Christmas Vacation in Lil Feather's Hometown

Go. It's has been a fast paced three weeks in Tacloban to be with Lil Feather (and that three weeks will end two days from now. It's already four and a half hours before the year ends and Lil Feather is lying on the bed by my side as I write this; the firecrackers keep on with their revelry yell outside sporadically.) This visit was planned months before and there had been a lot of hassle about the financial aspect but nevertheless after all the drama had died down, I boarded my flight going to Tacloban last 17th.

Staying in Tacloban with Lil Feather definitely casts a spell on me and I would not say that we don't have our own dramatic times with each other. Nevertheless, here's the promised pics we took during the past couple of weeks. The pics speak for itself. (Langya! kababangabanga ko lang sa hon ko while writing this. Mainit ulo. lol. (hindi na pala at inedit pa ko...lol)


Posing at the cam while lying on the grass of MacArthur Park. Change style of posing.

Another pose.

I'm the paparazzi here. Lil Feather wanders at MacArthur Park without her knowing that I was taking a pic of her. Nice candid shot.

McArthur behind my back. Ehehehe nasa Leyte na talaga ako.


Ang sarap ng sinigang sa Andok's. Wala neto sa Manila. Pangit ang Jolibee at MacDo. Andoks ang putok dito sa Tacloban
First couple of nights in Tacloban. Downed a couple of Red Horse already.
Here's a pic taken while riding the pedicab to Lil Feather's grandmother's house in dulag. Concrete, machine and nature.


It's Lil Feather and me having a chit chat at the porch of Nanay's house.
It's nanay caught by the rain.
It's me and lil feather having a noche buena talk with Nanay. Red Horse included in the menu.

Picnic at the beach before plunging into the sea. Kakay, Lil Feather, me, Vanessa, RicRic and Leigh at the middle. Kainan na!

Heavenly god! Heaven Leigh was howling after long hours at the sea.


A little posing before plunging into the water.




This is the pic that I love to show. Me and Lil Feather amidst the sea waves at the MacArthur beach. The waves are big and strong. Kung sa Manila to signal number 3 na to.


With the bayaws having a bath at the backyard after having been in the beach.

Eto ang reality check. Kailangan maglaba magtapos maggala ng todo :d. Laba dami laba ngo.


After every story there's a mark in time about this visit. This pic summarizes everything that happened here in Tacloban. Yurigligoric and Lil Feather. Together, having a nice morning talk and coffee at dulag. Soon this will be lolo ern and lola doris. That was their time.

It's Christmas

Five hours from now and it is already Christmas. Been busy since the last several days since I arrived in Tacloban (though I’m writing this in one of the town of Leyte called Dulag because this is where the grandmother of Lil Feather lives.) This is the first time that I will be spending Christmas outside Metro Manila and away from my family. Instead I’m spending it with the family of Lil Feather. Gonna post some of the pictures we took here in the coming days.

Anyway, merry Christmas to all.

The Red Pill

"You take the red pill, you stay in wonderland and I’ll show you how deep the rabbit hole is."
The Matrix

Flexing Some Muscles a la Farina

I wish I can write this in one let go like I used to do; tipsy with sleepy eyes, bottles of strong beer scattered on the floor, the industrial electric fan whirring beside me in a never ending cycle and the speaker of my headset singing in anguish about a lost father. Mind has been sharpened a little bit by correct practice and body posture yet still feeling the debilitating effect of some bad habit. Nevertheless, will strut and grin a la Farina, looking around in a sly look on how the world has moved without this crut noticing it. Oh, yes, satori in Cavite for a very long period of time. But who’s gonna believe it anyway. Kerouac knew the dharma but died drunk in some musky room somewhere far from the Big Sur. Yes, the Big Sur; a very long time ago. The moment I lay my hands on it, I voraciously read it inside the bus, glancing from time to time at the couple of passenger across my seat anticipating whether the guy would swallow his girlfriend while they kiss and make out as what I read somewhere Zapra wrote in her column. Dharma Bums. Where the hell is that book? Oh, forgot. Just read it in two sittings in Powerbooks in its old location along Arnaiz Ave. Read a hell of a lot of books there. Discovered also Calvino during that time while several of the domesticated poseurs ran their trade to get the attention of specialized people. (Drat! A whole gang would curse and slam my face straight against the concrete wall for using the term – I will never finish my thesis but I’m trying to learn how to read and write again so be there when Infinite Worlds, or what the hell the book will be named, will be launched or just see me at my deathbed please.) So where am I now? Sonofabitch! It really took a toll on me. No more Kerouac yakking here like a mad dog but a slowed down (mental slow down?) trying to catch the spirit of the humid air pervading inside my room. Two cigarettes with far-in-between puffs just to get my head focus and get this practice going like a good riff!!! Okay, okay. I’m already hallucinating. I just saw a flicker of light went off at my right side as I balance myself on my seat. Lil Feather is already here. (Finished or not finished, pass your failed papers. :-D)

Simply Lil Feather

The picture speaks for itself. The loose strands of hair connotes life while the sepia theme exudes the aroma of sentimental past. Just look at the innocent pili-shaped eyes; its a view of the perfect beauty of the soul.

Monologue sa YM

roger mexico: ang dami ko ng buzz sa yo kanina, tapos umalis ako sa upuan ko para makipagkwentuhan kay shie, tulog ka pa siguro nun. bka one pa magigcing. so upo muna ako dun, usap kay shie. tapos, mdyo pagod din kasi si shie sa gala, pumunta ko sa harap ng pc. nabigla kasi me buzz ka. isa lang. wala na.
roger mexico: so ginawa ko nagbuzz din ako. baka gcing ka na, me ginagawa lang. pero di ka sumagot. wala. nakakabibinging katahimikan. tapos ginawa ko buzz ko ulit. madami. e kaso kada isang buzz magiintay ka ata ng sampung segundo. bale mga fifteen minutes or more, buzz ng buzz ako. yung interval nun sinasabayan ko ng pagsindi ng sigarilyo at pagtunga sa libreng red horse ko. maraming beses na ganun.
roger mexico: minsan sa kaiintay ko na pwede na magbuzz, pindot ng pindot ako ng mouse. parang walang katapusan. basta pipindot na pipindot lang. tapos un nga bigla na lang mag bubuzz. ayun, napuno ko na buong window ng ym kakabuzz di ka pa rin nagrereply. nagbuzz ka lang isa pero ako sandamukal na ata. mula siguro kaninang alas diyes naka trenta ata ako. pero tulog ka pa rin. di ko alam. basta un. wala pa ring reply.
roger mexico: eto sisindi na naman ako ng yosi.
roger mexico: naubos ko na ata tong isang kaha.
BUZZ!!!
BUZZ!!!
BUZZ!!!
BUZZ!!!
roger mexico: parang tula pala ko magsulat sa tagalog. parang college writer. ung nangangapa ng istilo ng pagsusulat. iba nga ang pagsusulat sa english kesa sa tagalog/pilipino. pero sabi nila mas maeexpress mo daw ang sarili mo sa tagalog. pero ewan ko rin. sanay na ko sa english e. di na nga lang nagsusulat nitong mga nakalipas na taon. puros pera lang ang iniisip para magsulat. nasabi ko ata sa blog ko yun na bilib ako sa mga kumikita sa pagsusulat pero iba ung gusto ko e. pero nitong mga nakaraang buwan mdyo nagbago na rin pagtingin ko sa hinahabol kong istilo ng pagsusulat. parang wala ng saysay sa kin ang magsulat. kaya nga nasabi ko na siguro kailangan ko burahin yung mga natutunan ko dati. na di rin naman talaga mahalaga sa malalim na pag intindi kung maging successful writer ako. wala na ring
roger mexico: silbi ang mga alam ko at natutunan sa buhay. oo sasabay pa rin ako, pero di na siguro katulad noon. siguro magsusulat pa rin ako. pero alam ko na na balang araw nawawalang saysay din ang mga iyon. kasi paulit ulit rin naman kasi. kasi ano ba ang tinatalakay ng mga kwento, di ba dapat me conflict? e kaso di na ko medyo naniniwala sa kahalagahan ng conflict e. sabi ko nga mga drama lang sa buhay yun. yoko na nga magdrama e, tapos magsusulat pa ko ng mga drama ng buhay na di naman talaga makakatulong sa mga magbabasa ng isusulat ko. kasi me blema na nga sila, aaliwin ko pa sila ng panibagong blema.
roger mexico: parang ano yun e usapan ng mga college students kung me diyos o wala, o kung totoo bang me diyos o wala. pero sa dulo rin naman wala naman maitutulong o mababago sa kanila sa paguusap o pag dedebate ng kung meron ngang diyos. magiging mabuting tao ba sila kung me diyos o magiging masama kung wala. kasi pwede naman wlang diyos o di pinaguusapan ang diyos pero mabuting tao. meron naman naniniwala sa diyos pero sobrang itim naman ng budhi. pero etong mga sinasabi ko parang wala na ring saysay e. kasi iba na nakikita ko e.
roger mexico: sa pag aaral ko rin tinitibag yung mga paniniwala ko nun. alam ko me ibang dimesion. sabi nga ng mga physicist merong 11 dimensions, pero tayo apat lang alam natin. tatlong nga lang talga kung tutuusin kasi yung pang-apat yung time-space dimension na sinabi ni einstein di pa rin maintindihan ng nakararami. sa bale nasa three dimesions palang alam natin. e me eleven nga, so kung baga marami pa tayong di alam o di kayang ipaliwanag. pero unti unti na rin nakukuhang idefine ng mga scientist yun.
roger mexico: pero eto ang nakakamangha, yung mga di maipaliwanag ng mga scientist ngayon o yung ngayon lang nila nakayang ipaliwanag naipaliwanag na at na-map-out na noon pang nakalipas na 2500 years ago. kakaelibs. pati mind structure alam, pati mind fields, galing.
roger mexico: e 2500 years ago pa un, pano nila nalaman un. ung ang tanong. galing e
BUZZ!!!
BUZZ!!!
BUZZ!!!
BUZZ!!!
BUZZ!!!
BUZZ!!!
BUZZ!!!
BUZZ!!!
BUZZ!!!

Silence

I've been used writing endlessly here about whatever that comes into my mind during the process of my regular practice. Yet, as I take a break, it occurs to me that there is bliss in silence. It is like silent rejoicing of life and just the mere stillness to experience the universe of form. It is a dive deep down the tumultuous surface of an ocean -- to the very abyss of peaceful joy.

False Alarm

The celebration for life is too soon. It's a false alarm. Negative. Meaning there's nothing. Nada. Nada. Nada.

On Children

It's been a while since I posted something here. There have been a lot of developments in my life though seeing that there is a virtue or wisdom in practicing action through inaction I took my time doing a lot of things by doing nothing.

Nevertheless, I cannot find any other fitting poetic lines from mine that this poem by Khalil Gibran says. Fit for what is Now, the moment. Lil Feather, love you both. :-). +!!!!! na talaga?

On Children
Kahlil Gibran

Your children are not your children.
They are the sons and daughters of Life's longing for itself.
They come through you but not from you,
And though they are with you yet they belong not to you.

You may give them your love but not your thoughts,
For they have their own thoughts.
You may house their bodies but not their souls,
For their souls dwell in the house of tomorrow,
which you cannot visit, not even in your dreams.
You may strive to be like them,
but seek not to make them like you.
For life goes not backward nor tarries with yesterday.

You are the bows from which your children
as living arrows are sent forth.
The archer sees the mark upon the path of the infinite,
and He bends you with His might
that His arrows may go swift and far.
Let our bending in the archer's hand be for gladness;
For even as He loves the arrow that flies,
so He loves also the bow that is stable.

Lil Feather and YuriGligoric: A Week in the City

The previous week was one heaven of a hectic time of experience. If I would describe all the events that transpired with my Lil Feather here in the city, compressed it in one poetic phrase to catch all the euphoric and intense emotions to finally say that long due words of promises to be realized, it would be like a gem gleaming with myriad of hues spanning six long years of long distance digital love affair speckled with unadulterated romance and fights during short visits to each other.

And I’m really getting poetic here. :-)

Here’s what Lil Feather’s Olympus digital camera caught when we abandoned taking the MRT at Trinoma going to Makati and elbowed our way through the crowd to take a cab instead.

After paying a visit to my library Powerbooks at Greenbelt and spending the day at the mall here's some more pics taken after the long talks and walks.


And another one, with my 'aura' caught by the camera.

Then here's Lil Feather at the airport terminal II wanting a good massage after a busy day at NHA. Dang! What a nice shot. It looks like Frank Capa took this shot. Perfect shot and perfect subject.
What is celebration then without a visit to a restaurant. Here's Lil Feather with me, with her HP Pavilion on the table at Kenny Roger's MOA. Wow! Yaman ng hon ko... hehehe. Her mom took the pic and that caught me flat-footed since I just wore a t-shirt na arbor ko lang. She said I should wear something formal. Arg!
Since I've already mentioned her mom. Here are they with me taking the shot with Lil Feather's Olympus digital cam. (Pampalakas...hehe)
More pics in my next post... I'm getting the hang of this posting pics in my blog. Hon, padala mo by LBC ung cam mo... hehehe.

My Picks

If there is something most fulfilling from the tasks that I did today for my personal blog, this is it: to promote the books that I cherish most.

For those who are regular readers of this blog, probably you are wondering who is this Ignacio Padilla whom I love to say I would kill someday (I think he is still in Spain fulfilling his role as an ambassador for Mexico.) Well, he is the writer of Shadow without a Name – a book I read in one sitting in Powerbooks several years ago. The effect of his marvelous crafted short and succinct narrative still lingers in my mind. This writer writes more about countries he has read in books than his native country Mexico. Yet, it can not be doubted the writing skills he showed in his works deserves him to be the next in line after the likes of Carlos Fuentes and Gabo. (Just talking about him, envelopes me already with this urge to get a new page and start yakking like Kerouac and start my own novel.)

Talking about Gabo, a rather new selection of books are presented in my Picks. There is only one book among these three (or four?) that I still have to read: Marquez: Tales Beyond Solitude. I don’t know whether this is the second installment already of the trilogy of his autobiography. I have read already his Live to Tell the Tale – the supposed first installment. The rest that I’m promoting here are books that are part already of my collection and blueprint.

Of course, who would forget Carlos Castaneda? A favorite writer of mine, though I’m sad that he is more known as a promoter of drug use to achieve wisdom than what he actually prescribes. I still have to read these books. And probably, I would be one of the first who will purchase these books straight from my Picks.

I also picked Don Miguel Ruiz’s Four Agreements. This book, though short of going beyond why the four agreements that he states in the books are necessities to see the truth, it is still invaluable for common people who wish personal freedom and get the stance of a warrior in this so domesticated world we are in.

I cannot emphasize more that the books in my Picks are solid collection to speak of. I’m just happy and excited that these books graced my blog.

Drat!!! I forgot to include Kerouac's On the Road. Nevermind. As soon as My Picks is changed, his will be included. Oh, surely the Subterraneans will also be there.

Earn by Blogging

Since I’m in the mode of promoting everything that has something to do with blogging and webhosting, I recently found a good way on making bucks out of this hobby everybody is all agog with for the last several years now. The most common question that every individual involved in online activities is how can he squeeze money from what he does on the Internet.

There have been thousands of articles circulating on the World Wide Web trying to answer this question. I myself have stumbled on different remedies offered by those who have been for sometime working in the net.

There are of course big deals of making money online by selling products and services. There are too many writing opportunities that await those who are inclined to make bucks by being commissioned to write web copies and articles and even academic papers for some companies and students.

Now for those who simply enjoy making a post on their blogs, the answer to the question of money seems remote. Nevertheless, pure bloggers need not despair from this seemingly obvious reality.

There is a company who promises to solve this problem for you. This is payperpost. Bloggers now have the opportunity to be paid by merely posting something on their sites.

Check again the cut ads (the whole picture just wouldn’t fit in my sidebar window) and visit their site. Go ahead, there is no harm in trying to be financially-motivated every now and then.

Happy blogging.

Web Hosting for Bloggers and Traditional Companies Alike

I’m thinking that there are many professional bloggers out there who are entertaining the idea of setting up, finally, a site of their own. They most probably have able to create a niche for their thoughts in the blogosphere. They in all likelihood have built and are now enjoying a relative good traffic for their blogs. They are pondering that the next probable and feasible step to take now is to get a domain on the internet which they can truly say they own.

To address this need – and probably demand – I put up several enticing web host providers in this personal blog. From this array of web hosting firms they can choose the best that will suit their needs.

Take note also that there are web host providers here that are best for serious business companies taking the benefits and potential of having an online site for selling their products. These entities can also use the list to pick what web hosting provider suits their e-commerce needs.

Just look at the left side of this window and take a good look at the animated links to these web hosts companies. It does not hurt to shop around. So just try to get a glimpse of what they offer.

I myself will take this step anytime soon. Provided I know already how to transfer the money from my bank account (which is empty right now…lol) to Paypal to facilitate the payment to my chosen web host.

Revisited: Vigilante

They have been going on like this for several hours now. He in mad pursuit of the other man who leads him circling around, into the intricacies of rush-hour traffic along EDSA and the boulevard to the dreariness and filth along the road beneath the LRT tracks, to the maze-like streets of the Manila Metropolis. Blaring horns, shimmying motor cars, passengers sweating profusely waiting for the vehicles to move on with eyes fixed nowhere, with the heat of carbon monoxide fumes mixed in mélange under an overcast sky. Everything is a damned vicious cycle of frustrated pursuit. Whenever he would run at an accelerated speed good enough to collar the other man, the latter showing slowness in its pace, when opportunity stares at him in the face, when an outstretched hands could grab the other man by the shoulder, pull him to a stop, or thrust him, aikido style, the other man's momentum flinging himself to stumble, it is just then that there happens an automatic reversal in their speed, inversely proportionate; as his speed plummets the other man gains speed. It is as if everything were scripted, controlled, written and directed by an invisible hand, and the specter could be hiding somewhere behind the mass of gray clouds above. A couple of times he has lost sight of the other man, and each time he would dart, a great jump, onto corrugated iron roofs of houses and top decks of buildings, reconnoitering under the bleary, dim sky, always spotting the other man far ahead, towering a hundred feet over miniature houses and buildings. The moment he spots the other man, the moment all things around the other man start to swell centrifugally, hiding the latter from his view once more. But by then, he knows already where the other man is, and on again the damned pursuit. This time the other man has led him to a dimly lighted asphalted street, barren of cars and plying jeepneys, and sparse with people. Night and darkness has enveloped the city; the sky's hue pitch black. Along the side street, an old white-haired Chinese businessman stands behind his two sons pulling down the metal shutters of their cheap recording store. The old man turns around, and gives him a death-like stare, mocking and sarcastic. The other man has slipped into one of the narrow alleys. He follows and finds the path leads to a wet and dry market. He catches a glimpse of the other man, across the closed stalls, veering toward one the narrow aisles. With the time gap between him and the other man, the other man could have had managed to get away and escape his sight, totally leaving him, but why is the other man run like as if goosing him, as if the other man, though running away, were making sure he does not lose sight of him. With his service .45 caliber pistol cocked now, he sprints along the market aisles carpeted by mud to where the other man has run. He ends up at the back entrance of the market, opening to a cramped, crowded squatter residential area, where children, men and women squatted on the gutters, huddled in groups and giggling in a devilish grin. The other man is nowhere in sight. He scans the direction the other could have gone, but what attracted him is the wake in the middle of the narrow street, the brass-colored coffin lies at the center. The yellow-green canvas perched on top, covers it from a soft evening drizzle. He strides toward the coffin, as if magnetized by it, as if his questions could be answered with what lies in it. He peers cautiously at the coffin. His balls tightens, prostate aches in pain, as he sees himself, or what could be his clone, lying prostrate in it; blanched, mouth agape that shows a stiff tongue, and has the smell of --- Death.

Pacman's Punch that did it

This entry concerning the recent demolition job by Manny Pacquiao to defeat David Diaz seems late. It is also a late post to state the euphoria regarding the post-fight party by Pacman with KG and the rest of the 2008 NBA Champions Boston Celtics. The statistics on how many people watched Pacquiao and the Celtics celebrated on YouTube is enough to state the obvious.

What really concerns me is the reporting done on the fight which I read on several sites. I myself watched the fight so basically I can distinguish who has the real knowledge regarding boxing. What surprised me really is how several old sport writers named the punch that sent Diaz kissing the canvas. One said it was a left jab. Another a left straight. While most got it right when they write a left hook. I’m just wondering where on earth do these sports writers came from who said it was a left jab or a left straight.

Anyway for me, a more descriptive, literary description of the punch would be: a short left snap-hook punch. (Put a wide grin here, a la Farina.)

Kerouac’s On the Road

Back in school, reading was considered an activity for geeks and outcasts. But that changed for me after an accidental discovery of a copy of Jack Kerouac’s On the Road on my cousin’s bookshelf full of computer books. On the Road is an adrenalin rush of unadulterated yakking by Kerouac, written in two weeks while high on benzendrine pills.

Who was there before the hipsters? Beatniks and their pack of adventure-driven contemporaries roaring to get themselves a taste of travel, pure air, what it means to be living — what life is all about. On the Road is a good travel companion just in case you want a kick of that same adrenalin rush, almost as good as hitting the road yourself.

Note: Of course, those who are regular readers of this blog know that I did not find On the Road on my cousin's bookshelves. I got the book after four years of waiting for it to be available in the bookstores, especially in Powerbooks. Nevertheless, this post is something I've ghost-written for dethroner.com under the name of mike mons which I told my middle-man should be changed to yuri at least. Unfortunately, I did not get any pay for the work.

Game 6 NBA Finals: First of Two Win-or-Go-Home Games for Lakers

Coach Phil Jackson and his Lakers boys were able to evade a shameful defeat in Game 5 of NBA Finals at Staple Center to the rampaging Celtics gang making the series a 3-2 standing. Though Kobe “The Black Mamba” is applauded for a grand performance to save his team from an early demise, I would attribute the intensity of the supporting casts, especially Pau Gasol, as a major force in the win. The Black Mamba was not that as spectacular as he could be. Kobe was basically shut down most of the second half.

Nevertheless, that is over. Game 6 will be played several hours from now back at the Boston Garden to the revenge and expected dominance of the Celtics triad (Kevin Garnett, Paul Pierce and Ray Allen).

This series is considered a done deal since the Celtics posted a 3-1 game standing. In the history of NBA Finals there is still a team that has to overcome such a hurdle and get out such a deep hole that everybody smells already the O’Brien Trophy going to the Celtics boys.

I root for the Celtics and want a championship ring both for KG and Ray “Candy Man” Allen. Yet, in times like this I also root for a team that is challenged to perform the unthinkable: win three straight games with two on the road.

Right now, I can vividly see coach Phil Jackson as compose and calm as ever like a Zen master talking to his boys in a hoarse yet clear voice that the series is not over. Like a true Zen practitioner what did he say to his boys in the dug-out during Game 5: “Run your offense and you will find it.” And found the Lakers did in extricating themselves to the choking defense of the Celtics.

In Game 6, it is expected that Jackson will pull another conjurer’s trick from his pocket. This man basically sees more than what any coach out there see in the game of basketball. Forget about the triangle offense. It is more than that. And attribute this to his Zen philosophy.

As the history of the NBA Finals says there is still a team to rebound from a 3-1 rout to win the series. The Lakers proved that if they can be hungry as a pack of wolves they can overcome a 20-point lead by sheer tenacity and intensity. Everything is possible. There is no such thing as gravity to this team when they listen to the words of their coach.

If the Lakers win Game 6, can this be the historic first of a team overcoming a 3-1 series standing? With all probability that is possible. The dead match Game 7 will surely go along the side of the Lakers and Celtics by then will be pushed against the wall with their knees wobbling and their minds shocked at what could be an upset in the making.

But only if the Black Mamba is as mature as Air Jordan. We’ll see.

“Your friends already thought you are dead.”

Not a long time ago, my father would arrive home from his night-shift work to find me by the window on the second landing of our rented apartment hunched over the iron-board doing my practice writing. When he woke up early in the night to prepare to go to work, he would be startled to find me still writing by the window. He then would tell me as he dressed up that I should go out because my friends already thought me as dead. From then on, whenever he would find it to his comfort and alarm at the same time, he would tell me:

“Your friends already thought you are dead.”

Memory as to when the exact time when I firmly decided to become a writer already fails me. But I remember during my sophomore year, coming home from the campus clutching James Joyce’s Dubliner’s that I would spend the entire night that time and the succeeding days after that intent on learning the craft of writing. It was during the time after we had just moved to another street which I considered the beginning of the severance with my ties with my true home. The 1992 Presidential Election campaign was on full force and I had copies of several major broadsheets reading the barrage of attacks on candidate Miriam Defensor’s state of sanity. (On the day of the election I would participate in the process serving as a PPCRV watcher but wishing I could have participated as Defensor’s watch man instead.) It was also during that time when The Inquirer launched its new section Young Blood. Now, this section was the first target of my writerly endeavor. But I just started to hold a pen to write then. I never knew how to write. It would take me the literally the whole day just trying to compose a decent sentence, much more a paragraph.

When my father would say to me “Your friends already thought you are dead” I knew I had discarded the old lackadaisical life that I had. It used to be that there was nothing for me to do then in the house. What I was used to do was to spend the time at the entrance of the alley in our street engaging in a never-ending senseless yakking with young guys like me. We barely engaged in any activities then. The time was spent purely to kill and bid time because we thought when we grew up all the time that we would have will be spent working. So what we did before that time comes was to embrace time as if we had so much of it.

And then I decided to become a writer. And I also decided to read. It would take several years more before I could finally construct straight from my head a good sentence and a decent essay too good to be true for me that I could pull off. When my writing buddies read somewhere that Nick Joaquin’s reply to the question whether he thinks in Pilipino first before he writes it in English was that he thinks in English, we considered it as pure braggadocio coming from a literary genius. It would only dawn on me when I myself was already starting to pound on my keyboard as I write that it is indeed true that one thinks in English when you write in that language.

Now, almost halfway done with my language learning, my friends think more that I’m alive when I’m at home and can bring them, from time to time, a couple of cases of Red Horse to celebrate and share life.

5 AM Routine

It took me an hour or more visiting familiar sites online and reading a couple of blogsites before I finally come to my senses that I need to post something here. I used to wake up five in the morning and would start pounding on the keyboard after a dose of nicotine and caffeine but the thought of doing it now seems strange if not almost alien to me. Writing in the morning used to be a routine I learned a long time ago. Now, it is as if I’m starting to learn how to write again. (I could not even hold the subject matter of this post in my head like I suddenly incurred a disorder like short attention span.)

Oh, what is it again that I’m harping in here? (Got to do a re-reading of the first paragraph.)

Oh, yes, something like posting an entry for this blog.

Anyway, going to a subject matter that is of importance, I almost experienced a sudden non-existence as my internet connection went bonkers for eight excruciating days. During the days when I was still not connected online, my computer looked complete. Everything that I need was there – a word processor – and that was it. I could go on using the computer completely showered with bliss as I hear the din of a pounded keyboard.

But when my internet connection suddenly was severed because of a malfunctioning modem/router, I could not stand (or rather sit) using my computer without it. It was as if my computer were not complete and the digital electronic experience of basking under the benefits of Information Technology is no where in sight. Things were not the same as before.

Without the usual routine of checking my email, the online sites that I write for, and just the plain experience of knowing that you are online, I felt my oxygen supply was cut off and I was heaving heavily to get some online-experience-dosed air for life.

Nevertheless, the eight excruciating days are already over. I’m back online.

And on the sideline, back again sipping coffee and puffing cigarette as I pound on the keyboard early in the morning.

Mindfulness

Focusing, scattering, scattering, pulling back the strayed thoughts... after half an hour of scattering, focusing on the unfamiliar darkened recesses of the brain, complete blackness: the sinking.

Picking the Right Friends from the Madding Crowd

As we go along our life, we constantly meet different kinds of people. We talk to them, share lunch together, or join them in regular activities like weekend badminton games or movie watching. They most likely have smiles on their faces when they are with us. But the main question is whether we would embrace them as real friends in the truest definition of the term or treat them as mere acquaintances only. Remember our parents, genuinely concerned about our well-being, would remind us over dinner to wisely choose the people we would associate with? Failure to discern who you mingle with will eventually lead you to trouble or worse a miserable life due to bad company.

Yet, how do we spot who are real friends among the crowd that we come across with in our daily grind. How do we find the people who will be there beside us and honestly look after our welfare? The bad news is there are no books that give answers to all questions regarding friendship. Nevertheless, the good news is experience stands as a good ally coupled with common sense and an ounce of gut feel.

Know Thy Self First

Since what we are after are real true friends, we must understand that they are our extension. How many times have we heard the adage: birds of the same feathers flock together. Friends are our chosen family based on our standard emanating from our self-worth. To find real and true friends one first ought to have a notion of one-self. The individual necessarily has to acknowledge these innate prerequisites given about him:

• He is important and has value – a person must know that no matter what his state in life is, he matters. His views, perspective in life and his whole being is of value.
• He deserves to be happy – there are no signs anywhere that tells one must be miserable. He deserves all the opportunities by which he can be happy and fulfilled.

If one has already known these basic intrinsic rights, then he can proceed smoothly in identifying the persons whom he can call true friends. By then, it is automatic that he has a notion or a glimpse of what his objectives in life are. Establishing this set of intrinsic rights of his being, he should by then established a good self-esteem and confidence. That he is a ‘valuable cargo’ as one popular author puts it.

When one knows his value in life then it will be easier for him to discern who his real and true friends are. Not knowing one’s importance oftentimes is one of the reasons why an individual hangs out with the wrong set of people.

Signs of Who Your True Friends Are

• Life is wonderful when you are with them. Life as it is, is sometimes hard and difficult. But once you are with this set of people your problems seem easy to bear and are given solution. Have you noticed that there are people who make you weak and strong? The former are people called energy vampires. They suck your emotional energy by making you miserable one way or the other. The latter are the positive oriented people who are bearer of light. With these people the difficult problems are easy to solve; the impossible problems take time to be given solution.
• Your perspective are respected and understood. It is of course not always true that you are right about your views and opinions. But with true friends who are after your welfare, what you say has value, respected and understood before given indirect alternative views. When everything you say is always debunked, then these set of people do not treat you as their equals. Better stay away from them lest they imbibe in you that you are worthless.
• They are more goal-oriented. When you want to achieve something in life, hanging out with this kind of people more or less makes you more focused on attaining your goals. These people talk about action and applying it to their plans. It is better if you hang with them since they understand fully well what is in your head than not. More than that, they can even give moral support to whatever you want to attain.

These are NOT your Friends

• After hanging out with them, you are more miserable and problematic as before. Time spend with these set of people can be a wondrous kind of experience. You may have had a fine taste of fun. Life can even be construed as wonderful as you mingle with them. But once you are home, you find yourself in state of deeper misery. Your problems are not even solved but even become worse. Better stay out of these set of people; these people are what the cliché says as fair weathered friends.
• Sowing emotional poison is more of a rule during conversation. When the people you are with talk most of the time about other people and pass on to you harsh criticism and bad gossip about other people inside and outside your circle, you better avoid them like plague. These people suffer in great misery. And what do those experiencing misery are inclined to do? They want company. So they spread emotional poison.

The above list points out several things that you may consider when looking for true friends. You can add more to the list based from your experience. What is important is that you have a set of standard of who you can call as true friends.

Purpose of Writing and Murdering Ignacio Padilla

It has been a long time since I write something for myself. I don’t want to sound melodramatic here, but the thing that I’m pointing at is the time that I write not for money but towards the idealistic vision of perfecting the language which at the same time will be a sort of training ground for me to write finally a story.

This time is different. As I discover multitude of writing opportunities which will make me several hundred dollars richer, what I’m doing right now is bastardizing what I cherish most: that is to write without any financial consideration thus writing for the sake of writing itself.

I used to say that the goal of this blog is to let me find a virtual place on the Internet where I can hone my writing skills, where I can express the most difficult ideas that would pop out from my head, where the foundation of my writing skills will be laid down and perfected. But as another year has come and almost reaching halfway its journey around the sun to complete a full cycle, I noticed that I have been neglecting writing for this special place of mine on the internet.

Right now, I can already feel the burden of writing for bucks. The true and beautiful vision and goal that I have set for myself (and also the purpose why I started writing in the first place) is slowly being eroded by practical obligations to earn and put something in my stomach (and also to set myself abreast with writers who are into monetary considerations.)

Honestly speaking, I don’t harbor any feeling of animosity with these young and old writers who put their precious time and effort just to get by from the practical demands of everyday living. No, no there is nothing of that sort lingering in my mind. The truth is that I even admire them since what they are trying to achieve, through the use of their writing skills, is admirable. They are the practical believers that there is money in writing and from it they will try to squeeze ever cent to get a portion of this financial benefit.

My own rants are solely on my own which sit on my belief that I am here to write something that is more important according to my own standard of what is writing is all about.

Since I have mentioned already (did I?) that as years progresses, my posts in this blog are getting fewer and fewer, the goal that I have set for myself in terms of true writing is beginning to be a failure and a factor in the inevitable realization that I am getting lost in my true purpose. The practice of writing for money, without the compensating or balancing act of writing for the growth of my creative soul, is beginning to be felt already. I recall that when I used to write then, when the only purpose why I am into the process was to prepare myself for the big fight with my worthy opponent, everything was fine and good. The feeling that it brought me after sparring with my own capacity to write was nothing but pure and honest joy; a triumphant flexing of one’s imagination.

What can I say now? I barely read. I barely write an essay. I barely attempt to finish all the collected unfinished short stories that have piled up in my room (and several of them have already been lost in oblivion because I can hardly remember where did I put them for keeping.)

A lonely, arduous battle to win. The challenges are almost insurmountable. If Hemingway was not able to kill me during the first years of my venture into writing, right now, what is killing me is the obligation to keep a good look at the healthiness of my pocket.

Nevertheless, the fight is not yet over. It still has to come. The only problem is that I am running out of time. I also still haven’t bought that ticket to go to Mexico (or Spain) to kill Ignacio Padilla since he is the man I’m planning to murder.

Now, back to reality.

The Fall to Fly

After downing several cups of strong black coffee with the intent to warm up my stomach and wake up my slumbering brain which totally could not think of anything, the goal right now is to speed-type, pound on the keyboard with all my might and mental prowess to keep abreast with the velocity of caffeine-induced thinking.

Ending a short stint in a writing job that I consider to be a corruption of my philosophy of what writing should be, I am left with a blank, sluggish mind that could not think of anything but my inability to write. Coupled with frustration and realization of the permanence of change, the only option available to me is to vent, in this short moment of lucidity, my energy on writing what I in the first place set as the reason and the cause as to why I put myself in this journey and lifetime of romance with the language.

Failure is not an option. It could never be. On the second thought, this strong statement is nothing but a show of useless chest-thumping. Failure it will be if I don’t start at this very moment.

So let go of the rock that support me and let me fall; for it is the only way that I can fly.

Here we go…

snapbomb

There is no doubt that some of you, with the intent to squeeze any money from writing a blog, tried to subscribe to Google Adsense. There is nothing wrong with that. The only problem with subscribing to Adsense is the seemed futility of the exercise since barely any money can be earned from it since your visitors still have to click on the advertisement to give you any monetary return.

Now, for those who want to earn a quick buck and still write their blogs, there is now an alternative tool which can facilitate this. Thanks to the snapbomb.com the realization of having fun writing a blog and at the same time earning money can be done.

There is no necessary fee to join this new scheme. All you have to do is sign-up on snapbomb.com and start counting your earnings.

You write while you earn. What can be better than that.

Haloscan and Comments

There is no excuse for my shortcoming in maintaining this blog, especially in tracking down all the comments that I gather from transient visitors. I must admit that the moment I opened an account with haloscan to take care of this aspect, it was also the time that I stopped checking who are the ones who are putting comments on the writings that I have been doing here. Call it pure laziness or failure on my part to establish connection with my visitors or just my inability to manage my small space on the net. Still there is no excuse for it.

I would just like to apologize for those people who find time to read my posts and react on them. As of this moment, I still have to wait for old comments to be pulled out from the archived reactions in my haloscan and read them one by one.

Nevertheless, there is one comment that I wish I should have read the day she had posted it in my haloscan. Grace Chong, author of one of my favorite inspirational books Gift of Grace 2, graced my page by saying thank you for including her book as one of my reading list. I know I have written something about it in one of my entries but can’t recall whether it was about my favorite section in her book My Client Ito. Late as it is, it is not that late to say that I learned a lot just from that one section. And I thank her for writing that.

Now, got to do some readings and writings first since this coming afternoon will be a hectic time for me.