Up above there

Air droplets, Masquerade, Windchimes 2 Comments

I almost forgot how beautiful a moonlit night is. You see the moon’s up there for three consecutive nights now but I was too foolish and busy to pay attention—to just actually stop doing everything and look up, and be quiet, and just see the peace of the soft silver light of silent Luna. But not tonight.

Went out with Hun, my Korean friend, to eat dinner in our city’s boulevard. We got out from the resto at around 7.30, and it was there: the sea in glimmers of silver, like scales of a mythical water creature reflected by the moonlight. Just magical. And Hun told me,

You can only see this here, in the Philippines.

I believed him.


The young man said to the old man: ‘How foolish of you to try to save such an ungrateful creature. Don’t you see, it’s just trying to sting you, and you keep on reaching for it, not giving it up to the river’s strong current, even if your hands are all swollen!’ The old man replied: ‘The nature of this scorpion is to sting, to bite, now, will I let its nature stop my nature to SAVE?’

-Heard from the pulpit (attended a university church service this morning)

It’s all up to you

Air droplets, Films and Flippings 2 Comments

There’s no secret ingredient. What you need to do is believe that something is special, and it will be special.

Kung Fu Panda, photo from www.latimes.com

Watch it here.

Ain’t dried up in the sun

Films and Flippings, Optimism, Rewind, the Train collection No Comments

Son I come from five generations of people who’re slaves and share-croppers but there ain’t nobody in my family tha’ never took no pay from nobody that was a way of tellin’ us we wouldn’t fit to walk the earth.

They never been that poor… they never been that dead inside.”

Based on a broadway play of the same title by Lorraine Hansberry, A Raisin in the Sun [2008] tells of a colored family’s life in Chicago. Dealing with racial prejudice and other struggles of the African-American, what makes it stand out from other motion pictures of the same theme is that it goes on to identify itself as a movie that focuses more on the universal human aspiration to acknowledge the individual in all of us—that one, in a search for worth, must first find truth in the innate fact that self-actualization is not solely established in everybody else’s respect but that one must also have a deeper kind of that respect, sometimes even almost pride-like, in one’s self. It focuses more on that, than on the pigmentation of the skin.

Good cast, simple plot, real. And a beautiful message, that’s A Raisin in the Sun.

Watch it here.

Uphill prance

Optimism No Comments

These past weeks I’ve been lazy; all I did was either face my notebook or warm the bed sheets. I’ve not been reading, I even struggle to take a bath. Really. I know it’s bad, er, terrible, and I’m putting a stop to all of these. There’s a lot of things going inside my mind and I just need a black hole-like vacuum cleaner for this mental mess. Or a great brain bookkeeper to neatly put things in order and label each thought cavity, you know.

I’ve got a sore throat and the weather’s upsetting lately, but what could I do? Keep my head above water. That’s it, keep it above. But there’s something wonderful amidst all these unpleasantness, as I seem to learn a great deal of things when my mind’s clouded up. I don’t know why and it’s obviously ridiculously ironic, but when I don’t feel good, I think a lot. And I think of things important—well, at least for me. For instance, I discovered I was at a loss for an axis, and I badly needed one. Something to build upon. Actually all along I knew what I needed, but kept on overlooking. But now I couldn’t. And I’m glad I’ve got the strength to whip my own butt for the sake of moving, growing up again.

Maybe the sun’s going to shine tomorrow, or maybe it won’t. I don’t know. Meanwhile, I’ll just have to manage. The sore throat’s not gone yet, good thing I still can smile.

Life as a cold shower

Masquerade, Optimism 1 Comment

You had a long day yesterday and you feel sick. You smell. And you don’t want to be reminded about it. You drag this new morning with a half-sleep, making your plain corned beef tastier with the miraculous egg. Fry, fry, fry.

The rice is ready, and all you need to do is jump into the food.

But you wanted a shower; want it warm, and steamy and soothing—you want yourself. So you grab your towel, and almost fly right into the bathroom. You imagine that warm, steamy, soothing sensation and how it teases you with thoughts of lovemaking, yes, only that it’s with water this time, and you get out of it satisfied, revived. Right now, it’s the only thing in the world that can make you feel better. Before getting in, you check your battle with gravity: 49.50 kgs. Feather-light, nonetheless healthy.

Now, the shower. You turn on the incandescent light, and the tiled everywhere brings you into this dreamy place of a desert—only that it’s a cold one. Bleak and cold. The more it makes you crave for that shower, that redemption, that oasis. You have to, you must.

Gently but with this wild tremor in your hand, you turn the shower knob. And you feel that it’s alive, a pulsating heart, untamed and in ignition. You’re going crazy, this orgy is making you crazy. Now, now, at last the shower!

Dumbfounded, your almost frozen brain can only think of that wickedly screechy tinge of pain brought about by knocking down scoopfuls of ice cream after taking coffee. And now, this cold shower, is by far of higher authority to torment you with the same sophisticated torture.

You think of ending it, and running away! Your mind insists you must. But how can reason defy this hard-headed willfulness that results from this cold, dreadfully cold, water gush? You struggled to stay. The fight is on. The cold water is getting more vicious every passing second. And your arms, hands, legs, eyes, ears, neck—who knows what else, are shouting at you like mad to get out of there and find the comfort of your scarlet towel. But you’re proving you’re more than a hard-head, for now you’re fighting not with it, but with your heart. One, two, five, seven seconds or so pass, the cold water beating you down. You alternate between shivering and laughing (or doing both at the same time). Because you know you are beaten but winning. You stand put, or, rather, you shiver put. And, like redemption which seems to present itself at the very last second, the cold water begins to be refreshingly cooler, like a brook in late spring, until it becomes warm, and warmer, and warmer. And now there’s the steam flying down like winged nymphs, and the tiled everywhere reflecting the bleak and cold desert seems to approach an oasis. And the cold water is now the hot, steamy, soothing bath that you needed. You wrinkle your nose; a smile on your face. That was a hell of a fight, and now you win.

And it dawns on you. You didn’t fight the cold water. You didn’t win it. There was never a battle between you and the cold water. Instead, you fought yourself, and won.

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