Boom. That’s what it must have sounded like, the fireworks on the other side of the bay. Only he didn’t hear it because he had headphones on. Not that it made any difference. The point of a fireworks display was in the seeing rather than the hearing after all. He watched the riot of colors bursting and illuminating the starless February evening sky. To his surprise it did lift his spirits some, considering when he left the house he felt dejected as a half-eaten week-old apple. He even began to wish for the fireworks display not to end.
It did end however, the same time the song on his player ended. He closed his eyes, exhaled, and opened them again as the first few bars of the next song started to strum through his head. He scanned the seascape for some other vision he could focus his eyes on. Ah, he breathed as he spotted a cruise ship from a fair distance. He was nearsighted, but the lights adorning the sides of the ship were detailed enough for him to appreciate it from where he was. More than that, it was the ship’s reflection on the water which caught the best part of his attention. It looked like a wall of fire turned upside down, crawling slowly, eerily on liquid blackness. The image made him shiver, although he thought it was very beautiful. He watched it for a while until it disappeared into the darkening horizon.
He felt a rush of excitement all of a sudden. He wanted to text the one person on his mind, Hey, I’m by the bay right now. I wish you could see what I’m seeing. I miss you. And he almost did as a matter of fact, but he decided against it as soon as he finished typing up the message.
He closed his eyes once more, almost convincing himself there would be another spectacle for him to waste his time on when he opens them again. There wasn’t, and he felt genuinely disappointed. He looked at his watch. It had only been thirty minutes since he sat down, and he felt the disappointment rising. He rubbed his eyes and thought of shutting off his mp3 player, but decided against it. He’d rather be listening to two songs on repeat instead of the steady drone of the couple to his right, or the group of old ladies to his left.
He doesn’t feel like going home yet, but he doesn’t feel like staying either, so he stood up and started walking again. To where, he doesn’t know, and he’s not really thinking much about it. He’d turn wherever there’s a corner, sometimes he’d go straight. When his intuition tells him to go back, he would, and turn a different corner. Eventually he reached an uphill street. Normally he’d avoid it, but another swelling of memory urged him on.
“Do you know what a fog of war is?” his voice again, asking the person walking beside him. It was such a cold, cold morning when they were headed out to explore Baguio during the first day of their stay. Not that it was unusual for a place situated high above the mountains. The winds in that altitude were almost alive, like little kids careening through the atmosphere, playing before the whole world completely wakes up. “No, what is it?” the other person said, voice hinting a slight shiver as he buried his hands deep inside the pockets of his windbreaker.
He glanced at his companion as they were trudging along the constantly ascending and descending streets of Session Road, looking for a quiet place where they could have breakfast. “If you’ve played a role-playing game on a PC before, it’s the uncharted section on the map covered in black ‘fog.’ It clears up as you travel through the area, discovering different territories, letting the rest of the story unfold.”
“I see,” the other person whispered. He wanted to hold his hand. Walking the fringes of such a vast landscape of uncharted territory looming over him was, in all essence, both scary and exciting. To be here, now, with the one person he wants to be with the most... somehow gives him strength.
But, as it turns out a few days later, he discovered that his initial fear was not unfounded and his excitement might have been an illusion (delusion?) for something else. Within three short days, his original intent to relax and re-evaluate his life was pushed further and further into his mind, as he was instead enshrouded in a false sense of intemperance just by being with him. He became too childish, careless, reckless, and he was caught off guard until he realized it the last day when they were about to go home.
“Are these clouds?” he asked his companion. The bus was cruising down the side of the mountain, and what was supposed to be overlooking the landscape was instead a sea of pure whiteness. It was like a dream. “It's actually fog,” the other person said. “But from down the mountain it might seem like clouds.”
He pressed his head to the cool glass window, and felt something break inside. “I see.”
A week since they’ve arrived in Manila, and gravity has yet to catch up with him. Little pieces of his heart were still floating aimlessly in the clouds. Baguio has left him bereft of warmth, but he would give anything to go back. “I miss Baguio,” the other person txted. It took a while before he was able to send out a reply. “I think about it a lot,” he txted back.
“I see.”
Wednesday, February 28, 2007
Thursday, February 22, 2007
And Miles To Go Before I Sleep, Un
He woke up. He was lying on his side, eyes half-open, mind racing through a blurry maze of what was and what was not. Twenty four years of experience waking up and still he can’t get the hang of it. He closed his eyes again so his mind can stop running. Maybe he can focus better in the dark. He conjured up an image of his name. That’s who I am. He felt sick. Oh, right. I remember.
His hands crawled to where his mobile phone might be. He flipped it to life and opened an eye to check the time. 10:59 PM. No messages. Not that he was expecting any. He let out his first sigh for the evening and started to heave himself up. His body felt heavy, like a moving mass of rocks and cannonballs. On the edge of the bed he sat and rubbed what was left of -- he counts in his head -- four hours of sleep from his eyes. He felt the last wisps of whatever his dream was floating away. Whatever it was he dreamt of, he doesn’t remember now. There was a moment of regret and, an instant after, a spark of thankfulness. He wouldn’t want to remember anything going on in his head while he was asleep in this world. A mosaic of memories unreal, conjured up from regurgitated pieces of reality, like shards of several broken glasses trying to piece themselves back together, but always finding the wrong piece. Even the metaphor is too painful to think about.
He reached over the bedside table to where his comb was and started to rake through the gnarls and tangles his hair managed to twist itself over the hours. A couple of minutes and his breathing became less of an effort. His fingers deftly gathered the longer strands away from his face as he tied the lot back. He checked himself in the mirror, rubbed his eyes awake a little more, and smiled out of habit. He looked more or less alive now -- not a mist of dream from his pale, sun-deprived skin. You’ll do, whispered an echo from a passing, fading memory.
He sat on his small, beaten up swivel chair in front of the computer and pulled his knees up to his chin. While waiting for the programs he left the previous afternoon to fire up from hibernation, he started to think about the speech he needed to finish for his mother. Every year he writes the speeches his mother delivers during graduations and recognition ceremonies in her school and after a while, it’s become a sort of yearly tradition between the two of them. The idea of being able to convey his thoughts to young minds gives him a sense of purpose, even a perverse thrill. He was sure there was at least one or two in the audience listening who would somehow get what it is he really wanted to say -- a warning, that it’s not going to get any easier -- behind the glossy words and generalities lining the whole 5-minute tirade. That is, if his mother doesn’t change much of what he writes -- which he was almost sure she did.
Absent-mindedly, he untied his hair again and ran his fingers through it. I wish you’d cut them short, whispered another errant echo. He closed his eyes and let his memory drift towards the direction of the sound.
“Why?” he heard his own voice ask.
“You’d look better with shorter hair.”
“Will you like me better if I had shorter hair?” he answered, almost immediately, barely hiding the sharpness of each word behind a low, guarded voice. The other person smiled and looked at his food. He silently chided himself, feeling bad for saying something without thinking -- again. “Anyway it’s sort of a promise.”
“To someone?”
“No, to myself. I figured I was so bad at keeping promises, I felt I had to promise something I intend to keep, no matter what. So I promised myself I’d grow my hair long.”
“No matter what?”
“No matter what.”
“I see.”
When he opened his eyes, the programs were already running. The cursor was blinking on one corner of the blank document, awaiting orders. It looked like a little black imp, filled with contempt and disdain at being trapped inside an electronic device. He concentrated on it for a while, thinking of what to write. It could have been minutes, it could have been hours, but what he remembered was his eyes closing on their own, as if in a trance, while his mind tried to run after the recently exhumed dregs of memory.
No matter what, the voice kept on saying. He heard laughter. Soft guitar playing. A woman’s voice singing. Baguio, he shivered. Happy birthday, murmured a sleepy voice lying beside him.
Again, he woke up, the shock of white light in front of him came in waves through his brain. He saw the cursor blinking. Damn, he cursed under his breath. This is not healthy anymore. Get a grip. Glancing at the clock, he must have dozed off for ten minutes or so. He sat up straight and poised his fingers on the keyboard, ready to type what he needed to say, but his brain comes up with nothing. After several weak attempts at a first sentence, he gave up. He stood and rubbed his temples, chanting Get a grip, get a grip. Eight months is a long enough time, get a grip. He needed a long walk.
His hands crawled to where his mobile phone might be. He flipped it to life and opened an eye to check the time. 10:59 PM. No messages. Not that he was expecting any. He let out his first sigh for the evening and started to heave himself up. His body felt heavy, like a moving mass of rocks and cannonballs. On the edge of the bed he sat and rubbed what was left of -- he counts in his head -- four hours of sleep from his eyes. He felt the last wisps of whatever his dream was floating away. Whatever it was he dreamt of, he doesn’t remember now. There was a moment of regret and, an instant after, a spark of thankfulness. He wouldn’t want to remember anything going on in his head while he was asleep in this world. A mosaic of memories unreal, conjured up from regurgitated pieces of reality, like shards of several broken glasses trying to piece themselves back together, but always finding the wrong piece. Even the metaphor is too painful to think about.
He reached over the bedside table to where his comb was and started to rake through the gnarls and tangles his hair managed to twist itself over the hours. A couple of minutes and his breathing became less of an effort. His fingers deftly gathered the longer strands away from his face as he tied the lot back. He checked himself in the mirror, rubbed his eyes awake a little more, and smiled out of habit. He looked more or less alive now -- not a mist of dream from his pale, sun-deprived skin. You’ll do, whispered an echo from a passing, fading memory.
He sat on his small, beaten up swivel chair in front of the computer and pulled his knees up to his chin. While waiting for the programs he left the previous afternoon to fire up from hibernation, he started to think about the speech he needed to finish for his mother. Every year he writes the speeches his mother delivers during graduations and recognition ceremonies in her school and after a while, it’s become a sort of yearly tradition between the two of them. The idea of being able to convey his thoughts to young minds gives him a sense of purpose, even a perverse thrill. He was sure there was at least one or two in the audience listening who would somehow get what it is he really wanted to say -- a warning, that it’s not going to get any easier -- behind the glossy words and generalities lining the whole 5-minute tirade. That is, if his mother doesn’t change much of what he writes -- which he was almost sure she did.
Absent-mindedly, he untied his hair again and ran his fingers through it. I wish you’d cut them short, whispered another errant echo. He closed his eyes and let his memory drift towards the direction of the sound.
“Why?” he heard his own voice ask.
“You’d look better with shorter hair.”
“Will you like me better if I had shorter hair?” he answered, almost immediately, barely hiding the sharpness of each word behind a low, guarded voice. The other person smiled and looked at his food. He silently chided himself, feeling bad for saying something without thinking -- again. “Anyway it’s sort of a promise.”
“To someone?”
“No, to myself. I figured I was so bad at keeping promises, I felt I had to promise something I intend to keep, no matter what. So I promised myself I’d grow my hair long.”
“No matter what?”
“No matter what.”
“I see.”
When he opened his eyes, the programs were already running. The cursor was blinking on one corner of the blank document, awaiting orders. It looked like a little black imp, filled with contempt and disdain at being trapped inside an electronic device. He concentrated on it for a while, thinking of what to write. It could have been minutes, it could have been hours, but what he remembered was his eyes closing on their own, as if in a trance, while his mind tried to run after the recently exhumed dregs of memory.
No matter what, the voice kept on saying. He heard laughter. Soft guitar playing. A woman’s voice singing. Baguio, he shivered. Happy birthday, murmured a sleepy voice lying beside him.
Again, he woke up, the shock of white light in front of him came in waves through his brain. He saw the cursor blinking. Damn, he cursed under his breath. This is not healthy anymore. Get a grip. Glancing at the clock, he must have dozed off for ten minutes or so. He sat up straight and poised his fingers on the keyboard, ready to type what he needed to say, but his brain comes up with nothing. After several weak attempts at a first sentence, he gave up. He stood and rubbed his temples, chanting Get a grip, get a grip. Eight months is a long enough time, get a grip. He needed a long walk.
Tuesday, December 12, 2006
Saturday, December 09, 2006
Brain Candy, Part Deux
Death Note
(1 Season - Currently Airing : 10 Episodes)
To anyone else, acquiring the power to kill at a whim might initially seem enthralling, and, falling back to reality, immediately terrifying. But to Light Yagami, who feels a burning need to deal his brand of justice to the world, it would have been close to heresy if such power was left untapped. When he picked up the Death Note dropped by the shinigami Ryuk and started causing criminals worldwide to die by heart attack, this need -- which was already bordering on megalomania -- found exactly what it wanted to feed on.
Suffice it to say this "phenomenon" did not go unnoticed, and that's precisely how Light planned his vision to unfold. Soon enough, the public dubbed this mysterious force as "Kira" (derived from Killer), and unsurprisingly, the crime rates from all parts of the globe began dwindling.
While most people worldwide thought this was a good thing, not everyone -- especially not the International Criminal Police Organization, or ICPO -- had the opinion that killing off criminals above their sentence was a good way of dispensing justice. It is at this point that they decided to hire the services of an enigmatic but extremely intelligent investigator known only as "L" to find out who Kira is. And true to his reputation, L was already a step ahead from the ICPO as he wasted no time in making his presence known to Kira.
The mind traps both Light and L set up for each other are clever, complex, and oft times coldly cruel. "Each person is searching for an adversary whose identity is a complete mystery, and the first to be found will die." Ryuk was right when he said humans are infinitely interesting creatures.
Bleach
(106 Episodes - Currently Airing)
I'm not even sure how to begin describing this behemoth. Basta, ever since I started watching it, isa lang masasabi ko:
ASTEEEEEEEEEEEG.
(1 Season - Currently Airing : 10 Episodes)
To anyone else, acquiring the power to kill at a whim might initially seem enthralling, and, falling back to reality, immediately terrifying. But to Light Yagami, who feels a burning need to deal his brand of justice to the world, it would have been close to heresy if such power was left untapped. When he picked up the Death Note dropped by the shinigami Ryuk and started causing criminals worldwide to die by heart attack, this need -- which was already bordering on megalomania -- found exactly what it wanted to feed on.
Suffice it to say this "phenomenon" did not go unnoticed, and that's precisely how Light planned his vision to unfold. Soon enough, the public dubbed this mysterious force as "Kira" (derived from Killer), and unsurprisingly, the crime rates from all parts of the globe began dwindling.
While most people worldwide thought this was a good thing, not everyone -- especially not the International Criminal Police Organization, or ICPO -- had the opinion that killing off criminals above their sentence was a good way of dispensing justice. It is at this point that they decided to hire the services of an enigmatic but extremely intelligent investigator known only as "L" to find out who Kira is. And true to his reputation, L was already a step ahead from the ICPO as he wasted no time in making his presence known to Kira.
The mind traps both Light and L set up for each other are clever, complex, and oft times coldly cruel. "Each person is searching for an adversary whose identity is a complete mystery, and the first to be found will die." Ryuk was right when he said humans are infinitely interesting creatures.
Bleach
(106 Episodes - Currently Airing)
I'm not even sure how to begin describing this behemoth. Basta, ever since I started watching it, isa lang masasabi ko:
ASTEEEEEEEEEEEG.
Friday, December 08, 2006
Brain Candy, Part Un
For the purpose of getting things down on paper -- or binary code, at least -- I will be listing down the different anime series I am currently watching. This is not an attempt at writing a review. I will be leaving that to the people who know better (or claim to). I am doing this partly for my benefit, because I have a feeling I might forget I ever liked them if I don't list them down somewhere; and partly for my friends, so I can at least get them interested in things that get my heart a-tingle. It's no fun getting all worked up and excited over a new episode by myself. Hehehe. So in no particular order, my current brain candy:
xxxHOLiC
(1 Season : 24 Episodes : 1 Movie)
Kimihiro Watanuki has been haunted by different kinds of spirits for as long as he can remember. It would have been OK if the spirits leave him alone, but such is their attraction to Watanuki's presence that they are almost always latching onto every free part of the poor kid's body without giving him a moment's rest. That is, until Watanuki stumbled upon a strange looking house owned by an equally strange looking woman who introduced herself as Yuuko Ichihara, or the Dimensional Witch.
Yuuko explained to Watanuki that their meeting was not out of coincidence -- for coincidences are merely illusions -- but rather, it was because of Hitsuzen, or Inevitability. And since Watanuki was led into Yuuko's "shop," it must mean he has a wish he needs fulfilled. However -- and this was something Yuuko was very particular about -- although she has the power to grant any wish a person may desire, it naturally has to be exchanged with something of equal value. The Universe will, after all, indiscriminately carve out a path to preserve its balance whenever that balance is disrupted by any means, magical or otherwise.
Of course initally, Watanuki was skeptical -- which was a little odd for someone who was constantly being mauled by spirits of all shapes, sizes, and alignment -- but eventually, the desire to have his deepest wish fulfilled won out, so he finally agreed to Yuuko's terms. Yuuko then told Watanuki that she will release him from the curse of his blood, but in return, he will be working part-time for Yuuko as her servant. Watanuki was not too happy with Yuuko's proposal to say the least, especially when she told him that she will lift his curse after she decides to release Watanuki from her employ.
But for all of Yuuko's eccentricities, Watanuki was able to learn a lot and value all the strange, wonderful, and sometimes even scary things which Yuuko has opened for him. From the rich territories of Japanese mythology, to complex mysteries, and even delving into the realm of the metaphysical, xxxHOLiC is a series almost dark in its telling, but insightful and humorous at its core.
TSUBASA CHRoNiCLE
(2 Seasons : 56 Episodes : 1 Movie)
Syaoran and Sakura move as the epicenter of the entire CLAMP Universe in TSUBASA CHRoNiCLE. Although not quite the same as the kids who gathered the mysterious Clow Cards from the Cardcaptor Sakura series, the Syaoran and Sakura of TC are just as pure, innocent, and driven to do good wherever parallel universe they are taken to. Together with the strong and perceptive swordsman Kurogane, the mysterious sorcerer Fye, and the eternally kawaii Mokona Modoki, they traverse through different dimensions in search of Sakura's memory feathers.
Essentially a love story, TC is at first taste tragic when Syaoran asks help from Yuuko, the Dimensional Witch, in order to restore Sakura's memory feathers. Yuuko agrees to this wish, but naturally demands something of equal value as payment -- in the form of Sakura's memories of Syaoran. To put it simply, even if Sakura regains all of her memory feathers, she will not remember Syaoran or her special relationship with him. But despite the cruelty of Yuuko's terms -- and Syaoran being who he is -- he still agrees to the Witch's proposal, and in turn receives from her the power to travel across dimensions through Mokona Modoki.
Suffice it to say, this series is the mother of all crossovers within the magically diverse world of CLAMP. Although it is not an absolute requisite in enjoying TC, being familiar with most of the other CLAMP titles adds to the excitement and element of surprise when encountering a character from another series making an appearance in an episode -- or even an entire story arc. For the most part, TC delivers emotions both bittersweet and hopeful, and, as with most of the other works by CLAMP, promises a story of magic and intricately beautiful detail.
NEXT: Death Note and Bleach.
xxxHOLiC
(1 Season : 24 Episodes : 1 Movie)
Kimihiro Watanuki has been haunted by different kinds of spirits for as long as he can remember. It would have been OK if the spirits leave him alone, but such is their attraction to Watanuki's presence that they are almost always latching onto every free part of the poor kid's body without giving him a moment's rest. That is, until Watanuki stumbled upon a strange looking house owned by an equally strange looking woman who introduced herself as Yuuko Ichihara, or the Dimensional Witch.
Yuuko explained to Watanuki that their meeting was not out of coincidence -- for coincidences are merely illusions -- but rather, it was because of Hitsuzen, or Inevitability. And since Watanuki was led into Yuuko's "shop," it must mean he has a wish he needs fulfilled. However -- and this was something Yuuko was very particular about -- although she has the power to grant any wish a person may desire, it naturally has to be exchanged with something of equal value. The Universe will, after all, indiscriminately carve out a path to preserve its balance whenever that balance is disrupted by any means, magical or otherwise.
Of course initally, Watanuki was skeptical -- which was a little odd for someone who was constantly being mauled by spirits of all shapes, sizes, and alignment -- but eventually, the desire to have his deepest wish fulfilled won out, so he finally agreed to Yuuko's terms. Yuuko then told Watanuki that she will release him from the curse of his blood, but in return, he will be working part-time for Yuuko as her servant. Watanuki was not too happy with Yuuko's proposal to say the least, especially when she told him that she will lift his curse after she decides to release Watanuki from her employ.
But for all of Yuuko's eccentricities, Watanuki was able to learn a lot and value all the strange, wonderful, and sometimes even scary things which Yuuko has opened for him. From the rich territories of Japanese mythology, to complex mysteries, and even delving into the realm of the metaphysical, xxxHOLiC is a series almost dark in its telling, but insightful and humorous at its core.
TSUBASA CHRoNiCLE
(2 Seasons : 56 Episodes : 1 Movie)
Syaoran and Sakura move as the epicenter of the entire CLAMP Universe in TSUBASA CHRoNiCLE. Although not quite the same as the kids who gathered the mysterious Clow Cards from the Cardcaptor Sakura series, the Syaoran and Sakura of TC are just as pure, innocent, and driven to do good wherever parallel universe they are taken to. Together with the strong and perceptive swordsman Kurogane, the mysterious sorcerer Fye, and the eternally kawaii Mokona Modoki, they traverse through different dimensions in search of Sakura's memory feathers.
Essentially a love story, TC is at first taste tragic when Syaoran asks help from Yuuko, the Dimensional Witch, in order to restore Sakura's memory feathers. Yuuko agrees to this wish, but naturally demands something of equal value as payment -- in the form of Sakura's memories of Syaoran. To put it simply, even if Sakura regains all of her memory feathers, she will not remember Syaoran or her special relationship with him. But despite the cruelty of Yuuko's terms -- and Syaoran being who he is -- he still agrees to the Witch's proposal, and in turn receives from her the power to travel across dimensions through Mokona Modoki.
Suffice it to say, this series is the mother of all crossovers within the magically diverse world of CLAMP. Although it is not an absolute requisite in enjoying TC, being familiar with most of the other CLAMP titles adds to the excitement and element of surprise when encountering a character from another series making an appearance in an episode -- or even an entire story arc. For the most part, TC delivers emotions both bittersweet and hopeful, and, as with most of the other works by CLAMP, promises a story of magic and intricately beautiful detail.
NEXT: Death Note and Bleach.
Monday, December 04, 2006
The Million-Faerie Massacre
Every Christmas season, the Ayala Malls have weekend fireworks exhibitions which never fail to enthrall anyone who happen to be in the area. Apart from that, the whole Makati CBD becomes adorned with beautiful Christmas lights, it almost feels like walking into Lothlorien (or Lothlorietta, as Ly puts it), sans elves and little flying things.
Last night however -- and one can not be sure what caused this thought train to leave its tracks -- there was a sense of foreboding evil lingering about the luminescent paradise. Ly, Hono'o-chan, and myself were not aware of it at first. Perhaps it was the oddly-placed globe-shaped fountain in the middle of the park in front of 6750, or maybe it was the old woman selling cigarettes perched on the stairs near Mercury Drug. But the moment we saw the first few fireworks go off in the middle of the deepening dark December evening sky, we heard it. Cries for freedom and a multitude of tiny voices screaming for release!
Had we a camera with us, the grim scene would have looked like this:
Suddenly, the globe-shaped fountain was no longer what it was. The glow from inside was actually an imprisoned faerie, desperately clinging for dear life! The old woman was no longer a common cigarette vendor, but a fairy matriarch, miserably watching her kin die from the evil machinations constructed by greedy corporations! The security guards were no longer actual human beings, but animated corpses controlled by talismans hidden amongst their bodies, enchanted by witches and warlocks from their secret base in the underground parking lots!
Ayala was no longer a Christmas paradise. It was a carefully-constructed and elaborate faerie torture chamber, disguised as malls and parks and the second happiest place on earth! Any faerie who survives the fireworks death trap is completely eliminated by specially-trained snipers, their magickal essence added to the breeding of other faeries and pixies, or sometimes bottled and sold in Rustan's as beauty products! Oh, the humanity!
Last night however -- and one can not be sure what caused this thought train to leave its tracks -- there was a sense of foreboding evil lingering about the luminescent paradise. Ly, Hono'o-chan, and myself were not aware of it at first. Perhaps it was the oddly-placed globe-shaped fountain in the middle of the park in front of 6750, or maybe it was the old woman selling cigarettes perched on the stairs near Mercury Drug. But the moment we saw the first few fireworks go off in the middle of the deepening dark December evening sky, we heard it. Cries for freedom and a multitude of tiny voices screaming for release!
Had we a camera with us, the grim scene would have looked like this:
Suddenly, the globe-shaped fountain was no longer what it was. The glow from inside was actually an imprisoned faerie, desperately clinging for dear life! The old woman was no longer a common cigarette vendor, but a fairy matriarch, miserably watching her kin die from the evil machinations constructed by greedy corporations! The security guards were no longer actual human beings, but animated corpses controlled by talismans hidden amongst their bodies, enchanted by witches and warlocks from their secret base in the underground parking lots!
Ayala was no longer a Christmas paradise. It was a carefully-constructed and elaborate faerie torture chamber, disguised as malls and parks and the second happiest place on earth! Any faerie who survives the fireworks death trap is completely eliminated by specially-trained snipers, their magickal essence added to the breeding of other faeries and pixies, or sometimes bottled and sold in Rustan's as beauty products! Oh, the humanity!
Monday, November 27, 2006
Seven Songs
Of COURSE there are still aspects in my life completely drama-free. Like my lovey-dovey, for instance. And I owe him an apology for responding to his meme tag this late in the game. Seventeen days late, to be exact. I'll make it up to you, baby. :-P
•••
List seven songs you are into right now. No matter what the genre, whether they have words, or even if they're not any good, but they must be songs you're really enjoying now. Post these instructions in your journal along with your seven songs. Then tag seven other people to see what they're listening to. [Podi's Aside: And since I think it's boring if I just list seven songs, I'll include some lines from them too.]
Shikao Suga - 19sai
"You laced your lips with poison when you came into my room, didn't you?"
Kajiura Yuki - Witch
(One of the beautiful instrumental pieces used in the anime series Tsubasa Chronicle.)
Jewel - 1,000 Miles Away
"Your mind says, 'Sweetheart, you gotta stick around,' but your heart says, 'Oh, I'm too weak in the knees...'"
Damien Rice - Grey Room
"Nothing is lost, it's just frozen in frost. It's opening time and there's no one in line, but I've still got me to be your open door. I’ve still got me to be your sandy shore. I’ve still got me to cross your bridge in this storm. And I’ve still got me to keep you warm."
Idina Menzel & Kristin Chenoweth - Defying Gravity
"Too long I've been afraid of losing love -- I guess I've lost. Well, if that's love, it comes at much too high a cost."
Rent OST - Without You
"The mind churns, the heart yearns, the tears dry without you. Life goes on but I'm gone, 'cause I die without you."
Kim Fabros - Sea
"Your body clings to me like waves flowing before sunrise. I am a fish satisfied, swimming in your mouth. Closed eyes. You are my sea."
Tagging: Aimee, Elmer, Gaye, Hono'o-chan, Mikey, Paul, Prinz.
List seven songs you are into right now. No matter what the genre, whether they have words, or even if they're not any good, but they must be songs you're really enjoying now. Post these instructions in your journal along with your seven songs. Then tag seven other people to see what they're listening to. [Podi's Aside: And since I think it's boring if I just list seven songs, I'll include some lines from them too.]
Shikao Suga - 19sai
"You laced your lips with poison when you came into my room, didn't you?"
Kajiura Yuki - Witch
(One of the beautiful instrumental pieces used in the anime series Tsubasa Chronicle.)
Jewel - 1,000 Miles Away
"Your mind says, 'Sweetheart, you gotta stick around,' but your heart says, 'Oh, I'm too weak in the knees...'"
Damien Rice - Grey Room
"Nothing is lost, it's just frozen in frost. It's opening time and there's no one in line, but I've still got me to be your open door. I’ve still got me to be your sandy shore. I’ve still got me to cross your bridge in this storm. And I’ve still got me to keep you warm."
Idina Menzel & Kristin Chenoweth - Defying Gravity
"Too long I've been afraid of losing love -- I guess I've lost. Well, if that's love, it comes at much too high a cost."
Rent OST - Without You
"The mind churns, the heart yearns, the tears dry without you. Life goes on but I'm gone, 'cause I die without you."
Kim Fabros - Sea
"Your body clings to me like waves flowing before sunrise. I am a fish satisfied, swimming in your mouth. Closed eyes. You are my sea."
Tagging: Aimee, Elmer, Gaye, Hono'o-chan, Mikey, Paul, Prinz.
Sunday, November 19, 2006
When Fine Is Better Than Happy
January. That's a laugh. As long as the cosmos doesn't throw something completely unexpected on my lap, I might not have the inclination to go back to work at all. A friend and I were talking about it a week ago. I told him I had no such desire to "enrich" myself further. The second I said it however, I realized how jaded that must have sounded, so I told him it wasn't at all because I was jaded. Rather, it felt as if I've had my fill with what life has to teach me. (Apologies if it reeked of pompous arrogance...)
But it was my mother, unexpectedly, who finally jolted my sensibilities. This morning as I was rummaging the ref for leftovers, she asked me when I was going to have my hair cut. I said not soon. Then she asked me if I inquired about that Open University thing yet. I said not yet. Soon. Then she told me when my siblings have their own jobs, they won't be taking care of me, and did I know that. I said yes, I know.
A few more seconds of rearranging food in each compartment and I had to give up. I closed the ref and looked at my mother doing the laundry. She was beautiful, and I love her dearly. She'd raised a fine son, and I wanted to tell her I'm fine and I'm content with what I have -- and am -- now.
Now most of the times I underestimate her, but the thing is I know she'd know right away what I was saying. I could tell her I'm contented. I could tell her I'm fine. But she'd see through the lie, I know it in my heart. She'd know what I was saying was really, I want to quit while I'm ahead.
If I had the guts, I would have told her I'm sorry, but I have no ambition to drive me further. I have no dreams to cling to, and I have no idea when I stopped dreaming. I go through life drifting through the energy of the people around me but that's it. I am, and always have been, the cosmos' ragdoll. Free to be thrown around to whatever corner of the universe it sees fit. I'm not happy -- I realize it comes at a higher cost than I'm willing to dish out -- but I'm not sad either. Right now, I'm just fine. Exhausted, but fine. And I wanted to die.
I opened the ref again to resume my eternal quest for morning nourishment. Nope. I wouldn't say something like that to my mother.
But it was my mother, unexpectedly, who finally jolted my sensibilities. This morning as I was rummaging the ref for leftovers, she asked me when I was going to have my hair cut. I said not soon. Then she asked me if I inquired about that Open University thing yet. I said not yet. Soon. Then she told me when my siblings have their own jobs, they won't be taking care of me, and did I know that. I said yes, I know.
A few more seconds of rearranging food in each compartment and I had to give up. I closed the ref and looked at my mother doing the laundry. She was beautiful, and I love her dearly. She'd raised a fine son, and I wanted to tell her I'm fine and I'm content with what I have -- and am -- now.
Now most of the times I underestimate her, but the thing is I know she'd know right away what I was saying. I could tell her I'm contented. I could tell her I'm fine. But she'd see through the lie, I know it in my heart. She'd know what I was saying was really, I want to quit while I'm ahead.
If I had the guts, I would have told her I'm sorry, but I have no ambition to drive me further. I have no dreams to cling to, and I have no idea when I stopped dreaming. I go through life drifting through the energy of the people around me but that's it. I am, and always have been, the cosmos' ragdoll. Free to be thrown around to whatever corner of the universe it sees fit. I'm not happy -- I realize it comes at a higher cost than I'm willing to dish out -- but I'm not sad either. Right now, I'm just fine. Exhausted, but fine. And I wanted to die.
I opened the ref again to resume my eternal quest for morning nourishment. Nope. I wouldn't say something like that to my mother.
Saturday, November 18, 2006
When Words Fail
(Y!M Conversation, 11/18/2006 10:44:50 AM)
havelock maeterlinck (hindi tunay na pangalan): hindi ko kinaya
havelock maeterlinck: after that very inspirational first post
havelock maeterlinck: tignan mo sumunod
havelock maeterlinck (hindi tunay na pangalan): hindi ko kinaya
havelock maeterlinck: after that very inspirational first post
havelock maeterlinck: tignan mo sumunod
Friday, November 17, 2006
A Different Kind of Silence
I could never get used to it, walking into a room with only my father in. The pressure in the air would rapidly build up almost to the point of breaking with words left unsaid, left hanging through the years. If we were both any younger, we would have simply let all hell break loose. But after too many times of shame and regret boiling over in endless shouting matches, our father-son relationship had nowhere else to go but deep-dive into silent neutral corners on both sides of the battlefield. It was better off for everyone in the family, really. And that's the way things have been for the past couple of years or so.
When are you going back to work? I could almost hear him think. January, my head hummed a ready answer. I would be lying through my teeth if I said it, but it wouldn't matter as long as I had a response. I had just gone down for breakfast and he was by himself in the kitchen, smoking his morning cigarette and reading the day's paper. It could have been picture perfect, with the sun streaming through the windows and all that shit. Who could have known there was a thick silence real and alive as a monster breathing in that room.
"May sinangag pa dyan. Saka yung tira kagabi," ("There's rice. And some leftovers from last night,") he said, breaking the silence without looking up from his papers. I grunted an affirmative, regarded the table and confirmed that yes, there was indeed sinangag plus a bowl of reheated leftovers from last night, and left the kitchen without getting anything to eat.
When are you going back to work? I could almost hear him think. January, my head hummed a ready answer. I would be lying through my teeth if I said it, but it wouldn't matter as long as I had a response. I had just gone down for breakfast and he was by himself in the kitchen, smoking his morning cigarette and reading the day's paper. It could have been picture perfect, with the sun streaming through the windows and all that shit. Who could have known there was a thick silence real and alive as a monster breathing in that room.
"May sinangag pa dyan. Saka yung tira kagabi," ("There's rice. And some leftovers from last night,") he said, breaking the silence without looking up from his papers. I grunted an affirmative, regarded the table and confirmed that yes, there was indeed sinangag plus a bowl of reheated leftovers from last night, and left the kitchen without getting anything to eat.