Retro Manila

Bisikleta

2012-01-02T22:32:00.000-08:00

I got myself a bike.

No, not a retro scooter; it's a reconditioned city bike from Japan. Manila has a lot of these nowadays.

It was out of impulse, I think. Or perhaps more about my inggit. While jogging in Diliman, I saw some kids riding Japanese city bikes to school. Getting one seemed like a good idea because, to me, they're like cousins to my Japanese retro scooters. And I dearly miss my retro scooters.

Thus, a bike.

It brings me to places.

And it is extremely cute.

And it is earth-friendly.

And it is healthy.

And it is cheap.

So if you see me riding my bike, slow down and send me a smile. I really feel good about this new, old baby.

Tagpuan

2011-12-26T10:11:00.000-08:00

I bumped into an old Unitiima Worldbeat track recorded quite badly almost two years back. This song was crafted from one percussion jam after another. The recording itself was a spontaneous drum and guitar jam using cheap studio equipment.

I remember, we didn't exactly write (most of) our songs nor did we consciously weave them like how some artists put together their works.

We just played our drums until what we were doing became songs.

Or stories.

Whichever came first.

Commercial Muna: Smile Pilipinas

2011-11-17T07:28:00.000-08:00

Smile Pilipinas

Check it out on Facebook. Like the page. And share the smiles.

On two slow feet

2011-11-13T07:26:00.000-08:00

Everyday, we run.

Time Warp

2011-11-10T01:51:00.000-08:00

I placed my food in the oven. Set it at 2.

While waiting, I thought, "Why is this thing so slow?"

Really. Two minutes and I'm complaining.

Totally un-related photo. Para may mai-share lang.

You see, too?

2011-10-20T02:03:00.001-07:00

Hey You,

I am here. But I am not back.
Not entirely. Not completely.
Think of it as if I’m just a ghost passing by.
I’m here, but I’m really not.

Like a Flower

2011-04-18T12:07:00.000-07:00

Sometimes, we just want to be careless.

Commercial Break

2011-04-01T03:58:00.000-07:00

Tanggal sapatos.

Motorsiklo

2011-02-23T18:59:00.000-08:00

The Motorela, a nifty public vehicle in Cagayan de Oro.

Green Green Grass

2011-01-29T13:15:00.000-08:00

Been a while since we last took Likha to the park. Well, it's not really a park, but I'm pretty sure you know where this place is.

And finally, Ulan had the courage to reunite with the camera. Not too many people know that she takes photos, too. In fact, she was already deep in to this picture-taking thing back when all wanted to do was ride retro scooters and play the djembe and read a bit of poetry and drink beer. Funny that the first camera I bought was actually for her—how I found my way to using it was another story.

Heniwei...

And yeah, I honestly believe that my wife's photos are better than mine. Way better.

Tuesday

2010-12-14T05:51:00.000-08:00

Yesterday, I woke up to an empty bed. Again.

Working in a office like mine pretty much does that to you. It's been an amazing experience, but you begin and end the day all by yourself.

Even to a married guy like me.

So a phone call is sometimes like sex in the morning before a coffee table with no coffee, no table, no sex. And no, not in the morning. I forgot, it was 1 pm.

"Sorry, nasa meeting ako."

"Ah ok. I called just to let you know I'm up."

"Alright, will call you later."

I let that lingered a bit by letting her put the phone down first.

The sheets were pretty plain. I didn't even need to fix it. Other than most of the pillows that were pressed to the corners, there's not much to see.

So I went downstairs. On the floor right beside a rickety crib was my one year old. Crazy little critter, he's the source of warmth and light in this house. He runs around in drunken fashion, it's funny and scary at the same time. He is bound to hit his head to something, like the TV. Yeah, that's probably ok. We need a new TV and I'm sure he's gonna be fine. Some crazy beer buddy once told me kids need to get their heads hit to know which hurt and which doesn't. That happened to me. And I'm sure it happened to you, too.

Around two hours of playing with that bundle of energy, watching him run around and throwing away random objects on the floor and bumping on the wall, I got back up to get ready for work. That's family time in capsule form. Quick to swallow, quick to dissolve.

And thus it began once more. 9 to 11 hours of the same thing. It's not bad really. It just makes me miss a lot of things, important things.

Last night, my drive home was like a slow agonizing march. Sugarfree at 2 am couldn't have been more painful, more real.

Back home, after freshening up, I quickly went down to the kitchen. My wife and the crazy little thing were both asleep. I'd just wake them up if I stayed in the bedroom while I force myself to sleep. And I was hungry.

The rest of my night was with Robin Sparkles. And Neil Patrick Harris. Yeah, heard that dude's gay. Like you didn't know.

I heard footsteps from the stairs just four episodes after. I didn't see the sun shining, and she wakes up around this time. In what seemed to be her voice in sleepwalk mode, she begrudgingly said, "Ano yang pinapanood mo?"

"Uhm, Yan, How I met your Mother."

"Oh, sabi mo sabay tayo manood."

"Di ako makatulog, e."

"Andaming movies dyan. Ako rin, tatapusin ko na yan pag wala ka. Labo mo."

And she stood right beside the TV where I was hoping our son would knock over so we could replace it. And she spoke no more.

I have not seen her in two days since. She was awake and speaking. And probably mad.

I just had to turn the TV off. Not because she was pissed. But because she was beautiful at 6 am.

She wore her rag-worthy shirt, granny checkered shorts, and morning breath. She was beautiful.

"Sige, ayan na. di ko na papanoorin. Sorry."

Warm hugs probably come best in cold December morning petty arguments. I take whatever I can get.

Drum Love Beach Love

2010-12-01T20:58:00.000-08:00

Two part vid of a swabe drum circle in Apo Idon, Pagudpud.

Hope your earphone's ready.

4 AM

2010-11-12T13:38:00.000-08:00

"Man, bukas 12n call time sa Linden. Dalhin mo na lang suit mo para mabigyan mo ako ng tips while you're in your boxers."

Said the dude who's about to get his ass smacked heavy just a few hours later this day.

I don't know what he meant about me giving him tips. As I type this, I've just finished a few bottles and I can't seem to find myself falling asleep.

My wife's on a weekend off somewhere down South. Gave me a call last night. Told me something about the how grand the whole island is and she's gonna take me there because she's sure I'm gonna love it. And the food's great. Beautiful woman, my wife is.

Perhaps. But I don't know if she remembers, I'm too busy. I'm always too busy. Last night. Make that yesterday, I only stopped working (at home) when I noticed the sun was up. And now, it's almost 6, and I still can't sleep. And there's really nothing much to do.

So I replied to the dude.

"Pare, wala naman ako maibibigay na tip. Kaya mo na yan."

Took me a while and a whole run of Kaskade's 4 am before I considered a second look at his silly text.

"Meron pala ako maibibigay na tip pare. Before the wedding, wag kayo masyado iinom ng tubig at kakain ng kahit ano na nakaka-poopoo."

Said the dude who just saw the sun shining. Again.

These are outtakes. I just took a quick look at the folder and randomly picked some photos. I'm probably just bored. If you want to see the photos, at least more of these, add Grupo CameraDiary on Facebook.

Good morning.

Music Men

2010-09-20T11:47:00.000-07:00

Jolas

2010-08-30T09:16:00.000-07:00

John Lloyd, I called him. I didn't think it bothered him much.

This photo's for Jeepney Magazine. I'm not sure if it'll be printed. But I kinda like this photo. I like his confidence, his stance. As if he didn't care.

Jolas is a resident of Pangarap Shelter. He's counted 2 years and a half. That's not a long time to be in a boys' home considering others practically lived all their lives in Pangarap. He dreams of helping his family--his mother and 10 siblings. I asked him what he really wants to achieve/ to be, he said he wants to be a missionary, a servant. I thought I heard something else so I asked him again. Same answer.

Hopefully he gets there someday.

Mojo

2010-08-23T00:53:00.000-07:00

A good friend from the two offices I've slaved with.

He volunteered to be my assistant for the Jeepney shoot. His strobe was a casualty. Wanted to trade mine for his broken flash. Wag na raw, ok lang.

You don't meet great people every so often.

Catch him here: Modjo Deli.

Bay Walkin'

2010-08-05T21:25:00.000-07:00

Back on the streets after that Sunday afternoon in the slums.

Been a while.

Somebody's Back

2010-08-04T11:09:00.000-07:00

Tam Awan

2010-05-25T21:56:00.000-07:00

A day after the exhibit. Ulan and Likha at Tam Awan.

Going Solo

2010-05-14T06:12:00.000-07:00

Summer Stream

2010-05-06T23:55:00.001-07:00

I used to keep this blog as a venue for my retro scooters. My wife and I, we had three of them retro ladies: a Honda Giorno and two Yamaha Vinos. They were a thing of beauty. Used to think nothing could have been lovelier—specially that green Vino I bought from an eye doctor in Alabang. Rode it every day from Fairview to Makati. Didn’t mind the perils of bike riding along Commonwealth and Edsa. To be with that scooter, it was the most wonderful feeling. I think it made my wife jealous at times. And then a drummer guy from a rock band took a fancy over this lady. He gave me a good bargain. No, his then pregnant wife rang my phone and offered a price I couldn’t say no to. I let go of Victoria the same day I met the wife.

And my boss adopted the other Vino. It’s been a struggle for her maintaining that old lady. Been telling her this scooter just needs a little TLC. It was my mistake, really. I should have guided her more. I think she’s selling that Vino now. I just don’t know if I want her back. She’s not exactly mine. Didn’t find her as pretty as Victoria. Didn’t even give her a name. Poor little thing. She doesn’t deserve me.

Then my wife’ s Giorno—a photographer from Marikina bought her. I think he took in this baby out of impulse. Last I heard, he’s selling the Giorno. I so wanted to get our old lady back. But the Giorno money was used to buy a 24-70 the next day.

And this new shotgun came just in time for a street magazine project in Tondo. It’s a spectacular place. It’s probably the heart of helplessness in the Metro. Everyone’s so darn happy.

And then it almost hit me. A knife to the right side of my torso. In exchange of my life, three gentlemen asked for the camera I was holding.

If they didn’t so nicely ask, I wouldn’t have handed it to them. Besides, my very objective in being there was to help. What better way to achieve this than to throw away my gear. I’d never felt so fulfilled about any undertaking. This was by far the most selfless thing I’d ever done. Also, kudos to the local police; I informed them of this project early in the day and they supported me from start to finish. It couldn’t have been more perfect.

The scooters are gone. The camera's gone.

And oh yeah, both our dog's been adopted. Our sharpei Anya we let go first because my wife Ulan developed a little allergy. And then it was Likha with an allergy. My loyal pit Kali had to say goodbye as well. Oh boy.

So yeah. They're gone.

And now, I think my sanity's gone, too. At 2 pm, I have not slept since last night.

The heat's maddening. And the last photo's unrelated.

I think I really just turned crazy. Blame the heat.

Summer Solstice

2010-04-24T08:37:00.000-07:00

Where have I been?

Something came up, and I've totally forgotten about this blog. Heck, I think I've forgotten about so many other things.

Anyway...

I'm back. To this blog. To and for and with.

And yeah, Likha says "Hi." :-)

Happiness

2009-12-28T03:34:00.000-08:00

I know it's a little late to send out my holiday greeting. But what the hey, lemme just say it before the year closes.

Maligayang Pasko at Masaganang Bagong Taon! :)

Going Ducati

2009-12-22T23:37:00.001-08:00

Been terribly busy.

Have not been able to check this blog for quite a while. I spend most of my waking hours working and then traveling to Makati all the way from the mountains of Quezon City. I go home only for a few hours of rest, and there's a truckload of other stuff I still do on weekends.

Anyway, how about a little commercial break?

More photos here: Ducati Christmas

Commercial Break

2009-11-15T10:13:00.000-08:00

Hi.

Baby Steps

2009-11-08T00:58:00.000-08:00

We took Likha to a big-@ss pool yesterday.

A good friend threw a pool party for his one year old son. We were pretty excited with the idea of letting Likha go swimming. Big fish in a small pond was definitely not the metaphor I was looking for, but for us giddy parents, the picture kinda felt like that.

So we got him his swimming trunks. A bath robe courtesy of my in-laws. And an inflatable floater. It's a fancy turtle that has leg holes, so Likha could paddle like a hobbit on steroids.

We took off with all our war gears carefully placed in the trunk of our tiny Hyundai and reached the South just the right time for lunch.

Save for little things and Pinoy etiquette, I let nothing delay me from getting Likha ready for the water. Our newbie yaya gave an impressive performance by having everything ready after I handed my friends our gift. I held on to the plastic turtle and pumped madly until the little thing was like Bridgestone.

His Nanay was careful though. I ached for the water while she made sure Likha had sun protection lotion on. Goodness greyshoes. My baby's darker than MJ circa 1980. The sun will show some respect to his brown crisp skin.

I let my wife bring Likha to the water. Her steps to the poolside, I could almost swear, played background music fit for an epic movie. Slowly, we reached the water. It was like Poseidon introducing his son to the greatness of the ocean.

This was way too awesome. My heart burnt at the sight of my son about to dip his little toes to the pool.

And then Likha pursed his lips. Shivered a bit. Held up his legs. And broke into a jolting cry.

The gad dem water was too effing cold for him.

We tried again. But to no avail. Our six month old wasn't ready.

So we let him enjoy his milk and a moment's sleep after that.

And we brought him to the water again this morning.

But with the pool way smaller and the water a little warmer.

My wife and I may have wished dear Likha flexing his baby muscles against the angry waves of the bigger pool, but this little thing needs to take it slow.

There's an ocean of things he will discover. And his parents should understand that Likha, like all other babies, has small feet.

Check out one of Likha's first baths here: Pag-ibig Tulad ng Batis.

Going Shameless

2009-11-03T01:29:00.000-08:00

A friend made an entry. We didn't prepare for it nor did he give us any warning.

I'm not so sure. From what I've heard so far, it's apl.de.ap's gig to discover unsigned Filipino musicians. I kinda thought he was just looking for RnB and hip hop artists. I don't know how exactly us percussion boys plan to get through this.

Since we're already here and we thought that it'll be good for us share our music to other people, we might as well make the most out of it.

Listen. And Vote if you like our music.

Unitiima at MTV Emerge <--- Click this link to view our page to vote.
Unitiima Music <--- And check out this link for a taste of Unitiima.

Enjoy.

Ang Paglalayag - Unitiima

Tala - Unitiima

Panaginip (Shadow Play Kolektib Audio) - Unitiima

Photo Op

2009-10-27T02:54:00.000-07:00

I was once told that in each photo, there's a story to tell--perhaps like poets who paint beautiful landscapes through metaphor and sound.

But what if, I just want to take a photo, and really, I have no story to show?

Kusina Salud: San Pablo City, Laguna

Commercial Break: Casa

2009-10-19T00:21:00.000-07:00

San Pablo.

Commercial Break: Office Party

2009-10-06T19:53:00.000-07:00

I took these portraits a few months back. Things are taking an all time low lately and I need my pick-me-upper. Good thing work has been forgiving (my boss, that is) and the guys I'm with are more than wonderful.

And yeah, these bad-ass mader hempers will make great extras in any campy Jack Black movie.

Commercial Break: Drumming for Peace

2009-09-23T23:59:00.000-07:00

Percussion players gathered at the Gateway Mall Pavilion to celebrate the International Day of Peace. Props to Unitiima, the percussion boys and girls of Dreadknot and Chonks, Wam, Hands On Manila, Beda boys, Meinl, Gon Bops, MW, Risetone, and Lyric.

Video courtesy of LyricPiano

The odds must be crazy

2009-09-20T10:20:00.000-07:00

My wife and I are frustrated runners.

I mean it. I've been running for almost 5 years now, and I cannot take continuous strides for more than an hour. I mostly just go around the village and around Diliman. And I'm not even talking about running-for-dear-life kinda running. I skip-pity hop--like an old man. Halfway through the run, I let my pit drag me back home.

My wife's pretty much the same. Hmmm... She's probably lazier. Ier. Comparative. After 20 minutes of taking a few steps out of the house, she goes back panting like she just walked on the Sahara desert for 40 straight days without water. And she does this every leap year. It's probably superstition; she runs to drive the evil spirits away--a habit she most likely dreads to do.

And I don't know what mythical forces brought her to wearing her trainers again, but she seemed possessed this morning. Well, she did tell me that her former boxing buddy's dragging her to run. But I don't think this was the first time she asked her and my wife often turned her down.

I wasn't that concerned. I knew she'd want me to tag along if I brought myself into the conversation. I don't dig hypnosis on weekends.

Besides, I don't see myself getting up on an early Sunday morning.

But I did.

Sama ba kayo?

Kami? Hindi. Aga pa, e.

Oo nga. Tulog pa si bulinggit, o.

And Likha woke up a few minutes after as well. He's not supposed to be looking for milk till 7.

Darnit.

O ayan, nagising na.

Sige, sama na lang kami. Pero di ako tatakbo. Ako na lang mag-aalaga kay Likha.

I looked away--I really wasn't feeling all too excited about this gig. I might even have I scowled at her for taking way too long to prepare.

Women.

O bakit masama timpla mo?

May araw na kasi. Maiinitan yung bata.

It was 6:00 am. The sun rises really early from my side of the planet.

I was stone cold on our way to Diliman. And my wife was too busy feeding Likha.

Whatever, yaya.

6:20-ish. Ok, so there were a billion people running, biking, talking, and pretending to do something. It's a Sunday morning. Gad, the whole Quezon City's here.

Sige, mauna na kayo. Lalakad na lang kami ni Likha. Andyan naman si Len, e.

Her friend arrived almost right away. A few morning greetings. She's Likha's ninang; I didn't expect her to just pass by and not much on Likha's cheeks.

And, uh, she seemed to be in as bad a condition as my wife's--she had that same repulsive look like running at 6 was cool.

Sige na. Dito lang kami malapit sa kotse maglalakad-lakad.

Takbo na kayo.

And they walked. And ran.

The maddening crowd devoured them in milliseconds. In what seemed to be a light year's distance, I think saw my wife's hair and her friend's left arm being pulled away by the horde of joggers and passers by.

*****

Good thing I managed to take a few photos of Likha when we ran for cover.

Walking on water

2009-08-31T10:16:00.000-07:00

Water boys, drummer boys.

Spirited drumming from the little men of Unitiima.

Commercial Break: Cubao X Street Scene

2009-08-16T20:50:00.000-07:00

Retro Scooter round up lang with a photog-retro scooterista friend.

We thought it'd be a lazy Saturday evening.

And then this happened:

More photos here: IamRetroManila

Ang Pag-ibig ay tulad ng Batis

2009-07-27T08:28:00.000-07:00

This was taken when Likha was barely 3 weeks. I'm not sure if this was his second or third bath. I hardly remember things lately. I wasn't there when they first dipped Likha in water. Tatay had to go to work, but I'm sure my son will understand when he grows up.

Facebooked

2009-07-25T09:15:00.000-07:00

Just a few minutes ago. I succumbed to (peer) pressure.

Every time I meet friends in the office, in the mall, in a grocery store, in a book shop, on the streets, where ever, they always ask me about Likha.

I delightfully tell them about my mornings, nights, and anything in between with my baby. I tell them that my son looks a little more like his Nanay, and he makes this funny thing with his mouth when he's satisfied. I never tire narrating how Likha makes those cute little infant noises when he's in a playful mood and how animated he gets whenever we play percussion music in the background. He smiles when somebody gives him attention, and he now has a better control of his head and arms.

He has such a strong kick, that baby. And yeah, he's always hungry, and his Nanay's doing a wonderful job breastfeeding him.

My friends, they love hearing these stories.

And they always want to see photos of Likha.

Oh, most of the photos are home, saved in my computer. But I have some in my phone.

They go have a look at his photos from my mobile, and they ask the perennial question:

How about Facebook? You have more photos there ba?

Uhm... Wala akong Facebook, e. Nasa Friendster. Andun yung iba.

Naman, people have abandoned Friendster, pare. We're all on Facebook.

Uhm, ok. I'll see what I can do.

I really don't see the difference. Why couldn't they just pull up a browser and go to Friendster?

But then again, I realized: Why couldn't I just register and stop the nagging?

So to you, my dear friends, you have finally made me do the unthinkable. You can now view Likha's photos on Facebook.

Please feel free to leave some comments because I hope your Facebook will still be around when he's 18, and I'm going to show him the loving messages his Titos and Titas sent him.

[These are the first two photos I've posted. We took Likha out this afternoon. Crazy little baby; I can just eat him.]

*****

And yeah, whatever happened to printed photos and photo albums and paying people a visit if you really want to catch up?

Easy

2009-07-20T20:13:00.000-07:00

Escolta on a slow Saturday morning.

Sariling Sikap

2009-07-13T05:00:00.000-07:00

I had a little conversation with a photographer friend about self-portraits. We kinda joked that a great self-portrait needs to be in the nude, free of any item that will hide the subject from his/her audience.

He already has one -- not in the nude -- but a brilliant self-portrait nonetheless. So yeah, I did promise to take mine as well.

Uhm, would it help if I told you that I was naked in this photo?

Baywalk-ing

2009-07-10T08:37:00.000-07:00

I met an old man selling seashells along Roxas Blvd. They're 20 pesos per bundle, he said, referring to the four plastic bags right beside him. I don't even know why I asked. I don't remember the last time I ate clams, and I wasn't sure if I wanted to bring home a few. Or wait--what do we call those little sea creatures? Clams, right? Shoot, I don't know.

He was quiet; his gaze was to the seaside horizon. The view was breathtaking, but he was like a rock--unfazed by the waves hitting the boulders below us and then some on both our faces. He was enjoying his stick, and I was in awe because of the lines on his skin. Every little scratch on his beautiful face was a glorious landscape only old age can give.

He gave me a nod. And I took a few.

The rain stopped two hours ago, but the water was still angry. The wind blew against us, and I loved how Tatang's grey hair flew over his face.

I don't understand why I didn't speak much. Maybe Tatang's silence was his way of talking, and maybe I was just there to listen.

Own a Retro Scooter

2009-07-01T03:04:00.000-07:00

This Retro Scooter collectible needs a new owner.

Because I am not comfortable doing business through this site, please click the link below for more photos and details about this beauty.

Japanese Original Yamaha Vino Classic For Sale

I am sitting in the morning at the diner on the corner

2009-06-20T11:38:00.000-07:00

I was around 8 or 9, or maybe 10. And Suzanne was the first woman I fell in love with.

No reason for this nostalgia.

Sometimes, things just go a flying by like the songs we used to write at the back of our notebooks when the teacher wasn't looking.

*****

Oh, this rain
It will continue
Through the morning
As I'm listening

To the bells
Of the cathedral
I am thinking
Of your voice...

Moon-beam

2009-05-24T09:28:00.000-07:00

Cubao X.

Friday night.

Likha Malaya

2009-05-18T03:49:00.000-07:00

This is long overdue. I have not the time to blog or go to gigs or attend shoots or watch a movie with my wife or see my friends and extended family.

Ever since he came to us--nine months in waiting and then 13 hours long in the labor room--my wife and I have been extremely busy.

And extremely happy.

Now, if you'd just excuse me. I wish to enjoy my time with my son. :-)

Commercial Break

2009-05-02T14:28:00.000-07:00

A friend invited me to a gig. I had no clear idea what it was about when I said yes. Well, I think he did say it was a show.

I don't usually do this. But what the hey, here you go.

Just a few for tonight.

The Jeepney Magazine

2009-05-01T06:59:00.000-07:00

Photo courtesy of Jeepney.

A street magazine.

It makes perfect sense. The Philippines has a flourishing street economics and culture. It's kinda ironic that I said this because perhaps, 90% of the Filipinos on the streets may just be from the lower middle class down to the urban poor. It’s a conservative figure, and I'm most probably wrong. Nevertheless, I say it is flourishing as most Pinoys find their food and shelter along the rough and gritty Manila roads. This is the very reason that I think we find the genuine Pinoy life along the streets or in the narrow alleys that lead to nameless walls. It’s not sad or messed up like what some may think.

It is colorful and vibrant.

There’s so much life we see along the streets. And I’m happy that they see it, too.

[Log on to www.thejeepney.com to find out more about the mag.]

Dalawang Babae

2009-04-21T03:33:00.000-07:00

World Drum Project
La Mesa Eco Park
April 18, 2009

Commercial Break

2009-04-13T22:53:00.000-07:00

I was just passing by and this man looked at me as if he was waiting for his photograph to be taken.

What's a guy with a camera to do?

Biernes Santo Part I

2009-04-11T03:27:00.000-07:00

The Holy Week as some people say is meant to be holy.

Or perhaps, religious.

Or some people prefer to call it spiritual.

Or to me, at least, it means spending a little quiet time at home with my family.

But yesterday, Good Friday, I decided to go to Cutud, Pampanga. It's a pretty popular place during the Lenten season. Local and foreign tourists come in big groups just to find our what really happens when the locals re-enact the crucifixion.

I can't say that I wasn't excited. I've seen some photos and I've heard quite a number of stories. People have their hands and feet nailed on the cross, and a lot more line up on streets shirt-less while whipping themselves with ropes that have sticks at their ends--bulyos so they call these.

I had my comic book expectations, and some others were probably there for something more, something special.

We arrived really early. I had a great view of the site. People were just setting up: vendors, marshals, local police, military men.

We had so much idle time that we decided to walk around and talk with the locals. One lady from a sari-sari store advised us to keep on walking as penitents line up from all around the district. And so we did. We went to the cathedral more excited this time.

We took a wheeler (a bicycle with a sidecar, a pedicab) to the church. The driver was nice enough to orient us about the place and how things go on Good Friday.

Manong, sa Sta Lucia. Malapit sa simabahan, kung saan may mga nagpipinitensya.

He was silent initially. But he seemed friendly so I talked more.

Manong, anong oras ba nagsisimula ang pakuan?

Mamayang hapon pa yun. Pero sa mga distrito, may mga sinakulo rin. Maraming nagpapapako.

Ah, e yung mga nagpipinitensya? Saan ba marami nun? Kaninang parating kami may mga naglalakad na, e.

Umaga pa lang marami na. Ang nangyayari dyan, pinapalo muna nila likod nila, hinihinog yung dugo sa likod. Tapos hihiwain ng blade ng ilang beses. Tapos papaluin uli. Pag natuyo, binabasa para manatiling may dugo.

Anong edad ba dapat para makasali sa penitensya?

Mga binata yan. Mas maganda yung wala pang sugat sa likod, yung malinis pa ang balat.

Mas, bata mas maganda, ganun?

Oo, ang daming ganyan dito.

Ah, so iba-iba talaga? Marami?

Oo. Marami.

And he brought us to the place. He smiled and wished us well.

Right beside the church, we saw a group of men, preparing. I pretended not to see some of them drinking beer. Maybe they needed the extra strength. I kinda thought they'd get that from some other spirit, the one from a group of three.

And they went on marching. A photo buddy and I followed suit. She asked where the others were. We just assumed that where ever this troop was going, we'd just meet the rest along the way.

Now here's where the experience started. Blood gushed on to so many directions. On to the ground, to passing vehicles and pedestrians, to my shirt and to my camera. I was too close I realized. It didn't matter. If these men could handle the heat of the sun and the pain of their wounds, I didn't see any good reason for me to complain.

And as we expected, they walked towards the church. These men knelt right in front of the holy place, probably said their prayer and asked for forgiveness. Almost as a unit, they hugged the scorching ground they stood on. Kids and teens (maybe their assistants, I assumed the kids knew them) slapped their slippers and the whips on the backs of the bloodied men. This I didn't understand. I felt like I was a witness to a murder, and things happened too fast to even remember.

Biernes Santo Part II

2009-04-11T03:25:00.001-07:00

The men walked away from the church. We thought they'd go back to the crucifixion site. As the lady from the sari-sari store told us, the penitents walk towards the site.

But not these men. One of marshals heard us and told us that these guys were going home.

So we called up the guys. They apparently were waiting at an area where a crucifixion was to take place.

We hailed another wheeler. This one was quiet; he seemed snobbish so I decided to not say anything.

Out of courtesy, I asked him how much the fair was.

Singkwenta.

Magkano po? I looked straight at him.

Singkwenta.

Ah, akala ko bente.

I gave him 50 pesos and turned around. If he was so decided to get my 50 pesos, he probably deserved it. Even if it meant selling his soul to whoever just for 30 pesos more, yeah he's free to take 50. The holiday economics, after all, is all about better business.

Now this place, it's a little smaller. It's a covered basketball court with a man-made hill constructed at the far end.

We looked for better place to take photos. To my surprise, the marshals mistook us as media men.

Media dun kayo sa taas, may entablado para sa inyo.

Oh, ok.

The heat got worse, and the re-enactment ended just a few minutes after it started. I went down the media area and I saw three penitents resting under the shade of the trees.

Their faces were not calm nor peaceful. Theirs were tired. Hmmm, to say that was an understatement. It was something else. Something that kinda reminded me of bitter days past.

Biernes Santo Part III

2009-04-11T02:30:00.000-07:00

The crucifixion was done half an hour before lunch time. There were two others who let themselves get crucified after the man who acted as JC. Theirs were a lot faster.

The local government closed the roads in between these hours to give way to the penitents--except maybe the wheelers were still allowed. The first driver I talked with told me that they could still take passengers until 1 pm. We asked a local on how to get to the main site. He claimed that there's a shortcut to Cutud. We could take the pump(ing) station and there's a straight road that leads to the hill. Walking distance. That's what he said.

We failed to understand that for most people in the provinces, when they say that, it probably means crossing three small mountains, five rivers, six rice fields, and walking under the noontime sun for 1 to 2 hours. And this one, the path we crossed, didn't have people nor plant life--just the rough road that leads to nothingness.

Good thing a pick up truck and an AUV found us. Or else, one of us might have died on the spot over hear stroke or exhaustion. Alright, I am exaggerating. But something close to that might have happened.

At the site, they say this was the main event. A near-perfect display of the Big Guy's passing.

With all this er, mayhem, this day might have been close to what really happened.

After almost an hour, the parade of the main penitents came marching in. This was what all the people waited for. I didn't know how I got there, but I just found myself pushed towards a gulaman stall with a pregnant lady sitting behind a dilapidated wall.

I tried to get a view but the place was too crowded. Everyone else was set firm on where they're standing. The air was humid with dust and the sun grew angrier.

And so I took my photos from afar. I couldn't find anyone I know. With all these people, I couldn't even move an elbow.

A voice-over spoke in their native tongue. A nice young lady interpreted the message for us Pinoy tourists. It was something about respecting the solemnity of the re-enactment and there were still a few who would get crucified. Most walked towards the exit. They probably didn't care. I was too tired to even stand up, so I allowed myself to be pushed away.

I went to a toilet which could be used for five pesos. I washed my face and then my hands. 'Changed my dirty, bloodied shirt and threw it into my backpack.

Little did I know that our van's ac had a little problem, so we're a bit slow on our way out hoping to catch an open motor shop along the way. The temperature inside the vehicle became a lot hotter. More sweat trickled, I took a towel from my bag to wipe it off my forehead. The afternoon air was never this humid.

Not more than 10 minutes after, just a a few blocks away from the site, a group of people we saw drinking and playing cards right on the streets of San Fernando.

I'm not religious but...

2009-04-07T00:15:00.001-07:00

Father of the Son

2009-03-30T18:21:00.000-07:00

My old man.

I showed him my photos for the first time last night.

It kinda felt like how it was back in grade school when I so badly wanted to show him how amazing my hoop had become--that I could finally make it to the basket with a fancy footwork inside the paint and reach for the rim with a one hander. It's not impressive, but hey it's not that bad for a 3rd grader who just started playing basketball.

Yeah, I played basketball late. Much like how I am with taking photos.

And maybe, how I am with the way I've taken things more maturely. (With the way I say maturely, I'm using it with how my old man and woman define it. They had a confusing and very good way of using it. They seem to have found the word in the most awkward phases of my life, just when things didn't do well and they knew they're right.)

My dad, he didn't really pay much attention to my footwork, nor my fancy dribbling, and my smooth lay-up. I think he had a good word. No. He really didn't say anything. What he did, it was more like a tap on the back. Maybe it meant "Good job," or "Wow, that's amazing!" But his face gave him away. Not much of a smile, I reckon.

Indeed, that's how it felt. It's not much really. But when you open yourself to somebody very significant to you, you become an easy target made out of very thin paper. You may break so easily with a word. And sometimes, with the lack of it.

Or maybe basketball wasn't really his thing. We used to watch Samboy Lim, Mon Fernandez and the rest of the pack during the golden days of San Miguel Beer, but I don't think I've really seen him play the game. I knew he had a jersey with his name when I was in pre-school, but that's pretty much about it. Kids are impressionable. I was.

My dad, he doesn't talk much. It's probably his most endearing quality. He looks at people with utmost sincerity and we know that he means the best for all of us. He's never harsh nor spiteful.

He speaks so little and he does so much.

Maybe its because of this that for most parts of my life, I wanted to be like him. And I've failed greatly for so many times.

My mom used to tell me that I'm not even half a man as my dad. She was good with words. She knew which ones would hurt most. She has become an artist. Maybe I take after her. Ironic really. I try my best to be like my dad; I turn out like mom.

But this is not to say that my mom is any bad. She's as lovable as her husband. She just talks a lot. :)

And last night, I showed my dad my photos.

He looked at them and he said, "Kuha mo yan, anak?"

I nodded. Less is more.

"Ang ganda naman."

He smiled.

And he went home with my mom, while I and my wife were left in our own little room.

I made that hoop, I remember. I made it with a graceful side step of my left foot and a quick swagger of my shoulders--twice the heartbeat with a head and shoulder--and a strong jump to the rim for showstopping finger roll.

Yeah, I made that shot for so many darn times.

Happy Pill

2009-03-17T12:07:00.000-07:00

My wife tagged along when I was invited to shoot for a homecoming party.

It was crazy. They were too busy, too excited to care. But yeah, maybe it's been a gad-awful long time and one night was just not enough to catch up.

The photo above was taken when we have already toiled and worked for our keep. Tired and sleepy, she still beamed oh so brightly.

And now, if you'll just let me... :)

Going Andy Warhol but not really

2009-02-19T08:36:00.000-08:00

I chanced on this nice man smoking right beside a construction site with graffiti walls. It was around 10 in the morning and he may just be enjoying his 15 minutes. It kinda reminded of one time I told an office friend that our coffee breaks are probably the fastest 15 minutes ever. It was more like a question rather than a statement. I don't know if I made sense.

Maybe I didn't. No one had the time to give me an answer anyway.

Nameless streets and frameless walls

2009-01-28T19:09:00.000-08:00

It's the day I followed the liquor ad. I kept on walking.

Last Year of the Same Day Yesterday

2009-01-04T10:32:00.000-08:00

Last year of the same day yesterday was the day I told you about forever. Well, as long as we choose to, but yeah, I think what I really meant then was (is) everything like that.

You reminded me about the date. January 3, you said. 6:30-ish. I'm not good with numbers; I'm worse with dates. I barely look at my watch, and it's been ages since I last looked for a calender on a wall.

So I nodded.

"Well yeah." My eyes wide open, my dark skin almost pale. You knew that I didn't remember.

You just smiled. It's all too familiar now. Me not remembering. You used to not like it. And then it became funny to you. It won't be long before you learn you to hate it. It gets tiring I know.

I didn't remember, so I smiled.

And I moved towards the bed where you sat while watching Sunday afternoon TV. I didn't know how to start, really. You go gaga over nostalgia, and I was 3 minutes away from bagging the championship for my Celtics against the Lakers. I removed the Big Three in my Fantasy Draft and replaced them with Rasheed, Jermaine, and Redd. I was on a 20 point lead with 10 more seconds down the stretch, so I didn't really have time to recall what transpired decades ago.

But something kinda told me to put the pressure on the Esc button to go on a time-out. Thank you for indefinite pauses. You are a marvel.

So I said, "Yeah. It was January 3. Which reminds me, Lolo's death anniversary falls on the same date."

Silence.

Putsa ang talino. Whoever thinks of sh*t like this should be executed with his balls in his mouth for saying the most idiotic things.

So again, I was without words.

"Uh, yeah." You--with all the rhetoric and academic gifts--was just as dumbfounded as the f*ckface poor excuse of a person who sat beside you. I am as natural as a fart, you say. Speaking of, you screamed last time I farted and you were resting your head on my lap. Sorry about that. Won't happen again.

It's been 5 minutes. My dear Celtics, they're out to murder the Lakers.

"Isang taon na pala," I struggled.

Boston, the whole town's waiting for me.

Very fortunately, your focus, just like mine, can sometimes be of a goldfish's. "Si Karylle naging Karrehl na sa pagsasalita Ruffa."

Thank you, Ruffa Guttierez. "Haha. Oo nga. Putsa mahirap ba sabihin yung Karylle?"

And so you went with your weekly fix of showbiz intriga. Angel Locsin's next. Oh you'd want to watch that.

Kuya Boy, I love you. Seriously, I do. Include Jobert Socaldito in the roster and I'd marry both of you in California.

And slowly, I slid back to my computer. 10 seconds left before the shot clock. I went back with Lewis giving Redd a screen--I had Redd play point as his dunks are kinda fun to watch and he has just enough firepower outside the paint. I changed my mind, decided to go Rising Sun. Two shooters on both ends and one power dunker straight to the rim. I could pass the ball to either Lewis or Maggette on left or right. Or simply go to Jermaine for an Alley. Where the f*ck was Sheed? There, giving O' Neal a screen. Redd went for a drive straight to the free throw line. A trap was set by the two LA guards. As if choreographed, Redd gracefully threw an alley to a prime Jermaine and owned every yellow shirt on the court.

The crowd went on a pandemonium. Ah, the joys of playing Home.

Final score: 115 for Boston while LA was disappointing at 74. Hell yeah.

And you, you looked at me weird--like I just farted and you smelled it and you knew right away that it came from me. I was thinking that perhaps Boy Abunda exposed a scandal from another celebrity or maybe, out of sheer luck, you remembered that we were in a conversation just a few minutes back.

And there I was, in front of my computer, crossing my fingers for a celebrity scandal so I could go on with another draft and maybe Google the scandalous video after.

But alas. No man is fated to have so much joy in his lifetime.

"Di mo ako pinapansin. Kanina pa ako nagpapapansin sayo rito."

Your silence thereafter seemed to have me count seconds like light years passed.

And your sad pursed lips were like magnet. Again, you had me going towards you. You held my hand and simply repeated what you said.

"Di ka naman nakikinig, e."

I went mute. F*ckface was caught at a dead end with a smoking gun in his hand.

But really, I didn't forget my Dear. Like you. I do not forget.

It was last year of the same day yesterday.

And I always keep check that everything is as beautiful as any day since the day I did mention something about forever.

Maybe not really, but you know what I mean.

Something for 2009

2008-12-31T04:53:00.000-08:00

Before 2008 closes, I learned something really interesting from a 1 year old:

Burst a bubble and be happy.

Happy New Year, Everyone!

Indios

2008-12-12T19:40:00.000-08:00

I don't really promote gigs on this blog.

But this one is worth all the mention.

And the trip to Trinoma.

Bawal Umihi Dito (Rito)

2008-12-01T18:27:00.000-08:00

Two security men halted me from taking a photo of this fire hydrant.

They screamed as they ran to my direction. No, screaming was an understatement. I swore I could have heard of something else, but I was too busy to care.

"Putsa fire hydrant lang bawal?!"

Apparently, the big-ass mansion behind it is the president's resthouse in Clark.

They asked for my ID, questioned me, inspected my hand-carry. They were furious.

And then one of them asked, "E bakit ba kasi kayo nagpipicture?"

Oo nga naman. Bakit ba ako nagpipicture?

Little Girl Playing with Pebbles

2008-11-26T06:54:00.001-08:00

Like water
in my hand,
you dripped—
onto the pebbles

and into the earth.

Thirsty as summer,
the earth drank all
of you, every dew.

Until you were no more.

Toxic

2008-11-24T09:17:00.001-08:00

Pahinga lang tayo ng konti. Daming trabaho, e.

Eto muna para masaya. :)

Waiting

2008-11-12T21:54:00.000-08:00

Palakpakan naman dyan.

OFW Family

2008-11-10T22:01:00.000-08:00

My brother-in-law left the country this morning. I forgot to ask him where he'll be sailing, but it doesn't really matter because he jumps from one country to another. He'll be gone for or least nine months. By the time he gets back, his kid's almost 2 years old.

My sister will be leaving for Canada anytime next month. I don't know long she'll be gone, but something tells me it's gonna a very long time.

My nephew's gonna be taken care by his Lola. My mom, being the excited lola that she is, is more than happy to oblige.

It will take a while before my brother-in-law and my nephew get to follow my sister overseas. I don't really know how it works. I dare not understand it anyway.

I'm sure things will turn out fine.

But looking at the whole thing, for some reason, I get a sad, apprehensive feeling.

What? The weekend's over?

2008-11-09T07:46:00.000-08:00

I had nothing better to do and checking out an old Photobucket folder seemed like a good idea to kill time.

These photos were taken out of boredom. If I remember it right, it was a Sunday night and there was no good show on TV.

Yeah, just like tonight.

And then there were these photos.

And this? I don't really know what this is.

Killer Jeepneys in Rizal

2008-11-07T08:38:00.000-08:00

Tokyo Drift may have set a very bad example for these mindless racer wannabes.

What these idiots do is called Tikwal. They drift their unstable vehicles on public roads to hinder the next PUV from boarding the commuters on the road. Never mind the danger they impose on other vehicles, pedestrians, and their own passengers. Their pea-sized brains can never understand the gravity of their ludicious antics.

The moronic kids who enjoy this stupid practice also call it Paluan. Pinapalo yung dyip pa-kaliwa at kanan, so to say. And just like how drifting races go, wider slides mean more pogi points. (Yeah, impressive. Very macho.)

It seems to be a common thing in Marikina as it is slowly gaining popularity even on Youtube. These imbeciles play their half-witted game on wide, national roads or on narrow two-way roads — day or night.

I urge you to watch these phone cam videos. Their equally moronic regular patrons take this as a sweet carousel ride via Cogeo to Markina.

TV stations have repeatedly featured this deadly game on their news programs. The jeepney operators are keeping mum about it, and the local authorities are yet to enforce a more stringent way to end this nonsense. Both parties claim that the drivers are hard-headed that's why such a problem exists. Well, we all know that some PUV drivers are as dim-witted as the geckos back in the Neanderthal era; what should the operators and the local authorities do to fix this?

Since we can't expect much from the PUV operators, and what LTFRB has mentioned on the news is pretty much still a press release, please be careful whenever you're treading the roads of Marikina and some other parts of Rizal.

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Dog without a helmet on

2008-11-01T22:40:00.000-07:00

My afternoon office drive usually makes me feel sleepy.

Really. I often find myself desperately looking for a service pocket in EDSA or a gas station in C5 just to grab a quick snooze.

Everything was routine.

But nothing prepared me for what I was about to see: a dog riding a motorcycle.

Go ahead. I'm sure you want to try this, too.

Take some photos and bring your puppy to EDSA.

Just like how this nice man did.

Mutya ng Quiapo

2008-10-29T12:27:00.000-07:00

"Tarantado ka! Bakit mo ako kinukuhaan?!"

"Nay, isang picture lang po."

"Wala akong picture. Wag mo ako kuhanan."

Her voice was soft and hardly audible but there was vehemence in her words—as if angry.

Or mad.

Whatever it was, she wouldn't let me do what I needed to do with my camera.

Nanay Juanita was particularly shy. No. Shy was not the word. She was a world apart from everyone else.

In this solitary planet they call Quiapo, this feeble old lady seemed to exist elsewhere. She stood beside one of the boulders and was quite oblivious to the mayhem that was before her.

Until I attempted to take her photo.

“Tarantado ka. Lumayo ka sa akin!”

“Nay, bakit ayaw mo magpapicture? E sa totoo lang, maganda po kayo.”

“Wala ako pakialam. Lumayo ka sa akin, hayup ka.”

Ayaw talaga, e.

And then she sat on the pavement.

I figured, “Ok she’s not looking.” And then some clicks.

“Tarantado ka talaga.”

Yare. Huli na naman.

“Nay, isa lang po. Tingnan nyo, o.”

Napagod na ata. Wala na nagawa, e.

The people I was with have stolen a few shots. Nakasingit din sa wakas. They may have done something I didn't. Like perhaps, talk to her first.

“Nay, isang ngiti naman dyan.”

She tried but she could barely arch her pursed lips. It’s alright. The lines on her face were glorious.

“Nay, lagi ba kayo andito?”

“Oo.”

“E saan kayo umuuwi?”

“Dyan lang.”

“Malapit lang?”

A sigh. And she said, “Oo.”

A word with only two letters has never sounded so painful—as if what she said was a lie and her heart shrunk half a centimeter for ever lie she told. And just like how she strongly declined being photographed, she seemed decided to not tell me where her humble estate was.

“Saan nga, Nay?”

I wanted to take more photos, so I kept on talking.

“Dito.”

“Dito?! Dito mismo?!”

Again, a sigh. “O-o.” Her voice waned. Amazing how a person could stretch two letters into a few more seconds, like jumping into a time-space warp, the last vowel didn’t seem to end.

I put my camera down. It wasn’t fun anymore.

“E dito? Daming tao. Wala kayong mahihigaan.”

“Itong plastic. Higaan ko.”

I don’t think her sudden urge to disclose was to gain my sympathy. Some old people are far too old for drama. The rest are just bored. This lady, Nanay Juanita, was in a jungle of beasts and men. As everyone else easily puts it, it’s a dog eat dog world out there. Again, out there by virtue, I simply mean Quiapo.

Nanay Juanita was far too strong a woman to show any hint of afternoon soap. Yeah, she said everything with a straight face. “Tsaka mahina na paa ko. Tayo, upo na lang ako.”

“Saan kayo kumukuha ng pagkain?”

“Eto.” She raised an arm, clutched was a Winnie the Pooh market bag. No, it aint imported from Disney, you klutz.

“Yan?! Magkano yan?!”

“Kwarenta.”

“E Nay, kahit ako di ko na bibilhin sa inyo yan. Wala na ba kayo ibang binebenta?”

“Wala, eto lang.”
Isang plastic bag para pangtawid gutom.

A drink in a resto costs 50 bucks.

And here’s Nanay Juanita struggling to make a sale for 40 pesos to get her through the week.

A Winnie the Pooh market bag for dear life. Putaena. I don’t even like Winnie the Pooh.

I had more questions.

Nanay Juanita talked more.

Her face gleamed and was friendlier as we went along. I thought she could use more talks like this. I know I could.

It went on and on.

In what seemed to be more than an hour’s worth of talk, Nanay Juanita let me in to her mansion. It wasn’t grand, but its owner has a heart worth a billion and a Winnie the Pooh market bag worth 40.

Here, Nanay Juanita has the best of both worlds.

*****

Check out Phey Palma's photo of Nanay Juanita. :)

I can ride my bike with no handlebar

2008-10-20T11:29:00.000-07:00

Someone once told me that life is so much slower when you walk.

And things are more colorful, more intense in slow motion.

It's sh*t if you ask me.

We live fast, we die young.

It's ideal—dying young.

No one wants to see his/her old miserable self. Not me, not you.

It's everyone's rock and roll dream.

At one point, we all wanted to be Cobain or Hendrix or Plath. We just have to kill ourselves at 27. If we fail to execute the deed, we die trying. That's the point I guess, we die in the process of trying. And so we are triumphant.

But really, we think we have it bad. That we own misery and every other word (or any other f*cked up situation) associated with it. That no one else deserves to feel all the pain but us.

We always do.

We are selfish. We want all the sex, money, power in the world. We also want all the pain, sorrow, and misery.

Whatever we can have, we get.

So typical.

*****

Last Friday night, I went on to meet a group of strangers who have been blessed in telling great stories through their photos. Hoping I could rub some of their talent(s) on my sun-dried skin, I joined in.

Their weekend stop the day after: Quiapo.

So I told myself, "Ok great. This is f*cking awesome. We walk and take photos. How hard can it get?"

Back to my previous rant, there were times that I thought I was at the bottomless pit of hopelessness. Really, I thought the worst times of my life were the worst—ever. At least for a moment I thought they were.

But I stopped whinin' when I started walkin'.

I don't want to place myself as a shallow-minded idiot, not even online where people don't really care about me or what I have to say. I'd like to believe that I've kept myself grounded in certain scenarios. But it's been a while. Life has been too fast for me lately. Too fast even for someone who rides a Retro Scooter.

With my next posts, I'll be including some photos and conversations I had with the people of Quiapo, Mendiola, Recto, and Binondo. It's not extensive, just small talk. One thing I discovered about this walk is that it helps to converse with my subject(s). It makes them feel comfortable. They give that warm, trusting look. They may stare directly at the camera and it doesn't appear forced or fake. As if saying, "Put@ena mong gorilya ka pagandahin mo ako sa picture mo tar@ndo kang hayup ka."

I'm not good with this. But it's probably worth the try.

My first set is with these showtime kids we met in front of the church. The shirtless kid's name was Motmot. He was flambouyant and a camera hog. I failed to ask the other kid about his name. Our convo mostly went around their stunts.

"Kuya kuhanan mo pa kami!"

"Gusto mo isang tambling pa?"

"Sige, isa pa. Yung malupet!"

Tama, yung malupet.

Salcedo Photowalk

2008-10-07T10:48:00.001-07:00

This kid has made a great decision of dumping Engineering and moved on to a field more related to the arts. His first assignment was to take photos using a manual camera.

He told us of a story about his dad.

On how his old man wrecked their mech set (seriously, I don't know what people call it--it has wrenches and screw drivers and stuff) upon hearing his decision to pursue the arts instead.

And I think my reply was, "That's nothing. When my dad learned that I no longer wanted to be an astronaut, he bombed our space shuttle and threatened to burn our house down."

I made a bad joke, and it made the f*ckard smile a bit.

Now our photographer friend came to the rescue and lent our kid a camera. It's a Yashica. I don't know much about film cameras, so don't go asking me what other film cameras she uses.

Come to think of it, I don't know cameras. Period.

Maybe to some fathers, taking photos is just child's play.

And life is always headed towards becoming a doctor, or an engineer, or a teacher.

No one really becomes an artist by choice, I guess.

But to us kids, any game can be downright serious.

Much like how we fought our game of syato and patintero back in the days. We'd kill and be killed for a win.

Our playground is our battlefield.

People die here.

Although not literally.

But I know we do.

Angels and Saints

2008-10-04T11:42:00.000-07:00

There is joy in every beer bottle.

The last one never leaves you and the next one you can order from the waiter.

All the girls standing in the line for the bathroom

2008-10-02T13:16:00.000-07:00

Sometimes, we don't have to look for any sense in what we do — in this case, in what we listen to.

N*E*R*D is both a gift and a curse to all of us. With all their mad musical skills, some musical snobs argue that this band's yet to write anything cerebral.

Yeah I know, it's Pop music. We can't expect much from Pop, you say.

Most people are quick to dismiss Pop as pointless. I know I do. I know you do.

But really, when you're driving or when you're in the office pretending to work or just home staring at your empty wall waiting for life to happen, do you even care what the song on the radio says?

Mostly, it's that repetitive line that gets you — even if you don't understand what it's all about.

We listen and then we sing.

"All the girls standing in the line for the bathroom!"

I know you're singing it.

Admit it.

Rain Dance

2008-10-01T23:13:00.000-07:00

Unitiima was invited to play for the recently launched Animahinasyon 2008 at Eastwood.

The boys provided live music for the closing vid Ang Paglikha by The Anino Shadowplay Collective. A good man we met in the event, Datu Arellano, made the original music for the video. He did a great job by the way. The band initially didn't feel comfortable working on another score for something that has already been wonderfully crafted.

But we went on as requested of course. Our contact from Blacksoup at Cubao X, Avic, is a person we can never say no to. Good people come rarely these days.

The place was packed by well, animators.

And some friends.

And people like us.

The vid only lasted for about 5 minutes.

And our free meal, gone in less than 20.

The typhoon then made its presence felt. It was too dangerous to drive and we really didn't want to leave just yet.

We still wanted to dance.

Tag-Ulan

2008-09-29T12:13:00.000-07:00

For more than three years, I've never written a letter to my wife.

Not a single love letter.

Just text messages.

And a few emails.

So she complains that I never send her one.

You see, I'm not good with letters. Lest you want to see me running to Timbuktu first thing in the morning, the very thought of putting "love" and "letter" together gives me a funny-tingling feeling at the back of my head in a pseudo-figurative kinda way; it's better that we stick to sending mobile messages, quick phone calls, and late night talks.

So I have never sent her any.

But we wrote poetry.

I guess metaphor made it easier for both of us to communicate. In all its ambiguity, we found meaning in rhyme and distorted meter. I'm not saying we're good in writing poetry, we just wrote lots of it. And instead of sharing a poem now, I'm merely blabbering. Bear with me. I may just say something sensible somewhere in this post.

But like what I've mentioned previously, we don't write poetry anymore.

And amidst her longing for letters, especially now that poetry's been lost, I still have never sent her one.

It's not a man thing. Some guys I know write their partners letters.

Others send flowers.

While the well-off ones shower their partners with gifts.

I text her.

And talk to her.

And spend quality time with her.

And take care of her.

And makes sure she's content and happy all the time.

And so on.

And so port da port.

The rest is just big talk.

So what am I trying to drive at? I don't really know.

At 4 AM, my wife is sleeping and I'm still wide awake. When I got home at 12:30, she's already tucked under the sheets.

The room was dark and silent.

She was in her night shirt, and I could almost hear her breathing.

I so badly wanted to talk to her and ask how her day was.

And maybe tell her what happened to me in the office.

I stayed on with her for a moment and then decided to head on to the kitchen when I felt hungry.

No, there's probably no point in what I'm saying.

So tell me, how is it possible for one woman to make one man so darn happy?

And after all, you're my Wonderwall...

2008-09-17T21:05:00.000-07:00

Last night I found myself looking at old folders.

I haven't written anything in a long time, maybe I could just post an old work I haven't placed here before.

But was too lazy to read.

I'm always lazy anyway.

Have you ever felt that? To not want to do anything, to just sit down and stare dead-on at nothing? Even thinking made me tired in some occasions.

Like today.

I planned to have Victoria (my green Vino) get fixed today. But I don't feel like explaining how my scooter got herself in such a dismal state to my mechanic. Yeah, I'll just use the car to work today. Speaking of, that baby has not been washed in way over a month now. Poor little girl. Oh hell, so long as she runs, she's fine.

Bikes and cars are probably like people. They have good days and they have bad days. Sometimes they get washed, sometimes they're mud-dirty. And today, I'm mud-dirty. I haven't brought my (and my wife's) clothes to the laundry. Maybe I still have a clean, relatively decent-looking shirt left in the closet.

Boo-effing-hoo.

This dude's married. A friend once told me, when you tie the knot, don't get too clean and smelling oh-so-nicely when stepping out of the house. Some people might take that as a sign of placing yourself back in the singles' market. That bastard's crazy, nothing he says makes sense. But I'll take his word today. It'll be a good excuse for my boss if she asks about the same shirt I've been wearing for two days now. I'll tell her that married men wear stupid clothes, OR, married men are just stupid.

Yeah. It's too f*cked-up an excuse she'll probably just laugh it off.

And send me my termination letter the next day.

It's all good.

It's my official Cut-Me-Some-Slack Day.

*****

And about the old folders? I found this photo.

Yeah baby.

*Model chooses to stay incognito. Thanks.

Mornings Sickness

2008-09-08T21:04:00.000-07:00

Disclaimer:

This is fiction.

Oh hell. You guys know all too well when something's just made up or not anyway.

Good morning. :)

*****

8:30 AM.

Ok, so I have time.

Wait, food. Lemme check if there's food in the fridge.

Cereal. Milk. This will do.

Sneakers? No. My slippers are just fine.

How about the cam? No morning walker goes out without a camera, right?

Yes, of course. A cam.

Good. The sun's not that hot yet.

Almost 9.

Wait, water.

No, I can still handle this. Will have water when I get to the gas station.

And the cam?

Yeah, use the cam. Shoot.

Freak, it's way too hot.

Gaddemit, shoot.

I said, it's too f*ckin' hot.

Ok so you forgot, you f*ckin' hate to shoot when the heat's f*ckin' with you. You primadonna piece of sh*t. You brought the gaddem cam. You better use it, pinhead.

Oh, there's a nice flower over there.

Wait, a f*ckin' flower? What, you gay now?

Sh*t yeah. No way I'd shoot a flower.

You can't do macro, that's what. Poor f*ckin' excuse. You're already gay anyway.

Screw you. At 10, where are you gonna shoot people?

F*ck people. Shoot trees, rocks, houses, leaves. Just shoot something. How about that light post at the end of the block?

It's too f*ckin' early to shoot a light post. Wait till night time, ladyboy.

Idiot. Why bring a cam when you won't f*ckin' use it?

I said, use it.

Ok, f*ckface. I'm using it. Next time, remind me to f*ckin' shoot your 3 inch d*ck so you can shut up.

Sh*t, almost 10:30.

Alright, let's have the f*ckin' flower.

*Gayness deleted by the author.*

Ok, so after walking this far under the f*ckin' sunshine, all you have is a weed?

Don't get too disappointed. That's all life has to offer you.

That's it. Go the f*ck home.

Wait, there's a man about to pass by.

What, you gonna hug his nuts?

No, egg-swing, I'm gonna use the cam to f*ckin' make you shut up.

Ok go. We don't have the whole lovely day. Unless you want to spend lunchtime here, you might as well take a photo of your d*ck in between the cracks on the road.

Got it. Go f*ck yourself.

Whatever you say, Picasso. Go home and give yourself a bl*wjob.

*****

Folk Music, World Music: Panorama Jamfest at PICC

2008-08-26T09:35:00.000-07:00

Sometimes, a blogger can be downright lazy.

photo courtesy of Ulan

Iloilo Frenzy

2008-08-13T05:28:00.000-07:00

A dear friend was in PI for a few days. Crazy-ass lady spent her hard-earned money for a quick trip to Manila—didn't even extend her vacation to two weeks so we could have spent more time elsewhere.

Somewhere far.

Other than Iloilo. :)

(No, seriously. Iloilo's a great place.)

Well, Iloilo isn't really that far. But hey, beggars can't be choosers. My crazy-ass friend paid for the plane trip and I was hella fine.

Off we flew down south and met up with another best bud who's based there selling Unilever products. [Did you just say, "Special offer kayo dyan"?] I make fun of his job and he always has a better "shut-up-you-fuckard" comeback. It's refreshing making fun of old buddies. Reminds me of high school without the awkwardness of puberty.

"Remember that girl you liked and you sent her a card and you couldn't even look at her?"

"How about that ex of yours from college who used to flirt with almost every other guy in school?"

"Oh yeah?! Look who's talking? Just months after you left the country, what happened to your male-friend and your lady best friend?"

"Shoot me. It's not like I married him."

"Yeah? And she's not like your best friend anymore, raaaayt?!"

It doesn't end.

It never does. We always have something to say although it's just the same thing over and over again. We never tire looking back, I guess. There's something about it that keeps us sane. Like maybe we take joy in the idea that life was a lot simpler then. And even without a fancy car and a fat wallet, I was happy—we were all happy.

Well, we are still happy. Two guys and a girl friend from our old group are happily married. Mr. Special Offer is enjoying his job and is on his way to tying the knot. My crazy-ass lady friend is single and she doesn't care.

She's happy.

High school was 15 years back and college was more than a decade ago. I can hardly recall everyone from my Freshman class and I'm more than happy to forget the grades I received for my Math classes.

But you know, the trip back in time was a well-deserved respite, and there was no better place for us to have it but in easy-going Iloilo.

*****

Mr. Special Offer brought us to an obscure carinderia in Iloilo. They served dirt-cheap, great-tasting seafood which was 5 stars compared to the ones I've eaten in Manila. I had to take my anti-allergy because a man can never have more than enough crabs for a day.

No, not that kind of crab, silly.

Then he introduced us to this church. Miagao, if I'm not mistaken. Napakaganda.

Danggit.

Biscocho.

Mr. Special Offer.

Crazy-ass friend.

Iloilo is coffee break island. There's probably at least one coffee shop in every corner. Interesting enough, they don't have Starbucks.

Parking signs in Iloilo are kickass.

Smooth Escape

2008-07-29T20:00:00.000-07:00

Saturday nights and the rain don't mix well. People want to be out on Saturdays, and the last thing we want to happen is to have rain pouring all over the place.

And yes, it rained on my Saturday night. I had a busy day and the wifey just wanted to stay home. I felt bad after skipping band practice, and it seemed like it was going to rain the whole night.

Well it did.

But sometimes, all it takes is just one phone message.

"Dude, saan ka? Punta ka na."

He's talking about the round up. For all you my scooter/motorcycle noob readers, it's a term we use for meeting up and riding around the city. In the vernacular, it's simply known as tambay.

So I licked my index finger and stuck it out in open air to check the weather. And my scientific findings said that it wouldn't rain anymore—at least, not as hard as it did in the afternoon. I learned that trick in Sulpicio School of Weather Forcasting, and I had the audacity to show it to my wife. Sheer genius.

It took a while and a lot of sweet-talking before my wife allowed me to go out. She made me promise her so many things and I think it will take a whole lifetime to fulfill everything I said. Take note though that there's no way out of what I told her. She keeps a log and has a sharp memory.

Oh well, anything for a night ride around the city, I guess.

When I got to Julia Vargas, a battalion of scooters of what I thought was a cloud of candies and flowers gave me a warm welcome. Hell yeah, candies and flowers on a rainy Saturday night. Nothing gets better than this.

Photos are all saved here.

And yeah, there's a video, too. Enjoy. :)

Freeze, this is the Powliss!

2008-07-20T19:50:00.000-07:00

I has a blast with the traffic police this morning.

'Was supposed to bring the car, but the traffic's bad at 7:30 in the morning so I decided to ride the scoot instead.

Here's what I posted on a local motorcycle forum. It's in Filipino. :)

*****

Pagkahatid ko kay misis, natuyuan ako ng gas. Di ko napansin na wala na pala akong gas kasi sobrang trapik at nagmamadali na ako umuwi—wala pa akong tulog at hindi pa ako nag-aalmusal.

So itinulak ko sa Petron dyan sa East Ave, sa tapat mismo ng LTO. Ayun, sa likod ko may magpapagas na 2 oto na taga TMG.

Nagtanong kaagad kung pulis ako. Sabi ko hindi.

Salita kaagad nya na PEKE ang plaka ko.

Nagtanong ako kung paano nya nasabi na peke.

Taga traffic daw sya; alam daw nila kung peke ang plaka.

Pinakita ko ang papers at lisensya ko, wala namang problema pero marami pa rin syang sinabi. May mga tinuro sya sa rehistro na di naman ganun kalinaw.

Nagtanong uli ako kung paano naging peke yung plaka. Sa totoo lang, di ko rin alam kung paano nalalaman kung peke o totoo yung plaka kaya seryoso yung tanong ko.

Tinaasan na ako ng boses. Sabi nya dalhin na raw namin sa LTO since nasa tapat lang naman. Sabi ko, di umaandar scoot ko; ayaw kong dalhin kung saan yung motor at mahirap na. Iniwan namin sa Petron yung scoot pero dinala ko yung plaka.

Kinausap ako nung isa. Pakiusapan ko raw kasi mabaet naman daw yun. Sabi ko sa kanya na nag-uusap na kami at di ko pa rin maintindihan kung paano naging peke yung plaka.

Nag-usap uli kami nung parang mas mataas ang ranggo. (I never got to ask for their names, may dalang armalite at hand gun, mas maliwanag pa sa kinang ng kahit anong ID yung dating ng baril. Pasensya na, may phobia ako sa baril, natutukan na kasi ako nun minsan at muntikan pang maiputok at point blank range.) Impound daw nila yung scoot kasi bogus ang documents. Iveverify daw nila. Alam ko na ok naman papers ng scoot ko. Pero kinabahan ako kasi iba na yung paint ko. Nevertheless, di pa rin nya sinabi kung bakit naging peke plaka ko.

Medyo naisip ko na yung hassle kaya naalala ko yung sinabi nung isa. Sige, pinakiusapan ko na. Tanong kaagad sya kung anong klaseng pag-uusap ang gusto ko. Sabi ko pasensya na lang sa abala. Ayaw pumayag. Peke raw kasi. Impound daw.

Pasok kami ng LTO. Ayun nakita namin yung mga taga opisina. Usap-usap sila sa mga huhulihin nila. May inabot na papel yung taga LTO tungkol sa isang SUV na peke ang papeles; yung numero nung SUV, nakarehistro sa ibang oto.

Tapos salita yung taga LTO na marami nga raw pekeng dokumento sa mga bike, lalo na sa bigbike at imported scooter.

Tinawagan ko yung seller nung scoot ko para sabihin yung sitwasyon ko. Pinaverify ko na rin sa LTO text hotline para sure na sure.

Pero inantay ko yung sasabihin ng taga LTO kung PEKE nga yung numero ko. Ang tagal ng kwentuhan nila. At bago pa man maverify, sabi kaagad nung TMG na kahit ano pa kalabasan, peke pa rin daw plaka ko. Di ko na tinanong kung paano nya nasabing peke kasi tataasan na naman ako ng boses at babalik na naman kami sa usapan namin kanina.

Tsaka marami na akong narinig na horror stories sa impounding sa Crame na kahit nabawi yung sasakyan o motor, marami nang sira. Alam ko na mababawi ko yung scoot kung sakaling ipilit nya na iimpound. Yun lang, ayaw ko na ng hassle.

Tapos biglaang kambyo sya sa, "Paanong pag-uusap ba ang gusto mo?" Sa harap mismo ng mga taga LTO, kitang-kita nila kung paano ako kinausap nung Mamang Pulis.

Ayun, nakaamoy na ako. Pera pera nga to. Medyo nagtatalo isip ko nun... kung makikipagtigasan ako, ipipilit nila na dalhin sa Crame yung scoot at dun ko na lang babawiin. Hassle talaga. Kung makikipagmabutihan ako, mawawalan ako ng pera. Wala ako mapagtanungan kanina kung ano SOP ng TMG pagdating dyan sa sinasabi nilang pekeng plaka. Di nagreply yung dati kong clubmate na may number nung isa pa naming clubmate na may alam sa kalakaran sa loob ng Crame.

Sa mababang tono at parang nalunok ko pa ata ang laway ko, "Sige sir, 1k para wala na tayong problema. Tanggal abala na lang."

Tumawad, gawin ko na raw 2k.

Sabi ko, sige kaso nasa misis ko ang pera. Hindi ako nagdadala ng pera. (At totoo na hindi ako nagdadala ng pera.)

Sabi ko taga dyan lang sa Kamuning. Ayun, puntahan daw namin.

E taga media si misis. Pwedeng ipaset up. Kaso ayaw kong ma-TV. Ni hindi pa nga ako naghihilamos, e.

Sabi ko wag na. Sya na lang ang papuntahin ko dito.

Tapos nagtanong agad kung may kasama raw. Wag daw magsama.

Sabi ko na sya lang.

At bigla nyang naalala na may importante syang pupuntahan at 9 AM.

"Magkano ba dala mo dyan?"

"500, sir."

"Sige iabot mo na yan."

Sumakay ako run sa kotse ng isa para iabot yung napag-usapan. Tumawad pa uli. Baka meron daw ako pwede idagdag. Ayun, sige 700. Naghati sila. 500 kay bosing, 200 sa kanya.

On the way out, pinagsabihan pa ako. Ayusin ko raw ang papeles. Sabi ko na pinakita ko yung papeles at wala naman problema. Yung plaka ang pinupuntirya. Di naman nila masabi kung paano naging peke. The whole time, malumanay ang pagsasalita ko. Ayaw ko ng gulo.

Tapos tumawag yung seller ng scoot ko. Ayun kinuwento ko ang nangyari. Sabi ko nga na medyo na rattle ako kasi baka may problema pala sa scoot na hindi namin alam. E naverify naman nya through the LTO text hotline.

Ang tanong, ano ba ang SOP when the plate is in question?

(Pasensya na, nag-abot ako. Hangga't maaari hindi talaga ako nag-aabot. Pero nung naisip ko na ipinipilit nila yung pagbuhat sa scoot ko, medyo na outweight yung pagmamatigas ko.)

*****

When I got back to the gas station, I placed the plate back to the scoot and just rode home.

I wonder how they will spend my money. It's just 700 bucks, but hey, gas isn't cheap anymore.

Morning Dew

2008-07-15T17:17:00.000-07:00

You walked slowly

toward the window —

where quaint rays of light

passed through

the improvised sheets.

We ran out of curtains,

so we used blankets for cover.
It didn’t matter.
We don’t sleep anyway.

Today’s morning, like the mornings before it,

was another morning we didn’t wake up to.

I was in my underpants and soiled shirt,

and you were golden

in the brightness of the room.

You smiled when you saw a stain

on my right sleeve,

and I was quick to mention

about the chicken and gravy

from last night’s dinner.

You then placed an arm on my nape

and held me closer.

You whispered something about that moment

like a cup half-empty or half-full,

much like the dawn being half-day, half-night.

And it’s funny you said that
because we never really cared.

Our cup is always with water.

And like the mornings before this morning,

I ran my tongue on the brim for a drink.

07/16/08

6:30 am

*****

This probably is my answer to an old poem with a similar title. :)

On Solitude

2008-07-06T09:42:00.000-07:00

I haven't done this in a long time.

To wake up really early on a Sunday morning, clean my bike, and gear up for a quick ride to Tagaytay.

Life has made me a busy man. Married life has made me even busier.

Before tying the knot, I used to find myself riding in nearby provinces. Whenever there was time off from work, friends, and family, I'd hop on my bike and just ride. Most motorcycle riders tend to romanticize their relationship with their bikes and the orgasm of riding.

I probably felt the same way about riding. But really, it's not just about the bike nor the wind.

It's the feeling of being alone.

Don't get me wrong. My 3 year engagement with my wife was far from spectacular, but we're able to fill in a few great things along the way. And so far, our first two months as a married couple has come along nice and easy, and every minute I spend with my wife is a blessing.

But really, with riding, it's being by myself. It gives me time to breathe, to slow down and then to stop. To just think of nothing and to just look around, it's priceless.

This morning, although I was with friends, it gave me that same feeling when I was on my bike. It was just me.

And for a moment there, it was wonderful.

*****

Dancing Gasboys at Shell Tagaytay

On our way back to Manila, we saw what we thought was a re-enactment of GMA Supershow, Shell Tagaytay style.

Whatever it is that brought them to this, a good laugh/smile may just be the break we need while being punished for high gas prices.

Remembering you, my Poet

2008-07-02T11:54:00.000-07:00

My wife has long been thinking about it.

She wants to compile her poems. She probably has around 150.

I'm not really sure.

Maybe it's just normal for a husband to say nice things about his wife and the things affiliated to her. But even before we got together, my wife knew I already adored her poetry. Hers was rich with colorful narrative and music.

And although (she knew) I hated her frequent use of adjectives as I believed it sometimes redundantly screamed for attention, she didn't really care.

Sad though that she never wrote again.

I guess, like everyone else, she just moved on.

But yeah, it's splendid reading her poems. It's just like looking at old pictures, only better.

On That Wooden Bench
(4/4/05)

We sat there silently.
Side by side.
You, with your upright stance;
I, slumped into my unrest.
My arm found its way around yours.
And our hands held each other
into a promise
that need not be written or said.

The orange sun waved goodbye
and crawled beneath the earth.
We just sat there
calling in the breeze,
drinking in the playful colors
that painted the English red sky.

You broke the evening sonnet
and said,
"In just a few days, we'll be a century old."
And you smiled
at the time that defined us,
at the memories we held in our chests.

I let you enjoy your thought.
Then I leaned.
And on your shoulder,
I whispered ever so softly,

"I don't count the days, sweetie. I count the heartbeats."

Scooter Question and Answer Portion

2008-07-01T21:00:00.000-07:00

Since I've started riding bikes (scooters, mopeds), people have asked me so many questions about it. Thing is, they've been raising the same questions and I've been giving the same answers.

Let me post some FAQ's because I don't really like repeating myself.

1. You're riding a bike?! Isn't that dangerous?

*So is driving a car, walking along dark alleys, eating too much, laughing too hard. Everyday, we live in fear. We are scared that something bad might happen along the way. And truth is, something bad always happens. Shit happens. I've had more accidents driving a car. You see, cars bore me. I fall asleep on the wheel. I can go the whole day telling you my sleep-driving stories.

2. You bring that to work?! Man, and you pass by EDSA?!

*Commonwealth Avenue and C5, too. No street's too dangerous if you keep a watchful eye and steady head while riding. Stay away from the buses and keep a steady pace. And whenever necessary, ride faster than most cars. The worst that may happen to a bike is to be hit at the rear. This is a totally helpless case. Just last Saturday night, I noticed a car tailing me. It was 2 AM and the road's pretty clear, so I didn't feel the need to go really fast. I rode a bit faster just to get out of this car's way. Just a few seconds after, it hit a street divider, the ones they use on U turn slots. It could have been me.

3. Hmmm... it still looks dangerous to me.

*Well, again, everything is dangerous if you will not take extra care. I ride with a helmet, a pair of gloves, a padded jacket, knee pads, and a night reflector vest. Still, these are not a full-proof way of avoiding accidents. They will just provide extra support. :)

4. Do you wear all of these all the time?

*The helmet and the gloves? Yeah. I use the reflector for night riding of course. I use the pads and padded jacket for rides in nearby provinces.

5. Yours is just a scooter, do you even need those?

*My Vino reaches 100 kph, my wife's Giorno tops at 80 kph. Whenever I am on a bike (scooter or not), whether I'm just going to the mall or riding to work, I make sure I wear at least a helmet.

6. Yeah, why a scooter? Isn't that a bit gay?

*Probably. But I don't really care. Our Retros make life more interesting.

7. You have a car, right? Why don't you just drive that?

*You're not listening, are you? Go back to question #1 please. And yeah, gas prices are insanely high. The car's become a weekend service sedan when we go to the grocery store. :)

8. Does your wife ride, too?

*Well, she has a scooter, right? She does--only within the village. She's yet to gather enough courage to ride elsewhere. I don't want to force her to ride to places she's not comfortable with. But I think she's better riding the scooter than driving the car. She just needs more time driving and riding.

9. Why Retro Scooters?

*I gave my three main reasons in a previous post. It's love at first sight. We have 3 Retros now (we might sell my sister's Vino to clear the garage). But really, we don't mind getting more if only we have enough space for our babies.

Youtube Lovin'

2008-07-01T12:57:00.000-07:00

It's 5 am and I'm still wide awake.

Marie Digby kept me up all night.

Haaaaaay... This must be love.

Manic Monday

2008-07-01T02:31:00.000-07:00

I've never been a fan of Mondays.

I probably have cooked up all sorts of excuses just to skip school and work on a Monday. An ex boss once showed me my attendance trend and pointed out that I was mostly "out" on Mondays. Well, I guess my flu, migraine, car/bike accident, car/bike failure, relative who's sick or somebody who needs driving to the airport/hospital, and some extra special family emergencies didn't really care if it was a Monday. Mondays are made to give us—all of us—a hard time.

Think about it. You go to work on a Monday morning... coming from a Sunday night that you didn't really enjoy because there's nothing good on TV. The traffic's crazy. You're normally late. You see a lot of grumpy people in the office. And your boss sees you right away, of all people. He wears that funny stupid smile while giving you that document you need to finish before lunchtime. He might as well ask you to kill yourself.

And there's nothing good to do on Monday nights. People are boring on Monday nights. They don't go out. They don't drink. They probably don't laugh, too. Heck, only rabbits f*ck on Monday nights. People just sleep it off.

And that's why I was a bit surprised when friends from another band told me they're scheduled to play last night. I irregularly fill in for their percussionist and I was utterly stressed the passed days, so I didn't mind joining them for a Monday rendezvous.

When I got to the place, it was sleepy as expected. A few people were drinking, probably just killing time.

"Steady lang tayo mamaya, sir, " one of the members told me.

I nodded. "Oo. sige ok lang. Lunes naman, e."

And then it happened. A dude who's notoriously known for doing the most stupid things on TV went in.

He's the total jackass in person as he is on TV. He threw himself on everyone, made so much noise (he probably was louder than the in-house speakers), jumped on to everything moving and not moving, snatched a beer bottle from another customer, etc. etc.

To say that he's a nutjob's an understatement. As if he was yet to be satisfied with the mayhem he's created, he jumped on stage, grabbed the mic, and sang. It was all gibberish screams. Yeah, he was screaming. I looked at the waiters, waited for them to do something. 1,2... 5 minutes passed and they're just looking. Turned around to the band. Hmmm... the bassist's obviously pissed. How about the synth player? No. He's still ok.

If the waiters were ok and one of the members of the band's ok, that pretty much made me realize to just mind my own business. And after a while, it just became disgustingly funny like watching a stupid comedy on a mediocre TV show. And that crazyass of a character's proven that he's a total idiot. Everyone just looked at him with a revolting smile. Only his companion laughed loudly with every move and sound he made. (Stupid biatch, what's so funny about a drunk retard embarassing himself in public?)

Pero steady lang, e.

The band finished the set and just smiled as if saying, "Sige lang."

But lo and behold. When we got down to the front lobby, Mr. Never Was was lying on the main door, with arms wide open, and simply looked at all those who walked over him.

When they probably thought that no one's feeling entertained anymore, his companion dragged him back to the car.

After him, utter silence.

*****

Indeed, only rabbits f*ck on Mondays.

Saturday Rain Craze

2008-06-28T10:49:00.000-07:00

So you don't know clothes.

You ranted your way in and out of every boutique we visited.

And you said it again: you don't know clothes.

Yeah, I know. I heard you the first time.

We went from one clothes hanger to another. I, your happy husband-turned-queer eye, had to find the that perfect shirt for you. And for the record—I didn't voluteer, really.

But yeah, I thought it would be easy. After months of living together, I finally found the very first lump in my married life: shopping for clothes. Yeah, we've shopped together for so many times in our three year pre-marital relationship, but the realization that this shopping nightmare might (and definitely will) go on and on had never been this scary. It took us hours just looking for a white blouse that you could match with the black pants you bought weeks ago and a nice little bag to complete your black and white combo.

I'm sitting in for my dad for a family friend's wedding tomorrow, and it'll be the first time we'll attend a family gathering after our wedding. We both do not like weddings, and last time I checked, we never really cared about weddings except ours.

But after what we went through today, I thought maybe I should have prepared for it a bit. I mean, I didn't even bother to bring my barong to the laundy, and I don't really care that it's unwashed since I last used it in our wedding... But because of today, I thought maybe I should have at least paid the village barber a visit.

But yeah, I'm too lazy to even care. I'm gonna miss the Pacman-Diaz fight only for a free meal. Definitely not worth it.

*****

When we reached home, I absent-mindedly turned on the computer. I guess it was the second time I told you that I couldn't access my blog anymore. I've forgotten the email address I once used for the blog. I thought there was no way to find it. I have already tried for long hours. For someone who sometimes forgets his own birthday, it was easy for me to accept defeat.

You volunteered to fix it, to find the unfindable. You asked me about some possible email addresses and passwords I might have cooked up. I've told you all that I have tried and even those which I thought were pretty close to my old IDs but didn't have the chance.

In front of the computer, you were in your element. You said you know this. "It's just a bit of research," you said.

It got tiring two hours after. You went through the same email addresses, tried different passwords, answered all the security questions: pet's name, last event, birthday, and the list went on.

And I just had to say it: "Kapag nahanap mo yung email at password, nakow, magaling ka na talaga!" I was getting frustrated again.

And just two minutes after, as if you pressed a magical button, you found it. You logged in to my blog email.

After a long day of ranting about clothes and the wedding tomorrow, you ended your day triumphantly.

And you really had to ask: "Sinong magaling ngayon?"

Yeah, I know. I heard myself the first time.

Nightcap

2008-04-24T22:47:00.000-07:00

We both love Ally Mcbeal. But last night, you were oblivious to the second season primer (where we thought Lucy Liu would first appear) and just went on to me.

And you asked that silly question of yours.

"Malapit na. Handa ka na ba?"

You were smiling; you had that crazy little smile.

I gave you an answer. I made sure you liked what I had to say. You being a sucker for killer movie lines and all, you'd slit my throat the minute I gave you an average Joe's reply.

But something else was on my mind.

That fateful night in February.

I met you first. You didn't know that, but I did.

Photo courtesy of Aivan

Must Love Dogs

2008-04-24T20:08:00.000-07:00

I don't think our neighbors like them.

Anya and Kali get all too excited when somebody visits. Some people claim they can hear my dogs' loud screaming a couple of blocks away.

But that's just what it is. They get excited. They've always wanted to go near the people (both familiar and new) who go in to our house—to lick the lucky visitor's hand(s) and get a gentle tap on their heads in return. It's their poor attempt for human affection.

Any dog-loving person can tell that the sound they make is non-threatening. Babies cry for whatever reason. A good mother can tell right away what her baby wants with the sound of the cry itself. In this case, my dogs can only bark.

But I don't think the reason behind my neighbors' dislike for my dogs is just about the disturbance of their ideal peace.

Pitbulls and Sharpei were used for different kinds of senseless bloodsport. They were bred that way. To other people, pits and pei are always up to no good, like these breeds are not capable of caring and of needing care like other dogs.

For the last two years I've had Kali and this year that I also have Anya, they have never shown any desire to hurt other people nor other dogs. Back then, I used to throw all sorts or stuff Kali used to fancy (sticks/slippers/baseballs) in front of the house, and then she would return them to me. This she did without any biscuit or raw meat as a reward. All she wanted was just a pat on the head. And I gave her loads of those. She loves it when I put my face so close to hers and madly pinch her ears. I can tell with the way she wildly wags her tail.

And yes, she's nice to other people, too. One time, I threw the ball too far it reached the children playing at the end of the block. The kids, they knew Kali. One of them grabbed the ball and let my dog sniff it from his hand as the others took turns in patting Kali's back. The kid threw the ball back to me and Kali made sure she got to the ball first. If only I had my camcorder; it was something to show the pit haters.

But I knew I had stop letting Kali play when there are other people around. One time she escaped from her leash and madly ran out to the street. She didn't bite anyone nor paid attention to any passerby or animal. She just ran out frantically. It scared those around. They all ran/jumped as far away from my dog as they could. I even saw one lady jump to the side street like she was pushed from a building. With how it happened, it seemed like the Dead Sea was cut into two all over again. I thought it was hilarious, but I didn't see anyone else laughing.

And Anya, she's my fiancée’s. She wanted a shih tzu or any other toy dog, but we changed our mind when we saw a photo of a pei online. Between the two ladies, she's the alpha dog. Apparently, she wants the all attention to herself. It took a while before she became comfortable with her elder sister, Kali. She used to gnarl at Kali when I take them both for a walk. But yeah, that has been fixed. I didn't do anything. They just became best friends.

Yeah, Anya's bi@tchy in the house when Kali's around, but she becomes this adorable bear when I bring her out. She just sits and waits for them to pay attention to her as if she expects them to do so all the time. This only happens when she's not with Kali though. When they're together, all they want to do is walk. I guess I can't complain as this becomes my only exercise as well.

Just this morning, I brought them out for a jog. I do this whenever I can because they are more manageable when they are tired. Unless I'm fine with them barking the whole day because of their restlessness, I try my darn best to give in to their cheap thrills.

And when I got in front of a neighbor's house, I jokingly told my neighbor that my dogs don't make as much noise when they get to walk in the morning.

She smiled and said something about how my pit looked. I didn't hear her that well, but her tone suggested that she's fine with my pit.

On second thought, it maybe just the barking.

Yeah, my dogs bark. But in this crazy world of ours, who doesn't?

A toast to the Turtle

2008-04-18T02:26:00.000-07:00

On these busy streets, we rush to meet the end of the road.

And in our haste, we fail to notice that the best part of walking is walking really slow.

Japan. Japan. Sagot sa kahirapan.

2008-04-18T00:23:00.000-07:00

"Pare, wala bang kita-kita? Malapit na alis ko."

"Di pwede yung iba, e. May lakad ka ba bukas nang umaga? Ride tayo."

"Sige ok yan."

One of the last instances I saw Des was when we swapped Vinos. He got the bigger one, and my sister got hold of the cute little Japanese release.

And I guess the last was the Retro interview at a TV morning show.

I remember, there was this time a friend asked me about my silly reverence over Japanese Retros. Well, I could only think of three good reasons then: First, I couldn't afford Italian. Second, I was a fan of Japanese porn. Third, the Retros are next to the skirted Japs in the Japanese hotness ranking.

Yeah, it took me a while contemplating why I get to ride the scoots and not the ladies in skimpy skirts instead.

And to add insult to the cheverlin, both Vinos Des and I ride aren't even from Japan.

Well, maybe the girls in skirts are not a long time coming anymore. It's alright; they don't have to be Japanese.

P.S. The photos were all taken in Marilaque—it's a beautiful and quiet place with long winding road that bridges Manila, Rizal, Laguna, and Quezon. Thus, the name.

Saying Good Bye to Sid Hildawa

2008-04-09T21:17:00.000-07:00

Poet/Artist Sid Hildawa made his final stand last March 30.

Many years ago, I'm not sure you remembered, you uttered something about the picture this frail little man painted with his coffee and silver ring. What's that word that you chose? Ah yes, poignant. You further explained that metaphor doesn't always appeal to pathos. And that words should be used with complete care and awareness. You finished (with that straight face of yours, your eyes dreamy) that there's more to poetry than meter and rhyme. The beautiful has no end, you said. I'm sure you, of all people, know that really well. You spoke very little then. But you left foot prints bigger than you can ever imagine.

Sick Leave
Sid Hildawa

On my 4th day in hospital
With dextrose feeding me 20
Drips a minute
I paint in my mind
A space I may have left behind,
Not entirely empty, but of air made
Thinner by my absence, or of lighter
Tissue, so that people pause, ask,
And imagined what used to be there:
So where's the painting now?

The Visitor

2008-04-08T23:01:00.000-07:00

I've come across this movie trailer, The Visitor.

It doesn't say much.

The main character, a tired old professor, meets a struggling percussionist. And the story starts there.

The video clip brings back old memories. That restless night I attended a poetry reading in Malate and brought my poetry and my bongos to the gig left me a good impression.

I've quit teaching before that year ended and have decided to write more poetry and play with people who are very passionate about their music. I've stopped writing long after and music never became a full-time job. I've lost my zest for metaphor, and what the bar owners and event organizers give the musicians are the stuff I'd like to call "charity money." It's just enough for a musician to get through the night and be happy. Well, it doesn't matter so long as we get to play.

I've grabbed a sellout job that has provided well enough to help me keep playing. It demands a lot but I can't really complain. So long as it pays the bills and my hands are allowed to play, I'm sticking with it.

And as Unitiima nicely puts it, "Sayaw na... sa saliw ng Musika," a man (or a woman) must learn to embrace the groove of raw and powerful music. This coming from a brotherhood that doesn't get much for playing (or waiting for) long hours without complain.

Photo courtesy of Mari Arquiza

Happy Feet

2008-04-07T19:56:00.000-07:00

Slow night rides are one of the best times for scootering. There's no angry summer sun and the wind is just fine. In the dark where no one's looking, slow becomes the new cool.

And yeah, my ride buddy-slash-future-wife likes the road almost a hundred percent free of traffic. Her confidence level boosts from scary newbie to hot track superstar. :)

Her maroon Giorno was named after a video game character, Fuzzy Wuzzy. She has never played the game but the name stuck.

Last Sunday night, we found ourselves out looking for food. Most nearby diners are Korean and burger restos. We wanted pie because of watching far too much of Pushing Daises, but the next best thing was a cake shop a few more blocks away. We went Korean this time.

And as they say, accidents happen when you least expect them, the side stand of my scooter hit my toe as I was pulling the scoot down the street. The weight of the bike and my superhuman strength pushed right at one of my babies. The result was a violated toe.

My SO, instead of feeling sorry for my misery, had a grand time laughing at how it all happened. I mean, seriously, who else would have had a bloody accident on a parked scooter?

RoadEye, ShutEye

2008-04-01T19:56:00.000-07:00

The car drivers have it easy.

They can pretty much pull over anywhere and rest on the cushioned seats comfortably set inside a steal cage whenever they feel sleepy. That's what I used to do anyway.

And as far as I know, bike seats don't make good beds.

Ever since I hopped on a scooter, I've never really been too sleepy while riding—until this morning.

I work at night, and I head home anytime from sunrise until noon.

So I stopped by a gas station, puzzled on how I'd pull this stunt. Instinct told me to just sit beside my scooter and rest my head on the seat, much like how some office guys sleep on their desks. I was too sleepy to think. If there was no scoot, I'd probably sleep on the pavement.

From 8 to 9:30 AM, I had a grand snooze-fest. The summer sun was right above my head and cars just passed by.

Sleep was my drug. It gave me peace good enough for an hour and half.

In my retreat, nothing mattered. I woke up a better man.

My quick fix: Because we can never be too sure. :)

Panahon na naman ng Pag-ibig

2008-03-30T11:12:00.000-07:00

"So, ano... kamusta naman? Kinakabahan ka?"

A very good friend asked.

The parents were to formally sit down and discuss the Big Day. Being a good friend that she is, she checked how I was just a few hours before the kings and queens plan the fate of a boy and a girl.

"Hmmm... Ok lang. Di masyado. May mga kulang pa, but we got things arranged naman."

I gave an honest reply, but there probably was a choke there somewhere. Di masyado.

Sure, hot coffee, you got everything covered.

The Big Day preps are probably more than one man can handle. I trust that no guy really enjoys this. Oh well, maybe a few special ones.

Just last night, a friend/co-band member shot an unexpected question out of nowhere; the thin humid air made it hard for me to hear him.

“Handa ka na ba?”

“Oo, handing-handa na.” This I said with a grin. I thought he was asking about our set. Funny that he had to ask that. I’m always ready for a gig.

“Dapat lang! Tagal nyo nang pinaplano yan!”

It struck me. He, too, was asking about my future un-single blessedness.

“Oo pare. Kung pwede lang, kahit bukas.” I felt I had to say something back.

I didn’t really know if what he asked were about the Big Day preps or my being ready to be with someone for the rest of my life.

Most men have issues with the big M—not about the sad loss of sweet single life but the tedious tradition of groom-kissing-the bride in a pompous fashion. I know I have. I never really enjoy attending ceremonies. The food is normally just as good as a school canteen’s menu on a happy day, and I don’t enjoy smiling and shaking the hands of “whoever-my-relative-married-whom-I-don’t-care-much-about.” Dressing up is a task, and the program takes so long before they serve the food.

In this case, however, I’m on the giving end. I’ll be the one standing at the front line of this grand carnival and I’ll be shaking so many hands I’ll suffer from rheumatism I won’t be able to eat. Maybe that’s why the bride feeds the groom that cake slice—the groom’s already got frail bones he can’t even lift a spoon.

But my answer's the same anyway.

Handang-handa na.

Amidst the glorious white parade, the fancy taffeta dresses and the hefty supply of catered meal, I‘m taking all of this in a heartbeat.

They say the sun shines brightest in April.

I say I am Summer and I am thirsty for water.

It is almost May and the Rain is coming.

Yes, the Rain is coming.

Photos courtesy of Aivan

Dance

2008-03-25T00:51:00.000-07:00

Darkbeat was Oscar G's masterpiece. He has wonderfully crafted his addiction to drum beats in what some techno fans now consider a classic.

In a way, drums really have that power over people. I know it has that overwhelming power over me. I dare say that nothing has ever had such an impact on most people... nothing as simple and as intense as the drum beats.

Drum beats are the dance and the song that you hear on your way to work, the tapping of drops of water from your kitchen faucet, the four part sting of your last heard song, and even the voice of your heart swaying with the stagger of the hot summer wind.

You don't escape it. You embrace it. You dance like how your music dances.

You become your own drum beat.

Photo courtesy of Ulan

Drum beats courtesy of Unitiima

Sexytime

2008-03-25T00:23:00.000-07:00

Morning, after having sex with you and I didn't ask for your number

I woke up with a blanket covering my legs.

I don’t remember wearing my boxers back,

so maybe you enjoyed a last peak at my slumbering penis.

Probably you smoked your last stick of menthol

just before you wore your thong back on.

You didn’t have a bra and you did look amazing

with your nipples almost sneaking out of your satin-soft top.

I assume you took a shower before you left,

and maybe, my bath soap wasn’t good enough for you.

I hope you just put on a great deal of your perfume,

so nothing would remind you of this, of me.

I wear Hilfiger by the way, but you may already know that

because you kept on saying something

about how my skin felt last night.

I didn’t bother to lock the door when we got here;

I don’t think you had a problem getting out.

Although I loved how you licked my ass

and I got crazy with your breasts,

you only told me your name

and I couldn’t remember your face.

I sat up—I noticed that you left an impression

on my bed and a mark on my neck.

And when I looked outside the window,

a woman, selling cigars, uttered a sound I couldn’t hear.

I don't know who took this photo. Thank you, whoever you are.

Going Around the World on a Scooter

2008-03-24T22:12:00.000-07:00

Yes, on Retro Scooters. With a capital R and S, the name is sacred.

Manila traffic is like a broken record: the terrible traffic jam in each corner is on repeat-mode all day, all night. I used to like driving. If there was someone who needed a ride from point A to point B, I'd be all for it no matter how bad the traffic was.

But you know, a man can only take so much. I fall asleep on the wheel. Even if I try really hard to stay awake, I still catch a shut eye while driving. This happens only in two situations though: with a dog-gone traffic jam or with a free flowing moderately light traffic. My driving then wasn't anywhere near The Fast and The Furious thrill level, but it was definitely more exciting than my forced turtle-paced driving. The insanely high gas prices have taught me to be more careful unless I wanted to spend more on gas. Now with my extra slow driving, I've become your Sleeping Beauty on four wheels. Early this year, I've been in two car accidents in just one week. The first one wasn't my fault. A young unlicensed tricycle driver was in a hurry to get to a New Year's Eve drinking party, his eyes were blinded by his excitement to notice the car in front of him. The second disappointment happened just a few days after. I had an eventful night prior to the morning I fell asleep and bumped my ex-car onto a Toyota Revo. This would be the nth time I fell on the wheel. The first happened almost 8 years ago. I'm lucky to still be here. I've decided to kiss the Corolla good bye and never look back.

Now, my fiancée and I are car-less. But we're happy.

We still have the Retros.

Yes, we go around the Metro on our Retros. Hmmm... I know what you're thinking. Bikes are dangerous.

We know that.

But cars have proven to be more dangerous to me, to us. So what the hey, we might as well walk on a cable and we'd still be alive if we'll just be careful. Or maybe end up dead. It really depends on how we'll kiss the day.

I know, you're not convinced.

Well, these babies tell us we made the right decision.

2nd photo courtesy of Ulan

Minsan, Habang Tayo'y Naglalakad

2008-03-24T11:45:00.000-07:00

This poem is one of the last few I've written. I'm posting it again because I want to be reminded of how beautiful the white sky always is.

*****

Minsan, habang tayo’y naglalakad,
biglaan kang huminto
at tumingin sa langit.
Nagmistula kang poste
sa tikas ng iyong tindig;
ang iyong kapit
ay lalo pang humigpit.
Gusto kong magtanong ng “bakit?”
pero walang salitang nasambit
ang aking bibig.
Bumuntong hininga ka
at ang iyong tingin
ay ibinaba sa akin.
Matamlay, matagal kang tumutok
sa nagtatanong kong titig.
Pinilit mong ngumiti.
Dahan-dahang mong sinabi:

Ako na ba talaga?

Kasabay ng pagbuka ng aking bibig
ang lalong pag-igting ng aking titig.

Napansin ko na bagay na bagay sa ‘yo
ang blusang binili natin;
at napakaganda ng bagsak
ng iyong buhok sa hangin.
At nang itingala ko ang aking tingin,
puti — hindi asul —

ang kulay ng langit.

(08/10/05)

Turning Haponese

2008-03-24T10:22:00.000-07:00

I fell in love with UP Bonsai Garden the first time I saw it. But taking a second look made me fall even more.

Cliche-ish, you say?

I agree. All the great lines have been taken, used and abused by so many people. I am left with nothing.

Life is cliche-ish. Everything has been pretty much the same since 10,000 BC. Speaking of, that movie may not be worth your time. It has c-l-i-c-h-e written all over it. They probably wanted a mix of Braveheart and 300 with a more wholesome appeal. Thus, there isn't much blood and there definitely isn't any sex. There are stabbing and sword wielding and some hot women, but no gore and sex—at all. That movie, in its poor attempt to make big money out of the pop audience, sure seemed like Rambo part 10 with Land Before Time—Rambo as the male lead and take any of those gigantic beasts as the female lead. Don't worry, no prehistoric animal showed some breasts so your kids are still safe.

But who gives a flying eff about cliche? I do. I dig cliche. I sleep with cliche. I blindfold it and whisper nasty words to it. I make it float thousands of times before I rest my eyes and wake up the next day with all its splendor still right beside me.

I can just marry cliche. Come to think of it, marriage IS cliche. But I can never complain.

I love cliche.