what is with them?? why do they have to do this to their country? wwho do they think they are??
grabe, we gave them armm na nga e. hihirit pa that they want the entire mindanao, e the entire mindanao does not want them.
bwiset. yun lang ba pwede nilang gawin? ang mangulo nang manggulo?
where are your wise elders? baka naman yung village fool nyo ang pinadedesisyon niyo sa mga ganyang bagay.
maawa naman kayo sa mga inosente.
Thursday, August 21, 2008
Friday, August 15, 2008
fugly
Hers was a philosophy of plentitude and overloading. Beauty was based on the capacity to have everything colorful draped on gloriously svelte frame. Happiness is achieved purely by receiving accolades and praises. And humility is nothing but concealing assets with discombobulated truths.
Nobody knows where and how she got this belief system. In the first place, nobody cares.
In a quaint place South of the Capital, she flourished as the town’s muse. Calbiga was an easy place to achieve popularity and catch the male population’s attention. Sure, she was beautiful: long, lithe, and evenly-tanned body, and by Filipino standards, her nose-bridge elevation was decent enough. Even to those who didn’t care, she was stunning.
So what is with her?
Well, apparently, a description of her from another Calbiga resident was not enough. One had to experience her.
And experience I did.
Yesterday, I met her at a coffee shop in McKinley Hill. On Tuesdays, the 8 am ritual consists of a large serving of milk and tuna pan de sal. Fish was my fuel and milk assisted in the digestive process. Tuesdays were allotted for re-fueling, re-defining the wrong and taking a step closer to Perfection. The coffee shop is heaven, and the baristas my angels.
At exactly 8:45 a.m. when the ritual was about to reach its denouement, she, a gazelle, stepped into my heaven. While my angels assisted her, my mind scurried to bring my self evaluation to a close.
It may have been the lactose-drowning or what my mind resolved that day: a person achieves internal and external beauty by exposing one’s self to Beauty itself, but a selfish urge to own her warmed my body like gamma rays heating frozen chicken from the inside out. Yes, the coffee shop transformed into one humongous microwave oven.
As I’ve said, she was beautiful. Ergo, I need to be around her. I allowed 20 seconds to check if it were my loins thumping. No, it was my curious hypothalamus. Darn it. What was I thinking? Of course, my thighs were not supposed to tingle, I am, supposedly, A GIRL! She was THAT bee-yu-ti-ful, I almost convinced myself to be a man and wrap my pervert’s arm around her waist.
After a chirp of “Thank you, Ma’am. Enjoy your latte!” , her nose lead her head to me. I smiled at her. Maria Leonora Teresa Reyes smiled back. That was the beginning of a wonderful friendship.
My gazelle sashayed her way to my table and inspired a stampede in my serene innards.
She said she thought I was her cousin. I knew it was a lie, her eyes twitched. She wanted to sit with me. The place was packed with academic snobs with tongues dipped in brewed Sulawesi, too busy to accommodate anyone.
I gave her another smile.
A smile from her. Oki lang me maki-share?
And shards of glass crashed on cold marble floor. Aha! She was an outsider. She sounded like she came from the other side of town, the continent even. An invisible orchestra of hecklers chorused in laughter—very demeaning laughter. Grandmother constantly reminded me to be kind to people who were different. I had to be kind and accommodating to this creature. She wasn’t entirely appalling.
A nod assured I would not mind sharing my table with her.
Then, came a long awkward minute. Her nose lead her head to different directions, pretending to look for someone or something familiar in the area. I knew she was pretending, her accent and faux Prada clutch bag screamed it. I, on the other hand, fumbled with the only two icebreakers I learned, from my Grandfather, no less : Should I say Ano’ng probinsiya mo? or the traditional mention-name-offer-right-hand approach.
If I wanted to befriend her, I better say something and it better be soon, but what?
Pregnant pause. Ho- ho- hum.
Lagi ka ba dito? Ngayon lang kasi kita nakita, e. Masarap ang Mocha Frapey dito, try mo. She offered her drink and swung the straw towards me.
What was she saying? My house was two blocks down the road, I puff my post-dinner smoke rings here and the crew knows my middle name. Should I call her bluff? Maybe I should. I had to cut this encounter short and discourage anything that would make her want to linger for more than fifteen minutes. The sight of her was enough for me and more input about her will cover my vision with a thick film of bias. She was becoming less and less beautiful to me that a conversation might make her intensely fugly.
Fugly? No, that can’t be it. I can’t call her fugly. That would take me fifty paces away from Perfection. That can’t be. Note to self: do one grand act of holiness to redeem self. Note number two: begin by not calling this fine young woman fugly.
I told her it was my first time.
Note number three: stop lying.
Why should I? She seemed to be lying, too. I learned to lie because of her. Sure, the person who tells the truth is the bigger person. Everybody wants to be the bigger person all the time, so why can’t I be the smaller person? I already gained two pounds from my pan de sal and it wasn’t stuffed with lies. In it was honest-to-goodness saltwater tuna, I think.
One cliché goes: presume good faith in everything. I am to presume she had no intention of inciting disgust from me, she had reasons for lying. An obvious remedy to this is to finish my milk and be off. Still, I cannot help but be uncomfortable of being lied to. Her standard introductions may have escaped her and her panic resulted to one convenient untruth. Alibi accepted.
She began weaving her story that came out to be very engaging. She said she was born in Calbiga. It is a small town, she says, I would not have heard of it.
She was wrong. Grandma was from Barrio Rawis of that town. Two weeks of all my summers were spent tending the farm left by our ancestors. Ours was half an hour away from the town plaza and visits there were usually on market days, usually on Sundays. I know the place. I would have told her, instead I kept mum and gave her a mental high-five.
Besides, she continued, even if I have heard of it, I wouldn’t be interested. Life was slow there. Na-bo-boring ako duon.
No, it was not. Sure, everything was turtle-paced, but not boring. The town welcomed people needing people, soul-searching yuppies, and those looking for quiet places to read. There was clean and clear air, fresh food, respectful youngsters, and free and easy access to natural landscapes. It was the perfect provincial life. Why would anyone think otherwise?
It is much nicer here in the city, she says. Excitement is all over the place.
Excitement? What does she mean? Is it the child-like appreciation of new things? Is she not aware that when something nice is repeatedly experienced, excitement, as she knows it, leaves the scene?
By this time, hordes of coffee-mug-wielding suits slowly crept into the place. It was time to leave. I excused myself, stood up and in quick tiny steps hurried to the door. Little did I know that she was on my heels.
She asked where I was off to.
To the bakeshop next door. I had to pick up dessert for today’s lunch with friends.
Buying cake for a party?
No, just lunch. With friends.
Emphasis on friends. She should have sensed exclusivity.
She said she had nothing to do today, ignoring the gunk of a hint I dumped on her.
Why me? What did I ever do to her? The country is filled with persons willing to munch her lies. Pick another person, Maria Leonora Teresa. Look for writers in need of a storyline or security guards of establishments devoid of events such as dormitories and isolated warehouses. Believe me, they will be grateful for her stories. Impress them of your beauty titles and enumerate all your family’s properties. Today was supposed to be a normal day for me: milk for breakfast and friends for lunch.
If I invite her, sure, there will be an addition to my list of friends, but I have to sit through the post-lunch evaluation of the newcomer. While it is true that my friends are polite, they would still end up bashing her when I give them a catalog of her flaws.
Yesterday was Tuesday and a step closer to Perfection should have been made.
Ergo, invite her.
Donna and Jack were waiting by the veranda when we arrived. The introductions were uncomfortable as my guest stared down at my friends.
Maria Leonora Teresa really is Marissa Sabarte, a small town diva. I named her after a doll made popular by a matinee idol in the 80’s. Like the doll, multiple copies of her are all over the country and only the shallow and asinine want her.
Nobody knows where and how she got this belief system. In the first place, nobody cares.
In a quaint place South of the Capital, she flourished as the town’s muse. Calbiga was an easy place to achieve popularity and catch the male population’s attention. Sure, she was beautiful: long, lithe, and evenly-tanned body, and by Filipino standards, her nose-bridge elevation was decent enough. Even to those who didn’t care, she was stunning.
So what is with her?
Well, apparently, a description of her from another Calbiga resident was not enough. One had to experience her.
And experience I did.
Yesterday, I met her at a coffee shop in McKinley Hill. On Tuesdays, the 8 am ritual consists of a large serving of milk and tuna pan de sal. Fish was my fuel and milk assisted in the digestive process. Tuesdays were allotted for re-fueling, re-defining the wrong and taking a step closer to Perfection. The coffee shop is heaven, and the baristas my angels.
At exactly 8:45 a.m. when the ritual was about to reach its denouement, she, a gazelle, stepped into my heaven. While my angels assisted her, my mind scurried to bring my self evaluation to a close.
It may have been the lactose-drowning or what my mind resolved that day: a person achieves internal and external beauty by exposing one’s self to Beauty itself, but a selfish urge to own her warmed my body like gamma rays heating frozen chicken from the inside out. Yes, the coffee shop transformed into one humongous microwave oven.
As I’ve said, she was beautiful. Ergo, I need to be around her. I allowed 20 seconds to check if it were my loins thumping. No, it was my curious hypothalamus. Darn it. What was I thinking? Of course, my thighs were not supposed to tingle, I am, supposedly, A GIRL! She was THAT bee-yu-ti-ful, I almost convinced myself to be a man and wrap my pervert’s arm around her waist.
After a chirp of “Thank you, Ma’am. Enjoy your latte!” , her nose lead her head to me. I smiled at her. Maria Leonora Teresa Reyes smiled back. That was the beginning of a wonderful friendship.
My gazelle sashayed her way to my table and inspired a stampede in my serene innards.
She said she thought I was her cousin. I knew it was a lie, her eyes twitched. She wanted to sit with me. The place was packed with academic snobs with tongues dipped in brewed Sulawesi, too busy to accommodate anyone.
I gave her another smile.
A smile from her. Oki lang me maki-share?
And shards of glass crashed on cold marble floor. Aha! She was an outsider. She sounded like she came from the other side of town, the continent even. An invisible orchestra of hecklers chorused in laughter—very demeaning laughter. Grandmother constantly reminded me to be kind to people who were different. I had to be kind and accommodating to this creature. She wasn’t entirely appalling.
A nod assured I would not mind sharing my table with her.
Then, came a long awkward minute. Her nose lead her head to different directions, pretending to look for someone or something familiar in the area. I knew she was pretending, her accent and faux Prada clutch bag screamed it. I, on the other hand, fumbled with the only two icebreakers I learned, from my Grandfather, no less : Should I say Ano’ng probinsiya mo? or the traditional mention-name-offer-right-hand approach.
If I wanted to befriend her, I better say something and it better be soon, but what?
Pregnant pause. Ho- ho- hum.
Lagi ka ba dito? Ngayon lang kasi kita nakita, e. Masarap ang Mocha Frapey dito, try mo. She offered her drink and swung the straw towards me.
What was she saying? My house was two blocks down the road, I puff my post-dinner smoke rings here and the crew knows my middle name. Should I call her bluff? Maybe I should. I had to cut this encounter short and discourage anything that would make her want to linger for more than fifteen minutes. The sight of her was enough for me and more input about her will cover my vision with a thick film of bias. She was becoming less and less beautiful to me that a conversation might make her intensely fugly.
Fugly? No, that can’t be it. I can’t call her fugly. That would take me fifty paces away from Perfection. That can’t be. Note to self: do one grand act of holiness to redeem self. Note number two: begin by not calling this fine young woman fugly.
I told her it was my first time.
Note number three: stop lying.
Why should I? She seemed to be lying, too. I learned to lie because of her. Sure, the person who tells the truth is the bigger person. Everybody wants to be the bigger person all the time, so why can’t I be the smaller person? I already gained two pounds from my pan de sal and it wasn’t stuffed with lies. In it was honest-to-goodness saltwater tuna, I think.
One cliché goes: presume good faith in everything. I am to presume she had no intention of inciting disgust from me, she had reasons for lying. An obvious remedy to this is to finish my milk and be off. Still, I cannot help but be uncomfortable of being lied to. Her standard introductions may have escaped her and her panic resulted to one convenient untruth. Alibi accepted.
She began weaving her story that came out to be very engaging. She said she was born in Calbiga. It is a small town, she says, I would not have heard of it.
She was wrong. Grandma was from Barrio Rawis of that town. Two weeks of all my summers were spent tending the farm left by our ancestors. Ours was half an hour away from the town plaza and visits there were usually on market days, usually on Sundays. I know the place. I would have told her, instead I kept mum and gave her a mental high-five.
Besides, she continued, even if I have heard of it, I wouldn’t be interested. Life was slow there. Na-bo-boring ako duon.
No, it was not. Sure, everything was turtle-paced, but not boring. The town welcomed people needing people, soul-searching yuppies, and those looking for quiet places to read. There was clean and clear air, fresh food, respectful youngsters, and free and easy access to natural landscapes. It was the perfect provincial life. Why would anyone think otherwise?
It is much nicer here in the city, she says. Excitement is all over the place.
Excitement? What does she mean? Is it the child-like appreciation of new things? Is she not aware that when something nice is repeatedly experienced, excitement, as she knows it, leaves the scene?
By this time, hordes of coffee-mug-wielding suits slowly crept into the place. It was time to leave. I excused myself, stood up and in quick tiny steps hurried to the door. Little did I know that she was on my heels.
She asked where I was off to.
To the bakeshop next door. I had to pick up dessert for today’s lunch with friends.
Buying cake for a party?
No, just lunch. With friends.
Emphasis on friends. She should have sensed exclusivity.
She said she had nothing to do today, ignoring the gunk of a hint I dumped on her.
Why me? What did I ever do to her? The country is filled with persons willing to munch her lies. Pick another person, Maria Leonora Teresa. Look for writers in need of a storyline or security guards of establishments devoid of events such as dormitories and isolated warehouses. Believe me, they will be grateful for her stories. Impress them of your beauty titles and enumerate all your family’s properties. Today was supposed to be a normal day for me: milk for breakfast and friends for lunch.
If I invite her, sure, there will be an addition to my list of friends, but I have to sit through the post-lunch evaluation of the newcomer. While it is true that my friends are polite, they would still end up bashing her when I give them a catalog of her flaws.
Yesterday was Tuesday and a step closer to Perfection should have been made.
Ergo, invite her.
Donna and Jack were waiting by the veranda when we arrived. The introductions were uncomfortable as my guest stared down at my friends.
Maria Leonora Teresa really is Marissa Sabarte, a small town diva. I named her after a doll made popular by a matinee idol in the 80’s. Like the doll, multiple copies of her are all over the country and only the shallow and asinine want her.
Wednesday, August 13, 2008
caused by an offensive comment
there is this one person i hate, not because she's fugly ( on second thought i might actually develop hatred against her for being below-- way below my standards), but because she is one stupid cheap shit.
a couple of weekends ago, i met her. unfortunately. at her boyfriend's birthday bash.
in our circle of friends, it has been an unwritten rule to despise this person's very existence. the reasons:
1) she pronounces Akon, yup, the singer, as Ah-kon;
2) she's dark and way too thin;
3) she does not know that the contraction 'SUP exists, and thinks that whoever sends a text message with that must be crazy;
4) she has acquired the ways, habits and mannerisms of the uneducated payatas, tondo, taguig, quiapo dwellers despite the fact that she was able to reach 2nd yr. college in MLfuckingQU, no less!;
5) she keeps on hitting her boyfriend in front of friends;
6) she hits, slaps, pinches people near her when she's sad, happy, ecstatic, melancholic, lethargic, on the brink of insanity, and possibly when she's sleeping;and
7) she calls us MARCE-- yeek! oh, man! i don't want the world to know that i know her.
because of the reasons i mentioned and for other reasons undiscussed in the circle, her arrival at her boyfriend's party summoned a sudden uncomfortable silence. everyone seemed to be polite and all. there were air kisses to supposedly welcome her.
so there she sat in one of the armchairs whike others went about the room heckling and singing and waiting for their turns for that elusive shot of Gran Matador.
i shouldve read the cues. silly me, i had to be the friendly one. i sat beside her and asked how her baby was.she showed me pictures and cute things the baby does. when i finally ran out of questions to ask to conceal my disinterest, she suddenly felt the need to say something about my girth.
Marce, ang taba mo!
"Tang 'na mo! ang pangit mo naman! kapatid mo ba si Pokwang? o masyado mo siyang inidolo kaya nakuha mo mukha niya? basta ako, may pang-kain. e ikaw? at pwede ba 'wag mo ako tratuhin kagaya ng mga squatter, hampas-lupa, patay-gutom at dukha mong mga kaibigan ha. Pasalamat ka at hindi ko binati yang kapangitan mo."
No, i didn't say that, but i could have.. or should have.. but i didn't.
I wasn't in my turf and i recently took a vow to be kind to animals. i mean, to be kind in general.
this wasn't the first time i heard this from her and the next time she does this, am sure i'll wring her hollow head until the eye sockets pop out and her tongue lolls like an unwashed underwear hanging on a rusty clothesline.
i hate her.
Thursday, August 7, 2008
so they want autonomy, eh?
come on! you scumbugs know nothing about being human. all these stupid anarchists do is proclaim their stupidity and selfishness and more stupidity.
mga punyetang mga yan, their kind has been known for being makasarili, traitors, backstabbers, uncivilized, dvd wielding cretins. wala na nga silang matinong itinulong sa bansa natin, gusto pa nilang hatiin.
what good will they get from isolating themselves from us. could it be that they're tired of the politicking of our national politicians? so... are they assured that if granted their exclusive sovereignty they will be from from that? i don't think so. gahaman yang mga yan. they have been the bottom feeders for a long time now, eversince Catholicism found its way here in the philippines.kaya nga nadevelop nila ang pagiging traitors dahil lagi silang naaapakan kaya they find ways of redeeming their stupid egos, i.e. treachery. i'm not talking large-scale treachery. kahit personal.may kilala na ba kayong moro na hindi traydor? kahit personal level lang.
sa quiapo, pumunta kayo. ilang years na sila dun, ni mapaganda ang quiapo hindi nila nagagawa. mga tao dun dura nang dura sa daanan.kadiri at hindi pa nagsosorry kapag nag-land sa ibang tao ang salmonella-infested chicken dinner saliva nila.mga bastos.
what's their new country gonna be like? Quiapo??
mga hypocrites din yang mga yan. gustong magsarili, humiwalay sa Maynila, punta naman nang punta sa Maynila.
they're sooo f+++ing proud of their Malaysian roots. eh pucha, isakay na natin sila sa isang malaking vinta at itulak patungong malaysia. punyemas. nakakagigil 'tong mga 'to.
reklamo nang reklamo. pero sige na nga, pabayaan na natin sila. we don't need people like them.
ang sa akin lang, kung gusto nilang magsarili, wag na silang magbitbit ng kahit na ano from us. Let's treat them like the blacksheep of the family who can't obey his parents' will. He finds out that he is adopted so he decides to leave home and carries nothing with him but the clothes on his back.
ganun na din dapat sila. leave, by all means. just don't bring anything with yah. yung mga naglalayas naman, they don't bring the kitchen or the bathroom with them. sila, sige, dalhin niyo na mga pirated dvd niyo, mga fake prada bags, crocs, LV, goyordano at lahat ng mga inimitate niyo. nyemas.
sana man lang bago kayo umalis may maganda kayong iniwan sa mga nilayasan niyo. e wala e. napaghinalaang bumomba ng kung saan-saan, accused of killing pips you don't like..di bale na nga lang. baka nga we're better off without you.. you who we considered our brothers.
ang dami kya naming efforts makipag-kaibigan sa inyo. kayo ba merong ganung efforts?
mga punyetang mga yan, their kind has been known for being makasarili, traitors, backstabbers, uncivilized, dvd wielding cretins. wala na nga silang matinong itinulong sa bansa natin, gusto pa nilang hatiin.
what good will they get from isolating themselves from us. could it be that they're tired of the politicking of our national politicians? so... are they assured that if granted their exclusive sovereignty they will be from from that? i don't think so. gahaman yang mga yan. they have been the bottom feeders for a long time now, eversince Catholicism found its way here in the philippines.kaya nga nadevelop nila ang pagiging traitors dahil lagi silang naaapakan kaya they find ways of redeeming their stupid egos, i.e. treachery. i'm not talking large-scale treachery. kahit personal.may kilala na ba kayong moro na hindi traydor? kahit personal level lang.
sa quiapo, pumunta kayo. ilang years na sila dun, ni mapaganda ang quiapo hindi nila nagagawa. mga tao dun dura nang dura sa daanan.kadiri at hindi pa nagsosorry kapag nag-land sa ibang tao ang salmonella-infested chicken dinner saliva nila.mga bastos.
what's their new country gonna be like? Quiapo??
mga hypocrites din yang mga yan. gustong magsarili, humiwalay sa Maynila, punta naman nang punta sa Maynila.
they're sooo f+++ing proud of their Malaysian roots. eh pucha, isakay na natin sila sa isang malaking vinta at itulak patungong malaysia. punyemas. nakakagigil 'tong mga 'to.
reklamo nang reklamo. pero sige na nga, pabayaan na natin sila. we don't need people like them.
ang sa akin lang, kung gusto nilang magsarili, wag na silang magbitbit ng kahit na ano from us. Let's treat them like the blacksheep of the family who can't obey his parents' will. He finds out that he is adopted so he decides to leave home and carries nothing with him but the clothes on his back.
ganun na din dapat sila. leave, by all means. just don't bring anything with yah. yung mga naglalayas naman, they don't bring the kitchen or the bathroom with them. sila, sige, dalhin niyo na mga pirated dvd niyo, mga fake prada bags, crocs, LV, goyordano at lahat ng mga inimitate niyo. nyemas.
sana man lang bago kayo umalis may maganda kayong iniwan sa mga nilayasan niyo. e wala e. napaghinalaang bumomba ng kung saan-saan, accused of killing pips you don't like..di bale na nga lang. baka nga we're better off without you.. you who we considered our brothers.
ang dami kya naming efforts makipag-kaibigan sa inyo. kayo ba merong ganung efforts?
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