Waiting No More

I am the type to suddenly disappear when I no longer enjoy the company, or when I feel I have overstayed my welcome. I'm also the type to burn bridges and never look back. I have done too much of that before, it has become a trait; it has become an art form.

But sometimes, there comes a thing, or a person, that would turn your world inside out, until suddenly, you see yourself changing that basest part of you that you thought was impenetrable and immovable. Suddenly, you are no longer you; you have evolved.

This thing, this event, this person, comes only once in your life, and you see yourself hanging on to dear life; hanging on with teeth and bone in order for it to stay -- to linger -- in your life. For it has become your life, and no amount of sacrifice is too much just for that momentary glimpse, that fleeting touch, that remotest of presence.

And so, the person who used to perform spectacular disappearing acts has been taught permanence. The man who used to flee at the sign of complexities was taught to brave; and suffer; the conflicting emotions associated with staying.

And so I stayed -- and waited -- fueled only by the hope that things will fall into place; that things would be as it was; that the feelings will be returned. Against all signs and information, I waited -- and waited still -- for the return of that one emotion that I was sure was there before.

http://www.lyrics.com/index.php/artists/lyric/anggun-lyrics-snow-on-the-sahara-t-5411203

Still I waited, hoping that my Desert Wanderer, my Immortal, would come back. Even though I know it is futile.

http://www.lyrics.com/index.php/artists/lyric/evanescence-lyrics-my-immortalt-7368727

I've waited too long; I'm waiting no longer. But I don't want to burn any more bridges. I'm closing the door, but will keep a window open. I wished for the hope to die in order to sustain the friendship, for I, too, value friends more than any.

Thus, I will no longer pray for Snow. Hence, the Immortal too, shall die...

Why I Blog

It's been almost a month since my last entry here, and more than 3 months on my friendster blog. It's very unlike me to run out of words to write. And it'd be long before I once again question whether the life I live is boring.

The heavens know my life right now is very far from boring. It's just that I can't make myself freely write about it. Damn this compulsion of mine to automatically censor myself. But then, again, I seldom blog about things that are still brewing on my mind.

I write to get over most things. It is in writing about these topics that I draw out of myself the underlying emotions attached in a specific event or person. When I write about something or someone, it is done so I can get over that thing or that person; to remove that certain topic out of my think-file and set it under the archives.

This logic then follows that when someting is still brewing in my mind, I wouldn't easily be writing about it, for I don't really know yet how I feel about that certain topic.

This logic also follows that I wouldn't be writing about a certain topic when I'm not yet over it. And I wouldn't be writing about it when I don't want to be over it.

Why then, do I blog, if I will only limit and censor myself?

I don't know the answer to that, honestly. I write because I want to, and I will write when the compulsion to do so would hit me. But I cannot force myslef to write about something just for the sake of writing.

Describe me: My Johari Window

Arena (known to self and others) independent, introverted, logical, observant, organised	Blind Spot (known only to others) able, accepting, clever, complex, confident, friendly, idealistic, intelligent, kind, knowledgeable, modest, reflective, self-conscious, sensible, trustworthy
Façade (known only to self) calm	Unknown (known to nobody) adaptable, bold, brave, caring, cheerful, dependable, dignified, energetic, extroverted, giving, happy, helpful, ingenious, loving, mature, nervous, patient, powerful, proud, quiet, relaxed, religious, responsive, searching, self-assertive, sentimental, shy, silly, spontaneous, sympathetic, tense, warm, wise, witty

All Percentages

able (25%) accepting (25%) adaptable (0%) bold (0%) brave (0%) calm (0%) caring (0%) cheerful (0%) clever (25%) complex (50%) confident (25%) dependable (0%) dignified (0%) energetic (0%) extroverted (0%) friendly (25%) giving (0%) happy (0%) helpful (0%) idealistic (25%) independent (25%) ingenious (0%) intelligent (25%) introverted (25%) kind (25%) knowledgeable (25%) logical (25%) loving (0%) mature (0%) modest (25%) nervous (0%) observant (25%) organised (50%) patient (0%) powerful (0%) proud (0%) quiet (0%) reflective (25%) relaxed (0%) religious (0%) responsive (0%) searching (0%) self-assertive (0%) self-conscious (25%) sensible (25%) sentimental (0%) shy (0%) silly (0%) spontaneous (0%) sympathetic (0%) tense (0%) trustworthy (25%) warm (0%) wise (0%) witty (0%)

Created by the Interactive Johari Window on 9.11.2008, using data from 4 respondents.
You can make your own Johari Window, or view Joshua Armand's full data.

How about it? How would you describe me?

A Johari window is a cognitive psychological tool created by Joseph Luft and Harry Ingham in 1955 in the United States, used to help people better understand their interpersonal communication and relationships. It is used primarily in self-help groups and corporate settings as a heuristic exercise. (wikipedia.org)

I made this Johari Window way back 2006, and to date, only 4 people contributed to it. Go figure. :-p

The Never-ending Workday

I woke up 6am, and started my morning rituals. I've too much to do, and I need to get to the office as quickly as possible. I logged in at 7.45 call time at the office is 9am. Good thing I bought some cereal-type drink over at the drug store, I needed a quick breakfast. I haven't been eating breakfast at the house for so long, the habit just died away. Besides, I usually turn up late whenever I eat breakfast at home. Too much to talk about...

First order of business: open my emails. I need the store's daily log to update our daily log. Failure to do so would entail copious amounts of email I don't have time to answer.

I'm at full work-mode by 8.30, downloading the data I need, and saving it on excel worksheets. There are 105 worksheets in all, which I separated into 4 files, the better to deal with it. I already have a headache by 10am, and by 10.30 the ache is in full swing, I need to ingest liters upon liters of water in the hope that it would go away.

By 11, I succumbed to the pain, and visited the HR for some pills I could pop. They gave me some capsule, which was rather weak. Pain won over medicine.

Lunch break @ 1pm did nothing to ease the pain; it was too hot outside, and I had to go to the bank. 3pm and I still ache. A friend suggested caffeine, I joked whether she meant cocaine. It rather helped, the coffee. Some of the pain was eased, and I was able to work quickly, until 9.30pm. Afterward, I just quit, too tired to go on further, and waited for 10pm to complete my overtime session.

Had a quick dinner and went to sleep.

I awoke at 3am after an uneasy dream about work. The one I was doing hours before, which I failed to finish. Even after logging off for the night, my brain is still on work-mode, trying to analyze the job I left pending.

I've had similar experiences before, and it did not bode well. I've always tried to keep my job away from my personal life, choosing to render overtime than to bring it home. Besides, I've never been able to accomplish work at the house, ever. I'm just prone to leaving it there, and forgetting to return it to the office.

When waking life is all about work, and your dreams are still about work, how now, do you rest?

My Day at the Bank

I went to the bank during my lunch break to make a deposit to Garfield's account, hoping to make short work of it.

The queue looked promising enough; there were five people in line, and three people in front of the counter. Not a bad number of customers. I took my place in the line, thinking of other things I can maybe do after my trasaction.

Ten minutes went by, and the same three people are still in front of the counter! This is getting suspicious. I craned my neck to see what they were doing, and it galled me to see that each of the three persons in front of the counter had at least ten items to transact with the teller! They've even spread the transaction slips on the counter for the tellers to sort out.

Precious minutes went by, and the same three people are still on the counter. Our queue of six doubled, and then tripled, and still, they're on the counter. My quiet excursion to the bank became a noisy one, as the customers in line grudgingly waited their turn.

At last, the three people completed their transaction, and the line started to move. I was in front of the counter for like two minutes; my total stay at the bank, 45 minutes. I've no more chance to do any other activity, for I'm needed back at the office. It was past 2 when I got back. I acted like nothing was amiss, and proceded with my after-lunch rituals.

I have nothing against people doing multiple transactions with the banks, and I have nothing against the tellers. In fairness to them, the tellers at that bank work briskly, unlike some other teller at some other bank I have the misfortune of transacting with. I just wish that they implement an "express" line where customers with sigle transactions can queue up, and not get caught up in the middle of limbo, watching the backs of corporate lackeys doing their stuff. Or maybe, the ones with multiple transactions should be the one having their special lane, so they wouldn't eat the precious minutes of those regular customers with just one or two transactions to deal with.

Whatever. I just needed to air that out.

Vanity

I know I'm gonna get rapped at the back of my head for even thinking it, but I'm getting fat.

I can already imagine the unified gasps of people and the killing looks of my healthier friends. I mean, how can I even think that, when everyone is complaining that I'm so thin, I'm almost transparent!

Yes, my cheeks are drooping, my eyebags are luggages, by bones are prodtuding; BUT my midsection is expanding. I have never had six-pack abs, but then at least before it was flat. And now, my midsection is wider than chest! My scoliosis has something to do with that, but I can't always blame it on that.

I blame my 5-month hiatus from volleyball, and my slackenning metabolism. Before, I can eat anything I want and how much of it I want and I just burn it all off. Not anymore. Thus the need to return to playing.

But responsibilities should be met as well. For the past month, I was able to play a few sessions at the cost of my night work; but that has to stop. I need to find a suitable middleground that would enable me to log enough time for work, while at the same time satisfying my need for physical activity. And I need to come up with that plan now.

To Blog or Not to Blog...

Lately, I catch myself thinking along the lines of "is this good enough to blog?" I don't know if that kind of thinking is healthy, but there it is. It's as if every waking moment should be scrutinized for its blog-worthiness. Right now, I find it amusing, and I rather like the mental exercise of drafting the opening lines, even though most of it would never go to print. But somehow, I'm feeling that that should not be the case; that I should be worried somehow.

I don't know... Maybe I'm just being my weird self again, I guess...

Lovebirds

EyviCat and GentlePie celebrated their anniversary last August 1. Due to circumstances beyond my emotional control (meaning, I was a manic-depressive wreck), I wasn't able to do this article promptly. This has been a long outstanding project of mine, and so, even though it's delayed, I'm posting it here, now.

I’ve known EyviCat since the Meliora Eligo days, and GentlePie, well since EyviCat introduced us. Our first major trip with GentlePie was when we, along with Bleech and Bulldog, went to my province for some R&R. That was in 2005. Since then, we go out of town at least once every year. I’m looking forward for this year’s excursion.

GentlePie is easily impressed. That first trip of ours was nothing short of sensory overload for the poor creature. It was kind of amusing to see GentlePie’s reaction whenever I try to point out a valley or a beach barely visible from the road.

We didn’t have too many pictures during that trip. We were then only reliant upon EyviCat’s digicam and its short battery life. Camera whoring was not yet a lifestyle and obsession then. What I have are mental images of that trip, the strongest of which, of EyviCat and GentlePie walking along the beach, I tried putting into words to the best of my ability.

I wrote this piece the night we got back from the province, and sent it to them the moment I deemed it complete. I’m rededicating it to them now, in honor of their anniversary। Stay in love, you guys!

-----------------------------------------------------------

Untitled 16.10.05

Memory fails to compare another place as beautiful.

Angels must have come to give life to their voice,

Nurturing this untamed paradise.

Gathering the dusts of creation, embracing the waves;

Caressing it to perfection.

Amazement fills my being, my very core, my soul

Merging delight, desire, devotion

Arousing my urge to sing litanies of praise.

Green shallows turn to deepest blue

Onward to vast horizons of isles unnamed.

Nothing else could be more sublime

Going through the sands with your hand in mine...

Shirking Responsibilities: Work Avoidance

I haven't been reporting to my other work for the past two weeks.

It's irresponsible and unacceptable, but somehow, I can't seem to care too much. Call it burn-out, call it bumming in, call it anything you like. I'm just tired.

Yes, I'm being selfish once again; looking out for my own comfort rather than the welfare of our team. I don't really have any valid excuse to defend myself and my untoward behavior. I'm once again driven to self-sabotage, and this is doubly wrong, for right now, it's not only me that is affected. I'm missing in action, and I'm letting other people bear the heat for my untimely disappearing act.

I am well aware of the complete and utter wrongness of my behavior, but I just can't make myself propel myself into action. And this has always been my problem: no matter how cerebral I let myself become, I am first and foremost ruled by emotion. If I don't feel like doing it, I tend to slack off, and vanish altoghether.

I hate it sometimes, but I can't seem to want to change.

Bummer...

Hello, Philippines, I don't know you that much...

My Lakbayan grade is C-!

How much of the Philippines have you visited? Find out at Lakbayan!

Created by Eugene Villar.

Got this from Wendy's blog.

This is actually a higher grade than I would have expeceted, considering I'm such a house-bum. O, and look, I'm no longer land-locked to Luzon Island!

Yeah, I know, the grade's pathetic, but what do you expect from someone like me?

Hahaha

Rainy Days and Mondays

8:00 AM - I wake up to a heavy downpoar and a heavier heart. I don't know... The rains just have that effect on me. An unspeakable stupor descended on me; I decided to sleep than confront it.

10:00 AM - I wake up once again. I am late for work. I don't care. I'm feeling sluggish, but I no longer have the alibi of rain. The sky has cleared and a cold, healthy wind blows deliciously. Sun is shining on a beautiful day. I'm unaffected.

11:00 AM - I can no longer delay my going to the office. Monthend reporting is hard work during the best of times, no use aggavating the burden by letting my work pile up on me. I need to shower. Someone's messed with my things and I am missing my disposable razor. Going to work with 3 day's growth of facial hair is unacceptable. I use my back up blade, my labaha and managed to cut myself in three different locations. Good job.

12:00 NN - Eating lunch alone at a fastfood. My chicken nuggets taste like cardboard; good thing there's barbeque flavored dip to mask the taste. I need to get to the office now...

Shirking Responsibilities: Movietime

I've been watching movies lately; too many, actually, especially for someone who professes to have too little time for liesure. Juggling two jobs which are both equally time-critical, and for the past months have been overly demanding of my time, I have now learned the best way to keep myself from imploding: DON'T SHOW UP.

More and more, I'm turning irresponsible, showing up late for work, or just not reporting at all. I know, it sounds childish, immature, and least of all, unprofessional; but given a choice between my sanity and my work, I believe I have chosen wisely.

I have two pet peeves: Books and Movies. Getting lost in either realm for hours at a time is a needed remedy for my weekly dose of reality and the rigors of 20-hour workdays. After Thursday's monthend vigil, I feel I deserve some liesurely rewards.

I went home early Friday night (I reported to work just half day) to reacquaint myself with my almost-lost loves, my books, and after a few chapters of my new read (Showdown, by Ted Dekker), I fell asleep. My ever-faithful moblie woke me up with its trilling, indicating an incoming message, and I was pleasantly surprised by Stitch's inviting me to a movie along with his group.

Thirty minutes later, I'm in Glorietta looking for the group who has my ticket. I haven't yet eaten then and I made the mistake of buying takeout from Wendy's. I made another mistake of falling in line on the counter that had the smaller queue of people. I the queue was short for good reason: the girl at the counter was woefully inept, and took her sweet time taking orders and serving the food. It didn't help that I'm strapped of time, with the movie starting in 15 minutes, and she taking 5 minutes per customer. I was fourth in line.

I fear that accounting for a food business, and entering the kitchens at least once a month had a negative effect on me: I am overly critical of services performed for me, and easily loose my patience when I see that service is slackening. My track record with food servers is long and colorful; my volley-friends can attest to that fact. Being hungry and late for my movie did not improve my mood when I got to the counter. And seeing three customers on the other aisle finish their transaction, while in my line, three people are still waiting for their takeout, my bitch-button took auto-pilot. Curtly, I asked said counter-girl to make an advance call of my order.

Lately, when I get frustrated over something, especially over my old computer in the office, I get into banging fits. Armrests, keyboards and desks are not spared my banging fits, my fists falling heavily on any surface, to relieve my head of mounting tension. Wendy's counter-girl met with the same reception. I was holding my wallet-pouch then when the banging fits started, and in sheer frustration, repeatedly slapped my wallet onto the counter, causing a mild scene, which in my impatience, I failed to appreciate fully.

It did me good, actually; my head was relieved of the mounting pressure, and counter-girl quicked her pace; finally moving at an acceptable speed for a fastfood personnel. She was displeased, and she made it known, tearing from me the money I was handing over. Had I been clasping the cash tight, we would have torn it in half. She didn't even give me the customary closing spiel when she unceremoniously handed me back my change.

But who cares about her, I had a movie to rush to.

Monthend Count

The monthend has always been ... special for me. It has always been exciting, to say the least, and this month is no exception.

Rather, this one is more special than the rest owing the fact that the heavy rains mere hours ago has prevented me from going out of the office to travel to the store, where I conduct the monthend inventory count.

It's already 7.30pm and I'm still here, the latest I've gone before was 6. What troubles me is the amount of inventory I'm supposed to count tonight, today being stocks delivery day for the stores.

I'm guessing I'm going to finish the count by 3 or 4am at this rate.

--- update ---
It did seem the flood would never abate. The rains subsided, but the rainwater did not go down quietly. I got out of the office near 10pm and went to the store. Hungry as we were, we ate first before doing any actual count. It was good of my Kitchen Manager to have performed a pre-count during my office vigil; thus shortening the count that would have lasted till morning.
As it was, It was an easy count, and I was able to go home by 3am.

The Bibliophile Strikes Again

I did all I could. I used up all the self-control I could muster. But the sweet aroma of crisp, clean paper mingled with adhesive was just too hard to resist. And the promise of a discount was urging me; urging me to come hither.

It was all my Sunday work-mates' fault I tell you! Dragging me along for lunch at Market! and then driving along Fully Booked, with their 10-meter high billboard announcing up to 90% off. I had no choice but to comply.

And comply, I did; parting ways with Roxas and Aquino, and going home with Pullman and Colfer in tow. Old friends, those two, I've had much dealings with them in the past. I've laughed at their jokes, and sympathized with their plight. And somehow, I just couldn’t get enough of their antics. I had to have more!

Ah! Retail therapy in its most sublime!

Now go away, I’m busy reading.

Song

For years now, I've been looking for that song that would make my life complete. That one special song inside me that would define who and what I am; that would tell my story, and would unravel my secrets. I thought I've found it before, but I guess I was mistaken. I have formalized it in my heart and mind, and was finally mustering the courage to write it down for the world to hear; but then it fizzled. I tried all I could to salvage even parts of it, but the more I try to grasp it, the more I lost it.

I've spent the past couple of years trying to recall it, to revive it; but I guess, it's impossible. You can never revive a song when the words have failed you; when the underlying emotions have gone.

I tried finding my song in all the wrong places, thinking that other writers would be able to fill in the words that was lost; but I'm mistaken. No other writers could hope to finish my song. They may be able to contribute a line or two; at times a whole stanza; but it isn't in them to finish, and to make right. Ultimately, their words lack that magic -- that lasting quality -- that I am searching.

Thus I try to come back to my first inspiration. Unfortunately, lightning never strikes the same spot twice; and my muse have gone away, leaving me in this turmoil.

I'm still looking for my song; the one to make me complete. That melody and verve that will illuminate all secrets; that one Ray of Light that will clear away the absurdities in Life.

I need to look deeper inward to find the music and the words. I need to find my inspiration; The Inspiration; and maybe -- hopefully -- I would get the song right. And be able to enjoy it before my curtains fall...

I so HATE my job right now

But then again, I hate it on a daily basis.

It's just that everyday, my loathing for this job reaches new levels of hatefulness I never thought was possible. I find that everyday, I see more and more reasons to leave; to once and for all move away. And everyday, I get burried in tons of paperwork that acts as shackles forestalling my leave-taking. Everyday, I am further bound to this job by responsibilities beyond measure.

And everyday, I am asking myself why, why WHY! did I ever find accounting to be so interesting in the first place. I could have been successful on a job that entails travelling; or be a hotel and food critic, anything! Getting paid to bitch, rant and complain -- that could have been heaven!

But NO! I'm here, chair-bound, desk-bound, honor-bound to account for other people's money, and it's getting old fast!.

Next time, use MS Word...

Here I am, blogging my life away and feeling proud of the thoughts I've transcribed in the past hour or so, when suddenly, the internet gods decide to piss me off. No particular reason, It's just that you were there.

I click on Publish, and lo and behold! my entry, my 1000-word work of one hour, gone. It doesn't exist. Makes me want to summon my cleaver and hack away at people...

Crap.

I Am Sick!!!

And I hate it!

I totally, utterly, hell-be-damned, hate it!

And good timing this ailment has, hitting me on the busiest weeks of my work-month (on both jobs, the monthend is a total strain). Now, I've piles of paperwork and tons of recon work left hanging, and I don't have the strenght of body, mind and will to hope to finish it.

For the past 36 hours, i've been locked up in my room, bed-ridden, teary-eyed and snot-nosed, and it feels like so much dung has been piled onto me, I can't even stand stright to close my door!

On the brighter side, this sickness has given me a bit of a respite, and I was able to finish reading Anne Rice's Servant of the Bones, which is a good read, full of details, but pales in comparance with her Vampire Mythology.

But then again, work calls, and here I am, rendering overtime (after logging in half-day) just to finish some report needed by my superiors. I don't know how far my overdose of vitamins will be able to sustain me, though. I'm here at work, and all I could think of is playing hookie, and go to the mall to watch (and maybe re-watch) the movies on play. NO, I don't want to go home to my bed, I've been tied there for the past one and a half day, and I despise its very presence! My night job's being in the adjacent room is also a factor, but we're not discussing that right now (hee hee!).

And so, here I am, on my day job (it's already nearing 10pm, but this is still the day job), lacking the drive to continue working, thinking of going away for my leisure (and health) and not being able to just stand up and leave. And leaving is always at the back-burners of my convoluted mind... Another officemate just resigned, for a better job, maybe, I don't know, and all I could think about is "why am I still here?" Damn it, why do I linger?!?

The Case of the Ex

What is the politics when dealing with your friend's ex? Is there a protocol that you should follow? How much interaction is allowable between you and the ex so as not to be construed as betrayal? And what if you've struck a friendship with the ex... what happens then?

Maybe I'll never know...

Censureship

I have been blogging part time using friendster since last year. Unfortunately, my officemates have come to know of my friendster blog ever since the Alphalist Series, and now, I dont feel my verbosity is enough of a hindrance for them to read the trash I write in there.

I still write there, but it feels like I can no longer write everything I want to, because prying eyes are about. I don't feel confident anymore writing about my work (and my other work) in there because someone might be surveying the draft, and it might be used against me somehow. There was a precedent after all, that an officemate was called in by our HR because of the stuff she wrote in her blog. Thus the need for restraint.

But I don't want restraint, and I would want to keep on ranting, I mean writing, what I want, whenever I get the urge to do so. And so, hello, new blog. I hope you don't disappoint me.

Rayearth: Mokona, and the Search for Sagato and Emeraulde

Once again, I saw something that constricted my heart and hollowed out my insides.


I’ve seen it before, long before it was posted, but seeing it there caused another twitch inside of me. I thought I was ready for it, I thought I would no longer be affected.


I really should learn not to care, but how do you do that when the object of caring has lodged deep inside your core?


How do you stop an addiction, an obsession, when it has been fully assimilated in your system; when it seems that removing it would spell your demise?


How do you even try to forget?




published in friendster blog June 3rd, 2008

The Boring Life of a Numbers Freak

I hate to admit it but I’ve become boring.


I have always liked to think of my self as unpredictable, but now, I concede to the fact that I am leagues away from that notion. I have become the very anti-thesis to unpredictability. I have become procedural and schedule-bound. Gone now is that perceived notion of Chaos in my life and works. Gone also are the dysfunctional elements in my life that make me feel unique. In fact, the only thing that is left unstable is my mind.

I have become predictable. I have become time-bound. I have become boring. Damn, I’ve even become redundant.

I have become… an accountant.

"Accountants are not boring people, they just get excited over boring stuff." I think I’ve written that before… but now, it becomes painfully apparent and hurtfully true in my case. 

Even my blog entries can attest to my being such a bore. I mean, who would ever want to hear of someone else’s boring day job, for crying out loud! And here I am, ranting about it on three consecutive occasions.
I need something to perk me up, to jump start by life. I know it still wouldn’t be exiting and adventure-packed, but at least it shouldn’t be boring.

And redundant.

And annoying.

And most importantly, about work.




published in friendster blog April 21st, 2008

Magnanakaw!

Earlier today, I was riven from my morning slumber by urgent calls from below. "Magnanakaw! Magnanakaw! Magnanakaw!" screamed a woman from 3 floors down. Chismoso that I am, I looked down my window to see a woman i red desperately, and vainly, trying to catch up with a thug on a motorcycle.


Said thug, by the way, was very much complacent, running his bike on minor gear, assured that the woman wouldn’t catch up. He turned a corner and disappeared from view. A few minutes later, I hear the sonic boom of a revved up motorcycle. Probably Mr. Thug doubling back and returning from the cesspool from whence he came.


That was the second time I was torn from my morning routine by wildly screaming victims of petty theft. The first instance was a few months ago, February, I think. What irks me about these things is not that it happens on our street, but that it happens aside from the fact that our community pools a monthly collection for the benefit of baranggay patrol.


Oftentimes, I see the tambays tanods keeping post on the corner nearest our place. It is ironic though, that both snatchers crossed that corner where the patrols keep their post at night. Okay, provided it was 6am that the thieving occurred, and probably beyond their patrol hours, but why is it that, despite their nightly rounds, snatchers and petty thieves abound our place?! Is it because the thugs have no fear of God and Law, and certainly not baranggay tanods? Or is it that their nightly vigil is at most flippant and not entirely dissuasive of crime?


Or maybe the thugs already know their schedules, and can easily maneuver their hits around the watchers’ guard hours. I don’t know.


But do I really care, stoic that I am? Maybe. Having been victimized myself by petty thieves, I do feel for that lady, desperately catching up, trying to regain her belongings — pieces of her life — that was snatched from her. At least, they were only things, those belongings snatched from her. Those can be replaced, albeit stressful and cumbersome.


And Mr Thug, dude, Karma will get you. As some of my friends point out: "Digital na ang Karma", it wouldn’t wait for reincarnation for your comeuppance. And as the Chinese curse go, "May you live in Interesting Times".




published in friendster blog April 19th, 2008

I Got Shot At in Pasay, and All I got was this Lousy T-Shirt

Well… in the dream I had earlier. And it was one of those vivid dreams, I tell you.


I was walking along a street (I forgot the name) presumably to visit our old apartment compound (I remember I was running, like I was late or something) when this person in a bicycle for no reason just shot at me. His bullet grazed my neck and I had a face full of gunpowder burning my cheeks and singeing my eyebrows. Next, he shot at the person a few steps behind me. I only got to see him collapse on the street and see the shooter pedal out of the scene.


He was wearing a yellow shirt, but I didn’t see his face. I also remember him pumping the pedals hard, so as to propel him faster… at me, I suppose.


I didn’t immediately wake up then, although the gunshot was reverberating at my head. I still had time to feel the blood from where the bullet scraped my neck, and see my burned face at the nearest mirror I could find.


It’s just so unsettling, waking up to your near-death experience. I still hurt where the bullet hit me, my ears still hurting from the sonic boom. And it’s unnerving, dreaming this up on my birth week!


Oh well…




published in friendster blog January 6th, 2008