Tulaan Sa Tren

Si alguna vez la vida te maltrata / Kung sakaling malupit sa iyo ang kapalaran
Acuerdate de mi / Alalahanin mo ako
Que no puede cansarse de esperar / Dahil hindi mapapagod sa paghihintay
Aquel que no se cansa de mirarte / Itong walang sawang tumitingin sa iyo.

Luis Garcia Montero (Granada, 1961- )

Masikip ang tren ngayong umaga, tulad ng ibang mga umagang kailangang bagtasin. Sa kagustuhang ibaling ang atensiyon mula sa nakasasakal na dami ng tao sa loob, naisip kong basahin ang mga tulang nakapaskil sa ibabaw ng mga bintana ng tren.

Ito ang unang tumambad sa akin. Hindi na ako nagbasa ng iba pa pagkatapos ng ikaapat na taludtod nito.

The Good Grief

It is a funny thing, grief. Brought about by death, grief - ironically as I have come to realize - never dies. It merely sleeps, easily awakened by the motions and noises of life.

I thought I wouldn't be able to get through the weekend. It's Tito's first year anniversary, and the fact that it has been a year is surreal. Friday before his anniversary, while waiting for a friend at Gateway, I decided to stay in Figaro, his favorite shop in the mall, and have some peppermint tea. I kept imagining how he would have been in the shop. I could almost hear his voice, ordering some coffee, or talking to his friends. God I miss his voice.

~

I had asked my mom to wake me up early the next day, as I had a full day ahead. When I went down to have breakfast, she asked me if I lit incense in my room. "No," I said. She said when she entered my room, it smelled strongly of sandalwood, Tito's favorite incense. Maybe he was paying me a visit. I hope he was. I lit an incense and said a prayer; told him about my plans, that I miss him terribly, and that I hope he's proud of what I have been doing, even if it seems I have been flighty. I cried like a baby (and annoyingly enough, iTunes decided to shuffle into Corrine May's Safe in a Crazy World, I swear that application has emotional sensors). I prayed and wept.

~

I love my family to bits. I remember how Tito's passing brought a lot of us together and signaled turning points in our lives. At least it has, for me. Everyday I still miss him - at random moments of the day I feel my throat tightening with the familiar grief, probably roused from its sleep by some random memory, random scent, random sound. I am always walking on tiptoes so I don't awaken it unexpectedly. But it happens, it awakens, and it reminds me of how much I miss and love my Tito.

It's been a year, and I know the grief will not die. Oddly enough, I pray that it doesn't, that it wakes up as it does and grips at my heart, so that I do not forget the man who has inspired me and my family, so that I am reminded of how much he loved us, and how much we loved him.

Dreamer's Manifesto

DREAMER'S MANIFESTO
by Jourdan Sebastian

I choose to live a life of adventure, excitement, service, joy, spontaneity and love.

I choose to love.
And as I love I live.
As I live I give.
As I give I serve.
As I serve I step closer to the reality of my dreams.

I will dream.

I will dream big and amazing and spectacular and awesome dreams.
I will live my dreams and not compromise for the sake of security or safety or comfort.
I will jump-out of my comfort zone and embrace change.

Change, whom I fear.
Change, whom I dread.

I will seek to live beyond what I can,
believing that the God whom I trust is much, much bigger
and greater than any obstacle I may face.

I will face my fear.
I will stop running away from it and turn around.
And when I am face-to-face and eye-to-eye with it
I will grab the bull by its balls and make it scream
surrender.

I surrender.

I surrender to my great Destiny knowing deep in my heart I am destined for excellence

I am destined for greatness.

Not mediocrity, not conformity.
Not in arrogance but with the mantle of humility placed upon me.
Because this is not about me.

This is about humanity.
I will persevere for the sake of humanity,
who need men and women inflamed by passion
that will ignite the hearts of the timid and fearful souls to push on
and soar higher.

And I will do all this not ten years from now when I am free.
Not five years from now when I have the money.
Not one year from now when I am ready.
Not one month from now when all is steady.
Not one week from now when I know how.
Not even tomorrow because tomorrow is far from now.

I will live my dreams now and I will act now.

Plans

So many plans in my head.

Dear Patience!

It took God six days to create the universe.

The Times

Sometimes, you wake up quietly at 5:00AM, and then realize that you have stopped asking yourself why. The bigger mystery now is how.

Get your head out of the clouds. Pull your feet out of the muck.

Pardon the silence. I have been drifting along.

Silang

Sino sila? Paano sila isinilang, at ano ang mga kuwentong kanilang sinilangan?

~

~

Pahinga muna mula sa Fashion Photography. Kinunan mula sa kotse namin, habang nag-iikot sa lungsod upang mag-asikaso ng mga bagay-bagay.

Gone to The Military!

I've always hated the whole military cut, ever since it was forced upon our awkward highschool heads for Cadet Training (which I mostly masterfully dodged via strategic club and org meetings, mwahahaha, but I still had to live with the required cut). We had to wear our hair white-side wall-ed, the cut's name probably some allusion to an old military torture device where they chained and disciplined those who had some strand of individuality.

In any case, since I was getting bored with my buzz cut, which had grown into the ugly transition phase since my last shave 3 weeks ago, I decided to try and purposefully subject myself to some form of military cut. You know, just to shake things up and see if I like it.

GQ's barbers are very friendly people (but the post-cut massage wasn't as nice as the ones they do in Bruno's in Katipunan), and Joseph, who was first rather weirded out by my instructions, was very nice and cooperative. While I was asking him to not proceed with thinning out the back portion and leave a straight patch of hair all the way back like a mohawk but not really, he dutifully buzzed and cut away, chiding that I should have it colored too and asked if I was singing in a band, hahahahaha. 

Anyway, I like the whole change, although it made my face rounder than usual (which is not very bad too). I think I'll keep the military cut for a while, just because.

Just don't ask me to wear loose moss-green cargo pants and roll in the dirt again.

Inked and Immortalized

I designed this based on the basic shape of the Ifugao ornament called the lingling-o, said to bring fertility and supernatural powers to the wearer. It symbolizes many things: courage, the balance of male-and-female energies, and the social standing of the bearer. According to some sources, it also passes through a ritual where the ornament is bathed in blood. Perhaps its most significant meaning is that the bearer’s anitos – spirits of their ancestors – may reside in the lingling-o.

It’s been a while since I got a new tattoo, mainly because I’ve no design yet. Then it just came to me one day, when I saw my good friend wearing a lingling-o around his neck, that I used to wear one too back in fifth grade (I got it from a flea market in Boracay; it was small and made of brass. I loved it until my youthful carelessness took over it).

So here it is, bathed in blood as in the rituals, to mark the end of a tough year. This is for courage, for balance, and for fertility and harvest. This is for all my loved ones who have gone ahead, that they may stay with me forever and guide my hand with what they have taught me. 

Of all my tattoos, this perhaps holds the most meaning, in all honesty.

In Transit

I'm in transit.

I realize I love talking about public transportation. Well, not necessarily love love, it's just that it happens to be a daily requirement in my life, and much like the old teachings of Zen, wisdom comes in not doing. The no-mind not-thinks no-thoughts about no-things, Buddha says. Okay, I don't get it really, but it's amusing the way insight comes when I'm out alone in the world, not-walking and not-thinking, moving from one place to another. It's rather hazardous, but hey. This is probably why I shouldn't drive.

Anyway, I digress.

Like I mentioned in previous posts here, I actually like traveling via jeep, train and/or bus. What I kinda hate are the in-betweens. I especially hate that walk from the LRT to the MRT line, those hundred or so steps through Fairmart and Gateway in Cubao. I generally like walking, but that walk is just totally painful for me (especially in the morning when you have to take an extra hundred steps around said malls, because they're still closed, or late in the evening after a long day at work). It's noisy, it's laden with distractions and crowded with people who probably hate the walk too, and couldn't care less if they bump you or step on your quickly-pacing feet. I often find myself zoning out when in transit from one public station to the next. Funny, though, there's a weird sort of excitement that you get when you know you're close to the next terminal. I guess it's the enticing triumph of reaching your destination.

Life is pretty much like that right now. I'm in transit. I just had a really long train ride on a very corporate, hyperpaced train. I learned to grow train legs against the whoosh and wobble of the Telco industry; actually, to the point of people telling me I write so differently now, and that what I write has taken on such a corporate sound. I learned so much in that year-and-two-month Telco train ride; stepping out of such a stable carriage was a tough decision. The best decisions are the tough ones¸ my department head said, and I will forever be thankful for those reassuring words.

Being in transit sucks, and it's embarrassing trying to find your way through the unfamiliar connecting paths and figuring out the new ticket booths (have you ever experienced not knowing how to get a ticket from the LRT vending machine?) and stairs and escalators of a new and uncharted train station. I think we have to want to get to our destination enough to survive the awkwardness and restlessness of being in transit. It also pays to remember your good friends telling you how much they believe you're meant to be where you want to be. That they look up to you for having the courage to jump out of your current train in order to get on another one. Funny how things don't seem that grand when you're all jelly in the knees and anxious.

I'm in transit, and a lot of things are funny, awkward, unsettling and downright different. I'm a shy kid, and I'm more often than not easily embarrassed but learning is always embarrassing anyway, as a good friend quoted someone who escapes my brain right now. I'm all wide-eyed, hopeful and eager to learn, praying that this new train ride will take me closer to home, to that destination I've hungrily sought routes to to take me there (and there are no easy routes I think). I've a lot to get used to, a lot to learn, a lot improve on!

When I'm wandering in transit I often look around for clues if I'm on the right track, pun intended. A familiar sign, a directional arrow. On my first day on the new job, I came to my area and found a measuring tape, a stack of fashion magazines and a pile of clothes on my desk.

Sorry for the clutter! my new seatmates said. It's alright, I said. It's all right.

February is the New New Year

What? Huh? What January?

Okay so I've been MIA for the past couple of weeks. Lots of changes to manage and keep up with. It's been a pretty exciting past few months and I'm honestly trying to set aside time to write about it -- but you know, I get caught up living it and everytime the sentences begin to form in my head my restlessness kicks in. Fail/Win.

In any case, because I've yet to find the words to properly write about what's been happening, allow me the webspace to react:

Dear Zara Man,

I hate you.

Zara Man SS2010 Campaign featuring Sean O'Pry. More at The Fashionisto

I love how muted and subdued the colors are. I've this weird attraction to desaturated stuff of late; not necessarily gray but with a hint of brown or blue or whatever. It's just too perfect for the too-early summer heat we've been experiencing. Gah. And those boots!

Plus, I will forever wish I had Sean O'Pry's features, even if he has just one expression and his lips look funny and pouty all the time.

We're at the gaping mouth of the weekend, and I hope it has enough teeth to keep me in my seat and finally write about the restlessness of the past few months. Excited!

Learning From Brandon Boyd

I suggest we

learn to love ourselves

before it's made illegal

I remember I was in High School when I first heard his awesomeness, Brandon Boyd, giving us this warning through, well, their song Warning (Morning View is a freaking classic). The song made a permanent dent in me, and have become some sort of credo for me since then (along with other Incubus songs; have I mentioned Boyd is awesome?).

Taking it literally, which I think isn't all that bad, I strategically placed 2 lamps in front of my mirror this morning for glam lighting. Haha, yes, vanity (hey admit it, you take self-portraits in front of your mirror with the onboard flash making flares in your reflection. Why not do it with better lighting? Haha). I think we should all learn to love what we see in front of the mirror, despite the seasonal fat *grunt*, the scars, the imperfect teeth, and all our other flaws that are more often that not visibile only to us.

I keep repeating it, but I seriously believe 2010 will be epic -- and it's up to us to make it so, be it through better lighting, or better decisions.

EDIT: 

Wandered around the internet and looked for Boyd's books. Stumbled upon an article posted last year, on Brandon going back to art school. 

"Boyd will focus on painting and sculpture. Although Boyd’s artwork has appeared in Incubus videos and he has published two art books, the singer says he has 'a need to humble myself in the presence of other artists who are younger, better and hungrier than I am. I think it will do good things for my ego.' "

Totally awesome.