Break

It's been a while. I have forgotten how to write more than quick one-liners.

There had been an increasingly waning interest in introspection and documentation, probably secondary to the pressure from the truckload of things needed to be accomplished, the overwhelming cascade of events that are yet to continue, the demise of an audience, and the undying longing to eliminate the green-eyed gremlin.

Before long, no thought would stand still enough to translate into words. Ideas, feelings, and memories would all melt away as soon as they are conceived. They would not be touched. They would not be exposed. As delicate as an uncovered wound that sting with the gentlest breeze, they would leave blank notebooks to thin from the tearing off of leaves that attempt to reveal them.

Today, I want that to change.

A Critique of Reviews

Book reviews reveal more about the reviewer than the book itself. So it goes with other materials critiqued like movies, food, reports, papers, students.

The Lolo I Never Had

My Lolo at his best.  Jan. 4, 1997
I've always thought he was a handsome, old man, more handsome than in his youth,
and more handsome in his usual scrunched up, weird-smelling clothes. 

This was my lolo, Plaridel, the grandparent with whom I have the most memories. Memories of him consists of afternoon walks around the village with him walking backwards and his sweater worn backwards, or inside-out or both, peeling mangoes with our hands and wiping the stickiness on leaves, throwing macopa flowers at each other, playing in the backyard baha during rainy days, watching him cook rice with firewood under the makeshift shed he made his carpenter build, being spun in his office chair as transport to Quiapo, and feeling grossed out when he put the molted skin of an insect on his navel, saying he was breastfeeding it. 

He was a lawyer, and a queer man. His office and bedroom was a makeshift extension of our house, and looked pretty much like the houses of informal settlers. His files were kept in cut Tide boxes. His drawers had disgusting things no one wanted to touch. His bed smelled of him, the smell of an old person. Under his bed was a small, old hopia box with soil, where he would spit out phlegm. In his bookshelves, he kept a small pack of lemon drops, which I would try to find every now and then. And in one corner, very accessible to children, he kept the rifle he allegedly used in war. The place was dusty, had a weird smell, and was covered in agiw. He let us play there all the time. 

I liked playing with his office supplies-- the inks, the stamps, the staplers, the paper and all that magical paraphernalia that can do all sorts of things. I was allowed to play with his computer when I was, like, in kinder. It was Windows 95 with Solitaire as the only game I remember but couldn't understand, so I messed around with MS-DOS and learned how to use Microsoft Word. He also let us watch his TV whenever we wished, even though we had our own TV in the sala. He let us jump on and mess up his bed. He even let us use his drinking cups to build soil towers and mud cakes. 

We played a lot, but I don't remember talking. I was perhaps too young to talk substantially. He told stories, but only that one time I specifically asked to hear some. I don't even remember what they were about. He was gone by the time I could really talk about stuff.

Basha's Line

When I first watched One More Chance (2007), I was impressed with the dialogue. Not all of it, but in general. It's fun, witty, dramatic but not that cheesy-- a whole level classier than its contemporaries and predecessors. Except Trisha's lines which I hate.

Cannot even read this aloud without squirming!

My favorite is Basha's lines during her climactic confrontation with Popoy, particularly the last bit.

Last bit: sana ako pa rin, ako na lang, ako na lang ulit.
For full effects, watch this

Some High School Poems: Behind the Verses

Poetry is not my thing. There are very few poems that I can appreciate, let alone read. But high school has a way of forcing these things upon us, like dancing and electronics. Somehow, we pick up a few of those skills, even if just the basics. So among all the stupid things I wrote, here are the decent two out of three (edited so as not to further embarrass myself), all written in 2008.

Pineapple: a metaphor

My mother planted these pineapples in 2011. They've just been there since.

Germination

It was in the fourth grade that I began receiving the type of instruction in formal education that made me really, really fond of writing, or so I recall. Our English teacher, Prof. D assigned us tons of activities involving writing and vocabulary. One of those activities was a daily presentation allotted for the first few minutes of class, wherein students randomly called shall present a new vocabulary word. Since the presenters were randomly assigned, everyone had to be ready, otherwise the student who didn’t do homework would receive a grade of zero. Prof. D was strict, and a bit scary, as I remember.

Book Tales

It was through my mother’s efforts that I came to love reading. I don’t remember but I’m pretty sure she taught me to read like Teodora Alonzo to Pepe. While cleaning stuff that haven’t been touched for decades, I found evidence: the letter S cut out from green art paper and pasted on cardboard (totally her style), along with the first books I probably owned as a child. I remember looking at the pictures of those books before learning to read. When we got a piano, I would open them on the piano, and then press piano keys, telling my little sister that that page was played as such.

My mother bought us books althroughout our childhood. There were storybooks of various sizes in either English or Filipino, mini illustrated dictionaries and encyclopedias and other illustrated educational materials. I think I read every book she bought, not once but multiple times.

Binhi't Kalansay

Ilang ulit ko nang napanood ang Magic Temple (1996) mula nang una itong pinalabas. Ito ang unang pelikulang napanood ko sa sinehan kung kaya naman hindi ko ito makalimutan. Habang nasa banyo at nagliliwaliw ukol sa paborito kong talinhaga, biglang dumaplis sa aking isipan ang isang eksenang ngayon ko lamang namalayan ang natatagong paglalaro ng lalim: ang laban ni Sambag at ni Diyablong Bungo.

The IE Book Challenge Tweak

Not so long ago, I finally came up with one thing I can constantly write about: books. Aside from book reviews and reflections on certain things I read, I can write about my own experiences with books -- some sort of meta-story, kind of like the story behind a book. Or simply what Philippine Star's "My Favorite Book" contest asks contestants to write.

Fourth Degree Self-consciousness

Whenever I scan through my newsfeed in social networks, I keep wondering what makes my "friends" post the things they post.  Selfies, statuses with obscure meanings, good mornings/afternoons/evenings/nights, comments on an ongoing event, personal messages. . .

Another Writing Theme

Hello, I am a medical student and I can't stop thinking about writing. I've been into writing for as long as I can remember.