This year is about to close. The usual wont in media or even in personal journals, for that matter, during this time of the year is giving a year-end report of the year that was. That is the usual practice. During this time when the date of the year changes and progresses into a different one, everybody is afflicted by the epidemic of nostalgia. This is the time when one looks back at the closing year with an audible exhalation the same way when one finishes a nice, good book.
Yet, no matter how bad the year that was, when one succumbs to the temptation of backtracking through time and recalling the past year, one always miraculously finds the year as bearable and somehow has brought happy moments to him. There may be some events that we can call undesirable to the memory but these, too, have somehow lost their pain or undesirability because time has already healed the wounds they have caused the person. The year that was then, on a general personal level, is something worthy to look back at.
The question as to why is this so? Why when we recall the year that was or even the previous years, even if those years were tough, we cherish it as something special to recall and remember at. If one remembers even the hardest experience he suffered in the past, he would think of it with a smile in his lips.
The answer to the question is the simple reason that one has able to hurdle passed the challenges and hassles that came his way. The person has already endured the pain and suffering of life. And the capacity to look back at those moments of dire straits means success in strengthening one’s soul. So the recollection is a remembering of sweet pain that brought a lot of lessons in life, about life, about being human.
If we borrow Nietzsche’s words: If it doesn’t kill you it can only make your stronger. Indeed, the blows and beatings that a person receives can only make him stronger in due time. And this time almost always comes when the year ends for the reason that this is the time when a person stops for a moment to examine the days that have gone. He stops regular routine to watch the vista of the invisible passing of time; the completion of one revolution of planet earth around the sun. This is the time when everything that happened yesterday down to the twelfth month will be reviewed by nostalgic eyes and a heart that throbs purely of fluid serenity.
There is then, as I mentioned in the aspect of personal level, no such bad previous year. Or if we go a little further, no bad past per se. Those bad events in our past are what makes us stronger; strengthens our souls.
Yes, strengthens our souls.
Saturday, December 29, 2007
Wednesday, November 14, 2007
Stones Along the Path of My Journey
I know already where the story will end. Or how shall I put it, where the dream will end. I have heard, seen and read countless of the same fate that same dreamers have suffered. All of them had to face the first barrier set along their path and they all succumbed to raise their hands and call it quits. Some accepted the fate of their dreams as nothing as the passing fancy of an adolescent fling with the language and call it not for them to pursue to the hilt. While some, as they go on with their lives defeated by the call of reason to be practical in their actions, still think from time to time as the winds of inspiration touch their skin how would they have fared if they continued dreaming and continued in spite of the practical challenges. Yet, a few with the stomach of steel and guts of stone, persisted; though some of these few proved to be mediocre, a handful have survived the litmus test and able to realize their visions they have seen when they were younger.
This case is simple so it seems. But definitely, the answer is already firmly etched in my soul. I forgot that this thing have been anticipated well ahead before I ventured in my writerly journey.
Friday, September 14, 2007
Sunday, August 19, 2007
Waiting
For the meantime, there is nothing else for me to do but wait. I wouldn’t call it laziness or plain procrastination. I hate to call it that way. I’m on a search like a predator for my right and true writing voice. And the best way to do that is searching by not searching.
I will just take my time feeling, seeing, observing, and, yes, waiting for the time when I can finally write everything that I learned. I can afford this since time is still on my side.
There’s no need to rush things up. Right now, what I’m building up is the foundation of the things that I will write. There’s no need to rush and write crappy stories and ride on the bandwagon of what is trendy today in the local literary scene.
Yes, I’m gonna watch the sprouting young creatives force themselves in in the local scene. I will just be content waiting for my rightful time to come.
I’m near of calling myself a writer – the real writer I mean. What I am waiting is what I’m gonna write about and how I’m gonna write it.
One day, I’m gonna wake up and would start pounding on my keyboard and really write.
What I can glimpse at, as of now, of what I would write soon are stories that will uplift and keep the spirit of my readers up; stories that will make them feel no pain but understanding; stories that will make the dust of stars in their veins pumping and make them realize that they are sons of God, precious cargo without doubt.
I will just take my time feeling, seeing, observing, and, yes, waiting for the time when I can finally write everything that I learned. I can afford this since time is still on my side.
There’s no need to rush things up. Right now, what I’m building up is the foundation of the things that I will write. There’s no need to rush and write crappy stories and ride on the bandwagon of what is trendy today in the local literary scene.
Yes, I’m gonna watch the sprouting young creatives force themselves in in the local scene. I will just be content waiting for my rightful time to come.
I’m near of calling myself a writer – the real writer I mean. What I am waiting is what I’m gonna write about and how I’m gonna write it.
One day, I’m gonna wake up and would start pounding on my keyboard and really write.
What I can glimpse at, as of now, of what I would write soon are stories that will uplift and keep the spirit of my readers up; stories that will make them feel no pain but understanding; stories that will make the dust of stars in their veins pumping and make them realize that they are sons of God, precious cargo without doubt.
Tuesday, August 14, 2007
Story No. 1
Ignacio Marquez was a man of quiet, calm temperament that when he noticed that his vision was becoming blurred, the first thing he thought of was he was tired from work and needed a rest. With blurring vision, he looked up from the book he was reading to the wall clock on the wall to see what time it was already. Yet, he could not read the hands of the clock. There was a slow progressing dimness around him. Then like the certainty of the coming of the night, everything around him was enveloped in full, dense darkness: the gray ceiling where the fan was, the portrait of his family on the wall, the window through which he could see the street outside went black.
He groped through the darkness fearing he just went blind but he could not remember any previous instance when he had a problem with his vision. He did not even wear glasses even if he was reading. He walked on the floor barefooted but what he felt was a strange softness of the earth. Turning his head around in search for light, he saw a flicker somewhere before him: a tiny point of white light. The ground was rough on his soles still he strode forward.
He knew he was somewhere else already. Where was he before? In his room, sitting on the bed reading the evening paper as he listened to the stereo blaring Yanni’s Aria. The day had been long and he was beat up dealing with numbers on the spreadsheet balancing a book.
As he reached out for the light, he had difficulty breathing. He could not breathe; he was choking on the air that he was inhaling. He was being poisoned by the strange nature he had found himself. He was on the verge of passing out and thought he was already dying. There was already heaviness on his limbs and fear was starting to get a strong grip on him; strong enough for him to defecate in his pants. While his hair stood on its ends.
The thin light shone brighter; bringing into light a rainforest where he stood at the center. The smell of the richness of the ground carpeted by dead leaves wafted through his now extra-sensitive nostrils.
He found himself crouching on the earth with all his limbs on the earth. He tried to walk but he noticed that he was walking with four feet. He had no arms. He roamed around the forest, moving in full gait.
What can you feel?
I feel strange. I feel like I’m a prehistoric cat, a panther maybe. I’m tired and beaten up and my tongue is drooling with saliva. I can feel the rich foliage of the rainforest; I can even hear the succession of thunder in the heavens and see the blast of lightning hitting one of the hundred-year old trees before me, splitting it with force of fire. I feel surrounded. There are a thousand enemies surrounding me, hooting as they lurk behind the trees. I am their prey. Any moment they will feast on my flesh and innards, toss my bones to the ground like a useless trophy. I know it will happen soon. But I’m ready for them since it seems I have known them already. Yet, I’m running away from them; they are too many for me to fight against with. I can hear their hoots and the grinding of their teeth, flashing white for my precious flesh. I feel sleepy but I cannot afford to sleep and rest.
Now I feel I can’t move. Roots are beginning to grow on my paws, digging within the earth. I’m stuck. My agile slender body metamorphoses into a tender soft stalk. I’m a plant now. A plant. I can breathe in the pure universe: oxygen. And fear has subsided now. There are no more enemies, no more predators hunting and running after me. I’m safe.
On the tip of the roots that slithered deep into the ground, I can sense a weak stream of water running along within. I’m hugging the earth and I can hear the brooks and streams and rivers streaming down toward the sea. And the soft winds caress my leaves as I sway with it.
Are you afraid?
Nope. I can sense everything around me fading into something; a marsh of clear water with a muddy bottom. I’m already swimming under it, free and without fear. I’m with a school of small fish heading for the river. Everything it seems is marsh and river. There is no land. It is the beginning of the world.
I can feel oneness with everything. I’m the prehistoric rock, boulder, sand and earth.
A flash of light come whirling with me; fast and even becoming faster. I’m being hurled in the void of space.
Then what?
Then time is advancing. Fast. The sun, earth and the planets are forming.
Give me a pen.
Here.
Here is where I am.
It’s a circle with a dot at the center.
Yes.
The dot is you.
Yes.
You are at the center of everything.
Yes.
Can you remember your name?
I have no name.
Do you know where you are now?
No.
To be continued….
This is a new story I’m trying to work on; the first this year. Evidently, there is still that propensity to tell stories in an inward perspective, brought probably by my long years of writing journals which are all about my thoughts and experiences. I have been noticing that there is always an inclination to write stories that only deal with an individual. Nevertheless, I hope this one will be written until its last word so finish the story. The struggle is still on and I am in my lab still scheming and dreaming and working on my text.
He groped through the darkness fearing he just went blind but he could not remember any previous instance when he had a problem with his vision. He did not even wear glasses even if he was reading. He walked on the floor barefooted but what he felt was a strange softness of the earth. Turning his head around in search for light, he saw a flicker somewhere before him: a tiny point of white light. The ground was rough on his soles still he strode forward.
He knew he was somewhere else already. Where was he before? In his room, sitting on the bed reading the evening paper as he listened to the stereo blaring Yanni’s Aria. The day had been long and he was beat up dealing with numbers on the spreadsheet balancing a book.
As he reached out for the light, he had difficulty breathing. He could not breathe; he was choking on the air that he was inhaling. He was being poisoned by the strange nature he had found himself. He was on the verge of passing out and thought he was already dying. There was already heaviness on his limbs and fear was starting to get a strong grip on him; strong enough for him to defecate in his pants. While his hair stood on its ends.
The thin light shone brighter; bringing into light a rainforest where he stood at the center. The smell of the richness of the ground carpeted by dead leaves wafted through his now extra-sensitive nostrils.
He found himself crouching on the earth with all his limbs on the earth. He tried to walk but he noticed that he was walking with four feet. He had no arms. He roamed around the forest, moving in full gait.
What can you feel?
I feel strange. I feel like I’m a prehistoric cat, a panther maybe. I’m tired and beaten up and my tongue is drooling with saliva. I can feel the rich foliage of the rainforest; I can even hear the succession of thunder in the heavens and see the blast of lightning hitting one of the hundred-year old trees before me, splitting it with force of fire. I feel surrounded. There are a thousand enemies surrounding me, hooting as they lurk behind the trees. I am their prey. Any moment they will feast on my flesh and innards, toss my bones to the ground like a useless trophy. I know it will happen soon. But I’m ready for them since it seems I have known them already. Yet, I’m running away from them; they are too many for me to fight against with. I can hear their hoots and the grinding of their teeth, flashing white for my precious flesh. I feel sleepy but I cannot afford to sleep and rest.
Now I feel I can’t move. Roots are beginning to grow on my paws, digging within the earth. I’m stuck. My agile slender body metamorphoses into a tender soft stalk. I’m a plant now. A plant. I can breathe in the pure universe: oxygen. And fear has subsided now. There are no more enemies, no more predators hunting and running after me. I’m safe.
On the tip of the roots that slithered deep into the ground, I can sense a weak stream of water running along within. I’m hugging the earth and I can hear the brooks and streams and rivers streaming down toward the sea. And the soft winds caress my leaves as I sway with it.
Are you afraid?
Nope. I can sense everything around me fading into something; a marsh of clear water with a muddy bottom. I’m already swimming under it, free and without fear. I’m with a school of small fish heading for the river. Everything it seems is marsh and river. There is no land. It is the beginning of the world.
I can feel oneness with everything. I’m the prehistoric rock, boulder, sand and earth.
A flash of light come whirling with me; fast and even becoming faster. I’m being hurled in the void of space.
Then what?
Then time is advancing. Fast. The sun, earth and the planets are forming.
Give me a pen.
Here.
Here is where I am.
It’s a circle with a dot at the center.
Yes.
The dot is you.
Yes.
You are at the center of everything.
Yes.
Can you remember your name?
I have no name.
Do you know where you are now?
No.
To be continued….
This is a new story I’m trying to work on; the first this year. Evidently, there is still that propensity to tell stories in an inward perspective, brought probably by my long years of writing journals which are all about my thoughts and experiences. I have been noticing that there is always an inclination to write stories that only deal with an individual. Nevertheless, I hope this one will be written until its last word so finish the story. The struggle is still on and I am in my lab still scheming and dreaming and working on my text.
Saturday, July 21, 2007
Another Miss
I recently had an interview with an editor looking for a staff-writer/associate editor. The text that I received a week prior to the interview proper was promising. The text message that was sent to me told me to visit a certain site in the Internet and study it. The site is all about hardware a techno geek would drool over having his hands on. The site deals about the latest computer processors, laptops, mobile phones, mp3 players, gaming rigs, and even the not-so exciting projectors.
It was my first time to get a schedule for a job interview with a gap of a week after the sought announcement. And the text message instructed me to study. Yes, to study. I said to myself that this prospective employer is different since it was like a college professor ordering me to cram for what seemed to be a Final Exam.
Without an Internet access and cash strapped, I went back and forth at Netopia to copy paste the site’s new articles, laptop reviews, and everything that I thought important for the exam (prospective employers usually say it is an interview but that comes after the exam and a week at least of waiting).
Indeed I learned about the ongoing trend in personal computing merging with home entertainment; HDTV, that’s High Definition TV for you, as the coming craze for us techno consumers; Intel’s Centrino Processor evolves into a more efficient Core 2 Duo, and, like every military intelligent operations, they have codenames.
It was only unfortunate that the 10-item first-part exam wanted a more deep knowledge of IT, something that only a special few knows like an esoteric teachings. But I’m getting ahead of my story.
There is nothing more exciting to review and get abreast of than music other than the fast-pace, bullet-speed (at the speed rate of 18 months at the average) continuous evolution of Information Technology. There is always something new coming out: faster, better, and sleeker. If music critics are always being dumped by bad albums and sample music from upcoming bands which make them frown at their reviews, I can only think that that is rare to happen in the IT industry. In IT industry, there is only one direction it is heading: innovation and perfection. It is like a sound heavy-laden with riffs that keep on getting perfected and rearrange to the benefit of tranced listeners.
When it finally got to the day that I got drilled by questions by the editor, everything suddenly came crushing down on me. I am left behind by the times. The first question thrown at me was whether I know how to assemble a PC. Good God! I know but never did it alone. I looked like a wet chicken who didn’t know anything about computers. My mouth dried, I hardly could speak and lost the confidence to say my piece in style.
But I yakked all the way till the end of the interview about what little do I know about computers. I don’t know if the editor was still listening in awe or in frustration.
In the end, the exams was shoved toward me and told to take them home. A disaster. I know.
But boy, how did I studied for that interview.
You know the end of the story of course.
Monday, July 16, 2007
A Young Creative Passed Away
I rarely read my links in my blog due to the reason that I don’t have the means: no internet access in my home computer.
But recently, I visited the blogsite of Dean Alfar, dated July 9. There’s a bad news. A young poet by the name of Ana Neri just passed away.
No, I don’t personally know Ana Neri, nor heard of her name until I read Dean’s post. Yet, in this young creative heart of mine, there is something that bleeds for the passing of this young creative person.
I know in the first place how they (the creative people) dream of making it big in the literary scene in this country and probably internationally. On how they aim of someday publishing a book with their name on its cover and between its covers all they learned from this world, sharing their one dime of wisdom to ardent readers of theirs.
It is sad. I am sad. Even though I didn’t hear of Ana Neri before, I know it is a lost for everyone of us. Here we are on a race and practicing our craft or trying to plan to write someday our masterpieces, yet when someone among us creative people bite the dust it’s a lost through and through for the community of writers and poets. And for the whole humanity who think and feel.
I might have no rights to say this, but Ana Neri how I wish you have stayed a little longer.
See you at the crossroad.
Monday, July 02, 2007
Searching for the Enlightened One
I watched over on the National Geographic their presentation At the Edge of the Earth (pardon if I failed to remember the program’s title) the life of buddhists somewhere in Tibet. I was only able catch part of the program but the effect on me was tremendous. And for somebody who can boldly say that I am not a Christian and does not have a religion, converting to Tibetian Buddism for me is enticing.
Fortunately, my youngest sister too has an interest in this philosophy cum religion. So on this day, we planned to take a ‘pilgrim’, as she described it while we were on a pedicab on the way to a Buddist temple.
Armed with nothing but the knowledge that Buddist temples are located somewhere in Manila, somewhere near Chinatown, we headed to for the city smirking over our silly plan.
The question was how would we explain our unexpected visit to the temple? In what way would we talk to the Buddist monks if we were already before them? Are we going to pretend as students (I’ve graduated a more than a decade ago and only my sister is the student) researching over their religion? Or are we going to be straightforward that we have plan to convert or to dig deeper into their religion.
Honestly speaking we didn’t know what to do that made us laugh even more. All we want was to know, and we were dead serious about it, is what Buddism is all about and luckily follow the footpath towards enlightenment.
For good luck, I brought a copy of Don Miguel Ruiz’s Four Agreement. After having a quick lunch, we started our ‘pilgrim’.
We alighted at the Carriedo Station of LRT, and on the way down, passing stalls selling DVDs, a rare find of Bob Marley’s concerts made me buy it in an instant, but that is another story.
My rule in looking for a place I don’t know where is to ask people until I reach my goal. This is easy to do if you have enough dough in your pocket because it means using transportation and you need money for that. And this is exactly the style that we employed in our short ‘pilgrim’.
When we reached Sta. Cruz in Manila, the goal was to know where Chinatown is. When we entered Chinatown, it seemed we were transported into a different, alien place we could not describe. Ever corner was all stores of different wares.
A number of questions where we could find a temple or a congregation of buddist led us to enter alleys until we found somebody who directed us to take a pedicab, going past Tutuban, at Narra St. where he said buddist monks resides.
Now, this is the sad part of the story. When we reached the Buddist temple in Narra St. of Manila, we were ‘shooed away’ as student researchers by the administrator of the church. The Chinese man whom we talked to was surprised when I approached him. He seemed to have seen a ghost. I assumed that he was fearful of a pure-bred Filipino. He said he would be busy for the rest of the day making white-lies that he still had to attend to something.
So what happened in our short piligrim in searching for the Enlightened One: NOTHING.
I would also like to use this post as a call for people who know about Buddism to please inform me where to go and search the footpath of the Enlightened One.
Fortunately, my youngest sister too has an interest in this philosophy cum religion. So on this day, we planned to take a ‘pilgrim’, as she described it while we were on a pedicab on the way to a Buddist temple.
Armed with nothing but the knowledge that Buddist temples are located somewhere in Manila, somewhere near Chinatown, we headed to for the city smirking over our silly plan.
The question was how would we explain our unexpected visit to the temple? In what way would we talk to the Buddist monks if we were already before them? Are we going to pretend as students (I’ve graduated a more than a decade ago and only my sister is the student) researching over their religion? Or are we going to be straightforward that we have plan to convert or to dig deeper into their religion.
Honestly speaking we didn’t know what to do that made us laugh even more. All we want was to know, and we were dead serious about it, is what Buddism is all about and luckily follow the footpath towards enlightenment.
For good luck, I brought a copy of Don Miguel Ruiz’s Four Agreement. After having a quick lunch, we started our ‘pilgrim’.
We alighted at the Carriedo Station of LRT, and on the way down, passing stalls selling DVDs, a rare find of Bob Marley’s concerts made me buy it in an instant, but that is another story.
My rule in looking for a place I don’t know where is to ask people until I reach my goal. This is easy to do if you have enough dough in your pocket because it means using transportation and you need money for that. And this is exactly the style that we employed in our short ‘pilgrim’.
When we reached Sta. Cruz in Manila, the goal was to know where Chinatown is. When we entered Chinatown, it seemed we were transported into a different, alien place we could not describe. Ever corner was all stores of different wares.
A number of questions where we could find a temple or a congregation of buddist led us to enter alleys until we found somebody who directed us to take a pedicab, going past Tutuban, at Narra St. where he said buddist monks resides.
Now, this is the sad part of the story. When we reached the Buddist temple in Narra St. of Manila, we were ‘shooed away’ as student researchers by the administrator of the church. The Chinese man whom we talked to was surprised when I approached him. He seemed to have seen a ghost. I assumed that he was fearful of a pure-bred Filipino. He said he would be busy for the rest of the day making white-lies that he still had to attend to something.
So what happened in our short piligrim in searching for the Enlightened One: NOTHING.
I would also like to use this post as a call for people who know about Buddism to please inform me where to go and search the footpath of the Enlightened One.
Tuesday, June 26, 2007
Several wounds in my feet that would not heal soon. A red flag was raised. I am growing old and complication in health is popping up. I could be diabetic. I thought of the last several months that I had been splurging in sodas. It could have triggered a family health problem with sugar in the body.
I have to check my sugar level. But before that, I have to take in antibiotics for the wounds. If ever I have had my sugar level checked and the result is positive, then there would rise another problem. The question now is whether I would have to maintain and keep my body healthy by insulin.
Then I realized that I am growing old. It is expected that my body, like a machine would succumb in its wear and tear, is starting to fail.
Well growing old is not a problem. But the problem that I see is money. Dough. I should have had a health insurance just for the sake of minimizing health related expenses.
And I see all this concern with money with the fact that I am growing old but I still have no regular job.
Drat! Life is tough.
But it is only tiny matter compared with what is within me (I think I heard this before in a commercial). I can take it.
Thursday, June 28, 2007
This story could have been started with the cliché opening phrase of happening once upon a time. Anyway, what is the difference from the old times and now? Nothing so it seems. Everything that is happening now happened before. Same old story, same old pain, same suffering, same joy and same celebration of life.
This story is about an old man. He lives in his prefab row-house alone. In the neighborhood, he is known as a good carpenter because of his relative knowledge in building houses and in repairing it.
We can say that he is a good grumpy old man. Yes, he is sociable to some extent but many a people among his neighborhood do not like him for his grumpiness. He is known for his false principle that most of the time gets him into a heated argument. So this old man does not have an intimate, close friend.
Alone and without a wife, he lives in his cold house staring at the ceiling for lizards as his neighbors describe his nights.
I am only talking about this because I saw the old man the other day loitering, sitting on a bench in the small mall near us. When our eyes met, there was that embarrassed look in his eyes. Liked a child caught with his hand in the cookie jar, he reasoned out that he should have had gone to the city. I said bye to him and asked if he wanted to go back to our place alone. He said no. That he would still stay there.
I just went away feeling his intense boredom about life.
Several wounds in my feet that would not heal soon. A red flag was raised. I am growing old and complication in health is popping up. I could be diabetic. I thought of the last several months that I had been splurging in sodas. It could have triggered a family health problem with sugar in the body.
I have to check my sugar level. But before that, I have to take in antibiotics for the wounds. If ever I have had my sugar level checked and the result is positive, then there would rise another problem. The question now is whether I would have to maintain and keep my body healthy by insulin.
Then I realized that I am growing old. It is expected that my body, like a machine would succumb in its wear and tear, is starting to fail.
Well growing old is not a problem. But the problem that I see is money. Dough. I should have had a health insurance just for the sake of minimizing health related expenses.
And I see all this concern with money with the fact that I am growing old but I still have no regular job.
Drat! Life is tough.
But it is only tiny matter compared with what is within me (I think I heard this before in a commercial). I can take it.
Thursday, June 28, 2007
This story could have been started with the cliché opening phrase of happening once upon a time. Anyway, what is the difference from the old times and now? Nothing so it seems. Everything that is happening now happened before. Same old story, same old pain, same suffering, same joy and same celebration of life.
This story is about an old man. He lives in his prefab row-house alone. In the neighborhood, he is known as a good carpenter because of his relative knowledge in building houses and in repairing it.
We can say that he is a good grumpy old man. Yes, he is sociable to some extent but many a people among his neighborhood do not like him for his grumpiness. He is known for his false principle that most of the time gets him into a heated argument. So this old man does not have an intimate, close friend.
Alone and without a wife, he lives in his cold house staring at the ceiling for lizards as his neighbors describe his nights.
I am only talking about this because I saw the old man the other day loitering, sitting on a bench in the small mall near us. When our eyes met, there was that embarrassed look in his eyes. Liked a child caught with his hand in the cookie jar, he reasoned out that he should have had gone to the city. I said bye to him and asked if he wanted to go back to our place alone. He said no. That he would still stay there.
I just went away feeling his intense boredom about life.
Monday, June 18, 2007
If I Were a Superhero
If you are a superhero what would you be and what powers would you have?
This was one of the supposed essays I should have had answered the previous week when I applied as a web content writer. But listlessness or out of carelessness, I thought I should have only given the question a 100-word essay.
If I would be a superhero what power should I have? The question is tough and silly on the second thought given the fact that I’m already past the age of Christ.
What powers should I have, I would prefer having the power and knowledge of the underlying ‘realities’ of our world. I don’t know if this is the product of reading Castaneda but somehow it has something to do with it.
If I have this power, I could manipulate the world, the physical world. I can bend spoon like a Buddhist monk. I can hop over the deck of buildings with ease – no, without a web, but by sheer force of what I know about the universe and its design. I can easily learn kung fu, aikido, taekwando, and karate in seconds. I can manoeuvre any vehicle that I want.
If these descriptions are coming to you with some familiarity, yes, they all come from the trilogy Matrix. When I watched this movie, it struck and spellbound me. I was slouching at the back seat of my older brother’s car staring blankly at the moonless sky. What if this universe is not the real universe that there is? Possible.
Anyway, what I was thinking then when I was answering the question was to be the Neo; the One.
Yet, on the second thought, who I could come close to the characters in the Matrix is Morpheus.
You’ll learn it when I smile.
This was one of the supposed essays I should have had answered the previous week when I applied as a web content writer. But listlessness or out of carelessness, I thought I should have only given the question a 100-word essay.
If I would be a superhero what power should I have? The question is tough and silly on the second thought given the fact that I’m already past the age of Christ.
What powers should I have, I would prefer having the power and knowledge of the underlying ‘realities’ of our world. I don’t know if this is the product of reading Castaneda but somehow it has something to do with it.
If I have this power, I could manipulate the world, the physical world. I can bend spoon like a Buddhist monk. I can hop over the deck of buildings with ease – no, without a web, but by sheer force of what I know about the universe and its design. I can easily learn kung fu, aikido, taekwando, and karate in seconds. I can manoeuvre any vehicle that I want.
If these descriptions are coming to you with some familiarity, yes, they all come from the trilogy Matrix. When I watched this movie, it struck and spellbound me. I was slouching at the back seat of my older brother’s car staring blankly at the moonless sky. What if this universe is not the real universe that there is? Possible.
Anyway, what I was thinking then when I was answering the question was to be the Neo; the One.
Yet, on the second thought, who I could come close to the characters in the Matrix is Morpheus.
You’ll learn it when I smile.
Thursday, June 14, 2007
All Talk
I recall the days when I discerned that all I wanted in life is to be a writer. A sophomore in a well-known university and surrounded by peers who had the same vision and hope for themselves outside the campus, we talked after classes in the soccer field digging Hemingway and Gabo. We yakked also all about the books that we had just read and if we understood them well. The discussion would last until the guards in blue would shoo us to go home because it was already late in the night.
Those were the days. I was surrounded by peers who write when they reached home while what I seemed to do then was to yak about wanting to be a writer. I finished my college days still not knowing how to write. I remember that we were known to be good writers but probably that was true for my peers. But not for me because I could not even get myself write past the first sentence. English language is a hard boulder to chip and I was getting nowhere understanding it.
I remember this remote past for what I seem to do right now is rest on my laureates of getting published by some magazines and winning some writing prizes. Everyone in the neighbourhood knows that I write, that I am a writer.
But if only they knew that I no longer write as much as I used to do then. Nor read for that matter. I’m getting in the full cycle of being a talker rather than being a true writer.
I still have to write that first story that would be published with my byline, something which is due for more than a decade already. The sad part is that there is still no material for me to work on so that promise to myself is still far from reality.
Right now, a lot of things, practical responsibilities have been making me busy. I’m on the look out for a good writing job which is hard to come by. And while it is making me busy, I’m getting lazy trying to write.
But everybody is still calling me a writer. Something that is not true right now because I’m more of a talker.
Those were the days. I was surrounded by peers who write when they reached home while what I seemed to do then was to yak about wanting to be a writer. I finished my college days still not knowing how to write. I remember that we were known to be good writers but probably that was true for my peers. But not for me because I could not even get myself write past the first sentence. English language is a hard boulder to chip and I was getting nowhere understanding it.
I remember this remote past for what I seem to do right now is rest on my laureates of getting published by some magazines and winning some writing prizes. Everyone in the neighbourhood knows that I write, that I am a writer.
But if only they knew that I no longer write as much as I used to do then. Nor read for that matter. I’m getting in the full cycle of being a talker rather than being a true writer.
I still have to write that first story that would be published with my byline, something which is due for more than a decade already. The sad part is that there is still no material for me to work on so that promise to myself is still far from reality.
Right now, a lot of things, practical responsibilities have been making me busy. I’m on the look out for a good writing job which is hard to come by. And while it is making me busy, I’m getting lazy trying to write.
But everybody is still calling me a writer. Something that is not true right now because I’m more of a talker.
Friday, May 25, 2007
Been Had
I’ve been had.
In searching for a job the familiar, most used words by the screener/interviewer to the helpless reject is the promise of giving them a ring: Hintayin mo na lang ang tawag namin next week.
Now, to the uninitiated and tyro in the art of job hunting, this promise means a hopeful positive one. The job hunter, unscathed and never been beaten out there in the employment market, succumbs to the apple of temptation of waiting for the call thinking that the interviewer meant what he had said.
The week is long and before the job hunter knew it, he will discover that there will be no call. He has been given the words of appeasement and he bit on it. This is why those veterans in job hunting knew the moment they step out of the prospective employer’s office if they have been axed or if there is something to hope for. So they will ask the tyro: Anong sabi ‘yo?
Tyro: Tatawagan na lang daw ako.
The Veteran: Wag mo na asahan yan.
In the long time of experience in the hardship of job hunting, this ‘exit’ words by the interviewer is the most dreaded words I anticipate. It has been used for a very long time and it has been this way since I ever remember.
But in my recent experience, it seems this ‘exit’ words has been given a strain more potent than ever before that a veteran will surely bite on off guard, without knowing he is being had by the wily screener/interviewer.
Nevertheless, I take the responsibility of being rejected because of the things I yakked during the interview and by losing my nerves that kept me stuttering. Who in his right mind will say he has plans to publish a book someday. The logic is awry considering I’m already past the age of Christ and not connected with they academe and what more this plan is almost impossible in our country.
Going back to the subject of this post, the new strain of ‘exit’ words used to me by the screener/interviewer is definitely a deft one.
I was told to set a time the following week for an interview with the manager of the department which the vacancy falls under. I was even told to wear proper business attire when I show up. Just wait for the call in the middle of week (this drat! I failed to anticipate a negative aspect of the interview).
I waited patiently and with eagerness for a week only to realize that I have been had.
In searching for a job the familiar, most used words by the screener/interviewer to the helpless reject is the promise of giving them a ring: Hintayin mo na lang ang tawag namin next week.
Now, to the uninitiated and tyro in the art of job hunting, this promise means a hopeful positive one. The job hunter, unscathed and never been beaten out there in the employment market, succumbs to the apple of temptation of waiting for the call thinking that the interviewer meant what he had said.
The week is long and before the job hunter knew it, he will discover that there will be no call. He has been given the words of appeasement and he bit on it. This is why those veterans in job hunting knew the moment they step out of the prospective employer’s office if they have been axed or if there is something to hope for. So they will ask the tyro: Anong sabi ‘yo?
Tyro: Tatawagan na lang daw ako.
The Veteran: Wag mo na asahan yan.
In the long time of experience in the hardship of job hunting, this ‘exit’ words by the interviewer is the most dreaded words I anticipate. It has been used for a very long time and it has been this way since I ever remember.
But in my recent experience, it seems this ‘exit’ words has been given a strain more potent than ever before that a veteran will surely bite on off guard, without knowing he is being had by the wily screener/interviewer.
Nevertheless, I take the responsibility of being rejected because of the things I yakked during the interview and by losing my nerves that kept me stuttering. Who in his right mind will say he has plans to publish a book someday. The logic is awry considering I’m already past the age of Christ and not connected with they academe and what more this plan is almost impossible in our country.
Going back to the subject of this post, the new strain of ‘exit’ words used to me by the screener/interviewer is definitely a deft one.
I was told to set a time the following week for an interview with the manager of the department which the vacancy falls under. I was even told to wear proper business attire when I show up. Just wait for the call in the middle of week (this drat! I failed to anticipate a negative aspect of the interview).
I waited patiently and with eagerness for a week only to realize that I have been had.
Monday, May 14, 2007
Underground Election Gift-giving
Several nights before the election, a neighbor known for her affiliation with the local candidates talked us over the prospect of being commissioned to be poll watchers. Together with another neighbor, who stood as one of the coordinators, counted every registered voter in our house. They say all of us would be fielded as poll watchers come election day. Good news considering that we needed money.
Beside us, several neighbors were also promised to be poll watchers.
The pay and the responsibilities were five hundred at the end of the day and all we had to do was stay at the polling place to watch over flying-voters. Come counting time, our responsibilities would be over and an easy cash of Ninoy would be ready for our wallets.
Actually, there is nothing new about this. Me being a poll watcher. I have been a PPCRV watcher before. But the only difference now is the lure of the pay and earning a quick cash which was mostly welcome.
Hour before the election proper I was asked to go to our coordinator. I was expecting a long day in the precinct and a lot of fun mingling with voters. I thought what would happen was the usual giving off of final instruction for our candidates. But instead I was handed two small envelopes and copies of sample ballots with the suggestive instruction that I knew what to do. Inside the small envelopes was two hundred peso bills. Small money but cash nevertheless.
I innocently assumed that the money was an installment pay for the work ahead of us.
I asked, “What precinct would we guard?”
“No,” the coordinator said. “There was a change of plan.”
“Oh,” I said to myself, smiling devilishly.
I have been a voter for a long time and have heard of vote buying. But this is the only time when I was confronted by the actual practice.
What am I to do? I asked myself. Give back the money and say a litany of election ethics that we should follow and get on to talk that this is the reason why nothing is happening in our poor country?
No. I kept the money.
When we were herded off to the polling place, I threw the sample ballots bearing the names of the candidates who obviously were behind this vote buying practice.
I chose the candidates that I felt worthy of my effort to drag myself at the polling place, which was like a trek to the mountain. I filled only the slots for the national election: the senatorial slots and the congressional. The local positions I just dashed off with long hypen to signify that I didn’t have any prospective candidates for the positions.
On the second thought, I might as well have had put coach Flip Saunders’ name for the mayoralty candidate and the rest of the line-up of the Detroit Pistons for the remaining positions.
Beside us, several neighbors were also promised to be poll watchers.
The pay and the responsibilities were five hundred at the end of the day and all we had to do was stay at the polling place to watch over flying-voters. Come counting time, our responsibilities would be over and an easy cash of Ninoy would be ready for our wallets.
Actually, there is nothing new about this. Me being a poll watcher. I have been a PPCRV watcher before. But the only difference now is the lure of the pay and earning a quick cash which was mostly welcome.
Hour before the election proper I was asked to go to our coordinator. I was expecting a long day in the precinct and a lot of fun mingling with voters. I thought what would happen was the usual giving off of final instruction for our candidates. But instead I was handed two small envelopes and copies of sample ballots with the suggestive instruction that I knew what to do. Inside the small envelopes was two hundred peso bills. Small money but cash nevertheless.
I innocently assumed that the money was an installment pay for the work ahead of us.
I asked, “What precinct would we guard?”
“No,” the coordinator said. “There was a change of plan.”
“Oh,” I said to myself, smiling devilishly.
I have been a voter for a long time and have heard of vote buying. But this is the only time when I was confronted by the actual practice.
What am I to do? I asked myself. Give back the money and say a litany of election ethics that we should follow and get on to talk that this is the reason why nothing is happening in our poor country?
No. I kept the money.
When we were herded off to the polling place, I threw the sample ballots bearing the names of the candidates who obviously were behind this vote buying practice.
I chose the candidates that I felt worthy of my effort to drag myself at the polling place, which was like a trek to the mountain. I filled only the slots for the national election: the senatorial slots and the congressional. The local positions I just dashed off with long hypen to signify that I didn’t have any prospective candidates for the positions.
On the second thought, I might as well have had put coach Flip Saunders’ name for the mayoralty candidate and the rest of the line-up of the Detroit Pistons for the remaining positions.
Sunday, May 13, 2007
How the Game was Played
I mentioned in my previous post that I had not got the opportunity to catch live the Game 3 of the Pistons vs the Bulls. All I got was the incomplete information from my cousin telling me that the Pistons won the game therefore setting the series in a comfortable 3-0 lead of the series.
Well, I was able to catch the reply of the game at Start Sports and see for myself how the Pistons dismantled the young, spunky Chicago Bulls.
The first half was a low-scoring game for the Pistons, perennially missing their shots and bungling their seemed perfect offensive plays.
The Pistons was having a taste of their own bitter medicine what with the aggressive defense of the Bulls. The Bulls looked like hungry pack of wolves ready to eat alive the Pistons. Bull’s Luol Deng, Ben Wallace and Ben Gordon leaded their team in overlording the boards and defense, and shooting above par compared with the Pistons who seemed could not get their acts together.
The first half finished off with the Bulls having a comfortable, almost a sure-win lead of 19 points against the Pistons. The Pistons looked beaten-up and a no-match in the United Arena of the Bulls; the statue of flying Michael Jordan stood outside the stadium as if to imply that the Bulls is on the rampage again and now on the rebound and ready to move toward the Eastern Finals, then the Finals proper to earn another ring.
The Pistons in my imagination were fidgeting in their locker room, panicking and being berated by coach Flip Saunders for their bad game. The fans of the Pistons in front of their tubes all over the world were pulling their hair in disbelief on how come their team feared badly at the court let the young, fast and seemed hungrier Bulls made a rampage in the court at their expense.
The second half started. I watched with doubts whether what my cousin said to me was true: that the Pistons won Game 3.
I could not see any trace of panic from the players of the Pistons yet could still see the lunging horns of the Bulls ready for the kill.
Several minutes after the start of the second half, the Pistons was able to chip out the lead of the Bulls by four, making the homecourt team’s lead down to 15.
That was when I saw the aura of the Pistons – the leading team in the NBA today and if you would agree with their players’ statements ought to be the NBA Champions for four seasons. The Pistons’ aura and gait on the basketball court told of mental toughness and sure composure. There was no tinge of an expected panic in their faces. They are the Pistons and they learned in their long years of battle in the court that a 19-point deficit is no reason to lose heart or panicky about.
Pistons captain ball Chauncey Billups orchestrated the well-maneuvered comeback of his team with toughness of spirit used of shutting down their opponents with surgical military precision. They started making shots, making stops and chipping eventually the lead of the Bulls.
On the other hand, the Bulls, as characteristics of a young ballteam, began to fumble, tremble because they realized that the Pistons was advancing through their defense and that they were in trouble with this veteran team.
At the end of Game 3, the Pistons marked their 3-0 lead in this second-round playoffs of the Eastern Conference.
The Game could have been a blow-out game against the Pistons. But resiliency, composure and mental toughness made them overturn the tide to win Game 3 and post a 3-0 lead which as mathematical statistics proves is a sure win scenario for them.
Now, I don’t know if there’s a game as I write this between these two teams, but even if my cable provider doesn’t air it, I anticipate the Pistons moving up to the Eastern Conference Finals.
Well, I was able to catch the reply of the game at Start Sports and see for myself how the Pistons dismantled the young, spunky Chicago Bulls.
The first half was a low-scoring game for the Pistons, perennially missing their shots and bungling their seemed perfect offensive plays.
The Pistons was having a taste of their own bitter medicine what with the aggressive defense of the Bulls. The Bulls looked like hungry pack of wolves ready to eat alive the Pistons. Bull’s Luol Deng, Ben Wallace and Ben Gordon leaded their team in overlording the boards and defense, and shooting above par compared with the Pistons who seemed could not get their acts together.
The first half finished off with the Bulls having a comfortable, almost a sure-win lead of 19 points against the Pistons. The Pistons looked beaten-up and a no-match in the United Arena of the Bulls; the statue of flying Michael Jordan stood outside the stadium as if to imply that the Bulls is on the rampage again and now on the rebound and ready to move toward the Eastern Finals, then the Finals proper to earn another ring.
The Pistons in my imagination were fidgeting in their locker room, panicking and being berated by coach Flip Saunders for their bad game. The fans of the Pistons in front of their tubes all over the world were pulling their hair in disbelief on how come their team feared badly at the court let the young, fast and seemed hungrier Bulls made a rampage in the court at their expense.
The second half started. I watched with doubts whether what my cousin said to me was true: that the Pistons won Game 3.
I could not see any trace of panic from the players of the Pistons yet could still see the lunging horns of the Bulls ready for the kill.
Several minutes after the start of the second half, the Pistons was able to chip out the lead of the Bulls by four, making the homecourt team’s lead down to 15.
That was when I saw the aura of the Pistons – the leading team in the NBA today and if you would agree with their players’ statements ought to be the NBA Champions for four seasons. The Pistons’ aura and gait on the basketball court told of mental toughness and sure composure. There was no tinge of an expected panic in their faces. They are the Pistons and they learned in their long years of battle in the court that a 19-point deficit is no reason to lose heart or panicky about.
Pistons captain ball Chauncey Billups orchestrated the well-maneuvered comeback of his team with toughness of spirit used of shutting down their opponents with surgical military precision. They started making shots, making stops and chipping eventually the lead of the Bulls.
On the other hand, the Bulls, as characteristics of a young ballteam, began to fumble, tremble because they realized that the Pistons was advancing through their defense and that they were in trouble with this veteran team.
At the end of Game 3, the Pistons marked their 3-0 lead in this second-round playoffs of the Eastern Conference.
The Game could have been a blow-out game against the Pistons. But resiliency, composure and mental toughness made them overturn the tide to win Game 3 and post a 3-0 lead which as mathematical statistics proves is a sure win scenario for them.
Now, I don’t know if there’s a game as I write this between these two teams, but even if my cable provider doesn’t air it, I anticipate the Pistons moving up to the Eastern Conference Finals.
Saturday, May 12, 2007
It's 3-0 in Favor of the Pistons
I haven't seen the Game 3 of the Pistons vs Bulls because I got to attend some business in Navotas. To find about the result, I have to rely on the story by my cousin Peng and learn about how the Pistons fared in the homecourt of the bulls.
Many predicted that the Bulls would bounce off from their two-streak losing games against the Pistons since the game would be held in their homecourt.
But no (yeah!) the Pistons, as I described them, is really a well-oiled machine that can beat any team by their choking defense and well-executed offensive plays.
It's seems it would be a sweep again for my Detroit team this time.
Many predicted that the Bulls would bounce off from their two-streak losing games against the Pistons since the game would be held in their homecourt.
But no (yeah!) the Pistons, as I described them, is really a well-oiled machine that can beat any team by their choking defense and well-executed offensive plays.
It's seems it would be a sweep again for my Detroit team this time.
Tuesday, May 08, 2007
Walang Nagbago
It is always been my philosophy to look at the world with a half-full of glass of water rather looking at it as half-empty. This is the foundation of me being an inveterate optimist. Optimists they say see the opportunity in ever difficulties, while the pessimists are those who see the difficulties in ever opportunity – a well said adage.
I have written about this issue on my first – and hope not to be the last – column in the now defunct The Edge magazine.
I have seen individual’s faith to see the world in this positive light faltered and totally been destroyed. I see them as old grumpy old people always bemoaning the state of everything in this land in a total mess and the lack of good people to turn it around.
Ever time you talk to them, they are those who never cease to pick on the government’s shortcomings in making this nation a better one, making jobs for the unemployed. What’s more is that they fail to appreciate the talents of every individual making a name for himself because of hardwork and a little help from some people.
If you would talk to these kind of people and listen to their pessimistic view of the world, it is better if you just keep your distance from them since listening to them can only hypnotize you to think the way they do.
To think, they are the mediocre type of people and much worse they are those who are a failure to themselves. So what they are doing to the younger generation is passing their personal frustration through negative opinions and comments about everything. Misery loves company so they say, and basically these people are in misery and could not contain it so they pass it on every person they mingle with.
What do they people don’t know or fail to know is that the world, from the time they are born didn’t chance a little bit. Life is still hard. Making a living is still a struggle in a day to day basis. But this is not a reason to think that life is not beautiful.
They forget the times when they are young and everything was coming their way. They don’t remember their childhood years when the world is a happy place to live in because they are having fun playing and winning. The lost they suffered they endured like dust shaken off their shoulders and continue seeing the world as a happy place.
No, they no longer remember that.
In the years that would follow, their innate optimism is rocked and beaten with how hard life is to live in the adult world. Thus, they forget what they learned when they are young and what the world had taught them. They are eaten up by their own failures, which they should have, like children, shake like dust off their shoulders so they could walk through life with a happy face and composure.
Yes, they forget this valuable lesson.
They forget that life is really tough but not tough to beat with a positive outlook in life. Nothing has changed as I said. It is only how you look at the world that has changed.
"Walang nagbago," as the lyrics of one of the songs of Eraserheads say.
If you want to spare yourself from this subtle misery of being pessimistic, you better take a second look at the world and probably by then, you can see and choose to see the world in a half-full glass than half-empty.
The Pistons Pummeled Once Again the Bulls
It’s 2-0 in favor of the Pistons against the Bulls.
As coach/commentator Doug Collins says the Pistons is like a well-oiled machine functioning perfectly. The Pistons throughout their Game 2 game against the Bulls is a perfect team offensively and defensively speaking.
You cannot see any flaws in them and you wonder whether there is any other team out there that can match their composure and military precision plays. The Pistons’ players are perfectly skilled worker in the court.
Oh, can’t wait to see the series end up in 4-0 in favor of the Pistons being a fan of this team.
I have written about this issue on my first – and hope not to be the last – column in the now defunct The Edge magazine.
I have seen individual’s faith to see the world in this positive light faltered and totally been destroyed. I see them as old grumpy old people always bemoaning the state of everything in this land in a total mess and the lack of good people to turn it around.
Ever time you talk to them, they are those who never cease to pick on the government’s shortcomings in making this nation a better one, making jobs for the unemployed. What’s more is that they fail to appreciate the talents of every individual making a name for himself because of hardwork and a little help from some people.
If you would talk to these kind of people and listen to their pessimistic view of the world, it is better if you just keep your distance from them since listening to them can only hypnotize you to think the way they do.
To think, they are the mediocre type of people and much worse they are those who are a failure to themselves. So what they are doing to the younger generation is passing their personal frustration through negative opinions and comments about everything. Misery loves company so they say, and basically these people are in misery and could not contain it so they pass it on every person they mingle with.
What do they people don’t know or fail to know is that the world, from the time they are born didn’t chance a little bit. Life is still hard. Making a living is still a struggle in a day to day basis. But this is not a reason to think that life is not beautiful.
They forget the times when they are young and everything was coming their way. They don’t remember their childhood years when the world is a happy place to live in because they are having fun playing and winning. The lost they suffered they endured like dust shaken off their shoulders and continue seeing the world as a happy place.
No, they no longer remember that.
In the years that would follow, their innate optimism is rocked and beaten with how hard life is to live in the adult world. Thus, they forget what they learned when they are young and what the world had taught them. They are eaten up by their own failures, which they should have, like children, shake like dust off their shoulders so they could walk through life with a happy face and composure.
Yes, they forget this valuable lesson.
They forget that life is really tough but not tough to beat with a positive outlook in life. Nothing has changed as I said. It is only how you look at the world that has changed.
"Walang nagbago," as the lyrics of one of the songs of Eraserheads say.
If you want to spare yourself from this subtle misery of being pessimistic, you better take a second look at the world and probably by then, you can see and choose to see the world in a half-full glass than half-empty.
The Pistons Pummeled Once Again the Bulls
It’s 2-0 in favor of the Pistons against the Bulls.
As coach/commentator Doug Collins says the Pistons is like a well-oiled machine functioning perfectly. The Pistons throughout their Game 2 game against the Bulls is a perfect team offensively and defensively speaking.
You cannot see any flaws in them and you wonder whether there is any other team out there that can match their composure and military precision plays. The Pistons’ players are perfectly skilled worker in the court.
Oh, can’t wait to see the series end up in 4-0 in favor of the Pistons being a fan of this team.
Monday, May 07, 2007
The Pistons Beating the Bulls in Game 1
I have been anticipating for days the confrontation of the Detroit Pistons and Chicago Bulls in the second round of the playoffs in the NBA after their successful campaigns in the first round. The Pistons pummeled the Orlando Magic 4-0 while the Bulls made an amateur team, the 2006 Champions, Miami Heat by beating them also 4-0.
Chauncey Billups and the rest of his gang still showed how they can dismantle a hopeful team against their way to get another ring with military precision. And their fist victim to have a run for a ring was the Orlando Magic, an 8th seeded team in the Eastern Conference playoffs.
Meanwhile, the young Chicago Bulls showed spunk and speed when they stopped the reigning Champion Heat and making Shaquile O’neal a has-been in the painted area. They swarmed with tight defense the plays of the Heat. Ever attempt by the group of O’neal in the painted area was faced with double team and even triple team; this making for the Heat a hell of a hard time penetrating.
What I have been anticipating when these two tough teams meet in the second round of the playoffs was a swing tight game. I even considered it the Finals already since there seems no team in the West that can match their intensity while playing in the court, both offensively and defensively.
But when the first game of their best-of-seven series was played I was proven wrong.
The Pistons beat up the the Bulls in a blow-out game that could have shamed Pistons’ former teammate Ben Wallace, who plays as the defensive man for the Bulls. Bulls’ guard Ben Gordon was a no-show also. He was ineffective offensively.
Pistons was just all over the place trapping the Bulls and intimidating their shots. To say, the Pistons broke the horns of the Bulls. Chauncey Billups, Rip Hamilton and Rasheed Wallace were just in their best form.
The Bulls just lost their composure and speed and spunk of a young team when confronted with the mastery defensive team play of the Pistons.
For now the Pistons lead the series 1-0. Will it be 4-0 for the Pistons against Bulls?
Well, we’ll see how far this will go as the series continues.
Chauncey Billups and the rest of his gang still showed how they can dismantle a hopeful team against their way to get another ring with military precision. And their fist victim to have a run for a ring was the Orlando Magic, an 8th seeded team in the Eastern Conference playoffs.
Meanwhile, the young Chicago Bulls showed spunk and speed when they stopped the reigning Champion Heat and making Shaquile O’neal a has-been in the painted area. They swarmed with tight defense the plays of the Heat. Ever attempt by the group of O’neal in the painted area was faced with double team and even triple team; this making for the Heat a hell of a hard time penetrating.
What I have been anticipating when these two tough teams meet in the second round of the playoffs was a swing tight game. I even considered it the Finals already since there seems no team in the West that can match their intensity while playing in the court, both offensively and defensively.
But when the first game of their best-of-seven series was played I was proven wrong.
The Pistons beat up the the Bulls in a blow-out game that could have shamed Pistons’ former teammate Ben Wallace, who plays as the defensive man for the Bulls. Bulls’ guard Ben Gordon was a no-show also. He was ineffective offensively.
Pistons was just all over the place trapping the Bulls and intimidating their shots. To say, the Pistons broke the horns of the Bulls. Chauncey Billups, Rip Hamilton and Rasheed Wallace were just in their best form.
The Bulls just lost their composure and speed and spunk of a young team when confronted with the mastery defensive team play of the Pistons.
For now the Pistons lead the series 1-0. Will it be 4-0 for the Pistons against Bulls?
Well, we’ll see how far this will go as the series continues.
Friday, April 27, 2007
View from the Mountaintop
The point I’m driving at is that I still have to write about life, what I know and think about life; what for heaven’s and my spirit’s sake did I learn in this huge jungle of a classroom called real world.
To the intellectually challenged people, those whose philosophy about life begins and ends on how to make their wallets thicker, they whose lives are run by practical reason, I usually say to them – half for the reason on how narrow they think and half for my propensity to play the mystic – that I have sat like a buddha on a mountaintop watching the world below.
What then did I see and learn while I was on the mountaintop?
I would want to start with our use of word, this basic and necessary communication tool to interact with the people around us. Yet, on the second thought, what I want to relay with the readers is all written in the book of Don Miguel Ruiz’s The Four Agreements.
If one would read this book, everything that I learned on how we use our words is summed up here. It also summarizes in a general way the life that I have long been observing in homes, communities and work places.
It seems everybody is casting poison spells through words to their love ones, neighbours and co-workers. Most of the times he does it without knowing that he is doing it. An angry person can just flares up and say the most insidious words against anyone around him. For us this behaviour is normal.
And what would be more normal than the act of back-biting against anyone. I have long observed that if one could not get on the person that has slighted him or someone he envies, he would recourse his anger to get even by attacking the person through words he spreads around their community or work places.
This back-biting tells more of the person doing it. First it betrays his feeling of inferiority, envy and anger. But by trying to back-bite someone, he gets the illusion that he is impeccable and way above the person he is attacking. He feels superior.
This kind of behaviour is long considered normal in our world, or the real world as some would say. And I would not want to wash my hands and tell that I have sometime, one way or another, have used my words through this kind of behaviour.
Anyway, unfair and unhealthy as it is, I would say this usually is what is happening around us.
Thursday, April 19, 2007
Short Kerouac Yakking
I really have nothing to say or write as I decided that I would go to the nearest net cafe at our place. Yet, there is just something in me that keeps on saying, whispering, prodding me on that I should write something, anything: just write.
I need to pound on the keyboar and feel again that ryhthmn made by the sound of it.
Drat! I have to write something, I keep on telling myself.
What is there really to write about? I used to pluck subject after subject out of the thin air and could make out at least 500 words about it. But now there is nothing. Nothing really.
What I am doing now is taking the easy way out, trodding a familiar path used and mastered: writing a morning journal (even if it is already noon and lunch time) or probably what should I call pure Kerouac yakking, talkfest in front of the computer; me and the computer (or the probable readers of this entry) alone. One on one.
I'm writing this with The Game featuring 50 Cents rapping Hate it or Love it in the background and the sound of the these little tods playing computer games.
Sonofabitch! There's really nothing to write about. My head is like a tabula rasa with nothing in it but blank whiteness. Nada. Nada. Nada.
There is nothing happening in my mind of what to write about.
What is keeping me from stopping pounding the keyboard is the pure intention to make this blog entry as long as it will take. I have to keep on pounding the keyboard, really pound the keyboard as fast as I could even without saying anything. Just yak.
And yak I stop now.
I need to pound on the keyboar and feel again that ryhthmn made by the sound of it.
Drat! I have to write something, I keep on telling myself.
What is there really to write about? I used to pluck subject after subject out of the thin air and could make out at least 500 words about it. But now there is nothing. Nothing really.
What I am doing now is taking the easy way out, trodding a familiar path used and mastered: writing a morning journal (even if it is already noon and lunch time) or probably what should I call pure Kerouac yakking, talkfest in front of the computer; me and the computer (or the probable readers of this entry) alone. One on one.
I'm writing this with The Game featuring 50 Cents rapping Hate it or Love it in the background and the sound of the these little tods playing computer games.
Sonofabitch! There's really nothing to write about. My head is like a tabula rasa with nothing in it but blank whiteness. Nada. Nada. Nada.
There is nothing happening in my mind of what to write about.
What is keeping me from stopping pounding the keyboard is the pure intention to make this blog entry as long as it will take. I have to keep on pounding the keyboard, really pound the keyboard as fast as I could even without saying anything. Just yak.
And yak I stop now.
Monday, April 16, 2007
I Wish
Nowadays when I cannot write nor read, when doing this basics is difficult as if chipping a great boulder along my path toward my personal legend (owws, using that term learned and heard from somebody special) I wish that one day I will suddenly wake up with true knowledge on how to write and a subject for a novel.
I wish, as if waking from a deep slumber and unproductivity that I can really write, write as if I really know the craft. I wish that like magic everything that I have dreamt of throughout these years will come to reality. I will know the proper and correct grammar in my text or rather the kind of loosening of one’s writing tongue that I can just yak/pound on my computer and write as if there’s no tomorrow trying to finish a good, well-planned writing project.
This times is tough. All I can do is what Jack Kerouac says about writing: stick with it with the energy of a benny addict.
And I’m sticking with it with all my spiritual energy, hoping and praying to the gods that one day that I would wake up with everything I need to write will be there.
Tough wish, eh. Yes, indeed.
But as the Rolling Stones says: time is on my side.
Good well power words, something that you cannot get in the streets.
I wish, as if waking from a deep slumber and unproductivity that I can really write, write as if I really know the craft. I wish that like magic everything that I have dreamt of throughout these years will come to reality. I will know the proper and correct grammar in my text or rather the kind of loosening of one’s writing tongue that I can just yak/pound on my computer and write as if there’s no tomorrow trying to finish a good, well-planned writing project.
This times is tough. All I can do is what Jack Kerouac says about writing: stick with it with the energy of a benny addict.
And I’m sticking with it with all my spiritual energy, hoping and praying to the gods that one day that I would wake up with everything I need to write will be there.
Tough wish, eh. Yes, indeed.
But as the Rolling Stones says: time is on my side.
Good well power words, something that you cannot get in the streets.
Sunday, January 07, 2007
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