Alright Ava, here he is!


Olympus Camedia: C-450 Zoom

My family decided to adopt another dog when our beautiful Honey, a Japanese Spitz from Baguio, died from labor a couple of years ago. (If I get a little mushy, I will perhaps even add other pets galore for our deceased packs of rabbits and hamsters and turtles and puppies...) At PAWS where eccentric Kofi was adopted that same day, there were a lot of dogs ready for adoption making earsplitting barks at us. Most were really adorable, yet we decided to adopt this big mongrel (he's half Labrador) among the others because he has this pair of brown eyes that was purely soulful making him seem more pleasant and restrained and quiet... he doesn't feel like woofing a lot. His original name was Sammy, but since the name sort of sounded like that of a sissy's which he absolutely isn't (albeit he's castrated), we christened him with another pet name -- Chino, from his cappuccino color. At home, Chino is often silent but we often get startled once he starts barking. They're totally deafening, dark, and scary (WHOH! WHOH! WHOH!). Despite that, he has developed many kinds of phobias. He hates being taken snapshots so he hides under the bed. He dislikes the loud sounds of fireworks every New Year's day so he trembles under the bed. He doesn't like the sound of his metal chain because clinks of metal chain means time to take a bath, so he buries himself under the bed.

She's a goddess. And she plays volleyball superbly.


Olympus Camedia: C-450 ZOOM

Leila, if you're reading this, which you probably won't in your lifetime (but my aspiration remains unabated anyway), I want to tell you that I've watched you play last Sunday at the Philsports Arena and you have drawn much of the crowd's attention. I think you looked more gorgeous with longer hair but you know you've always been captivatingly beautiful.

I did not like what Coach Guimaraes did about not letting you play in court as the game progressed. Everybody knew Brasil fans bought the costly tickets to see you and your juggernaut spikes! Erika and Virna may outdo the Koreans, Polish and Dominicans without you there in court (as a matter of fact, yours is unanimously incomparable to those teams) but we want to see you there anyway. Don't they know that you won MVP at the 1996 World Grand Prix? And that if it had not been because of you, Brasil would not have made it to championship in each world volleyball tournament, let alone the Olympics?

I was informed that after your last game (upon which your team ended up as champion, congratulations) here in my country last Sunday, you went straight to Megamall to purchase some laptop since you said it's an urgent need, while your other team mates went to a restaurant named Pantalan near Baywalk for a victory party. Boy, was I so distressed upon knowing that! I was at Pollo Loco, eating dinner with Mama and Ate Nik that same night and I felt terribly dreadful about not being able to bump into my most admired voleibol player -- voce. Instead, I saw John Lapus at the same restaurant I was in, dozing off on his chair while his family dined contentedly. If only I had known about this, I would've dashed my way to the mall's top floor and have your autograph.

My life sucks continually. But I realized I'm still fortunate to have seen you for the second time. Meanwhile, I end my post here. I will see you in patria amada Brasil soon. Beijos e abracos.

Ladies and Gentlemen: The Superstar lyrics (revival by Sonic Youth) is dedicated to the talented sightless people I pass by every time I go home from class. The message has nothing to do with them, but I'm offering it anyway.


SUPERSTAR by SONIC YOUTH

Long ago
And oh so far away
I fell in love with you
Before the second show
Your guitar
It sounds so sweet and clear
But you're not really there
It's just the radio

Don't you remember you told me you love me baby?
You said you'd be coming back this way again baby
Baby baby baby baby oh baby
I love you, I really do

Loneliness, is such a sad affair
And I can hardly wait
To be with you again
What to say
To make you come again?
Come back to me again
And play your sad guitar

Don't you remember you told me you love me baby?
You said you'd be coming back this way again baby
Baby baby baby baby oh baby
I love you, I really do

Don't you remember you told me you love me baby?
You said you'd be coming back this way again baby
Baby baby baby baby oh baby
I love you, I really do

Oftentimes they can barely sing a note, but I don't really mind.

I have taken notice of them, the blind people, ever since I had the liberty to hang around with classmates and friends in high school on Friday afternoons after classes -- we get dismissed at 1:25p. I am a very happy kid each God-given Friday. I like to eat fatty food and watch movies in Rob a lot, provided that I obtain enough dough to spare for gimiks. So those were the blissful Fridays where I often go home at seven in the evening or so. And on those nights, it was inevitable for me to see a blind man play with his old electric guitar (complete with a loud speaker) by the pavement of the poorly lit Pedro Gil Street.

There was literally music in the air. It felt as if I was in a Filipino film -- in Lino Brocka's Maynila: Sa Mga Kuko Ng Liwanag. With the sound of this blind man's guitar as background music, I was like the 'promdi' Julio passing aimlessly at the dangerous streets of Manila trying to look for a decent job and the 'Ligaya' of my life, when in reality I was only on my way to take a transit at the nearest LRT station. I exactly knew where I was going. And no, I did not (and still don't) have time to look for a sweetheart. Life's so much exciting for me.

[No siree, you are gravely mistaken. Every soul knows how much I hate to commute (whether coming to school or going home). I abhor the black smoke belching from PUV's, especially the crummy buses congesting a huge area of EDSA. I absolutely think that I will die from air pollution and not food poisoning, or car accident, not even from old age. Given another decade or so, people in the city will start gasping for fresh air but no part in the metropolis could provide them so except gargantuan amounts noxious carbon monoxide].

At some instances, I see the invalids sing duet. They make good music despite the obvious Visayan accent created as they chant along to the eternal songs of the eighties and nineties. A while ago, as I was on my way to Central Station after spending time at the bookstore in SM Manila, the handicap sitting with a karaoke speaker played this old song by Elton John. I'm not so sure about the title, but it's about the pigeon flights or pigeons flying, it's somewhat that. Haha! Memory lapse.

These beautiful people are one of the best reasons why it's still nice to commute alone or with somebody (just make sure your companion likes them, too). Aton Karton (my 'macho' classmate) asserts that I'm a weird being because I enjoy things that aren't often enjoyed by many. I find myself smiling and imagining that I'm really included in a motion picture each time I start to hear a trace of a semi-nasty tune from the prehistoric guitar.

I do not contradict with the idea that they are beggars, too. Although personally, they are one of the coolest people on earth because they amuse me. Placed atop their black loud speakers is a white box labeled: donation box for the blind. Unfortunately, I have never given them money. I was told never to give money to beggars. Give them food instead. That statement has always been inculcated in my eccentric brain.

But I guess I would not mind putting money in the white box if they would accept song requests from passers-by.

I could not forget what three of my friends told me just a few days ago. They have agreed that I lost a little weight. Wushu! You think I should believe them? 'Cause I really am not doing anything about my portliness... aside from amusing myself by playing two hours of badminton on Tuesdays. And I eat a lot, particularly chocolates. Boy, I got to have my daily dose of Samba! - you know, they're those Brasilian chocolate bonbons. Personally they're a lot more scrumptious than the costly Ferrero Rocher chocolates. You can have three of which for only ten buckaroos from the peculiar, wide-eyed, female security guard slash Samba chocolate bonbons vendor hanging about just outside the university library.

On more significant matters... College is a different world, if you know what I mean. There's no more room for slacking off. Well, you can choose to lay back and not do your workload because your instructors or your block mates could not care less about whatever you do with your life, but really, indolence isn't a wise thing to practice. Gee, I hate it when I say things like these since I often do otherwise. It's always a big challenge to live out virtues. But hey, I'm working on it.

Sometimes.

Today is as ordinary as the days before. Nothing really great happens to me. But I'm pretty happy now that today's my day off from school. I get a relief from the eight hours I spent with 'the neck-less,' Pamela Wan who, as I totally hate to admit, looks like my artistic RN sister. No stupid, the term is not de Maupassant's short story. Oh yeah, speaking of my AnaPhy/Microbio instructor, every week I write at the back of my notebook a tally of the number of times she uttered the favorite words, 'basically' and 'oki'. Last July 7, she said 23 basically's and 11 oki's in five hours. And at our following meeting yesterday, she made a breaking record of saying 23 basically's (and 6 oki's) within two hours.

I am already on my third stage of sickness. The first two were evil sore throat and common cold. Now, stupid common cold got a partner to help ruin my life. Ever wondered why we never seem to get immune to colds? It's because there are about 200 different strains of virus that are capable of producing colds. Maybe in my whole life, I've only been immune to 20 of them. Daft viruses don't have anything to do with their life (wait a minute, they have NO life!) so they always bug me. Nuts!

I'm currently listening to Caetano Veloso's version of Cucurrucucu Paloma and I am reminded of the film Hable Con Ella. It's a muito touching movie so I let my friends view it too, and they liked it as much as I did. From the film I learned the special essence of communication to any relationship. You just talk to them even if they don't react to whatever it is you're saying. Like the comatose patient with exorbitantly voluptuous body in the film, they too, can be affected or influenced by another person's words.

Little did you suspect, that's what I've been doing for the past three months. That's why I made this weblog, though quite unfriendly. I continue to write even if I don't get comments each time I post. But it doesn't matter because I know people (although very few) who would kill their precious time to somehow get to this unsophisticated site and read whatever I got to tell them. They get afflicted with my poor sense of humor and weak style of writing, and then they start to smile because they finally understood me or why I'm like this.

Time flies like the wind: My grade school classmates grew immensely tall. Six years have passed and I'm still five foot one.

Yesterday night, after learning about health models from my five-hour long subject in that intensely hot classroom (read, CN's sauna), I finally hit the road to SM Manila to have my gift for Malou wrapped. (I didn't have time to cover it myself the night before that. I guess I went too busy swearing at Tokyo Tokyo for ruining my block's dinner during CN's socialization party last Friday). I met with Urag that same day so I won't be alone if I arrive at the party late, fashionably (as my mother had cracked while we were in the car). It was a blessing, though, that we didn't make a grand entourage at the Le Auditorium (the venue) with our unkempt hair and casual outfit on. I even had enough time to change my clothes and pretty up my hair and face. Putting makeup myself is terrible since I hate using them! So I resolved to coat my face with a thin layer of pressed powder to prevent my face from shining in all directions or I'd be like a disco spotlight.

It's been years since I last made contact with my first barkada in grade school. Only three were present in my circle of friends last night, but that's okay, because some guys friends from elementary were also there, and the last time I have seen these pack of outrageous people was six years ago. After such time it went pretty hard for me to recall those great and sad times I had with them. Unlike Malou, I barely keep contact with my old pals. And it's terrible that my vivid memories of high school and college had taken the limelight.

So anyway, at the grand room where the party's held, I carried my backpack (I was a dreadful sight to see that time) toward my SHS friends' table instead of my MaSci friends' (they already occupied three tables... we're just too many a crowd). Boy, have we all grown so fast! Criselle had gotten so tall and slender. I've never seen Mecki look so chic before. And Roan had her hair straightened up. And the guys, definitely the guy pals I have messed around with in elementary. Most already have girlfriends. Velden speaks, dresses, and acts like a father. Plus, I never thought Mozart could turn out to be one of the most charming guys I would ever see in my unexciting life. (Wushu!) Eric, Aries, and Chester still seemed reserved (at the birthday event. What happened in Malou's house is another story). The rest of us enjoyed looking/laughing at Matthew as he painstakingly kept standing beside Malou throughout the party. And Angelo (now Gelo) remained as noisy as before. But that's okay. He claims that without his presence, grade school life would have been monotonous.

Oh, and Jackie Lou?

We headed to Malou's crib for a post-party together with my friends in MaSci who decided to hit the sack there just for the night. The air was so warm and humid that time. Tita Nieves had prepared us tons of siomai and lumpiang shanghai for pulutan. And outside by the garden, we ate and talked a lot. And while our MaSci friends slowly drifted away in their lovely sleep, we talked about the greatest issues/controversies in grade school upon which have never been backed with straightforward answers. And that day was the perfect time to reveal everything. It turned out somewhat an open forum. It was more on the silly love teams we had and whatnot, but the main discussion of the night was _______. What the people hate and like about _______. And why _______ wasn't with us and such other things. We had 'great, clean fun' as Papa Velden mused that ungodly time of morning. Malou's housedog even successfully tried to piss me off by barking too loud at us. RRRAU!!! RRRAU!!! RRRAU!!! RRRAU!!! RRRAU!!! ("YUH INA BIG CHOBLE, DOG!!!")

I was able to come home at five in the morning yet the moon was still visible at that time. I was dog-tired and I thought, 'Yeah, you got the entire day for sleep.' (3-4 VII 2004)