Tag Archives: Canada

Quite Convinced That You Have To

Sitting here, quite convinced that I have to.

A pretty girl joined the communist armed forces. They said she helped the farmers harvest their corn while teaching them to do the math. After all, she was a former scholar. She treated the rebels’  wounds. Treated them until it was her time to bleed from a bullet that penetrated her chest and existed through her nape.

She laid there quite convinced that she had to.

A single mom promised her mom that she wouldn’t get herself pregnant again. They believed her for she looked as innocent as an angel. Turned out she was a heavy smoker and owed a lot of money to  the cash register. Turned out she was pregnant with another baby and had a married Muslim security guard for a lover. He said he impregnated her precisely because he loved her.

She loved him quite convinced that he loved her too.

A wealthy couple brought their children to Canada. They were thinking about their future, and the future of their sons and daughters, and the future of the sons and daughters of their sons and daughters. From air-conditioned offices to sweaty warehouses, from quiet nights to livingroom skirmishes. It was quite a gamble.

They were quite convinced of the money.

A woman did some scandalous things not too long ago. Been ashamed of them forever. She joined a high-end church and called on others to follow her footsteps. They flooded the social networking site with Bible excerpts.

She was quite convinced of her salvation.

A sector of believers slammed a bill promoting  the dissemination of contraceptives to the population. The priests preached. The non-believers mocked. A man dressed up as a Spanish colonial era dissident and pumped the uproar to fever pitch.

They were quite convinced of the issue.

A hulk of a man decided he wanted more physical challenge to test himself. He climbed a mountain, conquered it, then moved on to the next peak. Pretty soon he had a mountain of a list of mountains he trekked. He wants more.

He was quite convinced of the experience.

A white-striped brown hamster stepped inside the wheel. It has grown too big for it but it ran its heart out anyway. It ran and ran all night and only stopped for a nibble and a sip of water. Didn’t even give its white hamster partner any chance to take its turn. After all, it was only needed for mating.

It was quite convinced of its necessity.

I find myself in an air-conditioned office for the upteenth time. I dream of a pretty girl in Canada who was once a heavy smoker every weekend. I have mountains of plans to follow her footsteps but all I can do today is read the daily preachers on the social networking site. I occupy my chair like a hamster occupies the wheel.

Sitting here, quite convinced that I have to.

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My Heart and Running

I head to the eye of perceived tackiness to reach my goal.

For me, the long road to catch up with Chemae starts with overcoming literal roads made of concrete. I’ve recently taken up my father’s sport which I had reviled before just because of its unsightly look: sweaty men with their oversized thigh and butt muscles bulging through their super short shorts. Some find it sexy. I think it’s dreadfully icky.

You guessed right. I’m into running.

Saying No to Snot

As a premature child just 6 months old when I came crawling out of my mom in the wrong position (that is, I wasn’t upside down like most infants), I unfortunately got more than my fair share of congenital ill luck. Aside from the obvious physical deformity, my entire physiological system is basically as messy and as compromised as a public bathroom. Compared to the boys in elementary, I was just weak, which is why I made sure I kicked all their healthy asses in the brains division. After years of futile struggle at being healthy, I’m still continuing to suffer the damn effects of my incorrect development and birth.

One of the most screwed-up things in my body is my cardiovascular system. It’s so poor that never does a month pass by without me having another viral infection, resulting in a handkerchief oozing with snot. The worst days were when I get to fill 2 hankies with dripping, finger-binding snot.

Early-morning health buffs at the SM City parking lot. They're getting to know my face there.

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My Pimples Never Lie

My pimples never lie. They burst out like an angry Arab mob out of my greasy pores when my unconscious falls into anarchy (though the unconscious is already in a constant state of chaos). They burn. They itch. They make me want to grill my face with a red-hot iron and condemn the whole world for its infinity of sins and cheesy religious rituals.

My unconscious never lies.

I smile calmly before friends but deep inside that black hole, I am wasting away at the bloodcurdling truth that she will leave me in a matter of weeks. If you’re curious about how an utterly lonely man feels, I’ll tell you how. It usually feels like deliberate indifference and forgetfulness, which it IS exactly in every single way. One cannot smell right or see right; mostly just a haze of colors and scents in a crumpled day. One cannot remember.

Some two nights ago, I dreamed we were chased by vampires. Brown vampires, not Meyer’s pretty pale vampires. We were running down a flight of stairs we painfully hike with our mouths agape everyday. We were hopping, skipping, careful not to trod on something and crash. It was a losing battle, so I woke up.

It doesn’t take a Freud to see that I’m running away from the future, which has recently synchronized its meaning with the word “failure.” Future and failure mean almost the same thing to me now despite my efforts at fighting back the clouds of doubt and the bloodsucking vampires. Though I love her with all my heart and soul, this darkness has blanketed my sight with the sleekest, clearest blindness and I can’t see beyond.

Friends say I should apply for a scholarship. In Canada. Or Japan.
My mom just wants to be assured of the monthly rice allowance.
Gates have to be opened for “wire cutters.”
She’s leaving.
It’s hard to get a fuckin’ job.
The axe is nearing my neck.
She’s leaving. Perhaps forever if I can’t make it out of this shithole of a homeland.
All the while I’m forgetting things, succumbing to an illness brought about by years of paranoia.
Did I say my love is leaving?

———–

It’s nice to shop around malls for things she can bring on her trip. She’s careful not to buy clothes she can’t use in the merciless cold of that country. So basically, I’m helping her get out because I’m the best man to do that. It’s always the greatest irony and tragedy when the guy who doesn’t want to let go helps the girl to fly away.

And she sells things ladies love. I joked that she’s selling our memories. Every dress she posts online is invested with days and nights of experiences engraved in my mind and my skin. Funny how customers fight over them like wolves under a juicy piece of meat dangling from a tree, blood trickling. Had they known how precious they were, they will probably stay away from them and bow to them, like they were sacred temples.

But they have to be sold. They are of no use to us anymore.

————

Chemae’s friends know she is a special person like I do. From here on out, her Facebook wall will just continue to unroll a kilometre of farewells, sad jokes and goodbyes. I’ll make sure to add my own bits because in the end, I’m just another guy in the crowd who will wave at her from underneath the plane. Not even literally ’cause she won’t let me be there on her departure. God, we all love her. But please allow me this — I love her the most.

Fuck, this entry is gloomy.

And that’s why my pimples are here to stay and they never lie.

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Neverland: 94 Days to Go (White Memories, Glenda Gloria, the Future and Noynoy)

We are down to two digits: 94 Days to go before ropes and nooses become strangely attractive to me. It is with great sadness and frustration that I announce my complete and utter resignation at maintaining my daily countdown. Still, I am very much determined to document the few days I have left, so I’ll just give an account of moments that my glitchy brain have successfully recorded.

White Memories

For me, there are two uses of metaphors: one is to beautify language and the other is to deliberately conceal meaning. In this case, when I say we had lots of fun white memories over the long weekend, I’m obviously using metaphor in the latter sense.

Some people just get big, red ants in their pants when you do something fun, forcing you to use metaphors in your blog. We can’t do anything about it because as I’ve said before, some (or most) people just can’t help being annoying. One thing I’ve learned during the course of my relationship with Chemae though is to never, ever underestimate her will to have fun.

When Chemae wants to have fun, some people may have to cry in pain.

Glenda Gloria at the Next Table

One of the biggest surprises when you get into a relationship with someone is his or her family. In my case, I wasn’t expecting the managing editor of Newsbreak and the CEO of ANC to be three meters away from me, eating Ilokano food at family gatherings. Continue reading

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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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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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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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