My Bucket Is Bigger Than Yours

Weekend will be over in an hour. Not that it would matter much to someone like me, but if it gives one time to hang out with friends, talking until the wee hours of the morning over several bottles of beer, then weekends have their special brand of charm to look forward to -- even for someone like me.

One of the things brought up by a friend was how every person's perception of his or her worth can be compared to a bucket. The size of one's bucket is proportional to the perception -- the breadth and girth, if you will -- of how much space one needs to fill until a sense of satisfaction is achieved. He talked about his parents, how they didn't have very lofty and grand ambitions, but their buckets are at the brimful with contentment. His mother moreso, since despite having a very modest-sized bucket, she still radiates waves and waves of positivity that are influencing those around her.

I thought about mine for a few moments and decided that I'm fine with my bucket. Not a sizable one, true, but I feel I have enough satisfaction sloshing in me already. Ever the honest soul, my friend told me he wasn't convinced. He does admit that there are times when he sees contentment glowing in me, but there are also times in equal measure when that contentment shapes itself more into what seems like resignation -- with a little hint of resentment and regret. My resolve thinned when he mentioned that because... well... it's true.

Somewhere, miles, miles, and many more miles away, I thought I heard a rock splinter, leaving something hollow, yawning with the passing night wind. I downed several gulps of beer to fill in the newly-emptied space. This bucket is full, a thought formed, unbidden. Golden liquid spilling over the edge, glowing amber in the moonlight. I laughed at the idea. "My bucket is FINE," I insisted, and drank again. I heard my friends laugh with me, and I was glowing, and I was glad.

Insert Lame Fair Pun Here

So I was at the UP Fair last night with two friends. I was shamelessly bounding all over the place like a doped-up idiot, and I'm partly putting the blame on the bottles of Red Horse we've downed before heading over the fair grounds. And the other part -- it was my first time to experience the famed and fabled UP Fair. (As well as my first takoyaki experience.)

Someone told me someone dies each year. I was hoping to get in on the action, but altho there was an incident near the stage while Giniling Festival was performing, there wasn't any bloodshed. Ah, well, it was still fun.

My friend's quote for the evening: "Don't cry out loud, for crying out loud!"

The Eternally Distracted Child

Once again, I am being asked by my mother to write a 50-item Values Ed. test for 6th Graders in her school, and once again, I am finding myself heavily distracted by other things. Dragons, to be exact. Cute, cuddly, baby dragons that need hours and hours of attention and click-spamming in order to fully evolve into the mighty and legendary beings they are destined to be. Meanwhile, the test has been left forgotten after item number three.


Dragon Egg Needs Your Warm Tushie!
I am a 12-year old trapped in the body of a 26-year old.

Twenty Five Random Things

After much nudging and tagging, I finally got this done. There's nothing like a good, long meme to get one's idle fingers a-typing. All tagging will be done on Facebook! And so, without further delay, my list of five and twenty:

1. Sailormoon is as much a part of who I am as my porn collection is or my surname. My moral compass is based on one question and one question only: What Would Usagi Do?
   
   
2. Also, because of Sailormoon, I learned how to read and write in Hiragana and Katakana. This started from when I was 11 all the way through High School. It was a slow and informal process, picking up what one character means and letting it stick. It actually felt like a scavenger hunt. I'd come across one character in a Japanese grocery, and then months after, I'd see a new one in a Sailormoon sticker. This was all before I got hooked into the Internet so I can't look everything up all at once, but I think it was more fun learning that way.
   
   
3. I love stand up comedy.
   
   
4. I am still waiting for the DVD release of Endo.
   
   
5. Walking cleanses me. Sunday nights are the best times for very long walks. I'd have a soundtrack playing, a book in one hand just in case I feel like sitting down, and a basic route in my head which I modify along the way. Unplanned walks are good, too. The most recent one was from Katipunan to Cubao, along Aurora. By the time I got on the bus along EDSA, my feet were sore and my legs were aching but my mind and body felt blissfully clean and empty.
   
   
6. There is a clock mounted on my bedroom wall frozen at 5:54:45.
   
   
7. Sinigang na Baboy remains uncontested at the top of my Favorite Foods list.
   
   
8. I have more books than I do clothes. The shirts I wear are mostly my brother's (my younger brother's), and the two pairs of jeans I alternate weekly are my father's. Clothes have never been a priority for me. Books first, then food, then clothes.
   
   
9. My room used to be my grandmother's. There is an altar with old statuettes of saints which bear witness to ANYTHING I do here. Plus, I have been tasked to change the sampaguita wreathes on each statuette every morning.
   
   
10. My aunts still call me by my childhood nickname, Pong.
    
    
11. I used to collect two DC titles: Justice League and Legionnaires. Justice League America, from after Breakdowns (issue 61, I think), on through Zero Hour, until the Satellite group disbanded (issue 113, I think). Also, Justice League Europe until they became Justice League International. I collected no more than ten issues of Legionnaires however, but my love for them wasn't any less true. It was during my comic-collecting years that I really began appreciating the English language, as well as the mighty fine art of drawing.
    
    
12. When I was 10, I used to watch The Sword In The Stone on Betamax everyday after getting home from school.
    
    
13. Mountain Dew is my favorite poison.
    
    
14. I love Neverwinter Nights. I can play it a hundred times over and never get tired.
    
    
15. Ever since I read the short story Saturday Night from the first Ladlad book about ten years ago, I have taken on the name Podi Alejandro as a pseudonym and as an online moniker.
    
    
16. I have an inexplicable aversion towards the number 6. Whenever I encounter lists or do things in sequence and it would threaten to end at the 6th or 16th or 26th, and so forth, I stop at either the 5th or the 7th item. I will breathe easier when I turn 27 in June.
    
    
17. I was heavily obsessed on a guy named Randy during my senior year in High School. It was such a major part of my life that it needed close to three years to run its course.
    
    
18. I seriously think TJ Trinidad is my soulmate. Seriously.
    
    
19. When I turned 8, I was given P100 for my birthday. The high I felt was enough to push me into going to the toy store by myself and pick up three board games that caught my fancy. When I was paying for them, the cashier told me my money wasn't enough. I remember feeling more confused than embarrassed, but not for long. The lady behind me -- a kind-looking, middle-aged Caucasian woman -- told the cashier she'd pay for my board games instead. By then I'd realized what I'd done, and I flushed red in embarrassment. I managed a squeaky "Thank you," before dashing on home.
    
    
20. I am top.
    
    
21. I am bottom.
    
    
22. I don't watch TV. Not too much, at least. When I do, it's only cooking shows or whatever's on Nickelodeon. Everything else I want to watch, I leech off the Internet.
    
    
23. I'm still just a child, really.
    
    
24. I don't believe the world will end on December 21, 2012, nor do I believe in anything heralding the end of days. It has simply, completely lost its power when I realized All Men Must Die. Valar Morghulis.
    
    
25. I press Ctrl + S too much.

The Consequence of Silence

And it's almost like a corny movie scene
but I'm out of frame and the lighting's bad
and the music has no theme.
And we're all so strong when nothing's wrong
and the world is at our feet.
But how small we are when our love is far away
and all you need is you.

(K's Choice, 20,000 Seconds)

Say, something happens. The way ordinary things happen in an ordinary day. Something inconsequential, something irrelevant. You are sitting outside with a friend, on the sidewalk maybe. Not talking; just watching kids at play under the afternoon sun. A car drives by, the children move to the side for a while, barely registering a break from their banter, as if a giant hand pushed them all at once to one side of the road, then are released. You look at the kids, both you and your friend, and they resume their playing in the middle of the street.

It was quiet, relatively, until you hear a low thrumming coming from above and behind. A helicopter, you thought, confirming even without looking up. The approach became louder, more imposing, and becomes more like a jackhammer in the sky than anything else, really. You and your friend look up, and a few seconds after, the violent insistence faded into a low thrum once again. Both of you are still looking up, though, and you feel like you want to say something. "Well that was unexpected," was what you could have said. Or maybe, "Huh. Been a while since one of those passed by." But for some reason, you chose to remain quiet. The silence stretched on, yet both of you were still looking up. The words were scratching at your throat, but the silence has stretched past a point where anything said would have sounded awkward. Late. Inconsequential.

Hence the month-long silence. Things happened, as if insignificant, inconsequential -- the death of an aunt, my sister's marriage, the days and days spent getting drunk with friends -- and for me it seemed enough that they happened. It has been becoming easier and easier for me to let things go and let things through. I wade into a river, and I neither oppose its flow, nor do I follow it. I stay in the center and let the water flow through me, cleansing me one moment and soiling me the next, never caring either way. This calm, this surrender, has been the closest thing to peace I have experienced.

I think it was a low thrumming at first, when I heard it coming. It wasn't long before it turned into something louder, however. Something imposing. A violent insistence. A jackhammer in the sky, maybe. A persistent knocking. A mobile phone ringing. "I'm here at St. Clare's with your sister and her husband. Can you call up Loyola Memorial and ask them how much it would cost to cremate a fetus?" I got up from the bed, my eyes thick with sleep, but my mind quickly sharpening to a dagger point. "OK, I'll call back," I managed to say.

A couple of hours after, I was with my mother, entering the hospital room where my sister was confined. They were still waiting, her husband said, for the baby to move further down before extracting it completely. It wasn't a miscarriage. The water bag broke and the five-month old fetus needed to be aborted. I held my sister's hand. "We saw him smiling yesterday, me and mother, during my ultrasound. He smiled and he yawned and he was so healthy," she said. I couldn't say anything back. "You're young and strong," was what I could have said. Or maybe, "We all did our best. We're here for you." But the silence stretched on and past the point where anything said would have sounded awkward. Late. Inconsequential.

The pounding is still there. The violence, silent as it is, has never been more oppressive, and something needs to be said. That baby has been a hope for me. His birth has been a beacon, his squalling as he leaves the comfort of my sister's warmth a sonar for the beginning of rest of my life. I told myself things are going to change when I become an uncle. Things happen, though -- a car passes through, a helicopter appears out of nowhere, a baby dies -- but life goes on despite the silence, and my river will flow, cleansing and soiling, leaving moments lost in its wake.

Forever and Forever and Forever

There is nothing to write. Nothing has ended, nothing has begun. One minute is as voiceless as the next, one year an exhale to another -- as easy as shifting numbers on a digital clock, as easy as raven black on a midnight sky. This day will end as yesterday had, and tomorrow will bring more of the same, like a long, thin strand of silver, linked on both ends upon the soft, smooth neck of eternity.

There is nothing else that I could wish for but silence, nothing else I yearn but grey stillness on a vast field of white. Maybe a blanket for warmth and a soft pillow under my head, but I wish that days could go on like this for forever and forever and forever.


However, I do understand that such things as these mean a lot to most people -- numbers and dates, beginnings and endings, remembering and forgetting. While I can't say they mean as much to me now, I do acknowledge how important such cycles are to the people I care about. And as much as I would prefer to express my gratitude in something more solid, more grand than mere words, I hope it will suffice and I hope at least a finger-brush of sincerity is felt when I say,

ありがとう. :-)

These Boys Look Familiar?

Who wouldof thought, right? Click on the image to fly to the whole collection. It's almost criminal for art like this to be stuck in just one community. Spread the love!


Thanks to a friend who shall remain anonymous for sharing this. :-)

An Exercise In Passive Aggression

I have been more aggressive than passive this week more than any other week in my whole life -- channeled at the wrong people, unfortunately -- and I suppose I have you to thank for that. I love you fiercely, the Universe knows that, but sometimes it gets terribly frustrating the way you think of me as less of a person because of what I am and how I feel for you. This might sound like a foot in the mouth now, but from the way you've spoken to me the past few days, I can't help but feel offended and completely unjustified.

For instance, it really didn't sound fair when you told me the other day you can't "waste your time trying to help me anymore." First of all, I wasn't asking for your help. I never did, ever since we met. Not that I'm ungrateful -- the Universe knows how much I appreciate your choice to stay within the swirl and swivel of absolute fuck-up that is my life -- but to point that out and slap me in the face with it? That was thoughtless, rude, and almost mean. It made me feel like a clueless, pathetic charity case whose worker suddenly decided to verbalize how ridiculous and pretentious and unoriginal his life was and that he should get back to dealing with his own issues instead of working with sad and hopeless little people who did not ask for his "guidance" -- but thank him -- anyway.

Also, I don't think you understand nor acknowledge the fact that I am a person capable of reason and coherent thought just because I am one of the legions of guys who have fallen in love with you. Sure you tell me I'm smart, but see, I don't think you believe that because in your mind, I belong to that exclusive little box you have for people like me. Now, if I've told you once, I've told you a thousand times, I know -- I understand -- I can't make you reciprocate how I feel for you. I'm owning it, and it's completely my fault that I've made it out to be such a long and painful process, but finally after almost three years I got it to my head that You Do Not Like Me.

And it wasn't some lovelorn 16-year old plea for you to like me back when I told you the other night that I liked you -- especially when it was in response to a question that you asked. If in case you don't remember, you were asking me why I don't bother fixing my life anymore -- again, another attempt at "guiding" me I supposed, but I took the bait and answered you nevertheless. I told you in response, because I felt there really was no reason for me to fix it then, since you -- my insensitive little raison d'etre -- were not going to be a part of it anyway.

Do you remember your knee-jerk reaction? Do you remember what you said? "I'm not attracted to you, P." I wanted to punch you in the face then and there and shout, "I KNOW THAT, YOU ASSHOLE, HAVEN'T YOU BEEN LISTENING? Can't you get over yourself for one second and actually listen to what I'm saying?"

Sigh. You really didn't have to say it again. It hurt everytime you say it. But I suppose it was partly my fault. I could be really patronizing whenever I talk to you. I'd follow you like a stray dog. I can't fully place the blame on you for seeing me as someone not worth wasting your time on -- because I act like I am someone not worth wasting your time on. I hear it over and over again, "You're too nice, P." From you, from the other guys I've dated, "but..." But I don't have to hear anything else anymore. "I'm not attracted to you, P," that's what you said. I wanted to punch you in the face because in my mind, what I heard was, "It's not my fault your life is screwed, P."

We can't really be friends, you said so yourself. That's another thing I have to learn to respect now. No matter how much we talk about music, about books, no matter how many papers I help you with, I guess we can't really pin each other down as friends. With you, there's "Friends," and there's "People Who Fell In Love With Me But I'm Keeping Around Anyway." Knowing where I stand in your life makes me feel a whole lot better.

Just Friends

From xkcd, Dec. 5th posting:


The scary thing is, I can see my pale-skinned face all hollow-eyed and thin-lipped superimposed on the eighth panel.

Things Worth Staying Alive For

Last weekend was made of all kinds of awesome, I couldn't even get a serious minute to sit down and dissect everything that happened over the course of a day past on my journal. Each time I'd get home (early morning, usually -- mere minutes after my aunts have gotten up and are only starting to set up our sari-sari store), I'd be itching to get things written down but exhaustion kept on winning me over. But now that weekend's done and I'm back to living my lazy, languid, and generally unproductive life, I can sit myself down and do a proper recording of events. So while things are still fresh on my mind, let's start with the awesomeness that happened on --


Friday

Actually, if I wanted to be really accurate, it all began on Thursday. Barny, who started working near where I live, wanted to hang out before he went home, so we met up at the Salcedo park to talk and ogle the cute evening joggers in the vicinity. He told me about a party that was happening Friday evening for people in the ad industry and he said he could sneak me in. I reluctantly agreed, but I kind of wanted to go because I knew the food in these parties were sure to be really good and definitely there won't be any shortage of eye candy either.

I wasn't disappointed. Sure, the weather was being mean at the earlier parts of the evening, but gradually it gave way to a clear night sky and crisp, cooling, constant breeze and the Universe let me and Barny have our fun. The food was amazing, and my senses were drowning in a veritable visual feast. Of course there was free beer too! Add to that the intoxicating sensation of having crashed a party, and my brain was shooting out fireworks in every spectra of color.

And if that wasn't enough, I unexpectedly met two people I greatly admire -- Ms. Leigh Reyes and Sir McVie! Turns out that Barny knew Ms. Leigh back from when he was still working as an intern for Adobo Magazine, and Sir McVie is one of Ms. Leigh's good friends.

A little backgrounder: When I was still in college, just about the time I started The White Room, I posted a poem authored by Ms. Leigh entitled Looking for Lightning. It was originally published in a Filipino literary publication called Pen & Ink, and, as the Universe is wont to do, I encountered it at a time when I needed to see something good and beautiful in my life. Here is a reposting:

Looking for lightning,
you stumble constantly.

You walk the nights,
inviting electricity.

Each flash you name
after the lovers you left,
the lovers who left you,

the friends whose last names
you have filed and forgotten.

What can I tell you
that no one else has tried?

I stare at my hands,
their embossed veins.
We have newly met,
under this tree dripping
with the day's rain.
I didn't ask for your soul,

but here you are,
pushing it towards me
with eyes I cannot believe
can still see.

An old man hurries by with his cart
of bottle goldfish. A veiled woman
walks towards us, stops,
moves away.

I want to follow them, but
you grasp my arm.
My heart locks its exits.
You laugh and ease your grip,
then point up beyond the leaves.

I have to look, and there it is.
Streaks flare across the dusk.
You are gone before I can speak.
I close my eyes and see a red smear:
It could be blood.
It could be light.

I have to admit, I still feel the same prickling at the back of my neck everytime I read it. I told Ms. Leigh how much of an inspiration this poem was to me, and how glad I was to have gone to a party I wasn't invited to. :-P She raised a lot of points for me to think about if ever I wanted to pursue writing. I just hope my tender brain wasn't too addled by the amount of beer and lechon I consumed that night.

Sir McVie, on the other hand, is someone I have just recently begun reading. Before this year, I have only been exclusively following the blogs of people I know. Besides, there weren't a lot of gay bloggers then, or at least, I didn't bother to look. But as the force and reach of online journals evolved, the voices of gay Filipino bloggers began to solidify across cyberspace. Sir McVie's blog has been a booming voice in the chorus everyone heard -- gay or straight. He had wise eyes and a firm handshake, and he had the voice and demeanor of a stern but kind mentor. I was deeply honored meeting him last Friday.

Barny and I stayed until about 1:00am. There were still a lot of people, and I would have gladly stayed if only to get more alcohol and cholesterol in my system, but Barny had another party to go to and I promised my mother I'd eat dinner at home. Our hearts were full of nothing but happy however, and we still had something to look forward to for --


Saturday

-- because it was Pride Weekend! This time, I was with Elmer and Barny. Saturday evening found the three of us at Robinson's Place in Manila at around dinnertime where we bumped into Sir McVie once again, who was doing his Christmas shopping while waiting for the after-march party to begin. After killing time at Powerbooks, we decided to roll out and check how far the festivities have gone at Orosa. A few minutes and we came upon the stage where the beauty pageant was being held. All the contestants were absolutely stunning, but unfortunately, that was where our interest ended.

Barny suggested we go to a videoke joint that was nearby and Elmer and I were only glad to agree. The place was very cheap but really cozy and clean, and the selection of songs was very much updated. For the next four hours, we were singing an eclectic playlist of rock tunes and pop songs, from B*Witched (!!!) to Boyzone to Third Eye Blind. Of course Madonna and Kylie were ever-present, with Barny doing incredible renditions of both icons' dance moves.

At around 2:00am, we decided we've had enough wailing and thought it might be time to check out the crowd. Nothing of note held our attention for more than a few minutes, except maybe seeing the occasional acquaintance or someone we knew from our specific individual circles who might or might not have been out. We were almost about to call it a night, but I received a text message from another friend, Mikey, asking us where we were and what our plans for the rest of the evening would be. I told him we were getting bored of Malate and we'd rather pick him up at Makati instead. Half an hour later, the four of us were together having a mid-evening meal at Wendy's along Makati Avenue. Mikey and I haven't seen each other for quite a while so that gave us a chance to catch up.

After everyone was full and recharged, we thought it would be a good idea to hang out a bit more for coffee after, but we all changed our minds at the last minute and trudged on back to Malate to spend the last few hours of the night at Bed. We were there for only about 30 minutes, but it felt like it was the proper way to end the party. Elmer and I got back home 6:00am. We were both trying to stave off sleep because I was supposed to meet a friend, Ly, at 11:00am --


Sunday

I set my alarm to wake me up every hour so I can check if Ly's sent a message, letting me know what time he'll be dropping by. I finally received one by 12:00nn, saying he'd be here at around 2:00pm. That gave me and Elmer enough time to get some more sleep.

Whenver Ly visits, I always make sure to show him new videos I have acquired through the slumming I do online. This time, most of the treasures I had were gay-themed stand-up comedy videos. While walking him through some of my favorites, we were all sharing a cocktail mix of gin and orange juice, which got both Ly and I in a moderately pleasant buzz-state by early evening.

It was already 8:00pm when we all decided to leave -- way past the time I was supposed to meet up with another group of friends. Ly rode with me and Elmer to Metrowalk where he got a cab home. After we saw him off, we got together Momi Dea, Marie, Pong, Kat, and Lester -- friends from the company I used to work with. We got right down to business and ordered a bucket of beer to kick off our group's beta-reunion. Pao, another friend from the same company, joined us at about 1:00am just before we transferred to Jay-J's along Julia Vargas. the festivities ended at about 4:00am with promises of a trip to Baguio, a Christmas Party, and more crazy office stories from the ones left working.

Elmer dropped me off at my place before he headed home to Parañaque. Surprisingly, I wasn't at all exhausted, so I brought a mug of coffee to my room while catching up with what's been happening online. I barely noticed the morning sun tracing lines of yellow light through the cracks of my room's wooden walls -- the cool December air still clinging like a blanket in the atmosphere. I dragged open my window, set my mug down on its ledge, gathered my pillows as I was lying down, and closed my eyes to the first rays of --


Monday

Where I slept the whooooooooooole day. :-)