The Question Is Why

You are the Hanged Man

Self-sacrifice, Sacrifice, Devotion, Bound.

With the Hanged man there is often a sense of fatalism, waiting for something to happen. Or a fear of
loss from a situation, rather than gain.

The Hanged Man is perhaps the most fascinating card in the deck. It reflects the story of Odin who offered himself as a sacrifice in order to gain knowledge. Hanging from the world tree, wounded by a spear, given no bread or mead, he hung for nine days. On the last day, he saw on the ground runes that had fallen from the tree, understood their meaning, and, coming down, scooped them up for his own. All knowledge is to be found in these runes.

The Hanged Man, in similar fashion, is a card about suspension, not life or death. It signifies selflessness, sacrifice and prophecy. You make yourself vulnerable and in doing so, gain illumination. You see the world differently, with almost mystical insights.

What Tarot Card are You?
Take the Test to Find Out.

Discreet

You mounted the ledge like a usurper coming from the crowd below. The spot you just occupied was the same corner I was aiming when I went to the ledge an hour ago. Since I was busy trying to make a score with the ladies, I let you take my place. After all, your pheromone-drenched body was a welcome addition to the merry boys who ruled the space we both occupied.

The ladies dancing on the same ledge were slim and gorgeous. They were in front of us. Their hips moved and their bodies twisted, while their boobies bounced to the beat of the sound. I was certain I flirted with a woman and not a tranny this time. You see, I have this habit of mistaking a she-boy for a real chick.

Your presence became a sudden distraction, just when I was an inch close in getting my prized pussy. Everyone was trying to have a piece of you. Even the spotlight turned from the ladies who danced like sluts on my part of the ledge towards your direction, where revelers gathered just to see you bust a move. You know why our eyes were turned to you? Your ruggedness suggested a masculine demeanor, but it was your bulky chest, flat abs and tanned skin that took everyone by storm. In the sea of flamboyancy, a half-naked barako dude like you was the only thing missing before the ship overloaded with gay men turns overboard forcing everyone to sink before getting your attention.

You danced with much so much spunk, while your audience surrounded you with their hands raised up to touch your sweaty torso. I would have done the same, had my pride jacket failed me. You were a sea god out there (where one even made a sign of the cross after feeling your abdominals with his hands) amidst the frenzy of prancing sea-men. Secretly, I desired for your attention; but knowing how inferior my beacon was for you to take notice, I decided to swim on my own, hoping the mermaids on the other side of our sea would still find my presence interesting.

"Naks andami mong fans ah!"

"Hindi naman." Your smile left a trace of inflated ego, while your peripheral glances sized up my attributes that you matched up with yours.

Your audience went elsewhere a few dance tracks later. Perhaps they got tired of worshiping your body, which can never be theirs no matter how they desperately supplicate for your blessing. You were still in your corner dancing, while flexing your biceps for everyone to see. They were firmer and bigger than mine. But with a height that never reached even the tips of my shoulder blades, I appeared looming darkly behind you.

If you were a sea god dancing proudly over a sea of drowning gay men, I was a Titan watching your every move. In my brooding silence, I hoped that my shadowy presence would catch your attention.

And it did, without me doing any work.

You put your hands behind your back to feel if your shirt was still tucked inside your tight jeans, while I, simply put mine near yours pretending not to brush your sweaty fingers. But with every brush, our fingers touched and ran across one another. Soon, the touching gave way to holding. Who would have thought that we could ever become intimate even if it was our mere hands expressing our hidden feelings for one another?

Soon, your patrons returned touching again every part of your lean body. I let them have their way for you have already chosen your mate for the night. While your left hand tried to push away stubborn hands aiming for your zipper. Your right hand was on mine, squeezing my hardness. I tried to reciprocate the favor by squeezing yours but I felt it would simply be inappropriate.

Your objective was to catch other's attention and I don't want to block your way.

I could have turned my gaze elsewhere and leave you basking in your five minutes of fame. The skinny long-haired lady next to us was already responding to my provocations long before you came to the ledge. However, my inner nature told me to stay. I cannot deny that I longed for you just like you secretly longed for me. With no words able to describe our feelings, I understood that despite your outer toughness, you sought someone who could match your ruggedness. Others will have their turns touching your body, but I was the only one capable of feeling your soul. As you leaned on my arms while trying to bend your body, I knew that you sought someone who can make you feel secured right at your most vulnerable moment.

I would have wished for you to turn around and face me. But with all the searchlights focused on you, I was a mere shadow standing behind with my arms ready to catch if you fall. I could have asked you to be mine, but what happens after I consumed you? Would our lives intertwine like when it happens in some gay fairytale? Much as it gets tiring sometimes, truth is, what we had was just a night's dance.

Even our names were unknown to one another.

Maybe someone else deserve you better. Maybe I have become a player who simply wants to gauge how far would my discreet flirting would get me. Maybe you will meet someone who would make you feel more than I am capable of.

With my hands still bound to someone, I know, you will be happier with someone else.

But you know what, I also thought what if you were that someone who could make me feel better? What if you were that someone who would someday give back my freedom? What if behind the mask we both wore last night revealed a person who was simply tired of giving too much?

What if I was letting a chance go, despite how strong our connection was? What if despite how your worshipers waited for you to perform miracles, you were already performing it on me?

Sadly, like all the guys I flirted before you, I would never know the answers...

"Pare ang astig mo."

"Talaga, salamat ha."

"Una na ako sayo. Enjoy mo ang party."

"Una ka na??"

Yup Paalam.

No matter how I wanted to stay longer and no matter how dying I was to keep you company until daybreak comes,

I know where my limit ends.

Had you met me when my heart was still made of wood. Things would have ended differently.

But now that it is already surrounded with barbed wires.

It is goodbye for us.

Even if fate gives us a next time, I know, we will never be the same dance partners we had been at the White Party last night.

---

Touch my body
Throw me on the floor,
Wrestle me around,
Play wit me some more

- Mariah Carey, Touch My Body

To The Moon And Back

A name is just a name
but it is our name that gives us
the passage to immortality.

* real name was also sent to the moon.

Timog

After J. Wendell Capili.

---


For we will always keep in mind:
The bonds of friendship are not formed
in the glitzy, sweaty and pretentious dance floors of Malate
but among the macho mugs and rowdy halls of Quatro.

We will always remember
and we will never forget.

Thank You Very Much

As kids, we were taught not to rely on other's grace for our material happiness. That is why you will never hear me say "pahingi ng ganito" or "palibre naman diyan" even to my closest friends. When I needed to borrow money from others, I would never say "pautang". Instead, i would say "pahiram, ibalik ko rin kaagad sa iyo".

I cannot remember if it was my lola who taught me the value of modesty, but it is the guiding principle I follow today. Perhaps, in part, the values taught to me reflect my strong aversion towards material things. It might be the reason why I never enjoyed going to the malls.

---

Another trademark of my family is our generosity towards strangers. Even in those days when we almost begged to my relatives for our bigger expenses, my mom let one of her students live with us. In exchange for her food and lodging, she would help me and my sister in our assignments and do some home chores during her free time. She now works at Ateneo a decade after she graduated from college. Imagine her fortune jump from being a mere nakikitira to being a woman of high stature. Ang galing no? And what's so amazing about her story is that she still remembers us. She would drop by from time to time to see my mom and have an update on each other's lives.

Her example was repeated many times over. We helped strangers graduate from college in exchange for helping us do our house chores. Even now, part of our earnings go into supporting extended family members who call my mother their madame. They all have their duties and responsibilities to perform. That is why nobody complains when their presence add to our already heavy financial burdens.

From my mother's example, I learn that it is better to give than to receive. Strange as it may seem, but despite our big family budget, we never feel any serious shortage of funds. I guess that is what you call Divine Providence. The same thing was said by my aunt during our last bonding. When a serious affliction prevented her to go to work a few years ago, all the generosity she extended to others suddenly poured back to her.

You can call it a Miracle, but that is what I call the Universal Law of Balance.

---

That is why when I had to give up a part of my personal happiness and security to grant my partner's wish to have his own laptop, I took it by heart our karmic role as providers. My ancestors, when they were still landlords in our home province of Marinduque, were known to shelter farmers inside their huge house during a heavy storm. My mother and her sisters are gracious towards others in their respective fields. In return for their graciousness, nobody among my cousins ended up being a failure in life.

It is like they do selfless acts only to attract more blessings, and the more they do, the more it goes back to them.

The cycle of kindness makes you think sometimes.

When my turn comes to receive a blessing or a big favor from someone, my biggest worry is how to respond to such graciousness, knowing that I am usually the one who does that to others. I don't know, maybe after relying on myself for so long, I do not know how to react in such situations. I know others would be very much happy to receive a big libre or favor from someone, but for me, such libre or favor bears a heavy responsibility.

It must be shared to other people who deserve it.

I received this hi-tech gadget from a friend yesterday. Much as I would like to tell more about how such smart phone got into my hands, I prefer to keep things to myself. Na-jajahe pa rin kasi ako eh. Hehehe. To be honest, never in my life would I acquire such phone. Not that I cannot afford it, but I would rather keep my money for other uses.

Since I got the very expensive phone for free, it inspired me to Pay it Forward.

That way the blessing I received will not dwell on me but would be passed on to others.

And who knows, such little gesture would be passed on and on, until it becomes a serious movement that would eventually put back kindness and compassion to our increasingly self-centered world.

---

Meanwhile, Chris (Jay Mohr), a journalist, is trying to find out why a total stranger gave him a brand new Jaguar S-Type car after Chris' old 1965 Ford Mustang was damaged in a car accident. The stranger's only explanation is that he is simply "paying it forward". When Chris asks him for more information, the man explains that, when he recently visited a hospital while his daughter was suffering an athsma attack, a gang member suffering from a bullet wound actually took up a gun to force the doctors to look at the man's daughter before she collapsed, prompting Chris to begin his search again.

- Wikipedia, Pay It Forward (Movie)

The Market Crash Of June '07

"Tol nasaan ka na?" My phone buzzed sending me this text message.

"Nasa jeep na bro. Malapit na ako sa inyo." I texted back, defying the potential snatchers that might be lurking inside the same jeep I was riding.

The clouds heaved with raindrops when I arrived at his place a few minutes later. It was past four o'clock, and was weary from having to spend the previous hour looking for hook-ups in the chat rooms. Before me and my contact sealed our engagement, I was suppose to have an eyeball with another friend, who for dubious reasons canceled our meeting at the last minute. With his sudden retreat, I was left looking for ways to spend the time that was allotted for his schedule. Unfortunately, his absence triggered my tendency to become restless when I was left with nothing else to do.

After waiting for several minutes, my contact arrived. He was around 5'6, lean and had fair skin. He was sporting a red cap, which made him look hotter after he showed me his nakedness in the webcam when we were chatting earlier. He told me to follow him to his place a few apartments from the spot where we met. When I arrived, our third wheel was waiting for us.

We agreed during our chat that we will have a free-for-all sex. It meant that anything may happen during the course of my stay. Bearing the gains I achieved after my first Bath house experience a week earlier, I was confident that I will not be rejected by my host. In fact, I even looked down on our third wheel for being too effeminate for my taste. He was chatting on the computer and was still looking for a potential fourth wheel when we entered the room.

I put my bag beside the dining table while my host went directly to the smaller room to continue watching the Buzz. Meanwhile, I tried to reach out to our lanky third wheel, but he seemed too preoccupied with his meat-hunting in the chat rooms to even acknowledge my presence. As for me, it doesn't matter if the kid wasn't interested, the feeling was mutual and what I aimed for was to get the attention of our host.

As a token accommodation, I lighted a stick of Marlboro Lights given to me by our third wheel. In between breaks from his chatting, he had hushed conversations with our host who was still watching the showbiz show inside his room. It appeared that they knew each other before I came. I really wanted to join them, but since I came there for a hook-up, I decided to amuse myself by guessing what their next move would be.

They continued talking. The more their voices became weaker, the more I felt the intimacy forming between them. I tried to look at what they're doing, but their entwined bodies blocked my view. Their heads seemed too close to one another and their awkward position made me more curious. Were they're starting the fun all by themselves without me? I don't know. To satisfy my curiosity, I stood up from my chair to check out what they were doing.

They were just talking.

"Ok ka lang diyan ha?" The host asked me.

"Yup, ok lang ako..." Even if beads of sweat rolled over my face.

"Padating na yung isa pa nating kasama. Naliligo lang." He assured me, coldly.

I tried to keep my cool despite the overwhelming boredom I felt while waiting for the other guy to arrive. You see, despite the gains I made at Club Bath, the truth was, I exercised complete discretion over the person who would become my partner there. In the end, the only one I found worthy to be my mate abandoned me.

I wasn't even able to cum that night.

With my all-powering libog preventing me to think clearly, what I sought from my engagement was pure fuck. I joined them not to have pleasantries, but to express my repressed lust and nothing more. But the longer I waited for the action to begin, the more I became anxious of the outcome of the hook-up. As for the host and the third wheel, they took advantage of the lull to get comfortable with one another. How unfortunate that while I was waiting for them to start the fun, they were actually plotting my downfall.

After two hours of waiting, the fourth wheel finally arrived. In fairness, a toned, dark-skinned masculine kid was worth the wait. We were introduced, but I felt that he wasn't interested to see me too. Meanwhile, the host started asking us what do next. It was followed by the customary silence that often happens when three or more people are engaged in a sexual activity.

To those who are unfamiliar with threesomes and orgies, this is what you call the "testing the waters" phase. Everyone waits for the first person who will call the shots. In our case, the three of them seemed to get along together, while I, who waited hours for the action to begin was slowly being left out.

The lights were turned off and the dark-skinned guy began fondling the lanky kid. I set my attention to the host, who was a year older than me. He took off his shirt and I began playing with his nipples. He wasn't responding favorably to my advances, but instead was enviously looking at the two kids who made out like rabbits across from our spot.

When I was about to touch his... he sighed and pushed me away as if to get something elsewhere. The two others stopped what they're doing and lights were turned on.

"Was there a problem?" I asked the host.

"Wait lang dude ha, kausapin ko lang yung isang friend ko." He answered without looking into my eyes.

There were soft murmurs after our brief pause, then the lanky guy showed a text message to the the dark-skinned moreno kid who was at that moment putting back his underwear on.

Then there was silence...

...which served as the queue to execute a verdict they already made when the host and the lanky kid were talking inside the other room earlier.

"Nood na lang ako sa inyong tatlo. The host suggested

"Ganun, bakit naman?" The moreno kid complained.

And then there was a long pause among the three of them. The host then looked at our third wheel's eyes, who at that time nodded to express his approval on what the host was about to say.

"Hindi ka namin bet tatlo." He told me straight. "Sorry ha."

In one gulp, I swallowed everything that he said. I saw it coming with the way they were trying to alienate me while waiting for the moreno guy to arrive. Stubborn as it may seem, but I kept insisting on getting a share of the fun. In the end, I got nothing. Their decision was extremely harsh, but had I been in their position, I would have showed my hesitation too. My only complain was they should at least had the balls to tell me their reservations earlier, so my wait would not end in vain.

Defeated, I put on my undies, shorts and shirt without looking at the host and then quietly left his place bringing with me what remained of my pride. After he closed the door, I heard the two kids behind him giggling as the lights in their room were turned off again.

And it wasn't the end of my misfortune that evening. For in my pathetic attempts to claim my shattered pride, I was also one way-ed by my next contact I met in the same chat room.

To think I took a cab from Sampaloc to Tayuman just to catch up with them.

---

It was Karma on my part and I paid a heavy price for it. I threw my weight around at Club Bath without any regards to the feelings of guys I rejected. Then it was my turn to be rejected twice that weekend. If there was any concession from the rejection, it drove me to become very serious with my work-out, which I am now enjoying the fruits today. When I look back at what happened, I still ask myself where did I go wrong.

Was it my distant and aloof attitude?
Was it because I was chubby and not really visually appealing to them - knowing that my rivals were kids?
Was it because I appeared so wasted that my market value slumped without me being aware of the crash?

Sadly, I will never know the answer.

Several weeks later, I met the guy who earlier canceled our meet-up that lead to my utter humiliation. He was Tagay mo Par, and much as I would like to romanticize our second encounter, it ended in a consummated make-out scene inside a billiard bar's bathroom. When I think of his contributions today, I still owe him my rebound, for he made me feel that I didn't deserve to be rejected at all.

Life went on after Tagay. But after him, I vowed never to let myself fall into such pits of desperation again - especially if the cause of such rejection came from my blind desire to address my untamed libog. The second and last time I allowed myself to fall six months later, I deleted my G4M account to finally emancipate myself from such very sick cycle.

Much as I am dying to get back and tell those guys who rejected me straight to their faces that "hindi ko rin sila bet," I guess there is no use saying those words now. Lessons have been learned and I've been vindicated many times over. The passage of time also allowed me to forgive those heartless souls.

The story which I kept for a long time has been told. The only path available now is to move on and never let anyone I know suffer the same shame I had to endure.

Indeed, what goes around, will eventually, come around.

One year after it all happened.

---

It would stir humility and heightened sensitivity, especially if I would face such disturbingly familiar scene in the future.

Indeed we need to be knocked hard for us to wake up from an illusion we desire to dwell on.

In my case, I was knocked not only once, but twice just to wake-up from my grand impressions of superiority.

And even if the pain has not sunk yet, I am glad that I was knocked with a direct hit.

For I discovered that there is determination to rise up in the face of utter defeat.

- Fallen From Grace, June 24, 2007

700

In the quiet emptiness of my room, I close my eyes only to hear their wild screams getting louder and louder inside my head. Suddenly, everything goes black, and when I open my eyes , I see myself inside a cramped cabin, alone, and with my heart pounding for an unfamiliar nightmare has descended shortly after my arrival.

---

I feel that I am in the heart of a large vessel that keeps tossing and turning every time the waves pound the starboard side of the ship. Dizziness sets in, and it's like I will have to throw up at any moment. To keep myself from becoming nauseated, I look outside the small rounded window only to find the darkness swallowing me. Even the fiery red sky above seems like a huge creature whose lashing rain and howling wind add more fear to my already sinking heart. After having a brief introduction with the Furies, I close the glass window to keep the white sprays of seawater from getting inside the cabin.

The ship begins to tilt, so I jump out of the bunker bed and switch the door knob to escape. It was jammed. The walls around me expand and contract, and the twisting metal produces a screeching sound that sends terror running up and down my spine. I hear loud thuds outside the cabin. Somebody shouted "maghanap na kayo ng mga life vest niyo lulubog na ang barko!" and it was followed by waves upon waves of screaming passengers that are being squeezed in the narrow corridor on the other side of my door. I lean my head against the wall and I can hear voices of children sobbing. Some are calling their mothers, who got separated from them when the stampede began. I also hear people begging the heavens to spare them the most tragic death, while others are already imploring the Virgin for a safe passage in the afterlife. In this ship run by greed, there is no escape. We will soon go down into our watery grave with a humble wish that the sea returns our bloated bodies to our dearly beloved.

The ship tilts more violently and I find myself pressed against the door. I hear a lady shouting "pesteng yawa kayo, huwag niyong tapakan ang nanay ko!" I do not know if her calls are heeded. In this state of utter helplessness, imagination plays a big role in seeing the drama going outside my cabin: People shoving and pushing one another for available space. Infants being crushed between two heaving bodies, and men fiercely fighting for any available life vest that their sweaty hands could reach. But there is no assurance that my mind doesn't play tricks on me. However, if there is one thing I am sure of, it is the feeling that no one in the corridor really gets to find the exit. They are all stuck there - and slowly - getting suffocated by the onslaught of more passengers trying to escape. The situation becomes too unbearable that some passes out without the person next to them ever noticing their slow but certain expiration.

Suddenly, the ship tilts on its other side and the door to my cabin swings open. Those unlucky ones directly outside tumbles into my room. The first slams her head against the glass window and now lay unconscious on the floor. Several others followed. The last one to fall grabs my shirt and drags me along with him. We roll down until we hit the unconscious woman who fell first. Using my remaining strength, I crawled my way up then squeezes myself among the passengers in the corridor. But Alas! I kept on being pushed back.

"Tangina mo nakikisiksik ka pa wala na ngang lugar dito," a guy said, while pulling back a passenger in front of him.

But like him, I am just trying to survive. Much as he will hate me for pushing myself in, the truth is there is really no way out.

Especially now that another big wave pounds the ship
and another,
and another,

Until the ship capsizes and begins to sink.

Now we are all pressed against one side of the ship. Another wave of panic ensues and those who are weak to move are trampled by passengers who are desperately trying to find the exit. Those who find it insist on staying inside the vessel. They say that instant death awaits those who will dare to dive into the murky waters which is already finding its way inside the ship.

Next to me is a young guy about my age. He looks at me with his weary eyes and then smiled before composing a text message on his mobile phone.

He was not able to send it.

Suddenly the lights went out as the Captain finally sounds the complete evacuation of the ship. Pandemonium now falls on everyone. Someone screams that water has already swallowed several decks below. Children are now crying loudly while the adults babble incoherent words while their eyes - their stunned eyes fixes at the nearest object - human or otherwise before it too freezes, like their cold, empty bodies.

I close my eyes for one last time to shun the voices I hear around me.

While bodies on top of me makes it harder and harder to breathe.

Despite my imminent passing, I try my best not to think that this is the end.

But the truth is, it is the end for them...

---

I open my eyes again and find myself back in front of the computer screen. I pause for a second to gather my thoughts - my deep, troubled feelings as the screams of people inside my head are now being subdued by my inner peace.

In the jet black darkness of my room, I took out a single matchstick inside the matchbox to light a candle I placed earlier near the keyboard.

In remembering all the victims of the sea tragedy.

I began praying in hopes that their souls find peace in the depths of the abyss.

Mirror Universe

Alas-kwatro ng madaling araw. Mahigit sampung magkakabarkada ang lumabas galing sa Providence Vito Cruz matapos ang isang magdamagang kantahan. Ang lima sa kanila ay bagong salta sa grupo, samantalang ang natitira naman ay taon na ang binibilang sa kanilang samahan. Ang hangin ay sumisipol sa kalangitan. Ang mga yero nama'y tila pinapagpag sa pagkakapako sa mga bubungan ng bahay. Sa malayo'y isang transformer ang kumislap na parang kwitis. Kasunod nito ay ang pagbagsak ng kable ng kuryente sa kalsada.

Ang mga pangitaing ito'y hindi ininda ng magkakabarkada.

Nagsimula silang maglakad sa kahabaan ng Vito Cruz upang tumbukin ang Quirino Avenue. Doon ay may matatagpuang McDonald's na bente-kwatro oras bukas. Isang binata ang sumusuray sa kanyang paglalakad. Ito'y inalalayan ng isa sa mga baguhan na noong gabi lang niya nakilala. Madilim ang paligid at walang ilaw sa lansangan. Nang sila'y dumating sa kanilang patutunguhan, ito ay brownout. Sa halip, ang mga kahera't service crew ay nagsisilbi gamit ang tanglaw ng kandila.

Matindi ang hagupit ng hangin sa labas ng McDonald's. Ang mga nabaling sanga ng mga puno'y tila nagproprotesta sa daan. Tanging mangilan-ngilang taxi lang ang nagdaraan sa tapat, samantalang ang mga gumimik naman mula Malate'y tila ambon na unti-unting pumapatak sa pintuan ng restaurant.

Kanya-kanyang kwentuhan ang magbabarkada. Mayroong isa na nagbibigay crash-course sa iba't-ibang paraan upang pakinisin ang mukha gamit ang makabagong teknolohiya. Ang isa naman na balikbayan ay nagkwekwento kung paano siya pinag-aralan ng mga doktor sa San Francisco matapos siyang magkaroon ng Bulutong-Tubig doon. Ang iba naman ay nagtatanong tungkol sa buhay-buhay ng mga bagong pasok sa grupo.

Kung mayroon mang isang bagay na hindi napagusapan noong umagang iyon - na sigurado ko'y pagku-kuwentuhan ilang buwan at taon mula ngayon, yun ay ang bonding na naganap isang madaling-araw, habang ang lansanga'y binabayo ng hangin at ang kalasada nama'y unti-unting nilulubog ng tubig baha.

---

Meanwhile, Tripper celebrated his birthday party last night. Everyone from the "Alliance" showed up - even his non-blogger friends that we get to meet when Trip hosts our Toma Session at his place. Hard Drinks overflowed, the Seafood Pasta was delicious and those who showed up had a story to tell.

Jiban the dancer is already hooked up to House Music.

Macoy the silent operator has a brand new SLR Camera that he used to take pictures of the Santan flowers outside Tripper's pad.

Dabo the sweet loverboy is very fond of his newly found "interest."

DN was officially introduced by Gripen to the group that afternoon,

while TL still, is the official entertainer of the Alliance.

I was drunk the whole night and went to work this afternoon still nursing a terrible hang-over from last night's unforgettable stormy revelry.

Workstation Politics

The boss decided that the special accounts operators will have their separate computers from now on. The new units arrived this afternoon, after our colleagues from the morning shift complained that the reason for their message response delay was the slow processing of their machines. With the recent acquisition came permanence in our work stations. We can even personalize our little cubicles now that we consider it an extension of our territory.

The new computers are a welcome addition to our growing privilege of being the elite operators of the company. In truth however, the problem lies not with the old, corrupted machines but with the client's redundant and ultra sophisticated web interface that we use for their account. Only the gleaming promise of using newer and faster computers prompted me to accept the change - even if it means giving up my cubicle, which is found at the coldest fringes of the Floor.

Now the problem lies with my other colleagues preferring the solitary confinement we enjoyed in our old work stations. You see, our former cubicles are situated outside the boss' path of inspection when he goes to his little office. Our screen also faces the wall so it's very easy for us to view websites that the official memo strictly prohibits from being accessed. I will have to think twice of checking MGG's website at work now that my screen is in full view of everyone.

Twice, I sought reconsideration from the boss, citing that our old cubicles were more conducive to creative thinking. I even suggested that instead of being moved to the middle row, we could just occupy the single row where our former stations were situated. Unfortunately, the boss said that we should reconsider the operators from other shifts who preferred sitting in the middle row instead of being hidden, like us on the last row. Since it was the boss who gave the final word, not even Mami Athena could appeal for our behalf.

It's goodbye nappy time for me.

Now that we have been uprooted from our former cubicles again, everyone - from the rookies who were hired three weeks ago, to the password hackers among my colleagues are rushing to reclaim our stations.

As for us, we got faster computers. But we have to adjust to our new grounds again.

---

Note: I misunderstood the boss' earlier instructions about the new seating arrangement. As a compromise to our preference with the morning shift operators, two new units will be installed in our cramped "hideaways."

Now I am assured that I can still lay claim to my old work station.

Tagged By A Bullfrog

Since Joms has been tagged and has arrived home from a family dinner at Outback's Glorietta, I, Pulsar is authorized to speak on his behalf and reveal a side of him that only few people have seen before. Joms considers the Bullfrog's tagging a great honor. Thus, despite the many pending entries that he needs to write, we will play the game.

Rules

1. This game starts with 6 weird things about you.
2. People who got tagged need to write a blog entry of their own 6 weird things.
3. They should state this rule clearly as well.
4. At the end of the list, tag 6 people.
5. Don't forget to inform each newly-tagged person by posting a comment on his own blog.

Some silly things Joms is known for, and admits being proud of doing:

1. He speaks broken English when asked to recite in class or talk in public. But when Joms is under the influence of Alcohol, even an Englishman will be amazed at how fluent he is at speaking British English. (You bloody lad! Come here and throw this bottle in the bin.)

2. He has no patience in waiting when his vehicle gets stuck in traffic. He walks no matter how far his destination is. (During the first Pyrolympics Show, he walked the entire stretch of Macapagal Avenue from Coastal Mall to SM Mall of Asia. After the fireworks display was over, he again walked from SM Mall of Asia to Taft-Libertad to ride a cab and to avoid the bumper-to-bumper traffic produced by the sudden exodus of vehicles leaving MOA grounds.)

3. He leaves the TV on and set it to auto off before going to sleep. He claims that hearing voices - especially news anchors reporting breaking news or Wall Street reports on CNN makes him sleepy. (In other news, trading at Wall Street ended much lower today after fears of another oil price increase sent investors selling their stocks on the market.)

4. He neither believes in the concept of Heaven nor Hell. However, he considers walking under trees on a cloudless sunset the closest thing to paradise. (And he is such a very strange person, he wishes to live in a place where there is only night, sunrise and sunset.)

5. When traveling, he finds thrill in having very long journeys and gets easily homesick after reaching his destination. (He also brings his own blanket when he needs to sleep at someone else's place... If he doesn't he will go namamahay.)

6. His watch is set 30 minutes ahead of the actual time. (It all started when he was assigned to the morning shift for the first time. Fearing that he would ignore the alarm and goes back to sleep, he sets the alarm clock 30 minutes in advance so that every time it rings, he will wake up thinking he will be late for work.)

I'm tagging Ewwik, Zaizai, Poi, Madame Fiona, Levantine and Mel Beckham

Song Of Evacuation

A few weeks ago, I got addicted to a PC Game I bought from the pirate-vendors of Quiapo. It was a space strategy game that earned some praises from game critics around the world, and had kept me awake until daybreak after playing it the whole night.

The title of the game is Sins of a Solar Empire and its main objective is to expand beyond your home world to gather resources and acquire new planets before your alien-enemies beat you. I must say that the game is highly addictive and uses much of your adrenalin every time you play it. Who wouldn't be? I'm sure you don't want to see your prized space fleet getting pulverized by your enemy's battle armada.

One element of SSE that brings out the master tactician in me at 3 in the morning happens during an enemy siege of one of my strategic colonies, while my main fleet guards a wormhole or a core planet that is too precious for the enemy to occupy. The hostile fleet suddenly jumps out of hyperspace and starts sending missiles or fire their laser cannons on the structures orbiting around the planet they are attacking.

The drama happens when the scramble to defend the colony begins: Flak frigates assigned to patrol the planet engages the enemy fleet. Despite their fate of becoming heaps of iron scraps floating in space when the battle is over, they go to their deaths knowing that an entire planet hangs on their ability to delay the enemy before back-up ships arrive. Gauss Cannons orbiting in space start firing at the enemy fleet. Their mass driver weapons penetrate the shields and puncture the hull of hostile ships, but this is not enough to push back the raiders. Squadrons of bombers are called from a nearby space hangar. They deliver incendiaries hoping that it would finally get through the enemy ships that were hit by mass driver weapons earlier. The bombs did render some damage to ships. Some are even disabled. Unfortunately, the patrol frigates - that are now destroyed have lessened the colony's chances of surviving the assault. The Gauss Cannons are taking multiple hits from back-up enemy ships that have jumped out of hyperspace.

With the reliever fleet still two jumps away from the besieged colony, The colonial government has no choice but to call for the complete and immediate evacuation of the planet. All available ships used by the traders must carry with them civilians - women, children and the elderly out of the colony. Meanwhile the situation in space is getting hopeless every minute. Four out of the Six Gauss Cannons protecting the colony has been rendered useless. The enemy has commenced orbital bombardment of the planet - while the civilians are still pushing and shoving one another for any available space inside the cramped merchant ships down the surface. Without any military escort, these unarmed space vessels have a very slim chance of getting out and into the safety of homeworld. But they still try. Back on the surface, commotion and mass panic has separated mothers from their children. Cries for mercy can be heard throughout the spaceport on each cities. Infants are getting crushed between sweaty bodies as their mothers push themselves inside the cargo bay of a trader vessel. A teenage daughter pushes her mother out of a ship already in mid-air, her eyes fixed at her daughter's while her weary body plummets back to the burning city below.

Out of twenty merchant ships carrying civilians from the colony, only five were able to get out of orbit. It is not known how many are able to jump into hyperspace, knowing that the alien's final goal is the complete extinction of humanity. The reliever fleet arrived too late. The enemy ships are already bound for the next planet they will assault. What they found after the alien attack is a burning desert planet with no signs of life even in the fringes of space. Ship debris are everywhere with bloated, bloodied remains of pilots still stuck between twisted metal that eventually becomes their grave.

Of course, the last two paragraphs are rendered in detail from a boring orbital bombardment once your defenses are insufficient to scare the enemy back from where they came from. But when you are bound to delete half of your online accounts due to some very personal reasons, you cannot help but relate to the evacuation scene I wrote above with the situation I am going through right now.

The scramble to keep what is unnecessary and what is valuable gets confusing amidst the rush to leave everything behind. With my blog as the home world, I wonder if this too would have to be evacuated in the coming weeks.

I hope not.

And now that my phone got lost inside the jeep this morning, the coming days would be total hibernation for me.

---

Multiply
PEx
YM

I wonder what's next

Rediscovering A Superhero

He stands 40 meters tall, has a fin for a nose that extends to the back of his head. He has eyes shaped and slanted like those of a praying mantis, and has red stripes and a silver skin for a body. He fights giant monsters and aliens as tall as Godzilla and King Kong, and he has this blue color timer that blinks red when this creature becomes weak.

- Homage, October 22, 2005

---

It was recess and pupils were playing on the grounds near the flagpole. Some were running around while being chased by a bully or a furious kid after being teased the whole day. Others were seated on the benches that formed a ring around the playground. They were eating cheese and peanut butter sandwiches specially made for them by their mothers.

Meanwhile, I was talking to a classmate - the class jester of my section a few steps away from the flagpole. A paper plane swooshed past next to my head and its owner was nowhere to be found. The pointed tip of the paper plane could have hit my eye, and the class jester found the near-miss quite hilarious. He then handed me a tex card with an image of a monster, which resembles a giant white Popsicle printed on its front - perhaps a reward for making him laugh like a hyena that recess. At the back of the tex card was a faded black and white image of a superhero that was popular in those days. He was lifting the Popsicle monster as if he would throw it back on the ground.

Strange how that little token, which I never paid attention at first would draw the course of my elementary life in the following months. I was hooked at the show on TV, which was aired every Sunday Afternoon on Channel 2. I even noted what ad placements supported the show - I think it was Twinkido Toothpaste. There were times I would secretly cry when some day-long family affair would force me to miss one episode. At one time, I almost paid P2,500 pesos to a neighborhood kid after he showed me a book about my superhero. My parents were totally against the idea, for they found the price too impractical for a collectible that I would soon outgrow once I become a teenager.

They were right.

Because when I entered puberty - and was collecting tall and slim Johnny Walker boxes that serve as skyscrapers to be trampled down by some rubber dinosaurs I bought from a toy store for my live-action role-playing game, I woke up one morning outgrowing everything. By that time, I had already accumulated a shoe-box full of collectible tex, two miniature action figure I bought from the Palengke, and a vivid imagination of a 40-meter human-like creature standing next to a real skyscraper when I pass by Ayala Avenue.

Such were the days of my childhood.

It took me more than a decade later before achieving full circle - when unexpectedly, I saw and bought a cheap DVD compilation of my favorite superhero in Quiapo this afternoon.

The moment I arrived home, I immediately opened my computer and slid the disk on the player. A few minutes later the disk played, flashing on the screen the opening credits and the familiar theme song, which I used to sing back when my breathtaking obsession for this superhero had occasionally snatched my sanity.

The episodes were dubbed in English. The familiar giant monsters were still growling, moaning and scaring unsuspecting Japanese folks of the 50s, making them believe that the end was near. Suddenly, there was a flash of light, and the superhero of my childhood made a grand appearance. His right arm pointing skyward and his knuckles ready to punish the monster-of-the-episode into submission.

In less than 15 minutes after scanning several episodes, I stopped the player, closed the video screen and logged on to the internet.

Now that I have everything of Ultraman, I realized that its childhood magic and sway over me has finally and permanently disappeared.

Policy Of Disengagement

Ganun lang pala kadali ang gawin yun.

Sumakay ako ng bus sa kanto ng Pasong Tamo at Buendia. Galing ako sa ospital matapos bisitahin ang isang kaibigan na naka-confine doon. Noong una'y walang bakanteng upuan sa loob ng bus. Subalit sa aking paglalakad paloob ng sasakyan at pati na rin sa paglingon sa aking paligid, nakakita ako ng upuan kung saan mayroong matandang lalaki at binatang kutis-moreno na nakaupo dito. Bakante ang gitna nito at dahil tipo ko rin naman ang binata, pinagkasya ko ang aking katawan makatabi lamang siya.

Wala akong imik pagkaupo ko sa kanyang tabi. Matapos magbayad sa konduktor ay dagli kong pinasak ang earphones sa tenga upang makinig ng OPM mula sa aking iPod. Ang binata naman na payat at naka-long sleeves ay tila naghahabol ng tulog. Gaya ng di mabibilang na pagsakay ko sa bus, itong biyaheng ito ay walang pinagkaiba sa mga nauna kong lakad.

Nagpatuloy ng takbo ang sasakyan, samantalang ako naman ay pilit ring naghabol ng tulog dahil maaga pa lang ay nasa lakaran na ako. Isinandal ko ang aking likod sa upuan habang ang binata naman ay umusod ng kaunti upang i-accomodate ang aking pagsusumiksik sa tabi nito. Nagdikit ang aming mga balikat at nagdampi ang aming mga braso. Sa mga sitwasyong ganito, ang alam ko lamang ay makiramdam. Wala pa kasi sa aking karanasan ang magtrip sa loob ng sasakyan.

Nakasuot na shades ang binata. At dahil dito ay naging sobrang angas niya sa aking paningin. Fuck, nakakaturn-on pare. Tiyempo naman na sa aming munting galaw-galaw sa upuan ay nagdikit ang aming mga ulo. Kunyari ay tulog rin ako. Ngunit ang totoo, ramdam ko ang pagkuha niya ng tiyempo. Gaya ko'y nakikiramdam rin ito.

Sa aming biyahe ay kapansin-pansin ang kanyang makailang beses na pagkakamot ng singit. Panay rin ang dantay ng kamay ng binata sa sentro nito. Pilit ko mang hindi basahin ang kanyang mga ginagawa subalit malinaw para sa akin ang kanyang pinaparating na mensahe: Sa hindi niya pagpalag tuwing magbabangga o kaya naman ay magdidikit ang aming mga braso, sa kanyang pa-simpleng pagtingin sa aking mukha sa tuwing ako ay lilingon sa direksyon ng kanyang bintana; at ang sadyaang pagdikit ng aming mga ulo habang nagkukunwaring tulog - ito na marahil ang matatawag kong kauna-unahang iskor sa loob ng bus.

Ang nagagawa nga naman ng libog sa katawan...

Hindi ko binilang kung ilang minuto kaming nasa ganoong posisyon - ang nakasandal sa isa't isa ang katawan habang nagkukunwaring walang pakielam sa bawat isa. Ganun man ang aming estilo subalit halata naman sa mga braso't kamay kung saan ito nakadantay sa isa't isa. - ang kaliwang kamay ko ay nasa kanyang tiyan samantalang ang sa kanya naman ay nakadantay sa aking binti. Sinumang may maduming pag-iisip ay alam ang ginagawa ng bawat isa. Dumating kami sa may Benilde at tumayo na ang aming isang katabi. Umusod ako ng kaunti papalayo sa kanya upang umiwas sa posibleng paratang na pagtsatsasing. Umusod rin siya ng kaunti papalayo sa akin,

habang ang kanyang kamay naman ay sadyang humabol at bumangga sa aking kamay na tila ba may nais iparating na direktang mensahe.

Na para bang nagsasabing dumikit ka sa akin.

Ganito siguro dumiskarte ng pa-discreet. Walang imikan; iwas tinginan sa mata ng bawat isa. Lahat ng kilos ay ginagawa sa pamamagitan ng kamay o kaya naman ay braso. Hindi ko namamalayan na nag-holding hands na pala kami. Pinisil ko ang kanyang palad upang ipaabot ang mensaheng nais ko siyang makasama. Bumawi naman ito't kinuha ang aking kamay upang ilagay sa ilalim ng kanyang bag.

Sa kanyang matigas na bukol sa loob ng kanyang pants na marahil ay naglalaway na nang ito'y aking hawakan.

Mas malaki ito kesa sa ibang nahawakan ko noon.

At mukhang masarap itong kalaro pagdating sa digmaang inaasahan ko ng mangyayari noong mga oras na iyon.

Traffic sa Remedios at pati na rin sa Nakpil. Bakas na sa kanyang mukha ang sarap ng aking walang tigil na pagpisil sa kanyang ari. Hindi ko alam kung ano ang kanyang plano. Ngunit kung libog ko lang ang aking papairalin, kahit saang motel ay handa ko siyang dalhin. Astigin naman siya't nangangamoy tirador din...

Ngunit gaya ng ritmong unti-unti ko nang pinapairal ngayon, binawi ko ang aking kaliwang kamay at ibinalik ito sa kanyang tagiliran.

Humabol ang sa kanya upang ito ay muling hawakan.

At nagbalik kami sa pagho-holding hands ng mahigpit habang nagpipisilan ng mga palad upang iparating ang mensahe ng bawat isa.

"Laruin mo ulit ang sa akin," marahil ito ang sabi ng sa kanya.

"Hanggang dito lang ang kaya ko bro." Mariing bawi naman ng sa akin.

Walang duda na gusto namin ang isa't isa at buo sa loob ko ang aking pagpapaubaya sa kanya. Simple lang naman ang laro ng mga barako - ipakita mong mas astig ka't lalo kang hahabulin ng kapwa ka-trip mo.

Kahit na sa huli ay ikaw ang nauuwing nagpapatira.

Subalit kanina sa loob ng bus, nalaman niyang higit na mas matigas ako - sa puso at sa isipan.

Nais ko mang mauwi kami sa kung saang kama; Gustuhin ko man na kami ay magkasama buong tanghali, ngunit ang tawag ng pagsisisi matapos ang pangyayari ay higit na nangingibabaw sa akin. Masarap man ang pakiramdam ng may kaulayaw - ng may kayakap at kahalikan; ng may nagsusuck o kaya naman ay may tinitira.

Pero sa pagkakataong ito, sapat na sa akin ang makita ang aking kakayahan sa ganitong landian. Masaya na ako na nagkaroon ng ganitong karansan, na dati rati lang ay naririnig kong pinagmamalaki ng aking mga kaibigan. Isa pa, ilang beses ko na ring napatunayan na kaya kong makuha sinumang magustuhan ko.

Ako lang ang umaatras sa huli. Sapagkat alam kong ito ay pawang laro lamang.

Kaya't sa tapat ng Philippine Christian University, hinawakan ko ng madiin ang kanyang kamay. Pinisil ko ito ng matagal upang ipasabi sa kanya ang aking pamamaalam.

Sabay ang pagtayo at paglalakad papalayo ng hindi lumilingon sa kanyang kinauupuan.

Umagos man ang pre-cum dahil sa aming munting landian, pero sadyang malakas ang aking self control.

Sex man ang naglalaro sa aking isipan, ngunit hindi ito ang hangad kong maging aming katapusan.

Peace Treaty In The Afterlife | Dream Journal Eight Repost

Note: This entry was written on the week of my dad's second death anniversary. The dream really took place, and I wrote every detail that I remembered the moment I got out of bed to face the computer screen. This entry marks a turning point, for as the blog bore witness months before his passing, we never saw each other eye to eye.

Father's Day has no relevance for me anymore. I don't have a dad that I can greet today. However, when Trey, Centurion and Odin sent their greetings on my blog's Cbox this morning, I felt compelled to look back and remember how we found peace at the borders of earth and the afterlife one night.

After this dream, dad never appeared in my sleep anymore. The dream also stirred my muses who inspired me to write a five-entry tribute to my dad, and how our lives intertwined during my final approach towards the threshold of adulthood.

There are times I still miss my dad, and long for the security he had given us now that I see myself being the man of the house. Many things have changed and many mistakes are now forgiven.

Looking back, the little voice inside my head was right when he gently whispered that in the long course of our brief lives, only love can endure the distance of space and the infinity of time.

Happy Father's Day to your dads.

---

Dear Dad,

The last time you appeared to me, we were both sleeping in one bed. Then you woke up, got up and without even speaking you straightened the sheets before you left. When I told this to everyone, they said that finally, our hostile relations are already thawing up for you never straightened bedsheets in your entire life.

Almost two years had passed and then suddenly we met again. This time, I was browsing some novels with Chinese characters in a bookstore. As I gently unwrapped the plastic cover in one of the books to check its contents, I saw you walking in one of the aisles. You were wearing a large grey shirt, your pants I could not remember. You're standing there looking at me.

Without saying a word, I ran towards you and hugged you very tight. It was a long, longing hug that I've been missing since you left. We also had a conversation, which I could not remember anymore. Perhaps, there were things you wanted to clear up, and I am certain we had an understanding. You may have some messages to everyone, but unfortunately, I was too overwhelmed by my regrets - of the years I showed you coldness and indifference that I forgot to remember your last words when I woke up.

However, those things don't matter anymore, for I believe that I have expressed to you my innermost feelings. When I woke up this morning, I could still remember your warm smile that was full of enthusiasm when we saw each other and how you told me never to tell anyone that we met, before you left.

I wanted to keep my mouth shut about the whole meeting, if not for the emptiness I am feeling right now.

But you know what, the moment I saw your familiar face - that big acne-punctured face of yours and that big, black rimmed eyeglasses that had become you, after two years of absence; the moment I ran towards you to give you a hug I've been longing to give; and the moment I remembered that warm smile of yours that melted the last icy walls the separated us.

I know, all the bitter things between us are finally over.

Because I woke up crying... for the first time after you passed away.





I remember you this Father's Day.

I love you very much dad.

Fragmentation

Coming from the roomy reception area that also serves as the

Pantry
Recruitment Office
and the Administration and Support Department

You enter a small door that leads to the Floor. You walk across one of the aisles to reach the other end whose door leads to a smaller room where your cubicle is found. You pass by several colleagues seated next to each other in one row. Some of them are as old and experienced as you, while others are rookies hired just a few weeks ago. Many of them are still figuring how the job works, and often, you are tempted to do the work for them. Their cubicles never changed, only the occupants did. Sometimes, you wonder how long would they stay before somebody else take their place.

You pass by the team leader's work station before arriving at the next door. A guy in his mid-thirties, he seats comfortably in his cubicle staring at the screen to see the chat flows generated by your colleagues. His braided hair reaches the back of his neck. You ask yourself when was the last time he shampooed his hair. The team leader often sports a bright-colored shirt, always too loose for his body, and plays Reggae music on his computer. A Rasta perhaps? You don't know. However, one thing you are sure of is that he was hired a few months after you joined the company three years ago. Other than that, you are not interested to learn anymore.

Meanwhile, the assistant team leader is doing her rounds before she returns to her work station. A former team mate in the same account you were assigned a year ago, she was promoted last month after her predecessor was discharged from the company. She tries her best to exude grace despite being under constant pressure. Her trademark pink shirt, long pony-tail hair and slender body maybe a distraction to some. But her warm personality and helpful attitude toward your colleagues remind you why she was assigned to the same account you handle five days a week.

You enter another door that leads into a smaller room. Half of its occupants, you only recognize through their faces. These are the trainees who directly report to your surrogate mother, the great Mami you seek every time you wanted to take a break. She runs a small empire down below, which your other colleagues know as the QA Department. Since the QA is so far away from the hustle and bustle of your Floor, it seems like they have a world of their own a floor below. Their place in the universe make you jealous that you are tempted so many times to join them. However, looking at how you run your own show, you always prefer to be where the action is.

Now these trainees, for reasons only known to them, can sense your place in the order of things. Maybe it was your own carelessness in telling the lore of your company to some of your juniors that accidentally (or deliberately) gave hints that you are a pioneer - that you are one of the oldest operators in the job they chose to embrace. Sometimes, these stories left awe and wonder in their eyes. They become like you - when you were the one listening to the fairy tales told by the forefathers of the last job you accepted. However, when they begin asking you why you never got promoted despite your status, you tell them lame reasons,

which sometimes make you think, when you are alone in your cubicle.

You hear some of your friends get salaries twice or thrice you are recieving. You listen to others announce their career move from one company to another and recieve the paycheck of their dreams. You secretly get jealous when they talk of things they can enjoy with their money, while you, who works quietly for three years doesn't even have the basic perks your better-off friends are raving when you get together during reunions.

It makes you ponder, and you become fearful of your future.

You continue walking towards your cubicle. You ignore these alarming thoughts which began to bother you after the new recruits arrived three weeks ago. Instead, you look forward to your surrogate mom's wishful promotion, hoping that her rise would comfort you with the achievements you shared together. You reach your station, held the mouse and wobble it a bit. The screen saver, showing a flying Windows Logo on a black screen has now disappeared, and you, being emotionally invested in your job

Keep your concerns to yourself.

It might be a long wait, but who knows where this career path would eventually lead you.

---

Tatlong taon na ako sa trabaho ngayong linggo. At dahil ako na ang pangalawa sa pinakamatagal na empleyado dito, ako lang ang nakaalala.

In Ceasar's Hands

Just as I suspected while eating Fried Chicken and Knorr Crab and Corn Soup for lunch this afternoon.

---

"ZAMBOANGA CITY, Philippines -- The hired driver of television reporter Ces Drilon and her crew has claimed to police that a known "military agent" and not members of the Abu Sayyaf extremist group abducted the ABS-CBN team, the Sulu police chief said Thursday.

Senior Superintendent Julasirim Kasim, Sulu police director, said driver Maramma Hasim, the man hired by Drilon and her team to chauffer for them in Maimbung on the day of their disappearance, claimed that one Juamil "Maming" Biyaw was the "missing link" to knowing who was behind the abduction.

Biyaw, a resident of the village of Sandah in Patikul town, is known in Sulu as a military agent, Kasim said.

Kasim said Hashim, who is now in police custody, claimed Biyaw was with the group Sunday when Drilon, cameramen Jimmy Encarnacion and Angelo Valderama, and their guide, Mindanao State University Professor Octavio Dinampong went to Maimbung.

They went missing after an armed group reportedly intercepted them along Kulasi, town of Maimbung while on their way to meet Abu Sayyaf leaders “to cover a special event.”

Quoting Hashim, Kasim said Biyaw ordered the driver to stop somewhere in the village of Labbah at around noon Sunday.

"The passengers, including Madame Ces, thought there was problem with the car,” Kasim quoted Hashim's account.

"All the passengers casually went down from the vehicle and this Biyaw guy invited the four to join him in a walk towards Mount Mabusing (interior of Labbah). So there was no scuffle. Madame Ces and the rest walked casually," Kasim added.

Hashim was reportedly surprised when the five left him on the highway.

"But he waited until 4 p.m. and this Biyaw returned alone instructing the driver to leave the place. The driver, apparently disturbed, followed the orders," Kasim added.

"Because of fear, the driver didn’t even show up readily and he is now in our custody. Right now, we are looking for this Biyaw and we are checking further his background and how close he is with the military as he being reported as an agent," Kasim said.

But Kasim admitted he was "a bit confused" by the different information he has been receiving the past days.

"He (Hashim) gave information that runs counter to what our Maimbung police earlier supplied," he said.

"It was my Maimbung police chief (Inspector Abdulsamad Mañalas) who said that, and I admit it might have been a presumption since the incident took place where Gafur Jumdail's group operates," he said.

But Maimbung Mayor Najib Maldisa said Mañalas had denied giving the identities of the kidnappers prior to confirmation from the ABS-CBN executives.

"It’s a good thing we did some of our homework. That is why I was a bit hesitant in blaming anyone especially if I didn't see them with my own eyes or receive any information direct from these bandits," the mayor said.

But as far as Kasim was concerned, the police are now looking at other groups.

"But I will not say anything at this moment. I just let Hashim's affidavit speak for what is the latest development," he said.

Maldisa, on the other hand, said Biyaw "is closely associated with some Marines in the brigade."

- Driver Claims Military Agent, Not Abus Siezed Drilon Team, INQ.net 7:14 pm

---

Go Figure:

Meralco + Winston Garcia + Malacanang + Gloria Macapagal Arroyo

- Lopez Group of Companies + ABS-CBN

Equals

Kidnapping of Ces Drilon in Sulu.

Just wait till the Lopezes get back in 2010.

In Dominus' Passing

Now I understand why I have become faithless these past few days. I noticed it from the way I get distracted when I pray the rosary at night or when my meanness reasserts itself whenever a person annoys me. I found out while checking the contents of my bag this afternoon that Dominus - the small stuffed brown puppy was missing. His disappearance was already anticipated, but I never thought it would be this swift.

You see, not only does my alter-egos exist in the blog. I also carry them around in my pocket or in the bag wherever I go. These sub-personalities, which manifest themselves as tiny stuff toys are my mojos. They tend to exert their influence in situations where I needed them most.

For example, I carry Darkstar when I travel to places far from home. His presence toughens my emotional resolve to detach from my loved ones. Mugen, who is Mister Bean's teddy sits inside a mug given to me by my partner during our first anniversary. The mug, which I dropped and got broken a few years ago is placed in my so-called personal altar found at the heart of my bookcase. Finally, Pulsar, which manifest itself as Patrick Starfish is kept hanging inside the closet. The three of them keeps me company that is why I rarely feel lonely even at times of solitude.

Now Dominus, who describes himself as deeply spiritual and is prone to believe in superstition exerts himself by being placed inside my bag. His presence reminds me to show act of kindness especially to strangers. Dominus also serves as the seal that keeps my horny demons from taking over. He bears witness to my divine promise never to become the promiscuous Kitsune again.

Unfortunately, an "incident" happened a few weeks ago.

And it was followed by the coloring book story with the same person last week.

I tried my best to resist all temptation knowing that my word is at stake. But with all the frustrations of relationship bearing down on me, I decided to let go of my urges and for once, let others make me feel that I'm needed - even if such need came in the form of sexual gratification.

After the deed was committed, silence fell between me and Dominus. Then he went quietly missing, maybe never to be found again.

Much as I would like to think that the little stuffed puppy was just misplaced in my workstation or was accidentally inserted inside the laundry, which I take home after my work out. I believe that his disappearance was directly connected to the vow that I have broken a few weeks ago. His lost directly ceases my supernatural outlook in life, as well as the gift to appreciate the many unexplainable events that happen around us.

As I begin to pick up the pieces and proceed to seek a new alter-ego that will replace Dominus, I wonder if it's really essential to rely on mojos to strengthen my philosophies in life. Maybe they are not necessary.

Maybe they do.

But one thing that I have learned from keeping them around is that no matter where I find myself and no matter where I choose to go, so long as my inner childhood remains close to me,

I feel like the stuff toys' presence open my eyes to the little wonders I stumble in life.

---

And you think I am the only one who keeps little stuff toys inside my bag huh? Wait till you discover what Mami Athena aka Deracinee hides inside her handbag.

Once There Was An Expedition - Nurturing Instincts

Classes began yesterday despite my mental unreadiness to open a new chapter in my academic journey. I woke up at around 11 in the morning to have my haircut done. I'm back to being skinhead again. I returned home to eat my lunch and then went to the gym to do my workout before heading towards the direction of Diliman for school. I arrived past four, but the professor hasn't showed yet. Instead, I met two petite ladies who were waiting outside the classroom. One was a skinhead lesbian, an ex-classmate in The Great Milflores' class last semester. The other one was a chinita who works for Summit Publishing as a writer. Anyway, the chinita told us that she took up Journalism in her undergraduate. Perfect. Somebody can relate to the painful adjustments I had to take when I shifted from being a Journalist to being a Creative Writer. She even agreed when I mentioned to our lesbian friend that back in Journalism, we were never particular with words or grammar. What was important in our field was how we were able to acquire the information that our readers wanted to know. Every sentence needed to be economized and the use of flowery words and metaphors were strongly discouraged. How unfortunate that I never found that Diliman was offering a graduate program in Journalism. Had I known earlier, I would have taken it instead of Creative Writing.

The professor finally arrived after thirty minutes. I will be under J.Wendell Capili for the rest of the semester. To say that my professor is funny and light-hearted is an understatement. He is the exact opposite of The Great Milflores, who I observed as icy-cold and direct in his words. With Wendell, I expect to have a very fabulous semester this year. Not only does he refer to J. Neil Garcia as the diva, they were even friends since high school. Now I understand why they chose to remain in Diliman despite getting a better paying job elsewhere.

Lifetime friends never leave each other.

We were asked to introduce ourselves in front of the class. For reasons only Wendell knew, he kept referring to me as "J. Neil's favorite student." I don't why. In fact, I think the essays I submitted to J. Neil Garcia were all crappy and lacking in essence. Wendell said that his friend enjoyed my perversion, but I swear, I was never one in front of him. Nevertheless, to be remembered by one of the geniuses of Post-colonial Literature was a great honor. I hope that I'd be able to spread his legacy when my time to shine comes. Now back to Wendell, he's expecting more students to show up in class. We're still waiting for that poor classmate of ours who was asked by The Great Milflores to drop out for submitting an atrocious essay in his class last semester. I am also expecting to see another gay classmate, who I saw at the Dean's office, making beso to every women there after he was asked by Wendell to do before signing the documents he brought.

And so we never really discussed anything relevant to the subject yesterday, unless I would consider the five elements of a good non-fiction narrative, which I already heard from J.Neil before. Instead, we spent the whole time listening to Wendell's recollection of his advertising stint last weekend. He said that he was invited to a photo-shoot, where he would endorse a powdered milk brand in exchange for a talent fee that was slightly higher than what he gets from the university. Oh well, who earns big from being a writer these days, I bet even my idol Conrado De Quiros doesn't get much either.

Class was dismissed at past 7. On our first day, I've learned so much about Wendell - from his studies abroad in Cambridge and Australia to his endless battle with insomnia. He was a very extrovert person - just like what Siege Malvar said the last time we met. If I learned anything about his teaching style - which I think I should apply when I become a teacher myself is the importance of giving the writing students their own space to breathe.

According to Wendell, the challenge of young writers today is the tendency to become a clone of another writer. He said that what these writers needed is a place to nurture their creativity, their talent in words that is flowing like warm nectar inside their souls. Workshops are there, not to put down a talent but to encourage it to grow and have its own voice.

With his wisdom still producing sparks inside my head, I began this entry hoping that his arrival would finally inject that much needed confidence I lost when the Great Milflores almost told me in the workshop that my writing is hopeless.

Seething Anger

"bakla ka carlo amf ka! pangbakla ang kwento mo hayup ka! kaya dumadami ang mga baklang katulad mo dahil sa mga tulad mo rin na walang kwenta! pwe!"

- Carverhouse, The Shock

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The compassionate Buddha once said that "words can both destroy and heal." He added that "when words are true and kind, it can change our world." If only everyone understands the meaning of this powerful message, the world would be a better place to live. Unfortunately, hate has prevailed over the blogs yesterday, when an anonymous reader posted the comment above in one of Carlo Vergara's entries about Zsazsa Zaturnnah.

The comment struck deep for reasons I cannot fathom myself. All I know is that there is a seething anger inside me that wishes to come out - and land on the face or chest or any part of the body of the poster, that is strong enough to leave that loser decapitated for life. I wish to avail the services of a hacker to find out who that reader was, and shock him with a surprise visit at his home or workplace and tear him apart, which he deserves.

Isn't it ironic that I'm quoting the great sage when my thoughts sway towards violence? If only I can extend my patience in times like this.

Maybe it is the feeling of frustration that is driving me to call on my darker agents to harbor brooding thoughts. After all, the person who is in the line of fire used to be one of my pillars when I was just crossing the line of my sexuality. Now that I am strong enough to stand on my own, I just felt compelled to run towards his defense and share the pain he must be feeling at the moment.

They say that artists must suffer for their craft before it can be a masterpiece. From how Vergara wrote his most recent entry, it was clear that he is totally stunned by the words he received. The impact and gravity of the hate comment created ripples that must have jolted his muses and it stopped weaving images to turn it into a work of art.

I expect that his blog will only speak silence in the days to come.

I remember Manila Gay Guy had the same fate some six months ago. An anonymous gay reader questioned the validity of the author's personal sexual accounts simply because he cannot understand how Miggs' apparently inferior attributes can sway gorgeous and cute men such as a basketball player or a married lawyer to have an affair with him. The reader who questioned the author's stories eventually lost, while MGG prevailed and went on to become a more influential blogger after his ordeal.

Meanwhile the discovery of Agent Boytoy's personal identity had forced him to close his blog permanently. Since I do not know the real scoop behind the issue, it is safe to assume that it was another gay person that destroyed Ahente's will to share his work to those who faithfully followed him.

I kept my silence while these two bloggers were grilled, questioned and humiliated by those who cannot stand their prominence. A part of me felt guilty because I haven't done enough to express my condemnation to the people who were trying to silence them. There were times I asked myself why some people would say bad things to others without looking first at their own shadow? Is this what psychologists refer to as the "deflection method?"

There were times when I used words to hurt others in order to shove to them what I stood for. I thought that I was just merely stating my opinion, when in fact, I am already breaching somebody's personal space. However, even if such breaches occurred, I never used words to see another person's spirit gets crushed by its power.

There is always a corresponding weight on every thought or opinion that I said, for others to see what I am trying to justify with my point.

In Carlo Vergara's case, it was obvious that the anonymous comment was written out of capriciousness, or maybe a fit of jealousy, or the commentator just felt the need to hurt others because he cannot bear the weight of his own suffering. Such poor creature. Maybe it is best to leave the person alone to wallow in his own hatred of life.

Yet the issue never stops there.

As reactions begin to flood Carverhouse's last entry, it seems that only one person is actually assaulting the author's sensibilities with shallow and hurtful comments. What's most sickening about it is that while reading his comments, there is a hint that a dissatisfied gay person is behind the bullying. When I seek wisdom from experience, I learn that no homophobe or religious bigot would ever use gay lingo to break a gay person's will to exist.

In realizations like this, I ask myself if there is hope for people like us. Should I let my inner rage take over and turn against those diva-divahans who think the world is their stage?

Or should I let the memory of Ada and Dodong suppress my hatred for these subhumans and let this issue die a natural death?

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1:19 am. Zaturnnah answers.

Once There Was An Expedition - Project Kalidasa

Working Title: The Heart Of Sensation: Lives of Hao-Shao Reporters in Police Beat Reporting.

Genre: Non-Fiction

Synopsis: The project aims to give more depth to sensationalized news that prevails in Tabloid Writing. The writer will immense himself among Beat Reporters and Hao-Shao Journalists as they try to make a living writing news for their respective tabloids. It is also the aim of the writer to render to render news stories worthy of becoming a work of creative non-fiction. Plan would include talking to a tabloid publisher in hopes of being allowed to be immersed among his/her reporters for the creative work to begin.

Writing would take a semester to an entire school year to complete.

Initial preparations for this project include reading tabloid news as well as creative work related to the project. It includes reading a list of autobiographies of newswriters of the past and the present.

Enrichment of vocabulary is a must.

Adoption of different writing styles is also recommended.

Earth and Sky

There are entries that need no words to describe the beauty of its contents.

Ward 6

Lazi: Lazy Local Life

Deterioration

Come Fly With Me

The Secrets of Siquijor

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Permission to Link the owner's Multiply/Tabblo account still pending.

Thank you very much Kapatid.

Inhumanity

ELIAS Manlangit, 52, must have summoned every ounce of his fatherly instinct and strength to save his live-in partner, Manuela Palatan, 52, and kid, Kenneth Palatan, 15, from the evil flames. As their skin crackled like popcorn and their faces melted, the victims held hands and probably screamed to God to quickly end their most painful death.

- Renato Gomba Quilicol, People's Tonight

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Had Renato been in one of our workshops in school last year, my first criticism would be directed at his wrong choice of words to describe how those people burned. First, I could not imagine the human skin crackling like popcorns after being exposed to intense heat. Instead, I would describe their fiery deaths as "their body fats bubbling and bursting while their rubbery skin roasted like a pig from the heat." The description would have been more animated for a lead statement.

Second, I do not believe that they screamed to God to hasten their most painful death. Instead, they would have begged the Almighty for mercy and spare them from their most gruesome suffering. It is a human instinct to wish to live.

But this entry is not about these literary criticisms. It is about what I saw in the front page of People's Tonight this afternoon that made me think of how appalling their newspaper has become.

Given that the byliner never attended a Creative Writing Workshop before, I think that his opening statement about the Tondo fire was suffice to stir the reader's imagination of the events that took place. However, what I found most disturbing was the captioned photo also shown in the front page with the news.

Imagine a photo of a gutted house in the background: charred wood and corrugated roof were all over the place. At the center of the picture was a fireman dressed in bright yellow coat. He was pointing at a creature that was beyond recognition lying over the ashed remains of a narrow alley pavement. The creature's mangled flesh and bones suggested that it was once a human being, but I saw it more as a roasted calf with its salmon-pink ribs exposed to the elements. However, the sight of its ebony-white skull without any traces of flesh and hair revealed that the creature was indeed human - disfigured by the flames that brought unspeakable tragedy to its victims.

I understand that tabloids need to shock its readers with sensationalized news and gruesome photos in order to catch the reader's attention. When I was a kid, I once saw this photo of a girl that was run over by a train. Her guts spilled over the rail tracks and for weeks I had nightmares because of that photo. In the case of the roasted person I described above, the picture resulted to a sudden loss of appetite and an unscheduled visit to Santa Clara. The image was just so depressing that I had to strengthen my will and believe that there is something to look forward in life.

You see, what I believe the photo had violated was the dignity of a person. I remember once, my dad was fighting for his life in some public hospital in the city. We used to own a tabloid and one of the photographers thought that it would be good to take his pictures - with all the tubes inserted in his body to show everyone how he fought for life. I ordered the photographer out of the ICU because I believe that his suffering ought to be a private matter. The public can never feast their eyes at the sight of a dying lion.

The tragedy of the victims from the recent fire was enough to stir emotions of sorrow and grief from those who read the story. However, the tasteless image of a body burned to death leaves a sense of fascination and wonder similar to what we have felt as a child, when we saw these freak shows in the karnabal of our youth.

I don't know if the reporter or the photographer still valued human dignity when they took the photos of the charred remains of the victim. I do not know if the news editor was trying to prove something when he chose the photos with the corresponding story as their news banner for today's issue. However, I do know that I'd never let any of my loved ones receive that kind of exposure.

Our journalism professor once invoked us to be human enough in order to write our stories with emotion so that it would catch our reader's attention. In this case, maybe it was People's Tonight's inhumanity that took over, for them to release such very disappointing front page photo and shocked the nation with their relentless greed for attention.