Monday, June 25, 2007

Note on my desk, December 10, 2006

Note from Prof. delos Reyes:

Thanks Det! Hold on and persevere. I am confident that you will have a bright future. Take care!

Dear Ma'am,

My bowing has yet to improve. The music of my violin doesn't satisfy me. I will yet to settle on playing vicariously on my pc. . .am playing now edelweiss and moon river. . .The music is infectious and comforting. The wind is blowing hardly on the leaves of the tree outside my window. . .the holidays. . .fast approaching. See you soon.

Tuesday, June 19, 2007

The Mythical Finance Cave

Seesaw It breathes the ardor of unfinished business. Stacks of magazine file boxes surround the lone gas-lift chair rolling around the space during sloppy afternoons. There are several law textbooks shelved in a makeshift cabinet hanging from the ceiling. The four walls are painted in pink which makes me wonder if they’re the ones who make most days lousy and unproductive. Strewn papers crowd the glass table at the corner. Sometimes when necessity requires the presentation of certain documents to funding officials I hobble around those papers in search for a certain document which I recall was laying down somewhere deep among those garbage as a workmate often calls it. A tall CD organizer is full of mixed up CDs which was once organized to no avail. A white telephone near the door occasionally rings. And when it rings the sound fills the empty spaces in the hall. Rumors have it that spirits populate this room. And the sound of the telephone became a dreadful sound that leaves everybody shocked.

An abysmal cat who’s owned by the old woman at the basement frequently visits until after she was caught in a silent controversy by bringing in her kittens, all three of them. Some say they brought fleas during those rainy months which made all the people feel itchiness to death. One kitten was punished to death by a guest who can’t take the torment not to say the sight of the poor kittens. The cat and her two remaining kittens were never seen again. Two paintings by a student in UP hang in one of the walls. It was rarely appreciated. Once the painter visited, he said he was very much elated to see his works again hanging among those walls. A high window facing the east portion was hardly ever cleaned. Its glass was blurred by the dust that’s probably glued to it forever. One, as tall as me could peek from it. Our neighbor has a playground below. Few children play there and only during Tuesdays. You can hear their shrieks and laughs from here.

A former office mate tagged this place as my finance cave. I can have this lonely place forever she said in jest after our head told everybody that no one can enter this compartment without permission. And so when one’s looking for me they answer in such spontaneity as if my life is only within the bounds of the four corners of this room. He’s in his cave. This is half-true, I stay in this part of the world 8 hours a day; six days a week. I say half-true because my spirit frankly resented the absence of verve. Sometimes I find myself peeking at the window again trying to find sources of comfort among the inert see-saw and swings. Hoping to hear the raucousness and gaiety produced by these playful objects in the hearts of those children during Tuesdays.

Raising Awareness Through MyBlogLog Community Exchange

We could not be just innocent bystanders in our own country because being complacent on the issues affecting us as a people will do nothing but to murder the ethos left in us. We should just not whine over economic and social problems instead we should make a stand on every issue faced by our nation. It is the least we could do to contribute to the resolution of these issues and problems. Grumbling constantly about the hopelessness surrounding the Filipino nation is an utter indignity. The tremendous blood shedding by our forefathers for this country to be free should not be repaid by passivity. . . because there are thousands of reasons and millions of ways to be patriots of our nation. One of which is joining this meme in support of the call to put an end to electoral killings.

If you believe in sending the message of ending senseless political violence and at the same time reach a wide range of bloggers join the Raising Awareness thru MyBlogLog Community Exchange. The rules are very simple:

  • Join all of the MyBlogLog communities on the list below.
  • Copy the list and create a new post on your blog on the victims of electoral violence and paste the list onto your post.
  • Write a brief paragraph that explains what the game is above the list (just as I have done here).
  • Add your Blog using the URL of your entry on Victims of Electoral Violence plus 2 or 3 more MyBlogLog communities to the list and then publish the post.
  • If you want to be added to this list, simply drop me a comment below with your Blog Name/URL and MyBlogLog URL.

Participating in Raising Awareness thru MyBlogLog Community Exchange is just a small step that has the potential impact of raising awareness while increasing your traffic, increasing the number of regular readers as well as help increase the number of backlinks you have pointing to your site. Making a difference thru blogging is a rewarding experience that may lead the way towards a better community not just on the online community but in Philippine society as well.

The Raising Awareness MyBlogLog Community Exchange List:

Friday, June 15, 2007

The Liability in Truth: A Tribute to Musa Dimasidsing

Nobel laureate Jose Saramago’s recent novel Seeing details how the plague of blank ballots would turn politicians vapid and malicious. Saramago’s enchanting story clearly depicted the extent of the power in a vote and how the voting power, when unexercised, would render the whole essence of democracy meaningless. I find such political allegory in Saramago’s words relevant for the Filipino psyche in their understanding of the electoral process and the whole lie that surrounded it during the recently concluded elections.

One of the President’s minion was quoted as saying that why protestations still pervade among the opposition party when the results show that they are leading in the Senate run. Short of saying that: Nanalo na nga kayo, reklamo pa kayo ng reklamo. But the point is, would the citizens be ever so calm and unperturbed in the same way that the opposition party reacted when the election was plagued with violence and widespread cheating? Thank God, the overwhelming voice of the people did not match the political machinery deployed by the incumbent administration to foil the elections. But, unfortunately, lives and rights are trampled upon in their unflinching desire to maintain political security in the next few years. Bitterly, these evil forces wrecked havoc on civilian lives in utter disregard of the laws and the Constitution.

Soon after the Maguindanao COCs were canvassed, everybody could do nothing but laugh. A 12-0 in favor of the administration slate in the province was never been logical to the learned. And there was Musa Dimasidsing, the Chairman of the Board of Election Inspectors in said province, confirming the commonsensical improbability of the results; that massive cheating was done-ballot switching, tampered electoral returns, and all. He exposed the naked truth that backlashed at the ego of the perpetrators, thus his life became the price. His death marked the paradox of the times: that adhering to truth and justice in this country has never been so punitive and that in stark contrast, falsehood is always benefited with deplorable impunity.

There’s wisdom in Saramago’s words: “. . . we pervert reason when we humiliate life, that human dignity is insulted every day by the powerful of our world, that the universal lie has replaced the plural truths, that man stopped respecting himself when he lost the respect due to his fellow-creatures." Quoting and inferring from him, I can say that in this country, reason is often perverted. But still, I believe that many souls in this country refuse to pervert reason. However, they’re constantly dwindling in our country where the government seems to monopolize over its steel hands to shut the horses’ mouth. Maybe, I’m wrong with this. But one can't just help to think in this direction when the present government still stays in power amidst its many blunders.

Hope springs from brave souls like that of Musa Dimasidsing. Let him be a living memory and a constant source of angst among us to live by the truth and to assert before the government and its infamous President that sovereignty always resides in the people!

Thursday, June 14, 2007

On Being Emotionally Potent

Black ants have been rounding about the crevices of the fridge in the office. They’re just like eating up left-over foods that have been filled up with molds because of their century-old existence inside the fridge. And all of us find it weird. Last year these ants were a no-show in this kingdom. maybe this is just one of so many confirmations that this world is heating up so rapidly that most species of insects now thrive in higher altitudes in search of colder climate. One could not just imagine what will conditions be like as living things gear up for the greatest battle of all time, the survival of the fittest.

Anyways, this time I’ll try to write about these persistent and lugubrious thoughts that have been tormenting me this past few days. one: the granting of a wish have never been exaggerated this much. I always prayed that I’d be having dreams at night so that at least I’d be entertained at one moment in a day’s life to break the monotony and the hubris of my wakeful state. and what have I got? nightmares!. Continuously, like a horror series, I’ve been dreaming of ghosts & zombies running after people, cannibals’ rampage over a village and fauns & other creeps from the underworld gloating at me. If this were the result of devouring horror (28 weeks later, 28 days later, the pan’s labyrinth, etc.) flicks this past week, I’d be equally satiated & at the same time appalled. why? I’ve been irked by said movies several times not by the goriness of 28 or the sadomasochistic El Capitan in Pan’s Labyrinth but by the gross inanity of the characters. Little Ofelia is the epitome of obstinacy just like what the siblings in 28 do. While viewing these movies, my cat & I kept whining about why in the world these characters foil themselves into the most obscure situations like Ofelia eating what she’s not supposed to eat and the two siblings in 28 saving their mother and as a result allowing zombies to propagate. My cat & I just sighed at such follies and couldn’t help to shout in duet: “there, you got what you deserve!” back to the nightmares, my short-term memory obliterated every detail of the dreams upon waking up. What I most remember of such flaccid dream experience is that the plots are great and worth the venture to make them into the greatest horror movie of all time.

Two: the impending life in toxicity of being a fourth year learner in the glorious halls of the college of law. I have to make a major overhaul in my planning schemes. Because in the next three hundred sixty five days of my life, I will embark on a journey of making fool of myself. I will try to take on the greatest feat of absorbing information from tons of books into my 1500g-mass brain like no spongebobs had ever done in their dreamlike existence. I will endeavor on the greatest sacrifice that will require no more than mental & physical endurance but emotional potency. On the road to becoming emotionally potent. . . !!! hehehe. And when all things fail as planned (scapegoatism?), I will call it an aside to the true and enigmatic life of a student of law. Knowledge of justice is grounded both on common sense and moral law as one teacher puts it. And when you’re lost in the wordings of the law, knock on its spirit.

Ha! dwelling on these thoughts is consuming. Yep, dearest cat?

Cat: Things will pass, master!

Friday, June 8, 2007

This Silence

I wished I’ve got the guts to inquire about the pain. I should have tried to reciprocate and shared in your affliction. You seemed so distant and you’re looming in trickles of despair. I might have conquered the distance albeit immeasurable and an eternal journey. But none of me. None of the begotten temerity that cast awe and splendor among eyes of hallowed. None of the kindness and compassion that made sheaves of comfort among barren spheres. I wished I had you here beside me, in this studio, and feel with me this silence. As I try to hum the melodies of time and space to transport the oblivious and elusive memories of you. . . as I gently strike this bow before these strings of detachment to bond spans of futile restoration.

Wednesday, June 6, 2007

Afternoon Rain

For whatever reason I caught your attention
Amidst the titter tatter and the ho-hum feeling of being wet under the cold rain,
Our two eyes met.

You coming from down south.
And me, languishing the effervescent kneading of my rubber soles
Upon emerging little lakes of rainwater
That mirror the gray skies and dampened faces.

You threading the sudden gush of water
Piercing on it with your red pointed shoes
And me striding along the flow of water into your direction,
Breathing the scent of nameless persons passing between us.

The scene was cinematic and picturesque
The coldness of the rainy afternoon was subdued by the warm feeling
Of connection.

For whatever reason, the thrill of the moment was devoured
Suddenly, you’re lost in the midst of a swarm of people.
Disguised by the occurring commonplace of grieving black umbrellas,
Your presence became an absence.

Your absence created a hole in my heart.
For now, I remember you as that lovely lady from the past.
Of why this world is always against my pleasure, I don’t know.

I shouldn’t have retrieved a memory so revolting and repulsive.
You’re that lady who owed me fifty thousand bucks and never came back.

Sunday, June 3, 2007

Of Kill Bill & the Aviatrix (Points of Departure & Arrival)

If I start to hear rhythmic whistling in my ears as if in a hiatus of moment in Kill Bill where in a split of second the tendering slices of the samurai upon unnamed and unheard antagonists spurts out splashes of the red ink on cam in an endless bloodbath, I also try to find ways to live out an addiction of inexplicable wandering. I try to burden my back with my bulky mailbag and sore the toes of my feet with this striding-along-addiction with a matter of miles in mind to and from points of departure and arrival. (Weird for you, normal for a natural weirdo.)

Last night, I tried to halt a seemingly unending and non-sense journey by going to my favorite shop in the mall near-by, the second-hand or maybe third-hand or maybe nth-hand bookstore where books go for the price as low as 10 pesos. I saw John Knowle’s Separate Peace in paperback at 15 pesos, got hold of it for few seconds and ponder if I would buy it but settled on considering the morbid drawings in between leaves of harrowing human figures in red. Thought this might have come from the penitentiary, in one of those basement cells where hard-liners and psychopaths dwell. . .grr-eerie.

And so I kept on looking and digging (perpetually) hoping that I could spot a worthy book. Luckily I found one, few minutes before the shop closed, by Beryl Markham. Found it interesting when I read a good comment from Ernest Hemingway at the back cover. Hemingway lauded her style of writing as: “marvelous. . .suddenly I am ashamed of myself as a writer”. What of me to reject West with the Night as his/her previous owner did for 77 pesos? I paid and left the bookshop.

At home, I took out quickly the loot from my bag and read it. Hemingway was candid; she’s one hell of a writer. However, as I scour the pages of this notable memoir, the writing subdued the basic fact of spectacle that this human figure imposes upon the reader. Ms. Markham was an Aviatrix of her time in British East-Africa; The first to fly the skies of the
Atlantic and maybe among the firsts (women) in her continent. Her writing immersed me into the aero-experiential world of the pilot and the romantic intertwining of mobility with the points of departure and arrival. I suddenly felt one with her:

“There are all kinds of silences and each of them means a different thing. There is the silence that comes with morning in a forest, and this is different from the silence of a sleeping city. There is silence after a rainstorm, and before a rainstorm, and these are not the same. There is the silence of emptiness, the silence of fear, the silence of doubt. There is a certain silence that can emanate from a lifeless object as from a chair lately used, or from a piano with old dust upon its keys, or from anything that has answered to the need of a man, for pleasure or for work. This kind of silence can speak. Its voice may be melancholy, but it is not always so; for the chair may have been left by a laughing child or the last notes of the piano may have been raucous and gay. Whatever the mood or the circumstance, the essence of its quality may linger in the silence that follows. It is a soundless echo.”

. . .suddenly I wanted to be an aviator myself and dispense with childhood daydreams as well as those in the night of the transcendental experience of flying with the wind above all matters settling on the ground : )