I just woke up. Echoes of last night still vibrate on my skin. I can still feel traces of it -- the lurching and groaning of flesh on flesh on flesh. The four-walled darkness illuminated only by the thin slice of moonlight streaming weakly through the curtains, like a lost child.
I was in one corner, lying prone and unspeaking, watching you. Twenty two bodies were moving like sensuous waves between us. Twenty two pairs of hands clinging at each other in the shadows, looking for a little patch of love if only for a few minutes, if only for a few hours. All was beautiful in that little pocket of darkness. Every touch was heaven, every kiss was hot as fuck.
But it was you whom I loved. You were right beside the curtains, standing. Three shadows encircled you, like panthers guarding their prey. You, however, were a willing sacrifice. You spread your arms and welcomed them into your territory. I flinched at the sudden shift in the air, but still I watched.
If I thought watching you was painful because you were too beautiful, or because I was too jealous, I never really cared. I thrived in that burning sensation in my chest. And even though for the rest of the night I surrendered to the ebb and flow of the waves around me, still it was you I watched.
In a few minutes I will be taking a bath. I will wash off every trace of salt and moonlight left written on my body. Memories of another will be gone from my skin, and my feet will touch solid ground once again. But you, still, I will remember. You will be my vanishing point.
Sunday, May 20, 2007
Friday, May 11, 2007
And We're Back!
After three days and two nights of unadulterated bliss roasting under the summer sun, playing with the warm waves of the beach, and getting pissed drunk on any alcoholic beverage we can get our greedy little hands on, Team San Mig Lai returned to Manila late Monday evening tired and sleepy, but with hearts full of love for each other and the sparkling blue of Puerto Galera.
Let the picture parade begin!
At the office, before everything began. It doesn't show in the photo, but we were all looking pretty dazed. Not one of us had a decent night's sleep because of last minute packing and just plain excitement.
On the bus to Batangas Pier. We were waiting for the eternally late boys to get to the terminal.
Kimmy waking up just in time for me to click the digicam, sparing himself from the horribly embarrassing fate that befell Mitch & Mommy.
At the Batangas Pier, waiting for the person who arranged our reservations for the boat ride to White Beach, Mang Pating.
Our Boss Lai & her lovey-dovey, Kuya Joey, on the boat sitting beside a hot guy.
Me & Kimmy barely hiding our excitement, 15 minutes 'til we get to White Beach.
Alighting the boat, looking all uninterested and bored, when in truth, we were all jumping and giddy inside.
The classic feet-in-a-circle shot. Guess which one is mine.
Kimmy, Boss Lai, Mitch, & I sampling Galera taho.
Saturday evening, dinner at a rooftop restaurant while the beach crowd was partying downstairs with Bamboo and other bands who performed for the Smart concert.
After dinner, we got our bottles of Arctic Vodka and Mudslide ready for a whole night of drinking and, hopefully, stumbling along some of each other's little sorry secrets.
Kimmy being all petite and ladylike while drinking his first shot of vodka for the night. It will not last for long...
... as compared to Paris, who tossed his shot of vodka like a pirate.
Boss Lai, not drunk enough, but Dared to dance the Pandanggo sa Ilaw just so she doesn't have to answer a Truth question.
Brevin's Dare -- to kiss JP on the cheek. It looks more like he's going to gobble up the poor guy tho.
Tired, tipsy, and up to our nipples in alcohol, but the night is young and there is still a beach filled with hot guys to dance with.
Sunday morning, walking on the shore, pestering boats and kicking sand at each other. Endless childish fun!
The entrance to the infamous caves. I've been told it was small...
... I didn't realize it was that small.
Here I am emerging from the cave. "Never again, never again, never again..." I chanted as I was crawling on the cave floor, scraping myself a number of times and bumping my head on sharp outcroppings of rocks on the wall. Never again will I submit myself to such a tiresome and pointless experience.
That, my dear friends, is a snake. Pulling myself out from the other end of the cave, dusting myself and making sure my limbs were still in the right places, I heard a group of people concentrated in one area nearby talking about three snakes slithering among the rocks. I pointed to the one approximately two feet beside me and said casually, "Ito ba yung isa sa mga ahas na pinag-uusapan nyo?" (Is this one of the snakes you guys were talking about?) A chorus of oh-my-gods and random exclamations of fear erupted before I realized that yes, there was a snake beside me and I should be hurrying on away from it.
Me, Boss Lai, & Kimmy getting our fat asses moving to the other side of the crags. "Never again, never again, never again..." I chanted.
After much blood spilt, we have finally reached the other end of the little island pocket. Suffice it to say, the effort was worth what we saw.
Enjoying our little corner of paradise. There's Mommy Dea sitting on the rocks, and from left to right there's Kimmy, me, Mitch, Boss Lai, & Paris.
JP living dangerously.
We went snorkeling Sunday afternoon. Funny how excited we got, but once we were let loose in the open sea, we couldn't let go of the boat.
Pong, clinging for dear life.
Paris, in true Muro'Ami-esque fashion, caught three blue starfish. We put them to good use by scaring Mitch out of her wits.
The Sunday sunset after our misadventures in snorkeling. I took this photo myself and I'm very proud of how it turned out, despite the rolling waves. :-)
Mommy Dea, feeling pensive and sentimental.
Another beautiful sunset photo, taken by Kuya Joey.
JP, Boss Lai, Kuya Joey, Pong, and Cool on the Banana Boat. Paris and I stayed behind, not feeling adventurous enough to brave the deep waters on our final day in Galera.
Pong and Cool managing to keep their balance on the first run of the Banana Boat. The others were left floundering somewhere behind.
Boss Lai trying to get back on the Banana Boat and miserably failing.
Me & Mommy Dea enjoying frozen margaritas while the rest of San Mig Lai takes their last dip Monday afternoon.
Kuya Joey, leaving the Galera mark on his hair. (Although he undid everything the following day. Hehe.)
On the boat ride home, tired and sleepy, but happy happy happy.
By Mommy Dea's hands, another meanwhile!
Back in the Batangas Pier, our hearts left afloat on Puerto Galera shores. We're going back soon!
Let the picture parade begin!
At the office, before everything began. It doesn't show in the photo, but we were all looking pretty dazed. Not one of us had a decent night's sleep because of last minute packing and just plain excitement.
On the bus to Batangas Pier. We were waiting for the eternally late boys to get to the terminal.
Kimmy waking up just in time for me to click the digicam, sparing himself from the horribly embarrassing fate that befell Mitch & Mommy.
At the Batangas Pier, waiting for the person who arranged our reservations for the boat ride to White Beach, Mang Pating.
Our Boss Lai & her lovey-dovey, Kuya Joey, on the boat sitting beside a hot guy.
Me & Kimmy barely hiding our excitement, 15 minutes 'til we get to White Beach.
Alighting the boat, looking all uninterested and bored, when in truth, we were all jumping and giddy inside.
The classic feet-in-a-circle shot. Guess which one is mine.
Kimmy, Boss Lai, Mitch, & I sampling Galera taho.
Saturday evening, dinner at a rooftop restaurant while the beach crowd was partying downstairs with Bamboo and other bands who performed for the Smart concert.
After dinner, we got our bottles of Arctic Vodka and Mudslide ready for a whole night of drinking and, hopefully, stumbling along some of each other's little sorry secrets.
Kimmy being all petite and ladylike while drinking his first shot of vodka for the night. It will not last for long...
... as compared to Paris, who tossed his shot of vodka like a pirate.
Boss Lai, not drunk enough, but Dared to dance the Pandanggo sa Ilaw just so she doesn't have to answer a Truth question.
Brevin's Dare -- to kiss JP on the cheek. It looks more like he's going to gobble up the poor guy tho.
Tired, tipsy, and up to our nipples in alcohol, but the night is young and there is still a beach filled with hot guys to dance with.
Sunday morning, walking on the shore, pestering boats and kicking sand at each other. Endless childish fun!
The entrance to the infamous caves. I've been told it was small...
... I didn't realize it was that small.
Here I am emerging from the cave. "Never again, never again, never again..." I chanted as I was crawling on the cave floor, scraping myself a number of times and bumping my head on sharp outcroppings of rocks on the wall. Never again will I submit myself to such a tiresome and pointless experience.
That, my dear friends, is a snake. Pulling myself out from the other end of the cave, dusting myself and making sure my limbs were still in the right places, I heard a group of people concentrated in one area nearby talking about three snakes slithering among the rocks. I pointed to the one approximately two feet beside me and said casually, "Ito ba yung isa sa mga ahas na pinag-uusapan nyo?" (Is this one of the snakes you guys were talking about?) A chorus of oh-my-gods and random exclamations of fear erupted before I realized that yes, there was a snake beside me and I should be hurrying on away from it.
Me, Boss Lai, & Kimmy getting our fat asses moving to the other side of the crags. "Never again, never again, never again..." I chanted.
After much blood spilt, we have finally reached the other end of the little island pocket. Suffice it to say, the effort was worth what we saw.
Enjoying our little corner of paradise. There's Mommy Dea sitting on the rocks, and from left to right there's Kimmy, me, Mitch, Boss Lai, & Paris.
JP living dangerously.
We went snorkeling Sunday afternoon. Funny how excited we got, but once we were let loose in the open sea, we couldn't let go of the boat.
Pong, clinging for dear life.
Paris, in true Muro'Ami-esque fashion, caught three blue starfish. We put them to good use by scaring Mitch out of her wits.
The Sunday sunset after our misadventures in snorkeling. I took this photo myself and I'm very proud of how it turned out, despite the rolling waves. :-)
Mommy Dea, feeling pensive and sentimental.
Another beautiful sunset photo, taken by Kuya Joey.
JP, Boss Lai, Kuya Joey, Pong, and Cool on the Banana Boat. Paris and I stayed behind, not feeling adventurous enough to brave the deep waters on our final day in Galera.
Pong and Cool managing to keep their balance on the first run of the Banana Boat. The others were left floundering somewhere behind.
Boss Lai trying to get back on the Banana Boat and miserably failing.
Me & Mommy Dea enjoying frozen margaritas while the rest of San Mig Lai takes their last dip Monday afternoon.
Kuya Joey, leaving the Galera mark on his hair. (Although he undid everything the following day. Hehe.)
On the boat ride home, tired and sleepy, but happy happy happy.
By Mommy Dea's hands, another meanwhile!
Back in the Batangas Pier, our hearts left afloat on Puerto Galera shores. We're going back soon!
Saturday, May 05, 2007
Monday, April 30, 2007
Sana Umulan
Summer, for all its intense heat and long-drawn days, conjures the oddest memories. What I like most about keeping a journal is I can slip through that pocket of time, see things in vivid detail, and think about what I would have done had things turned out differently. More often than not, I find that I would not have had my life any other way.
This is one of those memories. One of my very few entries written in Tagalog for someone. A re-posting from the original, created April, 2004.
“Sana umulan,” ang parating bulong ng aking kamalayan. Kahit nuong highschool pa lang, tuwing umaga pag lalabas ako ng bahay at magsisimulang maglakad papuntang eskuwelahan, ang unang dasal ko parati, “Sana umulan…” At pagkatapos makapag-antanda ay saka ko lang isusunod ang mga taong naghihirap sa mundo, ang mga gutom, ang mga walang matirhan, ang aking mga kaibigan, ang lola ko, at ang pamilya ko. Ngunit nauuna talaga sa isip ko ang ulan.
Hindi naman siguro malakas na ulan, tulad ng ipinagdadasal ng karamihang estudyante. Hindi ko naman gusto yung tipo ng ulan na babahain nang lubos-lubusan ang ka-Maynilaan. Binabaha rin kasi ang kalye namin, at pumapasok pa sa loob ng bahay kaya mahirap ding hingin yun, gustuhin ko man dahil mawawalan nga naman ng klase.
Ang gusto kong ulan ay yung kung nasa loob ka ng bahay at nasa may kusina at nagkakape’t pandesal (o pag sinisipag ang tiya ay naiisipang mag-champorado), isang mahinahong tunog ng pagmartsa ng patak lang ang maririnig mo galing sa nagpapalakpakang yero at ulan. Marahil ay nakikipag-usap ka sa tiyahin mo, o sa lola mo, o sa kaibigan mo na naghihintay ng paghupa ng masamang panahon pero hindi niyo kailangang magsigawan dahil sa sobrang lakas ng tunog ng bagsak ng tubig sa bubungan. Naririnig niyo pa naman ang tawa, ang pag-oo at pag-hindi ng bawat isa. (Marahil pati na rin ang tibok ng puso sa pagitan ng bawat paghinga…)
Ang gusto kong ulan ay yung hindi malakas, at hindi rin paambon-ambon lang. Yun bang kung lumabas ka sa kalsada at maglakad, ay para bang may karamay kang kaibigan. Yung para bang gusto mong makihiyaw, magtampisaw, at sumabay sa paghalakhak dahil sa isang bagay na nakakatawa na kayo lang dalawa ang nakakakaalam. At kung tatahimik ka ay pabulong na magsasabi ng sikreto tungkol sa lihim na pag-ibig ng buwan sa araw. Ng gabi sa liwanag. (Niya sa iyo…)
Ang gusto kong ulan ay yung titingala ka, pipikit, ngingiti, at magpapasalamat dahil alam mong ang ulan na iyong kaibigan, karamay, katipan ay isang pagbabasbas mula sa langit at patunay na may dahilan pang maging masaya habang ika’y nabubuhay. Iyon ang tipo ng ulan na pinapanalangin ko tuwing bago ako lumabas ng bahay.
Ngunit tulad ng maraming bagay na ating ipinagdarasal, hindi ito ipinagkakaloob sa atin. O marahil ay mas naaayon, hindi ito ipinagkakaloob sa atin sa panahong ating ito’y inaasahang dumating.
“Sana umulan,” ang sabi ko sa sarili. Tulad nung gabing nabanggit mo na kailangan mong umalis, mangibang bansa. Kailangan mo munang magpahinga, magpalayo, mapag-isa. May mga panahon din naman na inaamin ko sa sarili ko na hindi kita maintindihan, at hindi ko na pinipilit ang sarili kong intindihin ka. Ang kapal naman ng mukha ko kung isipin kong naiintindihan ko ang bawat pagtibok ng puso mo, dahil lang mahal kita.
Nag-alay na lamang ako ng mumunting dasal na sana kung saan ka man pupunta ay matagpuan mo ang katahimikang hinahanap mo. Inuna ko nang ipagdasal ka, saka ko na lang sinunod ang ulan.
Nang umalis ka, para bang sumama rin sa maleta mo ang ulan. Pakiramdam ko nagtampo, dahil sa kauna-unahang pagkakataon, may mas inuna akong dinalangin bago siya. Natandaan ko ang mga araw na nagmamaktol ako sa loob ng mainit at tahimik kong kwarto. “Ang daya-daya mo talaga,” ang sabi ko sa sarili. “Aalis ka na nga, sinama mo pa ang ulan.” Wala tuloy sumabay sa’kin nung tahimik akong nagsisisinghot sa sulok ng kwarto at umiiyak. Para akong bata na nilubog sa mainit na tubig at hinayaang malusaw sa sariling pawis at luha. Inaasahan ko ang lamig na yakap ng ulan, ngunit ipinagkait mo pa iyon sa akin.
Ngayon mas napapadalas ang dalangin ko. “Sana umulan…” Ang tahimik kasi. Ang init. Ang lungkot. Parang antagal na panahon nang huli kong marinig ang pagpalakpak ng ulan sa bubungan. Parang antagal na panahon nang huli akong nakatawa nang malakas kasabay ng isang matalik na kaibigan. At antagal-tagal na ring panahon nang huli akong nakarinig ng kwento ng mga nag-iibigan.
Kailan ako muling mabababasbasan? Kailan muling magkakaroon ng patunay na mayroon pang dahilan para maging masaya? Patuloy akong dumadalangin. “Sana umulan, sana umulan, sana umulan…”
----------
[ Image credits to pu-sama. ]
This is one of those memories. One of my very few entries written in Tagalog for someone. A re-posting from the original, created April, 2004.
“Sana umulan,” ang parating bulong ng aking kamalayan. Kahit nuong highschool pa lang, tuwing umaga pag lalabas ako ng bahay at magsisimulang maglakad papuntang eskuwelahan, ang unang dasal ko parati, “Sana umulan…” At pagkatapos makapag-antanda ay saka ko lang isusunod ang mga taong naghihirap sa mundo, ang mga gutom, ang mga walang matirhan, ang aking mga kaibigan, ang lola ko, at ang pamilya ko. Ngunit nauuna talaga sa isip ko ang ulan.
Hindi naman siguro malakas na ulan, tulad ng ipinagdadasal ng karamihang estudyante. Hindi ko naman gusto yung tipo ng ulan na babahain nang lubos-lubusan ang ka-Maynilaan. Binabaha rin kasi ang kalye namin, at pumapasok pa sa loob ng bahay kaya mahirap ding hingin yun, gustuhin ko man dahil mawawalan nga naman ng klase.Ang gusto kong ulan ay yung kung nasa loob ka ng bahay at nasa may kusina at nagkakape’t pandesal (o pag sinisipag ang tiya ay naiisipang mag-champorado), isang mahinahong tunog ng pagmartsa ng patak lang ang maririnig mo galing sa nagpapalakpakang yero at ulan. Marahil ay nakikipag-usap ka sa tiyahin mo, o sa lola mo, o sa kaibigan mo na naghihintay ng paghupa ng masamang panahon pero hindi niyo kailangang magsigawan dahil sa sobrang lakas ng tunog ng bagsak ng tubig sa bubungan. Naririnig niyo pa naman ang tawa, ang pag-oo at pag-hindi ng bawat isa. (Marahil pati na rin ang tibok ng puso sa pagitan ng bawat paghinga…)
Ang gusto kong ulan ay yung hindi malakas, at hindi rin paambon-ambon lang. Yun bang kung lumabas ka sa kalsada at maglakad, ay para bang may karamay kang kaibigan. Yung para bang gusto mong makihiyaw, magtampisaw, at sumabay sa paghalakhak dahil sa isang bagay na nakakatawa na kayo lang dalawa ang nakakakaalam. At kung tatahimik ka ay pabulong na magsasabi ng sikreto tungkol sa lihim na pag-ibig ng buwan sa araw. Ng gabi sa liwanag. (Niya sa iyo…)
Ang gusto kong ulan ay yung titingala ka, pipikit, ngingiti, at magpapasalamat dahil alam mong ang ulan na iyong kaibigan, karamay, katipan ay isang pagbabasbas mula sa langit at patunay na may dahilan pang maging masaya habang ika’y nabubuhay. Iyon ang tipo ng ulan na pinapanalangin ko tuwing bago ako lumabas ng bahay.
Ngunit tulad ng maraming bagay na ating ipinagdarasal, hindi ito ipinagkakaloob sa atin. O marahil ay mas naaayon, hindi ito ipinagkakaloob sa atin sa panahong ating ito’y inaasahang dumating.
“Sana umulan,” ang sabi ko sa sarili. Tulad nung gabing nabanggit mo na kailangan mong umalis, mangibang bansa. Kailangan mo munang magpahinga, magpalayo, mapag-isa. May mga panahon din naman na inaamin ko sa sarili ko na hindi kita maintindihan, at hindi ko na pinipilit ang sarili kong intindihin ka. Ang kapal naman ng mukha ko kung isipin kong naiintindihan ko ang bawat pagtibok ng puso mo, dahil lang mahal kita.
Nag-alay na lamang ako ng mumunting dasal na sana kung saan ka man pupunta ay matagpuan mo ang katahimikang hinahanap mo. Inuna ko nang ipagdasal ka, saka ko na lang sinunod ang ulan.
Nang umalis ka, para bang sumama rin sa maleta mo ang ulan. Pakiramdam ko nagtampo, dahil sa kauna-unahang pagkakataon, may mas inuna akong dinalangin bago siya. Natandaan ko ang mga araw na nagmamaktol ako sa loob ng mainit at tahimik kong kwarto. “Ang daya-daya mo talaga,” ang sabi ko sa sarili. “Aalis ka na nga, sinama mo pa ang ulan.” Wala tuloy sumabay sa’kin nung tahimik akong nagsisisinghot sa sulok ng kwarto at umiiyak. Para akong bata na nilubog sa mainit na tubig at hinayaang malusaw sa sariling pawis at luha. Inaasahan ko ang lamig na yakap ng ulan, ngunit ipinagkait mo pa iyon sa akin.
Ngayon mas napapadalas ang dalangin ko. “Sana umulan…” Ang tahimik kasi. Ang init. Ang lungkot. Parang antagal na panahon nang huli kong marinig ang pagpalakpak ng ulan sa bubungan. Parang antagal na panahon nang huli akong nakatawa nang malakas kasabay ng isang matalik na kaibigan. At antagal-tagal na ring panahon nang huli akong nakarinig ng kwento ng mga nag-iibigan.
Kailan ako muling mabababasbasan? Kailan muling magkakaroon ng patunay na mayroon pang dahilan para maging masaya? Patuloy akong dumadalangin. “Sana umulan, sana umulan, sana umulan…”
----------
[ Image credits to pu-sama. ]
Thursday, April 19, 2007
Sunday, April 15, 2007
A Sick, Sad World Episode
Several weeks ago, someone I talked with online a couple of months past called me up asking if I can do a website for a start-up company he's working with. I told him I might not be able to, since I already had my hands full with my regular job then. (It wasn't really that hectic, but I'd rather take things easy, as my friends would know.) Anyway, he told me he'd seen my website and he said he really wanted me for the job. I insisted on the fact that I'm positive can't, and even if I do accept it, I won't be able to prioritize it. He told me to think about it and he'd call me again the following week to see if I might change my mind. Fair enough, I thought, so that was that.
I got the phone call exactly a week after and he asked what I thought about his offer. I said I really won't be able to do it and told him it would be better if he looked into other options. This was when things started to get weird for me. He asked me again what the URL for my website was. So I told him, and he asked if I could hold. Sure, I said. A couple of minutes later, I heard him talking with someone in the background. When he picked up the receiver I said I really had to go since it was already late and I had work the following day. He totally ignored it and proceeded to tell me that he just showed his boss my website and he got the approval to take me in as their designer. "Now wait a minute," I said. I told him again I wasn't interested in doing their website and I already had a regular job that takes up most of my time; I wouldn't be able to prioritize doing their website. He insisted he already made his decision and he really wanted me to do it.
By that time it was already becoming frustrating almost to the point of being rude, so I told him he really didn't want me for the job. I would only cause him problems, I might not be able to deliver on time, and to top it all off, it's been close to two years since I've coded something! (I feel ashamed of this, now that I think about it. I should start doing websites again. Baby steps.) Now, I'm not sure how he was able to maneuver the conversation, but the next thing I knew I was agreeing to meet him and his boss on Monday -- tomorrow -- to talk about the proposals. Of course, I made sure to tell him there's no guarantee I'd agree to do it, only to meet with him and his boss to tell them of my decision if I still wanted to do it or not personally.
So tonight he calls again. "Oh, it's you," I greeted him. He said he just called to remind me about tomorrow. I told him I remember. And then he asked me if I still wanted to do it. I said no, I never wanted to do it, and I never agreed to anything yet in the first place -- only to meet with them for my decision. Then he told me if they were going to have problems with me, it would be better if I just decline so he can look for another person first thing tomorrow.
AND THEN THERE WAS LIGHT!
"You mean to tell me," I began, barely hiding the anger and irritation in my voice, "after our conversation last week and the week before that, you only figured out NOW that I didn't want the job?"
"So you don't want to do it?"
Christ. I think I just popped a vein. "Oh Lord, were you even listening to anything I've said?!"
"Look, I'm just doing business here, and if you don't want to do it, just tell me now." He said it as if I didn't make it clear in the previous phone calls that I didn't want the fucking job, and I'm the bad guy.
"No, I don't want to do it, and good luck." The line was silent. I waited for him to hang up before I put down the phone.
Now, I just want to know: HOW ARE PEOPLE LIKE THAT WITH LIMITED MENTAL CAPACITY FOR COMPREHENSION ABLE TO SURVIVE? SHOULDN'T THEY BE LOSING CONSCIOUSNESS JUST FIGURING OUT HOW TO OPEN A GODDAMNED MILK CARTON? Yeesh. I know a lot of smart, good, unemployed people who deserve the job idiots like the one I just talked with have.
Sigh. Control yourself, Podi. Breathe in, breathe out. There is more good than bad in this world. There is more good than bad in this world. There is more good than bad in this world...
I got the phone call exactly a week after and he asked what I thought about his offer. I said I really won't be able to do it and told him it would be better if he looked into other options. This was when things started to get weird for me. He asked me again what the URL for my website was. So I told him, and he asked if I could hold. Sure, I said. A couple of minutes later, I heard him talking with someone in the background. When he picked up the receiver I said I really had to go since it was already late and I had work the following day. He totally ignored it and proceeded to tell me that he just showed his boss my website and he got the approval to take me in as their designer. "Now wait a minute," I said. I told him again I wasn't interested in doing their website and I already had a regular job that takes up most of my time; I wouldn't be able to prioritize doing their website. He insisted he already made his decision and he really wanted me to do it.
By that time it was already becoming frustrating almost to the point of being rude, so I told him he really didn't want me for the job. I would only cause him problems, I might not be able to deliver on time, and to top it all off, it's been close to two years since I've coded something! (I feel ashamed of this, now that I think about it. I should start doing websites again. Baby steps.) Now, I'm not sure how he was able to maneuver the conversation, but the next thing I knew I was agreeing to meet him and his boss on Monday -- tomorrow -- to talk about the proposals. Of course, I made sure to tell him there's no guarantee I'd agree to do it, only to meet with him and his boss to tell them of my decision if I still wanted to do it or not personally.
So tonight he calls again. "Oh, it's you," I greeted him. He said he just called to remind me about tomorrow. I told him I remember. And then he asked me if I still wanted to do it. I said no, I never wanted to do it, and I never agreed to anything yet in the first place -- only to meet with them for my decision. Then he told me if they were going to have problems with me, it would be better if I just decline so he can look for another person first thing tomorrow.
AND THEN THERE WAS LIGHT!
"You mean to tell me," I began, barely hiding the anger and irritation in my voice, "after our conversation last week and the week before that, you only figured out NOW that I didn't want the job?"
"So you don't want to do it?"
Christ. I think I just popped a vein. "Oh Lord, were you even listening to anything I've said?!"
"Look, I'm just doing business here, and if you don't want to do it, just tell me now." He said it as if I didn't make it clear in the previous phone calls that I didn't want the fucking job, and I'm the bad guy.
"No, I don't want to do it, and good luck." The line was silent. I waited for him to hang up before I put down the phone.
Now, I just want to know: HOW ARE PEOPLE LIKE THAT WITH LIMITED MENTAL CAPACITY FOR COMPREHENSION ABLE TO SURVIVE? SHOULDN'T THEY BE LOSING CONSCIOUSNESS JUST FIGURING OUT HOW TO OPEN A GODDAMNED MILK CARTON? Yeesh. I know a lot of smart, good, unemployed people who deserve the job idiots like the one I just talked with have.
Sigh. Control yourself, Podi. Breathe in, breathe out. There is more good than bad in this world. There is more good than bad in this world. There is more good than bad in this world...
Tuesday, March 27, 2007
In Transit
It was his birthday when I saw him last. I didn't know it at that time -- walking towards the MRT station on my way home from Cubao. I had my headphones on as per usual, oblivious to the world moving around, when this tall, well-dressed, familiar form walked past me. It seemed a blur when his face crossed my vision, but in that precise second I knew it was him. He smelled the same. I let a few more heartbeats pass before I decided to stop and look back. When I did, he was already looking at me. "Hey," he said. "Hey," I said. It was unmistakable. The smell of rain on hair, of crushed grass -- it was really him.
Walk, I willed my legs to do. "It's been a long time," he smiled as he reached for a handshake. I could see in his eyes he was trying to remember the last time we saw each other. To be quite honest I couldn't remember either. "Yeah," was all I could come up with. He seemed relieved at the fact we both couldn't remember.
He said he got off work early and was on his way home. I offered to walk him to the other station. "I got a better idea," he said. "Let's eat. It's on me." Of course I refused, but I did a poor job of protesting it was quite obvious I really wanted to be with him longer. He gave me his cut-the-crap smile and said, "Come on. It's my birthday." That shut me up. So me and my sheepish smile ended up going with him to the mall food court to eat.
We ended up at this Mongolian food stand ordering big rice bowls -- our usual fare when we used to see each other more often. "It's been a long time since I've eaten here," I said as I watched with childlike wonder the girl behind the counter mixing vegetables in a deep, crimson bowl.
"Me too," he said with the same quiet awe. "Come to think of it, the last time I ate here was when I was with you."
"Hmm. You're right." We stayed silent until our orders were cooked. My head was reeling with questions, I had to hold on to something solid to steady myself. I looked at him again. He had his usual deadpan expression on, neutral and unreadable. The scent of his hair lingering like smoke, which my mind remembers so well. He tapped my shoulder to wake me from my reverie; our orders were done.
When we were seated, we talked about the usual small things. Where he was working, where I was working, complaints about officemates, of cranky relatives and moving out. I told him I was thinking of getting a haircut.
"O, why not? It's time for a change, don't you think?"
"Maybe," I said, picking through the vegetables in my rice bowl.
It took us about an hour to wade through each others' lives. I asked him about the book he was planning on writing, but he said it was on the shelf for now. I told him I'd still help if he needed it. He gave me a sad smile. "I need to be heading home," he said finally.
We got up and started walking. Both of us were quiet, but the hands in my pocket were fidgeting and restless. "Listen," I said, crackling my fingers, "I know you're a little averse to the topic, and I didn't want to bring it up... but I have to ask..." He glanced at me without a change in his stride, eyes black, without light, and waiting. "... are you seeing someone?"
There was that sad smile again. "I am. It's been a while now..." And I was sure he said other things, but at that moment, my mind retreated to its dark little corner without sound and time, leaving my physical body to fend for itself. I was giving the appropriate responses, sure. Smiling at the right moments, saying "Really" or "I see" without causing a break in the conversation, but that was it. The strings stretched taut in my mind were snapping and my ships were slowly sinking.
A little window to reality opened when he grabbed my hand again and waved. "I'll see you soon, alright?"
"Sure," I waved back. "Happy birthday." Turning around, I ran my fingers through my then long hair. I think I'll be having that haircut.
Walk, I willed my legs to do. "It's been a long time," he smiled as he reached for a handshake. I could see in his eyes he was trying to remember the last time we saw each other. To be quite honest I couldn't remember either. "Yeah," was all I could come up with. He seemed relieved at the fact we both couldn't remember.
He said he got off work early and was on his way home. I offered to walk him to the other station. "I got a better idea," he said. "Let's eat. It's on me." Of course I refused, but I did a poor job of protesting it was quite obvious I really wanted to be with him longer. He gave me his cut-the-crap smile and said, "Come on. It's my birthday." That shut me up. So me and my sheepish smile ended up going with him to the mall food court to eat.
We ended up at this Mongolian food stand ordering big rice bowls -- our usual fare when we used to see each other more often. "It's been a long time since I've eaten here," I said as I watched with childlike wonder the girl behind the counter mixing vegetables in a deep, crimson bowl.
"Me too," he said with the same quiet awe. "Come to think of it, the last time I ate here was when I was with you."
"Hmm. You're right." We stayed silent until our orders were cooked. My head was reeling with questions, I had to hold on to something solid to steady myself. I looked at him again. He had his usual deadpan expression on, neutral and unreadable. The scent of his hair lingering like smoke, which my mind remembers so well. He tapped my shoulder to wake me from my reverie; our orders were done.
When we were seated, we talked about the usual small things. Where he was working, where I was working, complaints about officemates, of cranky relatives and moving out. I told him I was thinking of getting a haircut.
"O, why not? It's time for a change, don't you think?"
"Maybe," I said, picking through the vegetables in my rice bowl.
It took us about an hour to wade through each others' lives. I asked him about the book he was planning on writing, but he said it was on the shelf for now. I told him I'd still help if he needed it. He gave me a sad smile. "I need to be heading home," he said finally.
We got up and started walking. Both of us were quiet, but the hands in my pocket were fidgeting and restless. "Listen," I said, crackling my fingers, "I know you're a little averse to the topic, and I didn't want to bring it up... but I have to ask..." He glanced at me without a change in his stride, eyes black, without light, and waiting. "... are you seeing someone?"
There was that sad smile again. "I am. It's been a while now..." And I was sure he said other things, but at that moment, my mind retreated to its dark little corner without sound and time, leaving my physical body to fend for itself. I was giving the appropriate responses, sure. Smiling at the right moments, saying "Really" or "I see" without causing a break in the conversation, but that was it. The strings stretched taut in my mind were snapping and my ships were slowly sinking.
A little window to reality opened when he grabbed my hand again and waved. "I'll see you soon, alright?"
"Sure," I waved back. "Happy birthday." Turning around, I ran my fingers through my then long hair. I think I'll be having that haircut.
Monday, March 19, 2007
Move On, Pare
Whenever life leaves you in a rut, get a haircut. Then look to the sky, give it a great, big, huge fuck you sign and then scream, "I'M STILL BREATHING, YOU IDIOT!"
Just look at the damned camera and SMILE, Podi.
Just look at the damned camera and SMILE, Podi.
Tuesday, March 06, 2007
Revisiting the Closet
Strange. Used to be I never had to deal with consciously making the people around me aware of my sexuality. It just slips into the conversation easily and smoothly, without my having to go through the usual rigors of coming out. This time however, hanging out with my straight male officemates has me going through some weird -- and oft times uncomfortable -- scenarios, and wondering if it would have been any different had they known about me in the first place.
•••
CASE #1: This afternoon, I was in Eastwood Cybermall with the guys from work for our pre-employment medical examination. They were checking out this girl seated opposite us in the waiting area, arguing which of them should approach her and ask for her name and number. It was amusing listening to their straight-guy banter, but not as amusing as the day's paper's crossword puzzle. Finally, one of them leaned towards me and whispered, "Pare, tanong mo naman dun sa babae kung anong pangalan nya saka number o. Kung tumanggi, ayos lang. Sabihin mo na lang hinihingi ng kaibigan mo."
I looked at the girl. She was reading something from her mobile phone, oblivious to the intense male hormonal activity going on at the other side of the room. "Pangit naman eh." I said.
"Pare, sige na. Hindi sya yung talagang natitipuhan ko pero parang gusto ko lang makilala. Nahihiya lang ako."
I looked at the girl again. Fine, hindi naman sya pangit. I looked back at the crossword puzzle. What's a four-letter word for 'tweeted'? S-A-N-G, I wrote with a pen. I stood up, walked towards the relatively nice-looking girl, and asked for her name and number. Something I haven't done since my highschool interaction days with Miriam and Colegio de Sta. Rosa.
CASE #2: Yesterday, I accompanied a guy officemate in Tutuban Center to look for a cheap electric fan for this room he was renting. While walking around the mall, we approached this perfume stand and my friend asked the pretty salesgirl if they had this or that scent available. After checking out several items (I was never interested in perfumes), he said thanks to the girl and we looked at the other things for sale. The girl said, "Wala kayong nagustuhan, sir?"
"Wala eh. Ikaw sana, kaya lang baka hindi pwede." I looked at my friend.
"Pwedeng pwede, sir!" And then I looked at the girl.
Oh, the primal charm of male bluntness.
CASE #3: Lunch hour, Friday last week. My guy officemates said they'll be ordering take-out and have lunch at one of our friend's place near the office. I told them I just needed to talk with someone and I'll follow as soon as I can. After dealing with a rather bitchy person from HR, I bought food from the mall beside our building and started towards our friend's place. I got there after a ten-minute walk, hungry and with nothing else in my mind but food when, after knocking and opening the door, I saw all three of them eating and talking and wearing nothing but their boxers.
"Uy pare, iwan mo na lang bukas yung pintuan. Ang init eh," one of them said while shoveling I think it was raw meat fresh from the hunting fields into his mouth. There might have been ketchup, or it might have been blood.
"OK," I managed to squeak. "Buksan ko TV ah." And I, as casually and as unaffected as I can manage, walked towards where the TV was, sat on the floor, and began to pick through my Palabok Fiesta, feeling shameful for wearing clothes and using a fork.
•••
I realize I shouldn't be making a big deal out of it. I've only known them for over a week, and they seem like good people regardless. I've always counted on friendship in itself as a connection, a bridge to close the gap between people's differences. But oh lordy, I never fully grasped the extent of the effect each person's uniqueness had on other people, and how much each of us has to deal with compromising to accommodate those differences just to get along with others.
CASE #1: This afternoon, I was in Eastwood Cybermall with the guys from work for our pre-employment medical examination. They were checking out this girl seated opposite us in the waiting area, arguing which of them should approach her and ask for her name and number. It was amusing listening to their straight-guy banter, but not as amusing as the day's paper's crossword puzzle. Finally, one of them leaned towards me and whispered, "Pare, tanong mo naman dun sa babae kung anong pangalan nya saka number o. Kung tumanggi, ayos lang. Sabihin mo na lang hinihingi ng kaibigan mo."
I looked at the girl. She was reading something from her mobile phone, oblivious to the intense male hormonal activity going on at the other side of the room. "Pangit naman eh." I said.
"Pare, sige na. Hindi sya yung talagang natitipuhan ko pero parang gusto ko lang makilala. Nahihiya lang ako."
I looked at the girl again. Fine, hindi naman sya pangit. I looked back at the crossword puzzle. What's a four-letter word for 'tweeted'? S-A-N-G, I wrote with a pen. I stood up, walked towards the relatively nice-looking girl, and asked for her name and number. Something I haven't done since my highschool interaction days with Miriam and Colegio de Sta. Rosa.
CASE #2: Yesterday, I accompanied a guy officemate in Tutuban Center to look for a cheap electric fan for this room he was renting. While walking around the mall, we approached this perfume stand and my friend asked the pretty salesgirl if they had this or that scent available. After checking out several items (I was never interested in perfumes), he said thanks to the girl and we looked at the other things for sale. The girl said, "Wala kayong nagustuhan, sir?"
"Wala eh. Ikaw sana, kaya lang baka hindi pwede." I looked at my friend.
"Pwedeng pwede, sir!" And then I looked at the girl.
Oh, the primal charm of male bluntness.
CASE #3: Lunch hour, Friday last week. My guy officemates said they'll be ordering take-out and have lunch at one of our friend's place near the office. I told them I just needed to talk with someone and I'll follow as soon as I can. After dealing with a rather bitchy person from HR, I bought food from the mall beside our building and started towards our friend's place. I got there after a ten-minute walk, hungry and with nothing else in my mind but food when, after knocking and opening the door, I saw all three of them eating and talking and wearing nothing but their boxers.
"Uy pare, iwan mo na lang bukas yung pintuan. Ang init eh," one of them said while shoveling I think it was raw meat fresh from the hunting fields into his mouth. There might have been ketchup, or it might have been blood.
"OK," I managed to squeak. "Buksan ko TV ah." And I, as casually and as unaffected as I can manage, walked towards where the TV was, sat on the floor, and began to pick through my Palabok Fiesta, feeling shameful for wearing clothes and using a fork.
I realize I shouldn't be making a big deal out of it. I've only known them for over a week, and they seem like good people regardless. I've always counted on friendship in itself as a connection, a bridge to close the gap between people's differences. But oh lordy, I never fully grasped the extent of the effect each person's uniqueness had on other people, and how much each of us has to deal with compromising to accommodate those differences just to get along with others.
Saturday, March 03, 2007
Late Night Letter
by: Sasha Soldatow
from: Private - Do Not Open
My dear you. Hi and all that.
I am writing you fleetingly after having seen you strangely for a moment. And probably it's all too foolish, but what the hell. So I hesitate to write, yet I feel like doing so. I've wanted to write for a couple of days. I sat down one afternoon and composed a partial letter. And oh how nice and gentle and wise I wished to appear. How much I wanted to set down words that would move you. Of course I ended up feeling sorry for myself. And then feeling stupid in the morning. Like a lost shark.
I wrote, 'I don't know whether I'm going to see you again, which makes it safe to write this letter to say some of the things I want to, and it's hard...' Of course I never got past that line. Then I saw you again tonight.
You! This is a bit of a dither and a mumble. And there is a danger that I will lie back and write this out in my head, never to send it.
What am I saying? Superficial things. Like, I like you and I don't quite know why or how it came about. But I do. And then everything gets confused with sex and friendship and love and sleeping together. It's uncertainty. Yet there's the feeling of warmth somewhere in there.
You know, there are many feelings I can put words to. Like, I want to feel important to people. People I like. Flattered by their attention. Of course I hide this. Then there's the protective me who announces, 'I have survived, so I know how to be good for others.' You've seen through this. Everyone knows this strength and this kind of survival. Then there's the sex game. I protect myself here also when it comes too close, preferring the hidden comfort of my own fantasies with someone I don't care for at all. You know that too. And then there are all those things of friendship that seem to involve so many years of time, which is too long. Because I want to go through it all so instantly. I once wrote, 'I want lovers like a family. I want friends like I once had god.' I think that's still true, though I wonder if I understand what I meant.
You! Relationships are accidental. That I know. But I've been too hung up on these accidents.
Hey, it's late, and I have a heavy day tomorrow. And I feel as if I haven't said all that much. And then, I don't know what more there is to say. Except everything. Which may be nothing specific. Maybe just hi. Talking slower. Feeling more comfortable. Not pretending. Not being heavy either. Not demanding -- something. I don't know. But there is also you. And I think about you. Which is saying what I want to say.
from: Private - Do Not Open
My dear you. Hi and all that.
I am writing you fleetingly after having seen you strangely for a moment. And probably it's all too foolish, but what the hell. So I hesitate to write, yet I feel like doing so. I've wanted to write for a couple of days. I sat down one afternoon and composed a partial letter. And oh how nice and gentle and wise I wished to appear. How much I wanted to set down words that would move you. Of course I ended up feeling sorry for myself. And then feeling stupid in the morning. Like a lost shark.
I wrote, 'I don't know whether I'm going to see you again, which makes it safe to write this letter to say some of the things I want to, and it's hard...' Of course I never got past that line. Then I saw you again tonight.
You! This is a bit of a dither and a mumble. And there is a danger that I will lie back and write this out in my head, never to send it.
What am I saying? Superficial things. Like, I like you and I don't quite know why or how it came about. But I do. And then everything gets confused with sex and friendship and love and sleeping together. It's uncertainty. Yet there's the feeling of warmth somewhere in there.
You know, there are many feelings I can put words to. Like, I want to feel important to people. People I like. Flattered by their attention. Of course I hide this. Then there's the protective me who announces, 'I have survived, so I know how to be good for others.' You've seen through this. Everyone knows this strength and this kind of survival. Then there's the sex game. I protect myself here also when it comes too close, preferring the hidden comfort of my own fantasies with someone I don't care for at all. You know that too. And then there are all those things of friendship that seem to involve so many years of time, which is too long. Because I want to go through it all so instantly. I once wrote, 'I want lovers like a family. I want friends like I once had god.' I think that's still true, though I wonder if I understand what I meant.
You! Relationships are accidental. That I know. But I've been too hung up on these accidents.
Hey, it's late, and I have a heavy day tomorrow. And I feel as if I haven't said all that much. And then, I don't know what more there is to say. Except everything. Which may be nothing specific. Maybe just hi. Talking slower. Feeling more comfortable. Not pretending. Not being heavy either. Not demanding -- something. I don't know. But there is also you. And I think about you. Which is saying what I want to say.