Monthly Archives: December 2012



Pumunta kami sa patay-sindi sa Monumento. Alak at sigarilyo. Babae. May isang dingding ng salaming ipinapakita ang kailangang makita ng dalawang matang sawa sa liwanag.

Isang babae ang tumabi, nag-request ng lady’s drink. Hindi maganda pero madilim at makulit. Pwedeng akapin, kausapin, tanungin ng mga tanong na walang saysay tulad ng “Bakit mayrong salamin?” Para daw magpaganda sa harap ng mga bisita, pero sya mismo’y hindi sigurado. Ibinili ng tatlong bote ng San Mig Light na kaagad ding naubos.

Ni hindi mabastos, hanggang bewang lang. Nakokonsyensya. Walang kwenta. Masyadong maraming naaalala hanggang sa magsara ang mga kurtina.

Kumain ng pares. Nakadalawang tasa sya ng sabaw. Uhaw. Gutom. May pasok pa sya mamaya at nais nang matulog tulad ko. Kinailangan pang ihatid dahil ako yung tipo na nanghahatid kahit saan dalhin ng tadhana. Walang pakialam sa makakasaksi, sa opinyon ng mga nakikitambay sa buhay ko.

Bumili sya ng kakanin. Salamat daw. Sa susunod, mas maghahanda sya. “Pwede ko bang kunin yung puto?” nahihiya nyang tanong.

“Kunin mo na lahat.”

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The Girl Has a Lethal Kick


I know a girl who has a lethal kick.
She’ll kick you in the face just because she can.
And man can she do a lot of things–a lot more things than your average man.

I know a girl who has a lethal kick.
She used to live her life around kicking.
Kicked people for sport and kicked stuff to get better at the sport.
Got into her prestigious school kicking champions–you know the sort.

And when this girl walked into the room the first time,
she looked like she couldn’t hurt a fly.
She’s so delicate I thought maybe she couldn’t keep up with the guys.

But this girl received the blows well,
found holes in the defense, and mastered the fight in a jiffy.
And now nobody thinks her iffy. Especially not yours truly.

See this girl doesn’t flinch.
She’ll kick you where it hurts and she won’t miss an inch.
She has her eyes dead-set on the goal though her charm betrays her passion.
She’s as lovely as the summer sea and as dangerous as a stormy ocean.

I always get a kick
Out of seeing her bag of tricks.
And sometimes it makes me sick
That looking at her is the only thing worth doing
the entire week.

She’s just and fair–sometimes too frank to a fault
She minces no words–kicks like a colt!
Never ever serve her meal too late
And let everyone stare at her eating,
‘Cause nothing’s coming your way
But an excruciating, bloody beating.

She drives like a grumpy cab driver
Whom nobody on the road could impress;
Gets lost dancing in her seat
Then finds her own way back. Neat!
She looks at you, smiles, then grooves to the track
God, I’ve never felt so useless and uninteresting all my life.

She dances as if to fly into the infinite night sky.
And maybe that’s where she belongs–with the moon and stars
It isn’t hard to see why.
I’ll pay big bucks to go and see her kicking the purple clouds marooned
and cause daylight to come screaming into my tiny room.

The girl will remain–yes, the girl will remain
The girl who has a lethal kick and who can bring the real pain.
The girl who will bring the world to its knees
and knock those pathetic guys off their feet.

She’ll be all right even when times are tough
‘Cause she’s tougher than most toughies I know
And tougher than the toughest nut to crack.
And even if she falls, I know she’ll get up and will be back
To deal the knockout blow and leave her opponents blue and black.

And as for me I’m no one but a fool
I’ll take my fool’s chance and try to be cool
I’ll go and guard my heart and hope my little words stick
‘Cause this girl is all I think about and she’s got a lethal kick.

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December 22: McDonald’s, Pearl Drive

Sitting here, typing at McDonald’s, along Pearl Drive–in the same building where I used to work some 3 years ago. Last night, or rather, up until this morning at 4:00am, I had been partying my socks off at The Linden Suites with my colleagues. It feels surprisingly pleasant to be here, like I came full circle. Like there’s an important lesson to be learned somewhere between the Sausage McMuffin and the cup of hot choco.

Of course there’s breakfast at the hotel, but come on, though there has certainly been a lot of progress in my “financial situation” from the time I worked here as a writer for Offshoring, I’m still the type to skip the fancy breakfast. Nah, I’m fine with my tray of golden arches junk chow. And it certainly brightened up my day that some of their crew from three years ago are still here. A familiar smile from a familiar girl at the cash register. Some things just never change and thank the heavens for them for they make you feel at home in a cozy corner of your memories.

There used to be a girl here with me. A girl who made me feel like I belonged; like I need not do any more–crack a joke, say something irreverent, mind my hair, or wrap a gift perhaps; a girl who just sat with me at a table in McDonald’s or Chowking or Sarah’s. And everything was all right. But today, I sit at this table alone. And it gets harder to escape the onslaught of memories and flutters of that beating thing.

I guess what I realized last night, or this morning, is that I’ve been working so hard to return to this place where I once felt perfectly ok with the universe, Mayan apocalypse or not. I’ve been living on the edge of healthy living and common decency just to be the man I once was and find the girl I once knew. But there will never be anyone like her again and maybe I will never be the same again. We made a unique drunken breakfast together and nobody could replicate that. And with that thought in my head, I surrender to the futility of this effort.

I’ll still party my socks off but I’ll be more patient. Somebody will come someday and she’ll change me again. But it’s good to know some things just never change, like this fast food place or my emotional shit–and thank the heavens for them for they make me feel at home in a cozy corner of my memories.


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Uulan ng apoy
Lalamunin ng lupa
Mahuhulog nang mahuhulog



Deliberasyon ng mga poon
Sa hukuman ng wakas
Ng panahon; lilitisin,

Sa harap mo.


Sinulat magmula pa noong una
Di maaaring baguhin o isuka
Kahit gaano ka ninanais
Tinitiis, nagkukubli

Sa mga huling sandali.


Uulan ng apoy
Lalamunin ng lupa
Magpapatihulog nalang ng walang laban


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What Eats Me


What eats me
Is that I never sleep early
Even when I’m already brain-dead
And brains remind me of zombies
Eater of brains
Bringer of pains
Probably like you.

What eats me
Is that I never stop trying
Putting cheese to it and rhyming
Gradually dying
Whenever you so much as pass by.

What eats me
Is that you never intend it
But you create chaos anyway
Like an innocent child
Or a mad man in the street
Or just a lazy god with too much time
And boredom in his godly seat.

What eats me
Is that I’ll probably never get my chance
To show you I’m great at other things, too,
Other things besides a drunken night’s dance.

What eats me
Is that you’ll never be somebody else
Perhaps someone with less brains
And brains remind me of zombies
Sad, soaked zombies in the pouring rain.

You’ll just never be somebody else
Someone I can actually impress
Without instantly getting depressed
Over my ambitious romantic request.

Sucks that you’ll never be somebody else
Somebody ugly perhaps,
Or poor,
Or awkward,
Or annoying
With an ambulance’s siren for a voice
Or jagged stalactites for teeth
Or–shit I don’t know
Somebody less you I guess.

What eats me
Is that you possibly never even listened
When I told you stuff
That left me traumatized
The rest of the weekend.

What eats me–
Beats me!
Maybe some icky thought of you
And me
Just you and me
And a dreamy walk
Along the campus I used to roam.
I’ll show you there’s more to it than you think
There are flowers and bees and beautiful things.
Lines that would melt your guard
Stares that would compress time and space
And reasons never to feel alone again.

What eats me
Ate all those other boys.

What eats me
Devoured their hopeful hearts
And silent farts alike.

What eats me
Eats the night,
Eats the reasons
And the fight inside;
Eats the itch,
Eats my speech,
It’s freakin’ insane–
Life’s a bitch;
Eats the rights and the wrongs,
The common sense to just play along.
‘Cause what eats me
Eats like a zombie
And ’til you shoot it dead
It’ll go on a killing spree.

What eats me,
It’s you.


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Maybe I’ll Write About It

I don’t know. What should I tell you?

That I’m typing this half-naked in the most Third World of settings, which makes it more ironic because of the obvious desire to be bigger and more “cultured?”

That despite this squalor, I’ve somehow just bought this cool tablet computer but purchasing it felt like sacrificing one of my kidneys to the Chinese capitalist god? I’m actually in trouble of blowing my end-of-year bonus in a week and having nothing for Christmas. Terrible possibility: must avoid at all costs!

Hmm. I don’t know. What should I write about?

Perhaps I should write about the Christmas party of my former team in the office. I had so much fun I wasn’t quite the same guy the next morning. Didn’t sleep, by the way, because we had a family reunion following that wild night of Christmas partying.

At the party, there was the usual talk about love and relationships with other guys–not that I’m complaining or cringing in any way. And yep, guys do talk like girls. Frankly, that’s one of the few conversation pieces I’m interested in. Everything else seems like a waste of time and a futile exercise of jaw muscles.

One guy talked about patience, caring, and understanding. In a matter of minutes, I knew we were both confused over the meaning of all three. Thank god for alcohol. I told him I understand him completely though I’m not really sure if that’s a good or a bad thing. An addict understanding his fellow addict doesn’t make them clean for shit.

Another guy told me to basically rewire my brain. Now that’s hard. That kind of advice is music to the ears but it’s almost always a Houdini to pull off when you’re already on the front lines. God knows how many philosophies, socializations and re-socializations I’ve gone through my entire life.

But I believed him and I think he’s right. Maybe it’s not enough to think you’ve moved on. Maybe there should be a conscious and constant effort on your part to move forward and attack your brain so that it demolishes everything you’ve perceived as basic, unassailable realities before.

Maybe there isn’t any template for the right girl. And what if I can truly convince myself that I’m a–what’s that cliche term–tabula rasa? Man do I hate that term.

But I’m sure I’m just bored. This is what happens when I can’t think of anything to write about because my head is filled with half-baked plans and fears. And someone.

Maybe you can’t really write about the things that you truly care about, deep inside, without all the bullshit that somebody somewhere successfully funneled into your brain? What if I just wasted my own time with these words and the one thing I should say–need to say–on this blog and to myself is impossible to say?

I’m pretty sure all that alcohol I ingested during the Christmas party is gone from my system by now, so no, I’m not drunk.

I guess I’ll just return to tinkering with that expensive tablet computer and wring out the value of my money. Comicbooks to read and movies to watch and all.

Or I’ll just think about her again and plan a better article another time.

Yeah, maybe I’ll write about it.


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