Sunday, August 31, 2008


I’m a human, with flesh, hair and navel. I have an eye the size of a fist and the other one is just one-eighth of the bigger, nose which holes are as round as a twenty-five centavo coin and lips which resembles that of a clown. I have a perfect face… perfect for Halloween. I am a pimple where a face mistakenly grew. Ooops! I am not the Beast on Beauty’s story. My name is Quasimodo, the hunchback of Notre Dame whom my mother liked when she was still living.

Since I learned about the comparison of adjectives from a book, I started to accept that I own the superlative degree of “ugly”. I live my life in this attic, safe behind the windows. Everyday, I gaze at the people below me. I watch them as I hide here alone, hungry for the histories they show me. For twenty years, I memorize their faces, knowing them as they’ll never know me. All my life, I wonder how it feels to pass a day not above them, but part of them.

June 24 is the feast day of St. John the Baptist, the patron saint of the town where I reside. It was celebrated by everyone, except for me. The town people where laughing while they were dancing. I was tempted when I saw a street dancer. She was wearing a beaded black dress which gave emphasis on her long and bread-like legs. She was dancing while the men are drumming and the others are drooling. Marvelous! I might have mistaken her as a Sexbomb dancer which I see on television. I rushed downstairs, hoping that I will see her better. I moved a bit closer, forgetting that the last person who saw me in close up was still traumatized. The pretty dancer shouted, “Nice mask!” and winked which made me fall for her. I have never seen such a magnificent beauty. I was about to smile when a succulent tomato was thrown in my face, reminding me that I am a monster. I was about to return to my chamber and prison myself again when the pretty lady followed and said, “So sorry. By the way, I am Dianna,” then smiled. How great it is to see a person smile at you and not frightened. In my brain, I played the song of Maroon Five, She Will be Loved. In that moment, I wondered, or maybe I was sure that she belonged to someone else. “Can you hide me up there? I was avoiding that dirty old man who always bugs me,” she asked as if her question was “Am I beautiful?” and the only possible answer is an affirmation.

I lead Dianna to my chamber where she seems to be delighted. She was staring at me, never allowing a blink to interrupt. I wondered what she thinks until she said, “Hey, I need to go home and yet I know not your name.” “Quasimodo,” I said. “Meaning, deformed?” she asked. “Yes, look at me,” I replied, “I am an unholy demon who should be returning to hell,” “No, you’re not, Quasi.” She said while going downstairs and on the last step, Mr. Perfect, hugged and kissed her on her painted lips and said, “Hi, baby! Sorry I was late.”

I went upstairs as I promised that I would never let anyone see me again. I am a monster, never a part of them. Though I have a good heart, I don’t have a good look. I am already Quasimodo… already deformed. Never should I let others deform me more.

Sunday, August 17, 2008

Isang Tagalog na Paglalahad

Ilang araw na rin akong tulala. Hindi makakain. Hindi makatulog. Mali ka sa iniisip mo sapagkat hindi pagmamahal ang dahilan ng problema kong ito. Sa katotohanan, mayroon akong malalang sakit. Isang sakit na nakamamatay, nakahahawa at nakakapagpabagabag (repeat 10 times).
Akala ko katapusan ko na. Akala ko pagkatapos ng araw na 'yun ay sa Dapitan na ang tuloy ko.. peru hindi! Hindi talaga dahil pagkatapos ng tatlong oras na tila habang buhay, nasabi kong "Oh yeah!" at malakas kong inawit ang "K- R- A- F- T!" Ako'y nagalak! Tapos na sa wakas ang midterms sa Matematika.

Sabay-sabay tayong magtumbling! Manood ng Dora at kumain ng ice cream. Magdiwang tayo dahil hindi lahat ng taong kumukuha ng midterms ay tao pa rin kapag labas ng kwarto. Marami sa kanila ay kilos-amoeba na pagkalipas ng isang nakatutuyong eksaminasyon.
Tama! Dapat nga ay kinalilimutan na lang ang mga bagay na katulad ng midterms. Masakit isipin na naapektuhan ka nito ng malaki at naging bahagi ito ng pagka-sira ng kalahati ng utak mo. Kapag lumabas na ang resulta, magtago sa kakahuyan. Dahan-dahang silipin ang blue book at siguraduhin na nag-iisa ka lamang. Kapag pumasa, pumunta sa gitna ng Sunken Garden, magjumping jacks at hikayatin ang lahat na sabayan ka sa iyong magiliw na pagbaybay ng U Na I Ba E Ra Sa I Da A Da Na Ga Pa I La I Pa I Na A Sa (repeat 5 times until drum rolls). Ipamalita sa lahat na pumasa ka sa midterms, magyabang at maging handa sa dumadagundong na sigaw nilang, "Burger! Burger!" Maghanda ng panglibre at manghuthot sa magulang upang maipagpatuloy ang pagyayabang. Sa kabilang banda, kapag naman bumagsak ka, umiyak ka na lang. Sugurin ang prof at magpanggap na maglalaslas ka kung ibabagsak ka niya. Kapag pumayag siya, mabuti. Kapag hindi, ngumiti at sabihing, "Joke lang!" sa isang malambing na boses. Tawagan ang minamahal at magreklamo. Maghanda ng bwakanang haba na listahan ng posibleng dahilan na tulad nang, "Huhuhu.. Namatay kasi ang pusa ko kaya naiisip ko sya habang nag eexam ako.." at ang walang kamatayang, "malabo kasi ang photocopy na napunta sa akin.. 'Yung seven mukhang one at ung four ay mukhang zero" sabay iyak para hindi na sila magtatanong pa. Kapag naman nalaman ng mga strict mong parents at papagalitan ka na nila, sumigaw ka lang ng isang malakas na "expecto patrona!" at ulit-ulitin lang hanggang matakot sila at tumaas lahat ng balahibo. Magdrama sa mga blockmates upang sa susunod na exam ay papakopyahin ka na nila. Kapag hindi pa rin umepekto, magshift ka na lang, 'yung course na walang Math. Amen.

Saturday, August 16, 2008

A Forced Blog Entry

Oh, what a day! People's irony of life is such a silly thing to analyze. They grumble if they have a lot of tasks to accomplish yet they still complain when boredom starts to dominate their lives. I, myself, is an evident. But no, I am not a jerk and mind you, I know exactly what you think!

Midterms, long exams and graded recitations are the things that built my connotation of "tension". The idea of being expelled from my school makes me shaky during the night. Yes, paranoia. Insomnia. Name it! But I would like to deal with academics more than the stupid complexity of life. Being busy is wearing a sign that says, "Hey, I'm minding my own business and I have no time to for you, idiot." Oh, my apologies to little children who are reading this blog and more apologies to their rightful parents who tried to give them guidance against vulgar words. It drives me nuts and makes me nuts! Sometimes, I ride jeepneys and compute for the variable x in terms of various innequalities and geometric sequences. Most of the times, when my planner is full of the dreadful word, deadline and my clipboard is wrapped with post-it notes, reminding me of "what-to-dos", I lie down my bed, feel the warmth of the blanket and tenderness of the pillow and escape from the tragic world of pressure for I know very well that tomorrow's gonna eat me, and even if I sleep, still, problems will continue to bug me.

Life is not that bugging as I sounded a while ago. There is this another world, or another life termed to as laziness. Taa-daah! Here comes my favorite! Well, in this world, you'll never know when you're finish doing nothing because technically, you are not doing anything. This is the world where you will have to buy an ice cream, stare at yourself in the mirror with the ice cream and realize that you're such a loser because you cannot get yourself occupied. Suddenly, you're helpless and start smashing your face with the ice cream (preferably vanilla flavor). You try to scream, you try to cry but no, you'll realize that you are the only person whose only activity is breathing. You hold your knees and watch Dora the Explorer while singing with Boots. While you're happy with the activity, you'll begin swinging yourself just like a rocking chair, forcefully in the tune of London Bridge. Happy. Happy. You'll begin to assume that you're terribly busy and you are satisfied with your desperate acts and so a friend will enter your room and pray as he sees what you're doing. "Oh my... GOODNESS!" he will scream and call the psychologist to help you. Later on, the psych will ask you about your damn problem and he's gonna tell you the lines "The idle mind is the devil's dwelling place." It is another way of telling you that you're doomed! You're cursed! And for the rest of you're life, you will be considered evil because you had once an idle mind.

Oh, peaceful melody. Instead of resulting to a completely insane human, I resorted into making a forced blog entry.

His Loads

Walking under the oppressive heat that radiates the region, watching dancing sand and dust, Manong Manuel hopes that as he shouts around the town, he would save his wife and skinny son from starvation for another day, too. The afternoon was really hot that he can actually grill cheese and sandwich in his Anahaw hat. With his slippers and faded jeans bitten by an ambitious dog, he is carrying two burdens on his shoulders and a towel, circling his neck to catch droplets of tirelessness. His lips were more needful of water than the Sahara and on his forehead are inscriptions of ages.

For every step Manong Manuel is taking, he constantly questions himself on how far his 138 pesos wage would reach and no matter how much he thinks, he still arrives at the answer that it wouldn’t even reach his son’s esophagus. His eyes are full of visions of things: sumptuous meals, the one that will surely make his family happy and proud and a shelter with no holes to allow the storm to penetrate. He knows the easy way to achieve all these but for some reasons, he is still weighing conscience and needs in his shoulders.

On his way, he saw neighbors arguing about a garden. “Hey, this is my garden and these are my crops, you don’t have any right to reap what others have planted!” said a fat woman who is in rage. The other one answered, “But I do not have anything to feed my children,” and upon hearing their arguments, Manong Manuel proceeded to the next street shouting more loudly and forcefully, “Tahoooooooo!” with a curl in his lips and beads of sweat all over his body.

Sunday, August 03, 2008

The Driver of the Hunched-Back

Oh, those new and model cars! They never fail to catch my eyes whenever I am driving along EDSA. My grandmother, whose soul should now be resting, always tells me that I shouldn't be jealous and that I should be contented of what I have have. If she would be hearing me saying this at the moment, she must be telling me that I am evil- the very question that circles my mind right now.

One time, I am on my way to Malolos City. The atmosphere in Metro is slowly suffocating me and so I decided to take a vacation on Christmas. I really do not know the place but I am pretty much confident that I won't lose my way because Filipinos are hospitable. After three hours of travel, I decided to stop over Valenzuela and ask the people there if I am on my right track. A cigarette lighted and buko juice gulped then I saw two teenagers who seemed to finished a basketball game. They stared at my car, as if they saw a UFO then they laughed and hit each others nape. I checked the bumper of my car, the doors, everything and did not saw any spot of laughter. "Well, they maybe laughing about something else," I told myself. I returned to my seat and determined to reach my destination as soon as possible. There are children on my side and in my surprise, they hit each other's nape again and laughed so hard. This made me shocked, very very shocked. "Why, oh why? Why do they have to hurt each other upon seeing my car? Do I have a curse or a wicked promise? Am I evil? Is this car a medium of the darkness? Why, oh why?" I kept on asking myself and up to now, mind you, I still do not know the answer.
Everywhere I go, people around me hurt each other then followed by a very noisy laugh. "Aha!" I said as I realized something. "Maybe, this is a sign about the present crisis of our country." I knew it! This is a premonition, a signal, a call for my conscience. Maybe I should be limiting my fuel by just traveling through public transport vehicles... but what about my promise to my grandmother? When she was in the dawn of her life, she gave me the key to this yellow hunched-back car. As I learned, she bought this for a very high price during their time. This is very important to her because this is what brings her to the most special and important occasions in her life and she gave it to me because I deserve something special, too. She told me to drive this to the places I need to go and this shall bring me kilometers away from all of my dreams. What about her gift?

To be completely honest, it had crossed my mind that I can just buy a new car- something which is new and would amaze people. I would drive the shiny car while I am wearing a loose but elegant long sleeves polo with a black shades while saying, "Black looks good." but no! Something would stop me, maybe my conscience that would pull me out of the car shop and paste me on the driver's seat of my hunched-back car. Maybe, the car has a curse or a magnet that it would never leave me. Maybe the car can hypnotize people to hurt each other by hitting on the nape. Maybe my hunched-back car is what will be bring me luck in all my destination just what it once did for my grandmother.

I Love it When it Rains

I love it when it rains... the music of the raindrops wakes me during a cold and damp morning... I'll wake up and realize that there are no classes... I'll feel relaxed and comfortable upon realizing that I have a whole day to celebrate. As I stood and arrange my bed, I stare crearly at the window, my face experiencing the atmosphere's glory... admiring softly the gentleness of the wind and the calmness of the ambiance... It gives me the reason to enjoy another day. I believe in the bravery of the raindrops-never afraid of falling and falling into nowhere. They do not even know the meaning of the word "regret" but memorize the word "risk" by heart. I love it when the leaves are all happy with the pouring rain.. They were celebrating the algid shower, returning the glory that was once withered by the cruel sun. I love it when I decided to step out of our closed door, feeling the weather on my face. I realize that I was never alone because there are happy children playing in the rain. They are all laughing as they jump and hop into the wet ground. They are never worried about the sickness that they can possibly get but focused on the satisfaction of playing. They are children and their happiness rely on mere things. They are never concerned of being wet, what's wrong with that, anyway? I'll move around then suddenly weeps... I'll realize how gloomy the heaven is. It is as if all the angels are weeping from above. Yet it is still a good thing, because no one can notice me crying... I simply love it when it rains... I remeber all the other times when it did rain too... I was also gloomy that time and the feeling bounced back... It once again, crushed my heart into million pieces. I hate remembering that... but I still love the rain... Know why? because for the long run... I finally felt the coldness outside... and not from WITHIN...