This is a dump site for my sometimes psychotic plans, embarrassing experiences, frustrations and suicidal heartaches. These things should go together in one place. Some wastes when buried well become the best of fertilizers. In the same way, bad memories and feelings, when kept and remembered, bring out the best decisions in life. Dig on my dirt!
Life is beautiful. It is full of surprises. It is a gift we are all blessed for.
For people who do not know what life is all about, life equals misery. Breathing becomes agony. So is mere talking and even touching a fellow’s hand. Sadly, life seems to be only a compulsory to be accepted and made use of. It’s as if men are only doing the Creator a favor – to live for a while and give Him a chance to enjoy their temporary presence in this planet. It may not run this way in the minds of those who do not know what life means, but somehow, it’s quite the same. Living and not knowing what to do, living and not knowing where to go, living an not knowing what one’s purpose is all about... Now, how does that make one feel?
“Men set out their way on express trains, but they do not know what they are looking for. Then they rush about and get excited, and turn round and round.” These lines were said by the little prince as he was talking to the Pilot upon their arrival at that one special well on the Sahara Desert. For a long while, they searched for water and the time came when what they were looking for appeared in front of them. And they stopped to acknowledge it. The little prince, who always talks in child-like riddles, must have meant that people must know what they truly need or what they want, for if not, how will they be able to begin their quest for finding the things they love to achieve or take hold of?
It also tells us, that deep within everyone else there’s that certain longing for worth. People try to look for it because they’re told it is the essence of life. Too overwhelmed by life’s prerequisite for satisfaction, however, the search becomes dull and painful; and unconsciously the search will lead one only to nowhere. There will be no specific destination because the tracks where footsteps had been marked will only remain as tracks to the unknown destination, when in fact, one could have stopped in any of those places and be happy right there and then. Living and not knowing what to look for is like strolling on a labyrinth. There may be quite a number of passages and opened gates, but the pathways will only be repititions of what has happened earlier or so. Life becomes a routine, and it should not be that way.
Life is beautiful. It is full of surprises. It is a gift we are all blessed for. That’s what I mentioned above. But I can’t convince myself easily. Perhaps because I still don’t know what I want to do after I graduate. I’m too overwhelmed by the thought of living independently and having a career of my own. That scares me. Or it could be that I already know what I want and I’m certain about my ambition but I pretend not to know because of fear, because my happiness is at stake. So I walk not going to the right direction and keep coming back to the places where I know I’m safe, to places where I’m already familiar with. But all the same, I will not get to the place where I want to go.
I picked the line from the story because of selfish reasons. And that is to save myself from getting lost in my quest for worth purpose and happiness. “Men set out their way on express trains, but they do not know what they are looking for. Then they rush about and get excited, and turn round and round.”
Somewhere, sometime in this quest...I hope to see the little prince. I know he’s just there somewhere.
My mother scolded me, not only once or twice, for being disobedient to the things she keeps on telling me. How many times? I’m not sure. Her request was simple. And so I nodded at first thinking that I could do what she wanted me to. Yeah, but... It seemed easy, I had forgotten. It seemed easy, it just passed my mind. 3 hours and a few minutes wasn’t that long, I suppose, but there I went running towards home, happily singing and jumping and humming a new tune I just learned from school. I greeted my mom and showed her the star my teacher gave me.
She attempted to smile, I’m sure I saw it. Then like a sudden whip of her hardworking hands, they made it’s way near my collar and checked my pink necktie falling, wet at some point, below my neck.
“Kapila na ka naho gi-ingnan nga di kan-on ang necktie! How many times have I told you not to bite your necktie?”, the dragon breathed out the dangerous fire once again.
I was just 2 then. I went to a Day Care Center and it so happened that the uniform little girls are required to wear includes a tiny pink necktie. It wasn’t really necessary, but for fashion’s sake, many believed it was a must. I followed the norm and worn the uniform as graceful as I can. The grace seemed temporary, however. Especially at times when my hand unconsciously picked up the pink tie that goes straight to my mouth. It became a habit I subconsciously learned to love and repeat over and over again. Every day became another day of disobedience. Every day, one pink necktie was punished, bit and chewed. Every day, one pink necktie went home crumpled and used.
I was just 2 then. Put zero beside it and I’m 18 years older.
Sadly, there’s no more pink necktie now.
No more dress code to follow.
No more rules to abide.
There’s too much freedom I can make my own regulations. Too much freedom there’s no one to disobey.
I miss being a child. I miss being unknowing and naive. I’m 20 now...a woman, that’s what they say. I can never wear that pink necktie once again. I’m now a woman. But I can wear a pink scarf, perhaps. I still have to find out what I’m gonna do with it. There may be no more pink necktie and disobedience now, but definitely there will be a pink scarf and that little bit of sin waiting for me.
What the human ears hear may or may not always reflect what the human heart feels. The melody may go together with the tempo, the lyrics and voices all combined, but the painful cry always gives its final echo before it ends.
Here’s a mash-up I came up with. Read. Sing. Above all, feel.
Apologize – Bleeding Love
It’s too late to apologize....
It’s too laaaaaate...
(Beatbox starts)
(Pampam starts --- soprano tune)
(Melody) Closed off from love I didn't need the pain Once or twice was enough And it was all in vain Time starts to pass Before you know it you're frozen ...
Oooh yeah...
(Beatbox is louder for this part)
(Pokpotokpokpok --- Melody)
(Blending --- Soprano: same lyrics)
(Melody)But I don't care what they say I'm in love with you They try to pull me away But they don't know the truth My heart's crippled by the vein That I keep on closing You cut me open...
(Ooooohhhh and Aaaaaahhh girls)
(Beatbox deeper and slower)
(Melody) It's too late to apologize, it's too late
I said it's too late to apologize, it's too late, whoa whoa
I said it's too late to apologize, yeah
I said it's too late to apologize, yeah
And it's draining all of me (Keep bleeding...) Oh they find it hard to believe (And it’s too late to apologize...) I'll be wearing these scars For everyone to see.... (To see --- blending)
Keep bleeding... Keep, keep bleeding in love (It’s too late...) I keep bleeding I keep, keep bleeding in love (It’s too late...) Keep bleeding Keep, keep bleeding in love (It’s too late...)
To apologize...It’s too late... You cut me open ...
(Performed on August 12, 2010 at the Skimmers’ Mini-Litmus, Acapella 1st Runner Up)
So, now I am the star. Thanks for giving me the fame I never asked for.
I did not expect this to reach this level. I thought the Big Nose Monster was just part of a delusion. I thought she only existed in my imagination that in a given snap, she will disappear. I was too confident I thought she was a nightmare I could always escape by waking up. ‘Lo and behold! I thought I was the only one fighting against this silent battle. But then I learned she has gotten ready her troupe, anytime ready to attack me.
I’m aware of the things I did in her class, most especially the things I didn’t. I am a big fan of the golden rule anyway; that could be the reason. "Do not do unto others what you don’t want others to do unto you." Whatever is given to me, I give back all the same, particularly if it leans on the negative side.
However, that one day when I did not show up in class, I felt something was different. I was told she discussed about my shortcomings; without my presence, that is, in front of the whole class. The Big Nose Monster acted like a villain pretending to show concern for me, but pulling me down anyway, slowly all at the same time. While I was away and quiet, she destroyed me as she projected her self-destruction to me, perhaps wanting a companion in a destruction she enjoyed so much. So she told my classmates about this and that about me. So much the same with how I talk about her in front of them, then. The only difference is, they agree with me. I don’t know with her. Well, I’m not really sure, but who would not want to assume? So with that, I guess the feeling is neutral. So OK. We hate each other.
My classmates tell me to give in to her just in the few remaining months for the semester and try to prove her wrong about her perception about me. But then I answer, “If I do it, if do better in class, will it really bring some change?” I don’t think so. My image has been distorted inside her brain, so much like hers in mine. Yeah. I have my weaknesses. I do not deny that. But this is not my fault alone. Both of us contributed a conflict in this commotion.
But I’m not giving up. The moment I knew she was fighting back, I have decided to make the fight worth it. Seldom do I engage in situations like this - might as well aim for victory.
Don’t ever ask me why. The only answer you will get is: “Why not?”
When a star is born, it doesn’t really shine its brightest all at once. It waits until it grows. And when it does, its glow will even be brighter than what is expected.
Watch out. I will be that star. She wanted me to be one. Then I will be.
When darkness slowly invades the upper partof the horizon, lights begin to flood the highways. But beneath those big lamp posts are tiny little dark corners where the shadows lurk. And in those little shaded angles fire up a flesh warming extravaganza – what we all know as sex.
Lights. Camera. Action.
UPV Indie Org Logo.
I dream of becoming a film maker. I like to write. And I want to see my writings in motion the way I imagined them to be. In the big screen, maybe? Too ambitious. But yeah, reality check. Film making is not as easy as imagining things. The mind of a writer travels as far as he wants to go the second he wishes to do so. It takes him wherever his story leads him.
I see a crowded disco bar. Bodies move. Sensual and free. Glistening sweat slowly drip from the hair to the neck. To the collar bone and to the cleavage of this one wasted girl intimately dancing from one man to another. Her long hair, wet and messed up, stick to her sweaty skin. Not paying attention to her being wasted, she continues dancing as she approaches a waiter and asks for another drink. No, she begged for a drink...and somehow is near to breaking down as her forehead begins to wrinkle, her mouth begins to frown and her eyes begin to water.
And then, in just a few seconds...
There’s a man in his forties alone in a dark and dirty prison cell. He sits against the wall. His knees are curled up to his body and his head is buried between the legs. He whispers words only he can understand. Another language, maybe. Or a dialect he grew up with in a region only he can tell. He raises his head. It feels the wall behind him. He starts with a grin and then it becomes laughter. He bangs the back of his head to the wall. The laughter grows louder. But I’m not anymore certain if it is just laughter by itself. I can hear pain and regret.
Back to reality. See what I mean? Only the imagination can do that. However, in film making, you can’t be on your own and then...it’s done! You need people to work with. Creativity is just part of the whole thing. Technical crews, creative team, talents, financers. All these are just few of the things to be considered in making a film. Good thing, Indie Films are “in” these days. And to state a fact, according to various publicities Indie Films are considered the country’s front strategy to uplift our own entertainment industry. The awards Filipino Film Makers have gathered in and out of the country are actual evidences how good or how high our potential really is in the field.
Indie Films are low budgeted films usually tackling issues in the society affecting the majority. Others engaged in this field call it Guerrilla Film Making. According to Mr. Jurilla, one of the speakers on a workshop I have attended, “Guerrilla” means an act of deviance for the common good. Most Indie Films engage on topics mainstream movies do not embark upon. It deals with issues rather not brought about in a confrontation, but only silently ignored and left untouched in the minds of individuals. These kinds of film are not made for commercialization. Most of all, it calls for action among its viewers.
But one thing, utterly obvious, upsets me. Why do most Indie Films tackle about sexuality? About gays and lesbos? About the red light business? About sexual harassments and sexual discriminations?
A scene from Serbis. Directed by Brillante Ma. Mendoza.
Poster of Lihim Ni Antonio. A film by Joselito Altejeros.
Sexuality is not the only problem the society faces. There are so many things that we need to attend to other than sex, lust and the likes. Education. Employment. Politics. Economy. Religion. Family. These are rather more important issues than what had become a trend subject for most Indie Films.
A scene from the film UPCAT. Directed by Roman Olivares.
A scene in Anita Linda's tribute indie film "Adela." Directed by Adolfo Alix Jr.
“Indie Films are low budgeted films usually tackling issues”, but nobody in history defined it as cheap films all because of its content and how the concept is executed! “Indie Film making is an act of deviance for the common good.” What does sex contribute for the common good then? “These kinds of film are not made for commercialization.” Well, sex sells. “It calls for action among its viewers.” What action does sex suggest from its viewers?
I haven’t started my own film yet. But I will be - starting in Indie Org.
When darkness begins to embrace the light, it’s not just about the flesh anymore and what it needs. It could be many things.
Defeat. Sorrow. Death. Losing direction. Frustration. Addiction. After all, it depends on the creativity of the imagination. And creativity is not always about sex.
Her nose is
big and she knows it. Mine is just half of what she has on the middle of her
face.
I don’t
have to define in detail how big it really is. I give you the freedom to
imagine.
Imagine the
volume of air entering her nose all at once. Or what else could get inside her
nose? We do not know.
Imagine the degree of air
blowing my hair away during her exhalation, which is not rare. Most especially
when she’s exasperated or when she’s attacked by her surprisingly childish
tantrums in spite of her age, which by the way, happens almost every time we
meet.
How monstrous could the Big
Nose Monster get?
A BIG (nose) SIGH FROM ME.
Don’t get me wrong. I don’t hate her because of her immeasurable nose. That’s superficial.
Now let me tell you the
story...
She used to be somebody I
look up to. She’s eloquent in words. She always made sure she is presentable in
class. She had lots of beautiful plans for her students. I saw her interest and
passion in her profession. There was happiness in her eyes when she was
teaching, although she did not bother to express them in words. She knew what
she was doing.
But all my praises turned
into cuss words when the model professor I used to admire became different.
Different in the sense that she lost her “built-in” enthusiasm that I noticed during
the first few months since I met her.
Her attendance in class can
now be counted. Or if she comes in class, she’s late. She is whiny and
sleepy!!! Class activities are now passed through email. The true sense of open
class discussions and pop quizzes deteriorates.
Well, it could have been
better that way, whether I get a grade lower than the average or higher. Better
that way, whether I come to class prepared or clueless. I don’t care. Better
that way than this way when her lack of enthusiasm affects me and brings out
the worst of what I could become.
I lose the eagerness of
coming to her class. I refuse to listen to what she tells us. I always find the
lessons lacking. The discussions only reach the surface level of every topic being
argued about. Huh, my mind is not on a diet to deserve this kind of teaching! Leftovers
--- seems like she dwells on issues we’ve already gotten used to. No more thrill.
All those become tasteless. Food for the brain? Not anymore, but poison.
Just earlier, I remember her
say, “Thanks to the previous classes for making your lives easier.” Fine. Thank
you previous classes.
Another BIG (nose) SIGH. How
I wish I could thank her as well. But I just can’t find enough reason to do so.
Right now.
What has she done to our
lives? She took the joy out of us. Took the joy out of learning. By the way, I
want it clear. I am not looking for ease. Neither am I looking for complication.
I want a little bit or maybe too much of both. Just both. And since she became
different, as I mentioned above, the highs and lows are gone. She had created a
pattern I always come to figure out and sadly, get worn out with. I want it
unpredictable. I want it fun...like the old days? I hope she could remember.
Whew! Well, she has her own
reason why such is such. Internal clash maybe? Or perhaps some environmental
consequences she chose to keep for herself? But without hypocrisy, whatever
nightmare she’s in right now, I want her to wake up and realize there’s still a
world that awaits her, real world for that matter--- crash out of course the
creatures she has seen in her bad dreams.
I think the Big Nose Monster
is not really that bad. She just had forgotten how to be good. Or it could be
that she’d gotten tired of being good and took a little break. Or she just
wanted to try something new for a while. Or... So on and so forth. Point is, she
can’t be like that forever.
At the end of the day, the
Big Nose Monster continues to breathe.
And it still remains a
mystery what else could get inside a nose as big as hers.
