Tuesday, August 28, 2007

peep peep

237 blog posts and what have i accomplished? basically, all i've done is bitch about my day.

I started reading Bridget Jones's Diary yesterday and it really is so different from the movie. I haven't really gotten past a few chapters (I'm still somewhere in the middle of March) but so far, I'm really digging this version. It's funny how I found myself in the middle of the book feeling sad and inconsolable and I ended up getting into this huge fight with a friend who I'm sure did not see it coming but meant well in the end (but let's not get into that).

Somewhere between January and February, I really got into the book and I realized there's a mini Bridget in every one of us. That's why we love and adore her, word vomit and all. When you look at the mirror and feel fat and urrrrgleeeeh, there's Bridget. When you're waiting for a phone call or text message, there's Bridget. When you're all alone on a date night, there's Bridget. When you try so hard to look smart and end up feeling stupid, there's Bridget. When you find yourself trapped with another Cleave, there's Bridget. It's so typical of me to have found myself so caught up that I've taken to hating Hugh Grant simply by association. Why is it that some people were just made to be fuckwits?

Anyway, I'm still waiting to be cheered up but so far the book's just got me in a damp mood. I guess it happened when I realized my whole life has been anchored on things that don't really matter in the long run. I should probably rethink my decisions and hopefully make the right ones this time.

Last Sunday, I found myself in the middle of a class of 14 toddlers, getting hit by flying plastic vegetables while a little boy tugs at me to take him to the bathroom. It was then that I realized that I just can't do this anymore. My staying in Sunday School isn't doing anybody any good and it's probably high time that I have a long talk with my supervisor and let her know I'm not what they need. They need someone who hasn't been through what I'm going through. Someone with a firmer foundation and obviously, more faith. As I told a friend of mine, what have they got to learn from me? I cannot continue knowing full well that I'm probably causing more harm than good.

So just like Bridget, I need to get a hold of the things I need to do.
  1. Leave Rethink Leave Rethink Resign from Sunday School
  2. Start thinking of poss career expansion
  3. Work on meeting new people to expand network
  4. Start praying / lean on things that matter
  5. Stop thinking about what'll get me through the day and
  6. Start thinking about what'll bring me to my future.
v. good start.

Hopefully, this'll get me somewhere. Doesn't Bridget get her happy ending, as well?

"I don't think you're an idiot at all. I mean, there are elements of the ridiculous about you. Your mother's pretty interesting. And you really are an appallingly bad public speaker. And, um, you tend to let whatever's in your head come out of your mouth without much consideration of the consequences... But the thing is, um, what I'm trying to say, very inarticulately, is that, um, in fact, perhaps despite appearances, I like you, very much. Just as you are."

Friday, August 17, 2007

here we go again

it's so funny how i once said my profession has greatly affected my view of time. time time time. time is all i have. one error in time and i'm fucked.

last night, in the rush of logging out and leaving, i found out i forgot to do just that. close to 70 of my callers got dead air. i forgot to log out.

and my last error got me a final warning. i'm hanging by a very fine thread which is the mercy of my supervisor. part of me wants to beg for it. the other wants me to suffer in all catholic guilt if it's the only way to redemption. i'm not even catholic.

times like this, people need someone to believe in. a hero, in all essence of the word to remember someone stronger who can pull you up.

a friend of mine recently reconnected and it's funny how i'm suddenly reminded of how God can move through people. I realize that i've spent so much time following my own way, doing what i want to do that i've forgotten about God. and what's weird is as a Christian, isn't His way supposed to be mine? Aren't I built in His likeness? Shouldn't what i want be what He wanted for me when He made me?

i realize that i've been so caught up in my own thing that i've completely neglected everything else in my life. and it's not like i'm even enjoying whatever this life has turned into. nights are spent in dreams that are borderline nightmares, my subconscious warning me of the depths that i've leapt and the darkness up ahead.

someday, will i look back and find beauty in such sweet chaos?

if i were to be completely honest, perhaps I should remember that it was my stupidity, my weakness that lead me here. if i were to be completely honest, do i even have the strength to take the small frail steps back to God?

She said I will find joy in Him. what i'm afraid of is that I won't. I am honest enough to say that. A friend of mine said I will always be this way. I will always be headstrong and rebellious of any thing or any one that stands in my way. If i could only be honest to myself, maybe, just maybe i'll turn around and go home.

There's a song in church that I heard when I last went. It's called Heart of Worship and the lyrics are i'm going back to the heart of worship. it's all about You. the line that struck me was i'm sorry for the thing i made it when it's all about you. Am i ready to make it all about Him and not about me.

there are so many things that need to be fixed that i've forgotten all about which part broke first. i know that my journey back will hurt me more than anyone else and that's what i'm afraid of. it's like peeling off a band-aid that's stuck to your skin. will removing it be quick and painless or will it smart for a week or two?

nothing's clear anymore. perhaps it is time to go back.

the worst feeling, other than feeling alone, is feeling left behind. all around me, i see people fulfilling their bliss. classmates who complain about their salaries but smile when they remember their students. friends who have matured in the Spirit. People who have grown up and no longer have moments of helplessness and drama. when did people start knowing what to do? my feet are stuck. always have been. will it still be stuck in the future?

and the feeling only gets worse when you know you can't be with them and behave normally. you can't ever live a life with people who have followed the right path, stuck to the right people, and live the way they should. you know it's just not meant to be. you cannot be live where they live. you cannot eat what they eat. you are not a part of the plans they make with each other. access denied, contact your system administrator. if being with people who you know cannot be with you for reasons which you are fully aware of is stupidity then perhaps it's time i go back to school. perhaps it's time i take a step back and see what i forgot to do.

she said she doesn't approve of what i've become. my question is, did i become who i am or have i always been this broken, this much of a mess.

as the dad from happyslip.com puts it this is a "DISASTER!!!"

Wednesday, August 15, 2007

gripo moments v2.0

i've been thinking a lot these days about how i wanted to become so many things. when i failed trig, there was a point where i wanted to just take a two year course and start earning asap. during my last years of college, i wanted to embrace the arts. i considered taking classes and read a lot of books to somehow improve my writing. a meeting with my pedxing friends got me thinking about how far i've strayed from the goal. what have i done lately to get me closer to my goal? that's what olive asked us to think about (at least i think that's what she said).

so today, i whipped out my old journal and decided if i can't write really heartbreakingly good stories or poems then i might at least try to flush out all the bad stuff till the good stuff comes out. i once told a friend about gripo moments. it's when you haven't written anything good (or in some cases, haven't written at all) in a while and you need to just keep writing until you get somewhere. take a nasty idea, whip it around and make it work. that's what i'm doing. keep writing till my fingers get sore. keep thinking till i want to cry from the exhaustion. type type type

maybe i can apply this principle elsewhere. maybe i just need to flush things out to get to the good parts. hmmm... interesting.

bleep bleep bloop. this is me signing out.

Sunday, August 12, 2007

unloading zone only

After an hour of sitting (or vacillating, our ex-boarder Cherie liked saying), I realized I really like my age. If you think about it, 7 is my favorite number and 21 is three sevens. I still have license to be crazy. I can still chalk things up to my youth and say "ah! i was younger then" when i'm seventy and wrinkly. After reading comments on my multiply, I guess i am rushing into things rather quickly. I still have lots of time. tons even.

I was sitting sa couch when I suddenly felt so restless. I have this habit of walking around the house in circles. My mom was cooking and when my dad pointed out that I was at it again, she said if I was so bored, why don't I clean or do laundry. Hahahaha i've got lots of time. tons even.

When you work for a contact center, you've no choice but to absorb the culture of time. Be at work fifteen minutes before your shift to pull your applications up. Breaks are fifteen minutes only. No more than that but if you want you can log in early. Shift ends on the dot. Log out of Avaya. Kill the PC. Shove your headset inside your locker. Wash your mug. Go home.

When you think of it that way, time is all we have. Who was it that once said, in the end all we are doing is passing time. What have you done today? What will you tell your children when they ask you how you spent your youth. If time were a currency, should I spend it wisely?

Time time time. I've got loads of it in my locker, in my room (err, the one I share with Fowey), in my backpack. Time time time. I've got lots of time.

greatest hits

Here's a collection of some things I wrote for a group called PedXing. Click here to visit our page. Watch out for us! Malaki laki yung mga plano namin sa buhay! Hahahaha I believe the first short story appeared here na before.

Lipad, Puso, Lipad! 02.25.07

Don’t Wear Those Shoes Out When It’s Raining

Today, I looked at my shoe and I realized the sole was broken. I’ve been ignoring it these past few days but deep inside I knew something was wrong. It’s not how my foot should feel. I wasn’t meant to touch the ground with my sock. I traced the hole with my finger, checking the damage, recreating the scene with images in my mind when the rubber finally gave in to the floor. Maybe there is a heaven where shoes go to rest. Sadly though, this pair isn’t going anywhere but the shoe repair store.

Three weeks ago, I knew exactly how it felt. “If we were really meant to be together then I’m sure nothing will change in a couple of years” he wrote on a Post-it stuck on my door. When I went in, all of his things were gone- the records, the books, everything that vaguely resembled him. But I can’t say I didn’t see it coming. Deep down I knew it was bound to happen. I’m not exactly that naïve to ignore the signals he sent out when we were still together.

Who was it that once said that everyone has a wound to mend or a void to fill? As time went past, I’ve seen all the faces of love- some remotely forgettable, others harshly unforgivable. And these faces blur in front of me like a speeding train. I felt my feeble hands holding on to each one and wondering if this was the one who could heal that innate wound.

With Coltrane on the background, I started wondering what it was that that Post-it meant. I can imagine that he somehow believed in a force that exists in the world which binds two people together in the end, no matter what. And when the cosmos finally arranges for the two to meet, birds will sing, sonnets will be sung, and the clouds, well, they do whatever it is clouds do when it’s a wonderful day. And maybe, just maybe, a Band-aid begins to close the wound in their proverbial hearts.

But after spending time and effort to see the faces of love, I could feel my wound only growing deeper, wider and with each tear, I felt more and more of my flesh being exposed. This brought about a confusion of sorts for if finding the one could fill that void, how come it only grows deeper and darker with each person I let in?

As I walk up to the busy shop with my broken shoe, I see that many people have broken shoes and broken hearts- each one of us trying desperately to fill that void, to patch up that wound, haplessly like a chicken attempting flight. How easy it would be to just turn my back on everything- to leave the image of the speeding train behind and with any luck reclaim the peace that I felt was stolen from me.

I watch as the craftsman gently takes the old sole from my shoe. It’s time to let the past go.

I see him selecting which sole will fit perfectly. Maybe I should be more careful who I let into my life.

As he puts the shoe and the new sole together, a bead of sweat drops to the floor. When the right one comes, I’ll work hard to keep him there.

He wipes the debris off the side of the shoe and after careful inspection declares his job is done. When I’m whole again, my heart can fly.

He wraps the shoe in a plastic bag and after setting my account, hands them to me. With a smile, he said “It’s a good thing it isn’t raining. You wouldn’t want to be stuck with a broken sole and a wet foot.”

I smiled back and said “If only you knew.” If only he knew.

Gusto Kong... 04.23.07


Mother always loved bridges. Some of my earliest memories of her were spent on bridges, watching cars and ferries pass by. I loved my mother very much, never knowing that the time we had was sparing, the minutes dwindling like sand sifting through my hands.

She once told me that in many ways, she, too was a bridge. Being young and foolish, I dismissed this as grown-up banter, a feeble explanation of her unexplainable fascination with bridges.

Life with Mother was difficult. When I hungered for food, she fed me with wisdom. Mother never could hold on to a job, let alone one that could pay the rent. I had Tolstoy for breakfast and Nietzsche for supper. Perhaps not a lot of people could say that about themselves. While I never resented her for the lack of care she gave me, part of me knew that there had to be something more.

When she passed away at the age of thirty-nine, I was forced to grow up. She was a carefree spirit and perhaps it was inevitable for her to leave the natural world in search for greater things. Mother always had a flair for drama and her death would even leave Shakespeare in the cold. The bridges which she adored so much when she was alive spelled the end for her, of us. After everything, she could not deny the fact that the waters below were her natural environment.

When my father came to get me, I resisted. If only I could stay here, with her books and her lovely bridges. If only there was some way that she and I could live forever, with the cars and the ferries. It was as if my departure from our home meant i would have to forget her. How could i forget her when i could not forgive her?

In many ways, my mother was a bridge. When she was younger and more passionate, she met my father who at that time was still in school. He was five years her junior, not really sure of his place in the world. Together, they built a short-lived life together. She was not a sturdy bridge, however. As soon as the doctor pulled me into the world, my father packed his bags and left town.

Looking back, I didn't know that I wasn't the only one who was forced to grow up. At age thirty-four, my father lived the life of a bachelor. He spent his days working and his nights meandering in clubs and bars, bedding women left and right. When Mother passed however, all this had to end. I sensed that he somehow resented her for that but he knew his responsibilities could no longer be ignored. There I was, thirteen years of age, practically a man who, like my father, was trying to find my place in the world, looking for sturdy bridges that would take me there.

He looked at me with the eyes of a stranger. Perhaps he expected me to be taller, leaner, more like the son he imagined he'd have. He had the image of a dreamed sky, an expanse of black and midnight blue dotted with countless stars. I was the reality of this sky- gray and holding only one or two beacons of light. The day he took me in was the day the two of us crossed my mother's bridge. It was the day we shed our youth for cloaks of manhood.

To this day, I still wonder if my mother's death had to happen for me and my father to cross paths. Maybe, as she stares at the bridge from the river where she lay, a part of her knows she fulfilled her purpose. As I cross my own bridges in my life (with remarkably less fascination with them, of course), I can't help but feel that without them, what would we have left? Nothing but massive amounts of land and water with no clear way of getting across. There are many bridges in our lives, some made of steel and concrete, others of goodwill and love. Someday, I'll be a bridge, too and hopefully, understand why my mother had to sacrifice her life for me to get across.

Fear 08.12.06

I arrive at your doorstep, hair still stringy from the rain and said "I'm better now" as though loving you was a disease to be cured. You let me in and we straddle the line once again of lovers and friends, of pagans and gods. You look into my eyes, I stare at the hopelessness in your pupils. “Moments like this, I know God exists”, you said emptily. I stare at your hands firmly locked with mine. How empty they seemed before tonight! How each finger’s distance seemed to be measured in eternities and not centimeters! One day, you’ll look back at this moment and be filled with such regret. You could’ve had me but you were stuck wishing I’d somehow turn into him or turn into you. Years from now, you will only be a cloud or a shadow of the man you wanted me to be. “I’m better now”, I said, afraid I’ll lose you; lying through my teeth if only to get another taste of you.

Alternative Life 08.12.07

The mistress shares secrets with the night.
The stars her witness, the moon
Her judge and jury
For at night, why is it that all seems right?
Who are we really afraid of? Tell me
Are you afraid she’ll see us?
Am I afraid of the sun
For it casts light on darkened alleyways?
Or are we afraid that underneath
All the bullshit we hand feed each other
There is no love here.
Only empathy
Possibly even apathy
I’ll keep licking your wounds if you promise
To keep salting mine.
The mistress unties the stifled door chimes
Why is it that at night, all seems right?
At night all seems right


Saturday, August 11, 2007


so, i'm 21. ugh, i feel older already. my skin feels leathery.

thanks to all those who greeted me. sorry i wasn't able to reply promptly. i get my sleep when i can.

birthdays are just a painful reminder of how we are all so moribund. gawd, i can't believe i feel so old.

*yawn* am tired. nothing much to blog about. so i'll just fill the remainder of the space with useless banter.

thoughts and emotions are two different things. when you feel a thought or think of an emotion, is it the verb or the noun that takes precedence?

if pickles are pickled and fries are fried, what do you call a fried pickle? what about a pickled fry?

blahdiblahdiblah lorem ipsum dolor.

Saturday, August 4, 2007

imitator, imitator, growing up to be a papaya (?)

i'm following suit! i saw this thing in achi's and dawg's multiply(s) and i started laughing instantly. it's really fun. i so love the yeah yeah yeahs (i remember joel thinks they're weird).. ooh ooh! ooh ooh! ooh ooh!

Create Your Own PaloozaHead - Visit Lollapalooza.com

Wednesday, August 1, 2007

oh gawd, what have i done?

when i signed up for employment, as in literally while i was filling out HR forms, i didn't realize this was going to be such a roller coaster. i must admit that when the day's good, it really is so much fun. but when it's bad, ugh, you end up wishing the ground would swallow you whole.

after a particularly difficult call, a subject matter expert approached me and told me i was doing a good job. he said that call was beautiful and in turn, i felt super super. i had a smile on my face even on my twenty minute calls. i felt like nothing could faze me.

segue to an hour later, same SME runs to my seat and tells me to review the account. gawd, what an idiot i was. i missed a crucial bit of information (which is all i could really say) and nearly released the call with the person having grossly incorrect information. gawd, i wanted to hide under my monitor but the beeping in my headset told me to snap out of it and take the next call.

the SME's are a bunch of seasoned agents from the US that i really respect and adore. they're very nice and are more than happy to assist you when you're so ready to give up. getting a kind word from them may happen a lot but you still feel super super afterwards.

voila, one hour later there's a random phone search on the floor. guess the name of the idiot with his (did i mention broken) phone still in his pocket. duh, of course cellphones aren't allowed on the production floor. ding!

ugh, from superstar agent to superstar loser. days like this being underground seems like such a lovely escape.

and on top of all that, there was the shame of having to have my phone searched. i felt so bad because my phone isn't exactly in tiptop shape.

but it wasnt all bad. i learned a valuable lesson and my TM really stuck her head out for me and came through on so many levels. it was a lesson i needed to learn and so i guess all's not lost.

still, the climate underground seems like a lovely escape.

maybe i should clone myself and become a dugtrio. anyone else know what i'm talking about. these digletts and dugtrios really know how to live. just pop up whenever, wherever.

ugh, my train of thought's busted. maybe it's time to get some sleeeepp.padasdssdfdfd..zzzzzzzz