NORBYGRAM: 2011

GETTING OUT OF HADES’ PREMISES

msu main 10:38:00 AM

Gone are the days that when I stand in a crossroad, I always prefer to go to the right side. Now I tried to use the left path not because it is the only option that I have left. It’s because the right is not right anymore. The false dilemma is then shattered. And so, there was silence.

Don’t get me wrong. This isn’t a life-and-death related decision nor a national issue that everyone has to care. Somehow I got tired of fiction so I wanted to write something this time. I have a tendency though to be easily carried away by my emotions and my thoughts drift from north pole down to the bottom of the equator (Feelin’ some apparent examples, huh?). This is just about my new official home in the university. From almost 4 year of stay in Rajah Dumduma Hall (RD), I have now switched to its better half, Rajah Solaiman Hall (RS). It’s too hard to accept t fact and adjust in my world world. But I’m already here. There’s no turning back.

I know somehow that boys’ dormitories are girls’ nightmares. When you actually reside in RD, you would be eventually be living in Hades’ premises. Even worse. Despite the treasured memories I have left in RD, someone doesn’t want me to stay there anymore. Let’s not just try to widen some narrow-minds. Those minds aren’t garter. They are dull and inelastic so they’ll break. Others laugh at me thinking that I might have caused some serious trouble kicking me out of my old dorm. Come on! I didn’t do any harm. You can ask anyone there in RD except from their diabolic king and you’ll hear nothing. It pains me to think that I wasn’t allowed to stay there anymore because of… wait! Because of what? Only God knows. I still packed my things up and left the dorm not because of tolerance. It was because I pity the fiend. Going down to his level is worse than being buried in the ground alive. Pathetic as it may seem, others don’t think that he still has hope. I’m starting to adhere too.

To cut the long story short, I finally registered myself in Rajah Solaiman Hall. It’s just inches away from RD (they’re just one dorm before but divided later on). I met its manager who’s smart, eloquent and considerate. He’s totally the diabolic king’s opposite. I would admit I prejudiced RS before. I admit my mistake. People here are not troublemakers like I heard. Their beds don’t shake. Their guards do their real jobs. They have to TV’s for all to watch. The real scholars are here (I have nothing against RD scholars though, peace!). And they all seem like a family here with a real father.

Case closed. I just need more weeks to prove to myself that RS is gazillionth times better than RD. But right now, it’s a big Y-E-S!

How can you say no when you finally got out of hell?#

[DISCLAIMER: This is nonsense really! I’m writing this around 12:30 a.m. All you can read id the madness. I just want to write the anger out. I just want to write. No one can prevent me to do that. I will bite if someone will. ]

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THE STORY OF THE WAVING MAN

creepy stories 5:24:00 AM

We all have stories to tell. And we all have one story we are always afraid to share. Now breathe slowly and narrate them before it’s too late… before it’s too late...

My hands were sweating profusely as I prepared myself to speak in front of my friends in the dormitory that one spooky evening when a long blackout found us all gathering in a room with only one delicate candle in the center serving our night. I don’t know why it shook me inside waiting for my turn to share my story when the preceding ones were already frightening. Everybody else was sobersided and the rhythmic gush of the wind from outside made the curtains move like they were pulled by someone effortlessly. When all eyes were already directed to my limelight and not a single word was said anymore, I knew it was time to share something that haunts me for years.

I couldn’t forget that man from my childhood days who used to be a friend of our family and a business partner of my father. Every 4 a.m. of Saturdays way back my late elementary and early high school years, my father always woke me up to come with him to a hut we owned. This was where all the fishermen who did business with us delivered the fishes they caught at night. Even if the hut was just in the next barangay, Papa and I had to ride our then old tricycle to reach it. That man named Reneboy stood there in the streetlight in front of his house waving his right hand for us to notice while his left hand carried his scraped bucket. Only his silhouette was clear from afar but when he waved his hand prompting us to stop, we knew it was him. Every time the tricycle halted, he would greet us always. He was a very facetious man. He was an honorable man. He really was.

Reneboy was a man of intertwining personality and reality. He was a good man but fate was mean to him. He’s from Luzon as far as I can remember but got stuck in our small barrio when he married one of our neighbors. The girl whom he married happens to be a night-blinded woman. They have raised three sons, the eldest about 8 years old as of the moment. They dwelled in an abandoned house few blocks away from my home. No one ever attempted to live there but Reneboy chose to do so despite incomplete roofing because it was the only place he could own. His wife didn’t have a permanent job except for paid laundry washing and letting this woman go out at night is a very horrible idea. As I have heard too, their eldest son is hardheaded and rebellious, their second son is soft and silent while their youngest kid needs more parental care and guidance for being not too mentally normal. Depending only on the sea for living was an extreme way of survival. Sometimes when there is abundance of fishes, the livelihood becomes satisfyingly lucrative. But most of the time especially during cold seasons, the sea isn’t the only place that is empty. Stomachs are more sucked out worse than vacuum. Maybe these are the reasons why the couple always quarreled and I always heard their little boys cry every time I passed by their house. Nevertheless, as I’ve known Reneboy personally and from other people’s testimonies too, he was indeed a man of integrity when he conducted business, a man of perseverance when it came to giving his family their needs and a man of patience when he was with other people. And maybe his being just and honest paved the way to his tragic ending.

I again remembered the heat of the sun that one scorching summer afternoon. I first sat on a small hut beside the roofless basketball court not far from our house. I saw Reneboy played too. He was always smiling to anyone. Everything was going well until he told the referee that someone from the other team committed a foul. That someone who he pointed out happened to be an ex-convict imprisoned for more than 6 years before. There was a ruckus which led to a fistfight between the two of them. Some other neighbors pacified the fight then the game eventually got cancelled. Everyone left the court but Reneboy stayed at the small hut to sleep there. He was alone sleeping maybe because all other people went to their homes to watch late afternoon soap operas. Even me, I went inside my cousin’s house which is the nearest house from the court and whose windows could easily see the small hut where Reneboy was already napping with the sea sparkling behind it. The next few moments were quick but my two then clear eyes witnessed every single piece of the event.

I saw the now drunken ex-convict through the door. He was walking past the tree outside and was heading somewhere. As I followed his path, I realized that he was already heading to the hut where Reneboy was sleeping in. I turned my head and slightly stood up the window to see what would happen next. It indeed was very quick. And very gory too.

The ex-convict pulled something on his back beneath his shirt. It was a special knife as far as my knowledge is concerned. He swiftly raised his hand with the knife and at a vista, I knew Reneboy just became conscious when the knife already penetrated his chest. I was startled and I didn’t even realize that my cousin was already beside me speechless as well. I was about to call someone but the ex-convict took the knife and stabbed Reneboy again. This time, he maneuvered the knife as if it was a steering wheel and he seemed like writing a word in his chest. I literally saw the shock and pain in his eyes and when he finally stopped moving with his one hand falling on the ground hanging back and forth, I knew I adored was already dead. There was no way he would still breathe. No way he would rise up again or fight for his life. Because with the tremendous amount of the blood that splashed and was flowing inside the hut, he was gone. That was my first close murder encounter. And I tell you, I felt like I was murdered too.

Right after that I heard news of how the ex-convict surrendered after hiding in the comfort room of my godfather’s house and how terrible it was for Reneboy’s family to suffer from the incident. That night filled the entire barangay with horror. No one went outside their homes, only the gossip wandered on the streets spreading like a contagious disease.

I cried for two nights too because I still dreamt of that scene where Reneboy gets stabbed. On the first Saturday after the incident, Papa and I still rode our tricycle towards out hut half-awake. However, Papa’s tone shifted bringing me back to my senses. He pointed that man standing under the streetlight in front of Reneboy’s house. That person was waving his right hand and the left hand was carrying a pail too. Just like Reneboy. It was only still a silhouette so we didn’t know who it was. But the contours of his body, the shape of his head and the way he stood resembled Reneboy so much. I cried outright and told Papa not to stop driving. I told him not to drop by the streetlight. Not on that same man who’s not supposed to be there that time. Gladly, we did not stop the waving man but as we passed him, I heard the loud sound of the pail rolling on the pavements of the street. Whoever it was, I just wanted to stop the horror. I looked back though. When I turned my head, I looked closely at that man. He was still waving his hand. He was silently and restlessly waving his hand.

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A CHANGE OF ABODE

mindanao state university 2:37:00 PM

Anxiously, my overfatigued body slid through the bed to avoid my eyes from being directly hit by the sunshine that one fierce morning. Everyone else in the room was already busy with their stuffs- folding blankets, combing wet hair, eating breakfast in bed, changing clothes and silent praying. I made my way down from the upper deck to the windows and opened them. A large tree in the middle of a dry golden cornfield surrounded by large unpainted houses made its way to my surprise. I quickly opened the door and checked outside. Untouched hallways, uninhabited rooms and unknown people. Oh I forgot. A new dormitory! This is only few meters away from the old one but it seems like I'm loving this whole new lifestyle. At least I know I'm at peace and I need not to have worries.

Even if the change of abode here in the campus is only temporary, we still struggled our way here in Bolawan Hall, a new and unofficial dormitory at the back of our real one, Raja Dumduma Hall. My blood past its boiling point due to an unprecedented policy that our manager implemented out of nowhere. He's been working and managing the dormitory for over forty years but he only made that decision this semestral break of 2011. He decided to pull everyone out of the dormitory- each and every student who still had exams and thesis defense or even students who didn't go home for the break because they just can't. He cited the absence of the security guard, the maintenance, the janitor, and his assistants as the reason why he resorted to kick everyone out in RD. However, those who he cited that were absent for a short while came back the night before we dug our way out of the dormitory. Yes, it's one of the university policies to empty the dorm after sem break but the manager may opt not to do so. So why now? The problems he mentioned were solved but still he posted in our bulletin board that we should have been out of the dorm not later than 6 pm. That was incredibly hard for us to hurriedly pack our things up but thanks to the petition we made, we were transferred to this dormitory we are now living. Our expulsion is a blessing in disguise. It indeed is.

The exact opposite of our manager in RD greeted us all by his modern humor, American jokes and big eyeglasses. He talks much, very considerate and he's got a lot of patience. He is exactly the manager we wished we'd have. So he's only here and the search is over. Talk about the facilities here in Bolawan Hall. Even if the room in RD is wider, the beds, foams and pillows here are of much greater quality. If the comfort room in RD is a nightmare for many, the comfort room here is the others' dream. More than 10 pairs of cubicles and shower rooms. And when I say shower, I don't mean the shower-shower mechanical thing but a real shower. Moreover, the utility-men here are not mean but are approachable. If only we could stay here longer and with some improvements and installments, living here would be an exception to the MSU struggle.

But back to the real game, I fear now that those who petitioned to remain in RD despite manager's notice and were transferred to Bolawan Hall instead will not be allowed by RD's manager to renew their registration in the dormitory this upcoming semester. If that will happen, then I guess it's but time for us to do better than a petition itself. Leaving RD which I have stayed in for over four years won't be that easy because a lot of memories and people remain in every echo my voice makes there. And especially for selfish reasons, not staying in my enamored abode is unbearable.

I folded my own bed stuffs too and pushed my books aside. I gotta do many things aside from thinking about that misery. I'm gonna hit the showers now. Not the shower-shower mechanical thing but real shower. Oh showers! :D #

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MSU at 50: Integrating People and Building Societies through Quality Education in a Culture of Peace

Mindanao 11:48:00 AM

Fifty years have come and gone like colors in a spectrum of light. Countless generations of world-class warriors have answered the calls of global demands. These warriors were once bounded by cultures, beliefs and religions but integrated themselves into the existence of a relevant national living. The concept of education and learning being embraced by humanity is the impetus of these warriors in enlightening their minds and directing their lives in building societies not just for themselves but also for anyone who may coexist with them in the future. The plow used in cultivating the land that sustains the civilization that Mindanao State University possesses has been passed to various frontrunners and is now on the hands of a man who dreams for the perpetuity of the foundations laid down by a promised oneness. It is in this plow that all hopes, dreams and support of those warriors are parted with in such a hope that maybe one of these days, the pot of gold for MSU will be found. The MSUans are the warriors and life is the battlefield. And for its 50th year, a culture of peace is MSU's golden battlecry.

Not all universities in the Philippines are established to aim a systematic quality general education with a focus on cultural consciousness and moral integrity. This boilerplate separates MSU from the others. A peculiar attribute vested on this institution is to become a premier university which will provide the manpower resources of businesses and industries in the country by educating the Moro, Christian and Lumad youth of MINSUPALA to be the prime movers in uplifting the supraregion from its plight like having the poorest municipalities and provinces in the country. This special mandate could have been smooth since then if only the painful history isn't engraved in millions of hearts chained by untold horrors and if only the tug-of-war between clashing ideals and differences has peace as its arbitrator. From this irony emanates the persistence of MSU to be the machinery, amidst a war-shaken land, to put the youth as inputs, to process them in a hollistic manner, and to bring them out in the open as well-rounded outputs ready to do what they are made for. This is the 50-year old challenge accepted by MSU's founding fathers and still remains to be the challenge of anyone who accepts that the starting point of their lives is in any single point in MINSUPALA. This, in its very delicate sense, is the MSU challenge.

As melting pot of the south, MSU has been in a struggle to integrate the people within its territory. In classrooms and even in dormitories, tradition has it that all the tri-people get equal rights with which they unnoticeably part with one another the knowledge of the culture and the world they are born with. It is in this socio-cultural integration unique in MSU that a building of sophisticated society lived by conscious and aware people becomes more meaningfully responsive and productive. It can be everywhere indeed that we learn things from other people historically different from us and thank them for the lessons we can ever treasure for a lifetime.

The current builder of the MSUan civilization is its current president Dr. Macapado A. Muslim. He is the man who faces big problems first-hand but sees to it that quality education should be top of campus priorities. Despite budget cuts, he sought to allocate the funds to meet the basic academic requirements of MSU. He has developed numerous infrastractures for the welfare of the students and their studies. His administration still spawns topnotchers and exemplary board exam performances. He is the man whom students trust their future with and fortunately, MSU should be thankful that those skilled hands of him deserve the battle's forefront.

It is still the culture of peace that will be the turning point of all the realizations of MSU's aspirations and an end to itself. Without peace, quality education is partially achievable and it will take much time to integrate people and thus to build socities is to defy gravity. We know that Mindanao has two warring personas within her with different battlecries but anchored on the same sentiment. The years have left sorrowful footprints and history has written lessons suffice for us to learn. It will all just depend on the way we will heal those wounds and finally pick a paper inside our pot of gold which says, "You can take an MSUan out of MSU, but you can never take MSU out from the believing heart of an MSUan".#

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ONLY HOPE

love stories 5:37:00 PM

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MY FINANCIAL ACCOUNTING FORUM SPEECH

BALANCES 11:25:00 AM

There's a reluctance that whips my willingness to come up here, stand in front of you and release words that are supposed to inspire you. I asked myself, "Was I that great enough?". No, not entirely. Did I have the finest grades after the 2-semester long critical stage of my college life? Not that much! It's a half-full, half-empty achievement. But I thought of where I stand right now: already on my 4th year in the department. I knew deep within me that my greatest glory is not in never failing, but in rising up everytime I fail. And since I rose up and is now still standing, I guess I still got something to say and you should listen.

I entered this course with my mind and my heart crisscrossed. Even if I graduated as valedictorian in high school, I felt small after meeting my classmates who were scholars, SASE topnotchers and valedictorians too. I really felt like I had to be competitive. After my first year, I and some of the earliest prodigies of my batch got the highest grades in my major subjects. One time, Kuya Hamodi and I were talking in the hallway of the dormitory when Kuya Farrell, now a CPA, passed us by. When he learned of my grades, he just smiled back and said, "Good! Let's see hanggan saan ang makakaya mo sa Financial." In my mind, I then created a world filled with intertwining fear and excitement. Fear- over the fact that a batch gets slashed into half after the 2 financial accounting majors. And excitement- over the new struggle. Will I love the agony and continue to shine? Or will I lose and leave the department with my star not shining anymore? I took my 15-minute fame. And at the end of the day, I treasure most the things that I learned.

Here goes the part where I'm to tell secrets in aiming for higher grades. But they're not super secrets at all. Getting 1.75 in Financial 1 required more intense preparations. When I read the textbook, I made sure that I was a chapter ahead of anybody else. I read the chapter for the billionth time but when I crossed over a problem in the reviewer whose computations seemed out-of-nowhere, I read the chapter again. I realized that every time I reread it, there are new concepts that come out. It's like those things were hiding the last time and only showed up when I read again. I tell you, you will never learn the 100% after you finish reading. The learning is in progress, it needs reevaluation. Be resourceful, ask your seniors for previous exams, finish answering them before you take your own exam. There'll always be an item where the line, "Shoot! I solved this last night." is applicable. Don't be hesitant to ask them about vague concepts. They went through that so they have an idea how to handle it. And after receiving the results, contemplate on the parts where you went wrong. When you correct them, it'd be as if you took the exam perfect.

However, there seems to be a darker side of me that is worth sharing. After a shining 1.75 in FA1, I buried my academic treasures and fetched only 2.5, one of the lowest grades, from the grounds of FA2. What went wrong? Teacher? No, two majors were under Sir Sultan. The subject? Wrong again. 122 is as hard as 121. Myself? Right. I don't know why it had to be that way. I started to encounter severe problems. Family, personal and financial. Name it. I started to suffer some health problems causing me frequent absences. I lost the will for competition. I was like, "Go ahead! It's your turn." I also blamed quiz shows. Joining them sometimes compromised my major. But no, I couldn't stop myself from what I love. Should I blame HP? I mean, applying on a semi-academic org demanded much time and attention. I'd admit that HP drew me out sometimes. It took my time. But I can never blame the program. I learned more valuable things when I joined it. Taught me that time management starts within me to emboss my priorities.

Should I blame my family for calling me late at hard study nights telling me that my allowance is extended next week for the 5th time around? I even came to a point where I blamed God for giving me all those problems at my most fragile state. But I blamed myself most for being too weak, coward and immature. I was weak because I was too scared after the failure. I felt like even I stumbled only once, the whole world already looked down on me. On my defeat. I was too coward to believe in myself again that I could still stand on my own feet. I was too immature to believe that I wasn't on a dead-end. That I could still find myself redemption.

But a rainbow comes after the storm. When I expected failure, I was blessed with 2.5. I'm now continuing my journey. I lost my scholarship but I got it back. Indeed, blessed. There are a lot of hurdles this year. Mind you, the things you often blame are the things that inspire you most. And at hard times, PRAY. It's the least thing you can do. Then believe in yourself, the rest of the universe will conspire to lead you the right way.#

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AT NIGHTS WHEN YOU DON'T NEED A ROOMMATE

bang bang bang 12:04:00 AM

Depressed because of the cruel enrolment flow, I took the 10-minute walk to my room with vengeful thoughts racing to fill my heart. I stopped striding swiftly when I reached the soulless hallway of the dormitory. A forceless push on the door of my room was needed in order not to disturb whatever it was that my roommates were up to inside. The room had no light except for tiny rays of the outside dusk gleaming through the dusty jalousies. The phone of my oldest roommate rang above his head so he answered the call half-asleep. My other roommate, the silent one, was staring closely at the monitor of his laptop. Like it was the vaguest movie he's ever seen his whole life. I asked them both if I could turn the big light on since it was getting dark. The silence that followed was their implicit approval. One click at the button and I was on my own. I was all alone from the start. No roommates now. Just all by myself. So, I turned that big light off again.

It's been two weeks since I made my hardest

comeback in the campus. A lot of things are now hanging tight. They've been so stagnant that every slight swing means death. However, the fact that I've been recently spending all my lonesome nights in my room with nobody, covers my emotions from the tendency of breaking down easily. This ironic feeling is way too opposite from what I always had when it talks about roommates. Their memories haunt me in my dreams. I miss how they invite me to watch a movie then we go screaming at each other's ears when we see horror movies, banging our chairs as we laugh at even the most useless films, and trying to divert the topic when the movie starts to break some hearts. We shared childhood stories as we scrubbed the floor. We talked about academic frustrations as we waxed the four corners of our room. We asked each other's future plans as we rearranged our personal stuffs then cracked jokes later almost making the food stuck on our throats as we ate the snacks for finale. We begged each other to sleep during hard study nights, trying to think of the bad health effects of this habit. And at moments of adversity, they were the ones that helped me through even if I didn't seek their support. They're more like brothers. The ever-thoughtful ones. They always saw it through my eyes. Eyes which whispered a plead they always answered with commitment. But how? How? How can they all be nothing more than just a fiction? They're people who just exist in my wildest imaginations.

Then the truth finally settles down as I embrace my pillow burying all the lies that seem to enclose my bed like a gate with diamond-shaped fences. Now that I feel so knocked-down by the outside world, the darkness becomes my confidant and the silence converts the sorrow into a temporal calmness. There always comes a day that everything feels so wrong no matter how hard I try to make it right. I always wake up full of plans, aspirations and refreshed hopes but hours after, the domino effect ends with me standing there in the corner, head down, heart sunken. I seem to be a stranger amidst an unknown crowd. Tonight, I feel like cutting all my social ties and stay frozen in the dark. My life looks so messed up and scathed. I dreamt of sitting in a bench at night watching the taillights of busy cars illuminate the Eiffel Tower. I wished to be swinging under some palm trees on a beach in the Carribbean witnessing birds fly over the setting sun. I imagined myself riding a bicycle while crossing some evergreen farms in New Zealand, capped with snow. And I wondered if I could see, through a window of a house situated on a hill overlooking, the rush of the water flowing from the Niagara Falls. Up to this point, I realize that even in my dreams, I still prefer to be alone. That's why when I stumble, I never want someone else to pick me up. It has always been myself who I expect to save me. But guess what? I don't trust myself. If it happened once, I hardly did.

So to speak with honesty, if I could just have the chance, I'd like not to have anyone anymore to come and show up here in my room. Why bother to need someone to fix your own damage for you? When you don't even know what to fix and where to start with. If you don't understand yourself first, believe me, you'll be stuck in that dark room alone forever.#

I'm just so problematic. Swear! Thanks for reading anyway. :) goodnight!

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ASSESSMENT EXAMS

assessment exam 8:12:00 PM

As I write this piece, I believe my batchmates are so busy right now burying their faces in thick books full of numbers, scanning previous exams we had from the past six semesters, and pressing the keys of their calculators too hard. Two days from now, I shall be regretting all of my not caring about the assessment exams that have been the talk-of-the-department for weeks. I may see my name at the most bottom part of the 4 posted papers which will contain the exams' results, I don't care. I accept an expected defeat. And, wait! Defeat from? This ain't any battle at all. Come on!

I noticed that only our department, the Accountancy Department, has this period of assessment exams at the start and end of the academic year. The exams are about accounting major subjects that were finished by students. Equivalently, a higher year level means an increase in the number of exams to be taken. Sophomores take an exam on Basic, Juniors on Financial, Seniors on Financial, Business Law 1, Cost 1 and Advanced 1, and for Super Seniors, I feel sick of enumerating all other subjects. I then become review-phobic. Burp!

I had the entire summer spending all my days in mobile phone, sleeping, eating and watching countless shows on DVD. I might have had a controversial cocooning for April and May but I never brought any accounting book home. The original plan was to start the review and rereading when I get back here in the campus.

I am here now! Ola! For almost two weeks. I swear, any attempt to flip a page on a book that is supposed to be reviewed feels like a touch on a fire burning. I have tried to read but my mind endlessly skips into the outer part of my virtual dimension. I think of how to score a sure 1 point in Financial Accounting when I lost all my books on this subject. And as I tried to scan my Cost and Advanced 1 books, any idea of where to start quickly melts away. Even if I don't want Ma'am Jho to be disappointed with whatever my scores will be on the two latter subjects she mentored me. But this case is inescapably unforgivable. It's not that I am in extreme indolence that I don't review. It's just that I'm too tired to do it. I have this exhaustion whose roots have long withered. Like all things conspired to blindfold me and forced me to stop moving.

Deep within, I really admire the purpose of these assessment exams which is to refresh and update the students on the knowledge and all other accounting-related stuffs that would prep them up for the judgment day: the Board Exam. Nevertheless, I don't think that I am ready enough to be refreshed and go out of the dark room I am in. It's not yet time for any reform. Just a little bit more and fixing all other loopholes that I have reinvented, I can come out. For now, I am out of the league. I'm going to give them the spots above. It'll take time for me to be BACK there. It'll take time. That is, if I still can.#

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BLURRY

Mindanao 4:21:00 PM

Everything seemed antagonistic. I wanted to fetch my classmate's laptop up there in the Commercial Center but the skies were as gray as the screen of a cathode television. With second thoughts, I still went out and walked a bit. There was a wide flash of lightning followed by a hesitating disco drum of the thunder. Later the raindrops started falling on my mosquito-bitten skin soaking the upper part of my blue shirt. Without an umbrella, running fast was the last option to save myself. Spending a foggy afternoon with foggy thoughts and watching everything get poured by the rain, no doubt, I am at the campus again.

I stopped at a place where a lot of people hover and wait for a tricycle. I took one myself. Alone. The tricycle driver detoured after seeing the struggle of the muddy water clogged on the streetside. Shaking his head, he took on the other direction. As the tricycle snaked up that steep pavement near the gymnasium, two full-packed tricycles were almost bumping each other. Their passengers inside were screaming while the two drivers themselves yelled at each other too. Passing the sidewalks of the rotunda, local skater boys continued playing with the smoke of their cigarrettes while laughing and sitting on their boards, as if there were no rain at all. Behind them, freshmen kids were running with long brown envelopes in their heads, like the rain was behind chasing them. Then I finally reached the spot where I had to get out of my seat. I got up. When I rushed to take a step off to the corner of the burger house, I accidentally bumped a woman with dark red lips. It was the most noticeable feature on her face, like she has put her lipstick on seconds ago. She almost fell back. I apologized. But she was already cussing out while arranging the scarf on her neck. I just walked away. She was already consumed. I knew it wasn't my fault. She just couldn't be helped.

When I had the laptop, I decided to walk my way back to the dormitory. As I walked, I was left to lower down my head and focus only on my phone. Randomly reading my inbox, playing songs, or surfing facebook. I wouldn't want to look straight forward or to bother what's beside me. I am suffering from a poor eyesight. The trashes scattered on the streets seemed to have only one color. I'm not certain if the people I meet on the way are the ones that I should greet, the ones who were my classmates, or just the strangers who don't care about anything at all. I can only see the complexion of their faces, not the expressions written all over. When I tried to look at the oval, it's strange that the color green was extending everywhere. I mean, I know the size of the oval. It was way too wide. When I freezed before the traffic-jammed tricycles, I couldn't determine which was moving and which one was on a halt. If not for the ranging sounds, I would have believed that what I saw was a very long train. Like those that they ride in the Harry Potter movies.

Arriving finally at the newly painted door of our dormitory, I took a deep breath of relief and thought of how I could finally rest from all the blurry visions I just had and I always have every afternoon. When I opened the door of my room, few seconds waited until all the lights were out. Immediately, I was in a total darkness. I tapped things on the way to my bed. It is getting colder now as well. At least, the comforter is reassuring and the huge pillow is inviting. I tuck myself in the bed and decide to sleep. The rain outside? The red-lipped cussing out woman? The condemnable eyesight? Or the blackout? I tell you, I got worse problems than that. And indeed, I feel sorry. I am blurry.

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REBECCA BLACK + FRIDAY : WHAT MORE CAN I SAY?

aneheim 11:25:00 PM

It's definitely very hilarious to think that even someone like me who comments right away on something by calling it flooringly a jaw-dropper, nothing-but-ordinary or dreafully a flop, stopped for seconds when I first saw and heard the music video of Rebecca Black's Friday on Youtube. Man, I really felt like I had the meanest involuntary goosebumps and the most sinister laugh in my life both in a single reaction. Rebecca, oh Rebecca!

THE SONG:

Friday was released for digital download by Label Ark Music Factory as the teen-dance pop debut single of the 13-year-old Rebecca Black from Anaheim Hills, California. Her mother paid the label $4,000 for a song and an accompanying video. Rebecca was originally given two song choices but chose "Friday" rather than the other song which she said was about adult love and she hasn't experienced that yet. Well, I don't know how everything could have turned out if she chose the other one.

THE VIDEO:

The video is literally based on the song and nothing else, as of May 12, 2011, it has 140.3 Million views with 379 thousand likes and 2.8 Million dislikes from Youtube users surpassing the 1.19 million dislike of Justin Bieber's Baby.

MY REACTION:

Well, I am not as wretched as those Youtube users who commented things like: "I hope you go cut [yourself] and die" and "I hope you cut yourself, and I hope you'll get an eating disorder so you'll look pretty." That's way too murderous and suicidal. I adhere to formal managements. I believe we can work this out calmly through verbal acrobatics. People, don't get too mean.

Honestly, she was trending in Twitter one day last March that's why I googled her. I was eventually directed to Youtube. I saw her. Finally! She is, at least for me, gorgeous-looking. I think like she is a facial hybrid of Selena Gomez and Lindsay Lohan.
However, her projections are very annoying. She defeats the purpose of her face for the media. It's too apparent that she's faking everything since a camera is in front of her.

As for the lyrics, I pictured out that the writer was looking at Rebecca Black's Twitter page on a friday night then copied the words there from her tweets. I can never associate the lyrics of the song with the narrations found in country songs or with the stories in the rap songs of Flo-Rida and Nicki Minaj. Comparisons would be awful since the lyrics are like lines of an unbearable nursery rhyme which doesn't rhyme at all. The words are like those that are frustratingly delivered by a speaker on a seminar full of bored and sleepy people. The rap part too of the song is very disappointing. What's with the buses?

The label extensively used Auto-tune on Rebecca's voice making her sound like an untrained announcer in an airport who thinks that she sounds good singing a Ke$ha song a cappella even if she doesn't. The vocals are just too forehead-weaver for a 13-year-old girl like Rebecca who sings in an anti-charismatic way.

All together, the lyrics, the vocals and the music video, I wouldn't bother to disagree or debate with Yahoo! Music if it could be the "worst song ever".

Despite all that, Rebecca Black's a good girl and a philantrophist. Even if she's not an artist, she still got good comments from Chris Brown, Miley Cyrus and Simon Cowell (try reading the Wikipedia entry for the song).

When I heard Glee's version with all male vocals, I felt like the song is finally given justice. I refer to the song's beat. It's the only thing that I think is okay with the song. And Glee guys won on that. Any honest opinion?#

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DANCE IN THE DARK

ballet 11:57:00 PM

In an empty room lit from a corner by only a hole which is as small as a fingertip of a baby, she drags her legs slowly as though they don't want to follow her movements. The piano starts to play a timelessly soulless melody. A melody that is as melancholic as the elegy written by a hopeless widow for his long-gone wife. She stands straight right there, eyes closed, chin up then raises her arms like a tired swan. When she makes her first step forward, her tears start falling. She is dancing in the dark over and over again.

Her every move speaks of every expression her mind explores and her heart beseeches. She crisscrosses her wounded feet like intertwining waves of hate and love she never tries to understand. She raises her left arm up umbrellaing her hand above her head as if she fears the upcoming rain whose drops will burn underneath her delicate skin. Her mind swings over the apathy her yesterdays have whispered to her. Like sharp-pointed arrows being shot directly to her ears that are too tired of listening to unbearable lies. She lowers her head, halfly bends her knees and slowly reaches out her right arm like she's pleading again for the old mercy she prayed for but left her clueless. Like an infant deprived of the cradles of her crib. Her only glory. Like a beggar crying in the middle of the desert at night. No one can hear. Her fingers gently fold one by one surmounting into a fist that is as hard as her cruel heart wrapped in rough chains. She rests her fist in her bosom and starts walking backwards. She tries to get off the darkness but there's no more getting away from her illusions. All that's left is despair below the midnight sun that doesn't shine anymore. She's now all by herself. No one to run to. No one cares. No one.

The melody starts to do a faster tune and a crescendo. Her heart pounds while she tiptoes clumsily but still perfectly traces a diagonal path. Just like a tiny nightingale perched on a thin branch of a tree hearing a sudden thunderclap, she jumps aimlessly as if the floor has broken pieces of glass that will make her heels bleed. She turns her back then raises her right leg leaning her back like a dying bamboo before repeatedly turning round and round like a raging tornado. Her pirouettes are flawless but not her happiness. She turns and turns until her toes finally commence their bleeding. Just like how countless stabs she gives her heart, it bleeds like high waterfalls. But she won't stop until she feels pain. She is, however, already numb. Not the beauty of sunsets nor the calmness of twilights can fill the hollows that are sunken in the depths of her mind. She is too exhausted of embracing things that are liquid. They easily let go.

In every swipe of her hands in the air, she dreams of holding roses and sunflowers alone in a large garden. In every time she breathes out and tilts her head, she imagines standing in the window of her room at early morning as she exhales her worries out to the wide world out there. Every sway of her body hopes of moments when she can sit in a swing as autumn leaves are falling. In every bend of her knees, she desires to feel the waves of the sea pulling out the sand as she prays silently in a distant shore. She dances so that God can hear all the sadness at the receiving end of her belief. She doesn't believe that He will listen. But she still prays. She refuses to surrender in eternity.

Now the melody has done three refrains and is about to end. The room is still perfectly quite and pitched dark. She surrenders her soul now. She makes her last move as she sits down, her knees on her chest, curling like a stagnant ball not ready to roll again. She finally opens her eyes as the melody stops playing. She smiles and feels like today's like yesterday. Like every other day tearing her life away.

"There will always be hope", she whispers slowly to herself. The blind woman whispers to herself.#

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19 ENDINGS TO 19 BEGINNINGS

emo 1:18:00 AM

Of all my Facebook friends, it's Paw Martinez who loves most answering notes like this then tags a lot of people to read. It has been a hobby, I notice. But it's always for fun. And for getting closer to the people you assume your "friends" as well. Since Facebook is a Social Networking site, I don't find anything wrong answering this.

1. I’ve come to realize that... -as someone who's already old enough, I haven't been serious in things that I do, things I must do and things that people expect me to do. With breadwinning responsibilities amidst a backdrop of forcing myself to be a frontrunner, I don't get to realize the things that I should realize. I'm still in a lame slumber. And it's driving me crazier.

2. I’ve come to realize that I need... - enlightenment to get out of my self-authored Dark Ages. If there are ways for me to change the way I have always been, I would open-handedly accept them to lead me into finally doing the things I am supposed to do. I'm not rich in various aspects. So that leaves me needing, demanding and sometimes pleading for matters I don't even know how to start with.

3. I’ve come to realize that I’ve lost… - countless chances of being happy and satisfied because of not believing in myself. I could have been the happiest man in the world, in my own way, if only I listened to the inner voice which sought to teach me the right way. And since I walked barefoot on those moments, putting slippers on my two feet and crossing them again would never give the 1st-rate emotions I was supossed to feel the first time I tried. Loser :(

4. I’ve come to realize that I hate it when… - I receive insatiable pity from people I never expected to look down on me. It all makes me want to throw up and vomit all my pursuits and leave them spoiled with regret. If there's a feeling that's more detestable than people ripping out their trust on you and squeezing it right after, go on, tell me!

5. I’ve come to realize that the person I like… - doesn't seem to be the person who I want her to be. Fate seems like having a terrible multiple-personality-disorder period. The person I like sometimes talks like an angel inviting me to fly and in other times too, she seems like the very wicked demon that chases me on my nightmares. Nothing's ever constant the way she is to me. If there ever was a moment, it lasted only for seconds.

6. I’ve come to realize that people… - are always stubborn if you're hard-headed and are understanding if you're very open. They are like the colors of a rainbow, with different traits, different ways, and different beauties. But together, they complete your life in full colors.

7. I’ve come to realize that I’ll always be… - unafraid to die any moment if I will not know who or what is going to kill me. I've been numb while I exist. Even if I don't show it.

8. I’ve come to realize that my mom… - (why is there such a section like this here) remains to be the SOLE individual who perfectly understands my imperfections in a manner that she doesn't want me to notice. She's mean sometimes but I then realize that her being mean is a compromise for something that makes me smile at the end of the day. Very heart-wrenching.

9. I’ve come to realize that when I woke up this morning… - hunger is not my mortal enemy anymore. Give me weeks to learn it and I won't beg for any frustrated thoughts.

10. I’ve come to realize that last night before I went to sleep...
- some of my brain cells are not happy anymore of consecutive funerals. They tell me to take best care for my body but I keep on ignoring them. I hope I can realize WHEN to learn.

11. I’ve come to realize that I really want to… - be the happiest person who is already satisfied with the smallest things life can offer. I want to be a lawyer, a doctor, a singer, a dancer, a traveller, a novelist, a performer, an artist, all in one. Whichever can make me happiest, as long as there prevails a simple manifestation. I'm fine with it.

12. I’ve come to realize that life… - is never enough to live when you have plenty of dreams for a lot of people you love. It never is enough when you don't live it yourself. When you are not doing what you like. Or better, you don't know where you stand in the plans you've been restructing all your life.

13. I’ve come to realize that my ex… - (another prizewinning section. LoL) will forever be there to care for me. She's the type of person who accepts everything. You won't hear any complaints.

14. I’ve come to realize that my friends… - are the best monsters Lady Gaga has failed to enlist in her Haus. Even if they're diamonds in the rough, they are diamonds! They're worthy to be treasured because they'll always be precious.

15. I’ve come to realize that when people walk out of my life… - I chase them at first but stop when they turn their heads and smile. I'm implicitly relieved.

16. I've come to realize that fate...
- is something that can render realizations be proven tentative. It can be the most helpful thing or can be your frequent traitor at times you don't expect.

17. I've come to realize that when I
die...
- people will always put a quotation, a scene, or a memory about me in their
eulogies that will make the necrology a party before proceeding to the part where they're supposed to break their hearts. Will they?

18. I've come to realize that I would
never...
- do wrong when I still have options from the right side. I would never cross my own life just because of others pulling me down. Even if my feet are always in the ground, there will still be a lot of pulling-down's. As to where it will lead more below that, I don't know too.

19. I've come to realize that love...
- is what keeps me answering this. If I just don't love the people who are gonna read this, I could have slept an hour ago. My head's gonna explode. Goodnight.#

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THE KITE RUNNER

Afghan novels 12:35:00 AM

If only I could turn back time, I would finish reading humurous novels first before reading The Kite Runner. By then, Khaled Hosseini could have broken my heart less.

Two years ago, it was again by accident in a net cafe when I opened a pdf of the novel The Kite Runner by Khaled Hosseini. When things like this happen, I would go to wikipedia right away then skip directly to the book's critical reviews. The review was good. So I read it straight for two days. (I'm not a fast reader). Right after, it has become my favorite novel. Why not? When it makes your tears drop to the pages when you flip. It is gonna break your heart.

The Kite Runner follows the story of Amir who, as a young child, grew up with good impressions of Kabul: tradition-centered cultural heritage, bold racial identity, deep blood ties, and being one of the Pashtuns (upper class) which secured him luxury and fortune. However, he has a father who thought of him as coward and unmanly enough. He has a Hazara (lower class) servant named Hassan who looks up to him. Sometimes though, Amir gets amazed by the wisdom and perseverance of Hassan who is unconditionally willing to save his life. This was highlighted by the narration that Amir's first word was "Baba" (father) while Hassan's was "Amir". When at one time something very wicked happened to Hassan, albeit seeing it through his own eyes, Amir kept himself hidden, finally realizing his cowardice and thus was unable to save Hassan. He could have stood up there and protect Hassan like what Hassan does whenever he is in trouble. Attached with that is the racism which prevailed. This is the novel's turning point. Everything changed then. Set against a backdrop of major historical events, Amir experiencing living turmoils during the fall of Afghanistan's monarchy through the Soviet invasion, almost losing his and his father's lives at the cumbersome and vast flight of refugees to Pakistan, having a hard life, late education and climactic marriage in the United States, and deciding to overcome his self-disappointment of his past at the rise of the Taliban regime, the book absolutely widens the readers' vision towards humanity.

The author succeeded in blending the drama with the context of the story in a very interactive and informative way. It is a story set in an interest-magnetizing culture that has become a bait for American attention since the September 11, 2001 terrorist attacks. While reading it, I felt like I was opening boxes of self-discovery, in which every memory, move or guilt is experienced thoroughly. What I appreciate best here is the strength of Amir's character while he does that something "to be good again" in saving a part of someone he has failed to save before, his father's will to equally share his love to the children who have his blood, and Hassan's loyalty to his promise to be always at the back of Amir, respecting him until his death. Though they suffered imperfections, they rose to claim redemption through other people. How sin should be atoned and contemplated to be finally redeemed in any manner possible is the best point in the universal theme this book has.

The most moving line here for me was: "There are a lot of children in Afghanistan, but little childhood." It must be very painful to escape childhood and think like someone twice your age. But the sweet simplicity of youthful winters spent kite running with Hassan, for Amir, seem light years away, illuminated by the kids' pure innocence. Even if this sometimes haunts Amir all his life, he loves this reminiscence. This paradox makes The Kite Runner a word of the mouth and life-changer. Something you will bring as a lesson as you live life everyday.#

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A FATHER'S FINAL LETTER: THE VAMPIRE DIARIES EDITION

Elena 6:49:00 PM

If there's a part in The Vampire Diaries Season 2 that moved me the deepest, it's definitely the time when Elena reads the farewell letter from her father John. After watching the pre-finale episode, I know that I am not the only one who is having a Last Song Syndrome with the song "Skinny Love" by Birdy. It's the background song during this scene. And for that episode, it also made me feel like I lost a member of my family too. Hats off to the writers of the series! Everything just seemed naturally appealing to emotions. Everything seemed too real.

This is what the letter says:

“Elena. It’s no easy task being an ordinary parent to an
extraordinary child.
I’ve failed in that task. And because of my
prejudices, I’ve failed you.
I’m haunted by how things might’ve played out differently if I’d been more willing to hear your side of
things.
For me, it’s the end. For you, a chance to grow old and
someday do better with your
own child than I did with mine.

It’s for that child that I give you my ring. I don’t ask for your forgiveness or for you to forget,
I
ask only that you believe this.
Whether you are now reading
this as a human or as a vampire,
I
love you all the same as I’ve always loved you and always
will."

For those who got foggy thoughts why John died, like I also did, a review and thorough listening to every speech in the episode should be in a rerun. Our dearest witch, Bonnie, performed a spell on John. This special spell which Bonnie found in her ancestor's grimoire transferred John's life force to his daughter Elena. As the final sacrifice to the ritual that breaks the centuries-old curse that Klaus has, Elena has to die. She eventually was killed. Bitten in the neck by the most horrifying Original vampire. But since Elena has her father's life force in her and John took the Vampire-bite-proof ring off his finger, John eventually lost his life when Elena woke up. Stefan gave her John's letter and the ring. She realized that she gained her humanity again. Simultaneous with a human life she has always neglected: John's.

As for the letter, I think John labeled Elena as an "extraordinary child" due to the fact that Elena has been through willingly surfing her waves of problems- the natural and the supernatural ones. She has been sleeping with grief over the loss of her known parents and the knowledge that the real ones abandoned and lied to her. She has seen so much violence and rage originating from all the fights, revenge and wounded hearts of all the people around her. And she has been living a dangerous life with fear: being a doppelganger who needed to be sacrificed, loving a vampire boyfriend that connects her to bloodshot events, and having loved someones she sees dying inevitably in front of her eyes. While John couldn't even be there like a "ordinary parent" whose shoulders are always ready for a daughter to lean on. But neither parties must be blamed. Things have always been like that. Even since Elena wasn't born yet.

Honestly, before that point in the series, I had never liked John's character. I mean, why should an almost antagonistic and a self-centered father like him matter to Elena? But with his letter, I understood much the points that John wants to emphasize. Just with the fact that John didn't do a heart-to-heart-soul-to-soul last conversation with Elena but instead just went outside to die there, this is one point that makes him an honorable father. He made the greatest sacrifice he could ever give to Elena even if he admits that he was never a good parent to her. I think John is more than an ordinary father. He left his ring to Elena for her further protection and her future children. He was, of all people in the story, as far as my opinion is concerned, the most considerate on Elena's simple dreams and wishes. The things she has been fighting all her life for. He felt that despite Elena's supernatural ties with many individuals, his daughter dreads to be deprived of the most important things to her. Being a human, growing old, seeing her children grow up, a lifetime of decisions and a death with satisfaction. John was conscious of his own these things and his wrongdoings. And on top of that, he loved Elena no matter what.

Of course, we all have our own me-and-my-father stories. Your father may be the ideal soap-opera type who does all things for his children, understand their simplest mistakes and dreams the best for them. Or he may be the one who drinks all night, invulnerable of his responsibilities and cuts even the thinnest thread that connects to his family. But whether he's there or not, he's a father. That's one thing that would never change.#

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THE BRIDGES OF MADISON COUNTY

adultery 5:08:00 PM

While cleaning up my inbox at formspring.com last night, one simple question made me decide to make this blog post. The question was: "What's the most challenging love story that you have ever read in books?" I immediately answered it with the title of a novel I had read a year ago. Now, if you haven't read THE BRIDGES OF MADISON COUNTY by Robert James Waller, it's not yet too late. Go grab it! And if you have, I know you'll mind reading what I think about one of the few un-put-downables books ever.

The book is entirely fictional but on its introduction, there is a subplot that makes it appear real. The introduction follows the track of the two full-grown children of the main female character who found their mother's diary that contained a revelation that shook their world. The woman who is of Italian descent, got married to an American guy and settled in a small town in Iowa. This woman had lived all her life with an unexplanable feeling of incompleteness even if there wasn't wrong with her children or with her husband. However, there came a time when her soul was lifted, her eyes sparkled with excitement, and her hopes opened for an all new episode when she met a National Geographic photographer from Washington who went to Madison County to make photographic essays about its lovely bridges. And this meeting, for both of them, has been their most fundamental serendipity. It remained a secret written in a diary. It was never told until her death.

While the woman's family was away and she's temporarily all alone, he came to her not by accident but by fate. He was asking for directions to get to specific bridges. He found her. He told her his years of travels. She rose to claim a yearning of the world she has felt abandoned her. Her hopes were renewed in full colors. She saw in him the bridge which leads to the perfection she sought her entire life. They both shared love that was unconditionally requited in all aspects- emotions, sex, care, dreams and promises. Resulting to a love that reawakened its potentials in a very powerful way. How can a four-day love affair go beyond its eternal limits? She had his family. But she could have him. He promised her a life of witnessing how her daydreams turn to reality. The ending? It will leave you with an ever-changing sense of satisfaction. A question you would forcibly ask yourself everyday.

While reading this masterpiece, I noticed that the story suppressed my thoughts over the details and the consequences of the love affair. It just let me feel it. The magic of the plot lets readers put down the book temporarily, look up and think deeply about how the world exists. It releases readers to overcome questions on morality. It makes you cover your mouth with one hand while the other pushes the book to yout chest then you continue reading onwards. The conflict with a personal sentimentality to the book, to the characters and to their actions almost completely eliminates reflective thinking and just supercedes emotion all by itself for the very pleasure of indulging in it. Human nature, indeed. The problem why the four-day love affair can or cannot last a lifetime isn't a major issue anymore once the novel is pulls its finale punches at the end. You will answer your own dispute.

I can feel as well that the author crafted the novel that way so that people themselves will be stuck with its ever-universal theme. In this modern world where love seems defeats explanations and human existence is always redefined, people have been delighted with the nourishment of fantansies through romance-themed novels, death-defying movie love stories, and emotions behind every line of a lovesong. Even if it less practical to fantansize, it opens the door for human imaginations to break the barriers of what can never be done and what is impossible to happen. Since we cannot sometimes control the way our lives are written, we look up to the idea of fate and destiny. That is why we love the feeling that we are virtually challenging our own emotions. We are blindly spoon-feeding ourselves in the time we least expect doing it.

For me, the thing that extends novels like The Bridges of Madison County to their resonation is the presentation of a large painting where people can see the beauty of preference. We are happiest when we make our own choices, not when all other individuals decide for us. Norms, customs and social approval are temporarily set aside in this paradigm. The only thing left is faith while letting destiny bring even people from different dimensions to somewhere they can be together.#

TRIVIA:
1. It was originally published in the UK
under the title: "Love in Black and White".

2. The novel is one of the bestselling books of the 20th century, with 50 million copies sold worldwide.

3.The novel was
made into a 1995 film of the same name, adapted by Richard LaGravenese and directed by Clint Eastwood. It stars Eastwood and Meryl Streep.

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ANOTHER SUMMER DRAMATIC COMPLEX

childhood friends 3:29:00 PM

I once heard from a Christopher de Leon's MMK episode the line, "Do not let your left hand know the help that your right hand did to others." I had second thoughts at first on posting this because I feared that I might be praising myself for something good that I had done. However, I realized that what I did isn't something that would place me in the list of the nominees in CNN's Hero of the Year. It was very simple. Just a deed out of a respect to the past and understanding of the present. It was out of reminiscing memories of my childhood friends. Do they still remember? Wherever they are now? I'm sure they do.

It was a very hot May afternoon. Lying on the bed with all the curtains up and all windows open wasn't enough to take the Summer madness on the temperature. Since our house is literally five steps from the highway, I knew kids were down there on the streets, kicking a tin can then running here and there, doing hide-and-seek. I can't remember playing that strange game when I was young. Why did they do them all at once? Hitting a tin can with a slipper, chasing others and hiding-and-seeking. The young generation is really full of reinventions.

I heard a ding-dong and I heared the kids stopped running. What a relief! Our local ice cream is here! I took 50 pesos from my torn wallet. That was the last 50 pesos I had from the money my mom gave me to come home. It was also the last money I had. *swipe some zero-balanced atm card here*. Swiftly, I signaled Mr. Ice Cream Maker that I wanted a cone. Typically, I expected only two flavors: Ube and Mango. I was right. Nonetheless, who would care about that when you're all so buried in extremes of the weather?

Atfter taking my cone and paying for it, I had decided to go back home when my phone rang. Still standing in the highway, I read the text message and laughed. Then I thought of something after that. Didn't those kids stop playing? What are they doing now?

I turned around and watched them. Some of them stared at Mr. Ice Cream Maker as he prepped up to proceed his with his beloved sojourn. But some of them were staring hardly at me too. Their eyes, glued at my ice cream while they were eating the collar of their slightly dirty clothes. Some were biting their nails too. Realizing that I was looking at them as well, they were, I think, starting to decide to play again. But what I did, something I couldn't have done if there were other people, was something that made them happy.

So I walked towards Mr. Ice Cream Maker again and told him that I wanted to buy some more. The total number of children was 8. So it would obviously leave me with 5php as change. I approached them right after. At first, I just sat down on that stony corner. I knew I would see them smile. Yes, they did. But it was their eyes sparkling with unblistered innocence that caught me off guard as I handed them the cones one by one. Looking at the expressions on their faces, they easily took me away with remembrance of some of my childhood friends.

One of those kids is a younger sister of someone I knew who is in Manila right now. She is of the same age with me but her mature mindset is twice as sober as I have. She has thoughts imbued with overwhelming sense of responsibilities. I've heard she's made all her way through. She worked as a maid for years and now as a sales agent. I remember her confidently gripping that old stalk of coconut tree ready to glide. She was a very small girl back then. I just waited below, nervously watching out if she's gonna fall or not over the smooth but slopy cliff. She did fall. But she would stand up and tell me that everything's fine. What a fighter!

The other kid is a cousin of two sisters I once shared countless laughter with. The same story is almost uniform to all other girls in our place. After finishing high school, with all the financial asphyxiations, they defy their destinies by going to Manila without any experience. They got jobs that are easily acquired. Being a house-helper is the best example. These two sisters however got married last year. The same year their father died, leaving their 6 other siblings terrified. The older of them wedded someone who's twice as old as she is. The younger one married someone older than her as well but they're currently in a long-distant relationship. I just wish they married because they love those men and not because they need them to survive. Whichever is the reason, it's hard for me to blame them. I am left to remember these two girls from years ago. We were there, along with all other kids of our age, all intentionally stripped, holding our hands as we swam deep in the sea with huge waves. For us, it's most enjoyable when storms make waves in the seas. It was deadly funny. I just didn't expect that the two ladies' breadwinner responsibilities were as big as those titanic waves.

Another kid, the one who was eating his collar, reminded me of one of my best friends. We used to play with rings of thin round elastic rubber all day. We used to go outside and play with small animated cards we call stickers even if they don't stick. At early age, we shared the same groovy passion for dancing that lasts 'till now. He sometimes didn't go home at night but rather stayed in my room, lying in my bed as he shares to me his dreams. Many cars. A large blue mansion with a dance studio. A refrigerator full of chocolates and our favorite foods. I could hear him blissfully enumerated them. It must have been so hard living his life. He grew up with a step mother who always quarreled with his father. They eventually separated for real even if they both love him. He went to his father at first and joined the job as a jeepney conductor. Then he went to his mother who has her new family. He decided to go back to his own city alone and is now working at a nocturnal restaurant. I wish I could see him again to see how much he's changed. I wonder if he still dreams of those he mentioned every night in my bed. It moved me to wonder that maybe, he's really now a big boy with a big dream. He has a big heart. Memory of him is too heart-wrenching.

After those kids finished eating their ice cream, only one of them thanked me. Well, I couldn't protest about their childish innocence. What filled my heart was the speech their eyes delivered. I've got a feeling that with all those people they love far from them now, they too start to be alarmed of the misfortune written at the end of their lines. That's how life goes on most children in my hometown. But as young as they are, their earliest years deserve to be spent with whatever that can make them effortlessly happy. So that at least, like me, they will smile looking at the faces of younger kids of the generations next to them while memories jump back. And just like the ice cream that makes us happy, even if the good thing is done after eating the tip of the cone, there will be another chance of hope as long as we wait again for Mr. Ice Cream Maker to come. And I promise you, he always will. #

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GETTING OUT OF HADES’ PREMISES

THE STORY OF THE WAVING MAN

A CHANGE OF ABODE

MSU at 50: Integrating People and Building Societies through Quality Education in a Culture of Peace

ONLY HOPE

MY FINANCIAL ACCOUNTING FORUM SPEECH

AT NIGHTS WHEN YOU DON'T NEED A ROOMMATE

ASSESSMENT EXAMS

BLURRY

REBECCA BLACK + FRIDAY : WHAT MORE CAN I SAY?

DANCE IN THE DARK

19 ENDINGS TO 19 BEGINNINGS

THE KITE RUNNER

A FATHER'S FINAL LETTER: THE VAMPIRE DIARIES EDITION

THE BRIDGES OF MADISON COUNTY

ANOTHER SUMMER DRAMATIC COMPLEX

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