the ape who became man

Hindi ako sanay makipagbuno sa isang taong sa simula pa lamang ay alam ko na kung ano ang gustong mangyari. Unang una, ang pagpatol o pagsagot man lang sa kaniyang ingay ay magdudulot lang ng isa pang labis na ingay; hindi maganda ang magkaruon ng ingay. Pangalawa, ang pag-iisip ng tao ay maaring ihanay sa dalawa: isang mababaw na pag-iisip at isang intelektwal na pang-unawa. Sa pangyayaring ang isa kong kaibigan ay siya mismong sumira sa pinaka-iingat-ingatan kong pangalan (at reputasyon), hindi naman siguro masama ang minsang pagsagot, lalo pa’t ang tugon ay laging kailangan sa ngalan ng Komunikasyon.

Sino nga ba ang nakakakilala sa taong ito, na nagngangalang Jeffrey Castañeros; mas kilala sa tawag ka ‘kasta’ (kantot)? Labis ang paghanga ng taong ito sa kanyang kakayanan, malimit din ang pagpuna niya sa mga bagay na hindi gusto ng kaniyang panlasa, kaya naman tinawag siyang Mr. Perfect.

Ano nga ba ang nagawa ni Jeffrey sa kaniyang buhay sa nakalipas na labing anim na taon niyang pamamalagi dito sa mundo?

Pagkabata, lumaki sa Jeffrey sa ibang bansa. Nagmula siya sa Africa, kapiling ang mga hayop na itinuring na niyang pamilya (iniwan si Jeff ng tunay niyang mga magulang sapagkat, ayon sa hula, lalaking mangmang ang anak).

Masaya duon si Jeff, maliban na lang tuwing isinasama siyang kumain ng mga nakalakihan ng hayop. Minsan, nanganib ang buhay ni Jeff, dahil sa kakulitan ay munitk na itong lapain ng hyena (Sayang! Tsk!).

Mabilis na lumipas ang panahon at masakit man sa kaniya’y kinailangan niyang iwan ang mga hayop na itinuring na niyang pamilya.

Lumisan si Jeff baon ang masasayang alaala ng lumipas: ang pakikipaghalikan sa matsing habang naliligo silang sabay, ang gatas ng Gurilya na siya niyang hanap hanap pagdating niya sa siyudad. Sa tuwing tumatakbo ang alaalang iyon, iling at pagtanggi na lang ang kaniyang tugon. Hirap siyang limutin ang lahat – ang pagiging hayop niya.

Hindi nagtagal nakasanayan din niyang mamauhay kapiling ang mga tao. Natuto siyang sumagot at hindi na siya nanguumit ng pagkain.

At dahil natuto na nga siya, pinilit niyang hanapin ang mga magulang na nag-abandona sa kaniya. Bagama’t mahirap kailangan niyang magpatuloy sapagkat nabahiran na siya ng asal ng tao – natuto siyang mahiya.

At hindi nga umabot ang isang taon ay nakita niya ang mga magulang. Hindi maipaliwanag na pagkasabik ang nadama niya, ngunit hindi ganuon ang naramdaman ng mga magulang. Sa halip na yapos ng galak at pagmamahal ang kaniyang matanggap mula sa mga ito, pandidiri ang kaniyang natanggap.

Itinaboy siya, ngunit dahil hindi pa rin naaalis ang pagiging asal hayop, bumabalik siyang pilit. Dumadaan sa lahat ng butas na kasya siya (asal hayop talaga).

Natutunan na ring tanggapin ng mag-asawa si Jeff, subalit layo pa rin ang luob ng mga ito sa kaniya, lalo pa ng nagsilang ang ina niya ng isang “cute na baby boy” (malayong malayo kay Jeff).

Nalungkot si jeff at ang mga alaala ng kahapon ay animo bukal na dumaloy sa kaniyang kamalayan.

Gurilya: Ungga! Ung ungga ungga (dedede ka na ba)?

Jeff: ung (oo)!

At impit na pag-iyak lamang ang maririnig mula sa sulok na iyon.

Pumasok ang ina niya at naabutan siyang lumuluha.

Ina: Pakshet ka ang arte mo, unggoy!

Jeff: Ungga ungga ungga! Rrrooorrrrghh!

Ina: okay!

Lumabas na ito.

Click!

Dilim.

Sa mga nagtatanong kung bakit mag-isa lamang si Jeff sa kanilang bahay, marahil ngayon ay alam niyo na. At kung bakit laging tinatanaw ni Aling Amor si Jeff? Siyempre, concerned lang yung tao. Ayon sa nakalap kong impormasyon, animal lover si Aling Amor and she looks after Jeff’s welfare.

ED: based on true story

mother to us

Ninoy staked his life for every Filipino. Thus he remarked, “The Filipino is worth dying for”. The nation mourned for his passing and his burial gathered the majority (if not the whole) of the citizenry to a caravan toward his final destination. He left a family bereft of a pillar but he made sure that its light will help the country prosper in a way or another. His demise brought us to our knees; however he left us with a legacy that we thought would never flicker and help us bounce back. He went and paved the way for his widow, Corazon ‘Cory’ Aquino who would later became a Philippine president.

Cory was an icon to most of us. However frail she may have appeared for her political foes, she faced them with an untarnished adherence to the duty we entrusted to her. A series of attempts to topple her out of her office were a crucible of endurance that few of us may see as heroism and martyrdom. But to my juvenile way of thinking, Cory was not an icon, neither was she a heroine; she is simply a mother who provided us an ocean of chances that we failed to discern as a gift but rather an act of intervention.

We sought democracy through her. We enjoy living our lives today free from any harm which she outdid in the past. We joined the herds of people walking in and out of Churches to devote a minute or two for her recovery and because of that her coping up was seen. She spent some time in the hospital notwithstanding her eagerness to inspire people, to become a mother once more. Despite her efforts to move us from the pit of indifference, she still failed, otherwise, we failed her.

Our eternal flame, as what Letty Jimenez-Magsanoc described of her, has already made her part for our development. Now that she’s gone (in physical sense), it’s never a crime to follow the trail she has given us to continue what she has started from the day she entered into our lives until the final day of her physical existence. Perhaps, she would feel rewarded if we ditto what she has done for the Filipinos.

She, being a perpetual source of inspiration for us, will live forever, for as long as democracy is imperiled, for as long as there is injustice and tyranny, the glimpse of light Cory endowed us will shine through and through.

I will give the amount of love and affection I render for my own mother to a stranger who made my existence worth living for.

In behalf of all Filipinos worldwide, “Cory Aquino, Dakila Ka!”

Jeff, the maggot!

For every word you write you have to hold yourself responsible!

Jeffrey Castañeros, a blogger, student, maggot, freak and wild human made my patience trip on to its terrible tendency! Perhaps, it was nice of him to note important events afar from the usual thing he has gotten used of doing – freaking people – but just this afternoon, I happened to read a post on his blog (riddleorpuzzle.blogspot.com) that really had driven me to loads of laughter.

What he did

For God’s sake, Jeff is a nice friend. He would treat you to any street eatery and would not pay for your meals regardless, he is nice. I had no idea of what to do for the rest of the day when a thought from the afternoon conversation with my pals got on my psyche.

Mora, not the explorer, made a hint of it beforehand; however, she didn’t bother to clear things out. The only words I heard from her stupendous mouth were about Jeff. But what don’t I know about Jeff that she knew? It was something about Jeff’s blog. There, you could see a flick of me (the man in white tee and black denim with a cap) together with Gannia (just look for her there) dancing to the music of the master rapper, F. Magalona. The music was cool and compelling but the way it was used was quite pissing off for the late FM. But good of him, he didn’t haunt Jeff for setting the music as accompaniment to our moves and posting it to be subject of public’s eyes. Nothing is controversial about it though but the only thing that I want to appeal was that Jeff made my real name shown in public! I am the aggrieved party here. Crying. But he didn’t fuss to ask my permission. Crying. I don’t want him to be my friend anymore!

I hate you Jeff!

Siyempre joke lang ‘yun!

fact is enraging

What’s wrong at saying the most of truth?

When you lie, you’ll get to pay for it in whatever stifling way you could imagine. When you become (so much) truthful, you’ll get to be rewarded by some folks who could demarcate a lie from fact. That was then.

Today, most of us are living with the cloud of pride and egotism blinding our sense of reason that we lose our fair perspective to things which we often treat abnormal regardless of its normalcy.

I had the most trembling experience yesterday – I contemplated myself having seated on an arm chair in the far right side of a room. It was suffocating there. I had two companions who sat beside me (each of us was divided by a chair to avoid dittoing), they were Maui, who wishes to get a spot as a layout artist, and, the other who was seating next to Maui, Mary Grace (she, same as me, is struggling to get a spot as writer). We came late at the venue which I supposed was hiding from us. As soon as we finished filling up the attendance sheet, we started off with the test papers on top of our tables and top of our priority that day.

The written exam was divided into four parts: Spelling, Grammar, News Writing and Editorial Writing.

The room was filled with hard-core aspirants who might be wondering why they were there in the first place. Some were opportunistic who thought of themselves as sages and warlocks of [w]riting. While the rest retained humility over two hours of finishing the crucible.

As I see the words entering my eyes, dominantly surpassing one another to get to my inkling first, I felt really disappointed. First thing in that morning, Maui, Mora and I were swapping comments about the institution (as they call it) we are ‘dreaming’ to belong to and then after a few times wrestling through boredom, we found that hiding room.

It wasn’t that difficult as what Mora told us prior the exam. But it was only the first half of the 100 per cent qualification, the other half lies under your rhetoric. “I could make it”, I told myself while scribbling something on the paper. I even straightened up to leisurely allow my blood to run freely, which in course would make me feel relaxed.

The facilitator let us move to the other side which is sufficiently ventilated (but due to the fact that it was indeed a humid afternoon we still felt chafed by the heat).

Forty long minutes have passed and I was through. The first set of interviewers took respite while the remaining people released brine. Thereafter, another ensemble of inquisitors has settled on each respective station. I was then asked to enter.

There, they asked me questions from a standardized questionnaire.

“Tell us something about yourself”, the ‘healthy’ man bellowed.

I retorted accordingly.

They, ‘healthy’ man, beautiful girl in yellow, and a tacky girl, repeatedly thwarted me questions. I guess, I have answered them quite right.

The conversation went to a sort of confession about my sentiments over the newspaper itself and the news. The man (insistently concealing the forming of rage behind his calm appearance [which I was able to catch]) lectured on me right after so as the beautiful young lady in yellow top and blue denim. I succumbed to their ideals by simply nodding.

I was then summoned to go back to my seat. Afterwards, I shook hands with them one by one.

I got back on the hard couch and related my story to the girls; we had shared a good laugh.

So there, it was their moment to sit on the torture chair (Maui first then Mora).

Oblivious of what happened inside, we went out and got a glimpse of our friends. We talked, walked, and laughed.

once i loved

She was unable to reach out and guide me through the lowest points of my life but I never doubted her loving me. Perhaps it was so sudden that both of us needed to break free from each other’s grip in order to grow as different individuals. It took me three years or so to finally got over her and yet as it appeared to me now, there is still that side of me that longs for her warm embraces, plus the fact that I miss every piece of her.

I remained void for quite a while, thinking it would be vindicating if I would live up the next ten years without her at my side. Simply, I was afraid to get myself another relationship and find out along the way that I am not enjoying it anymore. There wasn’t a day in my life after our break-up which I could consider an ecstatic one. Thoughts of her just simply come across my mind and my serene world would go out wild once more.

Each twelfth day of every month is a red-letter day in my calendar. I don’t utterly celebrate it with gifts for her as I had accustomed of doing in the light of our life together but, instead, a simple glimpse of the past can satisfy my lonely heart. The kisses we shared, the laughter that resounds at one special corner of my head, the sugarcoated words of affection we tirelessly exchanged while bidding goodbye for each day we got through, and that unknown feeling of love, ecstasy and enthusiasm which I contentedly kept in my heart after all.

She must have been wrong at deciphering my actions, she must be thinking then that my way of showing her love is unhealthy, and by manner, over possessing. If she could have just listened with her heart, the separation might have not occurred. It was trite to note that I cried over and over beseeching her to stay. But unspeaking of it would have made me crazy, would have killed me.

She might be very fortunate to have been loved by someone like me while I might be less-fortuned to have been not so much loved by the person I had died for. I should have not given her the chance to escape from me then but every time I remember reading ‘The dance of life’ I just cease the thought from becoming a big persuasion.

I might have lost her, I might have become selfish, I might have become rude, but I’m glad to have her character in one of the chapters of my life.

Whoever you may be with right now, I am expressively happy for both of you. I love(d) you so much, so much I could die.

light seige

Light painting, is it possible?

Yeah, it is! I had just finished making it last night after Joezel told me about its possibility. I set the tools in a dim room. Fixed the camera to the mode where it can catch or record the light as it glides strokes in the air. My first attempt was a flop, because I was unable to form a star using the light. It looked more like a letter ‘k’ than the shape I was trying to construct. Then, my second try didn’t disappoint me. What I saw was a star with uneven side-lengths but instead of making the picture a mediocre it made it look even better. I tried other shapes. I hoisted my hand with the penlight at the tip upward, then sideward, downward, leftward, and I ended it up with a last upward stroke.

I was able to form a rough square but nearly a rectangle. I had fun time having this new-found knowledge about capturing pictures and soon I would be seeing myself engaged in a more technical way of understanding the camera stuffs. Wish you could be there to guide me through then.

spending time catching ‘gay’

Mary Grace Mora, a classmate and equally radical person as me, has spent, I guess, most of her time figuring out the sexual choice of our professor. This is quite alarming for no young lady would exert much effort knowing the sexual orientation of a guy, or anything about him, unless there are some peculiar throbs above her abdomen. I don’t utterly herald you to the conclusion that Mora-kun is affected, by way, because she is, in all strands of her cut-short hair, infatuated. Let’s give her some more time mulling it over.

Like one day, it was a Thursday afternoon, hot and irritating, she called me out from afar JUST to ask whether sir is gay or guy. Of course I wouldn’t know unless he told me, I fretted and said no. Regardless, she formats in her brain that sir is gay (I could hear her). Laughs.

Another incident, this time sir isn’t the subject of her doubt, or much valid to say, her disappointment with gay.

She related in her blog her experience during high school when she was obligated to spearhead and host an event in their former school. She explained she hasn’t have the apt to be host so she felt like breaking the soil and being eaten by it is a chance of escape. However, she sheered the story from telling about herself to starting a tale, with all due respect to the third and swerved-race of Adam, about gays again.

She even admitted that in no time she could tell whether the male in front of her is gay or no gay with the aid, definitely, of her own definition of gay. You know, twitching of fingers, body language, facial expressions, and many more.

When you want to get to know this gal, visit her site – paperlessociety – on my blogroll.

Birthday t(h)reat

On my birthday, I’ll have another year passed before my friends’ eyes. The system is, when it’s your birthday you’ll have to get everyone invited in a gathering, you’ll have to prepare food, and all other stuffs that would make it unprecedented. Glittered eyes will be seen from a distance, waiting to be served of sumptuous meals, craving for more and bigger, quarreling over a piece of ham. As the cloud of dust hazes the surrounding, the celebrator will be nowhere to be found, but who cares? “We get here for the food and merriment, why should we care if he’s missing”, says some of those damn guests.

The sun was up and the birds are singing in a strange and unintelligible tune. The breeze was drifting the grass and some pieces of leaves on the ground. It was silent. No one dared to break the mime each plant and tree is making. Nothing but the sky and the breeze know when to start and to end.

I get up with a disgruntled appearance as the reflection of me was all I see on a tinted glass standing before me. It was plaintive as the bamboo does along with the leaves and the grass. I skid the blanket closer to me and folded it in half. While piling the cotton pillows on its shelf, I heard a noise from the bathroom across my room.

Wide awake now; I ambulated, one foot after the other. A block of wood hindered my way out. I touched the knob, twisted it once and pushed it open. It was dark outside. I glided right to search for the switch with my hand. Making a gentle walk through the darkness, my right foot trampled onto something soft – it was flesh! Soon as I felt it the switch is now on the edge of my index finger, I turn to it and pounded the lights on.

Blood! A body in front of me was looking up. Its eyes have gone out of sockets and are placed somewhere near the cadaver.

“It was my birthday”, I thought scared and trembling.

A voice rumbled in the room – laughing, mocking me.

Then suddenly the lights went out again. The voice got more intense and ghastly. I ran through the dark narrow alley leading to the stairs. Mindful of what’s happening, I stepped on to everything in my way. I stomped downstairs and led to the door. It was locked from the outside!

“Help!” I shouted out idiotically. I knew there was no one I was with last night. I slept over the house alone. Who could be the person lying there? I saw his face once but I can’t find him in my thoughts now. Banging the door, harshly bruising my knuckles, I cried out in panic, in boredom of waiting for somebody to attend to me.

The voice, magnified now, returned. It was getting louder and louder as if it is near approaching me. The shock of my life came to be.

After seventeen years of living with them, this is the greatest, most brazen, and scariest treat I have ever received.

Happy Birthday to me, on October one!

a workplace problem

My favorite spot cannot be defined into terms of convenience. Sometimes, I relish a much more irking place than a comfortable one which everybody would love to be doing their work at. But just for a change, I would break that convention.

When you are ripping wet with your own sweat and you can find no fan around you at all, by all means you would look for something to take away the disgust that is gradually forming on your forehead. You’d be irritated even more if the people around you are not distracted by the noise they are making and instead of considering your business, not even a fret will be paid unto you. And as a result, you would be enraged and would think of giving up the task at hand despite the gravity it holds, all you wanted now is an escape from an inconsiderate pack of ‘howling wolves’.

This is what I take into account a workplace.

When all else fails and everybody has had finished their job, and you remain getting your own business through, a pinch of panic is likely to ensue. If you cannot stand it you might fail and get saturated with the pressure being hardly pressed to you by no other else but yourself.

This is the common problem to us. Accept it or refute it, this really is a predicament that we hardly notice about because when it incurs the only thing that we could think of is to how to get out of it or how to get this done. At the way we deal with it, this is a test of patience. At the way we troubleshoot it, this is next to impossible.

Enough of this, let’s move on to another frequent flaws we bump on at our respective workplaces. This maybe one of the most crucial: incompetent comrades (!)

I have yet to see more of these problems as soon as I finish my degree but in the time being, let’s just give examples and rough solutions to these. If you are working with good-for-nothing comrades, you expect them to be the same – flat and unproductive. But before you run out of patience and unveil the mask of tolerance, bear some tip in mind: patience will always be as it always has been… a virtue.

Instance: you ask somebody from another department to send to your office an important document that is urgently needed to be signed by your boss. After a few minutes waiting, the document is still off your boss’ hands. You give another call for reminding the person in the said department, he will ensure you this time. After again a few excruciating minutes, your boss will approach you and say you go and get it by yourself. Obediently, you will go to the area and when you arrived there, you will hear this, “What was that you needed?”

Rough Solutions:

· Take a deep breath, repeat your request, and try to keep your irritation from showing. Becoming upset usually only makes the situation worse. Ask a few questions to ensure the other person knows what you want. Quite often the problem is not incompetence but overwork, lead staffing, poor training, or lack of information. Often, it’s a combination of several of these. Being understanding will go further in getting you what you want–and may help the other person better meet the next challenge.

· If the person works for you, find out if he or she has the proper training to do the job right. Or, does the person need better written instructions? Once you identify the source of the problem, take steps to correct it.

· Ask yourself whether the person is motivated to do a good job. Most people will do more when they have a reason to do so.

It always pays to be patient and tolerant. However sucking your workmates are you have to have them understood.

one night about what to blog

I had made a blog to tuck onto it whatever comes across my mind. But like any others who spend enough time blogging, I also clash on in a circumstance which my brain seemed to going through a dysfunction. Due to this, I’d prepare my mobile phone and send text messages to my contacts asking them what interesting topics I shall post here. Some do pay care to make a reply while the rest appeared unmoved (to those who send in responses, my deep thanks, and to those unmoved, I understand).

Recently, Adrian, a high school friend, advised me to start posting on something that could help out others, something which might be source of inspiration, something different and yet riveting.

“Will you give specifics?” I retorted.

I don’t know what take this friend so busy to make an immediate response but I did not budge to ask, instead, I went on asking.

“Why don’t you try placing ways to easily cope up after a breakup?” he replied, at last.

We went on with the discussions, exchanging of opinions is all we have to do to stay up for the night. He also thought of me posting topics related to broken friendship ties. I listed them up in my memory. Stories about itineraries were included as well. “But I got to have photos of it to make them realistic and tangible”, I told in a text response.

He agreed or shall I say we both agreed.

From then on, I begun pacing forward with the roster we made in my thoughts haunting.