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Showing posts from May, 2012

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

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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

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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…