Monday, February 27, 2012

Happiness is me

Despite the obvious lack of sleep punctuated by the dark circles that never seem to want to leave my stricken eyes. Despite the bothersome backaches. Despite the mounting chores. Despite the mounting bills. 

See the man with his head on fire. See that he’s laughing. See that he’s naked. 

Despite the single lonely gentleman named Mar Roxas screaming from the bottom of my wallet. Despite the tiny hole on the shoulder part of my favorite jacket. Despite breaking my iPod’s earphone for the nth time. Despite the additional taxes snatched away from my poor salary. Despite the happy kids playing below my window which force me to rise from bed at 8. And yes, despite sleeping at 4. 

Regret nothing. Not even those sugary cakes and jellies you refused to take just to stick with your effort to appear cliché. Not even those cruel speeches you had to sit with just to please a boss or appear smart. Not even a former lov, bestowed upon some troll who keeps dragging his rotting knuckles, not to mention his fat ass. You are meant for the hurt. You are meant for all the dark smokes, the vomits and all the vile that came with it. You’d think the world has gone mad and centered on you? It was. And it will always be, babycakes. 

Despite the juggling man boobs and bear belly mightily confronting the numerous iron blades at the gym. Despite the deadlines that always seem faster than the speed of time. Despite the 24 years of singlehood and the occasional malignant hostiles of the past threatening the future. Despite the ants, the mosquitoes and the wasps. Despite my icky little horny alter ego. Despite me. 

There was never me, neither you, that ever existed. All there is are rainbows, cotton candy clouds and monsters made of marshmallows. You think aliens exist? They do. But not like in the movies. Most of the time, they’re misunderstood. Yes, that is the term, isn't it? Misunderstood.

"I go through all these, before you wake up. So I can feel happier, to be safe up here with you."
-Bjork, Hyperballad

Monday, February 20, 2012

I'm not that boy

"When she came to her senses, she cut off all contact with him. It had not been easy, but she had steeled herself. She had stared at him for a whole minute and decided that she did not have a grain of feeling left, because it would have been the same as bleeding to death. Fuck you."

The color of surroundings that day is in full blast of contrast. Everything is bright; too bright and too beautiful. Every word is perfect, sharpened by renaissance poet. Every melody sings harmony of hope.

There was him. A dark haired boy with gentle curl, whose eyes smoulder like embers of fire in a desert night. My heart leaped as he charge forward. There was no mention of “he could be that boy.” To me, he is the boy.

And then, there was me. A dashing brawny young man, whose eyes so sensuous and radiant, awaiting like a knight to rescue his damsel. Or so I thought.

Truth is I’m not the boy. I wished I am, for only a boy like that is worthy of someone like him. He agrees.

There was a boy. Tall, handsome and well accomplished. He sits comfortably in great deal of confidence. That’s the boy he chose. He loves him so.


Do you know how painful it is to be told you’re not born for “roses and pearl?” It’s a dreadful fate. I never knew I’m walking such path, no, not until he came and told me of it.

It would’ve been better for me if he didn’t start anything. I wouldn’t have known my fate. I would’ve continue wishing, hoping, praying. I would’ve been the same naïve and dreamy boy.

My only sin is that I dreamed too far. Of course, why would someone like him take time to know a boy like me. Was there ever a goddess of time? It should be comforting to pray to her, I must say.


I was once told by a poet that the sky is not blue. To look closer, and see, that there are faint shades of oranges and yellows and golds, which only the loving eye can see. But then the sun, sometimes, is too bright, burning. Sometimes, I am too busy looking at its reflection in a vast summer sea. And then at some point, I lost the loving eye.

It’s no one’s fault. Sometimes, people fall without anyone pushing them simply because there is that thing called gravity. When you fall, it’s either you’re spinning, or dropping head first, or simply lying flat, may it be face-up or face-down. But this I learned: not everything that falls lands. Yes, despite the gravity.

Friday, February 17, 2012

The balls of Jeremy Lin

The story is told now by many. This, they say, is a story of “Linsanity.” This is the story of Jeremy Lin. 

It begun, for us NBA fans, that day when New Jersey Nets vowed down to New York Knicks. In an unexpected turn of events, an unknown Asian guy snatched away the victory and pulled the Knicks up from poor defeat. Remember that the top two scorer, Amare Stoudemire and Carmelo Anthony, were and are still gone. And just like in the movies, it paved way for Lin to strut his balls -figuratively and literally. 

I reserved my admiration for Lin and decided to wait for the anticipated match against the Lakers nation. All of us Lakers-fans probably got one thing on our mind that time: let’s see how your magic work against Kobe Bryant. But by the end of the game, Lin simply proved that a raging 7-footer Black Mamba and his championship rings were not enough to snatch away the basket for a man packed with determination. 

Nevermind that he used to be a benchwarmer for the Knicks and that he also failed to get drafted by any NBA franchise before, but the idea that he was peddling DVDs of his games is just too much for the underdog loving brethren. And yes, even for the hard-chested basketball fans. 

I agree with Floyd Mayweather Jr. that Lin being Asian weighs a lot of factor in his recent splash of sucess. True, it's all part of the magic why people everywhere, even kids, tell people their tales of Linsanity but I think the figures he had thrown in a span of few games that the spotlight is his, were enough to remind people that talent, in the end, prevails beyond anything. As of this writing, it’s a record breaking 7-straight win for the Knicks. 

Yes, it's another underdog-rising-tale. But altogether, what makes the man Jeremy Lin the newest rising star in NBA is his effort to breakaway from stereotype. He simply wants to be considered as a serious professional basketball player -nothing else. 

But challenges for the rising Lin are just beginning. ESPN sets eye on this photo by MSG Network featuring Lin’s head in between ends of broken fortune cookie with the sentence “The Knicks’ Good Fortune” on a piece of paper. Fans are crying foul for such obvious racism. And I have to admit, even Lakers camp is no innocent with the growing “hate-campaign.” But maybe that’s what this really is all about. There’s no end to it. Maybe we’ll just have to wait and further see what the man Jeremy Lin is made of.


Wednesday, February 15, 2012

Because we believe in love

Some find chocolates and rainbow magical, others are fixated with roses and thorns.

Some prefer to stand before God and man to claim happily ever after.

And then there are those who fell in love... simply with life.

A warm welcome to my nephew, Lincoln. Uncle is so excited to visit you there in Texas. I'll see you soon.


Wednesday, February 8, 2012

Chapter One: Butcher

Wake up at 6:09 in the morning. Get dressed. Never mind not combing your hair. Never mind not taking a shower. Go outside your house. You shall feel the early mist of the unfurling morning. Feel its gentle caress. Savor it. You’ll need them later. 

Stand beside the road, on the right side going North. Wait for a while. A white cab shall stop in front of you, the one with the name “Magdalena” painted on its sides. Ride at the back. Tell the driver, an old man with missing teeth and whose hair spiked with silver strands, go straight ahead, turn left on the fifth crossing then turn right before you hit the dirt road. He’ll know what to do. 

It’s still too early and you are allowed to sleep. You don’t have to worry. The driver knows where to take you. Trust him. 

Now you’ll wake up. Don’t be scared to find yourself alone inside the cab. The driver did his job which is to take you to your destination. You are alone now. 

Now step outside. You’ll find yourself alone in the woods. Don’t be afraid. The sounds are just the rustling dried fallen leaves. Look up. In front of you is an old hospital-ruin. Observe carefully. The worn-out white paint of the building, the cracked up glass door and the hanging sign painted in bold red color that says “emergency,” remember all them. 

Enter through the cracked up glass door. Don’t look back. Inside, you’ll find yourself in a narrow corridor leading to a double door in one kilometer distance. Don’t mind the number of doors on your left and right. Don’t even try to open them, or touch them with your hands. Just go straight ahead. Walk with your head held high. Don’t run. Just walk in your normal speed. There’s no use hurrying up. The distance will just stretch itself and you’ll end up tiring yourself. You’ll need all the energy later. 

Once you’re at the door, open it slowly. Inside is a man, half naked, waiting for you. Nod at him so he’ll acknowledge you. He’ll ask you to strip all your clothes. Don’t ask. Just follow him. He knows what he’s doing. Then, lie down on the operating table. Your hands and feet will be tied on its corners. Don’t move. Don’t be afraid. He knows what he’s doing. Prepare yourself. 

The man will kiss you on your mouth, his tongue battling with yours. Then out of nowhere, he’ll hit you with his whip. Don’t be afraid. Don’t resist. It’s not up to you now. He’ll whip you again. Two, three, four, five, never mind counting them. You’ll feel your flesh burning, tearing. You will scream the most terrifying scream of your life. 

The man will now pick up his blazing iron rod, burned under the fire for hours and hours. He will direct it to your chest. Once the blazing rod and your flesh collide, it’s like Hell descended upon you. You can smell your burning flesh like the smell of the early morning mist. 

And then again, he shall whip you. From your arms, to your thighs, every bit of flesh will be purged of the most excruciating pain you’ll ever feel. 

Tears from your eyes will fall without you even noticing it. You’ll hope you become numb but the searing continuous pain shall deny you. Sweat and blood are now all over your body. Your flesh tearing down for you are now lying face down on the operating table. You’ll wish for death but there’s no way to evade such torture, such duress. 

Once you’ve given up to Death of escaping such madness, your body shall relax. One, two, three another whipping. Four five six, the double-blade dagger slashing through your flesh. And then at some point, you’ll pass out. 

Now wake up. You’ll find yourself alone once more inside the room. You’re dressed from waist down. Notice that no single trace of blood can be seen in your body yet the scars are evident everywhere. Someone will come in. He’ll nod at you. Acknowledge him. You’ll discover a whip wrapped in your hand. Somewhere, you can smell a metal, burning. 

It’s up to you now. You’ll know what to do.

A Valentine Story, Chapter One: Butcher is dedicated to Alterjon

Sunday, February 5, 2012

Prelude to a Valentine story

In a night when the Moon finally cries,
when the night is darker
and when the stars are farther
a woman in red vail
would be seen in flight.
Behold! She’s no more than ‘nything
but Satan’s long lost bride.

Somewhere ‘neath the mist
beyond the cricketing beast
she crawls along the Earth
humming riddles of death.

At once, the hornets would flee
while magpies kneel in fear.
So the boar swallows the cat,
that the cattle swallows the boar.
Then the water, at once,
stops whispering,
stops chasing liberty.

She cuts all her hair
and hid them in her mouth.
Then she bathes herself
with her own woman’s flesh.

Oh, the marching of the beggars
banging sharply like dying stars.
From the North, comes the Serpent
Hail the South, brings the Sloth.

Then Satan will come at once
to claim Thy soulful bride.
So Heavens and Hell shall bind;
towards the Sun, together, they climb.

In the name of the Father, and of the Son and of the Holy Ghost...
Soon: Chapter 1, 2, 3 and Interlude

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