When Nostalgia Hits Me

I went at my former elementary school today for the “adopt-a-priest” program in lined with the Congress of the Clergy that is to be held for the whole week. Our family participated in the program and we submitted ourselves and our humble home to house and adopt a priest for the whole time of the Congress. As I have said earlier, the drop off point of the participating priests was at Holy Child Catholic School, my former school where I was educated for seven years.

By the time that I stepped at my former elementary school, I was struck with a nostalgic feeling, hitting me at the very core and feelings of homesickness suddenly flowed inside of me, turning back the hands of time when I was still very young. Scenes flashed back like slides from a powerpoint presentation.

Nostalgia hit me after I saw the kids running freely, chasing at each other, and not minding the sweat dripping from their foreheads and their stained uniforms. Barely thirteen years ago, when I was of these children’s age, my problems only revolved on how I can successfully escape from the taya so that I won’t be caught; or what strategy should I use so that I won’t be labeled as the balagong. I do not mind if what I am wearing is not trendy or whatever—what I am only afraid of is that my mother would scold me after seeing the stained uniform brought about by the nagtataeng panda ballpens and spilled Milo. Life during that time was all easy and light. Those were the days when the only thing that boggles my mind is that I shouldn’t drink from the school’s water fountain having the strong belief that the water revolves and form a cycle; thus, resulting on the idea that the water falling off from people’s mouths as they drink the water will be drank by whoever uses the water fountain next. Those were the days when naivety is an escape from the harsh realities of life.

Now as days pass by, as the years add up to my age, things turn up to be more complicated. There had been heartaches, people came and went, and I broke people’s hearts. If only I can go back to the times wherein running is the only form of happiness that I know, I’ll surely be happier. If only I can go back to that moment wherein the caress of my mother on my cheek and hair is far priceless and comforting than the caress of someone I can only have for a brief moment. When there’s only pure love and no lustful thinking.

But since I am aging and I am already graduating in a year, I don’t have a choice—neither can I stop the hands of time from turning. Youth lies in my heart. And no matter how I resent growing up (and it shows on my height), I have to accept the reality that there is a water fountain, a world, a life that I have to taste— regardless of the fact that I don’t feel like tasting it.

I surely wish that the next person who will fill the chapters of his life would take note of these things…..

When you eat outside (or even at home), let him eat his food no matter how long it takes. He eats his food very slowly cause he loves to converse while eating. Just let him finish and listen to every word that he will say. If you have any left over, don’t be afraid to put it into his plate. He will try to finish everything up—no matter how long it takes.

When he sleeps he really snores so loud. It might mean that your sleeping will be disturbed; as a tip, just watch him sleep. Sleeping is one of my favorite human activities, but watching him sleep and hearing his heart beat is far more rewarding.

When he says “I love you”, answer back.

Saying I love you every now and then is not necessary for him. Say it once in a while, act it, and mean it.

Never ask for his social networking sites passwords and don’t look at his inbox. It will piss him off.

He is a very accommodating guy, and he wins the admiration of many. If ever a girl or anyone incessantly calls him and sends him messages, don’t be jealous. When he says that he loves you, he makes himself responsible for the phrase.

If he brings you to your house and he complains about different things (e.g.: traffic, mud, huge effort, hot temperature) and he says that he wishes to be somewhere comfortable than where you both are, be glad. It means differently; his complains mean that he loves being with you.

When you hail a jeepney, remind him to remove all his jewelries. He makes such a good customer for snatchers.

When he snores at night, try to wake him up. His body tends to freeze when sleeping and when he drinks too much. Remind him of how much bottles he already consumed.

Lastly,

If you promised him forever, never, ever, ever let go. Trials will come, you will lose interest, there will come a time when you will feel that he no longer cares because of his tight schedule, the flame might stop burning but despite all these, never let go. Hold each other’s hand, and never let go.

I didn’t follow a lot of those ten things, but that doesn’t matter. Whoever you are (whoever will fill his book next), I hope you read this. This is for you. Take care of my Jay.

I guess I am here just to serve as a bad example for others, really. Ha ha.

And yes dear readers, this will be the last that I’ll be posting about my past love. Keep updated for the next post (hopefully for the next love. Paging, anyone? Hehehe. Just kidding.)

Finis

I was at the field. It was dark, it was cold, but everyone seemed to be in exhilaration brought about by the concert that is being held that night. It’s our university’s foundation day, and everyone just seemed to have fun. I wasn’t having fun; I was with my friends, yes, but the cold wind caressing my skin brought a sense of emptiness. I was lonely, I was longing, I was incomplete. I was looking for a sight of a lost love, of someone I really cared about. The wind had let me feel the emptiness, yet at the same manner it gave me a feeling of serenity. I didn’t understand what I feel. But I never understood anything of myself, and with that I no longer complain.

And then I saw him, and he approached me. The face isn’t really new to me; he’s an acquaintance, someone we all look up to. I said hi, he said hi back and we started to talk. I was very at ease talking with him. In an instant I felt a strong connection and bond. He asked for my number, and never had I thought that on that very night, in that field, I will be alive.

I answered “yes” September 15 2007.

Two years had lapsed, and the feeling never changed. It was never lessened.

Here I am, in front of my computer. Outside the door it is dark and cold, but the tambays in our kanto seemed to be in exhilaration, betting over a horse race. They are all having fun teasing one another. But I am not having fun.

And yes, the cold wind caressing my skin tonight still brings the same feeling of emptiness. I am lonely, still longing, and by all means incomplete. I am in search for a lost love. But this wind lets me feel the emptiness and at the same manner, gives me a feeling of serenity. I don’t understand what I feel. But I never understood anything of myself, and with that, I never complained.

Few hours from now it will be September 15 and dear God knows how I wish I am in a different dimension, in a different place. How I wish I can be in his arms, locking hands with him, just staring at his big, tired, puffy eyes, listening to his voice that never fails to sooth me.

I could have been in that place. In that different dimension. But I chose to be here, I chose to be miserable, I chose to be empty. I had all the time to get him back. Only if I had the courage. Only if I can level down and forget this fucking pride. Only if I was brave enough.

If only I knew that the kiss on the cheek would be the last that I’ll feel of you, I should have kissed you on your mouth, embrace you tightly and let you feel that I love you. If only I knew that it would be the last time I’ll be having dinner with you, I should have ordered a meal and not just a sundae. If only I knew that it would be the last time that we’ll be together, the last time that I’ll see your smile, I should have not made a fuss about a girl who never had a connection with you other than friendship. I should have just cherished that moment and not acted like a little girl.

You’re right, there will come a time wherein we need to choose if we will turn the page or close the book. You said you choose both, for when you turned the last page, at the same instance you also closed the book. Because it was already the last page.

And now, I am closing mine.

Finis.

“There comes a time when you have to stand up and shout:
This is me damn it! I look the way I look, think the way I think, feel the way I feel, love the way I love! I am a whole complex package. Take me… or leave me. Accept me - or walk away! Do not try to make me feel like less of a person, just because I don’t fit your idea of who I should be and don’t try to change me to fit your mold. If I need to change, I alone will make that decision.
When you are strong enough to love yourself 100%, good and bad - you will be amazed at the opportunities that life presents you.” — Stacey Charter

Need I say more?

I am in my deadly state right now. For the sake of those who doesn’t know the news yet, my long time boyfriend (whose name’s still withheld upon request) and I broke up last Sunday. He did break up with me for reasons which I think are reasonable enough; in fact, I even think that it was me who initiated the break up. As I put it, I think he broke up with me cause he thought I will be breaking up with him; in a Filipino translation, akala niya makikipaghiwalay ako sa kanya kaya inunahan na niya ko. Talking about male egos. Ang pride, baka magiba. Good thing I do not care much about my pride as much as he does. If that will be the case, I’ll state here that I was the one who broke up. But I have an ego that can withstand a barrage of insults, so it’s just fine.

Anyway, it just so happened that during the time that I was acting so weird, evil and narrow-minded I was having my monthly cyclic bleeding. I was really a hell girl on the three days that caused my boyfriend’s (or should I say ex) decision. I do not blame myself though; it is because I am a woman, I experience the fucking pain that women experience in one whole week of every month (or year if you’re irregular), and because of the bleeding and the discomfort that I felt I have been so mataray and demanding. I think my ex knows very well that when I have my menstruation, I am very mataray to him. Kumbaga, napaglilihian ko siya.

But then, he lost his patience and decided to cut the thing off. When I received his long break up message (when I finished crying and regain my poise I dissected the message and knew that it was a six pager) I was at Mc Arthur Park at Tacloban and was having my picture taken. I have a 39-degree-fever and was coughing my lungs out. I was even so excited to see that he was the one who texted; before I received the message I was even talking to concert king (concert king referring to my ex) and I’s common friend, Ms. Gina and told her that concert king is my medicine. I thought that through the message I will finally be healed; what the fuck, I never thought it was a break up message. It was then that I knew—physical pains are tolerable than the pains of the heart. When I was a child I used to complain about bruised knees and broken skull; now I mourn over a scarred heart. The thing is, bandages and band aids cannot help me now.

Ok, stop me before I get too sentimental and cheesy.

Going back, what is really the reason of the break up? People, once and for all: The reason is ME. He is not gay or bisexual, I didn’t catch him on bed with another girl, I am not a lesbian, he is not a lesbian also, I didn’t flirt with other guys, we didn’t get caught by the student affairs. Stop the speculations and tape your big mouths. Make it adhesive, double sided.

The reason is a bit of – well, scripted. Para bang yung sa mga telenovela ng GMA 7,

(Scene: Naglalakad si Jules sa beach at hinahabol ng 4/11 na si Romina. Jules: Hindi tayo bagay Romina, langit ka lupa ako. (With matching tantalizing eyes). Romina: Pero Jules mahal kita! (Takbo pa rin and 4/11 na si Romina, iniwan ang mataas na elevator heels sa pampang para maabutan si Jules na walang ka juicy juicy ang katawan). Jules: Wag kang makulit leche ka. Romina tumakbo sa dagat. Nalunod. Iniligtas ni Jules. Jules: Romina mahal kita! Romina: Tae mo. Kailangan ko pa malunod. Manigas ka.)

Thank you Carlo J. Caparas for the inspiration.

Anyway, as I was saying…. The reason behind our break up is a bit scripted, but it is the reality. We broke up because we cannot fit into each other’s worlds anymore. I love isaw, he loves expensive restaurants. I love tiangge, he is a Rustan’s person. No, am just kidding. What I mean in the statement that we don’t fit into each other’s worlds anymore is that we’re living in different generations. It is not us; it is our age, our wants, our priorities in life. I demand a lot of things from him, things that a usual boyfriend of a teenager ought to do (like fetching me from school, bonding with my friends, texting non stop and other corny things) and he cannot do that because he came from a different generation that is ahead of me. Quoting from him, “I am not a college student anymore”. And I think that explains everything.

Conversely, he has priorities that I find hard to accept. I no longer belong in the list of his what-to-dos, and that pains me. I am surely finding ways to understand that he is pressured with the life that he has, but I just cannot understand. Throw me the tomatoes, I am really selfish. (This column is a warning to all the men who are rejoicing now that I am single. Don’t dare anymore. Para kayong kumuha ng batong ipupukpok niyo sa ulo niyo. Better find someone else who is simple. I am not a simple, and if you’d force me to follow your want-to-dos and schemes, we’ll just kill each other. Also, if I became your wife you’ll have a culinary arrangement of sunny side up in the morning, scrambled eggs for lunch and pan scrambled for dinner.)

Going back, he belong in a more matured world, and I belong to the world of people who are just beginning to be matured. We spent two years understanding each other and adjusting to the gaps. We tried—but we just cannot. I love him, but love cannot guarantee everything. I love him still the same, I torture myself with the love songs that I continually play in my iPOD, I think about him every waking day, but it’s over. I already accepted the fact that he gave up on me. He loosened his grip on the relationship, he left me, and he let me go. He gave me the option; he gave me this opportunity….. Of getting out of his life. I didn’t only lose a boyfriend; I lost a friend, a bestfriend, a mortal enemy, a clown, a debate partner, a macho dancer, a Batangueno slash Bulakenyo slash Ilustrado, a whatever else.

But what I am very sure of is that I am the kind of person who utilizes what life is giving her. Since life is giving me pain now, I have to use that pain to become a better person. I have learned that love might be magical, but it still has tricks. Love is magic, but is still a cheat. Love might be wonderful, but love doesn’t guarantee an ever after.

If there is one person who can love you the way you wanted to be loved, certainly it is yourself. I love myself, and is appreciative of the fact that I have left a LOT for myself. I didn’t give away TOO much of me. Not my body, not the totality of my being, not my integrity. I left to myself what I can still give to the man that I will be facing in the altar. I only gave my ex the love that I can give unselfishly. I gave him the truest of me; the friendship, the companionship and the respect. And because I have learned to love myself first, at the end of the relationship I am not left alone broken. I am still whole.

I am still on the long process of healing. It will not be very easy to live a daily life not having the man whom you text every waking day and before you sleep, the man whose laughter can change a gloomy day into a very wonderful day and whose love can do wonders. We had each other for two years and I do not resent anything. I love him and he knows that. Maybe one day, when all the wounds have healed, I can already go out on a lunch with him (or dinner, which ever) and we can talk about funny things and mamintas ng mga wardrobe ng ibang tao. Just like the old times. I need to face the fact now that we can no longer be together again. But we can get back as friends. Maybe a year, or two years, or ten years from now.

For the meantime, I’ll get back in my old self. Jessica, pass me the chocolates. And the Kleenex. I need another round of bawling.

P.S:

Just two nights ago when the break up is still very fresh to me, I thought if things would get a little bit light if I try to commit suicide. Hahahaha. But thanks to my friend Yeye, I was enlightened. According to her, kung magpapakamatay ako wag daw akong uminom ng panglinis ng silver. Pangit daw sa balita. And I think she’s right. It is way too cheap. Now I have a new scheme. If I commit suicide, I’ll just hang myself using a Gucci belt. At least when people find my body, they will say, “Oh shet, may Gucci belt siya. Sosyal ha, in fairness”.

P.S.S:

Don’t worry, I won’t be committing suicide—ever. I am still on my sane mind. And besides, I do not own a Gucci belt yet.

Every corner reminds me of him.

I walked on the street where we used to walk. I hold my own hand, pretending that it is his hands that I still hold…. I felt a very strange and unusual warmth, and realized that the hand is mine. It is mine and not the hands that I used to hold.

I walked on the field, the mist of the green grass and its sharp edges tickling my feet. It was the first place where everything else blossomed…. My dreams, my future which I conceptualized with him, a love which we thought is eternally wonderful…. Déjà vu, I remember that very night of July when he asked for my number, and I gave it, and he was narrating too much about a love lost. He told me love is not true, I was not affirming nor denying it, but after the night I have loved him and he loved me. We disproved what he believed. We were able to bear out that love is wonderful, just wonderful…. But sometimes, love is not enough.

Upon stepping in that wide field, different feelings rushed within me. I have grasped the fact that the feelings are not butterflies in my stomach; they’re not feelings of excitement and bliss. The feelings just penetrate deep within my system, and it pains me.

I walked on that catwalk. I saw the people staring at me. I have taught myself to get used with the whispers of these people, the rumors that they are whispering softly so that I won’t know… I used to walk on that catwalk with him. We look into each other’s eyes, smile, and laugh on these people whose whispers seemed loud enough for us to hear.

That chapel…. I can’t enter the chapel yet. It was almost three years ago when I was nursing a broken heart. Everything else was failing and I asked for a sign. I prayed to God that He shall give me my sign in that chapel…. That whoever man will pray with me and hold my hand inside that chapel will be the man that is intended for me to love. A year had passed and I almost forgot about the sign. I fell deeply in love with this person and didn’t care for the sign anymore. I know it would be impossible for me to bring him inside cause a lot of people would know (and we can’t be visible inside the school). But one night of March, exactly on my sister’s graduation day, we went inside that chapel….. In the darkness of the chapel we held hands, kneeled down, and prayed. I had the sign, but I let it go….. I trashed the man that I prayed for. I cannot bear to enter the chapel at this time.

Intramuros, the walls, the stone floor, everything reminds me of him….. When I had to remove my stilettos for fear that I might lose my balance and stumble down the Intramuros’ walls. I was with him and he was offering to carry me. I didn’t agree, but how I love that moment.

There’s still a lot of places…. A lot of things, people that remind me of the man that used to be mine…..

I have realized,

The reality remains that these are plainly memories now.

Just memories.

HELL GIRL. HELL YEAH.

I thought of blogging. I’ll be out for a little while, into somewhere which am already sure where, and I have to free out my thoughts first before pushing myself off a cliff (no, before heading tothat somewhere). I planned of going with my cousins to Puerto Princesa some time over the weekend but my Papa Eno (he is just my uncle. I just got used of calling him Papa, since my biological pop already died nineteen years ago) offered me to come with him and his best friend to the City of Pines (Baguio). I would have said no if I am in my right state of mind; but I have decided to come for I needed to be somewhere else—somewhere but here in Manila.

Manila has clogged my lungs with its filthy, thick and black smoke and it’s gonna kill me in a few years time. I have always loved being in this city; I don’t have a probinsya like some other kids, for I was raised and grew up here in Tondo, Manila. Needless to say I am a pure Manilena and I am sure I will still choose Manila over any other places in the Philippines. But life in Manila lately has been so deadly, pressuring and stressing so I needed to take a break. Also, I have spent my summer vacation dealing with atoms and moles. I begged to God that He shall find a way for me to be in a place whose air is not that thick and blackish—He has heard my prayers and gave me Baguio.

But more than those physical dilemmas which led me to spend a vacation somewhere else but here, I have opted to go away from home because of another reason—and that is to think things over and try to renew myself. All right, that may sound like ‘cursillo’, but believe me, I needed a self-repackaging and I won’t be able to do that as long as am home. Just a couple of days ago, hell girl had come out of me (again) and this “transformation” made me say things and do things that I never should have said and done. I don’t know, maybe am that insensitive and rude and immature but that is me. I know that this ‘me’ is not something to be proud of, but that is me, it is a part of my being, and I will always be like that whether I like it or I don’t.

Some people might think that I am probably a perfect girlfriend. Of course there is no such thing as perfection and I think flawlessness is just merely out of the figment of imagination, but some really told me that I must have been a perfect girlfriend. I think am an ‘okay’ girlfriend but it never occurred to me that I am perfect. In fact, I think that it is the other way around. That my past boyfriends and current boyfriend is so malas that they had ME as their girl.

I am immature. I am not immature when it comes to my friends and other contemporaries, only to my boyfriend. I say what I want to say to him, I can accuse him of flirting with a girl without even having any evidence, I do not understand if he has to limit his calls and text messages for he needed to attend into something else more important. I just feel that if this guy wanted me as his girl, then he should at least place me in one of his top priorities and not set me aside like a used brief. It’s either you treat me the way I want to be treated, or you treat me second best and get out of my life. And so my current boyfriend got pissed off with me, and we are currently on the state of our relationship wherein we needed to decide if we want to push through or bid our goodbyes.

Now that is hell girl, right?

I know it isn’t proper. I know this is nothing but selfishness. The other side of my brain shouts like, “Come on, he is working on his thesis, he has a lot of things to do, he is pressured, he is stressed, he is disappointed with a lot of things, can’t you just understand if he forgot your month-sary?” However, the contrarian in me speaks, “No, you’re doing just right, you should make him realize your importance by keeping some distance away from him. He’s an asshole, how dare him to forget your very special day? It only occurs every month!” I am argumentative and evil so I listened to the more argumentative and evil side.

We wanted to enter a relationship for the reason that we need someone to take care of us and make us feel special. That is the core purpose. Or maybe it is also because we fell head over heels in love, but let’s leave it to Dear Friends. This is the fact: we want to be in a relationship for the reason that we need someone to carry us around when we feel tired, make us feel like we’re the most beautiful/handsome girl in the world though we looked like the contrary, and simply just to make us feel loved. Now if it is not happening anymore, we will feel cold and have second thoughts of whether we need to be in the relationship still or just find someone else who can fulfill the role that we have cast. We lose interest, cool off, and call it quits.

But that is not the point of being in a relationship. Upon deciding that you want to be with someone and spend your life and days with that someone, you must be brave enough to carry the responsibilities that come with the decision. It will really come a point that you will feel like it isn’t working anymore. There will come a time wherein you will sense that you are only his second or third best. But because you are aware of your responsibilities toward your partner and your relationship, you will try to understand. You have decided to be with the person and build a world together; isn’t it that you should have the main accountability of nurturing the world and the love that you have built? Not by keeping your pride higher than your head, but by understanding. Understanding everything and all that it is.

But then again, these things occur to me after I kept a distance away from him. I do not think before I act and I have done this a gazillion times already. I have slapped my face already. It might not be enough, but that is surely a good start for a good blow.

I’ll go up to Baguio and think things over. Probably I will go back in Manila carrying in my mind and heart what I just preached, or still become the hell girl that I was when I went up to the City of Pines. I want to re-package myself; as if Baguio can help me.

Seriously, I just needed to escape from Global Warming. It’s killing me.

Okay, let me tell a little story (an irritating one) that I have experienced on my way home today from my 2-5 PM General Chemistry class.

I hailed a jeepney just near the old Planetarium (near Luneta) to save myself from walking far since Divisoria jeepneys are usually found beside Manila City Hall. Luckily, I was able to get a jeepney easily; however, I occupied the back seats this time. I am very fond of sitting at the passenger’s seat but since it is already occupied, I have no choice but to move my butt in the back seat. I have had traumatic experiences sitting in the back seats during High School and college—hold-up instances, snatching, whatever-else-form-of-stealing, and the one that tops the list: attempted sexual aggravations. This is primarily the reason behind my fondness in sitting at the passenger seat. I only get to be beside the jeepney driver (since, I think he will be too occupied to do malicious acts for the reason that his hands are on the wheel) and another passenger. If the other passenger would dare do something on me, I won’t hesitate to push him off the jeepney.

Where am I? Yes, I was on my way home sitting on the back seat beside a man of late forties I suppose. He had a large, as in humongous red plastic bag with him. The huge trash bag occupies a space in the jeepney’s seat. I immediately thought that the bag had an extra fair of seven pesos since it was sitting. I contemplated and imagined that the large plastic bag contain human meat; okay, I admit, it’s a product of too much exposure to GMA 7 telenovela (particularly the Tadyang show, where every cast practically have nine lives each).

Now this man, as I have observed, was shaking all over. His legs were trembling so as his hands and sweat was dripping towards his forehead and neck like a water faucet. I saw through my peripheral vision that he is staring at me, particularly to my arms and upper portion of the body. I was wearing dark glasses so the man didn’t notice that I caught him staring.

I guess the way that I dress caught the attention of the old pervert. Because of the ultimately high temperature of Metro Manila, I have decided to wear a black razor back which is fitted tightly to my curves and flat body parts (I admit, I am not in any way gifted body-wise. I wonder what got into this old hag’s mind for salivating over me). I was also wearing a black fitted maong pants and a three-inch stilettos. I don’t know if I look sexy enough, the thing is I don’t even consider myself near to being sexy. But then again, the old hag drooled over a sight of me.

And so the man intentionally moved closer and closer to me. He gave me the devilish look all throughout the trip. I gave him the first sign that I was damn irritated: I RAISED AN EYEBROW. Surely he didn’t get it, for he still tried to move even closer. Second sign: I held my book damn tight. That was to give the impression that I will smash him with the book if he does a wrong move. The old hag might be too weak with body languages; he still didn’t get what I was trying to say. He finally crossed the distance between us, and he’s getting ready to rub his elbows with mine. That lit a fire in my ass. I reached for the parker pen in my bag which I borrowed (or rather stole, since I didn’t ask permission) from my sister. Without a batting an eyelash I told (whispered actually) the man:

“Manong isa pang urong mo at subukan mong hawakan kahit na kamay ko lang itatarak ko sayo tong ballpen. (Just dare move a little closer to me and hold even a single skin of my hand; I won’t hesitate to stab you with this pen.)”

The old hag moved away and was maybe afraid of getting stabbed by a sharp pen. I knew I was just trying to be brave. I was a bit afraid inside, I can feel my muscles starting to tremble and shake, my knees beginning to be weak. But being the Tondo girl that I was, I just pretended that I am brave. Well that has been my life time principle: That when you are faced with a situation that initiates a rotting fear within you, then be brave. Even if you are not, pretend to be. No one can tell the difference anyway. And I guess, and would like to believe, that my principle worked well in this situation. Even if I physically look like a fragile fourteen year old girl, I acted as if I am a military person armed with—a pen. And the man got the picture. He thought I am afraid? Afraid my ass. He better think again.

So if any filthy maniac is reading this post as of the moment, then better leave me alone in case you see me wandering in the streets of Manila. For since that jeepney incident, I have always placed a pen in my top list of must-bring.

I nominate Arnel Salgado as a National Artist for Literature

NOTE: This blog post is not for readers who do not possess a sense of irony.

I first heard of Arnel Salgado’s amazing gift of literacy through Jessica Zafra (who, by the way, is a proponent of irony). Zafra accidentally get to have a copy of Arnel’s timeless book which has a title “The Fireless Inferno” (from the book’s title we can already have a good taste of irony). The writer admired Salgado’s different style of writing and did everything that she could to find him and have her copy of the book signed. Zafra allotted a series of her newspaper column for the Arnel Salgado Quest update. Together with her friends who are also Arnel Salgado big fanatics, they crossed the seas and climb seven mountains just to express their admiration to Salgado and his works.

Arnel Salgado’s Fireless Inferno is incomparable. Melanie Marquez, Angelina Jones, Alyssa Alano, and Manny Pacquiao can never surpass Arnel Salgado’s excellent command of the English language. He manipulates English words and phrases with outmost brilliance. There will never be any writer who can outshine the great Arnel Salgado, and there wouldn’t be a single literary piece that can possess vivid, dramatic, and striking lines than the ageless Fireless Inferno.

Arnel Salgado transformed the English language into something exceptional and majestic.

Hats off to the GREAT ARNEL SALGADO. Let’s all bow down to his greatness!

Here are few paragraphs from the most-sought after book, The Fireless Inferno:

[1] “Mirasol…oh…Mirasol, the first time I saw you… I want to own you on the whole endurir!” Full of phantasy Greg whispered. He was been indulged building an air castle, and felt an amusing ease as he imagined the happiness which for a moment he was with Maria Mirasol who was reaching with him the distant sky and together dines on the sweetness of the depth romances… (p.20)

[2] On the East, the Aurora Borealis (me: I guess Aurora Borealis is another word for Aurora Boulevard) illuminated the night and the moon full of blithe was moving on the west delibling its beauty as the morning sun attempted to light the nocturnal period which brought the Corderos to dirge. (p.56) (Me: What is delibling? I sure bet it is a verb. Stupid me, I didn’t know the word—knowing that I am a senior English major.)

[3] The fished river (me: maybe a river having gazillion of fishes) had been altered with sorrow and the water creatures expressed their woeing sympathy to the body bouying with the water together with the silts. The ired river produced a tyrant waves which even the hardest metal made ship could be wrecked because of its seethed anger that seemed avenging the demise of their saviour. (p.79)

[4] He found himself by the way awoke when he opened his two scarlet eyes lacrimating trickedly… His memory couldn’t probe what had happened about his yester-epoch… but a clairvoyant and a future life vision infrerged to his Extra Sensory Percention… (p. 110)

[5] “Eh…Whither now is she?” Alexandria verified as she picked up a glass of strawberry juice and smoothly as she tried to solace her arid esophagus… (me: The sentence is Arnel Salgado’s unique way of saying, “she drank Strawberry juice and got refreshed.) she drinked and later took a sandwich with a slice of a spam and cheeze placed amid the two pan like the clouds that located at the middle of the world and heaven. (me: Translation: She ate a ham and cheese sandwich together with the strawberry juice, or, she had ham and cheese sandwich for merienda.) (p.186)

[6] She was beautiful like the flowers consumed by fire, her love was sweet that made me suffer from diabetes, (me: and reading this also gives me diabetes) she was warm I almost felt the heat of her caress now. Her lips were smooth and her tongue was very luscious like the meat of a beef.

[7] from “The Hidden Grace of Sufferings”:
Chastity
The devil shows his virgin teeth
but his tongue is a whore.
It tastes almost everything
including the hosts, the whore,
the core and the corn—
but he is now a priest
and his genital is eaten by the scrotum.
He cannot love.
He cannot fuck.
He cannot sex.
He cannot pump.
His is useless. It is whore.

Few last lines from the book: “Everybody died. Now, the question is: Who is the last survivor?”

AAAAAARGH!!!!! WHO IS THE LAST SURVIVOOOOR? TEEEEL MEEEE!

I cannot wait for the sequel of the book (and am very sure that my fellow Salgadians can hardly wait for the sequel as well.) If his Excellency can allow me to suggest a title for his sequel, I will suggest “The waterless ocean”.

Just recently, I joined a cause in Facebook together with fellow Salgadians. This cause calls for the canonization of our dear Arnel Salgado. Click on this link to partake in such honorable cause. (http://apps.facebook.com/causes/view_cause/26483)

Disclaimer from We love Arnel Salgado facebook group (http://www.facebook.com/home.php?ref=home#/group.php?gid=5830051386):

DISCLAIMERS:

Following the lead of Jessica Zafra, who devoted three installments of her “Twisted” column to Salgado, we would like to warn away from this group persons who have no sense of irony.

We realize that Salgado is currently embroiled in a sexual harassment scandal. This group, however, is not in any way, shape, or form intended for collectively assailing, defending, or otherwise commenting on that matter. Each member is entitled to his/her opinion, and is free to express his/her views, but this group is meant to contemplate only Salgado’s works, insofar as the author can be separated from the texts he has produced.

For the record, the creator of this group is most definitely against sexual harassment, and believes that those guilty of this, as well as other crimes, ought to be punished to the fullest extent of the law.

ALL HAIL TO THE GREAT ARNEL SALGADO!!!!!

Nangingiti ako, habang gumagalaw ang maninipis na daliri at tinitipa ang bawat letra, habang pinababayaang sakupin ng mga ideyang galing sa kung saan at sa kaibuturan ang aking katauhan.

Madalas sa hindi ay nagpapanggap akong sinasaniban ng kaluluwa ng mga ninunong ubod-kata, pinipilit mag-tugma ang bawat letra upang bumuo ng ritmo at melodiya na maaring humele sa isipan at puso ng sinumang babasa ng pitak. Mahirap magpanggap na wari’y sinasaniban ng kaluluwa ni Balagtas; mahirap pagdugtungin ang mga ideya na kung saan saan galing. Madaling magsulat, pero mahirap makabuo ng isang sulatin na ikasisiyang basahin ng sinumang babasa. Ang paghahabi ng mga letra na bubuo ng pangungusap, pangungusap na bubuo ng talata, ng kwento at ng kwentong magiging isang pitak sa blag—– anu pa’t walang kasiguraduhan. Maaring mag-resulta ang paghahabi ng ideya sa isang ubod rikit na pitak o komposisyon, maari rin namang ang maging produkto ay isang basurang sulatin na kahit batang munti’y di nanaising basahin.

Pero meron nga ba tayong matatawag na basurang sulatin? Diyata’t kahit na anong nanggaling sa puso at diwa, produkto ng pagtipa, ng pagsulat, na nagdulot sa makakapal na kalyo sa gilid ng mga daliri, ay maituturing na isang pitak na dapat lamang pagtuunang basahin? Maaring hindi marikit, maaring hindi perpekto ang pagkakahabi, ngunit pwede pa ring maging isang kumot ng ideya na magbibigay init sa malalamig na pakiramdam.

Bayaan mong dalhin ka ng iyong isip, habiin ang mga ideya at pananaw, bigyang balik tanaw ang mga kaganapan sa buhay at karanasan at tipain ang modernong makinilyang regalo ng teknolohiya; o di kaya’y makuntento sa tradisyonal na paraan ng pagsasa-titik ng mga opinyon at kuru-kuro: Sa pamamagitan ng tinta ng bolpen at iilang pirasong papel.

Hayaan mong liparin mo, pagmasdan ang sariling pumailanlang at maglakbay, tangayin ang sarili sa mundong tanging ikaw lamang ang nakakaalam.

Gabriela Vetra

Pagkatapos ng mahaba habang panahon, ngayon lang ako merong nagawa sa buhay ko na nakaramdam ako ng kakaibang fulfillment at satisfaction.

Honestly speaking, I often ask myself kung ito bang pagtuturo yung talagang gusto kong gawin sa buhay ko. Well sige. Aaminin ko, late na tong reflection na to kasi nasa senior year na ko ng pagkuha ko ng kursong Education sa Pamantasan ng Lungsod ng Maynila. Siguro kung nagkaroon ako ng ganitong klaseng pagmumuni-muni, sana e noong mga unang taon ko pa lamang sa kurso. Para sana nakapag-back out pa ko. Aaminin ko rin, hanggang ngayon hindi pa ko ganun kasigurado sa landas na pinili kong daanan. Sabi nila, kapag kumuha ka ng Education e para mo na ring itinali yung sarili mo sa lubid o uminom ng isang kutsarang panglinis ng silver. Suicide nga kung maituturing. Kumakalam na nga ang sikmura mo, para ka pang kumuha ng bato na pinukpok sa ulo mo sa mga estudyanteng makukulit. Di mo pa mabibili yung mga magagandang gamit na nasa istante ng mall. Kakain ka ng tatlong beses sa isang araw pero hindi na pwedeng mag-merienda sa Red Ribbon o sa Taco Bell. Pwede kang umorder ng chicken at rice sa Jollibee pero wala nang Sundae o Peach Mango Pie. In short, karamihan sa mga teachers natin ngayon e kapos sa pinansiyal. Meron nga, maaring hindi naman nawawalan, pero kapos. Mayroong mga teacher na asenso sa buhay, pero mas malaki yung bracket ng pilit lamang pinagkakasya yung kaunting sweldo para sa pamilya.

Ako yung klase ng babaeng hindi naman high living pero hindi gaanong nakukuntento sa ‘simpleng pamumuhay’. Kumbaga, maluho ako pero sakto lang. Hindi naman ako maluho sa mga OA na mahal na gamit, yun bang tipong bag na kasinghalaga na ng isang buong taon ng kolehiyo sa isang private school. Maluho ako, mahilig ako bumili pero hindi naman OA sa mahal. Mahilig ako sa libro, mga high heeled shoes, stilettos, bags, make up, accessories at kung anu-ano pa. Mahilig rin akong umalis at kumain sa iba’t ibang restaurants. Basta marami akong bagay na kinahihiligan. At alam ko, kapag nagtrabaho ako at kumita ng sarili kong pera, mas lalala yung pagka-maluho ko. Ang pinangangambahan ko lang, baka kung magiging teacher ako e hindi ko masuportahan yung sarili kong mga pangangailangan.

Dropping the financial problem, isa pang problema sa pagiging teacher e yung kapos ka na nga, sakit pa sa ulo yung mga tinuturuan mo. Meron kaming computer shop at may mga pagkakataon na tumatao ako dito para magbantay kapag wala naman akong masyadong ginagawa (although madalas e self service sa computer shop namin). Tumatao rin ako dito kapag may mga thesis at sandamukal na paper works ako na kailangang lamayin. Isang beses habang dumudugo na yung ilong ko sa pag-iisip kung ano ang tenets sa Howards End ni E.M Forster, nakita ko yung mga bata na imbes na pumasok sa eskwelahan, mas pinipili pang magbabad sa shop at maglaro ng Special Force at ang legendary na DOTA. Murahan pa ng murahan. Nagpapalitan ng “Putangina mo”, ibang version ng PI na “Pukiningining”, at kung anu-ano pang mura na kaya niyong ma-imagine. Sa pagtingin sa kanila napapaisip ako: Ito bang mga bulakbol na batang to yung dahilan ko para magpagod at magpuyat ng ganito para sa letseng classic novel analysis na to? Nagsusunog ba ko ng kilay, uulit ng Chemistry, gigising ng maaga sa mga alas siyete ng umagang klase, tatanggapin ang pagkapahiya sa mga power tripping na professor, titiisin ang antok sa mga monotonous na teacher na talagang ipaghehele ka ng boses, magtitiis ng gutom sa mahahabang subject at magpapakamatay sa Educational Statistics para sa mga batang to na wala namang ni katiting na malasakit at pakialam sa edukasyon? Sa totoo lang tuwing nakikita ko sila napapatawag ako sa kaluluwa ni Rizal. Naibubulong ko sa kanya, “Iyan na yung pag-asa ng bayan mo. Dream on pare. Mga pag-asa lang sila ng Dota at ng Special Force.”

Nakakawalang gana lang kapag makaka-encounter ako, o kaming mga education majors ng mga batang wala namang kahit kaunting pagmamahal sa pag-aaral. Mga batang imbes na makikinig sayo, tititigan ka pa na para bang girlfriend ka niya at di mo na alam kung anong nasa isip. Mga bata na imbes na i-digest ang lesson at kopyahin ang notes sa blackboard, puro drawing ng bilugan mong mukha at flat mong puwet ang nasa notebook (ipapasa pa niyan sa katabi at tatawa sila ng lihim). Masakit lang isipin na mag-aaral ka ng apat na taon, babaunan ng nanay mo at magpapaka dalubhasa ng pilit para sa mga batang mas mahal ang computer monitors kesa ang blackboard. Masakit ipagpalit ang mga nagagandahang stilettos at makukulay na big bags para sa mga batang walang pakialam sa sarili nilang kinabukasan.

Pero sabi nga nila, lahat ng bagay e may karampatang opposite o yung sinasabi nating kabaligtaran. Kung ang kara nga, may krus. Ang dilim, may liwanag. Kumbaga, kung mayroong mga batang walang pagpapahalaga sa edukasyon, meron rin namang mga natitirang nakaka-bilib ang determinasyon sa buhay at sa pag-aaral.

Kasama sa curriculum naming ngayong summer yung Community Immersion. Sa ibang salita, Community Service. Nagkakaroon kami ng Community Service ng TTHS at nasa loob ako ng classroom at nakikipagbuno sa moles at atoms tuwing MWF. Napagdesisyunan naming gawin yung community service namin sa isang baranggay sa Sampaloc, Manila. Bukod sa convenient para sa aming lahat dahil malapit sa bahay na tinitirhan namin ng mga ka-grupo ko, malapit rin yung baranggay sa SM San Lazaro. Wala lang. Nabanggit ko lang. Hehe.

Nagtuturo kami sa mga batang halu-halo ang edad. Mayroong apat na taon, lima, pito, sampu, siyam. Mahirap palang magturo kapag ganitong halu-halo ang edad ng tinuturuan mo. Mahirap mag-decide kung anong lesson ang ituturo araw-araw.

Bukod sa difficulty of deciding for the lesson, mahirap pa kasi we are shelling out a portion of what we have para sa recess ng mga bata every meeting. Para na nga ring summer classes cum feeding program yung ginagawa ng grupo namin. Siyempre, bakasyon. Walang ganun kalaking allowance. Wala rin akong trabaho kasi di muna ko tumatanggap ng isusulat at medyo occupied ang buong linggo ko. At ang pinaka-mahirap pa dito: Yung paggising ng maaga araw-araw.

Pero lahat ng hirap na yan, lahat ng apprehension kung may saysay ba tong ginagawa namin o para mairaos lang yung Community Immersion, nawawala kapag nakikita namin na determinadong mag-aral yung mga batang iyon. Late ako palagi dumadating, pero sila on time.

Meron isang bata don, Marjorie yung pangalan niya. Mayroon siyang kapatid na enrolled din sa Day Care namin, si John Mark (di ko na matandaan. Di ko sure kung John Mark.) Last week, hindi nakapasok si John Mark. Tinanong ko si Marjorie kung bakit. Wala daw kasing tsinelas. Nakita ko, nasa labas ng Day Care Center si John Mark at nakasilip sa bintana. Gusto niya sigurong pumasok. Sabi ni Marjorie, nahihiya daw yung kapatid niya dahil wala ngang maisuot na tsinelas.

Naisip ko lang, pinapangambahan ko pa na kapag nagturo ako, baka di na ko makabili ng stilettos. Samantalang yung batang yon, hindi makapag-aral dahil walang kahit na anong tsinelas.

Totoo pala yung sinabi nilang dadalhin mo yung problema ng mga estudyante mo hanggang sa bahay. After that, I immediately texted my boyfriend and kinuwento ko yung tungkol dun sa bata. Sabi niya, ibili ko na daw ng tsinelas at siya na daw yung magbabayad. Binalak kong ibili ng Rambo na tsinelas sa Divisoria (yung tig-bente pesos) yung bata at sabihin sa boyfriend ko na ibinili ko yung bata ng Ipanema o Havaiianas. Para tumubo pa ko.

Joke lang.

But seriously, binigyan ko din ng tsinelas yung bata. Siyempre di ko na siningil kay Jay. Sa further interview ko kay Marjorie nalaman ko din na wala pala silang bahay. Nabasa kasi yung envelope na binigay namin sa kanila na laman ng ibat-ibang paper activities dahil sa lakas ng ulan. Nasa probinsya yung nanay niya, yung tatay nila sumakabilang buhay na. Lola na lang nila yung kasama nila.

Sobrang mahirap sila, hindi pa alam kung saan kukuha ng pagkain araw-araw. Walang bahay, ni sapin sa paa wala.

Pero nakikita ko kay Marjorie yung determinasyon na wala yung karamihan sa mga batang nasa mga airconditioned na eskwelahan.

Determinasyon na wala yung mga batang naka Ipanema at Havaiianas.

Yun bang burning passion sa pag-aaral na wala yung mga gabi-gabing nagdi-dinner sa mga mamahaling restaurant at napupurga sa manok sa Jollibee at Mcdonald’s.

Ibang fulfillment yung naramdaman ko nung ibinigay ko yung tsinelas. Para bang kahit na simpleng bagay lang yon, alam mo na magkakaroon ng purpose yung tsinelas na yon.

Mahirap maging teacher. Masyadong noble. Masyadong dakila. Ayokong maging dakila, ayokong mapatayuan ng monumento sa harap ng PLM at palitan yung torch doon. Ayoko ding mabaril sa Plaza sa may Moriones kung saan laganap ang Prostitusyon (baka isipin pa na bayani ako ng mga prostitute).

Pero masarap makatulong at masarap maging teacher hangga’t may mga estudyanteng pursigidong matuto at mag-aral.

Hindi magiging mahirap na ipagpalit yung pinaka magandang stilettos sa mall.

End

I just got home from a HARD DAY’S WORK (and I mean it both on the literal and figurative sense).

Today I had three realizations:

1.…. That life is so unfair sometimes. We have to be deprived of life’s comforts and be hammered to be better people.

2.…. That I can embrace Chemistry as long as I’ll have the heart to appreciate it.

3.…. And finally, that I can move my butt to work if I’d want to.

I had a hard time sleeping last night. Despite of the hardest efforts, I still had a difficult time catching sleep. The day after last night (which is today) is my first day of Chemistry class. I don’t know if I was excited or scared about the first day. It can be a mixture of both. Honestly, when I failed Chemistry way back first year I developed a strong trauma on Chemical equations, moles and atoms. I didn’t want to see any of my Chemistry modules and worksheets. I want to tear apart every Periodic Table that I can see. I hate that I am living in a world that is full of elements—and that I am living thru these elements. I hate that I am breathing air that’s composed of nitrogen, oxygen, water vapor, argon, and carbon dioxide.I hate that coffee beans underwent a chemical process (if it really did) for it to become the coffee that I am drinking in my mug. Simply put, I DIDN’T WANT CHEMISTRY TO BE INVOLVED IN MY EVERYDAY EXISTENCE. I didn’t want to accept the fact that I need the subject—plainly because I live in such a complex world which has Chemistry as its core.

Yes, I was really bitter about it. I really cannot fathom why a subject that has no relation to what I opted to be in the future is the very subject that’s holding me back and has became a hindrance to my goal in life. However, the worst part is that I have to re-take it. And the worst part comes now.

I woke up at 5AM. My Chem lecture class starts at 7 in the morning so I have to be deprived of sleep. I am no morning person so the sched really got me pissed off. But who am I to argue about the sched right? I should even be thankful they did open the summer class or I’ll say good-bye to graduation toga and say hello to Miss Octoberian.

The night before today I prepared the necessities for Chem class. My CHEM CLASS NECESSITY LIST INCLUDES:

·A tall coffee tumbler to keep me awake the whole three-hour-class (which, I forgot because of cramming)

·A drawing pad and a pencil to sketch whoever just in case I got bored (which I didn’t do because my professor is SUPER GOOD and no way boring)

·My iPOD

·Stick-ons (my idea of note-taking. I attach these stick ons to my module to serve as my notes. In this way I won’t have to bring a bulky notebook with me since two books are already a burden to bring.)

·A roll of tissue paper (to wipe my nose if it will bleed because of thorny computations. Thanks, Santiago for the suggestion.)

Nevertheless, the day didn’t turn out as to how I expected it. I had a professor who explains well, who is not boring and who is not too intimidating. I hope it’ll be retained for the whole summer. I can appreciate the subject because of her (however it’s way too early to tell). Who knows, maybe there is a Chemist that has to be unleashed within me. Ha ha.

After the morning lecture class I went straight to Sampaloc for my OJT in a Day Care Center and went back to PLM at 2PM for another three hour Chemistry lecture. After the class I had late lunch (and early dinner) with my English major friends and spent some more hours in a gadget shop, waiting for Erika’s cellphone to get fixed.

We went out at SM and decided to go home by 630 PM. I waited for a jeepney and was scolded by a traffic enforcer for not being in the right lane where jeepneys are supposed to load. “BUT THERE ARE OTHER PEOPLE HERE!”, I wanted to scream out, but am too tired to let my vocal cords work.

And so I walked at the other side of the road silently. I waited for a few more minutes and was damn irritated to know that there aren’t any Divisoria jeepneys around. I saw a good professor friend, Sir De Vera and he asked if where am heading to. I said Divisoria. He said he’s going that way too, in Binondo specifically and he was kind enough to offer me a ride in his motorbike since he’s in the same way. (Maybe he saw the irritation in my face for not being able to hail a jeepney). He dropped me off at Starbucks Binondo. I still had to walk some more miles, but it was a great help already. (Big thanks again Sir. You saved me from further irritation courtesy of not being able to find a jeepney.)

I thought my hard day ended already after I arrived home, but I was wrong. I checked my mail and there were writing jobs that I have to accomplish.

MY GAD. When will my day end?

Am not complaining bout work. Am just a bit tired today.

And everything will be fine since am looking forward to some text messages that could ease my pagod coming from one special person.

My cp just vibrated. Am refreshed.

Til next time.

Joyful, Joyful Lord: I just simply ADORE YOU!

I went off the house 715 last night to attend the parish’s Easter Vigil Mass at the plaza. The Easter Vigil was supposed to start by 7 sharply (at least that’s what the coordinators used to promise the people), but normally, since we’re in the Philippines where no time is being observed, the Easter vigil started at exactly 7:30. For this year my holy week isn’t that ‘religious and spiritual’ as it has always been in the past years; there weren’t too much religious activities that I have attended to, but it doesn’t mean that I am being indolent and forgetful of my religious responsibilities. We didn’t do our yearly Bisita Iglesia for the scare of Happy Trigger (a motorbike rider who got shooting people as his top hobby). We’d rather stay home than have our skulls have holes courtesy of worthless gun shooting.

And so I was in the plaza last night together with my mom and sister as my first religious activity for the holy week. I was amazed with the sight of a huge mass of people from different walks of life gathering in the plaza to witness the reenactment of Jesus Christ’s resurrection. Marami pa din palang Katoliko, I said to myself.

After four long bible readings and psalm chants, what we’ve all been waiting for has finally arrived. The makeshift stone tomb which was put up in front of the church’s door began to have light effects on it. Consecutively, we have heard the sound effects of rolling stones and powerful thunder from the church’s basag na speaker. Amazingly, though, there were also shrieks and resonance of terror in the sound effects. In one instance I was wondering if I am about to witness the Savior’s resurrection or if I was witnessing Gabi ng Lagim. Out of fright, the kid in my left side cried to death.The priest, Fr. Erik Y. Santos, even joked in his homily that he was troubled by the terrifying sound effects at the start of the reenactment. “Para bang Shake Rattle N’ Roll. Naghihintay na lang ako na may lumabas na manananggal,” he joked.

Despite of the “not-so-suitable” sound effects, the reenactment still went well. I was standing on a blue stool which we brought with us in the plaza. I saw a lot of camera phones focused on the door where the Savior is supposed to go out. There was a thick, white smoke coming from the door and poof! There was Jesus, who wonderfully defied death, alive and risen. There was an incredibly white light coming from the door (at least they got it right this time) and the Savior went waving into the huge mass of people. (Background Music: Alleluia! Alleluia!) After a few moments there were fireworks in the dark sky, and the people went crazy. I unintentionally compared the reaction between Jesus’ showing up and the fireworks display; the people obviously went crazier over the fireworks. Babaw.

Even though the reenactment wasn’t THAT convincing in terms of lighting and props and sound effects, there was still an unexplainable joy that flooded within me after I saw Jesus and heard the Alleluia background music. Shyly I wiped off the mist that gathered in my eyes which was brought by the flooding joy upon seeing the Savior. IT was majestic. Not the reenactment itself, but simply the thought that Jesus offered, gave up his life for a sinner like me, and DEFIED DEATH made everything majestic. The idea that such a wonderful and almighty Man thought that I, a dumb asshole sinner is worth dying for.

Whenever I’d come to see Jesus suffering on the cross, I am always wondering on why didn’t He went down to the cross and proved the idiot Jews that HE is indeed the Son of God? Surely he can go down the cross, removed the effin nails from his hands and feet and avenged to the mocking Jews. However, if things went this way, the Passion of the Christ would have had “The Revenge of Jesus” as a title. Jesus took the suffering because that’s what has to be done.

Until now I cannot simply fathom why Jesus has to do that. I mean, why would He need to give up his dear life for a Chemistry repeater like me who just find it so damn hard to raise her butt and do household chores? Why would He need to suffer and carry that HEAVY cross just for the deliverance of a pick pocket in Divisoria? Why would he allow those nails to hurt his holy hands and feet just for the filthy maniac in LRT? Why would he sacrifice his holy life for Happy Trigger who kills every night? Why did he allow Himself to die for the sake of a world that is yet so sinful and wicked? I guess it can be summed up into a simple, four letter word— LOVE. I find it so stupid that Jesus must die for us, but Jesus Himself just finds it so wonderful. Because he loves me, and he loves you— no matter how wicked a sinner you are.

I can never imagine a love more noble than His. Not a love of a father, a mother, a brother, a sister, a friend, a boyfriend, a girlfriend, a teacher, a mistress. I may be sounding too mushy, am sorry. Jesus is simply wonderful. I am running out of adjectives to describe his magnificence and power. Who else can defy death, right? Of course Wolverine can, but you only see it on IMAX.

Please pass me the Kleenex. Sniff.

So whenever you feel like you’re a total loser, that you’re a worthless, insignificant wimp who, when evaporated in the world no one will ever care, just think of this single idea:

JESUS thinks you’re worth dying for.

Have a blessed and wonderful life.

Cheers,

Chim

Just this morning, I was able to prove—my detractors really exist.

I was on a website pictorial 9:00 AM today and while I was in the middle of the photo shoot, I have received an appetizing breakfast meal from an anonymous person. Yes, I haven’t eaten anything yet that time; I just had water. This ‘breakfast meal’ that am referring to consists of harsh words and below-the-belt text messages. Upon receiving them, frankly speaking I was shocked; in my nineteen years of subsistence, it was only now that I was called a slut. I don’t know exactly the lexical meaning of a slut (since, I think it is a colloquial word), but I knew very well that a slut is a pejorative word; that which is somehow synonymous to being dirty and sexually-oriented. I laugh at the idea of myself being a slut—when I am a nineteen-year-old girl who cannot even say the word sex without stammering and out loud. The truth is that I still sleep every night beside my mother and sister and am also one of the few young women nowadays who needs a wedding ring first before engaging herself into coitus. I don’t know too if the anonymous texter mean something else when she proudly called me a slut—the thing is, it would still result into one idea: She is effing mad at me. If being slut means preserving her purity until the night of marriage, then I AM A SLUT.

I have no idea on how did the girl know my personal number. She is from the same university where I am in, that’s for sure, and did a little research about my personal life. She kept on accusing me of being a flirt, a slut, a disgrace to the school and all that. While I was reading her messages I was laughing and amazed; mainly because of two reasons. Firstly, those were new comments. They were unusual. I have never received such remarks before and being called a slut is surely something new and hot. Secondly, I was amazed because this lady never had the faintest idea of what she’s talking about. She seemed to be barking up the wrong tree.

Did I get offended? I must admit, I was indeed offended. However, amazement tops the feeling of insult. I am already aware that I do not have that ‘good’ reputation in the school anymore. In fact, I know very well that a bunch of flibbertigibbet talk behind my back. Different stories were already knitted about me; some were pure rumors and some were exaggeration. They just love to talk about the personal life of people (which is not extraordinary since we are living in the part of the world where tsismis is as fast as mental telepathy and where ears are so powerful that it can hear from a distance of 2000 miles). I really don’t know what these people get from destroying others’ private lives through their malicious istoryas. Maybe it is fun and exciting for them; granted that it is, how about for the people who are affected through their babbling? Can their sorrys and apologies erase the wound that they left in the integrity and personality of a person just because of their sharp little tongues? Wouldn’t it that these wounds would leave a mark that no other remedies can remove?

Even though I already lost the heroine-sweet image that I have established during CLA days, I do not regret anything. I have made decisions in my personal life which I NEVER WILL REGRET. I have decided to be happy, and I will stand by my decision. I chose the path that would give me joy and contentment. You can call me a slut, a dirty woman, immoral and whatever else—THAT WILL BE JUST FINE. For this slut is a happy and contented slut, this dirty woman is a dirty woman who respects people, and this immoral girl is an immoral girl raised with breeding, religiosity and spirituality.

True enough, we can never please everybody. I am not Mother Theresa, and I do not plan to be canonized. I am not Marcelino Pan Y Vino either. I might not be perfectly good; if truth be told, I am also makulit and pasaway at times. But there is only one thing that is for sure: I RESPECT PEOPLE. I do not have a sharp tongue, I cannot recall any foe. I am not bothered by these detractors; given that I have 10 haters, it will not matter for there are 100 more people who knows the real me and who believes in my personal goodness.

My saving grace would be this quotation: “You are nothing unless you’re talked about.” Instead of being annoyed with my detractors, I am expressing my utmost gratitude to them. People, thanks for boosting my popularity level. You’re actually doing me a favor by transforming me to a stronger, better woman. You’re stretching my four-letter-word name into a BIG name.

Quoting from Anne Curtis,

“Yes, I might be a slut, but I may say I’m the best slut in town!”

Life sucks at time; let’s just see the better purpose of it.

A NOT SO EASY JOB

My babies! Salaguinto magazines, the magazines to where am currently a contributor

I just finished writing the first of the three articles which am supposed to write for one publication. Deadline would be on April 6; knowing the editor of the said company who happened to become a personal friend, if I won’t be able to meet the deadline, then am dead meat— regardless of the fact that she IS a personal friend. Friendship aside—am dead meat if I won’t finish on or before the GOOD APRIL SIX.

I started writing for educational magazines summer of 2008. I was chosen to avail of a summer apprenticeship program for educational publishing in a well-established publication, and luckily, after the program I was one of the few who got chosen to write there in a part-time basis. I became a resident contributor. Most of the company’s writers are teachers; I might consider working there after college. I don’t know. I might or might not—the first consideration would be interest. Well, writing is my interest—however, sometimes writing bores me to death. Most importantly if my words will be restricted and if I will be writing of a specific topic (e.g. Scientific breakthrough, catapults, physics, chemistry).

I blatantly tell few of my close friends that my work is one of the most convenient jobs that I could think of (except, of course, being a famous actress wherein you’ll get paid by just singing with all air: KC Concepcion as an example: Whehhn ayhhh Mehhht yooohooo). The editor would be sending topics in my mail, I have to research and knit a story out of it, make it appealing to kids, send it back thru mail and voila—I’ll be paid.

However, the job is not really SO easy. In fact, it is hard. Since I am writing for a science magazine (a reputable one, by the way) I have to be VERY sure of what I write. No room for errors. The magazine would be a supplementary for books; the teachers would be discussing the articles in class, the students are supposed to learn from it. Just with these thoughts alone, I can already exclaim that my job is no easy thing. What I write will be a wellspring of knowledge. (Oooh lala.)

But what could have been harder is that I AM NO-SCIENCE PERSON. I am more of an English person. I loathe science as much as I loathe mathematics; I am not for it. In fact, I failed Chemistry during first year college (and am bound to repeat it this summer. Okay, SHOUT: REPEATER!) I know, I know. Atoms aren’t just appealing for me. Call me bobo, call me a failure—I AM NOT FOR ATOMS and MOLES. The only mole I am known of is that which is placed in the face of the small girl in Malacanang.

Chemistry boooo.

Let’s all pray that I’ll be able to finish all of these articles on time.

PS: Am currently writing about the alternatives that can make a train run, other than electricity. Deymn. Physics. I got several line of seven grades for HS Physics.

Good Lord, help me with this. :d