seven is the name of the game

Mag Tagalong ka na lang

2011-06-11T15:53:00.003+08:00

It is fortunate for most expats that that Philippines is an English-speaking country, because learning the local language is next to impossible. How do you explain to foreigners the querkiness of the the Filipino language?

For example is how we form tenses. For instance, with the root word "laro", we say "maglalaro" for future tense, "naglalaro" for present tense, and "naglaro" for past tense.

But when your wallet gets stolen, why do you scream, "MAGNANAKAW!" instead of "NAGNAKAW!"?

Here are some other quirks of the Filipino language:

Q: What is the past, present, and future tense of the root verb, "nakaw"?
A: Campaigning, incumbent, re-electionist.

Q: What is the future tense of "naglalaba"?
A: "Magsasampay"

Q: What is the plural form of "rice."
A: "Extra rice"

Q: What is the Filipino translation of "Welcome home"?
A: "Pasalubong!"

Happy Independence Day!

Smile, you're on TV

2011-06-11T15:28:00.005+08:00

My sisters and I were brought up to be good Catholic children, abiding by the words of the Good Book. So my sisters have embraced Genesis 2:24, which reads: "That is why a man leaves his father and mother, and shall cleave to his wife, and they become one flesh" (and now we know the biblical basis for the power of the female cleavage).

Most people would put emphasis on the last one, "becoming one flesh". To my sisters, the emphasis is on the last part, with the man leaving his father and cleaving to the wife. And so my brothers in law have obediently cleaved to their wives, and our household has welcomed new family members (and eventually, four others through a lack of effective family planning).

Having a brother in law living with you under the same roof is like stepping on eggshells.Fortunately, humor has been effective in diffusing any tension between us -- or so I'd like to think, presuming that the laughs I got whenever I crack ("hihihi, he said 'crack'") a joke were in no way nervous.

This morning was a display of that legendary household humor: Me, my sister, Chi, and her husband, Ong (which is his real name and was not just changed to protect his identity and self-respect), woke up early to travel 80 kilometers to Bulacan, for a 42-inch cathode-ray tube TV. And for the sake of my vast office-based following, they used the family car, and not the office car.

What was the TV for?

My mom has this habit of buying broken things, such as a 42-inch TV that never had a chance to display Wowowee during its lifetime, in the hopes of being able to sell them for a profit.

The Olegarios and the de Guzmans do not have very good business acumen (please do not tell this to my boss). We are not Chinese, despite my apparently very white feet. Trust me. I have a really big ****.

Ong and I stood before the humongous TV, figuring out how to carry the thing to the car.

Ivan: "Sige, Ong, tulungan kitang magbuhat. Buhatin mo 'yung TV; ako na ang bahalang magbuhat ng saksakan."

Not to be outdone, he said: "Naku, Kuya, masyadong malaki 'yung TV. Palagay ko, kailangan nating mag two trips para maisakay yan."

--- [one minute pause for the slow members of the room] ---

Humor may not be inheritable, but I'm sure it's contagious.

Teleserye marathon

2011-04-23T10:04:00.010+08:00

During the mid 2000's, TV stations would show marathons of Seventh Heaven, Joan of Arcadia, or Gilmore Girls. In 2011, they are showing teleserye marathons.

I'm not complaining. Channel 2 is showing a marathon of Minsan Lang Kitang Iibigin. What's to complain about? Coco Martin playing twins! One could never have too much of Coco Martin.

You don't believe me? Click this

Meanwhile, Channel 5, after two days of not airing (is this their way of admitting, "Sorry, we do not have anything of goodness to show"?), is showing a marathon of Babaeng Hampaslupa, which, I just learned from their Wikipedia page, translates to "The Hapless Woman" -- let's just stick to the Filipino title (the freedictionary.com defines "hapless" as "lacking in hap; "hap" apparently is a word that means "good fortune or luck", where the word "happy" comes from).

Again, I'm not complaining -- for it was sure to inspire a blog.

Courtroom scene
Lawyer: "Mr. Wong (Eddie Garcia), do you know the defendant (Susan Roces)?"

Eddie Garcia: "Yes ... I know the defendant ... (evil grin) ... like the PALM of my hand."

Ivan: "You mean, BACK."

Eddie Garcia: "Yes, like the palm of my back."

Sabi ko nga.

In the heat of the moment

2011-04-22T09:13:00.007+08:00

My older sister has a pet bed and breakfast called Blackie's Bed and Breakfast, where pet owners can check in their pets while they're away on vacation.

Last Saturday, a 7-month old Golden Retriever named Falcor (name changed to protect the dog's privacy) checked in for the entire Holy Week. It should have been an easy task, if not for the fact that at 7 months, he is 21 inches tall. The dog is on steroids!

And like any mammal on anabolic hormones, he shows all the telltail signs: body hair, deepening of voice, hypomania, aggressiveness, hostility, anxiety, paranoid ideation, and a sky-rocketing libido.

It is thus unfortunate that our Chihuahua named Cutie (a lot of thought has been given to the name) is in heat.

Last Sunday (and every day after that), Falcor (not his real name) attacked the 12-inch-tall Cutie (her real name), despite the latter's yelps for help, in a futile (obviously) effort to satisfy his canine carnal urges. Hindi na nahiya yung aso, Holy Week pa naman! (Bad dog, bad dog)

Fortunately, Falcor, being so preoccupied with his evil deeds, did not hear the pet police approaching, and was apprehended at the scene. The assailant is now behind bars.

The assailant's owner posted bail at the amount of Php 150.00 per night. Falcor will be released this Monday.

Worse than break-up cliches

2011-04-19T12:06:00.008+08:00

You know what's worse than break-up cliches? The cliches you hear from friends. Here are some of my favorites (for the lack of a more appropriate word):

1. "Kung para talaga kayo sa isa't isa, magkakabalikan din kayo."

2. "Bata ka pa. Makakahanap ka rin ng iba."

3. "You're too good for him/her."

4. "No man (or woman) is worth your tears, and the one who is won’t make you cry.”

5. "May takip ang bawat kaldero." I actually like this because there's no way I can keep a square face every time I hear this. I also like the version, "May kapares ang bawat sinelas." A bit stupid; lagi kayang nawawala ung kabilang kapares. Baka nasa motel, may kasamang tisoy.

6. "Time heals all wounds."

7. "You're better off without him/her."

8. "There are other fish in the sea." This one just makes me steam. If there are so many darn freaking fish in the sea, then how come nobody's biting?? Huh? Huh? Hihirit ka pa? Gusto mo ng away?

9. "Men (women) are like buses – another one will come along in 15 minutes." Sa Pilipinas, ang bus ang pinag-aagawan ng pasahero. Mabuti pa ang bus.

10. "Things always work out for the best." It better ... or else I'll be pissed.

11. "You’ll get over it." An episode of How I Met Your Mother says that it takes 10,000 drinks, no matter how long it takes, to get over a break-up. I don't think my liver can survive another break-up.

12. "Someone better is just around the corner." If I meet someone "standing in a corner", I don't think he/she is relationship material.

13. "What comes around goes around." Now this is just WRONG.

14. "You get back what you give." Really? The person who said this has never been married.

15. "He/she will regret it." The person who said this obviously has not been through a break-up. This is not a TV soap. They will NOT regret it, and if they do and come back, it will be you who will regret taking them back. Of course, this is easier said than done, trust me.

16. "When one door closes another one opens." The reason he/she left was that the door was open. Lock the freakin' door. Sabi nga ni Beyonce, "Put a ring on it."

Postscript: I would like to thank my fantastic sister Blessie (see Nanay Notebook), for having never used any of these suckers on me. Instead, she gives me, "Tigilan mo na 'yang katarantaduhang 'yan." I love you, sis!

Break-up over the phone

2011-04-19T11:43:00.006+08:00

I've always loved BPI. I have had an account with them since 1996. They have on-line transactions, ATMs in every block, and surprisingly, faster over-the-counter transactions now than in 1996! Plus you can make any sort of transaction in any branch, and if you issue a check of a substantial amount, they will call you within the day. What's not to love?

I found out today.

I received a call from a BPI branch near our place.

"Sir, you have here with us a pre-approved credit card. Would you like us to send it to you at your mailing address? You've been approved for Php 15,000.00 credit limit."

Me: *Silence* (but in my heart: "Ouch").

"Pasensya na, sir, kung mababa yung credit limit. Based po kasi siya with your balance transactions with BPI, eh."

Ouch. Ouch.

I've always had a love-hate relationship with money (I love it when it's there. I hate it when it's not).

Then I had a love-hate relationship with credit cards. We eventually had to break up. "It's not you, it's me. I'm not ready for a relationship right now. I'm soooo busy. I love you, but I'm not in love with you. You're a great guy; you'll find someone else who's perfect for you. We can still be friends, right?"

Now I have a love-hate relationship with my bank. I guess I'm really not boyfriend material.

Sossy ref

2011-04-19T11:33:00.003+08:00

You know you've got it made when...

Today my aunt blurted, "Anu ba 'yan, laging puno ang ref natin. Ang sikip sikip."

Then again, maybe we have a tiny ref.

Colorblind

2011-04-12T08:30:00.004+08:00

There's something wrong with how marketers brand their products these days.

Today, I saw a Hyundai on the road. Its model was "Accent Blue."

The car was RED.

Counting fingers

2011-04-02T17:27:00.002+08:00

One of the best things about living in the province is that you can see stars when you look at the night sky. And being the great uncle that I am, I saw it as an opportunity to strengthen my niece's math skills.

"Bea, look, stars!"

"Wooow, starshh." She's 3.

"Bea, how many stars can you see?"

"One, two, three, four, (this goes on for a while), thirty-three, thirty-four, thirty-five..."

"Okay, Bea, that's enough." The mosquitoes were beginning to bite (and for some reason, my sister was amused that I said, "Tama na 'yan, nila-lamok ako," instead of "Tama na 'yan, lalamukin kayo)."

So we go inside, and Bea reports proudly, "Mama, we counted stars! We counted this much (then she raises all the fingers of both hands)."

"One, two, three, (this goes on for a while), nine, ten, ELEVEN!"

I keep telling my sister to stay away from the microwave when she's pregnant. But does she listen?

Define love

2011-04-02T17:06:00.004+08:00

A quote from Addicted to Love, a movie starring Meg Ryan (Maggie) and Matthew Broderick (Sam):

"When I was a kid, my father had this dog that started to get all weak and sickly. He takes it to the vet, he examines it and says a maggot must have laid eggs in the dog's butt. The baby maggots have crawled up, now they've started to grow, and eventually they're gonna eat the dog alive from the inside. He says it should be put to sleep, because it's an old dog anyway.

"But father won't do it. He takes the dog home, he puts it on the bed, he reaches up into the dog, picking out the maggots with his finger, one by one. It takes him all night, but he gets every last one.

"That dog outlived my father. That's love, Sam."

Say no to plagiarism!

2011-03-26T19:19:00.002+08:00

I saw this link on my sister's desktop. To all the writers and editors out there, this is a really cool way to check if your material can be construed as plagiarism. Check it out!

Plagiarism checker

Lost in translation

2011-03-26T11:28:00.003+08:00

One of my recent business trips was in Taiwan, and surprisingly, few people knew how to speak English. Which led me to be ingenious (is this a real word??), and so discovered the wonders of Google Translate. I was so fascinated by it, because it allowed me to (sort of) communicate with Chinese-speaking people through e-mail, without knowing Chinese!

So for this blog, I would like you to experience the same. I wrote my blog in English, and then allowed Google to translate it for me. Here's what happened:

我去了一家台湾公司的会议，这是由来自东南亚和东亚，其他同事参加，如来自香港，中国，台湾，马来西亚，新加坡和越南的。一个关于这些国家的事情是，他们大部分都会说中文，特别是普通话。

但我没有。所以大部分时间，我只是安静的，有趣的，他们丰富多彩的声音讲话时作出自己。当然，对于我们菲律宾人，它被认为是不礼貌的发言，在我们的母语，当我们知道有人无法理解我们周围。但这是我们，嗯，这未必是对其他文化一样。

其中一人注意到我的沉默，用英语问，“伊万，你知道怎么说中文吗？“我说：“不，我不知道。“

然后，他给了我一个认识还客气一下，然后进行交谈的每个人都在中国了。

不知怎的，我没有得到这个笑话。再说，也许都没有。

Now I tried to re-translate this into English, and it's not the same as I had intended to say. So I guess there was a joke there after all!

Two steps forward, one step back (to the good ole days)

2011-03-26T11:13:00.001+08:00

There were a lot of changes going on in the office yesterday. One of them was me being transferred to a different department.

And while all of that is well and good, one thing still keeps gnawing at me (aside from the pain in my right shoulder and left ankle, all telltale signs of gouty arthritis and the 31 years catching up with me. When signs of age become too much to ignore, one has to blog of "the good ole days).

Going back, one gnawing thing about the transition is: I'm no longer part of Medical Affairs. I've been with Boehringer Ingelheim for less than a year, yet it seems like such a long time ago. I guess that's how it feels when you feel at home -- the months seem like days that pass all too quickly.

Before I came to Boehringer Ingelheim, I was living a provincial life in Montalban, Rizal, with clinics in Marikina. It was a small practice, so much so that I could count the number of medical representatives covering me.

It was a rest I needed (being burnt out so early in my life, which explains the telltale signs of age at 31), far away from people who expected far too much from me, and with me having nothing to show for it.

The disappointment that I was, one person believed in me, at a time when even I did not believe in myself. My boss, Dr. Andal, took his chances with me and welcomed me into his second home, and soon I was part of his team, Boehringer Phils Medical Affairs.

It will always feel weird, I guess, that I am no longer part of that team. It was a good one, one that worked like clockwork. It was a team that Rebs shaped into what it has become today, and it's a bit unnerving that he will have to go back and rebuild it one more time.

I have no doubts that he can. Vision has a way of bringing people together, and that's something he has -- a vision to see what others cannot. And the patience to see it through.

See you on monday, boss! OCS mo lang ako.

What's in your medicines?

2011-02-08T08:53:00.004+08:00

As I was driving to work, I heard this on FM Radio:

"Ang programang ito ay hatid sa inyo ng RiteMed, gawa ng Unilab at Red Horse Beer."

An interesting collaboration, but that can't be good for your liver.

Well, they did say RiteMed is affordable. I'm sure they're definitely cheaper when you buy them by the bucket. "Doc, isang round pa nga! At pengeng ice!"

Maybe Facebook is psychic

2010-12-29T21:20:00.006+08:00

With my second tat upcoming in a few days, it seems unfair to my first one that I did not give it enough blog-attention. My apologies to my loyal, subdermal friend who will never, ever leave me.

Perhaps choosing a tattoo is the decision one should really put deep thought into. You can shift from a college course, call it quits with a Significant Other, or change careers midstream. But a tattoo is forever.

So I turn to the Internet to get some ideas. There are hundreds of web sites that can help you decide on a tattoo design. But for some reason, I turn to Facebook (this was a relationship that was wrong right from the start). Now Facebook has this application called "What kind of tattoo should you get?"

Facebook: "How sure are you about getting a tattoo?" (choices)
Ivan: "Very sure."

Facebook: "What do want your tattoo to say about you?" (choice)
Ivan: "I am reliable." ["I am easy" was not among the choices, so there. Who makes these apps???]

Facebook: Do you want your tattoo to be masculine or feminine?" (choices)
Ivan: [5 second pause] "Very Masculine." [My dad is in Davao, and I do not want to give him a heart attack or irritable bowel syndrome when he comes home next month.]

After a few more questions, I press [SUBMIT].

The Facebook says:

YOU SHOULD GET A BUTTERFLY.

Yes. Nothing says "Ravaging Testosterone!!!" more than a colorful lepidopteran fluttering gayly with the breeze and sipping flower juice. Maybe it's time to delete my Facebook account.

Post-script: I got a cross tattoo eventually, because I do not want to be age 50 and explain to my nieces and nephews that "Well, kids, in my days, Spongebob was cool!"

All my illegitemate children

2010-12-29T17:10:00.004+08:00

My mom went to NSO today to get a copy of their Marriage Certificate. She got this instead:

I have to stop now, for I am deeply overwhelmed ... at the number of punchlines this document can give.

Fit for the job

2010-12-27T11:06:00.006+08:00

Warning: This blog will blatantly display my ignorance of high society.

Last March 25, 2010, I was hanging out in one of the lounge restaurants in Makati. From where I was sitting, I could hear a man with an mildly American accent talk on his mobile phone. "Tita! Tita!" he said excitedly. I turn to see two tables away a tall, goodlooking mestizo guy, I think in his late 30s, talking on the phone.

"Tita, you won't believe what just happened today! The President made me Director of the National Museum! ... I know, I know! ... It's the highest institution for the visual arts in the Nation! ... Well, I haven't really accepted it yet ... I know, I know ... It's just that ... I DON'T KNOW ANYTING ABOUT ART!"

The next day, the Philippine Star shows the following headlines: GMA replacing officials en masse.

Post-script: As it turns out, Jeremy Barns does know a lot about art! My research showed that he has impressive credentials. Also, he was NOT appointed by the former president, but was instead elected as Director by the new National Museum board, whose new chairman was appointed by GMA that same day. So I guess Mr. Barns was just being humble. Now if only other government executives were that gracious.

My drive-through home

2010-12-24T22:20:00.005+08:00

Two weeks before the Christmas shutdown, while in Seoul, I got a cellphone call from my landlord. "Um, Ivan, hanggang ngayon ka na lang." I'm like, "What??? I thought my contract ends next month!" I'm trying to keep my calm as he explains to me the details of my contract. But I just get more pissed off, so instead, I started talking to him e-v-e-r s-o s-l-o-w-l-y, that he'd be happy to know that he just made a 10-minute long-distance call without his knowing when his monthly cellphone bill arrives [evil snicker].

So as I was in Seoul, my loving sister vacated all my stuff from my now-ex-apartment (hmmm... saying that isn't as satisfying as saying the other kind of "ex-"), which meant that for the next two weeks, I will be driving 36 kilometers from Montalban, Rizal to Makati ... and back ... during Christmas season ... with a bladder the size of a peach.

Or, I could think out of the box, and find a temporary place to sleep in for the next two weeks: a place I fondly call RORO (roll-on, roll-off) a.k.a. a motel.

The more I thought about it, the more it made sense. The motels in Pasig Flower Lane are clean, have hot water and sanitized toilets, firm beds, accept all major credit cards, honor a frequent-user card, and have a Php 740-for-12-hours special -- according to my in-depth, not-first-hand research (did I mention that disclaimers are a writer's best friend?). Besides, who wouldn't appreciate an extra cable channel and a big mirror on the ceiling? The only downside to that is you'd get a stiff neck after shaving.

So it was decided. I checked into the Jardin de Rosal Hotel (Rosal Motel), devoid of any guilt since I was just going there to sleep. After a peaceful 8 hours of sleep, I ask for the bill (Php 690 after discounts from the loyalty card -- which I conveniently borrowed from someone else, I might add), then proceed to the car. As I was backing out of the parking spot, I roll down my windows (yes, plural) to smuggly display that I was leaving alone, hence I did not do any horizontal tango the night before. I keep my windows rolled down until I was several meters away from the motel district.

I tell this story to some friends of mine, to which they reply point-blank: "Everyone who saw you probably think you went there with a hooker, and she left the night before."

So the next time you come up with a bright idea, tell others first before it goes RORO smack at your face.

Choose-your-own-blog-entry

2010-10-21T07:39:00.002+08:00

The first week post-revival of sevenpercent was a hit! And by that I mean I have not received any death threats yet. This is enough reason for me to continue, and bury all my previous hesitations of re-blogging -- the biggest of which was the argument that blogging is a public display of self-absorption.

So to dispel that argument, and as a sign of gratitude to those who take the time to read sevenpercent, I will let you get into the action. How? With choose-your-own-blog-entry! Just fill in the blanks with the your preferred choice.

Warning, this is a self-servic blog. Bring your own humor:

"Today was ________________ [A. just a regular Wednesday; B. National Umutot-si-McArthur Day; C. the day I get my belly button pierced].

I was on my way to ________________ [A. work; B. a David Archuleta Fan's Club meeting; C. the police station to report a dead stripper in my living room] ...

... when suddenly, I saw a ________________ [A.crazed motorcycle get hit by the kariton of a fishball vendor; B. group of nuns dancing the Macarena; C. Coco Martin billboard].

This was too much action for 6:45 in the morning, so I ________________ [A. stopped by McDonalds to irritate the cashier; B. lit up a bag of crushed mosquito coils and pretended it was hashish; C. turned around and call in sick, "Boss, kinakabagan ang noo ko"].

As the events of the day unfolded, I realized that ________________ [A. reading this blog was the most senseless thing I did all day; B. you CAN judge a brother by its sister, right Melanie?; C. she's got it! Oh baby, she's got it! I'm your Venus, I'm your fire, your desire.]

Maybe tomorrow I'll ________________ [A. Get a life; B. pretend today didn't happen to preserve my self-respect; C. down a bottle of Tylenol if choices A or B don't work]."

If you think that the best answers are D. All Of The Above, please refer to the last item.

Shouldn't you be working?

2010-10-16T07:54:00.010+08:00

RX Monster Radio has a segment called "Quick Question" (QQ), where listeners can send in answers to a particular question. It is featured in most of their shows, including their afternoon program called "The Awesome Twosome, Gino and Fran" hosted by Gino Quillamor and Monica Francesca Tobias.

Gino is the most adorable dork on Earth, and by "dork" I say that with a positive connotation, if there's any [and I was just compelled to mention the last phrases because "connotation" seems to be Gino's favorite word]. Fran on the other hand is one of those girls who have the potential to become a "cool mom" someday. [The descriptions are noticably more positive for Gino because Fran ignored my Friend Request on Facebook. Gino ignored my request, too, but who can hate a nyum-nyum face like that?]

Yesterday's QQ was "What was the best and worst thing that happened to you today?"

One of the listeners replied: "The best thing for me was that my boss was out of town so my day was pretty relaxed. The worst would be that I was not able to accomplish anything because I spent the whole day on Facebook."

Ah ... Facebook: Destroying productivity since 2004.

Well, I think I have to cut this blog entry short. I have a meeting to catch.

--

Postscript: If you search something on Google, the first thing to come out is its Wikipedia entry. To demonstrate the immensity of the power of Facebook, its Wikipedia definition will only come out 6th, while the first result would be it's homepage, www.facebook.com. And if you find this fact remotely interesting, you've been surfing the internet too long. Now click on the "X" on the upper right corner of this window and get back to work.

Post-postscript: Much literary liberty has been taken with this blog, since it's a Saturday at 7:53 a.m.

Post-post-postscript: I tried adding Fran on Facebook only because if she accepted me, it might increase the chances of Gino accepting my Friend Request. As Gino always says, "Facebook is for stalking".

Reckless breakfast

2010-10-15T08:04:00.003+08:00

Corporate life can be exciting (Do I hear sarcastic groans? From Pasig?), but most of the time, it's boring and predictable. And yes, I'm talking from experience. I leave the driveway at exactly 6:20 a.m., take a right, a left, and then a right. If no insane jeepney driver stops to drop off a passenger from here on end, I'd be sure to make the green light at the intersection of Boni Serrano and Katipunan.

After I pass the green light (yes, Mr. Insane Jeepney Driver was late today), I turn on the radio just as Chico & Delamar start enumerating the day's Daily Top 10. Right on cue. And today's top 10 is: The Top 10 messages to motorcycle drivers. [Key in your responses by typing Rx, then your message, and send them to 2299.] As one can expect, the messages are mostly seething with hate from high-horse-riding car drivers.

Now just as predictable is my grumbling stomach, which has been left unnourished after 8 hours (yes, 8 hours) of sleep. Good thing there's a Jollibee along C5, who's drive-thru attendant is more than willing to tell me if I'm on time or not ("Sir, tinatanghali tayo ngayon ah." Or "Sir, ang ganda ng hair mo today. Nagpa-rebond ka?" Or "Sir, mukhang good mood ka today, ha? Got some last night?).

Well today is a Friday, so I decided to treat myself to something more than the usual Regular Yum with Cheese (may Google Ads ba ang Jollibee?) and Coke Light. "Miss, isang tapsilog."

I don't have to tell you what happened next ... but I will. Imagine someone moving at 60 kph along C5 at 6:35 a.m., while trying to eat tapsilog in a styrofoam box.

Attempt #1: Box on the passenger seat, right hand with a spoon, left hand on the steering wheel, driver turning to the right to scoop some fried rice. Nope, that won't work, I realize, as the car slowly swerves to the left.

Attempt #2: Box on the driver's lap, driver looking down for a scoop. Nope, that also won't work, as a Fortuner overtakes and gives me the finger, and not in a good way.

Attempt #3: Eyes on the road. Left hand holding the box, right hand with a spoon. Memories of me showing off to my childhood friends that I can now ride the bike without holding the bike handles. Those memories being bumped off by an oncoming light post.

The good thing about a predictable life is that you can always be sure that there will be jam building up just before the Bagong Ilog flyover. 3... 2... 1... Ah. Now I can eat.

Next week, I will look forward to Chico & Delamar's topic: "Top 10 messages to reckless hungry yuppies."

Illusions of the city

2010-10-14T15:39:00.005+08:00

Obviously, my blogging revival is becoming too much fun. This is my second blog for this day, and if this keeps up, I'll be blogging more often than I go to relieve myself.

But blogging has its benifits. Sure, it is catharsis for most people, but there's more. It makes you more aware of the simpler things in life. From the most mundane things comes Viola! a blog entry! Let this be a warning to the reader: that's exactly what this one will be: mundane.

I leave the office yesterday quite later than my usual of 4 p.m. If you want to know what kept me, see the timestamp on this.

I got my gym bag from the car in San Agustin St., then proceeded to walk towards Trafalgar Bldg. I was feeling pretty smug from yesterday's blog revival, and how it makes one really appreciate the simple things in life and how they can turn into electronic self-indulgences.

As I walk, there I saw it: A brilliant orb in the sky. The moon seemed exceptionally bright that night. Was it exceptionally bright because it really was, or was my perception being heightened by my renewed blog-high? I can blog about the moon!

[Now before all self-respecting bloggers comment about how cliche it is to blog about how beautiful the moon is, let me finish.]

My now-resolution that I will NOT blog about the moon, however, did not stop me from staring at this "exceptionally bright orb".

And I guess that's all it takes, a good stare for one to realize that I have actually been mesmerized by the yellow neon signage of Metrobank on the side of the Metrobank Building along Buendia.

So do not be surprised if one day I will blog about the magnificence of the sun. That just means I passed by Pacific Star Tower.

Gluta can only do so much

2010-10-14T13:18:00.003+08:00

At the risk of being ostracized by the medical profession, I have a confesion to make: I used to offer glutathione injections as one of my professional services.

But then again, looking back, I see no reason why I should be half-ashamed. I sincerely believe that glutathione has its health benifits. After all, it is indicated for liver protection for patients undergoing chemotherapy.

Despite the lack of any valid studies on its skin-whitening effects, I believe that it can whiten skin, based on countless testimonials from respectable people I know personally, most of them professionals or businessmen (er ... women). If it can whiten intertriginous zones (a.k.a. singit), then it can definitely whiten less "challenging" areas.

[I also learned that many women will readily show certain parts of their body they would otherwise not show to a fullfledged bucko, once they learn you're friends of Dorothy.]

So if someone wanted glutathione injections, yes, I would have helped you.

Which brings me to my story...

My sister, Chi, referred me to one of her officemates, a morena lass who wanted fairer complexion (I could add that she was also in the hefty side to add to the imagery, but I won't) (Disclaimers are a writer's best friend).

When I met them, Morena Lass was accompanied by Gay Friend. How odd, on two levels: 1) Shouldn't the gay guy be the one wanting such vanities?; and 2) A story NOT about a gay guy and his fag hag, but the other way around. What do you call him then?

[I was trying to coin a witty euphemism for the gay guy to impress my reading public, but after two full minutes I realized that if I really was witty, it shouldn't have taken 2 minutes, and if you weren't impressed already, you wouldn't be reading this anyway. Anyway...]

ML: "Doc, magkano po ang per injection?"

Me: "[a certain peso figure, in the thousands]."

ML: "How many injections do I need?"

Me: "It usually takes at least six sessions to see a noticeable difference."

ML: "So after six sessions, maputi na po ako?"

Me: "No. After six sessions, mapapansin mong medyo pumuputi ka. Pero for you to be significantly lighter, you may need more. [pause] Also I have to add that, it can only lighten your skin up to a certain point only."

ML: "What do you mean?"

Me: "Pwede ka lang pumuti hanggang maging kakulay mo ung balat ng inner part of your upper arm." [You know, that area close to your torso, below your armpits?]

With that, she excitedly rolled up her sleeves, and showed to us (me and friend) the inner part of her upper arm.

After what seemed like forever, gay friend sighed, "Ay, girl, 'wag na lang siguro..."

Postscript: She didn't get the shots. They thanked me, and then left -- she seemingly more happy than when they came.

Company doctor

2010-10-13T16:39:00.004+08:00

I am a doctor, and I work for a company. So even if it is not my job description, one could say that I am a "company doctor" [yes, the logic sticks like a triple somersault by Svetlana Khorkina. Can this analogy get any gay-er? I can say "by Alexei Nemov", but 1) that's more gay? and 2) it betrays my age].

And being one (a company doctor, not a Russian gymnast -- which was the other way around when I was 9) grants me the benefits given to other practicing doctors (read: doctors who actually see patients). One of these benefits is unwavering trust: enough trust for officemates to confide to me some of their "interesting" "complaints". Here are some of the ones I can still remember:

1) "There's something ringing in my ear like the whistle of Mariah Carey."

2) "My medicines make my skin dry. To make matters worse, menopause na ako."

3) "I can't be pregnant. I just had sex last night." [Hey! You go, girl!]

4) "I don't want to take my medicine for high blood pressure, because it makes my blood pressure go down." [Well, you're making my blood pressure go up. So quits na tayo.]

5) Officemate: "Doc, can you make a medical certificate for my wife saying she's fit to work?" Me: "Where is she?" Officemate: "Sa bahay; may sakit."

6) "Allergic ako sa hipon. High blood kasi ako eh." [makes sense]

7) "Doc, ung dighay ko, amoy atchara." [What would a medical blog be without something disgusting?]

8) "Hindi ako makahinga; you know, parang in-love?" [I know exactly how you feel...]

9) "Doc, pa'no ba ma-buntis?" [Volunteers, anyone?]

10) "Doc, ang mahal kasi ng gamot ko. Pwedeng umutang?" [Iho, may generics]

Anti-climactic ending: This entry may seem ridiculous, but for me it is also humbling. To all the "patients" who trusted me with all their aches and pains, to the risk of embarrassment, thank you. To show you my appreciation, I give you a triple somersault a la Vladimir Artemov.

show and tell

2009-05-22T12:51:00.006+08:00

I'm sitting here, thinking about what to write, after not having written in sevenpercent for two years.

I feel compelled to write, about what, I don't know. Two years is a long time to miss, and it doesn't seem right to just pick up from where I left off. Where I am now is worlds apart from where I was since my last blog in November 05, 2007 (for those who don't know, I was a marketing manager for St. Luke's then, and more sober, more driven, more optimistic, less mortal).

Today, I have three nephews and one niece, a much better job, and less friends.

Which is why I'm glad my last blog was about my pup-pah. Despite the fact that we are not close, I owe my life to my dad. He taught me to hold on to the things that I could never lose. He taught me to try to be better--to never accept myself as myself, but as someone better. If it weren't for him, I'd be a mere fraction of who I am today.

So it saddens me that today, despite all he did for me, I don't have much to show.

Sorry dad

paternally yours

2007-11-05T22:01:00.000+08:00

Hi Dad!

It's been a long time since we've actually talked. I guess that's because even if we don't talk, I know you're always there.

Anyway, I just wanted to tell you a story. Last Saturday, my friends and I went out for a drink. His name is XX XXXXX. We haven't been hanging out for a long time, so we had a lot of things to talk about: his love life, work, happenings and all that.

FYI, XX is a Business graduate from a good school. He dabbled in marketing before quiting, going back to school to study fashion. His father is some high-ranking military man.

So we got to the part about what's stressing him out. He said that it was his father, who wants him to quit fashion school and enter civil service. So I asked him, what's wrong with civil service? He replied, "I don't wanna be like my dad. He's corrupt."

At that moment, I wanted to tell XX, "Well, my father is in Davao, tending earthworms so that other people could have hope."

You may not hear it from me, Dad, but I'm proud of you--and my friends know that. Yes, my friends know that we don't have a perfect family. As a matter of fact, the more I think about it, our family is one of the more problematic, unusual and unconventional families around. We have more problems and troubles than the average Filipino middle class.

But they also know that the reason why despite all these, we're happier than most, and thriving quite well, is because you raised us well. You've been a good parent, teaching us to study hard, be the best we can be, depend on nobody, be proud of our heritage, never stoop down to the level of rudeness and uncivility, help people who sincerely need it, and always be thankful.

At 28 years old, and my father is turning 62, I can sincerely say that I'm proud of you. And when I'm 62, I want to be able to leave everything behind, move to Davao, and hope that Josh and Zack will also say they're both proud of me, too.

Your son,
Ivan Noel G. OLEGARIO, MD
(emphasis by the author)

long streak

2007-04-06T10:11:00.001+08:00

This blog entry is simply to break my absence since February 23, 2006. It's been more than a year since I blogged, and it makes me feel like I've betrayed a good friend by not blogging.

So many things have happened. I have a new job, a new niece, a new, well, practically everything. Even Jam 88.3 has a new format now, (and for those who know me, that IS a big deal for me).

It is indecent to have such a different life and not share it with the people who knew the old one.

Let's talk, friends.

Denial

2006-02-23T08:29:00.000+08:00

If you refuse to believe in gravity ...

... will you not fall if you jump off a cliff?

Atheists should remember this argument.

glimpse

2006-01-05T22:44:00.000+08:00

sabi nila, siya ay mabuti
kaya lagi ko siyang kinakausap
malay mo, baka pakinggan niya ako
pero di siya sumasagot

pero maski nakabibingi ang katahimikan
nagigising ako sa umaga
napapangiti ako sa pinakamababaw na bagay
hindi ako nagugutom
hindi pa ako nakukulong
padaka-daka ay nakakasulyap ako ng mga nakakamangha at nakakagulat na bagay
malamang hindi maisasapelikula ang buhay ko
at napakadaling magpatawad

siya nga ay mabuti

narinig ko na dati ang tungkol sa iyo
pero ngayon ay nakita ka ng aking mga mata

Cephalalgia

2005-12-28T12:15:00.000+08:00

... sumasakit ang ulo ko,

kakaisip ...

...

... sa 'yo.

Whispering to the light

2005-12-04T00:29:00.001+08:00

It's been almost 6 months since I last blogged, and much has happened since then. I don't want to enumerate them, for I maintain my conviction NOT to turn blog into an online journal.

Still, the facts remain: I am alone at home just a little past midnight; it's raining outside (the first rain in a month, I dare say); and I am left to contemplate on these past 6 months.

But what's the use of contemplation if in the end they just fade away into the darkness of night. So instead, I whisper them to the light, from whom the past 6 months came from, and was witness to all these, and kept all these in his heart.

The light consumes those who whisper to him, and makes them his own. And those of the light overcome darkeness.

Song hits

2005-06-14T12:51:00.000+08:00

A good friend of mine commented at how my blog site has (surprisingly??) turned into a song lyrics page.

Guilty.

Well, my neurons are really preoccupied with more "productive" word-spinning, and borrowed words seem to be just as effective. I'm actually very glad for her comment. I'm glad she had time to drop by my blog (word has it, she's so much more busy than I am).

Nonetheless, I miss her a lot, and she is most welcome to pick one song from my songhits and sing with utter gusto.

I'm tempted to call her "boss" but was strictly instructed to refrain from that salutation.

Brokenness

2005-03-10T14:20:00.000+08:00

When you have your face right smack on the floor, or the mud is up to your neck, and the only way you can get up

is through grace.

Isaac baby

2005-02-24T11:28:00.000+08:00

My very closest friends have this term: Isaacs--things we need to give up for God. The story is familiar: Abraham is given a promised child--his heart's desire--despite seemingly impossible circumstances, then was asked to give him up.

Yes, everyone has Isaacs, and more often than not, these are things that are most precious to you. To lose an Isaac is painful to the core.

My sister had to give up an Isaac.

After many years of going through life in search of elusive happiness, she found it in marital bliss. Imagine the happiness she'd feel when a child comes along.

But it didn't. For a long time. They waited; heartfelt prayers poured out from her lips and her heart--all for a baby. Everytime her period was delayed for even a day, she would get an EPT and pray for a double red line. Two long years--then there it was: 2 red lines, one deep, the other, faint. But there it was. She was with child.

Everyone was happy, but none could be happier than her. She flaunted her enlarging tummy like a grand trophy. No way was she hiding it under layers of unflattering drappery. This was prayer answered, to be proclaimed to the world.

But as she entered her third month, she started to bleed. Blood wasn't gushing, but neither did the small streaks cease. Soon enough, she was feeling cramps, and she knew her baby was at risk. She visited her doctor, took her meds, and rested; she seemed calm.

I would later learn, though, the immensity of her fear for a child unborn. The fear was so deep that it would many times send her into torrents of tears, crying her heart out to God. "You can take anything You want, please. Take anything; but not my baby."

But how does one fight with God? She was just a provincial lass: He created the heavens; He gave her this baby. She has seen His faithfulness and goodness before. Why would she doubt Him now? "For everything is Yours to give and to take back." With that, doubt shattered and a heart--and a child--is surrendered.

Josh Nathan Olegario Adlaon, born August 5, 2004, is now almost 7 months old. He gives joy, not just to his mother, but to everyone.

For God blesses most from Isaacs sacrificed.

Cheap living

2005-01-28T14:30:00.000+08:00

The Civil Service Commission has this very effective (how do you do sarcasm on html?) method of keeping track of graft and corruption: the Declaration of Assets and Liabilities. Everyone has to accomplish it periodically. Filling it up, however, is a very humbling experience. According to my own Declaration, my net worth was (are you sitting down?): PHP 12,000.

This is what I have to show for myself after almost a quarter of a century of existence.

If a person driving a BMW was to hit me, his expenses for having his car fixed would have cost so much more.

---

Good thing I don't believe in that crapy document.

---

Ecclesiastes in practice

2005-01-28T11:03:00.000+08:00

If that last blog left you with a sullen mood or a bad aftertaste, fret not. That was not the blog of some seventeen-year-old pondering about the meaning of life, or the rantings of a father in midlife crisis. That was just an introduction to a blog by a Boy Who Refused To Grow Up, who was given a dose of reality. Take note the absense of the word "bitter" that commonly precedes the word "reality". For this dose of reality, albeit bitter to some, is actually welcome to the Adamant Boy. It liberated him to enjoy his life and value what really was of value. To him, this is Ecclesiastes in practice.

Where would I be if you had not been by my side?
How could I rise to meet the morning of the day?

Business matters

2005-01-28T10:57:00.000+08:00

In the world of adults, one must speak as adults. So let's talk:

If one will look at life in business terms, there is no such thing as profit. We entered in to the business with nothing. And everyone will, inevitably, be out of business--qutting the business with nothing on hand. Ergo: zero profit.

-- by the Boy Who Refuses To Grow Up

Divine decision-making (or Why I listen when God speaks)

2005-01-14T08:10:00.000+08:00

Men are rational beings--so we've been taught. Decisions should be well thought of: the pros and cons should be weighed meticulously. So much so that managements experts have created numerous "tools" to aid in planning and decision-making.

This morning, I was given a lesson on proper decision-making.

I have lived in/rented the same place since I left home for college--which was ten years ago. I have always shared it with someone (my sisters or my mom) so keeping it wasn't so costly. However, with my older sister married, my younger sister graduated from college, and my mom retired, I am left with an apartment that was too expensive for a young, single, stuggling writer to keep. So I moved. For the first time in my life, I was living alone.

In a residential area near the office, I found a quaint room that was perfect for a guylike me--cheap yet cozy, simple and in close proximity to everywhere. Surprisingly, the move was not as traumatic as I had thought, and in a couple of days, I was settled.

But then, there was the issue of parking. My place was beside a narrow alley, and suffice to say, I always had difficulty finding a parking space. I always found myself 'borrowing' parking space from my neighbor's driveway, much to their dismay.

For many days, I wrought over this in my mind. Do I keep the car? If I decided to NOT keep the car, my other option was to lend it to my brother-in-law. So the rational being that I was, I began 'rational decision-making'.

Pros of LETTING GO of the car:
(1) No more bothersome parking space issue.
(2) No more gas, car wash and parking expenses.
(3) A better-maintained car (Your brother-in-law maintains a car much better than you).
(4) Your sister will love you for lending her the car (You only have ONE family, remember?).
(5) Being car-less is a humbling experience, and you definitely need a good dose of humility these days.

Pros of KEEPING the car:
(1) You can go anywhere you like. Besides, I need it for going home to family and meeting friends and clients.
(2) Cab rides are expensive (and dangerous!).
(3) You love driving--with the aircon on and car music soothing your soul (your little piece of heaven).
(4) You love that car! You've been through so much, both good times and bad (believe me... I reaaalllly love that car).
(5) It looks good for a single guy like you to be sporting around a car.
(6) The trunk is extra storage.

But despite all this mental gymnastics, at the back of my mind, I was praying: God, please tell me what to do.

After much mental debate, a decision was made. The parking space issue was manageable, and the cost of keeping the car isn't that big. Besides, I love that car (There, I said it again. Am I keeping the car for sentimental reasons? Perhaps...). How this car came to be was short of a miracle; definitely, God wants me to keep it. So there: I'm keeping the car. sigh of relief

...and God spoke...

Then this morning, I was awakened by a neighbor tapping on my window: Can you move your car, just a few inches, so I can park my car in the space behind you? Hmm. Actually, this wasn't the first time--I had to move the car twice already this week, once after a mild squabble between my landlord and a neighbor. But this was the first time I was awakened from blissful slumber. That's it. My car is going.

Had I been my old self, I would have complained incesantly and insistend on keeping the car, no matter the hassle. I've decided on keeping the car; no nosy neighbor is going to make me decide otherwise. But God has been dealing with me lately, and I knew He was the one speaking. So the car will have to go.

God, a God of order, is rational and definitely wiser than me--He knows what He's doing, much better than I do (despite my delusion that my mental power can probably light up a small part of town). So sometimes--no; most of the time--it isn't really a matter of making the right decision after all: it's about listening and obeying. It doesn't matter anymore if the pros seem to outweigh the cons. What the Big Boss says, goes. After all, He definitely knows better.

The Moon's envy

2004-11-30T08:57:00.000+08:00

Have you ever wondered why the Moon sometimes shines during daytime?

Because the Moon envies the Sun.

The Moon has the power to create tides and move the ocean currents, stirring up the soupbowl of life. She has driven lovers and poets to lunacy. Many a sonnet has been offered to her. Her soft glow illuminates the night sky and enamours both children and wizards into spellbound bliss. Her beautiful countenance frames the Sandman on his nightly apparition from windowsill to windowsill.

But in all her majesty, she persists in her thespian ways. Perhaps, she is, by nature, envious. She dances gaily around Gaia, insistent on catching her attention, transforming from orb to crescent, waxing and waning in her shuffle.

But her envy is justified.

For who can match the Sun’s grandeur. His benevolent radiance springs forth life from a barren earth. He sits on his throne, pristinely; planets and the heavenlies surround Him in adoration.

This is the justice of the universe. Beings of beauty are merely rock, their glamour merely borrowed reflection. This is not beyond their knowledge, and it haunts them to madness. But God blesses the benevolent to overflowing that they cannot help but give it away. This they do in silence, yet it reverberates through eons, fathoms and leagues.

Anna

2004-11-27T17:46:00.000+08:00

Anna gazed at Albion’s crescent,
Your face, bathed by starlight.
Your gentle voice stirs warm delight.
Your tender touch sets souls to flight.

You fold your wings and gird your might.
And set off to forever,
Blessed as Aesculapius' member,
Princess, servant, oblate master.

Before you, infants burn with fever,
Wailing with affliction.
But your elixir and exhaustion
Comfort cherubs of misfortune.

Persist. Continue your commission
Although the path seems bleak,
For Mystic Hand sets down your feet,
His Mystic Lips caress your cheek.

As nighttime falls and angels sleep,
Your falling tears, incessant,
Your Master comes, in robes resplendent:
“Well done, my faithful servant.”

An angel named Josh

2004-11-22T09:41:00.000+08:00

Once there was an angel named Josh, who lived blissfully in the heavens. Then one day, as he frolicked in the clouds, he, perchance, peeked down on earth, and thought: "What this world needs is more smiles." So, he jumped off his cloud and fell to the earth, giggling and playing with his toes as he descended.

He fell on the lap of a simple lass, who once dreamed of crimson and gold and fighting fire-breathing dragons; but in her heart, she pined for joy and tenderness. Angel Josh looked into her smiling eyes, and again giggled, as only innocent babies can, for he saw that all was well. And she looked into his smiling eyes, and giggled, as only youthful mothers can, for she saw that all was well. Then she kissed him.

How do I love thee? Let me get my list.

2004-11-21T18:45:00.000+08:00

How do you show your family you love them?

There are many ways.
Here's an attempt.

A dozen assorted Mister Donuts
A dozen Huggies Dry Comprt diapers
10 Ube cupcakes
6 Granny Anith apples
4 bags of Clover Chips
3 cans of Purefood Carne Norte Con Patata
3 bags of Piattos Cheese potato chips
2 bags of Piattos Sour cream-and-onions potato chips
2 bags of V-Cut Barbeque potato chips (they love potato chips, if you haven't noticed)
2 Nissins Cup Noodles-Chicken
2 Nissins Cup Noodles-Seafood
A bottle of Coke Light (1.5 L), a loaf of Pullman bread, a box of Nestle cornflakes, a pack of cheese cupcakes, a pack of cotton balls, a litre of Cowhead skim milk, a tub of Lady's Choice Sweet-and-Creamy peanut butter, a jar of Lady's Choice pineapple jam, a pack of Yakult, a bag of Quaker Oats Instant oatmeal, a brick of Kraft Eden processed chessefood, a bag of Great Taste Concentrated Coffee Granules (50 g), a bag of Tang Pomelo (500 g), a four-pack of Kleene 2-ply bathroom tissue, a bottle of Minola Petite cooking oil, a bottle of UFC Tamis-Anghang banana ketchup and a pack of Tender-Juicy cheesedogs (500 g).

Top with a 35-km drive one-way, good driving music, nostalgia and a kiss for luck.

It's really hard to put a tag on love, but one can never go overboard. Happy weekends!

Dear Jane

2004-11-08T08:26:00.001+08:00

Dear Jane,

I just wanted to let you know that I got your “Dear John”, which you insist on calling your “Dear Peter” [“That IS your name, right? If I remember correctly …], and I enjoyed it thoroughly. I especially liked how you got the idea to doing it: because your ditzy friends thought it was the cool thing to do. You always have been a fashionable lass. I don’t understand, though, why you keep saying “sorry” when, after carefully dissecting your letter (don’t worry, it wasn’t that hard), you weren’t really apologizing for anything. Perhaps, that, too, was a fashionable thing to do.

I’m sorry if you felt I was “cramping your style,” as men like me are wont to do. The dark circles around my eyes are NOT from crying over the break-up of JLo and her last boyfriend, and I’m sorry if I refuse to put vegetables on my eyes just so they wouldn’t clash with your purse the next day. I guess the thought of you gallivanting, like a bushel of onions left on a damp kitchentop, can make any man cry. But I will get over you, probably in the same way that other men have gone over you – or under you, or both at the same time.

I have to admit that I WILL be having a hard time finding another girl. For you have faded my once-hefty wallet, which girls like you apparently find so very attractive (does it match MY purse?), and the idea of a girl loving me for my wit and charm must be quite an unnerving thought. (Thank you, by the way, for reminding me of the numerous ways to express faded: sandblasted, stonewashed, acid-washed and the like. Your wide vocabulary must have come from reading all those brochures and catalogues. I heard they even make for good starter books for toddlers.)

I have to admit that it did make me feel sad to know you are now deleting my number from your mobile phone directory. But it does relieve me too, for now I can find a logical explanation for receiving a “Hu u?” reply whenever I send you a message. I’m sure I’ll miss you and the way you giggle like a poodle.

For what it’s worth, you have made me a better man – no “Dear Jane” would be complete without that line – and I can always add that I hope you find the man you deserve, but I’m not that cruel.

Sincerely,

Peter

PS: I know you get turned on by a man's big, long words, but I haven't really found any use for them right now. Don't worry, I'll try to text you words like propinquity, manifestation, edict (I can hear you giggling ... arf arf) and gargantuan to help you get through the night, but please, spare me the "Hu u?"

The second sapiens

2004-11-02T07:36:00.000+08:00

Homo sapiens sapiens -- the ape that knows that it knows. What sets this primate apart from the rest of animalia? Stripped of his clothes and pompous pretension, what makes him Adam's offspring, a little lower than angels, kissed by God?

It is Homo sapiens, man's reason, man's mind. A gracious gift, it is man's capacity to resist the carnal. To choose to live in all things decent, good and kind. To strip off hate and stretch out a hand and a smile to his worst of enemies when that vileness of a creature is down and wounded yet haughtily oblivious to his affliction. To believe that his palms are attached to a soul. To hope in tomorrow, the rainbow after the storm. To cry out in anguish yet persist in his principle. To know that his worth lies not in others, but in who he really is when he is asleep or naked or pressed on all sides.

The second sapiens: choice, reason, integrity, dignity, decency, goodness, faith, hope, love -- without which he persists as ape.

Blogging ( or Why I listen when my sister speaks)

2004-10-22T08:37:00.001+08:00

Graced with an IQ superior to most (last time I heard, she's at least at the world's 95th percentile), she reads Shakespeare like it was contemporary literature, writes poetry in rhyme and rhythm, absolutely abhorring free verse, and has a knack at hitting the nail on the head. How can I disregard her words of wisdom? This was the person who told me the importance of using exact words to convey a precise idea (ie, diction), after having taught me the explicit differences between grammar, diction and enunciation (eg, Your grammar is correct and but your limited vocabulary is betrayed by your poor diction. Even good enunciation won't save you.)

I can hear her now: Writing should be clear, crisp and uncontrived. The point is to get the message across, beautifully. But what is the point of impressive words when they cannot be understood?

While, in truth, many people blog for the sake of having their thoughts immortalized in cyberspace, or cherishing the glee of seeing wonderfully joyful thoughts printed in text for everyone else to share with, my sister's points are certainly valid.

So to prove her wrong, or at least produce a blog worthy of HER precious time, I offer her this one.

Postscript: Strict grammarians state starting a sentence with conjunctions is erroneous -- a rule I have violated four times in this blog. To my sister Blessie, my sincerest apologies

The recent past

2004-10-12T08:45:00.000+08:00

Yesterday, as I was going through my reading assignments, I read this:

"The role of insect vectors in the transmission of Balantidium coli is currently under investigation (Author, 1977)."

If the University of the Philippines, the premiere academic institution of this country and my beloved alma mater, considers literature from 1977 as current, I just might start having second thoughts on the meaning of the words "premiere" and "beloved."

-sevenpercent, 2004

Warm hello

2004-10-11T08:13:00.000+08:00

A friend commented it's been quite a while since I "blogged", so perhaps I am writing this one out of compulsion. But then again, I guess I'm not. It has been a while, and I miss it like a good friend from highschool.

The reason for my absence is the same as for most people: "I was busy." My officemates know it, quite starkly, I might add. For one who is the first to go home everyday, I guess it was really out of character for me to be doing overtime. It was just that things piled up, things got bumped off, interruptions crept in, and the next thing I know, I have deadlines coming in and fast; and aside from work stuff, I had four papers and two presentations needing completion for school. And the only thing I have to show for that is a trash bin full of empty acetaminophen blister packs.

But that's all over now, and the storm has passed, as always, and it's smooth sailing once more.

I can't promise I'll be writing more often. This isn't my big "welcome back" bash. This entry in itself is perhaps anticlimactic, even boring. But I guess welcomes from good old highschool friends are best done that way: warm, comfortable, familiar, minus the hooplah.

Small still voice

2004-09-16T07:42:00.000+08:00

The person who coined the phrase "One hell of a life" must have read my biography. I feel like in a quagmire and sinking fast. I'm going down, and it feels like there's no way out.

'Do not be afraid, for I have ransomed you.'

I've been ostracized by people I have known as my family for 24 years. Now I feel like a leaf floating aimlessly, fallen from the tree, with nowhere to call home.

'I have called you by name; you are mine.'

Now, I have to live my life alone, battling all my woes by myself, with nobody to rely on.

'When you go through deep waters and great trouble, I will be with you. When you go through rivers of difficulty, you will not drown! When you walk through the fire of oppression, you will not be burned up; the flames will not consume you.'

I'm only 25! I don't know how to do this...can't someone please tell me what to do? Isn't there anyone I can trust? Someone who will help me?

'For I am the LORD, your God, the Holy One of Israel, your Savior.'

I have often looked up at the stars, imagined the vastness of the universe, and realize that I am but a speck in this cosmos. Why would anybody care?

'I gave Egypt, Ethiopia, and Seba as a ransom for your freedom. Others died that you might live. I traded their lives for yours because you are precious to me.'

I am a worm.

'You are honored,'

Nobody loves me.

'and I love you.'

'Do not be afraid, for I am with you.'
-My conversations with God, at 9:45 pm, on my pull-out bed. Isaiah 43:1-5.

I can see your head moving

2004-09-13T08:11:00.000+08:00

If you've read Smile therapy, I mentioned that I kinda do these weird things inside the car. Well, this time, it was headbanging. It wasn't the headbanging, thought, that merited a blog. It was what transpired WHILE I was in my headbanging session.

There I was, on my way home for the weekend, driving, obviously, and dreading the traffic I would inevitably be drowned in. I was expecting the traffic to come at the Libis area, in the bottleneck caused by ongoing construction, and where that wreckless Vandolf guy trashed another expensive car and endangered lives (psst boy, you're digressing... "Oops. Sorry...").

So after enjoying the fast drive throught the boulevards of The Fort, I had to come to a stop from a jam building up along Kalayaan (exiting The Fort). Sigh. Time to increase my EQ. There's a looong way to go.

So I blare up the car stereo and start a headbanging session inside the car.

Amidst my abandon of all human dignity, the mobilephone rings. It's Anna! (remember her in Orange twist? The one we hid behind the pseudonym 'Orange' to protect her privacy?) I forgot to mention that she is also my editor/boss. So it was imperative for my young career to maintain a sense of respectability in the eyes of Anna aka 'Orange'.

She asks: "Are you the one behind me? I'm driving the Rav4."

Yeah!

"Are you ok? I can see your head moving."

She can see my head moving. Unbelievable. Doesn't everyone do this? Enjoy car music?

I'm headbanging hehehe. *embarassed grin*

From there, we started a rather hilarious conversation, and after that, the traffic was a synch (haven't you noticed that I utterly enjoy traffic cellphone conversatons, despite the laws against it? See Sa yo kon lang sasabihin to). Even when we put down the phone, it was nice to know that she was there amidst the tousands of irritable drivers plying the roads.

PS. After the conversation, she texted me: "Have a great weekend." [mental note: completely spelled-out words!] Yep. I know I will (see Paper nostalgia and A gift of rain).

Smile therapy

2004-09-13T07:29:00.001+08:00

I did it again. Actually, I've always been doing it (or more accurately, finding myself doing it) -- making faces or other weird things, in the 'privacy' of the car interiors, that I would otherwise not do in public. A few days ago, it was 'headbanging' (there's a story to that, but that might merit a separate blog). Yesterday it was making faces -- in particular, smiling.

I'm sure psychologists have a term for that (psych girls, help me out here, will yah? Behavior therapy?): doing a certain behavior that would otherwise be an effect of the outcome you want. Ie, doing the effect to arrive at the cause, instead of the other way around (now I, too, am confused).

Anyway, I am digressing. This time, I was smiling so that I'd feel better. I think I read somewhere that it actually works. Well, it hasn't failed me so far. I just give myself a mental order: "Smile." The teeth come out, as well as my prized dimples, and lo! i feel so much better.

Everytime I do it, I remember the famous smiling medical fact that smiling uses only 17 muscles versus the 43 muscles to frown, hence is less tiring. But I don't think that's the reason behind this technique's success. I guess it's just one of those physical impossibilities of the human physiology. It is impossible for one to kiss one's elbow; it is also impossible to sneeze without blinking. It must also be impossible to smile behind the wheel and not feel better.

A gift of rain

2004-09-11T18:34:00.001+08:00

It rained today. At 5 pm, on a humid Saturday afternoon, it rained. It was a downpour.

Had I been in the metro, I would have been unamused. But here in the foothills of the Sierra Madres, where neighbors were neighborly and birds lived on trees and not in mediterranean-inspired malls, rainfall such as this meant a time to go out and play. So together with the frogs and the children, under the torrents of water, I frolicked.

In the same way that rain can quench parched earth and make a desert burst forth with life, it can refresh a tired and downtrod soul. The drone of the rain's pitter-patter on the street and the wind whispering in your ear clears your mind of the voices that clutter and confuse. The beating drops of rain gently stinging your skin cleanse it of the dirt and grime of pretension and weariness. It relaxes the body, cools the mind, eases the nerves, cleanses the spirit. The proverbial fountain of youth.

I'm glad it rained today. I didn't expect it, but it was a welcome and pleasant surprise. I guess God, in His infinite wisdom, knew that what I needed right now was not a facial, a massage nor a pay raise; so God gave me rain.

On being understood

2004-09-11T18:21:00.000+08:00

"Form must follow Content," said an English teacher once. When asked,"What is the key to good communication?"--her reply: "BREVITY."

Paper nostalgia

2004-09-11T14:09:00.001+08:00

I work hard during the week, so a weekend get-away in the province with my family is a welcome respite. Today was no different. The day was perfect and the provincial sun was streaming into the house with a gentle radiance, as provincial sunlight was wont to do. Everyone has eaten lunch, so I go to my room, lie on the bed, read a few, then lose myself in a sea of blankets.

After some Readers' Digest anecdotes, I closed my eyes to sleep. Then, in the silence of the suburban afternoon, I hear it -- the pages of the magazine rustling to the breeze of the "bentilador". In an instant, I am flooded by memories of rustling paper. The rustle of the sunday paper being ransacked by the family hustled around the livingroom. The rustle of giftwrappers being torn away by eager hands on Christmas eve, and the excitement that permeates the December air. The rustle of bookpages turned by a diligent student doing his termpaper as he pursues academic excellence. The rustle of tons of paperwork requiring adept and insightful critique by a young professional hoping for a brilliant future.

I never thought the rustle of paper can zap you into blissful nostalgia in much the same way as whiffing the scent of cologne you used when you were in highschool. But all the same, nostalgia is good for the heart.

We who are about to die, salute you

2004-09-10T13:35:00.001+08:00

I was reading this article entitled “Suidice – when someone is too bruised to be touched” by Fr. Ron Rolheiser. I have pasted excerpts onto this blog for everyone to experience.

“A few days ago, I was asked to visit a family who had, just that day, lost their 19 year-old son to suicide. There isn't much one can offer by way of consolation, even faith consolation, at a moment like this, when everyone is in shock and the pain is so raw…with suicide, there are other soul-wrenching feelings … Where did we fail this person? What might we still have done? What should we have noticed?

The victim of suicide is a trapped person, caught up in a fiery, private chaos that has its roots both in his or her emotions. Suicide is a desperate attempt to end nendurable pain, akin to one throwing oneself through a window because one's clothing is on fire.

Many of us have known … that person was not full of ego, pride, haughtiness, and the desire to hurt someone. Generally it's the opposite. The victim has cancerous problems precisely because he is wounded, raw, and too-bruised to have the necessary resiliency needed to deal with life …the person is too-bruised to be touched.”

As I was reading, I became that 19-year-old boy; I can feel the freezing stings of loneliness biting on his nape, the overpowering weight of exhaustion pressing on his shoulders, the suffocating embrace of desperation closing in, the calming repose of the grave. All this crunched into 30 seconds of my life.

The pain of suicide is not from guilt or loss. It’s because you are suddenly forced to feel the immensity of the hurt, weariness and hopelessness he felt. And in that split-second, you fear for your life.

Emancipation

2004-09-08T07:40:00.000+08:00

AM radio -- Mike Enriquez, in particular -- has recently been bombarding me with a drone of cynicism: corruption, incompetence, crime. The most bothersome about it is my apathy for these issues. Four months of this tirade can leave a person numb; more precisely, one needs to numb one's self to carry on with the business of the day. A particular newsflash, however, pushed my mind violently into unwelcome contemplation.

It is about a pedicab driver from Las Pinas, a Habitat for Humanity awardee, who, during his daily route, was assaulted by two methamphetamine addicts out of sheer whim. He was beaten to death with slabs of coco-lumber with a nail at one end.

The question has been asked many atime by angsty GenX-ers of Philippine society: "Where is this world coming to?" No, my friends, this is not a cry of frustration, bitterness nor disillusionment. After all, I've been made to realize the sad state of affairs on this earth many many years before. This is catharsis -- no, more than that. Emancipation.

For comfort for the ills of life is not in tranquility, prosperity or success. It is in a promise -- "For I know the plans I have for you," declares the LORD, "plans to prosper you and not to harm you, plans to give you hope and a future."

I resist calling this a 'verse'. Verses, for me, are nice trinkets of words in a thick book of law. This, my friends, is spoken word, a promise made. And though my eyes do not see it, a promise is as good as done (for people who don't get what I mean, think "postdated cheque"). And even if the world has drained me of the strength to be Superman 'savior extraordinaire', this promise gives me enough strength to close my hands tightly in a fist, not to throw a punch, but to hold on.

Orange twist

2004-08-31T15:21:00.000+08:00

A twist of fate,that's what it's usually called. When a sudden turn of events sucks you into a whirlwind that shoots you in a totally different direction. But this particular twist is indeed becoming a welcome one. For, though I am not a believer of "fate", this quick sidestep in the career squaredance led me to a most remarkable person.

Twenty-seven storeys (no 13th floor, rememeber?) above the overrated Makati sidewalks, I met my editor, Orange. "Orange" (not her real name, her real name is Anna, but we will call her "Orange" to protect her privacy) is one extraordinary gal. I'm guessing she has also been into the kind of tailspin I've experienced; that's why she's where she is right now (and those tailspins make for very interesting stories and much more interesting people). Joyful and cheery, smart and sazzy, kind and sincere, and not to mention (are you ready for this?) STYLISH, Orange is at the top of her game. Her radiance is like perfume, rubbing off everyone who ventures to come close. I don't know her enough to make a friendster testimonial for her, but I sure know enough about her to make me wanna stick around.

So as I resist the temptation to just walk up to her, give her a high-five and holler "You go, gurl!", I take a quick glance over my shoulder (that's where she sits, you know, just behind me) and fidget in excitement at what Boss Orange has next in store. "Kudos"

Helping hand

2004-08-25T10:42:00.000+08:00

It would perhaps be safe to say that most doctors have a "messianic complex": a self-need to make things alright for everyone. That's why we became doctors in the first place: to be Mr. Fix-its. To make everything alright.

Doctors, unfortunately, are people to. And these doctor-people carry their messianic complexes outside their clinics. In their pursuit to make utopia out of this earth where weary feet trod, they so desperately carry the burden of the people around them "just to make things alright." The freaky martyrs that they are, they "go out of their way" and "extend a helping hand" while "giving their hearts out", "mustering every inch of strength and courage" until they find out that they have given everything that they could, leaving nothing for themselves but a gaping hole where all their hopes once were. And as these overused, over-romanticized cliches rang in their ears, they stop, drop their shoulders a little bit, shake their heads aslight, and sigh a thundering sigh that reverberates from the caverns of their being.

And as the deafening echoes fade away, the echoes begin to sound like that line from "Send in the clowns": "To flirt with rescue, when one had no intention of being saved."

Life was made for weekends

2004-08-14T12:30:00.001+08:00

I woke up this morning under the impression that I had something to do for the weekend (it's a saturday, you see...). Perhpas it's because I've grown accustomed to the juvenile routine life I've been living. Gimik saturdays. So imagine my surprise when I woke up this morning, realizing that I had nothing up planned. In the emptiness of my room, I realized: I had nothing to do.

"Wait a minute... I've done this before... Darn!" I've done this for the whole past year. Waking up on a saturday moning under the pretense that I'd go out this evening, only to lazy up and decide to stay at home come 10 pm.

Everytime I think about this phenomenon, I get a short panic attack. Am I getting too old to have fun? I've wondered about that for a whole year, but it is only now that I had the conviction to document my musings, in case I forget one day.

Let me illustrate:

This morning, I wake up, I realize I have nothing up planned, I panic. end of statement.

After the brief panic attack, I return to my senses and hear myself: 25 rocks! Whah?? "25 rocks!" That's right! 25 rocks. A few weeks into my 25th year, and it's a ball.

In this point in my life, I don't need (nor want anymore) the weekend rush and the dreary weekday drone just to get through for the weekend. At this age, I can now look back, like a man in midlife recently recovered form his midlife crisis, and realize the countless things to be thankful for. Thankful to have a comfortable bed to sleep on, an adorable baby nephew, a wonderful job at a wonderful office with wonderful officemates, and enough financial freedom to live the much-desiredf bachelor's life if I wanted to.

Much to be thankful for. So as I ironically drive home to the province 50 kms away from the nearest gimik place to see my mucho-guapito nephew, I find myself smiling to the tune of Jam 88.3 "your kind of mix". Good thing I don't have anything planned this weekend. I have time to do something worthwhile. And it needs a lazy Saturday morning for an old bloke like me to realize that.