Dangerous Circumstances


A friend of mine called me up some days ago to ask if I had the sensation of being followed. I said no, though I probably wouldn’t notice anyway if I were. Though I make it a point to be aware of my surroundings, as Liam Neeson bid Christian Bale do in “Batman Begins,” I doubt if I’d be able to spot a tail if it was tied to my back. I tend to be lost in thought on the occasions that I am walking or driving, muttering to myself, a habit that has an entirely unwelcome effect of making people give me a wide berth. When driving, I often end up in places I shouldn’t be.


My friend said he did. For some nights now, a car or two would idle in front of their house, then go. He noticed they were the same cars, though he couldn’t make out their plate numbers. He also had the feeling of being followed to his place of work and watched.


Paranoia? Maybe. But my friend is not into drugs, even if one bottle of beer too many has been known to produce drug-like effects on him. No, he can’t afford it. His "kapraningan" [paranoia] comes from the fact that he was a student activist during his college years. Though he has long ceased to be a student activist in deed, if not in thought and word, he figures Norberto Gonzales is not one to note the difference. He figures the disappearance of Jonas Burgos is a prelude to a wholesale crackdown on all political activists, past and present, active and passive, armed and unarmed. Crackdown is the other word for murder.


Well, the way things are, I can’t say I blame him. The impunity with which Burgos was made to disappear and the intractability with which government officials, civilian and military, are greeting his kin’s efforts to find him, or find justice for him, can’t possibly dissuade the wholesale murder of crows, or journalists and activists. The antiterrorism law, which is poised to take effect any time, now guarantees it. It wraps an obscenity in the robes of legality, like a rotting corpse in finery.


Raul Gonzalez says the government will neither use it recklessly nor fecklessly. It will use it with just the right amount of force and judiciousness. Of course, he says, the law, couched in government Newspeak as the “Human Security Act,” will bug people. He means that, of course, in the surveillance sense of the word, even if its victims are bound to appreciate only its sense of pissing them off. But "sori na lang," that’s the price to pay for freedom. The HSA, he says, will respect the media’s right to privileged information and communication, but only up to a point. That point is breached when journalists become “contaminated.” “For example, when there is suspicion against you. You are now part of a group that is planning to terrorize, to do harm to the state.”


At the very least what’s so warped about all this is, well: Juan Ponce Enrile, Norberto Gonzales, Raul Gonzalez and Gloria Macapagal-Arroyo. Enrile sponsored the bill in the Senate, Gonzales will carry it out, Gonzalez will interpret its legality, and Arroyo will have it for as long as she deems terrorists to be around. Enrile, of course, was an architect of martial law, Marcos’ chief henchman before Fabian Ver supplanted him for that dubious honor. Gonzales, well, he’s the security part of the term, “human security,” his most formidable accomplishment in that respect being to try to sell Philippine sovereignty through Venable to the US Congress. Gonzalez is the human part of the term, “human security,” his most formidable achievements in turn being to call Philip Alston a “muchacho” [houseboy] of the UN, say Cory bugged Kris, and suggest Julia Campbell was asking for it by traipsing alone in the wilds of Banaue. What can one say? He’s only human.


And Arroyo, well, didn’t somebody bug her bugging Garci into making her win by a million votes? But that piece of surveillance may not be admitted as evidence because it suffers from the most glaring legal deformity of all: It’s true.


Kind of reminds you of that local folk song, “Doon Po Sa Amin”: “Sumayaw ang pilay,/ Kumanta ang pipi,/ Nanood ang bulag,/ Nakinig ang bingi" ["The lame danced, the mute sang, the blind watched, and the deaf listened”].


Under normal circumstances, trusting Enrile, Gonzales, Gonzalez and Arroyo to fight terrorism is like trusting Mike Velarde to fight loud suits. But these are not normal circumstances. These are circumstances when people end up being presumed terrorists like Jonas Burgos, a true son to his father, who tried to better the lives of farmers, and Musa Dimasidsing, a true educator, who bequeathed to this country a lesson in honesty. Yes, presumed so, if only implicitly. Hermogenes Esperon has been free to laugh off the Burgoses’ indictment of him, and they spat on Dimasidsing’s ashes when they counted the fake votes he was at pains to expose. Giving this regime more powers to fight terrorism is like giving congressmen more money to fight poverty.

Indeed, these are circumstances when cheaters are rewarded with public office and whistle-blowers are punished with court-martial, when lies are rewarded with longevity and honesty punished by death, when innocence is prosecuted and guilt exonerated, when wrong is right and right is wrong, when evil is good and good evil, when impoverished peasants fighting for food and water are called terrorists and greedy men and women terrorizing the people are called government. My friend has every reason to fear for his life. In these circumstances, you’re innocent, be "praning." Be very, very praning.


But better yet, be angry. Be very, very angry. And realize there’s only one thing to do with bugs, like cockroaches.




Squash them.

Negativity and the Music Industry

Magdi-disband na daw ang Rivermaya.


Mukhang totoo kasi nagpa-audition ang management nila (Liza Nakpil?) nung Saturday, June 1 sa Makati. Pumunta ang band namin, kahit hindi namin alam kung para saan yung audition. We were prepared for the best ("Bagong band kaya ang kailangan nila o piece musicians lang?") or worst ("Baka gamitin ang isang kanta natin sa commercial ng feminine wash o sabon panlaba.") to happen.

Nangyari ang 'di inaasahan at naputol ang isang tension hook ng conga ko habang tinu-tune ng P.A. namin. Pero ok lang, tumuloy parin kami sa Entertainment Arts Center in the middle of a humid, windless afternoon in Jupiter street. There was also another band that was waiting for the scheduled 3pm auditions.

Hindi pa nabubuksan ng buo ang pinto ng audition area eh sinalubong na ang manager namin ng "Cancelled ang auditions."

Forget about the broken conga part and the humid and windless afternoon- not to mention, galing pa kami ng probinsiya and with a tight budget for transportation and food.

What really pissed me off was the way they easily dismiss lesser-known musicians like us and expect us to understand that that's how the Philippine music industry works - "We don't owe you an explanation, it's cancelled."

Talk about the things a band has to do just for people to hear their songs.

Somewhere along our hike to glory, there's something wrong and ironic with the industry we are trying to embrace.

Something's wrong and ironic when we have to be ass-kissers in the middle of a God-forsaken parking space in Bel-Air Village and the motherfucking pa-pogi-rockstar-wannabes are now working on their first, second or third album. (OO, Cueshe at Hale dalawa kayo sa mga yun, mag-comment kayo dito mga gago.)

Something's wrong and ironic when Boom Tarat Tarat has been enjoying a considerable amount of airplay on almost all radio stations but never Cynthia Alexander's or Joey Ayala's songs.

Something's wrong and ironic when we jump in on the current trends in music (or if that's what we wanna call it). Young people today don't know what they really want - kupaw, metal, reggae, emo, punk, bossanova, hip-hop. I once had a conversation with a young bandista and he said their music was REGGAE-METAL, susmaryosep.

Something's wrong and ironic when there are more bands getting signed by labels but few or none of them never really set a definitive sound for the times like what Wolfgang, the Eraserheads and, yes- Rivermaya did in the 90's.

Ngayon wala na ang Wolfgang, Eraserheads and most probably, Rivermaya.

Walang nangyaring audition.

Pero sa kabila ng kawalang-hiyaan ng mga big wigs sa Philippine music industry, wala pa ring atrasan 'to.

There are a lot of things wrong and ironic along our hike towards musical glory but for now, ang Cueshe na muna ang aakyat sa stage - sira parin kasi ang tension hook ng conga ko.

Ayos.

10-Minute Winner

Kakatapos ko lang bumoto ngayong umagang 'to.

My lineup for the senate and local government is a weird mix of aspirants that, I think, deserve their time and chance for a shot at governance and legislation.

Some of them are sure to lose this battle primarily because of the lack of machinery, genuine support and name-recall. Still I splashed their name across that black line.


For them I made my vote count.


Some of them have been "statistically-safe" in the past weeks and are sure to win, what with the full support of religious groups, civic organizations, the business sector and yes - Mother Lily Monteverde.

There's something about elections that make me want to go to precincts and vote again and again and again. It's the rush and the freedom and the convenience of making one believe that he has a certain control on things - on his life, his candidates, the nation.

At least for about 10 minutes on this day, I had the chance to be genuinely free and control my life, my candidates and the nation.

And as soon as the cold indelible ink kisses my finger right after I forced that folded slice of paper into the ballot box, I just knew that among all the names written on all these sheets of paper one winner stands.

He's the guy who drank beer last night, slept at 4am, got up at 8am and dragged his drunken, sleepy ass to an elementary school in San Vicente not just to vote, but to win.

There's something about elections that most of us Filipino voters forget. Its the rush, the freedom, the convenience of making one believe that he has a certain control on things - on his life, his candidates, the nation.


It's the fact that on this day, for 10 minutes, he gets to be the winner.

Whew! Finally...

Hello blog-addicts and mga nakiki-usyoso lang!

I've been meaning to transfer dito sa blogspot for quite some time now.
Nailipat ko na din ang mga posted blogs ko dito from friendster.

To the readers, I hope we get to trade opinions and drunken ideals here.

Tuloy ang ligaya!

Diprensiya ng Mayaman sa Mahirap

Pag mayaman ka, meron kang "allergy";Pag mahirap ka, ang tawag dyan ay "galis" o "bakokang".

Sa mayaman, "nervous breakdown" dahil sa "tension and stress".Sa mahirap, "sira ang ulo."

Sa mayamang "malikot ang kamay" ang tawag ay "kleptomaniac" ;Sa mahirap, ang tawag ay "magnanakaw" o "kopanaks"

Pag mayaman ka, you're "eccentric";Kung mahirap ka, "may toyo ka sa ulo" o "may topak" o "may sayad".

Kung mayaman ka at sumakit ang ulo mo, ikaw ay may "migraine".Kung mahirap ka naman at sumakit ang ulo mo, ikaw ay "nalipasan nggutom"

Kung mayaman ka, you are referred to as someone who is "scoliotic".Pero kung mahirap ka, ikaw ay "kuba"

Kung ang senorita mo ay maitim, ang tawag ay "morena" o "kayumanggi" .Pero kung isa kang yaya na maitim, ikaw ay "ita" o "negrita" o"baluga"

Kung nasa high society ka, you are called "slender" o “balingkinitan" ;Kung mahirap ka lang, you are plainly called "payatot" o "patpatin" o"ting-ting".

Kung nasa high society ka pa rin at ikaw ay maliit, ang tawag sa iyo ay"petite";Kung mahirap ka lang, ikaw ay "pandak" o "bansot" o "unano"

Kung socialite ka, ikaw ay "pleasingly plump";Kapag mahirap ka at ika'y "mataba", "tabatsoy" o "lumba-lumba" , pagminamalas ka, "baboy".

Kung well-off ka, at date ka rito, date ka roon, ang tawag sa iyo ay"game";Kung mahirap ka ikaw ay "pakawala"

Kung mayaman ka ang tawag sa iyo ay "liberated";Pero kung isa kang dukha ang tawag sa iyo "malandi".

Kung maypera ka ang tawag sa iyo "single parent";Pero kung wala kang trabaho ang tawag sa iyo "disgrasyada" .”

Health conscious” ang tawag sa mayayamang puro gulay ang kinakain;Habang “nakakaawa” ang mahirap na kumakain ng ganito.

Sa exclusive school, "assertive" ang mga batang sumasagot sa mga guro.Pero pag ang mga mahihirap na bata ang sumasagot sa mga guro, ang tawagsa kanila ay "walang hiya".

Ang mayamang tumatanda, "are graduating gracefully into seniorcitizenhood";Ang mga mahihirap ay "gumugurang" .

Ang anak ng mayaman ay "slow learner";Ang anak ng mahirap ay "bobo" o "gunggong" o “inutil”.

Kung mayaman ka at malakas kang kumain, you flatter your host who says,"masarap kang kumain and I like you, you do justice to my cooking"; Kung ghastly peasant ka eating the same amount in the same house, yourhost will say to himself na ikaw ay "patay-gutom" o "hampaslupa" o "masiba".

Kung boss ka at binabasa mo ito sa PC mo pag oras ng trabaho, "okay lang";Pero kung ikaw ay hamak na empleyado lamang, ikaw ay "nagbubulakbol" o “pume-petiks.”

oh yeah.


Posted in Friendster Blogs on Mar. 9,2007

Halt.Stop.Break

You were soft-spoken.

And I, I was always noisy and full of energy. My energy, you would love for a time and would be your own energy. This would quench both our thirst for new things, our passion for fun and enjoyment and, of course, love.

How I loved you.

Never in my thoughts did it linger in my mind to leave you. Never in my wildest imaginations did it ever appear that I would grow tired of all this.

For a time we were at our best then, as we both grew, our energy would both fade. You always wanted to be with me. I thought it was impractical. It lacked a longing for long-term dreams to come true. You hated me and for the first time I grew tired. I grew tired of you hating me.

I had to leave you.

Then came another love and it wasn’t quite what I expected. Our relationship didn’t last long enough for you to stop loving me. I just had to see you again, and see for myself how miserable we both have become after the breakup. I have to admit it was a night of drunken bliss and the fact that you don’t even drink made it more blissful.

I came back and cried and you cried and we both cried.

Then it was “us” again.

We were happy and loved. Never in my thoughts did it linger in my mind to leave you. Never in my wildest imaginations did it ever appear that I would grow tired of all this.

For a time I believed that we would finally understand each other, hundreds of promises have been made and broken. But in the end, it was still “us.” We had the time of our lives. My career in music was flourishing and my writing kept getting better. I also was at the peak of my game in football.

And during all those times you were there and it seemed perfect. For a time my dreams became your dreams; my defeat your defeat. Though everything wasn’t perfect we loved “us.”

“Us” meant both our dreams, flaws, personalities, families and everything that has to do with “us.”

Then little by little everything just came crumbling down. It sucked and we both hated it. What with your nagging and my hard-headedness. We got into fights and both of us got hurt -you, figuratively and I, literally. It was a chair thrown at my face that almost got me leaving you again and there were words that I said that made you want to throw some more chairs at me.

And it didn’t feel right. It was imperfect and it sucks.

It was fucking imperfect.

Since then we tried to give each other what we had before. We tried to recharge our “energy.” In our futile attempts to go back and have a normal and happy love, we ended up having something worse. At the back of our minds, we’ve had enough.

It was a second break-up waiting to happen.

And then it did, after three days of not seeing each other I finally summed up the courage to release you. I did. I said we would never understand each other even if we tried our hardest.

You said it can still be saved.

I practically gave up.

For the second time, I left you and you didn’t want another word from me.

Never in my thoughts did it linger in my mind to leave you. Never in my wildest imaginations did it ever appear that I would grow tired of all this. I’m sorry.

Fuck it, I’m so sorry.


Posted in Friendster Blogs on Jan.26, 2007

Nawalang parang Bula, dahil sa Bulang Nangwawala.

Noong October 7 (Sabado), nangyari ang pinaka-ayaw ko sanang mangyari pero hindi naman inaasahang mangyari nung araw na yun.

Nawala ang cellphone number ko.

Oo, cellphone number lang ang nawala sakin kasi mula nung mawala yung cellphone na pinaglagyan ko ng sim ko eh hindi na akin yung cel. (Waaah!) Kasi technically, sa nanay ko yun pero 'di niya alam gamitin at mas gusto niya ang kanyang trusty 3310 kaya "ipinahiram" (read as "binigay") niya sakin yung 7210 (lang naman).

And I thanked her by not remembering where I last put it that dreadful Saturday night.
Sorry mamay!

But enough about the cel, yung number ko ang mas importante sa post na 'to. Hehe.
3 years ko nang ginagamit yung number na yun- isa sa mga gifts sakin ni Beybs Sweety Cupcake nung birthday ko nung 2003. Nakakatawa kasi nung week bago mawala yun eh binibida ko pa sa barkada namin kung gaano katagal ko na siya ginagamit.

Tapos... tapos... Huhuhu. 3 years, 3 years... nawasak ang lahat dahil sa 4 na bote ng Red Horse.
Ngayon, wala akong cel at wala na rin si 0916 287 3531.

Medyo profound (o weird) 'to ha pero di ba sumagi sa isip niyo na kapag binabanggit niyo o ng ibang tao ang celphone number niyo, parang binabanggit mismo ang pangalan niyo? Yung parang may konting sense of pride, may connection.

Yung kada numerong sinasabi nila, parang ini-spell yung mga letra ng pangalan mo?

Baka hindi rin ano? Baka masyado lang akong na-flip sa pagkawala ng number na yun. Baka masyado lang akong na-attach sa number na yun dahil sa tagal ng paggamit ko dun.
OR baka hindi ko talaga binigyan ng importance yung lintik na 3 years sa number na yun.
Baka mas mahal ko talaga yung 4 na bote ng Red Horse?

Ayos.

Posted in Friendster Blogs on Oct.13, 2006