I'm just a girl so quit the b*llsh*t!!!

Anyway, that's not really my point. It's the introduction to my "statement" towards the typical Pinoy and the atypical Filipina of my kind. You see, after almost 3 years of chaste and celibate living (Chaste is when you go without physical intimacy; Celibate is when you choose not commit to anyone. Bet you didn't know that!), I decided to go out and let myself be prosecuted on the altar of romance last weekend. And, needless to say, it was a bloody nightmare.

To elucidate on the external details of this mindless quest for a fleeting fairy tale, I would like to explain first that my former inactive social life is all due to choice. I've chosen to abstain from participating in the "meet market" for several reasons: a) I am independent, financially, emotionally, psychologically and mentally. b) I am wildly opinionated about various topics and I speak my mind. c) I am smart. I work hard at it. d) I am self-aware. Lastly, e) my last few encounters with men have been less than encouraging due to "insecurity issues".

Now, you're probably thinking that the "choice" part is bullshit and that I probably am some ghost-faced, bespectacled loud-mouthed girl with greasy hair, thick eyebrows and pine-tree looking legs who is bitter and shrewy and understandably detestable, but, seriously, that's not true. I, actually, look fairly okay by normal human standards, which doesn't in any way make my life easier.

I've been told, I'm downright intimidating. I am sure that many girls nowadays have found themselves in the same rut as I have-where you actually feel that being alone is better than having to settle, or (gasp!) change just to make a guy comfy around us. So, we choose to stay out of the rat race rather than have to waste our time with looking for the so-called Mr. Right and being repeatedly disappointed.

Unfortunately, the pressure of peers and elders alike pushed me to end my fast recently. You know how it is. Everyone tells you, "You're a nice girl. Why aren't you going out and meeting other nice boys?" Eventually, you hear it enough and think, "Yeah. Why don't I?" and then proceed to, well, go out and meet.

So, I went out and met someone. He was smart. Book smart, probably even more. (I wouldn't know, like I said, it wasn't a very enlightening date.) He was also of above average height and kinda cute in a "tall, dark, cute" kinda way. An achiever. A nice guy and also very sweet. That last one is usually the clincher. People think sweet is the trick. It's what trashy escapist romance novels are made off. Tough guys who are sweet. It's all about sweet. So, I tried it. But, sweet doesn't suit me. I tried curbing my tongue, I tried not to voice out my opinions, I tried to be agreeable, I tried to be a nice, sweet girl. But the real me I tried to hide, behind a sickeningly sweet smile, lashed out in my mind and I felt I was betraying myself. Pretending NEVER works. (Remember that.)

By the end of the evening, I was a mass of contradictions and my poor date was confused and downright bored. The latter part really got my goat. If I'm me, I'm entertaining but scary, if I'm not, I'm not scary but I'm boring! Argh. Maybe, he was expecting me to be different and I disappointed him, but he was at fault, too. Guys like to believe they're in control and it irks them when they're not. So the male machismo comes out and it can get really ugly. And, it did.

What went wrong? He had achievements, which paralleled mine. He's smart, so he should be able to handle it. He's not shorter than me. So why did I still feel that he felt intimidated? And then I realized, you wanna know what the problem is? It's the fear of not knowing. People make too much of a big deal over a few things different about a girl. Like suddenly, she's this mutant just because she has more on her mind than snagging the perfect boyfriend. When a girl succeeds in separating herself from the pack, by being unconventional and distinctive, the rest of the world doesn't know how to deal with her. The rules don't apply.

People so easily assume that when a girl is liberal and independent that she's a bitch. That's not fair. Strong-willed girls and independent thinkers, work really hard to be freed from the binding shackles of that WO syllable. They're always watching themselves, making sure they don't step on any toes or that they don't undermine other people's abilities, while trying to highlight their own.

Liberal doesn't mean promiscuous or loose. It just means she's willing to go beyond conventions and not have to be bothered with traditions and stifling "rules" that have existed for ages. She can talk about a number of things that any other girl probably would rather not discuss, but her morals are still in tact. Sure, girls who pursue independence, are go-getters. They're not above asking a guy out themselves, if he's worth it, but it doesn't mean she should be treated any less respectfully. She has pride. She has self-worth. She still deserves the respect.

As a service to womankind, I though of a few things men ought to know. First of all, just because a girl has opinions and she presents them well doesn't mean she can make conversation by herself. It takes two to tango, buster. The way it works is that both man and woman contribute to make sure that a discussion ensues. That's how the getting-to-know-you process works.

Second of all, when someone asks you an honest question, you give an honest answer. Half-baked answers don't hack it. Forget mystery. The thing with independent women is they like guys who are straightforward, because that's how they are. They lay it all out there. Not to intimidate, but to define.

Third, don't try to wow her with money or fame or whatever. She's not so easily impressed by name-dropping or fancy gifts or you strutting your stuff. It's what's inside of you, what you can do, how you think, how you feel that matters. That's what most girls are after. Even the girl who has everything going for her.

Next, don't place her on a pedestal. If she wanted to be on a pedestal, she'd get one herself. It's lonely up there. Why do you think she went out with you? She wants somebody who'll treat her on the same level, as an equal.

Lastly, don't think so much of yourself when she does come to you. When a girl who seems unreachable, reaches out to you. It means, she merely wants to get to know you. If you let your pride get in the way, you'll burn her. Being treated like a prize is an insult. She isn't a conquest you boast to your friends about. She isn't a trinket on your arm. She wants to be seen as a person, beyong the curves and the curls.

There. That's a couple of things men ought to know and women ought to be grateful for.

I should probably be jaded by my experience, but I'm not. I can sort of understand how it happened. I'm still hoping that someday I'll get it right and whoever he is, he'll get it right, too. To all the women out there who've made a choice to hold on to who they are, don't be afraid. It'll come. Our small world may not be ready for us yet, but someday, that part of our lives will bloom, when it's ready to take the risks. If it doesn't, there's always the rest of the world. I heard independence is really big in America and that in Europe, it's all the rage. Eventually, Pinoys will catch up. Believe you me.

And, there's always other dates and men standing in line (haha), for as long as capitalism lives on.

words

Letters, by themselves, are symbols. They may stand for a sound, a universally-accepted signal, they may stand for anything. But when these letters become strewn together into fine-woven tapestries, words are formed. Words… words hurt. They sear the soul and would sometimes condemn. They sound like a thousand different lashings, of every pain and suffering one can imagine.

My mother likes words. She shifts from sweet nothings to not-so-sweet harangues in a matter of seconds, particularly in instances when she knows of my insane actuations. It affects my whole being when she does that, somehow, the nerves and the emotional appendages attached to my brain act up, ready to blow a fuse. I could scream quietly. For minds are known for thinking and thoughts… most thoughts are known to generate practicable and reasonable ideas for application that it would be downright ridiculous, even sinful to scream. My brain cells knew better than set off my mom, my prototype, already an atomic explosion.

My father, on the other hand, does not speak a lot. He avoids arguments and always desires to settle for a compromise. My dad usually gets his way oftentimes, the way my mother would define what “his way” was. But his eyes tell you much more than utterances could ever express. I always feel guilty; I feel uncompelled to return a petty type of anger towards my dad, one that I always use towards my mother during those moments. One look and I knew how I had to act. Relaying the message silently, no loud screams, no arguments, no harsh sounds, I would still get it. I would understand.

Words are truly powerful, especially if they are unspoken. Words hurt more when they are silent.

the hero in me?

When I was young, I wanted to be a lawyer (blame it on the grand dad who exposed me to the career he worshipped). Now that I’m close to being all grown-up (close, huh), I still want to be one, probably to serve my precious country and its precious peole. To give not just my consultation but also my steadfast service pro bono. Back then I thought that I would survive without money so long as I make other people happy. But with the way things are going on right now, I could be so wrong.

I used to be very unmindful of things. I used to watch the Impeachment trial (Erap) from dusk ‘til dawn nonstop but I never really cared much about it. I just enjoyed seeing top notch lawyers defending a stupid ousted president famous for theft. I never really read newspapers except to look at my daily horoscope for daily dose of news has been a vicious cycle. I never really understand corruption. I wasn’t with the people who marched with the deprived workers. I never even joined even one rally that I truly believed in. I was just in for the kinship.

But I pity the masses, the people and every single child that has to be born in this wrecked land. I pity those who abused their power and their freedom. I pity those who don’t know how to enjoy life- the life that the sun showers us every morning; the life that nature boast of; the life that’s in the laughter of every innocent people that you may come across with each day you hurry off to school or work.

And yes, I pity myself- for doubting every drop of hope that is left for Juan de la Cruz; for thinking of migrating to any other country just to kiss my homeland goodbye; for hating the Philippines over and over again.

But I don’t need to be a lawyer to serve my precious country. It’s not about the pro bono service that I so wanted to give the masses. Deeper than that, it’s the selfless love for this land, this land that still can survive with my help and yours.

Election time is fast approaching. We are now observing scoundrels beginning to put off their most modest masks. I hope we see beyond those imaginary heroes, those newly painted overpass or superficial feeding programs that has no basis. Above all, I hope we see who will truly save us, whom we will help and support all the way to realize the land our ancestors hoped for.

Saving the country has never relied on one people alone. It requires the whole population. You’re part of it, right?

jaded

Here they are again: disjointed thoughts. Just a jumble of ideas, without form, without coherence. No similarities, no familiarity, no nothing. Just words, ideas, dreams past and future, dead guys, living guys, murder victims-to-be streaming past my jaded brain.

A plethora of thoughts, some useful, some good as unconceived. Dissipating into nothingness before I could even make use of them. Let alone understand them.

It’s just words and words and words, like a cool mountain stream passing over a rock sitting quietly on the riverbed for centuries.

Only in my case, I’ve been on that sandy bottom for only twenty - six years.

Twenty six years. Such a brief period. Nothing but a heartbeat in the greater scheme of the universe. What’s 4 billion years compared to… bleh, twenty six?

But if it’s such a short time… why do I feel so old and jaded? I feel I’ve been through so much, I’ve seen too much. And yet I feel so… small. Useless. Non-existent.

Since when did my thoughts matter anyway?

The world would go on turning even if I thought it should stop. The sun would still throw wave after wave of radiation at the Earth every 8 seconds even as I think that men are such weaklings. Roaches would still stink and politicians would still be their greedy selves.

Who cares? Are they obliged to care? Am I?

Just thoughts, thoughts and more thoughts streaming into my jaded brain. Faster than a bullet train tearing through the subterranean tracks of Tokyo. Faster than information traveling upstream and downstream these fiber-optic cables.

Faster than a pickpocket's hands wrapping around your cellphone. Faster than a bullet through the head. Faster than a Leer jet with its resonating sonic boom. Faster than Ian Thorpe can splash across a huge tub of chlorinated water.

Faster than falling in love. Faster than him breaking your heart. Faster than getting f*cked without even realizing what was happening to you.

Being in love. being disillusioned. I don’t believe in justice anymore. I never see it served.

I don’t believe in truth anymore. I’ve seen it twisted so many times into so many grotesque forms to suit whoever’s abominable causes.

I don’t believe anybody understands what I’m saying. I don’t expect anyone to. I don’t understand anything.

preferences

Jee and I had a discussion about preference. Why not you? Why not me? What does anther have that each of us don't?

Among the seas of faces we encounter daily, how do we select the person we do select - for a friend, companion, acquaintance, object of our affection, the like. Yes, the labels. (And no matter how insistent we become about how we DON'T believe in labeling and how hard we deny that we don't condone such, much less practice it, the whole labeling thing is inevitable. Unavoidable.) Why do we make the selection? Why them? Why these people?

We issue standards. We comply with them 0 sometimes struggling as we do so, sometimes with ease: unconsciously, as if we were born to make our choices based on those standards. Other times, we discard them and declare our independence from personally established norms, so to speak. So, when do we do so? Why do we do so? Why pick that person among all of them? Why do we make that choice?

The answer, you might say, lies in the free will of humans. Freedom to select. Freedom of choice. Right to organization, even (as if friendships are organizations - well in a way, they are, but that's debatable). Point there. But that really does not answer the how's and the why's of selection.

The answer is different for every person. Yes. Of course. Or else, those not selected will never be selected. And there'll be hordes of people vying for the same people, as well.

Why me? Why you?

I could listen all day to each answer.

Encounters

He seemed ecstatic when he saw me. I can see it on the grin he flashed and the way his cool, baritone voice greeted me. They were all gone as he turned aloof, distant and businesslike.

Maybe this was expected of him, I thought, as I walked three paces behind him. Could it be that he has Japanese lineage and has to abide by their traditions? I wondered; perhaps, considering those tiny slits one would call his eyes.

Or it may just be sheer nervousness that made him act in such a manner---to think that he shall be doing this with a complete stranger. Then again, it was all part of the bargain.

We went inside the room where he asked me to lay down and then said, “Open.”

I, on the other hand, was most willing to assist him so I naturally complied.

It had been hours that we remained in that position. At least, he had the advantage to maneuver into a more comfortable position. While I, poor and helpless, sustained the same placement in prolonged anguish.

He was luckier for having the chance of viewing the entire proceedings that was fully presented to him. Whereas I have to content myself with staring at the ceiling, the lightbulb, his brown eyes and observe the way his eyebrows knit, creating a furrow between his forehead as he elapsed into deep concentration.

Only God knew what his hands did with me. During that time, I was not in the right situation to tell.

My mouth succumbed to the weariness it felt and started to slacken a bit. It was the wrong move. For in his frustration he said, “Open wider, I cannot penetrate.”

In my astonishment I submitted to his plea.

The pain was beginning to be unbearable. I prayed for my agony to soon be over.

As we neared climax, beads of perspiration formed on his forehead. I moaned as my teeth bit the insides of my mouth. I could still feel the constant friction happening inside me.

Soon, it was finished. I was filled deep and I laid there in consummation. He made me sit while he tried to give order to my tousled hair as he tried to smoothen it.

The ordeal was finally through when we went to the x-ray room to check my newly amalgam-filled tooth.

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Oh, dont give me that look, you green - minded freak! :p

Random Thoughts on the Holy Week

Holy week is a time when we are forced to sit back and reflect on what we’ve done in the past, on our stupid mistakes and forgettable follies. Also, it’s a time to reconnect with our spiritual self; a time to think seriously about our salvation and afterlife and Christ’s resurrection (as if I’ll be saved. With all the sins I’ve done, I make Hitler a gentle puppy). Oh, lest I forget, Holy Week also means beach, Studio 23’s 7th Heaven marathons and your annual dose of the movie The Ten Commandments (I bet you have watched it for the nth time).

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The best place for me to stay during Holy Week is Cebu City (Osmeña Blvd in particular). Not in Puerto Galera or Boracay or any beaches or Splash Island, but Cebu City. Why? I’ll give you 2 good reasons:

1. The traffic is heavenly. It’s like Moses has parted again the Red Sea and gave you a free pass to drive across the sea bed on your own. If you’re from Apas, you can go to Colon in 10 minutes. Imagine, almost an hour travel time reduced to 10 minutes. You can even go drag racing in Jones Avenue if you want to. That is because there are few cars traveling around. Plus, the CITOM people are in Holy Week mode.

2. At long last, PEACE. Isn’t it great that all those pesky children and backbiting and shabu-sniffing neighbors of yours are all gone, kaput, went to a vacation to their own provinces or went to the beach or went anywhere but here? Isn’t it just great that for three days, you virtually own the street and can do anything there? Ok, I can’t do everything and NOT that exhibition thingie if that is what you’re thinking. But at least for three days, you are spared from being friendly with your “oh so lovable and fabulous” neighbors (you know what, thinking of them makes me puke, and seeing them makes me really, really sick. I’ve already canvassed the prices for Scud missiles and torpedoes so that I could blow their houses to kingdom come but I scrapped it when I realized that it also means reducing my crib to pieces. Stupid, stupid, stupid.)

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Holy Week also means tons of time for reading. Last, last year’s Holy Week, on top of watching West Wing and 7th Heaven reruns, I was forced to read two Gabriel Garcia - Marquez novels, three Kurt Vonnegut, and some cheap pocketbooks. Ok, I heard you laugh and saw you smirk. I admit those were my darkest days in my budding literary life. What can I do, those were the only readable materials around. So, in order not to repeat the brouhaha, I now buy books specifically for Holy Week reading. Last year, I’ve read Ralph Waldo Emerson’s Collected Essays, Jane Hamilton’s A Map of the World, and Jospeh Heller's God Knows. This year’s Holy Week, I’ve read Salman Rushdie’s The Ground Beneath Her Feet, and The Satanic Verses and Umberto Eco’s The Name of the Rose. Next year, I plan on reading all the volumes of the Encyclopedia Britannica. Beat that, huh!
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Don’t you know that the Bible is the most widely read book in the world? Also, the Bible is the most bought book. Incidentally, it’s also the most pick-pocketed item in a bookstore.
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Lastly, Holy Week is all about the Camden family, that ever growing family that is full of love in the hit TV show 7th Heaven. I think the Camden family is one of the most envied families ever. Don’t you want to have a cool preacher dad and a tireless, caring, Mrs Do-it-all mother? And a neighbor named Cecilia (Ashlee Simpson, she is really cute you know)?

I have this funny feeling that Holy Week was specifically made so that we can watch 7th Heaven marathon. Yeah, another conspiracy theory of mine (I also believe that the Rockefellers killed JFK, Opus Dei is a cult, Jose Rizal is overrated and Barney is the worst ever dinosaur. I mean who would want to watch a scary purple dinosaur playing around with children. Michael Jackson perhaps, but he is not interested in Barney though, but rather in the cute kids.).

Back to the topic, there are lots of uses of watching 7th Heaven. Aside from watching a TV show that teaches values and good manners and has an AnakTV seal, guys, you can also use the show to have a date. Believe me, many girls really watch 7th Heaven. My cousin dated a girl once because he said he loves 7th Heaven and could name all the characters along with their family dog Happy. So guys, it pays to watch chick shows este family friendly shows.
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Holy week is a time when we must be at our holiest best. But in case you f*cked up and did everything that is forbidden, there is always the next year’s Holy Week to look forward to.

Rebel without a clue, without a cause!

Here is the monitor, running a word game. Here are my eyelids, drooping. I stifle a yawn. I have been yawning since 9 am. It’s already late in the afternoon and I have been awake since god knows when. Yes, truth of the matter is, I spent my restday at home - if not caught in midthought or just typing my thoughts away on my notepad. Whew! (you can tell I'm suffering from a severe case of brain malfunction!)

For the past weeks, my desk in the office (just let me wallow in the fact that I have my own desk, will you?) is a complete jungle of papers, business documents, handouts, a black tumbler, charts, modules, candy wrappers here and there and a lot of pencils and pens buried somewhere among the wreckage. Last I checked, I had a corporate desk planner. It must still be here somewhere. But hell, who makes plans anyway?

The e-mail in front of me screams all the tasks I have to do and updates I need to take note of. All the new processes I have to churn out. You see that’s precisely it. I am supposed to turn out a bunch of work but my monitor reflects a creative piece! I have to read a lot of stuff, and in fact I have one certification exam tomorrow but I’m not bothered.

Over the years, I have shifted from being passionate, to morose, to indifferent and now I am just one corporate pain in the ass. My responsible self tells me to get my reports out, clear my desk of all the rubble and pull my act together.

Every now and then, all these reminds me of the cruel fact that in these dire times where unemployment abound and good jobs (not to mention good employers) are hard to come by, I should be thankful I’m still burning cushion behind this desk.

But see here, having this job is like eating the same dish 24/7. Hey one can only eat steak for so long until he finally throws up! But you see, this job (lately), to me, is not even steak! It’s like eating high-calorie, high in fat, oil-laden “Callos”! I mean, one has to die of heart attack sooner or later. I have been in the industry for years now yet I am too yellow to do anything about it.

Looking at my monitor and all this trash on my desk, I can’t help but be reminded of that innocent, fresh-out-of-taking calls face I wore the day I was handed my first task. It was a cloudy Monday morning.

“Anne. Here. I want you to photocopy 30 of these, back to back. Good? Good.”

I had two gargantuan folders on my right hand. Pen on my left hand. Knees shaking like hell and stomach churned because I was too scared of the boss. I kept staring at a jumble of letters on the papers I was holding which I could not make heads nor tails of.

“Uh.. Yes, J. Will do.”

Uhm… What was I supposed to do again? Photocopy whaaat? Back to back? Hey, they never showed this on those textbooks! No fair!

But of course, I had to find my way through the job. And that I did. (hoooray!)

I also remember that monumental white sheet with the office letterhead containing my very first pay slip as trainer. P????!!!

“Wow! I’m getting all this money?! Man!” I thought.

Five very amazing figures and I was flustered. I don’t know where I got that excitement from, but I sure as hell know that I don’t even look at my pay slips nowadays.

At first, owed to the fact that I haven’t had the feel of the job yet, I would blindly do whatever I was told me to do. Even if at times those tasks made me raise a questioning brow, I’d obey them.

I wasn’t confident then of the accuracy of my opinions back when I was still a subordiante,taking calls. After all, top honchos were always right. The big guys loved it and showed it by means of a promotion. Cool. I was made officer at 25. The whole office cheered me.

But as the days rolled on and the childlike idealism slowly lifted, I was made to see the hard, cold truth: Top management, just like anybody else, was prone to questionable decisions. I tried but my voice would not be suppressed. The applause dwindled to a hush.

Nevertheless, friendships were made.

As a young employee, I had youthful idealist issues. Back then, I couldn’t comprehend why transparency and honesty seemed to be alien words in the office. I couldn’t understand why freedom had to be suppressed and why certain people had to “kiss” major corporate asses.

Why the stupid smile when all they wanted to do was scream until the veins on their necks snapped? Why the kind words in front of the big bosses when they said the exact opposites the minute they stepped into their respective cubicles? Why wouldn’t they speak up if they knew that something was extremely wrong? I couldn’t understand. I still don’t.

Being hot blooded and passionate, I voiced out my views as much as I could. Naturally, I earned the irk of some superiors (good thing though, I dont report to them - my boss right now will always be incomparable!) and has thus been labeled a “corporate rebel”. I have learned, ever so painfully, that unconventional people had no places in the higher ups.

I also realized that people who dreamed of getting somewhere polished themselves for the bosses so it was only but natural for them to be seen with all the right people. They veered away from the insurrects as they would a dreaded disease. Some of these people included what I have learned to call friends.

Yet, there are those that remained. And those are the friendships I have made. All of us were curiously enough, dubbed “leftists”. But what is right anyway? If veering away from tradition in lieu of a better alternative and having a mind of one’s own---definitely not dependent on somebody else’s decision, is viewed as not being right, then by all means call us leftists.

But then, most of them are gone now. Off to greener pastures. Some place where they thought their voices will be heard. Some have found their happiness, some still search for it. I remain with the latter.

Despite the fact that I have seen generations of friends come and go (the turnover’s that fast), I still feel a pinch or two whenever I have to stand witness to another departure. (and my very own soon)

Camaraderie aside, maybe it’s those simple traditions that I miss. Or maybe it’s those little green monsters that eat me up. Or could it be that departures stand as reminders of my cowardice?

I know what I want and it’s certainly not this. I started out as a passionate and idealistic 21-year old (in this industry) that believed she could conquer the world with sheer optimism, honesty and blatant courage. Life did not turn out that way.

Now I am but a vessel mechanically going through the day to day demands of the job. Day after day of disappointment has caused both heart and soul to depart this shell. I know I should have decided to leave a long time ago and not just now. But for all my passionate convictions, I am too yellow to leave my comfort zone. Or could it also be that I have already lost faith in the entire system?

Well, I will have to save that for another day---after my body has regained its soul. For the meantime, clock tells me to sleep. Tonight's another day. I know I have to work still, but then again who cares about all these anyway? I have long since died within these company walls anyway.

tsk!

I spent a good fifteen minutes or so of my precious time talking to someone about Noncompete Clause. He was trying to make me understand that the meticulous legal phrase is not gonna affect me whatsoever and he wanted to just plainly establish that fact. But the all too cautious and inquisitive me cannot let a minute pass without asking too many a question. You see, such a clause, sparked a public legal battle years ago when Google hired away a top Microsoft executive, Kai-Fu Lee. Not that I am the next Kai - Fu Lee but then again, it pays to be careful on the decisions you make, ayt? Silly human nature - gotta experience before the lesson is weighed into practice wouldnt apply to me.

Anyways, the conversation was cut short for business reasons and was given the option to think about the endless possibilities in three days time. (This is one of those days when I wished I was Heroes' Hiro Nakamura so that I would bend space - time continuum.) haha!

I picked up the phone and called Alex. I need a good advice from a person who knows the ins and outs of the law.

Oh, God save me from this predicament!

Life Defining Experiences

Is it just me? Could it be that I just complain too much about what's going on? Or it's just that I value my rights so much that i cant seem to let every injustice that I see pass me by... :)

Well, we all know the squander of politicking has been on the road since time immemorial and the people are getting comfty with the idea (since practically, we have no way of getting rid of all them). Polictics is evident everywhere.. In the government, in the workplace or in anywhere else... hahaha... I have been a victim of so many injustices.. harsh... but then again, it's unavoidable... :)

I have come to the disturbing conclusion that there is no single solution to the tragedy that is the everyday life scenario. That's not really a new discovery. I'm sure you guys figured that out for yourselves. Thinking of it makes my head ache and, honestly, it breaks my heart to see a lot of lives in such a horrendous state. What started out as wound has turned into a gangrenous mess because our leaders had let it fester and rot. I think I've said this too many times to too many people: Modern politics has now become a means to amass sums of money or should I say, SPECIAL FAVORS for that matter. When did we forget that being on top also meant service to the other people? When did it become a business venture for superiors to further their own schemes or their friends and allies', putting the interest of the majority they ought to serve and protect EQUALLY into a distant second (if they're lucky)?

Secondly, like I said before, some of us are just as at fault as our superiors. Everyday, I see people who can just get away with some nasty misdemeanors because of their connections. It's just as much an eyesore as the people who are blatantly disobeying such a simple and sensible rule. Or what about the other favorites who just smirk and smile off superiors who are trying to enforce the rules and policies? What the hell is that?? Are they proud of themselves that they can just twiddle the law between their fingers?? Daghan lang jud pong magsalig usahay.. And it's true... A bitter reality that we have grown accustomed to.

It's little things like these that make you wonder how deep down in muck we are. People close to people's hearts get special favors and those who are the "i don't care" and i don't give a rat's ass," passive and non - people pleaser type get to whimper in the brush. It's not fair when you work so hard to earn something which is simply handed on a silver platter to someone else who less deserves it. It's not fair when you have to watch others get what they want and what you want while you sit away in a rut - wishing you were living their lives instead. It's just like applying for an emergency leave because someone in the family died but then you were denied because of reasons that are too shallow BUT before you know it, someone was placed in the same situation and was granted to take a leave or two.. Don't you find it totally unfair? Or it could be that people get terminated for allegedly violating provisions stipulated in the contract when in fact the very same people issuing them are doing the same? Or picture this: applying for a position which was already given to someone way ahead of time when you know the person isnt worth a bit and the advert was nothing but for formality's sake. And I could go on an on and on with my rants. The sad thing though, is all our hands are tied. We have choices, yes, but they are all LIMITED. :) It is indeed a dog eats dog world and kissing people's asses for collective survival is inevitable.. (an utter disappointment!)

Ok, I think I've said enough. I know that mouthing off about a bad situation doesn't make it better, it just makes it noisier. So, here's my feeble attempt at socio-political restructuring: Lead by example. Simple, huh? Lame? Maybe. It won't work? Hey, nobody has even tried. Cheesy? Hehe, you got me. I dunno, actions do speak louder than words and silent gestures stir up emotions better. I think there's still some basic decency in everyone of us. Or could it be that Stephen Covey's words didnt actually have an effect on all of us?

things, random

My random thoughts right now are trying to put the chaos around me into order. I've always been a very transparent person; an introverted fellow at that. I find it hard to adapt in an environment that I am unfamiliar with. Certain awkward situations scare the hell out of me. I become aloof and distant.

I prefer to be sheltered in my own comfort zone. I hate unfamiliar territory.

Being in an offbeat group daunts me. I prefer to stay quite and just stay in a corner letting tha people around me do their stuff. I feel alienated to their circle, thus I shut people out. I may be physically present but I'm actually mentally absent.

This is my weakness. If I don't mesh well with the crowd, anxiety gets the hold of me. I hate the fuckin feeling of being out of place.

Have you ever been in a meeting or in a gathering where everyone acts so bubbly and loquacious and there you are, not knowing what to do or say? Shit! Just today, I had that experience. Trust me, I felt like walking out or concoct some lame story just to escape. Unfortunately, there was no way out for me. I had to be with this group of people. I was compelled.

Sometimes, I ask myself if I really am that socially inept? Am I? With the people that I am close with, I could be the most intense conversationalist and a blaring joker. I guess it takes time for me to adjust to new people. I don't open up that easily. Insecurity is my main enemy in this arena. I just have to loosen up.

Let this post help me to further refine and clarify my own thinking. Shit, I need a goddam shrink!

reality...

We can pretend to be brave to conceal our fears, pretend to be smart to conceal our insecurities; pretend to be strong to conceal our weaknesses; pretend to be happy to conceal our longings.

But no matter how much we pretend to conceal our negativities, we will always be pierced by reallity.

Maybe, that's what life is all about. Reality bites but we can never bite it back.

silently grieving

Right now, as my fingertips thump through the keyboard, I'm still not sure whether this is the smartest idea, subjecting my thoughts to scrutiny and criticism. I love writing and by far, writing is still the best form, the best avenue that I can let my demons out, dust out the cobwebs from my soul. I'm not saying that I write well. Neither am I saying that posting a weblog is something I can claim as an original idea. God knows I've seen people do it, and I have to admit, a whole lot of them do it well. But really, although this shall surely be read by a lot of people, it's something I'll still definitely attempt to pour my heart out on and make my own.

Life has its own system of attrition much akin to animals. Like most animals, I tell myself, people have this unique way to recognize an opportunity to escape from a coming storm, fleeing in great stampedes and leaving the solace of familiar grounds to ensure their existence. In the span of a month, I've lost a lot of people whose precious connections to me were severed due to a multitude of reasons. People online, colleagues, friends; with reasons like better career opportunities, personal conflicts, inner turmoil and the like. Somehow, I feel like I was the turf they once belonged to and their sudden departure felt violent that I felt like I was being trampled on as they fled one by one. Now, there's no one left to face the storm but me and I stare at the darkening skies still hearing the echoes of their thronging quest to survive in a "better" world. Of course, being nothing but turf, I am stuck here, nowhere to go and just waiting, breathing heavily as I await the impending doom that they all sensed. Maybe I was just too dense, trying so much to act human, when all I needed to do was tap way down into that part of me that had that animal intuition.

There was a time that I was able to listen to that animal instinct easily, when alarms would ring in my head and I would be alerted to the danger signs waving and hollering right before my eyes. But a person who wants to be free from fear, free from loneliness, free from financial constraints, free from all hang-ups would act more human, trying to make everything logical. It would only be too late to realize that the freedom lay in that basic instinct to recognize the speeding point of the spear and step back before it struck your heart.

From this day on, I swear. I'll go back to being the animal I once was.

the day it poured

You pick up your pen and begin to scribble… to write… to cry… to let it all out. And with every stroke, with every line, an emotion would flow. Every sentiment you’ve hidden will now reveal itself, imprinted and carved on wood pulp. You dot your I’s with tears, and your periods with pain so unbearable you’d wish you could scream. And if you could, they would hear. You wish that someone would come across it and read between the lines. That somehow he or she would understand. Or that he or she would even offer his or her shoulder. Maybe just the simple thought that they would shake their head, wipe a tear and feel your pain would be enough for you. And somehow you would have strength to move on… to quench that pain and smile.

Yet you are left hollow... unfilled… and empty. Amid this torture you imagine a friend. A friend who would not judge nor condemn you for whatever thoughts you have. A friend, who, unlike the ones you thought would stand by you, would never leave. Someone who would be able to look at you straight in the eye and say, “It’s okay… it doesn’t matter.” Someone who would feel with you, understand you, give you strength… and maybe even breathe a new life into you.

You imagine… and with that, the pen would drop from your grasps, the paper would lay forgotten, your angst left unwritten… Thank you, "M" for taking that call and listening to my rants.. Twas really appreciated..

blathers

I wish to write about happy times, of children propping themselves on dry leaves, of impulsive road trips, of clear facets of glass prisms, nudities, white sand beaches, of first kisses, of intense lovemaking. I wish to capture the fleeting moments and bottle them up in contemplation. All but wishful thinking!

I miss myself humming and smiling to myself whenever some of the little pleasures cross my mind, waving, smiling, calling my name -- join us, let's frolick in the mud! I am turned to moments of disquietude during ungodly hours. Melancholy, being an unwelcome bedfellow. What happened to life and its promises? What happened to wit, i am surrounded by mortal idiots!

I wish I could get just a week off. *sigh*