why

As long as there is hope, that means there is still LOVE. – The Love of Siam

It’s almost 11:30 in the morning, I’m still on my sleeping shirt - and I can still smell coffee in my breath.

I have been awake for like three hours now, but I guess part of me is still dreaming. (sigh)

Right after I woke up, I watched again THE LOVE OF SIAM. It’s a Thai movie about family, love and making choices. T’as been also dubbed to be among the best Asian movies to discuss gay love.

I don’t know. But I think I have fallen in love with the characters Tong and Mew. Although more than that, I guess I’m still struck by its ending. Funny because even yesterday I have been thinking about it already, I even wrote on my note book, during class, I just can’t get it, why let go of love so true. And I guess my seatmate saw it when I unintentionally flipped the pages, giving her a good perspective.

Well you see I guess what’s disturbing me is that I thought I knew how the story would end.
Turned out I didn’t. as you know I have always believed in happy ever afters.

Love is a universal conspiracy; it’s when human will and destiny conspires, it’s when time and place schemes. Love doesn’t happen every day, not all couples are really blessed to have experienced love. That is why I have high regard to relationships that obviously falls under this conspiracy.

What Mew and Tong had was real – and even the world around them has been telling them that what they have is worth fighting for – pero bakit sumuko sila?

Why let go of something so true, something so real?

(big sigh)

9/2/2010

isang MAINIT NA GABI

Written On: April 23, 2010 01: 17 am

Sometime like this last night, April 22; what were you doing?

You maybe were still up playing on your computer.
Maybe you were trying to finish Chapter 23 of Meyer’s book
You maybe were watching a late TV show.
Or you may have been busy chatting with your girl over the phone.
Maybe you were trying to say good night on Plurk.
You maybe were out in Magsaysay, or somewhere else, dancing the night away.
You might have been sweating it all out; after, you know.
Maybe you were at the shower having your nightly routine.
Or maybe you were simply fast asleep. Snoring. Cozily dozed.

Whatever you were doing then,
I know it wasn’t praying or kissing your mom good night.

You were occupied, occupied by your self-satisfying regimens,
Why pray, or kiss your mom good night if you can do it the next day…
Or maybe the next of that…
Or even the next of that next day.

On this very moment though, exactly a day ago, somebody died.
He was my neighbor, 22, male, single and perfectly healthy.
Binangungot, they say. He died in his sleep.

Physically capable, intellectually promising and sexually charming…
He had a life, just like ours…
But on this very same hour, he passed away.

Ikaw? How would you end this day?
We don’t really know what our next day would be,
what the next hour may cause
or what our next minute would be;
even what the next second may bring is, but a mystery.

Pero pa’no…
If there’s no more next time?

Goodnight folks. Spread the love. peace

deviant

Once there lived a little boy named Zoku.
Zoku was born of a prestigious family, prosperous and upright.
His mother, the city’s most sophisticated and religious woman taught him the odes and rituals to please the spirits.
His father, the most industrious and honest of all the landlords taught him the value of working and working with others.
His family is well respected and almost envied; a comfortable home, loving parents, educated and upright siblings, Zoku could not ask for more.

Everything seemed right, and pleasing…

Not until his ninth birth year, when a tragedy befell.

Undeserving, Zoku’s mother contracted a disease that even the city’s most powerful acolytes, priestesses and even sorcerers cannot cure. And so his mom peacefully bore the pain until the fortnight before the dawn of Zoku’s tenth birth year. On his tenth birth fête, Zoku was burying his beloved mother.

And so the tragedy fell.

Grieving at his loss, Zoku’s father started drinking and gambling. In a length of a quarter of a year, the entirety of Zoku’s family wealth faded off the hands of his grieving father who found refuge in wines and playing cards.

And everything that Zoku had, vanished before his very eyes.
And the tragedy just started.

Angered by the loss, not just of his mother but even his father and their highly coveted life, Zoku found a friend in rebellion. He did everything that his father forbade him to do, and lived a life that he pleased.

For years he lived a life of anguish, of secret pain and longing for a family, for a mother and a father.
Zoku was alone, Zoku was looking for love and affection…

…but he never found it.

Who would know that the boy in the story has grown into a young man now, studying in one of the most prestigious universities of the country, serving passionately his fellow students and performing well in his academic persuasions? Even surprisingly, he is considered everybody’s friend.

At the moment, he seems soft and innocent.

… but deep inside, Zoku is so alive.
So be careful, the young man might seem typical, but he’s not…
as for you know, Zoku is a DEVIANT - he was always been, and will be.

7/28/10

SoleMate

Oo, tama ang nabasa mo, SoleMate nga. SoleMate ang tawag sa mga taong hanggang ngayon naghahanap ng karamay sa buhay, sa makatuwid, sila yung mga taong hanggang ngayon ang tangging karamay ay ang sarili; sa makatuwid… mag-isa.

“If every person has a soul mate, then how come I still am alone?”
Malamang ito ang tanong nila; isang malamang tanong.

Ang totoo, tanong ko rin yan, isang malaking tanong na hindi ko mabigyan ng sagot. Hindi naman ako bobo kahit na, na sa tatlong taon ko bilang Atenista, ni hindi pa ako napabilang sa President’s o Dean’s list man lang; alam ko hindi ako bobo. Pero sa mga pagkakataong may mga tanong na gan’to, napapa-isip din ako, talaga nga kayang hindi ako bobo? Kung hindi, bakit hindi ko mapunan ng kahit kakarampot man lang na kasagutan ang tanong na ito. Hindi ko alam! Nakaka-asar!






Ang totoo kasi nyan, sa tingin ko kilala ko na saya, kilang kilala. Ang maganda pa, alam niya ang madarama ko, kaso lang… hindi pwede.
Gusto ko siya pero hindi pwede. Siguro nga mahal ko na sya, pero hindi pwede. Hindi talaga.

SoleMate, yun ako. Minsan nagtatanong ako, ‘god, are you fair?’ Bakit kasi kelangang madama ko pa ‘to kung mauuwi din lang naman sa wala. Para san pa ang mga panaginip ko kung hindi ko rin naman maaring gawing totoo?

Marahil hindi pa talaga sya…
Siguro may ibang nakalaan.
Marahil naiinip lang ako, marahil.

I don’t really wanna think that wala na rin akong karapatang mahalin; pero kung ganto rin lang naman, I don’t really know what to think. Bakit ba nariyan lang din naman siya pero kahit gumulong pa ang mundo ng makailang ulit, tila hindi ni minsan sa hinuha maaaring ako naman ang mahalin nya. Just today while we and two other friends are on a taxi to school I realized how improbable so much so impossible na matutunan nya rin akong mahalin. Katulad ng mga gulong ng taxing ‘yon; I am like the tire in front and he, the tire at the back; no matter how near, there would never be a time na magkakalapit kami, there would never be a time that he’ll love me the way I wish he’ll do.

SoleMate. Isang malungkot na scenario, isang malungkot na katotohanang kelangan kong tanggapin bukal man o labag sa nadarama.

Sa mga SoleMate, love is so universal and yet so universally misunderstood; kaya sori na lang. Siguro nga merong para sa bawat isa, or maybe not. L

yang mga matang yan

Kung sa kanya ka magiging masaya…
… dapat mawala na sya

Bitter.

Sabi ko naman…
Sana nga mawala na sya, ng makita niya na ako

Ewan ko ba…
Feeding na ha…

I like you; I like you more than just I like you.

Nagtatampisaw pa rin ako…
Kaso, nakatanaw ka pa din…
sa iba.

Sana lang mabaling, kahit minsan man lang, ang mga matang yan sa dako parito.
Titig na titig ka eh,
lumingon ka lang nang may makasalubong, makaniig naman ang mga mata yan.
Nakakangawit ding tumitig, alam ko alam mo…

Kelangan bang malunod muna ako, at sumigaw…
Para yang mga matang yan, akin naman.

03/03/2010

CHAPTERS

Stories taught us the words prologue and epilogue; an addition to the nice sounding words, sequel and prequel. It taught us as well the ‘chapters’ and its inherent function in the entirety of the story, the novel and stuffs of the kind. All of these suggest one thing though; that one begins and ends, that one originates and degenerates; genesis and demise, LIFE at a spectrum.

Chapters break down the entire story into interconnected short stories; ‘though, not at all times. Sometimes, chapters suggests the end of one and the introduction of another, be it a character, a plot or an idea and stuffs like that. It makes reading stories and novels and watching movies fun because it compartmentalizes thoughts and ideas that at the end would all form a bigger plot. But then again, chapters do the transition from one thing to the next. And that is why I hate it.

Life like a protracted story or an extensive movie is divided into chapters. One chapter tells of us as toddlers then kids and then school children until sooner a chapter about our puberty comes, adolescence and early adulthood. We close a chapter and then open another, but once the page is lifted or the next frame is projected, there is no turning back. And that is why chapters make me sad.

How I wish life isn’t a chaptered book, that once a transition or a shift has to unfold; there is no goodbye to utter nor is there no-turning back. I hate goodbyes, I hate the thought of leaving and I hate being left.

But what can I do, life is chaptered and now you have to turn the pages and leave this chapter behind. As you turn the pages, as you leave this chapter, you leave me behind.

Chapters, life’s full of it.
Goodbyes, life’s so full of it.
Masakit man, paalam.

Where do you go when you cry?

Where do you go when you cry?
Who do you run to?

Got a name in mind?
Well, keep that person close…
… as for you know not all I know has one.

‘ got a friend who runs to mary jane, an hour of being high does the comfort.
‘ got a friend who runs to mudbugs and drowns the pain.
‘ got a friend who runs to his Chevie and hits the country road for a lull.
‘ got a friend who runs to whoever he can run to and make out with, fucking the pain away.
‘ got a friend who runs to the pews and silently shouts it all to HIM.
‘ got a friend who runs to his friendly blade and tries to slash the hurting away.
‘ got a friend who runs to his laptop and type the pain away.
‘ got a friend who runs to the ATM and swipes the throb away.
‘ got a friend who runs to her shoes and walks tears away.

I’ve got a friend who ran to his keys and drove the pain away,
met his boyfriend and that cunning friend of man, DEATH.

Ikaw? Whom do you run to? If such has a name, keep such really good…
For you know, it’s better to run to a friend than to cry it all out in the shower.
Trust me, I know.

J retteb eb annog s’worromot ebyam