my fashion-blind eyes

I was out with the fiance the other day to pick out my tux-an equally challenging task.  

 To allow ample amounts of time to prepare myself emotionally, I had to cut off my working hours early to reserve myself for the rest of the day.

  Yes, this was planned  months ago, but this is Tuxedo day, you see. Women, on their part, have numerous days assigned for fitting and refitting their mile long gowns, not to mention, the bazillion hours of phone calls spent with girlfriends discussing the pros and cons of each and every gown in bridal magazines, while I, the lone groom, only have 1 day- ow, make that just 30 minutes, to be exact. 

This is, of course, one of those crucial times in marriage, along with wedding pictorials, family reunions and child support payments where a considerately productive groom-to-be or any real man, in that matter, are expected to perform exceedingly well…or at least, way up above  average.

 you understand the scenario I’m in  right? the level of pressure?

If there was a time in my life  I’d  wish I could be as suave as 007, this would be it. Go in the store, flip a cigar from my side pocket, say some french clothing-language that only me and the expert tailor comprehends; sit at the counter and leisurely  drop a killer ”one liner, “Martini; shaken, not stirred”.

Unfortunately, like the realities of  espionage and make-believe movies, I was the clumsy green ogre that day, stumbling over a shelf of wedding brochures as we stepped in.

I always thought choosing tuxedos were easy. I mean, there are only 2 available colors to choose from for crying out loud and the designs, well, aside from worrying if its gonna be double-breasted or not the suits look basically the same.

but it turns out, when your inside a den filled with  black and white customary drapes for aspiring husbands, the similarities evaporate and now you face  endless variety of exquisitely designed tuxedos,silk, non-silk ,ties, bow ties, bent collars, straightened collars,  or whatever else they are.

Choices which are  too complex for my already shrinking pea-sized brain to decide on.

 I heard that one way of chosing the best one, something that’s truly YOU would be to close your eyes and listen to your heart decide.

 Well, I don’t exactly know how the heart tells you , maybe in a quick extra beat or a skip but walking inside the corridors filled with tagged coats, I had a feeling my heart decided to abandon me on this, or maybe missed its still small voice  for all I heard were my shoes squeeking on the well polished floor and terror-strickened soul screaming,  drowning from confusion and indecisiveness. 

I traversed each aisle aimlessly, touching each possible coat, hoping, nay, praying that one enchanted tux would connect with me.

 but there was silence. there were no sparks.

Fortunately, the fiance was there to lend me her expertise, holding my hand the whole time. Snapping me back from my hysteria. And without breaking a sweat, even with eyes closed she, in slow-motion, extended her finger and rested them gently on a black, double breasted, polyester tuxedo. 

Then the room glistened. 

I swear I heard angels singing right there.

 

i am a celebrity, pick me

I wanted to be famous.  To be in the movies. On billboards. On commercials. I wanted to do a slo-mo, with my hair gliding gracefully with the wind as I turn to face the camera with my close up. I wanted to be a celebrity.

I remember when I was  at grade school, when the “Ang TV “, a tv show with children and young teens as their main characters  first came out, I was ecstatic to join.

Everyday, I would stand in front of my parent’s gigantic mirror and tried my best to master my cutest and sun-stopping smile. Playing out in mind possible scenes for my soon-to-be audition – An abandoned child; a knight fighting for the love of his maiden who was transformed into  a slimy ogre-looking fly;   a prince surviving a fatal wound  after slaying an evil mage; or a hunk gasping for air, almost drowning while saving a helpless half-naked beauty from the abyss; or a talented actor pretending to be surprised and in shock after winning a Grammy.

I can give you a Kristine Hermosa crying scene from “Pangako sa ‘Yo” just to avoid being spanked by my aunt for misbehaving and get away with it. The tears would be so genuine and convincing that she’d feel torn and bring us out for a 2-peso ice cream to apologize for  raising her voice.

This was my forte. Dramatic Arts.

But while acting was second to breathing for me. Smiling wasn’t. It was kryptonite for my Clark Kent. You see, as a 9-year-old prodigy like me, this was my sole artistic flaw -my Achilles’ heel per se.

And as an avid movie critic I could say that having a prominent smile is fundamental and not to mention critical for a promising actor. I wont even dare count the millions of  promotions John Pratt had on ads like Close up toothpaste for his “well shown-teeth” smile.

Sadly, it would be years till I can parade the various dimensions of my smile. Years before I can awe the world with its grandeur.  So  while I forge and wait, I  painstakingly watched Maxine Magalona, Kaye Abad, Patrick Garcia, Rico Yan take up the roles I was born to do.

By the time my facial muscles finally submitted to my bidding, accede to  my persuasion and  formed a beautiful grin, I was 20 years late . By this time, the Ang TV show was long gone, actors of my age have left the limelight and started to live as adults. The nearest media exposure I could attain at this age would be  from news reporters interviewing for political poll ratings or a water shortage complaint. None for commercials. No more close-ups. No more center stage.

But Fame, I’d say, is not  bound on the limits of “acting” alone. It flourishes from academics, flexibility in sports, glass-breaking high-pitched voices, or acne-free porcelain skin. Even a boring, normal life written in a well-organized and entertaining larger-than-life blog could be one’s long-awaited break…

..oh, wait, does that really work or is it just me wishing?

I’m a celebrity… please take me!

 

quicker way to look dainty

For almost a month now , my struggle to gain supremacy toward my anatomy has been nothing but a failing quest. An elusive end.

Maybe it’s because it’s too ambitious of a goal for me or I have such a weak resolve.

Like Adam, I find myself unable to resist Eve’s  forbidden apple(literally).

I tried almost everything I could. From eating all-protein like lions , eating leaves and grass like goats( but this one I had to stop within a week out of fear of growing horns ), gulping algae like Ariel( little mermaid), running around the Rose Bowl( tried it for a day), biking to work, even the unimaginable, not eating chocolates(?). But  after all these unsuccessful efforts I remedied to check my weight  to at least once a week now rather than monitoring it daily to somehow cushion the blow of the slight 5 lbs increase in my body mass(ouch) and avoid bingeing, a rebound, brought about by mild depression.

Recently, my girlfriend is into Korean telenovelas.

She’s so into them that she started downloading korean applications on her itouch just to immerse herself with their culture and her korean infatuations.  Well, just a week ago, while spending QT, by QT, I mean watching her korean english subbed shows in youtube together, I had a sudden revelation. Why not incorporate my girlfriend’s obsession to my ever-failing quest?

here’s the logic: 

What does Asians, no, let’s just say Koreans, Chinese and Japanese have in common? yes. They are petite, THIN, healthy. and  what is it that they eat vigorously, their main diet? the secret where they attribute their flexible skinny bodies?yes again. NOODLES.

Now according to my deep analysis, if I can just start with that diet, I would be inches away from maintaining a thinner more agile structure. ka-chingggg!!

And so I run to the nearest seafood mart and bought myself dozens of them quick noodles, the ones they showed where cute Koreans guys from “Boys over Flowers” are eating.

And true enough, after I managed to operate the chopsticks to work and started sipping through the soup and noodles, I could immediately feel its effects encapsulating my still-flubby body. After a few sips, my stomach was already filled with a mixture of  fresh air, spicy soup and wiggly noodles. I’ve never felt this healthy before and now I feel full. no longer hungry like i was 2 minutes ago.

Maybe the noodles grant me an illusion of  being filled, but so far it works. for as long as it helps me avoid eating gluttonously and not feel weak from hunger at the same time then it’s alright.

for the sake of transient beauty I’ll do it all.

 

what is better than a cynic?

Weeks ago, me and a friend had a rigorous debate about politics . Considering that  just in a few months, that small island in the Pacific is gonna have its long-awaited Presidential election and according to some, a turning point in our republic.

Somehow, along the conversation my friend accused me of being a cynic referring to my lack of belief on politicians and my absence in voting during my 20-year residence in the country; said that it is our social obligation to pass our vote and choose the bestest candidate, for he/she can reshape our beloved Philippines into something better.

if you have read my previous post regarding my country’s political status, you might understand where I’m going  with this. Politics in my country, has, is and always will be corrupt. It has been like that to a  highest degree that even a simple transaction as to taking a driver’s test requires you to pay a hefty amount. failing to do so would deny you a licence. it’s not optional either, like a tip, it’s a requirement, more like a standard in operation. A friend of mine tried to test that system  once and chose to take the regular test without paying shady personnel for it. and as expected, failed the test in all counts.

To be considerably wealthy in my country, and to do it in the shortest time, one must become a political officer. nothing boosts your general income as fast as jueteng payoffs, invisible housing funds, unfinished road repairs, and unnamed employees clocked in, to name a few. But of course, not all so called-”servants of the people” are like that, there are a few who are doing their services diligently and have Rizal’s flame in their hearts.  A few.

And how much difference can that few make? for some, like my friend there, they’d say, “enough”, enough to start a ripple of change, a ripple of hope.

Actually, that few begun  their ripples centuries back.  But 200 years later, now, how many ripples are left creating influence? have they increased ten-fold or decrease to a heartbreaking low?

like echoes from a loud cry, our voices of change have slowly faded in time.

On the 7,107 islands, how many care enough to live honestly in life’s difficulties? live in virtue without selling or bribing for a quick meal or convinience?how many leaders give their best in service without asking for anything back?or graciously turns over their position at the end of their term? still a few. We all heard the cry, the silent echos in our corridors, everybody did. We all heard the stories but somehow we are too preoccupied digging ourselves out from our own personal troubles that we forget that these problems are interconnected, that we, as a people,  are in this shit  hole together.

The hard truth is that ripples of good ideals and trumpets of patriotism doesn’t affect poor and hungry people anymore. No matter how hard we fight to change it, our efforts would always, I’ll repeat, ”always”, come short ether because a.) people are too miserable to change or, b.) there will always be a majority who’d rather meet their greediness first before the common good.

To anchor your dreams on them, on our government, waiting for things and people to change would be like riding  a sinking ship with you vigorously trying to scoop the water out while the rest of the people are busy poking holes on it.

For me, the best way to survive this jungle of a country, where the weak gets eaten and the rich becomes richer, is to stop relying on others and gear up for yourself. Your mayors, your congressmen…your president care for you only until their campaign ends, only when your vote and support is needed for their poll ratings to go up. This is reality, not the make-believe world we dream of when we were toddlers in the safety of our parent’s arms.

I believe the room for change, unfortunately, has become as narrow as a needle’s eye-maybe too much for one president and a devoted few to chew on.

If being realistic and practical is being cynical, then how can you not be? how can you stay naive and live as if you are an outsider? how can you pretend to?

Reform can only start when one sees the problem.

 

why Alice never went to bed again

And so i finally got the time to watch Alice in her wonderland.  for a CGI-addict, it was like hitting the mother lode of  stimulants and hallucinogens- a 2-hour ecstasy. 

but in between the  mushroom beverage, unorganized tea-parties, violent killer cards, and a head-dropping queen, i was brought back to when i was scared at nightmares. At monsters. At flying.I wasnt peeing my pants  or anything, but it did take  alot out from me as I  mastered courage to avoid screaming like a pop diva as this huge steroid-induced kitten, with jaws like a great White, appeared from nowhere and chased Alice around…i shouldn’t, lest i lose the chance to impress this  girl sitting beside me, leisurely digesting the 20 dollar popcorn i bought her as if this was another girl-flick movie.

I used to think that these children stories have something….what’s the word?…sinister, about them. Unlike other traditional bedtime stories, this is one of those dual meaning few that has become more popular than their predecessors.

Dwell on it  if you may:

• Alice and Wonderland- a story of a girl who  faced  conflicts in real life finds solace and comfort as she travels through an underground world she calls, Wonderland. But it is quite disturbing to note that Wonderland wasnt as relaxing as you might think it is, filled with height altering snacks,  devlish disappearing and flying cat, confusing story plots which diverts to different places instantaniously and  role confusions. a cocktail of extreme dimensions
• Hansel and Gretel- they’re dad left them in the forest to die just to please their step-mother’s insecurity-talking about abuse and parenting. and mind you, their dad did not just  do this once, but on the second attempt even made sure  they couldn’t find ways to come back.
• Little Mermaid- she gave up everything she has for the sake of a guy who doesnt even know her or that she exists. and to make everything worse, the time she finally got her man and were suppose to live happily ever after, her mermaid sisters dug a dagger on both lover’s chest ending their lovestory.
• Peter Pan- lost boys who never grows old. Everything was going smoothly, everybody was happy until Wendy came and  decided to bring all the other lost boys back to the real world with her. Yes, its for the good you might say, but them moving back  meant leaving Peter alone. and when you really think about it, at the end of the story, Peter was alone, with no one to play with except his stubborn shadow.

Children stories, for me, ought to be uplifting and inspiring. They should provide to a child good ideals as well as lessons for life and morals. We should, at this age, soak their sponge-like minds, positive and morally-correct ideas. and especially for bedtime , a critical time of the day wherein memories are stored in the long term brain, it is equally important that  as we set their minds for sleep, as we kiss them goodnight, talk to them about relaxing and peaceful themes. Something that can make their dreams sweet.

 

our lossing stand ( feb. 25)

Today i heard is the anniversary of People’s Power in my country. it was in this date, some 20 something years ago,that a majority of Filipinos stopped whatever they were doing- laundry, chikitcha, mahjong, lunch, even their low paying jobs to stand  at EDSA to impose their will to the government. This was the only day in  Philippines’ history that a majority of its citizens unified  for a cause…without external influence.. without being paid by oppossing parties. they just dropped everything and decided to storm the palace and demanded for a change.

this is rare  character for a filipino. naturally, we are considerate creatures. hospitality is our best asset, if someone urges his will, we’d politely say our approval disregarding  how we oppose it deep inside. that’s what we did when the Spaniards came, also to tsinelas bringing  Chinese and Japanese. they heartlessly imposed their will on us, but we just rolled over and went with it, complaining deep inside?Yes. Going out and fighting them away? No. For a filipino to scream his will to someone would be like micheal jackson going white. unnatural. to do something like that in unison would mean something out of character ….to do something like the “86 EDSA would mean something gravely bad was going on.

it is facinating to think that after two decades, influencial people have made the EDSA movement a propaganda…no, more like a show. they pay groups of people to start a rally so to advertise their point of view, make up some dull reason as to how the present government has somehow, like the original EDSA, transressed the people’s will and after offering a nostalgic aura of the previous succesfful rally  spark another EDSA run, a sickening cheap imitation- just so their political will can be catapulted to more power. and like the lowly, obedient citizens that we are, we roll over, join in and buy the cherade. Like actors in a circus show, they wave their political wands at us. entertained and decieved, we savor the superficial happiness and refuse the will to wake up and notice how its effects are rotting our very culture.

And what makes this Political show so irresistable? a drop of the  holy peso, paid to  peniless, politically-gullible citizens, who’ll do anything for the right amount just to survive… even for just a day.

Will is no longer guided by principles nor by patriotism. the EDSA rallies are now run by money as everything in this dying country is . Patriotism is a word found only in books, not in  hearts anymore.

is this our dying note?our dying culture? did our love for this country die with Ninoy in that airport? Did his will to come back from exile to show  Filipinos that one man can change a nation got sucked out together with his blood and dreams as he lay there on the tracks?or did it vanish a long time ago, with Rizal. cold.damped.

are we like the stuborn citizens of Ember city, refuse to get out and rather collect parsels of bread to live long enough in their slowly dying underground city, even when a solution for a better life is right there with them?

there is something greater than ourselves that is at stake here. something a few penies, a few sacrifices now can bring. dont sell yourself.

So, as you pass by the streets today and see those people wearing yellow colored shirts waving flags and shouting something about freedom and change, slap yourself in the cheek  and wake up. Don’t be another political- zombie fulfilling somebody else’s greed.

 

Search for the wholy Grail

Three months ago I made a pact with the devil in me to not just loss 60 lbs of weight but also have a physique as manly as spartan warriors, with hardened muscular spheres prettifying every inch of their bronze body, or atleast… closer .

I could not understand how one  who’s covered with hardened tissue and mineral oil could be such a spectacle to behold, or how a guy with a lesser abdominal diameter than mine be more pleasing. 

But like the rest of us,I am hot-wired to be a sucker for conventional beauty. and beauty in our generation is realized by the absence of tasty edibles, exaggeratedly chiseled muscles and crotch grinding leggings.

For the first month i have deligently abstained from eating meat of any kind and decreased my eating of rice to half a cup each day. It has been excruciating, especially when all my coworkers deliberately bring  moutwatering delicacies at lunchbreaks upon hearing of my new found devotion. like she-devils, they  entice me with their wares. But somehow i managed.

The hardest part though was learning how to deny myself the gratification of being full. and with this new lifestyle my extra distended stomach could  barely be filled. Last week, as I was once again dreading the culmination of my short lunch break, I decided to drown my weariness with water as I watch my pig of a coworker indulge himself with his jucy Big ‘n tasty burger with large fries and a coke. with each bite,I gulp my much needed H20; with each fry, a gulp of this abundant life sustaining moisture. at the end of  our break, I emptied  5 liters of our office water- which made our owner and the rest of my officemates to wonder if our water fountain is broken or has a leak or something. And of course, I was there in the corner innocently whistling, trying to look busy and indulged in my work.

With the help of daily push ups and  my girlfriends laundry and groceries I managed to cram in an inch-size-bulge in my upper arm. Biceps. Guns…mine looks more like a seniorita. a miniature sized gun-a miniature sized muscle. but as a budding muscle builder this tiny hope of contractile tissue is a ray of light.

Its a 24-hour struggle, every day of the week. And for an untrained apprentice, each day lasts  a lifetime.  An excruciatingly long lifetime.

For the first month alone, I saved 15 cows, 20 varieties of salt and fresh water fishes, fed 6 malnourished homeless bums and lost…2 lbs.

I may not look like a spartan king now with all his flexed muscles and killer good looks but  for my consulation, at least,I….. saved lives.

 

Short film written by Nash Edgerton & David Michôd

 

under love’s leash

yesterday was the day of Valentine. A priest who got married and went against the cruel ruler to express his love for his beloved popularized the phrase ”with all the love, your Valentine”. and for a rather unkown diabolical reason, humans decided to keep the idea and make it an annual tradition-to commemorate the theme of the priest who went against the government and as if that wasnt grievous enough, abandoned his spiritual calling  to pursue a taste of the blessed union-a serious scandal that time(lesser now).

in its whole sense, i could not understand the totality of observing valentine’s day. yes, we ought to express love, share our appreciation to those special few, i get that, and at least, this time of the year aside from christmas and thanksgiving, try and be kind to everyone for a day.

i dont understand though why flowers at this time gain extra attention; why the day could never be complete without it. or how human effort should be overly-emphasized with it along with chocolates and red-colored cards with music playing inside; or, how unmanly one would be if you ever neglect to observe any of those listed above.

for the reasons unkown, the general public closely connote roses and Father Valentine’s day, the very essence of our affections; that our emotions, men’s love and affection to be exact,  are measured to the degree on the  grandiosity on how it is expressed. the more over-the-top the gimick gets, the genuine it is.

an obsurd practice, but believing in it or not, its one thing a man should never overlook. unless you wanna see your girlfriend cry.

 

reboot

(a parallel response to “souls for boys” in the perspective of the girl’s computer.)

a month ago she was wailing.
it’s one thing to make a girl cry but to make her wail would mean something worse. something near dreadful. unmanly.
the word drowning or wreched could not even come close in describing whats she’s going through.
and for me to just sit there and watch her squander her fluids from every pore would be out of character.

but what can i do?
what more can i do? im just a pc. the best i can do is give her connections.

after the devastating news, i was the one she turned to to see her friends. they would talk all day, all night. my insides would be screaming for rest, almost over-heating but i didnt care. i made sure each broadband wave is going her way, granting the fastest server connection this internet-forsaken country could provide-just till she regains her strength. just till she can fully heal. just till she can move on.

but “moving on”, i have learned, is an abysmal pursuit, especial for a human. Yes, they may regain their composure, learn to smile again, function. but deep inside their circuits are crashed, loose screws, they say. everytime they see sad movies, they go to their private quarters and shed fluids, she does… almost everynight. she needs something else…a cure….something more than me. someone.

surprisingly, this week was different.
i could not really recall all her friends’ name but theres this one guy. a peculiar,corky-looking chap.

Not really my first choice for an ideal breed, might even need an extra help on hairstyle and a few hygiene tips. but he will do.
no. he’s not ugly. its just in this age of Zack Efrons and Bradley Coopers he’d be a Kiefer Sutherland, of course, absent his chiseled abs and his athletism in 24( the tv series).

But the good side of this dorky-looking friend that gained him almost all my votes is that he makes her laugh. at night before sleeping, she’d scroll down on their conversation and giggle. i dont understand why she would but she’s been doing that for a couple of nights now… giggle, sit back on her reclining chair, breathes….. and smiles realy wide.
if this is what humans call being happy then im giggling. i love giggling. im happy shes giggling.

its too early to say that something’s developing or that ts gonna be love. im just happy she’s got someone to stay up laughing all night with or be nerdy and silly with.
she might not be fully healed or have completely moved on but where she is now is a huge progress.

she’s smiling more often, looking forward on things again.

and yes, still giggles everytime she chats with the Sutherland guy.

pentium III