tuwing umuulan…

Buhos na ulan, aking mundo’y lunuring tuluyan
Tulad ng pag-agos mo,
‘Di mapipigil ang puso kong nagliliyab
Pag-ibig ko’y umaapaw,
Damdamin ko’y humihiyaw sa tuwa
Tuwing umuulan at kapiling ka

As I looked outside the office window, I was surprised to see the rain pouring so hard. It must have been raining for several minutes already, but inside this building, you really wouldn’t hear the sound of a pouring rain. I stood up from my office desk, walked into the window, looked at the people squeezing their bodies into the sheds of Ayala, and then just stared at the falling rain. I guess for a while I was just standing and staring. And the rain was comforting.

Many good memories flashed back to me, some specific, some general.

I remembered as a child waking up to the sound of the rain while Dad was listening to the radio to know if classes were suspended. I, on the other hand, was praying hard that it would be. Then, my cousins and I would just watch TV and play all day, sometimes with our Baguio sweaters on (which actually belonged to our parents or grandparents), if it was really that cold. We would play Battle City until Kuyang would impose that all the stars (to upgrade tanks) belong to him. Kuyang, Tootie, and I would fight a lot, but I remembered us loving hanging out with each other (that is, before all the wedding invitations and family life came in). Then, Mommy, or Mama, or Ninang would prepare a hot mami or tsampurado or simply pandesal na isasawsaw sa kape. I miss those days…

Then, in high school, when the rain poured and we were still in school, we would just linger at the corridor and talk about our crushes and the latest chismis, but mostly about the high school romance that preoccupies teenaged life. If there were playing cards around, we would have what seemed like a pusoy dos marathon. If the rain didn’t seem to want to stop, we would run outside and get wet, with our legs sprinkled with mud. And we would all be pretty fine. I miss those days…

Then, in college, when it rained and we were in our tambayan, we would buy beer or gin or whatever, and we would start the tagayan. We would have our ridiculous debates on men and women, or discuss organization issues, or zero-in to the latest love team, perhaps a remnant of the idealism that came from high school romance. But the best of these drinking sessions were all those times we had a guitar. Some good guitar man would play, and all of us would sing along. And then somebody else would take the guitar and play a different medley, and we would all sing along, again. The rain had stopped long before, and we were still drinking and singing our hearts out. I miss those days…

Then, in the previous years, when it rained and I and my good friend eks were at eks’ home, we would have a cup of coffee and 3 pancit canton with sliced boiled eggs, and we would talk just about anything. My favorite part is when we were daydreaming of good lives ahead, and we would excite ourselves with what actually were fictions of our mind. I miss those days…

And whenever I was alone and it rained, I would open the door of my apartment, sit on my inclined chair near the door, drink my coffee, and watch as the rain touches the ground. When satisfied, I would close the door, lay on my bed, cover myself with my favorite brown blanket, and close my eyes. My mind would be empty but not blank, and the sound of the pouring rain would gently put me to sleep. I miss those days…

my promise

I was telling a good friend of my apprehensions with the incoming school year. I enumerated the issues that need to be resolved. At the end of the conversation, he was making me promise that I would be a lawyer. I was somehow caught by surprised with the reaction. Immediately I said that I cannot promise him that. When you think about it, it’s not that hard to make a promise. Most people just justify themselves in the end whenever a promise gets broken. The most prominent of these is the promise to quit smoking cigars, and probably in close second is the promise to keep a diet.

This particular promise is one that I would love to make, but I did not. He persisted then finally asked me why. I told him this, with all its mushiness, “Life isn’t allowing me to make that promise. But this one promise I can make: I will always want to become a lawyer. Let’s just hope it will be enough to make me who I want to be.“

My melodramatic explanation is unacceptable to him. Perhaps he understands my desire to be one, knowing me more than half of my life. Or perhaps he was just being makulit. Again, he settled on again asking me why I cannot make the promise. I said, “it will only hurt me more when I break that one.”

Cheesy Shrek

I just wanted to watch the final installment of the Shrek movie series. Although the third film was disappointing, I was still hoping that this last one would bring back the Shrek magic. So, we looked at the movie schedules of Ayala’s entertainment centers and picked the most fit to our schedule.

I couldn’t say I enjoyed the film. It was, well, okay. There are some good jokes, but at 730 pm, just 30 minutes after the film started, I was already sleepy. There are some good jokes though, but not enough to compensate for the tickets we bought. There are just too many and too long dramatic moments in the scene, and a dramatic Ogre isn’t really such an appealing sight.

Shrek’s problem is that he misses his old single life (so this is an across-all-species phenomenon, ha?). He no longer feels the “man” that he was. He lost what he perhaps thinks as the respect (read: fear) he ought to have, having been a wanted ogre before. The implication was that it was due to the domestic life that he is now leading, with Fiona and the three kids. Maybe he was right. But I think, the reason for all this, lies in his cheesiness. haha. The film was filled with cliches! Sobrang cheesy!

Some of these cheesy lines are as follows:

 And I am also happy that was the final Shrek, before it loses all its former strength.

my own shack

Last Sunday, I went to a rural town in our province. Lola asked me to take her to the wake of her brother-in-law’s wife. I’ve never actually met Insong Adela, as Lola called her, and I barely knew the people there. So, while Lola was talking to our relatives, I, along with cousins Ian and Eduard and a friend, decided to walk around the area. Generally, the area was quiet, with simple (and sometimes barely finished) concrete houses lining the streets. There were small sari-sari stores in the area, where the bantay sleepily watches the afternoon showbiz shows in their Samsung televisions while manning the store (for some reason, no one was selling softdrinks). Though it was already afternoon, it was still hot and humid, that is, until I spotted a ricefield.

It was already decided. We were gonna walk into that field. For some reason, I am particularly attracted to a bukid. As a child, whenever we pass by the green fields on our way to Manila, I look dreamily at these fields, especially at those small houses in the center. I want to try to live in there. I’ve dreamt of so many stuff to do there. The most peculiar I thought about was hiding billions of cash in that small lone house in the field. haha. My idea was that nobody knows I am filthy rich. Well, that remains a dream. The house, and the filthy rich. haha.

We were playing/running around as were walking on the pilapil. I didn’t know it was a little hard to not fall out of the pilapil. Then we saw a little shack in the middle of the field. Though it was a little far from the street where we came from, we made it some sort of a quest to make it there. There wasn’t really much of a hurdle, only the grasses and some thorny stuff and the long-distance walk. We managed to get to that little shack, sat down, and enormously enjoyed the air touching our faces. I hope my cousins appreciated the place as much as I did. And I think they did (they took pictures of themselves there). We didn’t notice that we were already gone for hours.

 The place we went to looks like this, even the shack. Photo from the web. 

i want to write

Lately, I’ve been rereading the posts that I’ve written in my hard drives and blogs in the past, especially my more personal and emotional blog. I miss writing for an hour and more, especially writing about what is inside me. Most of what I wrote in the past 30 posts or so were my thoughts on everyday life, most of which were dark. Some were really very uniteresting matters, even to me. Sometimes, I wish I could provide a more sensible posts to the few readers I have. Most of the blogs that I follow have interesting stuff to share, or even simple posts that make you smile, or pictures that you admire. And I know that somehow they have noticed the lack of effort I put into my posts (I am sorry). I really, really want to write a good narrative, a good news, or simply a good trivia. I want to write and to express. I want to “cry” in this blog. I want to share. I want to write just because. But I just don’t. But I just can’t. I want it to happen, sooner or later.

a bus life

I must say I am getting used to this Makati lifestyle, especially the commuting to and from work part.  I remembered my happy-mood article on buses and beggars set here in Makati, and I still laugh whenever I think of that experience.

Now that the run-to-the-bus or the squeeze-yourself-to-the-door-of-the-bus experience is part of my daily routine, it sometimes stresses me out. Nevertheless, there are so many things and people to observe whenever you are in an overcrowded bus, that is, if you have the space to turn your head haha. In this country, all sorts of people take the bus or the jeepney. Even some rich people cannot afford (or will not pay for) that precious, precious parking lot. And that is the reason that the overcrowded bus is a mini-Philippines, only, the lower and middle class rule (tayo yun!).

I’ve seen the young, the old, the long hair, the bald, the typical employees, the call-center people, the ab workouts gym buff, the sosyaleras with matching huge shades, the MMDA, the promdis (katulad ko!), the nursing students, the punks, the emos, and the people who will never take that damn bus again.

The last category of people are the most fun to see. They look funny when you see the frown on their face. When they hold on to the bars so tightly for dear life. When they complain of the sardine-style accomodation. When they continue blabbering about the driver’s driving. And when nobody, I mean nobody, is paying them any attention. haha.

P.S.

To that lady in yellow, please move to the back when the konduktor asks you to. Ginagawa niya lang trabaho niya, at napagtatawanan ka lang. haha.

in pursuit of law (and justice)

When I learned that Mom has cancer, I was deliberating about stopping from law school. I thought about working double time on my freelance jobs because this sickness is much, much more than my family can pay for. As soon as I learned of the news, I was already thinking of where to get that extra cash. It isn’t as easy as getting more jobs or getting the best weightloss products (i.e., writing this post). As of now, I haven’t thought of any, but I already left my old work because I needed to refresh my parents’ consumed health insurance.

Anyway, I already thought of abandoning or postponing schooling. I was not about to tell anyone of this plan. I do not want any member of the family to take pity of me, though I myself had been sulking in self-pity at that time (oh, the thought of never becoming what you want to be…). But my semi-financier grandmother asked me when the next enrollment is, and I said, in a low voice, without looking at her face, that I will not enroll this semester. Immediately, I felt the sadness that she felt, and the gloom in her face was unmistakeable. There was serious disappointment and pain that she was not able to hide. She felt pity for me. My lola was a very strong person despite her small frame, but it appeared to me then that she was about to cry, trying hard to hold back her tears (I guess I got it from her).

Immediately, I tried to explain or to arrive at a compromise. I couldn’t handle her if she cried. I told that there will still be next years, or maybe not take full load, or maybe transfer to another school. Her whole point was that she wanted me to be “stable” before she leaves this world, and she said it’s not that long (gosh.. writing this is painful). And I decided to give her what she wanted, what I wanted. In my mind, I know it’s gonna be much, much more harder than last year, with the new work and the new sickness and all. My only comfort is that there are still many friends who give me small talks and moral booster.

When I think about it, perhaps this pursuit of law is really my pursuit of justice. That if only I will work really really hard, in the end, I will get what I, and others who believe in me, deserve.

aquariums for rent

If you want to live in an aquarium for 8 thousand pesos, go to Makati!

These are the units that I found near the central business district. Yesterday, I went to three low-rise buildings in side streets in Makati. I was baffled whenever they say the price. A 10-square-meter unit with very poor ventilation is 7998 or something. haha. What? That’s like 200% more than what you would have to pay for when you’re anywhere else. The funny thing is, you only need to add a thousand more, and you get to live in high-rise condos with doorbells and fast elevators plus easier access to transportation. Perhaps that’s why, there are many empty aquariums for rent in there. haha.

the ubiquitous big C

I applied for this work as a medical writer last year. I had no specific idea on what the work would be. I only know that it will get me off my old job and will give me and my dependents paid health insurance.

Two weeks before starting in this new work, I learned that my mother has breast cancer. When I started, I learned that the work is all about experimental drugs for cancer patients. So cancer talk at home, cancer writing at work (oh yeah, just like air. It’s everywhere). What a coincidence, I think. Some subjects do not get well, some probably do. Sometimes, it stresses me out writing all the adverse events (especially the fatal ones) that happen in the course of chemotherapy, though most of the time they do not. I only hope they already develop that cure for cancer, just like a new diet pill is developed every week. I hope that this somehow super-little contribution of mine to the cure for cancer would have an effect, albeit super little.

Still, I am optimistic of our fight against cancer. I have Eric and kg’s mom to support that.

this third week of May

This week has toyed with my feelings.  Monday had me really tired and sad, coming from a sad weekend.  I still hadn’t settled in my new work, feeling “incompatible” and “incapable” of it.  But I learned that I passed the subject I have already given up hoping for (nabunot ba tinik sa dibdib yun). Up to now, it still feels like a dream. Tuesday, a super-long-time good friend wanted me to “vanish.” Wednesday, I was already getting the “feel” of the work…when my computer got a virus. I had to work on that super unfast laptop. Thursday, my PC’s back on track, and my friend wanted me back. It was a nice feeling. I searched for a place to live near the Central Business District, passing by smelly canals that is in dire need of pond aerator, but found nothing that fit my budget. I only exhausted myself, and PJVP and eks. Friday, I am emotionally exhausted, and I am just so glad it’s weekend already. Have a great weekend, everybody!

(hoping Saturday and Sunday will be great…)