The Frustrated Pornstar

On Pots and Pans

2010-04-16T13:13:00.002-04:00

I could still remember Nanay shared once over a family dinner that she had the hardest time giving birth to me. The youngest among her three boys, I, she recalled with an evident memory of pain and some sense of achievement, simply had the largest head. For hours, she endured the arduous labor, but when given the option to go to the hospital for cesarean procedure, she still politely declined.
Probably she thought it would be a rather easy delivery – my brother Bing-Bing was born the easiest, she said, and our Kuya Bong-Bong, being the first born, was a rather difficult delivery for starters, yet somehow within her threshold. The thing was, I surpassed that threshold.

And so one sunny morning of March, I was born through Nanay’s agony.
“You were really big,” she would tell me, “…8.8 pounds. Your brothers were only around seven. I really had no idea how you were pulled out of me.” She also told me the midwife could not get me fixed into a position for easy delivery because I moved a lot inside her womb as if I did not want to be parted with her. “That’s why forceps were used, and that is still evident even now. If you put a light on top of your head, you will notice some sort of a ring, like an angel’s halo…so you should start behaving like one…” she musingly said once or twice.

Being the youngest had its perks. I was always at the receiving end of everybody’s love and affection. I could almost always get what I wanted and for the things I would die to have, I turn on the waterworks on Nanay. This way she would really sense that I would love to have a particular toy because I usually did not cry. So even if cash-strapped, she bought me the toy robot I was crying for during one of our town fiestas. The next day, she found my newest toy broken into two while I went back outside playing with dirt.

Even so, my Nanay never laid a hand on me. Even if I was the little devil, it was very seldom that I got her beating…but I did get a lot of scolding. She would say it again and again and even remind me months after of her nuggets of wisdom: “Respect your elders and follow their wishes”, “Save your money to buy what you like”, “Buy only what you really need”, “STUDY HARD”.

We should all study hard, she said, because she would not be able to give us a better legacy than education; maybe because she never finished her education. She was in her second year in college when she found out she was pregnant with my Kuya Bong-Bong, her beautiful disaster. Immediately our grandparents had Tatay and Nanay married. And from then on, she took on her lifetime role.

Initially though, married life proved to be very challenging for Nanay. The youngest in her family herself, she did not know a lot of household chores, like cooking. Tatay told us once that she used to serve him burned tuyo and sunny side up egg. But it was the most delicious burned breakfast he had ever had. After that though, he taught her how to cook, and she proved to be a quick study.

As we grew up, it became harder for Nanay to make both ends meet. Kuya Bong-Bong just graduated from elementary, Bing-Bing had Boy Scout fees and her little Bunsoy kept pulling her skirt, asking for more candies and toys. Tatay only had a blue-collar job in a construction company, earning two pesos –or less– a month. So it was decided: Nanay would help out in the household finances.

She started selling balut and penoy and other home-cooked meals in the then, emerging Makati Central Business District. After selling her food wares, she must immediately go home and cook dinner for us. I can imagine she also stayed up late at night doing laundry and cooking meals for tomorrow for her patrons.

While she was out working, I was left to the care of our relatives. I often cry every morning as I see her walking out of our door, holding two huge plastic bags –her labor of love– but when afternoon comes, I was always excitedly awaiting for her return. And when she finally arrives, I often ask her to carry me, which she always did with a smile, even if her whole body could have been aching out of fatigue.
Years rolled by and things started to get better. Tatay was accepted as a cook in DSWD, Nanay put up her own canteen in Makati and we three kids stayed in school. Bing-Bing and Kuya helped Nanay in preparing the ingredients for the menu while I was the one in-charge of washing all the pots and pans used early in the morning. Imagine waking up to a mountain of dirty dishes at nine years old. Nanay gave us all responsibilities, and it defined our character.

Later on, our business –named after me – relocated and went bankrupt. We had to shut it down.

I believe one of the most admirable characteristics of my mother is her way of building strong relationships with people she meets. Regardless if they were a street sweeper asking for additional chicken meat or a strikingly successful executive asking for a tissue, she did her duty to them with gusto and sincerity. So at forty years of age, she was still admitted by that executive as a janitress in his company, and then promoted to clerk, which she held for more than ten years. She remained friends with the street sweeper.

During this period, my family suffered a tragic lost when Bing-Bing died one stormy night of August. It was most tragic to Nanay, more painful than my birth. Barely months in this first year in college and it had to happen. And it had to happen on a night when the storm raged on across Metro Manila, our house got flooded and Bing-Bing painted a better life for us when he graduates, as we took our last supper with him.

The storm in our family came and passed and Nanay remained resilient even in grief. Slowly, her disposition improved, but did not mean she forgot about her son. It was just that she could now talk about his life, and not his death. He had been a very good son from the start. Little did she know that it was because of her.

On the other hand, Kuya Bong-Bong was admitted to a marine academy to become a seaman. He enrolled during the time when hazing was rampant in Fort Bonifacio. This troubled Tatay and Nanay a lot. Without cellphones or e-mail at the time, Nanay relied solely to Kuya’s scheduled home visits during weekends. I often woke up late at night seeing her clutching her rosary and deep in prayers during these times. Thankfully, her prayers were always favored as Kuya always appeared in our doorstep.
But it seemed that the heavens saw a huge potential on my mother’s character. Tatay got paralyzed after an incident. The doctors said he would not be able to move his body from the waist down. Kuya was diagnosed with hepatitis due to the academy’s poor sanitation and I had one year to go before graduating elementary.

But I did not see her weep. She was always our pillar of strength. She may have cried, even expressed her resentment to the heavens, but she probably kept it to herself. She was not the type who would go down that easily.

She went back preparing meals, this time for her officemates. Every four in the morning, our neighborhood would be filled with a waft of different enticing aroma coming from our kitchen. She did not seem to stop. Not even storms in our life had completely defeated her. But one morning, as she cooked in our kitchen in a knee-deep flood, I saw how Nanay’s spirit got broken.

She was completely done packing the meals all neatly arranged on top of our glass dining table when I woke up. The storm made it hard for her to shop in the wet market and she was just relieved that she was able to have several ingredients reserved for her. Sweaty and tired at the start of her morning routine, she was probably thinking of having our house raised higher than the ground when suddenly our glass table shattered from the heat and all her hardwork fell in the murky water. She could not do anything about it. She just sat back and cried and I could not comfort her. She still did not know I was awake and have witnessed it all. Even now, I still regret the awkwardness I felt when I saw her vulnerable and not the way I have known her to be.

***

One of the important things I learned from Nanay is that whatever life we will have will all depend on how we cook it. Some may burn it, and other may get burned themselves. There are times that we may be too quick in putting out the fire and have to cook it further. But we should always boil to soften the hard resentments. Peel away pride and cut generosity into manageable pieces to serve as many as it can. Nevertheless, we may flavor our own lives the way we like it, but we should keep in mind the people we will share it with. We should cook out of love.

In her lifetime, Nanay got burned already. Sometimes her cooking turned out to be salty and there were times it is too sour. But it made her wiser. On the other hand, I sometimes disappoint her and I taste it even in her dishes. I also regret the times I told her it did not taste good; this, coming from her son with the biggest head. But through it all, she never fails to fill our needs even if sometimes she gets the smallest portion of/for herself. That is just how my Nanay is. She knows how to cook well.

Mahal

2009-01-11T10:53:00.003-05:00

(binalot ako ng matinding pagnanais na tumula. kaya kahit pagod na sa lahat ng nangyari sa maghapon, heto't umutot pa ako ng isang poem.)

Tirik ang gabi.

Saksi ang anino sa pagbili
Ng pag-ibig na isang kilo,
walang bakas ng pagsamo,
o pag-suyo.

De-ora ang kalakalan
Ng mga kalamnan.

Mahirap na nga ang buhay,
Lalo na ang bumuhay
Ng isang patay,
Na dinala sa hukay ang iyong
Ang iyong puso.

Sadyang nakalulungkot
Ang kabalintunaan,

Na kung bakit bawal
Magpalabas sa loob
O dapat mahal ang magmahal.

Tirik
Ang
Gabi.

A Vagina's Letter to His Owner

2009-01-11T01:21:00.005-05:00

Dear Boss,

I would like to tender my resignation as your Vagina -the major source of your identity, sexuality and happiness- effective immediately.

Why, You may ask? It's just because I do not feel I can grow as a person in your possession. For 24 years, I've served you loyally. Yes, I admit. I may have a some flaws in the beginnning, letting out the piss all over the crib, but I learned the ropes, right? Since then, I've given you so much. I've been there for you when you needed to piss, and I did every single moment of it heavenly for you. I was there when You had your first crush. When you watched a porn for the first time, I acted accordingly (even if you close your eyes, I know you got turned on).

So now I'm leaving you. And I thank You for all the wonderful things you've done for me. You trimmed my hair. The first time I bled, I thought it's going to be my end, but you took care of me. For that, I am very grateful, month after month. I will also miss the special attention you give to me, how I smell like a rose with each wash.

But, as they say, some good things never last. For the first time, You let someone hurt me. I pleaded and pleaded, but you never heard me, as that monster forced me open up to my breaking point. And...I broke. I don't know how else would I be able to move on, but I feel it best to both our interest for me to go away for the moment. To where I'm going I don't know, but I need to find myself first. I need to heal. I need to rest.

By the time you read this, I'm already gone. Please don't try to look for me. I'll come back when I'm ready.

Love,

Fufu

A Vagina's Tale

2009-01-11T01:00:00.004-05:00

I remembered talking about how having sex and drinking have too many commonalities. One, is that both feel good when actually doing it. Next, is that sometimes you actually do not know what you are doing, but you let your most basic instincts guide you. And lastly, You will either hate yourself for doing it the morning after, or pat your back for a score well done.

Well, sometimes you may experience both of them at the same time. You're drunk, and you had sex. In the morning, you won't have any recollections of what happened but you feel weird at the region between your thighs. It'll be the worst experience you will ever have. And considering it's supposed to be your first time to get laid...sayang.

All the girly dreams of flowers and butterflies as both of you ride in a fluffy cloud suddenly burst and you'll only be with a carnal monster thrusting his way in to you. This, certainly, is not how you envisioned it, but you were the one who provoked the creature inside. Time and again, your friends told you to move forward with your life. And for God's sake, your friends already told you to moderate your drinking if you cannot be the wiser one!

So I guess and I hope you'll be wiser next time. Best if there won't be a next time. This is a lesson you have to learn on yourself, and it sucks (hehe, sucks...) to have it exchanged for something so special. Well, have I introduced you to vaginal repair??? =)

A Letter To Myself from a Parallel Universe in which You/I made The Other Option.

2009-01-08T08:51:00.008-05:00

Dear Me,

Hi. I guess by now We already know what were the consequences of what We did. Well I hope you are happy with your decision and I guess I’m happy with mine. Well, as early as now, I guess we should accept the repercussions of what we did, right? You chose left, I chose right. You were wrong, and I was right. Hehe, just kidding...Ok I’m sorry…hey hey wait up!

Anyway, how are you doing!? It’s been roughly three minutes since we part ways. Well, if you’re gonna ask me, I am so relieved I didn’t go with you. Haha! Kidding again. Okay…uhm, I know you man…and we love us, right?, so don’t get me wrong okay? I have nothing against what you did, but it’s just not my thing. Well, yeah, We can be a bit spontaneous sometimes, but doing that!? It’s like the craziest that we have done. You could have put our life at risk. But still, I could not cross the line and blame You. We just love the thrill right? And yeah, nothing serious happened. It’s high time for you to realize that I know You and no matter how many times you say you’ll commit suicide, You just can’t do it. *Chicken*. And by the way, it’s not as if it’s new to us to get something intangible broken in the first place.

You’re doing the right thing now. Let it all out. Let it hurt you just enough to almost kill you. After that, you’ll be much stronger…and…maybe wiser? Don’t get me wrong, okay? I’m no genius than you are. We’re just the same after all. And these things I have the indulgence to say because I’m practically inexistent in your part of the universe. And that’s what I’m here for: to make you realize that I won’t be there for you. The moment you made up that decision, I’m already gone and there’s nothing that could make me return, and scientists haven’t come up with a time machine yet. Even so, why ask for the time to go backwards to that moment you made your stupidity? Okay, OUR stupidity. We always go back to that same scenario, playing it over and over again in our heads and we don’t notice that time doesn’t wait for us. Time is the hill of our rolling existence and not a single thing exists backwards. So don’t be hard on yourself, wishful thinking if you could only turn back the time. God is generous enough to give us memories to encapsulate a chunk of that time to be kept safe in our hearts and minds. Consider yourself blessed.

Actually, you are more than blessed. Aggh, okay...you’ve become wiser than I am (I’m just more prudent, hehe) and I will never know the outcome of what you’ve done. When you’ve taken that chance, I actually envied you deep inside because I could never do it– and I guess, I’m not destined to do it. You became my what if same as I am now your should have. As they say, we cannot have it all. Taking the vitamin brand won’t help. And look at Whitney, she sang a pathetic song about almost having it all. Now she’s a junkie.

So I guess this ends here. You stay strong. Keep the faith. Soon we’re gonna meet again, and at that junction, may the best man win.

Love,

Yourself from another Universe

PS

I'm handsome here.

I Cried Over a Fucking Celine Dion Song II

2009-01-06T11:01:00.005-05:00

I should’ve just gone straight to home after work that evening. I could’ve just read my January book in my room, but I found myself ordering my usual at Starbucks.

So after my eyes got tired, I went out of the coffee shop expecting only to hit the hay early. But no. My genius feet weren’t tired yet of thinking where to lead me next. So it brought me to the department store.

It was actually not a bad idea. I mean, I could use the opportunity to find something to buy for myself. For years, I’ve neglected myself on some physical aspects, I realized.

Let’s start with clothes. I really don’t buy clothes based on how they look on me primarily but on how much they cost. So if I see that it somehow suits me and it is affordable on my definition, I’ll buy it. I also had two pairs of jeans. The older one I bought (2009…it was 2000 then so 9 less 0) nine years ago while the newer pair, seven years ago. They are the only jeans I have and both pairs are mysteriously getting smaller. Maybe my mom should follow the laundry directions indicated, moving/growing forward. I also shun the idea of buying designer colognes because I’m not seeking to be smelled at in exchange for a hefty price. I take a bath every day, and that’s enough for me. When it comes to shoes, I actually have three pairs. One black leather and a moss green for going to the office, and a high-cut Chuck Taylor for casual days. All of them haven’t got a proper cleaning from their owner. A friend also made me promise that I will buy a watch as all professionals should wear one. Well, I promised him to probably buying one, so I haven’t broken my promise yet – or will never.

I almost grew up not giving a damn on how I look like. I always think of the price I have to pay for looking good. I thought, physical appearance doesn’t really matter, as long as you are a nice person. So my face was pestered with pimples and for months, I carry the map of the galaxy. I didn’t seek professional help. I relied on cheap astringents instead, and it made it only worse.

So that night, I searched for something that will be good on me. I went up and down the floors, one moment looking for a shirt, then a pair of rubber shoes, the following moment.

A new pair of jeans.
A designer watch.
A weekender bag.
A chair to sit on.

I could not seem to make up my mind. I discovered that it’s very frustrating not to know what I was looking for. And to make things worse unexpectedly, that freaking song started to drill its way to my senses.

I know there’s nothing wrong in being practical and thrifty same as being extravagant if you have the means. I’m more than capable of buying “happy” that evening, and a part of me which I could not make sense of, probably figured out what’s happening.

That night, I was not able to buy anything shiny and new. I was still wearing my tattered pants and my Chuck Taylor imitation.

But I discovered one thing: sometimes, our eyes get too tired of putting up with what we keep in our hearts, and it would not hold up longer than we expected. Even if our logic could afford to buy practical reasons, it won’t fill in to something that we need eventually. We may not know what actually happens to us, but nevertheless it happens; and it’s the worse feeling. At the same time, it’s a revelation:

I went to the mall to find something of worth, but realized it’s not even there in the first place.

I Cried Over a Fucking Celine Dion Song

2009-01-05T07:49:00.006-05:00

Don't know much about your life.
Don't know much about your world, but
Don't want to be alone tonight,
On this planet they call earth.

There are times when we thought we’re already complete as we are and that we should be happy about it. We thought we are already satisfied with what we have and I don’t understand why some people are not satisfied with what they have. This is regardless if they’re with someone significant or not, for me it depends really on our own preference in life.

So we thought we’re just living our ordinary lives, happy with the way it seems to be. Then we’ll meet someone who’ll make us realize there’s something so much better than our meek existence. And when you meet that one, it will feel like something’s missing in your life; suddenly, we need them to be part of our world.

You don't know about my past,
andI don't have a future figured out.
And maybe this is going too fast.
And maybe it's not meant to last,

We crave to tell them what we’ve been through in life…All the triumphs and sorrows; the things that made us who we are. We seek affirmation and we seek solace from them. Although we are uncertain where all these things will lead to, we bet our emotions to the greatest game in this world.

But what do you say to taking chances?
What do you say to jumping off the edge?
Never knowing if there's solid ground below
Or hand to hold, or hell to pay,
What do you say,What do you say?

We think of it over and over. We don’t know what to do or what to say exactly, but the heart speaks what the mind can’t comprehend. It’s a natural high. It’s like riding the rollercoaster for the first time. Apprehensive at first, you feel like backing out but when it starts to move, you just hold on to anything and pray and hope everything will just be fine.

I just want to start again,
And maybe you could show me how to try,
And maybe you could take me in,
Somewhere underneath your skin?

What do you say to taking chances,
What do you say to jumping off the edge?
Never knowing if there's solid ground below
Or hand to hold, or hell to pay,
What do you say,What do you say?

And there’s just no other way to be certain but to try it out for ourselves. We wanted them to be part of the ride – to experience our highs and lows, and to hold on to each other when things seem to go wrong.

And I had my heart beaten down,
But I always come back for more, yeah.
There’s nothing like love to pull you up,
When you’re laying down on the floor there.
So talk to me, talk to me,Like lovers do.
Yeah walk with me, walk with me,
Like lovers do,Like lovers do.

But that’s not always the case. Sometimes the thrill dies down and we crash and burn. We thought that we have someone beside us, but we’ll only find an empty space. We’ll feel like an idiot. We’ll feel we’ve been robbed and something inside of us can’t be replaced anymore. Rock bottom. At some point we’ll start picking up pieces of us; try to put ourselves back again and start building up a much higher wall.

What do you say to taking chances?
What do you say to jumping off the edge?
Never knowing if there's solid ground below
Or hand to hold, or hell to pay,
What do you say,What do you say?
Don’t know much about your life
And I don’t know much about your world.

Then again, no matter how much we say to ourselves that we won’t make the same risk, we do. We take our chances. We jump off the edge without knowing if it’s worth it, or we’ll just crash and burn. But maybe, just maybe: we’ll be thankful afterwards when we fail on that another attempt. Because no matter how much we say to ourselves that we’re happy with the way things are, we’re just waiting for that another moment we could feel we have loved again.

First Quarter Plans

2008-12-31T22:28:00.005-05:00

January:

1. Back to work, overtime for two hours everyday. Jog around High Street after.
2. Buy sneakers. It's been ten years since I had my last pair. A testament to my couch potato-ness.
3. Climb another mountain with officemates. I love the outdoors when it's not rainy and muddy. Either Jan or Feb
4. Avoid binge eating.
5. Fix papers for government ID replacement cards/company health card.
6. Hepri's bday
7. Igi's bday
8. Buy a weekender, sando
9. Start loosing beer belly.
10. Moderate my drinking.
11. Find out when's the schedule for PDA Season 3 auditions.

February

1. Bro's bday
2. Ton's bday
3. Climb another mountain with officemates.
4. Overtime. Overtime. Overtime.
5. Expected annual salary appraisal.
6. Watch Dresden Files.

March

1. Mah bday. No bday celebration. Do charity.
2. Rachelle's bday
3. Ryan's bday
4. Khey's bday
5. Alwyn's bday
6. Apply for a credit card
7. Prepare for summer

Poso

2008-12-21T02:48:00.007-05:00

The day he arrived in Manila was one of the most exciting moments of Emeliano’s life.

The sun was up at its scorching peak but he didn’t mind it at all. It’s as if the stress was washed away by the scenery in the horizon. He stuck his head out the window of the bus as the wind of a better future kissed his face with a welcoming coolness. He saw towering concrete buildings racing for the sky, bustling pedestrians, a few calesas and automobiles. All these sights made his heart leap with joy. It’s just the beginning of wonderful things to come, he probably thought.

Manila for sure was on a transition to join the industrialization of other key cities of the world, and it was a risky transition that he just had to partake in.

He came from Bicol– a strapping young lad ready to seek greener pastures in a promising city that was Manila. At eighteen, Emeliano left home to fulfill his dream of a better life away from the fields, the trees, the mountains and the sea.

He felt discontented living a life among farm animals. He loved his home, his parents, his grandfather and his brothers who were scattered among his uncles and aunties back in his hometown. Indeed, he loved them with all his life, but there was a fire in his mind and soul that raged on. It was dark during nights in the province and he had heard tales of enchanting lights, blinking all throughout the night in another place. A better place.

He’d only had experience working in the fields and in the sea, with occasional jobs in construction sites and as a cook for a rural eatery. He didn’t have any diploma to show, just the optimism and ardor to make it in life. On that glorious day of his arrival, he only had a couple of bills in his pocket and a piece of paper with a direction to reach his destination,

He stayed in the house of his Tiya Maria in a little town in the metro called Pateros, the center of commerce and trading of balut and the then, famous alfombra slippers in the 70’s. He shared a room with his cousin Imben who just ended his work with a construction site as the building neared completion and lesser workers were needed. Together, they went out everyday looking for a job.

Emeliano landed a job in construction. He worked day and night, as a foreman and as a help in his auntie’s small piggery. He was efficient in his job; making sure materials were well approximated and evenly distributed. He was entrusted of keeping the inventory. He also took care of the pigs, making sure it was well fed and clean. He also did rounds in the neighborhood to collect kitchen and table scraps to be used for feeding the pigs. In one of those instances, Emeliano thought the city already threw all the beautiful things it could throw at his direction.

It probably happened one sunny Sunday morning.

To be continued…

Setting the Plot

2008-12-21T01:09:00.002-05:00

Pateros is the smallest of the seventeen cities and municipalities comprising the Metropolitan Manila.

Before 1700, it was only a barrio of Pasig called "Aguho" or "embarcadero". Aguho was derived from the name of numerous shady trees planted along the Pateros River, while "embarcadero" means a small port. As a port, Pateros was the focal point of trade and commerce not only for the entire Municipality of Pasig but also for the neighboring towns. It also served as harbor for the Malay, Chinese, Swedish and Indian vessels that periodically called to disembark merchandise and to engage in commerce. These were the reasons why Pateros as the most progressive barrio of Pasig was given the name Aguho or embarcadero.

The Chinese traders who eventually settled in the town introduced the most famous balut industry and alfombra-slipper making. The name PATEROS came from the Tagalog words “pato” – the duck that lays the eggs for balut making, and “sapatero” – the word for shoemakers.

The sound and stable income of Pateros led to issuance by the Spanish Governor General of a decree in 1700 creating it as a Municipality. In 1896, when the Philippine Revolution broke out, many Pateros inhabitants joined the Katipunan in the struggle for freedom from Spanish rule. These patriots attacked the Spanish soldiers fortified at the Pasig Church. The following year, the Spaniards retaliated, and after burning Pasig, swooped down on Pateros, Malapad na Bato and Taguig. On August 06, 1898, Pateros joined the revolutionary government of Emilio Aguinaldo.

On March 29, 1900, Pateros was made a Municipality by virtue of General Order No. 40. Act. No. 137 of the Philippine Commission promulgated on June 11, 1901 incorporated Pateros with newly created province of Rizal. Two years later (October 12, 1903), Act. No. 942 consolidated Pateros, Tagig and Muntinlupa for purposes of economy and centralization, with Pateros as the seat of Municipal government. On March 22, 1905, the "Municipality of Pateros" was changed to "Municipality of Tagig". Later, Executive Order No. 20 dated February 29, 1908 separated Pateros from Tagig. Pateros regained its independent status as a Municipality on January 1, 1909 by virtue of Executive Order No. 36. On November 7, 1975, Pateros became part of the Metropolitan Manila through Presidential Decree No. 924.

http://www.tagalog-dictionary.com/pateros/history.htm

A Post I Should Have Done a Long Time Ago for Myself…And Now I’m Moving On

2008-08-24T05:18:00.002-04:00

I’ve done a lot of mistakes in the past and I usually try my best to make up for those as soon as I can, or as soon as my conscience couldn’t take it anymore. Most of the time, it’s the earlier.

I may have to write this vaguely, but I do know that sooner or later the raison d'être of this post will read this and will be intelligent enough to know that this is for him/her/them/it.
We’ve all heard the shit before, and it even has a song: I’m only human, born to make mistakes. Nice song, nice melody, but shitty predicament to be in. I used to believe that I was perfect and incorruptible and that all my actions were driven by what I know were right and true and pure. Not.

I’ve often referenced kids as stupid and I was once a kid. A kid who didn’t gravely ponder on the things that he’s about to do. A kid who acts based on his past, his present and not really giving a shit about the repercussions. Being an adult is such a drag. I have to think and reconsider things before actually doing it, but that’s how life should be for me, and for the rest of us. Adulthood is very complicated and it won’t wait for you to grow up. You just have to, or suffer the consequences, like never having enough courage to look your old friend in the eye, receive moral blows and slurs and innuendos referring to your former offense – something that should have already been forgiven…but apparently not forgotten. I know it, because I am also like that.

I’m quite satisfied though, that all those things –those unfortunate events- happened to me. I’m not turning all pageantry question and answer portion here, yet it sinks in now the real meaning of appreciating the lessons you’ve learned from those horrible moments. I wouldn’t be the same genuinely happy person I am now if not for those boo-boos in the past. Some were petty, some were major predicaments and yet all of them contributed into molding and remolding the person that I am. I guess the important part is not to be an old dog. I learn new tricks quickly. So I won’t change a single bit about my past…and world peace, Gracias.

Yes, you may have been this or that, ostracized by the society or by friends. Ashamed by what you’ve done…to yourself or to your dearest friends whom you’ve shared laughs with for a long time. You may have even considered hanging yourself and end all these in an instant but in a split second of nothing short of a miracle and God’s presence, you stood up, wiped your tears and asked for forgiveness not from those people you’ve offended, but from yourself and Him. Probably after that you started realizing all shitload of wrong things your immature old self thought were right and this only motivated you to come clean. I guess it will be easier if life is like that of the series, Saving Grace. You know…with a personal guardian angel whom you can really see and hear and talk to. Anyway…

When this happens though –and this happened to me, quite recently– it doesn’t mean that you’re already stripped off the right to tell others that the same wrong thing you did before which they are doing right now is bad and should be stopped. Look who’s talking and all apostolic, huh?? they might say in your face…or whichever way. Man has intelligence to remember that touching a fire can burn his hands and hurt him. So he stops his co-caveman who is about to stupidly put his face in the fire.

Wisdom comes with age. Partly true. I guess the complete version of it would be: wisdom comes with age vis a vis the ratio of the right versus the wrong decisions you’ve made. Imagining it in a graph, I see it like as we grow older, we commit lesser mistakes because we tend to remember that fire is hot and can harm you.

I’ve already forgiven myself for all the things that I was. For the things that I am… well…I guess I’ll just have to make do of it. I quite got a bargain actually, coming out of all those shitty situations I’ve put myself into. This doesn’t discount the forgiveness of the people I’ve offended though. It’s as equally important to me. Yet just as I am human, so are they. We can all be the caveman or the fire. We can cause harm or get burned ourselves. I don’t blame him/her/them/it if all of them don’t want me anymore, or if they’ve developed a new notion about me because of an offense I’ve made. I deserved that. I was the fire and the caveman at the same time. Well, life goes on. Next time, I’ll wait and observe who touches another flame and what would be its lesson to me.

Joke Joker Jokest

2008-07-28T09:31:00.005-04:00

I finally convinced myself to watch The Dark Knight yesterday. Not that I do not like to see it, but I’m just a drag when it comes to hyped-up movies that I have not seen yet. Somehow, it makes me shun the idea of catching it with commoners, like groups of idiots who are either going to spoil the ending, or do crazy shit inside the cinema, (like shouting and INAPPROPRIATELY LAUGHING REALLY LOUD, making side comments as the scenes roll). They can do this because they are many. I know it for a fact because I am those people when I’m with my own crew.

Well that, and the kids. I just don’t like watching superhero movies with kids around. It just annoys me when they are not aware that they are disturbing other people, and I cannot do anything about it because they’re stupid kids. It’s not fair. I want to watch movies like this every now and then because I want to feel like a child sometimes, but in turn become much more of a coarse adult that I am, thanks to these tykes. I’d spank them, if I am as old as them. Their parents should not fuck anymore.

I was anticipating that thirty minutes during the whole film, I would feel like blowing up the whole theatre using an improvised bomb made out of toothpaste and gum. Thankfully as I had calculated, the place was not jam-packed so I was able to find a good spot right in the middle portion of the theatre. It felt like I was all alone with this giant TV screen in my room. Precious…very precious. On with the review:

The Dark Knight as we all know is the sequel of Batman Begins shown last 2005, in which I only slept all throughout. But TDK is not really dependent on its first Batman installment and so the story is easy to understand, except for Batman’s speech impediment. Well, I can remember that his enemy in the first movie was Scarecrow who was busted right in the beginning of TDK. Buh-bye Scarycrow. Moving forward…

The real meat of the story revolves around Batman years after he became the Caped Crusader (yes, “Cape” with a “d”) evidenced by his many battle scars and his new enemy, the Joker. Gotham city is now infested with criminals and criminalitities, from low life thugs to huge, untouchable mobs and gangs organized into one group with, well, what do you know!? One accountant!

It is hard-earned money – these mobs were able to amass, and I still couldn’t understand why the hell they need to have only one accountant. They should have at least two, so that when one gets burned alive, they still have a spare. Also, if it wasn’t needed in the story that Lau is an Asian, this is one clear sign of subtle stereotyping. Get the point?

Lau =Accountant= Asian =Math freak.

But this is just one of the things that you just ignore in the story, like how the Joker schemes the planting of the bombs. How he just turns up in a supposedly secured place where authorities are supposed to be watching out for him, and how he rounds up his own gang whom he simply disposes off after they’ve served their purpose to him. We just leave it to the fact that he’s the villain and should be magnificent portraying it as he executes the final blow, the fantastic explosions and sometimes the candid manifestation of his twisted persona ("Do you wanna know how I got these scars?"). And he executed it very well, indeed. It justified my officemate’s comment on Heath Ledger’s performance after watching the movie, and I’d say the same, It’s no wonder why Heath died.

On the other hand…well, Batman is Batman. We could not do anything about it further. I have learned from the same officemate that Ledger visited mental institutions for two years just to get an idea on how to become as demented as the Joker, and I have surmised that Christian Bale’s reference in this movie is none other than our very own Fernando Poe Jr. The King no less. Most probably the suit Morgan Freeman’s character has developed for Mr. Wayne locks his jaw in place so it’s as if he’s grunting every line he says. If you know Fernando Poe’s famous lines in his movie, Kapag Puno na ang Salop, you’ll get what I’m talking about.

TDK so far is the most serious Batman flick that’s been made. It has successfully created a sense of foreboding by combining the elements of dim lighting with few pale colors, almost infrasound hair-raising background sound in almost all the scenes and a well-thought, almost philosophical script well executed by the main actors. The Joker isn’t a clown. He’s the kind of villain who would sneak up on you in real life and cut both corners of your lips. Batman is horny and in a quarter-life crisis making him to decide to cut ties with his alter-ego– Gotham is so fucked up.

His subtle innuendos as Bruce for example are like ego punches to the character of Harvey Dent whom is engaged to Bruce’s former love interest, adding flavor and conflict thereby making it more dynamic to watch. Girl blows up -Maggie Gyllenhaal’s best performance- Joker escapes, and Dent escapes not with a cute face. The characters don’t fuck around. Gunshots are meant to kill, Dent –supposedly a man of virtue and integrity and rationality– suddenly flips a coin, and bombs are detonated, not defused in time.

The film cited a lot issues regarding the human psyche of right and wrong in a lot of levels but has been successful in all of them. Younger viewers in their tender formative years will see Batman as the hero and the Joker as the bad guy just because he blew up a hospital, or hanged a man, or wore a frightening make-up and because their idiotic parents told them so. Morons would just watch and drool and grope the breasts of their girlfriends during night scenes while they’re being masturbated. Critical audience, like *ahem* me, will see that fate has made a humor on Joker’s former life, and this dark past fuels his rage against anything decent and happy. This anger egged him on to plot against humanity itself not by blatantly undertaking mass obliteration without first proving his point that there is no good or evil in this world, but just man’s instinct for survival in whatever form, as what he had hoped to achieve in the ferry experiment. But as much as it sucks that the villain must lose at the end he didn’t succeed. However, the premise was later on concretized as the movie ends with the good and evil becoming irrelevant to what should be known as the truth (“He is the hero Gotham deserves, but he’s not the one we need right now”).

By the way, my former nickname in our neighborhood was Batman. It began when I senselessly jumped off the second floor window (fifteen feet high) of my Aunt’s house when I was six or seven. A neighbor saw me and my cousins noticed I wasn’t looking out the window anymore. I fell and hit my head hard on the ground and they rushed to pick me up. I was conscious all throughout. Then as my father became relieved that his youngest dick didn’t suffer any injuries (no blood, no cuts or anything swollen), he resumed drinking. Stupid kid, he said. I made myself a glass of hot milk and noticed two small punctured holes on my right arm. Then I started climbing on walls.

Fucked Up Entry

2008-07-26T06:49:00.012-04:00

“I love you still, that’s the torment of it…The measure of my hatred is that love…Do you NOW know how much I hate you?!” – Claudia, Interview with the Vampire
......................................................................!!!
I already have three entries as of today. Four, if this one is counted. I’ve read and reread them. And I noticed I have a bad habit in writing. I have a bad habit of writing long sentences. I asked a friend about it. He said it’s true, they are quite long.

So I’m trying my best. Trying my best to come up with something. Something that can be my next entry. The first one with shorter sentences. Thinking about it, I just write what I think. And think I do. I have lots of stuff on my mind. Things that I need to write about. They drive me crazy. Crazy because I don’t know which to say first. So I end up blurting them up. Say them in a single sentence.

So I guess I’d stop now. I’ll stop for a while and organize my thoughts. That way, I hope something sensible will emerge. But I’ll let you look into my mind. I’ll let you in, just for you to know me better. Ready? Here it is:

Luiofficemoneystockskuyamarkkuyaiginanaybingbingyowrappersmamaneldonnietontonharveybestfriendkapestarbucksmagnet3vpaulynmiss4thentrytataychristmaslightsdarkknightcellphonenarutomangaonlinefuckmasturbatesexpornsexyladiesjasmingailjudachocmafercommercemamfeustjournalcjkidsmielaidellcfababyfamilyplanningsavingupinvestmentgoingabroadlivinginnewyorkorcaliforniawhitecollarjoblovelifecyadrianonobloghoppinggainreadershipwhythehelldoicareaboutreadershiptmantonverygoodbossfuckedupofficematesjaniceandfayefriendstorqueburdenchallengebankfinanceaccountcitiseconlinesunsimcoldsflumanoksaguisantessundaychurchcleanroomdustfixturesbuyanotherpillowbuyofficechairnextentrywritebookfulghumnoelsucksbadperformancebandmatesalwynandivanheroesetcetcetc…

Fucked up, noh? And it’s just a chunk. A piece of my mind. And there are lots from where it came from. Things that are supposed to be kept inside. But who knows? Maybe if you stick for just a little longer, I’ll tell you what they are. Come closer…

To Withdraw or not To Withdraw...that's the Predicament

2008-07-24T10:01:00.007-04:00

Fucking is good. Whenever I get lucky doing it, I utter a little thanks to the BIG MAN up there because I will once again have a good score. That, or I am just too drunk to care about the appearance of my fuck friend.

But you just don’t jump into it right away, right? No matter how drunk you are, you still at least have the romantic shit to caress the girl’s boobs and ass, kiss her on the lips while parting strands of hair that block her face. You smell her hair and compliment her sweet smelling shampoo. Then your hands will do a little trip down there, you’ll get more aroused as you slide your hand all over her sexy contour, her breasts like the sides of Mayon, thank God it’s young and beautiful and not like the Grand Canyon…yet. Probably after that your finger or two or three or your two clapping hands will be inside her warm cunt, and she’ll twitch her eyes a little, as if she is a bit hurt. But who is she kidding when she begs you to make it faster, right? I mean the thrusting, not the clapping.

Yes, yes…very romantic. You know how the body of a woman works and reacts. Okay! Your turn now, so put your dick in front of her mouth and ask her to suck ‘it’.

I remember that’s how a friend described one of his sexperiences. Now he’s married to/stuck on/stuck in that same girl because of that night when he asked her girlfriend if, “you like it faster huh?!”. He also has a big dick like *mine (*orig. me, but that’s a different entry altogether). But I got a bigger brain. From my travels around the world, people from the far west use this thing called uhm…contraceptives.

(Oohhh what??!! Controceptives? C-Contraceptives? Contra-what? I’m having pasta for dinner.)

Ooohhh…it’s one of the hot issues right now, correct? The Holy Roman Catholic Church is against the use of the artificial birth control because it is a direct clash to the teachings of the church. The bible says go forth and multiply. The body says go forth and fuck and pray hard it’s negative after three months. The economy says we’re so fucking many in this planet, a cleansing should be served, first with the blood of the whole China, then India (why the need for many gods? god of the week contest?).

I just saw in the news that a representative of the lower house flipped on his standing on the passing of the bill on birth control methods and is now against it. On a side note, this gentleman from a provincial state got the highest grade in Christian Living subject during his high school days and is now happily married living with his mistress.

The church seems to be busy lobbying for the ditching of the bill, but is not fool enough to give up its ungodly wealth. Instead, they offer indulgences and absolutions to the politicians, like forgiving them for having three families, acquiring undue wealth and receiving communion twice than everybody else every mass. One word: Chavit. I also heard the CBCP is in the drawing boards for releasing kapal bulls (pronounced: key-puhl in Filipino). Ladies and gentlemen, we’re in the local version of the Renaissance period.

I’ll fuck the church this time. Well, not the institution, but the people hiding beneath its cloak of power. Fuck them boy suckers. For all I care, they’re just sour-graping because they won’t know the taste of a vagina in their lifetime. Or probably they’re sneaking out of their parishes at night, who knows? Or probably they won’t have to leave their dormitories because the altar boy is kinda hot. Yeahh…like what Pat said, genuflecting is not always for praying.

The population is growing exponentially. The government is pressed to do something about it and I believe putting a cap on every citizen’s dick is a good idea. The church should shut it this time and begin donating its properties to the poor and less fortunate instead. That, and discipline their priests, teach them that altar boys are not the body and blood of Christ.

The government deals with matters concerning the people’s welfare and in turn, that of the country’s as a whole. The church protects its people from eternal damnation. They govern over the same people but on two different planes of their lives. Ultimately, it’s supposed to be up to every single one of us which to adhere. You like fucking safely? Use a condom. Your soul will be at risk for the eternal fires of hell though, provided you’re a Christian. You’re a good Christian? Put on a WWJD bracelet and make tiny cuts on your thighs every night. Fuck once every year to produce an offspring.

Fucking is a choice. From whether you like it with a boy or a girl, down to deciding if it’s gonna be skin to skin or with a rubber. All the government tries to enact are options and suggestions. So the church must put back its dick in its robe because it’s forcing its way to the mouth of the government and of the people. They are supposed to teach, not to impose. To implore, not to explore the body of a boy seminarian.

Auto Fellatio

2008-07-19T12:26:00.010-04:00

I got a major hangover this morning. I woke up wearing yesterday’s shirt and my underwear only. (un)Lucky for me, I was in our house but was in my brother’s room and so I assumed he transferred to my room because who would want to sleep next to your drunken brother in his briefs?

The moment I opened my eyes, was the moment that I thought a horse kicked me in the head. It was as if all life was flushed out of my system and I (un)feel like Yuri from the Japanese movie Dead Girl Walking. I stood up slowly and went to the CR to take a piss. I noticed I didn’t get a morning hard-on which validated my idea that it was indeed going to be a fucked up morning-after. Here we go again, I said to myself.

I was drunk last night, that’s for sure. But there were gaps in my memory on what had transpired. These are the times that my superego is replaced by my ego and id, so I hoped I didn’t screw a baboon. Apparently, people have been telling me that I turn into a different persona every time I get drunk. I get a little happy and touchy, but mostly happy. Fucking happy that I turn into a local ghetto in the way I speak, mainly telling people around me to fuck each other just for fun. So I tried remembering, for example, how I was able to get home, and what time we left the bar. Did I finish my drink? Have I made indecent proposals to indecent people yet again? I also checked my body for any piercing on the nipple or belly button or if a carrot had been stuffed in my anus. I said a little prayer of thanks as I found no carrot on any hole that I have. No betacarrotine for me!

Rewind fifteen hours earlier:

After “masturbating” my clients and officemates, I got off from work but didn’t really feel like going home yet. Then I remembered getting an invitation from my friend MC to come to his former boss’s farewell party at a nearby bar in Makati, but didn’t really want to ask him again if the offer’s still up because I wasn’t really close to his boss in the first place. The sound of free flowing beer (FFB!!!) was very tempting though [After a few bottles, his boss and I were as tight as my ass].

What better thing to do on a Friday early evening but to have my Timezone Greenbelt card reloaded and sing my heart out in their videoke? So I busted my nut surviving the songs of Survivor and gave injustice to the songs of the blind-man-walking-who-fell-face-flat-on-an-Obama-campaign-trail Stevie Wonder. After giving my vocal chords its daily exercise –meaning some bastard sneaked in while I had my card reloaded– I decided to take the ride home. As I was walking to the terminal, I heard a band performing in the dining center of The Enterprise so I thought checking them out. Next thing I know, I was in front with the band and about to sing With You by Chris Brown –who is actually black– when MC called my cellphone asking where I was. Long story short, I rendezvous with him in front of a lamely named bar and greeted Hello Kitty, his former boss.

The bar was almost full with cavorting yuppies although it’s unnoticeable on the outside. I was re-introduced to the officemates of my friend which I didn’t find hard for the fact that I once worked in the same company, although I didn’t have to masturbate my bosses there; bunch of niceness, those people.

If there’s one thing I learned thru the years I’ve been drinking, it’s that drinking alcohol is like fucking yourself real slowly. I found a spot between PeePee and J as MC went out to meet his blog friends to have a quick dinner outside. There I was, just keeping to myself as I drank my first bottle. Then, as we fuck ourselves with more bottles consumed, all the inhibitions were shed and found ourselves laughing at each one’s anecdotes.

My last recollection was that I showed MC a text message from this girl I’ve been going out twice for two months now (haha! ang hina ko) , and I asked what did the “I luv yah” part meant. All things after that were done by my subconscious –the real, uncensored me.

I just finished chatting with MC now who filled me in with the gaps in my memory. He said that for the most part, they were delighted of me and Hello Kitty even said that I should come with them the next time they go out. By the way, Hello Kitty is a lesbian. MC said I was hitting on her but didn’t catch what I said to her. What he heard was Kitty’s reply, “Boy din ako eh,”. Two years ago, during my last Christmas party with their company, I was also drunk and tried hitting on Kitty as well. I must really love lesbos. =)

He said I also made comments regarding him being a match with one of his two blogfriends whom he brought along to the party. Although I feel like I’m in heaven observing awkward uncomfortable situations experienced by other people, I didn’t know that his two blogfriends are actually lovers, which made any tension more…uhm…intense. So I’m pretty sure MC would be reading this, and I’m really sorry friend. Like what I’ve said, I’m gonna be extra nice next time we meet up. =)

I’ve been in many golf (gulp) sessions before. Sometimes I really get drunk and sometimes my alter-ego takes over. Like what I’ve said earlier, I think it is very much like fucking with one’s self real slowly. A friend made a statement before, referring to drinking alcohol as looking down the well of your soul – where deepest thoughts and well-kept secrets are taken out, pail by pail, as you take in more alcohol, bottle by bottle; he was drunk when he said that, by the way. Being drunk truly tests your core personality, what your beliefs are and how you react to things differently than when you are in the comfort zone of soberness. Oddly enough, I was able to straighten out some personal issues I had only when I experienced some of the highest levels of intoxication. Drinking can really be a theraphy, you see, so don’t follow Edu Manzano’s advice. He’s a sham, that drunken bastard.

There are some things you did while you’re drunk that you’ll only find out the day after from your friends. And just like having a one night stand, you will either hate yourself or light up a cigarette as you pat your back for a score well done the morning after. You will either swear not to have sex with yourself anymore, not again, until you die, or prep yourself for the next big night.
Eventually you will have another bottle of a nice cold beer and some sisig for pulutan with your friends in some cozy bar, listening to nice songs and talking about some fucked up friends that you had in common, whose elementary classmate shit on his trousers before, or planning your next get away for the third quarter of the year dahil marami kayo at quorum, and then you will realize that all your beer bottles are empty so you order for more beers…and ice…and some sizzling pulutan…vinegar as condiment…chicharon…beer…pulutan…sisig…beer…sex…

What am I doing? It's a Saturday night.

I should be fucking myself now.

Pornstar

2008-07-14T11:28:00.002-04:00

My high school friends say that I have a big dick. They say this to me and make fun of me lots of times even if only one of them has really seen it…when it was swollen due to circumcision. But it’s the kind of teasing that a guy like me doesn’t really get offended to, if not, actually flattered. I can be a pornstar if I like to (but seriously, my dream is to direct a porn). But it just bothers me sometimes that I tend to jump in to the joke and make fun of my penis as well, as I use their preconceived notion that I really am equipped. You see, I don’t have a big dick, but I’m not saying the contrary. In the first place, I thought, who judges whether your family jewel is actually huge or not? Is there an organization that decrees which range in the continuum of the penis universe is considered huge? What is its name? Will it be like the Virility and Girth Inspection National Association (VAGINA)? And provided that it really exists, how will the VAGINA lay its matrices so that all the phallic factors fit in it snugly? A lot has to be measured like length, girth, and spherical area of the glans penis, not to mention the race and nationality of the person. Will the VAGINA be up for the challenge of our penises?

In my age now, there are some people other than my mother, brothers and my nanny, who have already seen mini-me. Upon first sight, I’m pretty sure that nobody made the sign of the cross, shouted “Santa Maria, it’s the lochness monster!” and dashed for the door as if it is coming to get them from between their legs (insert Maui Taylor chase scene with the giant dick in the movie Sex Drive, here). Quite fortunately, I also haven’t heard anyone say, “Awww…*sigh* there you are, so cute!” as I pulled my zipper down to the tune of You Sexy Thing (I believe in miracles! Where you from?! You sexy thing!). But if given only these two scenarios, I’d pick the prior.

I’d rather have a bazooka than a garden hose because, well…larger is better. But I am quite okay with what God has given me. How can’t I? It can do the job it is tasked to do… PISSING, stupid. And yeah, as a stuffing for the turkey for Thanksgiving, and a pie driller.

This society equates penis size as the actual measure of one’s masculinity and virility. In that single piece of expandable muscle tissue we source and derive all our confidence, bravado and chutzpah. Hell, even Rasputin’s disputed dong is believed to be cure for men’s impotence.

I don’t know if that is a natural instinct emanating from our bushy area, but this same subconscious psyche that we have gives men undue and imagined dominion over all things around him. Isn’t it everyday that we keep on hearing reports of abused children and women by men? Especially here in the Philippines, where I grew up in a family wherein the father –the one with the biggest dick in the house– gets to decide when and where to hit his kids…and wife.

Luckily for me, I don’t have that illusion. I have my sex organ and so does everyone else. This gives me only an equal opportunity like the rest of us to get laid sometimes, or get off by ourselves. But the most important thing is that I’m not dumb enough to use my head down there to brag my greater strength or anything of that sort. For me, it is just plainly stupid and inanely arrogant. Because all of us can be pornstars, but not everyone is that huge.