Monthly Archives: April 2010

Neverland: 107 Days to Go (A Failed Attempt at Self-Flagellation)

Yes, yes, crucify me! Pour gasoline on me then let my carcass burn through the night so the crackling fire and black smoke can serve as warning to all those who go back on their word!

I am guilty of not maintaining my countdown to Never, Neverland. And now, I cannot remember what happened in all those days since I last wrote a decent entry. All those rare, precious days are unrecorded now; forever forgotten by a man who tries desperately to remember them all.

After a year of living without Chemae, I’d reread my blog and notice the excruciating jump from 116 Days to 107 Days. I’d curse myself for being such a lazy-ass moron. Yes, there are only 107 Days to go before everything happy around me breathes their final breath. And I’m failing at remembering. Continue reading

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Forever Children

I’ve been really caught up with the concept of “maturity” for the longest time because of this gut feeling that I haven’t been maturing normally as could be expected with someone my age. I just chalk it up to abnormal hormonal levels and processes (since I am premature), which I also partly blame for the failure of my voice box to develop, and so therefore, my irritatingly high-pitched voice so unattractive to ladies.

But things that happened very recently made me reconsider what it is to be “mature,” what it is to be an “adult.” Of course the roughest measuring stick for that is our biological age, but we all think of something else when we say “We are already mature” or when a woman says, “I like a mature man.” It’s got something to do with reasoned thinking, stability of the mind, direction, purpose, solidity of personal plans and relationship with yourself.

Or so we’d like to think of it that way. It came to me last night that maturity, in a nutshell, is just our perceived success with our personal goal of filling in someone else’s shoes. I say “perceived success” because I think we always fail. And the most amusing part is that we never really become older in the process — we remain to be directionless infants needing guidance.

Maturity is a myth. It’s Santa Clause, Tooth Fairy and the Loch Ness Monster. No one in the history of all mankind has become an adult. But it is a fact that we are all purposeless cry-babies wanting someone strong and wise and powerful to lead us to where we should go. And in our effort to be like our father, mother, grandfather, grandmother, teacher, fictional heroic character — we fashion ourselves as ascending to a new level of wisdom and personal worth called “maturity” or “adulthood.” But there’s no such thing. We are, as it were, doomed to follow the steps of our own mature hero, scurry in his gigantic sheltering shadow while believing in the lie that we absolutely know what we are doing; that we are now capable and equipped with a newfound wisdom and sense of purpose. The world, as it seems to me, is one immense game of tag where all of us try our best to catch our heroes and be like them. But all along, our heroes are also snotty children themselves seeking comfort for they cannot ever catch their own heroes, their true maturity slipping away into the unreachable horizon.

I think of all this because now I’m done with this whole issue of “growing up.” I’m ready to live like a child all my life with all honesty. Perhaps that path is more fun.

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Inspired by a friend

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Like Regular Coffee

Karl is on the loose. He’s shooting everybody who annoys him with his dad’s Glock 17 fitted with a silencer. He doesn’t wince.

He passed by a guy who looked him up and down with his eyebrows knotted and his mouth in an impatient line. Karl sidestepped, pulled out his gun from his pocket, and before the surprised stranger could utter a word of surprise, he was down on the ground, leaking blood.

No one saw what happened until three minutes later when a car drove along the street. The woman driving went hysterical, almost had a heart attack.

Meanwhile, Karl walked on.

He passed by people with cold stares, square blank faces, dreamy eyelids. He wanted to shoot every one of them but that would catch too much attention. It’s important to get as many annoying people down as he can, and that won’t happen if the police gets to him too early this bright Saturday morning.

There was a need to smoke.

He went inside a store. Karl didn’t miss the guard’s head turning 180 degrees just to follow him with his vision. Needless to say, Karl didn’t like his suspicion and authoritative glare.

He turned around, revealing a pistol, shot the guard down with a bullet to the chest. He pulled him in a corner, beside the can of umbrellas designed with Pokemons. Continue reading

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Neverland: 116 Days to Go (Grasping and Losing Time’s Tail)

Time is a speedy motherf*cker. Can you believe it? Just 116 days to go now before my birthday death day party. Chemae and I wrote some articles, sent some Tweets here and there, went to a beach in Zambales, drank with friends, watched a movie and — ta-da! 17 precious days have already passed since I started counting down to D-Day. If I close my eyes now for a few seconds and take a breather, I might open them up to witness an airplane flying off toward the infinite blue sky.

More on how fast time trolls us all later. Now, a quick recap of days that went by.

120 Days to Go:

We watched Kick-Ass in Trinoma. I’ve been waiting for this movie for a long while because I’m really into this concept of superheroes without any powers — something I just learned now upon reflection. I got into Watchmen very easily despite its brooding and complex nature, and Batman is still my most favorite superhero. All these guys are crimefighters but they don’t have any super powers. I wonder if that says something about me?

Well, Kick-Ass was just pure of win. It’s so awesome that I’m still geeking about it today, which is increasingly making Chemae irritated. But make no mistake, despite her revulsion for flashy Hollywood movies with unbelievable plots — she liked Kick-Ass a lot, especially everyone’s inappropriate crush: the 13-year-old Hit Girl (actually, the character is just 10 years old). Now I’m following the actress who played the foulmouthed baby assassin on Twitter. Maybe the interest will wear off after a while.

119 Days to Go:

I woke up very hungry with my weight ghosts haunting my consciousness. Every time I feel hungry, I feel I’m losing too much weight and I’ll turn really, really ugly (I’m quite obsessed at maintaining and increasing my current weight. So I consider myself better than anorexics ’cause I’m actually hell-bent on doing the opposite thing they’re doing.)

Chemae and I went to the supermarket very early to buy a pack of danggit. The crunchy salted fish has been the stuff of our daydreams about food since we came back from Nagsasa where we fried some of it in front of the sea. So we bought an overpriced pack from SM North and went to our house where we cooked it along with some fried rice. It really amazed me that Chemae was amazed at me when she learned I eat fried rice every morning. Apparently, fried rice for her is like lechon — something people come up with during very, very special occasions. It’s really funny what we come to define as normal growing up in our own respective families. Hell, I used to think every one who ate a different kind of meal for breakfast, lunch and dinner were all really rich just because we never did that at home.

Back to danggit, Chemae was very close to punching me in the face because of how frustrated she was with what we bought. The brand we cooked didn’t turn crispy even after I cooked it for a long time in low and high fire. It also tasted so salty that you can put a millimeter of it in your mouth and that would’ve been enough to go with three spoonfools of rice. No tomatoes and eggs, too, like Chemae had been fantasizing. We vowed never to buy in SM’s crappy supermarket ever again.

In the afternoon, we went to Antarctica (where penguins rock). Chemae was very tired but nevertheless, happy. A new penguin had joined them. 😀 Continue reading

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“Kick-Ass” an Epic Win: Battle for the Best Superhero Film Over

Kick-Ass’ hero is still a loser even after the suit. But his movie doesn’t lack Pure Awesomeness.

Kick-Ass may have clearly shown once again what’s the big difference between regular audiences and film critics. The former just wants to be entertained, have fun and bring home a bucketful of cool memories from the cinema. The latter dissects that spontaneous experience, rolls it over with a two-ton truck, scoops out the shitty remains, and rates it with stars.

Forget Roger Ebert and what you may have heard about Kick-Ass’ “morally reprehensible” nature. The thing is, you’re missing the cinematic experience of your life if you let someone’s ethics and poor stomach for special-effects gore (which there isn’t that much anyway) stop you from watching Kick-Ass.

Read this review, then go out there and witness what I deem to be the best superhero film EVER. Continue reading

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Neverland: 121 Days to Go (Fast-forwarding the Fruitless Week)

Coming back from an awesome beach trip to Nagsasa, this week felt more incredibly dull as the city looked like a completely gray picture of staleness and pollution. The only thing that’s pushing me to continue doing my regular day-to-death activities is the prospect of a fun drinking session today, Friday, at Mogwai in Cubao Expo — the beehive of all the cool “artist” bees in the metro. But let it be known: I still prefer Sarah’s careless banter and layman philosophical talk over Mogwai’s. Still, with Lele, Angel and Rizch coming over, it should be great later.

And now, a quick review of this monotonous week, which just gobbled up 5 days of my precious time with Chemae:

125 Days to Go:

I kept thinking about how beautiful Nagsasa was compared to Pag-Asa, Quezon City and Ortigas Center, Pasig City. I worked and waited for our pictures to get uploaded on Facebook. Memories of danggit made my stomach growl and Chemae’s, too. I wore a white shirt.

124 Days to Go:

We are two very quiet and shy individuals. Our blogs betray our true personality. She wrote an insulting message over YM and I sent an insulting reply to her cell phone. That night, I felt like I was in a loony bin. She made me realize something valuable by inventing a very convincing facebook story. I wore my black company shirt. It was a good shirt and quite comfortable. Continue reading

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Our Truly Epic Nagsasa Cove Adventure (and My Equally Epic Blog About It): Part 3

I just loved my job as our beach chef. :D

I just loved my job as our beach chef. 😀

126 Days to go. There was no time for our hangovers when we woke up to our second morning in the alluring cove of Nagsasa in Zambales. I immediately got up, breathed in the fresh air from the sea, and got ready to collect firewood to cook our breakfast. But first, there was the task of toothbrushing and washing last night’s dishes. This brings us to a possible challenge in Nagsasa: securing water.

Get Ready to Line Up for Water

First, let’s put this into its proper context. Chemae and I went to Nagsasa in April 9-11, a long weekend due to a holiday, so we’re talking about the summit of the peak season. And with the El Niño phenomenon, we can probably assume all the beach buddies in the Philippines were just itching to go to local beaches and frolic in the cool waters. Plus, since Anawangin was already overflowing with campers, Pundaquit’s boatmen decided to bring some of their booked clients to Nagsasa instead. This explains why there were so many people in Nagsasa, more than 40 camps in Chemae’s estimate, scattered all over the long stretch of beach, with some camping in the area of pine trees further to the back of the cove.

You can pretend here for a while that you’re not in the Philippines.

This clearly wasn’t the case when Chemae and I went to Anawangin December of 2009. Even though Anawangin was already popular, we shared the entire cove with just a single camp, so we never had any problems with water. Continue reading

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