Self Portrait

I looked at the plain white canvas purposely. Holding my paintbrush I started to place the tip of the brush delicately smothering the surface of the canvas. How careful I was of placing paint onto the canvas - its pure glory. Little detail by little detail curves and lines became shapes. Smudges transformed into shades of different hues. I kept placing oil paint onto my palette and from the palette it gets expressed onto the canvas. The former white glory had been replaced by a face - my face with every crease and fold - a replica.


I smiled and let it dry for awhile, enough for it to be placed from my previous work. I hung it up on the right side, just along my past self-portrait which I made about three years ago.


I suddenly gasped with horror. Positioning alongside each other was a mistake.


My insecurities, can of worms which I have safely closed and placed in the innermost of my thoughts have gone creeping up as if awakened from a deep sleep yet this time their resurfacing was more pronounced.


Fine lines, wrinkles, tired and weary eyes have been the outcome after three years. The eyes which I have been known for, to have expressive ones were now lacking. Gone were the days when I could stare and invoke such a reaction from a person.


How I have missed that.


The fine lines that have been there since college circa have doubled in number, most prominent along the cheeks and nose but also along the outside part of my eyes. It is irritating.


Wrinkles which have appeared very recently have been frustrating and scary. To see a little loosening of the skin makes me wonder - what will happen to me in the next three years?


A few tears trickled down my eyes and I resigned to a nearby couch, confused and in despair.


I can not take the latter down nor the former but for now I can not bear to look at both of them. I sighed and slumped further onto my seat. It is of no use. Ageing is inevitable, mortality is inevitable.


And so a crisis has opened again.

Shifting Wind

It was a rainy Sunday afternoon. The sun had been hidden since yesterday morning. The chirping birds outside try their very best to take shelter from nearby roofs or trees with enormous branches and leaves. The majority of the sound is produced by the fall of rain on the now mud-ridden street of ours.


Quiet times like these remind me so much of my very first entry here. It was the initial question that I thought of that time, a rumination which I couldn't quite fathom. I didn't have an answer to that nor have I fully understood it now but something about that made me write it here - a post into a journal, my online diary.


And with a click-clack sound of the keys on the netbook, I still am going back and forth, deleting and adding texts to this current entry of mine. Not that I have a lot to say anyway.


Do you back read often?


I do and it amuses, perplexes me how I could have written most of them. The mind really does work in such complexity.


Some funny, some fictitious, some sorrowful, some grief, some perky, some jovial, some complaints, some worries and anxieties, some disappointments, some contentment, some full of life, some hurting, some memories and trivialities, most often overly dramatic.


And with these journeys (or fictional narratives)  of which I began to write down on the internet corresponds to what I was feeling strongly at that time, what I was thinking incessantly at that time.


Through these few remaining semi-irrelevant pondering sentences which seem endless because of the euphoric birthday bash last night meaning lack of rest and sleep, a gloomy weather with binge episodes, a recent sober state, and a mind that becomes ambivalent every minute including now, I must say I really have gone quite a long way. And will still be running more, for life is just a cycle. A period becomes an ellipse.


And seasons might end but a character's life still pursues challenges lying ahead.


A rollercoaster ride with a hint of whirlwind.


Thank you for taking the time and oh yeah, congratulations to my 300th post! 

Turmoil and Strife

The most important person you can trust is yourself.

A Silent Forlorn

It was a windy afternoon. The sun was hiding behind the gargantuan sheets of clouds scattered throughout the sky. The trees gracefully swayed from left to right. School-aged children were all playing outside accompanied by their mothers or guardians.


Zach and Kirby were riding their blue bicycles. They were laughing, chasing each other, and having the best time with each other. Zach is our neighbor. A big kid, big for his age. Oh yeah, and heavy too. I see myself in him when I was growing up. Kirby on the other hand is my cousin. A big kid too. They've been best friends ever since they were  toddlers and have been inseparable ever since. They consider Thomas the train as a national hero.


As the two practically pedalled their way around our stone-ridden street I can't help but smile at them. With their innocent laughs and joyful disposition, their playful moment made me nostalgic.


I closed our gate and went inside the house. I came from somewhere and thought I had enough idle time watching them. I need to rest a little.


I saw my Dad seating comfortably again and watching a noontime show I didn't even bother checking.


It irritates me how he can sit so comfortably without worries and yet my Mom tries so hard just to make ends meet.


I took off my clothes which were slightly soaking in sweat and proceeded to the comfort room and there along with the digested food, I flushed the bad vibes away.

I donned my boxer shorts, went out of the comfort room and felt much better. I noticed something different. My Dad went out. He opened the car and switched the engine on.


I went near our door just behind the screen to see what was happening.


Zach and Kirby were still playing just outside the gate, still with the same mood and affect.


He looked at the two and smiled. His smile actually makes me digress but this time there was something queer - a peculiar feeling from his smile.


I saw repentance in his smile. I could clearly see how the two reminded him of me as a child, always playful, always cheerful, always happy, sometimes crying.


I saw his smile with a twist of sadness, that somehow, had he been a better father, we would have been better children.


He used to call me 'good boy'.


But there is nothing he could do about it now. Times have changed. People have changed. I have changed. I still despise him.


In time I know in my heart that I will be able to forgive him but the question is, will it be too late by then?


That, that I don't know for now...


Dawn was nearing. Zach and Kirby packed up their bikes and went into their respective homes while my Dad went out of the house and I went upstairs to my room to take a nap.

O Bar Ortigas 101

Clubbing is very elementary.


1. Hydration is crucial. I kid you not.


2. Drag shows fill the early part of the night so be ready. Patience is key.


3. Stay away from the smaller ledge unless you're super hook-up desperado or badly needs attention.


4. The best crowds are near the bar area.


5. Cramped, hot, and very ridiculously irritating. This is a love it or hate it club.


6. You don't own the dance floor, be wary of the people around you. Etiquette please.


7. Even getting drinks can be a hassle. Oh well, you can't have it all.


8. It maybe tight but it doesn't mean you need to be rude and shove people just because you feel you're pretty. We'll be the judge of that.


9. Oh please, so what if you saw your ex with a date? It's all about you and yourself tonight. Dance!


10. Never, ever, ever wear your brand new shoes in this bar.


11. Dispose drunk club dates immediately.

Playlist: Club Diversity

Most people I know avert from club music. They don'y understand it at all. The beat. The rhythm. The lyrics. They think it's a waste of time to listen to any of them.


I have always appreciated musical genre. From the first time I have heard Benny Benassi's - Satisfaction and for the times I have listened to my cousin's compiled CDs. I have since been hooked.


This music helped me. Soothed my young adult rage and supported me to cope up in various experiences.


Listening became like a sanctuary, a place where I just close my eyes and let my mind take me to where it may take me.


To the vastness of what I can imagine plus the euphoria it brings.


1. Dove by Moony. The first time I have heard this one I was hooked. The beat is catchy. A classic that I still play even with the wave of new songs.


2. Pink Life by Gyskard. First time I heard this in the now defunct Fluid Bar. This song not only brings me back to my early years of going to Malate but also of the people I have met there. A very memorable song indeed.


3. Selfish by Sunset Daze. Initially I wasn't really into this song primarily because it doesn't have that upbeat uproar like most songs in this genre but the more that I listened to this, the more I loved the song and the lyrics are pretty cool too. Although it's really more of a chill-out-after-dance song.


4. Papi Chulo by Lorna. This song made me return every consecutive weekend to Malate.


5. Fashionista by Jimmy James. Come on! Do you really think I'd forget this one? Where it took me approximately a month to memorize the lyrics? Never. This song remains as one of my most listened to even in the MRT while I silently lip sync the designers.


"D&G and BCBG, looking good is never easy, Alexander Herchcovich, Naomi Campbell's such a bit**!" 


6. Absolutely Not by Deborah Cox. I fell in love with this song. The kicka** attitude. How the fast-paced tempo just twirls around the melody.


"I won't compromise my point of view, absolutely not, absolutely not."


I would never do.


7. Man in the Mirror club mix by Hed Kandi. This song is the bomb! I got hooked to this instantly the moment my ears heard it. What's funny is that I heard this one before Michael Jackson's original version but what the heck, I still love this.


8. Shining Star by Get Far. I searched for months just knowing who made this song. This was the coolest song in Malate last 2006. By the time I have found this song in Limewire, the song was already considered prehistoric.


9. I Just Wanna Fu**ing Dance by Jerry Springer The Musical. This is the song that made me cherish my club years of yore. Like the last song, this too had been in my Most Wanted List for the longest time, longer than Shining Star actually mainly because I don't have an idea of the title. I mean come on, who would name the song I Just Wanna Fu**ing Dance? Well, it seems someone brilliantly did and it is pretty wicked.


Aren't we all? :)


10. Ever After by Bonnie Bailey. Hands down, this is still what tops my list of club music. The groove, the rhythm, the way the song makes me feel good inside and out. This is just so awesome in so many different levels.


I wonder how people can not appreciate songs like these? True, some of them might not have the most decent lyrics nor the best of inspirations but this genre has so much potential in giving a person not just some stress-less enjoyment but also listen past into the nature of the songs and appreciate it as an art.


Albeit done in a crammed, humid, different yet ironically comforting place in what we fondly call a club.

My Better Judgment

He looked at me with his almond shaped eyes and smiled.

We were walking along the grandiose walls of Intramuros. The historic place that had awed me from the first time I laid my eyes on one of the Spanish-styled establishments.

I shyly turned my head away from him. I felt timid just being around him.

He is 5'10" while I was just slightly higher than his chest.

He has that silky black hair that bounces slightly above his shoulder while I had that hair that looked like I have been struck by lightning.

He is lean, very lean, one that would make you ogle while I was a stocky child, binded to the world of carbohydrates and schoolwork.


He resembles Rain albeit a darker color so imagine that while I look like a very average, geeky, normal person. 

"It's finally nice seeing you." He told me while he was slightly grabbing my hand.

"Yeah." That was all that I could mutter.

We have been set-up by my sister. They were friends through Dance, Dance Revolution. Remember that game? Well anyway, yeah, we were set up by my good old sister.

As with all the cliche new generation getting-to-know phases it all started with a volley of texts and calls. He wasn't really into texts much while I was more of that. He preferred calls and that he did. But the thing is he would call at the wee hours of the morning and that meant I had to be awake by 1 am or 2 am while I wait for his call, talk for about an hour, then go back to sleep and wake up by 5 am to go to school.

You could say it was one of my feeble attempts again to build something out of thin air. Heck, sometimes you hope for better things, right? Because you know you deserve them.

I was a newbie. An amateur. A neophyte when it comes to man-to-man relationships.

I was falling.

"You know, I could just hug you right now if there weren't people around." We were still walking now along the building of Manila Bulletin. There were dimly lit street lights that made his statement more surreal yet inexplicable.

"I could do just that too." This time grinning from cheek to cheek.

In the end all I could do was lightly touch the back of his hand.

I guess that will do for now, at that time.

We went out of the Walled City and into the Post Office where people, mostly couples, occupy the benches placed across the place.

We sat down and faced each other through a damp yet memorable night.

I looked again at his almond shaped eyes and was smitten again.

He smiled at me and I smiled back.

We talked about a lot of things, of our schooling, of our friends, of us, and of former partners.

That time it didn't matter to me if we talked about them, after all, I only had one and we've been unattached since.

He told me of his exes. It wasn't an issue. Amidst our conversation he suddenly whipped out his wallet and showed me a picture of a guy.

"That was my last ex. He's half Japanese." He handed me the picture and I looked at his ex.

Good looking. Great smile. Good mix of parents.

I returned the picture to him and said my thanks.

"I guess we should call it a day. Text me when you get home." There were still classes tomorrow morning and I have to study some concepts as well.

I accompanied him to where the FXs were lined just a few walks away from the benches.

He stepped inside the FX and bade goodbye.

I waved my hand and went on my way to my boarding house.

I awaited for something - a text, a miscall, anything from him.

He vanished into thin air.

A couple of years later I saw him again, now in Malate, with his friend who connects the dots between him and my older sister.

He still looked the same.

I wanted to punch him for not being a man and just tell me that he doesn't like me and not go poof! like some sorcerer or magician. Whichever is worse.

But the opposite happened. I danced with him inside the club as if nothing happened. Yeah, that was two years ago for crying out loud.

Some experiences are better learned than regretted.

We rode the same FX home.

"Can I tell you something?" He looked straight into my round eyes with his half-slit ones.

What could it be? Is there anything he still wants to cram on my face?

I looked back into his eyes. I doubted for a second.

"Sure." I said it with a slight tinge of doubt.

He and his supposed ex-bf never really broke up.


Good looking guys really are jerks.


This is just some of what I have experienced from their types.

A Life Scare Conclusion

Sunday night was not only chilly, it was also a time of deep thought. The next day would be a make and break situation.


A time to visit the hygiene clinic.


It was November since I last visited and I have not been that angelic and sugary sweet.


I thought of postponing it, deliberately postponing it. Deny the thought of returning again for a health check.


But the dread is killing me. Too many thoughts creeping in and out of my head. It was a night of torture. One of the not-so-good nights.


The rain weeped all through the night with the air enticing a deep and undisturbed slumber yet I encountered an opposite feeling. I turned and tumbled on my bed trying to find the best sleeping position or even just rest or even just a nap. I just needed a shut eye that Sunday night.


I got an uneventful one with me waking up at the middle of the night several times and checking the phone.


I woke up Monday morning with that feeling of anxiety, that anxiety I just can't seem to shake off even with a cup of coffee.


I took a deep breath and started preparing.


It's going to be a long day. I thought to myself.


As I walked inside an LRT coach, I felt my heart pump harder. Somehow I wished I didn't do all those.


But I can't undo those nor could I say I didn't enjoy those time. Regrets are such evils I have a hard time getting out of my system.


Alighting down the Tayuman station my jaws clenched and my grip hardened. This is it. The moment I have been waiting, dreading, and nearly postponing just for me to stay away from what might be the truth.


Walking across San Lazaro I could feel my courage picking up. It will be alright. I was trying to convince myself.


It will be alright.


I sat down on a wooden bench near a table where information needs to be filled out.


A nurse, the same nurse who I have encountered twice in the past went out of her room.


She asked me my reason for the visit and gave me an information sheet just like the first and second time. I gladly took the piece of paper, wrote all the needed information, and gave it to her. She told me to come with her inside her room there she wrote what I would be tested for. This time aside from the usual virus test she usually writes, she also wrote in another test - RPR.


I walked down towards Room 106. The room where I always have been sent to. It was not easy to go down the ground floor that time especially since guilt was figuratively eating me inside out plus the fact that a lot of people were there for their health checks too.


After what seemed to be forever the blood was drawn out off my forearm and I was instructed to wait upstairs for the results.


The moment, that very moment I sat waiting for the test result was one of the most panicking 30 minutes of my life. My mind conjured of different questions ranging from worst to best and back to worst then best again.


It was a moment of branching, no, multitude of outcomes. It wasn't easy I tell you. Going there never was.


After a few minutes the nurse went down to get the results.


This is it. The moment of truth. There is no turning back. I could but that would be just running away from the problem.


So I stayed and patiently waited.


I looked around the old paraphernalias about STDs, HIV, signs, symptoms, what to do, who to seek, everything. It was comforting yet guilt was still gnawing.


After a few minutes a white shape was emerging from the steps below. It was the nurse with a piece of paper held between her hands. The much awaited result.


I swallowed a large ball of saliva and clasped my hands together. I need to be brave. I have to be.


The nurse told me to come inside the room. Her expression was neutral. She told me to sit down and that I did. She looked at me with eyes of truth and honesty. She looked at me intently.


She gave me the folded piece of paper, the paper that holds my future.


I looked at the sheet with curiosity.


And I smiled.

The Art of Euphemism

The night was biting. It had been a long day with the sun rising only to a certain extent while the clouds covered the rays and the wind dominantly filled the Metro.


It has been awhile since this happened. The summer was ferocious and it still is but tonight was an exception. I was under a blanket.


I was reading A Brave New World by Aldous Huxley when I suddenly heard some noise outside. Closing the book and laying it near the headboard of the bed, I peeked outside.


There were two guys, gay guys in shorts nearly up to their pubices. They were flamboyantly talking, walking, and doing hand gestures. They were making such noise outside that it became apparent to me that it was really a ruckus. I told myself to calm down and let them walk up to where they were heading and just be done with it but my mind was being tortured by their high-pitched tones accompanied by high volume resonating to a certain degree of irritability. 


Readying to shout from our home and let people have their peace of mind, I was trounced by a guy from a nearby house telling them to shut up.


Now normally I wouldn't react and nonchalantly reopen the book again. It was an interesting book about a futuristic caste system but no, the man's words were simultaneously downright discriminatory and derogatory. Calling them faggots and telling them to shut up isn't right. Not right at all.


The words reverberated to my ears like a loud titillating scream inside a hollow cave. Annoying.


I closed my ears and bit my lips to control my patience. This isn't the right time for a rebuttal.


With the society in an alarmingly increasing freedom of expression and speech, there is also a rapid decline of morals.


The man could have just told them to shut up and make up with a lesser evil approach but he had to do it with a greater evil.


Euphemism. Just how keen are we in using this?


How many times have you had someone you disliked tell it straight to their faces that they are fugly and would never be happy for the rest of their damned lives?


I had and hurt many lives. It was inexcusable. It showed everything I am from personality to breeding and finally how I perceive others.


But I have learned to be more adapted to people especially now where most people can be really bit**y and complaining about minute albeit totally resolvable things plus the gap between social classes are becoming more pronounced so to speak.


Incessant discrimination is all around us and that is the truth but you don't have to "ride with the tide". The world is brash and we don't need to add to this.


If people just look more into the situation than telling people outright, without thinking clearly, how one feels then this might just help us to be better people.


The question lingers and it's challenging you: how can you be a euphemist?

Early Morning Nuisances

The younger child pressed the pillow against the tiny ears. It was that time of the day again. That time of Saturday.


The shout was heard across two blocks, it was irritating to say the least. It was an early morning after all. A time to relax after five days of non-stop, ever-enduring, homework-giving, stress-inducing, quiz-popping, early-waking, recitation-dreading, schooling.


The shout was now heard from just a block away, the younger child tried so hard to push the pillows against the tiny ears but it was just futile. It was more irritating than the first, louder, and more pronounced. Add to that of the sun's first glorious rays, spectacular as it may seem, did not help the younger child to go back to sleep. The child grumbled on the pressed pillow. His words were of dismay. His sleep was definitely cut short and that is bad. Too bad.


He had to think fast! He had to do it now! He remembered what they were taught at school, of counting sheeps, of thinking 'happy moments', of, uh, of...the younger child can not think anymore. The sun has risen to its full shining, glaring, scorching glory add to that a yelling Mother downstairs calling to her sleeping kids upstairs.


The younger child grumbled some more on the pillow, grumbled all he could, grumbled as if the pillow made a grave mistake.


If the pillow only had eyes it would have cried and if it had ears it would have dashed out from the kid's suffocating grip. But sadly it was stuck in between the arms of a perilously disturbed sleep of the younger child. 


And then it happened. The most annoying thing that anyone could ever do, that a stranger could ever do. The taho vendor standing in front of their house, shouted the younger kid's name in all its full volume.


Ah!!! That does it, the younger child jumped out of bed, unlatched the pillows, dashed, no, ran downstairs, dissing the calling Mother, dissing the scrumptious breakfast, and out the garage. Making his toes tip just so to confirm the presence of the man. The man who officially just ruined the beginning of a school-free weekend.


The younger kid opened their gate. Walking heavily along the dusted street ala cowboy. The vendor smiled at the younger child. No reciprocation.


Infuriated and disappointed. A smile would not do anything. No. The sleep had been disturbed. He has to pay. He would knock the sock out of this person. If the kid could. The kid could at least try.


Within a feet away, the younger child gritted. Oh it was a grit like that of a cat's hiss.


The younger child was about to jump towards the taho vendor but suddenly he laid out his hand and on his hand he was holding a large cup of taho.


The child apprehended. No, it couldn't be. A bribe. Yes, definitely a bribe of some sort or it could be a reward. The child got confused.


Still holding the cup of that sweet, yummy, creamy taho, the kid looked a little better. The grit was transformed into closed lips and silence, bowing down.


And with what little pride, or at least how pride works at that age, the younger kid grabbed the cup and dashed home just wearing a shirt and underwear.

Just A Thought

You don't have to explain yourself to everyone.

The Friend of a Friend...

Oh I could just laugh hysterically.


K, your friends do delight me ever so much.


The third time I've been asked the golden proverbial question.


Have we done it yet?


Heavens no, sweet, sweet A. We haven't done it yet. You naughty, naughty boy.


Well, because K is a friend and you are...an exception.


And where is that little boy we tagged along? Waiting for K are you?


Why don't you join us first while K mixes you a drink. 


He did promise you a drink after all.


But we didn't promise you anything. 


And don't play innocent with us.


You do know that four boys on a Sunday morning, on a drunken state, and on a libido rush ain't anything but a promising fun.


Can you say, cuatro leche mi amigos?










Part 3