money matters

My friend commented on how beautiful a Lexus car is.
I shrugged my shoulders and closed my eyes...
I have better things to think and daydream about -- like ice cream and chocolates and this hunk on the billboard with its 6-pack abs glaringly and sinfully inviting me to think provoking thoughts that will ensure my disinheritance if ever my mom develop the ability to read minds..
My head buzzed from it all, so daydreaming was cut short.

I looked at my friend and I looked at him closely. He is still beaming about this Lexus car who passed us by. Was it white? I forget.

My thoughts flying on his earlier comment..and came to a conclusion...
"rich men can be so boring sometimes"...
Only then did I realize that I was thinking aloud...
He heard me.
He looked at me briefly and breathed heavily.
He stopped talking.
"Damage control" in red neon lights flashing in my brain.
Ugh... now I have to make amends or i get booted out of the car...and I hate walking as much as I hate public transpo.

I opened my mouth and then tried to smile sheepishly...you know, that guilty smile you produce that looks more like of a sneer than a friendly gesture? it didn't help. He is still upset.

What I meant when I thought and stupidly said the statement is that, sometimes, people with money take better care over something that never loves them back. That's why they crave more attention,they are more emotionally unstable...and the more they get the more they need to have some more. They are insatiable.

They talk more about gadgets and gizmos but doesn't even have a clue about how to go about their personal relationships.
They know more the serial numbers of their engines rather than their anniversary dates.
They bank more on the bills they have compared to their emotional investment in friendships. They have more patience to read manuals rather than hear their partner's thoughts.
They'd rather break a marriage over properties rather than honoring their vows of "till death do us part".

They confuse people to be dispensable when its their "toys" are.
And they complain that they feel empty despite everything.
Isnt it obvious?
what would you expect?
you've built a whole relationship over material things that can neither talk or walk on its own, and you expect reciprocation?
you gave your all to something who can never give you anything expect maintenance receipts!

They spend millions over cars. Put too much attention to its details...but forget how to treat their drivers correctly.
Cars cannot reciprocate love...but drivers can offer loyalty.
but no, some prefer the perfect roar of the engine to that.
They are so proud of their mansions...and treat their furniture better than their helpers, not remembering the fact that their helpers make their houses, keep their beds, prepare their meals. A kind word is more than enough of a gesture to make them feel appreciated.
And loved workers respect their masters.

In a relationship, there should be the element of give and take...
Steel will always remain steel and will not develop arms to embrace you when you are cold. Wooden floors will not shift to keep you company when you feel at a loss.
Cars will not drive you to the emergency if you are in dire need of medical help.

but then again, friends and lovers can turn against you...but the uncertainty of it all give life a rush...and dynamo...a type of high that keeps you on your toes because you don't know what to expect...it's worth living when all your senses are heightened to a certain ride, be it good or bad...as there is no right or wrong in living it anyway...there is just monotony and surprises... why live in peace when all the dead are peaceful? You don't want to live your life the way it would be when you hit the grave right? (ok im rambling)

I'm not against having little vanities...I myself am vain with phones...
But the person on the other line have more weight than the mobile gadget.
what makes MY really phone special? someone special calls me...

so when i said, rich men are boring...
i meant...they are so used to caressing inanimate objects,
they sometimes treat you as one.
They forget you have your own opinion and gets surprised when you voice them out.
They forget that you do not have buttons to push and that one has a memory that keeps count of their mistakes.
They forget that unlike cars, we do not live on batteries and only god knows our expiration dates.
They get so stiff, that a sudden change of plans throw them off balance.
They are so used to hearing their own voice
that it startles they to hear somebody in the crowd can talk.
They panic when life takes a dive,
thinking everything is breakable when the only fragile thing in the basket is their ego.
They get confused when schedule is not on time.
They start to hate surprises.
And they talk about inanimate objects
its existence is the main reason why the world is beautiful.

Makes you wonder why.
Maybe it's because of how they live their lives, they actually have none?

of course there are exceptions...
and this is but a bias opinion. Feel free to sue me.

silent ode to the invisible.

My lips are numb.
My fingers are too stiff.
My eyes are dry.
My mind too weak to find excuses.
My spirit too disillusioned to even dream.

So this is how one feels when one is at a loss.
When one sees reality all too plainly.
When one gets stabbed with the sharp truth.

Can I ask for immunity?
From the pain?
From the mounting hurt?
From the fear that chokes?

Can I borrow?
a shallow laugh to wipe the tears away.
a hallow hug to make the burden a little lighter?
a reckless moment where I can run so I can chase my floating dreams.
a crayon to color the moments of solitude.
a longer sleep to oblivion to wash the nagging truth.

Can I, just for once... pass through walls?
...through people?
...through time?
to wander aimlessly...
to touch the stars...
to burn with the sun...
to laugh with the waves...
to conquer dragons...
to name new lands...
to create new worlds...

humming silence wanders across the room and beyond. Along with it is my roaming mind, chasing the red diaries of the sane, prevailing beyond the hateful reality of not being able to vanish upon will. All the while preparing the sheets... tying them together, making sure it is roped correctly, tied tightly to the window, as I prepare to jump to the little escape the world is offering.

Outside, I see no one familiar.
Outside, I will not be suffocated with lies that once drove me to madness.
Outside, no walls to abide and no bricks to scamper from...no cup to pour my blood on...no boxes to store my heart...No smoke to make me cry.

Outside...where there is nothing to hold on to and everything is new. Where the strings no longer has its magic and the words pure and true.

broken promise

a short story.

Back from my mom's abode and facing the pc again. It's not raining, but im shivering inside. Emotions that I cannot express are cartwheeling inside my chest and tummy. I want to laugh and cry at the same time. My fingers are stiff from these tumultuous feelings and my feet are cold.

I'm not the best partner in the world, I know. And certainly I'm not getting the "most romantic lover" award for the 2009. But when I love...I really love. And so when I hurt...I really get hurt.

I am scared to give myself wholly, he may not take care of it. I might be left with nothing when he leaves me. I anticipate rejection even before I open myself to the other. And all it takes is one serious mistake. One stupidity. One carelessness to burst my fantasy bubble. I always compare my relationships (be it romantic or not) to crystal glasses.When the glass breaks, you can always try to piece it up together...but it will never be the same. If it breaks, it breaks...and you get a new one.

I find it useless to risk cutting myself patching a sharp broken glass back together again...You cannot do it anyway...with tears in your eyes and numb fingers...with deafening silence that cuts your heart in two...what can you do with a tired soul and a bleeding heart? nothing. Not one useful thing.

murky waters

I find myself thinking about the brown muddy water one finds on a clay ground after a bashful of rain. I do not want to dwell on the reason why I suddenly felt the impulse of thinking such weird thoughts... as I am more pre-occupied of the feelings it creeps inside me whenever a picture of a puddle returns to mind.

No, I am not easily put off by dirt and nor do I squirm when I see mud. There have been times when the warmth of the wet earth between my toes soothed my aching feet and calmed my bruised soul as I faced an endless road with only my thoughts to keep me company. Where my companions are also busy keeping their shaky spirit sturdy as they wipe their brows with the back of their hand.

The thoughts of those long walk makes me smile and sigh at the same time. But the mud between my feet were alies... friend to the weary traveller... comforter of battered thighs and weathered bodies...

The golden color of the earth as it squish between my toes changes hues and everytime I try to look at my feet, I see more of the mud than of the flesh I am made of. But ashes to ashes, dust to dust -- or so the saying goes...aren't we all, in one form or another, as muddy and as dirty? just like the earth we step on?

When we take our last breath and our carcass thrown to the ground... after the last rite symbolizing our return to the womb of mother nature, don't we all crumble to become the same dust and mud we walk on? are we not every bit earthy as every bit of soil that makes up the earth we live in?

and so I tell myself, why feel uncomfortable of the thought of a muddy puddle?

I don't know.

It is one of those moments where we feel something we cannot explain. I bet you also had that experience of just feeling something strange,

like being happy without a reason,

feeling fear without knowing why,

feeling uncomfortable when there is no obvious reason to be so...

and you just do...

You don't ask why...

sometimes, you don't even stop to acknowledge the feeling...

happened so suddenly... so fast, that it throws you on a wheeling spree of emotions that only you could understand because YOU feel it.

But you understand and you don't understand at the same time. Coz you can't seem to find the right words to explain it... You cannot assign a language to verbalize it. And every attempt to verbally reconstruct that feeling you cannot explain always end in failure...you find it to be a feeble move...for to bottle something that is fusing profusely, knotting you almost is physical discomfort, even to the brink of pain...to bottle something that makes you wanna explode...is just an impossibility...

and so you end up frustrated. You feel alienated from the people you want to share it with. Misunderstood by the few who tried to reach out... Everyone feeling disappointed and useless.

And so when you feel that confusing mixture of feelings, that cartwheeling emotions that threatens to destroy your little comfortable bubble... you tend to keep quiet.

Lost in your own thoughts. Drowned in your silence. Overwhelmed by the experience... Regretting your inability to patch others in the moment. Disappointed how they cannot get to you.

You feel alone but not lonely.

You become tired but somewhat satisfied.

You become fearful, because the unknown always bring the fear in us.

Surprises, good or bad,and that uncertainty of feeling and not feeling, knowing and not knowing, living and not existing. Of being fearful and intrigued, of being bashed and battered and feeling satisfied despite of it all, always make our hearts jump.

Just as the muddy water and the thought of it splashing as a pair of feet steps on it makes me hold my breath, I find myself bathed in this crazy experience of finding and not finding -- not that I know what it is that I am not looking for in the first place.

A splash of mixed and construed emotions that makes me want to run for the fear of being mad. But for sure, I haven't lost my mind (or have i?)...although, it is a possibility that it was my mind who have lost me.

Incapable of understanding the moment I am in and the experience I find myself swimming in the middle of, could it be that it decided to leave me behind to wander off towards normal things it can grasp on?

Like me, my mind fears everything it cannot understand.

Everything it cannot accept just cannot be true... or so it insists.

Until proven...sanity must be grounded on a level whereby it can be defined, determined, dissected and discussed.

The swirl of emotions and the shock of understanding and not understanding, of feeling and not feeling, and merger of being there but not really existing...is...like groping in a deep puddle of muddy murky brown water.

You instantly fear, you suddenly think about things you normally wouldn't think about...after all, you do not know what vile things plagues the bottom and the bottom, you can only feel but not see.

You y try to guess knowing you cannot fully know.

You grope and you shiver with excitement of promised unspoken adventures as your mind opens a chest of treasures of endless possibilities while it dictates that the unknown almost always cannot be trusted.

The mind will step on it, just as the pair of feet will put its weight on the brown slimy soil... splashing the brown water sideways, parting the earthy paste...but no matter how many times the feet tries to part it, it seeps back to its place in the earth. Just as the mind might try to discern, dissect and understand, the confusion of having contradictory emotions will always find a way to throw the balance of our once stabel thoughts.

The mind, like the feet, may try to feel the warmth the murky muddy earthy confusion of the moment offers... but neither can stand eachother for so long.

No, the feet can only stand the mud for so long before it starts to itch, before it starts to look for the fresh refuge of water... And no, it doesnt matter that they are of the same composition. It doesnt matter that the feet that moves in the muddy puddle is made of the same earth the brown slimy mud is made of...

So no, the mind might feed from the mixture of emotions and experiences it receives, sharpening its understanding of how to go through the world...but just as the feet would shake the muddy existence of the brown earth off it, the mind will find a way to construct a sane explanation of things and feelings that it is confronted with...It will try to shake off the confusion and disturbing emotions unti it succeeds.

yes, until it shakes off that uncertainty of feeling and not feeling, knowing and not knowing, living and not existing. Of being fearful and intrigued, of being bashed and battered and feeling satisfied.

Don't ask me why.

It's just feels so.

It just seems right that way.

For it is also not right for mud to overly fester on the feet, nor do abstract emotions to forever distract the sanity of thought...

That's how things are.

It just is.

ask me.

Rain is heavy and is making me more reflective than usual. 

Heavy rains do that.  I like the pitter patter rythm it creates as I silently hum it inside my head.  and yes, as usual, I stare at my wall to the point of almost burning a hole into it.  

I am twenty-five and as I look back in my life, I've pretty much accomplished what I wanted to accomplish.  In fact, I always get what I want, despite the complicated chains of relationships and choices that I tie myself with.

So what else do I want? 

 What is there to do? 

What am I to do with my life?

I could easily answer those -with a quick, superficial, and thoughtless reaction in verbal translations.  It is so easy to get carried away and in the course of answering those questions -- it is, as always, so easy to forget the reason of asking them in the first place.

but --- what is the REAL question?

am I asking myself the right ones?   

Am i concerning myself with the issues that must be prioritize? 

is it worth it?

Four years of Philosophy  -- and still, critical thinking on my part requires effort.  

The convenience of common understanding and stock social definitions are so conveniently within reach that I have to disengage myself - and disengage so in a very frustrating way to be effective even in my personal reflections.  

My prejudice of things and the past knowledge that I have - both voluntarily and involuntarily - acquired is just making it hard for me to see things in its naked truth.

And so with my life as I question it, I cannot help but look back and define me with my past experiences and choices --- but is that all there is to me and my life? 

Am I to be defined by my past and is hopelessly bound to be molded through and through by my future? 

Will I always be an unfinished present project of the universe-- wrecking havoc and change as I grow and consume life the way I am doing so right now? -- or am I, really?

In college, I've dreamt of social change and I've worked for it through my arts.  I've learned to bend my body to adjust to the social curriculum of my community.  I've learned to flick my fingers at the beating of the drum as I find my rythm and balance in this social dance I was born into.  And as I listen to the music, as I watch the people gaping and in awe with my movements, as I felt the hot lights burning my skin... I noticed that they cannot see beyond the stage.  

They loved my dance but they do not care to understand what it is for. 

They follow my steps but stays only with the groove they are familiar with.  

Anything new, anything strange -- anything they do not know -- they see as dangerous.

And as the beat became faster, the steps harder, and the actions more complicated -- they didn't care to follow.  They stayed in their comfort zone, smiling and clapping -- but nonetheless disengaged at the experience, not caring to join -- not bothering to step in, promising support -- but always at a distance -- feigning sympathy, pretending to know with their textbooks in hand, with memorized theories... with complicated research citations...

How can you understand the rythm of hunger if you haven't experienced starvation? How can you say you know how it feels to be poor when you have an abundant life?

How can you say you care -- when in your eyes -- all you see are strangers doing even stranger things.

Yes, some changes happened -- some social shake here and there that rocked the arrogant struture and composition of certain institutions.  but then again -- it was but a little pebble that created a series of ripples in the pool of tears... 

My performance has come to an end -- and as the lights died down...as I took my bow, as I see them leave -- I found my dance to be shallow -- and I found myself asking -- "did I do the right thing?"

All these doubts -- all these concerns--- all these questions, for a certain, cannot be answered on my own.  Like the rain, it needs the earth to catch it. The water needs to kiss the soil, to flow within the roots of every tree, to be savored by every being, to round the grounds back and forth till it evaporates itself to become it once was...a dripping liquid phase of life.

one's questions  must then be like rain. 

fluid and ever flowing...

because -- Baseless questions can hurt the soul.

Unanswered queries can burn the mind. 

the Wrong type of asking  can only bury one in doubt... 

Redundant ones hardens the heart...

So what do I want? Where do I begin? What to do? 

**Looking -- waiting -- so far -- no answers are in sight.

*Sigh.

I love you but I don't really have to like you, right?

It's a classic. You fall in love with someone you would never ever thought of loving.

what's that line? over my dead body. 

well, in this case, he just stepped over your corpse...coz you already died when he flashed you that smile that made you curl your toes as you heart was melting.

he is just so wrong for you...huh?

he is everything you wouldn't put in your wanted-boyfriend ads -- 

and the way he limps when he walks, you'd think he is drunk! 

and his hair is always too long and messy!

and he has the expression that you just want to slap off his face...

BREAK!!!!

it's kinda annoying isn't it?  To hear a friend talk over and over again over how lame this one guy is. Or what a jerk  he might be. What a big loser he is with his friends...and gosh, have you heard of the girl he kissed last night? she is soo into telling you how she hates this guy that she never notices that -- all SHE talks about is him.

and so you drop hte million dollar question -- "do you like him"

classic answer would be -- a surprised expresion, hands flailing, eyebrows being raised and a firm - NO! of course not.

inside I scream ---  "then why is it that all we talk about is him?!"

makes you laugh right? she is falling for him and she doesn't even know it.

but its almost always the case with us girls, we end up wanting the one thing we swore to never put in our "ideal man" list... we scratch their faces off our own little world, never wnating to write his name -- and then-- tadaaa!! we end up signing a marriage contract instead waaahhhh!

No I'm not talking about my love story here. God know my own story is sooo crooked and messy, you'd end up wanting to drown yourself, rather than read and suffer the irony of my life. Not that it is that much of a suffering...it's more of following an idiotic sense when common sense should have prevailed.  

Hey! it's not easy being me you know, so back off -- I'm sure you have your own sob story hidden somewhere between your armpits...all i have to do is make you raise your arm and tickle you. kuchi kuchi kuchi.

anyways. what about this friend of mine? oh I'll call her later and pretend to listen while i have my earphone on the other ear. 

It's always the same old lines. I just like hearing her voice. It is sort of a comfort, regardless of the fact that all i get is almost always a replay of complaints and subliminal i-love-him messages. 

I don't have to like the guy to listen to his story...I love my friend enough...and I like hearing her rant. Something I can use against her when the need arises hahahaha! she has the right to remain silent-- and nope, she aint using that right...tsk tsk tsk.

anyways...  is it really possible to love someone you can't even like?

like is a relative word, right? could it be that you like him but your dislike of his personality is just a scale higher, thus highlighting hate more?  

i mean, there are certain relationships that displays that...like me and my mom.  There is no doubt I love my mom and I mean the world to her... if I get hurt, she'd die for me --- but sometimes, I know for a certain, that although she'd lay her life for me, there are times when she'd be willing to get an axe to chop my head off... 

Thank God,  sanity prevails...or is it the deficiency of the moment? (we don't have an axe sharp enough to cut ** ain't i lucky o.0  - sheeesh).

It's a love and hate relationship.

Even with my bestfriend.  who is sooo stupid and insecure "he" would wage war with his current partner --and guess what, I get to be blamed for it, becuase duh, i'm the only one who is close enough to the partner and her...waaah!

that's why, I didn't talk to her for months. I don't wanna be in the middle of a war where my only mistake was to be strategically positioned in middle! 

they throw bombs and they gun eachother! guess who ends up dead? me!

i get to catch all the bullets becuase I am within the firing range...drat! my ass hurts!!! and to think her partner is not really doing anything. she would say things and ask her about stuff that irks her...because it is really annoying to be asked stoooooooopid questions. 

At First, I tell my bestfriend... leave her alone!!!! i can't have you on her ass while I am working with her! nope -- "HE" doesn't listen..hooookay... FINE! I teach the  girl to turn off her phone if my bestfriend becomes too annoying...hahahahah! 

then they end up fighting becuase the stooopid bestfriend gets the wrong message, the girl hears a different thing because my bestfriend twists my sentences!!!! blah. blah. blah....

wait a minute! this aint my problem!...shyet.

 so i excused myself and dropped them both off to the floor to take care of their own asses -- i've underestimated them ....coz they are now doing very well on their own *laughs 

but yeah, my bestfriend irks me to the point of making me want to commit murder. But we are both different. and we do not necessarily have to laugh at eachother to know we have eachother. If i axe my bestfriend's head, and somebody out of sheer pity helps me, I'd turn to axe him down becuase he axed my bestfriend -- he has no right to do that! 

yeah... That's how sick our relationship is. 

and so this thingie with my friend that is somewhat annoying because she can't stop talking about this guy she doesnt like? nah! it's peanuts. 

If she asks me for advice, I'd tell her to go ask him on a date and then tell me how horrible it was **grins.  but of course -- over her dead body.

  

Holy Week for the 'erehes' like me.

No - I'm not Catholic - but I am, oh so feeling the "Holy Week".

Not that my days are are really cheerful.  Despite the perky, bubbly, and happy-go-lucky attitude -- I am a homebuddy.  I have no problem with being in the four corners of my BEDROOM for endless days -- so staying home and roaming THE HOUSE is not really that much of an issue here... well, yeah a little bit -- I'd rather be in the bedroom... (I know, I'm pathetic -- I dont need you to know that).

Back to the Holy Week thing -- I am so feeling it because almots everybody seems to be pre-occupied with-- well recounting their sins.  But now that I am thinking of it-- I'm not sure. well, 

Haller...Holy week is about asking for forgiveness  -- thus the word REPENT is apt... not REMINISCE.  

Sheeesh. I have weird friends...they are borderline crazy! -- it's good that I'm only pathetic... ehehe!

hookay  - aside from my friends remembering their sins and not being sorry about it..the next subject to tackle at hand is the issue of Ate Neng's mom-- who is almost 6o years old-- and the reason that drove to her to runaway.  

Now, I am 25, but I do know the advantages of swallowing sermons, letting the hurtful words pass the right ear only to let it exit on the other ear... and having a nice bed to sleep in to cry my woes in silence...

Running away is a very tempting option...but never ever the most beneficial choice.  

In fact, it benefits you nothing but mosquito bites on the street, maybe a near-rape experience (mostly for girls -- hey -- gays can be really strong too, guys!), not to mention humiliating looks from strangers- coz you look like shit.  

Ever faced a mirror after you've cried your heart out? 

It makes you wanna cry more huh? 

Your heart is hurting and your face looks like someone scratched poison ivy on it.  The world is just too cruel.  Life is good at aiming where it really hurts, it just doesnt stop at your heart, it leaves a mark on your face -- that makes me think, nobody really died of heart attack looking beautiful. 

Damn! can you imagine a very vain person, who've invested thousands and thousands or pesos in perfecting their appearance only to die looking funny and weird?  It's like grooming your whole day for that one preformance of your life to look bad... 

and do you know what they put in the dead person's lips to make it look as if they are smiling? its EPOXY -- nope, Vicky Belo, will not be anywhere near a dead person for botox... sorry, Formaline is the standard agent to use to preserve your carcass.

Oh well, it's a good thing dead people don't walk like regular people -- nyehehe...Anyways, as we all cannot avoid to cry -- let's just avoid the mirror, shall we?

Now - where were we? oh! looking like shit and being in the streets -- well, you can avoid strangers by staying put, but if you are really adamant in leaving home, you can try putting make up on before running away- although we did have a talk about avoiding the mirror so that wouldn't work either -- you'd still look like shit...but with make up on...sorry.

But running away, in some cases might be the best option -- if and only if --

1.  you are a battered wife

no reason to stay and be a punching bag, I;m sure you'd be happier as a bag lady in the streets somewhere...

2. you are in the midst of flesh-eating neighbors

either there is something wrong with you -- or you're neighbor(s) - you don;t want to take chances with you;re neighbor-- after all, you know yourself (or something... i hope...)

3.  or you're wife caught you cheating... 

In regards to number 3 -- well, you do know that you can run but you can never hide right? either way, you're dead -- may the force be wiht you and may you get the purple sword of This-Jedi- that- was-SHAQ- in- this- other- movie when u most needed it. Good Luck and hope you don't get caught on the day Catholics consider as the day where the christ is dead... The best day would Christmas, where the joyful cheer is abundant and forgiving is a must.

Oh, this relationship thingie reminds me of the reason why Te Neng's mom ran away.  The issue was her eldest son and his wife is on a marital battle that might end up in a separation.  I can't seem to figure out what is her part here, aside from the fact that she is THE mother.

Oh well, what do I know about these things... nothing really =P 

Have a peaceful holy week everyone. Do the world a favor - Be good =P

my apologies for the not so holy thoughts this week.

of pink taxis, emergencies and the salted people of the earth

tell me about borderline insanity.
This week is just plain crazy. It started in a pace in rhythm with excitement of promised adventures and peaks of another reality of existence only to be greeted by the angel of death with its kiss of bursting pain and discomfort -- both physically and emotionally. It's peck on the cheek delivered the same expected promises of another calibre.

It involves a jet plane ride of the unconscious.
A transfer of plans.
An entrapment in the four white prison walls located amidst the busy chanting of the sick and the wounded.
It swirled to the joyful humming of the nth floor, an excitement that proved too much that it ended with bitter words and careless decisions.

But the moment was captured and now it is frozen in time inside the hourglass of each player's mind as each replays what went wrong and what went wayward as each licks its own wound -- wishing that the soul heals with each stroke of the doctor as he cleans the wound the angel of death planted.

It's been a long trying week for each.

He writhes in pain and seeks oblivion in sleep, or in his drugged consciousness and irregular moans...

The other tries to find her peace in her solitude as she silently sheds her tears of fear and angst.

For her, to be trapped is never a problem...but to be out of reach and be trapped in a solid world of warm blankets and cold drinks is a matter she cannot understand as she concerns herself with the reality she has to face.
A reality she didn't expect.
A reality that pushes her away as it needfully sends it hands for help.
A reality that says one thing but does another.
A reality that possesses a soul hungry for attention and time -- always needing to be emotionally fed and always longing to be comforted.

Drained and confused...tired and almost unconscious of the reality she is in, everything becomes surreal, everything becomes doubtful, everything starts to spin...and with the other's big round eyes, he unkonowingly pushed her wheel to the maximum, as he leaned to take her hand, trying to comfort her with his hold while moaning his great agony to the world...

but the spinning of the events was too fast for him to grip that his big saucer eyes lost focus...it got dizzy and it turned to chew on its own kind.

Now time has made so that by daylight, the spinning stops, and as each recovers from the dizzying effect of the ride they thought they could handle, Morning stepped in and stretched...tearing the two beings apart...making sure they never hurt eachother again.

The sun ushered her towards the pink taxi, with its wheels ready to run to take her home as the stars promised the other a salted comfort during the night...

boundaries

by felixspencer2 (taken from flickr)

the boundaries of having no boundaries is to know how far one can go about running the fields without going insane.

we are so set to put a barricade of contradictions in everything we do because we always expect things to stop sooner or later. But what if the stop to occur has no direct relation to the boundaries we set?

Thinking all the while that boundaries and limits help us regulate the stop we are expecting to occur, when in fact, it is the manifestation of fear to go out beyond what we do not understand.

Thus, the stop we are expecting is but an illusion and excuse to set ourselves in our comfort zone because we fear to go and explore that which we find strange...worse...things we cannot control.

One example would be the fact that we define ourselves.

Who am I.
What makes me ME?
and what makes me different?

So obssessed we are in defining ourselves and setting a different character to be identified from the commonalities of the human race.

I am myself. I am beyond what you think of me. I am more than what you see. I am more than a product of my relationships and decisions. I have a certain quality higher than that you percieve me to have.

Yet in my moment of confusion and anger, I see myself acting against the set of rules I have conveniently fenced around me.

That is definitely me.
But I see no one doing it aside from that shell that bore my face.

Is that me?
But it goes against the set of character I've learned to fence myself around with.

Can it be me? I would have known... I am myself. and on goes the debate...

We become trapped within the limits we set ouselves with... forgetting that we could easily lift it. That with one blow and it topples like cards...

so set me a boundary...
map me out and find me, like a rat, sniff my way out.

aut viam inveniam aut faciam

There are things that are opposite to eachother but are utterly inseparable...but the world has a unison of the differences that overlaps eachother.

In order not to get lost, we map ourselves certain lines of what is and what is not. But we often forget that the dichotomy of life, though real, is never hindering and it never will. Differences are just that, differences, they are not barricades, nor are they walls to alienate the world or the people around us.

And even with boulders positioned so that we may limit ourselves in terms of co existing and interacting, so we may preserve a certain sanctuary -- too sacred for others to insert themselves in...Trancendence is what we do best.

We draw the lines so we do not get lost as we live in this complicated world. But the lines are but imaginary. And the lines vary according to the map maker...

but the the lines can only do so much as bound those who've forgotten how boundless life can be.

so take me and ill show you how it is to be me.

imperfectly perfect

in a daze but not confused.
the feeling is like seeing twisting colors in round soft marshmallows as it melts in soft gooey mush.
it's like being softly pushed and pinched...not hurting but rushes the heart to beat three times faster.
it's smells like chocolates and mint at the same time.
it's is as smooth as a pebble in a stormy cruel water.

you aim to clasp it but it slips right through your fingers.
you have a notion that you own it but you can never openly mark it as yours.
it's like knowing a secret you know you'd carry with you down the grave...

it's tearing you apart.
it's warming you up.
it's makes you frown in a minute.
but can quickly jest you up in a second.

and as you feel the smooth caress of it's reality on your skin.
as you feel the dampness of your forehead being wiped.
you wish...that time would stop...
closing your eyes, pretending it did...
laughing softly at the irony of it all

so how can you say goodbye?
to something u do notunderstand?
to someone you do not know?
to a situation too fast to follow?

it never really stopped to kiss you hello
but it stole a fraction of your eternity
occupying your mind with questions you cannot ask.

it's like watching the rain pour down
as you melachonly think about the soft closing of the door
trying not to think about the footsteps u hear...
pretending that your thudding heart is nothing but an echo of an imagination.

see me now.

so what am i accountable for?
in this life of ruins where people are taught to wait for a tomorrow that never really comes.

what am i to fear? when I can only speak for myself and everything else becomes what i want it to be.

what am i to ask?
when I do not know what really makes me happy.

What is happiness anyway?

absurdly treading this part of my life where I've become a warrior of many things. But battles being fought for people you find special are very hard to do -- especially when they themselves are letting themselves get caught to be killed.

I tried so hard to design my life to please others while i secretly sneak out to glutton over things that i find enjoyable to kill my time.

But It's always the same.

Year after year.

Old Friends.
New Friends.
Young.
Old

Day after day, I still get impatient with the same old routine even with new faces to bear.
i find it a burden to hear people in ways where they find themselves unhappy of the state they are in.

But I cannot forever extend myself.

I cannot forever keep the basin of loneliness i feel because i do not find it in myself to walk away from the miseries of others.

I am in no way soft hearted.
I am not sentimental either.

However, I find it disturbing to see people getting stuck in that part of their lives and seeing that they don't even know it.
but it seems as if I am most apt to destroy characters, but then again, one can only destroy that which is brittle.
That's why when one locks to destroy, one focuses on nothing but the weaknesses.

so what am i to do?
I bang the wall, to find if it is sturdy enough.
It stands tall still...My wall is as strong as ever, but that never stopped me from banging a hole. Sooner of later, it will crumble...if that happens, what then?
will that make me realize?
what will that make me?

but what are they doing?
i am confused. i get lost just as i tangle within the sheets of my mind.
are they thinking what i'm thinking?
do they know that i am but a shell of confusing characters, trying to get hold what reality is all about...

excuse me...but do you know me?
because i've been looking for answers but until now, i cannot find one.

I become the people i am with.
that's why whenever i find myself alone, i find it hard to fit in.
i become the wall i am stuck with when no one is around.
mute.
hard.
cold.
forever an unwilling witness of other people's lives.
eternally immovable.
carefully listening.
vibrating with secrets.
basking in silence.
carefully waiting for the right moment...

picking myself apart - literally...

So when was the last time i blogged about anything? i can't remember.

why am i blogging today? simple.

My nose hurts, my hand hurts...and I am to blame.

Rather than scratch my nose so that it bleeds again -- it is bleeding for almost two weeks now, or take a pin to poke my hand because i don't want to scratch my nose, I'd rather write about how I want to scratch those two parts and how I won't because I might end up losing a nose...or worse - growing another one. waaaahhhh!

blame my ever so curious self. I once remembered my dad telling me that I'm like a monkey...I like to poke and pin and re-arrange stuff - just because. No -- I'm not a neat freak...I'm just --- oh well...what's the word? annoying. hahaha

I annoy people.That's what I noticed.hahaha!

I don't purposely annoy them. They purposely annoy themselves by occupying their time on looking and deciphering me and what i do.

My assistant is annoyed to see me poking my nose...He noticed I have moved from in front of the mirror for almost half a day now. He did pointed out the fact that my nose is already bleeding and that poking it more will surely be a big step towards infection. The toothpick is not helping either, nor the toner on my left hand will do better to salvage me from picking myself apart -- literally.

Now you see, it all started with me, brushing my hand on my nose. Then I felt a bump...hmmm...a pimple...then I rushed to the mirror...couldn't see it, but definitely can feel it...hmmm...poke it with my finger...with my nail...with a pin...and two weeks later, its become a pool of blood and skin...and everything in between.

Does it hurt? not really...

is it addictive - super yes.

I can't sleep without checking if it's healed already...and before i know it...I'm pokign it open again...just so I could feel that pricking sensation of lifting a part of the scab...

I'm hopeless.

I need someone to save me from myself...but nobody is sick enough stop me... it's because I end up poking their faces in the end. Trying to get that pesky blackhead I see...or I'd be scratching to just woggle the white heads I feel...anything...it's an addiction I find myself hooked into these days...and I have to stop. It's not productive and it's making me cranky!!!! coz i look like i jsut had a noselift and the stitches on the side got infected. huhuhu...it would have been funny if it's not my nose we are talking about....waaaahhh!!!

but that doesn't stop my friends from laughing.... arrrggghhhh!!!! =P

Gambling and mental sharpness

My nephew, a registered nurse, and a computer science graduate (yes, the tendency to take multiple courses runs in the blood) took an exam to be poker dealer for PAGCOR. Well, He took an exam to be nurse for PAGCOR and he passed --- that is not the point. PAGCOR was also giving out tests, all math-related...and if you passed, you get to be a dealer. Now why the heck do u want to be a dealer? simple, aside from the tips you get, the salary is basically higher than that of the nurse's. What's the catch? you have to pass the test first. Easy? sure, you just have to mentally calculate complicated mathematical equations. Perfect. and oh, my nephew failed...along with the whole batch who took the test. *ahahaha! Not a very bright bunch...

we get to laugh at it because the whole group failed...if he was the only one who failed...I would not have laughed as much as I did, I'd be plotting to murder him because of the disgrace he's brought to the family.

Ironically, we are a family of accountants. My dad, my three 3 brothers, my sisters, not to mention my in laws. We had an accounting firm and I see people of great skill in math coming in and out of the house everyday...Sadly their genius on numbers did not rub on me...or on my nephew.

My dad and his friends also has this monthly casino thingie that they do for charity. I never was able to attend those...well, mingling with people who cannot hear you is not fun, so I was not motivated... (nyehehehe)

Anyways, I stumbled on an online casino thingie -- ooops, i didn't know that, never thought that online casinos are existing... I mean, I've seen stuff and I've seen advertisement, but never really thought it as a huge thingie...wow...I got lulled at how complicated it is. Click on the link to see what I mean. They have instruction and manuals that makes me wanna say waaaahhhh!!!!

It looks fun though , and i got into browsing it and stuff...and got dizzy for a moment.

One thing I noticed though is that, gambling, whether its online or not, creates a great requirement -- one must be a genius in mental calculations. I used to look at people gambling as something weird, but the inner workings of the game and the brain ticking behind their very composed posture is something I did not expect to be very sharp.

It's not actually a matter of luck, but a matter of being able to calculate your opponents "cards" by studying his throws and his expression and posture. That's why, they sit still, expressionless, and more like a statue than a player, because every sense of given emotion and expression is actually a variable for them to understand what numbers you may have in front of you. of course...this is no mental telepathy, and this is not really that accurate, but isn't math also about probabilities?

as the chinese say, they don't try their luck...they gamble. Pretty accurate in terms of how we're supposed to face the future, right?

Please nod. Perfect. It's not a matter

Drinking Coffee the Kangaroo Way...

Books & Brew with a special dropping in between...

Hopped my way towards this new coffee shop at Tionko last night, and was hopping excitedly with a promise to taste this "Kape Balos" that Kangaroo Coffee Company is now offering, is making my left eye twitch... Kape Balos or Kape Alamid, as it is more widely known, is something I've heard of a few years ago but I never really had the chance to taste it.

When I reached the place, it was buzzing...so many people. It's my first time at the Kangaroo hole and I heard it's new, but I never expected it to be very busy.

The ambiance was nice...the people friendly (don't ask the guard though, he will just answer you with a one word: ha?) ^.^

The best thing about this place is that it offers books for you to read.

Heartbroken? read the inspirational books, tired and depressed? grab the self-help books. They tend to keep the reading light but something that will make the customers feel good.

Books and coffee shops have long been partners but this is the first coffee shop that I've seen here in Davao that offers books. Reminds me of Border, a bookstore in Singapore, cool place,...and they won't bother you if you read and read...problem is, it is so big you wouldn't know where to start...

Anyways, this is a cool concept, it brings not only coffee lovers together but intellectuals as well... So the place becomes alive with discussions and stuff, this type of setting will sooner or later gather an interesting pool of people with various talents, opinions, and perspective...

Soon people will come to this place not because of the coffee but because this place has become a part of them in terms of their learning process with coffee drinkers as their peers and the couches and tables as their collective space. The place, if properly managed and allocates time to providing a venue for intellectual growth will flourish not as a business establishment but as a second home with with friends as clients.

service with a smile

Hehehe! Not that I have a very interesting social life but if ever I am to have a life, I'd rather socialize with people I'm comfortable with in a place I find cozy...And it's always the people the creates the atmosphere...So when I drink my fair share of coffee, cafe latte in particular -- well more of milk with a little coffee --- and someone says something funny, that forces me to laugh unexpectedly making the liquid to come out of my nose --- I'd rather have it trickle down in front of people who will laugh with me ... Fortunately (or unfortunately, whichever is apt) I don't belong to the group of coffee drinkers who periodically experience spasm and epileptic attacks if their daily dose of coffee was not met...

Wait, Why was I in Kangaroo in the first place?

OH, KAPE BALOS -- Civet coffee, Kape Alamid --- o

Oh, did I mentioned that i hopped in a few minutes late?(what's new huh?)...when i reached our table i saw Blogie and Kuya Migs, Bob Martin and his adorable wife Feyma. The KULIT Tandem - Chattee and her shaolin monk who clicks on his cam as if there is no tomorrow-- arrived a few minutes later.

photography by Chattee

THE COFFEE. Kape Balos is Kangaroos' edge against other coffeeshops. Believe me, this coffee is one heck of a coffee. It is interesting and I don't only mean the flavor...but let me start with that....

The FLAVOR: I find Kape Balos strong for my taste, but then again I'm the One-cup-of milk-with-coffee-please-girl, you know... I'm proud to say that I didn't faint and even had more than one cup --- but generally speaking, it was not strong , The strength is dependent on the saturation, i think (correct me if i'm wrong)... You can, I think, request for stronger brews to give your palate the flavor it is looking for.

I've noticed that almost all coffee lovers are also weirdos who like stronger brews aside from them being aroma freaks...I know someone who brews his coffee so strong that the mere sniff of it makes me faint... It is so saturated that if you serve it in a wake, it would push the dead to get out of the coffin, drag its carcass around, just so he/she could slap you (wala nay mu-abuloy kung makuyapan pud ang nibisita tungod sa kape hahah!)..

Going back, the beans was roasted well,thus, no burnt or bitter aftertaste, and the taste becomes better after every sip. Interestingly, the taste doesn't change -- you know how the taste of coffee changes when you drink it first and then you eat something, and then you take a sip again? In this case, the food enhances the taste of the coffee without altering it... Expect it to be musty and with rich jungle undertones).

Kuya Migs noted how it goes well with the (Chamomile?) tea.

As for the aroma...it is chocolatey ( i love chocolates kaya 2 thumbs up sa aking ang kapeng ito!), elegantly bold but not heavy handed, kinda nutty (i think)... It was served without sugar and cream, you can put some if you like, but try drinking it first without the sweeteners, you'd be surprised.

Anyways, Kape Balos is not suited to be served everyday. The dead will die again if you do so... why? it's so freakin expensive you'd have a stroke.

Estimated to be commercially priced around P10,000 (yes, ten thousand pesos) for half a kilo (yes, you read it right, tunga ra sa kilo), when I heard of it last 2003, it was priced around $600 per pound.

Kape Balos or Kape Alamid as it is widely known is actually the most expensive coffee in the world. Kangaroo offers a it for Php300 a cup -- expensive? not really, in other places, people are actually paying $50 a cup.

If you find the price interesting, wait till I tell you how it's made...hehehe!

In case the word Balos or Alamid is a word not part of your vocabulary, let me then happily inform you that those are words pertaining not to the finest arabica ( Liberica or Exelsa) coffee beans that this expensive coffee is made of.

Balos or Alamid is the proper name of a wild feline, nocturnal by nature and is an expert in sniffing the ripest and sweetest coffee cheries to glutton over.

musang.civet.alamid.

No, the alamid or musang is not being used to find the best coffee cherries the way a hound dog is slaved over to locate a prey...One harvests the coffee by picking the droppings of the creature...You can read the last line again, I wouldn't mind ;D

Indigenous Tribesmen from the mountains of Matutum gather the Civet's droppings early in the morning, most likely before the sun would rise... they'd clean it, then roast it, and then make coffee out of it...mmmm...yummy. hehe! ;D

Why the heck would people pay so much money for coffee harvested from a wild cat's droppings?

Aside from the fact that humans are actually gross, this process of the coffee cherries -- being eaten, then digested, and then finally excreted, is a process that prepares the beans for it to taste the way it does-- exuding an almost musical, fruity aroma - dark and sweet, -- strong, chocolatey, and just perfect even without sugar and cream.

High levels of proteins is the reason why coffee beans become bitter upon roasting, but the Civet, upon digestion breaks the protein down giving the Kape Balos it's superior taste. That's why I wasn't really surprised when Mr. Mark Seng, part owner of the establishment, noted that the best coffee is the type that you can drink and savor without the artificial sweeteners.

You would notice also that the liquid looks reddish rather than brown (reminds me of mangosteen tea, actually). The color is due to the the biochemicals present upon digestion -- a factor why a change of color takes place.

This natural process makes the procurement of these types of beans scarce but the demand for this coffee is high, thus, the reason for such high price... Did you say high demand?! yes, I did - there's a lot of crazy people in the world you know...and this is some weird craze...

Heck, I'd try it just so I could say I tried a coffee that once passed through some creature's ass

IT being actually edible and the fact that it is the best tasting coffee in the whole world is a sure sign that there is some higher power watching over freaks like me who is willing to do crazy stuff just because....

but sadly these animals can only collectively poo 250 kilos of coffee beans worldwide per annum... You cannot do anything till the animal does its thing... the phrase "patience is a virtue" is an apt mantra for this.

Seriously, there is a sanitation process involved but extensively cleaning the beans with simple running water is enough to dislodge bacteria... Also Kangaroo being a legit establishment, will not offer you a ticket to the bathroom --- but this makes you wonder, before the sophisticated sanitation process, before the wonders of technology in terms of brewing, who first thought of trying the droppings as a possible source coffee? ( I don't want to imagine -- but THANK YOU for people like that...)

So did I scare you or what? Here's a suggestion of what you could do... gather your friends and head collectively to Kangaroo (it's in front Sunburst, at Tionko Street) order one cup and take turns sipping it and watch eachother in amazement the way Spongbob and Patrick would in a similar situation...you are not allowed to laugh like spongebob though...but yes oggle and let your eyes glimmer until you all turn yellow.

Oh, here's another, make it an initiation rite. When I was still in high school branding according to one's group is one of the most important thing to achieve a certain social status... I'm sure in many levels and ages, such is still existing in various forms (anyways, let me stop myself before I delve into the mysteries of peer and labeling)....

where was I? oh - the initiation...HE WHO DRINKS THE Balos COFFEE IS A TRUE MAN... with a tagline, it is one thing to be called an ass, but it is another to drink from one...true men do the latter... o di bah! bongga!

• For the Social Climbers, order a mug and keep the receipt for future show off...

• For Intelligence Officers, this cup of coffee can actually be an effective psycho warfare technique... (umamin ka na o oorder ako at ikaw ang pagbabayarin ko!)

• For the ones who slave over article writings and deadline chasers - the strength of the price and the coffee is enough to keep you guys awake.

• For the insomiac, celebrate some of your sleepless nights with class and style...drink it with your pinkie up ;)

• For the bookworms and the nerds, invite your rich friends and let them order Kape Balos while you tag along and read for free...

• For the humanitarian and the socially aware, ordering a cup is actually helping the indigenous tribes who gather these beans in their livelihood, these beans produces an income that promotes welfare and pushes civic development amongst the community, it is also raising an awareness to protect the Civet or Alamid, and is helping in protecting them and their habitats.
  

Whatever reasons you may have, or whatever reasons you may not have, do find time -- hop your way at this interesting establishment... and try the darn coffee, will you? because the Civets are not gonna stay here forever. You might find enough curiousity to try it one day only to find that the coffee is not available anymore because the creatures involved are already extinct...that would be a shame.

If you tried it, and you find it not suitable to your taste...fine...order something else (wala may pugsanay bleah!)...

the PAPA KANGAROO

If you see a lanky guy
with chinky eyes & wears glasses
He is the part-owner Mr. Mark Seng...

He is mainly in-charge of the discounts mwehehe!
so be nice to him

PIG OUT!
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Original Post @ Emptied Spaces (July 14, 2008)