The Breakup Letter

November 7, 2014

For the past days, its been a roller coaster ride for me. Sobrang daming pangyayari that needs to be addressed with, office, personal, health and career.

Pinakamabigat sa lahat ay nung tumawag ang Canadian Embassy sakin last Thursday at 2AM. Nagapply kasi ako ng work for Canada last year. i had my final interview last January 2014. I presume that time na hindi ako nakapasa kasi hindi nako nakareceive ng feedback sa kanila until nung Thursday nga. They are now considering again my application and was advised to visit the embassy for additional information. kaya ako nakaleave today. They gave me the list of requirement that i need to submit within asap.

I'm sorry but in order for me to finish this, there are some sacrifices that needs to be established. I'll be asking a break muna para maasikaso ko to. Feeling ko kasi magsasuffer lang tayong 2 if I continue.

Once all has been settled. I'll talk to you personally.

Nagfile narin ako ng leave sa office para matapos ko lahat.

sorry din for the short notice. Kasalanan ko to.

Maraming salamat!

---

I never knew him as someone who wakes up at 2 in the morning. 

Once, I tried, and it took him almost half an hour just to answer the phone. I am not even sure if calling a potential applicant for an offshore job interview - at the dead of the night - is standard practice. 

I never tried looking for work abroad.  

There were already signs that our love was losing steam. Just a month before, we already broke ties after he refused to patch our differences. It all started with his non-texting that lead to a silly fight. He never spoke to me for two weeks. Refusing to reach out and make amends, I sent an SMS telling him our relationship was over. His tepid response had sourness all over it. If not for his text asking for a second chance - a month later - we would never make light of what happened.  

We were a couple again in less than an hour after he reached out and said sorry. 

Weeks went by and I felt again the growing distance. He would never talk to me for an entire day, saying he was busy at work. He would never reply to my SMS when I checked how his day was. The ex, a term I find difficult to use for association, had more time at the gym, and when I show up to join him, he would make comments at my expanding girth. I brushed off his remarks believing our relationship was never skin deep.

But who knew his words were laced with warnings.

At a hindsight, I was beginning to think half of his stories were fiction. He would tell me about his well-off family, and yet, it doesn't show in his tastes. He would share some good EDM videos, but when I invited him at Time in Manila, you can see in his face his disinterest. This, and a lot more anecdotes, which I am too ashamed to tell, slowly eroded that suspension of disbelief. When he sent the email, I was less heartbroken, knowing I might have saved myself from his charlatan ways.

---

The Gundam Pilot will go down in history as the shortest romantic relationship that I had. In the four months, we have been a couple, I never knew where his home was; who his parents were; not even the friends he keeps. He chose to omit those details while having free access to my room. To this day, I am still befuddled as to why he had to write a short email asking for "breakup muna," when we were supposed to meet the next day for a movie date, and for all his self-promotion that he doesn't plan to go abroad (he broke up with his ex because he doesn't believe in long distance relationship) he suddenly came up with this silly story about a pending job application to Canada.

As a partner, who have probably spoiled him in ways no other ex of him did, I would have supported his aspiration to go abroad, had he asked for my support. I would have even accompanied him to his interview, brushed up his English conversation skills, or reviewed his documents before sending them to his employer as my parting duties. But because the story was made-up, his excuse, ill-advised, and that, he had literally abandoned me without ever explaining his real reason for breaking up, I remember our tarnished past, as a footnote to what was, us.

One year later, he still rants about his work. Unloved and still trying to impress those who bother to pay attention, he will never find his name, or his memory on these pages again.

Wealth Gained, Love Lost

Previously:

Chasing Hours
Endless Waltz

"I was wondering why you didn't finish your 5-hour SEO writing on our day 5 of the on-boarding process?" 

I read the words with much horror after the offline message was left on Google Hangouts. It was from my team leader, sent at past midnight, while I was undergoing training for the new technical email support project at my day job. 

"I need you to finish this tomorrow because we are so far already from schedule."

The way the message was written, sounded like it was an ultimatum. Should I ignore the order from my handler again, certain that I might be dropped permanently from the side project.

---

The on-boarding process can be described as the same as call center agents' nesting period. What was supposed to be a five-day training, took me two weeks to complete. One of the reasons for the delay was the hesitation. What I thought was easy work turned out to be repetitive in nature. Also, there was already this sense of accomplishment: That maybe, what I wanted was recognition. I have been looking for freelance work on Elance for months, and as soon as I have received the letter telling me that I was hired by this start-up company, my eyes were set to look for shorter, less binding projects.

The demands of SEO writing were too much for me.

---

To this day, I still have no answers as to what made me decide to pursue this line of work when the odds were stacked against me. It was a mind melting, time stealing, and mechanical writing pursuit that was responsible for my short disappearance from blogging last year. I lose sleep because of it. My creativity waste away for I often write with canned thoughts given the less time to seek and lay down stories, and finally, the hours I used to spend so wantonly now have to be tempered and contemplated, so as to keep myself from going crazy during the weekend crunches. Back then, all I had was the "bahala na" attitude; of using my boss' vintage laptop without his permission to log my details and write snippets to finish the boarding process. It didn't matter if I was using company resources (and time) to complete the task. My colleagues were oblivious to my activities, and that morning, I was intent to deliver despite the uncertainty of my commitment.

I needed money.

---

It was a slow, and often depressing journey towards accepting my new life. Much of the credit goes to my team leader, who displayed infinite patience when I would never - in my own capacity as a supervisor - extend such consideration to a new hire. The ex boyfriend played his part too. His self-made image gave this impression that I was with a well-established guy. His claimed profession, the manufactured stories about his wealth, and the movie and dinner dates we used to do every weekends forced me to raise funds just to keep up with him.

In the end, he would end our story for higher ambitions.

It was just a year ago when the prospects of losing my savings - for the second time - came close to becoming a reality, and looking back from where I stand today, I have nothing but gratitude for the decision I almost didn't make.

I may have given up too many comforts for this venture to work, but assuredly I can say, never have I been more certain of good fortune that will continue flowing, perhaps, for many years to come.

Once, A Boat Was Sinking

Searching, for direction, for I regard myself as a floater at work, with no clear functions while the project I was asked to lead was put on hold. I was in no mood to get into trouble, and yet, there is no denial that this lack of clear purpose shows the shades I used to wear, when I used to be a chat agent, whose messy episodes at home, and at work afforded a life geared for a tailspin.

Previously, The Wanderer

I.

On a random day like this, I would take out my Metrobank ATM card from its hidden purse and insert it at a teller machine. The exercise was meant to count my money, or rather, what remains of it after unforeseen spending had once more, dwindled my savings. When my nephew, Diego got sick and had to be confined at a hospital, I used my savings to beef up my sister's cash reserves. Same thing happened when I could no longer set aside a portion of my salary to pay my credit card bills. I had to slash a thousand pesos from that bank account just to stave off my ballooning debts. 

II.

There had been repeated talks of a new project in the workplace, which would let us handle the email support of a music service provider in the US. The prospects of a business turnaround was promising, at a time when a downturn in our base accounts threaten to slash the remaining jobs for my colleagues. Negotiations between my boss and the client have been going since the beginning of the year, but a quarter had already passed and the nesting hasn't even begun yet. 

The team is getting restless, and I, anxious. Should this venture not push through, I was ready to give up and throw my career away, to look for employment elsewhere and start over with a clean slate.

When the training started after so much delay, it had to be postponed a few times because the trainer had to attend to some pressing business matters. Weeks went by and the team assembled for this account went home with nothing but empty promises. In one of these nights, I found myself getting acquainted with my past. A bottle of beer in Cubao before midnight, on a Tuesday, and in a place where people who have lost direction find themselves inebriated and belting, the narratives of their failed lives. 

III.

Battered and yet, refusing to accept being broken, very little was said about this life phase exactly a year ago. I had seen worse, when I was younger, and my constant presence at Elance meant that salvation was just a raketship away. A budding romance on the side softened the brooding thoughts. But love was no guarantee of a life getting fixed. The precariousness of being in suspended animation, without fortune, or accomplishment to speak of is a cause to go on a free-fall. But I didn't, and within a week, I would bear witness to a transformation that will change everything, and lift the siege that has been my life for as long as I can remember. 

A Lost Cause

Previously on: Postcripts To A Fiesta

Throngs of people from different walks of life would answer the call, and transform the Luneta Park into a sea of humanity. There, an assembly of social advocates converges, turning their muted rage into a storm of mass demonstrations. The political class did tremble, and within a year, several personalities would suffer the indignities of the national witch hunt.

Their fortunes permanently altered because of the gross acts they were said to be part of.

I was there last year and saw with my own eyes the fiesta that was the Million People March. It was a majestic cause, and I had no doubt my voice was being heard. The snowball effect of that peaceful uprising would spawn a swarm of revelations exposing the rottenness that is the Pork Barrel scandal. To this day, charges are being filed against the perpetrators. 

Never in the history of the nation did we put on trial so many of the untouchables of the land.

We didn't stop there.

Somewhere along the way, even the reformers would be accused of corruption. Opponents say, they too had engineered a way to get into the national coffers. There's the Development Acceleration Program and the Grassroots Participatory Budgeting. There too was a clamor to unseat the President after the Supreme Court deems some of the executive's budget intervention in violation of the constitution. Division among the social advocates would turn friends into adversaries, and those, who have always been critical of the government would launch a hail of attacks that would muddle the original cause. 

And they would converge again at the Luneta a year later. This time, with a twisted narrative and resolutions beyond reasons.

No longer a believer of the cause, I refrained from lending my voice - and presence. The organizers - mainly the loud left, no longer stick to the real issue, which is the end of the PDAF. This time, they proclaim the administration's downfall. It was an assembly of the bitter critics - those whose desire is the replacement of reformers.

The images shared on social media speak of truth and the turn out at the grandstand was but a shadow of its former appeal. No longer having the clear vision to push forth the advocacy, the leaders of the first convergence had lost their credibility. Scoffed at and being reduced as radicals, the peaceful assembly last Heroes Day was a lost cause.

The public wish to have no part of it. 

Not anymore. 

Tinik

Baliktanaw.

Kakaibang lukso ng damdamin sa unang pagkikita pa lamang. Iyong tipong magtutugma ang utak at puso mo at sasabihin sa akin na 'magiging parte ito ng buhay ko'. Iyon ang pagkakaparehas nilang lahat. Iyon marahil ang inaantay ko sa ngayon.

Lukso

Morning After Goodbyes

"Strange how I'm one of those who shun Valentine's Day." I was telling someone on Viber. He was one of those I used to play with when the pangs of lust stunned me. 

"And here I am, capable of making someone's Heart's Day a little warmer."

"Now this made my heart melt." He finally shot back.

"The irony." I said back.

At 2 in the morning on Valentines' Day, I was supposed to get laid. The place was already being offered, only that, I refused to leave the house for the flimsiest of excuses.

"Anlameg sa labas."

"Anlayo ng Ortigas Extension sa Santa Mesa."

"Nakapagjakol na ako, baka hindi na ako labasan."

Reasons may abound, but the loneliness felt by the guy I spoke with surfaces between the sweet nothings. The fault was mine to begin with. Cuddling disarms the most hardened of spirits. And when I told him on the message app that I'd let his head rest on my arms until he falls asleep, I knew, our ties have been elevated.

But let me zero in on the word, "hardened."

The day before the Heart's Day, my timeline was replete with musings. People who would like to be dated on Valentines' Day; people who admit they never had a Valentines' Day; and people who have given up on Valentines. I was shaking my head at the absurdity and desperation. It felt like there's a mad rush to find a pair to experience the romanticized version of the day of hearts.

On my part, I resolved never to join the bandwagon. I thought it would be better to celebrate it with my mom and nephew, which I did. My brother-in-law had his birthday and I was required to make it at home for the salubong. And I always knew, that should I want to, if I really need to, I could invite someone out, have sex and pretend that it's love, without ever breathing a word about it.

But I didn't.

Siguro kasi, nandun pa rin ang takot. Takot na akong masaktan, manggamit, makasakit ng kapwa. Siguro nga, stuck up pa rin ako sa mga nakaraan, at walang sinuman ang may tiyaga para kilalanin at timplahin ang damdamin ko. Siguro, kagaya ni Onlychild, naniniwala ako sa bugso ng damdamin. Yung sa unang pagkikita, alam mo na kung kaya mong mahalin at pakisamahan ang isang tao, at sa pagkahaba-habang panahon, natanggap ko rin na hindi sa sex nagsisimula ang lahat.

Minsan, sa tamang kuwentuhan at tambayan lang.

The February 14 playmate was just one of the several close encounters I had for the Love month. Invitations, I deliberately declined, hoping I could turn those ties into friendship. It is something I wish to accomplish, now that I have nothing else to prove.

For it's been a year since I woke up in a stranger's bed, five months, since I had given up on dating, and two, since the last time I let someone's mouth wrap around my stick. When I look at the cycle winding down, and seek deep within what romance means to me today, all I know is that the longer I stay single and detached, and the more intense my aversion to all forms of lust, 

The less I become receptive in letting a person in, and find me.

Legacies (Finale)

Ano ba ang proseso nung application na sinasabi ng Engkantadia? mejo nahihiwagaan (LOL) ako sa grupo nyo kung ano ba talaga yan kaya hindi pa ako makapagdesisyon. (pero di naman siguro ako kawalan kung mag-apply man ako or hindi hahaha!)

Boss Master Tsip, August 6, 2010

I will cherish everything that we've shared and remember all our memories. You will always be special to me no matter what. 

Unreplied Letter, September 22, 2012

Looking back, I cannot remember having said something to put him in a bad light or discredit his character. There were truths to be told, yes, but history - from my perspective - has always been kind to him.

Hilom, July 31, 2013

The Pillow Talks

Daybreak is fast approaching. The drinking binge with friends is about to wrap up. But instead of staying for a post-alcohol snack, I hail the first cab I could find on the street. I need to get home not to nurse a hang-over, but to make a phone call to someone who is still awake, and perhaps waiting, for me to say "I'm in bed. Tulog na tayo."

-

Every night, JC and I talked before bedtime. It was a habit I grew accustomed to that at times he forgot to make a call, I was the one to speed dial his number.  

Just to hear him whimper and for me to say "sweetdreams."

You may find the arrangement rather odd, but given my nocturnal body clock, I prefer we go to sleep together at the time most convenient to him.

Before the Third came into my life, the nightly rituals with the previous exes were often limited to a few text messages to report that we were already home. The SMS read, "Gudnyt, Luv u." and that's all there was to say. Looking back, it was merely a ceremonial duty to make sure we didn't sleep at someone's place. The bonds we built lay on shallow ground, and for this reason, I have few memories of them.

But with JC, the "reporting" was a prelude to the pillow talks that would last for hours. Even when I was on night shift in the office, I would take breaks just to talk to my partner. His voice always made me feel at ease. And given his sunshiny personality, he had mastered the technique on how to crack and make me "talk."

For seldom would I speak my thoughts - even to a boyfriend.

JC let me into his world that I never got to see. He had weaved a tapestry of stories about his girl friends and college buddies, turning them into interesting characters that I was able to relate - and these are people I haven't met. There were nights he would share his dreams and frustrations. Aspirations like working in the Big Apple, returning to Europe for a grand vacation, or how he would have wanted to shift in a career, which he now belongs.

When we ran out of topics, he would ask me to listen and make a comment on his latest work - the covers he used to upload on his Soundcloud account. Sure there were times he would get miffed when all I did was to praise his performance. Seldom would I tell that he needed improvement because I really wanted him to sing 

- and because I cannot distinguish a musical note from another.

I never knew how he was as a singer before we met. Speculation is no longer of the essence for he had come a long way. What I hope is that in the time we were together - during the nights I pushed him to cover new songs - gave him the courage to perform with pride, now that he goes to KTV events I only get to know from common friends.

True to his legacy, there remains no denial of association: that the songs he used to sing still leaves me staring into blank spaces, or humming the lyrics in my head when I chance to hear them on the radio. So strong is the power of music, of how it conjures voices and scenes that a date once told me his favorite song and asked me to listen. Instead, I returned the earphones upon getting struck by the familiar tune. I didn't tell the reason for not playing the music from start to finish. 

Only after giving him a pained smile did he figure the answer.

Because of the nightly pillow talks, I began paying more attention to heartfelt conversations with souls I truly connect with. The bedside communion has also spared me from the messy random hook-ups I did at some point in my life. I maybe beset with troubles caused by premature attachments from time to time, but the peace afforded to me by JC and our union endures, a year after we walked our separate ways.

-

Rumination affords a ponderer to look back on the good days, and see with clarity, how the past shapes the present.

But looking at JC from across the table - on the night a year after our separation, I cannot help but lament how we turned out to be: distant, awkward, and with a hint of coldness; like we never had a history to speak. I know it is my own doing. The overwhelming pride, and refusal to admit my fault; and my penchant for pad-locking my doors on the past. But maybe, because there are really no words to say. No memories to bring back and cherish because these are bound to remain buried - when it gets replaced by new experiences shared with my Fourth - and his Second. And secretly, as I drink my watered-down beer at the casa, it makes me weep knowing the fleetingness of our existence: 

That we have been reduced to mere acquaintances.

And should he gets to read these entries one day, when it is his time to remember what we were. May he find comfort that beyond the growing wordlessness, there remains a part of him that will always belong to me. He will always have a special place, fit for someone who took risks to take a journey with me and paint a story.  

So for the last time, let me cherish the littlest gestures that made Baabaa special. May this parting gift serves as a remembrance; that his legacies will live on - even when we find ourselves in the arms of another deserving of our love.

- The way he tells you to trim your nose hair and take a bath before going to bed.

- The Independent Film festivals he asked me to attend with him.

- Beyonce, Ed Sheeran and Kyla.

- The word "Akap," which I have not said to anyone until now.

- The manner how we always end our phone calls with "1... 2... 3... Mwah, mwah, mwah."

-end-

    

Legacies (Second Part)

Nangarap akong ma-treat sa isang restaurant. Yung tipo bang gigimik kami na hati sa gastos at hindi na lang laging ako ang taya. 

Ikalima, April 21, 2008

The Unwritten Dinner Dates

I just turned twenty nine.

And like it has always been, there is the blowing of the cake (while everyone in the house sings "Happy Birthday"); the obligatory blog entry to mark the occasion; and the solemn pilgrimage to the church to give thanks for another lease in life. These are the highlights of the day, and traditions have remained in place since the first time I put up a blog about my birthday.   

For the partner to remember it first (a simple phone call at the strike of midnight), already completes my day. This, JC has never forgotten no matter how busy he was at work. What I didn't expect were the surprises he was brewing. A simple stay at home bonding would do, but with him, he elevated the evenings into fancy dates not one of my other exes had done in the past.

I no longer remember the execution. Only the places we have been - and I would never set foot again. First was at Conti's in Bonifacio High Street, where I had my first bite of Mango Bravo. I remember, he thought of sending the cake at my workplace for reasons I never asked. Realizing the ice cream cake would melt before reaching its destination, he called off the plan and went on to date me instead.

On my 30th birthday, he made dinner reservations for two at the posh Heat restaurant at the Edsa Shang-ri La Hotel. To feel overwhelmed was an understatement. The surprise was beyond comprehension. For never in my grandest illusion would a partner treat me at such an expensive place. 

It was a buffet, I recall, an eat-all-you-can dinner where you can pick not only local cuisine to dump on your plate, but foreign dishes too. I remember the Japanese table where I had to expand my stomach capacity just to gobble as many pieces of Shrimp Tempura as I can. Humbled and deeply moved by his surprise, I thought of keeping the memory to myself. 

Until today.

Dinner dates aside, it made me realize why the Third was worth the wait. It didn't matter that I had to remain single for two years - moving from one failed date to another - because the one who would finally come gifted me the essence of companionship; of tangible stories you can remember every time you return to the places you have been together. And this doesn't only cover the special celebrations. From the movie dates we had, to the work-in-coffee shops he did - where I trailed behind to remind him to finish his tasks - there I found what I have been searching in a relationship. 

Never would discontent cross lines with my consciousness in the almost two years we've been together.

JC showed what he was as a boyfriend and for this reason, I was more than willing to show what a partner I could be. For his 24th birthday, I paid careful attention to his random musings. Saktong napadaan kami sa isa sa mga upscale restaurants sa Greenbelt 5 one time when he mumbled: "I wanted to dine in a fancy restaurant..." Not the exact words, of course, but the runaway thought was enough for me to roll a birthday celebration I have never done before.

A dinner date for two at Zuni's.

I knew the dates and hang-outs would just get even better the more I become accustomed to the tastes of the partner. And JC has fine tastes. Out of my sincerest desire to make him feel special, not only did I search into the sleeping high-breed in me. In many ways, I had to realign my attitude, to catch up and become worthy of being his other half.

Thus, on his 25th birthday, five months after his treat at Heat, I booked the classiest hotel in Tagaytay for our first out of town vacation. 

Never again would I attempt such feats - even when impressing others after our dissolution.    

-tobecontinued-

Legacies (First Part)

But you deserve that kind of love too. The one that would wake you up every morning, bring you food when you're hungry, fetch you at work, accompany you in your errands, takes care of you whenever, wherever.

Unreplied Letter, September 22, 2012

(L-R Top-Bottom: J-Bear and Mugenbear, Kelly Heights Antipolo, Taal Vista Hotel, Tagaytay)

The countdown ends, three hundred and sixty five days later. When you know the relationship has been put to rest, and what lingers are the memories you have not spoken in ages. For some, a year can be measured in a lifetime. For others, it is just a passing day - with the past - overwritten with what the present is shaping. Unremembered, some unions never leave the realms of limbo, because there are words ex-lovers forgot to say. Perhaps, some thoughts on forgiveness and acceptance, or gratitude for a journey in a life seldom shared.

The ending has been told to friends, and to others who have witnessed how love found its way into these dreary pages. It was unexpected. Beautiful. A pleasant surprise, for a war-weary soul that I was. I will not speak of how the love withered, for it only defies what history has already judged. What is there to tell is how the union brought lovers to new heights; how the experience allowed me to nip perfection. For JC has left footprints, many of those are still visible today.

The Digital Revolution

As I write this blog entry, I am using Torrent to download a movie. Trivial as it sounds, but it was JC who introduced Isohunt to me. Without his influence, I would still remain stuck stacking pirated DVDs bought from Quiapo. Nothing will ever change, as I find joy getting lost at Hidalgo.

But it is not the gift of Torrent that JC will be remembered. For the fast internet connection would never reach home without the courage he had given first. It was a time when the old desktop computer was on the verge of breaking down. I had no plans of replacing it, as I am used to playing video games with hardware-replaceable machines.

Laptops were becoming the trend, and as a writer, it would be more convenient to write drafts wherever I want. To buy a portable device would be practical as the old desktop no longer can take any more upgrades. However, there are bad memories to face, as my first laptop went to someone else. It was a very difficult period, because I had to bleed cash for more than a year just to pay the machine in full. 

The laptop was never returned - even after the break-up. 

So imagine how symbolic it was when JC volunteered to accompany me to buy my second laptop. He knew what brands to select and the best place to find them. Between the haggling and comparison of specs - to moving from one store to the next, it felt like a past has been corrected. To see a boyfriend actually telling me things I barely know was a breath of fresh air. 

He was truly a partner.

And thus began the snowball effect. With the acquisition of the laptop, the dial-up connection was upgraded to broadband. Within a few months, fiber-optic cables gave way to WiFi as my sister got her hand-me-down Netbook. For the first time, Internet was shared at home.

A year would pass after the break-up and the laptop JC and I bought at Gilmore is still working. Approaching it's third year, it is bound to be replaced as its components are already showing the effects of obsolescence. Meanwhile, two other portable machines (one owned by the babysitter), a tablet and three smartphones use the WiFi. Never in our family's history would we be so wired, and in-touch with the rest of the planet.

-tobecontinued-

Aspiration/Reality

Pero mahirap rin. Madalas, bagot na bagot ako sa buhay ko na kelangan ko pang i-text si besprend Rocco para lang may makasamang gumimik o kainuman. Wala rin naman kasi ang buddy ko eh, isa pa, dalahin ko pa yun kapag namilit magpahatid sa apartment niya sa Valenzuela o kaya naman nagrereklamo na gutom at walang pera.

Ngunit sa kabila ng lahat ng yun, hindi ko talaga naramdaman ang ganitong kalungkutan dati. Simula noong nagsimula ang klase nila, makailang beses na rin akong naligaw sa mall na mag-isa lang at nag-iikot ng walang direksyon. Hindi ko rin naramdaman ang ganitong kalayaan na natatamasa ko lang nung wala pa akong buddy. Noong normal pa ang routine namin, hindi papasok sa isip ko ang mangarap at maging open sa idea na willing akong humanap ng panandaliang partner kapag naligaw ako sa BED.

Sa Muling Pag-Idlip Ni DarkStar/Ang Buhay Pag-Ibig... Ko
June 4, 2005

It was a Friday evening, I recall.

I found myself renting a computer in an Internet cafe along Recto. I could still recreate the scene in my head; of how dingy and cramped the place was. Save for the view screen and the faint LEDs of the desktop machines, the room was devoid of light. The somber atmosphere was more than enough to sway an insurrection. It will be the first time I would mount a rebellion.  

As usual, I was logged in to an instant messaging client known to my peers as the MIRc. For the past couple of weeks, it served as distraction. I chatted with strangers. Flirted with some of them - a little. At the back of my head, I was warding off a sinking feeling: The growing thought of being neglected.

You see, the partner had received a scholarship at a prestigious college in Taft Avenue. It was his dream, which that summer I was urging him not to pursue. I measured its effects on our relationship, on his ability to find a middle ground between work and school. I feared changes. It was a chapter in our lives I wasn't prepared to carry on. But I have to be there for him, so I threw my support.

True enough, the partner grew distant. He had stepped foot into a new world, a realm I wasn't part of. He never bothered to include me, despite his promises of a better tomorrow. There's a growing sense that I have been abandoned. That I was in his life only to be discarded when I no longer have any use.

Less than a month after his classes started, our exchange of SMS suddenly dwindled. There were times I'd wake up in the morning not receiving a word from him. I would call him at work, only to speak to an irate boyfriend. Our nightly talks were limited to a few text exchanges. He would say, he's saving his load so he had to terminate the conversation. At times, he would drop call at the middle of our conversation. It was according to him that his classmates might eavesdrop, and speculate about his sexuality. And no longer we went on dates. For him it was a new life. He preferred the company of colleagues and new friends, when it used to be us spending time together. All these took place, when I was the one giving up my resources. He had little when he pursued his grand project. I had to compensate for his shortcomings.

The absence of remorse didn't escape the observation of friends. "Martir ka kasi," they cried every time I confessed my heartaches. "Iwanan mo na," some of them encouraged. "Saka na, kapag tapos na niya yung school niya." I would mount as defense. But I was losing more in the relationship. The scale tipped heavily towards the partner's favor. Upon my friends' tacit approval, I stepped back to account my lost. To reclaim my old life. I began meeting strangers behind his back - some of them - with dubious intentions. What kept me in check was the promise I won't sleep around.

That I won't repeat the same mistake like the retaliation I did with the First.



However that Friday, I was pushed too far. I no longer remember what triggered the fight, or my desire to get back, but I was bent on breaking up by cheating to break my vow. So many faceless strangers were searching for a lay that night. All I had to do was to pick someone and get the deed done.

But first, I needed to confess. On the eve of my misdeeds, I wished someone would knock some sense into my head, a confidant who would tell me to be a little more patient.

The person who got in touch was a colleague and surrogate mother at work. She knew my situation, and that night, she told me to "push the button." She emboldened me to cross the line instead of making a hasty retreat. "You deserve to be happy," she said as parting words during our chat. With the taste of freedom at the tip of my tongue, I sent my number to a guy who lived nearby. I didn't ask what he looked like or was he masculine or effeminate. I just wanted to get laid. After I logged out from the computer, I put my phone in mute, and walked towards my destination:



I longed to be in a monogamous relationship. This is because I take romantic commitments very seriously. I don't like the idea of the beloved becoming fond of another. I hate getting jealous. I'm not used to fighting for attention. 

Also, I fear getting sick. 

I put so much value to my stick-to-one belief, that the swiftest way for me to walk away from a relationship is when the boyfriend admits to infidelity. I wouldn't mind starting over. 

I deserve a better partner.

But there are times the attachment is too strong, that the only way to break bonds with the other, is to find another. To make myself feel, the other isn't a loss. The first time I cheated, I did, because I had suspicions with my first boyfriend. That he was doing something behind my back. A big fight between us and I ran towards the dancing lights. There, I found another. 

It took only two weeks for me and the First to break up. I was right, I needed that distraction. And now that I'd be doing it again -

- the first of the countless transgressions I did with the Second, I sometimes regret not being firm when the first act of independence gave me a choice to be free.

Because prolonging the relationship for another three years brought only destruction. I mourned for the lost time.

I longed to be in a monogamous relationship and the first and only time it happened was with the Third - the one - whose union would cease two days from now, a year ago. And as I recollect the Emancipation Act and the events that followed - after it had failed. I sometimes wonder,

Is it possible to realize my aspiration, or embrace what reality has been all along?


One jeep ride and 20 minutes later, at a street corner where no one would know me, I met face to face with my emancipator.

Calderon Cocina Tapas Y' Bebidas

Construction work has begun in the apartment unit next to ours. The incessant pounding and steel bar cutting, digging of the ground to make way for a new foundation, and dropping of construction materials in the driveway have forced me to find a quiet place to pursue my writing assignments. It's my rest day and going to the office to use my desktop to do some task unrelated to my job is an abuse. Truth is, the idea of working elsewhere turns me off. Not only do I find the venture expensive, bringing the laptop in public entails a lot of risks.

I would rather stay entrenched inside my room.

But there is a deadline to beat and I have already scouted a cafe that has WiFi connection. However when I got there, the attendants apologized and said their broadband Internet is not working. So much for my plans to write in-style in a place overlooking the glitzy stretch of Shaw Boulevard. I have no choice but to seek alternatives, which at that moment isn't present.

Wilson street is just ten minutes walk away from Liberty Square. And I always knew I'd find a hole-in-the-wall corner where I can write my articles in peace. As I brisk walk to my unsure destination, I was telling Buchok how underrated the area is. Wilson, like Banaue street in Quezon City is a modern twist of Binondo. Food entrepreneurs hatch their ideas somewhere in these streets before expanding mainstream. 

Gloria Maris, Alex III and even North Park have their foothold in Wilson. They have patrons who are the Filipino-Chinese living in Greenhills and Little Baguio. I followed the food trail to Jose Abad Santos and in one of the obscure streets intersecting this drive, I found rows of fancy restaurants. Small and incubating, one of these culinary establishments will make it big inside the mall.

I have one restaurant to pick, and I chose a place a bit closer to memory. Before I left the tree-lined avenues of Diliman for my indefinite leave of absence, I took up Spanish class. Passing the language exam was supposed to be the last hurdle before I could pen my thesis in the Master's degree. Our Spanish instructor was too kind to let us have a taste of Spain. And in another hole-in-the-wall cafe in Teacher's Village, I had my first bite of Churros con Chocolate.

So I walked inside the Spanish-themed restaurant in San Juan to relish some memories.

Chocolate (P80)

Calderon Cocina Tapas y' Bebidas is a forgettable name, unless you keep it short by reminding yourself of the street where the snack bar opens its doors. It is one of the few places in the city serving Spanish cuisine. From my rudimentary Espanol, Tapas 'y Bebidas mean snacks and beer. True to its name, Calderon has stocks of alcoholic drinks fermented from breweries in Spain.

A culinary adventure was never my intention. For when I walked in, the first question I asked is if the restaurant has WiFi. When the waitstaff answered in the affirmative, I requested for the menu and scanned the offerings - I have to buy something to complement my stay. The main courses are priced around P500 while the entrees begin at P150.

A bit pricey if you ask me.

So I asked for a cup of chocolate as I set up my writing space. The scene, reminiscent of a past reminds me of how times have changed. With the laptop switched on, and the Word Document ready to input the first words for my article, I could just imagine glancing the Other working across the table. It was him who introduced me to coffee shops. Now two autumns later, I find myself in a near empty cafe, being served with a warm drink in a tangerine ceramic cup.

"Not bad," a sip, and a whiff of almond complements the taste of real cocoa.

In one of the hardwood tables that can sit four people, I did my freelancing work. Guitar strung Spanish ballads played in the background, whose lyrics were being twisted by uninstructed attendants. The quaint furniture reminded you of some countryside pub somewhere in Catalunya. The dim lighting was in contrast with sprightly dining sets. It was the perfect ambiance for a European dining experience.

I was there from sundown to late dinner, and apart from the huddled guests in another table behind me, no one arrived for an evening meal. Another cup of hot chocolate and my stay is over. I asked for my bill: A measly P200 if I add my tip.

Indulgence didn't happen that night given my need to keep my resources in check, and with my solitary and unannounced presence, a feast may not be appropriate. Perhaps, another visit would be an opportune time to savor the dishes - the Paellas and Pollos Ibericos. And as I pay homage to a memory - of that someone who dreams of seeing the world and writing programming codes in a quiet cafe, I glanced at the empty chair across my table - believing that soon, a new experience will come along and I would go back for an intimate dinner, replete with life-changing conversations

- this time with another.

The Churros can wait and so are the Bebidas. Much still is to be written.


  

Hilom

Isang gabi ay tinanong ako ni Joozy kung sinusundan ko ba ang Twitter account ni ex. Ang sabi ko ay hindi. Nagtaka ang aking kaibigan, na dinaan na lang sa ngiti. Alam kong mahaba at kumplikado ang paliwanagan kaya't ang sinabi ko na lang ay "I don't want him to see me hurting." 

Hindi pa man ako natatapos magsalita ay nag flashback na ang nakaraan: Sa pagmamadaling itago ang mga bagay na nararamdaman, inalis ko ang kanyang footprints sa aking mga social media accounts. Nawala siya sa Instagram. Na-block sa Twitter. Ginawa ko rin private ang account. At ni minsan ay hindi ako nagbanggit ng pangalan sa tuwing siya ay reference sa blog. Bilang simbolo na naroon pa rin ang pinagsamahan, tanging ang ugnayan lang namin sa Facebook ang aking itinira. 

You may think it was an immature strategy. A bitter one for others who accept endings smoothly. But it was my means of coping. Masakit kung sa masakit ang nangyari. Maraming katanungan ang hanggang sa ngayon ay hindi pa nasasagot. Ang mga bagay na ito ay hindi na niya kailangan malaman pa.

But there is a thing called moving on, and snail-paced as it maybe, may mga bagay na natatanggap at pinagbubuksan ng pinto muli. He was taken out of the blocked list on Twitter before last year ended. Naging public muli ang microblog ko. At sa aming muling pag-uusap. kahit awkward man ito; kasama doon ang pagbabahagi ng means of expression na siya rin naman ang unang nag-introduce sa akin.

Kagaya ng Instagram.

Looking back, I cannot remember having said something to put him in a bad light or discredit his character. There were truths to be told, yes, but history - from my perspective - has always been kind to him. Minsan nga, naiisip ko na he was far better than the last one. Yung limang taong relasyon na hanggang ngayon ay tinuturing ko pa rin na gamitan. 

If there is one thing I can only admit now - all this time that I claimed having no contact with the ex - ang totoo, hindi man kami nagfo-follow ng Twitter accounts ng bawat isa, but I used to check the tags that included him. Everyday. At gaya noong kami pa, I knew more things than what common friends would tell, or me bothering to share. Information gatekeeper lang. And I guess the reason this disclosure now happens - kasama na ang kapansin-pansing pagdalang ng pagtingin sa mga tags na kabilang ang kanyang pangalan ay dahil siguro. 

Marahil.

Hindi na masakit ang nakaraan.

"Alam mo okay siya." Sabi ni Joozy habang naglalakad kami patungo sa pad ni Garppp. Si Jake na kasama namin ay nakikinig sa tabi.

"Marami kaming similarities."

"Aba siyempre, galing kayo sa parehong school. Pareho pa kayong logical mag-isip." Inayos ko ang pagsakbit ng back pack sa likuran ko habang patuloy na naglalakad. Ang regalong papasko ng lalaking aming tinutukoy.

"I should know."

"Ex ko yun."

A Time For Replanting

Not too long ago, one could never part the curtains without leaving sullen reference to the windows. Criss-crossed by iron grills, its apple-green paint hides the decrepit apartment facing the room. Uninhabited since I first took refuge, the blight that greets me as the sun casts its first light is a reminder of how despair still looms - over this part of the city.

So I began putting house plants to make use of the available space. I had my reasons. Practical ones that sell even to the dubious of skeptics. Said plants filter dust from the busy highway just a block away. They nodded in approval. They also sprinkle life to a stale room that has become my sanctum.

My heart felt assured.

What I didn't tell even to the closest of confidants is that it filled the void I sensed within. As the Other quietly drifts away, something has to be done to keep my troubled thoughts from getting out and being known.

It was a splendid idea that was months in the making, but was done without any insight to how plants are grown. All I knew is that I looked forward to a breath of fresh air. Something, the herbs give off as their foliage block the sun.

Overnight, the Manila Seedling Bank at the corner of Quezon Avenue and Edsa became my haunting ground. I became acquainted with the different varieties of Mint and Basil, and a handful of other plants whose leaves put the soul at peace.

In the grandest of dreams, I had hoped to cover not only my part of the window, but the untouched veranda at the back of the master's bedroom. I was ready to give time and money for such undertaking, until setbacks came rushing like a torrent of flood held back by crumbling earth dikes.

Hubris has its way of breaking the spirit, and my serving came in steady painful succession. I have gone through the horrors of break-up. Withstood the onslaught of birds, as they found the delectable leaves of Basil more appetizing than after-meal refuse. Mints bloom only to wither without reason and if that's not enough, pestilence gnawed at the stems and roots of some of the first plants I raised on the iron grills.

There are times I would have abandoned the passion, especially when its very purpose disappeared when dissolution leaned towards self-destruction. But I held my ground, knowing that genocide will erase all the hard work I've put into nurturing my hanging garden. I will lose the remnants of my green thumb, and for all the lofty words and hearty promises of not repeating the same cycle, the surviving plants have to live on, bloom, and keep my part of the house verdant no matter the price.

Where there is pocketful of sunshine, leaves churn light into nutrients and tap water lifts sagging stems making them sprightly once more. Entire pots, whose previous tenants have turned dry and brittle were replaced by saplings. And when bird seeds and scarecrows failed to persuade the winged beasts from leaving the shoots unharmed, pointed sticks rose from the ground to deny them a place to land their feet.

Still, much has to be done and while entire plants wither and die, the spirit of creation lives on - every time thoughts of the seedling bank stream into consciousness, or when I pass by some saplings spreading on the ground. Their soundless whispers take me back to a time when I used to pull roots and plant them closer to home.

The Great Caladium Expansion

Thus, life goes on with barren pots being dug up for new plants to occupy, and pruning becomes a discipline whose rewards can only be seen when the sun glistens in droplets edging over the leaves' tips. I may no longer be as driven like when I started gardening, but with humble certainty and grace of wisdom, no longer will an empty, glum space feature prominently every time the curtains parted.

A Bus Ride

I warned my mom the other day that we won't fit inside the Tamaraw FX. It's New Year's eve and our lifelong tradition says that we should all go to Favorite Aunt's place and spend the Media Noche there. But the stubborn matriarch insisted that we will all fit inside the car. She even accused me of setting up a romantic date with someone on New Year's eve and that's the reason I don't want to join.

Come New Year's eve and after all the bags were accounted, it turned out that there is just enough space for six adults and two kids. I told my mom that nothing could change the fact that we are just too many, and it would be insane to tell the maid and the driver's assistant to squeeze themselves against the wall of luggage at the back of the car.

Defeated, my mom let me go my own way. 

The jeep ride from my place in Santa Mesa to Edsa Crossing was uneventful. There were the rant tweets alongside the New Year greetings to friends on Twitter. Bipolar lang. When I arrived at the infamous crossing, my real journey began. I wasn't done yet with my grumbling when I saw the great mass of humanity converging along Edsa.

How will I get to my destination on time?

It didn't help that most of the south-bound buses will take the Skyway. Five minutes. Ten minutes. Twenty minutes, nothing going to Bicutan showed up. I was deeply alarmed that my seething temper will linger way past New Year. I don't want to spoil the jovial atmosphere, be seen with a foul mood, or go emo while everyone's having fun. I was told to eat ice cream to relax, others tweeted that I should chill.

Then came the bus. 

It was dilapidated; a machine that's almost falling apart. It reminded me of that hell-spawn Pascual Liner and Saint Rose buses that ply along the congested highway. It was packed to the brim - of workers - rushing to get home. I climbed the stairs only to learn that the available space was at the door. One sharp swerve and I imagined myself getting thrown out of the bus and into the pavement, with crushed bones and flattened skin after being ran over by other vehicles.

But I have to reach Bicutan.

"Konting urong lang po sa gitna." The bus conductor repeated so often, he could have recorded and played it on a cassette tape to save his voice.

"Yung hindi po magkasya ang katawan sa next bus na lang po." I felt like a sardine, sending tweets inside the can.

Lucky for us, the bus was slow moving. But every time it stopped, more people pushed themselves to get in. Soon, there was no more space that the bus conductor had to order the doors closed. We were approaching the Magallanes flyover. We must brace ourselves for the bus' 160 kph soar across the expressway.

on second thought, being surrounded by laborers on a packed bus make u understand what others are going through. it makes you more emphatic.
— Mugen (@soul_jacker) December 31, 2012

kawawa naman yung mga nag iintay ng bus sa ayala mrt terminal at magallanes. doors closed, bicutan na bukas nito.
— Mugen (@soul_jacker) December 31, 2012

There was a change in the wind's direction. No longer furious at what I had to go through, looking at the weary passengers made me feel that my gripes were nothing compared to what these people had to endure - everyday - just to get home. All those squeezing and shoving; a sun soiled worker's body odor wafting under your nose, the snail-paced march of vehicles along Edsa, the mad rush to be at the dining table for tonight's feast. I made a good call to let my co-worker - who lives in Laguna - to work from home. I finally understood what she meant when she would have to fight limb to limb just to get on a bus.

The cool breeze and the gentle swerving of the bus as it cruises SLEx had blown away the bad vibes I was carrying in Edsa. Siguro sa awa sa mga pasahero, and my rubbing elbows with them changed my perspective. Sabi ko nga sa isang kaibigan sa Twitter, the people here have no idea that I was telling their everyday experience. It humbled me to a point that I have completely forgotten why I was mad in the first place.

The bus stopped a few feet away from the Bicutan overpass. As the passengers from Manila get out, more people pushed themselves to get in. I guess for these commuters, the bus conductors and the bus drivers, these scenes are part of their everyday commuting. But for me, who seldom use brute force - to have things my way - the little eye-opener was heaven's way of saying that I should be grateful - still - for the perks I get.

A journey ends, as others begin. Each one reaches their destination, one way or another.

It is often that I only see my defeats, especially during this year-end reflection. But when put alongside humanity's collective struggles, it turns out that life isn't really about me or my failures and victories. It is about my blending in with others that makes my time - here on the planet - that matters.

Cheers to the year ahead.

Happy New Year! 

      

Happy Little Camper

Eve.

The director approved my two-day vacation leave early this week. It will start in a few hours, but the excuse I gave was just a ruse. Sabi ko sa e-mail, "I will attend to some personal things," which he replied "ok" after I gave my assurance that I will still look after my shift. 

Buti na lang, he didn't pry into the details of my absence. He won't get an honest answer.

-

After four straight years, the helpers won't be baking Graham Cake today. Ang tamis kasi masyado. Nakakaumay na. I recently found out as well that my mom spends more cash in preparing the refrigerated pastry, when buying a cake at Red Ribbon cost less.

When my sister asked what cake I want, I paused. Told them to buy whatever they have in mind. But when my indecisiveness didn't work, I answered,

"Black Forest."

-

I was planning that we just dine out tomorrow. But when my mom brought the idea of including my sister and my brother-in-law, I hastily scrapped the idea. The last time the family went out for my mom's birthday treat, they ordered meals like they were the celebrant.  

They even added a pancake surprise for dessert. Nakakahiya lang, we should be the one throwing a party But since we don't have money, my mom ended up paying the bill.

So I asked this morning if we could have Carbonara and Chicken a-la Kiev for lunch tomorrow. 

Mom said, "Tingnan ko pa. Late ka na nagpahiwatig kasi."

-

When engraldrin kicked off his 30th birthday with a fab house party early this month, I felt a tinge of envy.

-

Gone are the days when someone would invite me at Heat and Conti's for a birthday dinner, or someone calling the shots at the Batcave for a night of drinking and laughter. I should have savored the moments. Who would have thought it won't last.

There will be no parties tomorrow. The next Encanto reunion will be in the honor of a brother returning home for the holidays. It will coincide with the Christmas gathering, if the folks are in the mood for merriment.

As for me, I intend to spend the day like I did in the past years. The return to the Monasterio - after three months of absence - is expected. I might make a detour at Ali Mall or Isetann for some Christmas Shopping. Or maybe, I might pull a surprise and show up at my ex-girlfriend's doorsteps before turning seaward to attend the yearly get-together with my university buddies.

There is no denial that I will be turning a year older more uncertain of the future. The project I was managing at work had pulled out. The Raketship with Bentusi will be no more, and just when I no longer see myself sailing the ocean of stars, I am once again, at the helm of the planetship.

Yet, in spite of the setback and disillusionment, I never see myself getting stuck in my spot. The optimist in me speaks, in toddlers' words, every time I get to play with my nephews, or when I water the plants outside the window, or when I say a little prayer - in the wind - so whoever the words are meant will know that I care,

Still.

Tomorrow is just another day for my boss, my work mates, and to hundreds of friends on my Facebook wall. (I disabled the alert.) But if there is one thing that makes this day special - for me, and for those who would be kind enough to remember - it is my reaffirmation that I will continue moving forward and go on - searching until at long last, I find the purpose and meaning of my existence.

Cheers to the long journey ahead.

The boys really waited until past midnight to blow the cake. Next year, unahan na ito.

In the silence of Mugenspace.

All glory to the hand that shapes the world.

Happy Birthday, Joms.

 

Why Its Hard To Blog These Days?

1. Writing has become a drag. Why spend two to four hours conceiving an idea and putting it into words, when you can simply share your life on Instagram, Twitter and Facebook? 

2. Twitter. It's dynamic, densely populated and it only takes 140 characters to send a thought or update across. And there's always a receptive audience who is ready to click the re-tweet and favorite buttons, or respond to the tweets you sent.

3. Economy of words. Yours truly, has become more verbose. And it's no fun having cerebral tussle when the heart of your blog entry no longer touches your readers.  

4. Martha Stewart Effect. These days, I tend to write more about the house plants outside my window, or finding ways on how to prepare for natural calamities, than sinking my head into the pits of a destitute life. I know someone who goes into a sex frenzy when he's high on E, and in all honesty, his life stirs more drama and struggle than mine. Sadly, he no longer blogs.

5. Language. Mahirap kumonek sa mga readers kapag ang drama mo sa blog ay magpaka-elitista sa wikang sinusulat - kahit ang wish mong i-share na karanasan ay ang pagtambay sa jologs na Uni-Top Department Store sa may Nagtahan.

6. Style over essence. When a writer spends more time doing revisions, (grammar check, identifying appropriate words to capture the experience, fleshing out the details, re-reading entire paragraphs, so they may sound musically to the ears) there's a big chance the entry won't get published. Instead, it would linger in the drafts folder. Unloved and forgotten.

7. A lazy reader is a lazy blogger. I don't blog hop as I used to when Bloggers rule social media. I even refrain from responding to comments, saving my energy instead when it's my turn to check the blogs of those who left words on my comment box. With an attitude like this, how can you expect one to write as religiously as he did in the past?

8. Distraction. Need I say more? Sims 3 Supernatural awaits when I get home.

9. Catharsis. A good entry takes readers on a journey. Stories do not merely tell, they must evoke emotions, or at least a sense of attachment. That's what we've been told in the graduate school, and for many years, it was the anchor of my journal. But I am getting tired of doing joyrides, or if I do, there's a lingering feeling that it's not the journey I had in my head. For this reason, I am dissuaded from writing and instead, become a reader like many bloggers before me.

10. Many people I know have already left the blogsphere. Their dust-covered worlds are like artifacts dating back from the time of their soul-searching days.

Mind Exercise

"Hello Mugs. How are you?"

"Okay naman.... Heto... Having my Brain Salad Days..."

"Brain Salad Days?!?"

"Yeah, alam mo yun. You've drawn out your plans. But it turns out, your thoughts are too scattered to focus on a specific goal"

"Like what?"

"Like putting my energies to writing that Travel Guide for Bentusi."

"Uh huh."

"Or at least, writing an entry for Baby Diego."

"To welcome his arrival, like what you did with Baby Lenin"

"Yeah."

"Then why not try writing a few sentences, and maybe you could start from there."

"And then get lost halfway before the end. It happens all the time kaya!"

"Talaga?"

"Yeah. Sisihin mo pa ang Twitter."

"And what about Twitter?"

"Distraction."

"Pansin ko nga. Mas tutok ka pa dun kesa sa trabaho eh."

"No wonder, you know a lot about the impeachment trial even when it sometimes bores you to death."

"And the lives of other people too."  

"Let me guess, you often suffer from info overload."

"More like my creative juices get drowned before I could speak my mind."

"Hays."

"Like write now. I'm talking to you, but I don't know where this little introspection would lead?"

"Then I say, let's go with the flow."

"Like what I did in the past? Nung adik-adik ako sa blogging?"

"Yes. I think you're writing has become too structured. You pay more attention to the lyric and form rather than with your raw emotions."

"Guilty ako diyan! I have so much to write, as in. But the stream of consciousness ends just when I'm about to put it in a medium."

"I think you're not the only one who suffers from this affliction."

"Sana nga. If only ideas are easy to express."

"They are. Ang taas lang kasi ng standards mo. Haha."

"Like that one writer who lets his entry sleep for weeks, so when it comes out its in its perfect form?"

"Yeah, kahit two paragraphs lang yung entry niya. That's what you call, 'condesada."  Haha."

"O siya. I feel much better. Thanks a bunch."

"You should thank yourself bro. At least, while speaking to me, you deliberately closed your Twitter. Diba walang distraction?"

"Honga."

"And you're not second guessing if you should finish this or not."

"Yup, but I will have to edit this first. You know, I love refining my creations!"

"I dare not!" 

"And why not?"

"Just for you to get acquainted with your raw side. I know tumatanda ka na. These days, you're better at hiding your soft spots rather than ummm. confronting them."

"Promise me Mugs, just this once, leave your writing the way it is."

"I promise... crossing one's fingers."

"If you find this entry too personal. You can disable the comments section."

"Okay. I feel awkward sa totoo lang." 

"Feel good about yourself. When was the last time you really talked to me?"

"I can't remember."

"I know your world has a lot of distractions. But please, never neglect this blog. It's been one year since you started recognizing the looming wordlessness and you're still here."

"Sabi ko nga."

"That's all. Go on. Publish this entry. Let me assure you pare, you will like your next creation."

"Sana nga. Have to go. Thank man!"

"Walang anuman. Follow my dare. I'm excited to know what will you write next."