Posts

Showing posts from 2012

fuck off 2012

Fuck off 2012. And since we’re on the subject, fuck off 2011. Amputa, di pa pala nakaka-move on ang bakla. Last night though it looked as if Manila was exploding in gay colors.  Rume-rainbow bright lang ang kalawakan. May nagpapalipad pa nga Sky Lanterns eh. But all I could think of was the money being wasted. Peso signs ang nakikita ko! Magkano rin ‘yun! At hindi ba sila nanonood ng 24 Oras? Hindi ba sinabi na ni Sandra Aguinaldo na posibleng pag-simulan ng sunog ang Sky Lanterns. Hindi ba dapat sa dagat ‘yan pinapalipad at hindi sa mga residential area tulad ng lugar namin. And even if you did light up a Sky Lantern and sent it flying across the sea, what do you think will happen after the light had burned out and the materials came crashing down to earth? Kakainin ng turtles at frogs ang materials na ginamit mo at mamamatay sila. Mamamatay sila! Hindi ba kasama sa wishes ng Sky Lantern enthusiasts ang kapakanan ng mga palaka at pagong? Alam ko ‘yan dahil name-memohan na kami tungko…

dog problems

I know that it is flattering when you have three dogs all vying for your attention at the same time especially for someone as severely insecure as me. But when this happens every day at five in the morning it’s just a fucking nightmare.

chichimarcelmax

Image
7am. waiting for my dogs to sleep. oh god my dogs are big. and we're all squeezed into a small one-bedroom apartment. the bedroom has since become the dogs' lavatory. pee and poop always litter the room. i sleep outside, just below the study table. sometimes the dogs share my bed when the boyfriend is out working. max alone takes half of the bed. sometimes marcel or chichi try to secure a small space, leaving me on the fringes, inches away from falling into the floor. right now they are pacing around the apartment, barking whenever a door is opened down the hall. they are a noisy bunch but our neighbor once told me that they pretty much keep it down when i'm away. i very much like to sleep now but i'm afraid that if i lie down and close my eyes they will lick my face to smithereens. 


ps. marcel peed on an electric socket two days ago. i woke up to the sound of crackling electricity. filthy sound. made my heart skip a beat. i thought we were all going to die burning.

You know nothing Jon Snow. Nothing!

Image
Maybe I am having a better time that I would care to admit. These last few months have afforded me to read books again. Currently I’m obsessed with Game of Thrones and I’m already reading a Dance with Dragons, the last one before George RR Martin tosses out the final book. The series can sometimes be infuriating, annoying even, frustrating and definitely confusing what with a handful of lords and bastards, gods and dragons crowding his books pero tang-ina George RR Martin is a genius! Sometimes I suspect that he has made a fool out of me, making me love the Starks and then subjecting the beloved characters to different varieties of torture. I, myself, felt emotional when I came across the Red Wedding. The series remind me of The Lord of the Rings but I like this one better. Lord of the Rings showed us how the heart is corrupted by power but in Martin’s books he reminds us that the human heart is already corrupted to begin with. To paraphrase Caufield, Martin is the type of novelist o…

drunk man at the bar

A beautiful young girl dances before him, barely clothed. Small, pinpoint lights glide all over her milky white skin like frisky hands, searching for her softest parts. Smoke was rising from somewhere. He holds his beer tighter, letting beads of melted ice spill over his fingers.
Oh baby, baby, he thought, why do you have to do it?
He looks at the girl’s face, a homely face with a piercing here and there. Her hair parts like curtain, letting men get a peek at her sad, filthy eyes at her will. She’s not as beautiful as the one he lost, not nearly as beautiful, he thought. That one had an innocent face like a little girl’s. Small with piercing almond eyes, lips that tasted like wine.
No, it was my fault, he argued, she had nothing to do with it. Nothing.
He refreshes his pack and snatches a new stick. Somewhere in the city she is laughing, undressing. He closes his eyes and sees her at the foot of the bed a little drunk. She throws her purse on the table, kicks off her shoes. She unbutton…

Aning friday

It’s Friday evening and there’s a light drizzle over Cubao. I sit outside a restaurant people-watching with two cold beers on the table. I couldn’t find a seat in a cafe so I decided why not get a drink instead. It’s aning Friday after all. Ewan ko, suddenly my head started spinning this afternoon --- not spin as in headache but spin as in aning-aning. Bigla na lang naging restless ako. Parang may gusto akong gawin na hindi ko maisip kung ano. Inisip ko baka panic attack. Maybe that’s it. A panic attack. So I told myself while showering to relax. Relax. So I jerked off.
Didn’t work.
I went out wearing my favourite red shirt. Iniisip ko how appropriate. I have a date with the boyfriend and I’m wearing red. Passion. Love. Sex. Lust, etc. When I got to Cubao I realized that my shirt doesn’t match my shoes. Not that I’m a matchy-matchy type. The truth is even if I write for a makeover show I couldn’t care less about what I wear. Well, I care actually pero hindi lang ako nage-effort. Somet…

friday morning

Image
I woke up from a sad dream. That was at least the pervading atmosphere in the dream. In it I was watching an acquaintance ask a favour from our boss. She was telling her that she has to leave because her new husband wanted the family to be together at the dinner table. The woman was distraught but our boss was sympathetic. What was sad about it was that I was envious of their relationship. Watching them made me feel more alone.
It was just a few minutes after midnight when I woke up. I thought about drinking the left over beer inside the ref but I already had four bottles before I got home. I should stop drinking. Just yesterday, I sat in a neighbourhood tagsilogan at four in the morning with my stomach grumbling from too much alcohol, my chest hurting from too much smoke and with my ears being assailed first by Imelda Papin and then by April Boy Regino. I listened intently though, pondering the meaning of the lyrics to “Honey, my love so sweet.” The tapsilogan was making me miss th…

greta

It was a cold rainy night in Hongkong. Greta, covered in a beige overcoat, stepped out of the cinema and ducked into an eatery. Noisy Chinese cooks kept barking orders while all around her diners were hunched over their steaming noodles, slurping heartily. She took out her cigarettes and lighted one. The movie was a mildly entertaining, a Cantonese romcom featuring two of the city’s bankable stars. Greta, however, felt detached as she was watching it. She could hear laughter echo in her head but the delightful sensation that often accompany such exercise was oddly missing. She sat in the counter not exactly knowing what to do or what to think. She sucked on her cig while waving at the harried waiter. Noodles, yes. Cola, no. Just water. Tap water? No, bottled ones. Yes. Good, good. 10 minutes. Yes? And then she was alone again. She thought of dropping by a nearby convenience store before going up to her hotel, before she grapples in front of her laptop to write a succinct review. Perha…

rant of the month

My boyfriend disapproves of everything I do. I’m not exactly excited about my job. I’m a few months behind my rent. I’m getting fat and old. I haven’t read a proper novel in what two years. I haven’t written anything that I could be proud of. My rakets don’t pay me enough. I have dropped off from my masters. I’m 34 or 35 yata I’m not sure and I have yet to do anything that could possibly merit me a book deal from Peguin Books (me ganun). I’m still miles away from making my own film and all I could think now is how I can afford a condo because I seriously want to change my address. Instead of thinking of ways on how I could achieve my goals I work myself to the bone, constantly clean the apartment (because Oprah might come for a visit), and drink myself to death. In the process I have also become seriously misanthropic. I just might kill myself when I’m 40. And, oh, yes, I think I’m going crazy.

As Mackenzie said on “Newsroom,” “I’ve been exhausted since I was 30.” And bow.

An unsolicited advice from a total stranger

Sunday. 6pm. The corrugated roofs tremble whenever the wind blows. I expect a blackout later tonight. In the meantime, I am inside the apartment lying on a mat with the dogs Chichi and Max. Max is a new addition and the story of how and why I got him is a sad one. For the first time in my life, I have many stories to tell but I’m always too sabog to write them down. Earlier while I was walking to my mother’s house an old man came up to me and said: “Wag kang matakot. Wag kang mahiya. Ayusin mo yung likod mo. Wag ganyan.” He was basically telling me to be brave and to shoulder on with dignity. Then he smiled at me and walked away. “Parang ganito,” he said, aping Robin Padilla's walk. I always get unsolicited advice from total strangers. It’s probably because I am always sulking. I am constantly being asked if I’m okay and, yes, most of the time I am not. Slowly the apartment is being enveloped in darkness. The dogs continue to sleep. I drink coffee and light a cigarette one after t…

blangko

I sit in front of my laptop and look at the work that I have to do. They seem easy enough. Well, they are easy. But there is a voice inside my head that keeps telling me that I will produce nothing but crap. Maybe if I shoot up enough Red Bull into my veins and watch Dr. Phil on Youtube till I OD maybe, just maybe I’ll accomplish something. Maybe that’s why I keep a gin handy by my side. I previously thought that it was my antidote to the drudgery of my everyday life but now I know that the alcohol is there to make me a little fearless, to let me stop doubting myself even for a few minutes so I could just go on with it. The funny thing is I’m not even writing some big literary paper or a screenplay that will change Philippine cinema forever. The fact that I only have to write a few sentences and produce something that will only serve as a distraction from all the advertisements on TV is immaterial. And it’s not as if I have something to prove because to begin with I have accepted that…

my mother josephine

Image
I woke up and saw a text message from my mother. She teasingly told me that she is upset that I had forgotten to greet her on Mother’s Day. We don’t normally exchange superfluous words of affection. At best our conversations are stilted and uncomfortable --- for me at least. As I grew up, I found myself having difficulty talking to her as an adult. I realized just recently that I have raked in lots of resentment towards her. This, however, doesn’t belittle any of the things that she has done for us, her children. And she has done a lot. Of course I do wish her the best.

But, to paraphrase a line from David Sedaris, I would need an entire cast of hand puppets before I could even begin to tell her the real contents of my heart.

private wars

Image
The morning my father died I woke up to a flurry of white cloth. My brother and I were sleeping when momentarily I woke up and saw nurses swarming around my father’s bed. My mother was beside us, telling us to go back to sleep. She was crying.

Then we were alone in the room again. The room was now quiet. I don’t remember waking up. All I remember was us three, my mother, my brother and I, standing before my father’s bed, looking at him ---- eyes solemnly closed, white sheet pulled up to his chest, and on his left hand he clutched a rosary. She told us to kiss him for the last time. I leaned forward. His skin was already cold.

The only time I cried for my father was when we got inside the car that very same morning. I got in and suddenly I found myself clawing my nails on the seat and screaming.

For the next two weeks, we spent most of our time surrounded by relatives and friends. I met some of my half-brothers and sisters for the very first time but of course I wasn’t bothered at…

fiction chenes

He waits for his arrival, for the boy who never wears underwear and who quotes Ginsberg. The smoke crawls out from the ashtray and runs off into the air. The ants make a beeline to the half-eaten tapsilog on his kitchen table. He waits for his arrival and looks at his cellphone, waiting for it to beep. Suddenly, quite inappropriately, he smiles. Wasn’t there a play by Jean Genet where a mistress waits for her lover’s call? Didn’t she use the cord to kill herself after he broke up with her? Just how many times should he hit himself with his phone before first drop of blood is drawn? He holds this thought for a few seconds and laughs. What a silly idea, he tells himself.

In the bathroom the faucet leaks, dropping water every few seconds. Above the fluorescent lights hum as electricity cruises through the delicate glass. In his room, the electric fan sways its head, breathing hot breeze into the room. Save for a few muffled noises, the entire apartment is completely silent.

He waits for …

instant coffee

Because I ran out of coffee beans and payday is still three days away, I had no choice but to drink instant. I took a sip and immediately what popped into my mind was how my instant coffee pales in comparison to the real one. Lame, I think, was the exact word na naisip ko.

Then I suddenly remembered my college years when I still couldn’t afford to buy brewed coffee. I remember Jever teaching me how to create a frothy mix by combining instant coffee and milk and stirring it constantly for about five minutes. Those were, well, not necessarily simpler times, but my general disposition then was hopeful at least. "Today" newspaper in the morning, MTV before my afternoon class, "X-Files" in the evening. In my mind I was going to be Michael Stipe’s husband for pete’s sake.

When I remembered Jever and the coffee and those mornings in the late 90s, a surge of calmness momentarily came over me. Is that how it is? We arrive at a certain point and then we turn back to trace our…

blah!

There is a glass of gin in front of me. I don’t really want to drink it but I think I need it. I feel shitty and there’s work to be done. Sometimes I just want to drop everything and hide in the boondocks. Things are relatively okay though and yet I still feel like shit. And every day it just gets worse and worse.

drama chever

Last night, gusto ko sanang mag-wala. I wanted throw the plates and the saucers and the glasses to the floor and watch them break into a million pieces. I decided against it though. What for? Ako rin ang maglilinis nun noh? ‘Wag na lang.

Uh-oh!

Sometimes when I’m listening to good music, a damn good rock tune from a fucking good band for example, I feel as if I’m finally living. It makes me want to drink up everything, ever little piece of life that surrounds me. I smoke up. I inhale a lungful. I relish every bit of danger that surges through my veins. My chest rises up. My arms and my legs tremble with excitement. I look at the stars. I look at the city with its pinpoint lights scattered across the black night winking at me. I look at the speeding cars. I look at everything and for once I feel as if everything is possible, as if life is finally within reach. No, not just some shitty uneventful life but good life, a life worth remembering. A life, as Frodo’s Sam once mused, worth turning into poems of epic proportions. And I feel as if everything is shooting up, about to explode, like a thousand orgasms simultaneously going off, fucking my brains out. But as I reach the zenith, as I get there, seconds before the big pay-off,…

si marlon brando, si batman at ang aking sabado

Image
Marlon Brando as Stanley Kowalski

Saturday. It’s pretty quiet here at the apartment. I wish I was somewhere else. Drunk. But not in a bar. In a beach maybe. Drunk while the dogs are lying on the sand. That sounds great. But right now I’m just drunk at the apartment. I really needed to drink tonight. Since last week, I’ve been extra crazy. It’s not the money. Or the boyfriend. Or my job. I don’t know. When my friend and I sat down for dinner last night, the first thing that came out of his mouth was: “I have so many issues.” He was smiling at least. Then an SP ambled over and talked to him about, well, more issues. Maybe it’s the age no?

My boyfriend and I were watching “Streetcar Named Desire” last night (or was it two nights ago, I don’t remember). Marlon Brando was a sight to behold. I think my shorts fell to the floor when he came out screaming: “Stellaaaaa! Stellaaaaaa.” I thought he was unbelievably attractive. Such animal magnetism no? I saw the local production of the play a few…

talking movies

Image
I’ve been watching movies almost every day since the year began. The first one was on January 1st, Gregg Araki’s Ka-Boom. Not bad but I like his irony-free and downright shocking “Mysterious Skin” more. I thought the juxtaposition of UFO encounters and encounters with sexual predators was simply brilliant. Equally shocking but relatively quieter was LeeChan-Dong’s Poetry, about an old South Korean lady who struggles to write poetry while trying to elude the harsh realities of her life.


Love, love, love Liza!


Then there were the musicales ---Bob Fosses’ All That Jazz, which I thought was self-indulgent and which pales in comparison with his earlier work, Cabaret. Liza was simply brilliant in Cabaret. Almost tittering in most parts but mesmerizing in all of her production numbers. I also saw a bit of Funny Girl and The Way We Were and I realized that the visuals of Sex and the City were practically culled from the classic romantic movie. And that Lola Barang practically made a career out…

sometime in the last decade

“I’ve been looking forward to that party all week,” he said, bemoaning the fact that the event might be cancelled. Deep inside me something instantly ached. But I’m always looking forward to seeing you, I thought. I don’t have anything else to be excited about apart from spending time with him to be honest.

I just turned my gaze to the balcony and watched the clouds roll by. Silently, they fold and unfolded, smoothly gliding from one end of the horizon to the other. Rain is eminent.

“What are you thinking about,” he asked me.

“The theory of relativity,” I said.

“Ginagago mo naman ako eh.”

Was it Tony Perez who said that the hardest things to talk about are the ones that are closest to our hearts? Or was it Stephen King? I don’t remember. Lately my brain seems like a puzzle with various pieces missing. Or is it because I’ve been coursing everything through my heart, which is already filled with holes? I’m not making any sense, am I? I feel weird today. It’s as if my head wasn’t screwed …

run beki run

I just finished a 42 kilometer marathon run. Punyeta, ang haba pala ng Skyway. And would you believe that’s just 10 kilometers long? We ran all the way from Festival Mall, detoured towards Pasay Road, went back again to Magallanes exit, ran towards Buendia (I think. At that point my mind was hazy from pain and frustration) and then went back to Festival Mall again. My knees were such in bad shape that I had to pause every now and then from walking. I could literally feel them vibrating. They were already sending hate messages to my brain. But as someone close to me would say: “Eh ginusto mo yan eh.” I should’ve just hired some neighbourhood thugs to hit my legs with a dos por dos. I would have arrived at the same result.

However, the 42kilometer run afforded me to do some thinking but mostly about why Kenyans always win at local marathon competitions (because the Pinoys are too busy taking pictures of themselves during the run). Basically, I spent half a day torturing myself. We start…

friday

I don’t feel like going out today. I just want to stay home and surf and perhaps watch a good movie. I don’t know. It’s Friday and I should start working. Alam mo naman, ang bills. And I have a meeting to go to. No, correction, a meeting I should go to. Can someone take over my body na lang so I wouldn’t walk around lifeless and stupid? Wag lang demonyo ha!