23 May 2006

A proposition

Last Friday, I celebrated my birthday for the 23rd time. In 23 years: that's 23 times the expense, 23+ days and nights of playing "friends"; 7 nights of tired tears; 3 midnights of anger; and 23+++ stars and candles wished on.

Hurrah for me.
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Last Friday was probably the loneliest birthday I've ever had. I felt so lonely that I want to rush time and have it make up for me next May 19th.

Maybe, my hopes were only too high. I wanted it to be a really happy birthday, but despite my plans going pretty well it still wasn't. That or the most abstract thing was right under my nose and I was too busy searching the skies for my falling star.

*Sigh*

Hmm...

*Deep sigh*

Oh well. The day had its moments anyway. I spent time with people I call friends, and that's happy. I Ate A Lot. Happy too. I was demigod and king and emperor for a couple of days. Happy, happy. How to spend money was my call. Happy... err... not so happy -- it was my money.

Maybe it's the label. Had the greeting not been, "Happy birthday!", then perhaps I would not have expected much. Whoever put that annoying adjective must have been a dumb colegiala who didn't even know the correct spelling of the word. How about we try going with just "... birthday!"? Take note of the one- to two-second buelo. It's friendlier. Heck, safer. It's up to the celebrator which adjective to attach -- it's his gaddamned day, anyway.

People, be nice. Think. And be nice.
QWERTY-ed by Paoper at 18:51 | 1 said something  
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15 May 2006

Of mice and gratitude

A highschool classmate sent this one to my email yesterday. I like the story, despite the annoying fact that it came by way of chain mail -- surprise, surprise!


___________
The Mouse Tale

A mouse looked through the crack in the wall to see the farmer and his wife open a package.

"What food might this contain?" the mouse wondered. He was devastated to discover it was a mousetrap.

Retreating to the farmyard, the mouse proclaimed the warning. "There is a mousetrap in the house! There is a mousetrap in the house!"

The chicken clucked and scratched, raised her head and said, "Mr. Mouse, I can tell this is a grave concern to you, but it is of no consequence to me. I cannot be bothered by it."

The mouse turned to the pig and told him,"There is a mousetrap in the house! There is amousetrap in the house!"

The pig sympathized, but said,"I am so very sorry, Mr. Mouse, but there is nothing I can do about it but pray. Be assured you are in my prayers."

The mouse turned to the cow and said, "There is a mousetrap in the house! There is a mousetrap in the house!"

The cow said, "Wow, Mr. Mouse. I'm sorry for you, but it's no skin off my nose."

So, the mouse returned to the house, head down and dejected, to face the farmer's mousetrap alone. That very night a sound was heard throughout the house--like the sound of a mousetrap catching its prey. The farmer's wife rushed to see what was caught. In the darkness, she did not see it was a venomous snake whose tail the trap had caught. The snake bit the farmer's wife.

The farmer rushed her to the hospital, and she returned home with a fever. Everyone knows you treat a fever with fresh chicken soup, so the farmer took his hatchet to the farmyard for the soup's main ingredient. But his wife's sickness continued, so friends and neighbors came to sit with her round the clock. To feed them, the farmer butchered the pig.

The farmer's wife did not get well and died. So many people came for her funeral, the farmer had the cow slaughtered to provide enough meat for all of them. The mouse looked upon it all from his crack in the wall with great sadness.

So, the next time you hear someone is facing a problem and think it doesn't concern you, remember: When one of us is threatened, we are all at risk. We are all involved in this journey called life. We must keep an eye out for one another and make an extra effort to encourage one another.

Send this to everyone who has ever helped you out and let them know how important they are. Remember: Each of us is a vital thread in another person's tapestry; our lives are woven together for a reason. One of the best things to hold onto this world is a friend. Thank you for being mine.
___________

Those who have helped me. Despite all the sadness, annoyance, and even anger I'm burdened with right now, I'd still do the impossible and simply say thanks. I mean, clearly it's very hard for a villain like me to do the forgive-and-forget thing, so I'll settle for the easier and safer choice. Gratitude.

Who would have thought that after all the shit that ruined my days I'd still have the sanity to stay in the Optimists Lane? That after all the failed attempts at self-contentment, I'd still have the guts to prep up for the next fight? That after all the wannabees and users and pretentious freaks that gatecrashed my life, I'd still be up to go on?

Hold that thought, pal. I'm not about to burst into inspirational songs and enlightening ho-hums. The reason is pretty simple: I'm not done with all of you bastards and bitches yet.

My 22nd year on earth is about to end. And like all the frustrated-but-will-eventually-triumph heroes in the movies, I will shed my old skin and with it all the barf-worthy things that burst each and every cute bubble I had. Then again, it's only physical parting. Everything will still be in my head.

But right now, as the mouse above suggests, gratitude should come first. So to all those crappy things and nincompoops that stained my mortal existence, thank you. I now know better.

And, wait for me. I'll. Be. Right. There.
QWERTY-ed by Paoper at 12:31 | 0 said something  
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12 May 2006

Hungry. Bound. Hungry.

Today is the first day of another "final week" for me. I'm turning 23 on May 19th--that's 15 years shy of middle age. And 27, of cynicism.

Originally I planned a two-week celebration, with the finale of me doing the unthinkable and getting a new job. Unfortunately, the cosmos has been telling me of other things and sends perhaps the most annoying blockages on my path to, um, paradigm shifts. So I decided to cut it to just a week; and it starts today, my final week as a 22-year-old.

The plan is simple and casual: I'd celebrate each day with a specific group. Here's a rundown:
May 12. Anything with my pseudo-bestfriend.
May 13. Girls' night out.
May 14. My Playstation2.
May 15. The salon.
May 16. Boys' night out.
May 17. The manong's, kuya's, sir's, and ma'am's in the office.
May 18. Movie
May 19a. Early morning booze with people I like hanging out with
May 19b. Finale: Mega food trip!
May 20. Encore: Dinner at my place, SELECTED guests.

How racist, you say? How... choosy? Well, it's the price I pay for being a star. And no matter how much I want to become everyone's best pal, I'm just no phonepal-next-door material. Life's too short to try befriending everyone, let alone pretending to like everyone. I'm getting older, too; on the road to cynicism it's natural to be picky with people. Of course it has its downside... still, being a demigod is way more fun.

Oh my. Paradigm shifts? Phonepal-next-door? Road to cynicism? I really need to eat lunch.
QWERTY-ed by Paoper at 11:47 | 0 said something  
02 May 2006

The poorest weekend I've ever had

That's April 28th to 30th. It could just have been plain stupidity, but I don't care: Out-of-towners deserve READY access to their money in banks wherever and whenever they go.

It was my first time in Puerto Galera. Naturally, I was excited. We left Cubao 3am Friday, reached Batangas Pier around 5 (that was one cold bus ride!), and docked at White Beach around 8. Originally I brought three mini-luggages (haha), a kikoy kit, and a shoe bag; but the night before we left Manila, my companions felt the heaviness of them all--which I clearly didn't--and offered me ONE HUGE BAG. It was so enormous it looked like it should've been the one to carry me. That's Manay Nellie and me aboard La Natividad. Las puyatas en la vanca.

Anyway, we... err, I, thought that we had brought enough cash; it was during the boat ride to the beach that I began feeling this... chill. I had planned to visit my temple (the ATM) before we leave civilization, but apparently amidst all the excitement I forgot to do so. Heck, we all did. I SMS-ed a friend who had been to almost all vacation spots in the country and asked for ATM locations in the beach area. He said there might be some in the town proper, but he had doubts. And those gaddamned doubts were right. Not even gasoline stations exist in the town. The nearest shadow of civilization lies after an hour of tricycle ride in Calapan. Left pic: Where's Art? (CW from left) Angel the shy girl, Chars the hot mama, Nellie of the Cage, Pao of Munti, Marlon the Nescafe guy, Ian the drinker. Right pic: (L-R) Si antukin, si Excited, si Mas Antukin, si Angel.

So by Saturday morning, we plunged to poverty level. By noon, we were untouchables. I call that pic on the left, The frail and the cashless.

Sunday came and we were all supposed to go home, but all of us were having Fun (check out the braids!)--sans cash and any means of acquiring it. Everybody wanted stay one more day at the beach. After the votes came in, we decided to play crazy: One of us went back to Batangas to withdraw cash. Talk about effort. Nellie, you're the best. Pic: Banda-banda sa Galera; (L-R) Inay Angel, The Cute Pao, Papa Ian, Uncle Art, Auntie Chars, Manoy Marlon.

After four hours, our pockets were full again. Eat, eat, eat. Buy, buy, buy. Eat, eat, eat. Buy, buy, freaking buy. By Monday morning, my batteries went low again. After lunch, I only had 50 bucks in my pocket. All those cute souvenir bags and no cash to go home. Stupid Pao!


Lubog! (L-R) Ang buntis, ang legal na mag-asawa, ang Cute, ang legal-kuno na mag-asawa. Indeed I will never forget my first time in Puerto Galera. The sun, the sea, the sand, Island Tattoo's henna and braids, the 10-peso fruit juice behind Island Tatto, the cool night breeze, the tiangge, the sweet booze, the yummy bodies...

And all you need is a mobile phone with a snooze-proof alarm to remind you to bring extra cash before leaving Batangas Pier.

Thank you guys for that tasty soup. And my cab fare.

Galera, I'll see you later.
QWERTY-ed by Paoper at 17:28 | 0 said something  
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