When transexuals force god down your throat.
I mean nothing against spiritual people.
But fanatics can be shot dead anytime.
Once, at around 12:30pm in the afternoon a thousand years ago–December 12, 2005, there were two self-contained individuals (or at least, oblivious to the world) walking around the supermarket area of a more commercialized mall in the heart of Las Pinas. They were in the middle of a very critical decision of choosing between the mint Close-up toothpaste and the lemon flavored Colgate. ANYBODY in his/her right mind would understand that NOBODY should be bothered upon making that decision. Nobody. Not even the pope. Imagine how many bacteria can breed in your teeth if the wrong choice was bestowed. Nobody should undermine the power of toothpaste.
But she of white make-up and long skirt with rebonded hair dared show up beside the girls while they were very absorbed between the boxes. And she suddenly cited, in between her flickering lids and lost voice, the very powerful words known to the gullible man…
“Let us take Jesus into our hearts. Come, join me. Lord, I accept you…”
Yes, she pushed those words unto the bewildered girls’ lips and urged forced them to recite with her.
After that. She left, satisfied like as if she had two converts on tow, then attacked on her next wandering prey, a college student with a shopping cart. After which she was casually dismissed by the stubborn girl.
Oh yes, ladies and gentlemen. Our college girl will go to hell for this.
Taena. Ang weird talaga nun.
*laughs*
——————-
Sinong may extra P2500? Kailangan ko lang. Kunyari.
Para after two weeks, taena, tingnan ko lang kung di kami lumipad ni Barbie Almabis.
When much untoward incidences hit the line.
Of all the surprises I was bound to face, I never thought the place it would happen would be in Recto.
Saturday. I was supposed to come to a certain ball event over at the Town Center when the need to divert attention struck. So with just a split second decision, I boarded the next available Taz Transit and shoved P30 to the ticket guy. After the significant unfortunate event that happened last week involving a wallet, an ATM card and this certain bus line, I still didn’t hesitate to utilize the same vehicle. After all I don’t have any more wallets to lose, and my ATM card is still somewhere in this universe.
It was somewhere between the orange eggs stand and the crack near the first eskinita on the right. There, in almost what seemed like a hallucinatory form to rival the heat of the cluttered pasillios, stood…
Her.
It was easy to tell it was her, but I did not let my instincts get carried away by a mere suspicion. But she was a lot more nourished than I am. Her skin, reddish due to health and by the mere sun rays, emanated a certain glow on the sides. She was less pale than I imagined her to be. Her eyes bore the same non-smiling shape, but it was less tired.
She was wearing a simple pair of denim jeans along with this certain pink shirt and black rubbers, both of which she have loved for some time. Couldn’t be any more predictable, I remember thinking. Her hair, a little shorter than it used to be, obviously came about from time added unto an originally shorter bob. The only thing we shared, it seems, was the smug grin which spread across her sarcastic face. Only hers had less shock than mine had.
I felt the black bits from the smoke of the next random jeep pelt unto my skin. Everything was numb except me. The cover of the thin blackened aluminum canister from the nearby carinderia clanged on the stove top. Someone’s spoon scraped on the plastic container bowl that had orange bits of flour and egg floating on spiced vinegar. A wisp of smoke from someone’s mouth came into the distance, mimicking the cluttered way the owner’s mustache had gone unorganized on his upper lip. The tiles glued on the floor cried at every shoe that passed by. A small coin stuck on a space near the pocketbook stand inevitably lost its markings after the rainy days. It had accumulated small dust, after which some of them flew when a small book fell unto its open, dirty face.
And yet, she wasn’t moving. But I could hear the distinct sound of the air entering her chest, even if it wasn’t visible from the small distance we stood apart. And then slowly, my lips started moving, my voice forming a sound which seemed inaudible to her, but such a whisper haunted my reverie. It was foreseeable.
Hi.
It was all she needed. She ran towards me, hugged me like the prized possession she has been looking for since she lost it sometime in her youth. I initially recoiled, and then slowly found myself wrapping my arms all over her. We stood, amidst the noise of Recto, hugging each other in the middle of the pasillio.
She slowly moved me in front of her and looked at my face. I just showed a tired smile.
You look gaunt, she remarked.
Thank you, I whispered. I think death does that to you.
What have you been doing to yourself? What have you been doing?
I don’t know, I honestly replied.
You can’t keep on doing this, you know. This isn’t you.
What IS me?
She found herself hushed. She wasn’t able to procure an answer.
I missed you, Jayce, she instead muttered. She sounded like she meant it. I started to quiver but got hold of my self before I almost let go.
I missed you too, JC, I silently cried. Take me away.
She nodded. The smug grin slowly becoming evident on her face.
Skydiving
Aminado naman.
Huwag mo nang ipagdiinan.
Baka
,
Magulat ka,
Nasa harap mo na,
Pero bitin ka pa rin.
doodling around.
THERE ARE ONLY THREE times of which I could remember significantly running after someone. The first was placed on a rather figurative level (although still experienced a certain degree of running after); the second time placed a different meaning on serendipitous rains. I thought I was opening my heart. And after I thought I did, he revolted on the thought and hailed the nearest possible cab. I ran after; he gave me a significant look and sped away. Months after, we’d just be laughing about the incident over Yahoo Messenger. But after that, I regarded drizzles and rains with slight cynicism, albeit on a different light.
The third night was not any different. There weren’t any rains, but there was a slight hazy effect on the atmosphere possibly brought about by the slight amount of beer playing with my innards. I was sitting on our front steps, almost dumb founded. His steps faded from the corner. He did not look back. Not like he used to.
I still sat there, dumbly looking ahead. For a few seconds. Maybe minutes.
Then I found myself slowly getting up. I uttered something unaudible. I can’t even remember. My hands automatically made its way to the gate. I heard the clink in the lock. And then footsteps. Slowly. Slowly. Slowly regaining speed. Faster. Faster.
And then, stop.
He was gone.
He was gone. That fast. I wasn’t even able to say properly what I meant to say.
And that was it. Like the other events before this, I was left again standing, dumbfounded, somewhere under the stars, still wondering exactly what the hell those tears were for when it was all my fault in the first place.
——————
We’re all heading towards one direction,
with all the bumps and possible turns,
but how much more shall I wait,
before I reach the next safe stop?
Hopefully not too long. I’d be able to breathe again.
——————
If you can guess who that guy is on… err… supposedly cartoon-Adraiene’s shirt, you’ll win a prize. I’ll think what I’ll give.
This contest basically excludes Cholo, Viva, Marthy, Jay, Kurei, Lyndon Gregorio, and all the other Piro/Largo/www.Megatokyo.com fans out there.
Oops, did I say the answer? *cackles* This is my new comic net obsession. Try it. It’s actually worth your extra aside-from-chat-and-porno net time.
——————
Yes! Contrary to popular beliefs, I’m alive!!
Well…now what?
Opening the doors.
New possibilities. And we’re starting it with a new layout (and spare me the “I thought I was on some other blog” whining. You CAN’T possibly say you’re “lost.” My blog is screaming with pictures. he he). It’s not yet the start of a new semester, I know, but I have a good reason for this. Believe me.
Do remember though, that this was updated using a lessor resolution monitor. So that means, if you’re using a 1024×768 resolution monitor (on which I patterned this blog after) and you think the page is fucking up, do tell me.
Now for starters, I’m going to introduce to you two things: one, my tagboard. Yes, no more sliding-from-the-left thingies. I’m afraid I had to take that off. It doesn’t fit some browsers. I’ll miss it, but I replaced it with a “Click here for the tagboard” thingy. It pops-up. (oops. spoiler. :p)
Then, number two, the main reason for my hasty blog layout-change. Ladies and gentlemen (and not too applicable to HF peeps), let me introduce to you…
Paul.
Yup. My new co-blogger. We’re launching Notes of the Drunk Dummkopf now as a CONJUGAL BLOG. And no, don’t ask what’s going to happen if we go through a divorce. (he he)
Anyway, I’ll just explain to you the technicals through the next paragraphs. 
————-
It has been days, I know, but I have to say these things anyway–four great things happened on October 6:
1) Just when things are getting hopeless, God tweaks things to bring about blessings to remind you that living is not that bad after all. Because at nearly 5 in the morning, my first pamangkin, Chloe Faith, was born. The little angel served as the segue way to more years of optimism.
2) 2 hours or so after that, our thesis was done. We’re slated for defense either this week or the next. Yeba!
3) At around 4 or 5 pm, our director took up the slot for Oct 15 over at the theater auditorium. From who did he take it from? Amazingly from our ex-advertising teacher who was going to use it for her own ad thing, whom, as my classmates refreshed my memory, we had a fight with EXACTLY a year ago. And guess who stood up back then and got half of the ptyalin? *laughs*
4) If you have seen My Sassy Girl, I’m encouraging you to read further. If not but you love me enough to care about what’s happening to me lately, still read it further. If you don’t care at all, then I encourage you to still read it further to harbor more jealousy against me (for having charmed moments such as this. He he).
Before I forget: you can read HIS version here.
——————-
THE UNEXPECTED TWIST OF FATE has been blamed upon–even cursed upon–heavily for the past hours, with each minute hanging on to her veins like a caret slowly chopping off her courage one by one at each tick of the clock. It has already been slated, she knew. But her neurosis has been going on overtime again and was slowly tightening her heart, leaving an almost choke in her throat that she couldn’t shake off no matter how much self-coaxing she does.
She glanced at her watch. Nearly 20 past five. He was supposed to be inside that auditorium twenty minutes ago. What if he fails to show up? Her classmates were already glancing at her, each pair of eyes already extorting an answer they knew she has no hold of. Where is he? She would shrug, shake her head, even. Fact is, she just didn’t know.
If it weren’t for her knack of concocting her own queer (and sometimes scandalous, if not a bit boisterous in nature) momentous bits of events, she wouldn’t be in this dilemma. Blame it on too much western Oh-I-love-you-we’re-meant-to-be-together-but-you-my-lad-should-do-something-romantic-first movies, or too many regurgitating reruns of My Sassy Girl to the point of visual diarrhea. So this girl actually *wanted* to feel like a girl sometimes and get a flower. And that she wanted a dose (a huge dose, in fact) of the girly kiligs to realize; from ideas she obtained most probably in her younger years. No, please dismiss the huge “spare me all those girly stuff” placard she’s been lugging since the day she found sarcasm.
Can she be blamed if she just wanted something to really remember, something she would really have a hard time stifling a smile to when the event passes through her mind?
And blame it on him, maybe. HE was the one who wanted to be loved. Yeah, by the girl whose idea of it is mainly composed of either the mechanical “love-is-a-chemical-specifically-hormones-and-endorphins” theory or the it’s-just-a-need-to-fulfill-loneliness concept. HE was the one who wanted his love reciprocated. SHE was just practicing self-restraint because of self-denial.
But because of some (fortunate?) events that transpired the day before, she’s now caught by her neurosis, restraining the urge to bite her fingernails from fear of seeing her fingers bleed. Blood. Pumped. By. The. Heart.
Heart. Oh shit.
Alright, then. Seriously change my mind by doing a very romantic deed on the first hours of our meet tomorrow. Bring 3 red roses. We’ll see if you can be the first guy who’d make me turn serious about these things.
She braced herself as she rushed to their publication’s 1pm staff meeting earlier that afternoon. That she waited for a miracle to happen was an understatement. At that point, the probable most romantic thing she could imagine was a breaking news after the staff meeting plus the flowers she made him bring last night.
So maybe she cannot be blamed if she sort of got disheartened when she was asked to open the fridge at the EB room after nearly everyone left and there were only the two of them inside the room. She sighed. Predictable, true. And maybe transparency gave her away. He seemed hurt, claiming his efforts were not appreciated.
“That’s the most romantic thing you can think of?!” she blurted. Err…that didn’t come out right. “I do appreciate it. Just…err…try harder.”
She then gave details on how she’d visit her sister-in-law at the maternity ward later at around 3, as she was planning to ditch the theater practice, and asked if he would like to come. “Fetch me over at the Tanghalan (Julian Felipe, the CLA building’s own theater room, a good 1 kilometer from the publication’s office) later on. Bring the rose,” she told him. Surely by that time, she could hatch a plan.
And she did. The minute she got to the auditorium she rounded up her close friends while the class’ theater practice was on going. She mandated Mark, her college best friend (he was late), to go to school despite of his laziness, then asked for their common friend JD to help. The latter specifically told her to make the guy come at around 5pm, exactly after the class practice. The rest of the class soon learned of the plot.
The plan? A message would be sent via SMS giving specific instructions: get this letter taped to this fire hose case adjacent to the theater’s entrance doors detailing how he should summon courage before he enters the theater doors, and if he does choose to do so, he should go straight to the stage, bringing the flowers with him. From there, he would be interrogated by the whole class, with a finale of the girl finally blurting out from her seat, “Paano kung sabihin ni JC na mahal ka na rin niya?” Simple, non-fussy, feasible and fun.
She still had a problem though: how was she going to end the whole stint? What if he doesn’t do anything from where he’s standing? What if he doesn’t come near me? What if he gives up? Walks out? Passes out? Killed by terrorists?
Five minutes to five. It was time to make him come from the office. She sent the message.
Shit. He replies back that he was at this dormitory around 3 minutes away from the school. It would have been fine, except the traffic expands the travel time to 10 minutes. He’ll come after his project’s done.
“Can’t you come now?” She pleaded to him on the phone after everyone told her that she should call him up. “The theater closes at 5. you have to be here!”
10 minutes passed. She was fast losing hope; the theater was about to close. Can we extend? She asked around. Everyone was hopeful.
Suddenly, a guy from the supervising department came in: extension till 6pm! Cheers and more practice ensued. 10 more minutes passed, he still hasn’t shown up.
Minutes later, an SMS was received saying he was already walking at the west wing. Apparently he had to pass by the admin building to take the flowers from the office. 10 minutes more, and she couldn’t contain her tension anymore. She got up and looked for a diversion: she decided to go out and check the letter if it was still taped outside. Her neurosis was overworking.
So maybe she freaked out a little when she saw him standing at the fire hose case and already reading the taped note. She quickly went back inside, but was soon summoned back to the door by a phone call from him. She found him sitting in a corner, still pooped from his travel.
“Anong gagawin ko? Ano ‘to?” he demanded. She just smiled. She tried to explain using vague words, trying to avoid his questions.
“Papaartehin nyo ba ako? Iinterogate?” he persisted. “Huwag ngayon. Pagod na ako, eh. Please? Okay lang?”
She frowned. “It’s…okay with me,” (liar!) “but the whole class is excited about this.”
“The whole class?!”
“Oh, yeah.”
She thought she saw him tremble, but at the dark it was a bit indiscernible. They stared at the theater stage in front of them for the rest of the time in between mild joshing. “I’m gonna dump you afterwards, don’t worry,” she teased. He wasn’t too much in the mood. Then to add more gravity to his dilemma, the class professor entered the auditorium to watch the practice.
The director called the long awaited break. It was around 5 minutes before 6, practically an hour delayed from the target time. It didn’t matter. She ran to her seat, leaving him behind near the theater’s doors. Blessy, a classmate, took the initiative and pulled him towards the stage’s side while he nervously held the flowers. The speakers were suddenly wafting “You First Belived” by Hoku, a personal pick by Mark. Everyone got into positions and occupied the chairs in front of the stage.
He lingered hidden behind the stage curtains for a few seconds before he finally went up the stage. Somehow, the sight of him–although looking a bit weary–behind the theater lights wearing a polo shirt (something she has never seen him wear before) and sporting a newly trimmed hair with his hands hiding the flowers behind his back, took her breath away.
“Anong ginagawa mo rito?” asked Mark. Being the guy who got mad at this guy on stage because of his venturing to court his best friend, it was obviously giving him pleasure to start the interrogation.
“Sinabi kasi ni JC na pumunta ako dito,” he uneasily replied.
“Sino ka?” JD quickly followed up.
He smiled. JD was a familiar face in the crowd. “Ako si Paul Adraiene Membrebe, Applied Biology 41.”
“Hindi ko tinatanong kung ANO ka, ang tinatanong ko ay kung SINO ka,” JD countered. She stifled a laugh. What in hell was the supposed answer to that question anyway?
He didn’t reply. Someone sent another question.
“Kaano-ano mo si JC?”
He paused, then slowly smiled. “Kaibigan.”
“Ows?” came a collective remark from the crowed. Questions came up from different directions.
“Pero nagd-date kayo? You go out together?”
He verified.
“Ano yang hawak mo? Ano yang tinatago mo sa likod mo?”
“Err…flowers.”
“Ano yan? Sige nga?”
“3 red roses and one white flower.”
“Para saan yung white?”
“Sincerity.”
“Kung friends lang kayo ni JC, bakit may dala kang ganyan?”
it was his time to shoot. “Siguro naman matatanda na tayong lahat para malaman kung ano ang ibig sabihin nito, di ba?” he retorted.
She couldn’t stifle her smile. A point for Paul!
A dozen more questions followed. Obviously everyone just loved the interrogation. She could even hear her professor pitching in every now and then.
“So…anong nararamdaman mo para kay JC?”
“M…mahal ko siya.”
She laughed. That was her cue. But due to a little wicked desire to brew things further, she bent over to JD and whispered something.
“Eh di ba crush mo si Agatha Tapan?” JD fired up, taking her cue. Agatha is this girl who used to do stints at kids” shows at a famous local channel. She was taking up the same course JC had at their university.
He laughed. “Crush ko lang siya.”
“Eh si JC?” asked another kid.
“Si JC mahal ko.’
“Gaano mo siya kamahal?”
He breathed deeply. “Enough para gawin ko ito at mapahiya sa harap niya para lang sa kanya.”
Another round of cheers. She was already floating in her seat.
“Ano ang nagustuhan mo kay JC?”
“Doble manamit,” shot a classmate, eyeing JC’s preppy vest over her polo blouse at that time. At this point, everyone burst out laughing. In the middle of things, Mark got up and ordered her to stand up.
“Bakit?” she asked.
“Tumayo ka!” he barked. She reluctantly got up, but had no choice anyway since she was forcefully pulled by Mark to the stage. He brought her in front of a still nervous Paul, while the crowd went wild. Mark quickly left the stage.
He offered the roses with shaking hands. “O, ayan. Napatunayan ko na sa iyong willing akong mapahiya para sa iyo.” After a minute, he dropped on his knees while the roses were held up, still on his hand.
She smiled. She took the flowers, then slowly bent in front of him, meeting him eye to eye. “Eh paano kung…” she slowly said as she looked at him with dancing eyes, “sabihin ni JC sa iyo na mahal ka na rin niya?”
His eyes lit up. “Talaga?!” he breathlessly asked. She nodded, a wide grin spread on her face.
The crowd was still going crazy. Some were chanting “kiss!” but the two kids on stage just looked at each other for a minute. Then…their lips met.
Obviously, it would be an understatement to say that the crowd went wilder. ü
————
October 6, 6:18 pm as he timed it. He said he looked at his phone’s clock the moment we came off the stage. We went straight to the office to rest for a bit before we went to the hospital. Had to condition him after too because he had a bad case of stage fright. At the hospital, he met nearly everyone in my family except my second brother, who couldn’t be there at that time. The day went well.
I honestly still shudder sometimes when I say the three words. Maybe I’m still not used to saying it; I never intended to use it on someone else other than on a platonic level. I never did commit to anyone anyway.
But somehow, I gotta admit, I won’t take it back. It…just seems right. 
