Fortitude

You may call it an affair - I mean, me and my plants. I water them late at night. When no one would catch my Martha Stewart humming, as steady drops of water go on a free-fall from my window. It is a matter of self-sacrifice as well. The pots keep the same window from getting shut. So when rain passes and a shear blows water towards my room's direction, it can soak everything - including the pillows I lay my head on at night.

Ours isn't a perfect arrangement. There are nights when I completely forget to water the plants. I would see them the next day, their leaves wilting and the earth which hold them in place dry and crumbling. They have already shed countless leaves for me. I in turn, have pulled weeds that stunt their growth. I try to make up for my shortcomings. Especially now that I have grown used to the little shade they provide when I forget to drop the curtains in the morning.

Two months and I find it amazing that we have gone this far. I could have neglected the plants and let them die, as new interests take my attention. But I stood my ground this time, stood longer than what this Eden Project and the home-maker spirit used to sum everything that is to me. Because once gardening had slip off my mind, and my misplaced direction miss where my old passion lies, I will have to start over, with a new set of garden plants, and cliche words to describe the feeling of doing it again, like I didn't make attempts to grow plants almost every year.

Trusteeship

At nineteen, I took over the family business as my dad and his business partner decides to spend the summer in Europe.

For two weeks, I stayed at my dad's rat-infested office to look after the company's 24-hour operations. I had to make tough choices - decisions that ran against the ideals infused in our heads in school. There were brief moments of euphoria too: road trips at 3 in the morning to drop my aunt at her place in Navotas, the matriarch cruising the city in a brand-new Kia Carnival my dad used as his wheels; friends dropping by to see how I was doing in the big company; late-night phone calls to the girl who will become my significant half when the school year opened a month later.

The recollections of those two weeks were handwritten in a torn-up sheet of paper. And as my boss prepares to fly to Singapore for a business trip today, the narratives of the old days serve as a fitting reminder that a very long time ago, such take-over took place, and my job at that time was far difficult than what I will be facing in a few hours.

May 9, 2001

Opisyal na nagsimula ang pansamantalang pag-take over ko sa Publishing House at sa Security Agency. Kahit paano'y alam na ng mga tao na ako ang mamumuno sa kanila. Para sa akin, ito'y isang patikim sa maaring mangyari pag ako'y nakatapos na, pero sabagay, mabuting matikman ko na ito kaysa mangapa ako pag nandun na.

Nauna akong pumasok kay Pa. Minabuti ko ito para kahit paano, magkaroon na ako ng mind-set sa mga gagawin ko sa mga susunod na araw. Nalaman ko na rin kahit paano ang mga kailangan kong gawin at paano ang buhay dito sa opisina.

Nakapanlalambot malaman na hindi lang overseer ang gagawin ko kundi pati rin mga articles ni papa. (ang column niya!) Ang pasok ko ay mula 11:00 ng umaga hanggang 1:00 ng sumunod na araw. Alam ko, napakahirap na trabaho ito, na kung minsan, parang trip ko atrasan. Ako lang ang magdedesisyon. Wala ng iba.

Maraming bilib sa gagawin ko. Pero sa akin, ito'y isang napakalaking responsibilidad. Hanggang sa ngayon, takot at pagdududa sa aking kakayahan ang naghahari. Bata pa rin pala ako. Gusto kong umatras pero ayoko maging duwag.

Bukas na ang alis ni pa. Pero hanggang sa ngayon, namumulot pa rin ako ng lakas ng loob. Kailangan kong maging matigas. Kailangan ko ng linaw ng pag-iisip. Kailangan kong magtiwala at magpaka-pinuno kahit di ko ito nagawa sa paaralan. Bahala na. Oras na lang ang magpapasiya.

In Transit

"At talagang kinunan mo ng picture ha?"

I said while we stood at the bend, on a bridge gutting out of the reclaimed land. 

In front of us was the other face of the famed bay, seldom seen in postcards but breathtaking and inspiring nonetheless. To the fisher folks who live in ramshackle houses, the bay remains a fulcrum in their see-saw lives. They flocked its shores to mark the passing of another day, while on the horizon, the sun makes an encore as it paints the sea in electric blue. 

I was astonished at how my companion's eyes sparkled as he gazed into the emptiness. It was past six in the evening and dusk had already spread its curtains across the sky.

"Balik ulit tayo dito kapag may araw pa." I assured as we inched closer towards the concrete beam. We stayed there until what remains of the day is but a sliver of light from the sun. We then returned to the street junction to continue our destination.

What I didn't tell is that my eyes see the landscape in different hues. Passing the same road every time I visit my relatives, I've seen that bend and the sea at different times of the day. 

I could bring my companion again at some other time, so he could take pictures while the sea shimmers and the street urchins take an afternoon dip.

But with my life at the mercy of the fulcrum, who knows where our transient, but common path is heading?

Nevertheless, I saw many things that twilight - grimy-faced toddlers clinging to their street-spawned mothers; young cocky men in motor bikes on their way to the fish port, the long empty stretch of the circumferential road, and the moon, yes, the full moon gracing the eastern sky. My eyes were everywhere - save for one direction:

The pair of lovely eyes in front of me.

Unfortunately, uncertainty still blurs my vision. Even kindred spirits fail to find each other when one remains blinded by a memory. 

The joy awashed on my companion's face may have come from the fleeting seascape, or maybe from stepping foot to a realm he had seen only in maps and visions. But for me, until I find my peace, and a history cease breaking me into chunks of dry rock, all I can lay claim for the present are the ephemeral moments I now share with another.

Shades of Lust

I was waiting for a new-found friend to go online - there - when a kid sent me a private message.

"Where in Santa Mesa?"

A polite question required a polite answer.

"Near Altura. Ikaw?"

He gave his location and because of the affable tone of our exchange, the conversation went on. We traded face pictures, asked what we're doing on Romeo's World (said I was listening to my mp3s at the moment) and when he dropped the "H" word, a grin on my face tells we're approaching a steep slope.

Because I find his pictures attractive.

"Up for some rough action?'

"Define rough action?" I asked, sheepishly.

"Kantot halimaw? Haha sorry to use such term."

His suggestion presented a huge dilemma. I may not be under a lustful spell yet, but the images wrapped inside those two delicious words were not easy to block. In my head flashed various scenes of perversion and I have no means to mount a defense. He stays near my place, and he lives alone. I could say yes to his invitation, and get the deed done without hesitation. After all, I may have tons of sugarcoated reasons for my return to PR. But it all boils down to that one truth I no longer deny.

Libog.

But to do so would mean giving up on so many things - a chance to make friends, no matter how impossible it is to find one - there; a chance at letting a new person come into my life - for even when the odds against him are so high, a mindless fuck on a rainy evening will impale my desire to embrace commitment. And finally, a resounding yes means returning home limping, for I have once again sunk back to the pit. I have already roused my other self, whose claim to fame in the past aside from teasing everyone is surviving the places I find myself in.

Like Planet Romeo.

Feeling the rush of blood on my disko stik, I let him do the talking. While I self indulged my way to finding a one-sided settlement.

"Masarap yun. You kiss pare?"

"Not much, do you?"

"Turns me on actually. Malaki ba yan?"

"5'6 - 6" lang, proportion with length."

"It's been a while since I did this."

"Honga, so anong plano mo, are you open to 3way?"

"3sum? So what will be our arrangement?"

The last time I found myself there, I was offered the same kinky proposal: a three-way match I've been chasing: a role I have been lusting for a long, long time. Wimp as I am, retreating just when the other party decides to seal the deal has always been my answer.

I'm holding back, still. And I don't know the reasons why.

"Yung barkada ko top rin, he's looking for someone we could fuck. I'm good with sucking."

"He's with you?" A soft whimper could be heard across my room.

"Yup, kasama ko siya right now. game ka? medyo XL siya."

By then, my right hand had found a crafty resolution. There's no need to set free my raging demons to meet the horny bastards.

Using a dirty rug, I wiped the evidence between the gaps of my fingers. Their up-sells no longer matter. Challenged but undefeated. Sensual, yet still in control. Relieved that my carnal meltdown didn't happen, I logged out of Planet Romeo, assured that the dance of the scorpions will end without me picking up a fight.

Dry Run

All this has happened before. It will happen again.


Book of Phythia,
Battlestar Galactica

Slice Of Life

The third week of October will likely be remembered for certain things - like the permanent transfer to the morning shift, and the string of tardiness that would shock even the most reasonable of superiors; the nights of wild abandon, whose libation flow brought my feet to Trip's pad in Mandaluyong, then to Malate and Timog the next night; and the solemn observation of days, that mark my departure from the tender arms of the other. 

But life isn't just these stories. It's most interesting and poignant slices are sometimes encapsulated in 140 characters - in an online medium that intends to capture our most intimate and thoughtful moments. Borrowing the idea from Tipz, here are some of the highlights of the past week.   

"minsan hindi rin guarantee ang talino, kagwapuhan at magandang katawan sa masaya at pangmatagalang buhay pag ibig."
— Mugen (@soul_jacker) October 17, 2012

A very good-looking friend gives up chasing a love interest. They were already becoming an item on Twitter, when the guy suddenly went cold. Friend lingered for a week to make sure his instincts were pointing at a known direction. He shared with me his travails and small, but important victories to win the hunk's heart. And then on the fortnight, he surrendered. As he poured his heart out over the phone, I said the words above to soothe his wounded pride.

In love and romance, everyone gains a mortal foothold.

i now understand why some people commit suicide when assigned to a repetitive task 6 days a week and 12 hours a day.
— Mugen (@soul_jacker) October 17, 2012

Heard stories of laborers taking their own lives after their work shifts in industrial complexes in Southern China. The repetitive tasks to assemble electronic gadgets in exchange for low wages, the long hours in the assembly lines, the harsh working conditions under taskmaster tyrants, the madness of shrinking a human mind into a subservient drone. Even the thought of it can make a person insane.

To familiarize myself with the tasks I assigned to my team, I did their work for an entire shift and the monotony of it partially cracked open the guarded repository of my self-destructive thoughts. 

lahat na yata ng klase ng blackmail ginawa ko para i kiss ako ng 2 year old nephew ko. ayaw talaga mag pa kiss. :-(
— Mugen (@soul_jacker) October 15, 2012

I remember my father, and how he orders me to peck him on the cheek even when my own seeds can already gift him with a grandchild. And he would sometimes demand the cheeky kiss in front of others. Those days, all I could think was the humiliation while other people hid their amusement. That is why I would always grudgingly follow his command but never bothered to find the reason for his need of affection.

Then, I went home one evening after counting 10 hours at work. The sleeplessness and exhaustion of forcing myself to work out after my extended office stay, left me with barely enough strength to travel from the gym to my place. The thought of my nephews, their squeaky voices, their amazing words, and their sweetest smiles kept me going. I said to myself that I would ask a kiss and hug from Baby Lenin when I get home - even at the cost of bribing him with a sweet and chocolate-y papay (bread) to get what I want.

Gusto kong pumunta sa Sitangkai, Tawi-Tawi. Sabi nila, yun daw ang Venice of the South. #Bangsamoro
— Mugen (@soul_jacker) October 15, 2012

A solitary pilgrim yearns to see places outside the world's field of vision. He seeks the road less traveled. For this reason, intrepid pioneers prefer the fringes over the heartland. The more difficult the trip is, he finds the experience worth taking.

I see myself as an urbanite who seldom leaves the city. Admittedly, I am in no condition for bumpy roads and day-long hikes. It's been ages since I boarded a plane, or a boat to cross the seas, and telling the matriarch of my travel plans requires a sugarcoated approach.

Because in reality, I am still guarded like a ten year old kid.

But there are destinations I would like to see in this lifetime. Forget travelling abroad, for it hasn't cross my mind. But to step foot in the peripheries, where the land across is a world apart - that I would love to put in my bucket list. Perhaps, in some future - when the Bangsamoro project becomes the beginning of the end, I will see Sitangkai and indulge myself with experiences I've already claimed as mine. 

theres an open road out there. the mere glimpse of it leaves me breathless. :-)
— Mugen (@soul_jacker) October 15, 2012

To deny my sovereignty used to be my way of coping, so I may never fall apart while embracing the realities of being the vanquished. The upheaval still scares me. I am no longer used to doing and thinking things on my own. But once I had a glimpse of what lies ahead, of the millions of choices that could break or make me happy, this new-found freedom might not be as bad as I once claimed. I just have to live with the cycle, and hope it won't take too long before I get tired of the open road again.

Return To Bed

I can still remember the number of souls I pulled from the ground.

One was a skinhead guy. Short and manly. He has a mole smacked just above his upper lip. He was an energizer bunny at the fringes of the dance floor. He began swaying his hips long before I busted a move. I reached for his hand when the party gods picked me to share their podium. Being sober, he turned down the invitation and disappeared in the sea of crowd. When he emerged a few hours later, intoxication had already wiped his inhibition. Once again, I reached for his hand to join me. Accepting my offer, he went up the ledge, danced in front of me, before I left my spot as cramps were beginning to squeeze my leg muscles. 

Another was a kid, whose slim, smooth body became the playground of my clammy hands. He was an energizer bunny too. And being the only guy who paraded his nakedness for all to see, his presence sparked my fancy. So I climbed the ledge once more and took the spot adjacent to his sphere

He was aware that I was resonating his groove - even complementing his hand and body gestures with my own movement. The music turned a faster pace, and soon he was inching closer for a close-contact showdown. His body heat steamed off his sweaty chest. I felt it when I wrapped my arm around his torso. But when he refused to look at me in the eye, somehow I knew the reason why. 

On the ground, choked by noise and smoke, his companion was watching. I didn't see him standing there. But when my dance partner pulled him up to join us, I had to reach his hand, lest I would be seen as hostile. If there was such a thing as a Ménage à trois on the dance floor, I played my part, and I played well. Replete with selfless intentions, the naked kid was sandwiched between me and his companion, as the three of us hugged one another. But when I felt that my presence was no longer needed. When the romantic tension had already built up between my other companions, I happily disengaged and danced from a distance. When I looked at them again to see how they're doing, the kids were making out in the corner.

Smiling, I remembered the reason I came back.

Lightbringer

There were others that night. Happy ladies I had to pull up so they would feel at home among the gay crowd. Drunk, wasted boys who deserved a slice of the spotlight. Old, familiar faces who might need a friendly tug. "I'm back in the puddle!!" I would have shouted, gleefully. "Pardon me if I carry a glass shard...  under my skin." I would say in a soft voice.

That night, I returned to Malate with a proud smile and even prouder spirit. No longer slave to the needs of flesh - even when my subconscious-dripped-libido channeled those energies into raw body movements, I saw myself as one of those who enthused the exhausted to party on until our bodies quit.

Because when we all return to our old selves, with some nursing a hangover or blue balls until late in the afternoon, a hearty reflection would tell that it was all, but just an illusion. For those of us who seek shelter there, and get pulled by gogo boys up on the ledge, and dance until daybreaks turn into mornings, a detour is all that we need to carry on the journey.   

And move on.

Sleepwriting

While attempting to get some sleep this morning, I thought of putting my thoughts into words using my phone's notepad. With the television turned off, my sagging gut pressed against the mattress, and with the nippy air augmenting the wind blowing from my electric fan , the outcome fell short of my loftier vision.

Apparently, my mind was too tired to even tell a story. 

Sharing with everyone the creative output of such sleep deprivation. Let it be known that some of the blog entries I will publish from now on will be penned this way. 

It's been a week to be exact since I transferred to the morning shift. It's also the first time I was able to enjoy a weekend rest day in ages. Life has never been this much gracious if I know the essence of gratitude. 

But with my late nights spent rolling over my bed, switching from one sleeping position to another, and then waking up to the crows of roosters, and a glimpse of the indigo sky painting a morning scene on my window, one is always tempted to return to slumber. 

Even when sinking under the blanket remains out of the question.

The demands of work, the endless grind to appease the client, and an order to be established to set a project in motion, inch me out of the bed. Never mind the crumpled face, the dizzy spells when standing on my feet, and this tired look even after taking a cold shower. The utter lack of rest doesn't show not only in my pallid appearance, it takes a toll on my well-being as well. 

And I got no answer to stop this downward spiral.

The four-hour shutdown hinders me to make decisions, and lead. Half the time, the lethargy of thought and body give this impression of disinterest. No wonder, the director seems to be eyeing someone as my possible replacement.

And the worse part is the night-long wait. Gathering one's strength doesn't come as easy as it used to when I sleep in the morning and wake up at noon. The wasted hours could have been used for more productive pursuits.

Like painting words and reading life's wisdom.

It's 3 in the morning, and with no resolution in sight, not even a temporary fix - as life's tasks threaten to overwhelm me while the sun marches across the sky - I am once again at the mercy of my struggle. 

Meanwhile, I will use the remaining darkness to cocoon my mind inside an unseen leaf, while the soothing squeaky voice of Gumball on Cartoon Network slides my thoughts gently into dreams. 

As it has always been these past several days, shut eye happened at 4 am, only to be roused from slumber by the persistent nagging of my phone's alarm clock an hour later.

Flashback

A text message: 
October 14, 2010. 12:25a

Gisingin lang niya araw-araw, text lang niya maya't-maya. Sabayan mag lunch, sabayan mag dinner, sabayan magbuhat, antayin matulog, i-cuddle niya araw-araw, dalhin niya sa ferry sa pasig. magfoodtrip sa binondo.

Baler, Dreaming

"Punta tayong Baler!!"

"Kelan?" The kid across the table asked without even looking at my direction. He continued cutting the Spicy Garlic Calamares to bite-size pieces still steaming on his plate.

"Umm... sa 15 sana eh..." I had hoped my suggestion would brighten his face and reanimate our conversation. But knowing he had seen the place twice - in less than a year - a return trip for him would seem casual.

But not for me.

Baler, a rustic little town opposite the Casiguran sound has enamored me for ages. I read a lifestyle article a long time ago describing the place. The provincial capitol used to be an off the beaten track with unpaved roads and a single bus company connecting the city. The mental picture of unspoiled beaches off the edges of the Sierra Madre, unlit roads next to deep ravines, and lush rain forests overlooking the Pacific has never left my mind. I had my chance last year, but I chose to set course to far distant shores instead where I would be closer to my ex-boyfriend.

"Anu ka!! Monday kaya ang 15!?" When I checked my phone's calendar, my companion, who was smiling at me turned out to be speaking the truth.

"Edi Saturday and Sunday na lang. Magfi-file ako ng leave sa trabaho."

"Siguraduhin mo lang ha! At maghanda ka na rin ng budget na P3500."

"Oo ba. You sure you want to go back? Nanggaling ka na dun eh?"

"Diba, balak nga namin bumalik dun every month?" Ever since he was prodded by his colleagues to discover the joys of surfing, returning to Baler became a regular pilgrimage.

I do not know if my date was truly unaware of the occasion - the reason I would defy my aversion to countryside trips to spend some quality time with him, or he merely chose to put it behind the piles of other thoughts. But that night, on our last dinner together, I felt a rather nippy reception.

For if the portents of that evening reveal the events of the future, such journey to the eastern fringes would never take place.

And as if life decides to play a cruel joke, my rest days have been moved to weekends this week. My salary also got a kick up the pay scale and the weather forecasts herald a sunshiny weekend. 

What isn't there however, and will no longer be around is my travel companion.

Gone, along with the idea of celebrating a milestone, the Baler trip has to be ditched. I have no desire of taking solitary sojourns, only to be haunted by a painful memory once I reach my destination.

Dog Days

To be rewarded with weekend rest days should be a cause for celebration. The last time I had my Sundays for leisure was ages ago, and to secure that one day, I had to make sacrifices and spend years having separated days off at work.

But the expected switch was met with ambivalence, if not downright dismay. It is because it was announced by the director during the end of my work week, and that I have to spend seven days toiling for the company before I could enjoy my break.

The issue however is not really the rest days. It is the tidal shift that threatens to overwhelm me with work thoughts outside of the office. It would have been a crescendo in my dull and sometimes poignant life. The company had found a new client, with ways of doing business that is different from what we perform.

If our agents were trained to think green - with lust. Now, they have to think green - with the planet in mind.



My heart was ready to give in, and given my accomplishments, I was tasked once again to lead the project.

A voice inside me says that this is what I wanted: To lead and nurture a team in behalf of the company. I had my baptism of fire before the monsoon rains came, and even though it was a short unforgotten stint, I delivered - despite having limited resources, experience and time.

This new back-office work is as promising as the last one. It spreads out so fast, that the client wants us to fill 10 seats by the end of the month. It would make the company grow double in size. The project would require hiring new people, training them in ways that I was forced to learn in two days. It would put me at the head of the operations - running the show in partnership with the director. The scope of the project leaves me gasping for air, than when I look at it from a distance, I could see an entire floor becoming my workplace.

But the sudden abruptness caught us off guard. Instead of doing Beta-Testing and documenting how the web interface works, the client demands measured output. Instead of preparing training materials, we are scrambling to have those empty seats taken without poring over the applicants' previous work. The lack of readiness on top of a circus of processes, website bugs and once again - limited resources had almost diminished my resolve. If not for the thought that no one could overturn heaven and hell, like I do whenever I want to make things work, I would have declined the challenge and stay within my comfort zone instead.

The tasks at hand pile up as personal doubts manage to crawl in, even as I revise this blog entry. Given my lukewarm reception to the project, my capacity to make plans and make them work has still not diminished. These pent-up feelings however will linger on for sometime. Even when summer in my profession is fast approaching.

For after all is said and done, and our first real deliverables get the commendation of the client, I know within that winter has yet to thaw my disposition. Sullen and disheartened with other things that remain unsaid, I still have to push myself - to the wall if necessary - despite the arctic spell.

The Spinner

When Arrjae Puno and I were in our early twenties, our tireless selves used to be the poster boys of Orosa. At 1 am on a Saturday morning, we would walk the streets of Malate on our way to Bed. The scene then, littered with wasted, happy folks who want to be seen and get laid were hardly a distraction. We still yearn to get to our destination.

After paying the 200 pesos cover charge, we would force our bodies in spaces already packed with frenzied crowd. The club then was a narrow strip tightly squeezed between the New York Cafe and another resto-bar, whose name had already slipped my mind. Two bottles of beer empty, the sound of bass bouncing off the man-sized speakers; and with the sight of half-naked revelers sweating from the collective body heat; there is no way to hold back the euphoria. With eyes half-closed, arms floating in mid-air, and me giving up control with every pulse of the strobe lights, my body loosens and begins swaying to the beat.

I have no doubts that Arrjae had the same sweeping feeling as well. Given the nights we would mount the ledge, take off our shirts and occupy the spot the Gogo boys had just left. The experience never left. I still listen to Electronic Dance Music whenever I get hold of the sound. What I didn't know is that my dance partner had other aspirations. Seeing the spinner becoming the heart of the dance floor, he wanted to become the DJ himself.

Once, I showed up in one of his gigs. He was just an apprentice then, and the watering hole where he spun his music wasn't really the places he would like to show his craft. With a bottle of beer in hand, I leaned across the turntable and watched him as he smoothly transitioned an RnB track to another. Back then, the crowd hardly paid attention. Being a social gathering corner rather than a place to dance, he was merely a wallflower.

I remember that time, for I hardly followed his rise to stardom. He spun in some of the swankiest club in town until he landed on the very same place where we used to forget the weekends. I had retired from clubbing because of other aspirations, and him being the resident DJ of Bed hardly crossed my mind. But with the events happening around me lately, the only place I know - to start over again - is the place I used to run and forget.

The club.

It was Friday evening when I saw his invitation on my Facebook Wall. Arrjae was chosen as one of the five finalists who will compete for a chance to open for David Guetta this Friday And as part of the race, exposure counts when candidates play at clubs where the judges take residence. Not knowing what to do that night, I said I'll come to his event. High on House is one of the shows I listen on FM radio and since they were the ones who set the gig at Time, I knew where I'm getting at.

It was home.

So at three in the morning tipsy on alcohol and drunk on Electronic Dance Music, I took my place outside the DJ's booth as Arrjae flipped open his laptop. With the Apple icon glowing amidst the smoke-filled room, he introduced his set with a Trentemøller classic. The DJ said he would play disco, but he ended up electrifying everyone with a progressive house set. And there we were, the spinner and the dancer. One, living his dream, while the other reclaiming his old spot in the new order of things. I may not be that kid who used to mount the ledge and take off his shirt in Malate. But that night, as one of those who lead the crowd and got consumed by the music. 

I knew a part of me was awakened.

It was almost 5 in the morning when Arrjae ended his set. He left the booth amazed by his exceptional performance. The reception was insane, for despite being an outsider in the sea of straight crowd, we walked past the dance floor still packed with people gearing up for the night's climax. He had asked me to join him and his friends for breakfast. But having to work that afternoon, and with my strength already used up, it was time to go home.

Prelude:

I was reading Bien's blog when his EDM sampler put me on a party spin. The idea to grace the dance floor was his doing. And to return the favor, I will share my music. May these songs put you in good spirits the whole week.

These are for you too Tipzsta. Cheers! Let's celebrate, for you have found your one. 

The Clicktivist

I don't mind the hacktivists taking over government websites. After all, their intentions are clear. They are sending a message the netizens approve. There too, is a pattern to their incursions. They take over websites at past midnight, and the portals they assault - like the Bangko Sentral and the IPO hardly affect the lives of ordinary people. I am so amazed of their advocacy that I "liked" their Facebook page this morning, and told myself that these are the same anonymous IT soldiers who would carry on the battle should a cyber-war breaks between us and a hostile country. And they exposed too the vulnerability of our government-run webpages. For that, they could count on my support.

However, when a ddos attack ceased access to Project Noah - a website dedicated to rain forecasting and flood monitoring - my support quickly disappeared. I wouldn't mind voicing my appreciation for causes that assert my rights. But when privileges get abused, I can't help but acknowledge the limit to one's freedom of expression.

When these acts of sabotage couple with ignoramus Facebook wall statements claiming "that we have lost our freedom" and "it feels like Martial Law," disillusionment is not far behind. Having a sociologist for a mother, I am very aware how herd mentality limits people's ability to think rationally. 

And I believe we have crossed the line.

I was among the first to change my profile picture to black on Facebook. The protest I took part was able to send a message. I could even say that the goal was accomplished, given the news articles and reports aired the next day. But when people starts overdoing things - and we become the reason these laws get drafted, it is time to reassess one's stand.

Tired of all these nonsense, I am returning my Facebook page back to what it was - before these revolts started. It seems like we don't deserve this much freedom, after all.

Bilog Ang Mundo

Torn
Fullmetal Dreams
July 21, 2008

Tanghali

"Uy, bakit ka nagmiss-call?"

"Asan ka po?"

"Heto papasok napo sa trabaho. Bakit mo tinatanong?"

"Wala lang... Happy Monthsary po. I miss you so much."

"Miss. na.. rin.. kita..."

"Kinalimutan mo na ang monthsary natin."

"Iniintay lang kitang unang bumati. Alam kong monthsary natin ngayon."

"Tulog po ako sa inyo mamaya. Ok lang po ba?"

"Ah eh, gagabihin po ako sa work mamaya eh. Pasensya na."

"Miss na po kita makayakap eh. Ayaw mo na ako patuluyin sa inyo."

"Hindi naman... kakastay mo lang sa amin nung minsan ah."

"Tampo na ako sa iyo. Ayaw mo na ako papuntahin sa inyo."

"Ang kulit mo naman, sabi sayo gagabihin ako eh."

"O sige na nga. Kahit nagtatampo ako. Ingat po ikaw."

"Babay, I love you."

"I... love.. you. po."

--

Text message: Pasensya na, magkaaway kami ng kapatid ko ngayon eh. Ayaw kong may sabihin siya pag tumuloy ka sa amin.

--

Hapon

"Bakit ka po ulit nag-miss call?"

"Wala lang, nalulungkot lang ako. Miss na po kita makayakap eh."

"Ok lang yun. Nagkikita naman tayo diba?"

"Iba pa rin yung yakap eh. Alam na po ba ni [insert name of sister] ang tungkol sa atin?"

"Hindi ko alam. Wala rin akong pakielam. Ayaw ko lang may sabihin siya tungkol sa iyo."

"Ayaw na po ba nila ako pumunta sa iyo."

"Hindi naman. Wala naman sila sinasabi sa pagpunta mo dun eh."

"Sobrang miss na po kita. Antagal na kita hindi nakakatabi sa pagtulog."

"Ako rin..."

"Hayaan mo next time na lang. Wrong timing ka naman eh."

"Ganyan na po ba ngayon? Parang gusto ko maiyak, hindi na kita nakikita eh. Parang may nag-iba na sa atin."

"Wala naman ah. Saka wag mo masyado isipin yun. Ang mahalaga, magfocus ka sa pagtapos mo sa school."

"Sigurado ka ha. Wala."

"Wala... Balik na po ako sa work. May pasok ka mamaya diba?"

"Meron po."

"Galingan mo sa school. Ingat ka sa pag-uwi."

"Happy Monthsary po."

"Happy Monthsary rin."

"I love you."

"..."

"Mwah."