tatlong bagay.

three things ang nasa utak ko ngayon.

UNO

una, natuwa ako nang tinanong ako ng ermat ko na: "dodong claudio, ang daming tira na sopdrinks at beer nung pyesta. kelangang isafekeeping. pwede ba sa kwarto mo?"

ako naman, pasimple lang ang sagot: evil grin.

naaaninag ko na ang pag-aalmusal ko ng pale pilsen. pero leche, bakit kailangang pale pilsen talaga ang poison of choice? efren bata reyes? bakit hindi pwedeng jagermeister o di kaya yung mga mamahaling wines? sayang naman ang investment ko sa aking social image. chos!

DOS

pangalawa, mega super duper over ultra windang lang ang eksena nung ginising ako ng aking erpat kaninang umaga para magsimba.

ganito kasi yun, si chuva ek ek, yung friend ko, ay nalasing kagabi. tapos naabutan siya ng shit na curfew ng boarding house nya, kaya hindi siya pwedeng umuwi doon. iiwanan ko lang dapat siya sa beerhouse kagabi, kaso ginawa ko sa kanya yan nung isang linggo, at muntik na siyang magahasa ng mga hampas lupang mga horndogs na gustong makatikim sa mga galit na galit nyang boobs.

kaya ayun, i had to budge and offer my room, kasi nga, my mom raised me in a well. hihihi. at dahil likas na matulungin ang puso ni claudiopoi at busilak ang aking budhi, ay inalay ko ang aking malalambot na mga kutchon, pillows, at blanket kai chuva ek ek.

kaya ayun, nung ginising ako ni erpat kanina, sobrang na iskandalo siya. shit. patay.

sumigaw siya at the top of his lungs: sino yang potang yan?

sabi ko naman: dad, wag masyadong malakas kasi natutulog pa ang potang tinutukoy mo.

umalis siya na umuusok ang nguso, but after 32 seconds, bitbit na nya yung nanay ko. at ganun din ang naging tanong.

syempre, deadma deadmahan nalang ako, kasi nga mahirap makipagtalo pag may hangover. sinabi ko nalang: wag muna ngayon, kasi may hangover pa ako. balik kayo after 7 hours para mag sober up muna ako. hihihi. syemre sa isip ko lang yun, kasi kahindik-hundik na panghahambalos ang aabutin ko, if ever.

ginising ko nalang si chuva ek ek at pinauwi sa kanyang boarding house na di ko maintindihan kung seminaryo, mongha, or asylum ba dahil sa kahigpitang taglay nito. pero alam kong hindi ko mapipigilan ang tatay ko na mag isip ng 69 sex positions na ginawa namin ni chuva ek ek kagabi. na parang diring-diri sa anak nyang pinag aral nya sa isang private catholic insitution. chos!

TRES

at pangatlo, super excited na akong pumunta ng manela nekswik.

danggit, check.

patola, check.

kalabaw, check.

dried mangoes, check.

liver, pending. hihihi.

excited na akong makameet sina YJ, andy, citybuoy, ahmer, glentot, victor, at madaming madami pang iba.

at dahil napahaba na naman tong pamababalahura ko, magtatapos na ako dito.

bow.

because my mom raised me in a well.

technomoron.

isang salita na akmang-akma sa pagdidiskrayb ko sa aking mudrakels. kasi naman, malakas talaga ang mga heart palpitations ng nanay ko everytime may nakikita siyang mga shiny silvery objects na nasa loob ng mga bubble wraps. old school si mudra kaya hinding-hindi nya bet ang mga maliliit na mga gadgets na ito. but don't get me wrong, dahil mahal na mahal ko naman ang ermats ko. at hindi naman ito panlalait na walang katuturan (shet, kelangan kong mag isip ng katuturan neto), kundi isang constructive criticism lamang.

heniwai, eto ang mga kachuvahan ng nanay ko when it comes to modern technology:

unang scenario.

napromote si mommy sa school, at nagkaroon na siya ng office staff, opisina, at ang pinakamalupet, kabago-bagong laptop.

yung tipong top of the line, black vintage shit, at ang dami daming kayang gawin, ie, conducive for porn much. joke! anyway, ang ginawa ni mudra ay hindi tinanggal sa bubble wrap ang kanyang new toy, naghanap ng mga napthalene balls, at itinago ang laptop na ito sa kasuluk-sulukan ng kanyang mahiwagang baul. kasi daw baka masira.

at bumili siya ng typewriter kinabukasan.

pangalawang scenario.

nagtext ako: 'mommy, kamusta na kayo dyan sa bahay? okay lang naman ako sa manela, at kahit na nagkakandaleche leche na ang buhay ko dito dahil sa aking kasipagan at likas na pagiging matulungin, ay kinakaya ko naman lahat. kasi ikaw kasi ang inspirasyun ko. gusto ko maging proud ka din sa very charming at mabait mong anak. alam mo yan, kasi ikaw ang gumawa sa akin! hehehe! i love you so much mommy, and regards to daddy na din!'

after six hours, may reply: K

yung K na walang period, at halata pang nakacapslock yung pagkasulat.

pangatlong scenario.

straight from dreamland, biglang nagising ako sa message na ito:

KAMUSTA KA NA DIYAN ANG BAHAY NATIN KAMUSTA NA NAGKITA PALA KAMI NI TITO MO SABI NYA SANA OKAY KA LANG DIN KELAN MO BALAK UMUWI SA ATIN MAGPIPIPIYESTA TAYO AT UUWI LAHAT NG MGA KAPATID MO IKAW NALANG ANG KULANG WE MISS YOU KAMUSTA NAMAN ANG MGA BAYARIN SANA NAGBAYAD KA NA SA KURYENTE KASI PALAGI KA NALANG NAPUPUTULAN DYAN NAKAKAHIYA SA MGA KAPITBAHAY AT AYOKO NA RING MAG CANDLE LIGHT DINNER HE HE HE SIGE INGAT NALANG BYE

kung kelan naman siya sinipag nagteks, saka naman nag aklas ang mga periods, semi-colons, at commas nya.

at may kutob lang akog ginugulan nya ito ng matagal na panahon para lang makacompose siya ng 3-part message. at malakas din ang kutob ko na sa tagal ng pagpindot nya ng mga letra ay madalas namamatayan ng ilaw ang kanyang keypad buttons.

pang-apat na scenario.

dahil isang academic si mudra ay umattend siya ng isang conference kung saan nag kumpol kumpol ang mga university deans sa pilipinas. siyempre pa, mega bonding si ermats sa kanyang mga amega star. beso-beso dito, beso-beso doon. at dun ay nakita din nya ang kanyang matalik na kaibigan na itago nalang natin sa pangalang mystery woman. superhero?

anyway, talk na sila ng talk. talakan ng talakan tungkol sa kung anung mga shit-shit na bagay, nang biglang may nagbigay ng magandang presentation na sadyang kinagiliwan naman ni mystery woman. nagpower point kasi ang magiting na ispiker.

sabay bulong ni mystery woman sa nanay ko in her 1-inches voice: 'mare, alam mo ba yung tawag dun sa isang maliit na bagay na parang rectangle siya? yung dinidikit mo sa likod ng kampyuter at sumisipsip ng kompyuter?'

sipsip daw. anu ito, vacuum cleaner?

at, in the fair, ay kaagad-agad siyang sinagot ng mudrakels ko na: 'oh, you mean flash drive?

ayun oh! at least nakabawi!

i raised my mom well! ahihihihi :D

when i think of you.

when i think of you,

i remember the only time that i was in love. we were both young and reckless, but very much in love, and in the world that we created together, no one existed but us, and nothing mattered but our love. i remember being totally ensnared by it, but i remember not caring that i was. you sustained my breathing, and i was the air that kept you alive.

when i think of you,

i remember our first kiss. it was sweet and brief, but poignant. back then, we were in a world that was swirling with alcohol and bliss. i remember gently kissing you just when you least expected me to, and the distinct taste of you and sanmig light still makes my heart breathe from time to time. i remember telling you then that the beer tasted sweeter in your lips, and you smiled as you told me that i was a smooth talker. but you would later on learn that i was not luring you with my words, but that that kiss would be the prelude to the grandest love story that both of us will ever know.

when i think of you,

i remember that moment when we were enveloped by the darkness of a starless night as we searched for fireflies in sunken garden. it was about 8 pm, i was sitting with my legs crossed in one of the benches in front of phan, and i was kept warm by your lovely presence and the death sticks that i was puffing without restraint. with wide-eyed amazement, you told me that the prancing fireflies were beautiful, and in my mind, i said yes they were, but they were not as beautiful as you. as their heavenly wings fluttered in the world that we created that night, we got lost in the blur of hushed affection and whispered promises. as we were in the midst of dancing fireflies and the early december evening breeze, i was certain that i loved you, and that you loved me, too. i still recall that you rested your head in my shoulders as we allowed that beautiful night to be enseeped right into our hearts. we stared into nothingness as time stood still, and we marveled at how two people could be so in love under the inexplicable randomness of the stars.

when i think of you,

i remember the countless times that we would both cry because there was no other way to emancipate the emotions that were brewing inside us. you would cry when you stared at me, and i would do the same thing, because we would be consumed with love that was so profound, it was pristinely beautiful. i remember hugging you tight right after these exhilarating sessions, and kissing you constantly to assure you that my promises are forever, and that i intend to love you for as long as i live.

when i think of you,

i get bitter. because i know that i am capable of so much love, and yet, i choose to believe that i am going to end up alone, and that my heart has ceased to exist for love. i get bitter because i know i will never experience the euphoria of being in love again, and not caring about bruises and wounds, because i simply choose to be in love. i get bitter because i remember loving you once upon a time ago, and i am reminded that love can exist for me, too.

when i think of you,

i miss who i used to be when i was with you.

i miss the beautiful sunsets.

and the constant promise of love.

because it took me nine years to finish college.

(a repost of a sanitized essay that got published three years ago)

i have always dreaded the first day of class for the past three years or so – not because I am concerned with how likeable my classmates will turn out to be, or how horrendous my teacher will be for the entire semester.

my reservation, as a matter of outright concession, actually comes from answering this question during the first day: what is your year, and how old are you?

the first part of the question, I have an easy time answering – as a matter of fact, I have mastered the art of confidently telling people that I am in my senior year, that I am expecting to graduate soon. but the second part of the query, the part where I divulge my age, I get anxious – because as I have managed to do so in past introductions, I often get mixed reactions, from people who try to feign their curiosity and say that I don’t look my age, to those who are less subtle and instantly insinuate that I am a school junkie, a degenerate who has managed to extend his college years unreasonably longer when I should be out in the real world milking big companies dry and, as my good friend RJ put it, doing damage to the world.

i do realize that there is something glaringly odd with the fact that I am aging inelegantly in school while my classmates are getting younger (most of them now were born in the 90s, sheesh, talk about being a dinosaur in college), but if only they ask me why this came to be, I am more than willing to let them in on my life and share snippets of my life story so they will understand, so they will know, and so they will, hopefully, come up with better decisions in their own lives.

fact is, I am not alone – there is a good number of students who have also extended in college, and if only you spare them a moment to ask what their life story is, I guarantee you that there is a story behind the seeming delinquency and the assumption of them being fatalistically destined for mediocrity – for it is never easy to, day by day, face people who have given up on you and are convinced beyond reason that you will never change and that you will inevitably spend the rest of your life wallowing in misery.

but is it not that life and life decisions are enmeshed in a context where there is constant struggle? is it not that college affords you that extra shot, that extra chance, when every dream you have starts to fade into obscurity and you desperately try to guard your sanity from slowly dissipating?

i have not always been like this.

in high school, I was considered as one of those who were destined for greatness, and I was convinced as well that I was meant for greater things – but in retrospect, I was not a child of the universe back then. I was confined within a world that was so comfortable and familiar, the kind that was so hard to let go.

life, back then, was all about getting good grades, adhering to an early evening curfew, and condemning those who did not conform to what was acceptable behavior in society.

now, I can only cringe in shame for being so sheltered and unquestioning back then, for being so fatally submissive and dismissive, for feeling contented over being a mere observer when I can possibly initiate ripples of change to a society that is plagued by hypocrisy and undiscerned exclusivism.

for in the course of my genuine college exposure, I have learned that sometimes, it’s not about sleeping early at night and savoring scrumptious breakfast meals with your doting and uberly-proud parents, but it is about drinking heavily with your friends after the midterm exams and nursing a head-splitting hangover the next day; that it’s not just about memorizing the prophets and reciting all the virtues in your religion class, but it is about joining an outreach program and extending assistance to those who are marginalized in society; that it’s not just about being safe and foolishly submitting to your teacher’s every whim, but it is about asserting for what is rightfully yours and ensuring that those who belong to the upper echelons of power do not remain unchecked nor unmitigated in their propensity for abuse.

college breaks you and thrusts you into the world in the hopes of altering your predispositions and situating you in a world that throbs with life; it introduces a reality that digresses significantly from the lethargic and oftentimes dehumanizing worldview of resumé-whores who perceive it as trivial and easy.

fact is, living is not rosy all the time and loving is not always exhilarating – both can scathe you, sometimes irreparably, and college is where you accept this bitter and disconcerting truth.

and, no matter how some people might take this against me, I am thankful that I have been broken to the world, its intricacies and complications included.

and I am convinced, beyond reason, that no grade can ever quantify my painful acceptance of this gut-wrenching and palpably painful version of what is real – for even if I may have overextended in college, I know that I now have, more or less, what it takes to battle it out in the real world when, hopefully, my formal schooling officially commences this October.

i am clyde – I am twenty-four, and I am proud of being twenty-four.

bakit kinailangan mong maging adik pagkatanda mo?

kahit na kanina ko pa narinig ang karima-rimarim na balitang yun, ay hindi ko pa din lubos maisip na siya pala ang kriminal na kinasusuklaman ko noong isang linggo lang.

naalala ko pa na medyo lalasing-lasing pa ako nung tiningan ko yung litratong naka-tag ako martes ng gabi nung isang linggo, kahit na wala naman ako dun sa larawan. isang litrato ng batang nakangisi habang idinidikit ang hintuturo nya sa kanyang matatambok na mga pisngi. akala ko nung una ay yaon ang anak ni spring na dalagingding na ngayon. pero hindi pala. nalungkot ako ng sobra nung nabasa ko ang caption na:

this little girl was beaten to death by her parents in bacolod city. she was just 6 years old. and in the autopsy report, it was discovered that she had several bruises all over her body, burn marks in her buttocks, and evidence of lacerations to her genitalia.

naalala ko pa ang naging comment ko sa picture na ito: spring, biglang na depress naman ako dito. =(

pagkatapos nun, palaging pumupula ang notification bar ng facebook ko kasi ang dami-daming nagcocomment sa mga itinag din nya. kaya minabuti kong tanggalin nalang ang pangalan ko sa mga naka-tag dahil ayokong makita ang mukha ng inosenteng bata na walang awang pinaslang ng mga dapat sana'y umaruga at nagmahal sa kanya.

hanggang sa naghapunan kami kanina.

biglang tinanong ako ng mama ko: clyde, di ba kilala mo si [insert name here]?

ako naman: oo, kaklase ko yan ng elementary eh.

mama: alam mo ba, nakakulong siya ngayon?

ako: weh?

m: oo, kasi pinatay nya yung anak nya sa bacolod. high daw kasi sila ng asawa nya.

a: hindi ako naniniwala sayo. mabait yun dati eh. naalala ko pa nga, madalas kaming seatmate ng grade 5 at grade 6 kasi inappoint ako na maging tutor nya dahil may kahinaan sa utak yung si [ ].

m: totoo. high daw kasi sila ng asawa nya kaya nila nagawa yun. umihi daw bigla ang anak nila sa kama habang nagdodroga sila, kaya ayun, pinaso ng plantsa ang bata, pinagbububugbog, at ang pinakamasaklap pa, pinasukan pa nila ng papel ang anu ng anak nila.

a: [hindi na kumain at nalungkot ng sobra]

dali-dali kong binuksan ang internet at ginoogle ang mga detalye ng krimen na yun. at nanlamig ako ng makita ko na siya nga ang tatay ng kawang nilalang na nilapastangan ng sarili nyang mga magulang.

napabuntong-hininga ako ng malalim.

hindi ko maatim na siya pala ang halimaw na yun.

naalala ko pa nung nasa elementary kami, ang tahi-tahimik nya. pero syempre, kahit na tahimik siya ay hindi siya napatalsik ng first section kasi nga naman, anak siya ng mga hasyendero sa bais. kastila yung mga magulang nya, at madalas silang hingan ng offering kapagka nagmimisa yung skul namin. nung grade 5 at 6 kami, ako yung in-assign ng titser namin na maging tutor nya sa english at hekasi kasi medyo may problema siya sa mga subjects na yun.

hindi pa din talaga ako makapaniwala kahit hanggang ngayon.

bakit mo ginawa yun?

free-writing on this random afternoon.

for the past three days, i have not had decent sleep.

i close my eyes at 11, but i know that i am just fooling myself, because sleep has become so evasive, and my thoughts are in constant disarray. before i know it, our rooster is already up and awake, everyone is preparing for work, and i am already a mess at six in the morning.

in my past life, I once read in reader's digest that a restful sleep can be feigned by just resting your eyes. that even when you don't fall into deep sleep but your eyes are closed for a minimum of nine hours, then you are fine.

but i am not fine.

i get cranky each time. because my head hurts. my eyes are red. and my temper flares at just the smallest of things.

what is wrong with me?

and even when i get excited because at least this exhaustion may possibly translate into my early sleeping later on in the night, i get disappointed each time.

because it's like my body is exhausted, yes, but it does not tire of exhaustion. it just wants to be tired, but it is incapable of tiring away this tiredness.

what is bothering me? and why are my thoughts this rebellious?

perhaps, it is the thought that finally, after 10 long years of procrastination and over-indulgent exploits, my life has a semblance of order.

yes, it took me over 10 years to finally finish college (but i worked for four years in certain periods of this time frame) -- but after finally having earned my stamp of academic finality through my college diploma, i am again venturing out into another journey.

law school awaits.

i remember that every time someone asked me before what i wanted to become when i grow up, my instant answer was: to be a lawyer. my kindergarten, elementary, and high school yearbooks are testaments to this boyish arrogance of law being tailor-suited for me.

and deep within the trappings of my heart, i know that this passion still burns within me. that this is the only remnant of that once arrogant and bullish young dreamer who has already been broken to the world. that it is my only connection to the little boy who has since been heartbroken, soul-ripped, and disenchanted with the futility of promises.

perhaps, this anxiety stems from lingering questions that constantly plague me:

can i really slug it out and complete it within four years?

am i still capable of challenging my brain and pushing it to its limits?

have i really learned to be disciplined and can i temper my innate laziness?

am i good enough?

even when i long for simplicity in my life situations right now, i know that i am secretly scared with the prospect of establishing order in my life. for 26 years, chaos has been the constant theme of my life. but i loved this chaos. it was chaos that was organized. chaos that was esoteric to me. and above all, it was my chaos.

but right now, i feel as though i am slowly being channeled into a path that has a distinct finish line and a definite end goal.

and because of this, i am both petrified and excited. inherently anxious, but perennially optimistic.

i just hope i am good enough.

because will called me a writer one lazy october afternoon.

everytime i get random compliments from friends about my writing, i get queasy.

during these instances, my response has always been quick, compacted, but consistent: yes, i know how to write, but knowing how to write is different from breathing these words through the ethereal shimmer of a genuine writer's beautiful words.

in any given day, i may be able to spew out my adjectives, pronouns, and linking verbs to come up with a technical writing piece that most American moms may find useful, but does this make me a writer?

i certainly do not think so.

my mastery of onomatopoeias and plurals only makes me adept with words -- but this same mastery, unfortunately, is the reason why a qualified demarcation has to be established between a writer and someone who merely knows how to write.

for me, being a writer requires so much talent, it necessitates obsession, and it thrives within the inextricable union between the writer and his writing. in my mind, it needs to commence with the virtual lack of delineation between a writer's words and the air that sustains his breathing.

the label, unlike other prostituted generics that people throw around without restraint, needs to be guarded against superficial self-claims and undeserved self-gratitudes.

and even when i want to claim that i am a writer, i cannot. even when vanity consumes me incessantly in most days.

i cannot.

because of the mutual respect that i have: for myself and the craft that has both enslaved me and taught me how to hope.

para kay mami at papi.

wedding anniversary ng magulang ko bukas. nag-isip ako kanina ng malupit na regalo, pero wala akong maisip na 'best gift' ika nga para sa kanilang 32nd wedding anniversary. kaya dahil namumulubi ako at ang tangi kong maiaambag sa kanila ay ang mga blogs ko (oo, ganung katindi ang poverty level ngayon), ililista ko nalang ang mga rason kung bakit sobrang nagpapasalamat ako at sila ang mga magulang ko. hetowz na powz:

1. maswerte ako dahil kahit sobrang tagal na nilang mag asawa ay iswit pa din sila sa isa't-isa. yung tipong naghoholding hands pa kapag nasa public, mahilig mag PDA, at may kutob akong active pa din sila... sa facebook! yung mga iniisip mo ha! kasi nga naman, madaming mga technomorons na mga tanderbirds ngayon, pero silang dalawa, sige pa din sila ng sige sa pag-uupdate ng fezbuk status nila at pagpapalit ng lingguhang profile picture. madalang na ang ganyang mga couple ngayon, kaya salamat po sa enyo mga magolang ko!

2. corollary to number one, masaya din ako kasi kahit may katandaan na sila at puti na ang buhok nila pareho, ay nakukuha pa nilang magbigayan ng lab leters sa isa't isa. pramis! minsan nga, dahil burara sila minsan sa mga lab leters na yan, ay nababasa pa namin sa kung saan-saang lugar sa bahay. yung pinaka-recent na nabasa ko ay galing kai mudraks, at nasa altar namin ito (inalay?). sabi nya sa letter nya: 'when i don't feel important to you anymore, i feel like the only color is gray, the sky is starless, and lamp posts have no light.' san ka pa? feeling ko nga kaya ako naging ganito ka emo, ay dahil nasa nature and nurture ko na eh. kaya sila ang may kasalanan kung bakit messed up much si claudiopoi ngayon. joke!

3. halos lahat ng mga kaibigan ko at kaibigan ng magulang ko ay nagcocomment na goodlooking daw kameng lahat na mga magkakapatid. ehem ehem. syempre, dapat nasa front seat ako palagi pagdating sa mga pagcocomment na ito. hahaha! ekchweli, nagpapasalamat ako sa genes ng magulang ko, kasi kahit madalas akong mapagkamalang sri lankan (bakit sri lanka sa lahat ng mga bansa sa middle east? bakeeeeeeet?), ay kamukha ko naman daw si jerecho. naka naman. turtle mode na ito, at buhatan na ng sariling bahay. nyahahaha!

4. apart from number three, syempre kasama na din sa genes ang pagiging likas na matalino ng mga supling nila. puro kasi accountants ang mga magulang ko, at pareho din silang valedictorian sa elementary at hayskul, at cum laude pa nung grumadweyt sa kolehiyo. hong lopot dobo? kahit na minsan ay matatayog ang mga expectations ng mga tao sa aming mga magkakapatid, keri lang, kasi nga meron namang genetic basis ang pagiging achiever namen (kuno!). kahit na di ko na-inherit ang talento ng erpats ko sa matematika, at least nakuha ko naman ang pagiging writer ni ermats. solb na ako dun. ibaon na sa limot yang potang let x na yan!

5. syempre pa, sobrang pasasalamat ko din at grabe ang sipag ng magulang ko. kapag hindi sila nagsipag sa pag-aaral dati, siguro anak din ako ng mangingisda sa masbate tulad ng isang uncle ko, o di kaya ng isang majongerang auntie ko na pang-UAAP na yata ang skills sa pagsusugal. working students si dad and mom (naks, susyal amp) nung nasa kolehiyo pa lang sila -- si erpat ay janitor, at si ermat naman ay secretary ng college dean nila dati. naging presidente si daddy sa working students circle, at si mommy naman ay kanyang butihing vice-president. ayun, nagbunga din ang panlalandi nila sa mga org meetings, at nakabuo din sila ng anim na matatabang baboy healthy kids.

6. di tulad ng ibang mga tatay jan, matatas ang mga aylabyus ng tatay ko. ekchweli, kahit na matigas na ang bone structure ko at bente sais na taon na akong nakikigulo sa mundong to, ay panay pa din ang paglalambing ni erpat (katulad ng pagca-cuddle sa bed at paghoholding hands sa kalsada). ako na nga lang minsan ang nahihiya sa kanya. pero ang prinsipyo nya pagdating sa pagiging tatay ay simple lamang: minsan lang daw tayo nabubuhay sa mundong ito, kaya kung may gusto kang gawin o sabihin sa mga mahal mo, sabihin mo na ito, NOW NA! at saka, bata pa lang din siya nung namatay ang tatay nya, kaya sinabi nya sa sarili nya na dapat hindi nya ipagkakait ang pagmamahal ng isang tatay sa mga magiging anak nya. sana maging katulad din ako ng tatay ko, pramis! kahit one-fourth lang, solb na ako dun!

7. grabe sila kung makabigay ng second chance. parang nakalimang second chance na yata ako sa kanila. nung una, binagsak ko ang math 17 ng dalawang beses, i mean tatlo. potang ina, sige na nga, apat na beses (social suicide much)! pero keri pa din nila. sabi nila, umalis ka nalang jan sa peyups at lumipat ka na sa silliman. tapos ayun, bilang isang masunuring bata, ginawa ko naman ang hiniling nila. nung nasa silliman na ako, panay liwaliw at bulakbol pa din ako, pero kahit na lumiit na ang utak ko dahil sa betsin at red horse overload, ay second chance pa rin sina mama at papa (parang soap opera lang, hihi). at ngayon, suportado pa nila ako sa pag-aabugasiya ko. haylabet! kung ibang magulang siguro, itinakwil na ako o di kaya ay iniwan sa gulf air passenger seat (sanggol?) pero buti nalang at hindi ganyan ang magulang ko. tenk yu berimats Lord!

8. laking pasasalamat ko din dahil sa sobrang pagka-relihiyoso ng magulang ko ay parang next in line yatang mabe-beatify ang erpat ko. sa isang linggo, dalawang beses kami kung magsimba. tapos kada sunday pa, may family rosary kami at 7 pm. tapos nun, bible study. tapos nun, may endearing quality chuva pa kami (yung i-aafirm mo yung lahat ng myembro ng family, kasama ang mga helpers namen, with something na ginawa nila na nakapagpasaya sayo nung week na yun). at syempre pa, ang pamatay na weekly family meetings namin. oo, kurak. si tatay ang nagpepreside (dati kasi siyang manager sa past employer nya), at si nanay naman ang taga sulat ng minutes of the meeting. naalala ko pa nga dati, akala ko ay nagjojoke lang si erpat nung sinabi nyang kailangan naming isulat ang aming mga new year's resolutions sa isang bond paper -- pero watch out, totoo pala itey. hindi nya ako binigyan ng allowance ng isang linggo hangga't hindi ako nagcocomply. daig pa nya ang mga majors ko nung college, ganyanan lang ang drama nya!

9. eto ang sobrang personal sa akin: sobrang pasasalamat ko sa kanila at pinalayas nila ako nung 2008. ekchweli, alam ko namang patapon ang buhay ko nung mga panahong yun. panay alak lang ang laman ng tiyan ko, umuuwi ako ng lasing halos gabi-gabi, at madalas akong nagta-time space warp kapagka nalalasing. sabi ng erpat ko: hanggang [insert date here] ka nalang sa bahay na to, kasi isa kang malaking kahihiyan sa alta nating pamilya. chos! pero totoo, pinalayas ako sa bahay, at sa cebu na ako na-ispatang muli. habang andun ako, nagnilay-nilay naman ako sa mga kaganapan ng buhay ko, at naisip ko dun na shet, bakit kailangan akong itakwil ng mga magulang ko na okay naman sana silang mga magulang. opo, ate charo, na-realize kong dapat kong baguhin ang ugali ko at akoy malapit ng tumungtong sa trenta. putakels. (jepoy, eternity)

kaya ayun. mahal na mahal na mahal na mahal ko ang magulang ko, at dahil 32 years na and pagniniig nila sa akwatro ng nobyembre, gusto ko lang silang batiin ng happy, happy, happy anniversary! alam kong hindi kayo masyadong natutuwa sa akin ngayon at sa mga bad decisions na ginawa ko as of late (archaic english?), pero i promise you: 'this is not the real deal yet.' (claudiopoi, 2008) gagalingan ko ang pag-aabugasiya neksyir, at kahit papano, sisikapin kong maging katulad nyo sa isip, sa salita, at sa gawa. chos.

eto si jolina at si marbin oh.

isa pang stolen paparazzi shot.

aylabyoo parents!

an ode to the voyager who broke my heart three years ago.

(a repost of a published essay three years back)

every morning when I was about seven or eight years old, my parents would take us all to rizal boulevard for early morning walks.

as they would briskly walk along the endless stretch of cemented pavement, my siblings and I would try, with little success, to keep up with their pace while pointing out the differences of those who also take refuge in the boulevard’s allure – we would see old people who barely move an inch every time they walk, athletes with earphones who breeze past everyone else, dog-walkers who are wary of those who are afraid of dogs, and lovers who seem oblivious to everyone else around them.

back then, this was the early morning ritual which jumpstarted the day and, young as I was, I did not complain each time my father had to shrug us off from slumber and make us prepare for our early morning itinerary. i remember that as a young boy, I was enthralled and totally captivated by the beauty of the first few streaks of light of the breaking sunrise and the cool gusts of wind which greeted us each time.

the rizal boulevard beckoned everyone to momentarily escape from the trappings of a stress-filled day and bask in the soothing monotony of rural living. the chilling morning breeze, which permeated with the raw scent of early morning dew, was always relaxing to my senses, making me face the new day with much zest and optimism.

when I had my first girlfriend in high school, I remember that the boulevard was the first place that we went to for our first date. no matter how young we were during that time, we were convinced that what we had was for keeps – that no matter how cheesy or cliché, we would inevitably spend the rest of our lives together.

the boulevard then, provided for the most picturesque setting to a love story that was slowly unfolding. I remember the golden silhouette of dusk hovering over our heads while we talked about how our life together would be. she would be a doctor and I would be a lawyer in paris or new zealand perhaps and, back then, we sincerely believed that this was our absolute destiny. perhaps it was the unraveling of newfound emotion which led us to believe in the folly of a perfect relationship, or probably, it was the boulevard’s touch which made us hopeless romantics and believe that our love would transcend the physical plane – that what we had was ethereal and, more than that, magical.

it did not, however, take a long time for me to realize that we were just blinded by the rawness of our emotions. we were broken, as sooner or later we would have been, to the simplistic truth that the ideal partner does not exist. after successive bouts of petty quarreling and endless disputes over the most trivial things, we finally decided to end our relationship.

fresh from the bitter pangs of my first heart break, I invited my close friends to a drinking spree in the boulevard. save for the momentary euphoria of alcohol intoxication, the boulevard then, was cold and lifeless for me. it conformed to my cluttered state of mind, and the dizzying sodium lights only exacerbated the dreadful feeling of desperation that brewed inside me.

the solace of our young dreams and unadulterated love was also where I learned that life and love are never constant – and that we are oftentimes broken rather than complete.

just november of last year, the boulevard was where I spent most of my pensive moments with only my thoughts and a couple of marlboro lights. much has happened since that fateful night of heavy drinking when a group of young boys foolishly believed that tanduay 65 was a comforting respite from the onslaught of solitary pain.

this time, i had been broken to the world and to the reality that life is what you make of it.

as I basked in the poetic allure of the last few traces of light giving in to darkness, I was contemplating on what I had done with my life: i had squandered three years of it in a university which taught me that although academic and personal freedom are essential, too much of the latter can actually make you lose your focus and direction in life.

the boulevard was my place of consolation when I felt that my life had lost all semblance of meaning; it was where I chose to collect the fragments of my broken self and consolidate my resolve to start anew; it was where I realized that change is never too late, and that yes, failures exist to solidify our perception of how our lives ought to be.

the boulevard for me, as with everyone else who grew up in this city, has been a constant source of comfort. people come here to take a breather from the intricacies of everyday living, they celebrate happy occasions with family members and friends, and at times, it is where love stories unfold.

but more than anything else, it taught me that although life is a constant struggle, the turbulence is never permanent – that although we occasionally succumb to the complexities of living, it merely serves to redefine our perspectives and make us see the grander scheme of things.

that although life and love are besieged with constant torment, we can, through our own ways, make ourselves complete – because life, as with everything else, goes on.