I perched myself on the gutter with a cup of coffee on my left hand and a cigarette on the other. Inching it into nothingness would never dull the shock out of me. No matter how hard I push myself into drugging myself with this addiction, I do not come near into finding out that I would soon be okay again.

But like this pavement I am at where this gutter belongs—crooked, blemished, and fragmented beyond repairs of labor and time—our story does not stand afar. We are like this pathway: flawed and a part of each other’s existence that could never be one. And maybe, just maybe, I am this gutter, offering my existence to such lonely souls and unkept tears; the home of cigarette butts, shaken sanity, and pieces of shattered hearts.

Hindi lang Bola ang Bilog

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Ang larawang ito ay aking lahok sa Saranggola Blog Awards 3.

Doon Sa Amin, Sa Payatas

Sa ilalim ng isang nakangiting araw,

tagus-tagusan sa mangilan-ngilang butas sa yero

habang pina-pangalmusal ang natitirang tutong at bahaw

isang ingay ang mula sa dako paroon ang pumukaw.

Nangangahos na nginuya ng aking mga panga

ang almusal na s’ya na ring aking pananghalian,

nang sa gayo’y makapaglaro sa kanal kasama ang papel na bangka

at ang sangkatutak na dumi ng tao’t anu’t-ano pang karumihan.

Tinahak ko ang daan papalabas ng may ngiti

habang kasalubong ko ang marami:

natatakot, natataranta, punung-puno ng pighati.

Pilit na naghuhumiyaw sa galit

ang aking mga minamahal

hanggang sa langit ay magalit,

na pumuno sa bukana ng kaibigan kong kanal.

Dumating ang mga higante't matitikas na mga laruan;

Oh, ang pangarap kong trak at kotsi-kotsehan!

Agad kong nasilayan ang iba

handang agawin ang mga matitipunong laruan.

Buong lakas na tinahak ng aking mga binti

ang distansyang naghihiwalay sa amin.

Binti ko ma’y napuno ng pagal

buong dipa kong yinakap ang magagarang laruang bakal.

Kumagat ang dilim sa oras ng tanghalian,

animo’y isang malamlam na saad.

Nagpatuloy ang pagluha ng kalangitan,

nakikisama sa mga sawim-palad;

Mga bigo't inggit sa bago kong kayamanan!

Biglang tumahimik ang paligid

na pawang binawian ako ng pandinig,

kasabay nito’y ang pagkawala ng aking paningin at tinig,

o maaring hindi ko lamang maibuka ang aking mga bibig

dulot na rin siguro ng aking matinding pananabik.

Ilang sandali pa ang lumipas,

ang pader ng katahimika’y nabutas;

isang atungaw ang aking naulinigan,

hindi ni Santa Klaws ngunit ng aming ilaw ng tahanan.

“Putang ina mo!”

“PUTANG INA NINYONG LAHAT!”

Buong lutong ang pagsambit

tila punung-puno ng galit;

Isang haplos at mahigpit na yakap

ang bumalot sa kanina ko pang giniginaw na katawan.

Dama ko ang init ng kaniyang hininga at labi

sa aking malalamig na pisngi,

kasabay nito ay ang pag-agos ng kanyang mga luha

kasabay ng kanyang pag-usal ng, “Anak, mahal na mahal kita!”

Naramdaman ko ang muling pag-agos,

hindi ng mga luha o ng ulan

tila ito’y nagmumula sa aking bungo:

mainit, mabibilis na paglawa ng aking natitirang dugo.

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Ang tulang ito ay aking lahok sa Saranggola Blog Awards 3.

I don’t like waking up, for everytime I open my eyes, the thought that there are more days that I have to wake up alone — feeling empty as always — pierces through my skin like white-hot pins and needles. It makes me realize that I miss those days when I would eagerly wake up because I want to talk to you; or that I would rush myself to the bathroom, ignoring my breakfast because I need go to a place with you. And of course, those sleepless nights we spent together. I thought repetition will dull the shock out of it, but I guess I was wrong. Every time I wake up, it poignantly crawls on me that those days are gone now, and that there is nothing left but memories, a blanket and a couple of pillows I soaked in tears every night.

Waking up is just so fatal.

Has it ever dawned your mind how arduous it has been for me? It’s like feeding myself with nothing, making my innards go berserk; it’s like taking my pills and half-drugging myself to death every time you usurped my sanity.

Sometimes it feels like my world is suffocated with its own oxygen; crouching under the intoxicated, nicotine-tinged atmosphere as though gasping for a fresher air to breathe, hailing feebly for survival.

This is, as I have now realized, a turmoil. And I am writing this with what little sanity I have left.

Unpopular Opinon: On Mr. Lao

Christoper Lao's incident have circulated the new media quite fastidiously than the drying of his pants. It has even reached other continents and even Trend-ed on Twitter. Quite normally, it has been subjected and referred to as something funny, and that was not even difficult to fathom.

However, as I see it, people have been abusing the new media in such a wrong way. True enough, Mr. Lao's incident has not only been a laughable matter, but has also been the basis of his identity as a person. With all prejudices aside, when I found out about the incident, I did not know yet that he was a student in UP-Diliman (my former school), but then, I did not find his 'adventure' quizzical.

I have been driving for more than a year now, and I live in Malabon. As we all know, Malabon easily gets soaked and flooded, so it's quite easy for me to predict if I should storm my car in the flood or not since I have been living here since I can remember. Moreso, I share the same feeling of driving in a place you know very little things about, especially if you drive under the same circumstances.

If you can still remember, Mr. Lao complained about the lack of traffic signs, of enforcement that will signal the motorists that the flood is not merely passable by any vehicle. Also, from where he came from, the road was dry and then suddenly there's this flood. It would clearly state that the flood is not passable if on the other end of the road, the flood flows into a continuum--but as we all know, it did not. There is only a little flood stuck in between two spaces lying on the same road.

If I were on his shoes, I would have done the same thing. Not only no one stopped me when I assaulted the flood, but there was also no enforcement or at least a signage that should have been put there to remind in-coming motorists.

I agree that the way he justified his complain is not very well-thought of. But who on Earth will still be able to think thoroughly after such aggravation?

Come to think of it.

The human body is a vessel for constant suffering. It is meant to feel pain, bitterness, anguish, and the lightest of them all called “happiness”. But how could we not know, that after all, it is a cycle? That you start being happy and you’ll end up with the rest? How could we—the brightest vessel for this experiment—not know that from the very beginning, we are meant to such torture; to such excruciating pleasure? How could we not know that we are merely pigs being raised only to be slaughtered? How could we not know that we are nothing more than a beautiful flower, being nurtured only to be picked up and crushed in someone else’s gentle paws? How could we not know that we are nothing more than just a vessel for someone who plays stupid games in a place we do not know where?

Bread Crumbs

I sucked at portraiture, or maybe, I still remain woefully ignorant in that field; or perhaps, I am this person who owns a pair of eyes that needed practice. But sometimes, it's like magic that I am able to capture such precious candid moments of people.

Children are my favorite subject in portraiture. There's just this subtle innocence that envelopes their eyes; inexplicable mystery that once you captured it, your image suddenly turns into a piece that tells stories. Stories that even the greatest men in history can't give us. Stories that only their eyes could tell, encrypted in a wordless manner.

It brings me into a state of eargasm as those plenty tiny drops pounded my windowsill altogether creating a beautiful feat that makes my heartbeats mute; it puts all there is to ignore into absolute silence, just the pouring of it is all you can think of. You can wander into it as thoughts slowly slither your divine sanity.

I love the breath-taking chill it delivers every now and then. That in that instantaneous, abrupt momentum, everything will be cold. And that chill will pierce you with its ice-cold daggers, slowly protruding your humanity through and through. It escalates the tension as it relaxes those anguished beasts inside you, making you breathe faster but calmer. You can wander into it fearlessly as you have nothing to be afraid of. After all, you have mastered the art of understanding and embracing such coldness.

I just love the rain. I adore how it brutally and whimsically muffles my senses in a good, delightful, but poignant way.

Manila and Its Wonders

You alighted from the train during the starless and cold night. The noise of random people talking at the same time, the honking of buses, cars and jeepneys audible. You started walking through the noise as the night promised nothing but more business and noise. You took each and every step with precious precaution as you bumped into other people’s shoulders; sometimes faces, muffling every noise in the background.

You started to walk in a more fastidious manner as though galloping together with that unknown, unwritten melody. Your heart pumped and skipped a beat; your throat lumped as you lunged for polluted air.

You hailed for a cab as you choked. Stepped inside as he sat beside you. He smiled and held your hand and tugged it a little stronger as he looked into your eyes through and through.

And suddenly, all was well.

”Bakla ka ba talaga?” tanong ng pinsan ko.

”Oo.” sagot ko sabay inom ng aking tagay at hithit sa sigarilyong naka-ipit sa pagitan ng aking dalawang daliri.

”E may girlfriend ka dati a?”

”I had four. ‘Yung kapatid mo nga may tatlong anak na, ‘di ba?”

Hindi na siya umimik. Sa puntong iyon, kahit alam ko na gaano mang ka-personal ang sinabi kong iyon, ay may punto ako. Na-corner ko siya imbis na ako ang na-corner niya. Hindi ko naman minasama ang pagtatanong niyang iyon kaya tuloy ang inuman. Inintindi ko na lang na marahil ay hindi niya naitanong ang mga bagay na iyon sa kapatid niya, kaya sa akin siya nagtatanong.

.

.

.

Tuloy ang inuman.

”Ilang taon ka na nga ulit, Kaka?”

”20,” sagot ko. Bente anyos pa lang ako nung mga panahong iyon.

”Tapos hindi ka pa graduate? Mauunahan ka pa ng panganay ko,” wika niya. Di ako kumibo. Hinayaan ko lang siya, habang ang ilan sa mga pinsan ko ay nagpapalitan sa pagtingin sa akin at sa kanya.

”Ano bang plano mo sa buhay mo?” muli niyang pag-uusig.

”Marami,” tugon ko. “Isa na siguro ay ang mabuhay ng malaya at malayo sa mga taong makikitid ang utak at pakielamero. Kaya nga ako nagpa-tattoo, dahil gusto kong ihayag panghabang-buhay ang pagiging malaya at liberal ko.

”Nababasa n’yo ba ‘to?” sabay pakita ng aking tattoo sa likuran ng aking tainga na may larawan ng isang buwan, tatlong bituin at Alibata.

”Ano bang ibig sabihin n’yan?” itinuro n’ya ang Alibata.

”Alam n’yo naman mga pinagdaanan ng pamilya ko at patuloy na pinagdadaanan namin, hindi ba? Pero hindi pa rin ako sumusuko. Nakita n’yo na akong nakipag-live-in, nakita n’yo na akong manggulpi ng ka-live-in na niloko ako, nakita n’yo na akong umiyak at tumawa; pero nabubuhay pa rin ako. Parang inuman lang ‘yan e, tuloy ang laban. ‘Di bale nang sumuka, ‘wag lang sumuko.

”Ngayon andito ako sa harapan n’yo, inuusig ng inyong mga matanong na isipan at mapanuring mata. May nagabago ba sa’kin?”

Walang sumagot.

”Bukod sa pisikal na kaanyuan ko, marahil nagbago ang pananaw ko sa buhay. Una, hindi ko pinagsisisihan na naging bakla ako. Ginusto ko ‘to, kahit alam kong hindi n’yo maiintindihan kaagad, wala akong pakielam. Hindi ko kailangan ng pang-unawa n’yo. Sapat na para sa akin ang pagtanggap na ibinigay ko sa sarili ko. Sapat na ‘yon para makapagtrabaho ako dati at kumita ng higit pa sa sahod ninyo buwan-buwan. Trenta-mil isang buwan— higit pa sa sapat ‘yon para ipamukha sa inyo na kahit bakla ako, na kahit hindi pa ako graduate, walang-wala kayo sa akin.”

Napansin kong bumuka ang bibig ng isang pinsan ko, ngunit pinigilan ko muna siya dahil hindi pa ako tapos sa mga sasabihin ko.

”Simple lang naman, e. Sa totoo lang, wala akong dapat patunayan at ipagmalaki sa inyo, kaso mukhang kailangan ko pang ipamukha sa inyo na marami akong bagay na kayang gawin na hindi n’yo pa nagawa. Marami akong karangalang naidala sa pamilya ko na hindi n’yo pa naibigay sa mga pamilya ninyo. Kaya kesehodang bakla ako, at hindi pa ako graduate, wala kayong ibang masasabi sa akin dahil alam ninyo na ako ang pinaka-talented at pianakamatalino sa ating magpipinsan, at marahil, ang pinakamatapang at may bayag para kausapin kayo sa ganitong pamamaraan.”

Mahinahon at maingat kong tinapos ang aking mga pangungusap. Lahat sila nakatingin sa akin. Lahat sila tila ninanamnam ang katotohanan na hindi nila ako mahihila pababa; ang katotohanan na kahit ano pang gawin nila, sa edad ko na iyon, naungusan ko na sila ng milya-milya.

”Oo nga, ‘no?” biglang saad ng isa kong pinsan. “Si Kaka ang kauna-unahang nakapasok sa UP.”

Ngumiti lang ako at sinenyasan silang tagayin na ang alak.

”Ano bang ibig sabihin n’yang Alibata sa tattoo mo?” muling pagtatanong ng aking pinsan.

Tagay at kaunting katahimikan; ingay lang ng bentilador na walang tigil sa pag-ikot upang magbigay ginhawa sa aming katawan na nabahagian na ng init ng alak.

Kinuha ko ang tagay ko at nilunok ang alak sa baso, ninamnam ang mainit na hagod na dala nito sa aking lalamunan, humitit ng sigarilyo at binuga ang mga usok at iwinika ang sagot na kanina pa nila gustong malaman:

”Mandirigma.”

I find it impossible to intentionally forget people and incidents. It’s that one plausible human flaw that makes us all grow and at the same time nostalgic.

There are these wonderful detrimental images that pop out every now and then, and suddenly, you’ll be in gag and in pain. One of the best things I have learned in life is that I have learned how to forgive. It is not a pie at first but it is what’s necessary. Without forgiveness, you allow yourself to forever linger to the pain someone had caused you. And that multiplies the burden you are going through.

To accept and understand pain is another thing I have acquired from experiences which I know I will never forget no matter how much I want to. I have already abandoned the idea of forgetting memories I don’t like. Nonetheless, it will take time for everything to sink in, but once you have gathered the strength and enough wisdom to understand pain, everything will be okay. It will give you the fresh start you deserve.

Pain is inevitable. You can not forget the things that caused you pain; incidents that harmed you a lot you almost half-drugged yourself to death. However, with forgiveness and acceptance, you will get over it, and you’ll realize that it is through pain that we feel exactly alive— that with pain, everything just feels real.

I've been pursuing photography for quite some time now as a hobby. And just this morning, I felt so bored and noticed that there was a good lighting dawning upon the plants my mom had been taking care of.

When I found these flies that lingered on the leaves so constantly -- I was really astonished they did not fly away even when I got so close I almost touched them -- I immediately went upstairs and took Aninag (A Nikon D5000), and started clicking away. After some 15 minutes, I'm done.

You see, I'm not really a superb hobbyist but I'm really trying. Also, I only have a kit lens (18mm-55mm) so my macro shots aren't really that macro. I wish I have a better lens for that matter.

If you wanna see more og my shots, you might want to visit one of my albums on Facebook called For My Eyes Only: Tilting the lenses.

I'm really open to any suggestions and any commentaries, so feel free to do so.

Have you ever had the feeling that the whole Universe is against you?

You wanted to amok, cause havoc -- but you just remained seated there, right in the very corner where it all happened as tears cascaded down to your cheeks, keeping you gasping and panting, not for fresher air, but for silver linings.

Hush.

I was there. I was there when you were wearing that same, old ensemble: ragged, torn and ripped apart. I was there. I was there when you almost half-drugged yourself to death. I was there. I was there beside you, hugging the walls where you regained balance from. I was there. Stuck with you until your last, dying breath.

I am your shadow; intertwined to your feeble body. I am your tears; endlessly tracking your pallid face. I am your solitude, your melancholy, your sorrow; I am yourself.

You are not alone.

Nouveau

It has always been a pleasant feeling to have a good start. To start on something where you don't really have an audience to please, or something that will put you under great pressure, for that matter. As for this blog, I aim to own a brand new slate.

I have been on Tumblr for a year now, and it is quite a good and catchy experience. Not only that I was able to share my insights, unpopular opinions--I was able to meet great and talented people. People who have, somewhat, created a great impact in my life, and I hope I was able to impart something in return. People I have learned to understand, care for; people I now call 'friends'.

However, over the months that I have lurked on Tumblr, it has suddenly turned into a seemingly predictable feat. Admittedly, I have grown tired of it. But like what I have said before, I will never deactivate that account which had served me, undeniably, quite well for a year.

But inevitably, I am seeking for a new outlet. I am seeking for a grandiose riposte. I am seeking for a fresher air to breathe. And I hope, that this new chosen space will be there to cater me up until I-do-not-know-when.

To make things sure, like my other account, this will remain constant and I will try my utmost to keep this, somehow, alive. I hope to make this a long written narrative of my daily exhibition and existence.