Monthly Archives: March 2009

Exhibit A

I am not deceitful. I am not perfect but I am not a hypocrite. I may sound better and clearer on paper, but this doesn’t mean I’m hiding something toxic when my fingers are not holding a pen or typing on a keyboard.

I don’t even know how to go about proving this. Can this even be proved? Sure, I forget many things that I’ve said before, but that’s mainly due to my poor memory than a deliberate strategy to fool people.

How can I prove this?

I don’t have any evidence to show the jurors. I mean, how can I persuade someone to believe that I am telling the truth both in person and in writing? It’s really puzzling.

This blog entry is truthful. All the gods can search inside me now and I know for a fact that they’ll say the same thing.

Perhaps the confusion has to do with the duality of my persona? I’m more silent in person but sound argumentative in writing. Maybe I will also be more argumentative in person if I had this much space to talk without a gun pointed in my head.

The biggest problem is I don’t really have big problems with the world right now. I can stay silent for days and my heart will still be at peace. Of course there are little things that bother me from time to time, but really, they’re nothing.

All these words typed and I bet I haven’t convinced anyone at all. Rorschach would probably call me a smooth-talker. Are all smooth-talkers liars?

Hell, no.

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Goodbye, Waffle Building!

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She told me that a friend told her that the building looked like a waffle.

I rarely see the entire building when I’m walking briskly to the office. I just know it’s blue, grimy blue.

And in that grimy blue waffle building, as I wrote that impromptu resignation letter in the same interview room where the best days of my working life started, my mind couldn’t help but be filled with flashbacks.

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“That” MRT Song

30% of my working life is probably spent riding the MRT. I’ve made dozens of observations on it, most of them rather superficial and stupid. I even wrote a short story on it a long time ago. Riding that train twice a day for almost three years now has made me kinda like an organic part of it. I’m probably inextricable from it, a mark of a true working class man who has to ride the cheapest, most sweaty transportation in the city to get things done.

But the MRT is not just a place to sniff the dripping armpits of people from every part of the metro. It is also a place where, as I found out, two people can share happy, cheesy moments together. While everyone is busy looking outside at the dilapidated buildings and rusty railroad tracks, my blue fairy and I could be found just cherishing the 15-minute ride from North Ave. to Shaw Boulevard. Some people could probably see us singing to this song:

WONDERFUL MISTAKE
By: Fairground

I have been broken once or twice
Walked over fire, got crashed on the street
Jumped off a cliff, not a feather on my back
Yet I still smile every time I fall

Coz you’re my magic, my superpower, my red cape
You’re my guilty pleasure, beautiful insanity
You call me crazy, the fool of the town
Just give me a kiss and I’ll do it all over again

I’d stop a train if I had the chance
Drive a motorbike to the edge of the world
Ride a shooting star in a white wedding dress
And blow you a kiss as I pass by

Coz you’re my magic, my superpower, my red cape
You’re my guilty pleasure, beautiful insanity
You call me crazy, the fool of the town
Just give me a kiss and I’ll do it all over again
You’re my magic, my superpower, my red cape
Just give me a kiss and I’ll do it all over again…

I have been broken time and again
Shattered and bruised, running on a limb
I could spend my life crushed and bent
But I won’t let go of this wonderful mistake

Coz you’re my magic, my superpower, my red cape
You’re my guilty pleasure, beautiful insanity
You call me crazy, the fool of the town
Just give me a kiss, just give me a kiss
You’re my magic, my superpower, my red cape
You’re my guilty pleasure, beautiful insanity
You call me crazy, the fool of the town
Just give me a kiss and I’ll do it all over again

I didn’t really like this song at first, but my ears somehow got used to its tune. She said it sounds like a theme song of a radio station. I kinda agree. It got to the point however that this song got so stuck in my head that I had to get an MP3 of it. After some quick research, I found its lyrics, which made me love the song even more. I can completely relate to the mushiness of it which tells of someone’s sacrifice for a love that’s not necessarily all pleasure. “Wonderful Mistake” was written by the band Fairground, of which no information could be gathered online except from this website.

So here it is now, for anyone who also wants to hear its entirety. Download THAT MRT SONG right here.

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A Crazy Plot Twist

I feel like a man who suddenly laughed too loudly in a room full of people, causing everyone to fall silent. That deafening, crushing silence strangled me, and now my eyes are darting from the horrible stern faces to the doorway, seriously considering to run for my life.

Maybe I laughed too hard, got overjoyed shamelessly. It’s like, for a long, long time, I was trying to find my way to the Gingerbread House, and when I finally got there, that old witch cooked me with overflowing glee. She was waiting for me all this time, peering from the jelly-coated window.

I want to throw myself a huge house party. I’ve never been in one before, except kids’ birthday parties. But no, that’s not the kind I’m drooling over now. I want a house party that’s kind of like those cool high school parties in teenage Hollywood films. People who I barely know will be drowning in beer, topless girls will be dancing over tables, couples high with booze will be going all the way in every corner of the room. And I’ll lose myself in that noisy crowd, shut myself inside the bathroom, puking my guts out.

See, it’s not fair — or is it? I’ve got to feel this one last time. I want all the laughter and smiles in the world to be squeezed into a red-hot, glowing ball and I’ll swallow it and burst into a gazillion pieces of debris, some of my bloody parts hitting interested people in the face. And then I’ll die and everyone can finally have their laugh. A swarm of flies will come from miles away from every direction just to feed on my brains and lay eggs on my eyes.

You should know by now that I’m speaking in metaphors. Well, there’s no other way to go about it. This feeling is too big for plain old prose.

I can only admit that I was defeated. Someone, some freakin’ genius won a very important battle in this war, leaving me crying like a brat on my blog. I’m not pointing fingers at anyone though. This huge pile of crap partly came from my own ass. That’s a fact. But the real question is what to do now that this stinkin’ blob of shit is sticking to the soles of my shoes.

There are people clinging to me. This defeat is symbolic, which makes it huge. Whatever happened to the greatness that is myself? Where have all my superpowers gone? Some nasty business in faraway shores sucked all my mutant abilities and now I’m just a normal, boring guy. I’m technically trash.

How I wish I can prevent her from looking anywhere else. I’m here. I’m still here. A pile of papers with my name and signature on it gets thrown into a garbage can but I’m still here. I wish I could perform something funny in front of her to make her see that I am still interesting. All the wit is still inside my thick skull, believe me. I’ve still got some plans. How I wish she’d continue to miss me as I am missing her right now.

But it’s Friday the 13th a while ago, so that probably explains everything. Everything is supposed to go loony on such a day. If I’m proud of anything within the few couple of hours that passed, it’s that this blog entry didn’t sound at all emo. No, this blog entry is like the sniggers after a powerful laughter.

I’m still dazed now. I’m writing uncontrollably someone stop measdklgn;askdgnljha b,m gf;askugfigaosicd asdkfnpasidjbfovgomsdf’hpogk]

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WATCH OUT! “Watchmen” is NOT for Everyone

Despite its complex, unfamiliar narrative, I give Watchmen FIVE out of FIVE stars

I finished reading “Watchmen” last year, 2008. I became obsessed with comic books that year because “The Dark Knight” just blew me away. I wanted to know what else DC Comics has to offer and I after some research, I found out that the graphic novel “Watchmen” is a must-read.

“Watchmen” is a graphic novel, although the creators didn’t intend for it to be called that way. A graphic novel is a type of comic book that is usually very lengthy and has a complex, multi-layered storyline. Watchmen is composed of twelve comic books originally issued separately, and then combined later to form a graphic novel format.

The graphic novel was published between 1986 and 1987. As such, its concerns were about the Cold War, Vietnam, right-wing politics, and the degeneration of the simple ways of life through the advent of fast technology and pressing social issues. The comic book only amplified these issues through its revolutionary treatment of the concept of “superheroes.” Continue reading

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Edi Naging si Shaider Sana Ako

Meron yata akong messiah complex.

Kahit noong bata pa ako, lagi ko nang iniisip na ako ang bida sa istorya at may kailangan akong sagipin. Para akong si Shaider, merong Laser Blade, Blue Hawk, at robot para patumbahin ang mga kalabang halimaw na mukhang higanteng gomang dinosaurs. Dati rin, ginagaya ko si Mask Rider Black tapos kunyari umuusok yung katawan ko dahil sa nag-uumapaw na kapangyarihan. Tapos magra-Rider Punch at Rider Kick ako sa ere para gapiin ang isang invisible na kampon ng kadiliman.

Merong magandang babae sa huli ng istorya na kakalasin ko mula sa mga makamandag na lubid o nangangaing halaman, at hahalikan nya ko kahit nakamaskara pa ko. Babalik ako sa isang sulok ng lungsod, magta-transform, at magiging normal na nerd na lalaki ulit.

Pero nung tumanda ako, napagtanto ko na hindi lahat ng tao — hindi lahat ng babae — kailangang sagipin. Sa totoo lang, marami sa kanila ang mas malakas pa sa’ken. Ako pa nga ang dapat nilang akayin palabas ng madilim na kuweba at itayo sa mga paa sa huli ng istorya. Nakakainis na malamang hindi pala ako ang nag-iisang bida sa kuwento na ito. Akala ko dati ako ang protagonist at side characters lang ‘tong mga mukha sa paligid, pero may mga sarili din pala silang bungkos ng mga pahina. At minsan, mas interesante pa nga ang mga twist nila kesa dito sa nobela ko.

Hanggang ngayon, wala yata akong pinagbago. Gusto ko pa rin manligtas ng ibang tao — higit sa lahat, gusto kitang iligtas.

Hindi naman kailangan. Malinaw naman na hindi malinaw ang tama at ang mali. Malinaw naman kung sinong mas may ibubuga, kung sinong mas may tapang at experience, pero hindi ko pa rin maalis sa sistema ko na gustuhing isalba ka.

Kasi kung ako lang ang masusunod, nais ko talagang bumalik sa oras at malipat ng ibang lokasyon sa kasaysayan. Gusto ko sana nandon ako sa Ilocos o sa Baguio. Do’n dapat ako lumaki, natutong mag-drowing, nakipag-langit-lupa, Monkey-Anabelle, elementary at high school.

Kung nando’n lang ako magiging crush kita. Hindi mo ko papansinin pero ido-drawing kita araw-araw. Magsusulat ako ng mga baduy na tula na ipapahulog ko sa bag mo sa tulong ng best friend ko (dapat nandon si D’Artagnan). Tapos magugulat ka na lang kasi meron na do’ng trying hard na english love poem tungkol sa kung paano mo nai-inspire ang isang taong iniisnab-isnab mo lang. Titingin lang ako at mangangarap habang kasama mo boyfriend mo. Magpapansin lang ako sa klase sa pamamagitan ng mga korning jokes para baka sakaling lumingon ka sa direksyon ko. Masaya na ‘ko nun. Makakapag-aral na ko ng maayos nun.

Tapos sa Baguio, magpapakalublob lang ako sa library kahit hindi gaanong malaki yung library sa UP Baguio. Hahanapin ko kung sa’n yung mga gigs mo, tapos i-schedule ko ng walang sablay para makapunta ko sa lahat. Do’n lang ako sa mga suluk-sulok, parang stalker pero mas masaya naman siguro. Kasama ko malamang si D’Artagnan, tapos iinom kami habang pinapanood kang kumanta at magwala sa stage.

Sa labas, madadatnan nanaman kitang inaaya ng boyfriend mong umuwi. Baka nag-aaway kayo, baka sinasaktan ka nya, ‘di ko alam, pero kung dalawa lang kayo do’n, makiki-epal ako. “‘Tol, wag kang nananakit ng babae!” Magagalit sya at mahihiya ako pero baka manaig yung ka-Shaideran ko. Sana hindi ako umuwing pasa-pasa.

O kaya kahit pakapalan na ng mukha, mag-aabot ulit ako ng love letter sa paborito kong bokalista. Ipapabigay ko kay D’Artagnan kasi mas makapal mukha no’n sa’kin eh. “Abot mo naman sa kanya o. Sabihin mo galing kay Codename Tomas.” Tapos sa susunod na makita kita, aasahan kong bigla mong bubuklatin yung sulat na yun at babasahin mo ng nakangiti habang umiinom ka ng kape at naninigarilyo. Masaya na ko nun. Makakatulog na ko ng mahimbing nun.

At kung sakali mang suwertehin ako, magkaro’n ng himala at maging kaibigan mo ‘ko, tatawagin ko talaga atensyon mo ‘pag may inuman. Hindi ako papayag na paglaruan ka lang ng mga lalaking hindi naman kayang tapatan ako sa sayawan. Hindi kita hahayaang mag-isa. Magpapatawa ako para ngumisi ka man lang o mag-comment ng “Korni mo!” Kakalabitin kita ‘pag malayo tingin mo at aalukin kita ng Chippy. Kailangan mo akong itapon para lubayan kita. Yun ay, kung bibigyan mo yung tagahanga mo ng pagkakataong lumapit sa’yo. Kasi sa totoo lang, sa sobrang taas ng pagtingin ko sa’yo, baka tumakbo ako pag kinausap mo ‘ko.

Pero sasagipin kita. Susubukan ko kahit wala ‘kong powers tulad nung ibang characters; kahit hindi mo ko halikan sa huli habang nakamaskara pa ko.

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Love in the Office and the Duality of Modernity

I am in favor of office romances, you know, love between fellow employees.

Now, that statement is almost kind of taboo in this capitalist world frantic with competition and productivity issues. For me, however, office romances are like those unexplored theories regarding human feelings and their role and place in the modern world. It’s like that long-held belief about gay men not being effective in the military because their insufficiently macho sexuality might prove harmful to national defense. Modernity has this curious obsession with objectivity disguised as promotion of science, but in many ways, it’s just one more tool for alienation and preservation of the status quo.

Feelings are not welcome in the public space. People have to hide them inside their rooms, so this world would supposedly run more smoothly.

I think modernity has this crazy duality or contradiction. On the one hand, it promotes customization and freedom of self-expression, but on the other hand, because of the capitalistic machine that is its main economic driving force, “consumers” are forced to push all that creativity and honesty into relatively cramped spaces called “private lives.” When they wear those uniforms, they become faceless once again. As workers, they lose their identities in order to sell better identities to others. A sales clerk may be the same as any other sales clerk in a cosmetics stall, but she can offer you some makeup products so, as a customer, you can be who you want to be.

I believe that office romances have very positive effects in terms of productivity. I know because I live such a life and I’m very happy. Critics might say, “Well, you’re happy that’s why your productivity is unaffected, but what happens when your relationship suddenly turns sour?”

Well, that again is a biased interpretation of feelings and their effects in the workplace. It’s as if before office romances, employees have been working like robots devoid of feelings. That’s bullsh*t. Every employee has subjective, personal motives for working. Now and then, those personal motives flood the workspace and they express their unique humanity through them. That is why you have coworkers that are rebels, coworkers who are hopeless romantics, coworkers who are outspoken gays and lesbians. You know these people for who they are because they’ve always been — now and then — honest in the workplace.

Given this fact that no worker is absolutely faceless and devoid of identity in the workplace, why do many people look down on employees in love with each other? Isn’t love just another expression of identity that surfaces every now and then?

One assumption is that you will be less inspired to do work because your main focus is to cuddle your officemate. Isn’t that absurd? Why not assume that you will be more inspired to work your ass off because you want to prove that you’re a decent, hardworking man to your officemate? Isn’t that a fair assumption, too?

There are many ways to avoid potential productive issues and I outlined them in one article for LifeHackery. I believe that once capitalism becomes more open to the idea that self-expression breeds more productivity, it will realize that affection between employees is generally not harmful to work.

It’s all a matter of productive forces breaking out of relations of production, like old-school Marxism. Productivity will speak for itself. Capitalism cannot remain this way forever. Workers will soon be free in the workplace just as they are in their bedrooms, and society will enjoy more goods, this time, more sincerely produced from the heart.

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Dedicated to cool folks. ๐Ÿ˜€

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