Fullmetal Retrieval Project

"Google is putting inactive users on notice. The tech giant says it will soon start deleting accounts that have gone two years or longer without a login or other demonstration of engagement. Stored content on Gmail, Workspace, YouTube, and Photos will all be on the chopping block—along with the associated Google accounts themselves—under the new policy, as outlined in a company blog posted Tuesday."

- Back It Up! Google Will Soon Purge Inactive Accounts, Gizmodo

When I had to abandon my old blog in 2009 to put up a new one, I came to a realization that I can never reveal the slice-of-life stories I had written during my time with Phanks. The ex-boyfriend, upon his research and investigation, learned about its existence a few months after our breakup. So I had to shut it down and leave no footprints behind.  

The disengagement was sudden and without notice, even to the community that had been following my journey. I removed the blog as if I were discarding all the dirty laundry, hoping it would never be found. However, I decided to keep a hidden backup in case I wanted to revisit my past. The blog disappeared from cyberspace, but occasionally I would read the entries and amuse myself with how lost but hopeful it seemed when I led a double life.

Eventually, I moved away from Blogger and continued chronicling my life on other platforms, such as Instagram. However, when I heard about Google's collective purging, I felt an urgent need to act. My first instinct was to retrieve the sign-in details for Fullmetal Dreams. Yet, my digital search yielded no results. So, I made the decision to import the contents of my old blog and merge them with Daybreak Embers. By accessing the present blog through my personal email, it would be protected from purging even if I were to stop writing.

For now, my personal journals remain safe.

However, my relief was short-lived when I discovered that not all entries unfolded properly after uploading the master file. It seems that the Blogger code for entries from 2004 to 2005 is incompatible with the current HTML version. Now, I have to manually publish the old entries—one by one—to complete this desperate migration, a total of 465 posts.

"Might as well do some grammar revisions and read the entries as I go over this work," I told myself while copying and pasting entire posts for re-publishing. 

Though it may not have been my original intention, I will get to be reacquainted with my lost and rebellious 24-year-old self once more.

It's nice to see you again, Proximus.   

Nostalgia In Blogosphere

"Where have all the fireflies gone.

Come out, come out, dear bloggers.

Spread your wings, cast your light.

Let us all fly home one more time."

- Closet Geek

  January 4, 2018

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"Use whatever format you want: essay, short story, 

poetry, photo essay, whatever.

We are a diverse community. We always have been. 

Go at it however you want.

Let's all publish our entries on January 20.

Then send me a link to your posts after you have published them.

I'll update my entry and add links to your post.

See you all in the blogosphere.

- Jap Nishiguchi

  January 4, 2018.

There is nothing here but memories, of exciting times when voices echo through this chamber. Slice-of-life narratives abound, and so were erotic vignettes that titillated the senses. There were confessions of dreams, pronouncements of grand schemes, and whispers of accomplishments celebrated in distilled stories. Some found closure as they laid down their burdens for eager voyeurs to read, while others learned that life could imitate art in-between cryptic paragraphs. 

A community flourished in this place, publishing blog entries, day in and day out.  It didn't matter what you write. After all, the strength of your words came from personal truths. And although the style set one blogger from another, in the end, one thing has always been certain: everyone was welcome to tell their stories.  

In this tight-knit space, where one is connected to another, real-life friendships burst forth and multiplied. Anecdotal evidence now scatters the social media pages of ex-bloggers engaged in some form of collective merriment. There were romantic unions too that bloomed here, and while others have withered through time's passing, a few endures to this day.  There is no denying that we have carved divergent paths after we have outgrown this fancy and all that is left is a hollowed shell replete with draft narratives and words left unsaid.

How I wish we could bring back the old times.

Cocooned in the cradle of microblogging, (with 280 words now, to tweet your thoughts in exchange for swift catharses) a return to long-form writing is nothing but a pipe dream. It is something that I have begrudgingly accepted now that penning this blurb meant giving up precious hours before slaving again for my two jobs. But there is a wish to rekindle old ties; to bring together kindred souls back, and I for one wouldn't miss this chance to again say hello to old companions and read their lives after blogging. So I return ahead of everyone, to tell some of my stories, in hopes that this collective call to write "One More Time" would be answered by the rest.

Once more, this is Mugen, and here's to writing.

To Die For Digong

You need to understand. Mayor is our heart and soul. He protected us. He is not a dictator and he listens to us. That's why we are emotional. He is like our father, he will do anything to make his children safe from any harm, he provides what we want and he understand what we need.

Please excuse us if we are too affected and emotional.

Again you will never understand cause you are not from Davao and you haven't been there.

Takawka

Let me tell you a story of a boy who grew up in a city in the south. This city has known peace since the time he blossomed into manhood. He feels safe when he walks down the streets even at past midnight. Local businesses are booming despite the conflicts in the restive regions of the island, and social institutions, like hospitals and schools actually serve the needs of the public. Even the jails for women are clean and well-maintained. There is a stand-by response team for fires and other emergencies. While issues of poverty or petty crimes still persist, there is a pervading sense of order. Mayor makes sure everyone follows the law. He doesn't steal. He lives a frugal life. He drives a taxi from time to time to hear personally what the people need. Impressive feat, in a country where most politicians feel entitled as they go on with the business of governing.

This boy, by stroke of luck, had to relocate. In the imperial capital where everything is a mess. Road gridlock makes commuting a daily pain. Trains break down all the time. His phone gets snatched, his wallet, stolen. Hospitals and schools operate beyond capacity. Corruption is rampant, the elite feels they own everything. The government protects its interest, unlike in the south where he feels the city serves its citizens. He had thoughts of giving up, to return to his homeland if not for the good pay. Then one day, the Mayor decides to run for President. The boy knew him well, like how he knew his own father: Imperfect, but effective. Reasonable, but applies discipline when needed. Protective to the point of using measures, outsiders will frown upon. 

Overnight, he dons his colors to campaign for the man. This is our Mayor, and change is coming.

Unfortunately, I am not the boy and in my eyes, I will never see what the Mayor has done for his city. Perhaps, his accomplishments are possible given its small population. Maybe, they knew him, like an old patriarch who they must follow like obedient children. I do not know. And often I do not care. Except that from time to time, I remind myself to spare his city when portraying the Mayor as the candidate who shouldn't be the next president.

He doesn't represent me. That, I posted on my Twitter account.

And for a number of reasons.

For one, he kills drug peddlers. This is all over the news. Even the Human Rights Watch has confirmed this. What if his death squad mistakes an innocent teen from a drug pusher? Who will account for the life that had been lost? Then he curses and treats women like sex objects. One that should be seen as conquests, and not partners in progress. He also doesn't mind engaging diplomats in verbal spats. Remember what he said to the Australian and the United States ambassadors after the rape joke? The Mayor doesn't even have the social niceties when describing countries and their local problems. I won't be surprised of the diplomatic snubs should he becomes the next leader. Whispers also tell of his allegiance with the Communists, his alliance with Beijing, and his plans of giving up the islands in the West Philippine Sea in exchange for a railway system in Mindanao. There is so much to tell that would make me a hater, but nothing compares to the brutality of his supporters - some personal acquaintances - who have marked me as the enemy because I speak against the Mayor.

Only a few nights ago, a friend of a friend suggested that I should consult a doctor implying that I was mad. He had the gall to block me, then speak my name when I can't read it on his Twitter feed. Fortunately, word had reached me through a concerned friend. Screen-capping his comment, I posted the update on my Twitter account for his barkada to find out. There was also another friend, of a friend, who told me through a sub tweet that I was an animal who had no achievements. This was after I told his bet that he's "yawa" for duping his supporters. When confronted about his remarks, he didn't reply to my direct message, letting his friends instead to speak on his behalf.  

Rabid dogs without balls.

If there is one thing I've learned this election, it is that politics is personal. What you say against a person who speak out against your chosen will stay after the ballots have been counted. No doubt, I will remember what they said, not because of the Mayor and his forgettable antics. But because of how I was treated by boys whose choice of candidate I never judged. So much for helping me appreciate who their Mayor is.

Fortunately, there are people who are patient enough to reach out - not to win my vote - but to see their mayor, Rodrigo Duterte, in a better light. They are the ones who shaped this entry, and by extension, my personal assessment of their candidate. It helps too, that my favorite Aunt is for the Mayor. It is because of her that I was able to distinguish the trolls from genuine supporters. She may hate the candidate I am supporting, but it doesn't change my fondness for her.

So is my willingness to recognize her leader.

If surveys are indication of who the next leader is, Digong will be the next President of the Republic. It will upset the rest, while vindicating those who stood with him, including the fictional boy in this entry who yearns nothing but a better Philippines. Being the outsider who is suspicious of those I don't know, and for the trolls who have hurt so many instead of trying to create bridges of understanding, the Mayor will not get my vote. But deep down, my sincere wish is to one day send a message to the men who overlooked my hatred and tell them I was wrong and they are right.

That beneath the facade, their Mayor has nothing but love for this nation.

Saving Grace

I might have thought this was an exaggeration if I had not caught that report by Aladdin Bacolodan in the news. Bacolodan had gone to the place where FPJ spent his last moments on earth, the studio where he gasped his last while hosting a party. In a corner of the studio was a huge pile of goods that FPJ had been collecting, which reportedly cost him a pretty penny and which he meant to distribute to the typhoon victims. None of the goods carried a label, least of all FPJ's name, on them. The cartons were unmarked completely. Based on his interviews with people close to FPJ, Bacolodan reported that FPJ was like that: he refused to advertise himself when he gave.

A Touch of Class

Conrado de Quiros

The ties that bind are strong.

Once, in the brashness of my youth, I did invoke her father's name when I thought of a headline that perfectly fits the breaking news. It was on the day he announced his presidential bid. Elated to know that there is someone who stood against the oppressive incumbent, I asked for my dad's approval (the publisher) when I put in bold and capital letters "The King For President" on the front page of our newspaper. I knew I would break a cardinal rule in Journalism, and even sought the wisdom of a teacher in my university for assurance. With hesitation, I was able to secure his blessing, and from the day we openly supported him through a thinly-veiled banner story, we were the only tabloid to be welcomed with open arms by FPJ in his campaign sorties. 

He lost that election and died while repacking relief goods for the disaster-stricken a few years later. But it didn't stop his adopted daughter in following his footsteps when she ran for senator nearly a decade after his passing. With her father's defeat in the hands of a cheating president still fresh in the nation's collective memory, the daughter gained the highest number of votes in the last election.

The father was at long last, vindicated.

The daughter did quite well as a legislator. She was calm and collected and lead a number of Senate hearings that improved her standing among political observers. There was no doubt the future is bright for the King's daughter, and this was reflected in the surveys a year before the coming election. 

The president even stepped up to broker a power deal that would groom her to become the next leader of the country - in 2022. 

The problem, however, is the unchecked ambition. It blinds people. It makes you believe that your anointment (from certain groups with vested interests or ambivalent gods who have nothing to do with the daily lives of men, whichever comes first in your head) is self-evident that you tend to overlook your limitations that make you undeserving of a promotion. In her case, this promotion is to lead a nation of over 100 million people. A task that may require a lifetime of experience, or a vision that springs from the depths of one's soul.

Personally, I don't find either.

And in spite of her lacking accomplishments, or of years of residence required to become a legitimate President, or of a strong party that will support her candidacy, Grace Poe, decided to repeat what her father did believing that time is ripe to claim what has been theirs all along. It would have been a fitting narrative in a political drama that is the Philippine elections, except that her personal storyline - believable or not - may never have a happy ending once the business of running the government drags her family name down the drain. 

I have heard of her campaign platform - mostly improvements in the programs that are already being applied by the government. Except for the passing of the freedom of information bill, a creation of a separate cabinet for Information and Communications Technology, and acquisition of more trains for a metropolis with serious infrastructure problems, all I heard were motherhood statements: Populist blabber that is good to hear, but lacking substance on paper. So far, I have yet to digest some attainable ideas on job creation, protection of overseas Filipino workers' rights, or even steps to defend our islands in the West Philippine Sea. She has yet to say something on climate change, the promotion of the agricultural sector, or even how to improve the quality of education in the country.

Silly as it may sound but his father was even worse. Not a single chance he graced the media for an interview. He turned down the national debates, and instead appeared on makeshift stages to charm the folks who knew him as the Panday. And even in the absence of experience or ideas on how to govern a nation, He would still have my vote if I had the privilege to cast it in 2004.

Because I knew he would bring decency and honor back in the government.

Given this revelation, and the occasional rage on social media every time I read Grace fumbling in the face of newsmakers, I still keep a soft spot when I look at the lady and recall her good father. Ms. Poe may not have my vote this time, but I can live under her leadership, certain that she would never step over my rights, or hear opponents disappearing into the dead of the night.

  

The Patronage Politics Of Jojo

At sumulat na rin ako kay Col. Jose Sta Romana, ang deputy chief ng Office of Detainer’s Affairs para hingin ang release ni Sammy. Sinagot niya ako na hindi maire-release si Sammy dahil naisampana ang kaso niya, PD 33 sa lalawigan ng Pasig kay Fiscal Rodolfo Mateo.

Sinabi ko ito kay Atty. Rene Sarmiento. Siya kasi ang sumusubaybay sa kaso ni Sammy at Agot. Pagkalipas ng ilang araw, sinabi niya na inilipat niya ang kaso ko kay Atty. Jojo Binay. Kilala daw kasi nito si Fiscal Mateo at classmate pa sa sabungan. Mula noon, kay Atty. Binay na ako nagpapa-follow up.

Inaamin ko na sa mga panahong iyon, may mga oras na napapagod din ako. May araw na ayaw kong kumilos. Pero ang asawa ni Agot, si Rose ang kumukulit sa akin. Kinukulit din kasi siya ng asawa niya. Kaya’t walang panahon na mapagod, na tumigil sa paglalakad ng release papers.

Pinayuhan ako ni Atty. Jojo Binay na pasulatin si Sammy at Agot kay Fiscal Mateo at umapela sila sa kanilang release for humanitarian reasons. Sumulat ang dalawa at sa impluwensya na rin siguro ni Atty. Binay, pumayag si Fiscal Mateo. Sumulat siya sa Office of Detainees Affairs na wala siyang tutol sa release nung dalawa upang magkaroon sila ng pagkakataon na maayos ang mga papeles nila sa kanilang kaso.

Sworn Statement,

Martial Law Recollections

Nothing but good words - I think - would come out of my dad's mouth if he were to talk about Jojo Binay and the ties that bound them. I would not even be surprised if he and the publishing empire that he had built would carry the mayor's name if he were still alive today. After all, my dad owes his freedom to this man, who used to be a little-known public servant before Cory Aquino installed him as the custodian of Makati. For politicians and constituents alike, he is still the same person who would use his connections and resources to grant favors to those who would approach him.

But first, let me assure you, dear readers, that I do not share my father's affinity with the old man. Not even in my subconscious do I believe in the sincerity of his words. The least I could offer is recognition, of how he has become part of the family lore. I would no longer go into details, but it is possible that he was the reason for my being. Beyond this begrudging utang-na-loob is my attempt at understanding; of why despite the corruption charges hurled against him, and his wily attempts to evade the accusations, Jojo Binay appeals to millions of voters who choose to ignore the truth and would still want for him to become the next President of this country.

The answer lies within our barest notion of Democracy.

I have always said that we never got past the idea of Feudalism. Sa probinsya man o sa lungsod, we are expecting politicians to provide for our basic needs. We think we are entitled to it. We let them become lords and princes in exchange for little conveniences that in time would appear like we owe it to them. And the former mayor of Makati is just a fine example of a leader spawned by this perverted social pact. His platform of governance, including the 5Ps and the reduction of taxes, assure that this system will be expanded beyond the peripheries of  his city. The grateful masses, in return, would perpetuate his dynasty. This is what happened when his daughter was elected a Senator despite her lack of experience in the government.

Jojo Binay would tell everyone that his city offers free healthcare for its residents. He also offers free education for its students. I do not know what else is free in Makati aside from the bland cakes, and school bags (with the Binay trademark adorning its surface) but my aunt, who is a surgeon, had sworn in our family talks that the city runs the public hospitals with the best medical facilities. How can you beat that? This augmented reality, obscured by the fact that it was Makati's small indigent population and a robust business and commercial district that afford them such privilege. This narrative passed on from word-of-mouth is what's making the elder Binay a favorite among the natives.

But can we blame them for believing this pipe dream?

Much as I would like to think that Jojo embraces a social system similar to socialism, the truth is that he practices a leadership style that allows for the politics of patronage to flourish. And when the people - from the village elders to the landed princelings hold their allegiance to that one family responsible for their well-being, the excesses of power, including the audacity to generate personal income through shady deals get overlooked and forgotten. It is only when determined rivals, aided by intrusive journalists unearth these secrets do the truth come out. This is the real Binay story. And given that he has been ignored for so long, he goes to great lengths (including the infamous no-shows at the Senate hearings) denying the accusations despite the damning evidence.

Meanwhile, the masa doesn't care. Forever swayed by politicians who "eat among them" and "dole out cash and goods when it's time to campaign," they see our political system as a sham; That no matter who you put in Malacanan, nothing will ever change. Hence, the solid 23% of the voting population remains and will carry him to the finish line.

I will never vote for him in any elections, but as long as the Padrino system goes on, Jojo Binay, and the likes of him will always have loyal followers, no matter where they peddle their lies.

Miriam's Last Stand

Santiago’s antics during the Erap trial would already have shown how the provocation tends to lie completely with her. It’s a good reminder that her pretensions to brilliance, which is where she gets off thinking she has a right to lecture others on the finer points of law or ethics, are just that: pretensions. It’s neither borne by her legal nor political life. Getting a grade of 76 in the bar exams is not a masterful legal achievement, and I don’t know why the lawyers she waylays in the impeachment court do not demur by saying, “I’m sorry, Madame, but having gotten 77 in the bar exams, I do not see myself as needing your hectoring to pass this test.” And goading the unshod, or rubber-sandaled, masa to sugod-sugod Malacañang, and defying the authorities to arrest her afterward, gun on the table, only to turn to the other side faster than you can say “Brenda,” is not a sign of ethical behavior, let alone a sane one.

Conrado de Quiros, Contempt

When Miriam Defensor-Santiago had floated her Presidential aspiration last year, I knew it was motivated by some unfinished business. After all, among the candidates running for this national election, she was - if whispers are to be believed - robbed of the Presidency the first time she ran for office. In 1992, she lost to FVR by some 1 million votes. With rampant cheating prevailing during the last days of the canvassing, (including the Dagdag-bawas scheme done by some fixers in the Comelec) it is possible that she could have won that election.

Three years later, she entered politics again and ran for senate. Miriam was able to secure a seat in the upper chamber of congress. From being a graft-buster with a cabinet-level position during the first Aquino presidency, she became an elected official. A generation of voters would then know her as a Senator, and she is, without a doubt, will stay associated with being a lawmaker no matter the person sitting in Malacanang.

However, the trouble with Miriam is that her loyalty could be swayed by the wrong people. What is worse is that she would use the technicalities of the law to her advantage. This behavior was evident during the Erap impeachment trial when she sided with the president who had a hand (and probably more) on the Jose Velarde scandal. I remember how she fiercely defended Estrada, even voting against the opening of the second envelope that will further implicate the president. This has enraged the people as the evidence on that envelope contained information that will no longer be available for scrutiny. Within days, a revolution would take place in Edsa and Erap had no choice but to vacate Malacanang and hand over the Presidency to GMA. 

Miriam was undaunted.

Four months later, I remember seeing a grainy video recording of her, exhorting the protesters at Edsa 3 to storm the Palace and remove Gloria Macapagal Arroyo from power. It didn't succeed, and with her losing the Senate seat during the election of 2001, Miriam retreated from the public eye. She would only resurface three years later when she got elected to the Senate once more.

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The Miriam narrative, as I would like to call it, is like a tale of a protagonist who had lost, and won admiration, only to lose it again for her habit of leaning towards the characters belonging to the perverted side of history. Her association with Erap, with Gloria, and now with Bongbong Marcos leaves you without a reasonable doubt that she can trade principles for political survival. But like any other person, she too has a soft side, and when she exposes this to the public, the nation responds with compassion. When her son committed suicide, after being humiliated by professors while being interviewed at the UP College of Law, public sympathy was with her. This sympathy would eventually lead to the partial restoration of her image. In 2004, and again, in 2010, she would be elected as a Senator of the republic. Even I, who has a historic distrust with the senator, would overlook the truth and put her name on my ballot.

Pero hanggang dun na lang.

Miriam will go down in history as one of the colorful characters to grace the Senate. I will always cherish her feistiness, her pedestrian language when interrogating witnesses during Senate inquiries, her social media savviness, her legal acumen, the laws she had authored and passed in congress, and many other things both good and bad. But her decision to run together with the dictator's son and her refusal to reveal her medical condition after declaring "victory" against cancer leave a bad taste when one contemplates whether to support her Presidential bid or not. There is simply too much at stake, and given her performance in the last Presidential debate, the fire in her belly is no longer there. It feels like she merely wants to run in search of validation. 

I have much respect for her supporters - both online and offline - for holding still. But by judging the outcome of the surveys, as well as how her campaign is going, I am seeing that this is Miriam's last stand.

There is nothing for her beyond this election.

Unfair Treatment

Taong 2004 nang magsimula akong mag-blog. Ito'y isang past time na nabuo dahil sa pakikiuso sa isang ka-tropa na minsang ipinagmalaki sa Yahoo Group ang kanyang Blogger page. Namangha ako sa kanyang blog. Ipanakita niya ang kanyang katalinuhan at husay sa pagsusulat. Bilang graduate ng Journalism ay hindi ako nagpatalo. Di ko man siya kasinggaling ay nakakita ako ng outlet, ng kalayaan ipahayag ang saloobin. Kaya gumawa ako ng sariling online journal at doon ibinuhos ang aking mga kuwentong pakikipagsapalaran sa buhay. Taon ang lumipas. Nauso ang iba't ibang mga blogs. Nagkaroon ito ng niche market - pagkain, paglalakbay, at pulitika. Pati erotika ay hindi pinalampas. Hindi man ako nakilala gaya ng iba, ngunit naging faithful ako sa craft. Pinaghusayan ko ito. Iniwasang makasira ng mga taong subject ng aking mga kuwento. At dahil doon ay ginantimpalaan akong makapagsulat ng maraming bagay na hinugot sa aking personal na karanasan. Nagkaroon rin ako ng respeto sa mga kasamahang bloggers, sapagkat kung hindi dahil sa aming collective effort, ang impormasyon na ngayo'y malayang kumakalat sa social media ay hindi mababasa ng mga readers noong panahong wala pang Facebook. Nito na lamang mga nakaraang taon, nang isa-isang nawala ang mga batikang manunulat ng mga kuwento ay nagsimula akong manamlay. Sanay na akong walang readers, at nang makita ko ang convenience ng paglalahad ng saloobin sa Twitter (kasama na ang swift gratification na nakukuha mo sa pag "like" ng iyong followers,) tuluyan na akong tinamad magsulat ng mahahabang entries. 

Nang lumaon ay huminto na rin ako sa pagblo-blog.

I would like to think that we are shaped by our time, and most of the bloggers I know who migrated on Twitter and Facebook are discerning and critical of the information they get from social media. We have this profound respect for the craft that we won't turn a blind eye while some paid hack uses this platform to spread lies and promote ignorance online. Gaya na lang ng screenshot na kalakip nitong entry ko. To write sweeping generalizations and get rewarded for it by hundreds of comments is a slap to the hard work bloggers did to publish credible posts.

Unfair din kay Mar Roxas.

And so I decided to go back to blogging, and in my own way set things straight now that the election is just around the corner. I will be fair to all candidates - even to Jojo Binay, who I despise the most. I won't mind if my entries won't reach its intended audience. After all, the entries are for my own pleasure. One thing is for sure, I will write well-thought entries. I will write what is right and just to my subjects. And I will write so as to finish what the "blogger" I mentioned didn't complete (he posted 4 trashy entries and he was gone).

These will not be paid posts. After all, this is my art.

Note: I was misled by the title and betrayed by the person who shared the entry above on his Twitter feed. Feeling cheated, I blocked that person and decided to leave social media for a week. It was simply too much for me. Born out of frustration, my creativity has been awakened. I may not be as prolific as I was before, but I'd keep my word and do what the blogger didn't finish. To readers who will find these entries, I'd promise to keep you informed the best I could. 

You will be the wise Pinoy voter.

Words Left Behind

We have lost count of the days since the last time words once filled these pages. Confident that we won't disappear into the night, the promise of writing didn't follow. We have become complacent; gratified by the terse thought afforded by 140 characters on Twitter. With over a thousand followers in that microblog website, why bother with long-form writing when pint-size narratives can be shared with your audience? 

So we ventured past the cradle, believing this outdated storytelling no longer appeals to our blog readers. With the raketship demands soaring, the two hours spent writing and publishing an entry no longer fits the busy schedule. The stories that were supposed to be penned for posterity have all piled up, accumulating dust in the fringes of our memory. There were many attempts to come back, but nothing had gone past the plan - until today - on the eve of my literary awakening did I make this most serious attempt of returning.

We can no longer deny this calling.

There will be no assurance. No guarantee that this enterprise will work. If this homecoming bears significance; if someone stumbles, and finds time to digest the remnants of these restored pages - read: this is our attempt to carry out what we started 12 years ago. May we remain faithful to the craft until our last breath.

This is Mugen writing back.


*raketship - second job

Out of Hibernation

Previously on Trinity

What purpose there is to blog, when there is no urgent need for narratives? Twitter, with it's 140-characters can already tell glimpses of my life, and I get virtual applause when the stuff I share online resonate with the kindred who follow my social media account. Meanwhile my Instagram, which has become a repository of my visual artistry never asks, what the blog demands every time I go back and do expository writing. There I go, uploading pictures at random, while receiving "hearts" as tokens for my work. Then I return to my mundane existence, only to post a cropped photo with filters that make it look artsy when inspiration strikes me.

The cycle goes on.

But the blog defines me, not as a person, but at how I make sense of life. Should there be a need to perpetuate a milestone, I pen it to be able to recall my footsteps; and to put into context my failures and accomplishments as a human being. The blog has also been a companion as I drift across various spheres of people and places. Their quintessence, I have written, so I may have a reference when I come across similar states again. To abandon the blog for other forms of expression, not just betray the calling, it will deny me the chance to weave what I have been yearning to write for tomorrow. In my absence, photos forethought to accompany my long-form pursuit pile in my phone's memory. I fear, they may no longer get published should I decide to prolong this hibernation.

And so we return to form: a little less inspired, with undertones of having to rush another post, with emotions now guarded and devoid of rawness my younger self would never hesitate to show. Yet, no matter the hesitation, there remains the desire to carry on; to remain faithful to tradition long forgotten by luminaries whose works were far more brilliant than mine. And with the fidelity to keep this space to myself, denying the thousands who get to read my mind elsewhere, I reclaim once more what has been mine, now and for all time.

This is Mugen writing back, and here are my stories.

Parliament Of The Streets

I walked with these people to stop the Vice President from running for higher office for the following reasons:

• Corruption. It's in the news long before Jojo announced his candidacy for the presidency. From his unexplained wealth when he was still the mayor of Makati, to his acres of land in Batangas, which was never declared in his Statement of Assets, Liabilities, and Net Worth, to the overpriced construction of a parking lot building next to the city hall. He goes around the country telling locals that he is being persecuted without ever answering the accusations thrown at him and his family.
• Traditional Politics. When Jojo becomes the president, everything will return to the way it was. Politicians preening as if their constituents owe them the social services they receive; Politicians attaching their name next to government projects and freebies. Politicians, whose sense of entitlement keeps things from getting done. The first family, whose children are already in various elected posts will only turn the entire country into their personal fiefdom, like in GMA's time.
• Media Spin. After floating the idea of Grace Poe becoming Jojo's veep, which the esteemed Senator respectfully declined, the veep's political party responded by accusing the latter of being a foundling, whose citizenship should be questioned in court. This press release, backfired, and a few days later, Jojo claims he too, was adopted. Recently, the first daughter made comparisons between a family of doctors and politicians in defense of dynasties. She questions the logic behind preventing generations of political families from holding offices when professionals freely pass their knowledge from elders to children. Refutations came quick, and a doctor even wrote an open letter challenging the Senator's impaired logic. 
• Promotion of Mediocrity. Anyone who supports a Binay presidency after all the scandals and corruption allegations came out is either from Makati, who enjoyed freebies and social services offered by the local government, or countryside folks who are used to the culture of mendicancy being practiced throughout generations. A Jojo Binay victory would mean the triumph of a leadership with no long-term vision except for the enrichment of his family (and friends) and the perpetuation of his power.
• Term Limit and Foreign Policy Changes. Jojo would definitely want to stay in power for as long as he breathes and to live this aspiration, he would have to change the constitution to a four-year presidency, with a choice to get re-elected once again. He would also work with China to resolve the West Philippine Sea issue since they have the resources to develop the area, virtually giving away chunks of territory to Beijing, which the second Aquino government tried to protect at all cost.
• Collective Action. I have always believed that should Jojo wins this election, sooner or later, someone will mount another People Power at Edsa. I have already committed myself to the cause, and the first step is to seek like-minded individuals who would stand for what is right and good for the nation. Like what I've said to Leah Navarro during the short walk, forces aligned with the Vice President are slowly making their presence in social media. It is up to reformers like us to shake people's indifference and show what is at stake if a person with a dubious character reign over the land.

             

Doomsday Prepper | Act 2

Previously: Doomsday Prepper | Act 1

Knowing what might happen in the event of a magnitude 7.2 earthquake, whose epicenter straddles the towns east of Manila is just half the battle for disaster readiness. With a generation who has never felt the ground quiver like the one that happened more than a decade ago, the government's decision to hold an entire day of Earthquake drills is a wise move. The masterstroke lies in the fact that they set it during the school season, and between two important dates no one should ever forget - August 2 and July 16, terrible days when temblors not only caused the earth to crack open, the violent ground shaking took so many lives as well. My sincere wish is that there is enough time to teach everyone the importance of doing real-life preparations.

For we would never stand a chance.

The government can do so much to educate and prepare its citizens to face this kind of natural disaster. But no one can truly foresee the kind of devastation once buildings collapse and city-wide infrastructure come crashing in the earthquake's immediate aftermath. With this kind of thinking, the heart and soul of every doomsday preparation lies at home, with loved ones who will benefit such foresight. With eight lives at stake, I have made strides to ready my family in the event such calamity happens. There is no guarantee how things would turn out.

What I know is its urgency.

It is my belief that the first five days after the tremor are the most critical to one's personal survival. These are the days when those caught flat-footed would find themselves with no water, money, and even food to keep them sustained, while everyone competes for what resources remain. Keeping this scenario as the foundation for my disaster plan, the provisions I set are supposed to last for over a week. By then, I'm hoping government agencies have already got back to its feet and basic services are delivered to the survivors of the earthquake.

The availability of clean drinking water is the cornerstone of every disaster plan. Realizing that in a catastrophic event such as earthquakes, next to go out of service after electricity and communications is the water supply. The strongest of typhoons serve as reminder of how the elements can disrupt these basic services. With little space available at home, I selected these heavy-duty plastic containers, often used by informal settlers' water storage as our lifeline. They cost only Php 150 in Divisoria and with additional two water jugs scheduled for procurement next month, our water needs - in case Maynilad fails - will be the least of my worries.

Fighting over relief goods when others would risk life and limb for meager supplies has always been in my thoughts every time I do grocery shopping. The sardines, while being staple for many Filipino families hardly get consumed at home. So does the elbow macaroni, which, for some reasons seldom appears on our dinner table these days. The fact that they get little attention make these ready-to-eat meals the best candidate for food stocking. To drive home the government's message of post-disaster resiliency, additional 10 cans of sardines, and 2 bags of elbow macaroni will be added to the stocks we already possess. 

The first idea to make preparations for the "Big One" came after an earthquake struck the islands of Samar and Leyte in 2012. While these violent ground shaking produced little damage in comparison to the Bohol temblor a few years later, realizing that no first aid kit exists at home has transformed me to the Prepper I am today. Unfortunately, a lot of the medical supplies are nearing their expiration dates, and the few useful ones are set to be donated soon. Having this little white box with a cross emblazoned on its surface has its usefulness beyond calamities. What is needed, urgently, is to set the funds for a full replenishment. 

The items most needed for the first aid box are listed here.

What little use is money when ATMs don't dispense cash without electricity? In matters of procuring the basic of necessities, like food and medicine (in case riots and queues need not to happen) how will we ever pay for them? This concern has been haunting me ever since writing the Doomsday scenario for my previous blog entry. The savings cylinder I have in my room, while intended for reasons of compassion, now serves a new purpose. Filled with coins for easy trading, only after its twin repository brims with pennies will I give away the money for charity.

   

Even the best laid plans can still go awry, and no matter how elaborate this disaster preparation is, the items, which I believe are essential, may be useless in the event of a calamity. Still, a lot of things need to be done, and most of the items that would enable us to endure the harshest of post-tremor scenarios lay scattered around the house, disorganized, without anyone aside from me knowing where they could be found: A battery-operated transistor radio is in the master's bedroom, being used by my mother. The high-powered torch lights are kept in my room, the wax candles lay hidden somewhere in the kitchen. Only the helpers know where they are. We still have no matches, no purifying tablets, no means to open the sardine cans, or even turn the macaroni shells into edible pasta. The very bookcase / study table where I write this post has yet to be screwed against the wall, a huge portrait of my late father leans against a high wall, some light shaking and it will fall to the ground.

Finally, I was told to have a "Grab" bag like every Japanese family have. A little knapsack one could easily snatch in case there is a need to relocate to safer grounds. And until this requirement has been met; until there is certainty my loved ones can endure whatever nature throws our path, the doomsday prepper in me will remain awake and obsessed,

For times have changed, and no one is safe from the elements.

The Marikina West Valley Fault Doomsday Scenario

Project Tremors

It has always been the government's worst nightmare: of the West Valley Fault system finally bursting forth, sending ripples of seismic waves across all directions. The resulting earthquake shakes, even the most structurally sound office and residential towers to its engineering limits. The occupants, mostly uninstructed on how the ground quivers, would easily capitulate to panic spells. Given their inexperience with the last great temblor, which happened on July 16, 1990, many would get hurt trying to escape to safer grounds. 

Word yet has to come from the hundreds of thousands of souls who live in substandard housing and apartment complexes; in shoddily constructed commercial buildings and factories that make up the urban sprawl. Had the ceilings above their heads get spared from collapsing, it is the following pandemonium brought by the nearby tectonic rupture they have to cope with. 

I could just imagine how difficult the rude awakening is.

The news is out, and an updated map detailing where the geographic fault line bisects the metropolis is now readily available on the internet. While knowledge is crucial for people living above and around the rift, (hoping they would settle elsewhere) it is in my opinion that thoughts have never been spared as to what happens after a 7.2 magnitude earthquake, whose epicenter lies a few steps away from the Medical City strikes the capital. Should those who find this blog get to see another day, what heartbreaking scenes might await them?    

Let me share my worst-case scenario thoughts:

• First to go is electricity. As the ground shakes, and the Napocor finds it too dangerous to operate while a major seismic activity is taking place, they will cut off power distribution across the city. Depending on how extensive the damage is, (downed electric poles and collapsed pylons, with wires dangling after being hit by falling debris) complete electrical restoration might take weeks. First to receive electricity are government nerve centers and hospitals. Last are the barangays, and what's left of the ruined communities.
• No electricity means money dispensing machines won't operate. Gasoline stations, which might run on diesel-powered generators would obviously have limited operating hours. And since broadband cables have been ruptured, expect no internet and social media to connect with. And did I mention that since Globe and Smart need electricity to run their transmission systems, we could expect a total breakdown in communications during the first few hours after the earthquake?  

The spot where the Ruby Towers, which collapsed  on August 2, 1968 once stood

• The absence of potable water. Busted main pipes connecting various sectors of the city; pumping stations that won't run because there is no electricity; broken septic tanks whose sewage get into the water distribution system; bring these into the fray, and what we have is a man-made disaster. For sure, water trucks would be dispatched to address this basic need, but with queues of people stretching forever, and sneaky misfits cutting lines just to get ahead with everyone, riots are never far from happening.
• Queues everywhere. There are lines for charging cellphones, lines for gasoline and cooking oil distribution, lines for ATMs, lines for relief goods, lines for the dead identification (with the stench of putrefied flesh suspended in mid-air) and yes, lines for water replenishment. Add these queues together and maybe, thoughts of leaving the city to find refuge elsewhere might sound more practical.

Faultline marker at the Barangka Elementary School West Building in Marikina

• The rise of the tent cities and field hospitals. I once told Ran that if the earth shakes and casualties number in their tens of thousands, we would see portions of Taft Avenue being converted into an extension of the Philippine General Hospital. And what about Luneta and the rest of the open spaces in Manila? Because an earthquake is never a one-time event, (the aftershocks can be as strong as the first tremor) people living in condominiums, and those who have lost their homes, who are probably dazed and shaken by the first wobble, will be forced to stay outdoors. They have nowhere else to go but in public parks where thousands more will be camping out during the first days after the earthquake. Universities, would be forced to open their gates to students and faculty members who need a place to stay. Never in our nations' history would there be so many people dwelling in the streets, competing for resources that should have been a-plenty, and wishing that had they foreseen how worse this natural disaster could be, they would make individual preparations that could have made their lives and their loved ones better.

These individual preparations, and what I have accomplished so far, will be taken up in the next installment of this blog entry.

-tobecontinued-

Salisi

Note: Fleeting, our expressions have become. And while poetry abounds in forms unexpected, the social media landscape tends to bury these words under a cacophony of random thoughts. And while obscurity has become the new norm, let this pursuit allow voices to be heard, here in this corner of the web, where permanence, for now, remains certain.

Sabi mo
Gabi na.
Kailangan mo ng umalis.

Sa isip ko
Kanina ka umalis
Bago ka pa dumating.


Credits:

NASA
Binibining Camel

Perks

Previously: The Buff Daddy Slips Ipanema

"Para kang nagsuot ng tsinelas na gawa sa White Rabbit." 

That is how I would describe the feeling of slipping a pair of Ipanemas; like stepping foot on a pad made of the locally-made chewy candy. 

"Sa sobrang lambot niya sa paa, parang ayaw mo na magsapatos."

The impression would stay, six years past the time I got my flops for free. It was the height of the blogging fever, and after letting my online portal become a vehicle for some fancy promotions, of marketing a brand of footwear that sets aside part of its earnings to help restore the environment, the organizers of the event gifted me with a complementary card, a slip of paper that I could use to purchase my own slippers.

Never in my wildest dreams would I see the flops endure the passing of time. The Ipanemas had seen many places, and witnessed so many events, some, would even trickle down to these very pages, in published entries too many to mention. As a testament to its durability, a selling point I didn't say when I wrote about the pair, the slippers have never been replaced. They were my only flops. I was confident the footwear would endure, that I forgot, 

Rubber, like all natural materials, breaks down with time. Mine did, when tiny cracks gave way to large fissures at the base of the slippers, where the plastic strap meets the thick foot pad. 

---

So I have seen the last of the Ipanemas, and may this be my parting entry for a commissioned work that began with a product launch invitation. Let this also be a time for remembering, of the glory days when blog writers were treated like royalties, and get perks for publishing stories that would populate the search engines with copies of consumer products. To this day, I would not deny yearning to return to that time, and write stories about food and travel, like many bloggers did. Forget earning from penning press releases. With perks such as the pair of footwear I got for doing what I loved the most, I would never tire of writing.

This has, after all, been my calling. The published entries, and how they weave narratives that jump from one life to another are my rewards.

Reboot

Note: To the blogger I used to be, who was struggling with words while penning his first blog post in his attempts to join a bandwagon, let me write to you how your first entry would appear like eleven years later. It's been a journey, my friend, and I'm glad that you took the first steps and did your best never to lose the craft.

I have a lifetime to thank you for. 

Previously: Colony Ship Landed

Every guy has a first time, and this is my introduction to the blogs. It's been ages since I wielded a pen - imaginary, or otherwise - to create a journal such as the one you are reading right now. Perhaps, it's time to move on. I'm done sharing my musings on online forums like Pinoyexchange.

My friends are leaving, and so am I.

I no longer recall who among my buddies posted it on Yahoo Groups, but his forethought was a chilling wake up call. He said, "Eventually, people outgrow a fancy and public forums are so yesterday." I've been checking the Odders' thread on Pinoyexchange everyday for the last three years, and absorbing what he said, I realize that I don't want to be left out. Sooner than everyone had thought, I hurled myself into this growing bandwagon, unannounced, hence the title "Colony Ship Landed." 

Folks, this is a migration.

---

Still, I find it devastating to hear what Henry's boyfriend did to him. The jerk cheated with another guy behind his back. Kunsabagay, boys will be boys, and the moment one gets bored with a partner, off he goes searching for a new playmate. Sigh. Hearing my friend's woes, I can't help but think of my own relationship. It's been almost a year since Phanks and I became a couple and one can't help but speculate,

What if my partner does to me what my friend's ex did to him?

Of course, I would break up, and return to my old ways of sleeping with every guy I come across online and in Malate. I don't know how long it would take for me to move on, but the accomplishments of the last 10 months will be wiped out all because one betrayed the trust of the other. Sana, totoo ngang seryoso ang boyfriend ko sa akin. I'm really looking forward to sharing a life, and future with him. 

---

Well, that is all for my first blog. There's a Contingent* at Garppy's pad tonight. Maybe I will post again when I return home later, or whenever I feel like writing.

Postcript:

While tinkering this platform, I learned how to add links to my blog. The boys wouldn't know yet, but I'm already snooping around and reading their posts. Lol. For some reasons, I'm beginning to understand why the friend who started this all finds it amazing to have an online journal. Anyway, it's time to leave this chair and take a bath. 

I've been warming my balls the whole day.



*contingent - weekly drinking binge.

Minsan Lang Ikaw Bata

One day, I walked inside the Toy Kingdom for reasons no longer I can recall. It might have been one of those random visits, whose pretext was to buy a toy for my nephews. I did buy something at the store - a die cast jeep from Hotwheels - which I bought for the kids. But i kept the toy in my room for so long, that i was inching towards owning the die cast myself.

Toy cars.

I had plenty when i was a little boy. I used to simulate traffic jams on the floor complete with cardboard boxes in place of buildings. I had so many die cast toy cars and so many of them got lost and broken. I have managed to save a few. They now make up the cache of trinkets and mementos that occupy the upper shelves of my dresser.

To this day, they remain hidden from our little boys. The thought of turning them over still terrifies to no end.

Returning to the die cast toy jeep i have subconsciously possessed, the act, which slowly manifest every time i find some painted metal object with wheels lying around the house reawaken the kid within. Maybe it was the collector in me who springs into action, it might even be the hoarder taking over.

As far as i know - and it happened to me many times over -  when a die cast toy car gets into the shelves, it's time to invoke the conscience and remind myself.

"Minsan lang ikaw bata."

---

"Bigyan mo din ako ng ganyan sa birthday ko ha?" Lenin pointed at the miniature Chrysler jeep inside the loot bag. Its contents are among the first presents I would give away this Christmas.

"O sige next time." I was supposed to say. The toy was actually meant for his younger brother, who like him, has fascination with die cast vehicles.

"Wait"

"Kunin mo na yung toy." He then slid his hand to claim, that object he's been eyeing since last month.

"Happy Birthday..." I said, as he walked away to show his mom his on-the-spot present. 

Written for the Round Table Challenge

One More Time

How many one liners have you erased before you were satisfied with this draft?

Ten?

Twelve?

We have lost count.

And how many times have you thought of returning, only to fall back at the last minute? 

Since the 27th. Two months, after you have gone away.

Truth is, we have nothing here to look at, but derelicts of a forgotten age. A time, when we glorified our achievements with unsung artistry, even when our pockets stayed deep and empty. And yes, we still long for those days, when we squeezed work between lives; when we celebrated long walks with soulful musings; when we were, clandestine writers of events, vowing never to breathe a word that such space - this realm - exists.

Then, silence begins to engulf our thoughts for there was nothing really to pen anymore.

Because we would rather keep the stories to ourselves than waste hours crafting the perfect narratives for this self-indulgent exercise.

Besides, other mediums of expression abound. 200 characters, and we're done sharing stories.

But we are, creatures of habit and we have long accepted that writing is a lifelong, personal pursuit. And it leaves a strange scar in the chest knowing we have given up our craft for monetary gains; that we had so many unfinished stories left abandoned in life and in texts that will see no end.

For we hardly distinguished one from the other.

And so, we return to this blog to reclaim the lives we had lost; to tell the unsaid events of the last two months; and pen the endings of some tales we have already weaved in memory. There maybe no certainties in our presence this time. But at least, we made attempts at reconnecting.

This is Mugen, writing back, and these are my stories.

Invested

For months now, I have already thought the future of L'Heure Bleue. What point there is to blogging when I can always dilute my thoughts into 140 characters, and post it on a microblog. These days, when I can no longer afford the time for reflection and that habit of repetitive reading of a recent post to perform some thought refinement, the instant gratification offered by Twitter has become a workable replacement.

The need for aesthetics is gone, the wordsmith in me is dead.

But ten years is a long time to simply abandon this project and leave this space. I have been consistently writing - with or without an audience to read my life for ages. To break that time-honored bond, and simply walk away without breathing a word about my disappearance, is a slap to the blogger I once was. Should my absence become more evident, I can say with certainty that the future can never be written in these pages.

So even when I have to do other things, like blurb writing, laying in bed to sleep, or even simulating a life on Sims 3, I chose to reconnect with this portal and try once more to enjoy having that leisurely stroll inside my head. 

For when inaction becomes my direction once more, never will I go back to blogging. 

This journal keeping will end with silence as my witness.

The #RP612Fic

For three succeeding years, I have been writing 130-character stories on Twitter every year on June 12. This long-standing tradition in social media has been going on since 2009. It was started by Filipino authors at Rocket Kapre, whose aim is to commemorate the occasion by bending historical events and peppering it with pop culture references and accounts lifted from current events. This comic mash-up, which often produced twisted ironies has encouraged more netizens to chip in and take their swipes on Philippine history. It never fails to make #RP612fic a trending and newsworthy subject on Independence Day for showcasing the nation's indomitable character: humor.  

The blog for today was supposed to go along the lines of this activity. I was planning to pick one of my submissions and turn it into a long-form short story. However, realizing that I've never blogged the event before, a feature entry is my fitting excuse for posterity. 

Here are my selected micro fiction stories for this year:

Upon learning Maria Clara spending a fortune just to see Una Dirección live in Intramuros, Kapitan Tiago sent her back to convent #RP612fic
— Mugen Boo (@tr1pnautic) June 12, 2014

Maria Clara used to be a boyband fantard long before she was introduced to Ibarra.

Sailing towards Manila, Lopez de Legaspi spotted Junks off Palawan. The admiral of the Chinese fleet shouted. "This is ours!!" #RP612Fic
— Mugen Boo (@tr1pnautic) June 12, 2014

The Nine-Dash claim of Beijing holds merit after all. 

"Puta Madre!" Pepe told a fellow commuter, who clutched his bayong closer to his chest." May lumaslas ng tampipi ko sa Tranvia!"  #rp612fic
— Mugen Boo (@tr1pnautic) June 12, 2014

Even during Spanish Times, peace and security is already a problem. Jose Rizal got a taste of what living in the city means.

Before going to battle, Gregorio Del Pilar took a selfie and uploaded it on Facebook. He was mortally shot before it got a "like." #RP612fic
— Mugen Boo (@tr1pnautic) June 11, 2014

Too bad for our heartthrob general, he never lived to see the 7,107 likes on his Facebook a week after his death.

"We used to have singing senators during our time" said the old man to the kid. "now we have party cadres sent to Beijing." #RP612fic
— Mugen Boo (@tr1pnautic) June 11, 2014

Nostalgia sets in for a geriatric who witnessed a time when Demo-crazy was the government. This was the submission I was planning to expound into a short story.