It has been a long, long while.
Well, just a month, really, but in the age of the internet one month is a very long time. The events mentioned in my last blog stumped me.I was angry and disgusted and ashamed and dismayed. I felt I had to say something. I was after all, a Maguindanaon and what happened felt like an onslaught to my personal identity. Yet I didn't write because I wasn't sure enough that I will not write anything that might compromise my own safety or that of my family. I was reminded why my father didn't want me to be writer or a journalist.
So a month has passed. Whatever emotions I had back then has come and gone away. Its about time I returned to my normal life. Whatever definition of "normal" in my life may have.
Fixing my life is one of those things I always think about, planning the specific steps that I need to do, but never really get to doing. It's like a promise to myself that I keep on breaking. Or not really break, but kept on delaying, postponing, procrastinating. I am still waiting for the day or night when I wake up from a long and restful sleep, feeling refreshed and inspired to do wonderful things in my life.
I know that is only a remote possibility, since I barely sleep 4 hours a day, between 11pm and 3am or so. My days ends every night being worried that I don't have enough time to sleep before I have to get up again, feeling angry at myself for wasting my time on useless things and with foreboding certainty that I will be sleepy during the next day's shift.
My regular day begins with me waking up, pleasantly surprised that I didnt oversleep completely ignoring the alarm on my on my cp which could have disastrous consequences. This happened frequently enough in the past to merit a warning for me and the utter dismay of my supervisor.
I set my alarm at 3am, which is actually closer to 2.30 since I set my clocks a little early but I don't know by how much. If I knew the exact time then I wouldnt hurry and that will cause me to be tardy. I know, I learned from experience.
Work begins at 4. My first break comes an hour and a half later. And then begins the stretch of time between my first break that is regularly punctuated by a cup of coffee and/or a yosi break. I bring my own box of Nescafe 3-in-1 sachets, in Lingzhi or Hazelnuts variants,since I often find the free coffee in the coffee machine less than agreeable in taste and substance. My officemates often find my coffee aromatic and i tend to agree with them.
My lunch time is seldom spent on eating. I usually take 30-minute naps during my lunch break. I only eat at this hour when I feel the hunger to be more urgent than my desire to sleep, which happens very rarely. Sleep, or the lack of it, can be very overpowering.
One hour after my lunch break ends I have my last 15-minute break. It is only short wait, made shorter by a second cup of coffee which i usually have immediately after my nap.
Then the final two hours of the shift. There are less calls during this time and people on the floor usually chat or share jokes with each other, often loudly and quite irritatingly to those still taking calls. The highlight of the day of course is Log-out time.
It is really not a terrible job. There is no pressure, the stats are easy to attain and the people are nice. The callers are usually nice, too. I guess they have to be because we have the final say on whether they will be able to use their credit card or not. And that is VERY IMPORTANT.
to be continued...
Wednesday, December 23, 2009
Monday, November 23, 2009
Unspeakable
I went jogging earlier tonight. It was something I have been thinking about doing for a long time, and although my clock said I was gone for just about half an hour, I was glad I did.
I am not a fan of prolonged jogging, or marathon-like running. I am more of a sprinter, like my Dad. I would run for around 100 to 200 meters, walk to catch my breath, start running again when I get bored, stop when I get breathless, then start walking again. This run-walk routine works for me. I always feel good afterwards. I was looking forward to a sound and restful sleep tonight.
That notion left my head as I watched the news while having my dinner. It's a shocking news that is now known as the Maguindanao Massacre. I don't know how to begin talking about. I am almost dumfounded. I spent the better part of the evening txting with my sister.
This is what I gathered. An incumbent municipal vice-mayor who is planning to run for Governor in the same province next year sent his wife, his two sisters, and a party of female supporters and some media people to file his candidacy. This decision is primarily to avoid confrontation with the rival candidate whose hometown the Governor's office is located in. According to media reports, the entire delegation was abducted by 100 armed men from the rival party, and as of news time tonight 21 bodies have been recovered. 13 females, 8 males. The death toll, already staggering, is expected to rise. Reports indicate that they were more than 40 persons abducted, including about a dozen media people.
Its a henious gruesome crime. The candidate whose wife was confirmed to be among the dead, apparently underestimated his opponent's coldbloodedness. Who would be so ruthless to kill unarmed, defenseless women? And how do you even begin to slaughter 40 innocent civilians?
I am from that place. Its just right beyond my mother's former farmland. right beyond the river that marks the boundary between the two towns. It is the place where we used to spend my summers as a child. I know the politics in the region. I know the political figures there are ruthless. Still I could hardly comprehend this madness. It is madness, senseless madness. I am enraged, disgusted, and saddened at the same time. How could they do that? How could they?
I am not a fan of prolonged jogging, or marathon-like running. I am more of a sprinter, like my Dad. I would run for around 100 to 200 meters, walk to catch my breath, start running again when I get bored, stop when I get breathless, then start walking again. This run-walk routine works for me. I always feel good afterwards. I was looking forward to a sound and restful sleep tonight.
That notion left my head as I watched the news while having my dinner. It's a shocking news that is now known as the Maguindanao Massacre. I don't know how to begin talking about. I am almost dumfounded. I spent the better part of the evening txting with my sister.
This is what I gathered. An incumbent municipal vice-mayor who is planning to run for Governor in the same province next year sent his wife, his two sisters, and a party of female supporters and some media people to file his candidacy. This decision is primarily to avoid confrontation with the rival candidate whose hometown the Governor's office is located in. According to media reports, the entire delegation was abducted by 100 armed men from the rival party, and as of news time tonight 21 bodies have been recovered. 13 females, 8 males. The death toll, already staggering, is expected to rise. Reports indicate that they were more than 40 persons abducted, including about a dozen media people.
Its a henious gruesome crime. The candidate whose wife was confirmed to be among the dead, apparently underestimated his opponent's coldbloodedness. Who would be so ruthless to kill unarmed, defenseless women? And how do you even begin to slaughter 40 innocent civilians?
I am from that place. Its just right beyond my mother's former farmland. right beyond the river that marks the boundary between the two towns. It is the place where we used to spend my summers as a child. I know the politics in the region. I know the political figures there are ruthless. Still I could hardly comprehend this madness. It is madness, senseless madness. I am enraged, disgusted, and saddened at the same time. How could they do that? How could they?
Monday, November 16, 2009
bob ong quotes
Pag may mahal ka at ayaw sayo, hayaan mo. Malay mo sa mga susunod na araw ayaw mo na din sa kanya, naunahan ka lang
Tuesday, November 10, 2009
11.10.09
1.30am in my room
Fixing A Broken Heart
Lately I have seriously considered quitting smoking and going to the gym again. I have noticed that I have difficulty breathing sometimes. Not the asthmatic type of breathing, but a shallow unhurried type of breathing like I am about to sleep. And I did this while I was waiting in line inside the CD-R King store in SM. The experience made we feel slightly claustrophobic. I wanted to break into a run, the kind of running that leaves you breathless and gasping for air at the end of it.
I think it is a combination of my smoking habit and the lack of physical exertion that has made my lungs weak. Our bodies adapt to the exercises we put it through to grow stronger. In my case, it seems the lack of exercise has caused my breathing muscles to deteriorate. I have no more need to breathe heavily, just enough to draw cigarette smoke, really.
These past nights though I have found myself having difficulty breathing for a totally different reason. I still find it difficult to sleep. I manage to keep my mind off my emotional troubles during the day. Mafia wars, spankwire, and chess online help me keep myself preoccupied. It is when I lay down to sleep and everything is quiet that my troubles come to hunt me. Then I feel my heavy heart pressing down on me and I cannot breathe. Sometimes it becomes unbearable that I have to get up and find something to do. Like what I am doing now.
Does coping with a failed relationship have to be this difficult? If I remember right, the stages to coping with a loss are Denial, Depression, Anger, and Acceptance. Maybe Anger comes before Depression. Who cares? What I know is that I am miserable and although it is not my nature to rant about things it seems to me that I am incapable of doing anything else right now.
Lian said I am in Denial. I told her I am accepted things as they are and I will be fine. Maybe that is also part of my denial. I can say I am not hoping that this is just temporary and that she will have a change of heart and we will be happy together again. But who am I trying to convince?
Its oddly similar to Catch 22. A crazy person doesn’t know he’s crazy, therefore he cannot claim insanity. Perhaps a person in denial doesn’t know he’s in denial.
1.30am in my room
Fixing A Broken Heart
Lately I have seriously considered quitting smoking and going to the gym again. I have noticed that I have difficulty breathing sometimes. Not the asthmatic type of breathing, but a shallow unhurried type of breathing like I am about to sleep. And I did this while I was waiting in line inside the CD-R King store in SM. The experience made we feel slightly claustrophobic. I wanted to break into a run, the kind of running that leaves you breathless and gasping for air at the end of it.
I think it is a combination of my smoking habit and the lack of physical exertion that has made my lungs weak. Our bodies adapt to the exercises we put it through to grow stronger. In my case, it seems the lack of exercise has caused my breathing muscles to deteriorate. I have no more need to breathe heavily, just enough to draw cigarette smoke, really.
These past nights though I have found myself having difficulty breathing for a totally different reason. I still find it difficult to sleep. I manage to keep my mind off my emotional troubles during the day. Mafia wars, spankwire, and chess online help me keep myself preoccupied. It is when I lay down to sleep and everything is quiet that my troubles come to hunt me. Then I feel my heavy heart pressing down on me and I cannot breathe. Sometimes it becomes unbearable that I have to get up and find something to do. Like what I am doing now.
Does coping with a failed relationship have to be this difficult? If I remember right, the stages to coping with a loss are Denial, Depression, Anger, and Acceptance. Maybe Anger comes before Depression. Who cares? What I know is that I am miserable and although it is not my nature to rant about things it seems to me that I am incapable of doing anything else right now.
Lian said I am in Denial. I told her I am accepted things as they are and I will be fine. Maybe that is also part of my denial. I can say I am not hoping that this is just temporary and that she will have a change of heart and we will be happy together again. But who am I trying to convince?
Its oddly similar to Catch 22. A crazy person doesn’t know he’s crazy, therefore he cannot claim insanity. Perhaps a person in denial doesn’t know he’s in denial.
Monday, November 9, 2009
Just Dreaming
I went to bed thinking, tossing and turning, generally having trouble falling to sleep and I regained consciousness aware that I was still thinking. And in the two hours or so in between I had dreams filled with dead people.
My father was there, and an uncle, and on the TV Riddick Bowe was fighting for the heavyweight championship of boxing. I drove my father’s Army Jeep called a Kennedy, which long sat rusting away in front of our house after my father died. And I walked my ancestors’ land where there were no roads, just rice paddies, rivers, and mudbanks all covered by great coconut trees.
If I was superstitious I’d say the spirit of our elders are trying to talk to me. But I am a spiritual person and I believe the dead have problems of their own. Surely they will not be troubled my mundane affairs such as breaking up with my gf.
I am not learned in Freud’s theories about dreams and the inner consciousness but I believe dreams are our own creations. I often find the meaning in my dreams as simply stating my reality in metaphorical ways.
And what did I learn from my dream last night? That some things are no longer with us. Not dead and forgotten. Surely not forgotten. But no matter how real the dream may seem, it is still a dream. When you wake up you realize it wasn’t true.
The great paradox of dreams is that even though you’re aware of some things to be contrary to reality, while you’re dreaming you believe what you see to be absolutely true. That scenario of a person trying to pinch himself to check if it is a dream doesn’t happen in dreams. When you’re in a dream, you don’t question things, you just experience it.
And in the past my most vivid dreams often come after losing something important. Like when I lost my first celphone to a thief, I often had dreams that I still have my celphone and that it was not stolen after all. In that case my attachment to something manifested in my dreams. It’s my mind’s futile attempt to deny my loss.
No, my dream tonight was not that blatant. I didn’t dream that I still have my gf. She wasn’t even on it. Apparently my mind has learned to dream in subtler ways.
I went to bed thinking, tossing and turning, generally having trouble falling to sleep and I regained consciousness aware that I was still thinking. And in the two hours or so in between I had dreams filled with dead people.
My father was there, and an uncle, and on the TV Riddick Bowe was fighting for the heavyweight championship of boxing. I drove my father’s Army Jeep called a Kennedy, which long sat rusting away in front of our house after my father died. And I walked my ancestors’ land where there were no roads, just rice paddies, rivers, and mudbanks all covered by great coconut trees.
If I was superstitious I’d say the spirit of our elders are trying to talk to me. But I am a spiritual person and I believe the dead have problems of their own. Surely they will not be troubled my mundane affairs such as breaking up with my gf.
I am not learned in Freud’s theories about dreams and the inner consciousness but I believe dreams are our own creations. I often find the meaning in my dreams as simply stating my reality in metaphorical ways.
And what did I learn from my dream last night? That some things are no longer with us. Not dead and forgotten. Surely not forgotten. But no matter how real the dream may seem, it is still a dream. When you wake up you realize it wasn’t true.
The great paradox of dreams is that even though you’re aware of some things to be contrary to reality, while you’re dreaming you believe what you see to be absolutely true. That scenario of a person trying to pinch himself to check if it is a dream doesn’t happen in dreams. When you’re in a dream, you don’t question things, you just experience it.
And in the past my most vivid dreams often come after losing something important. Like when I lost my first celphone to a thief, I often had dreams that I still have my celphone and that it was not stolen after all. In that case my attachment to something manifested in my dreams. It’s my mind’s futile attempt to deny my loss.
No, my dream tonight was not that blatant. I didn’t dream that I still have my gf. She wasn’t even on it. Apparently my mind has learned to dream in subtler ways.
Saturday, November 7, 2009
Parting Time
I know Ive been through this road before. i just never thought I will find myself on this path again. Not ever again. Not for the rest of my life.
To say I didn't expect it would be a great understatement. That same morning I told my officemate Lianes that the sweetest thing my gf ever told me is that she cant see herself being with another man, even if we broke up. Lian scoffed at that. Everyone changes, she said. Another cynic, I thought. What I didn't know was that by evening my gf would become my gf no more.
"I don't know how to say this." I should have recognized her warning, loud and clear. In the many years that we have been together she never began a statement like that. So began our break up conversation, quiet and deliberate. We were both calm and composed. There was no flare ups. No anger. It was not how i imagined our relationship would end. No, I take that back. I never imagined our relationship would end.
So there she was, my gf of more than 7 years, the most important person to me and closest to my heart, yet that night we were miles and miles away from each other as we have been for almost 3 years now. Her voice on the phone had a sound of finality. It is over. I don't have any feelings for you anymore, she said. Wala na.
It hit me like a punch in the gut, right in the solar plexus. There was no pain in the beginning but it left me breathless. After a few days the pain would grow into a dark little monster constantly gnawing at the insides of my chest. The next few nights found me restless, sleepless and confused. I got a warning from my supervisor for being late too often. How can I not be late when I would get barely 2 hours of sleep between shift? My stats are still failing. But none of that seem to matter to me now.
Lian said I should talk to her, let her know that I still love her, tell her the things that she wants to hear. Thanks, Lian, but I think its a little too late for that. Apparently, despite the kind of work we do, you cant put love on hold. Love will hang up and probably not call again.
I know I brought this upon myself. I should take it like a man and move on with my life. The only question is, how would I manage to do that? And do I really wanna walk away from this?
To say I didn't expect it would be a great understatement. That same morning I told my officemate Lianes that the sweetest thing my gf ever told me is that she cant see herself being with another man, even if we broke up. Lian scoffed at that. Everyone changes, she said. Another cynic, I thought. What I didn't know was that by evening my gf would become my gf no more.
"I don't know how to say this." I should have recognized her warning, loud and clear. In the many years that we have been together she never began a statement like that. So began our break up conversation, quiet and deliberate. We were both calm and composed. There was no flare ups. No anger. It was not how i imagined our relationship would end. No, I take that back. I never imagined our relationship would end.
So there she was, my gf of more than 7 years, the most important person to me and closest to my heart, yet that night we were miles and miles away from each other as we have been for almost 3 years now. Her voice on the phone had a sound of finality. It is over. I don't have any feelings for you anymore, she said. Wala na.
It hit me like a punch in the gut, right in the solar plexus. There was no pain in the beginning but it left me breathless. After a few days the pain would grow into a dark little monster constantly gnawing at the insides of my chest. The next few nights found me restless, sleepless and confused. I got a warning from my supervisor for being late too often. How can I not be late when I would get barely 2 hours of sleep between shift? My stats are still failing. But none of that seem to matter to me now.
Lian said I should talk to her, let her know that I still love her, tell her the things that she wants to hear. Thanks, Lian, but I think its a little too late for that. Apparently, despite the kind of work we do, you cant put love on hold. Love will hang up and probably not call again.
I know I brought this upon myself. I should take it like a man and move on with my life. The only question is, how would I manage to do that? And do I really wanna walk away from this?
Saturday, October 24, 2009
Internet Wars
Its quickly becoming a pain in the neck. This business of getting online is getting more complicated than I previously expected.
I finally decided to avail of Globe's broadband package because I thought a line is better than a wireless internet service. I’ve heard enough complaints about poor internet service to try going wireless.
I rejected PLDT’s offer because at a similar price, it comes with a telephone line but with a lower speed ( 384 kbps max compared to Globe’s 1Mbps max).I don’t need landline since I already have a postpaid plan with Sun Cellular and my sim packs from Globe and Smart are often simultaneously signed up for unlimited txt or calls.
Its expensive, I know. That is the price of keeping in touch with friends who refuse to communicate unless you’re using the same network as theirs.
Earlier today I was informed by a Globe representative that a line is not viable in my location. He offered me Wi-Max instead. Apparently it is Globe’s response to Smart Bro. Another wireless internet connection.
He said it would take an extra hundred meters of wire than it previously took to install my housemate’s net service. I found that hard to believe since my housemate lives in the room next to mine.
The guy explained in jargon that they had to connect to another line further down the road since the one used previously is already full.
I feel shortchanged. And I don’t like it.
My landlady compounded the situation by telling me that if I have my own internet connection I should also have my own energy sub-meter to monitor my electricity consumption.
I have just acquired my computer recently and I am still about to buy an AVR or UPS. And CD-R King doesn’t accept credit cards. Now I also have to buy my own kuntador.
I am getting cash strapped right now.
I wonder if the lead sentence of my next blog would read: “Amidst mounting costs, Blitzking’s love affair with the internet came to a sudden and abrupt end.”
Its not even funny.
I finally decided to avail of Globe's broadband package because I thought a line is better than a wireless internet service. I’ve heard enough complaints about poor internet service to try going wireless.
I rejected PLDT’s offer because at a similar price, it comes with a telephone line but with a lower speed ( 384 kbps max compared to Globe’s 1Mbps max).I don’t need landline since I already have a postpaid plan with Sun Cellular and my sim packs from Globe and Smart are often simultaneously signed up for unlimited txt or calls.
Its expensive, I know. That is the price of keeping in touch with friends who refuse to communicate unless you’re using the same network as theirs.
Earlier today I was informed by a Globe representative that a line is not viable in my location. He offered me Wi-Max instead. Apparently it is Globe’s response to Smart Bro. Another wireless internet connection.
He said it would take an extra hundred meters of wire than it previously took to install my housemate’s net service. I found that hard to believe since my housemate lives in the room next to mine.
The guy explained in jargon that they had to connect to another line further down the road since the one used previously is already full.
I feel shortchanged. And I don’t like it.
My landlady compounded the situation by telling me that if I have my own internet connection I should also have my own energy sub-meter to monitor my electricity consumption.
I have just acquired my computer recently and I am still about to buy an AVR or UPS. And CD-R King doesn’t accept credit cards. Now I also have to buy my own kuntador.
I am getting cash strapped right now.
I wonder if the lead sentence of my next blog would read: “Amidst mounting costs, Blitzking’s love affair with the internet came to a sudden and abrupt end.”
Its not even funny.
Tuesday, October 20, 2009
Mine Is Not So Big but...
10.19.2009
10pm
Finally, i have my own personal computer. Its so cute. Its cpu is white with blue sidings. It is really cute ( i had to say it again. :-p)
I think Im going to call it Deep Blue- named after the IBM computer that defeated Kasparov in a chess match some time back.
My PC has an Asus cpu with Pentium 4 processor running at 2.0 Ghertz and 480 Mb of RAM. I honestly don't know what that means but it sounds so cool to say it. :-p
Seriously, if its good enough to run multiple tabs of an internet browser, windows media player, and a Java applet for playing chess, I'm fine with with it. I am not into pc gaming anyway.
The 14" crt monitor is considerably smaller than what I'm accustomed to but it will do for now.I'm planning to replace it with a Samsung LCD monitor. I already found what I want in SM. I guess i have to wait for my yearend bonus before I buy one. Maybe they will have a sale by then (I hope!).
The speakers that Jopert gave me also need replacing. CDR-King's speakers are just not up to my standards.I wouldnt enjoy listening to my favorite Eheads and Rivermaya songs with these speakers.
I cant wait to have my own internet connection. I hope i get online very very soon. Like, in the next 24 hours. I can hardly wait. There's so much downloading I want to do.
I remember when i went to Bantayan Island with my gf. I rented a motorcycle for a day. It was my first time to drive a motorcyle.My gf said I was like a boy who's got a new toy. I cant take the grin off my face. I think I am feeling like that now.
Friday, October 16, 2009
The Anxious Wait
"Dalawang tulog na lng!"
Now, if you're a normal human being with a non-call center lifestyle that means two more nights before the big day. I cannot even define what that means for me because people in my line of work dont have a regular sleeping pattern.
My friends sleep at different hours though we may have a common work schedule beginning at 3 am. Some sleep right after shift as soon as they get home. Some sleep very early in the evening. And some try to cram as much sleep as they can right before shift. That's what I do. Its common for me to sleep just a little more than 2 or 3 hours before sleep. Then Ill nap for 30-40 minutes during lunch. This routine works for me, but there are days I feel like a walking zombie ready to fall down at the slightest gust of wind.
What's really getting me all excited is that I will finally have my own computer come Monday. My friend Jopert agreed to assemble a computer for me. I'm very very anxious to see what he can come up with such a limited budget. Im already planning to get my own internet connection so that I can spend as much time online as I want and not worry about the cost. And I can do it at the comfort of my own room.
I can hardly wait.
One more shift tomorrow and I get to have one rest day.
Now, if you're a normal human being with a non-call center lifestyle that means two more nights before the big day. I cannot even define what that means for me because people in my line of work dont have a regular sleeping pattern.
My friends sleep at different hours though we may have a common work schedule beginning at 3 am. Some sleep right after shift as soon as they get home. Some sleep very early in the evening. And some try to cram as much sleep as they can right before shift. That's what I do. Its common for me to sleep just a little more than 2 or 3 hours before sleep. Then Ill nap for 30-40 minutes during lunch. This routine works for me, but there are days I feel like a walking zombie ready to fall down at the slightest gust of wind.
What's really getting me all excited is that I will finally have my own computer come Monday. My friend Jopert agreed to assemble a computer for me. I'm very very anxious to see what he can come up with such a limited budget. Im already planning to get my own internet connection so that I can spend as much time online as I want and not worry about the cost. And I can do it at the comfort of my own room.
I can hardly wait.
One more shift tomorrow and I get to have one rest day.
Sunday, October 11, 2009
Forgotten
I remember when I was a young boy
Nothing really ever mattered to me
I would take each day as it came my way
You know children live for the moment
I remember the first girl I kissed
I remember when grandma insisted i came inside
When she'd say come in for the night
You know tomorrow will be another day
Do you remember when youth used to be a friend
Do you remember when comfort was
in never understanding
Comfort was in never understanding
Do you know what i mean?
Do you remember the way that it used to be?
Full of innocence, so alive, life was carefree
Tt was so good then, hangin' out with your best friend
You float wherever you wanted to
Do you remember your first true love?
Do you ever wonder if she ever
thinks of the times when you
used to walk home from school
And say tomorrow will be another day
Come along to the place we once lived
Touch the things that made us happy
Find the child that lives within
Come along
You know it's alright to go back there
Touch the things that made us happy
Look for the days that were so fair
Come along
And you know that it goes without sayin'
There's a child deep inside always playin'
There's a child always playing
-Color Me Badd..I dont know the title
Nothing really ever mattered to me
I would take each day as it came my way
You know children live for the moment
I remember the first girl I kissed
I remember when grandma insisted i came inside
When she'd say come in for the night
You know tomorrow will be another day
Do you remember when youth used to be a friend
Do you remember when comfort was
in never understanding
Comfort was in never understanding
Do you know what i mean?
Do you remember the way that it used to be?
Full of innocence, so alive, life was carefree
Tt was so good then, hangin' out with your best friend
You float wherever you wanted to
Do you remember your first true love?
Do you ever wonder if she ever
thinks of the times when you
used to walk home from school
And say tomorrow will be another day
Come along to the place we once lived
Touch the things that made us happy
Find the child that lives within
Come along
You know it's alright to go back there
Touch the things that made us happy
Look for the days that were so fair
Come along
And you know that it goes without sayin'
There's a child deep inside always playin'
There's a child always playing
-Color Me Badd..I dont know the title
Saturday, October 3, 2009
mafia wars
some events that made me rediscover the internet: i met a girl who writes for Helium.com and also blogs- she inspired me to blog too. a friend was late for 3 hours later on he discreetly told me he had to harvest his crops at 8.30 while our work starts at 6:00 - that started me in farmville. i found a group of my batch mates in high school- that started me chatting in facebook.
i find it amazing that i didn't do these things a few months ago. but then i didnt need to. now i am spending up to 5 hours a day in the various internet cafes in the neighborhood. there's even a cafe that allows smoking inside.
i have outgrown farmville. i found the motions of planting and harvesting slow and repetitive. not so in mafia wars. it is more complicated and more addictive. i found myself developing strategy in using limited resources and getting the most out of it. there's a lot of factors to consider, like health and stamina for fighting, energy for doing jobs, and influence for doing business. Also you have to choose what job to do, who to fight and choosing between aiming for more money, influence or special items that you want.
i know its cliche to say mafia wars is addicting. i even coined a word for it: "addciting" its the thrill of accumulating more money, property and power. nevermind if its imaginary. there are a lot of people online who also value these things and you can fight them all for the same. mafia wars has taken over my internet life. enough said.
i find it amazing that i didn't do these things a few months ago. but then i didnt need to. now i am spending up to 5 hours a day in the various internet cafes in the neighborhood. there's even a cafe that allows smoking inside.
i have outgrown farmville. i found the motions of planting and harvesting slow and repetitive. not so in mafia wars. it is more complicated and more addictive. i found myself developing strategy in using limited resources and getting the most out of it. there's a lot of factors to consider, like health and stamina for fighting, energy for doing jobs, and influence for doing business. Also you have to choose what job to do, who to fight and choosing between aiming for more money, influence or special items that you want.
i know its cliche to say mafia wars is addicting. i even coined a word for it: "addciting" its the thrill of accumulating more money, property and power. nevermind if its imaginary. there are a lot of people online who also value these things and you can fight them all for the same. mafia wars has taken over my internet life. enough said.
Tuesday, September 29, 2009
Something Mushy..A Love Story
Few years back a friend asked me to write a short story as their requirement in English Lit. I didnt know what to write so I wrote a love story. Someone might say it actually happened.
I tried editing it but soon gave up. My apologies if this offends you in any way. That was not my intention. Besides, anyone who can write something as corny as this deserves a little poetic license.
This story is sooo mushy Im ashamed i wrote this.
This is fiction. Not all of it is true.
Box of Memories
Maila settled in her seat as the bus lurched forward in the early morning darkness. She pulled her woolen jacket as the cold morning air blew against her face. Soon, the lines of walled houses and business centers of the city was replaced by the long highway of the countryside.
The vast ricefields and mountains in the distance brought fond memories of time spent in the school bus that brought them to countless field trips and academic competitions back in high school.
It was more than a decade and a half ago that they met on a student writer’s convention, yet that one December night remained fresh in her memories as if it happened just the week before.
It was the pageant night, that usual beauty and talent competition that was a regular part of regional and national academic competitions, when they stumbled upon each other. Maila was a short, chubby girl barely past five feet tall, with short hair and dark skin. She had no pretensions of being pretty at all, and didn’t feel comfortable in contests of aesthetic beauty. Kashmir was, on the other hand, the usual Mr. Lonely in the class, who preferred the quiet and being alone from the noise and the crowd.
As luck would have it, which they later would call “the hand of Fate,” they were the only ones who returned to their quarters early, and both didn’t have keys to their respective rooms so that the two young souls were left alone outside in the cold December breeze. They talked for hours that seemed mere minutes and the two developed a mutual liking for each other.
Mir found the jolly petite girl amusing, and she had the plainness that made him feel comfortable in her company. Maila in turn admired his quiet and serious demeanor that convinced her of his depth of character. He can talk about everything under the sun, and she felt flattered that such a nice intelligent young man should lavish attention on her. They were inseparable after that, and for the rest of the week-long convention did everything together.
*****
“Can you feel the love tonight?” he asked her. That was the title of the song playing as they slowdanced to the themesong of the animated movie The Lion King. It was the last night of the student writer's conference. There were few participants left on the dancefloor.
She didn’t answer, but would later write him that her reply, through the lyrics of the song called Love Is All Around Me. It, “I feel it in my fingers, I feel it in my toes…”
It was the sweetest night of her young life. He was a sweet gentleman as they danced the night away. “ I wish the song would never end, “he said, pausing for a moment to let the words sink in before continuing, ”so that I can dance with you forever.” And he gently planted a kiss on her cheek. It sounded like a line in some tearjearker movie, but Maila thought it was the sweetest thing that anyone ever said to her. She leaned her face on his shoulder and closed her eyes.She wished the world would stop turning for a while so that this moment would last a little longer.
***
The familiar smell of burned ricehull woke up. Glancing outside, she felt her heart beat faster as the familiar sight of tall steel electrical towers and long concrete fence of the university announced that she is finally nearing home. She gathered her bags and waited for the bus to reach the terminal with anticipation.
Maila chose to walk the short distance from the university’s main gate to the old house, as the path was shaded by mango trees, and it felt good to be walking the same path that she used to take everyday when going to school when she was younger.
As she passed the old amphitheater a certain sadness welled in her heart. So much memorable moments have been spent on that place. It was here that they shared their first kiss and first embrace. They spent many afternoons talking and laughing on its stone steps. It was also here that she broke his heart when she said goodbye.
“UP will change you,” he remembered him saying. Of course she didn’t believe him. She loved him very much. He was her first love, and she was his. But he seemed convinced she will change and forget about him. With tears in his eyes, he begged her to stay, to continue her studies in Ateneo de Davao as they previously agreed so that they can be together. She cried, too, for it broke her heart to see him like that. She wrapped her arms around him as they said their tearful goodbyes.
During the first three months they wrote letters to each other almost every other day. It helped her cope up with homesickness, but soon her letters came less frequently. Until finally she wrote him a break up letter shortly before his 17th birthday.
Among her reasons was that she’s busy with her studies and that she didn’t believe in long distance relationships anymore, none of which he found to acceptable.
But then she said the real reason is their difference in religion. Since he was a born Moslem, and she was belong to a family that was devoutly Catholic, they can’t be together in the end.
He was dumbfounded. He hoped it was something something wrong with him that he can change. God knows he was willing t o change. But being born a Moslem was not something he chose by his own will. It was God who decided that. So there was nothing he can do.
He didn’t give up even then. He continued writing her letters, or calling her at the dormitory every weekend, but she didn’t answer his letters or his calls. She even told the receptionist to tell him she’s not around every time he called.
***
Her heart filled with dread as she approached the house. She had been anticipating this moment but now that it’s close at hand, she felt unsure of herself. How would he react? Would he welcome her with gladness or reproach? She had reason to entertain these negative thoughts. She knew she hurt him, and she’s not sure if those emotional wound she left him have healed, or are they as deep when she first left?
Has he moved on? Or still embittered with his broken heart? Strangely, she found herself hoping for the latter. If he’s still hurting it means he still loves her, and what better balm to soothe his heart than the news that she’s come back and here to stay?
***
The old house on Sunset Drive looked the same, the gate still green. The short mango tree was heavy with fruit, some of them ripe, but Maila noticed that the old swing under it was gone. In its place was a little garden with white gumamela and other flowers (help! I don’t know how to describe a garden.) A small dog barked somewhere behind the house.
"Are you looking for Daddy?," a small girl of around four asked her from the verandah. She had very fair skin and curly hair. Not waiting for an answer, she ran back towards the house shouting for her daddy.
A moment later, a man with short cropped hair and sunburned skin appeared, the little girl tugging at his hand.” There’s a lady outside looking for you," Maila heard the girl say.
Her father looked at the gate and stared for a full minute, his face a mixed _expression of surprise and partial disbelief. It was Mir, and although years added lines to his face, he looked the same. He still has that quiet look on his face. And when he smiled, his dimples and crinkles around his eyes made him look like the same boy that Maila met for the first time.
“Hi there! It’s me!” somehow she managed to greet him with a smile and a steady voice, but it sounded like somebody else’s. And as Mir ushered her in, she felt like cold water washed over her. Here we go, she thought to herself.
He teaches creative writing at one of the colleges in the university, as well as being a part time columnist at the local weekly newspaper. She expected that much, she knew early on that he had enormous talent as a writer.
What totally caught her off guard was that he was married. The little girl she saw was in fact his daughter. Her wife was at work, he told her. She works at the bank and won’t be home until the late afternoon. Somehow that was a comforting thought. Maila didn’t know if she was ready, or even willing to meet her.
But from the looks of the house she can tell that Mir chose a good wife. The house, although not lacking in adornment, had an air of homeliness in it. The curtains and decoration were well chosen, and served to enliven the house with light and color. Everywhere were signs that therein live a discerning woman and a meticulous wife.
Maila can see from the family portrait on the wall that Rachel is an attractive woman, with a beautiful face, fair skin, and soft curly hair. No doubt she must be a loving wife, and a good mom. She clearly deserves Mir. The two of them is perfect for each other, Maila thought.
Now she felt a little embarrased with herself. How can she even entertain the thought of bringing back their love to life? Mir is clearly happy with his life. Whereas she is still searching for her place in the world. She can’t help feeling sorry for herself.
"You're lucky, do you know that?" in spite of herself, she couldn’t hide a tinge of envy in her voice.
"Yes, I know. Would you believe she never had a boyfriend before we met?” Mir’s sounded like a young boy telling an exciting adventure to a childhood friend. “A guy is lucky to have someone who has never been in love before, because when she loves you, you know she loves you completely and without reservations. While a girl who have loved and felt t he pain of a broken heart, will never love the same way again,” he finished with a smile.
“A woman like her is hard to find...and I"m grateful to God for giving her to me…” his voice trailed off, and he was quiet for a while, as if musing to himself. Mila saw the sincerity in his eyes. She knew he was speaking from the heart.
“Five years ago, when you used to write me emails, how come you never mentioned her?” she could no longer restrain herself. She needed to know.
“Oh, we were just friends then. And she knew about you. And to tell you the truth, I was still in love with you then. I never courted any girl after we broke up. Sounds foolish, huh?” he said.
Not so foolish, she thought to herself. I was the fool not to know. Are you still in love with me now? She wanted to ask him, but of course didn’t.
“I never thought I’d fall in love with her,” he continued, “but after you and Nash…after you…” Mir couldn’t seem to find the right words.
Maila knew exactly what he wanted to say. When he found her on the internet by accident, she was chatting with Nasser, then her long distance boyfriend of 3 years. Mir just happened to be seated next to him in the internet café.
They exchanged emails, and for some months often chatted and tried to fill in the many years that they have lost communication. It was obvious then that he still had feelings for her, but was prudent not to bring up the subject. She in turn was so much engrossed with her romance to notice.
And when she got the chance to return to the country, after almost ten years abroad, she stayed in for one month without telling him or visiting him. For whatever reason her boyfriend didn’t allow her to do so.
She was apologetic afterward, but he was never the same. He stopped answering her emails and they soon lost contact again.
“ I always thought he was just a fling for you, that you needed someone to chat from back home. Knowing that you never even met in person made me think that way, I guess. Ironically, that he is a Moslem just like me gave me hope that somehow religion was no longer an issue between us…” Mir smiled while saying this. Like he was embarrassed for saying something corny and afraid she would laugh.
“But when you said you wanted to give yourself a chance at love again, and that he was the main reason you went back…well, I knew you were serious with him and just gave up waiting for you. Ten years is enough waiting, don’t you think?” Mir spoke matter of factly. There was no hint of bitterness in his voice. Just wanting to make himself understood.
Maila was, in fact, serious with Nas, but it was he was just playing with her. Soon after she went back to Canada their relationship ended. The guy had another girlfriend in the Philippines. She felt naive for hoping it would all work out.
“I guess religion never was the issue, right? That wasn’t the reason why you broke up with me. You just didn’t love me anymore,” his question felt like a sharp stab in the chest but she didn’t answer or try to explain anything. There was no need for that now. How can she tell him that she was so wrong? That she regretted everything she did to hurt him? That she’d give anything to have his love again? That doesn’t matter now.
“Well, after that I decided that I have to live my own life, too. I actually felt free to love again. And then there was Rachel. She was always there for me” he was quiet after saying that."I just knew that she loves me, and I loved her, too."
"Don't you think it's unfair when somebody loves you and you don’t love her in return?" he asked with a smile, the seriousness of the previous moment gone from his voice.
His question startled her, she couldn't think of an answer so she just nodded in agreement.“Unfair?” she asked herself."To whom? To the one who loves with all his heart and is broken hearted, or to the one who is too blind to see and regrets it for the rest of her life?"
***
Maila rode behind Mir on his motorcycle on the way to the bus terminal. With her hands on his shoulders, she felt like hugging him. She leaned forward and rested her face behind his neck, and closed her eyes.
"I wish This song will never end, " she remembered he once said, “so that I can dance with you forever." but that was a long time ago.
***
On board the plane that would take her back to Manila, Maila kept on her lap the old shoe box that Mir gave her. Inside were dozens of letters that she sent him since they first met, all of it, as well as some cards and poems. He had hoped it would bring her some sort of happiness, perhaps a few smiles or laughs as she reminisced the past.
She’d read them someday when she had the time, or when the sense of loss that overwhelmed her had passed away. She knew before going home that she may have nothing to return to. But somehow she kept herself believing that there was still hope, that she could go back and things would be the same.
Now she had to accept that things change, and people often do, too. Time, indeed, changes everything. And that there’s no use trying to live in the past. Some things cannot be discarded for a long time and expect to find it where you left them. Unlike old love letters that can be kept in a dusty shoe box, people move on and learn to love again.
I tried editing it but soon gave up. My apologies if this offends you in any way. That was not my intention. Besides, anyone who can write something as corny as this deserves a little poetic license.
This story is sooo mushy Im ashamed i wrote this.
This is fiction. Not all of it is true.
Box of Memories
Maila settled in her seat as the bus lurched forward in the early morning darkness. She pulled her woolen jacket as the cold morning air blew against her face. Soon, the lines of walled houses and business centers of the city was replaced by the long highway of the countryside.
The vast ricefields and mountains in the distance brought fond memories of time spent in the school bus that brought them to countless field trips and academic competitions back in high school.
It was more than a decade and a half ago that they met on a student writer’s convention, yet that one December night remained fresh in her memories as if it happened just the week before.
It was the pageant night, that usual beauty and talent competition that was a regular part of regional and national academic competitions, when they stumbled upon each other. Maila was a short, chubby girl barely past five feet tall, with short hair and dark skin. She had no pretensions of being pretty at all, and didn’t feel comfortable in contests of aesthetic beauty. Kashmir was, on the other hand, the usual Mr. Lonely in the class, who preferred the quiet and being alone from the noise and the crowd.
As luck would have it, which they later would call “the hand of Fate,” they were the only ones who returned to their quarters early, and both didn’t have keys to their respective rooms so that the two young souls were left alone outside in the cold December breeze. They talked for hours that seemed mere minutes and the two developed a mutual liking for each other.
Mir found the jolly petite girl amusing, and she had the plainness that made him feel comfortable in her company. Maila in turn admired his quiet and serious demeanor that convinced her of his depth of character. He can talk about everything under the sun, and she felt flattered that such a nice intelligent young man should lavish attention on her. They were inseparable after that, and for the rest of the week-long convention did everything together.
*****
“Can you feel the love tonight?” he asked her. That was the title of the song playing as they slowdanced to the themesong of the animated movie The Lion King. It was the last night of the student writer's conference. There were few participants left on the dancefloor.
She didn’t answer, but would later write him that her reply, through the lyrics of the song called Love Is All Around Me. It, “I feel it in my fingers, I feel it in my toes…”
It was the sweetest night of her young life. He was a sweet gentleman as they danced the night away. “ I wish the song would never end, “he said, pausing for a moment to let the words sink in before continuing, ”so that I can dance with you forever.” And he gently planted a kiss on her cheek. It sounded like a line in some tearjearker movie, but Maila thought it was the sweetest thing that anyone ever said to her. She leaned her face on his shoulder and closed her eyes.She wished the world would stop turning for a while so that this moment would last a little longer.
***
The familiar smell of burned ricehull woke up. Glancing outside, she felt her heart beat faster as the familiar sight of tall steel electrical towers and long concrete fence of the university announced that she is finally nearing home. She gathered her bags and waited for the bus to reach the terminal with anticipation.
Maila chose to walk the short distance from the university’s main gate to the old house, as the path was shaded by mango trees, and it felt good to be walking the same path that she used to take everyday when going to school when she was younger.
As she passed the old amphitheater a certain sadness welled in her heart. So much memorable moments have been spent on that place. It was here that they shared their first kiss and first embrace. They spent many afternoons talking and laughing on its stone steps. It was also here that she broke his heart when she said goodbye.
“UP will change you,” he remembered him saying. Of course she didn’t believe him. She loved him very much. He was her first love, and she was his. But he seemed convinced she will change and forget about him. With tears in his eyes, he begged her to stay, to continue her studies in Ateneo de Davao as they previously agreed so that they can be together. She cried, too, for it broke her heart to see him like that. She wrapped her arms around him as they said their tearful goodbyes.
During the first three months they wrote letters to each other almost every other day. It helped her cope up with homesickness, but soon her letters came less frequently. Until finally she wrote him a break up letter shortly before his 17th birthday.
Among her reasons was that she’s busy with her studies and that she didn’t believe in long distance relationships anymore, none of which he found to acceptable.
But then she said the real reason is their difference in religion. Since he was a born Moslem, and she was belong to a family that was devoutly Catholic, they can’t be together in the end.
He was dumbfounded. He hoped it was something something wrong with him that he can change. God knows he was willing t o change. But being born a Moslem was not something he chose by his own will. It was God who decided that. So there was nothing he can do.
He didn’t give up even then. He continued writing her letters, or calling her at the dormitory every weekend, but she didn’t answer his letters or his calls. She even told the receptionist to tell him she’s not around every time he called.
***
Her heart filled with dread as she approached the house. She had been anticipating this moment but now that it’s close at hand, she felt unsure of herself. How would he react? Would he welcome her with gladness or reproach? She had reason to entertain these negative thoughts. She knew she hurt him, and she’s not sure if those emotional wound she left him have healed, or are they as deep when she first left?
Has he moved on? Or still embittered with his broken heart? Strangely, she found herself hoping for the latter. If he’s still hurting it means he still loves her, and what better balm to soothe his heart than the news that she’s come back and here to stay?
***
The old house on Sunset Drive looked the same, the gate still green. The short mango tree was heavy with fruit, some of them ripe, but Maila noticed that the old swing under it was gone. In its place was a little garden with white gumamela and other flowers (help! I don’t know how to describe a garden.) A small dog barked somewhere behind the house.
"Are you looking for Daddy?," a small girl of around four asked her from the verandah. She had very fair skin and curly hair. Not waiting for an answer, she ran back towards the house shouting for her daddy.
A moment later, a man with short cropped hair and sunburned skin appeared, the little girl tugging at his hand.” There’s a lady outside looking for you," Maila heard the girl say.
Her father looked at the gate and stared for a full minute, his face a mixed _expression of surprise and partial disbelief. It was Mir, and although years added lines to his face, he looked the same. He still has that quiet look on his face. And when he smiled, his dimples and crinkles around his eyes made him look like the same boy that Maila met for the first time.
“Hi there! It’s me!” somehow she managed to greet him with a smile and a steady voice, but it sounded like somebody else’s. And as Mir ushered her in, she felt like cold water washed over her. Here we go, she thought to herself.
He teaches creative writing at one of the colleges in the university, as well as being a part time columnist at the local weekly newspaper. She expected that much, she knew early on that he had enormous talent as a writer.
What totally caught her off guard was that he was married. The little girl she saw was in fact his daughter. Her wife was at work, he told her. She works at the bank and won’t be home until the late afternoon. Somehow that was a comforting thought. Maila didn’t know if she was ready, or even willing to meet her.
But from the looks of the house she can tell that Mir chose a good wife. The house, although not lacking in adornment, had an air of homeliness in it. The curtains and decoration were well chosen, and served to enliven the house with light and color. Everywhere were signs that therein live a discerning woman and a meticulous wife.
Maila can see from the family portrait on the wall that Rachel is an attractive woman, with a beautiful face, fair skin, and soft curly hair. No doubt she must be a loving wife, and a good mom. She clearly deserves Mir. The two of them is perfect for each other, Maila thought.
Now she felt a little embarrased with herself. How can she even entertain the thought of bringing back their love to life? Mir is clearly happy with his life. Whereas she is still searching for her place in the world. She can’t help feeling sorry for herself.
"You're lucky, do you know that?" in spite of herself, she couldn’t hide a tinge of envy in her voice.
"Yes, I know. Would you believe she never had a boyfriend before we met?” Mir’s sounded like a young boy telling an exciting adventure to a childhood friend. “A guy is lucky to have someone who has never been in love before, because when she loves you, you know she loves you completely and without reservations. While a girl who have loved and felt t he pain of a broken heart, will never love the same way again,” he finished with a smile.
“A woman like her is hard to find...and I"m grateful to God for giving her to me…” his voice trailed off, and he was quiet for a while, as if musing to himself. Mila saw the sincerity in his eyes. She knew he was speaking from the heart.
“Five years ago, when you used to write me emails, how come you never mentioned her?” she could no longer restrain herself. She needed to know.
“Oh, we were just friends then. And she knew about you. And to tell you the truth, I was still in love with you then. I never courted any girl after we broke up. Sounds foolish, huh?” he said.
Not so foolish, she thought to herself. I was the fool not to know. Are you still in love with me now? She wanted to ask him, but of course didn’t.
“I never thought I’d fall in love with her,” he continued, “but after you and Nash…after you…” Mir couldn’t seem to find the right words.
Maila knew exactly what he wanted to say. When he found her on the internet by accident, she was chatting with Nasser, then her long distance boyfriend of 3 years. Mir just happened to be seated next to him in the internet café.
They exchanged emails, and for some months often chatted and tried to fill in the many years that they have lost communication. It was obvious then that he still had feelings for her, but was prudent not to bring up the subject. She in turn was so much engrossed with her romance to notice.
And when she got the chance to return to the country, after almost ten years abroad, she stayed in for one month without telling him or visiting him. For whatever reason her boyfriend didn’t allow her to do so.
She was apologetic afterward, but he was never the same. He stopped answering her emails and they soon lost contact again.
“ I always thought he was just a fling for you, that you needed someone to chat from back home. Knowing that you never even met in person made me think that way, I guess. Ironically, that he is a Moslem just like me gave me hope that somehow religion was no longer an issue between us…” Mir smiled while saying this. Like he was embarrassed for saying something corny and afraid she would laugh.
“But when you said you wanted to give yourself a chance at love again, and that he was the main reason you went back…well, I knew you were serious with him and just gave up waiting for you. Ten years is enough waiting, don’t you think?” Mir spoke matter of factly. There was no hint of bitterness in his voice. Just wanting to make himself understood.
Maila was, in fact, serious with Nas, but it was he was just playing with her. Soon after she went back to Canada their relationship ended. The guy had another girlfriend in the Philippines. She felt naive for hoping it would all work out.
“I guess religion never was the issue, right? That wasn’t the reason why you broke up with me. You just didn’t love me anymore,” his question felt like a sharp stab in the chest but she didn’t answer or try to explain anything. There was no need for that now. How can she tell him that she was so wrong? That she regretted everything she did to hurt him? That she’d give anything to have his love again? That doesn’t matter now.
“Well, after that I decided that I have to live my own life, too. I actually felt free to love again. And then there was Rachel. She was always there for me” he was quiet after saying that."I just knew that she loves me, and I loved her, too."
"Don't you think it's unfair when somebody loves you and you don’t love her in return?" he asked with a smile, the seriousness of the previous moment gone from his voice.
His question startled her, she couldn't think of an answer so she just nodded in agreement.“Unfair?” she asked herself."To whom? To the one who loves with all his heart and is broken hearted, or to the one who is too blind to see and regrets it for the rest of her life?"
***
Maila rode behind Mir on his motorcycle on the way to the bus terminal. With her hands on his shoulders, she felt like hugging him. She leaned forward and rested her face behind his neck, and closed her eyes.
"I wish This song will never end, " she remembered he once said, “so that I can dance with you forever." but that was a long time ago.
***
On board the plane that would take her back to Manila, Maila kept on her lap the old shoe box that Mir gave her. Inside were dozens of letters that she sent him since they first met, all of it, as well as some cards and poems. He had hoped it would bring her some sort of happiness, perhaps a few smiles or laughs as she reminisced the past.
She’d read them someday when she had the time, or when the sense of loss that overwhelmed her had passed away. She knew before going home that she may have nothing to return to. But somehow she kept herself believing that there was still hope, that she could go back and things would be the same.
Now she had to accept that things change, and people often do, too. Time, indeed, changes everything. And that there’s no use trying to live in the past. Some things cannot be discarded for a long time and expect to find it where you left them. Unlike old love letters that can be kept in a dusty shoe box, people move on and learn to love again.
Friday, September 25, 2009
Remembering God
When I first started this blog, I thought it will be about how fleeting life in this world is. Hence the title "in the blink of an eye." The complete quote will be something like "Life in this world is a blink of an eye between two eternities."
Simply said, the universe existed indefinite number of years before I was born, possibly it will exist an equal number of years after I die.
My father (may God rest his soul) used to rebuke me over dinner, during those years when I was younger and didnt fulfill my duties as a Moslem, namely praying five times daily. He would say that when my soul was still in heaven and before it was sent to this world, I made a vow to God that I will live my life in this world in utter obedience and servitude to Him. And that when I grew up, I have forgotten.
Of course I have forgotten, I didnt remember making that promise at all, but deep in my heart I believe that he was telling the truth.
He would conclude his lecture, over dinner, that if I dont wish to worship God, then I should not partake of the food that God has created and that I should create my own food instead. In fact, he said, I should not breathe the air that God created, or drink the water, or even live in this planet. I should go, he said, create a world of my own and be my own Lord.
How do you defend yourself against such an argument? My dad, the lawyer, would rest his case, confident -or maybe hopeful- that he has driven his point solidly in his young son's mind.
Now that I am 31 I am getting scared. I am not scared of dying. I have resolved a long time ago that we can die anytime and I remind myself that everyday. What scares me is that I might have lived half of my life already and I have nothing to show for it.
My father died when he was about 65 years of age. (I say "about" because his people didnt have birth certificates. It was common to hear people say "Your brother was born before the great earthquake," or "When your father was born I was already this tall.") Prophet Mohammad (peace be upon him) was reported to have said that most of his people will live to be around 60. That those who will live beyond that would be few. He himself passed away when he was 64.
Of the 2o years or so that I am accountable, I may have lived only 2 years as religiously as I can. The rest I have lived in sin. I say 20 years because children below 10 or so, before they are old enough to know between right or wrong or make their own decisions for themselves, are not accountable. Some say those that die as babies or in childhood are lucky, they will go straight to heaven. I believe this to be true.
Still, as long as I am still alive there's that possibility that I might repent completely, cast aside these worldly things, and live my life as I promised God eons ago. God is the Most Merciful, the Most Gracious. And He forgives everyone who asks forgiveness sincerely.
God misguides and guides whoever He wills. I can only hope and pray that before I die I will be guided to the Straight Way, the way of those who God is pleased with, and not the way of those who are lost and have earned the wrath of God.
Simply said, the universe existed indefinite number of years before I was born, possibly it will exist an equal number of years after I die.
My father (may God rest his soul) used to rebuke me over dinner, during those years when I was younger and didnt fulfill my duties as a Moslem, namely praying five times daily. He would say that when my soul was still in heaven and before it was sent to this world, I made a vow to God that I will live my life in this world in utter obedience and servitude to Him. And that when I grew up, I have forgotten.
Of course I have forgotten, I didnt remember making that promise at all, but deep in my heart I believe that he was telling the truth.
He would conclude his lecture, over dinner, that if I dont wish to worship God, then I should not partake of the food that God has created and that I should create my own food instead. In fact, he said, I should not breathe the air that God created, or drink the water, or even live in this planet. I should go, he said, create a world of my own and be my own Lord.
How do you defend yourself against such an argument? My dad, the lawyer, would rest his case, confident -or maybe hopeful- that he has driven his point solidly in his young son's mind.
Now that I am 31 I am getting scared. I am not scared of dying. I have resolved a long time ago that we can die anytime and I remind myself that everyday. What scares me is that I might have lived half of my life already and I have nothing to show for it.
My father died when he was about 65 years of age. (I say "about" because his people didnt have birth certificates. It was common to hear people say "Your brother was born before the great earthquake," or "When your father was born I was already this tall.") Prophet Mohammad (peace be upon him) was reported to have said that most of his people will live to be around 60. That those who will live beyond that would be few. He himself passed away when he was 64.
Of the 2o years or so that I am accountable, I may have lived only 2 years as religiously as I can. The rest I have lived in sin. I say 20 years because children below 10 or so, before they are old enough to know between right or wrong or make their own decisions for themselves, are not accountable. Some say those that die as babies or in childhood are lucky, they will go straight to heaven. I believe this to be true.
Still, as long as I am still alive there's that possibility that I might repent completely, cast aside these worldly things, and live my life as I promised God eons ago. God is the Most Merciful, the Most Gracious. And He forgives everyone who asks forgiveness sincerely.
God misguides and guides whoever He wills. I can only hope and pray that before I die I will be guided to the Straight Way, the way of those who God is pleased with, and not the way of those who are lost and have earned the wrath of God.
Wednesday, September 23, 2009
Romantic, Not Hopeless
They call me sappy now. It used to be chessy, mushy, or plain corny. The last comment came from my friend Dj, who was my schoolmate in Davao 15 years ago who happens to be working in the same company with me.
Hs comment came after I pointed out that maybe the reason he' still single after all these years is that he still hasnt found that special person that he would chose to spend the rest of his life. Hence, I'm sappy.
Another friend said I'm a hopeless romantic. What does that mean, anyway? Three persons come to mind: Don Juan de Marco, Cassanova, and of late, Mr.Darcy ( but him, I haven't met personally). Then again I don't think myself in any way comparable to the three. So out comes my dear friend the always knowledgeable Ms. Webster and here's what she's got to say,
"romantic is an adjective. of or characteristic of romance. given to thoughts or feelings of romance. expressive of or conducive to love. imaginative but impractical."
Hmmm. that last description suits me just fine. But what of romance?
"romance is a noun. It means a love affair, a romantic involvement. Or a mysterious or fascinating quality or affair, like something adventurous. Also it can refer to a medieval narrative telling of the adventures of chivalric heroes. Or a story or film dealing with a love affair."
Oh that. I knew that. You mean chick flicks, dont you? But does romanticism always have to deal with love and emotion?
"Romanticism is an artistic and intellectual movement originating in Europe in the late 18th century and marked by emphasis on emotions & imajination, departure from classical forms and rebellion againts social conventions."
Wow. at least you can be romantic and intellectual at the same time.
In chess my favorite opening is the King's gambit, considered to be the most romantic chess opening of all time. It was popular centuries ago. Giving up the king's bishop pawn right at second move, the player throws caution to the wind and makes his intention known that he will raise an all- out attack against the opposing king, but not without risk to himself.
The opening and positions that result because of this move have been studied and analyzed exhaustively that nowadays very few players ever play it at top level competition. With correct play the defending king should be able to hold on to the pawn or exchange it for something that will turn the game to his advantage.
I think the king's gambit is considered romantic because it is a reminder of a bygone era, when players were willing to sacrifice evrything to bring the game to a quick and beautiful end. The attacking king is willing to give up a pawn, a knight or more in his attack. There's a big chance that the attack will not be successful and he will end up with so much material disadvantage that me will lose in the end, but he dosnt take heed. A gambiteer will have none of that defensive playing, waiting for the opponent to commit a mistake and accumulating small advantages. None of that careful tip-toeing that makes a chess match boring.
I guess i approach women the same way I play the king's gambit. I let my intentions show early on. I wear my heart on my sleeve, so to speak. And twice in my life that lead to beautiful relationships that left a deep and indelible mark on me. A girl and a young woman that will forever stay in my heart.
Many times too, it lead to heartaches and disappointment, of missed chances and unfathomable what-ifs. Thinking, did I rush too quickly? Could I have done differently and fared better? Knowing that if given that chance again I'll do the same. I cant help following the impulses of my heart.
So am I a hopeless romantic? Romantic, I'd say, but not hopeless. What's wrong with believing in fate, chivalry, and undying love? What's wrong with believing in magic when to people meet each other for the first time and giving love a chance to blossom? I think what's hopeless is hoping to find true love without taking any risk for yourself. Because loving means giving a part of yourself and when you do that there's always a chance that you'd get hurt.
As for me, win or lose, I'll have no regrets. They say its better to have loved and lost than never having loved at all.
Hs comment came after I pointed out that maybe the reason he' still single after all these years is that he still hasnt found that special person that he would chose to spend the rest of his life. Hence, I'm sappy.
Another friend said I'm a hopeless romantic. What does that mean, anyway? Three persons come to mind: Don Juan de Marco, Cassanova, and of late, Mr.Darcy ( but him, I haven't met personally). Then again I don't think myself in any way comparable to the three. So out comes my dear friend the always knowledgeable Ms. Webster and here's what she's got to say,
"romantic is an adjective. of or characteristic of romance. given to thoughts or feelings of romance. expressive of or conducive to love. imaginative but impractical."
Hmmm. that last description suits me just fine. But what of romance?
"romance is a noun. It means a love affair, a romantic involvement. Or a mysterious or fascinating quality or affair, like something adventurous. Also it can refer to a medieval narrative telling of the adventures of chivalric heroes. Or a story or film dealing with a love affair."
Oh that. I knew that. You mean chick flicks, dont you? But does romanticism always have to deal with love and emotion?
"Romanticism is an artistic and intellectual movement originating in Europe in the late 18th century and marked by emphasis on emotions & imajination, departure from classical forms and rebellion againts social conventions."
Wow. at least you can be romantic and intellectual at the same time.
In chess my favorite opening is the King's gambit, considered to be the most romantic chess opening of all time. It was popular centuries ago. Giving up the king's bishop pawn right at second move, the player throws caution to the wind and makes his intention known that he will raise an all- out attack against the opposing king, but not without risk to himself.
The opening and positions that result because of this move have been studied and analyzed exhaustively that nowadays very few players ever play it at top level competition. With correct play the defending king should be able to hold on to the pawn or exchange it for something that will turn the game to his advantage.
I think the king's gambit is considered romantic because it is a reminder of a bygone era, when players were willing to sacrifice evrything to bring the game to a quick and beautiful end. The attacking king is willing to give up a pawn, a knight or more in his attack. There's a big chance that the attack will not be successful and he will end up with so much material disadvantage that me will lose in the end, but he dosnt take heed. A gambiteer will have none of that defensive playing, waiting for the opponent to commit a mistake and accumulating small advantages. None of that careful tip-toeing that makes a chess match boring.
I guess i approach women the same way I play the king's gambit. I let my intentions show early on. I wear my heart on my sleeve, so to speak. And twice in my life that lead to beautiful relationships that left a deep and indelible mark on me. A girl and a young woman that will forever stay in my heart.
Many times too, it lead to heartaches and disappointment, of missed chances and unfathomable what-ifs. Thinking, did I rush too quickly? Could I have done differently and fared better? Knowing that if given that chance again I'll do the same. I cant help following the impulses of my heart.
So am I a hopeless romantic? Romantic, I'd say, but not hopeless. What's wrong with believing in fate, chivalry, and undying love? What's wrong with believing in magic when to people meet each other for the first time and giving love a chance to blossom? I think what's hopeless is hoping to find true love without taking any risk for yourself. Because loving means giving a part of yourself and when you do that there's always a chance that you'd get hurt.
As for me, win or lose, I'll have no regrets. They say its better to have loved and lost than never having loved at all.
Tuesday, September 15, 2009
Fools Rush In...
Was it just a dream? Did I see something that really wasnt there? I find it hard believe that It was just wistful thinking.
We believe what we want to believe, a famous thinker said.
Last Sundy I did something I havent done in a very long time. Yet I felt at ease, as if it wasnt something new. Like we've done this many times before. Like it was just what we've been doing at any given Sunday.
She even watched me play chess. Any other girl would probably chose to look for shoes or bags or any other trinkets that fascinate the fairer sex. And when she turned to go, I stood and walked away with her. Any other time I would have played until I have nothing left. Or until the place closes for the night. Any other time I would not have left at the heat of battle.
Yes,chess is a battle. Were kings imposing our will against each other. With outmost concentration we slaughter each other's wooden men until only one king is left standing. You either leave the table with victory or defeat that stays with you long after the game is over.
But that Sunday the outcome of the game didnt matter. As she turned to go and pray, I sent her a message, like a whisper borne by unseen electronic winds. "Include me in your prayers," I said.
As I rode towards the sunset to a dark room and a lonely bed, I wasnt feeling tired or weary as I should. I was feeling too good for that. I am just glad to be alive.
Everyone becomes a poet when love enters their heart, a famous thinker said. A cynic friend would say Love is such a big word. If I see him now I would tell him, Its not my fault God has sealed your heart.
We believe what we want to believe, a famous thinker said.
Last Sundy I did something I havent done in a very long time. Yet I felt at ease, as if it wasnt something new. Like we've done this many times before. Like it was just what we've been doing at any given Sunday.
She even watched me play chess. Any other girl would probably chose to look for shoes or bags or any other trinkets that fascinate the fairer sex. And when she turned to go, I stood and walked away with her. Any other time I would have played until I have nothing left. Or until the place closes for the night. Any other time I would not have left at the heat of battle.
Yes,chess is a battle. Were kings imposing our will against each other. With outmost concentration we slaughter each other's wooden men until only one king is left standing. You either leave the table with victory or defeat that stays with you long after the game is over.
But that Sunday the outcome of the game didnt matter. As she turned to go and pray, I sent her a message, like a whisper borne by unseen electronic winds. "Include me in your prayers," I said.
As I rode towards the sunset to a dark room and a lonely bed, I wasnt feeling tired or weary as I should. I was feeling too good for that. I am just glad to be alive.
Everyone becomes a poet when love enters their heart, a famous thinker said. A cynic friend would say Love is such a big word. If I see him now I would tell him, Its not my fault God has sealed your heart.
Wednesday, September 9, 2009
Morning Glory
There have been a lot ideas hanging around my head these past few days, but i havent found the time or the will to write something. Writing is a craft that needs practice, and I have been wanting in this aspect for a long time. I have to force myself into beginning this post & hopefully finish it.
Im in my second day of my morning shift, and while i welcome the chance of sleeping at night, I found it difficult to do so. More that 2 years of GY shift has made me into a daysleeper. Hopefully my body clock would adjust itself and make me sleep better at night.
I bought a book last Monday. Neil Galman's Smoke & Mirrors. I have been intrigued by this author for some time now. He's been described as literature's rock star and I know his work is similar to Stephen King's & Lovecraft's. Whilst I am not a fan of either one- I would rather watch a movie adaptation of a Stephen King novel, and I reading a collection of Lovecraft's short stories gave a headache with all his elaborate style of writing- I decided to buy the book because the author has been compared to Edgar Allan Poe, one of my favorite writers of all time.
Besides, I have an ulterior motive in doing so. I want to write my first book review have it published at www.helium.com The same website where the girl i met recently has been publishing her works.
I dont plan on writing as much as she does. My taste is quite different from hers. I grew up reading a staple of John Steinbeck, Ernest Hemingway & Poe. Which just shows how old I am.
Which brings to mind my conversation with my new supervisor. He was surprised to know that at one time I studied in the same university as he did.
"Really? What year?" he asked. I cant forget the look on his face when I told him 1995-1996. It turns out he was just still in grade school at that time. He was even more surprised to know that I've just turned 31. I looked younger than that, he said. Well, it wasnt always like that. When I was younger, people thought I was older. "But its good that now you're age matches your looks." I thought there was a compliment somewhere in that statement but it was lost in the peculiarity of the conversation. :-p
Ive been spending more time online now. And the first two websites I go to are farmville in facebook & the Girl's blog. Ive been leaving comments on her posts anonymously but I suspect she knows its me. Later on I will reveal my identity but for now Im just glad to have communication with her. Since she rarely returns my text messages.
My younger sister finally went home last Tuesday. Her vacation was extended for a few days after she missed her flight last Saturday. Naiwanan ng eroplano!!! I know that sounds funny but the additional expense & complications is not a laughing matter. She had to buy another ticket at a much higher rate & had to be absent from work since we only have flights thrice a week to our hometown.She was really upset by the situation & somehow my brotherly instincts were awakened. Hehehe. We spent hours in the internet until she was too tired to think about what happened. The next day we watched District 9. It was a good movie but I dont want to write about it. Besides, my pumpkins need harvesting.
Hopefully I get to sleep as soon as i get home. Its nice to know that I have my room all by myself again. I have really gotten used to living alone. And I say that without any tinge of sadness at all.
Im in my second day of my morning shift, and while i welcome the chance of sleeping at night, I found it difficult to do so. More that 2 years of GY shift has made me into a daysleeper. Hopefully my body clock would adjust itself and make me sleep better at night.
I bought a book last Monday. Neil Galman's Smoke & Mirrors. I have been intrigued by this author for some time now. He's been described as literature's rock star and I know his work is similar to Stephen King's & Lovecraft's. Whilst I am not a fan of either one- I would rather watch a movie adaptation of a Stephen King novel, and I reading a collection of Lovecraft's short stories gave a headache with all his elaborate style of writing- I decided to buy the book because the author has been compared to Edgar Allan Poe, one of my favorite writers of all time.
Besides, I have an ulterior motive in doing so. I want to write my first book review have it published at www.helium.com The same website where the girl i met recently has been publishing her works.
I dont plan on writing as much as she does. My taste is quite different from hers. I grew up reading a staple of John Steinbeck, Ernest Hemingway & Poe. Which just shows how old I am.
Which brings to mind my conversation with my new supervisor. He was surprised to know that at one time I studied in the same university as he did.
"Really? What year?" he asked. I cant forget the look on his face when I told him 1995-1996. It turns out he was just still in grade school at that time. He was even more surprised to know that I've just turned 31. I looked younger than that, he said. Well, it wasnt always like that. When I was younger, people thought I was older. "But its good that now you're age matches your looks." I thought there was a compliment somewhere in that statement but it was lost in the peculiarity of the conversation. :-p
Ive been spending more time online now. And the first two websites I go to are farmville in facebook & the Girl's blog. Ive been leaving comments on her posts anonymously but I suspect she knows its me. Later on I will reveal my identity but for now Im just glad to have communication with her. Since she rarely returns my text messages.
My younger sister finally went home last Tuesday. Her vacation was extended for a few days after she missed her flight last Saturday. Naiwanan ng eroplano!!! I know that sounds funny but the additional expense & complications is not a laughing matter. She had to buy another ticket at a much higher rate & had to be absent from work since we only have flights thrice a week to our hometown.She was really upset by the situation & somehow my brotherly instincts were awakened. Hehehe. We spent hours in the internet until she was too tired to think about what happened. The next day we watched District 9. It was a good movie but I dont want to write about it. Besides, my pumpkins need harvesting.
Hopefully I get to sleep as soon as i get home. Its nice to know that I have my room all by myself again. I have really gotten used to living alone. And I say that without any tinge of sadness at all.
Wednesday, September 2, 2009
To be a writer...
When i was younger i always wanted to be a writer. For a while i believed i had the talent to a good, if not great, writer. Back in high school i joined some contest and my teachers had praises for the depth of my writing. I remember one afternoon our English teacher instructed each of us to write a short poem in japanese style.5-7-5 syllables, he said.We were then given time to "find inspiration." At the end of the period we had to read our poems in front of the class. Our teacher gave me the best compliment when he asked me if he could keep my poem.
On the piece of paper i wrote:
Wind plays with my hair
Sitting in this empty room,
Quiet, all alone.
I did write for the school paper in high school and college, but somewhere along the way i lost the motivation to write. Until recently. I met a girl who reminded me so much of someone i knew in the past. Someone who was very close to me. Was it her looks? Maybe her quiet, boyish ways. Or maybe its her smile. Seems like her first reaction to evrything that happens around her is to smile. Its very rare to find a person like that nowadays. Her sweet innocence is like a breath of fresh air from the country when your choking from the polluted air of cynicism here in the city.
This girl turned out to be a writer, and I found her blogs a joy to read. She seems unaware of how special she is. Somehow I wanted to tell her that, but i am afraid my opinion of her wouldnt matter. Im just a stranger after all.
Maybe i should begin writing again. Maybe she will get to know me through my writing. Ah, I think ive found my inspiration.
On the piece of paper i wrote:
Wind plays with my hair
Sitting in this empty room,
Quiet, all alone.
I did write for the school paper in high school and college, but somewhere along the way i lost the motivation to write. Until recently. I met a girl who reminded me so much of someone i knew in the past. Someone who was very close to me. Was it her looks? Maybe her quiet, boyish ways. Or maybe its her smile. Seems like her first reaction to evrything that happens around her is to smile. Its very rare to find a person like that nowadays. Her sweet innocence is like a breath of fresh air from the country when your choking from the polluted air of cynicism here in the city.
This girl turned out to be a writer, and I found her blogs a joy to read. She seems unaware of how special she is. Somehow I wanted to tell her that, but i am afraid my opinion of her wouldnt matter. Im just a stranger after all.
Maybe i should begin writing again. Maybe she will get to know me through my writing. Ah, I think ive found my inspiration.
Saturday, July 25, 2009
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