The Noble Tea Project, On Whoring around and the Best Scandal I’ve Ever Seen

I have finally came to terms with the bouts of depression I have been going through for the past months. Basically, because of the fact that I am officially resigned from my job where most of the root pains come from. To me, it was kind of a graceful exit. There were hurt feelings, okay. But ultimately, I am relying that time will heal it and those scars will find its way to erudition. For in those years where I forced myself to learn a job which required mostly sitting on a chair, fortunately, the grasps of reality providentially poured down right into that finance cave where I lie. Stories from afar that breathed rich exchanges from the grassroots. Stories related by a friend-confidant that compensated clear enough the vacuum I felt while doing an NGO work. Yet, I still have to kill the sentiments of leaving physically the place where I have become attached to. First, the office, of course. Second, the cat. Third, the schizo.

And so now for the meantime I’ll just be working here in my flat during the day and have classes in the evening. A generous friend has got me something to busy myself with. I called it the Noble Tea Project. I was assigned to do web content for a tea site his company will put up soon. The income from that will surely help to augment my savings for the bar review which will start on April at the UP Law Center. Hopefully, my millionaire-friend (gasem!) will be true to his words and sponsor all the rest of the expenses. I am just a bit uncomfortable dealing with him because he speaks in dollars and most of the time when he throws numbers I have trouble doing calculations with the ever fluctuating exchange rates. haha

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The rain is pouring heavily on the roofs this afternoon spoiling the Flower Festival in this mountain city to my delight. A friend of mine asked why I call Baguio a mountain city rather than the infamous portrayals of public officials like City of Pines or City of Character (Yuck!, I want to puke). . .because they’re all lies. I call Baguio a mountain city to depict the barren slopes and the reprehensible land use proffered by the desires of government officials to bring in jobs so they say, to bring in tourists. I’m reading the daily just now and it reported that the Panagbenga will expect 200,000 visitors. Oh my gawd! That’s a gargantuan flock!

You should see how Baguio looks like after the two parades. It’s like a raped city mourning over the stolen puri. In Burnham park where tourists/vandals are allowed to put up tents as early as eve of the main events, garbage including human waste is everywhere. Too grotesque. Water is scarce during these days to accommodate the needs of tourists in hotels and commercial establishments so that water supply is diverted to these b*******s to the prejudice of local households. The local government boasts of the influx of tourists as, allegedly, it will translate to income. Yes, they’re right! The festival will definitely bring in floods of money for loot. Loot by none other than the City Hall evils and bitches to borrow the name-tags being mouthed against the President. A recent report by the Commission on Audit here questions: where has the Panagbenga “Trust” Fund gone??? The hundreds of millions of income generated by the City Government out of corporate sponsors like SMART was reportedly missing. For venturing in another event like this, the City Government could no less than be whoring around at the expense of such a pristine place like Baguio. There is really no such Baguio in Bloom as they advertise and promote to attract tourists. All those flowers used in the festival came from a near-by town. They’re not natives of Baguio. It’s a farce! Just yesterday I have seen these city aides rushing to plant these fancy blossoms along islands in Session Rd. Yes a day before the main event. It’s being pretentious at the extreme level. It’s like a whore trying to dab a make-up to make her saleable after so much drag.

Apathy looms in every corner of the country. Seeing the recent NBN-ZTE scandal grow profusely beyond norms of “clean-corruption” is more than awful. The government stinks. It stinks from within; right here in my place corruption is likewise brazenly executed with impunity. But it’s different when you experience it firsthand. It’s like you want to be a legal murderer for God’s sake because you don’t want those City Officials justify and win over a self-serving resolution allowing the procurement of SUVs to be given to each of them so that they could visit daw their constituents from time to time. Para namang ang lawak lawak ng Baguio! And contrast this vis-à-vis the deteriorating public health system and the exigencies of addressing the concerns of the urban poor. It just sucks. So when I went home one time in the province and caught my father too much engrossed in the proceedings at the Senate I sat at his invitation never minding him asking from time to time what’s my opinion about that conjecture, “how about that objection”. . .I had too much of it. Only to discover after sitting for about an hour in front of the TV screen, Lozada’s face parallel to Atienza’s who is giving his testimony, that I am likewise engrossed already. For the drama and comedy, thanks to the NBN-ZTE scandal.

Swimming through a Slough of Despond

Dear,

I haven’t written you for a while. It’s just that I’ve been suffering from some kind of sickness which deterred me from indulging in such exercise like this. You know, the past few months had been long and dragging for me. I know you could have well asked if I am okay if you’re here with me now. For some certain reasons, the answer would come necessarily in an instant. I would necessarily say that I am not and I am on the verge of hitting the lowest point that borders on extreme depression. But, here I am anyway; confiding to you the things I could only convey to the blank wall or by way of deleterious stare to nothingness.

If Kundera’s way of speaking such phrase as the condition of the unbearable lightness of being begins to be repugnant and annoying to the senses, it’s like abhorring and rebuking "Einmal ist keinmal" (once is nonce); however true, we have only one life to live and one being to bear that would continuously disrupt the levitative aspect that underlies the premise.

I’ve been bombarded with dissociative experiences lately and one couldn’t just imagine how I live each day with so much desperation. Pictures of myself vividly tell how I grapple with so much burden. . .so much pain. There I am almost losing balance while sitting on a stolid chair as I lie extendedly on the rest as if it was the old rattan which lulled me mostly during siesta there at the province. It happened there at the library. Everybody looked and I was embarrassed. There I am loitering along empty streets few hours before sunrise. I felt sadness at the sudden nocturnal life. I felt I had enough of this world when the radio stations sign off in the middle of the night leaving me with words of prayer: let us have our day’s rest it says. . .so what now? I ask myself. I have yet to finish these deadlines. There I am throwing these bad jokes about considering the mode of ending a perturbed journey: wires? Ropes? Wrist? Woolf’s way. . .which prompted me to tell someone that the reason behind writing about the sea is that I opt to follow Woolf’s path on deciding eternity.

There I am flunking an exam after an exam. I’ve not been performing and sometimes I tell myself that it’s high time to assess although it’s too late. Still, something inside me mysteriously drives my way pass these conundrums. It’s like an antibody. Is this some kind of an epic then? a personal legend, dear guru? Is this leading somewhere to nirvana?

The accountant has a nibble of wisdom to share. While cursing on his worksheets almost tearing them to pieces just because of that 40 centavos he can’t balance, he shrieked. Maybe, like numbers appearing on two opposite sides of the chart, my life also needs to be. . er. . balanced?

I have so much to share. . .This is the end for now.