimaginative and repetitive sex positions.

One should watch film features to see how sex scenes should be done sans shots of male and female genitalia. Take for example the spit-swapping scene in Scorpio Nights. Or Klaudia Koronel and an actor doing it on tree branches in Tuhog. Or Michelle Aldana getting it on with Gary Estrada in Segurista. Or Graciaaa of Eat Bulaga fame on top of Albert Martinez while furiously fanning herself in Sidhi. Or that helicopter scene in Live Show.

Now those are imaginative. But I digress. I couldn't help inserting that last paragraph. Haha.

What really peeves me though is how some senators are exploiting the scandal for their own political ambitions. Plus pogi points.

Look at Jamby Madrigal. The Judy Ann Santos-lookalike (duh!) heading a Senate investigation on the sex videos for for legislative purposes.

Look at Bong Revilla. A man, who has sired children from women other than his wife, delivering a speech on morality. Putik!

Patricia Evangelista in her Method To Madness column in PDI a couple of Sundays ago argues about this splendidly.

Read the article here.

Unbelievable!

Reading the news in recent days makes me want to rant and curse. Here's why.

- ConAss
- Right to Reply bill
- Kho sex videos
- Nadal, Murray, and Djokovic losing in Roland Garros
- Roger Federer most likely crowned King of Clay and GOAT
- Tax on imported books (since revoked by GMA)
- Cheche Lazaro harassment
- rain and traffic

Ggggrrrr!!!!

Scud's Random Thoughts: Part VII & Roland Garros Predictions

I'm going to start with an emo random thought. Pasensya na.

Today could have been a happy day. A milestone on the matters of the heart. Today would have been me and X's nth monthsary. A bit depressing. I wonder if X remembers what today signifies.

*****

Why are there no airport staffs at the exit of the NAIA Terminal 3 (or some domestic airports) that make sure the check-in luggage(s) a passenger is carrying out of the airport is actually his? One can actually take any luggage from the conveyor and walk out of the airport undetected.

*****

I watched Angels & Demons yesterday. I read the book many years back and could not remember exactly the plot. It was like watching a movie without any prior knowledge of the premise. It was a pretty good adaptation although a friend who watched it with me (and read the book a week before) said the filmmakers made quite a few changes. Still it was far better than The Da Vinci Code. I was entertained. Ewan McGregor rocks.

*****

The 2009 French Open starts today. Here are my predictions. I hope I get most of the quarterfinalists right. My predictions for this year's Australian Open were not good.

MEN
Quarterfinals:
Rafael Nadal vs Fernando Verdasco
Roger Federer vs Gael Monfils
Andy Murray vs Fernando Gonzalez
Novak Djokovic vs Juan Martin Del Potro


Semifinals:
Rafael Nadal vs Fernando Gonzalez
Roger Federer vs Novak Djokovic

Finals:
Rafael Nadal vs Novak Djokovic

Champion:
Rafael Nadal


WOMEN
Quarterfinals:

Dinara Safina vs Ana Ivanovic
Serena Williams vs Svetlana Kuznetsova
Venus Williams vs Nadia Petrova
Elena Dementieva vs Jelena Jankovic

Semifinals:
Dinara Safina vs Venus Williams
Elena Dementieva vs Svetlana Kuznetsova

Finals:
Dinara Safina vs Svetlana Kuznetsova

Champion:
Dinara Safina

Hiatus

I am no wuss. I confront problems and conflicts head on. I am not the type of guy who downs bottles of beer to escape from personal issues. I don't go partying or sleep around.

I am strong. Or so I thought. Until my recent heartbreak. I did what a wuss would do. I escaped.

To set the record straight, I didn't sleep around. Nor went partying. I did drink bottles of beers. Smoked a few cigarettes. I drew the line there. I didn't wail. I didn't smash things. I was cool on the outside but was actually a wreck.

What I did was I stopped blogging. Some of you may have noticed. I did not approve any of your comments. I didn't comment on my blogroll's recent posts. I distanced myself from the internet. I went on a self-imposed hiatus. And I didn't announce it.

It's been almost 2 weeks since. I didn't want to post more about what I'm going through. I didn't want my blog to be a diary of my current state of mind (emotions?) - mad, sad, disappointed, angry, melancholic.

But I'm back now. I will still write about my loss but not as often as to make you cringe and click that x button faster than one could say SCUD.

*****

Allow me to make updates. Be warned though. This is going to be a long post. My longest, I think.

To start with, I finally bid farewell to my company over a week ago. My last day was not as smooth-sailing and enjoyable as I would have wanted to. I almost butted heads with upper management. Not a great way to end my 2.5-year stay. The day ended in a great way though. I had dinner and a few drinks with a couple of my best buds from the office.

A day after I went to watch the Archuleta/Cook concert at the MOA Concert Grounds. Archuleta was good but Cook was freaking fantastic. He sang 'Always Be My Baby' and 'Come Back To Me' which made me a little bit wistful. Tagos hanggang buto ang lyrics. It was the best way to spend my last night in Manila.

A few hours later (and 3 hours of sleep later) I was at the airport ticket, backpack, and duffel bag in hand. I was, as I mentioned earlier, escaping.

I needed to get out of the city. I needed to recharge. I needed to be with people who would help me forget, even for a bit, her.

So I flew to DC. I spent a week there.

I hugged my 93-year-old lola who, as expected, was ecstatic to see me then immediately asked me for money. Haha. Si lola talaga.

I played with my niece.

I went to the beach.

I bonded with my bro, sister-in-law, cousins, aunts, uncles.

I went to visit my aunt's final resting place. Next week is her first death anniversary.

I sang my heart out during a night of karaoke and over 6 Red Horse Grandes. That was the first time I sang and got drunk with my folks.

I slept too. I slept for like 10 hours a day which is more or less the same amount of sleep spent for 3 days in Manila.

I completed reading Russell Banks' The Sweet Hereafter about a sleepy town in New York coming to terms from a terrible bus accident that claimed the lives of their children. A wonderfully written book. A must read. You guys should also watch the movie adaptation starring Sarah Polley and directed by Atom Egoyan. That is if you want to get depressed.

I watched Sex Drive. It was hilarious. The plot has been done countless times before. Lanky teen desperate to lose his virginity meets a hot chick on the internet, fakes his identity, steals his brother's hot car, and goes on a road trip with friends for an eyeball.

I finished my Season 2 marathon of The West Wing. I have seen all episodes of The Sopranos, Six Feet Under, The X Files, Lost, Friends and none of these can topple Aaron Sorkin's creation of a fictional Democrat president's stint in the White House on the top of my all-time favorite TV shows. It's extremely intelligent, funny, superbly acted and shot, and full of heart. The rapid-fire dialogue is nifty and reminds me of Mike de Leon's oeuvre. Never mind that there are times I don't get what Leo, CJ, Sam, Josh blabber on, the show still rocks.

I was also able to watch the final performance night and finale of American Idol. I haven't blogged about this show this season but I have made comments on other blogs. That I liked Gokey in the semis but shifted allegiance in the finals when I noticed his song choices was too blah. That I am not a fan of Lambert's screeching although his Mad World and The Tracks of My Tears are two of my personal favorite performances this season. That I was rooting for Kris Allen because he has amazing song choices (Kanye West's Heartless, Falling Slowly from the Once soundtrack to name a couple), cool arrangement, and nice jackets.

I thought the finale was great. From the top of my mind the most memorable were Allen and Keith Urban's duet, Gokey's Hello, Black Eyed Peas, bikini girl and Kara, Allison Iraheta and Cyndi Lauper's Time After Time, and Michael Sarver and that tattooed chick performing with Steve Martin.

Before I forget, Kris Allen won! I'm pretty good on choosing my bets - Underwood and Bice on S4, McPhee and Yamin on S5, Lewis on S6, David Cook on S7.

And yeah. While I was in DC she was on my thoughts . Every day. Morning. Noon. Night. In my dreams. In the middle of watching a movie.

I miss her terribly. And still mad. And saddened by the thought that we can never be together again.

*****

I'm now back in Manila. Plane landed a few hours ago. I'm blogging again. I approved comments. I backread posts from my blogroll. I made comments on their posts. I blog-hopped.

I'm catching up with my reading. Movies to watch. TV show marathons to complete. Hobbies that I put on hold when I met ex.

Now that she's gone. I'm back. With a vengeance.

Heartbreaker

When you want to get into a relationship, be sure that you are ready. Do not say you THINK you are ready because thinking is too academic. Cerebral. Heartless.

Do not make someone your guinea pig. They are not toys to be played with. They have hearts. They get hurt. They are humans.

Committing to someone is serious business. You do not say "I THINK I am ready". It is not a thought. I repeat. It is not a thought. It is a feeling. It is an emotion. It is a belief.

*****

When you want to get out of a relationship, don't do it virtually - may it be through SMS, email, IM, phone call. It reeks of cowardice.

Have the decency to break the news personally. It is the hardest thing to do but it is the right move. Explain your reasons. Answer their questions as honestly as you can. It can be brutal but breakups usually are.

Do not say that you want a cool off AND then say that they should not, for now, expect that you would return anytime soon. Those statements are contradicting.

When they ask you if cool off for you meant you're coming back or you're breaking up for good, do not say MAYBE YES, MAYBE NOT.

Do not sugarcoat.

Do not give an answer with gray areas. It must be in black and white. It must be a YES or a NO. Maybes are not welcome.

If you want a breakup then break it. If you want a cool off mention a timeframe. It may not be accurate but at least they can hold on to this small flicker of hope.

Do not leave them holding the short end of the stick. That's selfish.

Do not leave them with mouth agape. And questions begging to be answered swirling in their minds.

*****

You. Too bad the last thought you have of me was a pathetic, pride-swallowing, and pleading scud. What you don't know is I was mad. Less than a minute after you finally broke it off. I AM mad. Stark. Raving. Mad.

I am blinded by rage.
You did this to me.
I want the old scud back.
I miss the guy.
Where could he be hiding?

A Brief History of Scud

I have a unique name. Part of it anyway. It is so unique that I almost always would need to spell it when I am introduced to someone. The person who I am introduced to, usually women, would ask how my name came about. I shrug my shoulders. Ask my ninang who has been MIA for more than 2 decades.

One common mistake when spelling my name is placing a single letter between the 3rd and 4th letter which does not make it more interesting but more jologs. I tell you. It is not amusing. Especially when I'm in a foul mood.

I also tell a white lie when strangers/baristas/salespersons would ask for my name. I blurt out the second syllable, never the first. That is how protective I am of my given name.

*****

In the era of the digital age, from MIRC to blogging, I started using the nick Scud. That was the name sports journalists coined for Mark Philippoussis. I am not a fan of the Aussie tennis player. I thought then that the name was cool. Little did I know that Scud has a couple of other meanings too.

According to wikipedia, Scud is a series of tactical ballistic missiles developed by the Soviet Union during the Cold War and exported widely to other countries. The term comes from the NATO reporting name SS-1 Scud which was attached to the missile by Western intelligence agencies. The Russian names for the missile are the R-11 (the first version), R-17 and R-300 Elbrus (later developments). The name Scud has been widely used to refer to these missiles and the wide variety of derivative variants developed in other countries based on the Soviet design.

The second was shared by my good friend woogie. I am posting verbatim the first couple of paragraphs from the wiki site.

Scud: The Disposable Assassin (published from 1994 to 1998, and 2008) is a humorous, hyperkinetic science fiction comic by Rob Schrab about a world in which one can buy weapons out of vending machines, the most popular of which are intelligent robots that kill a specified target and then self-destruct.

The protagonist of the series is Scud, an average Heart Breaker Series 1373 model assassin. On his first mission, he is sent to kill Jeff, a rampaging female mutant with mousetraps for hands, an electrical plug for a head, and a squid for a belt.

Hmmm... My subconscious could be telling something when I first thought of using the name Scud. Perhaps I really am a war freak? A warmonger from a past life? A troublemaker?

Don't

Two days ago I woke up on the wrong side of the bed. All day I wanted to punch someone on the face. Anyone. I didn't.

This morning I woke up on the wrong side of the bed. Again. All day I wanted to pick a fight with someone. Anyone. I didn't.

But I chanced upon a comment a former officemate wrote on a Facebook movie quiz she took. She perfected the quiz about mainstream movies and wondered in writing that she really is a movie addict.

That kind of pissed me off. If you say that you are a movie addict then you should not limit yourself to mainstream movies like Notting Hill, My Best Friend's Wedding, 50 First Dates, The Wedding Singer, 27 Dresses, and the like. I mean these movies are entertaining but does that make one an addict when one consign to watch outputs from mainstream Hollywood, Star Cinema, and GMA Films? When one abhors reading subtitles? When one abhors sad endings and wants every movie to end happily ever after?

Methinks a person should label himself one when he does not only watch Spielberg, Howard, Lucas, Bay but also of Godard, Truffaut, Kubrick, Coppola, Scorsese, Almodovar, Lynch, Kurosawa.

Locally one should not only watch Garcia-Molina, Lamangan, Deramas, Roño, (Joyce) Bernal, (Joey) Reyes, Tony (Reyes), Quintos but also of (Lav) Diaz, (Raya) Martin, Jeturian, Mendoza, (Ditsi) Carolino. One should be interested in movies made by Brocka, Bernal, (Mike) de Leon, (Eddie) Romero, (Gerry) de Leon, (Gregorio) Fernandez, (Lamberto) Avellana.

One should have seen the sad story of a father and son looking for a lost bicycle in The Bicycle Thief, or that 20-minute scene in an apartment in Breathless, or that long-take towards the end at the beach in The 400 Blows, or the lengthy silent scenes at the start and end of 2001: A Space Odyssey and was given homage by Pixar in last year's terrific WallE, or the middle-aged filmmaker watching snippets of famous movie scenes in Cinema Paradiso, or the claustrophobia and shocking ending in Kisapmata, or the murder scenes shot with Beethoven's Für Elise playing in the background in Elephant, or getting baffled over the ending of Mulholland Drive and frenziedly searching the net for an explanation, or getting awed by creatures created by Guillermo del Toro in Pan's Labyrinth, or watching an entire movie like L'enfant that has no musical score from start to finish. And many more.

Don't label yourself something when you're not. Even when it's only on social networking sites.

*****

I wrote this post earlier in the office. When I read it again in my room many hours later it reeked of conceit. Elitist. Forgive me. That was just me ranting.

Dance with His Father

I had just finished working out. I opened my locker, fished out my phones, and checked my messages. There were three.

The first was from my brother asking me to buy him a Francis Magalona shirt. I mentally noted to buy him one.

The second was from a friend cancelling a date. I blogged about this here.

The last one was from another friend. Our common friend she said, who is based in London since last year, is coming home.

His dad died.

I know that my friend was having the best year of his life in the UK. His online photo albums can attest to this - pics of him in Paris. Rome. Barcelona. He has bought gadgets that he wanted to own. A PSP. A Canon EOS 450D. A MacBook.

Then the tragic news.

I later learned that his dad was a victim of hit and run. Caused by a reckless jeepney driver somewhere in Recto. That is devastating. To have someone taken away from you that way. Death by natural cause(s)would have been much easier to accept.

*****

When I and this friend would get together, which we seldom do, we always talk about our respective families. I would talk about my niece. He his nephew. I would talk about my brother. He his siblings. I would rant about my work. He would rave about his.

But we never talked about his parents. He has mentioned his father only twice, though never his mother, since we became friends back in 2004. I remember him telling me that whenever he would have the 6am shift his father would wake up early to fix his coffee and cook his breakfast. He fondly told me about this. And I'm sure he will terribly miss.

He is back in town now. He called a friend of mine a few hours ago. He said he was still in a state of shock. Di pa daw nagsisink-in na wala na ang tatay niya.

I haven't texted him. Or called to give my condolences. I want to leave him alone for now. Alone with his father. His family. His thoughts.

Tomorrow will be different though. I'll be going to the wake after work with a friend. I'm not sure what I'd say. Or how I'd act. But I want to hug my friend. Give him a pat in the back. Be a shoulder to cry on. Be there when he needs someone to talk to. Be there to share his anger. His pain. His grief.

*****

I'm going to end this post with Luther Vandross' Dance with My Father. This is a terrific song from a terrific album of the same title.

Tea for Sympathy

CTRL-ALT-DEL. Enter. Four strokes on the keyboard and a photograph taken a while back stared at me. I wistfully thought of those people in the picture and where they could be now as I stood up, gathered and stuffed my things - keys, phones, IPod, USB, and a battered copy of Truman Capote's In Cold Blood - to my black Nike messenger bag.

I raised my bag’s handle above my head and let it drop across my shoulders. I thought then outrightly dismissed turning off the lights and air conditioning. I scanned the room for one last time, took a sip of water from my tumbler, and badged my way out of the office.

It was close to 9pm when I stepped out of the building, where I and 7 other teammates are temporarily holding office for the week, and was surprised that the street was almost deserted. The guard manning the building was not at the entrance. The stores, which were teeming with people a few hours earlier, were closed.

I found it disconcerting that though my current and previous offices were just 3 blocks from each other the change was palpable. There were no cars and buses honking or building tenants burning their lungs or boyfriends or girlfriends waiting for their significant others. There was no sign of life. Cars that were usually parked along the sidewalk were gone. Sodium lights that lit up the street were non-existent.

I turned left and slowly walked to where my ride was. Ahead of me were two girls with backpacks. They were freshly out of the shower for I could smell, from a few feet away, the shampoo they used. They must have just worked out at a nearby gym and were now probably going to grab a quick dinner before going their separate ways.

I could see two policemen having a smoke at the corner. Lest I be mistaken for a stalker, although I don't look like one, I hurriedly crossed the street. I could feel the ball of my right foot slightly hurting. It has not completed healed after spraining my ankle a couple of weeks back and seventeen medications later.

I could now see a Jollibee branch in the distance. Signs of life at last. A young kid, wearing an oversized blue shirt, was tugging at a hooded guy walking in the same direction as I was. He was obviously begging for money. The guy shook his head. The kid gave up and held his position waiting for me to limp by him. I quickened my pace and as I passed by him and before he could open his mouth I shook my head. He bowed his. Crestfallen.

I turned right in the corner where I usually get my ride home. While stuck in traffic because of a weirdly effective second U-Turn overpass that was being constructedand Nina Simone crooning Ne Me Quitte Pas on my headset I let my mind wander from one thought to another until it settled on the blue-shirted kid.

As usual I regretted not giving him some of the money I had in in my pocket - a 1 peso coin, four 5-peso coins, and a 100-peso bill. People I know and even signboards have been discouraging me not to give alms but something is just not quite right about what I did and have been doing for years.

Ano nga ba talaga ang tama?

A Bittersweet Life

it's been weeks since i blogged about my personal thoughts. i've been blogging like mad but it's all about other stuff - the embarassing experiences, the office life, the movies i've watched, the books i've read. no more of the emo write-ups that peppered my posts from months back.

i think i may have reached the point where i'm fed up of feeling, of thinking, of mentally berating myself for a pathetic life.

i'm tired of many things.

i'm tired of being consumed by rage.

i'm tired of doing all the giving.

i'm tired of being me.

Freshmen

He was a classmate in high school. Freshman year. He was short. Thin. And walked with a tilt in his step. When he spoke, it would be between huffs and puffs. He had trouble breathing. But still he persevered in going to school. Walking the long way from the front gate to the second floor of the high school building.

To compensate for his obvious health issues, he acted, dressed, and tried to be cool. I remember he would wear cheap aviator glasses way too big for his gaunt face. He didn't particularly care that students would gawk at him. Snicker. Giggle.

I admit I did gawk at him when I first saw him on the first day of school or the first time he wore his aviator glasses. I didn't laugh or made fun of him though. I was no bully.

A cousin, who was a batchmate, once told me that he was mayabang. I didn't mind. I thought it may be a defense mechanism to the way he looked, walked, and talked. He was no ordinary teenager.

We talked a few times. Maybe laughed at some stupid joke. He liked to crack jokes. Corny ones. But we never became close friends.

After graduation, I left town to study in another province. When I'd be in town and visit my old school, I'd see him in the college corridors. It turned out he pursued his college studies there. Sometimes I'd wave. Or nod. Or strike a short conversation. He was still the same. He still tried to act cool. Look cool. I don't think he even grew an inch.

Two or three years after high shool graduation, I heard from my batchmates that he died. I think it was a heart attack. I am not entirely sure. I thought to myself that his heart finally gave in. You see, he had a hole in his heart. It was congenital. He told me that during one of our conversations in high school.

And the tilt in his step? It was due to a C-shaped spine. That was why he didn't grew an inch.

Life is short. And in his case, the clock started its countdown the moment he was born.

******

She came from a well-known clan in our province. She was average-looking and was a little bit on the heavy side. We were classmates freshman year in high school. Since I'd pass by her house on my way home she'd insist that we walk home together. I begrudgingly obliged after some prodding.

She was makulit. I remember she insisted that I give her my Grade 6 ID because I looked cute in it. I refused. Embarassed even. We too never became good friends.

In junior she transferred schools and house. I never saw her again. In college I'd hear that she got pregnant and later on got married. Good for her I thought.

Sometime last year a high school friend wrote in his blog "Loko loko ka ! Ba't mo ako inunahan? (Darn you! Why did you leave before me.) We just had a few drinks a a few weeks ago!". I was curious and asked around. I learned that she had a heart attack and died, leaving a devastated husband and beautiful kids.

Life is short. And in her case, it was unexpected.

******

Hindi ko alam kung bakit sila ang ginawa kong topic sa blog. Hindi ko nga rin alam kung paano ito tatapusin. Yung tipong tagos hanggang buto ang ending. Wala talaga akong maisip. Kaya gagayahin ko na lang ang isang kanta ng Parokya ni Edgar at bigla na lang mawawala...